MARION FREED FROM BONDAGE
"Gone!" moaned Winnsome again. "She has gone--back--to--Strang!"
Neil was crawling to them like a wounded animal across the sand.
She started toward him but Nathaniel stopped her.
"She is the king's--wife--"
His throat was swollen so that he could hardly speak.
"No. They are to be married to-night. Oh, I thought she was going to
stay!" She tore herself away from him to go to Neil, who had fallen upon
his face exhausted, a dozen yards away.
In the wet sand, where the incoming waves lapped his hands and feet,
Nathaniel sank down, his eyes staring out into the shimmering distance
where Marion had gone. His brain was in a daze, and he wondered if he
had been stricken by some strange madness--if this all was but some
passing phantasm that would soon leave him again to his misery and his
despair. But the dash of the cold water against him cleared away his
doubt. Marion had come to him. She had saved him from death. And now she
was gone.
And she was not the king's wife!
He staggered to his feet again and plunged into the lake until the water
reached to his waist, calling her name, entreating her in weak, half
choked cries to come back to him. The water soaked through to his hot,
numb body, restoring his reason and strength, and he buried his face in
it and drank like one who had been near to dying of thirst. Then he
returned to Neil. Winnsome was holding his head in her arms.
He dropped upon his knees beside them and saw that life was returning
full and strong in Neil's face.
"You will be able to walk in a few minutes," he said. "You and Winnsome
must leave here. We are on the mainland and if you follow the shore
northward you will come to the settlements. I am going back for Marion."
Neil made an effort to follow him as he rose to his feet.
"Nat--Nat--wait--"
Winnsome held him back, frightened, tightening her arms about him.
"You must go with Winnsome," urged Nathaniel, seizing the hand that Neil
stretched up to him. "You must take her to the first settlement up the
coast. I will come back to you with Marion."
He spoke confidently, as a man who sees his way open clearly before him,
and yet as he turned, half running, to the low black shadow of the
distant forest he knew that he was beginning a blind fight against fate.
If he could find a hunter's cabin, a fisherman's shanty--a boat!
Barely had he disappeared when a voice called to him. It was Winnsome.
The girl ran up to him holding something in her hand. It was a pistol.
"You may need it!" she exclaimed. "We brought two!"
Nathaniel reached out hesitatingly, but not to take the weapon. Gently,
as though his touch was about to fall upon some fragile flower, he drew
the girl to him, took her beautiful face between his two strong hands
and gazed steadily and silently for a moment into her eyes.
"God bless you, little Winnsome!" he whispered. "I hope that someday you
will--forgive me."
The girl understood him.
"If I have anything to forgive--you are forgiven."
The pistol dropped upon the sand, her hands stole to his shoulders.
"I want you to take something to Marion for me," she whispered softly.
"This!"
And she kissed him.
Her eyes shone upon him like a benediction.
"You have given me a new life, you have given me--Neil! My prayers are
with you."
And kissing him again, she slipped away from under his hands before he
could speak.
And Nathaniel, following her with his eyes until he could no longer see
her, picked up the pistol and set off again toward the forest, the touch
of her lips and the prayers of this girl whose father he had slain
filling him with something that was more than strength, more than hope.
Life had been given to him again, strong, fighting life, and with it and
Winnsome's words there returned his old confidence, his old daring.
There was everything for him to win now. His doubts and his fears had
been swept away. Marion was not dead, she was not the king's wife--and
it was not of another that he had accepted proof of her love for him,
for he had felt the pressure of her arms about his neck and the warmth
of her lips upon his face. He had until night--and the dawn was just
beginning to break. Ten or fifteen miles to the north there were
settlements, and between there were scores of settlers' homes and
fishermen's shanties. Surely within an hour or two he would find a boat.
He turned where the edge of the forest came down to meet the white
water-run of the sea, and set off at a slow, steady trot into the north.
