The Valley of Silent Men

by James Oliver Curwood

  CHAPTER IX

  That morning Kent ate a breakfast that would have amazed DoctorCardigan and would have roused a greater caution in Inspector Kedstyhad he known of it. While eating he strengthened the bonds alreadywelded between himself and Mercer. He feigned great uneasiness over thecondition of Mooie, who he knew was not fatally hurt because Mercer hadtold him there was no fracture. But if he should happen to die, he toldMercer, it would mean something pretty bad for them, if their part inthe affair leaked out.

  As for himself, it would make little difference, as he was "in bad"anyway. But he did not want to see a good friend get into trouble onhis account. Mercer was impressed. He saw himself an instrument in apossible murder affair, and the thought terrified him. Even at best,Kent told him, they had given and taken bribes, a fact that would gohard with them unless Mooie kept his mouth shut. And if the Indian knewanything out of the way about Kedsty, it was mighty important that he,Mercer, get hold of it, for it might prove a trump card with them inthe event of a showdown with the Inspector of Police. As a matter ofform, Mercer took his temperature. It was perfectly normal, but it waseasy for Kent to persuade a notation on the chart a degree above.

  "Better keep them thinking I'm still pretty sick," he assured Mercer."They won't suspect there is anything between us then."

  Mercer was so much in sympathy with the idea that he suggested addinganother half-degree.

  It was a splendid day for Kent. He could feel himself growing strongerwith each hour that passed. Yet not once during the day did he get outof his bed, fearing that he might be discovered. Cardigan visited himtwice and had no suspicion of Mercer's temperature chart. He dressedhis wound, which was healing fast. It was the fever which depressedhim. There must be, he said, some internal disarrangement which wouldsoon clear itself up. Otherwise there seemed to be no very great reasonwhy Kent should not get on his feet. He smiled apologetically.

  "Seems queer to say that, when a little while ago I was telling you itwas time to die," he said.

  That night, after ten o'clock, Kent went through his setting-upexercises four times. He marveled even more than the preceding night atthe swiftness with which his strength was returning. Half a dozen timesthe little devils of eagerness working in his blood prompted him totake to the window at once.

  For three days and nights thereafter he kept his secret and added tohis strength. Doctor Cardigan came in to see him at intervals, andFather Layonne visited him regularly every afternoon. Mercer was hismost frequent visitor. On the third day two things happened to create alittle excitement. Doctor Cardigan left on a four-day journey to asettlement fifty miles south, leaving Mercer in charge--and Mooie camesuddenly out of his fever into his normal senses again. The first eventfilled Kent with joy. With Cardigan out of the way there would be noimmediate danger of the discovery that he was no longer a sick man. Butit was the recovery of Mooie from the thumping he had received aboutthe head that delighted Mercer. He was exultant. With the quickreaction of his kind he gloated over the fact before Kent. He let it beknown that he was no longer afraid, and from the moment Mooie was outof danger his attitude was such that more than once Kent would havetaken keen pleasure in kicking him from the room. Also, from the hourhe was safely in charge of Doctor Cardigan's place, Mercer began toswell with importance. Kent saw the new danger and began to humor him.He flattered him. He assured him that it was a burning shame Cardiganhad not taken him into partnership. He deserved it. And, in justice tohimself, Mercer should demand that partnership when Cardigan returned.He, Kent, would talk to Father Layonne about it, and the missionerwould spread the gospel of what ought to be among others who wereinfluential at the Landing. For two days he played with Mercer as anangler plays with a treacherous fish. He tried to get Mercer todiscover more about Mooie's reference to Kedsty. But the old Indian hadshut up like a clam.

  "He was frightened when I told him he had said things about theInspector," Mercer reported. "He disavowed everything. He shook hishead--no, no, no. He had not seen Kedsty. He knew nothing about him. Ican do nothing with him, Kent."

  He had dropped his "sirs," also his servant-like servility. He helpedto smoke Kent's cigars with the intimacy of proprietorship, and withoffensive freedom called him "Kent." He spoke of the Inspector as"Kedsty," and of Father Layonne as "the little preacher." He swelledperceptibly, and Kent knew that each hour of that swelling added to hisown danger.

