CHAPTER XVII
FACING DEATH
The change in the girl was so pronounced, her action so impetuous, as toleave West startled and silent. The thought came to him instantly thatshe was not the innocent victim he had supposed. Her words, and movementsexpressed disappointment, rather than regret. She was angry at hischoice, ready to withdraw from him all sympathy, all assistance. Her pleahad failed, and the woman had become a tigress. Then she must have beenendeavouring to deceive him; as deeply interested as these others--ingetting him safely off the trail of this crime. It was a hard lesson, onethat instantly turned all his theories upside down, but the truth came tohim with blinding, sickening force--she was as guilty as Hobart; theywere both working to the same end, endeavouring to get him safely out ofthe way. They would accomplish this with lies if possible, if not thenwith force. It was for no other purpose he had been granted thisinterview alone--in the hope that he might thus be deceived by her. Nowhe saw through the trick.
These thoughts swept West's brain in a sudden flash of revelation, buthe had no chance to act; to denounce her, to make a single movement,before the door opened swiftly, and Hobart slipped eagerly into theroom. The first glance the fellow had of the prisoner, standing erectand unbound, must have deceived him into believing the girl hadsucceeded in her quest.
"So you've set him free," he exclaimed. "The fellow has come to hissenses, has he?"
"No, he has not," she snapped with temper darkening her eyes. "I was notafraid of him, so I let him loose, but he's made me no promise. Now it isup to you; I'm done."
She slipped out through the opening, and Hobart leaned against the door,pushing it shut behind her, his scowling eyes watching West intently.
"So, that is how it stands, is it, my man?" he growled threateningly."You even refuse to accept the word of the lady, do you?"
"Those are very nearly the facts," West replied steadily. "Then I toldher I thought she must be mistaken; now I believe she was sent here forno other purpose but to deceive me. If I ever had any doubt of a crime,it has vanished since this interview."
"What crime?"
"Murder; the killing of Percival Coolidge. Is that plain enough, Hobart?I want you to understand. I am fighting this case from now on in theopen; it is going to be man to man."
"What the hell do you mean, you cur?"
"I'll tell you," went on West coldly, determined now to so anger thefellow as to bring the whole matter to a climax, reckless of theconsequences. "I charge you with murder. I haven't the proof, but I'llget it; I do not know the object, but I'll find out."
"You fool! you'll never get away from here. My God, you must be crazy!"
"Never was saner in all my life, Hobart. I am a soldier, and am taking asoldier's chance. Now listen. I feel no particular interest in the deathof Percival Coolidge. In my judgment the world is just as well off withhim dead as alive. But what this means to Natalie Coolidge is anothermatter entirely."
"She told you--"
"Yes, she told me--a lie. That is what hurts; what makes me ready to takeany chance to put you where you belong. You have lied to her, deceivedher, made her your accomplice in crime. I'm fighting for a woman, becauseshe has got no one else to fight for her."
"Oh, I see; in love, hey--with her, or her money?"
"With neither so far as I know," frankly. "She is a woman helpless inyour hands; that is sufficient."
"But, hell, she hasn't any use for you--didn't she tell you so?"
"Quite plainly--yes. But that is no excuse for any man to play thecoward. I am not afraid of you, Hobart, or your gang. You got me beforeby treachery; I was not looking for trouble. But now I am. I am goingthrough that door, and if you try to stop me you are going to get hurt."
The fellow grinned, one hand thrust into the outer pocket of his coat,his eyes narrowed into ugly slits.
"You think so! You haven't a weapon on you, West, and if you take astep, I'll put you out of commission. I know how to handle your kind,you big bluffer. What I want to know is what you have got in your head,for, believe me, I don't take any stock in this woman stuff. Are youafter the coin?"
"What coin?"
"Well, maybe a slice of old Coolidge's boodle. There's enough of it forall hands to have a dip. How does that hit you?"
"Sounds interesting at least," admitted West, so earnestly as to attractthe other's attention. "But let's talk it over among ourselves--who islistening there?"
Hobart glanced behind at the nearly closed door. It was for only a secondhe was off guard, yet that was enough. With one leap forward, Weststruck, his clinched fist smashing against the side of the fellow's jaw.It was a wicked, vicious blow, with all the propelling force of the bodybehind it, and Hobart went down stunned, crashing the door tightly shutas he fell. Once he strove blindly to reach his feet, tugging madly atthe weapon in his pocket, but West, feeling no mercy, and wide awake tothe fact that any shooting would mean a call for help, struck again,sending his groggy opponent flat, and unconscious. It was all the swiftwork of a minute, and there had been no noise to arouse alarm. Hobart hadnot even cried out; the only audible sounds being the sharp click of thedoor, and the dull thud of a falling body.
West emptied the man's pockets, slipping two revolvers into his own; thenstood for an instant motionless, staring down into the white upturnedface. He had followed the impulse of the moment; had struck savagely;knowing it was his only chance. Thus far he had done well; but what next?He was conscious of but one thought, one purpose--to escape from thishouse, unpledged and still free to act. Yet how could this beaccomplished? He had no plan, no knowledge even of his surroundings, ofwhat lay beyond the walls of this room. His eyes swept the bare interior,seeing nothing to inspire hope. Hobart had said this room was practicallya prison, and it looked it--the walls bare, and unbroken, and a roughsingle cot. All possibility of egress lay in the closed door, and anarrow window high up in the opposite wall, also tightly shut, and shadedby a heavy curtain.
