CHAPTER XXIV
PREPARING FOR THE FINALE
"I'm getting scared, Gordon. Real truth, I am."
Hazel was in the saddle. Gordon had just mounted Sunset. It was the close of a long, arduous, triumphant day for Gordon, and he was feeling very happy, though mentally weary. The horses moved off before he made any reply. He had just dismissed Peter McSwain and Mike Callahan, with whom he had been in close consultation, and Hazel's father was still within the office to see to its closing for the night and the departure of the clerical staff.
The way lay towards the ranch, and the trail the horses were taking skirted the new township, now no longer a waste of untrodden grass, but a busy camp with a strongly flowing human tide.
Hazel had come to meet him at her lover's urgent request, and she was glad enough to get away from the old ranch house, where the charge of her captive there was seriously beginning to trouble her. Now she had at last voiced something of those feelings which the rapid passing of the weeks had steadily inspired. She knew that her peace of mind demanded some change from this worrying situation. In her loyalty she had struggled to perform her share in the conspiracy. She knew, too, that she had succeeded fairly well, and that her efforts were all appreciated to their full. She had contrived that her lover's father should never know a moment's discomfort. That his life in captivity should be made as easy and pleasant as possible. There were no signs that it had been otherwise, but now, seven weeks had elapsed since his arrival, and what had just seemed a scandalous joke to her originally, had become a sort of painful nightmare which she was longing to throw off. The moment she and Gordon were actually alone, she had been impelled to break the silence which was steadily undermining her nerve.
Gordon's horse was close abreast of the brown mare, and its rider smiled down from his great height upon the pretty tailored figure of the girl who had become all the world to him.
"I know," he said sympathetically. "It's sort of that way with me, too. I don't just mean I'm scared. There's nothing for me to be scared about. It's – sort of conscience with me. As for your father – say" – his smile broadened – "he's taken to his eye-patch with everybody – me, too. I guess that means he's worried no end."
"What – what are you going to do – then?"
Hazel eagerly watched that big, open, ingenuous face with its widely smiling blue eyes. And, watching it, she discerned added signs of a growing humor. Finally he laughed outright.
"Say, we're just the limit for a bunch of conspirators. Yes – the limit. You're the only one of us who's had the moral courage to put your feelings into words. We're all scared. We've all been scared these weeks. Your father's scared, so he can't look at any man with two eyes. Peter's all of a shiver every time he comes within hailing distance of the sheriff. As for Mike – well, Mike's sold all his holdings, and is bursting to sell his livery business, all but one team, so he'll have the means of skipping the border at a minute's notice. Say, have you figured out how we stand? How I stand? Well, from a point of law I guess I'm a good candidate for ten years' penitentiary. I've kidnapped two men; one's a dirty dog, anyway, and the other's one of the biggest millionaires in the country. I've fraudulently played up a railroad. I've started this boom on the biggest fraud ever practiced. I've – say, ten years! Why, I guess the tally of this adventure looks to me like twenty in the worst penitentiary to be found in the country. It – makes me perspire to think of it."
He was laughing in a perfectly reckless fashion, and, in spite of her very real fears, Hazel perforce found herself joining in.
"It's desperate, Gordon," she cried. "And as for you, who worked it all out, and led it, you – you are the dearest blackguard ever breathed." Then quite suddenly her eyes sobered, and her apprehension returned with a rush. "But how long is – it to last? I – I can't go on much longer, and your father's getting restive and suspicious."
Gordon reached down and patted Sunset's crested neck.
"It's finished now. That's why I asked you to come and meet me. I've sold."
"You've sold?"
In a moment the last shadow of fear had passed out of the girl's pretty eyes. Now she was agog with excited admiration.
"Yes." The man nodded. "It had to be done carefully. I've been selling quietly for days and now it's finished. I didn't get the prices I hoped quite, but that was because I felt I dared not wait longer to clear up the general mess I'd made. Your father helped me, and I now sit here with a roll of precisely one hundred and five thousand dollars, and a definite promise to your father to fix things with the great James Carbhoy so no trouble is coming to any one – not even Slosson. I don't know. Now it's all over I'm sort of sorry. You know this sort of thing – the excitement of beating folks – is a great play. I want to be at it all the time."
