The Fate of the Prisoner
“THEY are a lawless lot, those Settlement men, and Sam Peters says the
crowd known as the Syndicate are the worst of the lot,” said Mrs.
Nichols, one afternoon a week later, when, her housework being done, she
came to sit with Nell, who was resting on the couch which stood under
the window in the cheerful little sitting-room.
Very much of an invalid was Nell, for the fright or the shock, or the
secret trouble which she could not keep wholly in abeyance, had pulled
her down until she was but a wan shadow of herself.
She could talk again, although her words came with a halting slowness
which made the doctor frown when he heard her, just as he frowned when
she described the noise in her injured ear, which sometimes was so great
that she could hear nothing else on that side. But he told her she would
be better in time, so she was trying to bear the discomfort patiently.
She glanced up with quick inquiry in her face, at the remark made by
Mrs. Nichols about the men of the Settlement.
“Why do you think they are so lawless?” she asked, her heart beating a
little faster, for this was the first time since her arrival that Mrs.
Nichols had shown any desire to gossip.
“Because of the way they took the law into their own hands last week,
about that fellow you chained up in the coffin,” replied the stout
woman, holding her head very much on one side while she contemplated a
patch which did not look straight.
“I thought Gertrude said the police went up to Camp’s Gulch on the early
cars next morning to arrest him?” said Nell, with a dismayed look.
“So they did, only when they got there he was gone; one of the big doors
was lifted clean off its hinges, and the Chinaman’s coffin had been
taken away. It made us all feel pretty weird at the time, I can tell
you, so the doctor said you were not to be told, for fear there was a
tragedy behind, which would have upset you. But Sam Peters came down
this morning to see about packing up his furniture, and he’s just been
over and told me all about what has come out since.”
“Yes?” queried Nell, doubtfully.
Mrs. Nichols cleared her throat vigorously. Next to hearing a bit of
neighbourly gossip which had no venom in it, was the pleasure of passing
it on, so she was disposed to make the most of the occasion.
“It seems that some of the miners—the Roseneath lot, you
know—recognized the voice of the man in the coffin as belonging to
young Dick Brunsen, who had swindled the Syndicate. So, when the doctor
and Sam brought the engine and the rest of you back here, one of the men
started hot-foot to the Settlement, to let the Syndicate know where the
man was to be found who had cheated them so badly. It was a risky thing
to do, and I guess that Dick Brunsen’s life had never been in quite so
much danger before.”
“Did they hurt him?” queried Nell, faintly.
“No; that is the funny part of it, for when men take the law into their
own hands there is mostly a tragedy somewhere. Directly the Syndicate
got word about where Dick Brunsen was to be found, they set off for the
depot to get their revenge before the police arrived to arrest the
prisoner. But it seems that the young man’s father was hanging about the
depot, and when he heard what was on hand, he came forward and made a
bargain with them.”
“What sort of a bargain?” asked Nell.
“The very best sort from the point of view of the Syndicate. He offered
to return every dollar of the money out of which they had been cheated,
if only they would do something to set young Dick free; but if they
would not do this, Brunsen said that both he and his son would die
before they would reveal the hiding-place of the money, which, as good
luck would have it, they had not been able to spend. The Syndicate
figured it out then that dollars were more satisfactory than revenge, so
they agreed to get young Dick free somehow, even if they had to pull the
shed down to do it. But they vowed that if the money was not forthcoming
after they had done their part, the Brunsens, father and son, should be
strung up to the nearest tree by their necks.”
“How horrible!” groaned Nell, with a shiver.
“But they did not do it, so there is nothing to turn white about,”
retorted Mrs. Nichols. “They just swarmed down to the depot, a mob
thirty or forty strong. The miners on guard there instantly gave way
before them, and passively looked on, if they did not help. The great
door was lifted by main force, though how much it weighs I shouldn’t
like to make a guess at, and young Dick, with the Chinaman’s coffin, was
carried away. Nothing else was meddled with though there was property
enough in the shed to have tempted people more honest than they ever
professed to be.”
“I know that. It was the fear of its being stolen which bothered me so
badly,” sighed Nell.
