_Chapter XI_
Always Gloria, yielding to the heady impulses of youth, was ready forHigh Adventure. Therein lay the explanation of many things which Gloriadid.
Time went scurrying on. Mark King had returned to the Sierra; no wordcame from him, and Gloria told herself with an exaggerated air ofindifference that she had just about forgotten him. Autumn came, thatfinest of all seasons about San Francisco Bay, the ocean fogs werethrust back, unveiling the clear sunny skies by day, the crystallineglitter of stars by night. The city grew gayer as the season advanced;dinners and dances and theatre-parties made life a gloriously joyfulaffair for Gloria. She had hardly the time to ask herself: "Just wheream I going?" It was so much easier to laugh and cry lightly, in thephrase of the day, "I am on my way!" She had drifted, drifted like onein a canoe trailing her fingers idly in the clear water and never notingwhen the little craft was caught by a steady, purposeful current. It wasspeeding now; but she only laughed breathlessly and drank her fill ofthe hour, and left to others the thoughts which carve fine lines aboutbrow and eyes. She knew that her father was beset by some sort offinancial troubles; for the first time in her life he had not come toher birthday-party, and her mother had explained, rather soberly, thatit was because of a business crisis. Gloria did not know that criseslasted so long. Weeks and weeks had gone and still she knew from a lookwhich her mother could not hide that the money troubles were stillstalking her father, and coming so close that for the first time inhistory they cast a shadow from the top of the Sierra down into hermother's heart in San Francisco.
Now Gratton became the man of the hour. He had studied Gloria withinfinite patience and he never displeased her. "He understood her," asshe comfortingly assured herself. That meant, of course, that he gave into her always; that tirelessly he exerted himself to please her. At atime when there was much financial depression, Gratton's obviousaffluence was very agreeable to the pleasure-seeker. He dressed well; heentertained with due respect for the most charming accessories; he tookher to dance or theatre, or for a drive in the park or down thepeninsula in a new, elegantly appointed limousine. And about the sametime fate had it that by two entirely unassociated trends ofcircumstance he should draw to the dregs of Gloria's lively and romanticinterest. In the first place, he began to become a prominent figure inSan Francisco. His name was in the papers with names of "men whocounted." And, of far greater import to Gloria, he became what she likedto consider a "Man of Mystery!"
For, weeks ago, Gloria had noted that regularly once a week Mr. Grattondropped out of sight, to be gone for one or two days. He was never to beseen Saturday; seldom Sunday; always any day from Monday to Fridaynight. During week-ends he was "out of town." And, though there werecountless opportunities for an off-hand explanation, Gratton never gaveit. Others than Gloria remarked the fact; a girl friend insinuatinglyremarked: "Better watch out for him, Glory, dear. _Cherchez la femme_,you know."
Gloria never suspected any such condition of affairs; she was too sureof Gratton's attentions. But, being Gloria, she wondered.
One night she and Gratton were having a late supper together at thePalace. They had been to the theatre and now, yielding to the demands ofher young appetite, they sat before sandwiches and coffee. Gloria sawthe page as he came to the doorway; he stood, an envelope in his hand,looking up and down the room. When at last his eyes rested on her andher companion, the boy came to the table.
"Telegram, Mr. Gratton."
Gratton, more interested in what she was saying than in the yellowenvelope, opened it carelessly. But in a flash his attention was whippedaway from her; she stopped in the middle of a sentence and knew that hehad not noticed. A quick spurt of blood flushed his dead-white skin;his eyes grew bright with excitement. He read in a sweeping glance, andbefore his eyes came back to her they went hurriedly to his watch.
"I've got to go, Gloria," he said nervously. "Immediately. This isimportant."
"Why, of course," she agreed. "I can get a bite when I get home."
He thrust the telegram into his pocket and came around to the back ofher chair. He was all impatience; it seemed he could not wait until hatand coats were gotten. On the way to the street he looked again at hiswatch.
"I've got to go out of town," he explained. "I'll be gone a couple ofdays."
"But this is only Wednesday!"
"And usually I don't go before Saturday?" He was tapping at hiscigarette-case as they came to their taxi. "Yes. But something hashappened."
He helped her in and lifted his foot to follow.
"Gloria," he muttered, "I can't make it. If I see you home I will missthe last boat across the bay."
She was more and more interested. She had never known Gratton to showemotion as he showed it to-night; she was more and more curious aboutthat "business" which carried him out of town. Why hadn't he tossed thetelegram across the table for her to read? Here was a shut door, andfrom being barred a door always invites the more temptingly. Especiallyto a girl like Gloria.
