"THE STRAIGHT DEATH"
Hands were fumbling with the chain at the dungeon door.
It opened and Jeekum's ashen face shone in the candle-light. For a
moment his frightened eyes rested on the two men still standing in their
last embrace of friendship. A word of betrayal from them and he knew
that his own doom was sealed.
He came in, followed by four men. One of them was MacDougall, the king's
whipper. In the corridor were other faces, like ghostly shadows in the
darkness. Only MacDougall's face was uncovered. The others were hidden
behind white masks. The men uttered no sound but ranged themselves like
specters in front of the door, their cocked rifles swung into the crooks
of their arms. There was a triumphant leer on MacDougall's lips as he
and the jailer approached. As the whipper bound Neil's hands behind his
back he hissed in his ear.
"This will be a better job than the whipping, damn you!"
Neil laughed.
"Hear that, Nat?" he asked, loud enough for all in the cell to hear.
"MacDougall says this will be a better job than the whipping. He
remembers how I thrashed him once when he said something to Marion one
day."
Neil was as cool as though acting his part in a play. His face was
flushed, his eyes gleamed fearlessly defiant. And Nathaniel, looking
upon the courage of this man, from under whose feet had been swept all
hope of life, felt a twinge of shame at his own nervousness. MacDougall
grew black with passion at the taunting reminder of his humiliation and
tightened the thongs about Neil's wrists until they cut into the flesh.
"That's enough, you coward!" exclaimed
Nathaniel, as he saw the blood start. "Here--take this!"
Like lightning he struck out and his fist fell with crushing force
against the side of the man's head. MacDougall toppled back with a
hollow groan, blood spurting from his mouth and nose. Nathaniel turned
coolly to the four rifles leveled at his breast.
"A pretty puppet to do the king's commands!" he cried. "If there's a man
among you let him finish the work!"
Jeekum had fallen upon his knees beside the whipper.
"Great God!" he shrieked. "You've killed, him! You've stove in the side
of his head!"
There was a sudden commotion in the corridor. A terrible voice boomed
forth in a roar.
"Let me in!"
Strang stood in the door. He gave a single glance at the man gasping and
bleeding in the mud. Then he looked at Nathaniel. The eyes of the two
men met unflinching. There was no hatred now in the prophet's face.
"Captain Plum, I would give a tenth of my kingdom for a brother like
you!" he said calmly. "Here--I will finish the work." He went boldly to
the task, and as he tied Nathaniel's arms behind him he added, "The
vicissitudes of war, Captain Plum. You are a man--and can appreciate
what they sometimes mean!"
A few minutes later, gagged and bound, the prisoners fell behind two of
the armed guards and at a command from the king, given in a low tone to
Jeekum, marched through the corridor and up the short flight of steps
that led out of the jail. To Nathaniel's astonishment there was no light
to guide them. Candles and lights had been extinguished. What words he
heard were spoken in whispers. In the deep shadow of the prison wall a
third guard joined the two ahead and like automatons they strode through
the gloom with slow, measured step, their rifles held with soldierly
precision. Nathaniel glanced over his shoulder and saw three other white
masked faces a dozen feet away. The king had remained behind.
He shuddered and looked at Neil. His companion's appearance was almost
startling. He seemed half a head taller than himself, yet he knew that
he was shorter by an inch or two; his shoulders were thrown back, his
chin held high, he kept step with the guards ahead. He was marching to
his death as coolly as though on parade.
Nathaniel's heart beat excitedly as they came to where the scrub of the
forest met the plain. They were taking the path that led to Marion's!
Again he looked at Neil. There was no change in the fearless attitude of
Marion's brother, no lowering of his head, no faltering in his step.
They passed the graves and entered the opening in the forest where lay
Marion's home, and as once more the sweet odor of lilac came to him,
awakening within his soul all those things that he had tried to stifle
that he might meet death like a man, he felt himself weakening, until
only the cloth about his mouth restrained the moaning cry that forced
itself to his lips. If he had possessed a life to give he would have
sacrificed it gladly then for a word with the Mormon king, a last prayer
that death might be meted to him here, where eternity would come to him
with his glazing eyes fixed to the end upon the home of his beloved, and
where the sweetness of the flower that had become a part of Marion
herself might soothe the pain of his final moment on earth.
