CHAPTER XXXV
SHOTS IN THE DARK
The night wind of the plain blew cold in their faces as they stepped outupon the Great River platform. There was a hint of storm in the air andclouds rode swiftly overhead. The voices of the trainmen and the throbof the locomotive, resting for its long climb mountainward, brokestrangely upon the silence. A great figure muffled in a long ulster camedown the platform toward the vestibule from which the trio haddescended.
"Hello," called Raridan cheerily, "there's only one like that! Goodmorning, Bishop!"
"Good morning, gentlemen," said Bishop Delafield, peering into theirfaces. The waiting porter took his bags from him. "Has the boy beenfound yet?"
"No."
"I should have gone on home to-night if I had known that. But what areyou doing here?"
Raridan told him in a few words. They were following a slight clue, andwere going over to the old Poindexter place, in the hope of findingGrant Porter there. Saxton was holding a colloquy with the driver of thestation hack who had come in quest of passengers, and he hurried offwith the man to get a buckboard.
The conductor signaled with his lantern to go ahead, and the engineanswered with a doleful peal of the bell. The porter had gathered up thebishop's things and waited for him to step aboard.
"Never mind," the bishop said to him; "I won't go to-night." The trainwas already moving and the bishop turned to Raridan and Wheaton. "I'llwait and see what comes of this."
"Very well," said Raridan. "We won't need our bags. We can leave themwith the station agent." Wheaton stepped forward eagerly, glad to havesomething to do; he had not slept and was grateful for the cover ofdarkness which shut him out from the others.
"Gentlemen with flasks had better take them," said Warry, opening hisbag. "It's a cold morning!"
"Wretchedly intemperate man," said the bishop. "Where's yours, Mr.Wheaton?"
"I haven't any," Wheaton answered.
When he went into the station, the agent eyed him curiously as he lookedup from his telegraphing and nodded his promise to care for the bags. Heremembered Saxton and Wheaton and supposed that they were going toPoindexter's on ranch business.
Saxton drove up to the platform with the buckboard.
"All ready," he said, and the three men climbed in, the bishop andWheaton in the back seat and Raridan by Saxton, who drove.
"The roads out here are the worst. It's a good thing the ground'sfrozen."
"It's a better thing that you know the way," said Raridan. "I'm a lostchild in the wilderness."
"If you lose me, Wheaton can find the way," said Saxton.
They could hear the train puffing far in the distance. Its passage hadnot disturbed the sleep of the little village. The lantern of thestation-master flashed in the main street as he picked his way homeward.Stars could be seen beyond the flying clouds. The road lay betweenwire-fenced ranches, and the scattered homes of their owners wereindistinguishable in the darkness of the night. A pair of ponies drewthe buckboard briskly over the hard, rough road.
"How far is it?" asked the bishop.
"Five miles. We can do it in an hour," said Saxton over his shoulder.
"We'll be in Clarkson laughing at the police to-morrow afternoon if wehave good luck," said Raridan. "If we've made a bad guess we'll sneakhome and not tell where we've been."
The road proved to be in better condition than Saxton had expected, andhe kept the ponies at their work with his whip. The rumble of the wagonrose above the men's voices and they ceased trying to talk. Raridan andSaxton smoked in silence, lighting one cigar from another. The bishoprode with his head bowed on his breast, asleep; he had learned the trickof taking sleep when and where he could.
Wheaton felt the numbing of his hands and feet in the cold night air andwelcomed the discomfort, as a man long used to a particular sensation ofpain welcomes a new one that proves a counter-irritant. He reviewedagain the grounds on which he might have excused himself from takingthis trip. Nothing, he argued, could be more absurd than this adventureon an errand which might much better have been left to professionaldetectives. But it seemed a far cry back to his desk at the bank, and tothe tasks there which he really enjoyed. In a few hours the dailyroutine would be in progress. The familiar scenes of the opening passedbefore him--the clerks taking their places; the slamming of the bigbooks upon the desks as they were brought from the vault; the jingle ofcoin in the cages as the tellers assorted it and made ready for theday's business. He saw himself at his desk, the executive officer of themost substantial institution in Clarkson, his signature carrying thebank's pledge, his position one of dignity and authority.
But he was on William Porter's service; he pictured himself walking intothe bank from a fruitless quest, but one which would attract attentionto himself. If they found the boy and released him safely, he wouldshare the thanks and praise which would be the reward of the rescuingparty. He had no idea that Snyder would be captured; and he even plannedto help him escape if he could do so.
