The Chalice Of Courage: A Romance of Colorado

by Cyrus Townsend Brady

  CHAPTER XXV

  THE BECOMING END

  "Why did you interfere?" when at last he got his breath again, askedNewbold of Maitland who still held him firmly although restraint was nowunnecessary, the heat and fire of his passion being somewhat gone out ofhim. "I meant to kill him."

  "He'd oughter die sure nuff," drawled old Kirkby, rising from where hehad been kneeling by Armstrong's side, "but I don't know's how you'rebound to be his executioner. He's all right now, Miss Enid," said theold man. "Here"--he took a pillow from the bunk and slipped it under hishead and then extending his hands he lifted the excited almostdistraught woman to her feet--"tain't fittin' for you to tend on him."

  "Oh," exclaimed Enid, her limbs trembling, the blood flowing away fromher heart, her face deathly white, fighting against the faintness thatcame with the reaction, while old Kirkby supported and encouraged her."I thank God you came. I don't know what would have happened if you hadnot."

  "Has this man mistreated you?" asked Robert Maitland, suddenlytightening his grip upon his hard breathing but unresisting passiveprisoner.

  "No, no," answered his niece. "He has been everything that a man shouldbe."

  "And Armstrong?" continued her uncle.

  "No, not even he."

  "I came in time, thank God!" ejaculated Newbold.

  By this time Armstrong had recovered consciousness. To his other causesfor hatred were now added chagrin, mortification, shame. He had beenovercome. He would have been a dead man and by Newbold's hands if theothers had not interfered. He almost wished they had let his enemyalone. Well, he had lost everything but a chance for revenge on themall.

  "She has been alone here with this man in this cabin for a month," hesaid thickly. "I was willing to take her in spite of that, but--"

  "He made that damned suggestion before," cried Newbold, his ragereturning. "I don't know who you are--"

  "My name is Robert Maitland, and I am this girl's uncle."

  "Well, if you were her father, I could only swear--"

  "It isn't necessary to swear anything," answered Maitland serenely. "Iknow this child. And I believe I'm beginning to find out this man."

  "Thank you, Uncle Robert," said Enid gratefully, coming nearer to him asshe spoke. "No man could have done more for me than Mr. Newbold has, andno one could have been more considerate of me. As for you," she turnedon, Armstrong, who now slowly got to his feet, "your insinuationsagainst me are on a par with your charges against the dead woman,beneath contempt."

  "What did he say about her?" asked Old Kirkby.

  "You know my story?" asked Newbold.

  "Yes."

  "He said that my wife had been unfaithful to me--with him--and that hehad refused to take her back."

  "And it was true," snarled Armstrong.

  It was all Maitland could do to check Newbold's rush, but in the end itwas old Kirkby who most effectively interposed.

  "That's a damned lie," he said quietly with his usual drawling voice.

  "You can say so," laughed Armstrong, "but that doesn't alter thefacts."

  "An' I can prove it," answered the old man triumphantly.

  It was coming, the secret that she had tried to conceal was about to berevealed, thought Enid. She made a movement toward the old man. Sheopened her mouth to bid him be silent and then stopped. It would beuseless she knew. The determination was no longer hers. The direction ofaffairs had been withdrawn from her. After all it was better that theunloving wife should be proved faithful, even if her husband's cherishedmemory of her love for him had to be destroyed thereby. Helpless shelistened knowing full well what the old frontiersman's next word wouldbe.

  "Prove it!" mocked Armstrong. "How?"

  "By your own hand, out of your own mouth, you dog," thundered oldKirkby. "Miss Enid, w'ere are them letters I give you?"

  "I--I--" faltered the girl, but there was no escape from the keen glanceof the old man, her hand went to the bosom of her tunic.

  "Letters!" exclaimed Armstrong. "What letters?"

  "These," answered Enid Maitland, holding up the packet.

  Armstrong reached for them but Kirkby again interposed.

  "No, you don't," he said dryly. "Them ain't for your eyes yit. Mr.Newbold, I found them letters on the little shelf w'ere your wife firststruck w'en she fell over onto the butte w'ere she died. I figgered outher dress was tore open there an' them letters she was carryin' fell outan' lodged there. We had ropes an' we went down over the rocks that way.I went first an' I picked 'em up. I never told nobody about it an' Inever showed 'em to a single human bein' until I give 'em to MissMaitland at the camp."

  "Why not?" asked Newbold, taking the letters.

  "There wasn't no good tellin' nobody then, jest fer the sake o' stirrin'up trouble."

  "But why did you give them to her at last?"

  "Because I was afeered she might fall in love with Armstrong. I supposedshe'd know his writin', but w'en she didn't I jest let her keep 'emanyway. I knowed it'd all come out somehow; there is a God above us inspite of all the damned scoundrels on earth like this un."

  "Are these letters addressed to my dead wife?" asked Newbold.

  "They are," answered Enid Maitland; "look and see."

  "And did Mr. Armstrong write them?"

  "He'll deny it, I suppose," answered Kirkby.

  "But I am familiar with his handwriting," said Maitland.

  Taking the still unopened packet from Newbold he opened it, examined oneof the letters and handed them all back.

  "There is no doubt about it," he said. "It's Armstrong's hand, I'llswear to it."

