The World's Great Snare

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  “He lies!” she answered, without a quiver in her face. “Go and fetch him here, and let him tell his story before me!”

  The suggestion seemed to find favour with them. It appealed to certain sportsmanlike instincts common to all mankind. Let them have it out face to face. It was not a bad idea.

  They whispered for awhile together. The Englishman stepped forward and interfered for the first time.

  “Shall I go and fetch him?” he said.

  Dan Cooper shook his head.

  “No, thanks,” he said. “I’ll send one of my own mates. It’ll seem fairer. He’s a skeery sort.”

  The Englishman turned away, but he did not return to his old place. He went over to Myra.

  “I shouldn’t mind if I were you,” he said gruffly. “Sit down and rest for a bit. It’ll be all right.”

  He was by no means so sure of it, but he wanted to say something comforting. His doubts of Myra had been largely founded upon an idea of his own—that the man Skein, of whom she had spoken, was a myth. The fact that he really did exist wonderfully strengthened his confidence in her.

  She smiled vaguely but gratefully. As yet she could not quite realize what this thing was that was happening. It seemed like a nightmare: the little ring of men in their rough miner’s clothes and coarse, curious faces all turned upon her, the shanty with its wide-open door, and the figure of the man who had been the horror of her life, lying prostrate within. She looked across at the valley bathed in sunlight, with the river creeping through it like a vein of silver, at the distant hills and the rolling plain. Nothing had changed. It was not a dream. She was really being accused of this hideous thing, and for his sake as well as her own, she must be brave. She walked back with him to the place where she had been sitting before, and sat down. He remained by her side for a few minutes. Then he walked over and joined the other men. There was no reason why he should hold aloof from them, and he wanted to hear what they had to say. Dan Cooper had gone himself for Skein.

  It was a wearisome wait. The sun mounted higher and higher in the heavens, and the men drew back into the shade of the wood. Four of them were playing cards—they had found a pack in the shanty—and the other two stretched themselves out and fell fast asleep. The Englishman and Myra sat side by side, talking only now and then.

  Once she whispered to him:

  “Bryan—presently, not now, I want you to look at these papers. They are not all, but I know how to get the rest. Fancy their belonging to you!”

  “Did he really give them to you, Myra?”

  She nodded.

  “He thought that I was coming back to him, and he said that he’d as lief I had them as any one else. He told me a lot what to do.”

  “How to get money for them, I suppose? They are worth money, you know, Myra—great sums of money.”

  “I guess I won’t worry about that,” she said. “I don’t want money. Not while I have you, Bryan.”

  His face clouded. He looked away towards the hills with idle eyes. Was he glad to owe the future, which these papers might open up to him, to this girl? At the first thought he could not make up his mind. Yet he thought not. He would rather have paid for them, fought for them, almost even stolen them.

  She laid her hand upon his arm with a sudden gesture. There was a note of triumph in her tone, but also a note of disappointment.

  “See, Bryan, he won’t come. There’s Dan Cooper alone!”

  The Englishman’s eyes followed her outstretched finger. A solitary figure was scrambling up the gorge towards them. It was Dan Cooper—alone!

  The sleepers were awakened, and the card-players finished up their game. They all trooped round in a sort of semicircle. In a minute or two Dan Cooper appeared. His face was dark, and he seemed in an ill-temper.

  “Mates,” he said, “the little ‘un, Skein, is in a bad way. He seems to have got a sort of fever. Anyway, I couldn’t drag him up though he were willing to come.”

  There was a short silence. Every one waited to know what was to be done.

  “While I was down yonder,” Dan Cooper continued, jerking his thumb downward in the direction of the valley, “I remembered that poor Jim’s coat was cut open; ‘pears as though he had been robbed. I know I’ve heard him say that he carried papers or something valuable about with him. Well, the question seems to me to be, who’s got those papers? Skein ain’t got ‘cm, ‘cause I’ve searched him well. How about you, young woman?” he asked, turning abruptly towards Myra.

  Her cheeks flushed.

