CHAPTER XXIV
IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT
It was sundown in the Red Sand Valley. The hush of evening had settledupon Malkern, and its calm was only broken by the droning machinery ofthe mills. The sky was lit by that chilly, yellow afterglow of sunsetwhich, eastward, merges into the gray and purple of twilight. Alreadythe long-drawn shadows had expanded into the dusk so rapidly obscuringthe remoter distance. Straight and solemn rose spires of smoke fromhidden chimneys, lolling in the still air, as though loath to leave thescented atmosphere of the valley below. It was the moment of deliciouscalm when Nature is preparing to seek repose.
Two women were standing at the door of Dave's house, and the patch ofgarden surrounding them, so simple, so plain, was a perfect setting fortheir elderly, plainly clad figures. Dave's mother, very old, but fullof quiet energy, was listening to the gentle complaint of Mrs.Chepstow. She was listening, but her gaze was fixed on the distantmills, an attitude which had practically become her settled habit. Themill, to her, was the end of the earth; there was nothing beyond.
"I am dreadfully worried," Mrs. Tom was saying, the anxious wrinkles ofher forehead lifting her brows perplexedly. "It's more than six weekssince I heard from Tom and Betty. It's not like him, he's so regularwith letters usually. It was madness letting Betty go up there. I can'tthink what we were doing. If anything has happened to them I shallnever forgive myself. I think I shall go down and talk to Dave aboutit. He may know something. He's sure to know if they are well."
The other slowly withdrew her gaze from the mills. It was as though theeffort required to do so were a great one, and one she reluctantlyundertook. The pivot of her life was her boy. A pivot upon which itrevolved without flagging or interruption. She had watched him grow toa magnificent manhood, and with all a pure woman's love and wonderfulinstinct she had watched and tended him as she might some great oaktree raised from the frailest sapling. Then, when his struggles came,she had shared them with him with a supreme loyalty, helping him with aquiet, strong sympathy which found expression in little touches whichprobably even he never realized. All his successes and disasters hadbeen hers; all his joys, all his sorrows. And now, in her old age, sheclung to this love with the pathetic tenacity of one who realizes thatthe final parting is not far distant.
Her furrowed face lit with a wonderful smile.
"I cannot say for sure," she said. "There are times when Dave will notadmit me to the thoughts which disturb him. At such times I know thatthings are not running smoothly. There are other times when he talksquite freely of his hopes, his fears. Then I know that all is well.When he complains I know he is questioning his own judgment, anddistrusts himself. And when he laughs at things I know that the troubleis a sore one, and I prepare for disaster. All his moods have meaningfor me. Just now I am reading from his silence, and it tells me thatmuch is wrong, and I am wondering. But I do not think it concernsBetty--and, consequently, not your husband; if anything were wrong withher I think I should know." She smiled with all the wisdom of old age.
Mrs. Tom's anxiety was slightly allayed, but her curiosity wasproportionately roused.
"Why would you know--about Betty?" she asked.
The older woman's eyes were again turned in the direction of the mill.
"Why--why?" She smiled and turned to the churchman's wife. "It wouldproduce a fresh mood in my boy, one I'm not familiar with." Then shebecame suddenly grave. "I think I should dread that mood more than anyother. You see, deep down in his heart there are passionate depths thatno one has yet stirred. Were they let loose I fear to think how theymight drive him. Dave's head only rules just as far as his heartchooses."
"But Betty?" demanded Mrs. Tom. "How is she----"
"Betty?" interrupted the other, humorously eyeing the eager face. "Theone great passion of Dave's life is Betty. I know. And he thinks it ishopeless. I am betraying no confidence. Dave hugs his secret tohimself, but he can't hide it from me. I'm glad he loves her. You don'tknow how glad. You see, I am in love with her myself, and--and I amgetting very old."
"And--does Betty know?"
Dave's mother shook her head and smiled.
"Betty loves him, but neither understands the other's feelings. Butthat is nothing. Love belongs to Heaven, and Heaven will straightenthis out. Listen!"
The old woman's eyes turned abruptly in the direction of the mill.There was a curious, anxious look in them, and a perplexed frown drewher brows together. One hand was raised to hold the other woman'sattention. It was as though something vital had shocked her, as thoughsome sudden spasm of physical pain had seized her. Her face slowly grewgray.
Three people passing along the trail in front of the house had alsostopped. Their eyes were also turned in the direction of the mill.Further along a child at play had suddenly paused in its game to turntoward the mill. There were others, too, all over the village who gaveup their pursuits to listen.
"The mills have stopped work!" cried Mrs. Torn breathlessly.