"Why, I can go home alone--"
"I don't like it. I--" He ended abruptly and thrust his head into thecar, his eyes questing hers in the half-light; the chauffeur with hisengine going looked over his shoulder.
"Come with me, Gloria!"
Gloria wondered what he meant: whether the man was suggesting anelopement or just a wild bit of downright unconventionality.
"I mean it," said Gratton. "Listen. The new day has already started. Bythe time the ferry lands us in Oakland it will be nearly three o'clock.I've got to drive up into the country; we'll phone your mother and willstart right away. We'll get there long before noon; we'll be back beforenight. It would mean only a day's outing and no harm done. Won't youcome, Gloria? Please come!" He pulled out his watch again. "We've justgot time to catch the boat comfortably." He called to the taxi-driver,"To the ferry," and jumped in.
"But----"
"You can come as far as the ferry, anyway. Even if you won't give me aday of motoring. It's wonderful out in the country this time of year.And----"
When they came to the ferry there was no time for debating the matter;the crowd was pouring toward the last boat, and Gloria, her eyes brightwith the joy of her escapade, went with him through the little gatewhere the tickets were presented for the last boat across the bay. Itwas unconventional, as she saw quite clearly. But to Gloriaunconventionality was a condition fairly divided into two widelyseparated browsing-grounds; there was the thing which was just "daring";there was that other which was ugly because it was "compromising." Thisadventure promised to fall into the safer category; to be off motoringwith Mr. Gratton from three o'clock in the morning until late afternoonwas what she considered a "lark."
They laughed together in anticipation as they crossed the bay. They satwhere they could watch the red and green lights, reflected like topazesand rubies in the shimmering water, fall away and dwindle as thesilhouette of the embarcadero receded. On the electric train they werewhizzed among many sleepy folk into a sleeping town, Oakland, drowsingand silent. Gratton summoned a somnolent taxi-driver and they werewhisked through the cool air to a garage. He left her a moment, sittingin the taxi, while he ran in and arranged for a roadster.
Gloria, left to her own thoughts, began to regret having come. Thething, reviewed in solitude, was "crazy." She grew vaguely distressed.She wanted to go back to San Francisco--but there would be no boat nowuntil full morning, three or four hours; she could not get home beforeseven or half-past seven o'clock. She tried to recall a friend on thisside of the bay to whom she could go at this time of night--day, rather!Her lips shaped to a half smile.
"I've got the car." Gratton was back offering to help her down. "And Iphoned your mother."
"Was she----?"
"She trusts you with me, Gloria," he said quickly.
She let him help her into the car he had hired. Gratton took the wheeland turned into San Pablo Avenue. The street was deserted and he gentlypressed down the throttle; he had hired a dependable, high-priced car,and the m
otor sang softly. The wind blew in Gloria's face and her zestcame back to her.
Gratton would not tell her where they were going; he made a great larkof their escapade, assuring her gaily that their destination wasreserved as the final surprise for her. He evaded laughingly when sheasked. "Maybe we'll keep right on going, always and always," he jestedwith her. She thought that under the jest there was a queer note; whenhis eyes flashed briefly toward her she tried to read their message. Butthe hour, mystery-filled, filled them with mystery.
Gloria began laughing.
"What will we look like to-morrow--I mean when it's full day! Me dressedlike this--you in evening suit!"
"By Jove!" said Gratton. Then he laughed with her. "It's the lark of mylife."
The ocean breeze smarted in their eyes, the motor thrummed merrily,trees and houses flew by, the racing car leaped to fresh speed. On thecement highway the spinning tyres whined musically.
They were far up-country when the sun rose. Gloria, very sleepy now,watched it climb above the hills. She had watched the sunrise lastJune--with Mark King. Later, again with Mark King, she had seen itthrust its great burning disk above the pine ridges.
She was asleep and started wide awake when the car stopped suddenly.They were in the one street of a little town; it must be eight o'clock.She was cold.
"What do you say to a cup of coffee? And toast and eggs?"
"I am hungry," she confessed.
Over their breakfast in the little wayside restaurant, with its untidytables and greasy lunch-counter, it was Gratton who did all of thetalking. Gloria by now realized that she was downright sorry she hadcome. He seemed eager, his eyes very bright, his voice quick and vibrantwith an electrical urge dominating. She wondered vaguely what made himseem "different."
"The waiter," she said as they finished, "is staring his head off at ourclothes."
"We're going to remedy that matter. Come on; the stores are open."
