THE COVER OF DARKNESS
Beth Norvell did not remember ever having fainted in her life, yet for
a moment after these words reached her, all around grew dark, and she
was compelled to grasp the counter to keep from falling. The strain of
the long night, coupled with such unexpected news proving she had
arrived too late with her warning, served to daze her brain, to leave
her utterly unable either to think or plan. The clerk, alarmed by the
sudden pallor of her face, was at her side instantly, holding eagerly
forth that panacea for all fleshly ills in the West, a bottle of
whiskey.
"Good Lord, Miss, don't faint away!" he cried excitedly. "Here, just
take a swig of this; there 's plenty of water in it, and it's the stuff
to pull you through. There, that's better. Great Scott, but I sure
thought you was goin' to flop over that time." He assisted her to a
convenient chair, then stepped back, gazing curiously into her face,
the black bottle still in his hand. "What's the trouble, anyhow?" he
questioned, his mind filled with sudden suspicion. "That--that fellow
did n't throw you, did he?"
Miss Norvell, her fingers clasping the chair arm for support, rose
hurriedly to her feet, a red flush sweeping into her pallid cheeks.
For an instant her intense indignation held her speechless.
"'Throw' me? What is it you mean?" she exclaimed, her voice faltering.
"Do you rank me with those shameless creatures out yonder? It is for
Mr. Winston's sake I sought word with him; it has nothing whatever to
do with myself. I chanced to learn news of the utmost importance, news
which he must possess before morning; yet it is not a message I can
trust to any one else. My God! what can I do?" She paused irresolute,
her hands pressing her temples. The boy, his interest aroused, took a
step forward.
"Can I be of service?"
"Oh, I hardly know; I scarcely seem able to think. Could--could you
leave here for just ten minutes--long enough to go to the dance hall at
the Gayety?"
"Sure thing; there 's nothin' doin'."
"Then please go; find a big, red-headed miner there named
Brown--'Stutter' Brown they call him--and bring him back here to me.
If--if he is n't there any longer, then get Mercedes, the Mexican
dancer. You know her, don't you?"
The clerk nodded, reaching for his hat.
"Get one of those two; oh, you must get one of them. Tell them I say
it is most important."
There was a terrible earnestness about the girl's words and manner,
which instantly impressed the lad with the necessity for immediate
haste. He was off at a run, slamming the door heavily behind him, and
plunging headlong into the black street. As he disappeared, Miss
Norvell sank back into the vacated chair, and sat there breathing
heavily, her eyes fastened upon the drunken man opposite, her natural
coolness and resource slowly emerging from out the haze of
disappointment. Brown could surely be trusted in this emergency, for
his interest was only second to her own. But why had she not told him
the entire story before? Why, when she had opportunity, did she fail
to reveal to him Farnham's threats, and warn him against impending
danger? She realized fully now the possible injury wrought by her
secrecy. She felt far too nervous, too intensely anxious, to remain
long quiet; her eyes caught the ticking timepiece hanging above the
clerk's desk, and noted the hour with a start of surprise. It was
already after two. Once, twice, thrice she paced across the floor of
the office and stood for a moment striving to peer through the dirty
window-glass into the blackness without, faintly splotched with gleams
of yellow light. Finally, she flung back the door and ventured forth
upon the shadowed porch, standing behind the low railing, where those
passing below were little likely to notice her presence. Her head
throbbed and ached, and she loosened her heavy hair, pressing her palms
to the temples. The boy returned at last hurriedly, bare-headed, but
unaccompanied, and she met him at the top of the steps, realizing, even
before he spoke, that those she sought had not been found.
"Not there? Neither there?"
"No, Miss." The clerk was breathing hard from his run, but his tone
was sympathetic. "Darned if I did n't hustle that outfit from pit to
boxes, but nobody there seemed to sabe this yere Brown. Mercedes, she
was there all right, 'bout ten minutes ago, but just naturally faded
away before I hit the shebang. Doorkeeper piped it she had a guy with
her when she broke loose, an' he reckoned she must have lit out fer
home."
"For home?" a faint ray of light breaking from the word. "Where does
the girl live? Do you know?"
"Sure; I 'm wise; she has a couple of dandy rooms over at the old fort,
just across the creek; you know where that is, don't you?"
She nodded silently, her eyes brightening with resolution.
"It 's a blame tough bit of hiking to take alone on a dark night like
this," he commented gravely. "You was n't plannin' to try any such
trip as that, was you, Miss?"
