CHAPTER XXIII.
GOOD-BY.
"Oh, 'Tana, it is awful--awful!" and poor Mrs. Huzzard rocked herself in aspasm of woe. "And to think that you won't say a word--not a single word!It just breaks my heart."
"Now, now! I'll say lots of things if you will talk of something besidesmurders. And I'll mend your broken heart when this trouble is all over,you will see!"
"Over! I'm mightily afraid it is only commencing. And you that cool andindifferent you are enough to put one crazy! Oh, if Dan Overton was onlyhere."
The girl smiled. All the hours of the night had gone by. He had at leasttwelve hours' start, and the men of the camp had not yet suspected him foreven a moment. They had questioned Harris, and he told them, by signs,that no man had gone through his cabin, no one had been in since dark; buthe had heard a movement in the other room. The knife he had seen 'Tanatake into the other room long before dark.
"And some one quarreling with this Holly--or following him--may havechanced on it and used it," contested Lyster, who was angered, dismayed,and puzzled at 'Tana, quite as much as at the finding of the body. Heranswers to all questions were so persistently detrimental to her owncause.
"Don't be uneasy--they won't hang me," she assured him. "Think of themhanging any one for killing Lee Holly! The man who did it--if he knowswhom he was settling for--was a fool not to face the camp and get creditfor it. Every man would have shaken hands with him. But just because thereis a little mystery about it, they try to make it out a crime. Pooh!"
"Oh, child!" exclaimed Mrs. Huzzard, totally scandalized. "A murder! Ofcourse it is a crime--the greatest."
"I don't think so. It is a greater crime to bring a soul into the worldand then neglect it--let it drift into any hell on earth that netsit--than it is to send a soul out of the world, to meet heaven, if itdeserves it. There are times when murder is justifiable, but there arecertain other crimes that nothing could ever justify."
"Why, 'Tana!" and Mrs. Huzzard looked at her helplessly. But Miss Slocumgave the girl a more understanding regard.
"You speak very bitterly for a young girl; as if you had thought a greatdeal on this question."
"I have," she acknowledged, promptly; "you think it is not a very nicequestion for girls to study about, don't you? Well, it isn't nice, butit's true. I happen to be one of the souls dragged into life by people whodidn't think they had responsibilities. Miss Slocum, maybe that is why Iam extra bitter on the subject."
"But not--not against your parents, 'Tana?" said Mrs. Huzzard, in dismay.
The girl's mouth drew hard and unlovely at the question.
"I don't know much about religion," she said, after a little, "and I don'tknow that it matters much--now don't faint, Mrs. Huzzard! but I'm prettycertain old married men who had families were the ones who laid down thelaw about children in the Bible. They say 'spare the rod and spoil thechild,' and then say 'honor your father and mother.' They seem to think ita settled thing that all fathers and mothers are honorable--but theyain't; and that all children need beating--and they don't."
"Oh, 'Tana!"
"And I think it is that one-sided commandment that makes folks think thatall the duty must go from children to the parents, and not a word is saidof the duty people owe to the souls they bring into the world. I don'tthink it's a square deal."
"A square deal! Why, 'Tana!"
"Isn't it so?" she asked, moodily. "You think a girl is a pretty hard caseif she doesn't give proper respect and duty to her parents, don't you? Butsuppose they are the sort of people no one can respect--what then? Seemsto me the first duty is from the parent to the children--the duty ofcaring for them, loving them, and teaching them right. A child can't owe adebt of duty when it never received the duties it should have first. Oh, Imay not say this clearly as I feel it."
"But you know, 'Tana," said Miss Slocum, "that if there is no commandmentas to parents giving care to their children, it is only because it is soplainly a natural thing to do that it was unnecessary to command it."
"No more natural than for a child to honor any person who is honorable, orto love the parent who loves him, and teaches him rightly. Huh! If a childis not able to love and respect a parent, it is the child who loses themost."