His heart leaped with hope as a sharp voice from the rear commanded a
halt. It was Jeekum. He came up out of the darkness from behind the rear
guard, his face still unmasked, and for a few moments was in whispered
consultation with the guards ahead. Had Strang, in the virulence of that
hatred which he concealed so well, conceived of this spot to give added
torment to death? It was the poetry of vengeance! For the first time
Neil turned toward his companion. Each read what the other had guessed.
Neil, who was nearest to the whispering four, turned suddenly toward
them and listened. When he looked at Nathaniel again it was with a slow
negative shake of his head.
Jeekum returned quickly and placed himself between them, seizing each by
an arm, and the forward guards, pivoting to the left, set off at their
steady pace across the clearing. As they entered the denser gloom of the
forest on the farther side Nathaniel felt the jailer's fingers tighten
about his arm, then relax--and tighten again. A gentle pressure held him
back and the guards in front gained half a dozen feet. In a low voice
Jeekum called for those behind to fall a few paces to the rear.
Then came again the mysterious working of the man's fingers on
Nathaniel's arm.
Was Jeekum signaling to him?
He could see Neil's white face still turned stoically to the front.
Evidently nothing had occurred to arouse his suspicions. If the
maneuvering of Jeekum's fingers meant anything it was intended for him
alone. Action had been the manna of his life. The possibility of new
adventure, even in the face of death, thrilled him. He waited,
breathless--and the strange pressure came again, so hard that it hurt
his flesh.
There was no longer a doubt in his mind. The king's sheriff wanted to
speak to him.
And he was afraid of the eyes and ears behind.
The fingers were cautioning him to be ready--when the opportunity came.
The path widened and through the thin tree-tops above their heads the
starlight filtered down upon them. The leading guards were twenty feet
away. How far behind were the others?
A moment more and they plunged into deep night again. The figures ahead
were mere shadows. Again the fingers dug into Nathaniel's arm, and
pressing close to the sheriff he bent down his head.
A low, quick whisper fell in his ear.
"Don't give up hope! Marion--Winnsome--"
The sheriff jerked himself erect without finishing. Hurried footsteps
had come close to their heels. The rear guards were so near that they
could have touched them with their guns. Had some spot of lesser gloom
ahead betrayed the prisoner's bowed head and Jeekum's white face turned
to it? There was a steady pressure on Nathaniel's arm now, a warning,
frightened pressure, and the hand that made it trembled. Jeekum feared
the worst--but his fear was not greater than the chill of disappointment
that came to smother the excited beating of Nathaniel's heart. What had
the jailer meant to say? What did he know about Marion and Winnsome, and
why had he given birth to new hope in the same breath that he mentioned
their names?
His words carried at least one conviction. Marion was alive despite her
brother's somber prophesies. If she had killed herself the sheriff would
not have coupled her name with Winnsome's in the way he had.
Nathaniel's nerves were breaking with suspense. He stifled his breath to
listen, to catch the faintest whisper that might come to him from the
white faced man at his side. Each passing moment of silence added to his
desperation. He squeezed the sheriff's hand with his arm, but there was
no responding signal; in a patch of thick gloom that almost concealed
the figures ahead he pressed near to him and lowered his head again--and
Jeekum pushed him back fiercely, with a low curse.
They emerged from the forest and the clear starlight shone down upon
them. A little distance off lay the lake in shimmering stillness.
Nathaniel looked boldly at the sheriff now, and as his glance passed
beyond him he was amazed at the change that had come over Neil. The
young man's head was bowed heavily upon his breast, his shoulders were
hunched forward, and he walked with a listless, uneven step. Was it
possible that his magnificent courage had at last given way?
A hundred steps farther they came to the beach and Nathaniel saw a boat
at the water's edge with a single figure guarding it. Straight to this
Jeekum led his prisoners. For the first time he spoke to them aloud.
"One in front, the other in back," he said.
For an instant Nathaniel found himself close beside Neil and he prodded
him sharply with his knee. His companion did not lift his head. He made
no sign, gave no last flashing comradeship with his eyes, but climbed
into the bow of the boat and sat down with his chin still on his chest,
like a man lost in stupor.
Nathaniel followed him, scarcely believing his eyes, and sat himself in
the stern, leaning comfortably against the knees of the man who took the
tiller. He felt a curious thrill pass through him when he discovered a
moment later that this man was Jeekum. Two men seized the oars
amidships. A fourth, with his rifle across his knees sat facing Neil.
