Gone, instantly, were all Hector's hates and fears. Enwrapt, he heard the clear call soaring to the stars—soar and die, quivering, to merge into the 'Fall in.' Before the call finished, the trumpeter had vanished. But the magic notes went on and drifted into other calls, till he had heard them all, the calls that were the very voice of the Service he loved. Then came wonderful sights—long dear to him—the far-crying trumpet playing perpetual accompaniment. He saw the old Force riding westward—westward—on the first march to the Rockies; saw the sentry at Broncho, smart as a Russian prince in fur coat, cap, gauntlets, burnished bandolier; saw his old division drilling—glorious 'J'—a mounted parade—saw the long scarlet line circle and wheel, heard the tremendous thunder of innumerable hoofs; and still the trumpet sounded. The thunder of hoofs swelled to roars of applause. The packed hall at Broncho rose before him and the Marquis, appearing from the dead, bowed and began to sing, over and over again, the chorus of a song about himself, sung by the men of the Force everywhere for their love of, and pride in, him:
Hi, you bad young Nitchie, there is someone goin' to git ye;Hi, you bad old outlaw!—An' he's never known to fail.He's the soul of Law and Order, so you'd better cross the border,When Manitou-pewabic's on the trail!
His heart went out passionately towards these men. Suddenly, there was a change. Darkness came over the hall. The trumpet, which, somehow, had all the while been sounding, changed its tune to some ominous, terrible call—the 'Last Post'—symbolical of the end—and of Death—the funeral call! A Union Jack at the end of the room, growing suddenly to gigantic proportions, was torn to shreds. Lightning and thunder stormed around it. The trumpet call died, shuddering. There came a noise like a mighty whirlwind and through the shreds a two-headed monster thrust itself—its faces the faces of Welland and Molyneux—one and yet not the same. Hector awoke, in an agony.
Then, in moments of lucid thinking, he realised his weakness to the full and saw the situation in all its horror. He saw the great crisis, not definitely, but as a vague, impenetrable menace, coming upon him—Welland, somehow, mixed up in it—and could do nothing to divert it. Lancaster had told him, at one time, that the miners, seeking to take advantage of his illness, were planning a great meeting at which they proposed to present their demands. Knowing this, he strove to overcome his weakness, strove piteously and failed. No other officer in Black Elk could deal with the approaching menace. He felt that; but could not fathom it, while he felt it. Again, since his illness, a terrific blizzard had come up—one of the worst ever known. The telegraph lines were down, Hopeful Pass was blocked and all communication with the outside world was cut off. Antoine had not returned. Evenhecould not return in the blizzard. Suppose he did not return before the meeting—what then? What then? Again and again, Hector asked for Antoine and received from Lancaster the hopeless answer, 'He has not come back.' This drove him, time without number, to try to reach the window, to see if Antoine had returned or the blizzard moderated and, that effort thwarted, kept him tossing in despair upon his bed.
In his agony, he saw a crash, himself utterly disgraced, all his twenty-odd years of service gone for nothing, the trust of his men and of his country turned into a mockery. This was the end of his dreams.
The Lion of the North lay dying, at the mercy of his foes at last.
He felt like that other of the Bible, helpless in his cot, while Fate shrieked in his ear: 'The Philistines are upon thee, Samson!'
The spark of his great courage, which had won for him his tribal name, 'Spirit-of-Iron,' struggled fiercely in those terrible hours—struggled, but flickered and burned low——
"I'm afraid we're going to lose him," said Dr. Quick, blinking behind his big round glasses.
Outside, consternation held the law-abiding element.
The Lion of the North lay dying, at the mercy of his foes at last.
IV
Through Blythe, Hector eventually turned the corner. He awoke one night to find himself suddenly calm, self-possessed and comfortable, though as weak as ever. At first, having no idea of what had happened to him, he stared childishly 'round the room, struggling for light. Then gradually he made out a man, wrapped in a blanket and lying at the foot of the bed.
"Who's that?" he asked. "Who's that?"
He thought he spoke loudly. Actually, his voice was little better than a whisper.
But the man in the blanket sat up, discovering the wan, intensely woe-begone face of Blythe.
"Did you call, sir?"
"Who's that? Is that——"
Try as he would, he could not remember the name of his own servant!
"Blythe, sir."
"Oh, yes, Blythe. Why aren't you in bed, Blythe?"
"Bed, sir? Why—why, sir—the fact is"—a suspicious huskiness crept into Blythe's voice and his dismal face quivered—"they said as you was dyin', sir——"
"Dying?"
"Yes, sir. The doctor gave you up tonight, sir. An' Miss Oswald—an' that Seattle Sue—they was dog-tired. So—I wanted to be near, sir—when you—pegged out—an' I told 'em to take a rest, an'—an'——"
Here words failed the faithful and tender-hearted Blythe and he began to blubber miserably.