  He believed that Mercer was talking. Several times a day he heard himin conversation with the guard, and not infrequently Mercer went downto the Landing, twirling a little reed cane that he had not dared touse before. He began to drop opinions and information to Kent in asuperior sort of way. On the fourth day word came that Doctor Cardiganwould not return for another forty-eight hours, and with unblushingconceit Mercer intimated that when he did return he would find bigchanges. Then it was that in the stupidity of his egotism he said:

  "Kedsty has taken a great fancy to me, Kent. He's a square old top,when you take him right. Had me over this afternoon, and we smoked acigar together. When I told him that I looked in at your window lastnight and saw you going through a lot of exercises, he jumped up as ifsome one had stuck a pin in him. 'Why, I thought he was sick--_bad_!' hesaid. And I let him know there were better ways of making a sick manwell than Cardigan's. 'Give them plenty to eat,' I said. 'Let 'em livenormal,' I argued. 'Look at Kent, for instance,' I told him. 'He's beeneating like a bear for a week, and he can turn somersaults thisminute!' That topped him over, Kent. I knew it would be a bit of asurprise for him, that I should do what Cardigan couldn't do. He walkedback and forth, black as a hat--thinking of Cardigan, I suppose. Thenhe called in that Pelly chap and gave him something which he wrote on apiece of paper. After that he shook hands with me, slapped me on theshoulder most intimately, and gave me another cigar. He's a keen oldblade, Kent. He doesn't need more than one pair of eyes to see whatI've done since Cardigan went away!"

  If ever Kent's hands had itched to get at the throat of a human being,the yearning convulsed his fingers now. At the moment when he was aboutto act Mercer had betrayed him to Kedsty! He turned his face away sothat Mercer could not see what was in his eyes. Under his body heconcealed his clenched hands. Within himself he fought against theinsane desire that was raging in his blood, the desire to leap onMercer and kill him. If Cardigan had reported his condition to Kedsty,it would have been different. He would have accepted the report as amatter of honorable necessity on Cardigan's part. But Mercer--a toadblown up by his own wind, a consummate fiend who would sell his bestfriend, a fool, an ass--

  For a space he held himself rigid as a stone, his face turned away fromMercer. His better sense won. He knew that his last chance dependedupon his coolness now. And Mercer unwittingly helped him to win byslyly pocketing a couple of his cigars and leaving the room. For aminute or two Kent heard him talking to the guard outside the door.

  He sat up then. It was five o'clock. How long ago was it that Mercerhad seen Kedsty? What was the order that the Inspector had written on asheet of paper for Constable Pelly? Was it simply that he should bemore closely watched, or was it a command to move him to one of thecells close to the detachment office? If it was the latter, all hishopes and plans were destroyed. His mind flew to those cells.

  The Landing had no jail, not even a guard-house, though the members ofthe force sometimes spoke of the cells just behind Inspector Kedsty'soffice by that name. The cells were of cement, and Kent himself hadhelped to plan them! The irony of the thing did not strike him justthen. He was recalling the fact that no prisoner had ever escaped fromthose cement cells. If no action were taken before six o'clock, he wassure that it would be postponed until the following morning. It waspossible that Kedsty's order was for Pelly to prepare a cell for him.Deep in his soul he prayed fervently that it was only a matter ofpreparation. If they would give him one more night--just one!

  His watch tinkled the half-hour. Then a quarter of six. Then six. Hisblood ran feverishly, in spite of the fact that he posses
sed thereputation of being the coolest man in N Division. He lighted his lastcigar and smoked it slowly to cover the suspense which he fearedrevealed itself in his face, should any one come into his room. Hissupper was due at seven. At eight it would begin to get dusk. The moonwas rising later each night, and it would not appear over the forestsuntil after eleven. He would go through his window at ten o'clock. Hismind worked swiftly and surely as to the method of his first night'sflight. There were always a number of boats down at Crossen's place. Hewould start in one of these, and by the time Mercer discovered he wasgone, he would be forty miles on his way to freedom. Then he would sethis boat adrift, or hide it, and start cross-country until his trailwas lost. Somewhere and in some way he would find both guns and food.It was fortunate that he had not given Mercer the other fifty dollarsunder his pillow.

  At seven Mercer came with his supper. A little gleam of disappointmentshot into his pale eyes when he found the last cigar gone from the box.Kent saw the expression and tried to grin good-humoredly.