If he could reach a boat soon he might overtake Marion in mid-lake. The
thought thrilled him, and urged him to greater speed. As the stars faded
away in the dawn he saw the dark barrier of the forest drifting away,
and later, when the light broke more clearly, there stretched out ahead
of him mile upon mile of desert dunes. As far as he could see there was
no hope of life. He slowed his steps now, for he would need to preserve
his strength. Yet he experienced no fear, no loss of confidence. Each
moment added to his faith in himself. Before noon he would be on his
way to the Mormon kingdom, by nightfall he would be upon its shores.
After that--
He examined the pistol that Winnsome had given him. There were five
shots in it and he smiled joyously as he saw that it had been loaded by
an experienced hand. It would be easy enough for him to find Strang. He
would not consider the woman--his wife. The king's wife! Like a flash
there occurred to him the incident of the battlefield. Was it this
woman--the woman who had begged him to spare the life of the prophet,
who had knelt beside him, and whispered in his ear, and kissed him? Had
that been her reward for the sacrifice she believed he had made for her
in the castle chamber? The thought of this woman, whose beauty and love
breathed the sweet purity of a flower and whose faith to her king and
master was still unbroken even in her hour of repudiation fell upon him
heavily. For there was no choice, no shadow of alternative. There was
but one way for him to break the bondage of the girl he loved.
For hours he trod steadily through the sand. The sun rose above him, hot
and blistering, and the dunes still stretched out ahead of him, like
winnows and hills and mountains of glittering glass. Gradually the
desert became narrower. Far ahead he could see where the forest came
down to the shore and his heart grew lighter. Half an hour later he
entered the margin of trees. Almost immediately he found signs of life.
A tree had been felled and cut into wood. A short distance beyond he
came suddenly upon a narrow path, beaten hard by the passing of feet,
and leading toward the lake. He had meant to rest under the shade of
these trees but now he forgot his fatigue. For a moment he hesitated.
Far back in the forest he heard the barking of a dog--but he turned in
the opposite direction. If there was a boat the path would take him to
it. Through a break in the trees he caught the green sweep of marsh rice
and his heart beat excitedly with hope. Where there was rice there were
wild-fowl, and surely where there were wild-fowl, there would be a punt
or a canoe! In his eagerness he ran, and where the path ended, the flags
and rice beaten into the mud and water, he stopped with an exultant cry.
At his feet was a canoe. It was wet, as though just drawn out of the
water, and a freshly used paddle was lying across the bow. Pausing but
to take a quick and cautious glance about him he shoved the frail craft
into the lake and with a few quiet strokes buried himself in the rice
grass. When he emerged from it he was half a mile from the shore.
For a long time he sat motionless, looking out over the shimmering sea.
Far to the south and west he could make out the dim outline of Beaver
Island, while over the trail he had come, mile upon mile, lay the
glistening dunes. Somewhere between the white desert sand and that
distant coast of the Mormon kingdom Marion was making her way back to
bondage. Nathaniel had given up all hope of overtaking her now. Long
before he could intercept her she would have reached the island. When he
started again he paddled slowly, and laid out for himself the plan that
he was to follow. There must be no mistake this time, no error in
judgment, no rashness in his daring. He would lie in hiding until dusk,
and then under cover of darkness he would hunt down Strang and kill him.
After that he would fly to his canoe and escape. A little later, perhaps
that very night if fate played the game well for him, he would return
for Marion. And yet, as he went over and over his scheme, whipping
himself into caution--into cool deliberation--there burned in his blood
a fire that once or twice made him set his teeth hard, a fire that
defied extinction, that smoldered only to await the breath that would
fan it into a fierce blaze. It was the fire that had urged him into the
rescue at the whipping-post, that had sent him single-handed to invade
the king's castle, that had hurled him into the hopeless battle upon the
shore. He swore at himself softly, laughingly, as he paddled steadily
toward Beaver Island.
