The World's Great Snare

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  “Bryan, my love, speak to me! Say that you are not dead! Oh, my love! my love!”

  There was no answer—no sign of any understanding. A ghastly pallor had crept into his face. He was white even to the cold lips which she was frantically kissing.

  Suddenly she turned round upon her knees. Dan Cooper was calmly standing watching her, with his hands stuck through his belt.

  “Young woman, I reckon you’d better have come with me at first!” he said. “I was bound to have you. I’d swore it! If you’re ready now, we’ll move on! There’s better things than kissing dead men. Come!”

  “Sooner down into hell!” she cried, facing him with blazing eyes. “You beast! You vile coward!”

  He laughed softly. “We’ve got water and spirits, and plenty to eat. I guess you’ll find us better company than your hulking Britisher!”

  “I will starve before I touch your food,” she cried fiercely. “If you come near me, I will kill you.”

  He laughed out loud. “Not tamed yet, my dainty beauty!” he sneered. “We’ll give you a little longer, eh? We’re both powerful anxious for your company, but we’ll wait a bit! We ain’t going to hurry you! We’ve plenty to drink, if you should happen to be thirsty! We’ll look you up presently!”

  He stooped down and undid the packages from the dead mule, fastening them on the other. Then he tramped away, and Skein followed him.

  * * * * *

  Once more, and for the last time in such fashion, the dusky night shadows stole down upon the two. She had collected a few logs and made a small fire. By its light she sat with her hands clasping his, and her great dark eyes, curiously distended, fixed upon the darkness. This night it was she who watched, and he who slept; only his sleep was like the sleep of death.

  Night came down upon them with all its terrors, but she had passed fear. Once he had opened his eyes, and breathed out her name. She had moistened his lips with the last remains out of the tiny phial, and now there was nothing to do but to sit and wait, and watch.

  Her time arrived. A dark figure came stealing along towards her, keeping in the shadows, and halting every now and then. She rose up softly with a curious smile upon her lips, and her hand in the bosom of her gown.

  “Is that you, Dan Cooper?” she cried out softly.

  He halted in his stealthy approach, and tried to stand still. He did not seem to be very steady upon his feet.

  “Ay! Are you still as proud as ever, eh? Are you tamed yet, my beauty? Are you thirsty, eh? How many kisses will you give me for a glass of water?

  “I am dying of thirst!” she moaned. “Bring me some water, and come to me!”

  He laughed—a long, hideous laugh which seemed to find a hundred strange echoes as it rolled away across the plain.

  “Ha, ha! You bid me come to you, you jade!” he cried exultingly. “I’m a better man than your d—d Britisher, after all! Ha! ha! I’ve got water and brandy too! We’ll make a night of it—under the bushes across yonder.”

  He reeled into sight, and came across to her. She waited for him calmly.

  “Let me hear it again!” he cried. “Let me hear you call me! Ha! ha! ha! I’ve been drinking, but I’m sober enough to kiss you, my little beauty! Ha! ha! ha!”

  “Come quickly, Dan Cooper!” she cried. “I am waiting for you!”

  “Waiting for me! Ha! ha! ha!”

  He stepped into the broad circle of light, and the leaping flames cast a red, lurid glow upon his flushed face and wildly bright eyes. He was almost touching her now; his arms were already stretched out to take her into his clumsy embrace. Still she stood like a marble figure. Too late, he stopped short, sobered by that strange set look in her ashen face—too late, for her hand had stolen out from the bosom of her gown. There was a flash, a loud report, and with a curse which twisted his lips and left them apart for ever, Dan Cooper threw up his arms, and rolled over like a log. The last shot in the Englishman’s revolver had found its way into his heart.

