Whispering Smith

  CHAPTER XXXVI

  DUTY

  The stir of the town over the shooting of Banks seemed to Marion, inher distress, to point an accusing finger at her. The disgrace of whatshe had felt herself powerless to prevent now weighed on her mind, andshe asked herself whether, after all, the responsibility of thismurder was not upon her. Even putting aside this painful doubt, shebore the name of the man who had savagely defied accountability andnow, it seemed to her, was dragging her with him through the slough ofblood and dishonor into which he had plunged.

  The wretched thought would return that had she listened to him, hadshe consented to go away, this outbreak might have been prevented. Andwhat horror might not another day bring--what lives still closer toher life be taken? For herself she cared less; but she knew thatSinclair, now that he had begun, would not stop. In whichever way herthoughts turned, wretchedness was upon them, and the day went in oneof those despairing and indecisive battles that each one within hisown heart must fight at times with heaviness and doubt.

  McCloud called her over the telephone in the afternoon to say that hewas going West on the evening train and would not be over for supper.She wished he could have come, for her loneliness began to beinsupportable.

  Toward sunset she put on her hat and started for the post-office. Inthe meantime, Dicksie, at home, had called McCloud up and told him shewas coming down for the night. He immediately cancelled his plans forgoing West, and when Marion returned at dusk she found him withDicksie at the cottage. The three had supper. Afterward Dicksie andMcCloud went out for a walk, and Marion was alone in the house whenthe shop door opened and Whispering Smith walked in. It was dusk.

  "Don't light the lamps, Marion," he said, sitting down on acounter-stool as he took off his hat. "I want to talk to you just aminute, if you don't mind. You know what has happened. I am called onnow to go after Sinclair. I have tried to avoid it, but my hand hasbeen forced. To-day I've been placing horses. I am going to rideto-night with the warrant. I have given him a start of twenty-fourhours, hoping he may get out of the country. To stay here means onlydeath to him in the end, and, what is worse, the killing of more andinnocent men. But he won't leave the country; do you think he will?"

  "Oh, I do not know! I am afraid he will not."

  "I do not think I have ever hesitated before at any call of this kind;nor at what such a call will probably sometime mean; but this man Ihave known since we were boys."

  "If I had never seen him!"

  "That brings up another point that has been worrying me all day. Icould not help knowing what you have had to go through in thiscountry. It is a tough country for any woman. Your people and minewere always close together and I have felt bound to do what I couldto----"

  "Don't be afraid to say it--make my path easier."

  "Something like that, though there's been little real doing. What thissituation in which Sinclair is now placed may still mean to you I donot know, but I would not add a straw to the weight of your troubles.I came to-night to ask a plain question. If he doesn't leave thecountry I have got to meet him. You know what, in all humanprobability, that will mean. From such a meeting only one of us cancome back. Which shall it be?"

  "I'm afraid I don't understand you--do you ask me this question? Howcan I know which it shall be? What is it you mean?"

  "I mean I will not take his life in a fight--if it comes to that--ifyou would rather he should come back."

  A sob almost refused an answer to him. "How can you ask me so terriblea question?"

  "It is a question that means a good deal to me, of course, and I don'tknow just what it means to you: that is the point I am up against. Imay have no choice in the matter, but I must decide what to try to doif I have one. Am I to remember first that he is your husband?"

  There was a silence. "What shall I say--what can I say? God help me,how am I to answer a question like that?"

  "How am I to answer it?"

  Her voice was low and pitiful when her answer came: "You must do yourduty."

  "What is my duty then? To serve the paper that has been given to me, Iknow--but not necessarily to defend my life at the price of his. Theplay of a chance lies in deciding that; I can keep the chance or giveit away; that is for you to say. Or take the question of duty again.You are alone and your friends are few. Haven't I any duty toward you,perhaps? I don't know a woman's heart. I used to think I did, but Idon't. My duty to this company that I work for is only the duty of aservant. If I go, another takes my place; it means nothing excepttaking one name off the payroll and putting another on. Whatever hemay have done, this man is your husband; if his death would cause youa pang, it shall not be laid at my door. We ought to understand eachother on that point fairly before I start to-night."

  "Can you ask me whether you ought not to take every means to defendyour own life? or whether any consideration ought to come before that?I think not. I should be a wicked woman if I were to wish evil to him,wretched as he has made me. I am a wretched woman, whichever way Iturn. But I should be less than human if I could say that to me yourdeath would not be a cruel, cruel blow."

  There was a moment of silence. "Dicksie understood you to say that youwere in doubt as to whether you ought to go away with him when heasked you to go. That is why I was unsettled in my mind."

  "The only reason why I doubted was that I thought by going I mightsave better lives than mine. I could willingly give up my life to dothat. But to stain it by going back to such a man--God help me!"

  "I think I understand. If the unfortunate should happen before I comeback I hope only this: that you will not hate me because I am the manon whom the responsibility has fallen. I haven't sought it. And if Ishould not come back at all, it is only--good-by."

  He saw her clasp her hands convulsively. "I will not say it! I willpray on my knees that you do come back."

  "Good-night, Marion. Some one is at the cottage door."

  "It is probably Mr. McCloud and Dicksie. I will let them in."