CHAPTER XXVII
THE SHADOW OF CRIME
Winston could never afterward recall having heard any report, yet as hestepped across the threshold a sharp flare of red fire cleft theblackness to his left. As though this was a signal he leapedrecklessly forward, running blindly along the narrow path toward theore-dump. Some trick of memory led him to remember a peculiar swervein the trail just beneath the upper rim of the canyon. It must havebeen about there that he saw the flash, and he plunged over the edge,both hands outstretched in protection of his eyes from injury should hecollide with any obstacle in the darkness. The deep shadows blindedhim, but there was no hesitancy, some instinct causing him to feel theurgent need of haste. Once he stumbled and fell headlong, but was asinstantly up again, bruised yet not seriously hurt. His revolver wasjerked loose from his belt, but the man never paused to search for it.Even as he regained his feet, his mind bewildered by the shock, hisears distinguished clearly the cry of a woman, the sound of heavy feetcrushing through underbrush. It was to his right, and he hurledhimself directly into the thick chaparral in the direction from whencethe sound came.
He knew not what new terror awaited him, what peril lurked in the path.At that moment he cared nothing. Bareheaded, pushing desperately asidethe obstructing branches, his heart throbbing, his clothing torn, hisface white with determination, he struggled madly forward, stumbling,creeping, fighting a passage, until he finally emerged, breathless butresolute, into a little cove extending back into the rock wall. Fromexertion and excitement he trembled from head to foot, the perspirationdripping from his face.
He stopped. The sight which met him for the moment paralyzed bothspeech and motion. Halfway across the open space, only dimly revealedin the star-light, her long hair dislodged and flying wildly about hershoulders, the gleam of the weapon in her hand, apparently stopped inthe very act of flight, her eyes filled with terror staring back towardhim, stood Beth Norvell. In that first instant he saw nothing else,thought only of her; of the intense peril that had so changed the girl.With hands outstretched he took a quick step toward her, marvelling whyshe crouched and shrank back before him as if in speechless fright.Then he saw. There between them, at his very feet, the face upturnedand ghastly, the hands yet clinched as if in struggle, lay the lifelessbody of Biff Farnham. As though fascinated by the sight, Winstonstared at it, involuntarily drawing away as the full measure of thisawful horror dawned upon him: she had killed him. Driven to the deedby desperation, goaded to it by insult and injury, tried beyond allpower of human endurance, she had taken the man's life. This fact wasall he could grasp, all he could comprehend. It shut down about himlike a great blackness. In the keen agony of that moment ofcomprehension Winston recalled how she had once confessed temptation tocommit the deed; how she had even openly threatened it in a tempest ofsudden passion, if this man should ever seek her again. He had doneso, and she had redeemed her pledge. He had dared, and she had struck.Under God, no one could justly blame her; yet the man's heart sank,leaving him faint and weak, reeling like a drunken man, as he realizedwhat this must mean--to her, to him, to all the world. Right or wrong,justified or unjustified, the verdict of law spelled murder; theverdict of society, ostracism. It seemed to him that he must stifle;his brain was whirling dizzily. He saw it all as in a flash oflightning--the arrest, the pointing fingers, the bitterness ofexposure, the cruel torture of the court, the broken-hearted womancowering before her judges. Oh, God! it was too much! Yet what couldhe do? How might he protect, shield her from the consequences of thisawful act? The law! What cared he for the law, knowing the story ofher life, knowing still that he loved her? For a moment the manutterly forgot himself in the intensity of his agony for her. Thismust inevitably separate them more widely than ever before; yet hewould not think of that--only of what he could do now to aid her. Hetore open his shirt, that he might have air, his dull gaze upliftingpiteously from the face of the dead to the place where she stood, herhands pressed against her head, her great eyes staring at him as thoughshe confronted a ghost. Her very posture shocked him, it was so filledwith speechless horror, so wild with undisguised terror. Suddenly shegave utterance to a sharp cry, that was half a sob, breaking in herthroat.
"Oh, my God! my God!--you!"
The very sound of her voice, unnatural, unhuman as it was, served tobring him to himself.
"Yes, Beth, yes," he exclaimed hoarsely through dry lips, steppingacross the body toward her. "You need not fear me."
She drew hastily back from before him, holding forth her hands asthough pressing him away, upon her face that same look of unutterablehorror.
"You! You! Oh, my God!" she kept repeating. "See! see there!--he isdead, dead, dead! I--I found him there; I--I found him there. Oh, myGod!--that face so white in the starlight! I--I heard the words,and--and the shot." She pressed both hands across her eyes as thoughseeking to blot it out. "I swear I heard it! I--I do not know why Icame here, but I--I found him there dead, dead! I--I was all alone inthe dark. I--I had to touch him to make sure, and--and then it wasyou."
"Yes, yes," he said, realizing she was blindly endeavoring to clearherself, yet thinking only how he might soothe her, inexpressiblyshocked by both words and manner. "I know, I understand--you found himthere in the dark, and it has terrified you."
