CHAPTER XII
OUT OF THE STORM A MAN
He stood blinking in the doorway, white-sheeted with snow from head toheel. As his eyes became accustomed to the light they passed withsurprise from the men to the young women. A flash of recognition lit inthem, but he offered no word of greeting.
Plainly he had interrupted a scene of some sort. The leer on the flushedface of Dave, the look of undaunted spirit in that of the girl facinghim, the sheer panic-stricken terror of her crouching companion, alltold him as much. Nor was it hard to guess the meaning of that dramaticmoment he had by chance chosen for his entrance. His alert eyes took inevery detail, asked questions but answered none, and in the end ignoredmuch.
"What are you doing here?" demanded one of the miners.
"Been out to the Jack Pot and was on my way back to town. Got caught inthe storm and struck for the nearest shelter. A bad night out,Trefoyle." He closed the door, moved forward into the room, and threwoff his heavy overcoat.
Moya had recognized him from the first instant. Now Joyce too saw who hewas. She twisted lithely from the bed, slipped past Moya, past theminers, and with the sob of a frightened child caught at his hand andarm.
"Oh, Mr. Kilmeny, save us ... save us!"
Jack nodded reassuringly. "It's all right. Don't worry."
She clung to him, shivering back to self-control. This man's presencespelled safety. In the high-laced boots of a mining man, he showed afigure well-knit and graceful, springy with youth, but carrying thepoise of power. His clean-cut bronzed face backed the promise; so toodid the ease of his bearing.
Moya gave a deep sigh of relief and sat down on the edge of the bed,grown suddenly faint. At last her burden was lifted to strongershoulders.
"You ain't wanted here, Jack Kilmeny," the standing miner said sourly.He was undecided what to do, perplexed and angry at this unexpectedhindrance.
"Seems to be a difference of opinion about that, Peale," retorted thenewcomer lightly, kicking snow from the spurs and the heels of hisboots.
"Trefoyle and me own this cabin. You'll sing small, by Goad, or you'llget out."
"You wouldn't put a dog out on a night like this, let alone a man. Itwould be murder," Kilmeny answered mildly.
"There's horses in the tunnel. You can bed wi' them."
Jack glanced around, took in the whisky bottle and their red-rimmedeyes. He nodded agreement.
"Right you are, boys. We three will move over to the tunnel and leavethe house to the women."
"You ain't got the say here, not by a domned sight, Jack Kilmeny.This'll be the way of it. You'll git out. We'll stay. Understand?" Pealeground out between set teeth.
Jack smiled, but his eyes were like steel. "Suppose we go over to theshaft-house and talk it over, boys. We'll all understand it betterthen."
Kilmeny still stood close to the red-hot stove. He was opening andclosing his fingers to take the stiffness of the frost out of them.
"By Goad, no! You go--we stay. See?"
The young man was now rubbing industriously the thumb and forefinger ofhis right hand with the palm of his left.
"No, I don't see that, Peale. Doesn't sound reasonable to me. But I'lltalk it over with you both--in the shaft-house."
Jack's eyes were fastened steadily on Peale. The man was standing closeto a shelf in a corner of the cabin. The shelf was in the shadow, butKilmeny guessed what lay upon it. He was glad that though his legs werestill stiff and cold the fingers of his right hand had been massaged toa supple warmth.
"You be warm now, lad. Clear out," warned the big Cornishman.
"Build 'ee a fire in the tunnel, mon," suggested Trefoyle.
"We'll all go or we'll all stay. Drop that, Peale."
The last words rang out in sharp command. Quicker than the eye couldfollow Kilmeny's hand had brushed up past his hip and brought with it ashining thirty-eight.
Taken by surprise, Peale stood stupidly, his hand still on the shelf.His fingers had closed on a revolver, but they had found the barrelinstead of the butt.
"Step forward to the table, Peale--_with your hand empty_. That's right.Now listen. These young women have got to sleep. They're fagged toexhaustion. We three are going over to the shaft-house. Anything you'vegot to say to me can be said there. Understand?"
The man stood in a stubborn sullen silence, but his partner spoke up.
"No guns along, Kilmeny, eh?"
"No. We'll leave them here."
"Good enough, eh, Peale?"
Trefoyle's small eyes glittered. Slyly he winked to his partner toagree, then got a lantern, lit it clumsily, and shuffled out with Pealeat his heels.
Joyce clung to Jack's arm, bewitchingly helpless and dependent. A queerthrill went through him at the touch of her soft finger tips.
"You won't leave us," she implored. "You wouldn't, would you?"
"Only for a little while. Bolt the door. Don't open it unless I give theword." He stepped across to Moya and handed her his revolver. In a verylow voice he spoke to her. "Remember. You're not to open unless I tellyou to let me in. If they try to break the door shoot through it at themwaist high. _Shoot to kill._ Promise me that."
