The Courage of Captain Plum Part 12

"It is not very far now," she whispered. "You must go!"

"Only a little farther," he begged.

She surrendered again, hesitatingly, and they went on, more slowly than before, until they came to where the path met the footway that led to Obadiah's.

"Now--now you _must_ go," whispered Marion again.

In this last moment Nathaniel crushed her hand against his breast, his body throbbing with a wild tumult, and a half of what he had meant not to say fell pa.s.sionately from his lips.

"Forgive me for--that--back there--Marion," he whispered. "It was because I love you--love you--" He freed her hand and stood back, choking the words that would have revealed his secret. He lied now for the love of this girl. "Neil is out there waiting for me in a small boat," he continued, pointing beyond Obadiah's to the lake. "I will see him soon, and then I will return to Obadiah's to tell you if he has left for the mainland. Will you promise to meet me there--to-night?"

"I will promise."

"At midnight--"

"Yes, at twelve o'clock."

This time it was Marion who came to him. Her eyes shone like stars.

"And if you make Neil go to the mainland," she said softly, "when I meet you I will--will tell you--something."

The last word came in a breathless sob. As she slipped into the path that led to St. James she paused for a moment and called back, in a low voice, "Tell Neil that he must go for Winnsome's sake. Tell him that her fate is shortly to be as cruel as mine--tell him that Winnsome loves him, and that she will escape and come to him on the mainland. Tell him to go--go!"

She turned again, and Nathaniel stood like a statue, hardly breathing, until the sound of her feet had died away. Then he walked swiftly up the foot-path that led to Obadiah's. He forgot his own danger in the excitement that pulsated with every fiber of his being, forgot his old caution and the fears that gave birth to it--forgot everything in those moments but Marion and his own great happiness. Neil's absence meant nothing to him now. He had held Marion in his arms, he had told her of his love, and though she had accepted it with gentle unresponsiveness he was thrilled by the memory of that last look in her eyes, which had spoken faith, confidence, and perhaps even more. What was that _something_ she would tell him if he got Neil safely away? It was to be a reward for his own loyalty--he knew that, by the half fearing tremble of her voice, the sobbing catch of her breath, the strange glow in her eyes. With her brother away would she confide in him? Would she tell him the secret of her slavedom to Strang? Nathaniel was conscious of no madness in the wild hope that filled him; nothing seemed impossible to him now. Marion would meet him at midnight. She would go with him to the boat, and then--ah, he had solved the problem! He would use no force. He would tell her that Neil was in his canoe half a mile out from the sh.o.r.e and that he had promised to leave the island for good if she would go out to bid him good-by. And once there, a half a mile or a mile away, he would tell her that he had lied to her; and he would give her his heart to trample upon to prove the love that had made him do this thing, and then he would row her to the mainland.

It was the sight of Obadiah's cabin that brought his caution back. He came upon it so suddenly that an exclamation of surprise fell unguarded from his lips. There was no light to betray life within. He tried the door and found it locked. He peered in at the windows, listened, and knocked, and at last concealed himself near the path, confident that the little old councilor was still at St. James. For an hour he waited. From the rear of Obadiah's home a narrow footway led toward the lake and Nathaniel followed it, now as warily as an animal in search of prey. For half a mile it took him through the forest and ended at the white sands of the beach. In neither direction could Nathaniel see a light, and keeping close in the shadows of the trees he made his way slowly toward St. James. He had gone but a short distance when he saw a house directly ahead of him, a single gleam of light from a small window telling him that it was inhabited and that its tenants were at home. He circled down close to the water looking for a boat. His heart leaped with sudden exultation when he saw a small skiff drawn upon the beach and his joy was doubled at finding the oars still in the locks. It took him but a moment to shove the light craft into the sea and a minute later he was rowing swiftly away from the land.

Nathaniel was certain that by this time Neil had abandoned his search for the captured _Typhoon_ and was probably paddling in the direction of St. James. With the hope of intercepting him he pulled an eighth of a mile from the sh.o.r.e and rowed slowly toward the head of the island.

There was no moon, but countless stars glowed in a clear sky and upon the open lake Nathaniel could see for a considerable distance about him.

