The Hunted Woman

by James Oliver Curwood

  CHAPTER XIII

  For a space of perhaps twenty seconds after John Aldous announced himselfthere was no visible sign of life on the part of either Quade or CulverRann. The latter sat stunned. Not the movement of a finger broke thestonelike immobility of his attitude. His eyes were like two dark coalsgazing steadily as a serpent's over Quade's hunched shoulders and bowedhead. Quade seemed as if frozen on the point of speaking to Rann. One handwas still poised a foot above the table. It was he who broke the tense andlifeless tableau.

  Slowly, almost as slowly as Aldous had opened the door, Quade turned hishead, and stared into the coldly smiling face of the man whom he hadplotted to kill, and saw the gleaming pistol in his hand. A curious lookovercame his pouchy face, a look not altogether of terror--but of shock. Heknew Aldous had heard. He accepted in an instant, and perceptibly, thesignificance of the pistol in his hand. But Culver Rann sat like a rock.His face expressed nothing. Not for the smallest part of a second had hebetrayed any emotion that might be throbbing within him. In spite ofhimself Aldous admired the man's unflinching nerve.

  "Good evening, gentlemen!" he repeated.

  Then Rann leaned slowly forward over the table. One hand rose to hismoustache. It was his right hand. The other was invisible. Quade pulledhimself together and stepped to the end of the table, his two empty handsin front of him. Aldous, still smiling, faced Rann's glittering eyes andcovered him with his automatic. Culver Rann twisted the end of hismoustache, and smiled back.

  "Well?" he said. "Is it checkmate?"

  "It is," replied Aldous. "I've promised you scoundrels one minute of life.I guess that minute is about up."

  The last word was scarcely out of his mouth when the room was indarkness--a darkness so complete and sudden that for an instant his handfaltered, and in that instant he heard the overturning of a chair and thefalling of a body. Twice his automatic sent a lightning-flash of fire whereCulver Rann had sat; twice it spat threadlike ribbons of flame through theblackness where Quade had stood. He knew what had happened, and also whatto expect if he lost out now. The curiously shaped iron lamp had concealedan electric bulb, and Rann had turned off the switch-key under the table.He had no further time to think. An object came hurtling through the thickgloom and fell with terrific force on his outstretched pistol arm. Hisautomatic flew from his hand and struck against the wall. Unarmed, hesprang back toward the open door--full into the arms of Quade!

  Aldous knew that it was Quade and not Culver Rann, and he struck out withall the force he could gather in a short-arm blow. His fist landed againstQuade's thick neck. Again and again he struck, and Quade's grip loosened.In another moment he would have reached the door if Rann had not caught himfrom behind. Never had Aldous felt the clutch of hands like those of thewomanish hands of Culver Rann. It was as if sinuous fingers of steel wereburying themselves in his flesh. Before they found his throat he flunghimself backward with all his weight, and with a tremendous effort freedhimself.

  Both Quade and Culver Rann now stood between him and the door. He couldhear Quade's deep, panting breath. Rann, as before, was silent as death.Then he heard the door close. A key clicked in the lock. He was trapped.

  "Turn on the light, Billy," he heard Rann say in a quiet, unexcited voice."We've got this house-breaker cornered, and he's lost his gun. Turn on thelight--and I'll make one shot do the business!"

  Aldous heard Quade moving, but he was not coming toward the table.Somewhere in the room was another switch connected with the iron lamp, andAldous felt a curious chill shoot up his spine. Without seeing through thatpitch darkness of the room he sensed the fact that Culver Rann was standingwith his back against the locked door, a revolver in his hand. And he knewthat Quade, feeling his way along the wall, held a revolver in his hand.Men like these two did not go unarmed. The instant the light was turned onthey would do their work. As he stood, silent as Culver Rann, he realizedthe tables were turned. In that moment's madness roused by Quade's gloatingassurance of possessing Joanne he had revealed himself like a fool, and nowhe was about to reap the whirlwind of his folly. Deliberately he had givenhimself up to his enemies. They, too, would be fools if they allowed him toescape alive.

  He heard Quade stop. His thick hand was fumbling along the wall. Aldousguessed that he was feeling for the switch. He almost fancied he could seeRann's revolver levelled at him through the darkness. In that thrillingmoment his mind worked with the swiftness of a powder flash. One of hishands touched the edge of the desk-table, and he knew that he was standingdirectly opposite the curtained window, perhaps six feet from it. If heflung himself through the window the curtain would save him from being cutto pieces.

  No sooner had the idea of escape come to him than he had acted. A flood oflight filled the room as his body crashed through the glass. He heard acry--a single shot--as he struck the ground. He gathered himself up and ranswiftly. Fifty yards away he stopped, and looked back. Quade and Rann werein the window. Then they disappeared, and a moment later the room was againin gloom.

  For a second time Aldous hurried in the direction of MacDonald's camp. Heknew that, in spite of the protecting curtain, the glass had cut him. Hefelt the warm blood dripping over his face; both hands were wet with it,The arm on which he had received the blow from the unseen object in theroom gave him considerable pain, and he had slightly sprained an ankle inhis leap through the window, so that he limped a little. But his mind wasclear--so clear that in the face of his physical discomfort he caughthimself laughing once or twice as he made his way along the trail.

