The Eye of Dread Part 25

The young woman gazed at him wide-eyed, and drew in her breath. "You saved him."

"If he obeyed me--I did."

"And all the twenty years were you alone?"

"I always had a horse."

"But for a companion--had you never one?"

"Never."

"Are you, too, a good man who has done a deed against the law of your land?"

The big man looked off a moment, then down at her with a little smile playing about his lips. "I never did a deed against the law of any land that I know of, but as for the good part--that's another thing. I may be fairly good as goodness goes."

"Goodnessgoes!" She repeated after him as if it were one word from which she was trying to extract a meaning. "Was it then to flee from the wicked world that you lived all the twenty years thus alone?"

"Hardly that, either. To tell the truth, it may be only a habit with me."

"Will you forgive me that I asked? It was only that to me it has been terrible to live always in hiding and fear. I love people, and desire greatly to have kind people near me,--but of the world where my father and mother lived, and at the court--and of the n.o.bles, of all these I am afraid."

"Yes, yes. I fancy you were." A grim look settled about his mouth, although his eyes twinkled kindly. He marveled to think how trustingly they accompanied him into this wilderness--but then--poor babes! What else could they do? "You'll be safe from all the courts and n.o.bles in the world where I'm taking you."

"That is why my eyes do not weep for my father. He is now gone where none can find him but G.o.d. It is very terrible that a good man should always hide--hide and live in fear--always--even from his own kinsmen.

I understand some of the sorrows of the world."

"You'll forget it all up there."

"I will try if my mother recovers." She drew in her breath with a little quivering catch.

"We'll wake her now, and start on. It won't do to waste daylight any longer." Secretly he was afraid that they might be followed by Indians, and was sorry he had made the fire in the night, but he reasoned that he could never have brought them on without such refreshment. Women are different from men. He could eat raw bacon and hard-tack and go without coffee, when necessary, but to ask women to do so was quite another thing.

For long hours now they traveled on, even after the moon had set, in the darkness. It was just before the dawn, where the trail wound and doubled on itself, that the sorrel horse was startled by a small rolling stone that had been loosened on the trail above them.

Instantly the big man halted where they were.

"Are you brave enough to wait here a bit by your mother's horse while I go on? That stone did not loosen itself. It may be nothing but some little beast,--if it were a bear, the horses would have made a fuss."

He mounted the sorrel and went forward, leaving her standing on the trail, holding the leading strap of her mother's horse, which tossed its head and stepped about restlessly, trying to follow. She petted and soothed the animal and talked in low tones to her mother. Then with beating heart she listened. Two men's voices came down to her--one, the big man's--and the other--yes, she had heard it before.

"It is 'Arry King, mother. Surely he has come down to meet us," she said joyfully. She would have hurried on, but bethought herself she would better wait as she had been directed. Soon the big man returned, looking displeased and grim.

"Young chap couldn't wait. He gave me his promise, but he didn't keep it."

"It was 'Arry King?" He made no reply, and they resumed their way as before. "It was long to wait, and nothing to do," she pleaded, divining his mood.

"I had good reasons, Miss. No matter. I sent him back. No need of him here. We'll make it before morning now, and he will have the cabin warm and hot coffee for us, if you can stand to go on for a goodish long pull."

A goodish long pull it surely was, in the darkness, but the women bore up with courage, and their guide led them safely. The horse Amalia rode, being his own horse, knew the way well.

"Don't try to guide him; he'll take you quite safely," he called back to her. "Let the reins hang." And in the dusk of early morning they safely turned the curve where Harry King had fallen, never knowing the danger.

Harry King, standing in the doorway of the cabin, with the firelight bright behind him, saw them winding down the trail and hurried forward. They were almost stupefied with fatigue. He lifted the mother in his arms without a word and carried her into the cabin and laid her in the bunk, which he had prepared to receive her. He greeted Amalia with a quiet word as the big man led her in, and went out to the horses, relieved them of their burdens, and led them away to the shed by the spring. Soon the big man joined him, and began rubbing down the animals.

