A BAD FALL
Gladwyne spent the first few days that followed Lisle’s visit in a state of dread and indecision. He had allowed the Canadian to understand that he would endeavor to prevent Crestwick’s being further victimized, but he had already failed to induce Batley to abandon the exploitation of the lad and he had no cause for believing that a second attempt would be more successful. Moreover, he shrank from making it; the man had shown him clearly that he would brook no interference.
On the other hand, he was equally afraid of Lisle. This cool, determined Canadian was not to be trifled with, and he knew or suspected enough about the tragedy in British Columbia to make him dangerous. It was certain that a revelation of Batley’s speculation would go a very long way toward establishing the truth of any damaging story Lisle thought fit to tell. Supposing the two by any chance combined their knowledge—that he had raised money in anticipation of his cousin’s death, and afterward left him to perish—nothing that he could say would count against the inference. George had been a healthy man, not much older than Clarence, when the money was borrowed, and his decease within a limited time had appeared improbable. Nobody would believe the actual truth that Batley with characteristic boldness had, in return for what he thought a sufficient consideration in the shape of an exorbitant interest, taken a serious risk. The thing would look like a conspiracy between the heir presumptive and the speculator who lent the money; and in this, for a bold man, there might have been a loophole for escape, but Gladwyne knew that he had not the nerve to use the fact against his ally.
Nevertheless, Gladwyne was really guiltless in one respect—he had not desired his cousin’s death; he would have gone back to the rescue had he not dreaded that he would share George’s fate. Lack of courage had been his bane, and it was so now, for instead of speaking to Batley he temporized. The man had made no further attempt upon Crestwick, and Gladwyne decided that until he did so there was no need for him to interfere. Still, as the next few weeks passed, he was conscious of a growing dread of the Canadian which, as sometimes happens, became tinged with hatred. Lisle was the more serious menace, and it was ominous that he now and then exchanged a word or two with Batley. If the two formed an offensive alliance, he would be helpless at their hands.
In the meanwhile, Nasmyth has been training his horse for the approaching meeting and after trying him against one belonging to a neighbor and not finding it fast enough he had reluctantly fallen back on a chestnut owned by Gladwyne. The animal possessed a fine speed and some jumping powers. Its chief fault was a vicious temper; but Gladwyne was seldom troubled by lack of nerve in the saddle. It was in time of heavy moral strain that he failed, and he was glad to arrange with Nasmyth for a sharp gallop.
Somewhat to the latter’s regret, news of his intentions had spread, and on the morning of the trial a number of people, including the Marples and Crestwicks and Millicent, had gathered about the course. It was a dark day, with a moist air and a low, gray sky. The grass was wet, a strip of plowing which could not be avoided was soft and heavy, and the ground in front of several of the jumps was in a far from satisfactory state. Nasmyth, who kept a very small establishment and had hitherto generally ridden the horse, walked round part of the course with Lisle.
“It will be heavy going and there’s a nasty greasy patch at the biggest fence,” he said. “I’d have waited for a better day only that it’s often wet where they have the meeting, and I want to see what he can do over ground like this. You’ll have to watch him at the jumps.”
“He’d do better with you in the saddle,” Lisle suggested.
“I’d rather put you up. I’m not going to ride at the meeting; I’m over the weight they ought to give him and I want to get him used to a stranger’s hands. As it’s an outside event of no importance, I haven’t fixed on my man yet.”
They walked back toward the starting-point, where Gladwyne was waiting, with Batley and Crestwick in attendance. As they approached it, Millicent joined them.
“Are you going to ride to-day?” she asked Lisle.
“Nasmyth insists,” was the answer. “I’m afraid I won’t do him much credit.”
Gladwyne looked up with a slight frown.
“You won’t mind?” Nasmyth asked him. “I’d penalize the horse by nearly a stone.”
“No,” replied Gladwyne, shortly; “there’s no reason why I should object.”
This was true, but he had an unreasoning aversion to facing this opponent. Of late, the Canadian had caused him trouble at almost every turn, and it looked as if he could not even indulge in a morning’s amusement without being plagued with him. He was conscious of a most uncharitable wish that Lisle would come to grief at one of the fences and break his neck. In many ways, this would be a vast relief.
“Would anybody like to make it a sporting match?” Crestwick asked. “The bay’s my fancy; I’m ready to back it.”
Bella tried to catch his eye, but he disregarded this. She, however, saw Lisle glance at Batley and noticed the latter’s smile.
“It isn’t worth while betting on trials,” Batley declared. “Better wait until the meeting.”
The girl was less astonished than gratified. Gladwyne was surprised and disconcerted. He had said nothing to Batley about Crestwick, but he had noticed Lisle’s warning glance, and the other’s prompt acquiescence appeared significant. It looked as if the two had joined hands, and that was what he most dreaded. An almost overpowering rage against the Canadian possessed him. When he attempted to mount, the chestnut gave him trouble by backing and plunging; but the bay was quiet and Nasmyth stood for a few moments by Lisle’s stirrup.
