by Louis Tracy
CHAPTER XVII
THE SETTLEMENT
Though Helen was the better linguist, it was left to Spencer toexplain that circumstances would prevent the lady from going toMalenco that day. He did not fully understand why the men shouldexchange glances of darksome intelligence when he made this statement.He fancied they were disappointed at losing a good customer; so hewent on brokenly:
"You are in no hurry, eh? Well, then, take us across the glacier tothe Aguagliouls. We should obtain a fine view from the summit, and getback to the hotel for luncheon. I will pay the same rates as for theSella."
Both guides were manifestly pleased. Pietro began a voluble recital ofthe glories that would meet their enraptured gaze from the top of themighty rock.
"You will see the Bernina splendidly," he cried, "and Roseg too, andthe Glueschaint and Il Chapuetschin. If the lady will trust to us, wecan bring her down the Tschierva glacier safely. You are a climber,_signor_, else you could never have crossed the Ota before dawn. Butlet us make another cup of coffee. The middle Roseg ice is safe at anyhour, and if we are on the rock by nine o'clock that will be perfectfor the sun."
Already a grand panorama of glaciers and peaks was unfolding itself. Acloudless sky promised a lovely August day, and what that means in thehigh Alps the mountaineer alone can tell. But Spencer turned his backon the outer glory. He had eyes only for Helen, while she, lookingmistily at the giant rock across the valley, saw it not at all, forshe was peering into her own soul, and found the prospect dazzling inits pure delight.
So they sat down to a fresh brew of coffee, and Spencer horrifiedHelen by a confession that he had eaten nothing since the previousevening. Her tender solicitude for his needs, her hasty unpacking ofrolls and sandwiches, her anxiety that he should endeavor to consumethe whole of the provisions intended for the day's march, were allsufficing guerdon for the sufferings of those miserable days since thehour when Mrs. de la Vere told him that Helen had gone. It was a newexperience for Spencer to have a gracious and smiling woman so greatlyconcerned for his welfare; but it was decidedly agreeable. Theselittle attentions admitted so much that she dared not tell--as yet.And he had such a budget of news for her! Though he found it difficultto eat and talk at the same time, he boldly made the attempt.
"Stampa was the genius who really unraveled the mystery," he said."Certainly, I managed to discover, in the first instance, that you haddeposited your baggage in your own name. Had all else failed, I shouldhave converted myself into a label and stuck to your boxes till youclaimed them at Basle; but once we ascertained that you had notquitted St. Moritz by train, Stampa did the rest. He knows St. Moritzlike a book, and it occurred to him that you had changed yourname----"
"Why, I wonder?" she broke in.
"That is rather hard to say." He wrestled valiantly with the leg of atough chicken, and thus was able to evade the question.
Poor Stampa! clinging tenaciously to the belief that Helen bore someresemblance to his lost daughter, remembered that when Etta made hersorrowful journey from Zermatt she gave another name at the littlehostelry in Maloja where she ended her life.
"Anyhow," went on Spencer, having dexterously severed the joint, "hetracked you from St. Moritz to the Roseg. He even hit on the shop inwhich you bought your rucksack and alpenstock. Then he put me on tothe telephone, and the remainder of the chase was up to me."
"I am sorry now that the dear old man did not come with you," criedHelen. "I look on him as the first of my friends in Switzerland, andshall be more than pleased to see him again."
"I pressed him to come along; but he refused. I don't wish to painyou, dearest, but I guess he wants to keep track of Bower."
Helen, who had no inkling of the tragedy that linked those two,blushed to her ears at the recollection of her parting from themillionaire.
"Do you--do you know that Mr. Bower proposed to me?" she stammered.
"He told me that, and a lot more."
"Did you quarrel?"
"We--said things. But I couldn't treat Bower as I handled Georgie. Iwas forced to admit his good taste, you see."
"Well, dear, promise me----"
"That I sha'n't slay him! Why, Helen, if he is half the man I take himfor, he will come to our wedding. I told Mrs. de la Vere I shouldbring you back, and she agreed that there was nothing else to bedone."
