CHAPTER XXIII
IT is not easy for one unaccustomed to the woods to remain undeviatingly upon his course even in the daytime; at night it can be accomplished only by a miracle. Carmel, in a state of agitation which was not distant from hysteria, had paused neither to consider nor to take her bearings. Of herself she was utterly careless. The only thought in her mind was to reach, and in some manner to give aid to, Evan Pell if he remained alive. Instinct alone moved her to turn off the road and seek the protection of the forest. Once engulfed in its blackness she stumbled alone, tripping, falling, turning, twisting—hurrying, always hurrying.... The physical exertion cleared her brain, reduced her to something like rationality.
She paused, leaned panting against the bole of a great beech ... and discovered she was lost.
The evening had been cloudy, but now the clouds were being dissipated by an easterly breeze—a chilly breeze—and from time to time the moon peered through to turn the blackness of the woods into a cavern, dim-lit, filled with moving, grotesque alarming shadows. The shape of fear lurks always in the forest. It hides behind every tree, crouches in every thicket, ready to leap out upon the back ofhim who shall for an instant lay aside the protective armor of his presence of mind. The weapon of fear is panic.... Fear perches upon the shoulder, whispering: “You are lost. You know not which way to go.... You have lost your way.†Then there arises in the heart and brain of the victim a sensation so horrible that words cannot describe it; it can be realized only by those who have experienced it. It is a combination of emotions and fears, comparable to nothing.... It is a living, clutching, torturing horror. First comes apprehension, then bewilderment. A frenzied effort to discover some landmark, to tear from the forest the secret of the points of the compass. One determines to sit calmly and reflect; to proceed coolly.... The thing is impossible. One sits while the watch ticks fifty times, and is sure he has rested for hours. He arises, takes two steps with studied deliberation, and finds he is running, bursting through slashings and underbrush in unreasoning frenzy. And frenzy thrives upon itself. One wishes to shout, to scream.... Fear chokes him, engulfs him. Reason deserts utterly, and there remains nothing but horror, panic....
Carmel experienced this and more. Throbbing, rending terror was hers, yet, even at the height of her panic, there lay beneath it, making it more horrible, her fear for Evan Pell. She uttered his name. Sobbing, she called to him—and always, always she struggled forward under the urge of panic. Even the little nickel-plated electric flash in her pocket was forgotten. That would have been something—light!It would have been a comfort, a hope.... How long she ran and fell, picked herself up to stagger onward to another fall, she did not know. For minutes the woods were an impenetrable gulf of blackness; then the moon would emerge to permit its eerie light to trickle through the interlacing foliage, and to paint grotesque patterns upon the ground beneath her feet. Threatening caverns loomed; mysterious sounds assailed her.... She was sobbing, crying Evan Pell’s name. And then—with startling suddenness—the woods ceased to be, and light was.... The heavens were clean swept of clouds, and the moon, round and full, poured down the soft silver of its radiance—a radiance reflected, mirrored, turned to brighter silver by the rippled waters of the lake.... Carmel sank in a pitiful little heap and cried—they were tears of relief. She had reached the lake.
It was possible to reason now. She had turned from the road to the right. The Lakeside Hotel was to the left of the road, and, therefore, she had but to skirt the shore of the lake, traveling to leftward, and she must reach her destination.
She arose, composed herself, and, womanlike, arranged her hat and hair. Then, keeping close to the water for fear she might again become bewildered and so lose this sure guide, she started again toward her objective.
As she turned a jutting point of land she saw, a quarter of a mile distant, the not numerous lights which indicated the presence of Bangs’s ill-reputedhostelry. This sure realization of the nearness of danger awakened caution. It awakened, too, a sense of her futility. Now that she was where something must be done, what was there possible for her to do? What did she mean to do?... She could not answer, but, being an opportunist, she told herself that events should mold her actions; that some course would open before her when need for it became imminent.
Small things she noted—inconsequential things. The lake had fallen during the dry weather. She noted that. It had receded to leave at its edge a ribbon of mud, sometimes two feet, sometimes six feet wide.... This was one of those inconsequential, extraneous facts which appear so sharply and demand attention when the mind is otherwise vitally occupied.... She noted the thick-growing pickerel grass growing straight and slender and thrusting its spears upward through the scarcely agitated water. It was lovely in the moonlight.... She noted the paths upon the water, paths which began without reason and wound off to no destination.... Her eyes were busy, strangely busy, photographically occupied. No detail of that nocturne but would be printed indelibly upon the retina of her brain so long as she should live.... Details, details, details!
Then she stopped! Her hand flew to her breast with sudden gesture and clutched the bosom of her waist. She started back, trembling.... Was that a log lying half upon the muddy ribbon, half submergedin the receded waters of the lake? She hoped it was a log, but there was something—somethingwhich arrested her, compelled her.... If it were a log it was such a log as she never had seen before.... It had not a look of hard solidity, but rather of awful limpness, of softness. It sprawled grotesquely. It was still, frightfully still.... She gathered her courage to approach; stood upon the grassy shelf above this shape which might have been a log but seemed not to be a log, and bent to peer downward upon it....
