“J.”
Neither saw the insolent brutality of this letter; their thoughts were elsewhere. Estelle gazed, thunderstruck. Roche held the match until it burned his finger. As he dropped it and the paper to the ground, and the dark closed in again, one of the sleepers tossed and mumbled. Estelle caught his arm.
“He told me it wasn't so,” she whispered. “He told me it wasn't so.”
“Oh, he's just a common, everyday liar. Madge is his wife. Didn't I tell you so the first day I come to Spencer's?”
“I don't know. What can we do? Do you think we could get away?”
“Sure thing.”
“But how?”
“We 'll sneak back a ways and off to one side in the woods. He can't come back and search the whole county for us. Don't you see?”
“But wouldn't they catch us?” She glanced toward the east, whence pursuit might come.
“Not a bit of it. Just trust me. Come on—now's the time. Move cautious till we get on the road.”
He helped her up, and they stole away. For a few moments she was buoyed up by this new excitement, but soon fell back into the old weariness. She clung to Roche until he was almost carrying her. “Keep a-going,” he whispered. “I 'll skip back to the house and pick up something to eat, and then we 'll take to the woods. They can't never catch me, I tell you. I 'll fool 'em.”
They struggled along. Halfway back to the farm-house Estelle completely lost heart. “I can't do it!” she moaned. “Stop—let me sit down.”
“Not here, Estelle! Not in the road!”
“Let me down, I tell you!”
“But he may be along any minute.”
“I don't care. Let me down.”
“Look here, Estelle, can't you see how it is? If he gets you, he 'll half kill you. And you 'll have to walk farther with him than you would with me.”
She was beyond reason. She clung around his neck, holding herself up even while she begged to be let down. Her condition and the terrible loneliness of the night were unnerving Roche. “Come along,” he said angrily, “or I 'll make you come!”
“Don't hurt me!”
“By———! Don't you say another word!”
He jerked her roughly forward, while his wild eyes sought the road behind.
“You said you'd be good to me!”
“Well, ain't I good to you? Ain't I saving your life, and you haven't got the sense to see it?”
“O dear! Don't—”
“Keep still, now—come on—Don't you say any more.”
Soon they reached the clearing, and, pausing for breath in the shadows, they looked about. The night was far advanced, but a light showed in an upper window of the house. Over in the barn a horse was thrashing about his stall; the noise was deafening after the stillness. Roche released Estelle, and to his horror she sank to the ground in a faint. He spoke to her—she did not hear. He bent over and shook her, felt her wrist and her forehead. Then he straightened up and looked back along the road. His breath came fast and hard; the loneliness was closing in on his soul. He shivered, though the air was not cold, then stepped back, mopped the sudden sweat from his face, looked down again at the woman,—even stirred her with his foot,—then turned and ran. Not down the road, for the lowbrowed McGlory lay sleeping there; not to the south, for the stream barred the way; but skirting the clearing to the northern edge and then plunging into the woods, endlong and overthwart, with a thousand ugly fancies hounding him, with a traitor in his bosom that opened the door for the mad thoughts freely to enter and gnaw there. He tripped on a log, pitched headlong and rolled over, scrambled up with bleeding hands, and ran on in an ecstasy of fear. And the vast black forest shut in behind him and swallowed him.
When Estelle's eyes opened, she returned from peace to wretchedness. Yes, the trees and the night and the swollen feet were real. She crawled toward the farm-house; something within her warned her not to try to rise. She lived months in dragging that hundred yards; the one goal of life was the low stoop and the door under the light. When she reached it,—her clothes torn, the dust ground into her face and hands,—she fainted again, and clung to the steps.
Dirck van Deelen was sitting at the window with a shot-gun across his knees. He had watched the—he could not see what it was—crawling to his door. Now he looked out and saw it lying there. Whatever, whoever it was, this would not do; so he opened the door and carried her up to the room where his frightened wife was trying to sleep.
“We 'll have to take her in, Saskia.”
“What is the matter? Is she hurt?”
“I don't know. I found her on the stoop. Help me examine her.”
But they found no mark of bullet, knife, or blunt instrument. And while the Dutch woman worked over her, the man went for water. At last she was brought to a sort of consciousness, and, leaving his wife to care for her, Van Deelen returned to his window and his gun.
Roche and Estelle had not been gone an hour when McGlory, haunted by the fear of pursuit, awoke. He stretched himself, sat up, and looked over to the spot where Estelle had been lying when he fell asleep. At first he thought he saw her, a darker shadow, but on rising and walking over he found no sign of her. He looked about, and called. Roche, too, was not in sight. He hesitated, not yet fully awake, then turned back and woke his companion.
