Out of a Labyrinth

CHAPTER XXVII.

AN ANGRY HEIRESS

Very soon after Jim's departure, the first visitors arrived at the cottage, and most welcome ones they were.

Miss Barnard, who seemed capable of wise thought in the midst of her grief and anxiety, had dispatched her own servant with a message to Mr. Harris, and, early as was the hour, that good man had hastened to the cottage, with his wife at his side. Their presence was comforting to Miss Barnard and myself. Mr. Harris was the right man to assume responsibilities, which I, for various reasons, had no desire to take upon myself, and Mrs. Harris was the very companion and assistant needed by the anxious girl. They were soon in possession of all the facts, as we knew them, concerning the previous night, and its calamity.

I say, as we knew them; Miss Barnard had heard nothing concerning the part Jim's gun was believed to have played in the sad affair, and I did not think it necessary to enlighten either her or Mr. Harris on that subject, at that time.

Leaving Bethel in such good hands, I went back to the hotel. But before I could breakfast or rest, I was called upon to repeat again and again all that I could or would tell concerning this new calamity that had befallen Dr. Bethel, for the news of the night was there before me.

As I re-entered the office, after quitting the breakfast table, I found a considerable crowd assembled, and was again called upon to rehearse my story.

"It looks sorter queerish to me," commented a hook-nosed old Traftonite, who had listened very intently to my words. "It's sorter queerish! Why warn't folks told of this sooner? Why warn't the alarm given, so'at citizens could agone and seen for theirselves how things was?"

I recognized the speaker as one who had been boisterously and vindictively active on the day of the raid upon Bethel's cottage, and I fixed my eye upon his face with a look which he seemed to comprehend, as I retorted:

"Dr. Bethel has received one visit from a delegation of 'citizens who were desirous to see for theirselves how things was,' and if he suffered no harm from it, it was not owing to the tender mercies of the 'citizens' aforesaid. The attendance of a mob last night would not have benefited Bethel. What he needed was a doctor and good nursing. These he had and will have," and I turned upon my heel to leave the room.

"I should say," spoke up another voice, "that there was a detective needed around there, too."

"Nothing shall be lacking that is needed," I retorted, over my shoulder, and then ascended the stairs, wishing heartily, as I entered my room, that Trafton and a large majority of its inhabitants were safely buried under an Alpine avalanche.

Two hours later I awoke, and being in a more amiable mood, felt less inclined to consign all Trafton to annihilation.

Going below I found the office comparatively quiet, and Dimber Joe and the new operator socially conversing on the porch.

Gerald's presence was a relief to me. I felt sure that he would keep a sharp eye upon the movements of Dimber, and, being anxious about the situation of Bethel I returned to the cottage.

Dr. Hess stood in the doorway, in conversation with Mr. Harris.

"How is the patient?" asked I, approaching them.

"Much the same," replied the doctor. "But there will be a change soon."

"Has he spoken?"

"No; he will hardly do that yet, and should not be allowed to talk even if he could. When the change comes there will be fever, and perhaps delirium."

I passed them and entered the sick-room.

Mrs. Harris sat by the bed. Louise Barnard was not there.

"We have sent Louise home," Mrs. Harris whispered, seeing me glance about inquiringly. "The doctor told her that if she insisted upon remaining she would soon be sick herself, and unable to help us at all. That frightened her a little. The poor child is really worn out, with her father's sickness and death, her mother's poor health, and now this," nodding toward the bed.

"Have you had any visitors?"

"Oh, yes. But we knew that the house must be kept quiet, and Mr. Harris has received the most of them out in the yard. Dr. Hess says it will be best to admit none but personal friends."

"Dr. Hess is very sensible."

Going back to join the two gentlemen, I saw that Dr. Hess was hastening toward the gate with considerable alacrity, and that a pony phæton had just halted there.

Swinging the gate wide open, the doctor assisted the occupant to alight.

It was Miss Manvers.

There was an anxious look upon her face, and in her eyes a shadow of what I had once discovered there, when, myself unseen, I had witnessed her interview with Arch Brookhouse on the day of the garden party. She was pale, and exceedingly nervous.

She said very little. Indeed her strongest effort to preserve her self-control seemed almost a failure, and was very evident to each of us. She listened with set lips to the doctor's description and opinion of the case, and then entered the inner room, and stood looking down at the figure lying there, so stalwart, yet so helpless. For a moment her features were convulsed, and her hands clenched each other fiercely. Her form was shaken with emotion so strong as to almost overmaster her. It was a splendid picture of fierce passion held in check by an iron will.

She came out presently, and approached me.

"You were one of the first to know this, I am told," she said, in a low, constrained tone. "Please tell me about it."

I told her how I was called to the rescue by Jim, and gave a brief outline of after events.

"And has all been done that can be?" she asked, after a moment of silence.

"Not quite all, Miss Manvers. We have yet to find this would-be murderer and bring him to justice." I spoke with my eyes fixed on her face.

She started, flushed, and a new excited eagerness leaped to her eyes.

