The Vagrant Duke
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As the car neared the "Forks," Shad directed Brierly to take the turn to the left – away from the main road to camp, and they swung into a sandy road, the wind at their backs, their way for a time almost parallel to the course of the flames. They passed the small settlement of the "Forks," the few denizens of which were standing beside the road, their few household goods packed in barrows and carts, undecided whether or not the red terror would come their way. The flames were clearly visible now, leaping skyward like devils freed from Hell, and so hot was the fire and so high the wind that whole branches were carried high into the air and flaming fell beyond into the cool dark to kindle new destruction. Anything that lay to leeward of the holocaust was doomed. Peter furiously questioned Wells again, but he only shook his head while he anxiously watched the flames as the road converged toward them. But as the road swung to the left Shad shouted and held up his hand and Brierly brought the car to a stop.
"This is the nearest point, I guess, Mister. From here on to Cranberry town the road runs to the left of Cedar Swamp."
"Where's the cabin?" queried Peter anxiously.
"In yonder, not far from the edge of the swamp," Shad replied with a frown. "Looks like the fire's pretty near there."
"Come on, then," said Peter quickly. "Brierly, you go back to Black Rock and bring the men here. Follow in. We'll be on the lookout for you."
And leaving Brierly to turn the car, he started off with Shad Wells into the underbrush. His heart sank as he saw how furiously the fire was raging and how near it seemed to be. But Shad needed no urging now and led the way with a long stride, Peter following closely. The woods were not so heavy here and the forest was now as bright as at midday, and so they made rapid progress, coming out at the end of some minutes at the edge of the swamp, whose burnished pools sullenly reflected the fiery heavens. There they found a path and proceeded more quickly. To Peter's anxious questions Shad shook his head and only peered before him, forgetting his own suffering in the dreadful danger to which the girl they sought might be subjected. A terrible thought had come into Peter's mind in the last few moments – that it was Hawk Kennedy who had set fire to the woods after imprisoning Beth in a cabin in the path of the flames. This was his vengeance, terrible in its simplicity – for a lighted match in the dry leaves would do the trick, and incendiarism in the woods was difficult to trace. A vengeance fatal in its effectiveness, for such a fire would tell no tales. Peter found himself hoping that it was not to the old tool cabin that Beth had been taken – that she was even far away from this inferno that lay before him. The glare was already hot on his face and stray breezes which blew toward him from time to time showed that the wind might be veering to the eastward, in which case all the woods which they now traversed would soon be afire.
But to the credit of Shad Wells it may be said that he did not hesitate, for when he reached a point in the path where it turned closely along the edge of the swamp, he plunged boldly into the woods, directly toward the flames, and Peter, even more eager than he, ran ahead, peering to right and left for signs of the cabin which now could not be far away. The roar and the crackling were now ominously near and the flames seemed to be all about them, while the tree tops seemed to be filled with flaming brands. Sparks and live cinders fell upon them and the hot breath of the wind blistered them with its heat.
Suddenly the panting Shad grasped Peter sharply by the arm with his uninjured hand.
"The cabin! My God! It's burning now – Quick, Mister – or – "
Peter sprang forward through the flaming leaves. He seemed to be in the very midst of the flames. Blinded and suffocated by the smoke, Peter plunged forward and reached the cabin. One end and side of it was blazing furiously but he dashed around the lower end of it, seeking the door. It was open and already aflame. The hut was empty. He ran out again, blinded by the smoke and the glare. Was it a fool's errand? And had he and Shad only entrapped themselves to no good end? To the right of him the fire roared and with his back to the glare his eyes eagerly sought the shadows down the wind. Vague shapes of gnarled branches and pallid tree trunks, spectral bushes quivering before the advancing demon, some of them already alight. Safety lay only in this one direction – for Beth, if she had been there, for Shad – Peter suddenly remembered the lumberman and turned to his left to look, when suddenly he espied a figure moving away from him and ran after it, calling. He realized immediately that his hoarse cry was lost in the inferno of the flames, but he ran more rapidly, beating out the embers which had ignited the sleeve of his shirt.