"You've got to meet your father yet," said the girl warningly.
"The old dad? Why, yes, I s'pose I have." Gordon chuckled. "Say, I don't wonder folks taking to crooked ways. They just set your blood tingling like – like a glass of champagne on an empty stomach. Just look out there." He pointed at the new township. "Say, isn't it wonderful? All in a few weeks. And all the result of one man's crookedness."
"And your father has been a – prisoner – the whole time. Over seven weeks," rebuked the girl.
"But it's only three weeks since I met you that night on the trail, Hazel. No other time concerns me. Not even the dear old dad's captivity. That was the beginning of all things that matter for me."
"You seem to date everything around that – ridiculous episode," said Hazel slyly. "I – "
"I do."
"Don't interrupt me, sir. I was going to assure you that your proper spirit should be one of contrition for what you have made your father endure."
"It is."
"You said you didn't care."
"I don't."
"Then – "
Gordon burst out into a happy laugh.
"Don't you see, dear? I just don't care for, or think about anything else in the world. You – you – you are just mine, so what's the use of talking of the old dad."
"Really? True? True?" The girl's tender eyes were melting as they gazed up into her lover's. "More to you than all – this?" She indicated the busy life on the new township. The miracle, as she regarded it, which he had worked. The man smiled, his eyes full of a great, tender love. "I'm glad," the girl sighed. "It isn't always so with men – where the making of money is concerned, is it?" She breathed a great contentment and happiness. "Yes, I'm – so glad. It's the same with me, but – I want all this to go on right – because of you. I want your success. I want your success as a man, and – with your father. I'm very jealous for those things now. You see, you belong to me, don't you?" She turned and gazed away across the plain. "Oh, it's good to see it all – to see all the busy work going on. Look there – and there," she pointed quickly in many directions. "Buildings going up. Temporary buildings. The substantial structures to come later. Then the road gangs at work. The carpenters at the sidewalks. The surveyors. The teams and wagons. Above all, that depot being built with all expedition by – your father." She laughed happily and clapped her hands. "It's all growing every day. A mushroom town. And you – you have made that money your great father dared you to make. Dared you – you, and you have made it out of him! Oh, dear! the humor of it is enough to make a cat laugh. Here you, by sheer audacity and roguery, have held up a railroad and coolly played the highwayman on your own father!"
Gordon shook his head.
"Call it grabbing opportunity. It was an opportunity which came my way through the trifling oversight of forgetting to return the private code book which the old dad had entrusted to my care. Say, I can never thank the dad enough for that half-hour talk in his office which sent me out into the wilderness. If he hadn't handed it to me, I should never have blundered into Snake's; and if I hadn't blundered into Snake's I shouldn't have found you. I guess my parent's just one of the few to whom a son owes anything. He gave me life, but didn't stop at that. He gave me you."
Hazel's eyes were smiling happily.
"And in return you lay violent hands on him, and incarcerate him while you do your best to rob him."
"It sounds pretty bad."
"If I didn't know you I'd say that gratitude fell out of your cradle and killed herself when the fairies got around at your birth. But you didn't ask me to ride all these miles in to – to say just all these nice things to me, Gordon? Besides, now you've completed your – graft, what about your poor long-suffering prisoners? How are you going to save us all from the consequences of your evil ways? Your father will hate me." The girl sighed in pretended despair. "He'll never consent to – to – "
"Our marriage? Say, if I'm a judge of things I'll have to stand by so he don't embrace you too often, himself."
They both laughed like the two happy children they were. There was no cloud that could mar the sun of their delight now. Hazel, for all her fears, had perfect faith in this great reckless creature. She had never been able to obscure the memory of his battle with Slosson on her behalf. Her faith was unbounded.
So they rode on, leaving the busy new world the man had created behind them, as they made their way on towards the ranch. They were leaving everything behind them, the shadows and sunlight of past strenuous days, which is the way of youth. They gazed ahead towards the future with every confidence, and lived in a perfect present which contained only their two selves.
It was not until they had nearly reached the ranch, and the wide pasture stocked with grazing cattle came into view, that the girl was able to pin her lover down to the urgent matters which lay ahead of him. Then she received from that simple creature the brief account of his intentions. For a moment she was staggered. Then, after a brief digestion of the details, she began to laugh. The rank absurdity and impudence of them took her fancy, and she found herself caught in the humor of it all, and ready again to carry out his lightest wish.
