THE HOUR OF VENGEANCE
For perhaps twenty seconds after the last echoes of the gun had rolled
through the forest the girl lay passive in Nathaniel's arms, so close
that he could feel her heart beating against his own and her breath
sweeping his face. Then there came a pressure against his breast, a
gentle resistance of Marion's half conscious form, and when she had
awakened from her partial swoon he was holding her in the crook of his
arm. It had all passed quickly, the girl had rested against him only so
long as he might have held half a dozen breaths and yet there had been
all of a lifetime in it for Nathaniel Plum, a cycle of joy that he knew
would remain with him for ever. But there was something bitter-sweet in
the thought that she was conscious of what he had done, something of
humiliation as well as gladness, and still not enough of the first to
make him regret that he had kissed her, that he had kissed her mouth and
her eyes. He loved her, and he was glad that in those passing moments he
had betrayed himself. For the first time he noticed that her face was
scratched and that the sleeves of her thin waist were torn to shreds;
and as she drew away from him, steadying herself with a hand on his arm,
his lips were parched of words, and yet he leaned to her eagerly,
everything that he would have said burning in the love of his eyes.
Still irresolute in her faintness the girl smiled at him, and in that
smile there was gentle accusation, the sweetness of forgiveness, and
measureless gratitude, and it was yet light enough for him to see that
with these there had come also a flush into her cheeks and a dazzling
glow into her eyes.
"Neil has escaped!" she breathed. "And you--"
"I was going back to you, Marion!" He spoke the words hardly above a
whisper. The beautiful eyes so close to him drew his secret from him
before he had thought. "I am going to take you from the island!"
With his words there came again that sound of a great gun rolling from
the direction of St. James. With a frightened cry the girl staggered to
her feet, and as she stood swaying unsteadily, her arms half reached to
him, Nathaniel saw only mortal dread in the whiteness of her face.
"Why didn't you go? Why didn't you go with Neil?" she moaned. Her breath
was coming in sobbing excitement. "Your ship is--at--St. James!"
"Yes, my ship is at St. James, Marion!" His voice was tremulous with
triumph, with gladness, with a tenderness which he could not control. He
put an arm half round her waist to support her trembling form and to his
joy she did not move away from him. His hand was buried in the richness
of her loose hair. He bent until his lips touched her silken tresses.
"Neil has told me everything--about you," he added softly. "My ship is
bombarding St. James, and I am going to take you from the island!"
Not until then did Marion free herself from his arm and then so gently
that when she stood facing him he felt no reproof. No longer did shame
send a flush into his face. He had spoken his love, though not in words,
and he knew that the girl understood him. It did not occur to him in
these moments that he had known this girl for only a few hours, that
until now a word had never passed between them. He was conscious only
that he had loved her from the time he saw her through the king's
window, that he had risked his life for her, and that she knew why he
had leaped into the arena at the whipping-post.
The words she spoke now came like a dash of cold water in his face.
"Your ship is not bombarding St. James, Captain Plum!" she exclaimed.
Darkness hid the terror in her face but he could hear the tremble of it
in her voice. "The _Typhoon_ has been captured by the Mormons and those
guns are--guns of triumph--and not--" She caught her breath in a
convulsive sob. "I want you to go--I want you to go--with Neil!" she
pleaded.
"So Casey is taken!"
He spoke slowly, as if he had not heard her last words. For a moment he
stood silent, and as silently the girl stood and watched him. She
guessed the despair that was raging in his heart but when he spoke to
her she could detect none of it in his voice.
"Casey is a fool," he said, unconsciously repeating Obadiah's words.
"Marion, will you come with me? Will you leave the island--and join your
brother?"
The hope that had risen in his heart was crushed as Marion drew farther
away from him.
"You must go alone," she replied. With a powerful effort she steadied
her voice. "Tell Neil that he has been condemned to death. Tell him
that--if he loves me--he will not return to the island."
"And I?"
From her distance she saw his arms stretched like shadows toward her.
"And you--"
Her voice was low, so low that he could hardly hear the words she spoke,
but its sweetness thrilled him.
"And you--if you love me--will do this thing for me. Go to Neil. Save
his life for me!"
She had come to him through the gloom, and in the luster of the eyes
that were turned up to him Nathaniel saw again the power that swayed his
soul.
"You will go?"
"I will save your brother--if I can!"
"You can--you can--" she breathed. In an ecstasy of gratitude she seized
one of his hands in both her own. "You can save him!"
"For you--I will try."
"For me--"
She was so close that he could feel the throbbing of her bosom. Suddenly
he lifted his free hand and brushed back the thick hair from her brow
and turned her face until what dim light there still remained of the day
glowed in the beauty of her eyes. "I will keep him from the island if I
can," he said, looking deep into them, "and as there is a God in Heaven
I swear that you--"
"What?" she urged, as he hesitated.
