CHAPTER XIV
It was a hopeless game and a grim one. He could not cover all thedefenses long in single-handed effort, and the best he could hope forwas to die in ample companionship. Now, two men had reachedbroad-girthed oaks, halfway between thicket and house. There they weresafe for the next rush.
So this was the end of the matter! Spurrier reloaded his rifle andwent down the ladder. Hastily he carried Glory into the room at theback and overturned his heavy table to serve as a final barricade. Heelected to die here when they swarmed the door from which he could nolonger keep them, crowning the battle with a finale of punishment asthey crowded through the breach.
But the minutes dragged with irksome tension. He was keyed up now,wire-tight, for the finish, and yet silence fell again and denied himthe relief of action. To Spurrier it was like a long and cruel delayimposed upon a man standing blindfolded and noosed on the scaffoldtrap. Then the quiet was ripped with a totally wasteful fusillade, asthough every attacker outside were pumping his gun in a contest ofspeed rather than effect.
Spurrier smiled grimly. Let them burn their powder--he would have histill they massed in front of his muzzle and the barrier fell.
"When the barrier fell!" Crouched there behind the table where hemeant to sell his life in that brief space that seemed long, the wordsbrought with them the memory of one of the few poems that had evermeant much to him--and while he awaited death his mind seized upon thelines--a funeral address in soliloquy!
"For the journey is done and the summit attained, And the barriers fall----"
He strained his ears to his listening and then through his head ranother verses:
"I was ever a fighter, so--one fight more, The best and the last! I would hate that Death bandaged my eyes and forebore And bade me creep past----"
Was that a battering-ram against timber that he heard? He fingered thetrigger.
"Then a light, then thy breast, O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, And with God be the rest!"
But the door did not fall. The rifle cracking became interspersed withalarmed outcries of warning and confusion. He could even hear thebrush torn with the hurried tramping of running feet, and then thepandemonium abruptly stopped dead, and after a long period of inheldbreath there followed a loud rapping on the door and a voice ofagonized anxiety shouted:
"In God's name open if ye're still alive. It's Cappeze--and friends!"
The psychological effect of that recognized voice upon JohnSpurrier, and of its incredible meaning, was strange to the pointof grotesquerie. Its sound carried a complete reversal of everythingto which his mind had been focussed with a tensity which had keyeditself to the acceptance of a violent death, and with the reversalcame reaction. There was no interim of preparation for the alteredaspect of affairs. It was precisely as though a runaway trainfuriously speeding to the overhang of an unbridged chasm hadsuddenly begun dashing in the contrary direction with no shade oflessening velocity, and no grinding of breaks to a halt between time.
Spurrier had taken no thought of physical strain. He had not knownthat he was wearied with nerve wrack and pell-mell dashing from firingpoint to firing point. He knew nothing of the picture he made withclothing torn from his scrambling rushes up-ladder and down-ladder andhis crouching and shifting among the rough nail-studded spaces of thecockloft. Of the face, sweat-reeking and dust-smeared, he had norealization, but when that voice called out and he knew that rescuerswere clamoring where assassins had laid siege, the stout knees underhim buckled weakly, and the fingers that had fitted his rifle assteadily as part of its own metallic mechanism became so inert thatthey could scarcely maintain their grip upon the weapon.
John Spurrier, emotionally stirred and agitated as he had never beenin battle, because of the limp figure that lay under that roof, stoodgulping and struggling for a lost voice with which to give back areply. He rocked on his feet and then, like a drunken man went slowlyand unsteadily forward to lift the bar of the door.
When he had thrown it wide the rush of anxious men halted, backing upinstinctively, as their eyes were confused by the inner murk and theirnostrils assailed by the acrid stench of nitrate, from the vapors ofburnt powder that hung stiflingly between the walls and ceilingrafters. Old Cappeze was at their front and when he saw before him thebattle begrimed and drawn visage of the man, he looked wildly beyondit for the other face that he did not see, and his voice broke androse in a high, thin note that was almost falsetto as he demanded:"Where is she? Where's Glory?"