For another hour he rowed back and forth and then beached his boat within a dozen rods of the path that came down from Obadiah's.

It was ten o'clock. Two more hours! He had tried to suppress his excitement, his apprehensions, his eagerness, but now as he went back into the darkness of the forest they burst out anew. What if Marion should not keep the tryst? He thought of the spies whom Neil had said guarded the girl's home--and of Obadiah. Could he trust the old councilor? Should he confide his plot to him and ask his a.s.sistance? As the minutes pa.s.sed and these thoughts recurred again and again in his brain he could not keep the nervousness from growing within him. He was sure now that he would have to fight his battle without Neil. He saw the necessity of coolness, of judgment, and he began to demand these things of himself, struggling sternly against those symptoms of weakness which had replaced his confidence of a short time before. Gradually he fought himself back into his old faith. He would save Marion--without Neil, without Obadiah. If Marion did not come to him by midnight it would be because of the guards against whom Neil had warned him, and he would go to her. In some way he would get her to the boat, even if he had to fight his way through Arbor Croche's men.

With this return of confidence Nathaniel's thoughts reverted to his present greatest need, which was food. Since early morning he had eaten nothing and he began to feel the physical want in a craving that was becoming acutely uncomfortable. If Obadiah had not returned to his home he made up his mind that he would find entrance to the cabin and help himself. A sudden turn in the path which he was following, however, revealed one of the councilor's windows aglow with light, and as he pressed quietly around the end of the building the sound of a low voice came to him through the open door. Cautiously he approached and peered in. A large oil lamp, the light of which he had seen in the window, was burning on a table in the big room but the voice came from the little closet into which Obadiah had taken him the preceding night. For several minutes he crouched and listened. He heard the chuckling laugh of the old councilor--and then an incoherent raving that set his blood tingling. There is a horror in the sound of madness, a horror that creeps to the very pit of one's soul, that sends s.h.i.+vering dread from every nerve center, that causes one who is alone with it to sweat with a nameless fear. It was the voice of madness that came from that little room. Before it Nathaniel quailed as if a clammy hand had reached out from the darkness and gripped him by the throat. He drew back s.h.i.+vering in every limb, and the voice followed him, shrieking now in a sudden burst of insane mirth and dying away a moment later in a hollow cackling laugh that seemed to curdle the blood in his veins. Mad! Obadiah Price was mad! Step by step Nathaniel fell back from the door. He felt himself trembling from head to foot. His heart thumped within his breast like the beating of a hammer. For an instant there was silence--a silence in which strange dread held him breathless while he watched the glow in the door and listened. And after that quiet there came suddenly a cry that ended in the exultant chattering of a name.

At the sound of that name Nathaniel sprang forward again. It was Marion's name and he strained his ears to catch the words that might follow it. As he listened, his head thrust half in at the door, Obadiah's voice became lower and lower, until at last it ceased entirely. Not a step, not a deep breath, not the movement of a hand disturbed the stillness of the little room. By inches Nathaniel drew himself inside the door. His heavy boot caught in a sliver on the step but the rending of wood brought no response. It was the quiet of death that pervaded the cabin, it was a strange, growing fear of death that entered Nathaniel as he now hurried across the room and peered through the narrow aperture. The old councilor was half stretched upon the table, his arms reaching out, his long, thin fingers gripping its edges, his face buried under his shoulders. It looked as if death had come suddenly to him during some terrible convulsion, but after a moment Nathaniel saw that he was breathing. He went over and placed a hand on the old man's twisted back.

"h.e.l.lo, Obadiah! h.e.l.lo--h.e.l.lo!" he called cheerfully.

A shudder ran through the councilor's frame, as if the voice had startled him, his arms and body stiffened and slowly he lifted his head.

Nathaniel tried to stifle the cry on his lips, tried to smile--to speak, but the terrible face that stared up into his own held him silent, motionless. He had heard the voice of madness, now he looked upon madness in the eyes that glared at him. In them was no sign of recognition, no pa.s.sing flash of sanity. The white face was lined with purplish veins, the mouth was distorted and the lips bleeding.

Involuntarily he stepped back to the end of the table.

At his movement the councilor stretched out his arms with a sobbing moan.

