CHAPTER XXXI
AT MIDNIGHT
The silence of the night was unbroken. The valley of the Red Sand Riverwas wrapped in a peace such as it had never known since Dave had firstbrought into it the restless activity of his American spirit. But itwas a depressing peace to the dwellers in the valley, for it portendeddisaster. No word had reached them of the prospects at the mill, only avague rumor had spread of the doings at the lumber camp. Dave knew thevalue of silence in such matters, and he had taken care to enforcesilence on all who were in a position to enlighten the minds whichthirsted for such information.
The people of Malkern were waiting, waiting for something definite onthe part of the master of the mills. On him depended their futuremovements. The mill was silent, even though the work of repairing hadbeen completed. But, as yet, they had not lost faith in the man who hadpiloted them through all the shoals of early struggles to the haven ofcomparative prosperity. However, the calm, the unwonted silence of thevalley depressed and worried them. They longed for the drone, howevermonotonous, of the mill. They loved it, for it meant that their wheelsof life were well oiled, and that they were driving pleasantly alongtheir set track to the terminal of success.
Yet while the village slept all was intense activity at the mills. Themen had been gathered together again, late that night, and the army ofworkers was once more complete. The sawyers were at their saws, oilingand fitting, and generally making ready for work. The engineers were attheir engines, the firemen at their furnaces, the lumber-jacks were atthe shoots, and in the yards. The boom was manned by men who sat aroundsmoking, peavey in hand, ready to handle the mightiest "ninety-footers"that the mountain forests could send them. The checkers were at theirposts, and the tally boys were "shooting craps" at the foot of theshoots. The mill, like a resting giant lying prone upon his back, wasbursting with a latent strength and activity that only needed thecontrolling will to set in motion, to drive it to an effort such asMalkern had never seen before, such as, perhaps, Malkern would neversee again. And inside Dave's office, that Will lay watching and waiting.
It was a curious scene inside the office. The place had been largelyconverted since the master of the mills had returned. It was half sickroom, half office, and the feminine touch about the place was quiteincongruous in the office of such a man as Dave. But then just nowDave's control was only of the mill outside. In this room he yielded toanother authority. He was in the hands of womenfolk; that is, his bodywas. He had no word to say in the arrangement of the room, and he wasonly permitted to think his control outside.
It was eleven o'clock, and his mother was preparing to take herdeparture. Since his return from the camp she was her son's almostconstant attendant. Betty's chief concern was for the mill outside, andthe careful execution of the man's orders to his foremen. She took ashare of the nursing, but only in moments of leisure, and these werevery few. Now she had just returned from a final inspection andconsultation with Dawson. And the glow of satisfaction on her face wasgood to see.
"Now, mother dear," she said, after having made her report to Dave,"you've got to be off home, and to bed. You've had a long, hard day,and I'm going to relieve you. Dave is all right, and," she added with asmile, "maybe he'll be better still before morning. We expect the logsdown by daylight, and then--I guess their arrival in the boom will domore to mend his poor broken shoulder than all our quacks and nostrums.So be off with you. I shall be here all night. I don't intend to resttill the first log enters the boom."
The old woman rose wearily from her rocking-chair at her boy's bedside.Her worn face was tired. At her age the strain of nursing was veryheavy. But whatever weakness there was in her body, her spirit was asstrong as the younger woman's. Her boy was sick, and nothing else couldcompare with a disaster of that nature. But now she was ready to go,for so it had been arranged between them earlier.
She crossed to Betty's side, and, placing her hands upon the girl'sshoulders, kissed her tenderly on both cheeks.
"God bless and keep you, dearie," she said, with deep emotion. "I'dlike to tell you all I feel, but I can't. You're our guardianangel--Dave's and mine. Good-night."
"Good-night, mother dear," said the girl, her eyes brightening with asuspicion of tears. Then, with an assumption of lightness which helpedto disguise her real feelings, "Now don't you stay awake. Go right offto sleep, and--in the morning you shall hear--the mills!"
The old woman nodded and smiled. Next to her boy she loved thismotherless girl best in the world. She gathered up her few belongingsand went to the bedside. Bending over the sick man she kissed hisrugged face tenderly. For a moment one great arm held her in itstremendous embrace, then she toddled out of the room.
Betty took her rocking-chair. She sat back and rocked herself insilence for some moments. Her eyes wandered over the curious littleroom, noting the details of it as though hugging to herself the memoryof the smallest trifle that concerned this wonderful time that was hers.
There was Dave's desk before the window. It was hers now. There werethe vast tomes that recorded his output of lumber. She had spent hoursover them calculating figures for the man beside her. There were theflowers his mother had brought, and which she had found time to arrangeso that he could see and enjoy them. There were the bandages it was herduty to adjust. There were the remains of the food of which they hadboth partaken.
