by Jack London
CHAPTER XXVII
Frona turned to St. Vincent as the last of the crowd filed out. Heclutched her hands spasmodically, like a drowning man.
"Do believe me, Frona. Promise me."
Her face flushed. "You are excited," she said, "or you would not saysuch things. Not that I blame you," she relented. "I hardly imaginethe situation can be anything else but exciting."
"Yes, and well I know it," he answered, bitterly. "I am acting like afool, and I can't help it. The strain has been terrible. And asthough the horror of Borg's end were not enough, to be considered themurderer, and haled up for mob justice! Forgive me, Frona. I ambeside myself. Of course, I know that you will believe me."
"Then tell me, Gregory."
"In the first place, the woman, Bella, lied. She must have been crazedto make that dying statement when I fought as I did for her and Borg.That is the only explanation--"
"Begin at the beginning," she interrupted. "Remember, I know nothing."
He settled himself more comfortably on the stool, and rolled acigarette as he took up the history of the previous night.
"It must have been about one in the morning when I was awakened by thelighting of the slush-lamp. I thought it was Borg; wondered what hewas prowling about for, and was on the verge of dropping off to sleep,when, though I do not know what prompted me, I opened my eyes. Twostrange men were in the cabin. Both wore masks and fur caps with theflaps pulled down, so that I could see nothing of their faces save theglistening of the eyes through the eye-slits.
"I had no first thought, unless it was that danger threatened. I layquietly for a second and deliberated. Borg had borrowed my pistol, andI was actually unarmed. My rifle was by the door. I decided to make arush for it. But no sooner had I struck the floor than one of the menturned on me, at the same time firing his revolver. That was the firstshot, and the one La Flitche did not hear. It was in the struggleafterwards that the door was burst open, which enabled him to hear thelast three.
"Well; I was so close to the man, and my leap out of the bunk was sounexpected, that he missed me. The next moment we grappled and rolledon the floor. Of course, Borg was aroused, and the second man turnedhis attention to him and Bella. It was this second man who did thekilling, for my man, naturally, had his hands full. You heard thetestimony. From the way the cabin was wrecked, you can picture thestruggle. We rolled and tossed about and fought till stools, table,shelves--everything was smashed.
"Oh, Frona, it was terrible! Borg fighting for life, Bella helpinghim, though wounded and groaning, and I unable to aid. But finally, ina very short while, I began to conquer the man with whom I wasstruggling. I had got him down on his back, pinioned his arms with myknees, and was slowly throttling him, when the other man finished hiswork and turned on me also. What could I do? Two to one, and winded!So I was thrown into the corner, and they made their escape. I confessthat I must have been badly rattled by that time, for as soon as Icaught my breath I took out after them, and without a weapon. Then Icollided with La Flitche and John, and--and you know the rest. Only,"he knit his brows in puzzlement, "only, I cannot understand why Bellashould accuse me."
He looked at her appealingly, and, though she pressed his handsympathetically, she remained silent, weighing pro and con what she hadheard.
She shook her head slowly. "It's a bad case, and the thing is toconvince them--"
"But, my God, Frona, I am innocent! I have not been a saint, perhaps,but my hands are clean from blood."
"But remember, Gregory," she said, gently, "I am not to judge you.Unhappily, it rests with the men of this miners' meeting, and theproblem is: how are they to be convinced of your innocence? The twomain points are against you,--Bella's dying words and the blood on yoursleeve."
"The place was areek with blood," St. Vincent cried passionately,springing to his feet. "I tell you it was areek! How could I avoidfloundering in it, fighting as I was for life? Can you not take myword--"
"There, there, Gregory. Sit down. You are truly beside yourself. Ifyour case rested with me, you know you would go free and clean. Butthese men,--you know what mob rule is,--how are we to persuade them tolet you go? Don't you see? You have no witnesses. A dying woman'swords are more sacred than a living man's. Can you show cause for thewoman to die with a lie on her lips? Had she any reason to hate you?Had you done her or her husband an injury?"
He shook his head.
"Certainly, to us the thing is inexplicable; but the miners need noexplanation. To them it is obvious. It rests with us to disprove theobvious. Can we do it?"
The correspondent sank down despondently, with a collapsing of thechest and a drooping forward of the shoulders. "Then am I indeed lost."
"No, it's not so bad as that. You shall not be hanged. Trust me forthat."
"But what can you do?" he asked, despairingly. "They have usurped thelaw, have made themselves the law."