"Nat--Nat--don't--go--"

He fell again upon his face, clutching the table in a sudden convulsion.

In the next room Nathaniel had noticed a pail of water and he brought this and wet the old man's head. For a long time Obadiah did not move, and when he did it was to reach out with a groping hand to find Nathaniel. A change had come into his face when he lifted it again, the mad fire had partly burned itself out of his eyes, the old chuckling laugh came from between his lips.

"A little weakness, Nat--a little weakness," he gasped faintly. "I have it now and then. Excitement--great excitement--" He straightened himself for a moment and stood, swaying free from the table, then collapsed into a chair his head dropping upon his breast.

Without arousing him from the stupor into which he had fallen, Nathaniel again concealed himself in the shadows outside the cabin where he could better guard himself against the possible approach of Mormon visitors.

But he did not remain long. He struck a match and saw that it was nearly eleven and a sudden resolution turned him back to the cabin door. He believed that Obadiah would not easily arouse himself from the strange stupor into which he had fallen. Meanwhile he would find food and then conceal himself near the path to intercept Marion.

As he mounted the step he heard for the second time since landing upon the island the solemn tolling of the great bell at St. James, and as he paused for an instant to listen, peal upon peal followed the first until its brazen thunder rolled in one long booming echo through the forests of the Mormon kingdom. There came a shrill cry at his back and he whirled about to see the councilor standing in the center of the big room, his arms outstretched, his face lifted as it had been raised in prayer at the tolling of that same bell the night before--but this time it was not prayer that fell from his lips.

"Nat, ye have returned in the hour of vengeance! The hand of G.o.d is descending upon the Mormon kingdom!"

His words came in a gasping, but triumphant cry.

"And to-morrow--to-morrow--" He stepped forward, his voice crooning a wild joy, "To-morrow--I--shall--be--king!"

As he spoke the cabin trembled, a tremor pa.s.sed under them, and the tolling of the bell was lost in a sudden tumult that came like the bursting crash of low thunder.

"What is it?" cried Nathaniel. He leaped into the room and caught Obadiah by the arm. "What is it?"

"The hand of G.o.d!" whispered the old man again. "Nat--Nat--" It was his old self that stood grimacing and twisting his hands before Nathaniel now. "Nat--a thousand armed men are off the coast! The Lamanites of the mainland are descending upon the Mormon kingdom as the hosts of Israel upon Canaan! Strang is doomed--doomed--doomed--and to-morrow I shall be king!" His voice rose in a wailing shriek. He darted to the door and his cackling laugh rang with the old madness as he pointed into the north where a lurid glow had mounted high into the sky.

"The signal fire--the bell!" he gurgled chokingly. "They are calling the Mormons to arms--but it is too late--too late! Ho, ho, it is too late, Nat--too late!" He staggered back, gripping his throat, and fell upon the floor. "Too late--too late," he moaned, groveling weakly, as if struggling for breath. "Too late--Nat--Marion--"

A s.h.i.+ver pa.s.sed through his body and he lay quite still.

CHAPTER VIII

THE SIX CASTLE CHAMBERS

In an instant Nathaniel was upon his knees beside the prostrate form of the old councilor.

Obadiah's eyes were open, but unseeing; his face was blanched to the whiteness of paper; an almost imperceptible movement of his chest showed that he still breathed. Nathaniel lifted one of the limp hands and its clammy chill struck horror to his heart. Tenderly he lifted the old man and carried him to the cot at the end of the room. He loosened his clothes, tore off the low collar about his throat, and felt with his hand to measure the faint beating of life in the councilor's breast. For a few moments it seemed to grow fainter and fainter, and a choking lump rose in his throat as he watched the pallor of death fixing itself on the councilor's shriveled face. What strange chord of sympathy was it that bound him to this old man? Was it the same mysterious influence that had attracted Marion to him? He dropped upon his knees and called the girl's name softly but it awakened no response in the sightless eyes, no tremor in the parted, unquivering lips. Very slowly as the minutes pa.s.sed there came a reaction. The pulsations of the weakened heart became a little stronger, he could catch faintly the sound of breath coming from between the old man's lips.

