The Hound From The North Part 16

"It can't----" The minister got no further, and he fingered his watch from force of habit.

"It's----" some one said and broke off. Then followed an excited murmur. "What's Peter going to do?"

The young giant had darted off down the trail in the direction of the approaching sleigh. He lurched heavily over the snow, his ungainly body rolling to his gait, but he was covering ground in much the same way that a racing elephant might. His stride carried him along at a great pace. The onlookers wondered and exclaimed, their gaze alternating in amazement between the two objects, the oncoming sleigh and the huge lurching figure of the boy.

Now the sleigh was near enough for them to note the truth of Peter's statement. The horses, ungoverned by any guiding hand, were tearing along at a desperate pace. The cutter b.u.mped and swayed in a threatening manner; now it was lifted bodily from the trail as its runners struck the banked sides of the furrows; now it balanced on one side, hovering between overturning and righting itself, now on the other; then again it would jerk forward with a rush on to the heels of the affrighted horses with maddening effect. The poor brutes stretched themselves wildly to escape from their terror. On they came amidst a whirl of flying snow, and Peter had halted beside the trail awaiting them.

Those who were watching saw the boy move outside the beaten track.

Already the panting of the runaways could be heard by those looking on. If the animals were not stayed in their mad career they must inevitably crash into the school-house or collide with the sleighs at the tying-posts. There was no chance of their leaving the beaten trail, for they were prairie horses.

Some of the men, as the realization of this fact dawned upon them, hurried away to remove their possessions to some more secure position, but most of them remained gaping at the runaway team.

Now they saw Peter crouch down, beating the snow under his feet to give himself a firm footing. Barely fifty yards separated him from the sleigh. He settled himself into an att.i.tude as though about to spring.

Nearer drew the sleigh. The boy's position was fraught with the greatest danger. The onlookers held their breath. What did he contemplate? Peter had methods peculiar to himself, and those who looked wondered. Nearer--nearer came the horses. A moment more and the boy was lost in the cloud of snow which rose beneath the horses'

speeding feet. A sigh broke from many of the ladies as they saw him disappear. Then, next, there came an exclamation of relief as they saw his bulky figure struggling wildly to draw himself up over the high back of the sleigh. It was no easy task, but Peter's great strength availed him. They saw him climb over and stand upon the cushion, then, for a moment, he looked down as though in doubt.

At last he leaned forward, and, laying hold of the rail of the incurved dashboard, he climbed laboriously out on to the setting of the sleigh's tongue. The flying end of one of the reins was waving annoyingly beyond his reach. He ventured out further, still holding to the dashboard, which swayed and bent under the unaccustomed weight.

Suddenly he made a grab and caught the elusive strap and overbalanced in the effort. He came within an ace of falling, but was saved by lurching on to the quarters of one of the horses. With a struggle he recovered himself and regained the sleigh. The rest was the work of a few seconds.

Bracing himself, he leant his whole weight on the single rein. The horses swerved at once, and leaving the trail plunged into the deep snow. The frantic animals fell, recovered themselves, and floundered on, then with a great jolt the sleigh turned over. Peter shot clear of the wreck, but with experience of such capsizes, he clung tenaciously to the rein. He was dragged a few yards; then, trembling and ready to start off again at a moment's notice, the jaded beasts stood.

There was a rush of men to Peter's a.s.sistance. The women followed. But the latter never reached the sleigh. Something clad in the brown fur of the buffalo was lying beside the trail where the cutter had overturned. Here they came to a stand, and found themselves gazing down upon the inanimate form of Leslie Grey.

It was a number of the younger ladies of the party who reached the injured man first; the Furrer girls and one of the Miss Covills. They paused abruptly within a couple of yards of the fur-clad object and craned forward, gazing down at it with horrified eyes. The next minute they were thrust aside by the parson. He came, followed by Mrs.

Malling.

In a moment he had thrown himself upon his knees and was looking into the pallid face of the prostrate man, and almost unconsciously his hand pushed itself in through the fastenings of the fur coat. He withdrew it almost instantly, giving vent to a sharp exclamation. It was covered with blood.

"Stand back, please, everybody," he commanded.

