CHAPTER XXIV
THE LAST RESORT OF KINGS AND MEN
The sudden entrant upon a quarrel between others is invariably at adisadvantage. Usually he is unaware of the cause of difference andgenerally he has no idea of the stage of development of the affair thathas been reached. Newbold suffered from this lack of knowledge and tothese disadvantages were added others. For instance, he had not thefaintest idea as to who or what was the stranger. The room was not verylight in the day time, Armstrong happened to be standing with his backto it at some distance from the window by the side of which Enid stood.Six years naturally and inevitably make some difference in a man'sappearance and it is not to be wondered that at first Newbold did notrecognize the man before him as the original of the face in his wife'slocket, although he had studied that face over and over again. A nearerscrutiny, a longer study would have enlightened him of course, but forthe present he saw nothing but a stranger visibly perturbed on one sideand the woman he loved apparently fiercely resentful, sternlyindignant, confronting the other with an upraised hand.
The man, whoever he was, had affronted her, had aroused her indignation,perhaps had insulted her, that was plain. He went swiftly to her side,he interposed himself between her and the man.
"Enid," he asked, and his easy use of the name was a revelation and anillumination to Armstrong, "who is this man, what has he done?"
It was Armstrong who replied. If Newbold were in the dark, not so he;although they had never spoken, he had seen Newbold. He recognized himinstantly, indeed recognized or not the newcomer could be no other thanhe. There was doubtless no other man in the mountains. He had expectedto find him when he approached the hut and was ready for him.
To the fire of his ancient hatred and jealousy was added a new fuel thatincreased its heat and flame. This man had come between Armstrong andthe woman he loved before and had got away unscathed, evidently he hadcome between him and this new woman he loved. Well, he should be made tosuffer for it this time and by Armstrong's own hands. The instantNewbold had entered the room Armstrong had thirsted to leap upon him andhe meant to do it. One or the other of them, he swore in his heart,should never leave that room alive.
But Newbold should have his chance. Armstrong was as brave, as fearless,as intrepid, as any man on earth. There was much that was admirable inhis character; he would not take any man at a disadvantage in anencounter such as he proposed. He would not hesitate to rob a man of hiswife if he could and he would not shrink from any deceit necessary togain his purpose with a woman, for good or evil, but he had his ownideas of honor, he would not shoot an enemy in the back for instance.
Singular perversion, this, to which some minds are liable! To take froma man his wife by subtle and underhand methods, to rob him of that whichmakes life dear and sweet--there was nothing dishonorable in that! Butto take his life, a thing of infinitely less moment, by the sameprocess--that was not to be thought of. In Armstrong's code it wasright, it was imperative, to confront a man with the truth and take theconsequences; but to confront a woman with a lie and take her body andsoul, if so be she might be gained, was equally admirable. And there areother souls than Armstrong's in which this moral inconsistency andobliquity about men and women has lodgment.
Armstrong confronted Newbold therefore, lustful of battle; he yearned toleap upon him, his fingers itched to grasp him, then trembled slightlyas he rubbed them nervously against his thumbs; his face protruded alittle, his eyes narrowed.
"My name is Armstrong," he said, determined to precipitate the issuewithout further delay and flinging the words at the other in a tone ofhectoring defiance which, however, strange to say, did not seem toaffect Newbold in exactly the degree he had anticipated.
Yet the name was an illumination to Newbold, though not at all in theway the speaker had fancied; the recollection of it was the one factconcerning the woman he loved that rankled in the solitary's mind. Hehad often wanted to ask Enid Maitland what she had meant by that chanceallusion to Armstrong which she had made in the beginning of theiracquaintance, but he had refrained. At first he had no right to questionher, there could be no natural end to their affections; and latterlywhen their hearts had been disclosed to each other in the wild,tempestuous, passionate scenes of the last two or three days, he had hadthings of greater moment to engage his attention, subjects of moreimportance to discuss with her.
He had for the time being forgotten Armstrong and he had not beforeknown what jealousy was until he had entered that room. To have seen herwith any man would have given him acute pain, perhaps just because hehad been so long withdrawn from human society, but to see her with thisman who flashed instantly into his recollection upon the utterance ofhis name was an added exasperation.
