DOUBLY WARNED.
It was no particular feeling of fear that caused Martin to move away in
so quiet a manner, while the struggle was going on upon the opposite
side of the stream. But, as Winkle was to him a stranger, and there
might be some need of investigation, he thought it best that whatever
might be done, should be done by his own unaided exertions. Moving
cautiously, keeping himself well under shade and waiting patiently, he
saw the man, with whom he had been so lately conversing, look around
with a gaze of half wonder at finding himself alone, and then set
forward upon an exploring tour. Not long afterward, at a point some
distance down the stream, a man crossed; and, entering the woods, after
a moment's hesitation, struck off in the direction in which Martin
knew Winkle had camped, or intended to camp for the night. After a
little, hard upon the trail came Winkle, himself. He would doubtless
have followed on for the purpose of seeing the meeting between these
two persons--if meet they should--when he was startled by the sudden
appearance of the two riders. He, too, in a manner almost involuntary,
threw his rifle to his shoulder and, in fact, had the pursuer fairly
covered; but, instead of drawing the trigger, he lowered the weapon,
listened a moment, and then, utterly disregarding the motions of
the two men upon which he had been, but lately, so intent, followed
silently on in the direction in which the woman and the pursuing man
had disappeared.
A walk of a few minutes and the aspect of surrounding things somewhat
changed--sufficiently at least to give token that some man or men had
made a permanent settlement near by. The sound of galloping horses
had ceased; as he advanced, he thought he heard voices engaged in
conversation.
Nor was he mistaken. At some little distance from the edge of the
wood stood a cabin. In front of this the parties had halted. The man
was still mounted, but the woman stood by the threshold of the cabin,
facing her late pursuer, a steely look of defiance upon her countenance.
The man was speaking when Martin came within hearing distance, and his
words fell upon the night-air coldly and distinctly.
"Listen, Edith," he said. "You know me so well, that I need not tell
you that sooner or later I will be heard. I have not come all these
miles to have you put me off with a hand-wave, and a 'begone.' We are,
both of us, older than when we last met and care little for listeners;
but must I say now what I have to say, or will you accord me a more
fitting time and place?"
"As between us, there never can be either a fitting time or place for
communication. All connection, all intercourse between us has ceased,
and forever. I would refuse to willingly hear you, if you came as a
messenger announcing my eternal salvation, and nothing that you can say
or do shall cause me to alter my determination. If you would be safe,
leave me. I am willing to forgive the past, even if I can not forget
it, and I would not see you harmed; therefore I warn you away from
these grounds. I caution you to return from whence you came, if you
dare. And if you dare not, then seek some other place. Away, begone!
for something tells me there is danger in the atmosphere for you here."
"Edith, again, I say, listen. I would speak somewhat of the past; but
more of the future. Through me you have suffered, I admit, but through
me I would have you return again--return to joy and life and youth and
love. I have much that I would tell you. I have sought you long and
faithfully; for three long years I have followed constantly in your
footsteps, but you have as constantly eluded me. Now I find you here
and I must speak."
"Yes, you _have_ followed in my footsteps for three years, and for
four, and for five. Through you I have suffered; but never, never
through you did I or shall I sin. You over-shadowed, you darkened my
young life, made for me existence wretched, pursued me with a thousand
unmanly and mean arts, sought by foul means that which, I can tell you
now, you might then have gained by fair, sought to coerce when you
might have persuaded, actually hunted me down; and now you have sought
me out in this last retreat. Charles Endicott, I tell you beware. I
will not listen to you; I will not hear you; if you pursue I will fly;
if you speak, I will hold my hands to my ears; with me you can do
nothing. But I see trouble for you beyond, trouble black and deadly. Be
advised before it is too late. I am no prophetess or soothsayer, but I
tell you, sure as fate, if you linger here, you linger to meet your own
death. Go your way then; I am dead to the world; I am dead to you; why
should you waste time on a fruitless task?"
"I know you, Edith, and I know your resolution; but, for all that, I
will not go. I am ready to meet death when it comes, for I am one of
those that believe the lot of man is foreordered, and no whining or
flinching can avail aught; but rest assured I shall not die without a
struggle. If you refer to the men of doubtful stamp who are supposed
to haunt this region, all I can say is, I am ready for them; though I
count on no danger in that direction. I have heard of their doings,
and I have heard, too, the name of one who is supposed to exercise a
control over their movements. Martin and I were once friends, and I do
not think I count in vain, when I reckon on his support in all needed
cases. Let this fruitless talk come to an end, and let me, if you will
not appoint a more favorable time, come to that of which I would speak."
The man called Charles Endicott grew more in earnest. With a rapidity
and ease almost miraculous, he threw himself from his horse. So quick
was he, and so graceful, that before the woman fairly knew it, he was
standing near and facing her. She shrunk back somewhat, then raised her
hand with a proud gesture.
"No nearer, sir, no nearer! Think not I am unprotected because you see
me alone."