"I will do this. You must rest," said Harry.

"I need none of your help," he said, not surlily, as the words might sound, but colorlessly.

"I needed yours when I came here--or you saved me and brought me here, and now whatever you wish I'll do, but for to-night you must take my help. I'm not apologizing for what I did, because I thought it right, but--"

"Peace, man, peace. I've lived a long time with no man to gainsay me.

I'll take what comes now and thank the Lord it's no worse. We'll leave the cabin to the women, after I see that they have no fright about it, and we'll sleep in the fodder. There have been worse beds."

"I have coffee on the hearth, hot, and corn dodgers--such as we used to make in the army. I've made them often before."

"Turn the beasts free; there isn't room for them all in the shed, and I'll go get a bite and join you soon."

So Harry King did not return to the cabin that night, much as he desired to see Amalia again, but lay down on the fodder and tried to sleep. His heart throbbed gladly at the thought of her safety. He had not dared to inquire after her father. Although he had seen so little of the big man he understood his mood, and having received such great kindness at his hands, he was truly sorry at the invasion of his peace. Undoubtedly he did not like to have a family, gathered from the Lord only knew where, suddenly quartered on him for none knew how long.

The cabin was only meant for a hermit of a man, and little suited to women and their needs. A mixed household required more rooms. He tried to think the matter through and to plan, but the effort brought drowsiness, and before the big man returned he was asleep.

CHAPTER XVI

A PECULIAR POSITION

"Well, young man, we find ourselves in what I call a peculiar position."

A smile that would have been sardonic, were it not for a few lines around the corners of his eyes which belied any sinister suspicion, spread grimly across the big man's face as he stood looking down on Harry King in the dusk of the unlighted shed. The younger man rose quickly from the fodder where he had slept heavily after the fatigues of the past day and night, and stood respectfully looking into the big man's face.

"I--I--realize the situation. I thought about it after I turned in here--before you came down--or up--to this--ahem--bedroom. I can take myself off, sir. And if there were any way--of relieving you of--the--whole--embarra.s.sment,--I--I--would do so."

"Everything's quiet down at the cabin. I've been there and looked about a bit. They had need of sleep. You go back to your bunk, and I'll take mine, and we'll talk the thing over before we see them again. As for your taking yourself off, that remains to be seen. I'm not crabbed, that's not the secret of my life alone,--though you might think it. I--ahem--ahem." The big man cleared his throat and stretched his spare frame full length on the fodder where he had slept. With his elbow on the bed of corn stalks he lifted his head on his hand and gazed at Harry King, not dreamily as when he first saw him, but with covert keenness.

"Lie down in your place--a bit--lie down. We'll talk until we've arrived at a conclusion, and it may be a long talk, so we may as well be comfortable."

Harry King went back to his own bunk and lay p.r.o.ne, his forehead resting on his folded arms and his face hidden. "Very well, sir; I'll do my best. We have to accept each other for the best there is in us, I take it. You've saved my life and the life of those two women, and we all owe you our grat--"

"Go to, go to. It's not of that I'm wishing to speak. Let's begin at the beginning, or, as near the beginning as we can. I've been standing here looking at you while you were sleeping,--and last night--I mean early this morning when I came up here, I--with a torch I studied your face well and long. A man betrays his true nature when he is sleeping.

The lines of what he has been thinking and feeling show then when he cannot disguise them by smiles or words. I'm old enough to be your father--yes--so it might have been--and with your permission I'll talk to you straight."

Harry King lifted his head and looked at the other, then resumed his former position. "Thank you," was all he said.

"You've been well bred. You're in trouble. I ask you what is your true name and what you have done?"

The young man did not speak. He lay still as if he had heard nothing, but the other saw his hands clinch into knotted fists and the muscles of his arms grow rigid. His heart beat heavily and the blood roared in his ears. At last he lifted his head and looked back at the big man and spoke monotonously.