  “I have the papers,” she said, folding her hands upon her bosom. “Jim gave them to me himself. I had a right to them. I was his wife.”

  There was a dead silence. The Englishman looked disturbed. The fact of Myra’s having the papers seemed to have made an impression upon the men.

  “Have you any writing to prove that you were his wife?” Dan Cooper asked.

  She shook her head.

  “You don’t wear a wedding-ring.”

  “I threw it away,” she said, in a low tone. “Jim never used me well.”

  Dan Cooper turned away and talked to the men. Bryan turned pale. Only Myra seemed unmoved. The consultation between the men lasted nearly a quarter of an hour. Then Dan turned round.

  “My mates and me is pretty well agreed,” he said slowly, with his eyes fixed upon Myra. “We sorter think that you did this job. If you were a man we should string you up on that tree like winking. But we none of us quite fancies hanging a woman, and we’re going to talk it over quietly, what to do. See?”

  He left off suddenly, and affected to be very busy filling his pipe. The steady look in that girl’s dark eyes confused him.

  “We shall take you down with us, and shut you up until to-morrow,” he continued. “Reckon we shall have made up our minds by then. Anyway, get ready to come along.”

  “Hold on a bit!”

  Dan Cooper had laid his hand upon the girl’s wrist. At the sound of the imperative voice, he looked quickly round. He was confronted with the dark muzzle of a revolver at full cock.

  The Englishman was standing out by the girl’s side. His blue eyes were flashing with anger, and there was a set, firm look in his face which meant mischief.

  “Loose that girl!” he thundered.

  Dan Cooper obeyed at once. There was something wonderfully persuasive about that shining barrel on which the sunlight was flashing.

  “I think it’s about time for me to say a word or two.” Bryan commenced sternly. “The girl’s not having fair play. There’s no more evidence against her than against the man Skein. Why assume her guilty, and him innocent?”

  Two out of the six men growled a surly assent. There had not been the unanimity about their opinion which Dan Cooper had insinuated. A third was wavering.

  “How about the papers?” growled Dan Cooper, casting a furious glance behind him.

  “The girl told the truth,” Bryan continued. “The man was her husband. I knew it. He gave her the papers. I will tell you the story of Jim Hamilton’s murder. He carried these valuable papers with him, and like a fool, when he was in liquor, he bragged about it. This mean hound, Skein, followed him here after them and nothing else. That is why he goes pards with Jim. The story of the murder itself you know. Afterwards Skein found that he could not escape from here without stores and supplies, so he made up this lying story, and when he is challenged to repeat it before the girl, he skulks down yonder, afraid! What do you say, mates?” he added, turning to the men. “Doesn’t my story sound likely?

  “That’s so, boss.”

  “Reckon the Britisher’s right.”

  “Guess we’ll leave the girl alone.”

  Three of the men spoke out in her favour. Dan Cooper, throwing an evil look behind him, noted this fact.

  “Very well,” he said harshly. “If the girl’s innocent, so much the better. We’ll do nothing till Skein’s well, eh? Are you chaps all agreeable?”

  “Guess so,” they chorused.

&
nbsp; The Englishman nodded.

  “Very well, then,” Dan Cooper said. “You’ll have to come along with us until the matter’s settled up, my girl. Do you hear?”

  He stretched out his hand, but again stayed it suddenly. The Englishman’s revolver was flashing once more in the sunlight, and the sound of his voice rang out like a pistol-shot.

  “Hands off, Dan Cooper! The girl’s mine, and you don’t take her away. Do you hear? I’ll shoot the first man who lays his hand upon her.”

  Dan Cooper flashed a savage look across at the speaker. He did his best to smother his rage, but his voice shook with anger.

  “That won’t do,” he said. “We’ve got to watch the girl, and we’re not going to leave her outside the borders of the settlement where she can bolt any moment she chooses. That isn’t good enough for us. She’ll have to come along with us, eh, lads?

  “She shall not stir a yard with you,” was the steadfast answer. “Now listen. She shall live in my shanty, and I will go with my pard, Pete. You can have a sentry up there if you like, and so long as you do not molest her, I give my word as an Englishman, not to help her to escape. I can’t say fairer. What do you think, mates?”

