CHAPTER VII
From the window, the glorious day outside, and the vision he had madefor himself of Marette Radisson, Kent turned at the sound of a hand athis door and saw it slowly open. He was expecting it. He had read youngMercer like a book. Mercer's nervousness and the increased tighteningof the thing in his chest had given him warning. The thing was going tohappen soon, and Father Layonne had come. He tried to smile, that hemight greet his wilderness friend cheerfully and unafraid. But thesmile froze when the door opened and he saw the missioner standingthere.
More than once he had accompanied Father Layonne over the threshold oflife into the presence of death, but he had never before seen in hisface what he saw there now. He stared. The missioner remained in thedoorway, hesitating, as if at the last moment a great fear held himback. For an interval the eyes of the two men rested upon each other ina silence that was like the grip of a living thing. Then Father Layonnecame quietly into the room and closed the door behind him.
Kent drew a deep breath and tried to grin. "You woke me out of adream," he said, "a day-dream. I've had a very pleasant experience thismorning, _mon pere_."
"So some one was trying to tell me, Jimmy," replied the littlemissioner with an effort to smile back.
"Mercer?"
"Yes. He told me about it confidentially. The poor boy must have fallenin love with the young lady."
"So have I, _mon pere_. I don't mind confessing it to you. I'm ratherglad. And if Cardigan hadn't scheduled me to die--"
"Jimmy," interrupted the missioner quickly, but a bit huskily, "has itever occurred to you that Doctor Cardigan may be mistaken?"
He had taken one of Kent's hands. His grip tightened. It began to hurt.And Kent, looking into his eyes, found his brain all at once like ablack room suddenly illuminated by a flash of fire. Drop by drop theblood went out of his face until it was whiter than Father Layonne's.
"You--you don't--mean--"
"Yes, yes, boy, I mean just that," said the missioner, in a voice sostrange that it did not seem to be his own. "You are not going to die,Jimmy. You are going to live!"
"Live!" Kent dropped back against his pillows. "_Live_!" His lips gaspedthe one word.
He closed his eyes for an instant, and it seemed to him that the worldwas aflame. And he repeated the word again, but only his lips formedit, and there came no sound. His senses, strained to the breaking-pointto meet the ordeal of death, gave way slowly to the mighty reaction. Hefelt in those moments like a reeling man. He opened his eyes, and therewas a meaningless green haze through the window where the world shouldhave been. But he heard Father Layonne's voice. It seemed a greatdistance off, but it was very clear. Doctor Cardigan had made an error,it was saying. And Doctor Cardigan, because of that error, was like aman whose heart had been taken out of him. But it was an excusableerror.
If there had been an X-ray--But there had been none. And DoctorCardigan had made the diagnosis that nine out of ten good surgeonswould probably have made. What he had taken to be the aneurismalblood-rush was an exaggerated heart murmur, and the increasedthickening in his chest was a simple complication brought about by toomuch night air. It was too bad the error had happened. But he must notblame Cardigan!
_He must not blame Cardigan_! Those last words pounded like an endlessseries of little waves in Kent's brain. He must not blame Cardigan! Helaughed, laughed before his dazed senses readjusted themselves, beforethe world through the window pieced itself into shape again. At leasthe thought he was laughing. He must--not--blame--Cardigan! What anamazingly stupid thing for Father Layonne to say! Blame Cardigan forgiving him back his life? Blame him for the glorious knowledge that hewas not going to die? Blame him for--
Things were coming clearer. Like a bolt slipping into its groove hisbrain found itself. He saw Father Layonne again, with his white, tenseface and eyes in which were still seated the fear and the horror he hadseen in the doorway. It was not until then that he gripped fully at thetruth.
"I--I see," he said. "You and Cardigan think it would have been betterif I had died!"
The missioner was still holding his hand. "I don't know, Jimmy, I don'tknow. What has happened is terrible."
