A NEW ALLIANCE
Her eyes blinded by a strange mist of tears, Beth Norvell clung to the
latch of the closed door, fearful lest the man within might decide to
follow, endeavoring to gaze about, while gaining control over her
sorely shattered nerves. Strong as she had appeared when nerved by
indignation and despair, that stormy interview with Farnham--his
scarcely veiled threats, his heartless scoffing--had left her a wreck,
for the moment scarcely mistress of her own mind. One thing alone
stood forth as a rallying point for all her benumbed energies--she must
save Winston from a real danger, the nature of which she did not in the
least doubt. The gambler's boast was no idle one; she, who had before
tasted of his depravity, felt fully convinced of his intention now.
Yet what could she hope to do? How best might she accomplish that
imperative duty of rescue?
There occurred to her only one feasible plan--a complete surrender of
her womanly pride, an immediate acceptance of the young man's proffered
aid to Denver, with an insistence that he also accompany her. Woman
enough to realize her power, she could not but have faith in the
results. The color crept back in her cheeks at this daring conception,
for, after those hastily uttered words of the previous night, what
construction would he be likely to put on this sudden yielding? An
instant she hesitated, afraid, shrinking back before the sacrifice as
from fire. Then her fine eyes darkened, the clinging tears vanishing
while her fingers clinched in passionate resolve. Do it? Why, of
course she must do it! What was her pitiful pride in the balance
against his life? He might never dream what so great a sacrifice cost
her; might even despise her for such an exhibition of weakness; but she
would know, and be the stronger in her own soul from the brave
performance of duty. Besides, she intended to tell him the whole
miserable story of her wrecked life--not now, not even to-night, but
some time, on their way back into the world,--as they were nearing
Denver, perhaps, and at the moment of final parting. It almost seemed
easy as she faced the stern necessity, so easy that her parted lips
smiled sarcastically when she heard Farnham rise and leave the darkened
box through the opposite entrance. Perhaps, when he comprehended it
all, this other, who had spoken love words to her, would understand
where the real blame lay, and so prove manly enough to absolve her from
any conception of evil. This hope was sweet, strengthening, yet it
faded immediately away. Ah, no; such result was not natural, as she
understood the world--it was always the woman who bore the burden of
condemnation. Far safer to expect nothing, but do the right simply
because it was right. She no longer questioned what that would be. It
stood there before her like a blazing cross of flame; she must hold
those two men apart, even though they both trampled her heart beneath
their feet. This was her destiny, the payment she must return the
world for having once made a mistake. One out of the multitude, she
felt strong enough in the crisis to choose deliberately the straight
and narrow path leading through Gethsemane.
And this very choosing gave back her womanhood, cleared her dazed brain
for action, and sent the red blood throbbing through her veins. Her
immediate surroundings began to take definite form. To the left the
great, deserted stage extended, wrapped in total darkness, silent,
forsaken, the heavy drop-curtain lowered to the floor. Through its
obscuring folds resounded noisily a crash of musical instruments, the
incessant shuffling of feet, a mingled hum of voices, evidencing that
the dance was already on in full volume. Far back, behind much
protruding scenery, a single light flickered like a twinkling star, its
dim, uncertain radiance the sole guide through the intricacies of
cluttered passageways leading toward the distant stage entrance. Half
frightened at this gloomy loneliness, the girl moved gingerly forward,
her skirts gathered closely about her slender figure, with anxious eyes
scanning the gloomy shadows in vague suspicion. Suddenly a hand
gripped her extended wrist, and she gazed for a startled instant into
fiercely burning eyes, her own heart throbbing with nervous excitement.
"Vat vas he to you? Answer me! Answer me quick!"
The blood came back into her blanched cheeks with a sudden rush of
anger. Instantly indignation swept back the mists of fear. With
unnatural strength she wrenched free her captured hand, and sternly
fronted the other, a barely recognized shadow in the gloom.
"Permit me to pass," she exclaimed, clearly. "How dare you hide here
to halt me?"
The other exhibited her teeth, gleaming white and savage behind parted
lips, yet she never stirred.
"Dare? Pah! you vaste time to talk so," she cried brokenly, her voice
trembling from passion. "You no such fine lady now, señorita. You see
dis knife; I know how use eet quick. Bah! you go to him like all de
rest, but I vill know de truth first, if I have to cut eet out you. So
vat ees de Señor Farnham to you? Say quick!"