Miss Slocum looked at her sadly.
"I can't scold you as I would try to scold many a one in your place," shesaid, "for I feel as if you must have traveled over some long, hard pathof troubles, before you could reach this feeling you have. But, 'Tana,think of brighter things; young girls should never drift into thoseperplexing questions. They will make you melancholy if you brood on suchthings."
"Melancholy? Well, I think not," and she smiled and shrugged hershoulders. "Seems to me I'm the least gloomy person in camp this morning.All the rest of you look as though Mr. Holly had been your bosom friend."
She talked recklessly--they thought heartlessly--of the murder, and thetwo women were strongly inclined to think the shock of the affair hadtouched her brain, for she showed no concern whatever as to her ownposition, but treated it as a joke. And when she realized that she was toa certain extent under guard, she seemed to find amusement in that, too.Her expressions, when the cousins grew pitiful over the handsome face ofHolly, were touched with ridicule.
"I wonder if there was ever a man too low and vile to get woman's pity, ifhe only had a pretty face," she said, caustically. "If he was an ugly,old, half-decent fellow, you wouldn't be making any soft-hearted surmisesas to what he might have been under different circumstances. He hasspoiled the lives of several tenderhearted women like you--yet you pityhim!"
"'Tana, I never knew you to be so set against any one as you are againstthat poor dead man," declared Mrs. Huzzard. "Not so much wonder the folksthink you know how it happened, for you always had a helping word forthe worst old tramp or beggarly Indian that came around; but for this manyou have nothing but unkindness."
"No," agreed the girl, "and you would like to think him a romantic victimof somebody, just because he is so good-looking. I'm going to talk toHarris. He won't sympathize with the wrong side, I am sure."
He looked up eagerly as she entered, his eyes full of anxious question.She touched his hand kindly and sat close beside him as she talked.
"You want to know all about it, don't you?" she asked, softly. "Well, itis all over. He was alive, after all, and I would not believe it. But nowyou need never trail him again, you can rest now, for he is dead. Somebodyelse has--has owed him a grudge, too. They think I am the somebody, butyou don't believe that?"
He shook his head decidedly.
"No," she continued; "though for one moment, Joe, I thought that it mighthave been you. Yes, I did; for of course I knew it was only weakness wouldkeep you from it, if you were in reach of him. But I remembered at oncethat it could not be, for the hand that struck him was strong."
He assented in his silent way, and watched her face closely, as if to readthe shadows of thought thrown on it by her feelings.
"It's awful, ain't it?" she whispered. "It is what I said I hoped for, andjust yet I can't be sorry--I can't! But, after this stir is all over, Iknow it will trouble me, make me sorry because I am not sorry now. I can'tcry, but I do feel like screaming. And see! every once in a while my handstremble; I tremble all over. Oh, it is awful!"
She buried her face in her hands. Only to him did she show any of thefeeling with which the death of the man touched her.
"And you can't tell me anything of how it was done?" she said, at last."You so near--did you see any one?"
She longed to ask if he had seen Overton, but dared not utter his name,lest he might suspect as she did. Each hour that went by was an added gainto her for him. Of course he had struck, not knowing who the man was. Ifhe had known, it would have been so easy to say, "I found him robbing thecabin. I killed him," and there would have been no further questionconcerning it.
"But if all the other bars were beaten down between us, this one wouldkeep me from ever shaking hands with him again. Why should it h
ave been heout of all the camp? Oh, it makes my heart ache!"
While she sat thus, with miserable thoughts, others came to the door, andlooking up, she saw Akkomi, who looked on her with keen, accusing eyes.
"No--it is not true, Akkomi," she said, in his own jargon. "Keep silentfor a little while of the things these people do not know--a little while,and then I can tell you who it is I am shielding, but not yet."
"Him!" and the eyes of the Indian turned to the paralytic.
"No--not him; truly not," she said, earnestly. "It is some one you wouldwant to help if you knew--some one who is going fast on the path fromthese people. They will learn soon it is not I; but till then, keepsilence."