  "I'm going to have Father Layonne bring me up another box in themorning, Mercer," he said. "That is, if I can get hold of him."

  "You probably can," snapped Mercer. "He doesn't live far from barracks,and that's where you are going. I've got orders to have you ready tomove in the morning."

  Kent's blood seemed for an instant to flash into living flame. He dranka part of his cup of coffee and said then, with a shrug of hisshoulders: "I'm glad of it, Mercer. I'm anxious to have the thing over.The sooner they get me down there, the quicker they will take action.And I'm not afraid, not a bit of it. I'm bound to win. There isn't achance in a hundred that they can convict me." Then he added: "And I'mgoing to have a box of cigars sent up to you, Mercer. I'm grateful toyou for the splendid treatment you have given me."

  No sooner had Mercer gone with the supper things than Kent's knottedfist shook itself fiercely in the direction of the door.

  "My God, how I'd like to have you out in the woods--alone--for just onehour!" he whispered.

  Eight o'clock came, and nine. Two or three times he heard voices in thehall, probably Mercer talking with the guard. Once he thought he hearda rumble of thunder, and his heart throbbed joyously. Never had hewelcomed a storm as he would have welcomed it tonight. But the skiesremained clear. Not only that, but the stars as they began to appearseemed to him more brilliant than he had ever seen them before. And itwas very still. The rattle of a scow-chain came up to him from theriver as though it were only a hundred yards away. He knew that it wasone of Mooie's dogs he heard howling over near the sawmill. The owls,flitting past his window, seemed to click their beaks more loudly thanlast night. A dozen times he fancied he could hear the rippling voiceof the river that very soon was to carry him on toward freedom.

  The river! Every dream and aspiration found its voice for him in thatriver now. Down it Marette Radisson had gone. And somewhere along it,or on the river beyond, or the third river still beyond that, he wouldfind her. In the long, tense wait between the hours of nine and ten hebrought the girl back into his room again. He recalled every gestureshe had made, every word she had spoken. He felt the thrill of her handon his forehead, her kiss, and in his brain her softly spoken wordsrepeated themselves over and over again, "I think that if you livedvery long I should love you." And as she had spoken those words _sheknew that he was not going to die_!

  Why, then, had she gone away? Knowing that he was going to live, whyhad she not remained to help him if she could? Either she had spokenthe words in jest, or--

  A new thought flashed into his mind. It almost drew a cry from hislips. It brought him up tense, erect, his heart pounding. Had she goneaway? Was it not possible that she, too, was playing a game in givingthe impression that she was leaving down-river on the hidden scow? Wasit conceivable that she was playing that game against Kedsty? Apicture, clean-cut as the stars in the sky, began to outline itself inhis mental vision. It was clear, now, what Mooie's mumblings aboutKedsty had signified. Kedsty had accompanied Marette to the scow. Mooiehad seen him and had given the fact away in his fever. Afterward he hadclamped his mouth shut through fear of the "big man" of the Law. Butwhy, still later, had he almost been done to death? Mooie was aharmless creature. He had no enemies.

  There was no one at the Landing who would have assaulted the oldtrailer, whose hair was white with age. No one, unless it was Kedstyhimself--Kedsty at bay, Kedsty in a rage. Even that was inconceivable.Whatever the motive of the assault might be, and no matter who hadcommitted it, Mooie had most certainly seen the Inspector of Policeaccompany Marette Radisson to the scow. And the question which Kentfound it impossible to answer was, had Marette Radisson really gonedown the river on that scow?

  It was almost with a feeling of disappointment that he told himself itwas possible she had not. He wanted her on the river. He wanted hergoing north and still farther north. The thought that she was mixed upin some affair that had to do with Kedsty was displeasing to him. Ifshe was still in the Landing or near the Landing, it could no longer beon account of Sandy McTrigger, the man his confession had saved. In hisheart he prayed that she was many days down the Athabasca, for it wasthere--and only there--that he would ever see her again. And hisgreatest desire, next to his desire for his freedom, was to find her.He was frank with himself in making that confession. He was more thanthat. He knew that not a day or night would pass that he would notthink or dream of Marette Radisson. The wonder of her had grown morevivid for him with each hour that passed, and he was sorry now that hehad not dared to touch her hair. She would not have been offended withhim, for she had kissed him--after he had killed the impulse to lay hishand on that soft glory that had crowned her head.