"It's still the same, you see," Gordon finished up. "I still want you, and your precious help, the same as I always shall. I just can't do a thing without you, and as long as you are with me, why, I don't guess failure's got a chance of getting its nose in front. I've got it all fixed, if you'll play your part. All I ask is, for the Lord's sake don't start in to laugh at the critical time. I want you scared to death till I appear, and then you'll just need to chase up an attack of hysterics or something, throw your heels around and yell blue murder, and finish up by grabbing me around the neck, and fainting dead away with happiness. The rest I'll see to. It's some situation for you, but don't worry when the limelight leaves you in the dark and finds its way to me. It's just the sort of thing you can find in any old dime novel. The heroines always act that way, and the hero, too. When you get back, start right in to think about every dime story you've ever read. Remember all the things the heroines ever did, and then do 'em all yourself. See? Guess that isn't as clear as it might be, but when you've filtered it through that bright little head of yours it'll be like spring water in a moss-grown mountain creek."
"Whatever will he say when he knows?" laughed the girl.
"Say? well, that's not an easy guess," retorted Gordon, with a responsive laugh. "But, anyway, it's dead sure he'll think a heap more. Say, there's just one thing more. When you come-to out of that joyous faint, you got to leave us together for half an hour. Maybe you'll have some sort of preparation to make, or something. Sort of stagger out of the room supported by me, and if Hip-Lee attempts to butt in during that half hour – kill him."
"You really want me to do – all this?" Hazel's laughing eyes were raised questioningly.
"Everything, but – the killing."
"The fainting – really?"
"Sure." The man's eyes opened wide. "It's the picture. It's the reality. It's the local color."
"Oh, dear!" laughed Hazel, as they rode up to the ranch house. "I suppose I've got to do it."
"You will?"
Gordon flung himself out of the saddle. Hazel laughingly held out her hand in assurance.
"My hand on it, Gordon, dear," she cried.
The man seized it in both of his. Then, regardless of what sharp eyes might be peeping in their direction, he reached up, and, catching her about the waist, drew her down towards him till her head was level with his, and kissed her rapturously.
"Say, you're the greatest little woman on earth, and – I love you to death."
Hazel hastily drew herself out of his strong arms, and, with flushed face, straightened herself up in the saddle.
"And you are the greatest and most ridiculous creature ever let loose to roam this world – and I – love you for it."
The man laughed. Hazel's laugh joined in.
"Then – to-night?"
Hazel nodded.
"Good-by, dear – till to-night."
CHAPTER XXV
THE RESCUE
It was nearly midnight. The house was quiet. It was so still as to suggest no life at all within its simple, hospitable walls. It was in darkness, too, at least from the outside, for all curtains had been drawn for the night, with as much care as though it were a dwelling facing upon some busy thoroughfare in a city.
But, late as the hour was, the occupants of the old ranch house were not in bed. Hazel was awake, and sitting expectantly waiting in her bedroom, while somewhere within the purlieus of the kitchen Hip-Lee sat before an open window in the darkness, doubtless dreaming wakefully of some flea-ridden village up country in his homeland.
Upstairs, too, there were no signs of those slumbers which were so long overdue. Mr. James Carbhoy was seated in a comfortable rocker-chair adjacent to his dressing bureau, making an effort to become interested in the "History of the Conquest of Mexico" by the light of a well-trimmed oil lamp.
Not one word, however, of the pages he had read had conveyed interest to his preoccupied mind. It is doubtful if their meaning had been conveyed with any degree of continuity. He was irritable – irritable and a shade despondent.
He had been a captive in that valley for over seven weeks, and the imprisonment had begun to tell upon his stalwart hardihood. Seven long weeks of his own company, under easy and even pleasant circumstances. Even Hazel's company, shadowed as she was by the hated Hip-Lee, had been denied him. Had it been otherwise he might have felt less dispirited, for he liked and admired her; and, in spite of the fact that on that one memorable occasion when he had talked to her alone she had betrayed, what he now was firmly convinced was her own perfidious share in his kidnapping, he was human enough to disregard it, and only remember that she was an extremely pretty and wholly charming creature.