"That you shall not marry Strang!" he finished.
A cry welled up in the girl's throat. Was it of gladness? Was it of
hope? She sprang back a pace from Nathaniel and with clenched hands
waited breathlessly, as if she expected him to say more.
"No--no--you can not save me from Strang! Now--you must go!"
She retreated slowly in the direction of the path. In an instant
Nathaniel was at her side.
"I am going to see you safely back in St. James," he declared. "Then I
will go to your brother."
She barred his way defiantly.
"You can not go!"
"Why?"
"Because--" He caught the frightened flutter of her voice again.
"Because--they will kill you!"
The low laugh that he breathed in her hair was more of joy than fear.
"I am glad you care--Marion." He spoke her name with faltering
tenderness, and led her out into the path.
"You must go," she still persisted.
"With you--yes," he answered.
She surrendered to the determination in his voice and they moved slowly
along the path, listening for any sound that might come from ahead of
them. Nathaniel had already formed his plan of action. From Marion's
words and the voice in which she had uttered them he knew that it would
be useless for him as it had been for Neil to urge her to flee from the
island. There remained but one thing for him to do, so he fell back upon
the scheme which he had proposed to Marion's brother. He realized now
that he might be compelled to play the game single-handed unless he
could secure assistance from Obadiah. His ship and men were in the hands
of the Mormons; Neil, in his search for the captured vessel, stood a
large chance, of missing him that night, and in that event Marion's fate
would depend on him alone. If he could locate a small boat on the beach
back of Obadiah's; if he could in some way lure Marion to it--He gave an
involuntary shudder at the thought of using force upon the girl at his
side, at the thought of her terror of those first few moments, her
struggles, her broken confidence. She believed in him now. She believed
that he loved her. She trusted him. The warm soft pressure of her hand
as it clung to his arm in the blackening gloom of the forest was
evidence of that trust. She looked into his face anxiously, inquiringly
when they stopped to listen, like a child who was sure of a stronger
spirit at her side. She held her breath when he held his, she listened
when he listened, her feet fell with velvet stillness when he stepped
with caution. Her confidence in him was like a beautiful dream to
Nathaniel and he trembled when he pictured the destruction of it. After
a little he reached over and as if by accident touched the hand that was
lying on his arm; he dared more after a moment, and drew the warm little
fingers into his great strong palm and held them there, his soul
thrilled by their gentle submissiveness. And then in another breath
there came to still his joy a thought of the terrible power that chained
this girl to the Mormon king. He longed to speak words of encouragement
to her, to instil hope in her bosom, to ask her to confide in him the
secret of the shadow which hung over her, but the memory of what Neil
had said to him held his lips closed.
They had walked in silence for many minutes when the girl stopped.
"It is not very far now," she whispered. "You must go!"
"Only a little farther," he begged.
She surrendered again, hesitatingly, and they went on, more slowly than
before, until they came to where the path met the footway that led to
Obadiah's.
"Now--now you _must_ go," whispered Marion again.
In this last moment Nathaniel crushed her hand against his breast, his
body throbbing with a wild tumult, and a half of what he had meant not
to say fell passionately from his lips.
"Forgive me for--that--back there--Marion," he whispered. "It was
because I love you--love you--" He freed her hand and stood back,
choking the words that would have revealed his secret. He lied now for
the love of this girl. "Neil is out there waiting for me in a small
boat," he continued, pointing beyond Obadiah's to the lake. "I will see
him soon, and then I will return to Obadiah's to tell you if he has left
for the mainland. Will you promise to meet me there--to-night?"
"I will promise."
"At midnight--"
"Yes, at twelve o'clock."
This time it was Marion who came to him. Her eyes shone like stars.
"And if you make Neil go to the mainland," she said softly, "when I meet
you I will--will tell you--something."
The last word came in a breathless sob. As she slipped into the path
that led to St. James she paused for a moment and called back, in a low
voice, "Tell Neil that he must go for Winnsome's sake. Tell him that her
fate is shortly to be as cruel as mine--tell him that Winnsome loves
him, and that she will escape and come to him on the mainland. Tell him
to go--go!"