  * * * * *

  She stood perfectly still. The tigress-like gleam had not died out from her eyes—there was not the least horror at what she had done. To her, it seemed indeed a very righteous act. Then as he did not move, she crossed over to his side, and took the water-bottle and brandy from his belt. She returned with them to the Englishman, and her face changed in a moment. She bent over him tenderly, and moistened his lips with the spirit, and even poured a few drops of water on his forehead. Then she took some herself, and lay down beside him.

  There came a time, just as the first streak of dawn lightened the eastern sky, and the pale flame of her fire died out, when he opened his eyes. She bent close over him.

  “My love!” she murmured. “We are alone! We shall die together! Kiss me!”

  He kissed her feebly, and closed his eyes again. He was conscious, but he had no strength to speak. But his kiss had satisfied her. She was quite content. To die like this was no such hard thing for her. Along the stormy channels of her life, this was the one man who, in his rough way, had been kind and loyal to her. So she loved him—loved him, as her woman’s instinct had told her, as he had never done her. If they had lived, she must have lost him. Some one else would have taken him away. So she looked death in the face and smiled! By his side, on his bosom, it seemed no evil thing!

  With the dawn came Skein. He came like a jackal, stealing softly along with white face and trembling lips. Myra rose up and went to meet him with dauntless front.

  “Fetch me the other mule and the stores!” she commanded, levelling the empty revolver at him. “I will come with you. Show me the way!”

  He obeyed her, speechless with fear. He had seen Dan Cooper, white and dead, with his life-blood staining the sandy turf on which he lay. He was a coward, and he obeyed her.

  He brought her to where they had camped, some few hundred yards away, without a word passing between them. She took up the water-bottles and tins of food upon her shoulders, and she pointed westwards.

  “Mount that mule, and ride on!” she commanded. “If you linger or return, I shall kill you!”

  He made no answer, but he rode away. She watched him until he became a mere speck in the distance. Then she hurried back to Bryan, and threw herself down by his side.

  “My love! my love!” she murmured. “There is no peace, nor any happiness in life! Death alone is sweet!”

  She drew his lips to hers, and wound her arms around his body. And once more the night stole down and covered them with its shadows.

  XIX. A PRINCE OF THE WEST

  Table of Contents

  A man sat writing before a rosewood desk in a great dimly- lit chamber. A single green-shaded lamp burned at his left elbow, throwing a stream of light upon the papers before him, and upon his face. The rest of the room, high and finely proportioned, was wrapped in shadows, not so dense but that here and there the pale marble face of some exquisite piece of statuary shone dimly through the gloom, wearing in the dim half-light a strangely human expression. The hard polished wood floor, inlaid with imitation mosaic, was spread with magnificent rugs, and the ceiling, painted at the base with a wonderful imitation of Watteau’s “Seasons,” rose to a dome filled in at the summit with richly-stained glass. To all appearance it was a chamber in a palace.

  Before him were all the modern appliances of a man keenly in touch with great affairs, either diplomatic or commercial. A table telephone stood at his right hand, with a polished silver mouthpiece. Under his foot was the knob of an electric bell; on his left hand a little array of speaking tubes, and a private telephone. Facing him was a little French clock.

  The face of the man who sat there was such as his surroundings would seem to warrant—it was remarkable. His complexion was fair, but his eyes were dark and brilliant. His features were hard, and cleanly chiseled. He wore neither beard nor moustache, and his mouth was small and cruel. He was of no more than the average height—if anything, less—carefully dressed in evening clothes, and he wore a small orchid in his butto
nhole. It was impossible to form any estimate of his age from his appearance. There was none of the elasticity of youth about him, nor were there any of the usual indications of middle age. Of his condition it would be fair to assume from his appearance that he was a gentleman; the man himself remained effectually concealed behind a mask of perfectly impassive features.

  He sat writing a letter—writing it at great pace, and yet with apparent ease. Suddenly there came a low, soft whistle from one of the speaking-tubes by his side. Without discontinuing his writing, he detached it from the hook, and held it to his ear.

  “A woman to see you, sir! No name, important business!”

