At the Time Appointed Part 30

"For a while I constantly reproached myself for having spoken to her of love," he said, in conclusion; "for having awakened her love, as I thought, by my own; but gradually I came to see that she had loved me, as I had her, unconsciously, almost from our first meeting, and that the awakening must in any event have come sooner or later to each of us.

Then it seemed as though my suffering all converged in sorrow for her, that her life, instead of being gladdened by love, should be saddened and marred, perhaps wrecked, by it."

"Love works strange havoc with human lives sometimes," Mr. Britton remarked, reflectively, as Darrell paused.

"I was tempted at times," Darrell continued, "as I thought of what was in store for her, to rescue her at any cost; tempted to take her and go with her to the ends of the earth, if necessary; anywhere, to save her from the life she dreads."

"Thank G.o.d that you did not, my son!" Mr. Britton exclaimed, strangely agitated by Darrell's words; "you do not know what the cost might have been in the end; what bitter remorse, what agony of ceaseless regret!"

He stopped abruptly, and again Darrell felt that he had looked for an instant into those depths so sacredly guarded from the eyes of the world.

"You did well to leave as you did," Mr. Britton said, after a moment's silence, in which he had regained his composure.

"I had to; I should have done something desperate if I had remained there much longer."

Darrell spoke quietly, but it was the quiet of suppressed pa.s.sion.

"It was better so--better for you both," Mr. Britton continued; "when we find ourselves powerless to save our loved ones from impending trouble, all that is left us is to help them bear that trouble as best we may.

The best help you can give Kate now is to take yourself as completely as possible out of her life. How you can best help her later time alone will show."

A long silence followed, while both watched the flickering flames and listened to the crooning of the wind outside. When at length they spoke it was on topics of general interest; the outlook at the mining camp, the latest news in the town below, till their talk at last drifted to the recent hold-up.

"A dastardly piece of work!" exclaimed Mr. Britton. "The death of that young express clerk was in some ways even sadder than that of Harry Whitcomb. I knew him well; the only child of a widowed mother; a poor boy who, by indomitable energy and unswerving integrity, had just succeeded in securing the position which cost him his life. Two such brutal, cowardly murders ought to arouse the people to such systematic, concerted action as would result in the final arrest and conviction of the murderer."

"It is the general opinion that both were committed by one and the same party," Darrell remarked, as his friend paused.

"Undoubtedly both were the work of the same hand, in all probability that of the leader himself. He is a man capable of any crime, probably guilty of nearly every crime that could be mentioned, and his men are mere tools in his hands. He exerts a strange power over them and they obey him, knowing that their lives would pay the forfeit for disobedience. Human life is nothing to him, and any one who stood in the way of the accomplishment of his purposes would simply go the way those two poor fellows have gone."

"Why, do you know anything regarding this man?" Darrell asked in surprise.

"Only so far as I have made a study of him and his methods, aided by whatever information I could gather from time to time concerning him."

"Surely, you are not a detective!" Darrell exclaimed; "you spoke like one just now."

"Not professionally," his friend answered, with a smile; "though I have often a.s.sisted in running down criminals. I have enough of the hound nature about me, however, that when a scent is given me I delight in following the trail till I run my game to cover, as I hope some day to run this man to cover," he added, with peculiar earnestness.

"But how did you ever gain so much knowledge of him? To every one else he seems an utter mystery."

"Partly, as I said, through a study of him and his methods, and partly from facts which I learned from one of the band who was fatally shot a few years ago in a skirmish between the brigands and a posse of officials. The man was deserted by his a.s.sociates and was brought to town and placed in a hospital. I did what I could to make the poor fellow comfortable, with the result that he became quite communicative with me, and, while in no way betraying his confederates, he gave me much interesting information regarding the band and its leader. It is a thoroughly organized body of men, bound together by the most fearful oaths, possessing a perfect system of signals and pa.s.swords, and with a retreat in the mountains, known as the 'Pocket,' so inaccessible to any but themselves that no one as yet has been able even to definitely locate it--a sort of basin walled about by perpendicular rocks. The leader is a man of mixed blood, who has travelled in all countries and knows many dark secrets, and whose power lies mainly in the mystery with which he surrounds himself. No one knows who he is, but many of his men believe him to be the very devil personified."

"But how can you or any one else hope to run down a man with such powerful followers and with a hiding-place so inaccessible?" Darrell inquired.

"From a remark inadvertently dropped, I was led to infer that this man spends comparatively little time with the band. He communicates with them, directs them, and personally conducts any especially bold or difficult venture; but most of the time he is amid far different surroundings, leading an altogether different life."

