EVE OF BATTLE
Masters came suddenly on May Thurston that same afternoon, as she
chanced to be alone on the cottage porch. When he appeared so swiftly
out of the wood, which was thick behind the house, the girl realized
that he must have been lying in wait for this opportunity to meet her
unobserved. The stealthiness of the act revolted her anew, and the
disagreeable impression was in no wise relieved by the engineer’s
conversation or manner.
“Nothing--I found nothing at all!” he declared, curtly. His large
eyes were glowing with anger. “I can’t understand it.” His tone was
full of rebellion against the injustice of fate.
“But--” May began. Her voice was hesitating, timid.
Masters went on stormily, disregarding her.
“I mustn’t give up though--just because they’ve come.” He nodded
toward the cottage. “You must introduce me, at once. Then, get them
outside, to look about--and I’ll have another try at the gold.”
The girl was dismayed by his persistence. She wished to point out the
danger of discovery, but the engineer would listen to no protests,
and, in the end, his inflexible will beat down her resistance.
So, presently, Masters was duly introduced to Mrs. West and her
daughter. His manner was now all suavity. He devoted himself to
making a good impression, and in this he succeeded, for he was in
fact usually attractive to women, though not to men, who regarded him
with latent suspicion, or open hostility, according to their various
natures. In this instance, his handsome face, graceful, frank manner
and lively chat diverted and pleased the mother, while the more
susceptible daughter found herself near to blushing under the earnest
regard of a stranger so romantic of appearance and so respectfully,
yet obviously, an admirer of her own charms. Indeed, though Masters
was very discreet, his manner somehow caused the trouble in May’s
heart to swell, for now it was leavened with jealousy. Yet, there
was nothing overt, to which she might take exception. It was, rather,
an intuition that warned her. But, when she again found herself alone
with her lover, she was confronted with offense in his first words:
“We must keep our engagement secret from them.”
Though May had had no thought of any present publicity for her
romance, this peremptory command came with a shock.
“Why?” she demanded. “What do you mean, Hartley?”
Masters became fluently plausible. His seeming candor disarmed
criticism.
“Margaret West is a pretty girl,” he explained, smiling, at last,
“and she is evidently aware of the fact. If she thinks I’m dangling,
so to speak--a victim to her charms--she and her mother won’t wonder
any at my hanging around the place a good deal--and it’s Miss West’s
place now, you know. It wouldn’t do for me to make myself too much at
home here just as your fiancé, she might be jealous.”
His smile over this none too delicate pleasantry was so caressing,
his voice was so tender, he was so tall, so stalwart in picturesque
fashion, so good to look on altogether, that May quite forgot her
first instinct of indignation. After all, doubtless, he was right.
“But you won’t let her think you really serious?” she stipulated.
Masters’ face instantly grew grave; his voice took on a dignity
almost rebuking.
“No, little girl,” he said, gently; “that wouldn’t be fair to you, or
to her, or to me. But we’ll keep our secret for a time.”
And to this, albeit reluctantly, May consented. That reluctance must
have become open revolt, could she have known the inner workings
of her lover’s crafty and unscrupulous brain. For the fact of the
matter was that the engineer had no sooner set eyes on Margaret West
than new, daring plots began to shape themselves in his imagination.
His heart thrilled at sight of her; his interest deepened second by
second. He experienced, indeed, an attraction strange, dominant.
The emotion was the more impressive inasmuch as it was totally
unlike that with which May Thurston had inspired him. He had
admired the secretary in rather a placid fashion; he had enjoyed her
dainty appearance, he had been agreeably entertained by her lively
intelligence; most of all, he had received flattering unction to
his vanity from the ease of his triumph over her heart. The case of
Margaret was radically different. Even in the first interview with
this girl, he found himself subject to a spell hitherto unknown in
his experience of women. Being by no means a fool, he guessed that
here in truth was one actually to possess his love.