“Well, nothing was taken, however, and when the first cars reached
Camp’s Gulch in the morning, it was to find the place absolutely
deserted, except for poor old Mrs. Trip, who was asleep in her house.”
“I can’t think what made Joey go off in such a fashion. I shouldn’t have
been half so much afraid if he had been there to keep me company,” Nell
remarked.
“The doctor thinks the poor old man clean forgot that the night cars
hadn’t come in. The man that keeps the saloon at the Settlement said
Joey looked funny that evening, and some of the customers thought he had
been drinking; but it is plain the poor man must have had a stroke on
the way home, as they found him lying unconscious under the trees at
Hobson’s Gap.”
“How is he now?” asked Nell.
“Sam hasn’t heard this morning; but Dr. Russell has gone up to the
Settlement to-day, so we shall most likely hear when he comes back.”
“It will be a great change for Sam Peters to live at Camp’s Gulch,”
remarked Nell.
“I am very glad he has got the post,” Mrs. Nichols answered. “He did
really deserve promotion; but it is not clear to my mind that he would
have had it if it had not been for his swarm of children.”
“Why not?” queried Nell, in surprise.
“It is my opinion that the railway people meant to have as many folks
for their money as they could get—it is such a lonely place, don’t you
see? And as Sam Peters had such a swarm of children, they reckoned he
would populate the depot better than any one else, so he got the berth.”
“How it came about I don’t mind, seeing that he has got it,” Nell
answered, with a smile; then she asked, “Who is doing my work—that poor
sickly young Robertson?”
“No; the operator is a big red-haired young man, named Scott, and he has
fitted up an old freight-wagon to live in, because there is no room in
Sam’s house,” Mrs. Nichols said, with an uneasy wriggle as she darted an
anxious look at Nell, for Sam Peters had told her that morning that
Scott was at Camp’s Gulch for a permanency, which would mean that Nell
had been superseded.
She saw the anxious look, and smiled faintly. “You need not be worried
about my feelings being hurt. I did not expect to go back to Camp’s
Gulch; indeed, I am thinking of sending in my resignation, only it
seemed better to wait a few days longer, in order to make quite sure.”
“To make quite sure of what?” asked the stout woman sharply, looking at
Nell more anxiously than before.
“That I can’t be an operator any longer. I am all but certain I shall
not be able to do it, because of that noise and confusion in my head.
The doctor says he hopes it will get better in time, but he does not say
what time, and I cannot go dragging on indefinitely.”
“Can’t you hear enough with your other ear?” asked Mrs. Nichols, but
Nell shook her head.
“That was my best ear, and now I could never be sure of myself. However,
there are other ways of earning one’s living, so I must just begin over
again,” she said a little sadly, for beginning over again meant starting
at the bottom once more, and this was disappointing.
Mrs. Nichols looked troubled too. “I’m real sorry you feel like that,
especially just now, for Miss Lorimer has got to go home; will be away
all winter perhaps, if her mother ain’t better, and if you had only been
fit for deputy work, why you might have stayed here so comfortable,” she
said regretfully.
Nell gave a little start. “Have they sent for Gertrude from Lorimer’s
Clearing?” she asked.
She had not seen Gertrude that morning, and had indeed only had brief
visits from her on each evening.
“Her father wrote the day before yesterday, and asked her to go home
next week. Mrs. Lorimer is very low down, and, judging from a few things
that poor girl has let drop, very difficult to live with, I’m afraid.”
“Next week. Poor Gertrude!” Nell sighed heavily, for she had seen far
enough into the heart of her friend to know how much it would cost
Gertrude to leave Bratley just now.
Then she sat silent for a while, wondering if she dared offer to go to
Lorimer’s Clearing and help them all until Mrs. Lorimer was better,
finally asking the advice of Mrs. Nichols on the subject.
“You might offer certainly, and I haven’t a doubt you would do a good
part by them. But you are worth a better post than that now, and I can’t
bear to think of your being dragged backwards when you ought to be
rising all the time. Of course, socially, you are a long way above the
Lorimers, and I don’t like to think of your drudging for them like a
common hired girl,” the stout woman said, in a discontented fashion.
Nell smiled faintly. “Some one must do the drudgery, and I am more fit
for it than Gertrude.”