Yes, he knew now that he had been duped by this daughter of Mallinsbee, whom he knew owned Buffalo Point, and the whole thing had been a financial coup engineered by the "smarts" who belonged to his faction. He had solved the whole problem of his captivity in one revealing flash, the moment he had learned that this girl was the daughter of Mallinsbee. He had needed no other information. His keenly trained mind, with its wide understanding of the methods of financial interests, had driven straight to the heart of the matter. It was only the details which had been lacking. But even these had, in a measure, been filled in during his long hours of solitude and concentrated thought.
It was some of the obscured riddles which beset him now, as they had beset him for days. He could not account for his own confidential agent Slosson in the matter. Had he been bought over? It seemed impossible, since Slosson had advised the depot remaining at Snake's Fall, which was against Mallinsbee's interests. Had he been dealt with, too? It seemed more likely. But if this were so it made the daring or desperation of the whole coup suggest to his mind that he was dealing with men of unusual caliber, and consequently the situation possessed for him possibilities of a most unpleasant character.
Then, again, the fact that they were content to leave him unapproached in his captivity puzzled and disquieted him even more. What could they achieve with regard to the railroad without his authority? Nothing, positively nothing, he assured himself. Then what was the purpose to be served? He could not even guess, and the uncertainty of it all annoyed, irritated, worried him as the time went on.
His mind was full of all these concerns as he sat reading the romantic story of a people with impossible names, and so he lost all the beauties of one of the most perfect romances in the world. Finally, he set the book aside and prepared for bed and more hours of worried sleeplessness.
James Carbhoy was a typical New Yorker of the best type. In an unexaggerated way he was fastidious of his appearance and gave a careful regard to his bodily welfare. He was a man who luxuriated in cleanly habits of living, and his linen was a sort of passion with him. In his captivity he had been well cared for in this respect, and the only cause he had for complaint was the absence of his daily bath, which he seriously deplored.
Now he went to the old-fashioned washstand, prepared for his nightly ablutions, and laid himself out a clean suit of pyjamas. Then he divested himself of some of his upper garments. He had just started to remove his shirt, and one arm still remained in its sleeve as he proceeded to remove it coatwise, when all further action was quite suddenly suspended and he stood listening.
A sound had reached his quick ears, a curious sound which, at that hour of the night, was quite incomprehensible to him. After some breathless moments he abandoned the divestment of his clothing and swiftly restored his coat and vest. Then he extinguished his light and drew the curtains from before the window and opened it further. He sat down on his bedstead and, resting an elbow on the window-ledge, gazed out into the starlit, moonless night.
The sound which had held his attention was still evident. It was the sound of galloping horses in the distance, the soft plod of many hoofs over the rich grass of the valley. It was faint but distinct, and, to this man's inexperienced ears, suggested a large party of horses, probably horsemen, approaching his prison. With what object? he wondered, and, wondering, a feeling of excitement took possession of him.
Five minutes later his attention was distracted to another direction. Other sounds reached him, sounds which emanated from close about his prison itself. There was a movement going on just below him, and horses were moving about, apparently somewhere in front, where he knew the corrals to be. His excitement increased. In all his long weeks of imprisonment he had seen nothing of his captors and no signs of them. Now, apparently, they were below him, possibly keeping guard, and he wondered if they had been there every night, silent warders, whose presence had been all undiscovered by himself.
It was difficult, difficult to understand or to believe. Yet there was no doubt that men were gathered below; he could faintly hear their voices talking in hushed tones, and, equally, he could plainly hear the sound of their horses. He wished there was a moon to give him light enough to see what was going on.
But now the more distant sounds had grown louder, and as they grew the voices below spoke in less guarded tones. And from the manner of their speech the listening man knew that something serious was afoot.
A sudden resolve now formulated in his mind, and he left his place at the window and stood up. Then he moved swiftly to his door and opened it. The house seemed wrapped in silence, and he moved out to the head of the small flight of stairs leading to the floor below. He passed down and reached the door of the parlor.