"Will you do that? Can you?"

"It shall be done," I replied, still watching her face.

She gave a little fluttering sigh, drew her veil across her arm, and turned to go.

"If I can be of service, in any way," she began, hesitatingly.

"We shall not hesitate to ask for your services," I interrupted, walking beside her to the door, and from thence to the gate, a little to the annoyance of Dr. Hess, I fancied.

As I assisted her to her seat in the phæton, and put the reins in her hands, I saw Arch Brookhouse galloping rapidly from the direction of town. And, just as she had turned her ponies homeward, and I paused at the gate to nod a final good-bye, he reined his horse up sharply beside her vehicle.

"How is the doctor, Adele?" he asked, in a tone evidently meant for my ears.

"Don't speak to me," she replied, vehemently, and utterly regardless of my proximity. "Don't speak to me. I wish it were you in his place."

She snatched up her whip, as though her first instinct was to draw the lash across his face, but she struck the ponies instead, and they flew up the hill at a reckless gait.

As Brookhouse turned in the saddle to look after the flying phæton, I saw a dark frown cross his face.

But the next instant his brow cleared, and he turned again to bestow on me a look of sharp scrutiny.

Springing from his horse, and throwing the bridle across his arm, he approached the gate.

"Did you hear her?" he exclaimed. "That is what I get for being an amiable fellow. My friend is not amiable to-day."

"Evidently not," I responded, carelessly. "Lovers' quarrels are fierce affairs, but very fleeting."

He smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

"I have been so unfortunate as to offend her," he said. "By to-morrow she will have forgotten the circumstances."

"Will she, indeed?" thought I. "We shall see, my friend."

But I made no audible comment, and he dismissed the subject to ask the stereotyped questions, "How was Dr. Bethel? Could he be of any service? How did it happen?"

While I was answering these questions with the best grace I could muster, there came the patter of horse's hoofs, and Jim Long rode up to the side gate, dismounted with a careless swing, nodded to me, and, opening the gate, led the doctor's horse stableward.

The look of surprise on my companion's face was instantly followed by a malicious smile, which, in its turn, was banished to give place to a more proper expression.

"Long has been giving the doctor's horse some exercise," he said, half inquiringly.

"I believe he has been executing some commission for Miss Barnard," I fabricated, unblushingly. "Long has been very useful here."

"Indeed," carelessly; then glancing at his watch, "nearly noon, I see."

He turned, vaulted into his saddle, and touched his hat. "Good-morning. In case of necessity, command me;" and with a second application of his finger-tip to the brim of his hat, he shook the reins and cantered away.

As soon as he was out of sight I went straight to the stable where Jim was bountifully feeding the tired horse.

"Well, Long?"

"It's all right, captain. I've had a hard ride, but it's done."

"And the men?"

"Will be at the cabin to-night."

CHAPTER XXVIII.

JIM GIVES BAIL

Upon Jim's reappearance in the cottage, Mrs. Harris installed him as nurse, and, herself, set about improvising a kitchen in the rear room.

Mr. Harris had been despatched to town for sundry articles, and, at noon, we were served with a plentiful lunch, of which we partook in rather primitive fashion.

Not long after, while Jim and I were conversing out under the trees, and Mr. Harris was discoursing to two Trafton ladies who had called to proffer service and sympathy, I saw Gerald Brown coming toward the cottage, and guessing that his real business was with me, whatever pretext he might present, I advanced to the gate and met him there.

He carried in his hand a telegraph envelope, which he proffered me ostentatiously over the gate.

I opened it and read:

Will come to-night.

Underneath this was written:

They are wild in town; are about to arrest Jim Long for the shooting of Bethel.

Two pair of eyes, at least, were looking out from the cottage door and window.

I turned the message over, and resting it upon the gate post, wrote the following:

Don't lose sight of Dimber; telegraph to the Agency to ask if Blake has arrived. Tell them not to let him get out of reach. We may want him at any moment.

While I was writing this Gerry shifted his position, so that his face could not be seen by the observers in the house, and said:

"Dimber is in it. He claims to have seen Long with his gun near Bethel's house last night. The gun has been found."

"Of course," I returned. "We will put a muzzle on friend Dimber very shortly."

I refolded the message and returned it to Gerry, who touched his hat and turned back toward the village.

Going to the door of the cottage, I informed Mr. Harris and the ladies that the new operator had just brought the news we so much wished for, viz.: the coming of Bethel's uncle from New York by that night's express. Then, sauntering back to my old place under the trees, I communicated to Jim the purport of the postscript written by Gerry.

He listened attentively, but with no sign of discomposure visible upon his countenance.

"I've had time to think the matter over," he said, after a moment's silence, "and I think I shall pull through, but," with a waggish twinkle in his eye, "I am puzzled to know why that young man going up the hill should take so much interest in me, or was it Harris?"

"It was not Harris," returning his look with interest. "That young man going up the hill is Gerald Brown, of New York. He's the new night operator, and he will not fail to do his duty, in the office and out of it."

