THE SHOT
It was in the evening of this same day, at dinner, that the element
of tragedy was first injected into the situation. In addition to
Mrs. West and her daughter, May Thurston, and the four young men,
there was present Hartley Masters. He had been invited frequently to
dine at the cottage, and had for a time accepted every invitation.
Latterly, however, the evidences of strained feeling between him
and the other men had become so pronounced that he had usually
offered some excuse for declining the kindly hospitality of Mrs.
West. Another reason that influenced him in this was his own lack of
confidence in his self-control, since the incident at the boat-house,
which he had had some difficulty in explaining satisfactorily to
May. Nevertheless, tonight, he had chosen to rely on his powers of
self-restraint, and had accepted at once when Mrs. West suggested his
remaining for the evening meal.
The construction of the cottage was such that the dining-room was
at the back of the house. On the left, as one entered the hall, was
the large music-room, which occupied the entire ground floor of the
added wing. On the right, the first room was that which had served
Abernethey as an office. Beyond this came the dining-room, with one
window at the back, and one on the north side. Mrs. West sat at the
head of the table, in such a position that she faced the window to
the north. Margaret sat opposite her, while Saxe was placed at her
right hand. Beyond him was May Thurston, and beyond her Roy. Billy
Walker was beside the hostess on the left, and then David Thwing,
while Masters filled the place next to Margaret.
The conversation at the table went pleasantly enough, despite
the latent hostility between the engineer and the other men. The
antipathy of Saxe and his friends was certainly not shared by either
Margaret or her mother, unless they concealed their feeling with
much skill, for the daughter addressed herself to Masters much of
the time, and Mrs. West often included him in the conversation. By
tacit agreement the subject of the miser’s gold was not touched
on by anyone, and the desultory talk ran the usual gamut of art,
literature, the drama, and those innumerable topics that serve as the
transient vehicles for individual wit and seriousness.
It chanced that a decanter stood on the table, close to the edge,
just by Billy Walker’s right elbow. As he turned to address David on
his left, his right arm was moved carelessly, and the decanter was
jolted from its place. It poised for a second, balanced on its bottom
edge, then fell over the side of the table toward the floor. But the
time, brief as it was, had been sufficient for action on the part of
Saxe. Naturally of exceeding rapidity of movement, although he held
this under restraint ordinarily, so that he appeared rather languid
than otherwise, an instantaneous responsiveness of his body to any
command of the will had been cultivated by the years of exercise at
the piano. So, now, on the instant when he perceived the touch of
Billy’s elbow to the decanter, he darted in a single step from his
seat to a position behind Mrs. West’s chair with arm outstretched,
and in the same second, his nimble fingers had closed on the neck of
the falling decanter, to which they clung tenaciously. Before he
could again straighten himself, there came a thud against the east
wall of the dining-room--with it the sharp crack of a rifle, fired
from close at hand.
Saxe stood erect--stared dumbfounded at the others. They stared back
at him, wordless for the moment, stupefied. Each looked at first one
and then another, unable to surmise as to what had come upon them. It
was Masters who finally broke the oppressive silence. The engineer’s
face was of a dead white, and as he spoke he tugged nervously at the
luxuriant mustache:
“Some hunter’s been mighty careless,” he declared; and he smiled,
rather feebly, on Margaret, who had looked up at the sound of his
voice.
“He sure was some careless,” agreed David who, at times, relapsed
into an early dialect. “Shootin’ promiscuous-like!” He goggled at the
startled company through his thick lenses.
Forthwith, a babel broke forth, a confusion of exclamations, in
which were voiced alarm, wonder and anger. It was Saxe, still on
his feet, who first bethought himself of the thud heard from the
direction of the east wall. At once, he went to the sideboard, which
was against the wall on that side. Only a brief search was necessary
to reveal the hole which the bullet had pierced in the top drawer of
the sideboard. Saxe uttered an ejaculation that brought the others
crowding about him. He exhibited the opening left by the bullet’s
passing, then pulled out the drawer, and found the missile itself
imbedded in the back. Roy and David, who had become familiar with
deadly weapons on the frontier of the Northland, dug out the bullet,
and immediately proceeded to learned discourse anent its character
and the caliber of the rifle from which it had been sent. Billy
Walker took no interest in this discussion, and, having stood on his
feet for a longer time than was his custom, returned to his seat
at the table, where he disposed himself with a sigh of relief. The
ladies, too, went back to their places, but Saxe, David and Roy, with
Masters, ran out of the cottage to search for the person who had
fired the shot. From the place in which the bullet had lodged, it was
evident that the rifle had been fired from some point on the ridge
back of the cottage, and up this the four took their way, scattering
as they went to cover a line of considerable length. They made a
pretty thorough examination, but came on nothing to indicate who the
culprit might have been. The underbrush was thick along the slope,
yet the range of space shown by the direction of the bullet was so
small that they were enabled to beat the coverts with completeness.