“Very likely you are, so far as strength goes; but, well, you ought to
be above that sort of thing now. I hate for you to take a low-down
place, so there!” said Mrs. Nichols, vehemently.
Nell laughed outright at this, only somehow there was a lack of mirth in
the sound. Then she took a sudden resolve, and began to tell Mrs.
Nichols of the encounter with Doss Umpey at Camp’s Gulch, which had
resulted in her injuries.
“I could not speak of it while there was any danger of the police
finding him,” she said sadly. “But if the Brunsens got clear away, most
certainly granfer would get away too. Only when you begin to talk about
my social position being so much better than Gertrude’s, it is as well
that you should know what weights there are to drag me down.”
“Oh, the wicked old man, to strike you such cruel blows!” cried Mrs.
Nichols, in horrified tones. “Why, he ought to be shut up in prison for
the remainder of his life.”
“Hush, hush! I could not bear that. He was just mad with rage, or he
would not have struck so hard, and I was too dazed and stupid to get out
of his way in time,” Nell said hastily, more willing to make excuses for
the old man now than she had been in the past.
“Don’t talk about him; it turns me sick!” exclaimed Mrs. Nichols,
angrily. “That reminds me, too, that I brought a parcel home with me
from the American side for you. But we’ve been in such a state of worry
and confusion ever since, that I haven’t thought a word about it until
now.”
“A parcel for me? What is it?” cried Nell, a tinge of pink coming into
her pale cheeks.
“That I don’t know. But when I was staying with my cousin, Sabina Clack,
at Lewisville, a Mrs. Joe Lipton, from Button End, came on a visit to
her sister who lived opposite, and, as luck would have it, we got quite
intimate.”
“Why, I know her—at least, I’ve seen her,” said Nell. “She was kind,
too. I remember she gave me a lot of old magazines once, because I
hadn’t anything to read.”
“I saw she was a kind-hearted sort; but she hadn’t a single good word
for Doss Umpey, and she said all Button End was up in arms at the way he
went off and left you to the mercy of them Gunnages.”
“But I did not stay with them long,” said Nell, smiling now to remember
how angry Mrs. Gunnage had been with her for going away.
“A good thing, too. Well, when Mrs. Lipton was going on about Doss
Umpey, and saying that he was no better than a murderer, because he had
driven you to wander till you died, I just told her that I happened to
know you were not dead, and, what is more, I knew where you were and
what you were doing. I did not open my mouth very wide as to
particulars, but told her enough to satisfy her about you. Then she
asked me if I would take charge of a parcel which had been left at her
house, and give it to you when I had the chance.”
“Who left the parcel there?” asked Nell.
“A gentleman, Mrs. Lipton said, and she told me she should have sent it
over to the Lone House with the Gunnages, only she didn’t trust Mrs.
Gunnage any further than she could see her.”
“Dear me! it sounds mysterious. Can I have the parcel now, or am I to
wait a while, in order to have my curiosity roused to boiling point?”
asked Nell, eagerly.
“You shall have it now; then you can look at it while I take Miss
Lorimer’s tea across to the depot,” said Mrs. Nichols, thrusting her
work on one side, and going off to her room in search of the mysterious
parcel.
It was of considerable size and bulky, well tied up in stout brown paper
with strong string fastened in many knots, and it was addressed “Miss
Nell, care of Mr. Doss Umpey.”
A wave of burning colour surged over Nell’s face as she looked at the
handwriting and read the address. But she seemed to have lost all
interest concerning the contents, and sat with it unopened on her lap,
while Mrs. Nichols prepared Gertrude’s tea, and went off with it to the
depot.
Even then, when she was alone, a great reluctance to open it still
oppressed her, until at length, ashamed of what looked so much like
cowardice, she picked up a knife, and cutting the string pulled off the
outer wrappings.
Then was revealed a big piece of crimson merino, yards and yards of it,
a long length of soft white flannel, some ribbon to match the merino,
and four books. There was a letter packed in between the books, and Nell
picked it up with an odd sensation of knowing already exactly what it
contained.
“DEAR MISS NELL” (so ran the letter),
“Will you please pardon the liberty I am taking in sending you
the accompanying books and material? The books were all the
store-keeper had, of a readable sort that is, and the choice of
material was likewise limited, but I thought you would look so
nice in a red frock, so I am sending it along.