"Dan--where?" he asked, laconically, and her face paled at the question.
Had he any reason to suspect the dread in her own mind? But a moment'sthought reassured her. He had asked simply because Overton seemed alwaysto him the controlling spirit of the camp, and Overton was the one hewould have speech with, if any.
"Overton left last night for the lake," explained Lyster, who had enteredand heard the name of Dan and the interrogative tone. Then the blanket wasbrought to Akkomi--his blanket, in which the man had died.
"I sold it to the white man--that is all," he answered through 'Tana; andmore than that he would not say except to inform them he would wait forDan. Which was, in fact, the general desire of the committee organized toinvestigate.
They all appeared to be waiting for Dan. Lyster did not by any means fillhis place, simply because Lyster's interest in 'Tana was too apparent, andthere was little of the cool quality of reason in his attitude toward themysterious case. He did not believe the ring she wore had belonged toHolly, though she refused to tell the source from which it had reachedher. He did not believe the man who said he heard that war of words at hercabin in the evening--at least, when others were about, he acted as if hedid not believe it. But when he and 'Tana chanced to be alone, she feltthe doubt there must be in his mind, and a regret for him touched her. Forhis sake she was sorry, but not sorry enough to clear the mystery at theexpense of that other man she thought she was shielding.
Captain Leek had been dispatched with all speed to the lake works, thatSeldon, Haydon, and Overton might be informed of the trouble in camp, andhasten back to settle it. To send for them was the only thing Lysterthought of doing, for he himself felt powerless against the lot of men,who were not harsh or rude in any way, but who simply wanted to know"why"--so many "whys" that he could not answer.
Not less trying to him were the several who persisted in asserting thatshe had done a commendable thing--that the country ought to feel gratefulto her, for the man had made trouble along the Columbia for years. He andhis confederates had done ugly work along the border, etc., etc.
"Sorry you asked me, Max?" she said, seeing his face grow gloomy undertheir cheering (?) assertions.
He did not answer at once, afraid his impatience with her might makeitself apparent in his speech.
"No, I'm not sorry," he said, at last; "but I shall be relieved when theothers arrive from the lake. Since you utterly refuse to confide even inme, you render me useless as to serving you; and--well--I can't feelflattered that you confide in me no more than in the strangers here."
"I know," she agreed, with a little sigh, "it is hard on you, and it willbe harder still if the story of this should ever creep out of thewilderness to the country where you come from--wouldn't it?" and shelooked at him very sharply, noting the swift color flush his face, asthough she had read his thoughts. "Yes--so it's lucky, Max, that wehaven't talked to others about that little conditional promise, isn't it?So it will be easier to forget, and no one need know."
"You mean you think me the sort of fellow to break our engagement justbecause these fools have mixed you up with this horror?" he asked,angrily. "You've no right to think that of me; neither have you theright--in justice to me as well as yourself--to maintain this verysuggestive manner about all things connected with the murder. Why can younot tell more clearly where your time was spent last evening? Why will younot tell where the ring came from? Why will you see me half-frantic overthe whole miserable affair, when you could, I am sure, easily change it?"
"Oh, Max, I don't want to worry you--indeed I don't! But--" and she smiledmirthlessly. "I told you once I was a 'hoodoo.' The people who like me arealways sure to have trouble brewing for them. That is why I say you hadbetter give me up, Max; for this is only the beginning."
"Don't talk like that; it is folly," he said, in a sharp tone. "'Hoodoo!'Nonsense! When Overton and the others arrive, they will find a means ofchanging the ideas of these people, in spite of your reticence; and thenmaybe old Akkomi may find words, too. He sits outside the door asimpassive as the clay image you gave me and bewitched me with."
She smiled faintly, thinking of those days--how very long ago they seemed,yet it was this same summer.