Newbold turned to the woman, to whom indeed he had addressed hisquestion in the first place, and there was something in his movementwhich bespoke a galling, almost contemptuous, obliviousness to thepresence of the other man which was indeed hard for him to bear.
Hate begets hate. He was quite conscious of Armstrong's antagonism,which was entirely undisguised and open and which was growing greaterwith every passing moment. The score against Newbold was running up inthe mind of his visitor.
"Ah," coolly said the owner of the cabin to the latest of his twoguests, "I do remember Miss Maitland did mention your name the first dayshe spent here. Is he a--a friend of yours?" he asked of the woman.
"Not now," answered Enid Maitland.
She too was in a strange state of perturbation on account of thedilemma in which she found herself involved. She was determined not tobetray the unconscious confidence of the dead. She hoped fervently thatNewbold would not recognize Armstrong as the man of the locket, but ifhe did she was resolute that he should not also be recognized as the manof the letters, at least not by her act. Newbold was ignorant of theexistence of those letters and she did not intend that he should beenlightened so far as she could prevent it. But she was keen enough tosee that the first recognition would be inevitable; she even admittedthe fact that Armstrong would probably precipitate it himself. Well, nohuman soul, not even their writer, knew that she had the letters exceptold Kirkby and he was far away. She wished that she had destroyed them;she had determined to do so at the first convenient opportunity. Beforethat, however, she intended to show them not to Newbold but toArmstrong, to disclose his perfidy, to convict him of the falsehood hehad told her and to justify herself even in his eyes for the action shehad taken.
Mingled with all these quick reflections was a deadly fear. She wasquick to perceive the hatred Armstrong cherished against Newbold on theone hand because of the old love affair, the long standing grudgebreaking into sudden life; on the other because of her own failure tocome to Armstrong's hand and her love for Newbold which she had nodesire to conceal. The cumulation of all these passionate antagonismswould only make him the more desperate, she knew.
Whether or not Newbold found out Armstrong's connection with his pastlove there was sufficient provocation in the present to evoke all theoppugnation and resentment of his nature. Enid felt as she might if thepuncheons of the floor had been sticks of dynamite with activedetonators in every heel that pressed them; as if the slightest movementon the part of anyone would bring about an explosion.
The tensity of the situation was bewildering to her. It had come uponher with such startling force; the unexpected arrival of Armstrong, ofall the men on earth the one who ought not to be there, and then theequally startling arrival of Newbold, of whom perhaps the same mighthave been said. If Newbold had only gone on, if he had not come back, ifshe had been rescued by her uncle or old Kirkby--But "ifs" were idle,she had to face a present situation to which she was utterly unequal.
She had entirely repudiated Armstrong, that was one sure point; she knewhow guilty he had been toward Newbold's wife, that was another; sherealized how he had deceived her, that was the third. These eliminatedthe man from her affections. But it is one thing to thrust a man out ofyour heart and another to thrust him out
of your life; he was stillthere. And by no means the sport of blind fate, Armstrong intended tohave something to say as to the course of events, to use his own powersto determine the issue.
Of but one thing besides her hatred for Armstrong was Enid Maitlandabsolutely certain; she would never disclose to the man she loved thefact that the woman, the memory of whose supposed passion he cherished,had been unfaithful to him in heart if not in deed. Nothing could wrestthat secret from her. She had been infected by Newbold's quixotic ideas,the contagion of his perversion of common sense had fastened itself uponher. She would not have been human either if she had not experienced athrill of pride and joy at the possibility that in some way, of whichshe yet swore she would not be the instrument blind or otherwise, thefacts might be disclosed which would enable Newbold to claim her openlyand honorably, without hesitation before or remorse after, as his wife.This fascinating flash of expectant hopeful feeling she thought unworthyof her and strove to fight it down, but with manifest impossibility.
It has taken time to set these things down; to speak or to write is aslow process and the ratio between outward expressions and inward is asgreat as that between light and sound. Questions and answers betweenthese three followed as swiftly as thrust and parry between accomplishedswordsmen, and yet between each demand and reply they had time toentertain these swift thoughts--as the drowning compass life experiencesin seconds!
"I may not be her friend," said Armstrong steadily, "but she left me inthese mountains a month ago with more than a half way promise to marryme, and I have sought her through the snows to claim the fulfillment."
"You never told me that," exclaimed Newbold sternly and again addressingthe woman rather than the man.
