CHAPTER XXXII
TWO MEN--AND A WOMAN
It took some time for Betty to carry out Dave's wishes. Simon Odd, whowas Jim Truscott's jailer while the mills were idle, and who had himsecreted away where curious eyes were not likely to discover him, wasclosely occupied with the preparations at the other mill. She had todispatch a messenger to him, and the messenger having found Simon, itwas necessary for the latter to procure his prisoner and hand him overto Dave himself. All this took a long time, nearly an hour and a half,which made it two o'clock in the morning before Truscott reached theoffice under his escort.
Odd presented him with scant ceremony. He knocked on the door, wasadmitted, and stood close behind his charge's shoulder.
"Here he is, boss," said the man with rough freedom. "Will I stand byin case he gits gay?"
But Dave had his own ideas. He needed no help from anybody in dealingwith this man.
"No," he said at once. "You can get back to your mill. I relieve you ofall further responsibility of your--charge. But you can pass me somethings to prop my pillow up before you go."
The giant foreman did as he was bid. Being just a plain lumberman, withno great nicety of fancy he selected three of the ledgers for thepurpose. Having propped his employer into a sitting posture, he tookhis departure in silence.
Dave waited until the door closed behind him. His cold eyes were on theman who had so nearly ruined him, who, indirectly, had nearly cost himhis life. As the door closed he drew his right hand from under theblankets, and in it was a revolver. He laid the weapon on the blanket,and his fingers rested on the butt.
Jim Truscott watched his movements, but his gaze was more mechanicalthan one of active interest. What his thoughts were at the moment itwould have been hard to say, except that they were neither easy norpleasant, if one judged from the lowering expression of his weak face.The active hatred which he had recently displayed in Dave's presenceseemed to be lacking now. It almost seemed as though the rough handlinghe had been treated to, the failure of his schemes for Dave's ruin, haddulled the edge of his vicious antagonism. It was as though he wereindifferent to the object of the meeting, to its outcome. He did noteven seem to appreciate the significance of the presence of that gununder Dave's fingers.
His attitude was that of a man beaten in the fight where all the oddshad seemed in his favor. His mind was gazing back upon the scene of hisdisaster as though trying to discover the joint in the armor of hisattack which had rendered him vulnerable and brought about his defeat.
Dave understood something of this. His understanding was more theresult of his knowledge of a character he had studied long ago, beforethe vicious life the man had since lived had clouded the ingenuousimpulses of a naturally weak but happy nature. He did not fathom theman's thoughts, he did not even guess at them. He only knew thecharacter, and the rest was like reading from an open book. In hisheart he was more sorry for him than he would have dared to admit, buthis mind was thinking of all the suffering the mischief of this one manhad caused, might yet cause. Betty had displayed a wonderful wisdomwhen she bade him let his heart govern his judgment in dealing withthis man.
"You'd best sit down--Jim," Dave said. Already his heart was defyinghis head. That use of a familiar first name betrayed him. "It may be along sitting. You're going to stay right here with me until the millstarts up work. I don't know how long that'll be."
Truscott made no answer. He showed he had heard and understood byglancing round for a chair. In this quest his eyes rested for a momenton the closed door. They passed on to the chair at the desk. Then theyreturned to the door again. Dave saw the glance and spoke sharply.
"You'd best sit, boy. That door is closed--to you. And I'm here to keepit closed--to you."
Still the man made no reply. He turned slowly toward the chair at thedesk and sat down. His whole attitude expressed weariness. It was thedejected weariness of a brain overcome by hopelessness.
Watching him, Dave's mind reverted to Betty in association with him. Hewondered at the nature of this man's regard for her, a regard which washis excuse for the villainies he had planned and carried out againsthim, and the mills. His thoughts went back to the day of their boy andgirl engagement, as he called it now. He remembered the eager,impulsive lover, weak, selfish, but full of passion and youthfulprotestations. He thought of his decision to go away, and the manner ofit. He remembered it was Betty who finally decided for them both. Andher decision was against his more selfish desires, but one that openedout for him the opportunity of showing himself to be the man shethought him. Yes, this man had been too young, too weak, tooself-indulgent. There lay the trouble of his life. His love for Betty,if it could be called by so pure a name, had been a mereself-indulgence, a passionate desire of the moment that swept everyother consideration out of its path. There was not that underlyingstrength needed for its support. Was he wholly to blame? Dave thoughtnot.