“Well, what's the matter?”
“They're gone.”
“Who's gone?”
“Roche and Estelle.”
“How do you know? Have you looked around?”
“Come over here.”
They prowled behind the trees, parted the bushes here and there, called as loud as they dared, lighted matches, and examined the ground. Finally McGlory broke out with an oath: “The little fool! So she thinks she can serve me this way, eh?”
“You think they've skipped out?”
“Think? Do I think it? What do I want to think for? Didn't I see him a-hugging her?”
“He was just helping her then.”
“Oh, just helping her, was he?”
“Well, what you going to do about it?”
“What'm I going to do?” McGlory was lashing his anger. His voice swelled until he was roaring out the words: “What'm I going to do? I'm going to run that Pete Roche down if I have to go to hell for him! I'm going to—-”
“Drop your voice, Joe. I can hear you. How're you going to find him?”
“Who you telling to shut up?”
“Hold on, now. None o' that talk to me!”
“Oh, you think you can boss me, do you?”
“Think? I know it. Don't waste your breath trying to bluff me. I asked you how you're going to find him.”
“How'm I going to—how'm I—why, I 'll break his head—I 'll—”
“Don't work yourself up. It won't help you any.”
“You think you can talk like that to me? If you ain't careful, I 'll break your head. I 'll—”
“How are you going to find him?”
“You say another word, and I 'll knock your teeth down your throat.”
“I've got my hand in my pocket, Joe, and I've got a loaded gun in my hand, and if you threaten me again, I 'll blow a hole through you. I've half a mind to do it anyway. A fool like you has no business getting into a scrape if he can't keep his head. I'd a heap rather kill you than get caught through your fool noise. The sooner you understand me, the better for you. Now tell me how you're going to find out which way to take.”
“How—” McGlory was not a coward, but he could not face down the seasoned courage of the man before him. “Why—that's a cinch. Ain't he headed the same way we are?”
“Now, Joe, hold on. Don't be a bigger fool than you can help. You don't really think he'd take her right along over this road, do you?”
“Why—dam' it!”
“It's no good talking to you if you can't quiet down. You want to kill Roche, and you're right. I want him killed, too. The longer he's alive, the more danger for us. But if you go at him this way, he may kill you.”
“Him! Kill me! Why—”
“I mean it. He's desperate, too. You can't be too sure that he 'll always run like he did to-night. He's got Estelle to look out for, too. Now, it's plain that he hasn't gone down the road, because, look here,—she isn't good for more than a mile an hour, and he'd have sense enough to know we'd catch him.”
“Where is he gone, then?”
“Not very far—we know that much. Likely they're back here in the woods. Or maybe they went back to Van Deelen's.”
“They'd never go there.”
“They might have to. I guess you don't know much about women, Joe.”
“I reckon I know more 'n's good for me.”
“Then you ought to see she's pretty near done for.”
“Estelle? She's bluffing.”
“No, she isn't. Not a bit of it. When a woman's worked up and tired out at the same time, something's likely to break. You were a fool to bring her, anyhow. I don't know why I let you.”
“You! You let me!”
“You said so much about her being strong. Why, she's a child.”
“Look here, you've said some things tonight that I don't like.”
“Oh, have I? But this isn't getting us along any. The first thing is to look around here a little more. There are any number of ways they might have taken without going down the road.”
Even McGlory could see the reason in this suggestion. They lighted matches and prowled about, peering behind trees and bushes, looking for broken or bent twigs, for any indication of the passage of a human being. But the heavy growth of trees shut out what light there was overhead, and neither was skilful enough to direct his search well.
“Find anything, Joe?”
“Not a thing. When it comes to sneaking off, Roche has head enough. It's the only thing he's good for.”
“The more I think of it, Joe, the more I believe they've gone to the house.”
“You're off there.”
“No, I'm not. Listen a minute. Supposing they started off in the woods and tried to dodge the house. Pretty soon Estelle gives out—surer than New Year's. And it would be pretty soon, too, because the excitement wouldn't keep her up long. Now what is Roche going to do? He isn't the man to face out a bad situation like that—never in this world. He'd do one of two things—he would skip out and leave her, or he would get her to the house. If he skipped, there isn't one chance in a thousand of our finding either of them. If he took her to the house, we can get one or both. We can't stay around here much longer. We'd better try the house, and if they aren't there, or anywhere about the place, we 'll go on toward Hewittson.”
“You 'll have to go without me, then.”
“You think so?”
“I don't leave this place till I see Roche curled up stiff.” This was said as quietly as McGlory could say anything, but it was convincing. The other looked keenly at him.
Suddenly McGlory, feeling in his pockets, muttered a curse and started back toward the spot where they had slept.