For the first time Nathaniel found himself wondering what this voyage
meant. Were they to be rowed far down the shore to some secret fastness
where no other ears would hear the sound of the avenging rifles, and
where, a few inches under the forest mold, their bodies would never be
discovered? Each stroke of the oars added to the remoteness of this
possibility. The boat was heading straight out to sea. Perhaps they were
to meet a less terrible death by drowning, an end which, though
altogether unpleasant, held something comforting in it for Captain Plum.
Two hours passed without pause in the steady labor of the men at the
oars. In those hours not a word was spoken. The two men amidships held
no communication. The guard in the bow moved a little now and then only
to relieve his cramped limbs. Neil was absolutely motionless, as though
he had ceased to breathe. Jeekum uttered not a whisper.
It was his whisper that Nathaniel waited for, the signaling clutch of
his fingers, the sound of his breath close to his ears. Again and again
he pressed himself against the sheriff's knees. He knew that he was
understood, and yet there came no answer. At last he looked up, and
Jeekum's face was far above him, staring straight and unseeing into the
darkness ahead. His last spark of hope went out.
After a time a dark rim loomed slowly up out of the sea. It was land,
half a mile or so away. Nathaniel sat up with fresh interest, and as
they drew nearer Jeekum rose to his feet and gazed long and steadily in
both directions along the coast. When he returned to his seat the boat's
course was changed. A few minutes later the bow grated upon sand. Still
voiceless as specters the guards leaped ashore and Neil roused himself
to follow them, climbing over the gunwale like a sick man. Nathaniel was
close at his heels. With a growing sense of horror he saw two ghostly
stakes thrusting themselves out of the beach a dozen paces away. He
looked beyond them. As far as he could see there was sand--nothing but
sand, as white as paper, scintillating in a billion flashing
needle-points in the starlight. Instinctively he guessed what the stakes
were for, and walked toward them with the blood turning cold in his
veins. Neil was before him and stopped at the first stake, making no
effort to lift his eyes as Nathaniel strode past him. At the second, a
dozen feet beyond, Nathaniel's two guards halted, and placed him with
his back to the post. Two minutes later, bound hand and foot to the
stake, he shifted his head so that he could look at his companion.
Neil was similarly fastened, with his face turned partly toward him.
There was no change in his attitude. His head hung weakly upon his
chest, as if he had fainted.
What did it mean?
Suddenly every nerve in Nathaniel's body leaped into excited action.
The guards were entering their boat! The last man was shoving it
off--they were rowing away! His throbbing muscles seemed ready to burst
their bonds. The boat became indistinct in the starry gloom--a mere
shadow--and faded in the distance. The sound of oars became fainter and
fainter. Then, after a little, there was wafted back to him from far out
in the lake a man's voice--the wild snatch of a song. The Mormons were
gone! They were not to be shot! They were not--
A voice spoke to him, startling him so that he would have cried out if
it had not been for the cloth that gagged him. It was Neil, speaking
coolly, laughingly.
"How are you, Nat?"
Nathaniel's staring eyes revealed his astonishment. He could see Neil
laughing at him as though it was an unusually humorous joke in which
they were playing a part.
"Lord, but this is a funny mess!" he chuckled. "Here am I, able and
willing to talk--and there you are, as dumb as a mummy, and looking for
all the world as if you'd seen a ghost! What's the matter? Aren't you
glad we're not going to be shot?"
Nathaniel nodded.
The other's voice became suddenly sober.
"This is worse than the other, Nat. It's what we call the 'Straight
Death.' Unless something turns up between now and to-morrow morning, or
a little later, we'll be as dead as though they had filled us with
bullets. Our only hope rests in the fact that I can use my lungs. That's
why I didn't let them know when my gag became loose. I had the devil's
own time keeping it from falling with my chin; pretty near broke my neck
doing it. A little later, when we're sure Jeekum and his men are out of
hearing, I'll begin calling for help. Perhaps some fisherman or
hunter--"
He stopped, and a chill ran up Nathaniel's back as he listened to a
weird howl that came from far behind them. It was a blood-curdling
sound and his face turned a more ghastly pallor as he gazed inquiringly
at Neil. His companion saw the terrible question in his face.