With a gasp of relief Nathaniel rose to his feet. Through the door he saw the red glare growing in the northern sky and heard the great bell at St. James ring a wilder and more excited alarm. For a few moments he stood in silent, listening inaction, his nerves tingling with a strange sensation of impending peril. Obadiah's madness, the mysterious trembling of the earth beneath his feet, the volcano of fire, the clanging of the bell and the councilor's insane rejoicing had all come so suddenly that he was dazed. What great calamity, what fearful vengeance, was about to come upon the Mormon kingdom? Was it possible that the fishermen and settlers of the mainland had risen, as Obadiah had said, and were already at hand to destroy Strang and his people? The thought spurred him to the door. The blood rushed like fire through his veins. What would it mean to Marion--to Neil?

In his excitement he started down the path that led to the lilac hidden home beyond the forest. Then he thought again of Obadiah and his last choking utterance of Marion's name. He had tried to speak of her, even with that death-like rattling of the breath in his throat; and the memory of the old councilor's frantic struggle for words brought Nathaniel quickly back to the cabin. He bent over Obadiah's shriveled form and spoke the girl's name again and again in his ears. There came no response, no quiver of life to show that the old man was conscious of his presence. As he worked over him, bathing his face and chest in cool water, the feeling became strong in him that he was fighting death in this gloomy room for Marion's sake. It was like the whispering of an invisible spirit in his ears--something more than presentiment, something that made his own heart grow faint when death seemed winning in the struggle. His watchfulness was acute, intense, desperate. When, after a time, he straightened himself again, rewarded by Obadiah's more regular breathing, the sweat stood in beads upon his face. He knew that he had triumphed. Obadiah would live, and Marion--

He placed his mouth close to the councilor's ear.

"Tell me about Marion," he said again. "Marion--Marion--Marion--"

He waited, stilling his own breath to catch the sound of a whisper. None came. As he bent over him he saw through the open door that the red glare of fire had faded to a burnt out glow in the sky. In the deep silence the sullen beating of the bell seemed nearer, and he could hear the excited barking of dogs in St. James. Slowly the hope that Obadiah might speak to him died away and he returned to the door. It still lacked an hour of midnight, when Marion, had promised to come to him. He was wildly impatient and to his impatience was added the fear that had filled him as he hovered over Obadiah, a nameless, intangible fear--something which he could not have a.n.a.lyzed and which clutched at his heart and urged him to follow the path that led to Marion's. For a time he resisted the impulse. What if she should come by another path while he was gone? He waited nervously in the edge of the forest, watching, and listening for footsteps. Each minute seemed like an hour marked into seconds by the solemn steady tolling of the bell, and after a little he found himself unconsciously measuring time by counting the strokes. Then he went out into the path. He followed it, step by step, until he could no longer see the light in the cabin; his pulse beat a little faster; he stared ahead into the deep gloom between the walls of forest--and quickened his pace. If Marion was coming to him he would meet her. If she was not coming--

In his old fearless way he promptly made up his mind. He would go boldly to the cabin and tell her that Neil was waiting. He felt sure that the alarm sounding from St. James had drawn away the guards and that there would be nothing to interfere with his plan. If she had already left the cabin he would return quickly to Obadiah's. In his eagerness he began to run. Once a sound stopped him--the distant beating of galloping hoofs.

He heard the shout of a man, a reply farther away, the quick, excited yelping of a dog. His blood danced as he thought of the gathering of the Mormon fighters, the men and boys racing down the black trails from the inland forests, the excitement in St. James. As he ran on again he thought of Arbor Croche mustering the panting, vengeful defenders; of Strang, his great voice booming encouragement and promise, above the brazen thunder of the bell; he saw in fancy the frightened huddling groups of women and children and beyond and above all the coming of the "vengeance of G.o.d"--a hundred beats, a thousand men--and there went out from his soul if not from his lips a great cry of joy. At the edge of the forest he stopped for a moment. Over beyond the clearing a light burned dimly through the lilacs. The sweet odor of the flowers came to him gently, persuasively, and nerved him into the open. He pa.s.sed across the open s.p.a.ce swiftly and plunged into a tangle of bushes close to the lighted window.

He heard a man's voice within, and then a woman's. Was it Marion?