  He turned his head slightly, and spoke down the tube. “Impossible! I can see no one to-night! Send her to Arden, if she persists!”

  He continued his letter. In a few moments there came another interruption. This time it came from the speaking tube nearest to him He took it up.

  “Well?

  “There is a woman here, whom you must see, sir!”

  “Who is she?”

  “I am not sure, sir, but I have her card!”

  “What is the name, then?

  “There is no name, sir. There are three crosses on the card!”

  The pen, with which he had never ceased to write, suddenly stopped short. One might almost have thought that the firm white fingers which held it trembled a little.

  “Better bring her here yourself, Arden!” was the quiet answer. “You understand!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  He put the tube back on the hook, but he did not continue the letter. He touched a spring in the desk before him, and a long slab of dark wood sprang back, revealing an ill-taken, much-worn photograph of a woman, on a common tin plate. He looked at it steadily, and his lips moved.

  “Not in vain, after all!” he murmured slowly to himself, with bright kindling eyes, and a curious tremor in his tone. “If it should be she, my cup is full! If it should be she!”

  He touched the spring, and the photograph was hidden again. He recommenced writing, and his features recovered their mask of stern repose. He heard the heavy door open and close behind him without looking up. Soft footsteps came towards him across the floor, swiftly at first, then hesitatingly. At last they stopped. Then he turned slowly round.

  A woman was standing only a few yards behind his chair—a woman plainly dressed in black clothes, and wearing a heavy gauze veil which she had not raised. For one moment the unruly blood coursed like fire through all his veins, and his heart gave a great throb. Then he set his teeth, and ground his heel into the floor beneath him. He was himself again, calm, cold, and deliberate.

  “You wished to speak to me?” he said. “I am Amies Rutten!”

  “Yes!”

  He rose to his feet, and pushed a lounge towards her with a mute, courteous gesture. She did not accept it.

  “I have come to you with a message from a dead man!” she continued.

  He bowed. “So Jim is dead, is he?”

  She bent her head, and started a little. She had imagined herself unrecognized.

  “He died at the Blue River diggings!”

  “May I ask from whom you have heard this?”

  “I was there myself!” she answered. “I was with him when he died!”

  “You were with him yourself,” he repeated slowly—“with him when he died at the Blue River diggings?”

  “Yes!”

  “Pardon me, you did not go with him! You were in San Francisco months after he had left!”

  She looked at him intently.

  “That is true!” she answered. “It is also true that I was with him there when he died!”

  “May I ask—the cause of his death?”

  “He was shot!”

  “Shot!” He repeated the word without any affectation of horror. He did not even seem surprised.

  “A row, I suppose?” he remarked.

  She shook her head. “He was murdered by a stranger who came to the diggings to rob him of some papers. I was in time to prevent the robbery, but not the murder. As I told you, I was with him when he died. I have a message for you!”

  “For me?”

  “Yes, for you! You have papers of his. You are to give them to me! I put three crosses on a card. He said you would understand!”

  “Yes, I understand. What are you going to do with the papers?”

  “That is—my own affair!”

  “Exactly! I beg your pardon! He gave you some, I suppose?”

  “Yes!”

  “And told you that I had the rest?”

  “Yes!”

  There was a short silence. They were alone in the great room, but when he spoke again, he dropped his voice.

  “It is quite true! I have the papers! Do you know the secret?”

  “Not yet! I have not examined them!”

  “Do you know how to use them?”

  “Yes!”

  “You are going to take them to Europe?”

  “Probably!”

  “And stay there, perhaps?”

  “Very likely! Give me the papers, please. I want to go!”

  “Don’t be impatient, Myra! You have been ill?”

  “Yes! I have been ill!”

  “Poor little girl!”

  His tone was suddenly as soft as a woman’s, and almost caressing. She shivered at the sound of it.

  “Amies Rutten, give me my papers, and let me go!”

  “Let you go!” he repeated softly. “Let you go! How can I?”