“What's up? Lost something?”
“None of your business!” McGlory was searching the ground feverishly.
“If you told me what it was, maybe I could help you.”
No answer. McGlory's temper was rising again. Finding nothing where he had lain, he began thrashing about the bushes.
“Unless it's something important, Joe, you're wasting a lot of time.”
“Well, say—you—you ain't seen a paper—or anything, have you?”
“A letter?”
“Not exactly. It wasn't in an envelope.”
“Oh, you mean this, maybe.” With a lighted match in one hand, he drew a folded paper from his pocket and started to open it. McGlory sprang forward, recognized it, and tried to snatch it away.
“It ain't necessary to read that. It's private business.”
“I have read it.”
“You have read it! You've been prying into my affairs, have you?”
“Not at all. I found this on the ground and read it. You must have written it back there when you kept us waiting. You had no business to do it. I never saw such a fool as you are.” As he spoke, he touched the match to the paper.
“Here, quit that! Don't you burn that letter!”
“Now, Joe, you didn't think for a minute I'd let you send this, did you?”
“What right you got—”
“The right of self-preservation. We can't do any letter writing yet awhile. I 'll help you out with money, but I won't let you do this sort of thing. Let's start back.” He led the way to the road, McGlory sullenly following; and side by side they stepped out for the farmhouse. “Beastly sort of a thing to do, Joe,—ask Madge for money to help you run off with this woman.”
“Well, I'd like to know—Ain't she had enough from me—”
“I don't doubt she has stood a good deal from you. What sort of a woman is she, Joe?”
“Madge? Oh, she's all right.”
“Pretty fond of you, isn't she?”
“I guess there ain't much doubt about that.”
“I've noticed her a little.”
“Oh, you have, have you?”
“Certainly. What else can you expect, skylarking around this way?”
“That's all right. A man's got to have his fling. But when it comes to—”
“Madge is a fine-looking woman. I don't believe you know how pretty she is, Joe. If you got her decent clothes, and took her out to the theatre now and then, so she could keep her spirits up, she would be hard to beat.”
This was a new idea to McGlory. But what he said was, “Seems to me you've done a lot of thinking about my wife.”
“It's your own fault. But look here, do you think such an awful lot of Estelle?”
“Oh, yes. I've had some fun with her. Of course, she ain't the woman that Madge is.”
“I was wondering a little—” McGlory's companion paused.
“What was you wondering?”
“What you're going to do with Estelle when you find her.”
“Do with her? Why—why—”
“You didn't think she'd come right back to you—things the same as they was before—did you?”
“Why—”
“Did she know you had a wife?”
“Well, no,—she didn't know that.”
“But she does now. She has read the letter.”
McGlory had not thought of this.
“Estelle isn't altogether a fool, you know. Not so bad as Roche—or you. If I were you, I'd stick to Madge. If you don't, some better fellow will.”
“Who do you mean now, for instance?”
“Never mind who I mean. I don't think you've seen yet how mussy this business is. Here Estelle is, like enough, on our hands. Now we can't leave her behind. She wouldn't come along with you; and even if she would, she isn't strong enough. If we did leave her here, it simply means that she would be blabbing out the whole story to the first goodlooking chap that asked her a few questions.”
“But don't you see? I can't let a man insult me like Roche done.”
“No, you can't. But if you could fix things so Roche nor nobody could get her, and still you'd be free to go back to Madge, you wouldn't object, would you?”
“Why, no—sure not. How do you mean?”
“If you find her there at the house, or in the barn, or anywhere around, you'd better just—here, your knife ain't much good. Take mine.” He opened his clasp knife—the blade was five inches long—and held it out.
McGlory took it, stood still in his tracks looking at it, and then raised his eyes to the face of his companion.
“Well—have you got the nerve?”
“Have I got the nerve!” McGlory laughed out loud, and thrust the open knife into his belt, at the side, under his coat.
“I wouldn't use a gun unless I had to.” He paused, laid his hand on McGlory's arm, and dropped his voice. “Look there! There's a light in the window.”
McGlory swelled with rage. “I 'll put a stop to this!”
“Hold on a minute, Joe. I 'll slip around the bank of the creek here, the other side of the barn, so I can watch the road and the barn both.” He ran silently away, dodging among the trees, and in a moment had disappeared. While McGlory was standing there, breathing hard and twitching impatiently, he passed behind the barn-yard, keeping always among the trees of the bank, and on to the bridge. Here he looked carefully around, then stooped under the beams of the bridge flooring and got into a scow that lay there.
McGlory stood still as long as he could, then, throwing, the reins to his temper, he strode toward the house.