  "Oh, I'll acknowledge them," said Armstrong, seeing the absolutefutility of further denial. He had forgotten all about the letters. Hehad not dreamed they were in existence. "You've got me beat between you,the cards are stacked against me, I've done my damndest--" and indeedthat was true.

  Well, he had played a great game, battling for a high stake he had stuckat nothing. A career in which some good had mingled with much bad wasnow at an end. He had lost utterly, would he show himself a good loser?

  "Mr. Armstrong," said Newbold, quietly extending his hand, "here areyour letters."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I am not in the habit of reading letters addressed to other peoplewithout permission and when the recipient of them is dead long since, Iam doubly bound."

  "You're a damned fool," cried Armstrong contemptuously.

  "That kind of a charge from your kind of a man is perhaps the highestcompliment you could pay me. I don't know whether I shall ever get ridof the doubt you have tried to lodge in my soul about my dead wife,but--"

  "There ain't no doubt about it," protested old Kirkby earnestly. "I'veread them letters a hundred times over, havin' no scruples whatsomever,an' in every one of 'em he was beggin' an' pleadin' with her to go awaywith him an' fightin' her refusal to do it. I guess I've got to admitthat she didn't love you none, Newbold, an' she did love this herewuthless Armstrong, but for the sake of her reputation I'll prove to youall from them letters of hisn, from his own words, that there didn'tlive a cleaner hearted, more virtuous, upright feemale than that therewife of yourn, even if she didn't love you. It's God's truth an' you kintake it from me."

  "Mr. Armstrong," cried Enid Maitland, interposing at this juncture, "notvery long ago I told you I liked you better than any man I had everseen, I thought perhaps I might have loved you, and that was true. Youhave played the coward's part and the liar's part in this room--"

  "Did I fight him like a coward?" asked Armstrong.

  "No," answered Newbold for her, remembering the struggle, "you foughtlike a man."

  Singular perversion of language and thought there! If two struggled likewild beasts that was fighting like men!

  "But let that pass," continued the woman. "I don't deny your physicalcourage, but I am going to appeal to another kind of a courage which Ibelieve you possess. You have showed your evil side here in this room,but I don't believe that's the only side you have, e
lse I couldn't evenhave liked you in the past. You have made a charge against two women,one dead and one living. It makes little difference what you say aboutme; I need no defense and no justification in the eyes of those here wholove me and for the rest of the world I don't care. But you have slainthis man's confidence in a woman he once loved, and whom he thoughtloved him. As you are a man, tell him that it was a lie and that she wasinnocent of anything else although she did love you."

  What a singular situation, an observer who knew all might havereflected? Here was Enid Maitland pleading for the good name of thewoman who had married the man she now loved, and whom by rights sheshould have jealously hated.

  "You ask me more than I can," faltered Armstrong, yet greatly moved bythis touching appeal to his better self.

  "Let him speak no word," protested Newbold quickly. "I wouldn't believehim on his oath."

  "Steady now, steady," interposed Kirkby with his frontier instinct forfair play. "The man's down, Newbold, don't hit him now."

  "Give him a chance," added Maitland earnestly.

  "You would not believe me, eh?" laughed Armstrong horribly; "well thenthis is what I say, whether it is true or a lie you can be the judge."

  What was he about to say? They all recognized instinctively that hisforthcoming deliverance would be a final one. Would good or evildominate him now? Enid Maitland had made her plea and it had been apowerful one; the man did truly love the woman who urged him, there wasnothing left for him but a chance that she should think a little betterof him than he merited, he had come to the end of his resources. AndEnid Maitland spoke again as he hesitated.

  "Oh, think, think before you speak," she cried.

  "If I thought," answered Armstrong quickly, "I should go mad. Newbold,your wife was as pure as the snow. That she loved me I cannot and willnot deny. She married you in a fit of jealousy and anger after a quarrelbetween us in which I was to blame, and when I came back to the camp inyour absence I strove to make it up and used every argument that Ipossessed to get her to leave you and to go with me. Although she had nolove for you she was too good and too true a woman for that. Now you'vegot the truth, damn you; believe it or not as you like. Miss Maitland,"he added swiftly, "if I had met you sooner, I might have been a betterman. Good-by."

  He turned suddenly and none preventing, indeed it was not possible, heran to the outer door; as he did so his hand snatched something that layon the chest of drawers. There was a flash of light as he drew in hisarm but none saw what it was. In a few seconds he was outside the door.The table was between old Kirkby and the exit, Maitland and Newbold werenearest. The old man came to his senses first.

  "After him," he cried, "he means--"

  But before anybody could stir, the dull report of a pistol came throughthe open door!

  They found Armstrong lying on his back in the snowy path, his face aswhite as the drift that pillowed his head, Newbold's heavy revolverstill clutched in his right hand and a bloody, welling smudge on hisleft breast over his heart. It was the woman who broke the silence.

  "Oh," she sobbed, "It can't be--"

  "Dead," said Maitland solemnly.

  "And it might have been by my hand," muttered Newbold to himself inhorror.

  "He'll never cause no more trouble to nobody in this world, Miss Enidan' gents," said old Kirkby gravely. "Well, he was a damned fool an' adamned villain in some ways," continued the old frontiersmanreflectively in the silence broken otherwise only by the woman's sobbingbreaths, "but he had some of the qualities that go to make a man, an' Iain't doubtin' but what them last words of hisn was mighty near true. Efhe had met a gal like you earlier in his life he mought have been adifferent man."