CHAPTER XXIV
THE SPEAKING OF GUNS
Max had heard, whirled and came running back to the door.
"Stand aside!" he called to Drennen. "Those men are my prisoners."
Drennen made no answer. Mindful of the weapons on the floor he caughtthem up and threw them far out into the underbrush. His rifle ready inboth hands, his purpose standing naked in his eyes, he stepped outafter Max.
"Curse you!" shouted Max over his shoulder. "If you interfere now I'llshoot you like a dog!"
Sefton and Lemarc, riding and leading two other horses, came into viewthrough the trees. Evidently Garcia had not lied, evidently there wassome roundabout trail from the far side of the lake, evidently, thetreasure found, these men wished to lose no time in carrying it awaywith them.
They had not heard until they had seen; by that time they were notfifty yards away and Max's rifle bore unwaveringly upon Sefton's chest.
"Up with your hands, Sefton and Lemarc!" he called loudly. "In thename of the Law!"
"Fight it out, Sefton, if you are a man!" shouted Drennen, his ownrifle at his shoulder. "I am going to kill you any way!"
Ernestine was crying out inarticulately; no one listened to the thingshe was trying to say. She had waited too long. Marshall Sothern, aqueer smile upon his lips which Drennen was never to forget, strode tohis son's side.
"Dave," he said gently. "If you are doing this for me . . . let be! Ihave told Max."
"What do you mean?" muttered Drennen dully. "Told him what?"
"Who I am."
He laid his hand on the barrel of Drennen's rifle, forcing it downward.His son stared at him with wondering eyes.
"I don't understand. . . ."
Both Sefton and Lemarc, with one accord had jerked in their horses,their hands dropping the ropes of the animals they led and going theswift, certain way to the gun in the coat pocket.
"It's a hold-up, Marc!" cried Sefton, driving his heels into hishorse's sides and coming on in defiance of the rifle still trained uponhim.
"Garcia!"
Garcia shrugged his shoulders and watched, having nothing else to do.
"Wait!" screamed Marc after Sefton. "Can't you see the uniform? He'sone of the Mounted."
Sefton saw. He saw too that at the door was David Drennen; that at hisside was Marshall Sothern; that big Kootanie George stood out, a littlein front. His face went white; he jerked his horse back upon itshaunches; his teeth cut, gnawing, at his lip. He saw and heunderstood. He knew that for him the play was over; he knew thatwithin the old house was a fortune for many men and that he had had hishands on it and that it was not to be for him. His white face wentwhiter with the rage and despair upon him.
"It's you that did for me!" he yelled. "You, John Harper Drennen!You! Damn you . . . take that!"
In the first grip of the fury upon him he fired. Fired so that theshort barrel of his revolver, spitting out the leaden pellets, grewhot. He was too close to miss. Marshall Sothern clutched at Drennen'sarm and went down, sinking slowly, not so much as a groan bursting fromhis lips. And as he dropped Kootanie George fell with him, the bigCanadian's broad chest taking the first of the flying bullets.
Drennen and Max fired almost at the same instant, the rifles snappingtogether. Too close to miss a target like that, and Sefton, clutchingat his horse's mane, slipped from the saddle and to the ground.
"Lemarc," shouted Max sternly, "come on! Your hands up or you get thesame thing."
He had not seen old Marshall Sothern fall. Drennen was on his kneesnow, his father's head caught up in his lap, his face horrible with thegrief upon it as he bent forward. The old man was badly hurt butconscious. His eyes went to David's, his hand sought to close abouthis son's. And Drennen, leaning lower as he saw the lips framingwords, thought that he had not heard aright.
"Thank God!" was what Marshall Sothern was saying.
