The Collected Westerns of William MacLeod Raine: 21 Novels in One Volume

by Unknown

  The voices that had come to us across the water still sounded, but more faintly than before I had come on board. Evidently they were from below.

  Probably the speakers were in a cabin with the porthole open. I could not be sure, but it struck me that one of them was a woman. My impression was that she pleaded and that he threatened, for occasionally the heavier voice was raised impatiently.

  From its scabbard I drew my revolver and crept forward in the shadow of the bulwarks. My life hung on a hair; so too did that of the watchman drowsing by the mast. If he looked up and turned I was lost, and so was he.

  Foot by foot I stole toward the forecastle ladder, reached it, and noiselessly passed down the stairs.

  I say noiselessly, yet I could hear my heart beat against my ribs as I descended. For I knew now that the voices which came from behind the closed door of the cabin to my right belonged to my sweetheart and to Boris Bothwell.

  "Not I, but you," he was saying. "I'm hanged if I take the responsibility. If you had trusted me we might have lifted the gold without the loss of a drop of blood."

  "You are so worthy of trust!" Evelyn's voice answered with bitterness.

  "Have you ever known me to break my word? But let that pass. You chose to reject my love and invite that meddler Sedgwick into our affairs. What is the result? What have you gained?"

  "A knowledge of the difference between the love of a true man and that of a false one," she answered quietly.

  "A true man! Oh, call him a fool and be done with it."

  "Perhaps, but I could love such folly."

  He seemed to strangle his irritation in his throat.

  "A lot of good it will do! You belong to me. That is written in the book of your life, and what is to be will be. And I'll get the treasure, too."

  "Never! You call them fools, but they have outwitted you from start to finish."

  "They've pulled the chestnuts out of the fire for me, if that is what you mean."

  "And as for me, I'm only a girl, but I swear before Heaven I'd rather sink a knife into my heart than give myself to you."

  He clapped his hands ironically with a deep laugh like the bay of a wolf.

  "Bravo! Well done! You'd make a fortune in tragedy, Evie. But dramatics apart, you may make up your mind to it. I'm your master, and before twenty-four hours shall be your mate. Why else have I brought this broken wretch of a priest along, but to tie the knot in legal fashion? I'm a reasonable man. Since you have a taste for the conventional and decorum you shall have them. But priest or no priest, willy nilly, mine you are and shall be."

  "You think everybody is a fool but yourself. Can't I see why you want the marriage? It's not to please me, but through me to give you a legal claim on the treasure."

  "Why do you always stir up the devil in me? I love you. I want to please you. I'll treat you right if you'll let me."

  "Then send me back to the yacht, Boris. I'll give my word to divide the treasure with you. My friends will do as I say. You don't want to break my heart, do you? Think of all the dreadful murder that has been done by you."

  "Not by me, but by you and your friends. I offered to compromise and you would not. Now it is too late. No, by God! I'll play the game out to a fighting finish."

  She gave a sobbing little cry.

  "Have you no heart?"

  His voice fell a note. He moved close to her.

  "Cherie, you have stolen it and hold it fast in this little palm I kiss!"

  By the sounds from within she must have struggled in vain. I told myself:

  "Not yet, not yet!"

  "In such fashion my ancestor Bothwell wooed Mary Queen of Scots. Fain she would, but dare not. She knew he was a man and a lover out of ten thousand, and though her heart beat fast for him she was afraid. She fled, and he followed. For he was a lover not to be denied, though a king must die to clear the road. So it is with Boris, my queen."

  "You mean----?"

  The catch in her voice told me she breathed fast.

  He laughed, with that soft boisterousness that marked his merriment.

  "Your mad Irishman is no king, but he has crossed my path enough. Next time he dies."

  "Because he has tried to serve me!"

  "Because he is in my way. Reason enough for me."

  The door knob was in my hand. All I had to do was to open it and shoot the man dead. But what after that? His men would swarm down and murder me before the eyes of my love. And she would be left alone with a pack of wolves which had already tasted blood.

  It was the hardest ordeal of my life to keep quiet while the fellow pressed his hateful suit, pushed it with the passionate ardor of the Slav, regardless of her tears, her despair, and her helplessness.

  For an hour--to make a guess at the time--she fought with all the weapons a woman has at command, fending him off as best she could with tears and sighs and entreaties.

  Then I heard a man stumbling down the ladder and moved aside. If he should turn my way I was a dead man, for he must come plump against me. He knocked on the door of the cabin.

  Bothwell opened and whispered with him a moment, then excused himself to his cousin, locked the door, and followed the sailor up to the deck.

  I unlocked the door softly and walked into the cabin. By the dim light of a hanging lantern I made out a rough room furnished only with two bunks, one above the other, a deal table, and two cheap chairs.