"Fancy shopping here!" The thought made her laugh.
"Just the place for what we want. Khaki trousers and flannel shirt andboots for me; an outing-suit for you."
He took her arm and they walked the half-dozen doors to the dry-goodsstore.
"I haven't a cent with me----"
"Let me be your banker," he said lightly.
Gloria hesitated. But very briefly. Hot coffee had done much for herdrooping courage; the escapade, even this going at eight o'clock in themorning into a country store with a man, and on money borrowed from theman, was an experience to put the gay note of adventure back into theaffair.
Gloria made her purchases in fifteen minutes and the change from theatregown into an olive outing-suit in another fifteen. Her discardedgarments were gathered up, put into a cardboard box by the clerk, andwrapped in heavy paper to be stowed away in the car. She confrontedGratton smilingly in her new garb, her hands in her pockets, her facesaucy, her slim body boyish in its swagger and richly feminine in itsunhidden curves. Gratton's eyes shone, quick with admiration. Shelaughed and a flush came into her cheeks as he gravely paid for herclothing and his own. When they went to their car both were strangelysilent.
"I owe you a lot of money," she said with assumed carelessness.
"Which I hope you never repay," he returned meaningly.
At nine o'clock they were threading the streets of Sacramento. At alittle after ten they were in Auburn. They drove through "Old Town,"passed the courthouse and through the newer portion of the village; bythe Freeman Hotel and the railroad-yards, through the "subway" under thetracks, and turned off to the right, leaving the highway for the firsttime and skirting the olive-orchards on the hill. Then, sweeping arounda wide curve they caught the first glimpse of the American River deepdown in its historic canon. On, over a narrow, red-dirt road, closerdown to the gorge, across the long bridge, up and up the steep, writhinggrade. They came to the top of the ridge; raced through Cool, throughLotus----
"Coloma!" gasped Gloria. "You are going to Coloma!"
He slowed the car down that he might look at her keenly.
"Well?" he said lightly.
"It is to Coloma that you have been coming every week!"
"Well?" he said a second time.
"Then you--you, too----"
He glanced at the road, cut down the speed still more, and looked backinto her thoughtful eyes.
"Would you rather that it was Mark King or I who succeeded?"
She was clearly perplexed.
"Mark King is papa's partner," she said musingly.
"And I? I hope one day to be more than his partner!"
She understood but gave no sign of understanding. He did not press thepoint.
"Here we are," he said presently as the first of the picturesque oldrock-and-mortar houses of Coloma stood forth out of the wilderness. "Andyou're dead tired and nearly dead for sleep. I am sorry we can't have acity hotel up here; but I'll get you a room where you can lie down. Youcan sleep and rest for two or three hours; then we'll start back."
Gloria had been tired and sleepy half an hour ago; not now. Gratton wasplaying his own hand in his own way--against her father and against MarkKing. And Gratton had a way of winning. Something had happened; some onehad telegraphed for him to come. Gloria was aquiver with excitement. Shewatched Gratton while he was watching the road; he, too, was tense andeager.
When he stopped the car she got down, not knowing just what to do orsay. He led the way to the little "hotel," and she followed. Since shecould not insist on following him about his "business," it was, perhaps,just as well if she lay down. And, alone, thought things out. He placeda chair for her and arranged for her room. He paid for it in advance,saying that they would be leaving in a hurry; he registered for her.Then Gloria was shown down a long hall and to her room. Here Grattonleft her, impatient to be away. She went to her window and stood lookingout. She heard a man call; a deep, rumbling bass voice. She saw Grattoncome about the corner of the house and start across the street. A man, avery big man, came to meet him. They stood together talking in themiddle of the road, their voices low, their looks earnest. They wentaway together. She shivered and went to her bed and sat down, her handstight clasped, a look of trouble in her eyes. Gratton and Swen Brodietogether----
"I don't understand." She said it to herself over and over. "I can'tunderstand!"
She sprang up and left the room, going in feverish haste back to thefront part of the building. The man who had given Gratton the registerfollowed her with his speculative eyes. She went to the door and lookedout, seeing neither the dusty road, the deserted house across the way,nor the mountains beyond. She was groping blindly in a mental fog; shewas tired, very tired. And uncertain. Something was happening--hadhappened, or was about to happen, and she did not know which way toturn. Her father, poor old papa, was fighting hard against some kind ofmoney troubles. Mark King, Gratton, Brodie--figures to race through herbrain, to confuse her with their own contentions, to baffle andbewilder. Suddenly she felt utterly alone, hopelessly, helplessly alone.She wanted her mother, and with the impulse wheeled back toward the manwatching her.