He approached closer, holding forth his own hands, believing she wouldcome to him. But instead she shrank away as a child might, expectingpunishment, her arms uplifted, shielding her face.
"No, no; do not touch me; do not touch me," she moaned. "I am notafraid of you, only I could not bear it."
"Beth!" He compelled his voice to sternness, confident now that thishysteria could be controlled only through the exercise of his own will."You must listen to me, and be guided by my judgment. You must, youshall, do as I say. This is a most terrible happening, but it is nowtoo late to remedy. We cannot restore life once taken. We must facethe fact and do the very best we can for the future. This man is dead.How he died can make no difference to us now. You must go away fromhere; you must go away from here at once."
"And--and leave him alone?"
The whispered words stung him, his distressed mind placing wrongconstruction on the utterance.
"Has he been so much to you that now you must sacrifice yourselfneedlessly for him?" he questioned quickly.
"No, not that--not that," a shudder ran through her body, "but he--hewas my husband. You forget."
"I do not forget. God knows it has been burden enough for me. But youhave no further duty here, none to him. You have to yourself and tome."
"To--to you?"
"Yes, to me. I will put it that way, if it will only stir you toaction. I can not, will not, leave you here alone to suffer for this.If you stay, I stay. In Heaven's name, Beth, I plead with you to go; Ibeg you to be guided in this by me."
"You--you will go with me?" her voice trembling, yet for the first timeexhibiting a trace of interest. "If I go, you will go?"
"Yes, yes; can you suppose I would ever permit you to go alone? Do yougive me your promise?"
She still held her head pressed between the palms of her hands, herdishevelled hair hanging far below the waist, her dark eyes, wild andfilled with terror, roving about as though seeking to pierce thesurrounding darkness.
"Oh, my God! I don't know!" she cried in a breathless sob. "I don'tknow! Why won't you go? Why won't you go, and leave me here with him,until some one else comes? I cannot understand; my brain is on fire.But that would be better--yes, yes! Do that. I--I am not afraid ofhim."
He caught her outflung hand firmly within his own grasp. Sheshuddered, as if the contact were painful, yet made no effort toescape, her eyes widening as she looked at him.
"No, I will not go one step without you." He held her helpless, hisface grown stern, seeing in this his only hope of influencing heraction. "Can it be you believe me such a cur? Beth, we bothcomprehend the wrong this man has done, the evil of his l
ife theprovocation given for such an act as this. He deserved it all. Thisis no time for blame. If we desired to aid him, our remaining here nowwould accomplish nothing. Others will discover the body and give itproper care. But, oh, God! do you realize what it will inevitably meanfor us to be discovered here?--the disgrace, the stigma, theprobability of arrest and conviction, the ruthless exposure ofeverything? I plead with you to think of all this, and no longerhesitate. We have no time for that. Leave here with me before itbecomes too late. I believe I know a way out, and there is opportunityif we move quickly. But the slightest delay may close every avenue forescape. Beth, Beth, blot out all else, and tell me you will go!"
The intense agony apparent in his voice seemed to break her downutterly. The tears sprang blinding to her dry eyes, her head bentforward.
"And," she asked, as if the thought had not yet reached herunderstanding, "you will not go without--without me?"
"No; whatever the result, no."
She lifted her face, white, haggard, and looked at him through the mistobscuring her eyes, no longer wide opened in wildness.
"Then I must go; I must go," she exclaimed, a shudder shaking her fromhead to foot; "God help me, I must go!"
A moment she gazed blankly back toward the motionless body on theground, the ghastly countenance upturned to the stars, her own face aswhite as the dead, one hand pressing back her dark hair. She reeledfrom sudden faintness, yet, before he could touch her in support, shehad sunk upon her knees, with head bowed low, the long tresses trailingupon the ground.
"Beth! Beth!" he cried in an agony of fear.
She looked up at him, her expression that of earnest pleading.
"Yes, yes, I will go," she said, the words trembling; "but--but let mepray first."
He stood motionless above her, his heart throbbing, his own eyeslowered upon the ground. He was conscious of the movement of her lips,yet could never afterward recall even a broken sentence of that prayer.Possibly it was too sacred even for his ears, only to be measured bythe infinite love of God. She ceased to speak at last, the low voicesinking into an inarticulate whisper, yet she remained kneeling theremotionless, no sound audible excepting her repressed sobbing. Drivenby the requirements of haste, Winston touched her gently upon theshoulder.
"Come, my girl," he said, the sight of her suffering almost more thanhe could bear. "You have done all you can here now."
She arose to her feet slowly, never looking toward him, never appearingto heed his presence. He noticed the swelling of her throat as thoughthe effort to breathe choked her, the quick spasmodic heaving of herbosom, and set his teeth, struggling against the strain upon his ownnerves.
"You will go with me now?"
She glanced about at him, her eyes dull, unseeing.
