The Strange Case of Cavendish

  CHAPTER XXVIII: WITH BACK TO THE WALL

  It was dingy dark once she had crossed the threshold, yet enough oflight flickered in through the doorway to enable her to perceive thefew articles of furniture. The room itself was a small one, butcontained a roughly constructed wooden bed, two stools, and a squaretable of unplaned boards. A strip of rag carpet covered a portion ofthe floor, and there was a sort of cupboard in one corner, the door ofwhich stood open, revealing a variety of parcels, littering theshelves. Against the wall in a corner leaned a short-barrelled gun, acanvas bag draped over its muzzle.

  She had no opportunity to observe more. To her ears there came thesound of a blow in the room she had just left, a groan, the dull thudof a body striking the floor, accompanied by a Spanish oath, and ashuffling of feet. She sprang back into the open doorway, startled,certain only of some catastrophe, her fingers gripping hard on therevolver.

  Cavendish lay writhing on the floor, the chair overturned beside him,and the Mexican, with one swift leap forward, cleared the body, andreached the window. Even as she caught this movement, too dazed forthe instant to act, the injured man struggled up on one elbow, and,with all the force he possessed, hurled the knife straight at thefleeing figure. It flashed through the air, a savage gleam of steel,barely missing Mendez's shoulder, and buried itself in a log, quiveringfrom the force of impact. With a yell of derision, his hands stillbound, the desperate fugitive cast himself head-first through theopening. Without aim, scarcely aware of what she did, the girl flungup her weapon and fired. With revolver yet smoking she rushed forwardto look without. Rolling over and over on the ground, his face coveredwith blood, Mendez was seeking to round the corner of the cabin, to getbeyond range. Again she pulled the trigger, the powder smoke blowingback into her face, and blinding her. When she could see once more, hewas gone, but men were leaping out through the door of the bunk-house,shouting in excitement.

  One of these caught sight of her, and fired, the bullet chugging intothe end of a log, so closely it caught a strand of her hair, but,before another shot could follow, she had seized the shutter, andclosed the opening, driving the latch fast with the revolver butt. Shewas cool enough now, every nerve on edge, realising fully the danger oftheir position. All the blood of a fighting race surged through herveins, and she was conscious of no fear, only of a wild exultation, astrange desire to win. As she turned she faced Cavendish, only vaguelyvisible in the twilight caused by the closed window. He was stillseated on the floor, his expression betraying bewilderment.

  "Are you hurt?"

  "No--not--not much. He knocked all the wind out of me. I--I'm allright now."

  "Get up then! There's fighting enough ahead to make you forget that.What happened?"

  "He--he kicked me, I guess. I--I don't exactly know. I heard you gopast us into that other room, and--and just turned my head to see. Thenext I knew I was on the floor, so damned sick--I beg your pardon--Ithought I was going to faint. Did I get him with the knife?"

  "No, it's over there, and I am afraid I didn't touch him either; it wasall so sudden I got no aim. Do you hear those voices? There must be adozen of the band outside already."

  He looked up at her, his glance almost vacant, and she could butperceive how his chin shook.

  "What shall we do?"

  "Do!" she gripped his shoulder. "Are you a man and ask that? We willfight! Did you imagine I would ever surrender myself into the hands ofthat devil, after what has happened? I would rather die; yes, I willdie before he ever puts hand on me. And what about you, Mr. Cavendish?Are you going to lie there moping? Answer me--I thought you were aman--a gentleman."

  The words were like a blow in his face, and under their sting hestaggered to his feet; scarlet blazed in both his cheeks.

  "You have no right to say that to me," he said angrily. "I'm not thatkind."

  "I know it," she admitted, "but you lose your nerve; this isn't yourgame. Well, it isn't mine either, for the matter of that.Nevertheless it has got to be played, and we're going to play ittogether. Those fellows will be at that door presently--just so soonas Mendez tells them who are inside here. They'll try us once, and, ifwe can beat them back, that will give us a breathing spell."

  She paused, glancing swiftly about, listening to the increasing hubbubwithout.