  Evelyn had not heard me enter. She was standing with her back to me, leaning against the woodwork of the bed, her face buried in one arm. Despair and weariness showed in every line of the slight, drooping figure.

  She must have heard me as I moved. She turned, the deep shadowy eyes gleaming with fear. Never have I seen the soul's terror more vividly flung to the surface.

  I suppose that for a moment she could not believe that it was I, and not Bothwell. Perhaps she thought the ghost of me had come to say farewell to her.

  She stared at me out of a face from which the color was gone, the great eyes dilating as the truth came home to her. From her throat broke a startled, stifled little cry.

  "You!"

  I took her in my arms and her tired body came to me. The sensitive mouth trembled, the eyes closed, a shiver of relief passed through her. She clung to me as a frightened child does to its mother, burying her soft cheeks on my shoulder.

  Then came sobs. The figure of my love rocked. The horror of what she had been through engulfed her as she told me her story in broken words, in convulsive shivers, in silence so poignant that they stabbed my heart like a needle.

  It was such a tale as no girl should have to tell, least of all to the man she loves. But I had come in time--I had come in time. The knowledge of that warmed me like champagne.

  I whispered love to her as I kissed in a passion of tenderness the golden hair, the convolutions of the pink ears, the shadows beneath the sad, tired eyes.

  "Tell me, how did you come?" she begged.

  I told her, in the fewest possible words, for it might be that our time was brief. Briefly I outlined a plan for her rescue.

  I would send Alderson and Smith back for aid and would hide somewhere in the vessel during their absence, to be ready in case she needed help.

  When Blythe arrived I would join her and barricade the cabin to protect her until our friends had won the ship.

  "But if he should find you before----"

  I said then what any man with the red blood of youth still running strong in his veins would say to the woman he loves when she is in peril. Let it cost me what it would I was going to free her from these wolves.

  Her deep eyes, soft with love, aglow with an adorable trust, met mine for a long instant.

  "Do as you will, dear. But go now--before any one comes. And--God with us, Jack!"

  Her arm slid round my neck, she drew my face down to hers, and kissed me with a passion that I had not known was in her.

  "Remember, Jack--if I never see you again--no matter what happens--I love you, dearest, for
ever and ever."

  She whispered it brokenly, then pushed me from her toward the door.

  The last glimpse I had of her she was standing there in the shadows, like a divine incarnation of love, her eyes raining upon me the soft light that is the sweetest glimpse of heaven given to a man in this storm-battered world.

  CHAPTER XXIV

  A RAT IN A TRAP

  I groped my way forward in the darkness till I came to a room used for storing purposes. Well up near the beams was a porthole. Too high for me to reach, I presently found a large box which I upended cautiously until it lay beneath the port. Standing on this I could look through into the heavy foliage of the bushes projecting from the shore.

  Except for the lapping of the waves the night was very still. The moon rode low in the sky. A fan-shaped wedge of light silvered the inky river.

  I gave the signal agreed upon between me and my men, but no answering flash of white replied to the wave of my handkerchief. Again I shook the piece of linen from the porthole, and at intervals for fully five minutes.

  Did Alderson see me? Or was there a reason why he could not answer? It was impossible they could have been captured without some sound having reached me. Nor was it more likely that they had deserted their post.

  The bushes stirred at last and the bow of a boat pushed through. Smith stood up so that his face was just below mine. His finger was on his lips.

  "Couldn't come any sooner, sir. Captain Bothwell was leaning over the rail smoking a cigarette. I wonder he didn't see your handkerchief," he whispered.

  I gave him orders concisely and the men backed the boat till the bushes hid them. For me there was nothing left to do but wait. How long it might be before Blythe would get back with a rescue party I could not tell. The men in the boat would not dare to stir from their hiding-place until the moon went under a cloud.

  The tide must now be at the full, so that it would be running out strong before they got started. This would carry them swiftly back to the bay.

  I found myself giving my friends two hours as a minimum before they could return to me. At the worst they should be here within four, unless my messenger met with bad luck.

  But what about Bothwell? Would he force my hand before Blythe arrived? I thought it very likely. There is something in the tropical air that calls to the passion of a man, and reduces his sense of law till restraint ebbs away.

  In Bothwell's case desire and interest went together. He was a criminal on more than one count, but the charges against him would in a measure fall to the ground if he could drive Evie to marry him.

  Once she was his wife the kidnaping charge would not stick, and even his black record on the Argos could be made to appear the chivalry of a high-minded man saving the woman he loved from her enemies.

  Moreover, his claim to the treasure would then be a valid one. The man was no fool. What he did must be done quickly. There lay before him one safe road. Since that was the path he desired above all things to follow, it was sure he would set out on it without delay.

