A Modern Mercenary

by K. Prichard and Hesketh Vernon Hesketh Prichard

  CHAPTER XX.

  UNDER THE PINES.

  It was a day that would be dark an hour before its time. Rallywood rodeout under the gate of the Castle of Sagan as the last trooper clattereddown the rocky roadway in the rear of the Duke's carriage, for upon thearrival of the squadron from Revonde he had received orders to remainbehind, the search for Colendorp having so far proved unsuccessful.

  Rallywood rode slowly down the shoulder of the mountain spur. Under thegray light of the afternoon the limitless swamps stretching to theskyline looked cold and naked under their drifted snow. From the sky bigwith storm overhead, to the scanty grass that showed by the waysideblackened by the rigours of the winter, the whole aspect of the frontierwas ominous and forbidding. Before he plunged into the lower ravinesRallywood turned to look back at the angry towers of Sagan. He wasthinking of Colendorp. Under their shadow that lonely and reckless lifehad come to its close. Why or by whose hand might never be made clear,but Rallywood's mind had worked down to the conviction that the Countmight be able to tell the story.

  Well, it was good to know that Colendorp had not died in vain;indirectly but none the less surely his death had brought about thedefeat of Sagan's plot.

  Then he rode away into the heart of the winter woods, where the branchesgroaned and thrashed under the driving wind. Through gloomy andpine-choked gorges he wound his way to the riverside, for he had decidedthat if Colendorp had met his death in the river, his body would in timebe beached near Kofn Ford.

  The sodden dreary paths beside the river, familiar as they were toRallywood, now looked strange to him. He seemed to be revisiting themafter a long absence. Had they worn the same menace in the past? How hadhe endured to ride for those six heavy years under the hills and up anddown through the marshes by the black river, one day like the last,without a purpose or an interest beyond the action of the hour? Helifted his head to the gathering storm, thanking Heaven that phase oflife, or rather that long stagnation, could never come again!

  The horrible emptiness of the place appalled him. Only a fewblock-houses dotted the miles of waste. In summer, when the poolsyellowed over with flowering plants, rare wood-pigeons eked out a scantysubsistence in the thickets, and there was little else the seasonsround. Only the patrols, and the trains and the smugglers, with a boaror two in the forests beside the Kofn, and the ragged wolf-packs that gohowling by the guard-houses at the first powdering of snow. From thepast his mind naturally ran on to thoughts of Valerie--thoughts thatwere hopeless and happy at the same time. He could never win her, yetthose few dim moments in the corridor were his own, and whatever thefuture brought to her, would she ever quite forget them?

  Presently as he rode along he came in sight of the block-house by theFord from which he had gone out to Revonde to meet her--goneunknowingly! It lay in the dip about a mile ahead. If he were to returnto-morrow to the narrow quarters he had occupied for so many months, thevery memory of her would glorify the wooden walls, and even the oldbarren monotony of life with the frontier patrol be chequered andcheered by the knowledge that somewhere under the same skies ValerieSelpdorf lived and smiled.

  The beggars of love--such as Rallywood--are apt to believe that in themere fact of owning remembrance, they own wealth which can never beexpended. But the day comes soon when we know ourselves poorindeed--when we find the comfort of memory wearing thin, when the soulaches for a presence beyond reach of the hands, for a voice grown toodear to forget, that must for ever escape our ears. Eheu! the bitterlesson of vain desire.

  Between Rallywood and the Ford the Kofn widened out into a big bay-likereach, upon the further shore of which the trees gathered thickly, theirbare branches overhanging the water. On the nearer side ragged-headedpines stood in sparse groups, and amongst their lofty upright stemsRallywood presently became aware that a strange scene was in progress.

  A small party of people were moving about the low-lying ground where thesnow still rested. On that bleak site at the foot of an outstanding pinetwo or three men with picks and shovels were hurriedly digging in thefrost-bound earth. Close beside them what looked like a long militarycloak flung at full length lay upon the ground.

  The meaning of the incident was manifest. The clouding sky, the river,the broken pine trees were looking on at a lonely funeral, darkened by asuggestive furtiveness and haste.