The color ebbed and flowed on Helen's face at an alarming rate. "Whatin the world are you talking about?" she asked, with a calm severitythat her fluttering heart denied.
Spencer laughed so happily that Pietro, who understood no word of whathis voyageurs were saying, gave Bartelommeo a sapient wink.
"Well, now," he cried, "wouldn't we be the queerest pair of zanies togo all that long way to London to get married when a parson, and achurch, and all the needful consular offices are right here under ournoses, so to speak. Why, we have a ready-made honeymoon staring us inthe face. We'll just skate round Switzerland after your baggage andthen drop down the map into Italy. I figured it all out last night,together with 'steen methods of making the preliminary declaration.I'll tell you the whole scheme while we--Oh, well, if you're in a realhurry to cross the glacier, I must defer details and talk inheadlines."
For Helen, absolutely scarlet now, had risen with a tragic air andbade the guides prepare for instant departure.
The snow lay deep on the Roseg, and roping was essential, thoughPietro undertook to avoid any difficult crevasses. He led, Spencerfollowed, with Helen next, and Bartelommeo last. They reached theopposite moraine in half an hour, and began to climb steadily. Therock which looked so forbidding from the hut was by no means steep andnot at all dangerous. They had plenty of time, and often stopped toadmire the magnificent vistas of the Val Roseg and the Bernina rangethat were gradually unfolding before their eyes. Soon they were on alevel with the hut, the Alpine palace that had permitted their firstembrace.
"When we make our next trip to St. Moritz, Helen, we must seek outthe finest and biggest photograph of the Mortel that money can buy,"said Spencer.
Helen was standing a little above him on a broad ledge. Her hand wasresting on his shoulder.
"Oh, look!" she cried suddenly, pointing with her alpenstock to themassive mountain wall that rose above the _cabane_. A few stones hadfallen above a widespread snow slope. The stones started an avalanche,and the roar of the tremendous cascade of snow and rock was distinctlyaudible.
Pietro uttered an exclamation, and hastily unslung a telescope. Hesaid something in a low tone to Bartelommeo; but Spencer and Helengrasped its meaning.
The girl's eyes dilated with terror. "There has been an accident!" shewhispered. Bartelommeo took the telescope in his turn and evidentlyagreed with the leading guide.
"A party has fallen on Corvatsch," said Pietro gravely. "Two men areclinging to a ledge. It is not a bad place; but they cannot move. Theymust be injured, and there may be others--below."
"Let us go to their assistance," said Spencer instantly.
"_Per certo, signor._ That is the law of the hills. But the _signora_?What of her?"
"She will remain at the hut."
"I will do anything you wish," said Helen sorrowfully, for hergladness had been changed to mourning by the fearsome tidings thattwo, if not more, human beings were in imminent danger on the slopesof the very hill that had witnessed the avowal of her love. They racedback over the glacier, doubling on their own track, and were thusenabled to travel without precaution.
Leaving Helen at the hut, the men lost no time in beginning theascent. They were gone so long that she was almost frantic with dreadin their behalf; but at last they came, slowly, with the tread ofcare, for they were carrying the body of a man.
While they were yet a couple of hundred feet above the hut, Spencerintrusted the burden to the Italians alone. He advanced with rapidstrides, and Helen knew that he brought bad news.
"Come, dear one," he said gently. "We must go to the inn and sendhelp. Our guides are bringing an injured man to the hut, and there isone othe
r whom we left on the mountain."
"Dead?"
"Yes, killed instantly by a stone. That was all. Just a mishap--one ofthe things that can never be avoided in climbing. But come, dear. Moremen are needed, and a doctor. This poor fellow is badly hurt."
"Can I do nothing for him?" she pleaded.
A species of fright twitched his grave face for an instant. "No, no,that is not to be thought of," he urged. "Pietro says he has somelittle skill in these matters. He can do all that is needed until adoctor arrives. Believe me, Helen, it is imperative that we shouldreach the hotel without delay."
She went with him at once. "Who is it?" she asked. He steeled himselfto answer according to his intent. Though he had vowed that neveragain would he utter a syllable to his love that was not transparentlytrue, how could he tell her then that Stampa was stretched lifeless onthe broad bosom of Corvatsch, and that the Italians were carryingBower, crushed and raving in delirium, to the hut.