Here he paused for a moment listening. All was still within, and he cautiously opened the door. The lamp was lit, and, standing beside the table, upon which the breakfast things were already set, he discovered the figure of the daughter of Mallinsbee with her back turned towards him. There was another figure present, too, and, to his intense chagrin, the millionaire beheld the yellow features of Hip-Lee near the curtained window.
However, he passed into the room, and Hazel turned confronting him. He gazed intently into her face, so serious and apparently troubled. The yellow lamplight imparted a curious hue, and the man fancied she looked seriously frightened.
"What's happening?" he demanded, and an unusual brusqueness was in his tone.
The girl's eyes surveyed his expression swiftly. She looked for something she feared to discover there, and the faintest sigh of relief escaped her as she realized that her fears were unfounded.
"That's what we – are trying to find out," she replied, her words accompanied by a glance of simple, half-fearful helplessness.
The man checked the reply which promptly rose to his lips. He remembered in time that this girl was the daughter of Mallinsbee and that she was exceedingly pretty. To the former he had no desire to give anything away, while to the latter he desired to display every courtesy.
"Our guards seem to be on the alert, and – somebody is approaching," said the millionaire, with a baffling smile. "If it weren't such a peaceful spot I'd say there was an atmosphere of – trouble."
"I – I sort of feel that way, too," said Hazel in a scared manner. She had gathered all her histrionic abilities together, and intended to use them. "I wonder what trouble it is?"
"Seems as if it was for the men who – took us," observed Carbhoy, with a dryness he could not quite disguise.
"You – mean our folks have located our whereabouts and – are going to rescue us?"
The millionaire smiled into the innocent, questioning eyes, which, he knew, concealed a humorous guile.
"I didn't just mean that," he said. "Maybe the trouble won't come yet." He glanced at the Chinaman standing sphinx-like at the curtains. "Must he remain?" he said, appealing directly to the girl.
Hazel felt the necessity for a bold move.
"Don't let him worry you. We can't help ourselves. I dare not risk offending him." She conjured a well-feigned shudder.
The millionaire laughed, and his laugh left the girl troubled and disconcerted. She would have liked to know what lay behind it. However, she kept to her attitude of fear. She must play her part to the end.
"Hark!" Carbhoy turned his head, listening intently. The girl followed his example. "Say – " The millionaire broke off, and his smile was replaced by a look of puzzled incredulity.
A shot had been fired. It was answered by a shot from somewhere close to the house. A look of doubt sprang into his gray eyes, and he darted to the window and unceremoniously brushed the hated Chinaman aside. He drew the curtain cautiously aside and peered out into the bight. Hazel beheld the change of expression and his quick, alert movements with satisfaction. She knew that the sounds of the shots had disconcerted him. He was more than impressed. He was convinced.
Then followed a portentous few moments. The two single shots were converted into something like a rattle of musketry. And intermingled with it came the hoarse, blasphemous cries of men, and the pounding of horses' hoofs racing hither and thither. The man at the window remained silent, his eyes glued to the crack of the divided curtains. He saw flashes of gunfire and the dim outline of moving figures. But the details of the scene were hidden from him by the darkness. Hazel, standing close behind him, rose to a great effort. One hand was laid abruptly upon his arm, and her nervous fingers clutched at his coat-sleeve as though she were seeking support. She caught a sharp breath.
"My God!" she cried in a tense whisper, while somehow her whole body shook.
Carbhoy gave one glance in her direction. His eyes and features had become tense with excitement. With his disengaged hand he patted the girl's with a reassuring gentleness, and finally it remained resting upon her clutching fingers.
"It's a scrap up all right," he said, with conviction that had no fear in it. "But it's their game, not – "
But his words were cut short by the great shouting that went up outside the house. Then came more firing, and the sharp plonk of bullets as they struck the building were plainly heard by the watchers. Hazel urged the man at the curtains —
"Come away. For goodness' sake come away. A stray shot! That window! You – "
She strove to drag the man away in a wild assumption of panic. But the millionaire intended to miss nothing of what was going on. The danger of his position did not occur to him. He firmly released himself from her clutch.
"You sit right down, my dear," he said kindly. "Just get right out of line with this window. I want to see this out. Say, hark! They're hitting it up good, eh?"
His eyes were alight with the excitement of battle, and Hazel, watching him, with fear carefully expressed in her eyes, could not help but admire the spirit of her lover's father, and more than ever regret the part she was forced to play.