The sun mounted straight and hot over his head; he paddled more slowly,
and rested more frequently, as it descended into the west, but it still
lacked two hours of sinking behind the island forest when the white
water-run of the shore came within his vision. He had meant to hold off
the coast until the approach of evening but changed his mind and landed,
concealing his canoe in a spot which he marked well, for he knew it
would soon be useful to him again. Deep shadows were already gathering
in the forest and through these Nathaniel made his way slowly in the
direction of St. James. Between him and the town lay Marion's home and
the path that led to Obadiah's. Once more the spirit of impatience, of
action, stirred within him. Would Marion go first to her home?
Involuntarily he changed his course so that it would bring him to the
clearing. He assured himself that it would do no harm, that he still
would take no chances.
He came out in the strip of dense forest between the clearing and St.
James, worming his way cautiously through the underbrush until he could
look out into the opening. A single glance and he drew back in
astonishment. He looked again, and his face turned suddenly white, and
an almost inaudible cry fell from his lips. There was no longer a cabin
in the clearing! Where it had been there was gathered a crowd of men and
boys. Above their heads he saw a thin film of smoke and he knew what had
happened. Marion's home had burned! But what was the crowd doing? It
hung close in about the smoldering ruins as if every person in it were
striving to reach a common center. Surely a mere fire would not gather
and hold a throng like this.
Nathaniel rose to his feet and thrust his head and shoulders from his
hiding-place. He heard a loud shout near him and drew back quickly as a
boy rushed madly across the opening toward the crowd, crying out at the
top of his voice. He had come out of the path that led to St. James. No
sooner had he reached the group about the burned cabin than there came a
change that added to Nathaniel's bewilderment. He heard loud voices, the
excited shouting of men and the shrill cries of boys, and the crowd
suddenly began to move, thinning itself out until it was racing in a
black stream toward the Mormon city. In his excitement Nathaniel hurried
toward the path. From the concealment of a clump of bushes he watched
the people as they rushed past him a dozen paces away. Behind all the
others there came a figure that drew a sharp cry from him as he leaped
from his hiding-place. It was Obadiah Price.
"Obadiah!" he called. "Obadiah Price!"
The old man turned. His face was livid. He was chattering to himself,
and he chattered still as he ran up to Nathaniel. He betrayed no
surprise at seeing him, and yet there was the insane grip of steel in
the two hands that clutched fiercely at Nathaniel's.
"You have come in time, Nat!" he panted joyfully. "You have come in
time! Hurry--hurry--hurry--"
He ran back into the clearing, with Nathaniel close at his side, and
pointed to the smoking ruins of the cabin among the lilacs.
"They were killed last night!" he cried shrilly. "Somebody murdered
them--and burned them with the house! They are dead--dead!"
"Who?" shouted Nathaniel.
Obadiah had stopped and was rubbing and twisting his hands in his old,
mad way.
"The old folks. Ho, ho, the old folks, of course! They are
dead--dead--dead--"
He fairly shrieked the words. Then, for a moment, he stood tightly
clutching his thin hands over his chest in a powerful effort to control
himself.
"They are dead!" he repeated.
He spoke more calmly, and yet there was something so terrible in his
eyes, something so harshly vibrant of elation in the quivering passion
of his voice that Nathaniel felt himself filled with a strange horror.
He caught him by the arm, shaking him as he would have shaken a child.
"Where is Marion?" he asked. "Tell me, Obadiah--where is Marion?"
The councilor seemed not to have heard him. A singular change came into
his face and his eyes traveled beyond Nathaniel. Following his glance
the young man saw that three men had appeared from the scorched
shrubbery about the burned house and were hurrying toward them. Without
shifting his eyes Obadiah spoke to him quickly.
"Those are king's sheriffs, Nat," he said. "They know me. In a moment
they will recognize you. The United States warship _Michigan_ has just
arrived in the harbor to arrest Strang. If you can reach the cabin and
hold it for an hour you will be saved. Quick--you must run--"
"Where is Marion?"