John Spurrier sought to speak but the best he could do was to indicatewith a gesture half appealing and half despairing to the door of theother room, where she lay on his army cot. The father crossed itsthreshold ahead of him and dropped to his knees there with agonizedeyes, and Bud Hawkins, the preacher and physician, not sure yet inwhich capacity he must act, was bent at his shoulder, while Spurrierexhorted him with a recovered but tortured voice, "In God's name, makehaste. There's only a spark of life left."
From the crowd which had followed and stood massed about the door camea low but unmistakable smother of fury, as they saw the unmovingfigure of the girl, and those at the edge wheeled and ran outwardagain with the summary resoluteness that one sees in hounds cast offat the start of the chase.
Upon those who remained Brother Hawkins wheeled and swept out hishands in a gesture of imperative dismissal.
"Leave us alone, men," he commanded. "I needs ter work alonehyar--with ther holp of Almighty God."
But he worked kneeling, tearing away the clothing over the woundedbreast, and while he did so he prayed with a fervor that was fiercelyelemental, yet abating no whit of his doctor's efficiency with hissurprisingly deft hands, while his lips and heart were those of thereligionist.
"Almighty Father in Heaven," he pleaded, "spare this hyar child ofThine ef so be Thy wisdom suffers hit."
There he broke off and as though a different man were speaking, shotover his shoulder the curt command: "Fotch me water speedily--BecauseAlmighty Father, she's done fell a victim of evil men thet fears Theenot in th'ar hearts!"
After a little Brother Hawkins dismissed even the father and Spurrierfrom the room and worked on alone, the voice of his praying soundingover his activity.
Ten minutes later, in a crowded room, Bud Hawkins, preacher andphysician, laid one hand on Spurrier's shoulder and the other onCappeze's.
"Men," he said in a hushed voice, "I fears me ther shot thet hit herwas a deadener. Yit I kain't quite fathom hit nuther. She's back inher rightful senses ergin--but she don't seem ter _want_ to live,somehow. She won't put for'ard no effort."
Spurrier wheeled to face them both and his voice came with tense,gasping earnestness.
"Before she dies, Brother Hawkins," he pleaded, "you're a minister ofthe gospel--I want you to marry us." He wheeled then on the rescuers,who stood breathing heavily from exertion and fight.
"Two of you men stay here as wedding witnesses," he commanded. "One ofyou ride hell-for-leather to the nearest telephone and call upLexington. Have a man start with bloodhounds on a special train. Therest of you get into the timber and finecomb it for some scrap ofcloth--or anything that will give the dogs a chance when they gethere."
Once more Spurrier was the officer in command, and snappily hishearers sprang to obedience, but when the place had almost emptied,the three turned and went into the back room, and, kneeling therebeside the wounded girl, Spurrier whispered:
"Dearest, the preacher has come--to wed us."
Glory's eyes with their deeps of color were startlingly vivid as theylooked out of the pallid face upon which a little while ago JohnSpurrier had believed the white stamp of death to be fixed.
The features themselves, except the eyes, seemed to have shrunken fromweakness into wistful smallness, and if the girl had returned, in thephrases of the preacher, "to her rightful senses" it had been as onecoming out of a dream who realizes that she wakes to heartburningswhich death had promised to smooth away.
Now
, as the man stretched out his hand to take hers and drew a ringfrom his own little finger, the violet eyes on the rough pillow becametransfigured with a luminous and incredulous happiness. But at oncethey clouded again with gravity and pain.
Spurrier was offering to marry her out of pity and gratitude. He wasseeking to pay a debt, and his authoritative words were spoken fromhis conscience and not from his heart.
So the lips stirred in an effort to speak, failed in that and drooped,and weakly but with determination Glory shook her head. She had beenwilling to die for him. She could not argue with him, but neitherwould she accept the perfunctory amends that he now came proffering.
