In the Midst of Alarms

CHAPTER XXIII

Yates stood for a moment regarding the dejected attitude of his friend.

“Hello, old man!” he cried, “you have the most ‘hark-from-the-tombs’ appearance I ever saw. What’s the matter?”

Renmark looked up.

“Oh, it’s you, is it?”

“Of course it’s I. Been expecting anybody else?”

“No. I have been waiting for you, and thinking of a variety of things.”

“You look it. Well, Renny, congratulate me, my boy. She’s mine, and I’m hers—which are two ways of stating the same delightful fact. I’m up in a balloon, Renny. I’m engaged to the prettiest, sweetest, and most delightful girl there is from the Atlantic to the Pacific. What d’ye think of that? Say, Renmark, there’s nothing on earth like it. You ought to reform and go in for being in love. It would make a man of you. Champagne isn’t to be compared to it. Get up here and dance, and don’t sit there like a bear nursing a sore paw. Do you comprehend that I am to be married to the darlingest girl that lives?”

“God help her!”

“That’s what I say. Every day of her life, bless her! But I don’t say it quite in that tone, Renmark. What’s the matter with you? One would think you were in love with the girl yourself, if such a thing were possible.”

“Why is it not possible?”

“If that is a conundrum, I can answer it the first time. Because you are a fossil. You are too good, Renny; therefore dull and uninteresting. Now, there is nothing a woman likes so much as to reclaim a man. It always annoys a woman to know that the man she is interested in has a past with which she has had nothing to do. If he is wicked and she can sort of make him over, like an old dress, she revels in the process. She flatters herself she makes a new man of him, and thinks she owns that new man by right of manufacture. We owe it to the sex, Renny, to give ‘em a chance at reforming us. I have known men who hated tobacco take to smoking merely to give it up joyfully for the sake of the women they loved. Now, if a man is perfect to begin with, what is a dear, ministering angel of a woman to do with him? Manifestly nothing. The trouble with you, Renny, is that you are too evidently ruled by a good and well-trained conscience, and naturally all women you meet intuitively see this, and have no use for you. A little wickedness would be the making of you.”

“You think, then, that if a man’s impulse is to do what his conscience tells him is wrong, he should follow his impulse, and not his conscience?”

“You state the case with unnecessary seriousness. I believe that an occasional blow-out is good for a man. But if you ever have an impulse of that kind, I think you should give way to it for once, just to see how it feels. A man who is too good gets conceited about himself.”

“I half believe you are right, Mr. Yates,” said the professor, rising. “I will act on your advice, and, as you put it, see how it feels. My conscience tells me that I should congratulate you, and wish you a long and happy life with the girl you have—I won’t say chosen, but tossed up for. The natural man in me, on the other hand, urges me to break every bone in your worthless body. Throw off your coat, Yates.”

“Oh, I say, Renmark, you’re crazy.”

“Perhaps so. Be all the more on your guard, if you believe it. A lunatic is sometimes dangerous.”

“Oh, go away. You’re dreaming. You’re talking in your sleep. What! Fight? Tonight? Nonsense!”

“Do you want me to strike you before you are ready?”

“No, Renny, no. My wants are always modest. I don’t wish to fight at all, especially to-night. I’m a reformed man, I tell you. I have no desire to bid good-by to my best girl with a black eye to-morrow.”

“Then stop talking, if you can, and defend yourself.”

“It’s impossible to fight here in the dark. Don’t flatter yourself for a moment that I am afraid. You just spar with yourself and get limbered up, while I put some wood on the fire. This is too ridiculous.”

Yates gathered some fuel, and managed to coax the dying embers into a blaze.

“There,” he said, “that’s better. Now, let me have a look at you. In the name of wonder, Renny, what do you want to fight me for to-night?”

“I refuse to give my reason.”

“Then I refuse to fight. I’ll run, and I can beat you in a foot race any day in the week. Why, you’re worse than her father. He at least let me know why he fought me.”

“Whose father?”

“Kitty’s father, of course—my future father-in-law. And that’s another ordeal ahead of me. I haven’t spoken to the old man yet, and I need all my fighting grit for that.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Isn’t my language plain? It usually is.”

“To whom are you engaged? As I understand your talk, it is to Miss Bartlett. Am I right?”

“Right as rain, Renny. This fire is dying down again. Say, can’t we postpone our fracas until daylight? I don’t want to gather any more wood. Besides, one of us is sure to be knocked into the fire, and thus ruin whatever is left of our clothes. What do you say?”