The American remained silent, motionless, her breath quickening under
the threat, her eyes striving to see clearly the face of the one
confronting her.
"Do you expect to frighten me?" she asked, coldly, her earlier anger
strangely changing to indifference. "It is you who wastes time,
señorita, for I care little for your knife. Only it would be an
extremely foolish thing for you to do, as I have not come between you
and your lover."
The impulsive Mexican dancer laughed, but with no tone of joy
perceptible.
"My lofer! Mother of God! sometime I think I hate, not lofe. He vas
like all you Americanos, cold as de ice. He play vis Mercedes, and
hurt--gracious, how he hurt! But I must be told. Vat vas he to you?
Answer me dat."
Beth Norvell's eyes softened in sudden pity. The unconscious appeal
within that broken voice, which had lost all semblance of threat,
seemed to reveal instantly the whole sad story, and her heart gave
immediate response. She reached out, touching gently the hand in which
she saw the gleam of the knife-blade. There was no fear in her now,
nothing but an infinite womanly sympathy.
"He is nothing to me," she said, earnestly, "absolutely nothing. I
despise him--that is all. He is unworthy the thought of any woman."
The slender figure of the Mexican swayed as though stricken by a blow,
the fierce, tigerish passion dying out of her face, her free hand
seeking her throat as though choking.
"Nothing?" she gasped, incredulously. "_Sapristi_, I think you lie,
señorita. Nothing? Vy you go to him in secret? Vy you stay and talk
so long? I not understand."
"He sent for me; he wished me to aid him in a business matter."
The other stared incredulous, her form growing rigid with gathering
suspicion that this fair American was only endeavoring to make her a
fool through the use of soft speech. The white teeth gleamed again
maliciously.
"You speak false to Mercedes," she cried hotly, her voice trembling.
"Vy he send for you, señorita? You know him?"
There was a bare instant of seeming hesitation, then the quiet, better
controlled voice answered soberly:
"Yes, in the East, three years ago."
Like a flash of powder, the girl of the hot-blooded South burst into
fresh flame of passion, her foot stamping the floor, her black eyes
glowing with unrestrained anger.
"_Dios de Dios_! Eet ees as I thought. He lofe you, not Mercedes. Vy
I not kill you?--hey?"
Miss Norvell met her fiercely threatening look, her single step of
advance, without tremor or lowering of the eyes. She even released her
grasp upon the uplifted knife, as if in utter contempt. For a moment
they confronted each other, and then, as suddenly as she had broken
into flame, the excitable young Mexican burst into tears. As though
this unexpected exhibition of feeling had inspired the action, the
other as quickly decided upon her course.
"Listen to me, girl," she exclaimed gravely, again grasping the lowered
knife hand. "I am going to trust you implicitly. You feel deeply; you
will understand when I tell you all. You call me a fine lady because I
hold myself aloof from the senseless revelry of this mining camp; and
you believe you hate me because you suppose I feel above you. But you
are a woman, and, whatever your past life may have been, your heart
will respond to the story of a woman's trouble. I 'm going to tell you
mine, not so much for my sake as for your own. I am not afraid of your
knife; why, its sharp point would be almost welcome, were it not that I
have serious work to do in the world before I die. And you are going
to aid me in accomplishing it. You say you do not really know now
whether you truly love or hate this man, this Farnham. But I know for
myself beyond all doubt. All that once might have blossomed into love
in my heart has been withered into hatred, for I know him to be a moral
leper, a traitor to honor, a remorseless wretch, unworthy the tender
remembrance, of any woman. You suppose I went to him this night
through any deliberate choice of my own? Almighty God, no! I went
because I was compelled; because there was no possible escape. Now, I
am going to tell you why."
Mercedes, the tears yet clinging to her long, black lashes, stood
motionless, gazing at the other with fascination, her slender,
scarlet-draped figure quivering to the force of these impetuous words.
She longed, yet dreaded, to hear, her own lips refusing utterance. But
Beth Norvell gave little opportunity; her determination made, she swept
forward unhesitatingly. As though fearful of being overheard, even in
the midst of that loneliness, she leaned forward, whispering one quick,
breathless sentence of confession. The startled dancer swayed backward
at the words, clutching at her breast, the faint glimmer of light
revealing her staring eyes and pallid cheeks.