  “That’s all right. Guess that’s good enough.”

  Dan Cooper bit his lip, but he disputed no more. He turned away, shrugging his shoulders.

  “Guess we’ll send some one up to see that you don’t forget, and feel like trying the western air,” he remarked with a sneer. “Come, mates, one of us has got to stay and see whether Jim comes to again before he dies, and afterwards watch yonder shanty. Guess we’d better draw lots.”

  Bryan passed his arm around the girl’s waist, and drew her away.

  “You’re about done up, Myra,” he said kindly. “Come along, we’ll leave them to it now. I wouldn’t worry.”

  She brushed the tears away, and checked a little hysterical sob which had almost broken from her lips.

  “I won’t, Bryan,” she said. “After all, there’s some good come of it. We’ve got the papers, Bryan,” she added timidly. “If they’re very—very valuable, you’ll care for me—just a little—won’t you?”

  He took her hand awkwardly.

  “Of course I will,” he said. “Let’s go somewhere in a cool place and read them. We’ll go and get some breakfast first, though. Keep in the shade as much as you can.”

  They crossed the gorge and entered the shanty. On the other side of the cleft a man stood out in the fierce sunshine watching them. Dan Cooper was never handsome to look at, and just now his features were distorted by a particularly disagreeable scowl.

  “D—n that Britisher and his cool tongue!” he muttered. “I’ll be even with him if I have to taste lead for it.”

  He raised his fist and shook it over at the shanty. Then he turned and disappeared down the path which led into the valley.

  XV. A ROUGH WOOING

  Table of Contents

  The hush of midnight had fallen upon the valley of the Blue River. Dan Cooper had closed his store, and for lack of other shelter, even the wildest of the little colony had shut themselves up in their own huts. All sound of voices or human movement had died away. There was only the deep, murmurous flow of the river, and the soft splashing of the tiny streamlets which leaped from the ravine on to its broad dark bosom, to break an utter and intense stillness.

  A soft white mist had stolen upwards from the overheated earth, and hung between sky and land, a dim, ghostly veil through which the moonlight shone faintly, and with a wan, imperfect light. There was no breeze, scarcely a breath of air. The pine-trees, perfectly rigid and motionless, stood out like carved and embossed sculpture upon a deep blue background. It was a typical Southern night, save perhaps in a curious absence of all animal life or movement. The scene was almost like a painted picture upon a huge canvas. It lacked but one thing—life.

  Stay! Was all human life, after all, lacking? Out of the deep shadow of the woods which fringed the precipitous path from the valley, a dark figure swiftly but cautiously stepped, and paused for a moment. He lifted his face to the two cottages which crowned the hill high above him.

  The nearest, Pete Morrison’s, was unlit and gloomy; in the further one a dim light was still burning. It was towards this one he looked the longest.

  “What a cursed still night!” he muttered between his teeth. “If she screams, they’ll hear her. D—n it!”

  He stood still, glancing from one shanty to another as though measuring the distance with his eye. Then he commenced cautiously to scramble up on to the miniature terrace of green turf above. Once or twice a loose stone yielded beneath his feet, and rolled down the ravine, finding, however, a noiseless bed in the thick bushes which jutted out from the sides. Each time he waited, holding his breath, and listening for the sound which never came. It took him quite ten minutes before he reached the top, and hoisted himself on to the smooth green turf.

  He landed about midway between the two shanties. First he glanced cautiously over his right shoulder towards Pete Morrison’s. It was perfectly dark, there was no sign of life anywhere about it. Then he stole softly along towards the other hut, keeping his hand on the butt-end of his revolver which stuck out from his belt, and with all the air of a man bound upon some desperate enterprise.

  Close to the threshold he paused. There was a dark object stretched under an alder-bush but a few yards away. It was the man who had been chosen to act as sentinel to the prisoner—fast asleep.

  Cooper dropped on one knee, and bent close over him. “Torn,” he whispered hoarsely. “Wake up.”