"At the cabin! She is at--"
Nathaniel waited to hear no more, but sped toward the breach in the
forest that marked the beginning of the path to Obadiah's. The shouts of
the king's men came to him unheeded. At the edge of the woods he glanced
back and saw that they had overtaken the councilor. As he ran he drew
his pistol and in his wild joy he flung back a shout of defiance to the
men who were pursuing him. Marion was at the cabin--and a government
ship had come to put an end to the reign of the Mormon king! He shouted
Marion's name as he came in sight of the cabin; he cried it aloud as he
bounded up the low steps.
"Marion--Marion--"
In front of the door that led to the tiny chamber in which he had taken
Obadiah's gold he saw a figure. For a moment he was blinded by his
sudden dash from the light of day into the gloom of the cabin, and he
saw only that a figure was standing there, as still as death. His
pistol dropped to the floor. He stretched out his arms, and his voice
sobbed in its entreaty as he whispered the girl's name. In response to
that whisper came a low, glad cry, and Marion lay trembling on his
breast.
"I have come back for you!" he breathed.
He felt her heart beating against him. He pressed her closer, and her
arms slipped about his neck.
"I have come back for you!"
He was almost crying, like a boy, in his happiness.
"I love you, I love you--"
He felt the warm touch of her lips.
"You will go with me?"
"If you want me," she whispered. "If you want me--after you know--what I
am--"
She shuddered against his breast, and he raised her face between his two
hands and kissed her until she drew away from him, crying softly.
[Illustration: Marion]
"You must wait--you must wait!"
He saw now in her face an agony that appalled him. He would have gone to
her again, but there came loud voices from the forest, and recovering
his pistol he sprang to the door. Half a hundred paces away were Obadiah
and the king's sheriffs. They had stopped and the councilor was
expostulating excitedly with the men, evidently trying to keep them from
the cabin. Suddenly one of the three broke past him and ran swiftly
toward the open door, and with a shriek of warning to Nathaniel the old
councilor drew a pistol and fired point blank in the sheriff's back. In
another instant the two men behind had fired and Obadiah fell forward
upon his face.
With a yell of rage Nathaniel leaped from the door. He heard Marion cry
out his name, but his fighting blood was stirred and he did not stop.
Obadiah had given up his life for him, for Marion, and he was mad with a
desire to wreak vengeance upon the murderers. The first man lay where he
had fallen, with Obadiah's bullet through his back. The other two fired
again as Nathaniel rushed down upon them. He heard the zip of one of the
balls, which came so close that it stung his cheek.
"Take that!" he cried.
He fired, still running--once, twice, three times and one of the two men
crumpled down as though a powerful blow had broken his legs under him.
The other turned into the path and ran. Nathaniel caught a glimpse of a
frightened, boyish face, and something of mercy prompted him to hold the
shot he was about to send through his lungs.
"Stop!" he shouted. "Stop!"
He aimed at the fugitive's legs and fired.
"Stop!"
The boyish sheriff was lengthening the distance between them and
Nathaniel halted to make sure of his last ball. He was about to shoot
when there came a sharp command from down the path and a file of men
burst into view, running at double-quick. He saw the flash of a saber,
the gleam of brass buttons, the blue glare of the setting sun on leveled
carbines, and he stopped, shoulder to shoulder with the man he had been
pursuing. For a moment he stared as the man with the naked saber
approached. Then he sprang toward him with a joyful cry of recognition.
"My God, Sherly--Sherly--"
He stood with his arms stretched out, his naked chest heaving.
"Sherly--Lieutenant Sherly--don't you know me?"
The lieutenant had dropped the point of his saber. He advanced a step,
his face filled with astonishment.
"Plum!" he cried incredulously. "Is it you?"
For the moment Nathaniel could only wring the other's hand. He tried to
speak but his breath choked him.
"I told you in Chicago that I was going to blow up this damned
island--if you wouldn't do it for me--", he gasped at last. "I've had--a
hell of a time--"
"You look it!" laughed the lieutenant. "We got our orders the second day
after you left to 'Arrest Strang, and break up the Mormon kingdom!'