Spurrier rose, pale, and with a tremor of voice as he said to theothers: "Please leave us alone--for a few moments." Then when no onewas left in the room but the girl on the bed and the man on his kneesbeside it, he bent forward until his eyes were close to hers and hiswords came with a still intensity.
"Glory, dearest, though I don't deserve it, you've confessed that youlove me. Now I claim the life you were willing to lay down for me--andyou can't refuse."
There was wistfulness in her smile, but through her feebleness herresolution stood fast and the movement of her head was meant for ashake of refusal.
"But why, dear," he argued desperately, "why do you deny me when weknow there's only one wish in both our hearts?"
His hands had stolen over one of hers and her weak fingers stirredcaressingly against his own. Her lips stirred too, without sound, thenshe lay in a deathlike quiet for a moment or two summoning strengthfor an effort at speech, and he, bending close, caught the ghost of awhisper.
"I don't seek payment ... fer what I done." A gasp caught her breathand silenced her for a little but she overcame it and finished almostinaudibly. "It was ... a free-will gift."
John Spurrier rose and sat on the side of the bed. His voice waselectrified by the thrill of his feeling; a feeling purged of allartificiality by the rough shoulder touch of death.
"I'm asking another gift, now, Glory; the greatest gift of all. I'masking yourself. Don't try to talk--only listen to me because I needyou desperately. Except for you they would have killed me to-day--butmy life's not worth saving if I lose you after all. I'm two men,dearest, rolled into one--and one of those men perhaps doesn't deservemuch consideration, but there's some good in the other and that goodcan't prevail without you any more than a plant can grow withoutsun."
With full realization, he was pitching his whole argument to the noteof his own selfish needs and wishes, and yet he was guided by a sureinsight into her heart. Brother Hawkins had said she had no wish tolive and would make no fight, and he knew that he might pleadendlessly and in vain unless he overcame her belief that he wasactuated merely by pity for her. If she could be convinced that it wasgenuinely he who needed her more than she needed him, her womanquality of enveloping in supporting love the man who leaned on her,would bring consent.
"I sought to strengthen myself for success in life," he went on, "bystrangling out every human emotion that stood in the way of materialresults. I serve men who sneer at everything on God's earth exceptthe practical, and I had come to the point where I let those menshape me and govern even my character."
She had been listening with lowered lids and as he paused, she raisedthem and smiled wanly, yet without any sign of yielding to hissupplications.
"The picture that you saw," he swept on torrentially, "was that of agirl whose father employs me. He's a leader in big affairs and to behis son-in-law meant, in a business sense, to be raised to royalty.Vivien is a splendid woman and yet I doubt if either of us has----" hefumbled a bit for his next words and then floundered on withself-conscious awkwardness, "has thought of the other with realsentiment. Until now, I haven't known what real sentiment meant. Untilnow I haven't appreciated the true values. I discovered them out therein the road when you came into my arms--and into my heart. From now onmy arms will always ache for you--and my heart will be empty withoutyou.'"
"But--," Glory's eyes were deeper than ever as she whisperedlaboriously, "but if you're plighted to her----"
"I'm not," he protested hotly. "There is no engagement except a sortof understanding with her father: a sort of condescending and tacitwillingness on his part to let his successor be his son-in-law aswell."
She lay for a space with the heavy masses of her hair on the roughpillow framing the pale and exquisite oval of her face, and her vivideyes troubled with the longing to be convinced. Then her lips shapedthemselves in a rather pitiful smile that lifted them only at onecorner.
"Maybe ye don't ... know it Jack," she murmured, "but ye're jestseekin' ... ter let me ... die ... easy in my mind ... and happy."
"Before God I am _not_," he vehemently contradicted her. "I'm nottrying to give but to take. Whether you get well or not, Glory, I wantto fight for your life and your love. We've faced death, together.We've seen things nakedly--together. For neither of us can there everbe any true life--except together."
His breath was coming with the swift intensity that was almost a soband, in the eyes that bent over her, Glory read the hunger that couldnot be counterfeited.
