"I do," said Glynn, earnestly.
"Pray go on," urged Lady Gethin.
"Deering lived away at one of the stations in the mountains, an awful wild place, with a lot of Indians and half-breeds round him; the railway was pushed so far, and the next payments were to be made there. So men were busy rigging up a bar and a gaming saloon, with logs and what not, when I rode in. Lord! what a beautiful place it was! Just a strip of heaven peopled by fiends! I got in there a little after sundown and found Deering kicking up no end of a row, wanting to prevent the saloon being finished and opened. I spoke to him, as I hope—no! I don't hope anything,—but as I live, full of the best intentions. I asked him to come away out into the open with me a bit. There I tried to speak friendly to him, but it was no use. He turned on me and abused me like a pick-pocket, for one of a gang of sharpers. He stung me to the quick; I lost all control of myself, and pulling out my revolver, I challenged him to fight there on the spot. He said something about ridding the place of a pest. Just then a boy—oh, of about nineteen or twenty, a factotum of Jeafferson's—came up. We both asked him to see fair play. O God! it was soon over! He fell at my first fire. I had winged my man before, and didn't mind much. But somehow I felt sorry for him. Vexed with myself, I threw away my revolver, and knelt down beside him, calling to the boy to help; but a confused sound of shouting and a loud hum came from the village or camp, and the boy said, 'They are up to mischief there,' and away he ran. Deering seemed to hear it; he opened his eyes and muttered something—I could only make out the word 'destroy.' Then he caught my hand, and with a despairing, imploring look in his eyes,—I see it still,—groaned, 'My child—save her.' And holding his hand, I swore I'd take care of her so long as I had breath. He pointed to a ring on his little finger, and muttered, 'Take'; then he said, 'My child,' turned sharp, as if in pain, and was gone. I took the ring (I'll show it to you presently), then I made away to his shanty. The devils of miners, and navvies, and half-breeds had risen to revenge themselves, and were wrecking his place. One fellow called out that there was a pile of money in the house, that Deering had got down in the town yesterday. The lot of them were raging like furies and had just set fire to the hut, when I got up. There wasn't a sign of the child. I hunted through the place. The men all thinking I was dead against Deering, didn't interfere with me. At last, crouching in a corner behind a door, quite stupefied with fear, I found a little golden-haired darling, of three or four years old—all alone."
"Had she no nurse—or did the nurse forsake her?" asked Lady Gethin, as he paused. "How did he come to keep her in such a place?"
"That I cannot answer. I think Deering must have been desperately poor, or he would not have taken service with Jeafferson. Anyhow I took the child, who screamed at me in an agony of terror. I told her I would take her to her father. I wrapped a cloak that hung on the wall round her, and got out. She was quite still—so still that I feared she was dead. So I managed to saddle Deering's horse, which was fresh; and as night was falling I rode away, while those mad devils where shouting and dancing round the burning wreck." He stopped, quite exhausted.
"You had better not go on now," said Glynn. "I begin to understand your position. Lady Gethin will, I am sure, return to——"
"I must go on," interrupted Lambert. "I can't rest till I have finished; and there's a lot more to tell."
"He had better get through it," said Lady Gethin.
"When I got down to Lima, I went to an out-of-the-way eating-house, where I sometimes put up when funds were low. The woman that kept it was a good soul when sober. I got her to take care of the child for a day and a night. She didn't ask questions. Then I thought what to do, for I was at the end of my cash. It struck me as a grand 'ploy,' if I could get the price of poor Deering's life out of the long fellow at the hotel, and build up a fortune for the child. So I went to him, and told him what had happened, and a good deal more—faith! I said I found the child suffocated with the smoke, and just squeezed my hand round its throat to make sure. He took it all quite easy. 'You are a handy scoundrel,' he said; and I answered, 'You are an unhandy one. Now, are you going to keep your word, and give me over what you wouldn't give poor Deering?'
"'What he wouldn't take,' says he. 'How do I know you are speaking truth?'