But Dave's mother had no response for her. She had even forgotten theother's presence at her side. The drone of the machinery was silent.
Dawson was interviewing his employer in the latter's office. Both menlooked desperately worried. Dave's eyes were lit with a brooding light.It was as though a cloud of storm had settled upon his rugged features.Dawson had desperation in every line of his hard face.
"Have you sent up the river?" demanded Dave, eyeing his head man asthough he alone were responsible for the trouble which was upon them.
"I've sent, boss. We've had jams on the river before, an' I guessed itwas that. I didn't worrit any for four-an'-twenty hours. It's differentnow. Ther' ain't bin a log come down for nigh thirty-six hours."
"How many men did you send up?"
"Six. Two teams, an' all the gear needed for breakin' the jam."
"Yes. You're sure it is a jam?"
"Ther' ain't nothin' else, boss. Leastways, I can't see nothin' else."
"No. And the boom? You've worked out the 'reserve'?"
"Clean right out. Ther' ain't a log in it fit to cut."
Dave sat down at his desk. He idled clumsily for some moments with thepen in his fingers. His eyes were staring blankly out of the grimywindow. The din of the saws rose and fell, and the music for oncestruck bitterly into his soul. It jarred his nerves, and he stirredrestlessly. What was this new trouble that had come upon him? No logs!No logs! Why? He could not understand. A jam? Dawson said it must be ajam on the river. He was a practical lumberman, and to him it was theonly explanation. He had sent up men to find out and free it. But whyshould there be a jam? The river was wide and swift, and the logs werenever sent down in such crowds as to make a thing of that naturepossible at this time of year. Later, yes, when the water was low andthe stream slack, but now, after the recent rains, it was still atorrent. No logs! The thought was always his nightmare, and now--it wasa reality.
"It must be a jam, I s'pose," said Dave presently, but his tone carriedno conviction.
"What else can it be, boss?" asked the foreman anxiously.
His employer's manner, his tone of uncertainty, worried Dawson. He hadnever seen Dave like this before.
"That's so."
Then a look of eager interest came into his eyes. He pointed at thewindow.
"Here's Odd," he said. "And he's in a hurry."
Dawson threw open the door, and Simon Odd lumbered hurriedly into theroom. He seemed to fill up the place with his vast proportions. Hisface was anxious and doubtful.
"I've had to shut down at the other mill, boss," he explained abruptly."Ther' ain't no logs. Ther've been none for----"
"Thirty-six hours," broke in Dave, with an impatient nod. "I know."
"You know, boss?"
"Yes."
The master of the mills turned again to the window, and the two menwatched him in silence. What would he do? This man to whom they lookedin difficulty; this man who had never yet failed in resource, incourage, to meet and overcome every obstacle, every emergenc
y thatharassed a lumberman's life.
Suddenly he turned to them again. In his eyes there was a peculiar,angry light.
"Well?" he demanded, in a fierce way that was utterly foreign to him."Well?" he reiterated, "what are you standing there for? Get you out,both of you. Shut this mill down, too!"
Simon Odd moved to the door, but Dawson remained where he was. Italmost seemed as if he had not understood. The mill was to be shut downfor the first time within his knowledge. What did it mean? In all hisyears of association with Dave he had seen such wonders of lumberingdone by him that he looked upon him as almost infallible. And now--nowhe was tacitly acknowledging defeat without making a single effort. Therealization, the shock of it, held him still. He made no move to obeythe roughly-spoken command.
Suddenly Dave turned on him. His face was flushed.
"Get out!" he roared. "Shut down the mill!"
It was the cry of a man driven to a momentary frenzy. For the timedespair--black, terrible despair--drove the lumberman. He felt hewanted to hit out and hurt some one.
Dawson silently followed Odd to the door, and in five minutes the sawswere still.
Dave sat on at his desk waiting. The moment the shriek of the machineryceased he sprang to his feet and began pacing the floor in nervous,hurried strides. What that cessation meant to him only those may knowwho have suddenly seen their life's ambitions, their hopes, crushed outat one single blow. Let the saws continue their song, let the droningmachinery but keep its dead level of tone, and failure in any otherform, however disastrous, could not hurt in such degree as the suddensilencing of his lumberman's world.
For some minutes he was like a madman. He could not think, his nervesshivered from his feet to the crown of his great ugly head. His handswere clenched as he strode, until the nails of his fingers cut theflesh of the palms into which they were crushed. For some minutes hesaw nothing but the black ruin that rose like a wall before him andshut out every thought from his mind. The cessation of machinery waslike a pall suddenly burying his whole strength and manhood beneath itsparalyzing weight.