In the end, it was the general agreement that some hunter had fired
at a squirrel on the slope, probably in ignorance that a dwelling
lay beyond the screen of foliage. Afterward, he had gone on his way,
without any realization of possible peril from the shot.
The dusk was falling ere they abandoned the hunt, and started on
their return to the house. It was just before they reached the
cottage that David, who was blest with more humor than are most,
threw back his head, and laughed long and heartily with the mellow
peals that made those who heard him usually laugh for sheer sympathy
before inquiring the cause of his mirth. At the sound, Saxe and Roy
smiled expectantly; but Masters only looked on curiously.
“There’s a bit of comedy in this near-tragedy,” David explained,
after he had put a period to his merriment. “When you get back to the
house, Saxe old man,” he went on, more seriously, “it’s up to you to
get down on your marrow-bones, and say, ‘Thank you!’ to your indolent
friend, Billy Walker.”
“Why?” Saxe demanded, in astonishment.
“For the simple reason that he came all-fired close to saving your
life. In fact, I haven’t any doubt that he actually did save it. If
not that, he saved you from a nasty wound.”
“I don’t understand yet,” Saxe said, perplexed.
“It’s just this,” David explained. “From the location of the bullet
in the sideboard, I’m strongly of the opinion that you were exactly
in the line of it, so that, if you had been sitting in your place at
the table, you would have had it clean through the chest. You jumped
to catch the decanter Billy knocked off the table with his elbow.
That movement on your part saved you. It was Billy’s awkwardness that
caused your action; so it’s up to you to thank him for saving your
life. And, as a matter of fact, though I laughed, it’s not exactly a
subject for mirth.”
Saxe’s expression had grown very grave as he listened. There comes
always to the normal man a shock on realizing the imminence of death
for himself. The fact that the peril is past alters the nature of
the shock, but it hardly lessens it. So, in the present instance,
the young man, whose great risk was thus suddenly brought home to
him, felt the thrill of deep emotion, in which thankfulness for the
fate that had intervened in his behalf was strong. He said nothing
for a few moments, nor did Roy, who, in his turn, was affected as he
understood the danger that had menaced his friend. Masters uttered an
ejaculation, which was indeterminate as to meaning.
They found the others still in the dining-room, and immediately
learned that Billy Walker was quite willing to sacrifice his modesty
on the altar of fact; for he greeted their return with a roaring
statement:
“Saxe, my boy, I saved your life, and I hope you’ll do me credit.
From a study of the range of the trajectory of the bullet, I have
learned that, had you been in your place at the table, the bullet
would have penetrated your breast at a vital point. My clumsiness was
the first cause of your escape--examine for yourself.” He waved a
hand toward the sideboard.
Saxe, his face still grave, nodded assent.
“I appreciate it, Billy,” he said, “and I’ll not forget it, you may
be sure. Dave, too, thought of it.”
“Pooh, no thanks to me,” Billy declared, embarrassed by the
emotion in his friend’s voice. “It was only by accident that I
interfered--not by volition.”
“I know,” Saxe agreed. “But the fact remains that you were the
instrument of salvation, and that is what I shall always remember.”
He looked toward Margaret West as he spoke, and saw that her face
was very pale. He wondered how much of that pallor--if indeed any
of it--had been caused by his own peril. For a fleeting second, the
girl’s limpid blue eyes met his, then they were veiled by the thick
lashes. He found himself unable to read the meaning that had lain in
them. He went to his chair, seated himself, and afterward twisted
about to mark the precise line in which the bullet had passed. There
could be no manner of doubt: its course had been such that he could
have escaped only by a miracle, had he been in his place. There
could have been only a slight variation in the direction of the
bullet, dependent on the position of the marksman. That variation
could by no means have been great enough to save him from a grave,
probably a mortal, wound. Saxe shuddered, as the narrowness of his
escape was again, and thus visibly, borne in on his consciousness. He
looked about the cheery room and into the faces of the others with a
sort of wonder in the realization that he was still of the quick, not
of the dead. The wine of life took on new flavor. His gaze went again
to Margaret.