Then there was that going to the Yukon. He had protested at the boy'sdecision. He had known from the first that his character had not thestrength to face the pitiless breath of that land of snowy desolation.How could one so weak pit himself against the cruel forces of naturesuch as are to be found in that land? It was impossible. The inevitablehad resulted. He had fallen to the temptations of the easier paths ofvice in Dawson, and, lost in that whirl, Betty was forgotten. Hispassion died down, satiated in the filthy dives of Dawson. Then hadcome his return to Malkern. Stinking with the contamination of hisvices, he had returned caring for nothing but himself. He had once moreencountered Betty. The pure fresh beauty of the girl had promptly sethis vitiated soul on fire. But now there was no love, not even a lovesuch as had been his before, but only a mad desire, a desire asuncontrolled as the wind-swept rollers of a raging sea. It was theculminating evil of a manhood debased by a long period of loose,vicious living. She must be his at any cost, and opposition only firedhis desire the more, and drove him to any length to attain his end. Thepity of it! A spirit, a bright buoyant spirit lost in the mad whirl ofa nature it had not been given him the power to control. His heart wasfull of a sorrowful regret. His heart bled for the man, while his mindcondemned his ruthless actions.
He lay watching in a silence that made the room seem heavy andoppressive. As yet he had no words for the man who had come so nearlyto ruining him. He had not brought him there to preach to him, to blamehim, to twit him with the failure of his evil plans, the failure he hadmade of a life that had promised so much. He held him there that hemight settle his reckoning with him, once and for all, in a mannerwhich should shut him out of his life forever. He intended to performan action the contemplation of which increased the sorrow he felt anhundredfold, but one which he was fully determined upon as being theonly course, in justice to Betty, to Malkern, to himself, possible.
The moments ticked heavily away. Truscott made no move. He gave not theslightest sign of desiring to speak. His eyes scarcely heeded hissurroundings. It was almost as if he had no care for what this man whoheld him in his power intended to do. It almost seemed as though theweight of his failure had crushed the spirit within him, as though adreary lassitude had settled itself upon him, and he had no longer athought for the future.
Once during that long silence he lifted his large bloodshot eyes, andhis gaze encountered the other's steady regard. They dropped almost atonce, but in that fleeting glance Dave read the smouldering fire ofhate which still burned deep down in his heart. The sight of it had noeffect. The man's face alone interested him. It looked years older, itbore a tracery of lines about the eyes and mouth, which, at his age, ithad no right to possess. His hair, too, was already graying amongst thecurls that had always been one of his chief physical attractions. Itwas thinning, too, a premature thinning at the temples, which also hadnothing to do with his age.
Later, again, the man's eyes turned upon the door with a calculatinggaze. They came back to the bed where Dave was lying. The movement wasunmistakable. Dave's fingers tightened on the butt of his revolver, andhis great head w
as moved in a negative shake, and the ominous shiningmuzzle of his revolver said plainly, "Don't!" Truscott seemed tounderstand, for he made no movement, nor did he again glance at thedoor.
It was a strange scene. It was almost appalling in its significantsilence. What feelings were passing, what thoughts, no one could tellfrom the faces of the two men. That each was living through a smallworld of recollection, mostly bitter, perhaps regretful, there could beno doubt, yet neither gave any sign. They were both waiting. In themind of one it was a waiting for what he could not even guess at, inthe other it was for something for which he longed yet feared might notcome.
The hands of the clock moved on, but neither heeded them. Time meantnothing to them now. An hour passed. An hour and a half. Two hours ofdreadful silence. That vigil seemed endless, and its silence appalling.
Then suddenly a sound reached the waiting ears. It was a fiercehissing, like an escape of steam. It grew louder, and into the hisscame a hoarse tone, like a harsh voice trying to bellow through therushing steam. It grew louder and louder. The voice rose to along-drawn "hoot," which must have been heard far down the wide spreadof the Red Sand Valley. It struck deep into Dave's heart, and loosed init such a joy as rarely comes to the heart of man. It was the steamsiren of the mill belching out its message to a sleeping village. Themaster of the mills had triumphed over every obstacle. The mill hadonce more started work.
Dave waited until the last echo of that welcome voice had died out.Then, as his ears drank in the welcome song of his saws, plunging theirjagged fangs into the newly-arrived logs, he was content.
He turned to the man in the chair.
"Did you hear that, Jim? D'you know what it means?" he asked, in avoice softened by the emotion of the moment.
Truscott's eyes lifted. But he made no answer. The light in them wasugly. He knew.