But gradually the awful tension eased. It could not hold and its victimremain sane. So narrow was his focus during those first passionatemoments that he could not see beyond his own personal loss. But withthe passing minutes his view widened, and into the picture grew thosethings which had always been the inspiration of his ambitions. He flunghimself heavily into his chair, and his eyes stared through the dirtywindow at the silent mill beyond. And for an hour he sat thus,thinking, thinking. His nervous tension had passed, his mind becameclear, and though the nature of his thoughts lashed his heart, and ahundred times drove him to the verge of that first passion of despairagain, there was an impersonal note in them which allowed the use ofhis usually clear reasoning, and so helped him to rise above himselfonce more.
His castles had been set a-tumbling, and he saw in their fall thecrushing of Malkern, the village which was almost as a child to him.And with the crushing of the village must come disaster to all hisfriends. For one weak moment he felt that this responsibility shouldnot be his--it was not fair to fix it on him. What had he done todeserve so hard a treatment? He thought of Tom Chepstow, loyal, kindly,always caring and thinking for those who needed his help. He thought ofthe traders of the village who hoped and prayed for his success, thatmeant prosperity for themselves and happiness for their wives andchildren. And these things began to rekindle the fighting flame withinhim; the flame which hitherto had always burned so fiercely. He couldnot let them go under.
Then with a rush a picture rose before his mind, flooding it, shuttingout all those others, every thought of self or anybody else. It wasBetty, with her gentle face, her soft brown hair and tender smilingeyes. Their steady courageous light shone deep down into his heart, andseemed to smite him for his weakness. His pulses began to throb, theweakened tide of his blood was sent coursing through his veins andmounted, mounted steadily to his brain. God! He must not go under. Evennow the loyal child was up in the hills fighting his battles for himwith----
He broke off, and sprang to his feet. A terrible fear had suddenlyleapt at his heart and clutched him. Betty was up there in the hills.He had not heard from the hill camps for weeks. And now the supply oflogs had ceased. What had happened? What was happening up there?
The lethargy of despair lifted like a cloud. He was alert, thrillingwith all the virility of his manhood set pulsing through his veins.Once more he was the man Dawson had failed to recognize when he orderedthe mills to be closed down. Once more he was the man whose personalforce had lifted him to his position as the master of Malkern mills. Hewas the Dave whom all the people of the village knew, ready to fight tothe last ounce of his power, to the last drop of his blood.
"They shan't beat us!" he muttered, as he strode out into the yard. Norcould he have said of whom he was speaking, if anybody at all.
It was nearly midnight. Again Dawson and Simon Odd were in theiremployer's office. But this time a very different note prevailed.Dawson's hard face was full of keen interest. His eyes were eager. Hewas listening to the great man he had always known. Simon Odd, burlyand unassuming, was waiting his turn when his chief had finished withhis principal foreman.
"I've thought this thing out, Dawson," Dave said pleasantly, in a tonecalculated to inspire the other with confidence, and in a mannersuggesting that the affair of the logs had not seriously alarmed him,"and evolved a fresh plan of action. No doubt, as you say, the thing'ssimply a jam on the river. If this is so, it will be freed in a shorttime, and we can go ahead. On the other hand, there may be some otherreason for the trouble. I can't think of any explanation myself, butthat is neither here nor there. Now I intend going up the riverto-night. Maybe I shall go on to the camps. I shall be entirely guidedby circumstances. Anyway I shall likely be away some days. Whatever iswrong, I intend to see it straight. In the meantime you will standready to begin work the moment the logs come down. And when they comedown I intend they shall come down at a pace that shall make up for allthe time we have lost. That's all I have for you. I simply say, beready. Good-night."
The man went out with a grin of satisfaction on his weather-beatenface. This was the Dave he knew, and he was glad.
Simon Odd received his orders. He too must be ready. He must have hismen ready. His mill must be asked to do more than ever before when thetime came, and on his results would depend a comfortable bonus the sizeof which quite dazzled the simple giant.
With his departure Dave began his own preparations. There was much tosee to in leaving everything straight for his foremen. Dawson was morethan willing. This new responsibility appealed to him as no otherconfidence his employer could have reposed in him. They spent some timetogether, and finally Dave returned to his office.
During the evening inquirers from the village flooded the place. But noofficial information on the subject of the cessation of work wasforthcoming, nor would Dave see any of them. They were driven to becontent with gleanings of news from the mill hands, and these, with thesimple lumberman's understanding of such things, explained that therewas a jam on the river which might take a day, or even two days, tofree. In this way a panic in the village was averted.