  Her scruples had hitherto held him back, because it would be better she should come of her own accord to him. But these could not hold him many hours longer.

  The masterful insistence of the man had told me that, but no more plainly than his mounting passion.

  I sat down on the box and waited. In that dark, stuffy hole the heat was intense. The odor of food decomposing in the moisture of the tropics did not add to my comfort.

  Sitting in cushioned chairs in club rooms with a surfeit of comfort within reach, men have argued in my presence that there is no such thing as luck. Men win because of merit; they fail only if there is some lack in themselves.

  This is a pleasant gospel for those who have found success, but it does not happen to be true. Take my own case here. How could I foresee that a barefooted, half-naked black cook would come into the storeroom to get a pan of rice for next day's dinner?

  Or, as I lay crouched beside a box in the shadows beyond the dim circle illumined by his candle, how could I know whether it were best to announce myself or lie still?

  I submit that the part of wisdom was to let the fellow go in peace, and this I did.

  But as he turned the light for an instant swept across me. He gave a shriek and flung away both the candle and the pan of rice, bolting for the door. I called to him to stop. For answer he slammed the door--and locked it. Nor did my calls stay the slap of his retreating feet. I was caught fast as a rat in a trap.

  I certainly had spilt the fat into the fire this time. Inside of five minutes the passage outside was full of men. But during that time I had been an active Irishman. In front of me and around me I had piled a barrier of boxes and barrels.

  "Who's in there?" Bothwell called.

  I fired through the door. Some one groaned. There was a sudden scurry of retreating footsteps, followed by whisperings at the end of the passage. These became imperative, rose and fell abruptly, so that I judged there was a division of counsel.

  Presently Bothwell raised his voice and spoke again.

  "We've got you, whoever you are. My friend, you'll have a sick time of it if you don't surrender without any more trouble. Do you hear me?"

  He waited for an answer, and got none. I had him guessing, for it was impossible to know how many of us might be there. Moreover, there was a chance of working upon the superstition of the natives among the crew. The cook had very likely reported that he had seen a ghost.

  Except a shot out of the darkness no sound had come from me since. So long as I kept silent the terror of the mystery would remain. Was I man or devil? What was it spitting death at them from the black room?

  "We're going to batter that door down," went on Bothwell, "and then we're going to make you wish you'd never been born."

  The voices fell again to a whispered murmur. Soon there would be a rush and the door would be torn from its hinges. I made up my mind to get Bothwell if I could before the end.

  Above the mutterings came clearly a frightened soprano.

  "What is it, Boris? What are you going to do?"

  Evelyn had come out of her room to try to save me.

  "Just getting ready to massacre your friend," her cousin answered promptly.

  "Mr. Sedgwick?"

  Terror shook in the voice that died in her throat.

  Bothwell bayed deep laughter.

  "O-ho! My friend from Erin once more--for the last time. Come out and meet your welcome, Sedgwick."

  "Suppose you come and take me," I suggested.

  "By God, I will! Back with you into that room, girl."

  A door slammed and a key turned.

  Still the rush did not come. I waited, nerves strung to the highest pitch. One could have counted sixty in the dead silence.

  I knew that some devilish plan had come to the man and that he was working out the details of it in his mind.

  "Say the word, Cap," Fleming called to him impatiently.

  "Not just yet, my worthy George. We'll give the meddler an hour to say his prayers. But I'm all for action. Since it isn't to be a funeral just yet, what do you say to a marriage?"

  "I don't take you."

  "H-m! Hold this passage for a few minutes, George. You'll see what you'll see."

  A key turned in a lock. When I heard his voice again the man had stepped inside the cabin used by Evelyn. It lay just back of the storeroom and the portholes of the two rooms were not six feet apart. Every word that was said came clearly to me.

  "So you thought you'd trick me, my dear--thought you'd play a smooth trick on your trusting cousin. Fie, Evie!"

  "What are you going to do to Mr. Sedgwick?" she demanded.

  "There's been some smooth work somewhere. I grant you that. How the devil did he get aboard here? He didn't come alone. If he did, what has become of the boat? Speak up, m'amie."

  "Do you think I'd tell you even if I knew?" she asked scornfully.

  He laughed softly, with diabolical enjoyment.

  "I t
hink you would--and will. I have ways to force open closed mouths, beloved."

  "You would--torture me?"

  "If it were necessary," he admitted coolly.

  She answered in a blaze of defiance.

  "Get out your iron cubes for my fingers, you black-hearted villain!"

  "Not for your soft fingers, ma cherie. I kiss them one by one as a lover should. Shall we say for your friend's fingers? If you won't talk, perhaps he will."