He saw the figure clearly now, but it was not Shad – for Shad had been in his shirt sleeves. This figure wore a coat and stumbled away half bent, one arm over its head, pushing something – some one ahead of it. Peter drew his revolver, leaping the burning leaves and calling aloud.
He saw the figures ahead of him halt and turn as they heard his voice and the glare behind him shone full upon them, the face of the man agape with inflamed surprise – Hawk Kennedy's, and the other, wide-eyed as at the sight of an apparition – Beth's.
Only thirty paces separated them when Hawk Kennedy fired. Peter heard Beth's scream and saw her strike at the man's arm, but furiously he swung her in front of him and fired again. But her struggles and the uncertain light sent the bullet wide. Peter did not dare to shoot for the man was using her as a shield, but he did not hesitate and ran in, trusting to luck and Beth's struggles. One bullet struck him somewhere as Beth seemed to stumble and crumple to the ground, but he went on unspent and catapulted into his man with a rush that sent them both sprawling into the smoldering foliage. Blinded by the smoke, but mad with fury, Peter struck and clutched, and Hawk's last shot went upward for Peter wrenched his wrist and then struck him full on the head with his own weapon.
He felt the man relax and slip down into the dust and smoke, where he lay motionless.
Peter drew himself up to arm's length, wondering at the feebleness of his muscles and the trouble with his breathing.
"Beth!" he gasped, frantically, searching the smoking ground for her.
"Peter – thank God!" Her voice was just at his ear and an arm went around his neck.
"Beth! Beth! You've got to get out of this."
"Come, Peter – there's time – "
Just then a branch crashed down just beside them, showering them with sparks.
"Come, Peter – come!" she cried.
He struggled up with an effort, one hand clutching at his breast.
"Go, Beth!" he gasped. "For God's sake, go!"
Beth stared at him for one short terrible moment as she realized what had happened to him.
"Peter! You – you're – "
"I – I think I'm hurt – a little – it isn't much."
He swayed but she caught him and put an arm around one shoulder, clutching it with the other hand.
"Lean on me," she muttered. "I'm strong enough – "
"No – go, Beth – "
But she put her strength under him and began walking while he staggered on beside her. Sparks and fiery brands rained down upon them, blistering and burning, the hot breath of the furnace drove their breath poisoned back into their lungs and scorched their bodies, but still they remained upright – and by a miracle still moved on.
"To the left," Peter heard dimly, "the swamp is close by."
He obeyed her, more dead than alive, and by sheer effort of will kept his feet moving, paced to hers. He seemed to be walking as though in a red fever, on leaden feet, carrying a body that had no weight or substance.
But after a while his feet too seemed to grow lighter and he felt himself falling through space. But her arms were still about him.
"Peter," he heard her voice in agony, "only a few yards further – "
With a last remaining effort he struggled and then his feet stumbling, toppled forward and sank into something soft, something deliciously cool and soothing. He felt a hand tugging at him, but he had no pain now, no weakness – only the perfect happiness of a body that, seeking rest, has found it.
After a while he revived at the sound of a voice at his ear. Water was splashing over his face and he struggled up.
"No – keep down," he heard Beth's voice saying. "We're safe, Peter – the wind is changing – "
"And you, Beth – ?"
"All right, dear. A little patience – "
The voice trembled, but there was a world of faith in it. After all that had happened, it was impossible that further disaster should follow now.
"Y-you're all right?" he gasped weakly.
"Yes. Yes. Lie still for a while."
And so they half lay, half crouched in the mud and water, while the inferno swept over them, passing to the south. His head was on her breast and against his ear he could feel her heart beating bravely, a message of strength and cheer. From time to time her wet fingers brushed his hair with water and then, as he seemed to be sinking into a dream again, he felt lips light as thistle-down upon his brows.
Death such as this, he thought, was very pleasant.
And then later he was aroused by a shrill clear call… Then saw lights flashing… Heard men's voices… Felt himself carried in strong arms … but all the while there were soft fingers in his own.
CHAPTER XXII
RETRIBUTION
When they lifted him into the automobile and Beth got in beside him, his fingers moved in her own.
"Beth," she heard him whisper.
"Peter – I'm here."