"Oh, no; certainly not. I'm going upstairs to wait for daylight. But
I thank you so much," and she cordially extended her hand. "You see,
I--I could hardly go to the Gayety myself at such an hour."
The boy colored, still clasping the extended hand. Something in her
low tone had served to recall to his mind those hasty words uttered in
the office.
"Sure not, Miss Norvell; it's a bit tough, all right, for anybody like
you down there at this time o' night."
She opened the door, the bright light from within shining about her
slender figure, yet leaving her face still in shadow.
"Did--did you chance to notice if Mr. Farnham remained in the dance
hall?"
"Biff Farnham?" in sudden, choking surprise. "Great guns, do you know
him, too? No, he was n't there, but I can tell you where he is, all
the same. He 's at the Palace Livery, saddling up, along with half a
dozen other fellows. I saw 'em as I come trottin' along back, and
wondered what the dickens was on tap at this time o' night."
The girl made no attempt to answer. She stood clutching the edge of
the door for support, her lips tightly compressed, feeling as if her
heart would rise up and choke her. She realized instantly that the
crisis had arrived, that Winston's life probably hung upon her next
decision. Twice she endeavored bravely to speak, and when she finally
succeeded, the strange calmness other voice made her doubt her own
sanity.
"Thank you," she said gravely, "you have been most kind,--good-night,"
and vanished up the stairs.
Within the privacy of her own securely locked room Beth Norvell flung
herself upon the narrow bed, not to sleep, not even to rest, but in an
earnest effort to clarify her brain, to gain fresh conception of this
grim reality which fronted her. She realized now precisely what Ned
Winston stood for in her life--must ever stand for until the bitter
end. There was no upbraiding, no reviling. Not in the slightest
degree did she even attempt to deceive herself; with set, tearless
eyes, and without a sigh of regret, she simply faced the naked truth.
She had made the mistake herself; now she must bear the burden of
discovery. It was not the dull inertia of fatalism, but rather the
sober decision of a woman who had been tried in the fire, who
understood her own heart, and comprehended the strength of her own
will. Personal suffering and sacrifice were no new chapters written in
her life; these had been met before, and now, in yet another guise,
they could be courageously met again. She sat up quickly upon the edge
of the bed, her hands pressing back the heavy hair from off her hot
forehead. What right had she to lie there shuddering at destiny when
lives--his life--might be trembling in the balance? She could at least
serve, and, whatever else of weakness may have lurked in Beth Norvell,
there was no germ of cowardice. Clearer and more clear she perceived
duty, until it overshadowed love and brought her upon her feet in
active preparation, in burning desire for action.
Standing before the little mirror, she wondered dimly at those dark
circles beneath her eyes, the unusually sharp lines visible at the
corners of her mouth. She felt hot, feverish, and in hope of thus
relieving the painful throbbing of her temples she buried her face in
the bowl of cool water. Rapidly, almost carelessly, she gathered up
her dishevelled locks, fastening them in some simple, yet secure
fashion back out of the way. From the open trunk standing against the
wall, she caught up a plain, soft hat, one she had used in character
upon the stage, and drew it down firmly over the mass of soft hair,
never noting how coquettishly the wide brim swept up in front, or what
witchery of archness it gave to her dark eyes. She took a quick step
toward the door, and then, her hand already on the latch, she paused in
uncertainty; finally, she drew a small, pearl-handled revolver from the
bottom tray, and placed it carefully in a pocket of her jacket.
"I--I hardly believe I could ever use it," she thought, "but maybe I
might."
Outside, in the narrow, deserted hall, she stood at the head of the
steep flight of stairs and listened. The snoring of the drunken man in
the office below was the only disturbing sound. Out through the open
office door a dull bar of yellow light streamed across the lower steps.
Like a ghost she stole silently down, treading so softly not a stair
creaked beneath her cautious footfalls. The next moment she had opened
the door, and was alone in the dark street.
Dark it was, but neither deserted nor silent. The unleashed evil of
San Juan was now in full control, more madly riotous than ever beneath
the cloak of so late an hour. Nothing short of complete return of
daylight would bring semblance of peace to that carnival of saloons,
gambling dens, and dance halls. Through the shadows stalked unrebuked,
uncontrolled, the votaries of dissipation and recklessness, of "easy
money" and brutal lust. Yellow rays of light streamed from out dirty,
uncurtained windows, leaving the narrow street weirdly illuminated,
with here and there patches of dense shadows. Shifting figures, often
unsteady of step, appeared and disappeared like disembodied spirits,
distorted from all human semblance by that uncertain radiance; on every
side the discordant sounds of violins and pianos commingled in one
hideous din, punctuated by drunken shouts and every species of noise of
which civilized savagery is capable.