There had been the one sharp fusillade and the fight was over. Threemen lay upon the ground, two of them having caught their death wounds.Sefton sprawled where he had fallen, alone. He would lie there untilthe life rattled out of his body. Ernestine, sobbing a moment, thenvery still, was over Kootanie George's body, her poor frail handsalready red with his blood as she sought to lift him a little. Georgewas looking up at her wonderingly. He did not understand; he could notunderstand yet. If she didn't love him, then why did she look at himlike that?
Lemarc, his dark face a study in anger and despair, lifted his twoarms. Max, his eyes hard upon his prisoner, strode forward to disarmhim and take him into closer custody. So, even yet, since neitherMarshall Sothern nor Kootanie had uttered a loud outcry, the lieutenantwas unconscious of all that had happened so few steps behind him.
The sun was entangled in the tree tops far to the westward, the redsunset already tingeing the sky. In a little the cool sting of thedusk would be in the air.
Drennen, stooping still further, slipped his arms about MarshallSothern's body. As his father had carried him to his own dugout, sonow did he bear his father into the house. He wanted no help; he wasjealous of this duty. And, looking down into the white face at hisshoulder, it seemed to him that the pain had gone out of it; that therewas a deep joy for this wounded man to be gripped thus in the arms ofhis son.
Garcia, obeying two curt commands from Drennen, cleared the bearskin ofits golden freight and builded a fire in the rock chimney. Verytenderly Drennen lay the old man down, seeking to give him what comfortthere was to give.
Ygerne, trembling visibly now, her face white and sick, watched Drennenwordlessly. She had seen everything; she had marked how Sefton laywhere Max's and Drennen's bullets had found him; she had seen KootanieGeorge drop; she had seen Ernestine crouching over him; she had seenand had read the writing in the old man's face. Now her eyes were uponDrennen. And he did not see her.
"Dad," he said, a queer catch in his voice. "Dad. . . ."
The old man's stern eyes softened; a smile fought hard for its placeupon his lips and in the end drove away for a little the pain there.There was just a flutter of his fingers as they sought to tighten abouthis son's.
"Davie," he whispered faintly.
Then he lay still, an iron will holding what little strength lay inhim. David sought the wound and found . . . three. A harsh sob brokefrom him when he read the meaning that the three bleeding woundsspelled. He had seen men with their mortal wounds before. He knewthat he might stop the outward flow of blood a little; that perhaps hisfather might live to see the sun come up. But he knew, and his fatherknew, that at last John Harper Drennen, good man or bad, was at lastgoing to his reckoning.
Ygerne Bellaire, while she and Marshall Sothern had nursed DavidDrennen, had seen hourly all of the courtly, knightly gentleness andtenderness which was one side of the old man. Now she came swiftly tothe edge of the bearskin. She, too, went down upon her knees atSothern's side, just opposite Drennen. Her hands did not tremble asthey grew red with the spurting blood. She said nothing, but shehelped Drennen, who, having looked at her once with terrible eyes, madeno protest. Together they made bandages and sought to do what theycould, Ygerne fastening the knots while Drennen lifted the prone body.When they had done the old man thanked them both silently, equally,with his eyes.
So Lieutenant Max found them when, driving Lemarc before him, he cameinto the room. The officer's face, as hard as rock, softenedwonderfully as he cried out and came quickly to Marshall Sothern's side.
"Mr. Sothern!" he said harshly. "He got you . . . my God!"
"It saves you a nasty job, my boy," Sothern said gently. "And me muchunhappiness. I'm old, Max, and I'm tired and my work's done. I'mglad, glad to go. . . ."
For a little he was silent, exhausted, his eyes closed. Then, thesmile seeming to come more easily to the white lips, his eyes stillshut, he murmured so that they leaned closer not to miss the words:
"God is good to me in the end. I have always been lonely . . . withoutyour mamma, Davie. An
d now I am going to her . . . with all I love inlife telling me . . . good-bye. You, Max, my boy . . . you, Davie, myson . . . you, Ygerne, my daughter. . . ."