  A sudden change, a metamorphosis, came over the man. The hardness fell from his face, a passionate light shone in his eyes, and his lips quivered as the words leaped from him. His voice had become wonderfully sweet.

  “Let you go, Myra! Ah, my love, how can you ask me that? Do you know that I have had the city searched for you, street by street, house by house? Do you know that in the midst of my great prosperity, I have sat here all night alone—thinking of you; unable to sleep or rest, or gain any peace—thinking always of you? And in the daytime, when I have been gambling for millions at the Exchange in the Council Room, your face has been always with me, smiling when fate smiled on me, frowning when the tide turned! See! Do you know that?”

  He stepped back and touched the knob in his desk. The spring flew back. He held up the lamp, and she looked into her own face.

  “I gave your husband a thousand dollars for that!” he said quietly. “He would have sold you for as much more, if he had been able!”

  She shuddered. “I did not come here for this!” she cried. “Give me what belongs to me, and let me go!”

  “You shall have all that belongs to you—and all that belongs to me!” he exclaimed, his deep bass tones quivering with pent-up emotion. “See!”

  He stepped back to the wall, and touched a little black ebony key. Softly-burning electric lights suddenly glowed from the walls and from the ceiling. The magnificence of the room in which they were was revealed as though by magic, with all its treasures of art and luxury of appointment. She looked around, and was startled into a little cry of wonder. Then her eyes fell upon him, standing before her, perfectly dressed, calm and debonair, and with that curious air of strength and power which lurked behind his strong set features—the evident master of his surroundings. She half-closed her eyes, and turned abruptly away. She had not feared an awful death in the lonely desert; she had passed through many dangers with a bold front, and unshaken heart; but this man she feared. She always had done so! The gleam of his dark eyes, the timbre of his calm, even voice stirred her as nothing else in the world could do.

  “Myra, whilst you have been seeing the last of that scoundrel Huntly, I have been making a mighty fortune! It came to me in one day—the idea of the thing! I staked all I had—all I could lay my hands upon, and I won! To-day, I am the richest man in San Francisco—one of the richest in the States. Do you know why I am here—why I have not left for Europe, to commence the enjoyment of my wealth? It is because I have been wait
ing for you, Myra! Every man in the world has his weak point! You are mine, Myra! I love you as no one else could ever love you. Come to me now, and I will make you the most envied woman in the world. There are no limits to my wealth! I can buy you a Queen’s jewels. Wealth is power in the old world as well as in the new. You shall ask for nothing in vain! It is only dear to me, Myra, that I may share it with you. I will show you a new life. I will teach you many new things! I have no ties, no further interest in any business. I will take you to Italy, to Greece, to all the beautiful countries in the world. I will show you—”

  “Stop!”

  There was a ring in her voice which checked him in the full flow of his eloquence. His hands dropped to his side, and the glow faded from his face. He listened to her with all the old impenetrability of expression.

  She lifted her veil, and showed him more distinctly than he had yet seen it, her worn, sad face. Then she spoke to him slowly, but with an intense, penetrating distinctness.

  “I have listened to all you have said! I would not come to you, Amies Rutten, though my life were to be the penalty. I hate you! My husband was a bad man, but you made him worse. You made him your tool; he did for you the work which you were ashamed to do, and when you had dragged him down as low as a man can lie, when he was your creature, body and soul, you tried to buy me from him!”

  An angry spot was burning upon her cheeks, and her eyes were flashing with scorn and anger. The memory of those hideous days had risen up within her, and with it, all the intolerable loathing which she had felt for this man. He looked into her face, and silently he ground his teeth.

  “It was because I loved you, that I wanted to take you away!” he cried in a low, passionate voice. “That man was treating you like a brute! You may have been his wife. He treated you worse than any mistress whom he had taken from the streets! Good God! do you blame me that I tried to take you away? Think of those days, and ask yourself that!”