He was obeyed implicitly. But his order came too late. They had seen the blood upon his hand.

Miss Ganthorn began to faint and was led away. Other girls looked as though they might follow suit. Only Hephzibah Malling stood her ground. Her face was blanched, but her mouth was tightly clenched. She uttered no sound. All her anger against the prostrate man had vanished; a world of pity was in her eyes as she silently looked on.

The parson summoned some of the men.

"Bear a hand, boys," he said, in a business-like tone which deceived no one. "We'd better get him into the house." Then, seeing Mrs.

Malling, he went on, "Get Prudence away at once. She must not see."

The old farm-wife hurried off, and the others gently raised the body of the unconscious man and bore it towards the house.

Thus did Leslie Grey attend his wedding.

The body was taken in by a back way to Sarah Gurridge's bedroom and laid upon the bed. Tim Gleichen was dispatched at once to Lakeville for the doctor. Then, dismissing everybody but Harry Gleichen, Mr.

Danvers proceeded to remove the sick man's outer clothing.

The room was small, the one window infinitely so. A single sunbeam shone coldly in through the latter and lit up the well-scrubbed bare floor. There was nothing but the plainest of "fixings" in the apartment, but they had been set in position by the deft hand of a woman of taste. The bed on which the unconscious man had been placed was narrow and hard. Its coverlet was a patchwork affair of depressing hue.

Mr. Danvers bent to his work with a full appreciation of the tragedy which had happened. His face was solemn, and expressive of the most tender solicitude for the injured man. In a whisper he dispatched his a.s.sistant for warm water and bandages, whilst he unfastened and removed the fur coat. Inside the clothing was saturated with still warm blood. The minister's lips tightened as the truth of what had happened slowly forced itself upon his mind.

So absorbed was he in his ministrations that he failed to heed the sound of excited whisperings which came to him from beyond the door.

It was not until the creaking of the hinges had warned him that the door was ajar, that he looked up from his occupation. At that moment there was a rustle of silk, the noise of swift footsteps across the bare boards, and Prudence was at the opposite side of the bed.

The soft oval of the girl's face was drawn, and deep lines of anxious thought had broken up the smooth expanse of her forehead. Her eyes seemed to be straining out of their sockets, and the whites were bloodshot. She did not speak, but her look displayed an anguish unspeakable. Her eyes were turned upon the face of the prostrate man; she did not appear to see the minister. Her look suggested some mute question, which seemed to pa.s.s from her troubled eyes to the silent figure. Watching her, Danvers understood that, for the present, it would be dangerous to break the dreadful silence that held her. He stooped again and drew back the waistcoat and began to cut away the under-garments from Grey's chest.

Swiftly as the minister's deft fingers moved about the man's body, his thoughts travelled faster. He was not a man given to morbid sentimentality; his calling demanded too much of the practical side of human nature. He was there to aid his flock, materially as well as spiritually, but at the moment he felt positively sick in the stomach with sorrow and pity for the woman who stood like a statue on the other side of what he knew to be this man's deathbed. He dared not look over at her again. Instead, he bent his head lower and concentrated his, mind on the work before him.

The silence continued, broken only by an occasional heavy gasp of breath from the girl. The dripping shirt was cut clear of the man's chest, and the woollen under-shirt was treated in a similar manner.

The exposed flesh was crimson with the blood which was slowly oozing from a small wound a few inches higher up in the chest than where the heart was so faintly beating. One glance sufficed to tell the parson that medical aid would be useless. The wound was through the lungs.

For a moment he hesitated. His better sense warned him to keep silence, but pity urged him to speak. Pity swayed him with the stronger hand.

"He is alive," he said. And the next moment he regretted his words.

The tension of the girl's dreadful expression relaxed instantly. It was as the lifting of a dead weight which had crushed her heart within her. She had been numbed, paralyzed. Actual suffering had not been hers, she had experienced a suspension of feeling which had resulted from the shock. But that suspension was far more dreadful than the most acute suffering. Her whole soul had asked her senses, "What is it?" and the waiting for the answer had been to her in the nature of a blank.

The minister's low murmured sentence had supplied her with an answer.