Ygerne, a sob shaking at her breast, rose swiftly and went out. But ina moment she was back, bringing with her a little flask of brandy. Theeyes of Ramon Garcia, the only eyes in the room to follow her, grewunutterly sad.
A little of the brandy added fuel to the flickering fire of life inMarshall Sothern. At his command they propped him up, the rug underhim, his shoulders against the wall at the side of the fireplace.Drennen's face again had grown impassive. Max had not opened his lipsafter his first outburst but in his eyes tears gathered, slowlyspilling over upon his brown cheeks. Ygerne, as before, stood a littlealoof.
"Davie," the old man said slowly, painfully, yet the words distinctthrough the mastery of his will; "I wanted to tell you the story whilewe were on the trail together . . . alone, out in the woods. But it isjust as well now. Max, my boy, you will forgive me? I want just Daviehere . . . and Ygerne."
Max turned swiftly, nodding, a new look in his eyes. He had saidtruly; this old man had been more than father to him. Like all men ofstrong passions Max knew jealousy; and now he sought to hide the hurtthat he should be sent away even though it be to make place for the son.
Max and Garcia and Lemarc went out, the door closing after them.Coming to where Kootanie George lay they saw that Ernestine's face wasagainst his breast, that George's great arms were at last flung abouther shoulders.
Meantime John Harper Drennen told his story. Knowing that his time wasshort, his strength waning, he gave only the essential facts withoutcomment, making no defence for himself which did not lie upon thesurface of these facts themselves.
John Harper Drennen had been the second vice-president of the EasternMines, Inc., New York. He had made his reputation as a man of cleanprobity, of unimpeachable honour. His influence became very greatbecause his honesty was great. The first vice-president of the companywas a man named Frayne. Just now Frayne lay dead outside with Max'sand Drennen's bullets through his body.
Frayne . . . or Sefton . . . while nominally first vice-president wasin actuality the manager of Eastern Mines. He had always been a manwithout principle but John Harper Drennen had believed in him. Therecame a time when the Eastern Mines threw a new scheme upon the market.Frayne had engineered the plan and had made John Harper Drennen believein it. John Harper Drennen, using his influence, had caused hisfriends to buy a total of one hundred thousand dollars of worthlessstock.
Before the exposure came John Harper Drennen had had his eyes opened.He went to Frayne and Frayne laughed at him. He went higher up andfound that the nominal president was under Frayne's thumb.
Drennen sought the way to make restitution to the friends who had beenfleeced through his advice. He, himself, had not more than twenty-fivethousand dollars available. Being in a position of trust in thecompany, he took from their vaults the remaining seventy-five thousanddollars. He gave the money, the whole hundred thousand, to a broker,instructing him to buy the worthless shares. He went to his friends,instructing them to unload. He saw that he had made restitution.Then, knowing that Frayne had cloaked his whole crooked deal inprotective technicalities of the law, knowing that his act could bepunished, he left New York.
He had sought to see his son, but David Drennen was out of town andthere was no time. He went to Paris. At last, a body in the Seinegave him the opportunity to play at being dead. He wrote the notewhich later came to David. Then he came to New York to find his son.But David had left.
Through the after years the old man had sought always to do two things:to return to the Eastern Mines the money which he had taken from thecompany; to find his son.
That was his story.
He lifted his eyes when it was done, studying anxiously his son's face.
"I have sinned against the laws of man," he said simply. "I havetried, Davie, not to sin against the laws of God."
Therein lay his only defence.
"Dad," whispered the son, his voice breaking now, the tears standing atlast in his eyes as they had stood in Max's; "it is I who have sinned,being a man of little faith! Do you know how I worshipped you when Iwas a boy? Do you know how I love you now?"
He bent forward swiftly and . . . he was the impulsive, warm-heartedboy again . . . kissed his father. And a tear, falling, ran in thesame course with a tear from the old man's eye. One a tear ofheartbreaking sadness; one a tear of heartbreaking gladness.