"Anyhow," she faltered, "we've had--this minute."
Spurrier rose at last and called the others back. He himself did notknow when once more he took her hand and the preacher stood over them,whether her responses to the services would be affirmative ornegative.
To Spurrier marriage had always seemed an opportunity. It was athing in which an ambitious man could no more afford yielding touncalculating impulses than in the forming of a major businessconnection. Marriage must carry a man upward toward the peak of hisdestiny, and his wife must bring as her dowry, social reenforcementsand distinction.
Now, in the darkening room of a log house, with figures clad inpatches and hodden-gray, he held the hand that was too weak toclose responsively upon his own, and listened to the words of ashaggy-headed preacher, whose beard was a stubble and whose lips movedover yellow and fanglike teeth.
Confusedly he heard the questions and his own firm responses to thesimple service of marriage as rendered by the backwoods preacher, thenhis heart seemed to stop and stand as the words were uttered to whichGlory must make her answer.
"Will you, Glory, have this man, John Spurrier----"
What would her answer be--assent or negation?
The pause seemed to last interminably as he bent with supplication inhis glance over her, and the breath came from his lips with anunconscious sibilance, like escaping steam from a strained boiler,when at last the head on the pillow gave the ghost of a nod.
Even at that moment there lurked in the back of his mind, though notadmitted as important, the ghost of realization that he was doingprecisely the sort of thing which, in his own world, would not onlyunclass him but make him appear ludicrous as well.
As for that world of lifted eye-brows he felt just now only awithering contempt and a scalding hatred.
Almost as soon as the simple ceremony ended, Glory sank again intounconsciousness, and the father and preacher, sitting silent in thenext room, were unable to forget that though there had been a wedding,they were also awaiting the coming of death.
The night fell with the soft brightness of moon and stars, and throughthe tangled woods the searchers were following hard on the flight ofthe assailants--doggedly and grimly, with the burning indignation ofmen bent on vindicating the good name of their people and community.Yet, so far, the fugitive squad had succeeded not only in eludingcapture or recognition, but also in carrying with them their wounded.
From Lexington, where Spurrier had formed strong connections, a deputysheriff was riding in a caboose behind a special engine as fast as theroadbeds would permit. The smokestack trailed a flat line of hurryingsmoke and the whistle screamed startlingly through the night. At theofficer's knees, gazing up at him out of gentle eyes that belied theirprofession, crouched two tawny dogs with long ears--the bloodhoundsthat were to start from the cabin and give voice in the laurel.<
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Waiting for them was a torn scrap of blue denim such as rough overallsare made of. It had been found in a brier patch where some fleeingwearer had snarled himself.
Yet two days later the deputy returned from his quest in the timber,shaking his head.
"I'm sorry," he reported. "I've done my best, but it's not been goodenough."
"What's the trouble?" inquired Cappeze shortly, and the officeranswered regretfully:
"This country is zigzagged and criss-crossed with watercourses--andwater throws the dogs off. The fugitives probably made their way bywading wherever they could. The longest run we made was up toward WolfPen Branch."
That was the direction, Spurrier silently reflected, of Sim Colby'shouse, but he made no comment.
Brother Hawkins, who was leaving that afternoon, laid a kindly hand onSpurrier's shoulder.
"Thet's bad news," he said. "But I kin give ye better. I kin almostgive ye my gorrantee thet ther gal's goin' ter come through. Hit's_wantin'_ ter live thet does hit."
Spurrier's eyes brightened out of the misery that had dulled them, andas to the failure of the chase he reassured himself with the thoughtthat the dogs had started toward Sim Colby's house, and that hehimself could finish what they had begun.
Those tawny beasts had coursed at the behest of a master who was boundby the limitations of the law, but he, John Spurrier, was his ownmaster and could deal less formally and more condignly with an enemyto whom suspicion pointed--and there was time enough.
The Law of Hemlock Mountain Page 14