Yet this was not what she feared, this saturnalia of unbridled passion,
for the way was comparatively well lighted, and in traversing it she
was reasonably certain to be within call of some one sober enough to
protect her from insult or injury. Even in drink these men remained
courteous to women of the right sort. No, she had travelled that path
alone at night before, again and again, returning from her work. She
shrank, womanlike, from the sights and sounds, but was conscious of no
personal fear. What she dreaded beyond expression was that long, black
stretch of narrow, desolate alley-way leading down toward the creek
bridge and the old fort beyond. She had been over that path once in
broad daylight, and it made her shudder to think she must now feel her
way there alone through the dark. The growing fear of it got upon her
nerves as she stood hesitating; then, almost angry with herself, she
advanced swiftly down toward the distant glowing lights of the Gayety.
It was just beyond there that the alley turned off toward the
foothills, a mere thread of a path wandering amid a maze of unlighted
tents and disreputable shacks; she remembered this, and the single
rotten strip of plank which answered for a sidewalk.
There was an unusually boisterous, quarrelsome crowd congregated in
front of the Poodle-Dog, and she turned aside into the middle of the
street in order to get past undisturbed. Some one called noisily for
her to wait and have a drink, but she never glanced about, or gave
slightest heed. At the curb a drunken woman reeled against her,
peering sneeringly into her face with ribald laugh, but Beth Norvell
pushed silently past, and vanished into the protecting shadows beyond.
The wide doors of the brilliantly illuminated Gayety were flung open,
the bright light from within streaming far across the road. Many of
its patrons, heated with liquor and the dance, had swarmed forth upon
the broad platform outside in search of fresher air. To avoid pushing
her way through this noisy crowd the girl swiftly crossed the street
into the darkness opposite. As she paused there for an instant,
scarcely conscious that the glow of the lamps reflected full upon her
face, there sounded a sudden clatter of horses' hoofs to her right, and
a half-dozen riders swept around the sharp corner, dashing forward into
the glare. She had barely time in which to leap backward out of their
direct path, when one of the horsemen jerked his mount upon its
haunches, and, uttering an oath of astonishment, leaned forward across
his pommel, staring down into her startled face. Then he laughed.
"Go on, boys," he cried, sitting erect, with a wave of his hand to the
others. "I 'll catch up within half a mile. I 've got a word to say
first to this precious dove fluttering here." He struck the flank of
his horse, causing the sensitive beast to quiver, his own lips curling
maliciously. The girl, panting between parted lips, never lowered her
eyes from his face, and the steady look angered him.
"Still hunting for Winston?" he questioned, sneeringly. "Well, I can
inform you where he may very easily be found."
"Indeed!"
"Yes, out at the 'Little Yankee.' It seems you were a trifle late in
getting him word, or else your fascinations failed to move him. You
must be losing your grip."
She neither moved nor spoke, her eyes--dark, unwinking beneath the wide
hat-brim--telling him nothing. Yet her hand closed upon the pearl
handle hidden away in the jacket pocket, and her lips formed a straight
line.
"I 'm damned sorry you did n't land the fellow, Lizzie," he went on
brutally. "He 's about the best catch you 're liable to get, and
besides, it leaves me a rather unpleasant job. Still, I thought I 'd
better tell you, so you would n't feel it necessary to hang around the
streets here any longer. Fact is, I 'm anxious to shield your
reputation, you know." He looked about carelessly, his glance settling
on the open doors of the Gayety. "Don't strike me this is exactly the
sort of place for one of your moral respectability to be discovered in.
Lord! but what would the old man or that infernal prig of a brother of
yours say, if they could only see you now? A monologue artist at the
Gayety was bad enough, but this, this is the limit."
There was a flash of something white and glittering within six inches
of his face, a sharp click, and an eye looked directly into his own
across a short steel barrel.
"Go!" The word was like the spat of a bullet.
"But, Lizzie--"
"Go, you cur! or, as God is my witness, if you stay I'll kill you!"
With a sharp dig of the spur his horse sprang half-way across the road,
a black, prancing shadow against the glare of light. She saw the rider
fling up one arm, and bring down the stinging quirt on the animal's
flank; the next instant, with a bound, they were swallowed up in the
darkness. A moment she leaned against the shack, nerveless, half
fainting from reaction, her face deathly white. Then she inhaled a
long, deep breath, gathered her skirts closely within one hand, and
plunged boldly into the black alley.