"I want to use the long-distance telephone," she said. "Where is it?"
"This way, miss," said the man, eager to be of service. Then, with abashful grin, he amended: "I _beg_ pardon. Mrs. Gratton, I mean!"
Gloria stared at him. Her mouth was open to correct him; she saw hownaturally his mistake was made. But before she could speak a wildflutter in her heart stopped the words; she went swiftly to theregister. In Gratton's own hand, set opposite the clerk's number sevenindicating her room, were the words: "Gratton & Wife, S.F." She turnedcrimson; went white.
"I'll telephone later," she said faintly, and went again to the door andthis time out into the autumn sunshine. All of the high adventure wasdead ashes; the "lark" was lost in a sinister enterprise.
Gratton's wife--Mrs. Gratton----He had done that! She walked onblindly; tears gathered, tears of mortification, of blazing anger. Butthey did not fall; she dabbed viciously at her
eyes. Why had he donethat? _Why?_ Never a "why" so insistent in all of the girl's lifetime.Never a moment of such blind wonder.
"Howdy, miss?" a voice was saying.
It brought her back to earth from a region of swirling vapours, back toto-day and Coloma. She stopped and looked at the man, startled. He was astranger, yet dimly familiar. The little store, his own round face, hisshirt-sleeves and boots----
"I wanted to ask," he said solicitously, "how your father was thismorning."
"My father?" she repeated dully. "Oh, he's quite well, thank you."
Plainly her words puzzled him. He squinted his eyes as though to makesure of her.
"You're the young lady that stopped in here one day last spring withMark King? June it was, wasn't it? You bought some stuff for lunch."
"Yes," she admitted. She would never have remembered him. But he, whohad not seen others like her, remembered.
"Then you're Ben Gaynor's girl?"
"Yes," she said again, and was about to go on, resenting his persistentmeddlesomeness.
"And you say he's _well_?"
"Quite well, I believe," she said coolly.
"But wait a minute," he called after her. "Wasn't he bad hurt lastnight?"
"Papa hurt?"
"I supposed that was why you was here----"
"How hurt?" she cried sharply. "When? Where? Tell me; why don't you tellme?"
He looked at her in wonder.
"All I know is just what I heard. And you know how news gets itself alltwisted up travelling half a mile. I _heard_ he got hurt at old LoonyHoneycutt's last night. Right bad hurt, they said. But I was just askingyou----"
"Where is he?" she cut in excitedly. "Now?"
"Didn't you just come out of the hotel?" He looked more puzzled thanever. "Wasn't he there?"
"How do I know? Was he taken there?"
He nodded. "Leastways I heard he was. Last night----"
Gloria did not wait for more. She turned and ran back to the buildingshe had quitted only a moment ago, bursting into the front room,demanding earnestly and in words that came with a rush:
"Is my father here? Is he hurt?"
"Your father? Hurt----Say, you ain't Ben Gaynor's daughter, are you?"
"Yes, yes. And papa----"
"They had a doctor over from Placerville last night. He's coming backagain this morning some time."
"Take me to papa. Quick!" said Gloria imperiously. "You should have toldme the minute I came."
"But I didn't know----"
"Quick!" repeated Gloria.
He showed her to the room, only three doors beyond her own. He moved toopen the door but Gloria's hand was first to the knob; she opened andwent in, closing the door softly. She was trembling, frightened,dreading, oppressed by fear of what might be. Though both windows wereopen the shades were drawn, the light was dim. She made out a man's formon the bed; there was a white bandage about his head. He stirred andturned half over.
"Papa!" cried Gloria, her voice catching.
She ran to him and went down on her knees at his bedside, her two handsfinding his upon the coverlet, clasping them tight. He looked at her inwonderment; Gloria misread the look in his eyes and for a terriblemoment thought that he was dying.
"Gloria!" he said in amazement. "Here----"
"Oh, papa!"
To Ben Gaynor this unannounced coming of his daughter partook of thenature of an apparition and of a miracle. At first he would not believehis senses, fearing that he had just gone off his head. Then it was thatthe look in his eyes frightened her. But the hands gripping his wereflesh-and-blood hands, and, besides, Ben Gaynor was a verymatter-of-fact man, little given to prolonged fanciful ideas, even aftera night of pain and mental distress.
"By the Lord, we'll nail their hides to our barn door yet!" were hisfirst words of greeting. He hitched himself up against his pillows.
"What in the world happened?" Gloria asked after a sigh of relief.