We've got Strang aboard the _Michigan_. But he's dead."
"Dead!"
"He was shot in the back by one of his own men as we were bringing him
up the gang-way. The fellow who killed him has given himself up, and
says that he did it because Strang had him publicly whipped day before
yesterday. I'm up here hunting for a man named Obadiah Price. Do you
know--"
Nathaniel interrupted him excitedly.
"What do you want with Obadiah Price?"
"The president of the United States wants him. That's all I know. Where
is he?"
"Back there--dead or very badly wounded! We've just had a fight with the
king's men--"
The lieutenant broke in with a sharp command to his men.
"Quick, lead us to him. Captain Plum! If he's not dead--"
He started off at a half run beside Nathaniel.
"Lord, it's a pretty mess if he is!" he added breathlessly. Without
pausing he called back over his shoulder, "Regan, fall out and return to
the ship. Tell the captain that Obadiah Price is badly wounded and that
we want the surgeon on the run!"
A turn in the path brought them to the opening where the fight had
occurred. Marion was on her knees beside the old councilor.
Nathaniel hurried ahead of the lieutenant and his men. The girl glanced
up at him and his heart filled with dread at the terror in her eyes.
"Is he dead?"
"No--but--" Her voice trembled with tears.
Nathaniel did not let her finish. Gently he raised her to her feet as
the lieutenant came up.
"You must go to the cabin, sweetheart," he whispered.
Even in this moment of excitement and death his great love drove all
else from his eyes, and the blood surged into Marion's pale cheeks as
she tremblingly gave him her hand. He led her to the door, and held her
for a moment in his arms.
"Strang is dead," he said softly. In a few words he told her what had
happened and turned back to the door, leaving her speechless.
"If he is dying--you will tell me--" she called after him.
"Yes, yes, I will tell you."
He ran back into the opening.
The lieutenant had doubled his coat under Obadiah's head and his face
was pale as he looked up at Nathaniel. The latter saw in his eyes what
his lips kept silent. The officer held something in his hand. It was the
mysterious package which Captain Plum had taken his oath to deliver to
the president of the United States.
"I don't dare move until the surgeon comes," said the lieutenant. "He
wants to speak to you. I believe, if he has anything to say you had
better hear it now."
His last words were in a whisper so low that Nathaniel scarcely heard
them. As the lieutenant rose to his feet, he whispered again.
"He is dying!"
Obadiah's eyes opened as Nathaniel knelt beside him and from between his
thin lips there came faintly the old, gurgling chuckle.
"Nat!" he breathed. His thin hand sought his companion's and clung to it
tightly. "We have won. The vengeance of God--has come!"
In these last moments all madness had left the eyes of Obadiah Price.
"I want to tell you--" he whispered, and Nathaniel bent low. "I have
given him the package. It is evidence I have gathered--all these
years--to destroy the Mormon kingdom."
He tried to turn his head.
"Marion--" he whispered wistfully.
"She will come," said Nathaniel. "I will call her."
"No--not yet."
Obadiah's fingers tightened about Captain Plum's.
"I want to tell--you."
For a few moments he seemed struggling to command all his strength.
"A good many years ago," he said, as if speaking to himself, "I loved a
girl--like Marion, and she loved me--as Marion loves you. Her people
were Mormons, and they went to Kirtland--and I followed them. We planned
to escape and go east, for my Jean was good and beautiful, and hated the
Mormons as I hated them. But they caught us and--thought--they--killed--"
The old man's lips twitched and a convulsive shudder shook his body.
"When everything came back to me I was older--much older," he went on.