"An Englishman and his guide, I am sorry to say," was his preparedreply. "The guide is dead; but his employer can be saved, I am sure,if only we rush things a bit. Now, Helen, let us go at top speed. Notalking, dear. We must make the hotel under the hour."
They did it, and help was soon forthcoming. Then Spencer ordered acarriage, and insisted that Helen should drive to Maloja forthwith. Hewould stay at Roseg, he said, to make certain that everything possiblewas done for the unfortunate climber. Indeed, when his beloved waslost to sight down the winding road that leads to the main valley ofthe Engadine, he accompanied the men who went to the Mortel. Halfwaythey met Pietro and Bartelommeo carrying Bower on an improvisedstretcher, ice axes and a blanket.
By this time, under the stimulus of wine and warmth, Bower hadregained his senses. He recognized Spencer, and tried to speak; butthe American told him that even the least excitement must be avoided.
Once the hotel was reached, and they were waiting for the doctor,Bower could not be restrained.
"It was you who rescued me?" he said feebly.
"I, and two Italian guides. We saw the accident from the other side ofthe Roseg glacier."
"Yes. Stampa pointed you out to me. I could not believe my eyes. Iwatched you till the thought came that Stampa had befooled me. Then hepushed me off the rock where we were standing. I broke my leg in thefall; but he held me there on the rope and taunted me. Great God! howI suffered!"
"You really ought not to talk about it," said Spencer soothingly.
"Why not? He brought me there to kill me, he said. The cunning old foxtold me that I would find Helen in the Mortel hut, and offered to takeme to her by a short cut over Corvatsch. And I believed him! I wasmad, I suppose. We did the Marmore ascent by the light of the stars.Do you realize what that means? It is a hard climb for experts inbroad daylight. But I meant to beat you, Spencer. Stampa vowed youwere in St. Moritz. And again I believed him! Think of it--I washoodwinked by an old peasant."
"Hush! Try and forget things till your broken limb is fixed."
"What does it matter? Confound it! you've won; so let me tell mystory. I must have lost my senses when I saw you and Helen leaving theglacier with two strange guides. I forgot all else in my rage. I stoodthere, frozen, bewitched. Stampa was watching me all the time, and theinstant I turned to revile him he threw me off my balance with athrust of his ax. 'Now you are going to die, Marcus Bauer!' he said,grinning at me with a lunatic's joy. He even gloated over theunexpected injury I received in falling. My groans and cries were sopleasing to him that he did not cut the rope at once as he meant todo, but kept me dangling there, listening to his reproaches. Then thestones fell, and pinned him to the ledge; but not one touched me, andI hauled myself up, broken leg and all, till I crawled on to the bigrock that rested on his body. You found me there, eh?"
"Yes."
"Well, I wish you luck. I meant to snatch Helen from you, even at thetwelfth hour; but Stampa over-reached me. That mock marriage of hiscontriving had more power than I counted on. Curse it! how thesecrushed bones are beginning to ache! Give me some brandy. I want todrink Helen's health, and my own, and yours, damn you! See that youtreat her well and make her life happy! She is worthy of all yourlove, and I suppose she loves you, whereas I might have striven foryears to win her affection and then failed in the end."
Late that night Spencer arrived at the Maloja. Helen was waiting forhim, as he had telephoned the hour he might be expected. Rumor hadbrought the news of Stampa's death and Bower's accident. Then sheunderstood why her lover had sent her away so quickly. She wastroubled all day, blaming herself as the unconscious cause of so muchmisery. Spencer saw that the full truth alone would dispel her selfreproach. So he told her everything, even showing her Millicent'sletter and a telegram received from Mackenzie, in which the editor of"The Firefly" put it quite plainly that the proprietor of the magazinehad forbidden him (Mackenzie) from taking any steps whatever withregard to Helen's return to England without definite instructions.
The more she learned of the amazing web of intrigue andmisunderstanding that surrounded her movements since she left theEmbankment Hotel after that memorable luncheon with Millicent, theless inclined she was to deny Spencer's theory that Fate had broughtthem together.