They had turned off from the main highway and were well up in the branchroad that ran to the Poindexter place.
"This is right, Wheaton, isn't it?" asked Saxton, drawing up the ponies.
"Yes, this is the ranch road."
They went forward slowly. The clouds were more compactly marshaled nowand the stars were fewer. Suddenly Saxton brought the ponies to a standand pointed to a dark pile that loomed ahead of them. The Poindexterhouse stood forth somber in the thin starlight.
"Is that the place?" asked the bishop, now wide awake.
"That's it," said Wheaton. "This road ends there. The river's justbeyond the cottonwoods. That first building was Poindexter's barn. Itcost more than the court house of this county."
Saxton gave the reins to Raridan and jumped out. "No more smoking," hesaid, throwing away his cigar. "You stay here and I'll reconnoiter abit." He walked swiftly toward the great barn which lay between him andthe house. There was no sign of life in the place. He crept through thebarb-wire fence into the corral. He had barred and padlocked the barndoor on his last visit, and he satisfied himself that the fastenings hadnot been disturbed. There were no indications that any one had visitedthe place. He reasoned that if Snyder had sought the ranch house for arendezvous he had not come afoot. Saxton was therefore disappointed tofind the barn door locked and the corral empty; there was little use inlooking further, he concluded; but before joining the others he resolvedto make sure that the house also was empty. It was quite dark and hewalked boldly up to it. The wind had risen and whistled shrilly aroundit; a loose blind under the eaves flapped noisily as he drew near. Thegreat front door was closed; he pushed against it and found it securelyfastened. He had brought with him a key to a rear door, and he startedaround the house to try it and to make sure that the house was notoccupied.
At the corner toward the river, glass suddenly crunched under his feet.The windows were deeply embrasured all over the house, and he could notdetermine where the glass had fallen from. The windows were all intactwhen he left, he was sure. He drew off his glove and tiptoed to thenearest panes, ran his fingers over the smooth glass, and instantlytouched a broken edge. As he was feeling the frame to discover the sizeof the opening, the low whinny of a horse came distinctly from within.
He stood perfectly quiet, listening, and in a moment heard the stamp ofa hoof on the wooden floor of the hall. He backed off toward the driveway, which swept around in front of the house, and waited, but allremained as silent and as dark as before. He ran back through the corralto the other men, who stood talking beside the blanketed ponies.
"There's something or somebody in the house," he said. He told them ofthe broken window and of the sounds he had heard. "Whoever's there hasno business there and we may as well turn him out. I've thought of agood many schemes for utilizing that house, but the idea of making abarn of it hadn't occurred to me."
He threw off his overcoat and tossed it into the buckboard.
"I guess that's a good idea, John," sai
d Raridan, following his example.Wheaton stood muffled in his coat. His teeth were chattering, and hefumbled at the buttons but kept his coat on, walking toward the housewith the others.
"We may have a horse thief or we may have a kidnapper," said Saxton,who had taken charge of the party; "but in either case we may as welltake him with his live stock."
"Let us not be rash," said the bishop, following the others. "He mayprove an unruly customer."
"He's probably a dude tramp who rides a horse and has taken a fancy toPoindexter architecture," said Warry.
"Quiet!" admonished Saxton, who had lighted a lantern, which heconcealed under his coat.
"You two watch the corners of the house," he said, indicating Raridanand Wheaton; "and you, Bishop, can stand off here, if you will, andwatch for signs of light in the upper windows. The big front doors arebarred on the inside, and my key opens only the back door."
"I'll go with you," said Raridan.
"Not yet, old man. You stay right here and watch until I throw open thefront doors."
"But that's a foolish risk," insisted Raridan. "There may be a dozen meninside."
"That's all right, Warry. It takes only a minute to cross the hall andunbar the front doors. There's no risk about it. I'll be out in half aminute."
Raridan felt that Saxton was taking all the hazards, but he yielded, ashe usually did, when Saxton was decisive, as now.
"Good luck to you, old man!" he said, slapping Saxton on the back. Hepatrolled the grass-plot before the house, while Saxton went to therear.