Her dark eyes met and searched his. The faintest quiver of the lipshowed that she knew what was before him. "I promise," she said in thesame low voice.
Moya bolted the door after him and sat down trembling by the table, therevolver in her shaking hand. She knew he had gone to fight for them andthat he had left his weapon behind according to agreement. He was goingagainst odds just as his father had done before him in that memorablefight years ago. If they beat him they would probably kill him. And whatchance had one slender man against two such giants. She shuddered.
"What are they going to do, Moya?" whispered Joyce.
Her friend looked at her steadily. "Didn't you hear? They said theywanted to talk over the arrangements."
"Yes, but--didn't it seem to you----? Why did he give you that pistol?"
"Oh, just so that we wouldn't be afraid."
Hand in hand they sat. Their hearts beat like those of frightenedrabbits. The wail of the wind screaming outside seemed the cry of lostsouls. Was murder being done out there while they waited?
Kilmeny strode after the Cornishmen with the light-footed step of anight nurse. Beside the huge miners he looked slight, but the flow ofhis rippling muscles was smooth and hard as steel. He had been in many arough and tumble fray. The saying went in Goldbanks that he "had theguts" and could whip his weight in wildcats. There was in him thefighting edge, that stark courage which shakes the nerve of a man oflesser mettle. He knew that to-night he needed it if ever he did. Forthese men were strong as bears and had as little remorse.
Inside the shaft-house, his quick glance swept the dimly lighted roomand took in every detail.
Trefoyle put the lantern down on a shelf and turned to the man who hadinterfered with them. "Is't a fight ye want, mon?"
Kilmeny knew the folly of attempting argument or appeal to their senseof right. Straight to business he cut. "I'm not hunting one. But Ireckon this is up to me. I'll take you one at a time--unless you'drather try it two to one and make sure."
His sneer stung. Peale tore off his coat with an angry roar.
"By Goad, I'm good enough for you."
Head down like a bull, he rushed at his foe. Jack sidestepped and lashedout at him as he shot past. Peale went down heavily, but scrambledawkwardly to his feet and flung himself forward again. This time Kilmenymet him fairly with a straight left, tilted back the shaggy head, andcrossed with the right to the point of the jaw.
As the fellow went to the floor the second time Jack was struck heavilyon the side of his face and knocked from his feet upon the body of theCornishman. Even as he fell Kilmeny knew that Trefoyle had broken faith.He rolled over quickly, so that the latter, throwing himself heavily ontop of him, kneed his partner instead of Jack.
His great hands gripped the young man as he wriggled away. By sheerstrength they dragged him back. Kil
meny wrapped his legs around Trefoyleto turn over. He heard a groan and guessed the reason. The muscular legsclenched tighter the man above him, moved slowly up and down those ofhis foe. With a cry of pain the Cornishman flung himself to one side andtore loose. His trouser legs were ripped from thigh to calf and bloodstreamed down the limb. The sharp rowels of Kilmeny's spurs had sunkinto the flesh and saved their owner.
Jack staggered to his feet half dazed. Peale was slowly rising, hismurderous eyes fixed on the young man. The instinct of self-preservationsent the latter across the room to a pile of steel drills. As the twomen followed he stooped, caught up one of the heavy bars, and thrustwith a short-arm movement for Trefoyle's head. The man threw out hishands and keeled over like a stuck pig.
Kilmeny threw away his drill and fought it out with Peale. They mighthave been compared to a rapier and a two-handed broadsword. Jack wasmore than a skilled boxer. He was a cool punishing fighter, one whocould give as well as take. Once Peale cornered him, bent evidently onclosing and crushing his ribs with a terrific bear hug. It would havebeen worth a dozen lessons from a boxing master to see how the young manfought him back with jabs and uppercuts long enough to duck under thegiant's arm to safety.
The wild swinging blows of the Cornishman landed heavily from time totime, but his opponent's elbow or forearm often broke the force. Thelighter man was slippery as an eel, as hard to hit as a Corbett.Meanwhile, he was cutting his foe to ribbons, slashing at him with swiftdrives that carried the full force of one hundred seventy-five pounds,sending home damaging blows to the body that played the mischief withhis wind. The big miner's face was a projection map with wheals formountains and with rivers represented by red trickles of blood.
Quartering round the room they came again to the drills. Peale, pantingand desperate, stooped for one of them. As he rose unsteadily Kilmenyclosed, threw him hard, and fell on top. Jack beat savagely the swollenupturned face with short arm jolts until the fellow relaxed his holdwith a moan.
"Doan't 'ee kill me, mon. I've had enough," he grunted.