It was all real, yet so strange. So strange to her who had spent herlife surrounded by all those duties so essentially feminine, so closelyallied to her uncle's spiritual calling. She felt that she had movedout into a new world, a world in which there was room for her toexpand, in which she could bring into play all those faculties whichshe had always known herself to possess, but which had so long laindormant that she had almost come to regard her belief in theirexistence as a mere dream, a mere vanity.
It was a wonderful thing this, that had happened to her, and thehappiness of it was so overwhelming that it almost made her afraid. Yetthe fact remained. She was working for him, she was working with hermuscles and brain extended. She sighed, and, placing her hands behindher head, stretched luxuriously. It was good to feel the musclesstraining, it was good to contemplate the progress of things in hisinterests, it was good to love, and to feel that that love wassomething more practical than the mere sentimentality of awakenedpassion.
Her wandering attention was recalled by a movement of her patient. Sheglanced round at him, and his face was turned toward her. Her smilingeyes responded to his steady, contemplative gaze.
"Well?" he said, in a grave, subdued voice, "it ought to be gettingnear now?"
The girl nodded.
"I don't see how we can tell exactly, but--unless anything goes wrongthe first logs should get through before daylight. It's good to thinkof, Dave." Her eyes sparkled with delight at the prospect.
The man eyed her for a few silent moments, and his eyes deepened to apassionate warmth.
"You're a great little woman, Betty," he said at last. "When I think ofall you have done for me--well, I just feel that my life can never belong enough to repay you in. Throughout this business you have been mysecond self, with all the freshness and enthusiasm of a mind and heartthrilling with youthful strength. I can never forget the journey downfrom the camp. When I think of the awful physical strain you must havegone through, driving day and night, with a prisoner beside you, and auseless hulk of a man lying behind, I marvel. When I think that you hadto do everything, feed us, camp for us, see to the horses for us, itall seems like some fantastic dream. How did you do it? How did I cometo let you? It makes me smile to think that I, in my manly superiority,simply lolled about with a revolver handy to enforce our prisoner'sobedience to your orders. Ah, little Betty, I can only thank AlmightyGod that I have been blest with such a little--friend."
The girl laid the tips of her fingers over his mouth.
"You mustn't say these things," she said, in a thrilling voice."We--you and I--are just here together to work out your--your plans.God has been very, very go
od to me that He has given me the power, inhowever small a degree, to help you. Now let us put these things fromour minds for a time and be--be practical. Talking of our prisoner,what are you going to do with--poor Jim?"
It was some moments before Dave answered her. It was not that he had noanswer to her question, but her words had sent his mind wandering offamong long past days. He was thinking of the young lad he had soardently tried to befriend. He was thinking of the "poor Jim" of thenand now. He was recalling that day when those two had come to him withtheir secret, with their youthful hope of the future, and of all thatday had meant to him. They had planned, he had planned, and now it wasall so--different. His inclination was to show this man leniency, buthis inclination had no power to alter his resolve.
When he spoke there was no resentment in his tone against the man whohad so cruelly tried to ruin him, only a quiet decision.
"I want you to tell Simon Odd to bring him here," he said. Then hesmiled. "I intend him to spend the night with me. That is, until thefirst log comes down the river."
"What are you going to do?"
The man's smile increased in tenderness.
"Don't worry your little head about that, Betty," he said. "There arethings which must be said between us. Things which only men can say tomen. I promise you he will be free to go when the mill starts work--butnot until then." His eyes grew stern. "I owe you so much, Betty," hewent on, "that I must be frank with you. So much depends upon ourstarting work again that I cannot let him go until that happens."
"And if--just supposing--that does not happen--I mean, supposing,through his agency, the mill remains idle?"
"I cannot answer you. I have only one thing to add." Dave had raisedhimself upon his elbow, and his face was hard and set. "No man maybring ruin upon a community to satisfy his own mean desires, hisrevenge, however that revenge may be justified. If we fail, if Malkernis to be made to suffer through that man--God help him!"
The girl was facing him now. Her two hands were outstretchedappealingly.
"But, Dave, should you judge him? Have you the right? Surely there isbut one judge, and His alone is the right to condemn weak, erring humannature. Surely it is not for you--us."
Dave dropped back upon his pillow. There was no relenting in his eyes.
"His own work shall judge him," he said in a hard voice. "What I may dois between him and me."
Betty looked at him long and earnestly. Then she rose from her chair.
"So be it, Dave. I ask you but one thing. Deal with him as your heartprompts you, and not as your head dictates. I will send him to you, andwill come back again--when the mill is at work."
Their eyes met in one long ardent gaze. The man nodded, and the smilein his eyes was very, very tender.
"Yes, Betty. Don't leave me too long--I can't do without you now."
The girl's eyes dropped before the light she beheld in his.
"I don't want you to--do without me," she murmured. And she hurried outof the room.