The door opened easily, and John stepped into the lower hall. The placewas pitch dark. He remembered the position of the articles of furnitureas he had left them on his last visit, and started across the halltoward the stairway, using his lantern warily. When half way, he heardthe whinny of a horse which he could not see. A moment later an animalshrank away from him in the darkness and was still again. Then anotherhorse whinnied by the window whose broken glass he had found on theoutside. There were, then, two horses, from which he argued that therewere at least two persons in the house. He found the doors and liftedthe heavy bar that held them and drew the bolts at top and bottom. Asthe doors swung open slowly Raridan ran up to see if anything waswanted.
"All right," said Saxton in a low tone. "They're mighty quiet if they'rehere. But there's no doubt about the horses. You stay where you are andI'll explore a little."
Raridan started to follow him, but Saxton pushed him back.
"Watch the door," he said, and walked guardedly into the house again.The horses stamped fretfully as he went toward the stairway, but all wasquiet above. He felt his way slowly up the stair-rail, whose heavy duststuck to his fingers. Having gained the upper hall, he paused to takefresh bearings. His memory brought back gradually the position of therooms. In putting out his hand he touched a picture which swung slightlyon its wire and grated harshly against the rough plaster of the wall. Atthe same instant he heard a noise directly in front of him as of someone moving about in the chamber at the head of the stairs. The knob of adoor was suddenly grasped from within. John waited, crouched down, anddrew his revolver from the side pocket of his coat. The door stuck inthe frame, but being violently shaken, suddenly pulled free. The personwho had opened the door stepped back into the room and scratched amatch.
"Wake up there," called a voice within the room.
Saxton crept softly across the hall, settling the revolver into his handready for use. A man could be heard mumbling and cursing.
"Hurry up, boy, it's time we were out of this."
The owner of the voice now reappeared at the door holding a lantern; hewas pushing some one in front of him. The crisis had come quickly; JohnSaxton knew that he had found Grant Porter; and he remembered that hewas there to get the boy whether he caught his abductor or not.
The man was carrying his lantern in his right hand and pushing the boytoward the staircase with his left. As he came well out of the door,Saxton sprang up and kicked the lantern from the man's hand. At the samemoment he grabbed the boy by the collar, drew him back and stepped infront of him. The lantern crashed against the wall opposite and wentrolling down the stairway with its light extinguished. Saxton haddropped his own lantern and the hall was in darkness.
"Stop where you are, Snyder," said Saxton, "or I'll shoot. I'm JohnSaxton; you may remember me." He spoke in steady, even tones.
The lantern, rolling down the stairway, startled the horses, whichstamped restlessly on the floor. The wind whistled dismally outside. Heheard Snyder, as he assumed the man to be, cautiously feeling his waytoward the staircase.
"You may as well stop there," Saxton said, without moving, and holdingthe boy to the floor with his left hand. He spoke in sharp, even tones."It's all right, Grant," he added in the same key to the boy, who wascrying with fright. "Stay where you are. The house is surrounded,Snyder," he went on. "You may as well give in."
The man said nothing. He had found the stairway. Suddenly a revolverflashed and cracked, and the man went leaping down the stairs. The ballwhistled over Saxton's head, and the boy clutched him about the legs. Abit of plaster, shaken loose by the bullet, fell from the ceiling. Thenoise of the revolver roared through the house.
"It's all right, Grant," Saxton said again.
The retreating man slipped and fell at the landing, midway of thestairs, and as he stumbled to his feet Saxton ran back into the roomfrom which the fellow had emerged. He threw up the window with a crashand shouted to the men in the darkness below:
"He's coming! Get out of the way and let him go! The boy's all right!"
He hurried back into the hall where he had left Grant, who crouchedmoaning in the dark.
"You stay here a minute, Grant. They won't get you again," he called ashe ran down the steps. One of the horses below was snorting with frightand making a great clatter with its hoofs. From the sound Saxton knewthat the fleeing man was trying to mount, and as he plunged down thelast half of the stairway, the horse broke through the door with theman on his back.
"Let him go, Warry," yelled Saxton with all his lungs.
The horse was already across the threshold at a leap, his rider bendinglow over the animal's neck to avoid the top of the door. Raridan ranforward, taking his bearings by sounds.
"Stop!" he shouted. "Come on, Wheaton!" Wheaton was running toward himat the top of his speed; Raridan sprang in front of the horse andgrabbed at the throat-latch of its bridle. The horse, surprised, andterrified by the noise, and feeling the rider digging his heels into hissides, reared, carrying Warry off his feet.
"Let go, you fool," screamed the rider. "Let go, I say!"
