Benton of the Royal Mounted Part 22

With a weary yawn, Benton arose from the chair on which he had been sitting during the ear-dressing process.

"Here's the key of that section house, Charley," he said, handing the other over that article. "Take a run on down there, will you? an' have a look at that body. I'll stay an' watch this poor kid. An' say! I can't very well wear _this_!"-he indicated his ensanguined stable-jacket-"you might bring me back my serge, old man! It's lying on the bed in the detachment."

"All right. I'll go now," said Musgrave. "Remember," he added, "the kindest thing you can do is to keep her as quiet as possible. I've done all that I'm medically able to do, but it's a parson _she_ needs-more than a doctor. Aren't there any here?"

"Yes," said Ellis listlessly, "on Sundays. There's denominations galore represented _then_. This is a sanctimonious little '_dorp_.' The Church of England man is the only one resident here, though. He's away in town-attending the Church Convention. I was talking to him this morning when I was going to court, an' he said he didn't expect to come back till the day after tomorrow."

"Well, she's sleeping now," said the doctor. "I've stopped the external bleeding and given her a strong morphine injection, as I think I told you. Give her all the water she wants to drink, if she wakes up, but beyond getting the necessary particulars regarding her, I wouldn't encourage her to talk. Come on, Wardle! We'll go on down to this place."

The two men tip-toed out softly and closed the door, whilst the Sergeant, carefully stripping off his blood-stained stable-jacket, entered the bedroom noiselessly, and seated himself at the side of the suffering girl. Still under the influence of the powerful drug, she was dozing peacefully and, but for an occasional gurgle of blood in her throat, her breathing was considerably less labored.

Long and earnestly he gazed at the face of the girl who had, undoubtedly, saved his life, though at the forfeit of her own. The features were already pinched and drawn, and the rich color of the cheeks had faded to a dull, ashen gray, save where two hectic spots indicated her rising temperature. For, upon that countenance, the Angel of Death had set his dread seal, and pa.s.sed upon his way.

Oppressed by deep pity and many troubled thoughts, Ellis sank into a gloomy reverie from which he was aroused by Musgrave returning-alone.

Arising quietly, he obeyed the other's silent motion and followed him outside.

"Well," he said listlessly, slipping on the red serge which his companion handed to him, "did you see him, Charley?"

Musgrave glanced curiously at the powerful, still profile of the man before him.

"Yes," he said slowly. And even _his_ trained nerves could not suppress a slight shudder at the remembrance. "Poor old Wardle's gone home feeling pretty sick, I can tell you ... an' I don't wonder. You're some bad man with a gun, Ellis."

The Sergeant, with mind sunk in a fit of abstraction, eyed him absently.

"Eyah," he said. "I guess I put the sign on him, all right."

The doctor scrutinized the drawn, blood-stained face closely.

"Look here," he said kindly. "You look a bit strapped, old man. You go on home to bed now. _I'll_ stop with the girl!"

The considerate words seemed to arouse the other strangely.

"No, by --!" he said vehemently, with a sobbing oath. "I'm goin' to stay till-till-"

His voice broke. Recovering himself, he continued, with an effort:

"It's the least I can do. You can sleep on that couch in the front room.

I'll call you if she's in bad pain."

"All right-all right!" answered Musgrave gently and, gripping the Sergeant's shoulder with a sympathetic pressure, "we won't fight over it, old man. I understand. Call me if I'm needed. I don't think your 'guard' will be very long now, though."

CHAPTER XII

On those poor frail sisters who've fallen low, And who suffer and die through the sins of men- More sinned against, than sinning, I trow- Shew Thy Mercy-Thy Pity-Lord Christ, Amen.

-_Court of Common Pleas_

Wearily, and with a throbbing pain in his torn ear, Ellis resumed his vigil. An hour slowly pa.s.sed. Two hours. Suddenly a restless movement from the bed aroused him from the dreamy lethargy into which he had sunk, and he gazed into the wide-open, bewildered eyes of the awakened girl that were regarding him wonderingly through their long lashes.

"How did I come here?" she articulated painfully.

"I carried you in," he said. "You've been in here for nearly three hours now."

Her lips moved soundlessly, and she remained with puckered forehead, as if striving to collect her thoughts.

"Then who were those other men?" she said in a hoa.r.s.e whisper.

"Well, one was the postmaster, and there was the man that owns the hotel. The other man was the doctor. It was he who fixed you up."

Then, for the first time, she seemed to notice his bandaged head. With a little cry, she struggled feebly to raise herself, eyeing him fearfully the while.

"Where's Harry?" she gasped tensely. "You've been hurt, like me. Did you an' him get shootin' at each other again? Oh, tell me. Where is he?"

He strove to soothe her and allay her agitation, but without avail.

"Please! oh, please, Policeman!" she sobbed. "Don't arrest him. Let him go! He didn't _mean_ to hurt me."

Her continued piteous pleading moved him greatly. Puzzled at this att.i.tude towards the man who had ruined and maltreated her, Ellis inquired gently:

"Why?"

The great imploring dark eyes became like two twin stars, seeming to search his very soul, as a wave of ineffable forgiving pity and devotion glorified the face of the dying girl.

"Because-I-I-" she faltered.

The simplicity of her implied admission struck him dumb with surprise for a moment, and he stared at her in stupefied amazement.

"What?" he almost shouted. "You still love that chap after-after-"

Speech failed him and he could only continue to look at her in awed wonder.

Hard as they may find it to observe other precepts of the Great Master, this one, at least, most women have practised easily and naturally for over nineteen hundred years-"Forgive, until seventy times seven."

The acts of some of these-how they warred with their husbands and paramours and were worsted; how they provoked the presiding magistrate and stultified the attesting policeman by obstinately ignoring their injuries written legibly in red, and black, and blue; how they interceded with many sobs for the aggressor-are they not written in the book of the chronicles of every police court in the world?

This propensity leads them into sc.r.a.pes, it is true, for our world in its wisdom will always take advantage of such weaknesses. Perhaps the next will make them some amends.

The bright, fever-lit eyes never left Benton's face, and two tears rolled down her sunken cheeks as she nodded silently in answer to his incredulous query. Such an expression, indeed, might the Covenanter's widow have worn, as she looked into the ruthless countenance of Graham of Claverhouse and begged for the life of her only son. And such it is, also, that makes Guido's famous picture of Beatrice Cenci one of the saddest paintings on earth.

_That_ look was almost more than the Sergeant could endure, and he hastily turned his head away to hide the hot, blinding tears that sprang to his eyes. There seemed something very terrible, just then, in the pathetic working of his stern face, as the strong man strove to hide his emotion.

"Diamonds and pearls," he whispered brokenly to himself; "diamonds and pearls."

And _this_-love such as _this_, had the dead man gained, then spurned brutally from him, and cast away.