"It means that you are free to go," Dave went on. "It means that mycontract will be successfully completed within the time limit. It meansthat you will leave this village at once and never return, or thepenitentiary awaits you for the wrecking of my mills."
Truscott rose from his seat. The hate in his heart was stirring. It wasrising to his head. The fury of his eyes was appalling. Dave saw it. Heshifted his gun and gripped it tightly.
"Wait a bit, lad," he said coldly. "It means more than all that to you.A good deal more. Can you guess it? It means that I--and not you--amgoing to marry Betty Somers."
"God!"
The man was hit as Dave had meant him to be hit. He started, and hisclenched hand went up as though about to strike. The devil in his eyeswas appalling.
"Now go! Quick!"
The word leaped from the lumberman's lips, and his gun went upthreateningly. For a moment it seemed as though Truscott was about tospring upon him, regardless of the weapon's shining muzzle. But he didnot move. A gun in Dave's hand was no idle threat, and he knew it.Besides he had not the moral strength of the other.
He moved to the door and opened it. Then for one fleeting second helooked back. It may have been to reassure himself that the gun wasstill there, it may have been a last expression of his hate. Anothermoment and he was gone. Dave replaced his gun beneath the blankets andsighed.
Betty sprang into the room.
"Hello, door open?" she demanded, glancing about her suspiciously. Thenher sparkling eyes came back to the injured man.
"Do you hear, Dave?" she cried, in an ecstasy of excitement. "Did youhear the siren! I pulled and held the valve cord! Did you hear it!Thank God!"
Dave's happy smile was sufficient for the girl. Had he heard it? Hisheart was still ringing with its echoes.
"Betty, come here," he commanded. "Help me up."
"Why----"
"Help me up, dear," the man begged. "I must get up. I must get to thedoor. Don't you understand, child--I must see."
"But you can't go out, Dave!"
"I know. I know. Only to the door. But--I must see."
The girl came over to his bedside. She lifted him with a great effort.He sat up. Then he swung his feet off the bed.
"Now, little girl, help me."
It felt good to him to enforce his will upon Betty in this way. And thegirl obeyed him with all her strength, with all her heart stirred athis evident weakness.
He stood leaning on her shakily.
"Now, little Betty," he said, breathing heavily, "take me to the door."
He placed his sound arm round her shoulders. He even leaned moreheavily upon her than was necessary. It was good to lean on her. Heliked to feel her soft round shoulders under his arm. Then, too, hecould look down upon the masses of warm brown hair which crowned herhead. To him his weakness was nothing in the joy of that moment, in thejoy of his contact with her.
They moved slowly toward the door; he made the pace slower thannecessary. To him they were delicious moments. To Betty--she did notknow what she felt as her arm encircled his great waist, and all herwoman's strength and love was extended to him.
At the door they paused. They stared out into the yards. The greatmills loomed up in the ruddy flare light. It was a dark, shadowy scenein that inadequate light. The steady shriek of the saws filled the air.The grinding of machinery droned forth, broken by the pulsing throb ofgreat shafts and moving beams. Men were hurrying to and fro, dimfigures full of life and intent upon the labors so long suspended. Theycould see the trimmed logs sliding down the shoots, they could hear thegrind of the rollers, they could hear the shoutings of "checkers"; andbeyond they could see the glowing reflection of the waste fire.
It was a sight that thrilled them both. It was a sight that filledtheir hearts with thanks to God. Each knew that it meant--Success.
Dave turned from the sight, and his eyes looked down upon the slightfigure at his side. Betty looked up into his face. Her eyes were mistywith tears of joy. Suddenly she dropped her eyes and looked again atthe scene before them. Her heart was beating wildly. Her arm supportingthe man at her side was shaking, nor was it with weariness of her task.She felt that it could never tire of that. Dave's deep voice, sogentle, yet so full of the depth and strength of his nature, wasspeaking.
"It's good, Betty. It's good. We've won out--you and I."
Her lips moved to protest at the part she had played, but he silencedher.
"Yes, you and I," he said softly. "It's all ours--yours and mine.You'll share it with me?" The girl's supporting arm moved convulsively."No, no," he went on quickly. "Don't take your arm away. I need--I needits support. Betty--little Betty--I need more than that. I need yoursupport always. Say, dear, you'll give it me. You won't leave me alonenow? Betty--Betty, I love you--so--so almighty badly."
The girl moved her head as though to avoid his kisses upon her hair.Somehow her face was lifted in doing so, and they fell at once upon herlips instead.