"My hair was white. I was like an old man. My people had found me and
they told me that I had been mad for three years, Nat--mad--mad--mad!
and that a great surgeon had operated on my head, where they struck
me--and brought me back to reason. Nat--Nat--" He strained to raise
himself, gasping excitedly. "God, I was like you then, Nat! I went back
to fight for my Jean. She was gone. Nobody knew me, for I was an old
man. I hunted from settlement to settlement. In my madness I became a
Mormon, for vengeance--in hope of finding her. I was rich, and I became
powerful. I was made an elder because of my gold. Then I found--"
A moan trembled on the old man's lips.
"--they had forced her to marry--the son of a Mormon--"
He stopped, and for a moment his eyes seemed filling with the glazed
shadows of death. He roused himself almost fiercely.
"But he loved my Jean, Nat--he loved her as I loved her--and he was a
good man!", he whispered shrilly. "Quick--quick--I must tell you--they
had tried to escape from Missouri and the Danites killed him,--and
Joseph Smith wanted Jean and at the last moment she killed herself to
save her honor as Marion was going to do, and she left two children--"
He coughed and blood flecked his lips.
"She left--Marion and Neil!"
He sank back, ashen white and still, and with a cry Nathaniel turned to
the lieutenant. The officer ran forward with a flask in his hand.
"Give him this!"
The touch of liquor to Obadiah's lips revived him. He whispered weakly.
"The children, Nat--I tried to find them--and years after--I did--in
Nauvoo. The man and woman who had killed the father in their own house
had taken them and were raising them as their own. I went mad!
Vengeance--vengeance--I lived for it, year after year. I wanted the
children--but if I took them all would be lost. I followed them,
watched them, loved them--and they loved me. I would wait--wait--until
my vengeance would fall like the hand of God, and then I would free
them, and tell them how beautiful their mother was. When Joseph Smith
was killed and the split came the old folks followed Strang--and I--I
too--"
He rested a moment, breathing heavily.
"I brought my Jean with me and buried her up there on the hill--the
middle grave, Nat, the middle grave--Marion's mother."
Nathaniel pressed the liquor to the old man's lips again.
"My vengeance was at hand--I was almost ready--when Strang learned a
part of the secret," he continued with an effort. "He found the old
people were murderers. When Marion would not become his wife he told her
what they had done. He showed her the evidence! He threatened them with
death unless Marion became his wife. His sheriffs watched them night
and day. He named the hour of their doom--unless Marion yielded to him.
And to save them, her supposed parents--to keep the terrible knowledge of
their crime from Neil--Marion--was--going--to--sacrifice--herself--when--"
Again he stopped. His breath was coming more faintly.
"I understand," whispered Nathaniel. "I understand--"
Obadiah's dimming eyes gazed at him steadily.
"I thought my vengeance would come--in time--to save her, Nat. But--it
failed. I knew of one other way and when all seemed lost--I took it. I
killed the old people--the murderers of her father--of my Jean! I knew
that would destroy Strang's power--"
In a sudden spasm of strength he lifted his head. His voice came in a
hoarse, excited whisper.
"You won't tell Marion--you won't tell Marion that I killed them--"
"No--never."
Obadiah fell back with a relieved sigh. After a moment he added.
"In a chest in the cabin there is a letter for Marion. It tells her
about her mother--and the gold there--is for her--and Neil--"
His eyes closed. A shudder passed through his form.
"Marion--" he breathed. "Marion!"
Nathaniel rose to his feet and ran to the cabin door.
"Marion!" he called.
Blinding tears shut out the vision of the girl from his eyes. He
pointed, looking from her, and she, knowing what he meant, sped past him
to the old councilor.
In the great low room in which Obadiah Price had spent so many years
planning his vengeance Captain Plum waited.
After a time, the girl came back.
There was great pain in her voice as she stretched out her arms to him
blindly, sobbing his name.
"Gone--gone--they're all gone now--but Neil!"
Nathaniel held out his arms.
"Only Neil,"--he cried, "only Neil--Marion--?"
"And you--you--you--"
Her arms were around his neck, he held her throbbing against his breast.
"And you--"
She raised her face, glorious in its love.
"If you want me--still."
And he whispered:
"For ever and for ever!"
THE END