"I feel as if I had lived a long time since I played with that clay," shesaid, wistfully; "so many things have been made different for me."
Then she arose and walked about the little room restlessly, while the eyesof Harris never left her. Into the other room she had not gone at all, forin it was the dead stranger.
"When do you look for your uncle and Mr. Haydon?" she asked, at last, forthe silences were hardest to endure.
She would laugh, or argue, or ridicule--do anything rather than sit silentwith questioning eyes upon her. She even grew to fancy that Harris mustaccuse her--he watched her so!
"When do we look for them? Well, I don't dare let myself decide. I onlyhope they may have made a start back, and will meet the captain on hisway. As to Dan--he had not so very much the start, and they ought to catchup with him, for there were the two Indian canoeists--the two best ones;and when they are racing over the water, with an object, they surely oughtto make better time than he. I can't see that he had any very pressingreason for going at all."
"He doesn't talk much about his reasons," she answered.
"No; that's a fact," he agreed, "and less of late than when I knew himfirst. But he'll make Akkomi talk, maybe, when he arrives--and I hope you,too."
"When he arrives!"
She thought the words, but did not say them aloud. She sat long after Maxhad left her, and thought how many hours must elapse before theydiscovered that Dan had not followed the other men to the lake works. Shefelt sure that he was somewhere in the wilderness, avoiding the knownpaths, alone, and perhaps hating her as the cause of his isolation,because she would not confess what the man was to her, but left himblindly to keep his threat, and kill him when found in her room.
Ah! why not have trusted him with the whole truth? She asked herself thequestion as she sat there, but the mere thought of it made her face growhot, and her jaws set defiantly.
She would not--she could not! so she told herself. Better--better far besuspected of a murder--live all her life under the blame of it forhim--than to tell him of a past that was dead to her now, a past shehated, and from which she had determined to bar herself as far as silencecould build the wall. And to tell him--him--she could not.
But even as she sat, with her burning face in her hands, quick, heavysteps came to the door, halted, and looking up she found Dan before her.
"Oh! you should not," she whispered, hurriedly. "Why did you come back?They do not suspect; they think I did it--and so--"
"What does this all mean?--what do you mean?" he asked. "Can't youspeak?"
It seemed she could not find any more words, she stared at him sohelplessly.
"Max, come here!" he called, to hasten steps already approaching. "Come,all of you; I had only a moment to listen to the captain when he caught upwith me. But he told me she is suspected of murder--that a ring she worelast night helped the suspicion on. I didn't wait to hear any more, for Igave the little girl that snake ring--gave it to her weeks ago. I boughtit from a miner, and he told me he got it from an Indian near Karlo. Noware you ready to suspect me, too, because I had it first?"
>
"The ring wasn't just the most important bit of circumstantial evidence,Mr. Overton," answered the man named Saunders; "and we are all mighty gladyou've got here. It was in her room the man was found, and a knife sheborrowed from you was what killed him; and of where she was just about thetime the thing happened she won't say anything."
His face paled slightly as he looked at her and heard the brief summing upof the case.
"My knife?" he said, blankly.
"Yes, sir. When some one said it was your knife, she spoke up and said itwas, but that you had not had it since noon, for she borrowed it then tocut a stick; but beyond that she don't tell a thing."
"Who is the man?"
"The renegade--Lee Holly."
"Lee Holly!" He turned a piercing glance on Harris, remembering the deepinterest he had shown in that man Lee Holly and his partner, "Monte."
Harris met his gaze without flinching, and nodded his head as if inassent.
And that was the man found dead in her room!
The faces of the people seemed for a moment an indistinct blur before hiseyes; then he rallied and turned to her.
"'Tana, you never did it," he said, reassuringly; "or if you did, it hasbeen justifiable, and I know it. If it was necessary to do it in anyself-defense, don't be afraid to tell it all plainly. No one would blameyou. It is only this mystery that makes them want to hear the truth."