  Tom sat up with a start. He would have uttered a cry, but that he was quite unable to move his lips. Dan Cooper’s rough, strong hand was covering his mouth.

  “Don’t make a row,” he said. “It’s only me—Dan Cooper. Haven’t you got eyes in your head?”

  “What d’ye want,” the man grumbled, “waking a chap out of his sleep like that? What’s wrong, eh?”

  “There’s nothing wrong,” Cooper answered. “Only the chaps were talking, and they allowed that it was rather rough for you to pass the whole night up here. Jim Coates, he thought we ought to take it in turns, three hours each. Anyway, I offered to conic up and relieve you about one o’clock, and here I am. You can scoot now. Sh! Don’t make a row!”

  “I’d as lief have stayed here,” the man muttered. “I should have slept till morning if you hadn’t woke me.”

  “Yes, and let the girl escape, if she’d a mind to!” Dan Cooper answered, frowning. “You weren’t sent here to sleep. Sheer off.”

  The man looked at him and grinned.

  “That’s all gammon,” he said. “I reckon this is a put-up thing o’ your own, Dan. Want the gel, eh? Well, you try. She’s a-sitting in there with all her togs on, ready to squeal her head off if a chap speaks to her. You try. I guess you’ll soon want to chuck it, anyway.”

  He staggered off, stretching himself and yawning. Dan watched him disappear in grim silence. Then he strode to the edge of the ravine, and watched there with folded arms. Before long, the man whom he had relieved reached the bottom of the chasm, and without a backward glance, plunged into the winding plantation which led down into the valley. Dan turned away satisfied. He had really gone. If only that cursed Englishman were out of earshot!

  He looked to the priming of his revolver, and carefully placed it in a convenient position in his belt. Then he strode softly up to the door of the shanty, and pressed himself flat against it. There was a crack midway down where the new wood had warped. He put his eye to the opening and looked in.

  The man whom he had sent away had evidently spoken the truth. She was sitting on the edge of the bed fully dressed, and with only her hair in disorder. Her eyes were downcast, but she was not sleeping. On the contrary, her head was bent a little forward as though she had been disturbed by the muffled voices outside, and was listening.

  Dan Cooper watched for fully five minutes without making any movement. In the wan light h
is face seemed to grow paler, and his red, bloodshot eyes more bright. Never once did he look away from the slim, graceful figure of the girl who sat there watching and fearful. When at last he stepped noiselessly back, he drew a quick little breath, and set his teeth close together. He glanced searchingly at the little shanty below. There was no sign of any light or movement about it. It stood out like a dark spot upon the moonlit platform of turf, with a background of space bounded only by the far-away shadowy mountains. Dan Cooper smiled, a slow, evil smile. If the Englishman had been a man he would have been on guard here to-night. So much the better, however.

  He moved back to his former position, and raising the rude latch, thrust open the door. There were no bolts or other means of preventing ingress, but a wooden bench had been propped up against it, which fell clattering over now upon the wooden floor. Dan Cooper calmly closed the door behind him, and kicked the bench out of the way. Then he bent his steady gaze upon the girl, who had risen to her feet, and was standing facing him, the colour coming and going in her dusky cheeks, and her bosom heaving fast.

  “How dare you come in here?” she cried. “What do you want?”

  He folded his arms and laughed softly. What fools these women were! The girl must know that she was in his power. Why could she not make up her mind to it, instead of glaring at him like a wild animal of the woods? Perhaps she was doing it for effect. Dan Cooper was not exactly an artist, but he knew enough to appreciate her enhanced beauty as she shrank away from him, her lithe, shapely body all quivering with emotion, and her breath coming and going in quick little gasps, like a hunted creature at bay. He looked at her in sullen, brutish admiration, and his eyes burned.

  “What? I want to talk with you,” he said thickly. “Sit down, gel. I shan’t hurt you.”

  From the first she had recognized him as the spokesman of her accusers. With her woman’s instinct, too, she feared him and his visit.

  “I’d as lief stand,” she answered. “Be quick, please.” He laughed hoarsely.