"Oh, yes--now," she answered, as if the words were spokenautomatically. He led her away, ignoring the constant efforts shemade, as they climbed the bank, to gaze back across his shoulder.Finally the intervening branches completely hid that white, dead facebelow, and, as if with it had vanished all remaining strength of will,or power of body, the girl drooped her head against him, swayingblindly as she walked. Without a word he drew her close within hisarm, her hair blowing across his face, her hand gripping his shoulder.It was thus they came forth amid the clearer starlight upon the ridgesummit. Again and again as they moved slowly he strove to speak, toutter some word of comfort, of sympathy. But he could not--the veryexpression of her partially revealed face, as he caught glimpses of it,held him speechless. Deep within his heart he knew her trouble wasbeyond the ministration of words. Some one was standing out in frontof the cabin. His eyes perceived the figure as they approached, and hecould not bring himself to speak of this thing of horror in herpresence.
"Beth," he said gently, but had to touch her to attract attention, "Iwant you to sit here and wait while I arrange for our journey. You arenot afraid?"
"No," her voice utterly devoid of emotion, "I am not afraid."
"You will remain here?"
She looked at him, her face expressionless, as though she failed tounderstand. Yet when he pointed to the stone she sat down.
"Yes," she answered, speaking those common words hesitatingly as ifthey were from some unfamiliar foreign tongue, "I am to do what yousay."
She bent wearily down, her head buried within her hands. For a momentWinston stood hesitating, scarcely daring to leave her. But she didnot move, and finally he turned away, walking directly toward thatindistinct figure standing beside the cabin door. As he drew closer herecognized the old miner, his rifle half-raised in suspicion of hisvisitor. It must be done, and the engineer went at his task directly.
"Has Brown come back?"
"Shore; he 's in thar now," and Hicks peered cautiously into the faceof his questioner, even while pointing back into the dark cabin. "Hecome in a while ago; never said no word ter me, but just pushed past inthar ter the bed, an' kneeled down with his face in the bed-clothes.He ain't moved ner spoke since. I went in onct, an' tried ter talk terhim, but he never so much as stirred, er looked at me. I tell yer, Mr.Winston, it just don't seem nat'ral; 't ain't a bit like Stutter ferter act in that way. I just could n't stand it no longer, an' had tergit out yere into the open air. Damn, but it makes me sick."
"This has been a terrible night," the younger man said gravely, layinghis hand upon the other's shoulder. "I hope never to pass through suchanother. But we are not done with it yet. Hicks, Farnham has beenkilled--shot. His body lies over yonder in that little cove, justbeyond the trail. You will have to attend to it, for I am going to gethis wife away from here at once."
"You are what?"
"I am going to take Miss Norvell away--now, to-night. I am going totake her across to Daggett Station, to catch the east-bound train."
Hicks stared at him open-eyed, the full meaning of all this coming tohis mind by degrees.
"Good God! Do yer think she did it?" he questioned incredulously.
Winston shook him, his teeth grinding together savagely.
"Damn you! it makes no difference what I think!" he exclaimed fiercely,his nerves throbbing. "All you need to know is that she is going;going to-night; going to Daggett Station, to Denver, to wherever shewill be beyond danger of ever being found. You understand that? She's going with me, and you are going to help us, and you are going to doyour part without asking any more fool questions."
"What is it you want?"
"Your horse, and the pony Mercedes was riding."
Hicks uttered a rasping oath, that seemed to catch, growling, in hislean throat.
"But, see yere, Winston," he protested warmly. "Just look at the shapeyour goin' now will leave us in yere at the 'Little Yankee.' We needyer testimony, an' need it bad."
Winston struck his hand against the log, as slight vent to his feelings.
"Hicks, I never supposed you were a fool. You know better than that,if you will only stop and think. This claim matter is settled already.The whole trouble originated with Farnham, and he is dead. Tomorrowyou 'll bury him. The sheriff is here, and he's already beginning tounderstand this affair. He stands to help you. Now, all you 've gotto do is to swear out warrants for Farnham's partners, and show up inevidence that tunnel running along your lead. It's simple as A B C,now that you know it's there. They can't beat you, and you don'trequire a word of testimony from me. But that poor girl needsme,--she's almost crazed by this thing,--and I 'm going with her, if Ihave to fight my way out from here with a rifle. That's the whole ofit--either you give me those horses, or I 'll take them."
Old Hicks looked into the grim face fronting him so threateningly, thecomplete situation slowly revealing itself to his mind.
"Great Guns!" he said at last, almost apologetically. "Yer need n't donothin' like that. Lord, no! I like yer first rate, an' I like thegirl. Yer bet I do, an' I 'm damn glad that Farnham 's knocked out.Shore, I 'll help the both o' yer. I reckon Stutter 'd be no good as aguide ter-night, but I k
in show yer the way down the ravine. The restis just ridin'. Yer kin leave them hosses with the section-boss atDaggett till I come fer 'em."
Beth Norvell: A Romance of the West Page 27