“As you would not take any payment for your kindness, I just
shot a little old case with a few dollars in it under the settle
where I slept; please use the money to buy books, or anything
else that you may need. I shall not forget that in reality I owe
you my life, for I must certainly have died if you had not taken
me in and cared for me so kindly. I hope some day to see you
again. Until then, I am, sincerely yours,
“D—— B——.”
The name at the bottom was signed in full, but it had evidently been
written in a violent hurry with a leaky fountain-pen, then inadvertently
smeared so badly that it was undecipherable.
Nell sat looking at it so long that she forgot about the other things,
until Mrs. Nichols came back from the depot.
“Oh, what a pretty colour! and it is good merino, too, and the flannel
is the best quality—it cost half a dollar a yard, if it did a cent, I
guess. Oh, my dear, do tell me the name of the gentleman that sent it!”
cried Mrs. Nichols, who was walking round the parcel in an ecstasy of
admiration.
“You can see the letter if you like,” replied Nell, quietly; but her
colour was coming and going, and it was easy to see that she was having
hard work to maintain her self-control.
Mrs. Nichols stood by the table and read the letter through in silence,
until she came to the signature, then she said with something like
irritation in her tone—
“What is the name?”
“Can’t you read it?” asked Nell.
“It is so horribly smudged. Just like a man to stuff a letter into an
envelope without stopping to blot it. The first name looks like Dick,
and—but no, it can’t surely be Brunsen!” cried Mrs. Nichols, in a
shocked tone.
“I am afraid it is,” sighed Nell.
“And the money, did you find that?” demanded Mrs. Nichols, sharply,
referring again to the letter, which she still held in her hand.
“Yes, but I did not use it. I sent it back to Mr. Brunsen just as soon
as I knew where to find him,” said Nell, holding her head very high now,
while her cheeks glowed redder than before.
“Sent it back? Whatever do you mean, child?” asked Mrs. Nichols, in a
puzzled tone.
“I was standing in the big shed at Camp’s Gulch, back in the summer,
when I saw the gentleman whom I had taken care of at the Lone House,
standing talking to someone else on the Settlement road, and when I
asked Joey Trip who it was, he said it was Mr. Dick Brunsen, the man who
afterwards cheated the Syndicate. So I wrote a note to say where I had
found the money, and sent it back to him in a letter,” said Nell, rather
unsteadily.
“What did this person say in reply?” asked Mrs. Nichols, frowning
heavily.
“There was no reply, of course, for I put no address, and I posted it
here in Bratley,” said Nell.
“That man Joey Trip is an idiot,” announced Mrs. Nichols, with
tremendous emphasis.
“What do you mean?” queried Nell, in surprise.
“I mean just what I say; and if I were not so fond of you, I should say
that you are an idiot too,” retorted Mrs. Nichols, sourly.
“But why?” asked Nell, more puzzled than before.
“For thinking that the man who took the trouble to send you this parcel
was that drinking, cheating, thieving Dick Brunsen whom you tied up in
that Chinaman’s coffin.”
“But it must have been the same; Joey Trip said so, and he ought to
know, seeing that Mr. Brunsen had been treating him to lemonade every
night for weeks past,” Nell answered. But there was a wistful look in
her eyes, which showed how gladly she would submit to being worsted in
her theories concerning the identity of the man who had remembered her
so kindly.
“Joey Trip is stupid as an owl. Most likely he would say that his
fire-eating Dick Brunsen was a saint, if you asked him; but reasonable
folks would know better. Now, look at these books. Here’s ‘The Pilgrim’s
Progress,’ ‘Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier,’ ‘Essays on
Chaucer,’ and ‘The Imitation of Christ.’ Are they the sort of books a
man would choose as a present for a girl if he were of the sort that we
know this Dick Brunsen is?”
“Joey Trip said it was the same; and oh, Mrs. Nichols, if it isn’t, I’ve
sent the money to the wrong man!” exclaimed Nell, starting up in great
dismay.
“That is just about what you have done, I expect,” replied the stout
woman, with an air of gloomy triumph.