"But not so terrible as death," cried Kent, suddenly growing rigidagainst his pillows. "Great God, _mon pere_, I want to live! Oh--"
He snatched his hand free and stretched forth both arms to the openwindow. "Look at it out there! My world again! MY WORLD! I want to goback to it. It's ten times more precious to me now than it was. Whyshould I blame Cardigan? _Mon pere_--_mon pere_--listen to me. I can say itnow, because I've got a right to say it. _I lied_. I didn't kill JohnBarkley!"
A strange cry fell from Father Layonne's lips. It was a choking cry, acry, not of rejoicing, but of a grief-stung thing. "Jimmy!"
"I swear it! Great heaven, _mon pere_, don't you believe me?"
The missioner had risen. In his eyes and face was another look. It wasas if in all his life he had never seen James Kent before. It was alook born suddenly of shock, the shock of amazement, of incredulity, ofa new kind of horror. Then swiftly again his countenance changed, andhe put a hand on Kent's head.
"God forgive you, Jimmy," he said. "And God help you, too!"
Where a moment before Kent had felt the hot throb of an inundating joy,his heart was chilled now by the thing he sensed in Father Layonne'svoice and saw in his face and eyes. It was not entirely disbelief. Itwas a more hopeless thing than that.
"You do not believe me!" he said.
"It is my religion to believe, Jimmy," replied Father Layonne in agentle voice into which the old calmness had returned. "I must believe,for your sake. But it is not a matter of human sentiment now, lad. Itis the Law! Whatever my heart feels toward you can do you no good. Youare--" He hesitated to speak the words.
Then it was that Kent saw fully and clearly the whole monstroussituation. It had taken time for it to fasten itself upon him. In ageneral way it had been clear to him a few moments before; now, detailby detail, it closed in upon him, and his muscles tightened, and FatherLayonne saw his jaw set hard and his hands clench. Death was gone. Butthe mockery of it, the grim exultation of the thing over the colossaltrick it had played, seemed to din an infernal laughter in his ears.But--he was going to live! That was the one fact that rose above allothers. No matter what happened to him a month or six months from now,he was not going to die today. He would live to receive Mercer'sreport. He would live to stand on his feet again and to fight for thelife which he had thrown away. He was, above everything else, afighting man. It was born in him to fight, not so much against hisfellow men as against the overwhelming odds of adventure as they cameto him. And now he was up against the deadliest game of all. He saw it.He felt it. The thing gripped him. In the eyes of that Law of which hehad so recently been a part he was a murderer. And in the province ofAlberta the penalty for killing a man was hanging. Because horror andfear did not seize upon him, he wondered if he still realized thesituation. He believed that he did. It was merely a matter of humannature. Death, he had supposed, was a fixed and foregone thing. He hadbelieved that only a few hours of life were left for him. And now itwas given back to him, for months at least. It was a glorious reprieve,and--
Suddenly his heart stood still in the thrill of the thought that cameto him. Marette Radisson had known that he was not going to die! Shehad hinted the fact, and he, like a blundering idiot, had failed tocatch the significance of it. She had given him no sympathy, hadlaughed at him, had almost made fun of him, simply because she knewthat he was going to live!
He turned suddenly on Father Layonne.
"They shall believe me!" he cried. "I shall make them believe me! _Monpere_, I lied! I lied to save Sandy McTrigger, and I shall tell themwhy. If Doctor Cardigan has not made another mistake, I want them allhere again. Will you arrange it?"
"Inspector Kedsty is waiting outside," said Father Layonne quietly,"but I should not act in haste, Jimmy. I should wait. I shouldthink--think."
"You mean take time
to think up a story that will hold water, _mon pere_?I have that. I have the story. And yet--" He smiled a bit dismally. "Idid make one pretty thorough confession, didn't I, Father?"