"How you happened to be here gets me," said Gaynor. "It's like magic.You didn't hear down in San Francisco that I was hurt, did you?"
"No. I--I just happened to be here. You see, papa----"
"That'll come later," he broke in. "You're here; that's all that counts.You're going to do something for me."
Anything, thought Gloria. And she was glad that he did not seek just nowthe explanation of her presence here; of course she would tell himeverything--later. But she was still confused--"Mrs. Gratton "! Did she,down in the depths of her frivolous girl-heart, want to be that? Had sheglimpsed, when she so gaily left San Francisco last night, that thisescapade was something more than a mere "lark"?
"You are not dangerously hurt, papa?"
"Bless you, no! Not now, that you're here. Though I believe it wouldhave near killed me if I'd been put out of the running altogether. I gota crack on the head that sickened me; but the tough old skull held outagainst it. And I got an arm broken and a rib cracked----"
Gloria, aghast, was once more in fear for him. But he cried impatiently:
"Don't you worry about me. I'll be on my feet in a week. Now, listen:I've got to talk fast before somebody comes in. The doctor is apt to behere any minute, and he's a stiff-necked tyrant. You know the trailthrough the mountains to our place; you rode it twice with King."
"Yes."
"I want you to ride it again to-day. You can get a horse at the stable.Don't let any one know where you are going. I want you to take a messageto King. And it's got to get to him and into nobody's hands but his.Understand that, Gloria?"
Gloria did not answer promptly; she wanted to demur. She was tired; shewas afraid of the mountains; she did not want to see Mark King. But shesaw a terrible earnestness in her father's eyes and that while heawaited her answer quick fever spots glowed in his cheeks. She squeezedhis hands and replied:
"Of course, papa. I'll do whatever you want."
"God bless you for that," he muttered. "This is sober, seriousbusiness, Gloria; you are the only one here I could trust. King will beat the house; at least I hope he will. I sent him word several days agothat--that something was in the wind, and to meet me there. And, Gloria,I want you to promise, by all that's good and holy, that you won't let aword or a sign or a hint slip to anybody else. Not to a soul on earth.Will you, Gloria?"
"Yes." She looked at him curiously; she had never known her father to beso tensely in earnest.
"Then," he said, "go turn the key in the lock. And hurry. Before any onecomes."
She locked the door and returned to him.
"Feel under my pillow. Got it?"
She felt the cold barrel of a revolver and started back; never had sheknown her father to carry arms. Then, gingerly, she sought again. Shefound a small parcel and drew it out. It was a flattish affair andrectangular, the size and shape of an octavo volume--a flat box, if nota book. It was wrapped in a bit of soiled cloth.
"Quick," he commanded nervously. "Out of sight with it. Stick it intoyour blouse, if you can; tuck it away under your arm; it won't show somuch there."
Catching something of his suppressed excitement, she obeyed.
"I managed a little note to Mark," he said when she had buttoned theloose shirt again and he had sunk back, white and exhausted, among hispillows. "I stuck it inside the cloth. Lord, if I was only on my feet!But you'll do it for me, my girl? With never a hint to any one?"
Gloria stooped and kissed him on the forehead.
"I promise, papa," she said assuringly.
"Unlock the door again, then. There's somebody coming. Sit down overthere, across the room. And leave as soon as you can. We'll let themthink you're going to the log house for--for----"
She was quicker at inventions.
"Doctor Rowell, our family physician, is at Lake Tahoe. I am going tofind him. We would telephone, but he is camped out----"
"Pretty late for camping. Oh, that'll do----"
Gloria sat in her chair across the room, looking innocently the part ofa daughter in a sick-room, when the door opened a
nd the Placervilledoctor came in. A moment later she slipped out.
* * * * *
She went out into the sunshine. Down the road she saw Gratton. He camequickly to meet her. She saw that he was eyeing her keenly, and herthought was that he was wondering if by chance she had seen the hotelregister.
"I don't know just what to do," said Gratton. "My business is going tohold me here longer than I had thought. I--I promised to go back withyou this afternoon. Would it be all right if I got a man to drive youback? I am terribly sorry, Gloria, but----"
"Business is business!" She laughed a trifle nervously. Then herinspiration: "I know! I can go to our mountain home; I'll phone mamma,and she will come up. We'll spend a few days, and----"
For an instant his eyes fairly blazed; they were bright with triumph.
"Just the thing! I'll go for the horses. I'll ride over with you and getright back here."
"But----"
But already, excusing himself hurriedly, Gratton was off for the horses.