She turned again, and Nathaniel stood like a statue, hardly breathing,
until the sound of her feet had died away. Then he walked swiftly up
the foot-path that led to Obadiah's. He forgot his own danger in the
excitement that pulsated with every fiber of his being, forgot his old
caution and the fears that gave birth to it--forgot everything in those
moments but Marion and his own great happiness. Neil's absence meant
nothing to him now. He had held Marion in his arms, he had told her of
his love, and though she had accepted it with gentle unresponsiveness he
was thrilled by the memory of that last look in her eyes, which had
spoken faith, confidence, and perhaps even more. What was that
_something_ she would tell him if he got Neil safely away? It was to be
a reward for his own loyalty--he knew that, by the half fearing tremble
of her voice, the sobbing catch of her breath, the strange glow in her
eyes. With her brother away would she confide in him? Would she tell him
the secret of her slavedom to Strang? Nathaniel was conscious of no
madness in the wild hope that filled him; nothing seemed impossible to
him now. Marion would meet him at midnight. She would go with him to the
boat, and then--ah, he had solved the problem! He would use no force. He
would tell her that Neil was in his canoe half a mile out from the shore
and that he had promised to leave the island for good if she would go
out to bid him good-by. And once there, a half a mile or a mile away, he
would tell her that he had lied to her; and he would give her his heart
to trample upon to prove the love that had made him do this thing, and
then he would row her to the mainland.
It was the sight of Obadiah's cabin that brought his caution back. He
came upon it so suddenly that an exclamation of surprise fell unguarded
from his lips. There was no light to betray life within. He tried the
door and found it locked. He peered in at the windows, listened, and
knocked, and at last concealed himself near the path, confident that the
little old councilor was still at St. James. For an hour he waited. From
the rear of Obadiah's home a narrow footway led toward the lake and
Nathaniel followed it, now as warily as an animal in search of prey. For
half a mile it took him through the forest and ended at the white sands
of the beach. In neither direction could Nathaniel see a light, and
keeping close in the shadows of the trees he made his way slowly toward
St. James. He had gone but a short distance when he saw a house directly
ahead of him, a single gleam of light from a small window telling him
that it was inhabited and that its tenants were at home. He circled down
close to the water looking for a boat. His heart leaped with sudden
exultation when he saw a small skiff drawn upon the beach and his joy
was doubled at finding the oars still in the locks. It took him but a
moment to shove the light craft into the sea and a minute later he was
rowing swiftly away from the land.
Nathaniel was certain that by this time Neil had abandoned his search
for the captured _Typhoon_ and was probably paddling in the direction
of St. James. With the hope of intercepting him he pulled an eighth of a
mile from the shore and rowed slowly toward the head of the island.
There was no moon, but countless stars glowed in a clear sky and upon
the open lake Nathaniel could see for a considerable distance about him.
For another hour he rowed back and forth and then beached his boat
within a dozen rods of the path that came down from Obadiah's.
It was ten o'clock. Two more hours! He had tried to suppress his
excitement, his apprehensions, his eagerness, but now as he went back
into the darkness of the forest they burst out anew. What if Marion
should not keep the tryst? He thought of the spies whom Neil had said
guarded the girl's home--and of Obadiah. Could he trust the old
councilor? Should he confide his plot to him and ask his assistance? As
the minutes passed and these thoughts recurred again and again in his
brain he could not keep the nervousness from growing within him. He was
sure now that he would have to fight his battle without Neil. He saw
the necessity of coolness, of judgment, and he began to demand these
things of himself, struggling sternly against those symptoms of weakness
which had replaced his confidence of a short time before. Gradually he
fought himself back into his old faith. He would save Marion--without
Neil, without Obadiah. If Marion did not come to him by midnight it
would be because of the guards against whom Neil had warned him, and he
would go to her. In some way he would get her to the boat, even if he
had to fight his way through Arbor Croche's men.
With this return of confidence Nathaniel's thoughts reverted to his
present greatest need, which was food. Since early morning he had eaten
nothing and he began to feel the physical want in a craving that was
becoming acutely uncomfortable. If Obadiah had not returned to his home
he made up his mind that he would find entrance to the cabin and help
himself. A sudden turn in the path which he was following, however,
revealed one of the councilor's windows aglow with light, and as he
pressed quietly around the end of the building the sound of a low voice
came to him through the open door. Cautiously he approached and peered
in. A large oil lamp, the light of which he had seen in the window, was
burning on a table in the big room but the voice came from the little
closet into which Obadiah had taken him the preceding night. For several
minutes he crouched and listened. He heard the chuckling laugh of the
old councilor--and then an incoherent raving that set his blood
tingling. There is a horror in the sound of madness, a horror that
creeps to the very pit of one's soul, that sends shivering dread from
every nerve center, that causes one who is alone with it to sweat with a
nameless fear. It was the voice of madness that came from that little
room. Before it Nathaniel quailed as if a clammy hand had reached out
from the darkness and gripped him by the throat. He drew back shivering
in every limb, and the voice followed him, shrieking now in a sudden
burst of insane mirth and dying away a moment later in a hollow cackling
laugh that seemed to curdle the blood in his veins. Mad! Obadiah Price
was mad! Step by step Nathaniel fell back from the door. He felt himself
trembling from head to foot. His heart thumped within his breast like
the beating of a hammer. For an instant there was silence--a silence in
which strange dread held him breathless while he watched the glow in the
door and listened. And after that quiet there came suddenly a cry that
ended in the exultant chattering of a name.