  Rallywood put spurs to his horse and galloped down towards the burialparty. Another rider coming at speed across the open sheered off tointercept him. It was easy to recognise Sagan by his bulk and theimperious gesture of the hand with which he signed to the younger man tostop. But Rallywood rode the harder. There was a shout from Sagan, andthe men ran towards the black object on the snow, and by the timeRallywood reached them the dead body was already laid in its grave.

  At the same moment Sagan on the other side of the grave pulled up hisbig horse on its haunches. The foresters stood rigid, waiting on theCount's wishes. He looked over their heads at Rallywood.

  'Colendorp has been found,' he said with his most surly bearing.

  Rallywood glanced down into the shallow grave; a lump of frosty earthslipped from the rugged heap above and settled into a crevice of thecloak that covered Colendorp.

  'My men are burying him.'

  'By your orders, my lord?'

  'By my orders. Can you suggest a better use to make of a dead man?'

  'No, my lord, but a better manner of burial.'

  'Dismount and see for yourself.'

  Rallywood swung off the saddle, and giving his horse to one of theforesters stooped and threw back the covering from the dead man's faceand breast. His dead fierce eyes stared upward, his wet hair was alreadyfrozen to his brow, and a black wound gaped open at his throat.Rallywood gazed at the harsh features, which, but for their lividcolour, were little altered by death. The _tsa_ moaned across the riverand a few large flakes of snow came floating down.

  'Are you satisfied now?'

  Rallywood stood up and faced the Count.

  'How did he die?'

  'You can see that. Suicide as plain as a knife can write it.'

  'I do not think so,' said Rallywood slowly.

  The Count's horse plunged under the punishing spurs.

  'Captain Rallywood, may I ask what you hope to gain by making a scandalin the Guard?' he asked.

  'Justice, perhaps. Colendorp had no reason to take his life, my lord.'

  'You will not find many to agree with you. The man was alwaysill-conditioned. He had debts and the pride of the devil. His affairscame to an impossible pass, I conclude. In any case a man has a right tohis own secrets.'

  'Yes, his affairs came to an impossible pass, perhaps. For the rest,this seems to me less like Colendorp's secret than the secret of someother man.' Rallywood met the red eye full of smouldering wrath. 'Pardonme, my lord, but in the name of the Guard, I protest against burial ofCaptain Colendorp in this place.'

  'I have given my orders,' answered Sagan. 'The Guard must consider theirreputation. We have had too many scandals already, and no one will thankyou for dragging a fresh one into Revonde for public discussion.'

  Sagan was amazed at his own moderation in arguing the question at all.He looked to see it have its due effect upon the Englishman. ButRallywood stood unmoved and stubborn beside the grave.

  'We have murder here!' The words fell like an accusation.

  Rallywood's eyes were alight now. It took little penetration to picturehow Colendorp had met his death. Round the grave, Sagan's horse withits heavy smoking quarters trampled and fretted under the remorselesshand upon the curb. The Count could bear no more opposition. His furyovercame him. Roaring an oath he slashed at Rallywood with his ridingwhip.

  'By St. Anthony, sir, you forget there is room in that grave for two,'he shouted. 'You try me too far--your infernal officiousness--go! It isuseless to oppose my wishes here.' Which was obvious. The foresters,lithe and strong as panthers, waited only the orders of their master.They needed but a word, and would as lief have buried two dead men
asone in the grave under the torn pines. You may find the same type in themountains of Austria, where a poaching affray means a vendetta, and thegame laws are framed on corresponding principles.

  'I see I can do nothing now,' said Rallywood, remounting in hisleisurely way. 'The Guard must deal with the affair.'

  But Sagan had another word to say to him.

  'And I also, Captain Rallywood, shall know how to deal with you. Do notforget that! Your conduct cannot be overlooked. You will find that inMaasau we are still able to get rid of those who cater for a cheapnotoriety. We shall know how to deal with you! I am the colonel of theGuard. Are you aware that it is in my power to break you? Aye, likethat!' he smashed his riding-whip across his knee as he spoke, andflinging away the pieces, he added, 'And by the powers above us, Iwill!'

  Rallywood saluted and rode away. At once the foresters fell to workfeverishly to fill in the earth over Colendorp's body.

  Once more through the falling snow Rallywood looked back. Sagan's greathorse stood across the low mound of the finished grave.