The Forbidden Way

  *CHAPTER IV*

  *THE FORBIDDEN WAY*

  He came forward and stood facing her, one hand clutching the back of achair, his eyes blazing with newly kindled resentment. "Yes, I will tellyou. It's right for you to know. There was a man in my employ who hada fancied grievance against my foreman. He had no just cause forcomplaint. I found that out and told Harbison to fire him. If Harbisonhad obeyed orders there would have been a different story to tell aboutthe 'Lone Tree.' But my foreman took pity on him because he had afamily; then tried to get him started right again. The man used to workextra time at night, sometimes with a shift and sometimes alone. Andone night in the small gallery at the hundred-foot level he found thevein we had been looking for. He was a German, Max Reimer, by name----"

  "Max Reimer," she repeated mechanically.

  "Alone there in that cavern he thought out the plan which afterwardresulted in putting me out of business. He quickly got some timberstogether and hid the hole he'd made. This was easy, for the steps andrailing of the winze needed supports and planking. He put in a blastfarther over and hid the gold-bearing rock--all but a few of the pieces.These he took out in the pockets of his overalls and carried them toJeff Wray----"

  "Jeff----"

  "Your husband called in Pete Mulrennan, and they talked it over. Thenone night Pete and Max crept up to the mine, got past the watchman, andMax showed Pete what he'd found. I learned all this from Harbison afterthey let Max loose."

  "Let him loose? What do you mean?"

  "I'll tell you. Max wanted a lump sum in cash. They laughed athim--chiefly because they didn't have the money to pay. Then he wanteda percentage bigger than they wanted to give. When they temporized hegot ugly, swore he'd rather run his chances with Harbison and me, but henever had an opportunity----"

  "You don't mean----?" she gasped.

  "Wray and Mulrennan lured Reimer to a room over the saloon and got up afight; they put him out, gagged and trussed him like a fowl, and lefthim there until Jeff Wray had closed the deal with me. That's how yourhusband got my mine."

  "It can't be," she stammered. "Yes--yes. And Reimer?"

  "They hid him for two weeks, until they brought to terms."

  "I remember," she said, passing her hand over her brow. "Reimer's boywas in my school. They missed old Max. They thought he had desertedthem. What a horrible thing! And Jeff--my husband----"

  "That is what people call Jeff Wray's luck," he said, and then addedgrimly, "and my misfortune."

  "But the law?" she said. "Was there no way in which you could provethe--the----"

  "The fraud?" he said brutally. "Oh, yes. The Law! Do you know whoimpersonates the Law in Mesa City? Pete Mulrennan! He's judge, court,and jury. We had the best lawyer in Denver. But Lawrence Berkely haddone his work too well. There's a suit still pending, but we haven't ashow. Good God, Camilla! do you mean to say you heard nothing of allthis?"

  "Nothing," she said. "Nothing. When I heard of the suit and questionedJeff he--he said it was maliciousness, jealousy, disappointment, and Ibelieved him."

  He turned away from her and paced the floor. "He was right. It was allof these. But there was something else----"

  "Oh, I know," she broke in. "It was what I am feeling now--the sense ofa wrong. But you forget----" She got up and faced him, groping vaguelyfor an extenuating circumstance. "That sort of thing has been done inthe West before. A successful mine is all a matter of luck. MaxReimer's find might have only been a pocket. In that case you wouldhave been the gainer, and Jeff would have lost."

  "That's sophistry. I can't blame you for defending your husband. Mineshave been leased and bought on theory--with a chance to win, a chance tolose--for the mere love of a gamble. There was no gamble here. The goldore was there--one had only to look. There never has been anything likeit since Cripple Creek. It was mine. Jeff Wray wanted it--so he tookit--by force."

  She had sunk on the settee between the windows, her face buried in herhands, and was trying to think. All this, the hired magnificence, theempty show, the damask she was sitting on, the rings on her hands, herclothing even, belonged by every law of decency and morality to the manwho stood there before her. And the wrong she had so long cherished inher heart against him was as nothing to the injury her husband had doneto him. She knew nothing of the law, cared nothing for it. All shecould think of were the facts of the case as he had presented them.Cortland told the truth, she recognized it in everything he had said, inthe ringing note of his voice, the clear light of his eye, theresentment of a nature that had been tried too far. A hundred forgottenincidents were now remembered--Jeff's reticence about the law-suit, MaxReimer's disappearance, the many secret conferences with Mulrennan. Shewondered that suspicion of Jeff had never entered her mind before. Sherealized now more poignantly than ever that she had been moving blindly,supinely, under the spell of a personality stronger than her own. Sherecalled the scene in the canon when, beside herself with shame andmortification, she had struck him in the face and he had only laughed ather, as he would have laughed at a rebellious child. In that moment shehad hated him. The tolerance that had come later had been defensive--adefense of her pride. When Cortland Bent had left, she had flown like awounded swallow to the hawk's nest, glad of any refuge from the ache ather heart.