"He is alive." The words touched the springs of life within her and a glad flush swept over her straining nerves. Reason once more resumed its sway, and thought flowed through her brain in an unchecked torrent It seemed to Prudence as though some barrier had suddenly shut off the simple life which had always been hers, and had opened out for her a fresh existence in which she found herself alone with the still, broken body of her lover. For one brief instant her lips quivered, and a faint in-catching of the breath told of the woman, which, at the first return of feeling, had leapt uppermost in her. But before the maturity of emotion brought about the breakdown, a calm strength came to her aid and steadied her nerves and checked the tears which had so suddenly come into her eyes. Women are like this. At a crisis in sickness they rise superior to all emotion. When the crisis is past, whether for good or ill, it is different.

The water was brought, and the minister set about cleaning the discoloured flesh, while Prudence looked on in silence. She was very pale, and her eyes were painfully bright. While her gaze followed the gentle movements of the minister, her thoughts were running swiftly over the scenes of her life in which the wounded man had played his part. She remembered every look of the now closed eyes, and every expression of his well-loved features. She called to mind his words of hope, and the carefully-laid plans for his advancement. Nor was there any taint of his selfishness in her recollection of these things.

Everything about him, to her, was good and true. She loved him with all the pa.s.sionate intensity of one who had only just attained to perfect womanhood. He had been to her something of a hero, by reason of his headstrong, dominating ways--ways which more often attract the love of woman in the first flush of her youth than in her maturer, more experienced years.

The sponging cleaned the flesh of the ghastly stain, and the small wound with its blackened rim lay revealed in all its horrid significance. The girl's eyes fixed themselves on it, and for some seconds she watched the blood as it welled up to the surface. The meaning of the puncture forced itself slowly upon her mind, and she realized that it was no accident which had laid her lover low. Her eyes remained directed towards the crimson flow, but their expression had changed, as had the set of her features. A hard, relentless look had replaced the one of tender pity--a look which indexed a feeling more strong than any other in the human organism. She was beginning to understand now that a crime had been committed, and a vengeful hate for some person unknown possessed her.

She pointed at the wound, and her voice sounded icily upon the stillness of the room.

"That," she said. "They have murdered him."

"He has been shot." The parson looked up into the girl's face.

Then followed a pause. Sarah Gurridge and Prudence's mother stole softly in and approached the bedside. The former carried a tumbler of brandy in her hand and came to Mr. Danvers's side; Mrs. Malling ranged herself beside her daughter, but the latter paid no heed to her.

The farm-wife lifted the girl's hand from the bedpost and caressed it in loving sympathy. Then she endeavoured to draw her away.

"Come, child, come with me. You can do no good here."

Prudence shook her off roughly. Nor did she answer. Her mother did not renew her attempt.

All watched while Danvers forced some of the spirit between Grey's tightly-closed lips and then stood up to note the effect.

He was actuated by a single thought. He knew that the man was doomed, but he hoped that consciousness might be restored before the tiny spark of life burnt itself out. There was something to be said if human aid could give the dying man the power to say it. Prudence seemed to understand the minister's motive, for she vaguely nodded her approval as she saw the spirit administered.

All waited eagerly for the sign of life which the stimulating properties of the spirit might reveal. The girl allowed her thoughts to drift away to the lonely trail over which her lover had driven. She saw in fancy the crouching a.s.sailants firing from the cover of some wayside bluff. She seemed to hear many shots, to see the speeding horses, to hear the dull sound of the fatal bullet as her man was. .h.i.t. She pictured to herself the a.s.sa.s.sins, with callous indifference, as the cutter pa.s.sed out of view, mounting their horses and riding away. Her thoughts had turned to the only criminals she understood--horse-thieves.

The sign of life which had been so anxiously awaited came at last. It was apparent in the flicker of the wax-like eyelids; in the faintest of sighs from between the colourless lips. Danvers bent again over the dying man and administered more of the spirit It took almost instantaneous effect. The eyelids half opened and the mouth distinctly moved. The action was like that of one who is parched with thirst.

Grey gasped painfully, and a strange rattle came from his throat.

Danvers shook his head as he heard the sound. Prudence, whose eyes had never left the dying man's face, spoke sharply. She voiced a common thought "Who did it, Leslie?"