DUTY
The stir of the town over the shooting of Banks seemed to Marion, in
her distress, to point an accusing finger at her. The disgrace of what
she had felt herself powerless to prevent now weighed on her mind, and
she asked herself whether, after all, the responsibility of this
murder was not upon her. Even putting aside this painful doubt, she
bore the name of the man who had savagely defied accountability and
now, it seemed to her, was dragging her with him through the slough of
blood and dishonor into which he had plunged.
The wretched thought would return that had she listened to him, had
she consented to go away, this outbreak might have been prevented. And
what horror might not another day bring--what lives still closer to
her life be taken? For herself she cared less; but she knew that
Sinclair, now that he had begun, would not stop. In whichever way her
thoughts turned, wretchedness was upon them, and the day went in one
of those despairing and indecisive battles that each one within his
own heart must fight at times with heaviness and doubt.
McCloud called her over the telephone in the afternoon to say that he
was going West on the evening train and would not be over for supper.
She wished he could have come, for her loneliness began to be
insupportable.
Toward sunset she put on her hat and started for the post-office. In
the meantime, Dicksie, at home, had called McCloud up and told him she
was coming down for the night. He immediately cancelled his plans for
going West, and when Marion returned at dusk she found him with
Dicksie at the cottage. The three had supper. Afterward Dicksie and
McCloud went out for a walk, and Marion was alone in the house when
the shop door opened and Whispering Smith walked in. It was dusk.
"Don't light the lamps, Marion," he said, sitting down on a
counter-stool as he took off his hat. "I want to talk to you just a
minute, if you don't mind. You know what has happened. I am called on
now to go after Sinclair. I have tried to avoid it, but my hand has
been forced. To-day I've been placing horses. I am going to ride
to-night with the warrant. I have given him a start of twenty-four
hours, hoping he may get out of the country. To stay here means only
death to him in the end, and, what is worse, the killing of more and
innocent men. But he won't leave the country; do you think he will?"
"Oh, I do not know! I am afraid he will not."
"I do not think I have ever hesitated before at any call of this kind;
nor at what such a call will probably sometime mean; but this man I
have known since we were boys."
"If I had never seen him!"
"That brings up another point that has been worrying me all day. I
could not help knowing what you have had to go through in this
country. It is a tough country for any woman. Your people and mine
were always close together and I have felt bound to do what I could
to----"
"Don't be afraid to say it--make my path easier."
"Something like that, though there's been little real doing. What this
situation in which Sinclair is now placed may still mean to you I do
not know, but I would not add a straw to the weight of your troubles.
I came to-night to ask a plain question. If he doesn't leave the
country I have got to meet him. You know what, in all human
probability, that will mean. From such a meeting only one of us can
come back. Which shall it be?"
"I'm afraid I don't understand you--do you ask me this question? How
can I know which it shall be? What is it you mean?"
"I mean I will not take his life in a fight--if it comes to that--if
you would rather he should come back."
A sob almost refused an answer to him. "How can you ask me so terrible
a question?"
"It is a question that means a good deal to me, of course, and I don't
know just what it means to you: that is the point I am up against. I
may have no choice in the matter, but I must decide what to try to do
if I have one. Am I to remember first that he is your husband?"
There was a silence. "What shall I say--what can I say? God help me,
how am I to answer a question like that?"
"How am I to answer it?"
Her voice was low and pitiful when her answer came: "You must do your
duty."
"What is my duty then? To serve the paper that has been given to me, I
know--but not necessarily to defend my life at the price of his. The
play of a chance lies in deciding that; I can keep the chance or give
it away; that is for you to say. Or take the question of duty again.
You are alone and your friends are few. Haven't I any duty toward you,
perhaps? I don't know a woman's heart. I used to think I did, but I
don't. My duty to this company that I work for is only the duty of a
servant. If I go, another takes my place; it means nothing except
taking one name off the payroll and putting another on. Whatever he
may have done, this man is your husband; if his death would cause you
a pang, it shall not be laid at my door. We ought to understand each
other on that point fairly before I start to-night."
"Can you ask me whether you ought not to take every means to defend
your own life? or whether any consideration ought to come before that?
I think not. I should be a wicked woman if I were to wish evil to him,
wretched as he has made me. I am a wretched woman, whichever way I
turn. But I should be less than human if I could say that to me your
death would not be a cruel, cruel blow."
There was a moment of silence. "Dicksie understood you to say that you
were in doubt as to whether you ought to go away with him when he
asked you to go. That is why I was unsettled in my mind."
"The only reason why I doubted was that I thought by going I might
save better lives than mine. I could willingly give up my life to do
that. But to stain it by going back to such a man--God help me!"
"I think I understand. If the unfortunate should happen before I come
back I hope only this: that you will not hate me because I am the man
on whom the responsibility has fallen. I haven't sought it. And if I
should not come back at all, it is only--good-by."
He saw her clasp her hands convulsively. "I will not say it! I will
pray on my knees that you do come back."
"Good-night, Marion. Some one is at the cottage door."
"It is probably Mr. McCloud and Dicksie. I will let them in."