That realization worked no sort of regeneration in the moral nature
of the man. On the contrary, since he was essentially selfish,
it served only to spur him on toward bold speculations as to
all possible gains for himself. Since he knew the terms of the
Abernethey will, a new scheme flashed on him within five minutes of
his introduction to Margaret. If he should be unable to find the
hidden treasure for himself, he would strive his utmost to prevent
the success of Saxe Temple in the quest, since failure on the heir’s
part would mean Margaret’s inheritance of one half the gold. By
this means, although he would not secure the full amount of riches,
he would at least become possessor of a moiety--for he would marry
Margaret West. He felt no pang of regret for May Thurston, whom
he planned to betray so basely. His sole concern was for his own
advantage: the securing of the woman and the money that he desired
fiercely. That he would succeed in this preposterous ambition, he
did not doubt for a moment, confident of the favor with which the
softer sex usually regarded him. He took the first step in his
conscienceless scheme when he gazed with respectful admiration into
the eyes of Margaret West; he took the second when he charged May
Thurston to keep secret the troth he had plighted her.
On the morning after the coming of Mrs. West and Margaret, the
secretary received a telegram from Saxe Temple, with the announcement
that he and his friends would reach the lake that same afternoon. So,
there now remained for the engineer less than one day of liberty in
which to prosecute the hunt for the treasure. For all his audacity,
Masters knew that he could not dare to carry on the search during
the interval even, except with utmost caution, lest he arouse the
suspicions of the widow or her daughter. He had passed most of the
time since their coming in racking his brain with vain conjectures as
to a possible clue, with the hope of making actual investigation at
a more propitious time. Now, however, the telegram warned him that
his period was at an end. The presence of the heir and his associates
would effectually halt the engineer’s operations, and he realized the
fact with bitterness of spirit. Thereafter, he must perforce do what
he might skulkingly, ever cautious to avoid any least guess by anyone
as to his purpose.
“But I’ll keep an eye out,” he confided to May, sullenly. “If they
find a hint anywhere, I’ll beat them to the goal, after all, you’ll
see!”
She shrank at his words--something that was fast coming to be a habit
with her.
“But Mr. Temple has the right to it, you know,” she expostulated,
weakly.
“If he gets it!” Masters retorted with a sneer that lifted slightly
the luxurious mustache. “Only, I’ll see that he doesn’t. And, anyhow,
I believe that he must be a pretty namby-pamby sort of chap. Fancy
his bringing a band of helpers!”
“Mr. Abernethey particularly said that he might do so,” May reminded
her lover.
“It seems a bit cowardly, just the same,” Masters maintained. “I’ll
win out yet. I tell you, May, the fellow is handicapped: he fears
failure.”
* * * * *
Saxe Temple arrived at the foot of the lake in mid-afternoon, and
with him came Roy Morton, Billy Walker and David Thwing. Jake was
awaiting the incoming train, his weather-beaten face aglow with
anticipation. The terms of the will having become known to him,
he had developed what might be called a sporting interest in the
issue. After years of monotony, excitement had jumped into his
life. Therefore, he now advanced toward the four young men with
suit-cases, who had descended from the Pullman, and bobbed his head
energetically, his clean-shaven face wrinkled in a smile.
“Mr. Temple and party, I ca’c’late?” he remarked inquiringly, looking
from one to another.
“I am Mr. Temple,” said the heir, with an answering smile, as he
stepped forward. He indicated his companions with a gesture. “These
are my friends, come to help me on a bit of business I have in the
neighborhood. You know about it?”
Jake beamed joyously.
“Well, now, I’ve got quite some suspicionings, as it were,” he
admitted, cautiously. “I hope you’ve left everybody well to hum?”
“Oh, I believe some in the city are complaining,” Saxe replied, with
apparent seriousness; “but the general health is about the average.”
“Jest so!” Jake showed himself gratified. “Well, I’ll lead ye over to
the motor-boat.”
Billy Walker groaned stertorously.
“And we’re not there even yet!” he exclaimed, aghast.
“Oh, putty nigh,” Jake made assurance; “only a matter o’ three mile
on the lake. We’ll git thar in a jiffy, in the _Shirtso_.”
“The what?” Saxe questioned.
“That’s the ornery name old man Abernethey give a perfec’ly good
boat,” Jake replied, complainingly. “He said as how it meant kind o’
lively.”