"One of those men with double lives," Darrell commented.

Mr. Britton bowed in a.s.sent.

"But if that were so," Darrell persisted, his interest thoroughly aroused, as much by Mr. Britton's manner as by his words, "in the event, say, of your meeting him, how would you be able to recognize or identify him? Have you any clew to his ident.i.ty?"

"Years ago," said Mr. Britton, slowly, "I formed the habit of studying people; at first as I met them; later as I heard or read of them. Facts gathered here and there concerning a person's life I put together, piece by piece, studying his actions and the probable motives governing those actions, until I had a mental picture of the real man, the 'ego' that const.i.tutes the foundation of the character of every individual. Having that fixed in my mind I next strove to form an idea of the exterior which that particular 'ego' would gradually build about himself through his habits of thought and speech and action. In this way, by a careful study of a man's life, I can form something of an idea of his appearance. I have often put this to the test by visiting various penitentiaries in order to meet some of the noted criminals of whose careers I had made a study, and invariably, in expression, in voice and manner, in gait and bearing, in the hundred and one little indices by which the soul betrays itself, I have found them as I had mentally portrayed them."

Mr. Britton had risen while speaking and was walking back and forth before the fire.

"I see!" Darrell exclaimed; "and you have formed a mental portrait of this man by which you expect to recognize and identify him?"

"I am satisfied that I would have no difficulty in recognizing him," Mr.

Britton replied, with peculiar emphasis on the last words; "the work of identification,"--he paused in front of Darrell, looking him earnestly in the face,--"that, I hope, will one day be yours."

"Mine!" exclaimed Darrell. "How so? I do not understand."

"Mr. Underwood has told me that soon after your arrival at The Pines and just before you became delirious, there was something on your mind in connection with the robbery and Whitcomb's death which you wished to tell him but were unable to recall; and both he and his sister have said that often during your delirium you would mutter, 'That face! I can never forget it; it will haunt me as long as I live!' It has always been my belief that amidst the horrors of the scene you witnessed that night, you in some way got sight of the murderer's face, which impressed you so strongly that it haunted you even in your delirium. It is my hope that with the return of memory there will come a vision of that face sufficiently clear that you will be able to identify it should you meet it, as I believe you will."

Darrell scrutinized his friend closely before replying, noting his evident agitation.

"You have already met this man and recognized him!" he exclaimed.

"Possibly!" was the only reply.

_Chapter XXII_

THE FETTERS BROKEN

Early on the morning of the third day after Mr. Britton's arrival at camp he and Darrell set forth for The Pines. But little snow had fallen within the last two days, and the trip was made without much difficulty, though progress was slow. Late in the day, as they neared The Pines, the clouds, which for hours had been more or less broken, suddenly dispersed, and the setting sun sank in a flood of gold and crimson light which gave promise of glorious weather for the morrow.

Arriving at the house, they found it filled with guests invited to the wedding from different parts of the State, the rooms resounding with light badinage and laughter, the very atmosphere charged with excitement as messengers came and went and servants hurried to and fro, busied with preparations for the following day.

Kate herself hastened forward to meet them, a trifle pale, but calm and wearing the faint, inscrutable smile which of late was becoming habitual with her. At sight of Darrell and his friend, however, her face lighted with the old-time, sunny smile and her cheeks flushed with pleasure. She bestowed upon Mr. Britton the same affectionate greeting with which she had been accustomed to meet him since her childhood's days. He was visibly affected, and though he returned her greeting, kissing her on brow and cheek, he was unable to speak. Her color deepened and her eyes grew luminous as she turned to welcome Darrell, but she only said,--

"I am inexpressibly glad that you came. It will be good to feel there is one amid all the crowd who knows."

"He knows also, Kathie," Darrell replied, in low tones, indicating Mr.

Britton with a slight motion of his head.

"Does he know all?" she asked, quickly.

"Yes; I thought you could have no objection."

"No," she answered, after a brief pause; "I am glad that it is so."

There was no opportunity for further speech, as Mr. Underwood came forward to welcome his old friend and Darrell, and they were hurried off to their rooms to prepare for dinner.

Mr. Underwood was not a man to do things by halves, and the elaborate but informal dinner to which he and his guests sat down was all that could be desired as a gastronomic success. He himself, despite his brusque manners, was a genial host, and Walcott speedily ingratiated himself into the favor of the guests by his quiet, un.o.btrusive attentions, his punctilious courtesy to each and all alike.

Darrell and his friend felt ill at ease and out of place amid the gayety that filled the house that evening, and at an early hour they retired to their rooms.