"Thank God. And – and Shad – ? He – he was with me – "
"He's asking for Shad," she repeated to Brierly, unaware that her cousin, like his Biblical namesake, had come scatheless through the fiery furnace. But some one heard the question and replied:
"Shad's here, Miss. He's all right – "
"Oh," gasped Peter. "And there's something else – "
"No, no – we must go. Your wound – "
But he insisted. "I – I'm all – right. Something else, – Beth – some one must get – paper – blue envelope – Hawk Ken – "
His words ended in a gasp and he sank back in her arms.
Beth was frightened at the sudden collapse and the look in his face, but she knew that his injunction was important. And keeping her courage she called Shad Wells to the side of the car and gave quick directions. There was a note of appeal in her voice and Shad listened, his gaze over his shoulder in the direction she indicated.
"If he ain't burned to a crisp by now – "
"Go, Shad – please! And if you can get to him bring the papers in his pocket to me."
He met her gaze and smiled.
"I reckon I'll get to him if anybody can."
"Oh, thanks, Shad – thanks – " she muttered, as the lumberman turned, followed by one of the others, and silently moved toward the flames.
And in a moment the car was on its way to Black Rock, Brierly driving carefully over the rough road. That was a terrible ride for Beth. She supported the wounded man against her shoulder, her gaze on his pallid face. Her poor blistered arm was about his waist, but she had no thought for her own suffering. Every ounce of strength that remained to her was given to holding Peter close to her so that he would not slip down, every ounce of faith in her soul given to combat with the fears that assailed her. It seemed to Beth that if the Faith that had brought her through this day and out of that furnace were still strong enough she could combat even the Death that rode with them. And so she prayed again, holding him closely. But he was so cold and inert. She put her hand over his heart and a tiny pulsation answered as though to reassure her. Her hand came away dry, for the wound was not near his heart. She thanked God for that. She found it high up on the right side just below the collar bone and held her fingers there, pressing them tightly. If this blood were life and she could keep it within him she would do it. But he was so pale…
Brierly drove to Black Rock House instinctively. Here were beds, servants and the telephone. He sounded his horn as they came up the driveway and an excited group came out upon the porch. But Beth saw only McGuire.
"Mr. Nichols has been shot, Mr. McGuire – he's dangerously hurt," she appealed. "He's got to have a doctor – at once."
"Who – who shot him?"
"Hawk Kennedy."
"And he – Hawk – ?"
"He's dead, I think."
She heard McGuire's sudden gasp and saw Aunt Tillie come running.
"He's got to be put to bed – Aunt Tillie," she pleaded.
"Of course," said McGuire, finding his voice suddenly, "Of course – at once. The blue room, Mrs. Bergen. We'll carry him up. Send Stryker."
And Aunt Tillie ran indoors.
Peter was still quite unconscious, but between them they managed to get him upstairs.
McGuire seemed now galvanized into activity and while the others cut Peter's coat away and found the wound he got Hammonton and a doctor on the 'phone. It was twelve miles away but he promised to be at Black Rock House inside half an hour.
"Twenty minutes and you won't regret it. Drive like Hell. It's a matter of life or death."
Meanwhile, Aunt Tillie, with anxious glances at Beth, had brought absorbent cotton, clean linen, a basin of water and a sponge, and Stryker and Brierly washed the wound, while McGuire rushed for his bottle and managed to force some whisky and water between Peter's teeth. The bullet they found had gone through the body and had come out at the back, shattering the shoulder-blade. But the hemorrhage had almost ceased and the wounded man's heart was still beating faintly.
"It's the blood he's lost," muttered Brierly sagely.
"He'll come around all right. You can't kill a man as game as that."
Beth clung to the arms of the chair in which they had placed her. "You think – he – he'll live?"
"Sure he will. I've seen 'em worse'n that – "
She sank back into her chair, exhausted. She had never fainted in her life and she wasn't going to begin. But now that all that they could do had been done for Peter, they turned their attention to Beth. She had not known how much she needed it. Her hair was singed, her wrists were raw and bleeding, and her arms, half naked, were red and blistered. Her dress, soaked with mud and water, was partly torn or burned away.
"She must be put to bed here, Mrs. Bergen," said McGuire. "She'll need the doctor too."