“Say? I say I am an idiot.”

“Hello! reason is returning, Renny. I perfectly agree with you.”

“Thank you. Then you did not propose to Mar—to Miss Howard?”

“Now, you touch upon a sore spot, Renmark, that I am trying to forget. You remember the unfortunate toss-up; in fact, I think you referred to it a moment ago, and you were justly indignant about it at the time. Well, I don’t care to talk much about the sequel; but, as you know the beginning, you will have to know the end, because I want to wring a sacred promise from you. You are never to mention this episode of the toss-up, or of my confession, to any living soul. The telling of it might do harm, and it couldn’t possibly do any good. Will you promise?”

“Certainly. But do not tell me unless you wish to.”

“I don’t exactly yearn to talk about it, but it is better you should understand how the land lies, so you won’t make any mistake. Not on my account, you know, but I would not like it to come to Kitty’s ears. Yes, I proposed to Margaret—first. She wouldn’t look at me. Can you credit that?”

“Well, now that you mention it, I–”

“Exactly. I see you can credit it. Well, I couldn’t at first; but Margaret knows her own mind, there’s no question about that. Say! she’s in love with some other fellow. I found out that much.”

“You asked her, I presume.”

“Well, it’s my profession to find out things; and, naturally, if I do that for my paper, it is not likely I am going to be behindhand when it comes to myself. She denied it at first, but admitted it afterward, and then bolted.”

“You must have used great tact and delicacy.”

“See here, Renmark; I’m not going to stand any of your sneering. I told you this was a sore subject with me. I’m not telling you because I like to, but because I have to. Don’t put me in fighting humor, Mr. Renmark. If I talk fight, I won’t begin for no reason and then back out for no reason. I’ll go on.”

“I’ll be discreet, and beg to take back all I said. What else?”

“Nothing else. Isn’t that enough? It was more than enough for me—at the time. I tell you, Renmark, I spent a pretty bad half hour sitting on the fence and thinking about it.”

“So long as that?”

Yates rose from the fire indignantly.

“I take that back, too,” cried the professor hastily. “I didn’t mean it.”

“It strikes me you’ve become awfully funny all of a sudden. Don’t you think it’s about time we took to our bunks? It’s late.”

Renmark agreed with him but did not turn in. He walked to the friendly fence, laid his arms along the top rail, and gazed at the friendly stars. He had not noticed before how lovely the night was, with its impressive stillness, as if the world had stopped, as a steamer stops in mid-ocean. After quieting his troubled spirit with the restful stars he climbed the fence and walked down the road, taking little heed of the direction. The still night was a soothing companion. He came at last to a sleeping village of wooden houses, and through the center of the town ran a single line of rails, an iron link connecting the unknown hamlet with all civilization. A red and a green light glimmered down the line, giving the only indication that a train ever came that way. As he went a mile or two farther the cool breath of the great lake made itself felt, and after crossing a field he suddenly came upon the water, finding all further progress in that direction barred. Huge sand dunes formed the shore, covered with sighing pines. At the foot of the dunes stretched a broad beach of firm sand, dimly visible in contrast with the darker water; and at long intervals fell the light ripple of the languid summer waves, running up the beach with a half-asleep whisper, that became softer and softer until it was merged in the silence beyond. Far out on the dark waters a point of light, like a floating star, showed where a steamer was slowly making her way; and so still was the night that he felt rather than heard her pulsating engines. It was the only sign of life visible from that enchanted bay—the bay of the silver beach.

Renmark threw himself down on the soft sand at the foot of a dune. The point of light gradually worked its way to the west, following, doubtless unconsciously, the star of empire, and disappeared around the headland, taking with it a certain vague sense of companionship. But the world is very small, and a man is never quite as much alone as he thinks he is. Renmark heard the low hoot of an owl among the trees, which cry he was astonished to hear answered from the water. He sat up and listened. Presently there grated on the sand the keel of a boat, and someone stepped ashore. From the woods there emerged the shadowy forms of three men. Nothing was said, but they got silently into the boat, which might have been Charon’s craft for all he could see of it. The rattle of the rowlocks and the plash of oars followed, while a voice cautioned the rowers to make less noise. It was evident that some belated fugitives were eluding the authorities of both countries. Renmark thought, with a smile, that if Yates were in his place he would at least give them a fright. A sharp command to an imaginary company to load and fire would travel far on such a night, and would give the rowers a few moments of great discomfort. Renmark, however, did not shout, but treated the episode as part of the mystical dream, and lay down on the sand again. He noticed that the water in the east seemed to feel the approach of morning even before the sky. Gradually the day dawned, a slowly lightening gray at first, until the coming sun spattered a filmy cloud with gold and crimson. Renmark watched the glory of the sunrise, took one lingering look at the curved beauty of the bay shore, shook the sand from his clothing, and started back for the village and the camp beyond.