Kilmeny sprang to his feet, caught up the bar of steel, and poked theprostrate man in the ribs with it.
"Get up," he ordered. "You're a pair of cowardly brutes. Can't be decentto a couple of helpless women in your power. Can't play fair in a fightwith a man half the size of one of you. Get up, I say, and throw adipperful of water in Trefoyle's face. He's not dead by a long shot,though he deserves to be."
Peale clambered to his feet in sulky submission and did as he was told.Slowly Trefoyle's eyelids flickered open.
"What be wrong wi' un?" he asked, trying to sit up.
"You got what was coming to you. Is it enough, or do you want more?"
"Did 'ee hit me, lad. Fegs, it's enough. I give you best."
"Then get up. We'll go back to the house for blankets and fuel. You'llsleep to-night with the horses in the tunnel."
The two girls shivering in the hot room heard the footsteps of thereturning men as they crunched the snow. Moya sat opposite the door,white to the lips, her hand resting on the table and holding therevolver. Joyce had sunk down on the bed and had covered her face withher hands.
A cheerful voice called to them from outside.
"All right. Everything settled. Let us in, please."
Moya flew to the door and unbolted it. The Cornishmen came in first, andafter them Kilmeny. At sight of the ravages of war Joyce gave a littlecry of amazement. The big miners were covered with blood. They had thecowed hangdog look of thoroughly beaten men. Jack's face too was asight, but he still walked springily.
He gave curt commands and the others obeyed him without a word. Almostthe first thing he did was to step to the table and fling the whiskybottle through the door into the storm.
"We'll not need that," he said.
One of the miners gathered up their extra blankets while the other tooka load of firewood.
As soon as they had gone Joyce cried breathlessly, "You fought them."
Jack looked at her and his eyes softened. All men answered to the appealof her beauty. "We had a little argument. They couldn't see it my way.But they're satisfied now."
Moya bit her lower lip. Her eyes were shining with tears. A queeremotion welled up in her heart. But it was Joyce who put their thanksinto words.
"You saved us. You're the bravest man I ever saw," she cried.
A deeper color rose to the embarrassed face of the young man. "I expectyou didn't need any saving to speak of. The boys got too ambitious.That's about all." He was thinking that she was the most beautifulcreature he had ever set eyes upon and thanking his lucky stars that hehad come along in the nick of time.
"You can _say_ that, Mr. Kilmeny, but we know," she answered softly.
"All right. Have it your own way, Miss Seldon," he returned with asmile.
"You'll let us doctor your wounds, won't you?" Moya asked shyly.
He laughed like a boy. "You're making me ashamed. I haven't any wounds.I ought to have washed the blood off before I came in, but I didn'thave a chance. All I need is a basin of water and a towel."
The girl ran to get them for him. He protested, laughing, but was nonethe less pleased while they hovered about him.
"Such a dirty towel. Don't you suppose there's a clean one somewhere,"Joyce said with a little _moue_ of disgust as she handed it to him.
He shook his head. "It's like the one in 'The Virginian'--been toopopular."
Moya gave him the scarf that had been around her head while she wasriding. "Take this. No.... I want you to use it ... please."
After he had dried his face Jack explained their disposition for thenight.
"We'll stay in the tunnel. You'll be alone here--and quite safe. No needto be in the least nervous. Make yourselves comfortable till morning ifyou can."
"And you--do you mean that you're going back ... to those men?" Moyaasked.
"They're quite tame--ready to eat out of my hand. Don't worry about me."
"But I don't want you to go. I'm afraid to be alone. Stay here with us,Mr. Kilmeny. I don't care about sleeping," Joyce begged.
"There's nothing to be afraid of--and you need your sleep. I'll not befar away. You couldn't be safer in Goldbanks. I'll be on guard allnight, you know," he reassured.
It escaped him for the moment that Joyce was thinking about her ownsafety, while Moya was anxious about his, but later he was to rememberit.
He had not been gone ten minutes before Joyce was sound asleep. Shetrusted him and she trusted Moya, and for her that was enough. All herlife she had relied on somebody else to bear the brunt of her troubles.But the girl with the powdered freckles beneath the dusky eyes carriedher own burdens. She too had implicit confidence in the champion who hadcome out of the storm to help them and had taken his life in hand to doit. Her heart went out to him with all the passionate ardor of generousyouth. She had never met such a man, so strong, so masterful, and yet soboyish.
Her brain was far too active for slumber. She sat before the stove andwent over the adventures of the past two hours. How strange that theyhad met him again in this dramatic fashion. Perhaps he lived atGoldbanks now and they would see more of him. She hoped so mightily,even though there persisted in her mind a picture of his blue-gray eyespaying homage to Joyce.