CHAPTER XI—THURSDAY NIGHT—VAN DEELEN'S BRIDGE
THE stars were shining down on the stream that passed sluggishly under Van Deelen's bridge, but they found no answering twinkle there. A gloomy stream it was, winding a sort of way through the little farm, coming from—somewhere, off in the pines; going to—somewhere, off in the pines; brown by day, black by night; the only silent thing in the breathing, crackling forest. It seemed to come from the north, gliding out from under the green-black canopy with a little stumble of white foam, as if ashamed in the light of the clearing. Then, sullen as ever, it settled back, slipped under the bridge—where the road from Lindquist's swung sharply down—with never a swirl, and gave itself up to the pines and hemlocks that bent over. Behind the barn-yard it circled westward, and paralleled the road for a few hundred yards, as if it, too, were bound for Hewittson; but changed its mind, turned sharply south, and was gone. Whither? The muskrats and minks perhaps could tell.
The clearing, in spite of the house and barn, was desolate; the pines were pressing irresistibly in on every side to claim the land Dirck van Deelen had stolen from them. The road, after crossing the bridge, lost itself in the confused tracks between house and barn, only to reappear on the farther side and plunge again into the forest,—a weary, yellow road, telling of miles of stump land as well as of the fresher forest.
It was late, very late, but there was a light in the house. A woman, in man's clothing, lay on the parlor sofa, too tired to rest. She was white; her breath came hard; her eyes were too bright. McGlory stood over her with a pair of scissors in his hand. He had cut off her long hair, and now it lay curling on the floor.
“Here, you,”—he was speaking to Van Deelen,—“get a broom and take that up. Be quick about it. What are you gawking at?”
Van Deelen, slow of movement and slower of thought, obeyed.
“Now,” said McGlory to the woman, “come along!” And he took her arm.
“Oh, no, Joe! I can't go! It will kill me!”
“Cut that—get up!”
Roche, who had been eating in the next room, came in, looked at them, and then hurried out, where the leader of the party awaited him.
“Aren't they 'most ready?”
“Yes—coming right along—if it don't kill her.”
But when they heard a step and turned, only the woman appeared in the doorway.
“Where's Joe, Estelle?”
“He—he's coming.” She staggered. Roche caught her, helped her down the steps, and with his arm about her waist led her out to the road. “He says to go along, and he 'll catch us.” She was plucky, or frightened, for she staggered along biting her lip.
This was what McGlory had said to Van Deelen after he had got her to the door: “Give me some paper and a pen—quick!”
They were promptly placed on the diningroom table; and he scrawled off a few lines, folded the paper, and looked up with a scowl. The strain of the week had not improved his expression. “Give me an envelope; I want you to mail this for me.”
“I haven't got one.”
“The———you haven't!”
“Honest—that's the truth. I'd have to go to Hewittson, anyway. It 'll be quicker for you to take—”
“Oh, shut up. I'm sick o' your voice. Here, take this.” He thrust the letter into his pocket and counted out twenty-five dollars in bills. “This is for you. And mind, nothing said. You don't know us—never seen four men coming through here in the night. Don't remember ever having seen four men come through. Understand?”
Van Deelen drew back a step, and nodded. “No mistake about this now. If you say a word, the world ain't big enough to hide you.” His hand was straying toward a significant pocket. “None of your hemmings and haw-ings—if you're in a hurry to get to heaven, just give us away. Understand?”
Another nod,—all the farmer was capable of; and McGlory was gone with a bound, out the door, on toward the little group at the farther side of the clearing.
They heard his step and his loud breathing. “What's this?” He had just made out Roche's arm across Estelle's back. “What's this?” He tore the arm away, whirled Roche around, and slapped his face so hard that he——
“By———!” gasped Roche. “By———!”
They glared at each other; Estelle sobbed. “Try that again, Joe McGlory! Just try it! Hit me again! Why, you—why, I 'll break your neck!”
“You will?”
“Yes, I will. Just hit me again!”
McGlory looked him over, decided to accept the invitation, and plunged forward. Roche, without a moment's hesitation, turned and bolted up the road,—ran as if the fiends were on his heels. McGlory finally stopped, laughed viciously, and hurled a curse after him.
The third man let them go; he merely took Estelle's arm and helped her along, soothing her a little, trying to calm the outburst of hysteria that had been threatening for twenty-four hours. McGlory waited for them in the shadow of the woods; and a little farther on Roche fell in behind, muttering softly, and keeping well away from McGlory.
Estelle could hardly stagger along. McGlory passed his arm through hers and dragged her forward. Now she was silent, now she stifled a sob, now she begged piteously to be left behind. “Let me go back to Van Deelen's, Joe—please! I can't go on.”
“I thought you was such a walker.”
“Oh, but—not so far as this. Let me go back there.”
“Wouldn't that be smart, now! To leave you where you could blab the whole thing!” She tried to walk a few steps farther; then she broke away, stumbled to the roadside, and, sinking to the ground, covered her face with her hands.
Roche stopped short and stared at her. The other spoke up: “This won't do, Joe. There's no use killing her. We 'll drop back in the woods and take a rest. We 'll all be better for it.”
McGlory sullenly consented. He dragged Estelle off through the undergrowth to the clearer ground under the trees, and they all stretched out. In five minutes Roche was the only one awake of the three men. Without raising his head he slipped over close to Estelle and rested his hand on her shoulder. She rolled over with a start. “S-sh! Not so loud, Estelle.”
“Oh, it's you?”
“Yes. You didn't think I'd forgot, did you, Estelle?”
“I—I don't understand.”
“Don't you think it's time to quit 'em? What's the use? I guess you know him now for what he is.”
“Yes, he's mean to me. But—”
“Don't you see—we can skip out and leave 'em here, and go back near the house and hide. He wouldn't dast come back after us. The boss wouldn't never let him.”
“Do you think we could? I'm afraid. He wouldn't stop at anything.”
“You just leave it to me. I can take care o' him:”
“I—I'm afraid. He's so determined. And I told him I'd go with him.”
“What was he a-doin' back there in the house after he sent you out?”
“I don't know.”
“Not so loud—whisper. Didn't you hear him say anything?”
“He asked for a pen and paper.”
“Must 'a' wrote a letter. There it is—look there—sticking out of his pocket. Wait a minute.”
“Don't you try to take it. He 'll shoot you.”
“Oh, damn him! I ain't afraid of two Joe McGlorys. Lemme go.” He crept over, drew out the letter skilfully, and returned. “I don't like to strike a match here—”
“Oh, no, no—don't!”
“Can you crawl off a little ways—behind them bushes?”
“I guess so; I 'll try.” He helped her. “S-sh—careful.”
Behind the bushes they felt safer. Roche lighted a match and held up the paper. This is what they read:—
“Dear Madge: There's a little misunderstanding up this way and I can't get back for a little while I want some money you put the bills in a envelope to generel dilivry South Bend Indiana. Don't you try to come to me because it ain't a very pleasent situation I 'll tell you later where to come don't forget the money and don't you put my name on it call me Joe Murphy. Burn this soon as you read it.