All went into the music-room presently, still talking of the event
that had been so close to tragedy--all except May Thurston. Without
attracting any attention, she quietly slipped away from the others
into the out-of-doors.
There are times when one finds it well-nigh impossible to analyze the
workings of the mind, and it was so with this girl tonight. Suspicion
had come to her--suspicion sudden, terrible, irresistible, and she
knew not whence it came. She fought against it in an effort of
reason, but she fought in vain. She could not flee its clutch, strive
as she would. In the end, she made abject surrender, and fled forth
into the night, to learn whether suspicion taught her truth or a lie.
May Thurston was a girl of much more than average intelligence.
Native shrewdness had been sharpened by years of association with
men of ability, to whom her secretarial skill had made her valuable.
She had drawn from them something besides her weekly stipend: she
had assimilated a faculty for logical deductions made with lightning
swiftness, which is not characteristic of women, and is rare among
men. Often, in fact, its possessor confuses it with intuition,
because the rapidity of such automatic reasoning is so great that
its method readily escapes the attention of the one using it. In the
present instance, the girl in her distress was totally unconscious
of the fact that she had reasoned with exactness from a group of
circumstances within her knowledge. Yet, this was the case, and to
such reasoning, doubtless, rather than to intuition, was the strength
of her suspicion due. Intuitive perception she had to the full, and
to it, it is likely, she owed some measure of the belief that now
obsessed her, but its origin had been in the reasoning power alone,
which she had exercised involuntarily, even unconsciously.
The first fact on which she builded had been the expression of terror
on Masters’ face, when she chanced upon him in the wood at dawn. Now,
she could no longer believe that fancy had played a trick on her. On
the contrary, she was sure of the emotion he had shown, and, too,
sure of the sinister significance of it. It meant guilt. Masters was
not a timid girl, to be filled with fright at the unheralded coming
of another in the forest. She believed, rather, that he possessed
an abundance of physical courage, whatever his lack of the moral.
Nevertheless, at her call, he had shown abject fear. The signs of it
had vanished in the twinkling of an eye; but they had been present
for an appreciable length of time. Since there could have been
nothing else to cause him alarm in that place, this must have been
the fear of discovery, which only guilt could explain. What that
guilt might be, it were easy to guess, if one took thought of the
event that had so recently befallen, where death had been avoided
by the merest hazard of fate. May did not formulate her reasoning
in such wise, but this was the nature of it. From it, she drew the
conclusion that drove her forth alone into the night. As she went her
way up the slope, intuition whispered that the hideous suspicion was
truth.
The moon was just thrusting its bulk of gold over the wooded ranges
of the eastern shore, and its radiance flooded the ascent, up which
she mounted with a step that was unfaltering, though the heart was
sick within her. She could see very clearly, and guided her course
without hesitation toward the point at which she had encountered the
engineer.
When she reached the bit of underbrush in which she had stopped
short on first hearing Masters, May peered through the purple dusk,
and readily made out the outline of the sapling beneath which the
engineer had stood when she accosted him. She at once made her way
quickly to a position immediately below its canopy of branches.
It was well foliaged, yet not so thickly as to prevent her from
observing freely. If, at this moment, anyone had asked her what she
expected to find there aloft, she would have been utterly unable to
make a coherent explanation, and indeed it must have been instinct,
rather than reason, that now guided her in the search, for, without
understanding in the least why she did so, she stared up into the
branches with fixed intensity, her heart beating like the sound of
battle-drums in her ears. Presently, then, her gaze fastened on a
line of shadow, high among the branches, and on this she held her
attention concentrated, though there seemed nothing in the appearance
to justify an absorption so complete. It was, perhaps, instinct again
that caused her to feel the importance of this variation from the
green black of the foliage. Whether that, or the leaping processes
of reason, she was impelled to search out the meaning of the shadow
aloft among the branches. She laid hold of the lower branches, and
easily swung up into the tree.
May mounted swiftly until the shadow was within reach of her hand.
Yet she could not distinguish it clearly on account of a branch,
which held a screen of leaves between it and the moon. Putting out
her hand, she bent the bough aside, so that the light shone on the
thing that had drawn her to the spot. She saw a rifle!