  She raised her head and sought Bent's eyes with her own. A while ago ithad seemed so easy to speak to him. He had been so gentle with her, andhis reticence had made her own indifference possible. He had gone backto the dead fire again as though to find there a phenix of his losthope, and was leaning with an elbow on the mantel, his head bowed insubjection. He had put his fetters on again as though to make herunderstand that his sharp indictment of her husband had not beenintended to include the woman he loved. Painfully she rose and took astep toward him, and, when she spoke, her voice was low and constrained,for her thoughts came with difficulty.

  "You are right. There _is_ a moral code--a law of conscience. In myheart I know that no matter what other men have done in the West intheir madness for gold, the fever for wealth, nothing the law holds willmake Jeff's responsibility to you any the less in my sight. I--I didnot know. You believe me, don't you? I did not know. Even if I hadknown, perhaps it would not have made any difference. But I am sure ofone thing--I could never have married a man to live on what he hadstolen from another." As he turned toward her she put her hands overher face. "Oh, I am shamed--shamed. Perhaps I could have donesomething; I would have tried. You know that I would have tried--don'tyou?"

  "Yes, yes, I know. I would not have told, I would not have made youunhappy--but it maddens me to see you here with what is mine--his wife."He took her hands down and made her look in his face. "Don't thinkharshly of me. It isn't the money. If you could have had it--if youdidn't have to share it with him--can't you understand?"

  But she would not look at him, and only murmured, "I understand--Iunderstand many things I did not know before. But the one thing thatseems most important is that I am his wife. Whatever he has done toothers, he has been very good, very gentle and kind to me."

  He dropped her hands and turned violently away. "How could you?" hegroaned. "How could you have married him?"

  "God knows!"

  The words were wrung from her quickly, like the sudden dropping of aburden which shocked by the noise of its impact before she was consciousof its loss. She turned in the same moment and looked at him, hopingthat he had not heard her. But before she could prevent him he hadcaught her in his arms and held her close to his body, so that, struggleas she might, there was no chance for her to escape. And in his eyesshe saw the gleam of an old delight, a bright, wild spark among theembers of bitterness.

  "Camilla!" he whispered. "I know now. God forgive me that I did notknow before--out there in the schoolhouse, when you gave yourself tohim. You loved me then--you love me now. Isn't that why you tremble,Camilla? You need not spe
ak. Your heart is close to mine and I canread----"

  "No, no, no," she murmured. "It is not true. You must not. I did notmean--what I said, you misunderstood----"

  "Once I misunderstood. I won't make the same mistake again. It was Iwho found you there, parching in the desert, and taught you how togrow--who showed you that life was something more than the barren wasteyou had found it. Won't you forgive me? I was a fool--and worse. Lookup at me, Camilla, dear. You were mine out there before you were his.At least a half of what Jeff Wray has stolen from me--your spiritualside----"

  At the sound of her husband's name she raised her head and looked up athim in a daze. He caught her again madly, and his lips even brushed hercheek, but she started from his arms and sped the length of the roomaway from him.

  "Camilla!"

  "No, no. You must not." She stood facing him, wildly pleading. "Don'tcome near me, Cort. Is this the way you are going to try to forget--theway you will teach me to forget?"

  "I didn't know then--I want you, Camilla----"

  As he came forward she retreated to the door of the library and put herhand on the knob. She did not hear the soft patter of feet on the otherside.

  "Then I must go," she said decisively.

  He stopped, looked at her blankly, then turned away.

  "I suppose you're right," he said quietly. "Forgive me. I had almostforgotten."

  He slowly paced the room away from her and, his head in his hands, sankin a distant chair. He heard her sharp sigh and the sound of herfootsteps as she gathered courage and came forward. But he did notmove, and listened with the dull ears of a broken man from whom all hopehas departed.