"Let him alone," cried Wheaton, now close at hand; but Raridan stillheld to the strap at the throat of the plunging horse.
The rider sat up straight on his horse and his revolver barked into thenight twice in sharp succession, the sounds crashing against the house,and the flashes lighting up the struggling horse and rider, and Raridan,clutching at the bridle. Raridan's hold loosened at the first shot, andas the second echoed into the night, the horse leaped free, runningmadly down the road, past Bishop Delafield, who was coming rapidlytoward the house. Wheaton and Saxton met in the driveway where Raridanhad fallen. The flying horse could be heard pounding down the hard road.
"Warry, Warry!" called Saxton, on his knees by his friend. "Hold thelantern," he said to Wheaton. "He's hurt." Raridan said nothing, but layvery still, moaning.
"Who's hurt?" asked the bishop coming up. Saxton had recovered his ownlantern as he ran from the house. It was still burning and Wheatonturned up the wick. The three men bent over Raridan, who lay as he hadfallen.
"We must get him inside," said Saxton. "The horse knocked him down."
The bishop bent over and put his arms under Raridan; and gathering himup as if the prone man had been a child, he carried him slowly towardthe house. Wheaton started ahead with the lantern, but Saxton snatchedit from him and ran through the doors into the hall, and back to thedining-room.
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"Come in here," he called, and the old bishop followed, bearing Raridancarefully in his great arms. The others helped him to place his burdenon the long table at which, in Poindexter's day, many light-heartedcompanies had gathered. They peered down upon him in the lantern light.
"We must get a doctor quick," said Saxton, half turning to go.
"He's badly hurt," said the old man. There was a dark stain on his coatwhere Raridan had lain against him. He tore open Raridan's shirt andthrust his hand underneath; and when he drew it out, shaking his grayhead, it had touched something wet. Wheaton came with a pail of water,pumped by the windmill into a trough at the rear of the house. He hadbroken the thin ice with his hands.
"Go for a doctor," said the bishop, very quietly, nodding to Saxton;"and go fast."
Wheaton followed Saxton to the hall, where they cut loose the remaininghorse. Saxton flung himself upon it, and the animal sprang into a gallopat the door. Wheaton watched the horse and rider disappear through thestarlight; he wished that he could go with Saxton. He turned back withsick terror to the room where Raridan lay white and still; but Wheatonwas as white as he.
The bishop had rolled his overcoat into a support for Warry's head, andwith a wet handkerchief laved his temples. Wheaton stood watching him,silent, and anxious to serve, but with his powers of initiative frozenin him.
"Get the flask from his pocket," said the old man; and Wheaton drew nearthe table, and with a shudder thrust his hand into the pocket ofRaridan's coat.
"Shall I pour some?" he asked. Raridan had moved his arms slightly andgroaned as Wheaton bent close to him. Wheaton detached the cup from thebottom of the flask and poured some of the brandy into it. The bishop,motioning him to stand ready with it, raised Raridan gently, andtogether they pressed the silver cup to his lips.
"That will do. I think he swallowed a little," said the bishop. "Bringwood, if you can," he said, "and make a fire here." Raridan's head wasgrowing hot under his touch, and he continued to lave it gently with thewet handkerchief. There was a shed at the back of the house where woodhad been kept in the old days of the Poindexter ascendancy, and Wheaton,glad of an excuse to get away from the prostrate figure on the longtable, went stumbling through the hall to find this place. There was aterrible silence in the old house,--a silence that filled all the world,a silence that could not be broken, it seemed to him, save by some newthing of dread. There beyond the prairie, day would break soon in thetown where he had striven and failed,--not the failure that proceedsfrom lack of opportunity or ability to gain the successes which menvalue most, but the failure of a man in self-mastery and courage.
He felt his soul shrivel in the few seconds that he stood at the doorlooking across the windy plain,--like a dreamer who turns from hisdreams and welcomes the morning with the hope that his dream may notprove true. He drew the doors together and turned to go on his errand,lighting a match to get his bearings, when a sound on the stairwaystartled him; there was a figure there--the wan, frightened face ofGrant Porter looked down at him. He had forgotten the boy, whom Saxtonhad left in the hall above. Grant shrank back on the stairs, notrecognizing him. It seemed to Wheaton that there was something ofloathing in the boy's movement, and that always afterward people wouldshrink from him.