His hand tried the door cautiously; the knob turned easily enough, butthere was no yielding to his pressure. The lock was evidently on theoutside, and he could discover no key-hole, no possibility of operatingit from within. Then, besides in all probability, a guard would be postedoutside in the hall, waiting for some signal from Hobart. West glancedagain at the recumbent figure, bending over to make sure of hiscondition, then, gripping a chair, silently crossed the room.
There was not a minute to lose. He knew that he must choose quicklywhatever course he pursued. Any instant Hobart might recoverconsciousness, and gain assistance by a rap on the door; indeed hisconfederates without might not wait for the signal. The silence within,the length of time, might arouse suspicion. The only chance lay inimmediate action. Standing on the chair West found the window had beensecurely nailed into place, but this had been done so long ago, it wasquite possible for him to work the nails loose, yet it required all hisstrength to press up the warped sash sufficiently far to enable him togain a view outside. It was not encouraging. Evidently he was upon thethird floor, at the rear of the building, looking down into a clutteredup back yard. His eyes could scarcely distinguish what was below, as theonly glimmer of light came from a far distant street lamp at the end ofan alley, the faint rays creeping in through holes in the fence. Yet oneblack shadow seemed to promise the sloping roof of a shed directly below;but even with that to break his fall, it was a desperate leap.
He stared into those uncertain depths, endeavouring to measure thedistance, deceived by the shifting shadows, afraid of what lay hiddenbelow. For the moment he forgot all that was behind him, his whole mindconcentrated on the perils of so mad a leap into the dark. The awakeningcame suddenly, the chair jerked from beneath his feet, his body hurledbackward. He fell, gripping at the window seat, so that he was flungagainst the support of a side wall, able to retain his feet, but not towholly ward off a vicious blow, which left him staggering. Half blinded,West leaped forward to grapple with the assailant, but was too late.Hobart rushed back out of re
ach of his arms, and rapped sharply on thedoor panel. It opened instantly, and big Mike, closely followed byanother man, pushed forward into the room. West was trapped, helpless;one man pitted against three. He backed slowly away, brushing tack thedishevelled hair from his eyes, watching them warily, every animalinstinct on the alert.
Mike took one comprehensive glance at the scene, at the overturned chair,the half-open window, the trapped man crouching motionless against thefurther wall. The meaning of it all was plain, and his bar-room traininggave quick insight as to the part he was to play. He spoke gruffly outinto the dark of the hall behind him, an order to some one concealedthere; then shut the door tightly, and faced West, his head lowered likea bull about to charge. West understood; he was locked in to fight itout--three against one. Hobart was nearest to him, his face swollen andred, his eyes ugly slits, with teeth snarling between thin lips. Thefellow laughed sneeringly, as their glances met.
"Now we'll take care of you, Captain," he taunted. "Never mind his guns,Mike; there's not a load in either of them. Give the guy what he islooking for. Come on you terriers!"
But West did not wait. There was only one chance, and he took it--tocarry the fighting to them. He had no doubt of the emptiness of his guns,and hurled one straight at Hobart's head, leaping forward with the otherclutched in his hand straight at Mike, who had scarcely time to fling upone hand in defence. The thrown weapon missed its mark by a narrow inch,striking the wall behind, and falling clattering to the floor, but theother broke through the big saloon-keeper's guard, and sent him reelingto his knees, a gush of blood reddening his hair. Again and again Weststruck him, driving him prone to the floor before the other two draggedhim away, wrestled the weapon from his hand, and closed with him in adesperate death grapple.
What followed he never could relate. He was mad with fury of the fight.A mere animal defending life with every means at hand, caring nothing foreither wound or hurt so that he won out in the end. Mike was out of it,but the two grappling him fought like wild cats, rough barroom fighters,resorting to any tactics to disable their opponent. Yet it was this thatsaved him. Crazed as he was, madly as his brain whirled in the fiercestruggle, his long training held supreme--he knew how to fight,remembered instinctively every trick and guard. Again and again hisclinched fist reached its mark, and slowly he broke away from clutchinghands, and regained his feet. It was a terrific struggle, but luck, aswell as skill, was with him. The next he knew, out of the red ruck, wasthat he had Hobart by the throat, jammed against the wall, with fingersclinched in the throat. Then he saw the other coming, a dim, shapelessthing, that he kicked at viciously. The boot must have landed, for he wassuddenly free to strike the purple face fronting him, and fling thehelpless rocking body in a huddled mass on the floor.
By God, it was over with; he had won breathing space, a chance to seewhat was about him. Yet that was all. The fellow he had kicked wasalready up, doubled from the pain of the blow, but with mad eyesglaring at him. Hobart had struggled to his knees, cursing fiercely ashe swept the blood out of his eyes. They would both be on him again in aminute, more desperate than ever, and the door was locked--there was nochance there. The window! Ay! there was the window. Death either way,yet a chance; and he was man enough to take it. He leaped on the chair,and clambered up; he heard Hobart swear, and felt the grip of a hand onhis dangling leg; kicked himself free, and was on the ledge. He neverlooked below, or took time to poise for the leap. Heedless, desperate,scarcely realizing what he was doing, he flung his body out over theedge, and fell.