"Wolves," he said. "They're away back in the forest. They won't come
down to us." For a moment he was silent, his eyes turned to the sea.
Then he added, "Do you notice anything queer about the way you're bound
to that stake, Nat?"
There was a thrilling emphasis in Nathaniel's answer. He nodded his head
affirmatively, again and again.
"Your hands are tied to the post very loosely, with a slack of say six
inches," continued Neil with an appalling precision. "There is a rawhide
thong about your neck, wet, and so tight that it chafes your skin when
you move your head. But the very uncomfortable thing just at this moment
is the way your feet are fastened. Isn't that so? Your legs are drawn
back, so that you are half resting on your toes, and I'm pretty sure
your knees are aching right now. Eh? Well, it won't be very long before
your legs will give way under you and the slack about your wrists will
keep you from helping yourself. Do you know what will happen then?"
He paused and Nathaniel stared at him, partly understanding, yet giving
no sign.
"You will hang upon the thong about your neck until you choke to death,"
finished Neil. "That's the 'Straight Death.' If the end doesn't come by
morning the sun will finish the job. It will dry out the wet rawhide
until it grips your throat like a hand. Poetically we call it the hand
of Strang. Pleasant, isn't it?"
The grim definiteness with which he described the manner of their end
added to those sensations which had already become acutely discomforting
to Nathaniel. Had he possessed the use of his voice when the Mormons
were leaving he would have called upon them to return and lengthen the
thongs about his ankles by an inch or two. Now, with almost brutal
frankness, Neil had explained to him the meaning of his strange
posture. His knees began to ache. An occasional sharp pain shot up from
them to his hips, and the thong about his neck, which at first he had
used as a support for his chin, began to irritate him. At times he found
himself resting upon it so heavily that it shortened his breath, and he
was compelled to straighten himself, putting his whole weight on his
twisted feet. It seemed an hour before Neil broke the terrible silence
again. Perhaps it was ten minutes.
"I'm going to begin," he said. "Listen. If you hear an answer nod your
head."
He drew a deep breath, turned his face as far as he could toward the
shore, and shouted.
"Help--help--help!"
Again and again the thrilling words burst from his throat, and as their
echoes floated back to them from the forest, like a thousand mocking
voices, Nathaniel grew hot with the sweat of horror. If he could only
have added his own voice to those cries, shrieked out the words with
Neil--joined even unavailingly in this last fight for life, it would not
have been so bad. But he was helpless. He watched the desperation grow
in his companion's face as there came no response save the taunting
echoes; even in the light of the stars he saw that face darken with its
effort, the eyes fill with a mad light, and the throat strain against
its choking thong. Gradually Neil's voice became weaker. When he stopped
to rest and listen his panting breath came to Nathaniel like the hissing
of steam. Soon the echoes failed to come back from the forest, and
Nathaniel fought like a crazed man to free himself, jerking at the
thongs that held him until his wrists were bleeding and the rawhide
about his neck choked him.
"No use!" he heard Neil say. "Better take it easy for a while, Nat!"
Marion's brother had turned toward him, his head thrown back against the
stake, his face lifted to the sky. Nathaniel raised his own head, and
found that he could breath easier. For a long time his companion did not
break the silence. Mentally he began counting off the seconds. It was
past midnight--probably one o'clock. Dawn came at half past two, the sun
rose an hour later. Three hours to live! Nathaniel lowered his head, and
the rawhide tightened perceptibly at the movement. Neil was watching
him. His face shone as white as the starlit sand. His mouth was partly
open.
"I'm devilish sorry--for you--Nat--" he said.
His words came with painful slowness. There was a grating huskiness in
his voice.
"This damned rawhide--is pinching--my Adam's apple--"
He smiled. His white teeth gleamed, his eyes laughed, and with a heart
bursting with grief Nathaniel looked away from him. He had seen courage,
but never like this, and deep down in his soul he prayed--prayed that
death might come to him first, so that he might not have to look upon
the agonies of this other, whose end would be ghastly in its fearless
resignation. His own suffering had become excruciating. Sharp pains
darted like red-hot needles through his limbs, his back tortured him,
and his head ached as though a knife had cloven the base of his skull.