"Mother of God!" she sobbed convulsively. "No, no! not dat! He could
not lie to me like dat!"
"Lie?" in bitter scornfulness. "Lie! Why, it is his very life to
lie--to women. God pity us! This world seems filled with just such
men, and we are their natural victims. Love? Their only conception of
it is passion, and, that once satiated, not even ordinary kindness is
left with which to mock the memory. In Heaven's name, girl, in your
life have you not long since learned this? Now, I will tell you what
this monster wanted of me to-night." She paused, scarcely knowing how
best to proceed, or just how much of the plot this other might already
comprehend.
"Have you ever heard of the 'Little Yankee' mine?" she questioned.
"Si, señorita," the voice faltering slightly, the black eyes drooping.
"Eet is up in de deep canyon yonder; I know eet."
"He told me about it," Miss Norvell continued more calmly. "He is
having trouble with those people out there. There is something wrong,
and he is afraid of exposure. You remember the young man who walked
home with me last night: Well, he is a mining engineer. He has agreed
to examine into the claims of the 'Little Yankee' people, and
this--this Farnham wants him stopped. You understand? He sent for me
to use my influence and make him go away. I refused, and then
this--this creature threatened to kill Mr. Winston if he remained in
camp, and--and I know he will."
The Mexican's great black eyes widened, but not with horror. Suddenly
in the silent pause she laughed.
"Si, si; now I know all--you lofe dis man. _Bueno_! I see eet as eet
vas."
The telltale red blood swept to the roots of Miss Norvell's hair, but
her indignant reply came swift and vehement.
"No, stop! Never dare to speak such words. I am not like that! Can
you think of nothing except the cheap masquerade of love? Have you
never known any true, pure friendship existing between man and woman?
This mining engineer has been good to me; he has proved himself a
gentleman. It is not love which makes me so anxious now to serve him,
to warn him of imminent danger--it is gratitude, friendship, common
humanity. Is it impossible for you to comprehend such motives?"
The other touched her for the first time with extended hand, her face
losing much of its previous savagery.
"I know so ver' leettle 'bout such kinds of peoples, señorita," she
explained regretfully, her voice low, "de kind vat are good and gentle
and vidout vantin' somting for eet. Eet ees not de kinds I meet vis
ver' much. Dey be all alike vis me--lofe, lofe, lofe, till I get seek
of de vord--only de one, an' I not know him ver' vell yet. Maybe he
teach me vat you mean some day. He talk better, not like a fool, an'
he not try to make me bad. Is dat eet, señorita?"
"Yes; who is it you mean?"
"He? Oh! it vas most odd, yet I do not laugh, señorita, I know not
vy, but he make me to feel--vat you calls eet?--si, de respect; I tink
him to be de good man, de gentle. He was at de 'Little Yankee' too. I
vonder vas all good out at de 'Little Yankee'? _Sapristi_! he vas such
a funny man to talk--he sputter like de champagne ven it uncorked. I
laugh at him, but I like him just de same, for he act to me like I vas
de lady, de ver' fine lady. I never forget dat. You know him,
señorita? So big like a great bear, vis de beautiful red hair like de
color of dis dress. No? He so nice I just hate to have to fool him,
but maybe I get chance to make eet all up some day--you tink so?
Merciful saints! Ve are queer, ve vomens! Eet vas alvays de voman vat
does like de vay you do, hey? Ve vas mooch fools all de time."
"Yes, we are 'much fools'; that seems ordained. Yet there are true,
noble men in this world, Mercedes, and blessed is she who can boast of
such a friendship. This Mr. Winston is one, and, perhaps, your
stuttering giant may prove another." She caught at a straw of hope in
thus interesting the girl. "So he is at the 'Little Yankee'? and you
wish to serve him? Then listen; he is in danger also if this scheme of
revenge carries--in danger of his life. Dynamite does not pick out one
victim, and permit all others to escape."
"Dynamite?"
"That was Farnham's threat, and God knows he is perfectly capable of
it. Now, will you aid me?"
The young Mexican girl stood staring with parted lips.
"Help you how? Vat you mean?"
"Warn the men of the 'Little Yankee.'"
The other laughed behind her white teeth, yet with no mirth in the
sound.