She only looked at him. Was he acting? Did he himself know nothing? Thehope that it was so--that she had deceived herself--made her tremble asshe had not at danger to herself. She had risen to her feet as he entered,but she swayed as if to fall, and he caught her, not knowing it was hopeinstead of despair that took the color from her face and left herhelpless.
"Courage, 'Tana! Tell us what you can. I left you just as the moon cameup. I saw you go to Mrs. Huzzard's tent. Now, where did you go afterthat?"
"What?" almost shouted Lyster. "You were with her when the moon rose. Areyou sure?"
"Sure? Of course I am. Why?"
"And how long before that, Mr. Overton?" asked Saunders; "for that is avery important point."
"About a half-hour, I should say--maybe a little more," he answered,staring at them. "Now, what important thing does that prove?"
One of the men gave a cheer; three or four had come up to the door whenthey saw Overton, and they took the yell up with a will. Mrs. Huzzardstarted to run from the tent, but grew so nervous that she had to waituntil Miss Slocum came to her aid.
"What in the world does it mean?" she gasped.
Saunders turned around with an honestly pleased look.
"It means that Mr. Overton here has brought word that clears Miss Riversof being at the cabin when the murder was done--that's what it means; andwe are all too glad over it to keep quiet. But why in the world didn't youtell us that, miss?"
But she did not say a word. All about Dan were exclamations and disjointedsentences, from which he could gain little actual knowledge, and he turnedto Lyster, impatiently:
"Can't you tell me--can't some of you tell me, what I have cleared up forher? When was this killing supposed to be done?"
"At or a little before moonrise," said Max, his face radiant once more."'Tana--don't you know what he has done for you? taken away all of thathorribly mistaken suspicion you let rest on you. Where was she, Dan?"
"Last night? Oh, up above the bluff there--went up when the pretty redlights were in the sky, and staid until the moon rose. I came across herup there, and advised her not to range away alone; so, when she got goodand ready, she walked back again, and went to the tent where you folkswere. Then I struck the creek, decided I would take a run up the lake, andleft without seeing any of you again. And all this time 'Tana has had aguard over her. Some of you must have been crazy."
"Well, then, I guess I was the worst lunatic of the lot," confessedSaunders. "But to tell the truth, Mr. Overton, it looks to me now as ifshe encouraged suspicion--yes, it does. 'Overton's knife,' said some one;but, quick as could be, she spoke up and said it was she who had it, andshe didn't mind just where she left it. And as to where she was at thattime, well, she just wouldn't give us a bit of satisfaction. Blest if Idon't think she wanted us to suspect her."
"Oh!" he breathed, as if in understanding, and her first words swept backto him, her nervous--"Why did you come back? They suspect me!" Surely thatcry was as a plea for his own safety; it spoke through eyes and voice aswell as words. Some glimmer of the truth came to him.
"Come, 'Tana!" he said, and reached his hand to her. "Where is theman--Holly? I should like to go in. Will you come, too?"
She rose without a word, and no one attempted to follow them.
Mrs. Huzzard heaved a prodigious sigh of content.
"Oh, that girl Montana!" she exclaimed. "I declare she ain't like any girlI ever did see! This morning, when she was a suspected criminal, she wastalky, and even laughed, and now that she's cleared, she won't lift herhead to look at any one. I do wonder if that sort of queerness is catchingin these woods. I declare I feel most scared enough to leave."
But Lyster reassured her.
"Remember how sick she has been; and think what a shock this whole affairhas been to weak nerves," he said, for with Dan's revelations he had grownblissfully content once more, "and as for that fellow hearing voices inher cabin--nonsense! She had been reading some poem or play aloud. She isfond of reading so, and does it remarkably well. He heard her spouting inthere for the benefit of Harris, and imagined she was making threats tosome one. Poor little girl! I'm determined she sha'n't remain here anylonger."
"Are you?" asked Mrs. Huzzard, dryly. "Well, Mr. Max, so long as I'veknown her, I've always found 'Tana makes her own determinations--andsticks to them, too."