Still--he could breathe. By pressing his head against the post it was
not difficult for him to fill his lungs with air. But the strength of
his limbs was leaving him. He no longer felt any sensation in his
cramped feet. His knees were numb. He measured the paralysis of death
creeping up his legs inch by inch, driving the sharp pains before it,
until suddenly his weight tottered under him and he hung heavily upon
the thong about his throat. For a full half minute he ceased to breathe,
and a feeling of ineffable relief swept over him, for during those few
seconds his body was at rest. He found that by a backward contortion he
could bring himself erect again, and that for a few minutes after each
respite it was not so difficult for him to stand.
After a third effort he turned again toward Neil. A groan of horror rose
to his imprisoned lips. His companion's face was full upon him, ghastly
white; his eyes were wide and staring, like balls of shimmering glass in
the starlight, and his throat was straining at the fatal rawhide!
Nathaniel heard no sound, saw no stir of life in the inanimate figure.
A moaning, wordless cry broke through the cloth that gagged him.
At the sound of that cry, faint, terrifying, with all the horror that
might fill a human soul in its inarticulate note, a shudder of life
passed into Neil's body. Weakly he flung himself back, stood poised for
an instant against the stake, then fell again upon the deadly thong.
Twice--three times he made the effort, and failed. And to Nathaniel,
staring wild eyed and silent now, the spectacle was one that seemed to
blast the very soul within him and send his blood in rushing torrents of
fire to his sickened brain. Neil was dying! A fourth time he struggled
back. A fifth--and he held his ground. Even in that passing instant
something like a flash of his buoyant smile flickered in his face and
there came to Nathaniel's ears like a throttled whisper--his name.
"Nat--"
And no more.
The head fell forward again. And Nathaniel, turning his face away, saw
something come up out of the shimmering sea, like a shadow before his
blistering eyes, and as his own limbs went out from under him and he
felt the strangling death at his throat there came from that shadow a
cry that seemed to snap his very heartstrings--a piercing cry and (even
in his half consciousness he recognized it) a woman's cry! He flung
himself back, and for a moment he saw Neil struggling, the last spark of
life in him stirred by that same cry; and then across the white sand two
figures flew madly toward them and even as the hot film in his eyes grew
thicker he knew that one of them was Marion, and that the other was
Winnsome Croche.
His heart seemed to stop beating. He strove to pull himself together,
but his head fell forward. Faintly, as on a battlefield, voices came to
him, and when with a superhuman effort he straightened himself for an
instant he saw that Neil was no longer at the stake but was stretched on
the sand, and of the two figures beside him one suddenly sprang to her
feet and ran to him. And then Marion's terror-filled face was close to
his own, and Marion's lips were moaning his name, and Marion's hands
were slashing at the thongs that bound him. When with a great sigh of
joy he crumpled down upon the earth he knew that he was slipping off
into oblivion with Marion's arms about his neck, and with her lips
pressing to his the sweet elixir of her love.
Darkness enshrouded him but a few moments, when a dash of cool water
brought him back into light. He felt himself lowered upon the sand and
after a breath or two he twisted himself on his elbow and saw that
Neil's white face was held on Winnsome's breast and that Marion was
running up from the shore with more water. For a space she knelt beside
her brother, and then she hurried to him. Joy shone in her face. She
fell upon her knees and drew his head in the hollow of her arm, crooning
mad senseless words to him, and bathing his face with water, her eyes
shining down upon him gloriously. Nathaniel reached up and touched her
face, and she bowed her head until her hair smothered him in sweet
gloom, and kissed him. He drew her lips to his own, and then she lowered
him gently and stood up in the starlight, looking first at Neil and next
down at him; and then she turned quickly back to the sea.
From down near the shore she called back some word, and with a shrill
cry Winnsome followed her. Nathaniel struggled to his elbow, to his
knees--staggered to his feet. He saw the boat drifting out into the
night, and Winnsome standing alone at the water-edge, her sobbing cries
of entreaty, of terror, following it unanswered. He tottered down toward
her, gaining new strength at each step, but when he reached her the boat
was no longer to be seen and Winnsome's face was whiter than the sands
under her feet.
"She is gone--gone--" she moaned, stretching out her arms to him. "She
is going--back to Strang!"
And then, from far out in the white glory of the night, there came back
to him the voice of the girl he loved.
"Good-by--Good-by--"