"In the first place, the river has broken. That means everything. TheGovernor and the territorial judges may be expected in at any momentwith a detachment of police at their backs. And they're certain tostop here. And, furthermore, we may be able to do something ourselves.The river is open, and if it comes to the worst, escape would beanother way out; and escape is the last thing they would dream of."
"No, no; impossible. What are you and I against the many?"
"But there's my father and Baron Courbertin. Four determined people,acting together, may perform miracles, Gregory, dear. Trust me, itshall come out well."
She kissed him and ran her hand through his hair, but the worried lookdid not depart.
Jacob Welse crossed over the back-channel long before dark, and withhim came Del, the baron, and Corliss. While Frona retired to changeher clothes in one of the smaller cabins, which the masculine ownersreadily turned over to her, her father saw to the welfare of themail-carrier. The despatches were of serious import, so serious thatlong after Jacob Welse had read and re-read them his face was dark andclouded; but he put the anxiety from him when he returned to Frona.St. Vincent, who was confined in an adjoining cabin, was permitted tosee them.
"It looks bad," Jacob Welse said, on parting for the night. "But restassured, St. Vincent, bad or not, you'll not be stretched up so long asI've a hand to play in the rumpus. I am certain you did not kill Borg,and there's my fist on it."
"A long day," Corliss remarked, as he walked back with Frona to hercabin.
"And a longer to-morrow," she answered, wearily. "And I'm so sleepy."
"You're a brave little woman, and I'm proud of you." It was teno'clock, and he looked out through the dim twilight to the ghostly icedrifting steadily by. "And in this trouble," he went on, "depend uponme in any way."
"In any way?" she queried, with a catch in her voice.
"If I were a hero of the melodrama I'd say; 'To the death!' but as I'mnot; I'll just repeat, in any way."
"You are good to me, Vance. I can never repay--"
"Tut! tut! I do not put myself on sale. Love is service, I believe."
She looked at him for a long time, but while her face betrayed softwonder, at heart she was troubled, she knew not why, and the events ofthe day, and of all the days since she had known him, came flutteringthrough her mind.
"Do you believe in a white friendship?" she asked at last. "For I dohope that such a bond may hold us always. A bright, white friendship,a comradeship, as it were?" And as she asked, she was aware that thephrase did not quite express what she felt and would desire. And whenhe shook his head, she experienced a glad little inexplicable thrill.
"A comradeship?" he questioned. "When you know I love you?"
"Yes," she affirmed in a low voice.
"I am afraid, after all, that your knowledge of man is very limited.Believe me, we are not made of such clay. A comradeship? A coming inout of the cold to sit by your fire? Good. But a coming in whenanother man sits with you by your fire? No. Comradeship would demandthat I de
light in your delights, and yet, do you think for a momentthat I could see you with another man's child in your arms, a childwhich might have been mine; with that other man looking out at methrough the child's eyes, laughing at me through its mouth? I say, doyou think I could delight in your delights? No, no; love cannotshackle itself with white friendships."
She put her hand on his arm.
"Do you think I am wrong?" he asked, bewildered by the strange look inher face.
She was sobbing quietly.
"You are tired and overwrought. So there, good-night. You must get tobed."
"No, don't go, not yet." And she arrested him. "No, no; I am foolish.As you say, I am tired. But listen, Vance. There is much to be done.We must plan to-morrow's work. Come inside. Father and BaronCourbertin are together, and if the worst comes, we four must do bigthings."
"Spectacular," Jacob Welse commented, when Frona had briefly outlinedthe course of action and assigned them their parts. "But its veryunexpectedness ought to carry it through."
"A _coup d'etat_!" was the Baron's verdict. "Magnificent! Ah! I feelwarm all over at the thought. 'Hands up!' I cry, thus, and very fierce.
"And if they do not hold up their hands?" he appealed to Jacob Welse.
"Then shoot. Never bluff when you're behind a gun, Courbertin. It'sheld by good authorities to be unhealthy."
"And you are to take charge of La Bijou, Vance," Frona said. "Fatherthinks there will be little ice to-morrow if it doesn't jam to-night.All you've to do is to have the canoe by the bank just before the door.Of course, you won't know what is happening until St. Vincent comesrunning. Then in with him, and away you go--Dawson! So I'll saygood-night and good-by now, for I may not have the opportunity in themorning."
"And keep the left-hand channel till you're past the bend," Jacob Welsecounselled him; "then take the cut-offs to the right and follow theswiftest water. Now off with you and into your blankets. It's seventymiles to Dawson, and you'll have to make it at one clip."