Dave required provisions from home. But he could not spare the time toreturn there for them. He intended to set out on his journey atmidnight. Besides, he had no wish to alarm his old mother. And somehowhe was afraid she would drag the whole truth of his fears out of him.So he sent a note by one of the men setting out his requirements.
His answer came promptly. The man returned with the kit bag only, andword that his mother was bringing the food down herself, and he smiledat the futility of his attempt to put her off.
Ten minutes later she entered his office with her burden of provisions.Her face was calmly smiling. There was no trace of anxiety in it. Socarefully was the latter suppressed that the effort it entailed becameapparent to the man.
"You shouldn't have bothered, ma," he protested. "I sent the man upspecially to bring
those things down."
His mother's eyes had a shrewd look in them.
"I know," she said. "There's a ham and some bacon, biscuit, and a freshroast of beef here. Then I've put in a good supply of groceries."
"Thanks, dear," he said gently. "You always take care of my inner man.But I wish you hadn't bothered this way."
"It's no sort of trouble," she said, raising her eyes to his. Then shelet them drop again. "Food don't need a lumberman's rough handling."
The smile on Dave's face was good to see. He nodded.
"I'd better tell you," he said. "You know, we've--stopped?"
His eyes lingered fondly on the aged figure. This woman was veryprecious to him.
"Yes, I know." There was the very slightest flash of anxiety in the oldeyes. Then it was gone.
"I'm going up the river to find things out."
"That's what I understood. Betty is up there--too."
The quiet assurance of his mother's remark brought a fresh light intothe man's eyes, and the blood surged to his cheeks.
"Yes, ma. That's it--chiefly."
"I thought so. And--I'm glad. You'll bring her back with you?"
"Yes, ma."
"Good-bye, boy." His simple assurance satisfied her. Her faith in himwas the faith of a mother.
The man bent down and kissed the withered, upturned face.
She went out, and Dave turned to the things she had brought him. Shehad thought of everything. And the food--he smiled. She was his mother,and the food had the amplitude such as is characteristic of a motherwhen providing for a beloved son.
He must visit the barn to see about his horses. He went to the door.Opening it, he paused. Standing there he became aware of the sound ofapproaching wheels. The absence of any noise from the mills had madethe night intensely silent, so that the rattle of wheels upon the hardsand trail, though distant, sounded acutely on the night air. He stoodlistening, with one great hand grasping the door casing. Yes, they werewheels. And now, too, he could hear the sharp pattering of horses'hoofs. The sound was uneven, yet regular, and he recognized the gait.They were approaching at a gallop. Nearer they came, and of a sudden heunderstood they were practically racing for the mill.
He left the doorway and moved out into the yard. He thought it might bethe team which Dawson had sent out returning, and perhaps bringing goodnews of the jam on the river. He walked toward the yard gates and stoodlistening intently. The night was dark, but clear and still, and as helistened he fancied in the rattle of the vehicle he recognized thepeculiar creak of a buckboard.
Nearer and nearer it came, louder and louder the clatter of hoofs andthe rattle of wheels. The gallop seemed labored, like the clumsy gaitof weary horses, and the waiting man straining could plainly hear avoice urging them on.
Suddenly he thought of the gates, and promptly opened them. He hardlyknew why he did so. It must have been the effect of the pace at whichthe horses were being driven. It must have been that the speed inspiredhim with an idea of emergency. Now he stood out in the road, andstooping, glanced along it till the faint light of the horizon revealeda dark object on the trail. He drew back and slowly returned to theoffice.
The man's voice urging his horses on required no effort to hear now. Itwas hoarse with shouting, and the slashing of his whip told the waitingman of the pace at which he had traveled. The vehicle entered the yardgates. The urging voice became silent, the weary horses clattered up tothe office door and came to a standstill.
From the doorway Dave surveyed the outfit. He did not recognize it, butsomething about the man climbing out of the vehicle was familiar.
"That you, Mason?" he asked sharply.
"Yes--and another. Will you bear a hand to get him out?"
Dave went to his assistance, wondering. Mason was busy undoing someropes. Dave's wonder increased. As he came up he saw that the ropesheld a man captive in the carryall.
"Who is it?" he inquired.
"Jim Truscott--whoever he may be," responded Mason with a laugh, as hefreed the last rope.
"Ah! Well, come right in--and bring him along too."
But Mason remembered the animals that had served him so well.
"What about the 'plugs'?" He was holding his captive, who stood silentat his side.
"You go inside. I'll see to them."
Dave watched Mason conduct his prisoner into the office, then he spranginto the buckboard and drove it across to the barn.