Mischievous Maid Faynie
Page 8
CHAPTER VIII.
WHAT HAPPENED AT MIDNIGHT ON THE LONELY RIVER ROAD.
For one moment he looked down half stupefied at his work--the girl layin a little dark heap at his feet just as he had struck her down--thecrimson blood pouring from a wound on her temple which his ring hadcaused.
"I--I've killed her," he muttered, setting his teeth togetherhard--"she--she provoked me to it--curse her! My God! the girl isactually dying." Then, through his half-dazed brain came the thoughtthat his crime would soon be discovered, and his only safety lay ininstant flight.
It was but the work of a moment to hurry from the room, making his waythrough the inky darkness as best he could to the barroom, where he knewhe should find Halloran and the cabby dozing in the big armchairs.
The full realization of his crime had quite sobered him by this time.
The innkeeper had left a dim light in the barroom. By the aid of this hemade his way quickly to his friend's side. A few rapid words whisperedexcitedly in Halloran's ear told him the condition of affairs.
"You are right," exclaimed Halloran, springing to his feet. "We mustget out of here without a moment's delay. The cabman must go with us,taking his horses, even though we have to pay him the price of them."
"I--I--will leave everything to you, Halloran," muttered his companion,huskily, "your brain is clearer and a thousand times shrewder thanmine."
"Nor must the girl be left here," went on Halloran. "She must not befound dead in this house."
"Why, what in Heaven's name could we do with her?" returned the other,sharply. "I tell you she is dying, any one could see that."
"Put her effectually out of the way, and past all human possibility ofany one finding out how she came by her death. I have a desperate plan.I cannot explain it to you now. All I say is, be guided by my directionsto-night--leave everything to me," said Halloran, with a grim gaze.
"I put myself in your hands, Halloran," was the husky reply.
The cabby was hurriedly awakened. At first he demurred angrily againstthe idea of starting off again; but when a roll of bank notes waspressed into his hands as the price of his complying with theirdemand--a sum that would more than cover the price of the horses if helost them--he no longer found grounds for complaint, but agreed withalacrity to do their bidding.
Besides, Halloran knew a little secret of the cabby's past--just how hecame by the money to buy that outfit--and as it was done in aparticularly shady way, the man dared not make an enemy of him.
In less time than it takes to tell it the coach stood at the door again.
It was Halloran--nervy, cool-headed Halloran, whom the other had alwaysdubbed half man, half fiend--who stole up to the room above, found thegirl lying in the exact spot his companion had described, and, catchingup her cloak, wrapped it about her, bore her noiselessly down the stairsand out to the coach in waiting.
"Is it all over with her yet?" whispered the other in a strained, huskyvoice, showing intense fear.
"Almost," returned Halloran, briefly, jumping in and closing the doorafter him.
For some moments they rode along in utter silence. Then, as Halloranmade no attempt to break it, his companion leaned over, askingbreathlessly: "Where are we going--and--and--what do you propose to dowith her?"
"I am just trying to solve that problem in my mind, and it is a knottyone. I must have more time to think it over," replied Halloran, tersely.
Before his companion could reply, the coach came to a suddenstandstill, and both of the men within heard their driver's voice inearnest colloquy with some one standing by the roadside.
"It is the girl's father, or friends, who have just discovered herabsence and have been scouring the country about to find her," gaspedthe fraudulent Lester Armstrong, and the hand that grasped hiscompanion's arm shook like an aspen leaf.
"Don't be a coward!" hissed Halloran. "If worst comes to worst, whoeverit is can share the girl's fate," and with these words he opened thedoor of the coach, asking sharply, angrily:
"What is the matter, driver?"
"Nothing, save a poor old fellow who wants me to give him a lift on thebox beside me. He has lost his way. He's an old grave digger, who sayshe lives hereabouts, somewhere. He's half frozen with the cold trampingabout. I told him 'Yes, climb up;' it's a little extra work for thehorses, but I suppose as long as I don't mind it you'll not object."
"Ha! Satan always helps his own out of difficulties," whispered Halloranto his companion; and, without waiting for a reply, he was out of thecoach like a flash, and his hand was on the old grave digger's arm erehe could make the ascent to the box beside the driver.
"Wait a moment, my good friend," said Halloran, "we have a little workwhich you of all persons are best fitted to perform for us ere weproceed."
Old Adam, the grave digger, looked at the tall gentleman before him insome little perplexity, answering, slowly:
"I hope you will not take it amiss, sir, if I answer that I do not fullycomprehend your words."
"Perhaps not; but permit me to make them clear to you, in as plainEnglish as I can command. I want you to dig a grave here and now."
"A grave--here!" echoed Adam, quite believing his old ears were notserving him truly--that he had certainly not heard aright.
"That is what I said," returned Halloran, grimly.
"But, sir!" began old Adam, "this is no graveyard."
"Curse you, who said it was?" cut in the other, sharply.
"It is not to be thought of, sir," murmured the grave digger, tremblingin every limb, his brain too bewildered to try to reason out the meaningof this strange request, and quite believing the stranger must be anescaped lunatic.
Coolly and deliberately Halloran drew a revolver from his pocket, andplaced it at Adam's throbbing temple, saying, grimly, and harshly:
"You will do as I command or your life will pay the forfeit. I give youone moment of time to decide."
It was a moment so fraught with tragic horror that in all the afteryears of his life Adam always looked back to it with a shudder of deadlyfear.
He was no longer young--the sands of life were running slower than inthe long ago--still, life was sweet to him, ah, very sweet. He had agood wife and little bairns at home, and an aged mother, to whom he wasvery dear, and he was their only support.
Who was this dark-browed stranger? Why did he wish a grave dug by theroadside on this terrible night? Whom did he wish to bury there, and wasthe body within the coach?
All these thoughts were surging rapidly through his brain, when suddenlyHalloran said:
"Your moment for contemplation is up. Will you dig the grave here andnow as I command you, or will you prefer that the next passer-by shouldfind you on this spot with a bullet hole through your head?"
Even through the semi-darkness old Adam could see the stranger's eyesgleaming pitilessly upon him as he uttered the words, and he realizedthat if he refused he might expect no mercy at this man's hands.
"Your answer!" said Halloran, pressing the messenger of death stillcloser to the throbbing brow of the now thoroughly terrified old gravedigger.
"Y--es," stammered old Adam.
"That is well," declared Halloran, removing the weapon. "Begin righthere by the roadside. This is as good a spot as any. You need not makeit the regulation depth--three feet or such a matter will answer. Beginwithout delay. I will also add that not only will you save your ownneck, but you shall earn a comfortable fee if you work quickly. Mind,every minute counts."
The old grave digger slowly took his spade from his shoulder, and by thelight from the carriage lamp began his work on the spot pointed out,while Halloran stood by watching him with keen interest.
Old Adam was used to work in the terrible heat of summer and in thebitter cold of the winter. He set to work with a will, and the frozenground yielded quickly to the strokes of his trusty spade, and surelythe faint moon, glimmering from between the drifting clouds sweepingacross the dark face of the black heavens overhead, never looked upon
awilder, more weird scene.
Twice old Adam paused, the perspiration pouring down his face likerain.
He was about to cry out: "I cannot go on with this uncanny work," buteach time the cold steel of the revolver was pressed to his throbbingbrow, and the harsh voice of the muffled stranger said: "Go on; yourwork is almost accomplished."