"Is that you, Grant?" he asked. The boy did not answer. "It's all right,Grant," he added, trying to throw some kindness into his voice. "You'dbetter stay upstairs, until--we're ready to go."
The boy turned and stole back up the stairway, and Wheaton, encouragedby the sound of his own voice, brought wood and kindled it with somestraw in the dining-room fireplace.
"Let us try the brandy again," said the bishop. Again Wheaton poured it,and they forced a little between the lips of the stricken man. Raridan'sface, as Wheaton touched it with his fingers, was warm; he had expectedto find it cold; he had a feeling that the man lying there must be dead.If only help would come, Raridan might live! He would accept everythingelse, but to be a murderer--to have lured a man to his doom! The bishopdid not speak to him save now and then a word in a low tone, to callattention to some change in Raridan, or to ask help in moving him. Thedry wood burned brightly in the fireplace and lighted the room. Thebishop asked the time.
"He could hardly go and come in less than two hours," said Wheaton. Helifted his head.
"They are coming now." The short patter of pony hoofs was heard and hewent into the hall to open the doors. Two horsemen were just turninginto the corral. Saxton had found the one doctor of the village athome,--a young man trained in an eastern hospital but already used tolong, rough rides over the prairies. The two men threw themselves to theground, and let their ponies run loose. Saxton did not speak to Wheaton,who followed him and the doctor into the house.
"Has he been conscious at all?" asked the doctor.
The bishop shook his head. The doctor was already busy with hisexamination, and the three men stood and watched him silently. Saxtonstepped forward and helped, when there was need, to turn the woundedman and to strip away his clothing. The skilled fingers of the surgeonworked swiftly, producing shining instruments and sponges as he neededthem, from the blue lining of his pea-jacket. Suddenly he paused andbent down close to the stricken man's heart. He poured more brandy intothe silver cup and Saxton lifted Warry while the liquor was forcedbetween his lips. The doctor stood up then and put his finger onRaridan's wrist. He had not spoken and his face was very grave. Saxtontouched his arm.
"Is there nothing more you can do now?" The doctor shook his head, butbent again over Raridan, who gave a deep sigh and opened his eyes.
"John," he said in a whisper as he closed them again wearily. The doctorput Warry's hand down gently, and the others, at a glance from him, drewnearer.
"John," he repeated. His voice was stronger. The white light of dawn wasstruggling now against the flame of the fireplace. John stood on oneside of the table, the doctor on the other. The old bishop's tall figurerose majestically by the head of the dying man. Wheaton alone hungaloof, but his eyes were riveted on Warry Raridan's face.
"It was another--another of my foolish chances," said Warry faintly andslowly, the words coming hard; but all in the room could hear. He lookedfrom one to another, and seemed to know who the doctor was and why hewas there.
"The boy's safe and well. We got what we came for. Just once--justonce,--I got what I came for. It wasn't fair--in the dark that way--"His voice failed and the doctor gave him more brandy. He lay very stillfor several minutes, with his eyes closed, while the three men stood asthey had been, save that the surgeon now kept his finger on Warry'swrist.
"I never--quite arrived--quite--arrived," he went on, with his eyes onthe old bishop, as if this were something that he would understand; "butyou must forgive all that." He smiled in a patient, tired way.
"You have been a good man, Warry, there's nothing that can trouble you."
"I was really doing better, wasn't I, John?" he went on, still smiling."You had helped,--you two,"--he looked from his young friend to theolder one, with the intentness of his near-sighted gaze. "Tellthem"--his eyes closed and his voice sank until it was almostinaudible,--"tell them at the hill--Evelyn--the light of all--ofall--the year."
The doctor had put down Warry's wrist and turned away. The dawn-windsweeping across the prairie shook the windows in the room and moaned faraway in the lonely house. The bishop's great hand rested gently on thedying man's head; his voice rose in supplication,--the words comingslowly, as if he remembered them from a far-off time:
_Unto God's gracious mercy and protection we commit thee._ Saxtondropped to his knees, and a sob broke from him. _The Lord bless thee,and keep thee. The Lord make his face to shine upon thee, and begracious unto thee._ The old man's voice was very low, and sank to awhisper. _The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee and give theepeace, both now and evermore._
No one moved until the doctor put his head down to Warry's heart tolisten. Then Wheaton watched him with fascinated eyes as he gathered uphis instruments, which shone
cold and bright in the gray light of themorning.
The Main Chance Page 35