  And then the little bell in his watch tinkled the hour of ten! He satup with a jerk. For a space he held his breath while he listened. Inthe hall outside his room there was no sound. An inch at a time he drewhimself off his bed until he stood on his feet. His clothes hung onhooks in the wall, and he groped his way to them so quietly that onelistening at the crack of his door would not have heard him. He dressedswiftly. Then he made his way to the window, looked out, and listened.

  In the brilliant starlight he saw nothing but the two white stubs ofthe lightning-shattered trees in which the owls lived. And it was verystill. The air was fresh and sweet in his face. In it he caught thescent of the distant balsams and cedars. The world, wonderful in itsnight silence, waited for him. It was impossible for him to conceive offailure or death out there, and it seemed unreal and trivial that theLaw should expect to hold him, with that world reaching out its arms tohim and calling him.

  Assured that the moment for action was at hand, he moved quickly. Inanother ten seconds he was through the window, and his feet were on theground. For a space he stood out clear in the starlight. Then hehurried to the end of the building and hid himself in the shadow. Theswiftness of his movement had brought him no physical discomfort, andhis blood danced with the thrill of the earth under his feet and thethought that his wound must be even more completely healed than he hadsupposed. A wild exultation swept over him. He was free! He could seethe river now, shimmering and talking to him in the starlight, urginghim to hurry, telling him that only a little while ago another had gonenorth on the breast of it, and that if he hastened it would help him toovertake her. He felt the throb of new life in his body. His eyes shonestrangely in the semi-gloom.

  It seemed to him that only yesterday Marette had gone. She could not befar away, even now. And in these moments, with the breath of freedomstirring him with the glory of new life, she was different for him fromwhat she had ever been. She was a part of him. He could not think ofescape without thinking of her. She became, in these precious moments,the living soul of his wilderness. He felt her presence. The thoughtpossessed him that somewhere down the river she was thinking of him,waiting, expecting him. And in that same flash he made up his mind thathe would not discard the boat, as he had planned; he would concealhimself by day, and float downstream by night, until at last he came
toMarette Radisson. And then he would tell her why he had come. And afterthat--

  He looked toward Crossen's place. He would make straight for it,openly, like a man bent on a mission there was no reason to conceal. Ifluck went right, and Crossen was abed, he would be on the river withinfifteen minutes. His blood ran faster as he took his first step outinto the open starlight. Fifty yards ahead of him was the buildingwhich Cardigan used for his fuel. Safely beyond that, no one could seehim from the windows of the hospital. He walked swiftly. Twenty paces,thirty, forty--and he stopped as suddenly as the half-breed's bullethad stopped him weeks before. Round the end of Cardigan's fuel housecame a figure. It was Mercer. He was twirling his little cane andtraveling quietly as a cat. They were not ten feet apart, yet Kent hadnot heard him.

  Mercer stopped. The cane dropped from his hand. Even in the starlightKent could see his face turn white.

  "Don't make a sound, Mercer," he warned. "I'm taking a little exercisein the open air. If you cry out, I'll kill you!"

  He advanced slowly, speaking in a voice that could not have been heardat the windows behind him. And then a thing happened that froze theblood in his veins. He had heard the scream of every beast of the greatforests, but never a scream like that which came from Mercer's lipsnow. It was not the cry of a man. To Kent it was the voice of a fiend,a devil. It did not call for help. It was wordless. And as the horriblesound issued from Mercer's mouth he could see the swelling throat andbulging eyes that accompanied the effort. They made him think of asnake, a cobra.

  The chill went out of his blood, replaced by a flame of hottest fire.He forgot everything but that this serpent was in his path. Twice hehad stood in his way. And he hated him. He hated him with a virulencythat was death. Neither the call of freedom nor the threat of prisoncould keep him from wreaking vengeance now. Without a sound he was atMercer's throat, and the scream ended in a choking shriek. His fingersdug into flabby flesh, and his clenched fist beat again and again intoMercer's face.

  He went to the ground, crushing the human serpent under him. And hecontinued to strike and choke as he had never struck or choked anotherman, all other things overwhelmed by his mad desire to tear into piecesthis two-legged English vermin who was too foul to exist on the face ofthe earth.

  And he still continued to strike--even after the path lay clear oncemore between him and the river.