  "There is no other way they can break in except through this door,unless, perhaps, they smash that shutter. Two of us ought to hold themfor some time."

  "But we have only one weapon--that knife is no use."

  "There is a sawed-off shotgun back yonder; go get it, and hunt for somecartridges. They may be in the cupboard--quick now; that's Mendez'svoice, and he'll be savage."

  There was a shouting of commands without in Spanish, punctuated byoaths, the meaning of which the girl alone understood. She leanedforward, her eyes on the door, the cocked revolver held ready. She hadmeant what she said to Cavendish; to her mind death was far preferableto any surrender to that infuriated Mexican; she expected death, butone hope yet buoyed her up--Westcott. Odd that any memory of himshould have come to her at that moment--yet it did; as though he spoke,and bade her believe in his coming. She had thought of him before,often in the past two days, but now he was real, tangible; she couldalmost feel the strong grip of his hand, and hear the sound of hisvoice. It was exactly as though the man called to her, and sheresponded. A dream, or what, it brought her courage, hope.

  He would come; she had faith in that--and he would find she had foughtto the end, even if he came too late. She buried her face in herhands, stifling a sob that shook her body, yet when she lifted the headagain, there was no glimmer of tears in her eyes, and her cheeks werecrimson. She waited motionless, scarcely seeming to breathe--thestatue of a woman at bay.

  All this was but for a moment, a moment of swift thought, of equallyswift decision. The next Cavendish stood beside her, grasping theshotgun, no longer a victim of weakness, his eyes meeting hers eagerly.

  "I could only find twelve cartridges," he exclaimed, "but I know how touse those."

  He took a step forward, and held out his hand.

  "Forgive me, Miss Donovan," he pleaded. "Really I do not know whatmakes me like that, but you would make a man out of anybody."

  Her firm, slim fingers met his eagerly, her eyes instantly glowing inappreciation.

  "Of course I forgive you," she exclaimed. "Your fear is no greaterthan my own. I am a woman, and dread this sort of thing. All thatgives me courage is the knowledge that death is preferable todishonour," her voice lost its firmness, "and--and my faith in a man."

  "You mean in possible rescue?"

  Her eyes lifted to his face.

  "Yes, Mr. Cavendish. It may prove all imagination, yet there is one--areal man, I am sure--who must know of my plight before this. If hedoes, and lives, he will come to me. If we can only defend ourselveslong enough there will be rescue."

  He hesitated, yet something told him this was no time to fear askingall.

  "Surely you are not married? Of course not; then he----"

  "Is merely a friend; no, there has been no other word spoken betweenus, yet," her voice trembling slightly, "there are secrets a womanknows instinctively without speech. I know this man cares--enough tocome. Isn't that strange, Mr. Cavendish, when we have only met threetimes?"

  "No," he said gallantly, "not to any one who has known you. I believeyou might even trust me. Where is this man?"

  "In Haskell; but please do not ask any more--there! They are coming."

  A blow struck the outer door, and was repeated, evidently dealt by thebutt of a gun; then the two, standing silent and almost breathlesswithin, heard Mendez's voice. There was no mistaking his slow,carefully chosen English.

  "_Senorita_, and you also, Senor Cavendish," he called his wordsintended to be conciliatory. "It is of no use that you resist. We aremany and armed. If you surrender, and not fight, I pledge youprotection."

  The girl glanced at Cavendish.
>
  "You answer him."

  He stepped closer to the door.

  "Protection from whom?" he asked briefly.

  "From my men; I am Pasqual Mendez."

  "But you propose holding us prisoners? You intend delivering us up tothe man Lacy as soon as he arrives?"

  "Yes," he admitted, "but I hold no animosity--none. The _senorita_need not fear. I will intercede for you both with the Senor Lacy, andhe will listen to what I say. You may trust me, if you unbar the door."

  "And if we refuse?"

  "We shall break in, and there will be no promise. I ask you now forthe last time."

  Cavendish turned his head slightly to regard his companion.

  "What shall I say?" he whispered.