"You will tell Max?" asked Marshall Sothern. "Poor old Max. Andnow . . . let them come in. I have lived so much alone . . . I want todie among my friends."
They stood, heads bared, faces drawn, about the figure which had againslipped down upon the bear skin. Max knelt and took the lax hand andkissed it.
"You are the greatest man in the world," he said incoherently. "Do youthink I am ungrateful? Do you think I'd remember a thing like my swornduty and forget all you've done for me, all . . ."
"A man is no man unless he does what he thinks is his duty, Max. Ihave tried to do mine. You would have done yours."
Ramon Garcia, standing a little apart, came softly forward.
"You die, senor?" he asked very gently.
The old man nodded while David Drennen looked up angrily at theinterruption.
"You love your son?" Garcia asked, still very gently. "This Drennen isyour son and you love him much?"
"Yes."
"Then I, Ramon Garcia, who have never done a good thing in my life, Ido a good thing now! I give you something filled with sweetness tocarry in your heart? For why?" He shrugged gracefully. "It is soshort to tell, and maybe the telling make others happy, too. See. Itis like this: Your son love the senorita de Bellaire. She love him._Bueno_. I, too, love her. I cannot make her happy and love me; so Iwill make her happy anyway. And you happy while you die, senor. Andyour son happy always."
They all looked at him wonderingly. He paused a moment, gathered whathe had to say into as few words as might be and went on calmly.
"Senor David promise Miss Ygerne he stake Lemarc. He give Lemarc tenthousand dollars. Lemarc come back and say to the lady: 'He lie. Hegive me nothing. He say he give the money and more to the lady whenshe give herself to him . . . for a little while.' But the lady whohad believe many lies will not believe this one. What then, _amigos_?Then Ramon Garcia, loving the lady for his own, tell Sefton and Lemarcwhat they shall do. He say Ernestine Dumont shall play sick; she shallsay she die and that George hit her; she shall make Senor David takeher in his arms, maybe. And we take the Senorita de Bellaire to see!"
A gasp broke from Ygerne; a look that no man might read sweeping intoher eyes. Drennen knelt still, looking stunned. A look of greathappiness came into the old man's face.
"Garcia," he said, "you are a gentleman! It is the truth . . . this iswhat Ernestine has wanted to tell David . . ."
Now, coming swiftly, came the time for a man to die. He died like aman, fearlessly. He had made his hell knowing the thing he did; a hellnot of filth and darkness but of fierce white flames that purified. Hehad walked through it, upright. He had lived without fear; he had donewrong but had done so that another, greater wrong might not be done; hehad trodden his way manfully. He had suffered and had causedsuffering. But he had not regretted. He had committed his onesin . . . if sin it were. After that his life had been clean. Not somuch as a lie had come after, even a lie to save his own life. And inthe end, the end coming swiftly now, it was well.
With David Drennen and Ygerne and Max close about him, his lastsensation the touch of their hands, his last sight the sight of theirtear-wet faces, knowing that when he was gone there would be one tocomfort his son, he died.
It was dawn. David Drennen and Ygerne Bellaire standing silent, headbowed over the still form upon the bear skin, knew in their hearts thatthere had been no tragedy wrought here. The lips turned up to themwere smiling. The man had died full o
f years, honoured in theirhearts, loved deeply. He had grown weary at the end of a long trailand his rest had come to him as he wanted it.
They did not see Ramon Garcia who came softly to the door. For amoment he stood looking in, seeing only the girl; slowly there welledup into his soft eyes great tears. From his breast he took a littlefaded bunch of field flowers. He raised them to his lips; for asecond, holding them there, he knelt, his eyes still alone for Ygerne.Then he rose and crossed himself and went away.
They had not seen. But in a little they heard his voice as he rodedown into the canon. It was the old song, lilted tenderly, the voiceseeming young and gay and untroubled:
"_Dios_. It is sweet to be young . . . and to love."
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