At the sound of that name Nathaniel sprang forward again. It was
Marion's name and he strained his ears to catch the words that might
follow it. As he listened, his head thrust half in at the door,
Obadiah's voice became lower and lower, until at last it ceased
entirely. Not a step, not a deep breath, not the movement of a hand
disturbed the stillness of the little room. By inches Nathaniel drew
himself inside the door. His heavy boot caught in a sliver on the step
but the rending of wood brought no response. It was the quiet of death
that pervaded the cabin, it was a strange, growing fear of death that
entered Nathaniel as he now hurried across the room and peered through
the narrow aperture. The old councilor was half stretched upon the
table, his arms reaching out, his long, thin fingers gripping its edges,
his face buried under his shoulders. It looked as if death had come
suddenly to him during some terrible convulsion, but after a moment
Nathaniel saw that he was breathing. He went over and placed a hand on
the old man's twisted back.
"Hello, Obadiah! Hello--hello!" he called cheerfully.
A shudder ran through the councilor's frame, as if the voice had
startled him, his arms and body stiffened and slowly he lifted his head.
Nathaniel tried to stifle the cry on his lips, tried to smile--to
speak, but the terrible face that stared up into his own held him
silent, motionless. He had heard the voice of madness, now he looked
upon madness in the eyes that glared at him. In them was no sign of
recognition, no passing flash of sanity. The white face was lined with
purplish veins, the mouth was distorted and the lips bleeding.
Involuntarily he stepped back to the end of the table.
At his movement the councilor stretched out his arms with a sobbing
moan.
"Nat--Nat--don't--go--"
He fell again upon his face, clutching the table in a sudden convulsion.
In the next room Nathaniel had noticed a pail of water and he brought
this and wet the old man's head. For a long time Obadiah did not move,
and when he did it was to reach out with a groping hand to find
Nathaniel. A change had come into his face when he lifted it again, the
mad fire had partly burned itself out of his eyes, the old chuckling
laugh came from between his lips.
"A little weakness, Nat--a little weakness," he gasped faintly. "I have
it now and then. Excitement--great excitement--" He straightened himself
for a moment and stood, swaying free from the table, then collapsed into
a chair his head dropping upon his breast.
Without arousing him from the stupor into which he had fallen, Nathaniel
again concealed himself in the shadows outside the cabin where he could
better guard himself against the possible approach of Mormon visitors.
But he did not remain long. He struck a match and saw that it was nearly
eleven and a sudden resolution turned him back to the cabin door. He
believed that Obadiah would not easily arouse himself from the strange
stupor into which he had fallen. Meanwhile he would find food and then
conceal himself near the path to intercept Marion.
As he mounted the step he heard for the second time since landing upon
the island the solemn tolling of the great bell at St. James, and as he
paused for an instant to listen, peal upon peal followed the first until
its brazen thunder rolled in one long booming echo through the forests
of the Mormon kingdom. There came a shrill cry at his back and he
whirled about to see the councilor standing in the center of the big
room, his arms outstretched, his face lifted as it had been raised in
prayer at the tolling of that same bell the night before--but this time
it was not prayer that fell from his lips.
"Nat, ye have returned in the hour of vengeance! The hand of God is
descending upon the Mormon kingdom!"
His words came in a gasping, but triumphant cry.
"And to-morrow--to-morrow--" He stepped forward, his voice crooning a
wild joy, "To-morrow--I--shall--be--king!"
As he spoke the cabin trembled, a tremor passed under them, and the
tolling of the bell was lost in a sudden tumult that came like the
bursting crash of low thunder.
"What is it?" cried Nathaniel. He leaped into the room and caught
Obadiah by the arm. "What is it?"
"The hand of God!" whispered the old man again. "Nat--Nat--" It was his
old self that stood grimacing and twisting his hands before Nathaniel
now. "Nat--a thousand armed men are off the coast! The Lamanites of the
mainland are descending upon the Mormon kingdom as the hosts of Israel
upon Canaan! Strang is doomed--doomed--doomed--and to-morrow I shall be
king!" His voice rose in a wailing shriek. He darted to the door and his
cackling laugh rang with the old madness as he pointed into the north
where a lurid glow had mounted high into the sky.
"The signal fire--the bell!" he gurgled chokingly. "They are calling the
Mormons to arms--but it is too late--too late! Ho, ho, it is too late,
Nat--too late!" He staggered back, gripping his throat, and fell upon
the floor. "Too late--too late," he moaned, groveling weakly, as if
struggling for breath. "Too late--Nat--Marion--"
A shiver passed through his body and he lay quite still.