She withdrew obediently as the sounds of battle waxed and the cries of the combatants made the still night hideous. The firing had become almost incessant, and the bullets seemed to hail upon the building from every direction. Then, too, the galloping horses added to the tumult, and it was pretty obvious the defenders were charging their opponents.
"There seems to be about two to one attacking," said the millionaire over his shoulder presently.
As he turned he surveyed with pity the strong look of terror the girl had contrived. He never once looked in the detested Chinaman's direction. In his heart he would not have regretted a chance shot disturbing those yellow, immobile features.
Then, turning back again quickly —
"I wonder!"
Now that the battle seemed to be at its height, and whilst awaiting its issue, he had time for conjecture. What was the meaning of it? And who were the attacking party? Was Slosson at its head? Had Harker sent up and was this a sheriff's posse? Both seemed possible. Yet neither, somehow, convinced him. Whoever were attacking, it was pretty certain in his mind that his release was the object.
But the moment passed, and he became absorbed once more in the battle itself. It seemed miraculous to his twentieth-century ideas that such a condition of things could prevail. Why, it was like the old romantic days of the hard drinking, hard swearing "bad men," and a sort of boyish delight in the excitement of it all swept through his veins. He had no time or thought for the part the now terror-stricken girl had played in his captivity. All he felt was a large-hearted, chivalrous regret for her present condition, of which no doubt remained in his mind.
A rush of horsemen charged up to the building. The watching man saw their outline distinctly. There seemed to him at least eight or ten. He saw another crowd, smaller numerically, charge at them, and then the revolvers spat out their vicious flashes of ruddy fire. The crowd dispersed and gathered again. Another fusillade. Then something seemed to happen. The whole crowd swept away in the darkness, and the sounds of shooting and the cries of men died away into the distance.
He waited awhile to assure himself that, so far as their position was concerned, the battle was at an end. Then he turned away from the window.
"They've cleaned 'em out," he said sharply. "I can't tell whose outed. They've ridden off at the gallop, firing and cursing as they went. Maybe our captors have driven the others off. Maybe it's the other way. We'll – hark!"
He was back at the window again in a second.
"They're coming back," he cried. "Say – "
Hazel was at his side in a moment.
"Are they the – ?"
"Can't say who," cried Carbhoy, peering intently. "A big bunch of 'em."
"Our men were only four," said Hazel quickly.
The millionaire was too intent to look round, and so he missed the girl's smile over at Hip-Lee. But the tone of her voice was unmistakable in its anxiety.
"There's eight or more here," he cried. "Say, they're dismounting! They're – "
"They're coming into the house!" cried Hazel in an extravagant panic. "They – "
At that instant a loud voice beyond the door of the room was heard shouting to the men outside —
"Keep a keen eye while I go through the house! Don't let a soul escape. If they've hurt one hair of her head somebody's going to pay, and pay dear."
The millionaire was standing stock still in the middle of the room. A curious look was gleaming in his steady eyes. Hazel, in the midst of her pretended panic, beheld it and interpreted it. She read in it a recognition of the speaker's voice, but she also read incredulity and amazement.
But at that instant the door burst open and a great figure rushed headlong into the room. As the girl beheld it she flung wide her arms and, with a cry, ran towards the intruder.
"Gordon! Gordon! At last, at last!" she cried. "Oh, I thought you would never find me! Never, never!"
Her final exclamations were lost in the bosom of his tweed coat, as she flung herself into his arms and burst into a flood of hysterical weeping and laughter.
"Hazel! My poor little Hazel! Say, I've been nearly crazy. I – "
Gordon broke off, the girl still lying in his arms. His eyes had lifted to the face of his father, and their keen, steady glance became instantly absorbed by the gray speculation behind the other's.
"Dad! You?"
The astonishment, the incredulity were perfect. They might well have deceived anybody.
"Sure," said the millionaire dryly. Then, "I don't guess they've hurt her any, though. Maybe you best hand her over to her father," he went on, pointing at the burly figure of Silas Mallinsbee, who, with his patch well down over his eye, had appeared at that moment in the doorway. "Guess he'll know how to soothe her some. Meanwhile you'll maybe tell me how you lit on our trail."