"Ah, maybe I see, señorita; you try make a fool out me. No, I not play
your game. You try turn me against Señor Farnham. I tink you not
catch Mercedes so."
"You do not believe me?"
"_Sapristi_! I know not for sure. Maybe I help, maybe I not. First I
talk vis Señor Farnham, an' den I know vether you lie, or tell true.
Vatever ees right I do."
"Then permit me to pass."
Miss Norvell took a resolute step forward, clasping her skirts closely
to keep them from contact with the dusty scenery crowding the narrow
passage. The jealous flame within the black eyes of the Mexican dimmed.
"You can no pass dat vay," she explained swiftly, touching the other's
sleeve.
"Not through the stage door?"
The other shook her head doggedly.
"Eet is alvay locked, señorita."
Beth Norvell turned about in dismay, her eyes pleading, her breath
quickening.
"You mean we are shut in here for the night? Is n't there any way
leading out?"
"Oh, si, si," and Mercedes smiled, waving her hands. "Zar is vay
yonder vare de orchestra goes. Eet leads to de hall; I show you."
"Did he know?"
"Vat? Señor Farnham? No doubt, señorita. Come, eet ees but de step."
The bewildered American hung back, her eyes filled with dread resting
upon the black shadow of the curtain, from behind which clearly arose
the strains of a laboring orchestra, mingling with the discordant noise
of a ribald crowd. Farnham understood she was locked in; knew she
might hope to escape only through that scene of pollution; beyond
doubt, he waited in its midst to gloat over her degradation, possibly
even to accost her. She shrank from such an ordeal as though she
fronted pestilence.
"Oh, not that way; not through the dance hall!" she exclaimed.
Mercedes clapped her hands with delight. To her it appeared amusing.
"Holy Mother! Vy not? Eet make me laugh to see you so ver' nice. Vat
you 'fraid 'bout? Vas eet de men? Pah! I snap my fingers at all of
dem dis vay. Dey not say boo! But come, now, Mercedes show you vay
out vere you no meet vis de men, no meet vis anybody. Poof, eet ees
easy."
She danced lightly away, her hand beckoning, her black eyes aglow with
aroused interest. Reluctantly the puzzled American slowly followed,
dipping down into the black labyrinth leading beneath the stage. Amid
silence and darkness Mercedes grasped her arm firmly, leading
unhesitatingly forward. Standing within the glare of light streaming
through the partially open door. Miss Norvell drew a sudden breath of
relief. The chairs and benches, piled high along the side of the great
room, left a secluded passageway running close against the wall. Along
this the two young women moved silently, catching merely occasional
glimpses of the wild revelry upon the other side of that rude barrier,
unseen themselves until within twenty feet of the street door. There
Miss Norvell hesitated her anxious eyes searching the mixed crowd of
dancers now for the first time fully revealed. Even as she gazed upon
the riot, shocked into silence at the inexpressible profligacy
displayed, and ashamed of her presence in the midst of it, a merry peal
of laughter burst through the parted lips of the Mexican dancer.
"_Dios de Dios_, but I had all forgot dis vas your night for de dance,
señor. But you no so easy forget Mercedes, hey?"
He stood directly before them, plainly embarrassed, gripping his
disreputable hat in both hands like a great bashful boy, his face
reddening under her smiling eyes, his voice appearing to catch within
his throat. Mercedes laughed again, patting his broad shoulder with
her white hand as though she petted a great, good-natured dog. Then
her sparkling black eyes caught sight of something unexpected beyond,
and, in an instant, grew hard with purpose.
"Holy Mother! but eet 's true he ees here, señorita--see yonder by de
second vindow," she whispered fiercely. "Maybe it vas so he tink to
get you once more, but he not looked dis vay yet. _Bueno_! I make him
dance vis me. Dis man Stutter Brown, an' he go vis you to de hotel;
ees eet not so, _amigo_?"
"I-I have no t-t-time," he stuttered, totally confused. "Y-you see, I
'm in a h-hell of a h-h-hurry."
"Pah; eet vill not take five minute, an' I be here ven you come back.
Si, señor, I vait for you for de dance, sure." She turned eagerly to
Miss Norvell. "You go vis him, señorita; he ver' good man, I,
Mercedes, know."
The American looked at them both, her eyes slightly smiling in
understanding.
"Yes," she assented quietly, "I believe he is."