CHAPTER XXIII
Word had been sent to the sheriff of Kalmak of Jack Reeves' capture at Malamute, and he at once set forth to bring his prisoner back. He arrived hardly an hour in advance of Jim Maxwell. He took formal possession of the accused, and forthwith made it clear that he was not minded to run any risk of a second escape.
"That young feller ain't in no way safe in a jail," he explained to his brother official. "There's no tellin' what didoes he'd be up to—he's that ornery. I'll jest take him along with me to the saloon over night, an' I'll set up with him, an' nuss him like he was a baby."
Despite all arguments to the contrary, the sheriff had his way, and started to the saloon-hotel, where the distracted bride had already established herself. The officer and his captive were hardly a rod from the door, when the shots rang out, and, almost in the same second, the lights were extinguished. The sheriff uttered an excited exclamation, and hurried forward with his prisoner. They were just within the door, when the bartender, who had so discreetly shot out the lights, produced new chimneys and leisurely set the oil lamps going again.
As his eyes fell on the form stretched out upon the floor near the piano, Jack Reeves uttered a cry of alarm, and sprang forward. Kneeling, he caught Jim Maxwell's hand in his. He could not speak in the first shock of emotion, for he believed that the man was dead, who lay there so still and white, with closed eyes, and the blood trickling from a wound in his head.
Nell, in an adjoining room, had been shaken with fear at the noise of firing. But, in the stillness that followed, she heard a cry of distress in her husband's voice. She forgot fear then, and rushed into the saloon and to his side. The sight of her father there struck her dumb and motionless with horror. Thus it came about that she and her husband were passive spectators of the great heart-drama that now developed.
There was another in the group. It was Lou. Before the shots were fired, she had sprung to her feet, and forward, as if to forbid the deadly work. She had been too late. But she had plunged on, heedless of the weapons, reckless of her own life. The instinct of love had guided her through the sudden blackness. So, when the lights burned again, she was there on her knees, crooning heart-broken words to the ears that did not hear. She had no thought whatsoever of that other form which lay stark, crumpled on the floor by the table she had left. She supported Jim in her arms, with a passion of tenderness and mourning; for she, too, believed him dead, and it seemed to her that all the misery that had gone before were as nothing to this anguish over finding him, only to lose him forever. Then, of a sudden, Lou gave a gasp of pure rapture—for Jim Maxwell had opened his eyes, and lay staring placidly at the smoke-begrimed ceiling. She bent and kissed the bearded face, then raised a countenance that was transfigured. It was years younger in that illumination of joy.
JIM MAXWELL HAD OPENED HIS EYES AND LAY STARING PLACIDLY.
Nell, watching in startled wonder, recognized the face in the locket. She knew this woman to be her mother. She could understand nothing else. But there on the floor at her father's side was the mother whom she had never known. The mystery appalled her. Yet, a tremulous happiness stirred in her heart over this meeting, so unexpected, so inexplicable, so fraught with amazing possibilities.