  "The man lies; he will keep no promise once we are in his power.Besides they have not yet found Cateras. When they do there will be nothought of mercy."

  "Then we fight it out?"

  "I shall; I will never give myself into the hands of that creature."

  "Senor," and Cavendish stepped aside to the protection of the logs, "wewill not surrender. That is our answer."

  "Fools!" he called back, his voice rising harsh above the growling ofothers. "We will show you. Silva, Felipe, quick now; do what I toldyou. We will teach these Americano dogs a lesson. No, stand back!Wait until I speak the word."'

  A faint glimmer of light through one of the log crevices caughtCavendish's attention, and he bent down, his eye to the crack, one handgrasping the barrel of his gun. Stella watched him motionless andsilent, her face again pale from strain. A moment he stared out,without speaking, the only noise the movement of men beyond the logwalls, and the occasional sound of a voice in Spanish.

  "I can count about a dozen out there," he said finally, his wordsbarely audible, and his eye still at the slight opening. "All Mexicanexcept two--they look American. Most of them are armed. You must havepricked Mendez, for he has one arm in a sling, and the cloth showsbloody. Ah! Wait! The fellows have searched the cells and discoveredCateras. Do you hear that yell? It will be a fight to a finish now.Here come two men with a log--that's their game then; they mean tosmash in the door."

  He straightened up, casting a swift glance about the apartment. Allhesitancy, doubt, had left him, now that the supreme test had come. Hewas again capable of thinking clearly, and acting.

  "Miss Donovan," he burst out, "we can never hope to hold back those menhere--in this room. There must be fifteen of them, and our ammunitionis scanty. We shall be in bright light as soon as the door is battereddown, and then, if they crush in the window also, we shall surely beattacked from two sides."

  "What will be better?" she asked.

  "The back room; it is dark, with no windows, and there are stripsnailed between the logs. We can force that heavy wooden bed across thedoor, and hide behind it. We ought to hold them there as long as ourcartridges last, unless they set the cabin afire. Good God! They havebegun already. Three more blows like that and the door goes down.Come; it's our only chance."

  It was the work of a moment; it had to be. The inner room was so darkthey had to feel their way about blindly, yet those splintering crasheson the outer door, interspersed by the shouts of the men, spurred bothto hurried effort. Nor was there much to be done. The heavy bed wasthrown upon its side, and hauled and pushed forward until it restedagainst the door jambs, the mattress and blankets so caught and held asto form protection against bullets. Breathless the two sank to theirknees in the darkness behind, their eyes on the brightening daylight ofthe room beyond. Already a hole had been stove through the upper panelof the door, the surrounding wood splintered. Some one fired oncethrough the jagged opening, and an exultant yell followed from without.

  "No firing!" the voice was Mendez's rising sharply above the othersounds. "I don't want the girl shot, you fools. Take that other logaround to the window. They'll surrender fast enough once we're inside.Now, another one. Here, five of you swing her!"

  Stella touched Cavendish's sleeve.

  "Show me how to load, please," she urged feverishly. "I've fired twoshots already."

  His gun rested across the rude barricade, and he left it there, seizingthe revolver from her hand.

  "You have never handled one before?"

  "No; not like this. Oh, I see; you press that spring. I can do that.You have the belt with the revolver cartridges--fasten it about mywaist; quick! The door is almost down."

  "Rest your barrel on the edge of the bed," he muttered, gripping theshotgun again, "and aim at that door. The instant you see one of thosedevils, give it to him."

  With a crash the remaining wood gave way, the end of the log, used as abattering ram, projecting into the room. Over the shattered door, nowheld only by one bent hinge, a half dozen forms swarmed inward, thequick rush blocking their passage.

  Cavendish pulled trigger, the deep boom of his shotgun echoed instantlyby the sharper report of the girl's revolver. She fired twice beforethe swirling smoke obstructed the view, conscious only that one man hadleaped straight into the air, and another had sprawled forward on handsand knees. Cavendish pushed home a fresh cartridge, and the smokecloud lifted just enough to permit them to perceive the fartherdoorway. A Mexican lay curled up in the centre of the floor, his gun adozen feet away; another hung dangling across an over-turned stool, butthe opening was vacant. Just outside, a fellow, wounded, was dragginghimself out of range.