The weapon had been fastened to the trunk of the sapling, at a point
where one of the larger branches made a fork. The stock had been
secured in a position that permitted easy adjustment, by means of
two ropes, which ran to other branches, so placed that tightening
cords would vary the mark toward which the rifle was aimed.
Masters, from his technical skill as an engineer, would have found
little difficulty in making the arrangement to his satisfaction.
May realized at a glance that there could be no doubt as to the
actuality. Hartley Masters had deliberately attempted to murder Saxe
Temple. A wave of loathing swept over her as she grasped this final
confirmation of the hideous thing she had suspected. In the flood
of abhorrence for the crime, the last remnants of her love were
overwhelmed.
Only one thing baffled her in the understanding of the event. She
saw clearly that, the position of the seats in the dining-room being
familiar to the engineer, it had been simplicity itself for him so
to dispose the rifle in the tree as to have it trained on the spot
occupied by Temple’s breast as the unsuspecting victim sat at table.
It was hardly likely, moreover, that any other would be exposed
to peril, since the smallness of the room was such that there was
not sufficient space between sideboard and chairs on that side of
the table for Mrs. Dustin to pass in her service of the meals.
The deliberate malignity of the plot was appalling to May, as she
considered this naked revelation of it. She was pallid, shuddering,
nauseated.
The one thing that puzzled her for a time was the means by which
the criminal had been able to secure the discharge of the rifle
in his absence. It was plain that he had devised some method, so
that he himself should be above suspicion, in the possession of a
perfect alibi. It would, of course, be absurd for anyone to bring
an accusation against him, when it was the common knowledge of all
that he had been seated at the very table with the one against whom
the attempt had been made. Yet, she failed to penetrate the method
employed by him in firing the piece, and for a long time she puzzled
over this in vain.
Then, at last, her eyes were caught by a fragment of cord, which
hung from the trigger of the rifle. A brief examination showed
her that the loose end was charred by fire, and immediately she
guessed the nature of the device that had been employed. She knew
that Masters in his work had had much experience with explosives,
and, in consequence, with fuses of various sorts. She understood on
reflection that he had used in this instance a fuse of such length as
to permit his lighting it a long time before the moment of firing.
Afterward, he had been able to leave the rifle unattended, confident
that at the instant designed by him it would be fired automatically
by the burning of the fuse. But, a minute later, it occurred to her
that the trigger required to be pulled backward in order to discharge
the weapon. The parting of the string she had discovered could by
no means effect this. She had let the obscuring branch swing back
into place the while she meditated. Now, she again thrust it out of
the way, so that the light shone in brightly, as she bent to another
scrutiny of the rifle. Her investigation was instantly rewarded, for
she perceived a coil of spring, which ran from the trigger to one of
the branches. Its blackness had hidden it from her eyes hitherto. The
discovery made all clear. The cord had held the trigger forward in
its usual place, acting against the power of the spring. Then, the
burning of the string by the fuse had left the trigger unprotected
against the pull of the spring, which, suddenly effective, had fired
the rifle. The ingenuity of the scheme confounded the girl, as she
sat staring at the evidences of treachery. Yet, in that moment of
anguish, she was moved to murmur a prayer of thankfulness that the
knowledge of her lover’s character had come to her in time to save
her life from misery and degradation as his wife.
After a long time crouched there in the tree, May bestirred herself
slowly and clambered down, leaving the rifle as she had found it,
with the bit of charred string hanging, and the spring holding the
trigger pulled, as it had been at the moment of the shot. It did not
occur to her that it might be wiser to carry away these proofs of
attempted murder. Indeed, in that first understanding of the guilt
of Masters, she was too distraught to think clearly. She could only
feel the vicarious shame that was hers by reason of him to whom she
had accorded her love. Nor did she just then speculate much as to the
exact motive that had actuated the engineer. She took it for granted
that he had been influenced to his course by motives of greed, as was
the fact in the main. She supposed that he had thought the murder
of Saxe Temple would cause a delay in the search, by which he might
profit to the extent of finding the treasure himself. It did not
occur to her that an older and more primitive passion than greed,
even, one more savage, too, might have driven him on to the crime.
In her horrified amazement over the deed itself, she quite forgot
the jealousy that had sprung in her heart by reason of her lover’s
devotion to Margaret West. Yet, at that very moment, the man who had
just striven in vain to redden his hands with the blood of a fellow
creature, was with Margaret West in a bowered nook of the shore,
pouring forth the story of his love in passionate phrases.