The Spoilers of the Valley Part 2

The fugitive groaned and opened his eyes.

He smiled a wan sort of smile through a grimy, unshaven mask, as he looked into the sweet face above him. Then he closed his eyes again, as if he feared the picture might vanish.

"Oh, brace up!" Eileen whispered tearfully, almost shaking him in her fear. "You must brace up. They've gone. But they may come back. If they do, they'll be sure to get you."

Gathering his scattered senses, the man on the floor raised himself with an effort on to his elbow. He struggled to his feet and swayed unsteadily. He pa.s.sed his hand over his eyes and made an involuntary movement as if to thrust his fingers through his hair. As he did so, a pained expression crossed his face, for his fingers encountered nothing but a short stubble of hair close cropped to his skin.

Eileen lent him her support, as he tried to brace himself. She set him in an armchair, then brought him bread, b.u.t.ter, some cold meat and fresh milk from the cupboard, placing them on the table before him.

Only his eyes expressed thanks, but they did it eloquently. Ravenously he turned to, while his young hostess watched him in curiosity and wonder, for never before had she seen one really famishingly hungry.

When not a morsel remained, the man pushed back his chair and turned to the young lady apologetically.

"You'll excuse me if I forgot my table manners, but--but that was my first food for three days."

He rose.

"I guess I will be able to make it now. I feel all right;--thanks to you."

"No, no!" exclaimed Eileen, "you mustn't go just yet. You must rest if only for a few minutes. I was anxious before these men were clear away, but they have gone. The rest will do you good."

"No!--I must go. It--it would mean trouble for you if they found me here."

"You shan't! Sit down!" she commanded. "You may require all your strength before morning."

She set him in the chair again, and he obeyed her helplessly and with a sigh of weariness.

"But----" he protested feebly, raising his hand.

"Trouble for me!" she interposed; "I am not afraid of trouble."

"You are indeed a Good Samaritan," he said in a voice which sounded less forlorn. "If I wasn't a jailbird, I'd thank you in my prayers."

He smiled crookedly. "You know, convicts' prayers don't seem to rise very high, miss--don't seem to reach anywhere. We haven't got the stand-in with the Boss that others seem to have," he said in some bitterness.

"Hush!" she whispered. "You must not say that, for it isn't true.

Those men might have caught you,--but they didn't. But, but," she added seriously, "surely you are not a convict; not a criminal, I mean?"

He turned his hands outwards with a shrug.

"You don't look like one who loved doing wrong. If you have ever done wrong, I am sure it was done in a moment of rashness; maybe thoughtlessness." She clasped her hands in front of her. "You would never do it again."

He shook his head.

"No,--never, never again!" But his voice had no sound of contrition in it.

"When you are free--really free--you will try to be what G.o.d meant you to be; a real man; good, honest and earnest."

He moved uneasily, then he got up once more, went over to the window and looked out into the night. He remained with his back to her for some time, and she did not seek to break into his thoughts.

Finally he turned, and, as he leaned against the wall by the door, he gazed at her curiously.

"They nick-named me 'Silent' in jail, because I wouldn't talk," he said in a husky tone. "G.o.d knows!--what inducement had a man to talk--there?"

"Maybe I shouldn't talk now--but I might feel better if I did, and you cared to listen."

"Yes, oh yes!--please tell me," replied the girl earnestly.

"I have never committed any crime against anyone. The only wrong I have done is to myself. Like a fool, I took the blame to save the other fellow, because, oh, because I thought I was better able to--that was all. But that other fellow skulked away, deserted me;--the low coward!"

The man's voice rose in the quiet of that little bungalow upon the hill where the only other sounds were the ticking of the clock and the quick breathing of an anxious listener.

"G.o.d help him when we meet!"

"Hush!" cautioned the girl again.

"When I took on his troubles," he continued, more quietly, "I did not think of anything more than a few months in prison, but, Great G.o.d!

they gave me five years:--FIVE YEARS!"

His eyes widened at the awfulness of the thought and a look of agony came into his face.

Eileen Pederstone gasped, and her lips parted.

"Five years," she whispered.

The man continued in bitterness.

"Yes! five years in h.e.l.l--buried alive--away from humanity--from light--air--freedom; from the sunshine, the hills, and the valleys; from the sea, the wind, and, and, the higher things--literature, music, art: truth--love--life:--buried from the combination of all these, from G.o.d himself."

He shuddered. He almost wept in his frailness. "And now the very sunshine hurts like an electric shock, the open s.p.a.ces make me feel lost and afraid; make me long for the confinement of a cell again."

He stopped suddenly and brushed his eyes with the back of his hand.

Eileen went over to him, laid a hand tenderly on his torn shirt-sleeve and led him over to the chair again, for he still showed signs of his physical exhaustion. He sat back and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Eileen spoke to him.

"And you ran away? Why, oh, why did you do that? Couldn't you see that it would mean recapture; more imprisonment? And you were probably so near the end of it."

Her whole soul was speaking compa.s.sionately.

"Near the end!" he said bitterly. "It was the end. I broke prison because they had no right to keep me there any longer."

"But why? How could that possibly be?" she asked, closing her hands nervously.

He gave expression to a sound of surprise at her innocence.

"You don't know them, miss. Anything, everything is possible in there.

They are masters, kings, G.o.ds. My conduct was good. After three years and eight months I was due to get out in one month more. But I was useful to them in there. I had education. I was the only accountant; the greatest book-lover in jail. To keep me from thinking--for the thinking is what drives men mad--I worked and slaved night and day.

They had no one to take my place. I was trusted. I did the work of three men.