The village was astir when he reached it. He was surprised to see Stoliker on horseback in front of one of the taverns. Two assistants were with him, also seated on horses. The constable seemed disturbed by the sight of Renmark, but he was there to do his duty.

“Hello!” he cried, “you’re up early. I have a warrant for the arrest of your friend: I suppose you won’t tell me where he is?”

“You can’t expect me to give any information that will get a friend into trouble, can you? especially as he has done nothing.”

“That’s as may turn out before a jury,” said one of the assistants gravely.

“Yes,” assented, Stoliker, winking quietly at the professor. “That is for judge and jury to determine—not you.”

“Well,” said Renmark, “I will not inform about anybody, unless I am compelled to do so, but I may save you some trouble by telling where I have been and what I have seen. I am on my way back from the lake. If you go down there, you will still see the mark of a boat’s keel on the sand, and probably footprints. A boat came over from the other shore in the night, and a man got on board. I don’t say who the man was, and I had nothing to do with the matter in any way except as a spectator. That is all the information I have to give.”

Stoliker turned to his assistants, and nodded. “What did I tell you?” he asked. “We were right on his track.”

“You said the railroad,” grumbled the man who had spoken before.

“Well, we were within two miles of him. Let us go down to the lake and see the traces. Then we can return the warrant.”

Renmark found Yates still asleep in the tent. He prepared breakfast without disturbing him. When the meal was ready, he roused the reporter and told him of his meeting with Stoliker, advising him to get back to New York without delay.

Yates yawned sleepily.

“Yes,” he said, “I’ve been dreaming it all out. I’ll get father-in-law to tote me out to Fort Erie to-night.”

“Do you think it will be safe to put it off so long?”

“Safer than trying to get away during the day. After breakfast I’m going down to the Bartlett homestead. Must have a talk with the old folks, you know. I’ll spend the rest of the day making up for that interview by talking with Kitty. Stoliker will never search for me there, and, now that he thinks I’m gone, he will likely make a visit to the tent. Stoliker is a good fellow, but his strong point is duty, you know; and if he’s certain I’m gone, he’ll give his country the worth of its money by searching. I won’t be back for dinner, so you can put in your time reading my Dime Novels. I make no reflections on your cooking, Renny, now that the vacation is over; but I have my preferences, and they incline toward a final meal with the Bartletts. If I were you, I’d have a nap. You look tired out.”

“I am,” said the professor.

Renmark intended to lie down for a few moments until Yates was clear of the camp, after which he determined to pay a visit; but Nature, when she got him locked up in sleep, took her revenge. He did not hear Stoliker and his satellites search the premises, just as Yates had predicted they would; and when he finally awoke, he found to his astonishment that it was nearly dark. But he was all the better for his sleep, and he attended to his personal appearance with more than ordinary care.

Old Hiram Bartlett accepted the situation with the patient and grim stolidity of a man who takes a blow dealt him by a Providence known by him to be inscrutable. What he had done to deserve it was beyond his comprehension. He silently hitched up his horses, and, for the first time in his life, drove into Fort Erie without any reasonable excuse for going there. He tied his team at the usual corner, after which he sat at one of the taverns and drank strong waters that had no apparent effect on him. He even went so far as to smoke two native cigars; and a man who can do that can do anything. To bring up a daughter who would deliberately accept a man from “the States,” and to have a wife who would aid and abet such an action, giving comfort and support to the enemy, seemed to him traitorous to all the traditions of 1812, or any other date in the history of the two countries. At times wild ideas of getting blind full, and going home to break every breakable thing in the house, rose in his mind; but prudence whispered that he had to live all the rest of his life with his wife, and he realized that this scheme of vengeance had its drawbacks. Finally, he untied his patient team, after paying his bill, and drove silently home, not having returned, even by a nod, any of the salutations tendered to him that day. He was somewhat relieved to find no questions were asked, and that his wife recognized the fact that he was passing through a crisis. Nevertheless, there was a steely glitter in her eye under which he uneasily quailed, for it told him a line had been reached which it would not be well for him to cross. She forgave, but it must not go any further.