Beth protested and would not leave the room until the doctor came. But McGuire, who seemed – and somewhat justly – to have complete faith in the efficacy of his own remedy, gave her some of the whisky and water to drink, while Aunt Tillie washed her face and rubbed vaseline upon her arms, crooning over her all the while in the comforting way of women of her kind, to the end that Beth felt the pain of her body lessen.
It was not until the doctor arrived with a businesslike air and made his examination, pronouncing Peter's condition serious but not necessarily fatal, that the tension at Beth's heart relaxed.
"He – he'll get well, Doctor?" she asked timidly.
"I think so," he said with a smile, "but we've got to have absolute quiet now. I'd like some one here to help me – "
"If you'd only let me – "
But she read refusal in his eyes as he looked at her critically, and saw him choose Stryker.
"You're to be put to bed at once," he said dryly. "You'll need attention too, I'm thinking."
And so Beth, with McGuire's arm supporting and Aunt Tillie's arm around her, was led to the room adjoining, – the pink room of Miss Peggy McGuire. McGuire closed the door and questioned her eagerly.
"You say Hawk Kennedy was killed – ?"
"I think so – or – or burned," said Beth, now quivering in the reaction of all that she had experienced. "I – I sent Shad Wells to see. We left him lying there. We just had time to get away. The fire was all around. We got to the swamp – into the water – but he – " She put her face into her hands, trembling with the recollection. "It was horrible. I can't talk about it."
Aunt Tillie glared at McGuire, but he still questioned uneasily.
"You – you saw nothing of a blue envelope, a paper – "
With an effort Beth lowered her hands and replied:
"No – Peter – Mr. Nichols thought of it. Shad Wells will bring it – if it isn't burned."
"Oh, I see – "
"But what you can't see," broke in Aunt Tillie with spirit, "is that the poor child ain't fit to answer any more questions to-night. And she shan't."
"Er – no – of course," said McGuire, and went out.
If it had been an eventful day for Peter and Beth, the night was to prove eventful for McGuire, for not content to wait the arrival of Shad Wells, he took his courage in his hands and with Brierly drove at once to the scene of the disaster. The wind had died and a gentle rain began to fall, but the fire was burning fiercely.
The other matter in McGuire's thoughts was so much the more important to him that he had given little thought to the damage to his property. His forests might all be burned down for all that he cared.
At the spot to which Beth and Peter had been carried he met Shad and the party of men that had been looking for Hawk Kennedy, but the place where the fight had taken place was still a mass of fallen trees and branches all flaming hotly and it was impossible for any one to get within several hundred yards of it.
There seemed little doubt as to the fate of his enemy. Jonathan K. McGuire stood at the edge of the burned area, peering into the glowing embers. His look was grim but there was no smile of triumph at his lips. In his moments of madness he had often wished Hawk Kennedy dead, but never had he wished him such a death as this. He questioned Shad sharply as to his share in the adventure, satisfying himself at last that the man had told a true story, and then, noting his wounded arm, sent him back with Brierly in the car to Black Rock House for medical treatment with orders to send the chauffeur with the limousine.
The rain was now falling fast, but Jonathan K. McGuire did not seem to be aware of it. His gaze was on the forest, on that of the burning area nearest him where the fire still flamed the hottest, beneath the embers of which lay the one dreadful secret of his life. Even where he stood the heat was intense, but he did not seem to be aware of it, nor did he follow the others when they retreated to a more comfortable spot. No one knew why he waited or of what he was thinking, unless of the damage to the Reserve and what the loss in money meant to him. They could not guess that pity and fear waged their war in his heart – pity that any man should die such a death – fear that the man he thought of should not die it.
But as the hours lengthened and there was no report brought to him of any injured man, being found in the forest near by, he seemed to know that Peter Nichols had not struck for Beth in vain.
When the limousine came, he sent the other watchers home, and got into it, sitting in solitary grandeur in his wet clothing, peering out of the window. The glow of the flames grew dimmer and died at last with the first pale light to the eastward which announced the coming of the dawn. A light drizzle was still falling when it grew light enough to see. McGuire got down and without awakening the sleeping chauffeur went forth into the spectral woods. He knew where the old tool cabin had stood and, from the description Wells had given him, had gained a general idea of where the fight had taken place – two hundred yards from the edge of the swamp where Nichols and the Cameron girl had been found, and nearly in a line with the biggest of the swamp-maples, the trunk of which still stood, a melancholy skeleton of its former grandeur.