“Save him a bit for the second round,” he advised. “Another thing, look out when you come to the big-brushed hurdles, particularly the second time.”
Batley volunteered as starter, and when he got them off satisfactorily the spectators scattered, one or two to watch the pace across the plowed land, the others moving toward the stiffest jumps—the course was roughly circular.
The trial was a new experience to Lisle, and he felt the exhilaration of it as, remembering his instructions, he strove to hold his mount. Gladwyne’s horse was a length ahead of him, the wind lashed his face, and the thrill of the race grew keener when he swept over the first fence, hard upon the flying chestnut’s heels. He dropped another length behind as they crossed the next field and labored over the sticky plowing; then there was a low fence and ditch, a narrow meadow, and then the hurdles Nasmyth had mentioned, filling a gap in a tall thorn hedge. They were wattled with branches which projected a foot or so above them.
It did not look an easy jump and the grass was slippery and soft, but the chestnut accomplished it cleverly and the bay flew at the hurdles with every sign of confidence. Then, though Lisle felt the hoofs slide as the beast took off, they were over and flying faster than ever across a long, wet field. As they approached the end of the first round, the chestnut began to drop back; Lisle could let the bay go and he determined to bring him home the winner. It was his first fast ride in England; and he had, indeed, seldom urged a horse to its utmost pace—the British Columbian trails, for the most part, led steeply up or down rugged hillsides, where speed was out of the question. It was very different on these level English meadows, though the ground was softer than usual and the fences were troublesome. He rode with a zest and ardor he had hardly expected to feel.
He led at the next fence and some of the onlookers shouted encouragement when, drawing a little farther ahead, he once more reached the sticky plowed land. Here the bay slowed a little, toiling across the clods, but a glance over his shoulder showed his opponent still at least two lengths behind. Gladwyne, however, now roused himself to ride in earnest. Hitherto he had taken no great interest in the proceedings, but he had just seen Bella wave her hand to Lisle and then Millicent’s applauding smile. He resented the fact that both should be pleased to see him beaten by this intrusive stranger. It reawakened his rancor, and the strain of the last week or two had shaken him rather badly. He was nervous, his self-control was weak; but he meant to pass his rival.
He was still behind at the next fence, but pressing his horse savagely he crept up a little as they approached the one really difficult jump; and as they sped across the narrow meadow Lisle fancied that the bay was making its last effort. Crestwick was standing near the hurdles, with Nasmyth moving rapidly toward them not far away and Bella running across a neighboring field. Crestwick watched Gladwyne intently. The man’s face was strangely eager, considering that all he had been asked to do was to test the bay’s speed, and there was a hardness in his expression that fixed Crestwick’s attention; he wondered the cause of it.
Bella was close to him, when Lisle, riding hard, rushed at the hurdles, and Jim found it hard to repress a shout as the bay’s hoofs slipped and slid on the treacherous turf. The horse rose, however; there was a heavy crash; wattled branches and the top bar of the hurdle smashed. Lisle lurched in his saddle; and then the bay came down in a heap, with the man beneath him.
It was impossible to doubt that Gladwyne had seen the accident, but the chestnut rushed straight at the shattered hurdle, teeth bare, nostrils dilated, head stretched forward, and Crestwick thrilled with horror. The fallen horse was struggling, rolling upon its rider, just beyond the fence; but Gladwyne did nothing, except sit ready for the leap. It was incomprehensible; so was the look in the man’s face, which was grimly set, as the big chestnut rose in a graceful bound.
There was a sickening thud on the other side, a flounder of slipping hoofs, and the staccato pounding of the gallop broke out again. The chestnut had come down upon the fallen horse or helpless man, and was going on, uncontrollable. Crestwick rushed madly at the hedge, and scrambling through, badly scratched and bareheaded, found Nasmyth trying to drag Lisle clear of the bay. The Canadian’s eyes were half open, but there was no expression in them; one arm and shoulder looked distorted, and his face was gray. Half-way across the field Gladwyne was struggling savagely with the plunging chestnut.
“Get hold!” ordered Nasmyth hoarsely. “Some bones broken, by the look of him; but he’ll have his brains knocked out in another moment.”
Crestwick was cruelly kicked as the bay rolled in agony, striking with its hoofs; but he stuck to his task, and with some difficulty they dragged Lisle out of danger. When they had accomplished it, Marple came running up with two or three others and Nasmyth called to him.
“Came in the car, didn’t you? Go off for Irvine as hard as you can drive. Drop somebody at my place to run back with a gun.”