  "Great Scott!" exclaimed Cavendish, excitedly. "Every shot counted.Here, load up quick. They'll try the window next. Get down!"

  The warning was not an instant too soon, the hasty volley largelythudding harmlessly into the thick mattress, although a bullet or twosang past and found billets in the logs behind. Cavendish returned thefire, shooting blindly into the smoke, but the girl only lifted herhead, staring intently into the smother, until the cloud floated awaythrough the door. The attackers had again vanished, all semblance ofthem, except those two motionless bodies.

  She had not before been conscious of any feeling; all she had done hadbeen automatic, as though under compulsion; but now she felt strangelysick, and faint. An unutterable horror seized her and her handsgripped the edge of the bed to keep her erect. She could seem to seenothing but the ghastly face of that dead man hanging over the stool,and she closed her eyes. Yet this reaction was only momentary. Shehad fired in defence; in a struggle for the preservation of life andhonour. Under spur of this thought she once more gained control.

  But how still it was! Even the sound of voices had ceased; and outthrough the open door there was no sign of movement. The light seemeddimmer, also, as though the sun had sunk below the opposite cliffs, andnight was slowly descending upon the valley. What could be happeningout there? Were those men planning some new attempt? Or had theydecided it was better to wait for a larger force? The silence anduncertainty were harder to combat than the violence of assault; shestruggled to refrain from screaming. Cavendish never moved, his gunflung forward across the improvised barricade, the very grip of hishand proving the intensity of nervous strain. Something caused him toglance toward her.

  "Looks as though they had enough of it," he said grimly, "and havedecided to starve us out."

  "Oh, do you think so? I heard a noise then."

  He heard it also, his glance returning instantly to the front, his formstiffening into preparation. For a moment neither could determine themeaning of the sounds. Then he cocked his gun, the sharp click echoingalmost loudly in the stillness.

  "Trying the window this time," he murmured, "Do you hear that? Beready."

  Nothing happened; even the slight noise in the outer room ceased; therewas not a sound except their own breathing. The two knelt motionless,peering over the edge of the bed into the dim twilight, seeing nothing,each with finger on trigger--tense, expectant. Then, without warning,the flying figure of a man leaped across the doorway into the securityof the opposite wall. It was done so quickly neither fired, butCavendish li
cked his parched lips with a dry tongue.

  "I'll get the next one who tries that trick," he muttered, "It will beeasier than partridge shooting."

  A minute--two passed, every nerve on edge; then a second flying form,almost a blur in the gathering gloom, shot across the narrow opening.The shotgun spoke, and the wildly leaping figure seemed to crumble tothe floor--its lower half had reached shelter, but head and shoulderslay exposed, revealing grey hair and a white moustache. Cavendishsprang erect, all caution forgotten.

  "It's Mendez," he cried. "I got the arch-fiend of them----"

  A rifle cracked and he went plunging back, his body striking the girl,and crushing her to the floor beside him. There was no cry, no groanof agony, yet he lay there motionless. She crept across and bent overhim, almost dumb with fear.

  "You--you are shot?" she made herself speak.

  "Yes; they've got me," the utterance of the words a struggle. "It'shere in the chest; I--I don't know how bad; perhaps if you tear open myshirt, you--you might stop the blood."

  She could see nothing, not even the man's face, yet her fingers rentthe shirt asunder and searched for the wound. It was not bleedinggreatly, and she had no water, but not knowing what else to do, shetore a strip from her skirt and bound it hastily. He never moved, orspoke, and she bent her head closer. The wounded man had lostconsciousness.

  Alone, in the dark, she crept back on her knees to her place behind thebarricade. Her hand touched the empty gun he had dropped, and shereloaded it slowly, only half comprehending its mechanism. Therevolver, every chamber filled, rested on the upturned edge of the bed;her lips were firmly pressed together. Quietly she pushed forward thebarrel of the shotgun, and waited.