  Aldous was not of an ordinary type. To a curious and superlative degree hecould appreciate a defeat as well as a triumph. His adventures had been apart of a life in which he had not always expected to win, and into-night's game he admitted that he had been hopelessly and ridiculouslybeaten. Tragedy, to him, was a first cousin of comedy; to-night he had setout to kill, and, instead of killing, he had run like a jack-rabbit forcover. Also, in that same half-hour Rann and Quade had been sure of him,and he had given them the surprise of their lives by his catapulticdisappearance through the window. There was something ludicrous about itall--something that, to him, at least, had turned a possible tragedy into avery good comedy-drama.

  Nor was Aldous blind to the fact that he had made an utter fool of himself,and that the consequences of his indiscretion might prove extremelyserious. Had he listened to the conspirators without betraying himself hewould have possessed an important advantage over them. The knowledge he hadgained from overhearing their conversation would have made it comparativelyeasy for MacDonald and him to strike them a perhaps fatal blow through thehalf-breed DeBar. As the situation stood now, he figured that Quade andCulver Rann held the advantage. Whatever they had planned to do they wouldput into quick execution. They would not lose a minute.

  It was not for himself that Aldous feared. Neither did he fear for Joanne.Every drop of red fighting blood in him was ready for further action, andhe was determined that Quade should find no opportunity of accomplishingany scheme he might have against Joanne's person. On the other hand, unlessthey could head off DeBar, he believed that Culver Rann's chances ofreaching the gold ahead of them would grow better with the passing of eachhour. To protect Joanne from Quade he must lose no time. MacDonald wouldbe in the same predicament, while Rann, assisted by as many rascals of hisown colour as he chose to take with him, would be free to carry out theother part of the conspirators' plans.

  The longer he thought of the mess he had stirred up the more roundly Aldouscursed his imprudence. And this mess, as he viewed it in these coolermoments, was even less disturbing than the thought of what might havehappened had he succeeded in his intention of killing both Quade and Rann.Twenty times as he made his way through the darkness toward MacDonald'scamp he told himself that he must have been mad. To have killed Rann orQuade in self-defence, or in open fight, would have been playing the gamewith a shadow of mountain law behind it. But he had invaded Rann's home.Had he killed them he would have had but little more excus
e than ahouse-breaker or a suspicious husband might have had. Tete Jaune would notcountenance cold-blooded shooting, even of criminals. He should have takenold Donald's advice and waited until they were in the mountains. Anunpleasant chill ran through him as he thought of the narrowness of hisdouble escape.

  To his surprise, John Aldous found MacDonald awake when he arrived at thecamp in the thickly timbered coulee. He was preparing a midnight cup ofcoffee over a fire that was burning cheerfully between two big rocks.Purposely Aldous stepped out into the full illumination of it. The oldhunter looked up. For a moment he stared into the blood-smeared face of hisfriend; then he sprang to his feet, and caught him by the arm.

  "Yes, I got it," nodded Aldous cheerfully. "I went out for it, Mac, and Igot it! Get out your emergency kit, will you? I rather fancy I need alittle patching up."

  MacDonald uttered not a word. From the balsam lean-to he brought out asmall rubber bag and a towel. Into a canvas wash-basin he then turned ahalf pail of cold water, and Aldous got on his knees beside this. Not oncedid the old mountaineer speak while he was washing the blood from Aldous'face and hands. There was a shallow two-inch cut in his forehead, twodeeper ones in his right cheek, and a gouge in his chin. There were a dozencuts on his hands, none of them serious. Before he had finished MacDonaldhad used two thirds of a roll of court-plaster.

  Then he spoke.

  "You can soak them off in the morning," he said. "If you don't, the lady'llthink yo're a red Indian on the warpath. Now, yo' fool, what have yo' gonean' done?"

  Aldous told him what had happened, and before MacDonald could utter anexpression of his feelings he admitted that he was an inexcusable idiot andthat nothing MacDonald might say could drive that fact deeper home.

  "If I'd come out after hearing what they had to say, we could have gotDeBar at the end of a gun and settled the whole business," he finished. "Asit is, we're in a mess."

  MacDonald stretched his gaunt gray frame before the fire. He picked up hislong rifle, and fingered the lock.

  "You figger they'll get away with DeBar?"

  "Yes, to-night."

  MacDonald threw open the breech of his single-loader and drew out acartridge as long as his finger. Replacing it, he snapped the breech shut.

  "Don't know as I'm pertic'lar sad over what's happened," he said, with acurious look at Aldous. "We might have got out of this without what youcall strenu'us trouble. Now--it's _fight!_ It's goin' to be a matter ofguns an' bullets, Johnny--back in the mountains. You figger Rann an' thesnake of a half-breed'll get the start of us. Let 'em have a start! They'vegot two hundred miles to go, an' two hundred miles to come back. Only--theywon't come back!"

  Under his shaggy brows the old hunter's eyes gleamed as he looked atAldous.

  "To-morrow we'll go to the grave," he added. "Yo're cur'ous to know what'sgoin' to happen when we find that grave, Johnny. So am I. I hope----"

  "What do you hope?"

  MacDonald shook his great gray head in the dying firelight.

  "Let's go to bed, Johnny," he rumbled softly in his beard. "It's gettin'late."