"I'm glad to be reminded of that," he retorted, "for she promised meyesterday to marry me some time."
"Bless my soul!"
"If she didn't change her mind," he added, laughingly.
"To marry you! Well, well, well!" and she stared at him so queerly, that ashade of irritation crossed his face.
"Why not?" he asked. "Don't you think that a plain, ordinary man is goodenough for your wild-flower of the Kootenai hills?"
"Oh, you're not plain at all, Mr. Max Lyster," she returned, "and I'll gobail many a woman who is smarter than either 'Tana or me has let you knowit! It ain't the plainness--it's the difference. And--well, well! you knowyou've been quarreling ever since you met."
"But that is all over now," he promised; "and haven't you a good wish forus?"
"Indeed I have, then--a many of them, but you have surprised me. I used tothink that's how it would end; and then--well, then, a different notiongot in my head. Now that it's settled, I do hope you will be happy. Blessthe child! I'll go and tell her so this minute."
"No," he said, quickly, "let her and Dan have their talk out--if she willtalk to him. That fever left her queer in some things, and one of them isher avoidance of Dan. She hasn't been free and friendly with him as sheused to be, and it is too bad; for he is such a good fellow, and would doanything for her."
"Yes, he would," assented Mrs. Huzzard.
"And she will be her own spirited self in a few weeks--when she gets awayfrom here--and gets stronger. She'll appreciate Dan more after a while,for there are few like him. And so--as she is to go away so soon, I hopesomething will put them on their former confidential footing. Maybe thismurder will be the something."
"You are a good friend, Mr. Max," said the woman, slowly, "and you deserveto be a lucky lover. I'm sure I hope so."
Within the cabin, those two of whom they spoke stood together beside thedead outlaw, and their words were low--so low that the paralyzed man inthe next room listened in vain.
"And you believed that of me--of me?" he asked, and she answered,falteringly:
"How did I know? You said--you threatened--you would kill him--any man youfound in here. So, when he was here dead, I--did not know."
"And you thought I had stuck that knife in him and left?"
She nodded her head.
"And you thought," he continued, in a voice slightly tremulous, "that youwere giving me a chance to escape just so long as you let themsuspect--you?"
She did not answer, but turned toward the door. He held his arm out andbarred her way.
"Only a moment!" he said, pleadingly. "It never can be that--that I wouldbe anything to you, little girl--never, never! But--just once--let me tellyou a truth that shall never hurt you, I swear! I love you! No other wordbut that will tell your dearness to me. I--I never would have said it,but--but what you risked for me has broken me down. It has told me morethan your words would tell me, and I--Oh, God! my God!"
She shrank from the passion in his words and tone, but the movement onlymade him catch her arm and hold her there. Tears were in his eyes as helooked at her, and his jaws were set firmly.
"You are afraid of me--of me?" he asked. "Don't be. Life will be hardenough now without leaving me that to remember. I'm not asking a word inreturn from you; I have no right. You will be happy somewhere else--andwith some one else--and that is right."
He still held her wrist, and they stood in silence. She could utter noword; but her mouth trembled and she tried to smother a sob that arose inher throat.
But he heard it.
"Don't!" he said, almost in a whisper--"for God's sake, don't cry. I can'tstand that--not your tears. Here! be brave! Look up at me, won't you? See!I don't ask you for a word or a kiss or a thought when you leave me--onlylet me see your eyes! Look at me!"
What he read in her trembling lips and her shrinking, shamed eyes made himdraw his breath hard through his shut teeth.
"My brave little girl!" he said softly. "You will think harshly of me forthis some day--if you ever know--know all. But what you did this morningmade a coward of me--that and my longing for you. Try to forgive me. Or,no--you had better not. And when you are his wife--Oh, it's no use--Ican't think or speak of that--yet. Good-by, little girl--good-by!"
That Girl Montana Page 24