  "It is going to be harder than I thought. I hoped at least that I couldkeep what was in my heart a secret. When my secret was my own it didnot seem as if I was doing any injustice to--to Jeff. It was my heartthat was breaking--not his. What did my secrets matter as long as I didmy duty? But now that you share the burden I know that I am doing him agreat wrong--a greater wrong even than he has done to you. I can'tblame you for coming here. It is hard to forgive a wrong like that.But with me it is different. No matter what Jeff has done, what he maydo, my duty is very clear--my duty to him, and even to you. I don'tknow just how--I must have time to think it out for myself. One thingis certain: I must not see you again."

  He waved a hand in deprecation. "That is so easy to say. You shall seeme again," he threatened. "I will not give you up."

  "You must! I will find some excuse to leave New York."

  "I'll follow you," doggedly. "You're mine."

  She paused in dismay. Were all the odds to be against her? A suddenterror gripped her heart and left her supine. She summoned her strengthwith an effort.

  "Cort!" she cried desperately. "You must not speak to me like that. Iwill not listen. You don't know what you are saying."

  "I don't care what I'm saying--you have driven me mad." As he rose, sheretreated, still facing him, her lips pale, her eyes bright, her facedrawn but resolved.

  "And I," she said clearly, "I am sane again. If you follow--I will ring.Do you hear?"

  Her hand sought the wall, then was arrested in mid air. A sound ofvoices, the ringing of a bell, and the soft patter of a servant's stepsin the corridor brought Cortland Bent to his senses.

  "It's Jeff," she whispered breathlessly; and then with a quiet air ofself-command, the dignity of a well-bred hostess, "Will you sit down,Mr. Bent? I will ring for tea."

  In the shadowed doorway a tall figure stood.

  "Why, Jeff," said Camilla coolly, "you're early, aren't you? Ithought----"

  She rose as she realized that the gentleman in the doorway wore a frockcoat--a garment Jeff affected to despise--and that the hair at histemples was white. "I beg your pardon," she murmured.

  The gentleman smiled and came forward into the room with outstretchedhand.

  "I am General Bent. Is this Mrs. Wray? Your husband is coming along."

  Jeff entered from the corridor at this moment. "Hello, Camilla! TheGeneral was kind enough to say he wanted to meet you, so he brought meuptown in his machine."

  The eyes of both newcomers fell on Cortland Bent, who emerged from theshadow.

  "Why, Cort! You here?" said the General, and if his quick tones showedslight annoyance, his well-bred accents meant only polite inquiry.

  "Yes, dad. How do you do, Mr. Wray?"

  Wray went over and took him by the hand.

  "Well! well!" said Wray heartily. "This is sure like old times. Gladto see you, Bent. It seems like only yesterday that you and Camillawere galloping over the plains together. A year and a half has madesome changes, eh? Camilla, can't we have a drink? One doesn't meet oldfriends every day."

  "I rang for tea."

  "Tea? Ugh! Not tea, Camilla. I can't get used to these foreignnotions. General--Cort--some Scotch? That's better. Tea was inventedfor sick people and old maids," and then, as the servant entered, "TellGreer to bring the tray, and some cigars. You'll let us, won't you,Camilla? General Bent and I have been talking for two hours, and ifthere's any thirstier business than that----"

  "I hope we aren't intruding," said the General. "I have been veryanxious to meet you, Mrs. Wray."

  "I'm very much flattered. I'm afraid, though, that Jeff has taken youout of your way." She paused, conscious that the sharp eyes of the oldman were peering at her curiously from under the shadows of his bushyeyebrows. "I feel as if I ought to know you very well," she went on."In the West your son often spoke of you."

  "Did he? H--m!" And then, with a laugh, "Cortland, my boy, what didyou say to her? You expected to see an old ogre, didn't you?"

  "Oh, no, but you are different from the idea I had of you. You and yourson are not in the least alike, are you?"

  "No. You see Cortland took the comeliness of the Davidges, and I--well,I won't tell you what they call me in the Street," he laughed grimly."You know Mr. Wray and I have some interests in the West in common--someproperties that adjoin, and some railroads that join. It's absurdlysimple. _He_ wants what _I_ have, and _I_ want what _he_ has, andneither of us is willing to give up a square inch. Won't you tell uswhat to do?"

  "I give it up," she laughed. "My husband has a way of getting what hewants."

  "The great secret of that," said Wray comfortably, "is wanting what youcan get. Still, I don't doubt that when the General's crowd getsthrough with me there won't be enough of me to want anything. Youneedn't worry about the 'Lone Tree,' Cortland. You'll have it again,after a while, when my hide is spread out to dry."

  General Bent's eyes vanished under his heavy brows.

  "No," he said cryptically. "It looks as though the fruit of the 'LoneTree' was forbidden."