The ground was still hot under the mud and cinders, but not painfully so, and he was not aware of any discomfort. Clouds of steam rose and among them he moved like the ghost of a sin, bent, eager, searching with heavy eyes for what he hoped and what he feared to find. The old tool house had disappeared, but he saw a heap of ashes and among them the shapes of saws and iron picks and shovels. But he passed them by, making a straight line to the eastward and keeping his gaze upon the charred and blackened earth, missing nothing to right and left, fallen branches, heaps of rubbish, mounds of earth.
Suddenly startled, McGuire halted and stood for a long moment… Then, his hand before his eyes he turned away and slowly made his way back to his automobile. But there was no triumph in his eyes. A power greater than his own had avenged Ben Cameron.
His vigil was over – his nightly vigil – the vigil of years. He made his way to his car and, awakening his chauffeur, told him to drive to Black Rock House. But when he reached home, the set look that his face had worn for so many weeks had disappeared. And in its place among the relaxed muscles which showed his years, sat the benignity of a new resolution.
It was broad daylight when he quietly knocked at the door of the room in which the injured man lay. The doctor came to the door. It seemed that all immediate danger of a further collapse had passed for the heart was stronger and unless there was a setback Peter Nichols had an excellent chance of recovery. McGuire himself offered to watch beside the bed; but the doctor explained that a trained nurse was already on the way from Philadelphia and would arrive at any moment. So McGuire went to his own room and, sinking into his armchair, slept for the first time in many weeks at peace, smiling his benignant smile.
Beth awoke in the pink room of Miss Peggy McGuire in which she had been put to bed. She lay for a moment still stupefied, her brain struggling against the effects of the sleeping potion that the doctor had given her and then slowly straightened to a sitting posture, regarding in bewilderment the embroidered night-robe which she wore and the flowered pink hangings at the windows. She couldn't at first understand the pain at her head and other aches and pains which seemed to come mysteriously into being. But she heard a familiar voice at her ear and saw the anxious face of Aunt Tillie, who rose from the chair at her bedside.
"Aunt Tillie!" she whispered.
"It's all right, dearie," said the old woman. "You're to lie quite still until the doctor sees you – "
"The doctor – ? Oh, I – I remember – " And then with a sudden awakening to full consciousness – "Peter!" she gasped.
"He's better, dearie."
"But what does the doctor say?"
"He's doin' as well as possible – "
"Will he get well?"
"Yes, yes. The doctor is very hopeful."
"You're sure?"
"Yes. He's sleepin' now – quiet – ye'd better just lie back again."
"But I want to go to him, Aunt Tillie. I want to."
"No. Ye can't, dearie – not now."
And so by dint of reassurance and persuasion, Aunt Tillie prevailed upon the girl to lie back upon her pillows and after a while she slept again.
But Beth was no weakling and when the doctor came into her room some time later, the effects of her potion wearing away, she awoke to full consciousness. He saw the imploring question in her eyes, before he took her pulse and answered it with a quick smile.
"He's all right. Heart coming on nicely – "
"Will h-he live?" she gasped.
"He'll be a fool if he doesn't."
"What – ?"
"I'd be, if I knew there was a girl like you in the next room with that kind of look in her eyes asking for me."
But his remark went over Beth's head.
"He's better?"
"Yes. Conscious too. But he'll have to be kept quiet."
"D-did he speak of me?"
The doctor was taking her pulse and put on a professional air which hid his inward smiles and provoked a repetition of her question.
"D-did he?" she repeated softly.
"Oh, yes," he said with a laugh. "He won't talk of anything else. I had to give him a hypodermic to make him stop."
Beth was silent for a moment. And then timidly —
"What did he say?"
"Oh, just that you saved his life, that's all."
"Nothing else?"
"Oh, yes. Now that I come to think of it, he did."
"What?"
"That he wanted to see you."
"Oh! And can I – ?"
The doctor snapped his watch and relinquished her wrist with a smile.
"If everything goes well – to-morrow – for two minutes – just two minutes, you understand."