“The name must be _Scherzo_,” Saxe explained to the unmusical and
bewildered Billy Walker; “the motor-boat, you know.”
But Billy was not appeased. He kept at Jake’s side, as the party
moved toward the landing, a furlong to the east from the station, and
expressed his sentiments vehemently, though not lucidly, so far as
the boatman was concerned.
“I’m given to understand,” he said severely to the puzzled
Jake, “that your craft is not merely a plain, slow-going,
safe-and-sane-Fourth launch, but, on the contrary, one of those
cantankerous, speed-maniacal contraptions that scoots in diabolical
and parabolical curves, and squirts water all over the passengers. If
so, I think I’ll walk--though I’m not fond of walking.”
Jake seized eagerly on the one intelligible phrase in Billy Walker’s
bombast.
“Nary squirt!” he declared, with emphasis. “Old man Abernethey, he
was ailin’ jest like you be, and I learned to nuss the _Shirtso_
keerful--mighty keerful, yes, siree!”
The others, who had overheard, laughed impudently at this naïve
reference to the invalidism of their friend, whose physical inertia
was equal to his mental energy.
At sight of the motor-boat, Roy Morton gave critical attention,
scanning it with the supercilious manner of one versed in the
mysteries, as, indeed, he was. Unbidden, he ensconced himself at
the engines, in the seat with Jake. Soon, however, his coldly
inquiring expression softened to radiant satisfaction, as he noted
the smoothness of the start, the delicate adjustment from speed to
speed, the rhythm of the perfectly tuned cylinders. Of a sudden, as
he turned to stare at the wizened face of the old man at his side,
Roy’s eyes grew gently luminous; a smile that was tender curved the
lips above the belligerent chin. He knew that Jake loved his engines,
knew perfectly that the old man fairly doted on them, cherished them
even as a lover his mistress. Because of the sympathy that he, too,
had with such things, Roy respected the boatman mightily, began then
and there to grow fond of the brown and shriveled face.
Billy Walker, for his part, after the first few moments of suspense,
became convinced that his anticipations of disaster were little
likely to be realized in fact, and thereafter he gave himself over to
delighted contemplation of the wooded shores, which on either side
sloped gracefully to the water’s edge. David Thwing, too, gazed about
on the newly budded beauty of the wilderness with a content made keen
by over-long sojourning in the places builded by men. It was only
Saxe Temple himself, alone in the stern chair, who looked around with
eyes that just then recked naught of the scenic loveliness, despite
the appeal in such vistas to one of his beauty-loving temperament.
But his whole interest, now, was centered on the quest that had
brought him to this remote region. His roving glance was searching
all the stretches of lake and forest wonderingly, hopefully,
fearfully. Here was the place in which he must win or lose a fortune,
according to the decree of the old man’s whimsy. The desire of
his dearest dreams surged in him, the challenge of ambition, the
ideals of art. This wealth, once achieved, would give freedom to
work according to his loftiest aspirations. A sudden fierce resolve
burned in him. He would succeed, notwithstanding all difficulties
in the path. Fate had given him opportunity: he would wrest from it
victory as well. His face set itself sternly in lines of strength ...
and, then, without any warning, the _Scherzo_ swung around a densely
wooded point of the shore that had seemed almost to bar the narrow
channel, through which they had been passing thus far. Now, just
before them lay broad reaches of placid water, a mile in width there
at hand, much wider in the distance beyond. Low mountains loomed
undulant afar, whence the descending forests ran to a shore that
wound hither and yon in innumerable inlets, coves and bays, broken
often by cliffs.
Yet, even now, Saxe Temple gave no heed to the loveliness of the
spectacle. Instead, his whole care was fixed on an uncouth, rambling
structure that blotched a clearing visible along the west shore,
a mile away. It was the only dwelling to be seen anywhere, as far
as eye could reach. The seeker had no doubt that now, at last, he
had his first sight of Abernethey’s cottage--that spot in which his
cunning must meet--and master--the cunning of a dead man, who had
made grim jest with the gold he loved.