Endicott stood for a moment gazing silently into the eyes that met
his, fair and full, glowing and sparkling under the moonlight. There
was no quailing in them; no unsettledness of purpose; they did not
fall. He sought to read her soul through them; and all he could see was
unflinching resolution. Poor encouragement to proceed was that steady
stare; a chill crept along his spine, a shiver went through his brain
as he gazed into that face, handsome as a dream, but thin and colorless
as chalk. Her eyes dilated; her form, lithe and slender, straightened;
the proud gesture grew one of menace, and again her lips opened:
"Yes, sir, I am no unprotected female _now_. I hold your life in my
hands in a dozen ways. Times have altered, sir. We stand on a new stage
with new spectators and a new cast of parts. A man more or less, is of
but little importance; your corpse, found with face turned upward and
dead-set eyes staring ghastly, would create little excitement among the
few who might learn of it. Perhaps they might bury it; maybe they would
leave that duty to the wolves. Who knows?"
Endicott's face darkened, for the tone of the woman's voice had a
disdainful ring that cut into his pride like the needle points of a
tattooer. There was sharp pain and an ugly picture left behind. He
tried to smile at her earnestness, but it was a very dismal smile, and
his courage dropped away down toward zero. Not that he feared death--he
only found that he feared the woman!
"Death's-heads and thigh-bones! Run out the black flag if you choose,
yet there will many a day pass before I walk the plank. I see no vision
of sudden death, feel no premonition of approaching dissolution. Say
your say, for you are honest at heart, and when I have listened to you,
you will listen to me, I know. And for my corpse--I entreat you to give
it a Christian burial, should it be found with a ball in the base of my
skull or an underhanded knife-thrust in the small of my back. Danger of
that kind though, is I trust far off."
"Laugh if you will at my warning; yet, as you stand there in the full
moonlight, you make a fair target; and on my honor you stand this
minute covered by more than one weapon of death. You doubt me? Well, I
see a rifle-barrel aimed at your head by the hand of a man who never
yet missed his mark. I see it gleaming, and a wave of my hand brings
the leaden messenger. So go your way; if you remain here five minutes
longer, so help me Heaven, I will see you shot down with as little
mercy as I would a prowling coyote."
How or exactly where she disappeared, Endicott scarcely knew. A mist
appeared to sweep across his eyes, and when the mist rolled away she
was gone. He stared a moment blankly before him, with the words of her
warning ringing in his ears, and a doubt as to what to do in his heart.
"'Shot as a prowling coyote!' Faith, she is in one of her tragic moods
to-night, and I verily believe she would do as she says. She may speak
truly too about some one lying in wait; this is a queer region here,
and if all accounts be true, a bullet from behind a bush would be no
unprecedented thing. I will find my way back to camp as best I can. But
how came she here?"
While muttering these things to himself he remounted his horse, turned
its head in the direction from which he had come and slowly and
thoughtfully began to retrace his steps.
Charles Endicott was a young man. He was well built, strong limbed,
easy in his motions, with a clear, strong voice. His brown hair, long
and well kept, was pushed back from a square forehead; his gray eyes
looked out keenly from under long eyelashes; his nose was shapely,
mouth not ungainly, his beard and mustache full and silken. He settled
firmly in his saddle as though he belonged there, and his horse
bore him as though knowing its master. The manner of his hand upon
the bridle-rein seemed to tell that, though his thoughts might be
elsewhere, still there was will left behind--will and a soul prepared
for any emergency. A face seen by moonlight, it is said, is a heart
unmasked. It may not be so in all cases; but it was in this. There was
a heart then unmasked, a heart untrammeled by the fetters of conscience
or the gyves of moral law. The man was a plotter, the man was a
schemer. Perhaps his plots and schemes might come in contravention
with right? Then right must of needs go to the wall, for the measure of
expediency was the measure of equity with Endicott.
As he passed from the clear space into the wood the animal he bestrode
gave a start, which, while it caused no particular emotion in the heart
of the rider, was still sufficient to make him look warily around. He
thought he saw a gleaming and a glancing some little distance off; he
imagined he could hear the tread of some one approaching. He was right
in his thought, and in his imagination. The gleaming and glancing
were the moonbeams shivering off of the long rifle, and the noise of
footsteps announced the approach of Dick Martin.
Endicott at first sight of the man had thrown his hand warily in search
of a weapon. But, almost instantly recognizing the man, he suffered it
to drop by his side, and, reining in his horse, awaited the issue of
the interview which he foresaw was about to ensue.
When Martin was within a few feet he paused, and the two gave a look at
each other as though they would read the man confronting to the very
soul.
It was Endicott who first broke the silence. He urged his steed onward
a few paces, bent down in his saddle and extended his hand, at the same
time exclaiming:
"Then it _is_ you, Martin. I had half-suspected as much when I first
caught sight of you, and it gave me a shock. We meet as friends, I
hope?"
Martin remained standing unmoved, and as though he did not see the
proffered hand, and answered, in a cool, careless tone:
"Yes, Endicott, it is I--no more, and no less. I know you've got nerves
that are tolerably steady, so I won't show any wonder at your taking
this meeting so coolly; but it's kind of unexpected. You've drifted a
long way out of your latitude to be floating along Back Load Trail.