"I cleared out of Colorado as though a tarantula had bitten me," hesaid. "I traveled five thousand miles to London, saw you, fooledmyself into the belief that I was intended by Providence to play thepart of a heavy uncle, and kept up that notion during anotherthousand-mile trip to this delightful country. Then you began to reachout for me, Helen----"
"I did nothing of the kind!" she protested.
"Oh, yes, you did,--just grabbed me good and hard,--and when Bowershowed up I stacked my chips on the table and sat down to the game.What am I talking about? I don't know. Kiss me good night, sweetheart,and don't you give a red cent who's looking. For once in a way, Idon't mind admitting that I'm tired--all in. I could sleep on a row ofporcupines."
* * * * *
Stampa was buried in the grave that held his daughter's remains.Spencer purchased the space for a suitable monument, and theinscription does not fail to record the fact that one of the men whofirst conquered the Matterhorn had paid tribute to the mountains bymeeting his death on Corvatsch.
The American went many times to visit Bower at the Roseg inn. He foundhis erstwhile rival resigned to the vagaries of fortune. The doctorssummoned from St. Moritz deemed his case so serious that they broughta specialist from Paris, and the great surgeon announced that themillionaire's leg would be saved; but there must remain a permanentstiffness.
"I know what that means," said Bower, with a wry smile. "It is alegacy from Stampa. That is really rather funny, considering that thejoke is against myself. By the way, did I tell you I gave MillicentJaques a check for five thousand pounds to stop her tongue?"
"I guessed the check, but couldn't guess the amount."
"She wrote last week, threatening all sorts of terrible things becauseI withheld payment. You will remember that when you and I placed onrecord our mutual opinion of each other, we agreed at any rate that itwas a mean thing on her part to give away our poor Helen to theharpies in the hotel. So I telegraphed at once to my bankers, and MissMillicent didn't make good, as you would put it. Now she promises to'expose' me. Humorous, isn't it?"
"I think you ought to marry her," said Spencer, with that immobilelook of his.
"Perhaps I may, one of these days. But first she must learn to behaveherself. A nice girl, Millicent. She would look decorative, sittingbeside an invalid in a carriage. Yes, I'll think of it. Meanwhile, Ishall chaff her about the five thousand and see how she takes it."
Millicent behaved. Helen saw that she did.
On a day in September, after a wedding that was attended by as manypeople as could be crowded into the little English church at Maloja,Mr. and Mrs. Charles K. Spencer drove over the pass and down the Valeof Bregaglia en route to Como, Milan, and Venice. At the weddingbreakfast, when Mrs. de la Vere officiated as hoste
ss, the Rev. PhilipHare amused the guests by stating that he had taken pains to discoverwhat the initial "K" represented in his American friend's name.
"His second name is Knox," said the vicar, "and I understand that heis a direct descendant of a famous Scottish divine known to history asa very stubborn person. Well, it has been said by a gentleman presentthat Mr. Spencer has a backbone of cast steel, so the 'K' is fullyaccounted for, while the singular affinity of steel of any variety fora magnet gives a ready explanation of the admirable union which hasresulted from the chance that brought the bride and bridegroom underthe same roof."
Everybody said that Hare was much happier on such occasions than inthe pulpit, and even the Wragg girls were heard to admit that Helenlooked positively charming.
So it is clear that many hatchets were blunted in Maloja, which is asit should ever be in such a fairyland, and that Helen, looking back atthe mighty chain of the Alps from the deck of a steamer on Lake Como,had no reason to regret the day when first she crossed that solemnbarrier.
THE END
TITLES SELECTED FROM GROSSET & DUNLAP'S LIST
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A beautiful blonde Englishwoman visits Russia, and is violently madelove to by a young Russian aristocrat. A most unique situationcomplicates the romance.
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The Prodigal Judge
By VAUGHAN KESTER
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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:
1. Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors;otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author'swords and intent.
2. In the advertising pages at the end of this book, titles weretypeset as underlined; this has been indicated by = preceding andfollowing the title.