"There was nothing to tell," she answered quickly. "I was a young girl,heart free. I liked this man, perhaps because he was so different fromthose to whom I had been accustomed and when he pressed his suit uponme, I told him the truth. I did not love him, I did not know whether Imight grow to care for him or not; if I did, I should marry him and if Idid not no power on earth could make me. And now--I hate him!"
She flung the hard and bitter words at him savagely.
Armstrong was beside himself with fury at her remark, and Newbold's coolindifference to him personally was unendurable. In battle such as hewaged he had the mistaken idea that anything was fair. He could notreally tell whether it was love of woman or hate of man that was mostdominant; he saw at once the state of affairs between the two. He couldhurt the man and the woman with one statement; what might be itsulterior effect he did not stop to consider; perhaps if he had he wouldnot have cared greatly then. He realized anyway that since Newbold'sarrival his chance with Enid was gone; perhaps whether Newbold werealive or dead it was gone forever, although Armstrong did not thinkthat, he was not capable of thinking very far into the future in histhen condition, the present bulked too large for that.
"I did not think after that kiss in the road that you would go back onme this way, Enid," he said quickly.
"The kiss in the road!" cried Newbold, staring again at the woman.
"You coward," repeated she, with one swift envenomed glance at the otherman and then she turned to her lover. She laid her hand upon his arm,she lifted her face up to him. "As God is my judge," she cried, hervoice rising with the tragic intensity of the moment and thrilling withindignant protest, "he took it from me like the thief and the coward hewas and he tells it now like the liar he is. We were riding side byside, I was utterly unsuspicious, I thought him a gentleman, he caughtme and kissed me before I knew it, I drove him from me. That's all."
"I believe you," said Newbold gently, and then, for the second time, headdressed himself to Armstrong. "You came doubtless to rescue MissMaitland, and in so far your purpose was admirable and you deservethanks and respect, but no further. This is my cabin, your words andyour conduct render you unwelcome here. Miss Maitland is under myprotection, if you will come outside I will be glad to talk with youfurther."
"Under your protection?" sneered Armstrong, completely beside himself."After a month with you alone I take it she needs no furtherprotection."
Newbold did not leap upon the man for that mordant insult to the woman,his approach was slow, relentless, terrible. Eight or ten feet separatedthem. Armstrong met him half way, his impetuosity was the greater, hesprang forward, turned about, faced the full light from the narrowwindow.
"Well," he cried, "have you got anything to say or do about it?"
For Newbold had stopped, appalled. He stood staring as if petrified;recognition, recollection rushed over him. Now and at last he knew theman. The face that confronted him was the same face that had stared outat him from the locket he had taken from the bruised breast of his deadwife, which had been a mystery to him for all these years.
"Well," tauntingly asked Armstrong again, "what are you waiting for, areyou afraid?"
From Newbold's belt depended a holster and a heavy revolver. AsArmstrong made to attack him he flashed it out with astonishingquickness and presented it. The newcomer was unarmed, his Winchesterleaned against the wall by his fur coat and he had no pistol.
"If you move a step forward or backward," said Newbold with deadly calm,"I will kill you without mercy."
"So you'd take advantage of a weaponless man, would you?" sneeredArmstrong.
"Oh, for God's sake," cried the woman, "don't kill him."
"You both misjudge me," was the answer. "I shall take no advantage ofthis man. I would disdain to do so if it were necessary, but before thelast resort I must have speech with him, and this is the only way inwhich I can keep him quiet for a moment, if as I suspect, his hatemeasures with mine."
"You have the advantage," protested Armstrong. "Say your say and get itover with. I've waited all these years for a chance to kill you and mypatience is exhausted."
Still keeping the other covered, Newbold stepped over to the table,pulled out the drawer and drew from it the locket. Enid remembered shehad hastily thrust it there when he had handed it to her and there ithad lain unnoted and forgotten. It was quite evident to her what wastoward now. Newbold had recognized the other man, explanations wereinevitable. With his left hand Newbold sought the catch of the locketand pressed the spring. In two steps he faced Armstrong with the openlocket thrust toward him.
"Your picture?" he asked.
"Mine."
"Do you know the locket?"
"I gave it to a woman named Louise Rosser five or six years ago."
"My wife."
"Yes, she was crazy in love with me but--"
With diabolic malice Armstrong left the sentence uncompleted. Theinference he meant should be drawn from his reticence was obvious.