She thought she screamed, but she did not. No sound issued from her throat, although her lips opened.... She fell back, covering her face.... The log was no log; it was no twisted, grotesque drift wood.... It was the body of a man, the limbs of a man fearfully extended....
Carmel felt ill, dizzy. She struggled against faintness. Then the searing, unbearable thought—was it Evan?... She must know, she must determine....
Alone with the thing beneath her, with the fearsome woods behind her, with the lonely, coldly glittering lake before her, it was almost beyond belief that she should find the courage to determine.... Something within her, something stronger than horror, than terror, laid its hand upon her and compelled her. She could not, dared not, believe it was Evan Pell.
From her pocket she drew the little, nickel-plated flashlight and pressed its button. Then, coveringher eyes, she forced herself inch by inch to approach the lip of the grassy shelf.... She could not look, but she must look.... First she pointed the beam of the light downward, her eyes tight-closed. Clenching her fist, biting her lips, she put every atom of strength in her body to the task of forcing the lids of her eyes to open—and she looked, looked full upon the awful thing at her feet.
For an instant sickness, frightful repulsion, horror, was held at bay by relief.... It was not Evan. Those soggy garments were not his; that bulk was not his.... She dared to look again, and let none decry the courage required to perform this act.... It was a terrible thing to see.... Her eyes dared not remain upon the awful, bearded face. They swept downward to where the coat, lying open, disclosed the shirt.... Upon the left bosom of the shirt was a metal shape. Carmel stared at it—and stared.... It was a star, no longer bright and glittering, but unmistakably a star....
Then, instantly, Carmel Lee knew what had become of Sheriff Churchill....
It was enough; she was required to look no more.... The spot was accursed, unendurable, and she fled from it; fled toward the lights of the Lakeside Hotel.... That they were lights of which she could not beg shelter she did not think; that she was safer with the thing which the lake had given up she did not consider. That the living to whom she fled were more frightful than the dead whom she deserted was not for her to believe in that moment. Shemust have light; she must feel the presence of human beings, hear human voices—it mattered not whose they were.
Presently, forcing her way through a last obstruction of baby spruces, she reached the thoroughfare, and there, hidden by the undergrowth, she stood, looking for the first time upon this group of buildings so notorious in the county, so important in her own affairs. The hotel itself, a structure of frame and shingles, stretched along the lake—a long, low, squatting, sinister building. A broad piazza stretched from end to end, and from its steps a walk led down to a wharf jutting into the water. To the rear were barns and sheds and an inclosure hidden from the eye by a high lattice—a typical roadhouse of the least desirable class.... She searched such of its windows as were lighted. Human figures moved to and fro in the room which must have been the dining room. An orchestra played....
She had been on the spot but a moment when she heard the approaching engine of some motor vehicle. She waited. A huge truck, loaded high and covered with a tarpaulin, drew up to the gate at the rear of the hotel. Its horn demanded admittance, the gate opened and it rolled in.... She waited, uncertain. Another truck appeared—high loaded as the first—and was admitted.... Then, in quick succession, three others.... Five trucks loaded to capacity—and Carmel knew well what was their load!... Contraband!... Its value to be counted not by thousands of dollars, but by tens of thousands!
The facts were hers now, but what was she to do with them? To whom report them?... And there was Evan. What mattered contraband whisky when his fate was in doubt? Evan Pell came first—she realized now that he came first, before everything, before herself!... She asked no questions, but accepted the fact.
Keeping to the roadside in the shadows, she picked her way along for a couple of hundred feet, meaning to cross the road and to make her way to the rear of the hotel’s inclosure. There must be some opening through which she might observe what passed and so make some discovery which might be of use to her in her need.... She paused, undecided, determined a sudden, quick crossing would be safest, and, lifting her skirts, ran out upon the roadway....
There was a shout, a rush of feet. She felt ungentle hands, and, dropping such inhibitions as generations of civilization had imposed upon her, Carmel fought like a wildcat, twisting, scratching, tearing.... She was crushed, smothered. Her arms were twisted behind her, a cloth jerked roughly over her face, and she felt herself lifted in powerful arms.... They carried her to some door, for she heard them rap for admission.
“Who’s there?†said a voice.
“Fetch Peewee,†said one of her captors. “Quick.†Then came a short wait, and she heard Peewee Bangs’s nasal voice. “What’s up?†he demanded.
“We got her. What’ll we do with her?â€
“Fetch her in,†said Peewee. “Up the back stairs. I’ll show ye the way.â€
Carmel, not struggling now, was carried up a narrow flight of steps; she heard a key turn in a lock. Then she was thrust into a room, pushed so that she stumbled and went to her knees. The door slammed behind her and was locked again.... She got to her feet, trembling, wavering, snatched the cloth from her face, and looked before her.... There, in the dim light, she saw a man. He stood startled, staring with unbelieving eyes.
“Evan!...†she cried. “Evan!... Thank God you’re alive.â€