Marple swung round and set off across the field, and Crestwick understood why the gun was wanted when he glanced at the fallen horse. Nasmyth informed him that nothing could be done until the doctor came, and he turned away toward where his sister was waiting. His forehead and hands were torn and he was conscious of a bad ache in his back where a hoof had struck, but these things scarcely troubled him. He was overwhelmed, horror-stricken; and the shock of seeing Lisle crushed and senseless was not the only cause of it. Bella, gasping after her run, with hair shaken loose about her face, seemed to be suffering from the same sensation that unnerved him.
“Is he dead?” she asked falteringly.
“No. Badly hurt, I think.”
“Ah!” she exclaimed with intense relief. “I was most horribly afraid.” She paused before she resumed: “You were close by the hurdles.”
Jim knew she meant that he must have seen what happened, but, shaking as he was, he looked hard at her, wondering in a half-dazed fashion what reply he should make. He thought her suspicions were aroused.
“You were some way back; you couldn’t have seen anything plainly,” he ventured.
“I was very near—looking back toward them—when they crossed the field before the jump. You’ve gone all to pieces. What did you see?”
“I can’t talk about it now,” Jim broke out. “He’s coming back.”
Gladwyne had dismounted and was with some difficulty leading the chestnut toward the hedge. His face was white; he moved with a strong suggestion of reluctance; and when he reached the spot where Lisle lay he seemed to have trouble in speaking.
“Is it dangerous?” he asked.
“I can’t tell,” Nasmyth answered sternly. “Shoulder’s smashed; don’t know if that’s the worst. Why didn’t you pull up the brute or send him at the hedge to the right?”
“He’s hard in the mouth—you know his temper. You couldn’t have turned him.”
“I’d have tried, if I’d had to bring him down and break his neck!”
Nasmyth checked himself, for this was not the time for recriminations, and Millicent, who had been running hard, brushed past them. She did not stop until she bent over Lisle. Then she turned to Nasmyth with fear in her strained expression.
“I think he’ll get over it,” Nasmyth told her. “I won’t take the responsibility of having him moved until the doctor arrives.”
“Quite right,” agreed Batley, walking up and casting a swift and searching glance at Gladwyne.
“But you can’t let him lie on the wet grass!” Millicent expostulated.
“I’m afraid we must; it’s safest,” said Batley. “The shock’s not so much to be dreaded with a man of his kind.”
He and Nasmyth took charge of the situation, sternly refusing to listen to all well-meant suggestions, until at last the doctor and Marple came hurrying across the field. The former hastily examined the injured man and then looked up at Nasmyth.
“Upper arm gone, close to the shoulder joint,” he announced. “Collar-bone too. I’ll give him some brandy. Shout to those fellows with the stretcher.”
He was busy for some time, and in the meanwhile Batley picked up the flask he had laid down and handed it to Gladwyne.
“Take a good drink and pull yourself together,” he said quietly.
At length Lisle was gently lifted on to the stretcher, and as they carried him away the report of a gun ran out. The onlookers dispersed and Gladwyne was walking home alone when Millicent overtook him. She was puzzled by his limp appearance and the expression of his haggard face. It was only natural that he should keenly feel his responsibility for the accident, but this did not quite seem to account for the man’s condition. He looked absolutely unnerved, like one who had barely escaped from some appalling catastrophe.
“You shouldn’t take it quite so much to heart,” she comforted him. “I don’t think Irvine felt any great uneasiness; and nobody could blame you.”
“You’re the only one who has said so,” he answered moodily.
“They couldn’t; you stole away. Of course, it’s a great pity—I’m distressed—but you must try to be sensible. These accidents happen.”
He walked on a while in silence, and then with an effort looked around at her.
“Millicent,” he said, “you’re wonderfully generous—the sight of anybody in trouble stirs you—but I don’t feel able to bear your sympathy.”
“Then I’ll have to offer it to Lisle,” she smiled. “But I’ll walk with you to the lodge; and then you had better go in and keep quiet until you get back your nerve.”
When she left Gladwyne she went on to Nasmyth’s, where she waited until the doctor on leaving told her that he was perfectly satisfied with the prospect for the Canadian’s recovery. It would, he said, be merely a question of lying still for a considerable time. Millicent was conscious of a relief which puzzled her by its intensity as she heard the news, but she asked Nasmyth to send somebody to inform Gladwyne.
“I think he’s desperately anxious and feeling the thing very badly,” she concluded.
“Then he could have come over to inquire, as you have done,” Nasmyth answered. “In my opinion, he deserves to be uncomfortable.”
“Why are you so hard on him?”
The man’s face grew grim.
“I’ve had to help Irvine with Lisle, for one thing. We were satisfied that his injuries were not caused by the bay rolling on him; he seems to have escaped from that with a few bad bruises. The worst of the accident might have been avoided if Clarence had had nerve enough.”
“But you couldn’t blame him very greatly for losing his head—he had no warning, scarcely a moment to think. It was so sudden.”
“The result’s the same,” retorted Nasmyth. “Lisle has to pay. But to please you I’ll send Clarence word that Irvine’s not anxious about him.”