"I took it from her dead body," gritted out Newbold.
"She was beside herself with love for me, an old affair, you know," saidArmstrong more explicitly, thinking to use a spear with a double barb topierce the woman's and the man's heart alike. That he defamed the deadwas of no moment then. "She wanted to leave you," he ran on glibly, "shewanted me to take her back and--"
"Untrue," burst forth from Enid Maitland's lips. "A slanderous,dastardly, cowardly untruth."
But the men paid no attention to her in their excitement, perhaps theydid not even hear her. Newbold thrust his pistol violently forward.
"Would you murder me as you murdered the woman?" gibed Armstrong inbitter taunt.
Then Enid Maitland found it in her heart to urge Newbold to kill himwhere he stood, but she had no time if she could have carried out herdesign, for Newbold flung the weapon from him and the next moment thetwo men leaped upon each other, straining, struggling, clawing,battling like savage beasts, each seeking to clasp his fingers aroundthe throat of the other and then twist and crush until life was gone.
Saying nothing, fighting in a grim silence that was terrible, theyreeled crashing about the little room. No two men on earth could havebeen better matched, yet Newbold had a slight advantage in height andstrength, as he had also the advantage in si
mple life and splendidcondition. Armstrong's hate and fierce temper counterbalanced these atfirst and with arms locked and legs twined, with teeth clenched and eyesblinded and pulses throbbing and hearts beating, they strove together.
The woman shrank back against the wall and stared frightened. She fearedfor her lover, she feared for herself. Strange primitive feelingsthrobbed in her veins. It was an old situation, when two male animalsfought for supremacy and the ownership of a female, whose destiny wasentirely removed from her own hands.
Armstrong had shown himself in his true colors at last. She would havenothing to hope from him if he were the victor and she even wondered interror what might happen to her if the man she loved triumphed after thepassions aroused in such a battle. She grew sick and giddy, her bosomrose and fell, her breath came fast as she followed the panting,struggling, clinging, grinding figures about the room.
At first there had been no advantage to either, but now after fiveminutes--or was it hours?--of fierce fighting, the strength and superiorcondition of her lover began to tell. He was forcing the other backward.Slowly, inch by inch, foot by foot, step by step, he mastered him. Thetwo intertwining figures were broadside to her now, she could see theirfaces inflamed by the lust of the battle, engorged, blood red with hateand fury. There was a look of exultation in one and the shadow ofapproaching disaster in the other. But the consciousness that he wasbeing mastered ever so little only increased Armstrong's determinationand he fought back with the frenzy, the strength of a maddened gorilla,and again for a space the issue was in doubt. But not for long.
The table, a heavy, cumbersome, four-legged affair, solid almost as arock, stood in the way. Newbold at last backed Armstrong up against itand by superhuman effort bent him over it, held him with one arm andusing the table as a support, wrenched his left hand free, and sunk hisfingers around the other's throat. It was all up with Armstrong. It wasonly a question of time now.
It was all up with Armstrong]
"Now," Newbold guttered out hoarsely, "you slandered the dead woman Imarried, and you insulted the living one I love. Take back what you saidbefore you die."
"I forgive him," cried Enid Maitland. "Oh, don't kill him before myeyes."
Armstrong was past speech. The inveteracy of his hatred could be seeneven in his fast glazing eyes, the indomitableness of his purpose yetspoke in the negative shake of his head. He could die, but he would diein his hate and in his purpose.
Enid ran to the two, she grappled Newbold's arm with both her own andstrove with all her might to tear it away from the other's throat. Herlover paid no more attention to her than if a summer breeze had touchedhim. Armstrong grew black in the face, his limbs relaxed, another secondor two and it would have been over with him.
Once more the door was thrown open, through it two snow covered menentered. One swift glance told them all, one of them at least hadexpected it. On the one side Kirkby, on the other Maitland, tore Newboldaway from his prey just in time to save Armstrong's life. Indeed thelatter was so far gone that he fell from the table to the floorunconscious, choking, almost dying. It was Enid Maitland who receivedhis head in her arms and helped bring him back to life while the pantingNewbold stood staring dully at the woman he loved and the man he hatedon the floor at his feet.
The Chalice Of Courage: A Romance of Colorado Page 28