"It was very convincing, Jimmy. It went so particularly into thedetails, and those details, coupled with the facts that you were seenat John Barkley's earlier in the evening, and that it was you who foundhim dead a number of hours later--"
"All make a strong case against me," agreed Kent. "As a matter of fact,I was up at Barkley's to look over an old map he had made of thePorcupine country twenty years ago. He couldn't find it. Later he sentword he had run across it. I returned and found him dead."
The little missioner nodded, but did not speak.
"It is embarrassing," Kent went on. "It almost seems as though I oughtto go through with it, like a sport. When a man loses, it isn't goodtaste to set up a howl. It makes him sort of yellow-backed, you know.To play the game according to rules, I suppose I ought to keep quietand allow myself to be hung without making any disturbance. Die game,and all that, you know. Then there is the other way of looking at it.This poor neck of mine depends on me. It has given me a lot of goodservice. It has been mighty loyal. It has even swallowed eggs on theday it thought it was going to die. And I'd be a poor specimen ofhumanity to go back on it now. I want to do that neck a good turn. Iwant to save it. And I'm going to--if I can!"
In spite of the unpleasant tension of the moment, it cheered FatherLayonne to see this old humor returning into the heart of his friend.With him love was an enduring thing. He might grieve for James Kent, hemight pray for the salvation of his soul, he might believe him guilty,yet he still bore for him the affection which was too deeply rooted inhis heart to be uptorn by physical things or the happenings of chance.So the old cheer of his smile came back, and he said:
"To fight for his life is a privilege which God gives to every man,Jimmy. I was terrified when I came to you. I believed it would havebeen better if you had died. I can see my error. It will be a terriblefight. If you win, I shall be glad. If you lose, I know that you willlose bravely. Perhaps you are right. It may be best to see InspectorKedsty before you have had time to think. That point will have itspsychological effect. Shall I tell him you are prepared to see him?"
Kent nodded. "Yes. Now."
Father Layonne went to the door. Even there he seemed to hesitate aninstant, as if again to call upon Kent to reconsider. Then he opened itand went out.
Kent waited impatiently. His hand, fumbling at his bedclothes, seizedupon the cloth with which he had wiped his lips, and it suddenlyoccurred to him that it had been a long time since it had shown a freshstain of blood. Now that he knew it was not a deadly thing, thetightening in his chest was less uncomfortable. He felt like getting upand meeting his visitors on his feet. Every nerve in his body wantedaction, and the minutes of silence which followed the closing of thedoor after the missioner were drawn out and tedious to him. A quarterof an hour passed before he heard returning footsteps, and by the soundof them he knew Kedsty was not coming alone. Probably _le pere_ wouldreturn with him. And possibly Cardigan.
What happened in the next few seconds was somewhat of a shock to him.Father Layonne entered first, and then came Inspector Kedsty. Kent'seyes shot to the face of the commander of N Division. There wasscarcely recognition in it. A mere inclination of the head, not enoughto call a greeting, was the reply to Kent's nod and salute. Never hadhe seen Kedsty's face more like the face of an emotionless sphinx. Butwhat disturbed him most was the presence of people he had not expected.Close behind Kedsty was McDougal, the magistrate, and behind McDougalentered Constables Felly and Brant, stiffly erect and clearly underorders. Cardigan, pale and uneasy, came in last, with the stenographer.Scarcely had they entered the room when Constable Pelly pronounced theformal warning of the Criminal Code of the Royal Northwest MountedPolice, and Kent was legally under arrest.
He had not looked for this. He knew, of course, that the process of theLaw would take its course, but he had not anticipated this bloodthirstysuddenness. He had expected, first of all, to talk with Kedsty as manto man. And yet--it was the Law. He realized this as his eyes traveledfrom Kedsty's rock-like face to the expressionless immobility of hisold friends, Constables Pelly and Brant. If there was sympathy, it washidden except in the faces of Cardigan and Father Layonne. And Kent,exultantly hopeful a little while before, felt his heart grow heavywithin him as he waited for the moment when he would begin the fight torepossess himself of the life and freed which he had lost.
The Valley of Silent Men Page 8