What's wrong in the East? Are the fools all dead, are the geese not
worth the plucking, have the sheep come short in the wool crop, that
you come here? Or are you in the stream that sets to the gold-diggings?"
"Bah, don't talk to me about the fools, geese and sheep that I've left
behind me! Tell me how it is here. You and I used to understand each
other pretty well, ay, and each other's secrets; so, come now; what's
the best news in this heaven-forsaken region. Dick Martin doesn't
locate here for nothing."
"No, he ain't located here for nothing; you're right. That something
happens to be necessity. My luck in my little speculations ran out
first, and I had to leave. As to what I'm doing here--that's not to be
talked about. Maybe prospecting for gold; maybe Injun trading; maybe
putting daylight through stray travelers and vamoosing with their
traps; maybe any or all of these things--but not likely. I ain't here
for nothing. That's all I can say."
"Martin, we have done business together many a time; we were allies,
if not friends, and I want to know how the case stands now. I don't
want to pry and peer into your private affairs. Maybe I'd be bringing
something to the light that wouldn't stand it so well; but, I've heard
somewhat of you as I came in this direction. Of course I didn't know it
was you I heard the talk about, and of course there is a chance of what
I heard being either true or false, with a little extra weight on the
truth. You remember how we separated, and I don't think you have any
thing to complain of, or any charges of ill faith on my part to bring
against me. Now, the question I want to ask is: Can we rely on each
other as we could of old? A plain yes or no will make the best answer
to the question."
"Well, Endicott, I haven't heard of you particularly, either good or
bad, though I had an intimation that you were in the neighborhood. It
makes no difference what reports have gone trailing toward the East,
and I don't claim to know them; they're bad enough, no doubt. You ask
me a question, and if you must have an answer, why all I can say, is:
In some things, _yes_, in other things, _no_! Will that suit you, or
shall I go ahead and explain?"
"What do you mean by yes?"
"I mean that, in the first place, I would rely on you just as much as I
ever did, and not a particle more. In the second, whatever you get my
word to, that you can depend on my carrying through; but if you think
to find me ready to promise to any and every mad scheme, you are very
much mistaken."
"Any thing that is honest, eh?"
A grim smile flitted over Martin's face at the mention of the word
honest. It was gone in a moment though, and he proceeded:
"Yes, any thing that's honest. Now what is it that you have to propose?
I don't suppose you would have made so much of an introductory if you
had not had something behind it."
"You are partly right. My motto is business first and pleasure
afterward, else I would have had a thousand things to say with regard
to our mutual lives in the past few years. Yet I hardly know what I
would say. I did not seek you; yet, since I have met you, I want to
know if I can count upon your assistance in a little matter which,
springing up suddenly, has found me unprepared to meet it."
"Then you didn't hunt up Back Load Trail for any special reason?"
"No, indeed! It is just my lucky chance. The party I am with are camped
half a mile over yonder. I left them for no very definable reason, and
thereby met with an adventure that may have a great influence on my
actions, perhaps on my whole future life. When we camped over there by
the side of the stream, I thought it was but for the night, now I may
linger in this neighborhood for a day or so. The question is, if I need
a friend will you stand behind me?"
"What's this adventure, and how do you want me to stand behind you? If
what I think is true, you may have more need of it than you think for."
"Well, Martin, I scarce know in what manner I would have you aid me;
perhaps after all only by a neutrality. As to the adventure--I met with
a woman."
There seemed to be nothing either astonishing or disconcerting in this
revelation. After waiting in unbroken silence for any remarks that
Martin might feel inclined to make, Endicott proceeded:
"It was rather strange for a man to ride out of camp with no aim or
object and to stumble upon a woman; stranger, too, when that woman
chanced to be one whom you had known long before, and for whom you had
been long searching and in vain. I do not know what may come of it; but
I know what I want to. How is it? There is no one of our little party
that I care to trust--if I need assistance within the next twenty-four
hours will you give it, and where can I find you?"
Martin looked up slowly and deliberately.
"It seems to me you're putting things on their old basis, what one of
us plans the other is to help carry through."
"Why not? Neither you nor I have grown what the world calls better
since then, and of course the understanding would be now as it always
was--nothing for nothing, all for whatever pays."
"No, I don't suppose we have grown much better; but there may have been
a few changes. As to the woman you speak of, here is all I have to say.
If you have any plans and can carry them out openly and above board,
no force, no underhanded means, no fraud, I'll not lay a straw in your
way; maybe I can help you."
"If not?"
"This. Just you attempt the slightest bit of compulsion, or the first
grain of trickery--try any thing that's not honest, make a move toward
abduction, or take a step toward foul play, and I'll lay you dead in
your tracks."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean what I say. I give you fair leave and fair warning, too. I
don't intend to interfere in any thing _she_ wishes to do, but I mean
she shall not do what she doesn't want to do."
"Do you mean to say that _you_ will exert any control over her actions?"
"Yes, just so far as to let her have her own will. She's one of the few
persons that I have cared for, and when time stops and the sea gives
up its dead, you may, _perhaps_, see me go back on my dead sister's
daughter."