"Ah!" ejaculated Jim, turning his eyes once more toward the receding form of Gerry.

I let my own gaze follow his and there, just coming into sight on the brow of the hill, was a party of men.

It consisted of the constable, supported by several able-bodied citizens, and followed, of course, by a promiscuous rabble.

Jim gave vent to a low chuckle.

"See the idiots," he said, "coming like mountain bandits. No doubt they look for fierce resistance. Don't let them think you are too much interested in the case."

"I won't," I said, briefly, for the men were hurrying down the hill. "It would not be politic, but I'll have you out of their clutches, Long, without a scratch, sure and soon."

I turned toward the house as I finished the sentence, and Jim arose and went toward the gate; not the man of easy movements and courteous speech who had been my companion for the past twenty-four hours, not Long, the gentleman, but "Long Jim," the loafer, awkward, slouching, uncouth of manner and speech.

As the crowd made a somewhat noisy approach, Jim leaned over the gate and motioned them to silence.

"Gentlemen," he said, seriously, "ye can't be any too still about this place, an' ye'd a' showed better gumption if ye hadn't paid yer respects in a squad, as if ye was comin' to a hangin'. Somehow ye seem mighty fond o' waitin' on Dr. Bethel in a gang."

Acting upon a hint from me, Mr. Harris now went out, and in milder words, but with much the same meaning, exhorted the visitors to quiet.

And then, casting a quick glance behind him, and a somewhat apprehensive one toward Jim, the constable read his warrant. The two men inside the gate listened with astonished faces. Indeed, Jim's assumption of amazement, viewed in the light of my knowledge concerning its genuineness, was ludicrous beyond description.

Mr. Harris began an earnest expostulation, and turned to beckon me to his assistance, but Jim checked him by a gesture.

"We can't have any disputing here," he said, sharply. "Don't argy, parson; tain't wuth while."

Then he opened the gate and stepped suddenly out among them.

"I'll go with ye," he said, "for the sake of peace. But," glaring about him fiercely, "if it wan't fer makin' a disturbance, again the doctor's orders, I'd take ye one at a time and thrash a little sense into ye. Come along, Mr. Constable; I'm goin' to 'pear' afore Jestice Summers, an' I'm goin' to walk right to the head o' this mob o' your'n, an' don't ye try to come none o' yer jailer dodges over me. Ye kin all walk behind, an' welcome, but the first man as undertakes to lay a finger on me, or step along-side – somethin'll happen to him."

And Jim thrust his hands deep down in his pockets, walked coolly through the group, which divided to let him pass, and strode off up the hill.

"Goodness!" ejaculated the valorous officer of the law, "is – is there a man here that's got a pistol?"

No reply from his supporters.

I put my hand behind me and produced a small revolver.

"Take this," I said, proffering the weapon over the gate. "You had better humor his whim, but if he attempts to escape, you know how to stop him."

He seized the protecting weapon, nodded his thanks, and hastened after his prisoner, followed by the entire body guard.

"My dear sir," said Mr. Harris, gravely, "I was sorry to see you do that. You surely don't think Long guilty?"

I turned toward him, no longer trying to conceal my amusement.

"He is as innocent as you or I," I replied, "and the pistol is not loaded. One may as well retain the good will of the magnates of the law, Mr. Harris."

He smiled in his turn, and, wishing to avoid a discussion, in which I must of necessity play a very hypocritical part, I turned back and entered the cottage to explain the situation to the ladies.

During that long, still afternoon, visitors came and went. Louise Barnard, a little refreshed and very anxious returned and resumed her post at the bedside. She was shocked and indignant at the news of Jim Long's arrest; and she breathed a sigh of relief and gratification upon being told of the expected coming Dr. Denham. Late in the afternoon, Dr. Hess made a second visit, and when he returned to town Mr. Harris accompanied him, the two driving back in the doctor's gig.

It was very quiet. Mrs. Harris dozed in the easy-chair; Louise sat mute and statue-like by the bedside of her lover, and I, oppressed by the stillness, was leaning over the open window sill, wondering how it was faring with Jim Long, when the gate gave the faintest creak, and I lifted my eyes to see the object of my mental inquiry coming toward me.

Uttering an exclamation which roused good Mrs. Harris and caused the watcher in the inner room to turn her head, I hastened to meet him.

"Long," I exclaimed, "what lucky fate has brought you back?"

He glanced from me to the doorway, where Mrs. Harris was now standing, with an expectant look on her benevolent countenance, and replied, laconically:

"Bail."

"Good! I was thinking of that."

"Jim," broke in Mrs. Harris, eagerly, "who did it? We'll all bless his kindness."

He advanced to the door, planted his right foot upon the lower step, rested his elbow on his knee, pushed his hat off his forehead, and grinned benignly on us both.

"Then I'm the feller that'll walk off with the blessin'," he said, with a chuckle. "I went my own bail to the tune of five thousand dollars!"

Mrs. Harris gave a gasp of surprise. I seated myself on the corner of the step farthest from Jim, and, seeing that he was about to volunteer a further explanation, remained silent.