The Broken Gate Part 31

"They said it was about his mother," began Sheriff Cowles. "Some word about her was pa.s.sed----"

"You needn't say any more," said Anne Oglesby.

"He hasn't told me to send for any lawyer for him," said Cowles. "It don't seem like he's thought of it. He's just sort of quiet--mighty still all the time. Ha-hum!--I don't know what to say about your seeing him. Why didn't you ask your uncle, Judge Henderson?"

"Don't call him my uncle," said Anne Oglesby. "He's only my guardian in law. I've just told you he wouldn't let me come. That's why I've got to hurry."

"Well," hesitated the sheriff, "I'll have to warn you not to talk about this case where I can hear it. I'll have to hear all you say."

"Would you like to do that?"

The sheriff flushed. "No," said he, "not special; but you see my own duty is right clear. I can't play any favorites. If you was his lawyer, now, it might be different."

"I am his lawyer, the only one he's got so far as I know."

"Yes, I reckon the judge wouldn't care to take his case." The sheriff wagged his head. "He's no ways rich--not beyond four dollars and seventy-five cents and a pocket knife and some keys on a ring. He's broke, all right."

"He's never been anything else," said Anne Oglesby, hotly. "He's never had a chance. Do you want to keep a man from his chance all his life--do you want to help railroad him to the gallows? That's for the courts, not for you. Do you want to hang a man--are you anxious to begin that?"

Cowles' face grew pale. "G.o.d knows I don't! I never done that in my life, and I don't want to have to, neither. Don't talk about that to me, Miss."

"Then don't talk to me any more about those other things. I give you my word I'll not try to get him out, but I want to see him--I must see him--he'll want to see me. Don't you know--we've--we've just begun to be engaged."

"Some things I can't understand no ways," pondered Sheriff Cowles. "He's n.o.body, so far as I can learn. You're the Judge's ward--why, you're rich, they say."

"I'd give every cent I have to see him walk out right now. I suppose you were young once yourself. Were you ever in love, Mr. Cowles?"

"Yes," said the sheriff, slowly. "I was--I am yet, some. I can remember back. I don't believe I ought to let you in. But I'm afraid I'll have to, because you are young--like we all was once--and because you're in love. Did anyone see you coming over here?"

"I don't know; but all the town knows about him and me. Well, let them."

"You must promise not to help him in any way to get out--not to do anything you hadn't ought to do, nor against the law."

"I give you my promise," said Anne Oglesby.

Without more speech the sheriff turned and led the way down the stone-paved hall to the short cement stairs which made down upon the half-floor below, at the level of the cells. He turned the switch of an electric light, so that they might see the better in the hall.

There was but one tenant, and from beyond his door there came no sound, not even when Cowles unlocked the iron-shod door and stood, his revolver easy at his belt.

As Anne entered she saw Don Lane sitting on the edge of the narrow pallet, looking at the door. He had not risen. He had been sitting with his head in his hands.

He groaned now. "My G.o.d!" said he. "Anne! What made you come?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Anne! What made you come?"]

The sheriff stepped within the door at the side of Anne Oglesby. "I'd stay about ten minutes or so if I was you," said he, and tried to look unconscious and impersonal.

Don Lane rose now, but stood still apart.

"Why do you say that, Don?" asked Anne, stepping closer to him. "Didn't you know I'd come?"

She reached out her hands to him, and he caught both of them in his.

"I ought to have known you would," said he, "and I know you oughtn't to.

It makes it very hard. I said good-by to you--this morning--today."

"Won't you kiss me--again, Don?" asked Anne Oglesby.

He kissed her again, his face white.

"It's hard to know you for so little a while," said he, his young face drawn, his voice trembling--"awfully hard. What time there's left to me--I'll have it all to remember you. But we must never meet after this.

It's over."

"Don, if I thought it was all over, do you suppose I'd let you kiss me now?"

"It's like heaven," said he. "It's all I'll have to remember."

"A long time, Don--a very long time!"

"I can't tell. They are not apt to lose much time with my case. The only crime of my life was in ever lifting my eyes to you, Anne. Oh, you know I'd never have done that if I had known--what I found out yesterday. But then I've said good-by to you."

"_I_ didn't say good-by, Don!"

He half raised a hand, shaking his head sadly. "You must forget me, no matter what happens--no matter whether I am cleared or not. I'll never be the coward to ask you to remember me--that wouldn't be right. I'm beyond all hope, whichever way it goes."

"I've come tonight, Don," said she, quietly, "to see about your lawyer."

He half laughed. "There'll be small need for one, and if there were I've got no funds. It will take a lot of money."

"Well, what of that? I've got a lot of money. My guardian told me so today. I'm worth somewhere between a quarter and a half million dollars anyway--I'm not rich--but that would help us."

He laughed at this harshly. "I didn't know you had any money at all. And you think I'd be coward enough to take your money to get out of here--after what I have learned about myself since yesterday? Do you suppose I'd take my life from you--such a life as it's got to be now?"

"What do you mean, Don?--you won't let me go, will you? You don't mean----" She stepped toward him, in sudden terror of his resolution.

"Why, _Don_!"

"Yes, yes. I spent all the afternoon here alone trying to think. Well, I won't compromise. I never meant to pull you into this--I'll not let you be dragged into it by your own great-heartedness. But, Anne, Anne, dearest, dearest, surely you know that when I spoke to you yesterday I didn't know what I know today! I thought I had a father. You _know_ I'd not deceive you--you _do_ know that?"

There was a shuffle on the stone floor of the cell. Sheriff Cowles, coughing loudly, was turning away from them. A moment later the door closed behind him. "Ha-hum!" said he to himself outside the door. "Oh, h.e.l.l! I wish't I wasn't sher'ff."

They were alone. With the door closed the cell was dark, save for the twilight filtering through the barred windows high up along the wall.

Anne came closer to him and put her hands upon his shoulders. "Oh, Don,"

said she, "it's hard, awfully hard, isn't it, to start with such a handicap? But when did all the men in the world start even? And is it always the one who starts first that finishes best? Don, you played the game in college--so did I--we've both got to play the game now! We'll have to take our handicap. But you mustn't talk about sending me away. I can't stand everything. Oh, don't! I can't stand that!" Her voice was choking now. She was sobbing, striving not to do so.

He caught her wrists in his hands, as her hands still lay upon his shoulders; but he did not draw her to him.

"Anne," said he, "the time comes in every man's life for him to die. I heard once about a man who could not swim and who saw his wife drown in the stream by him, almost at his side. He ran along and shouted, and said he could not swim. Well, he lived. The woman died. Suppose that had been our case. If we both went down together, it wouldn't be so bad, perhaps. But I'll not have my life as that sort of a gift."