"Why, Blythe! You idiot—you fool, I'm all right! Stop it at once—and turn up the lamp."
Hector was actually laughing at Blythe, with a touch of his old humour. The sight of that doleful face, combined with the assertion that he was dying, had brought back the Big Chief from the edge of the Great Divide.
Blythe, delighted, jumped up, turned up the lamp and hastened out, returning in a moment with Dr. Quick.
"What's this? What's this?" said the doctor, twinkling. "Blythe told me to come quick, because you're coming 'round. I'm Quick, Major, at all times, but never quicker than I've been now."
The familiar pun brought another smile to the wasted face.
"Thank God," said the doctor, solemnly, after investigation, "you'll do."
Then he gave Hector a sleeping draught.
When Hector awoke again, it was to find Lancaster at his bedside. Never had he seen a man in a state of greater thankfulness. And behind him were the doctor, Nita and Seattle Sue.
"We've decided," said Lancaster, "that it will be best for Discovery City generally to remain ignorant of your recovery—for the present. Meanwhile, Major, you must keep quiet and get well."
"I agree as to the first remark and also as to getting well. But I can't keep quiet," said Hector.
"Youmust," the doctor insisted.
"Ican't," Hector asserted. "If you want me to get well quickly, you'll relieve my mind. Mr. Lancaster, I must see you alone—now."
The Lieutenant-Governor reluctantly signed to the others to leave the room.
"What time is it?" asked Hector.
"Three o'clock in the afternoon."
"And the date?"
Lancaster told him.
"How long have I been ill?"
"Twelve days."
"Good God! Twelve days! My God, what time I've lost!"
"There's a chance for you to play your part yet. The blizzard has postponed the big meeting for a week. The miners from the outlying camps couldn't travel."
"Thank God for that! I've a week in which to recover—and prepare. We must keep the change secret, as you said just now. Surprise is the first element of success."
"It is. No-one will know you've turned the corner."
"Has Antoine returned?"
The Lieutenant-Governor's face grew serious.
"No. He must have been held up. I doubt, now, if he can get here in time."
"He must!" Hector struggled to sit up in bed. "So much depends on it. He must get through. He cannot fail us, surely——"
The Lieutenant-Governor put out a hand.
"Don't excite yourself, Adair. Take it quietly, man; take it quietly."
The Superintendent fell back exhausted.
"Has the blizzard died down?"
"Yes. There's still a chance."
"Well, we must get ready."
"But you're really not fit."
"Nonsense. You told me once you were looking to me."
"God knows that's true—but——"
"Well, I'm better now."
Lancaster stared at the emaciated face, set in its iron-hard lines, and gained a deeper sense of the man's indomitable will.
"You must rest now. Promise me," he said.
"On one condition: that you send Forshaw to me tonight."
"You're really not fit——"
"My God, Lancaster," Hector groaned in an agony; "how can I rest with this thing before me? Youmustdo as I ask."
The Lieutenant-Governor silently pressed the sick man's hand, trying to express in that simple action all he felt.
"I'll send him, Major," he said.
When Lancaster left him, Hector lay gasping. The effort of the interview, short as it had been, had completely played him out. The realization wounded him bitterly. The man whose physical strength was proverbial was, he had discovered, at this crisis, as incapable of action as a baby. He revolted madly against it, but the fact remained. As with his body, so with his brain. Fiercely as he tried, now, to form some plan, he found himself utterly unable to do it. His penetration, his self-control and powers of concentration were all gone. He could not get Antoine out of his mind. The man's absence tortured him, shut out everything else. Through the coming days, this was to dominate his thoughts, jeering, like a fiend, at his helplessness.
Exhaustion brought him rest at last.
Blythe awakened him some hours later, with a collation prepared from eggs. Hector took the glass, astonished. Eggs were as rare as women in Black Elk.
"You bin havin' 'em ever since you got sick, sir," said Blythe proudly.
"I have, eh? A dollar apiece! This will ruin me financially, I see that."
"No 't'won't, sir," exclaimed Blythe quickly.
He watched his chief drink the mixture with intense satisfaction.
"How's that?"
"Well, sir—" Blythe became hesitant. "Fact is—Sergeant Savage, he said he'd break my neck if I told you—the boys passed 'round the hat, sir—seein' you were ill, it was all they could do——"
"You mean—" said Hector slowly, "that the men bought these eggs for me, out of their pay?"
"Yessir," said Blythe, now shamefaced, feeling himself a traitor. "You've had six or seven dozen, sir."
Hector put down the glass. Tears welled up in his eyes. Blythe looked desperate.
"I'm not ashamed of them, Blythe," said Hector thickly. "God bless the boys—God bless 'em."
Finishing the drink, he felt better. And, somehow, Blythe's confession had helped him wonderfully. The collective strength of the men seemed to pass into him.
"What's the time, Blythe?"
"'Bout seven, sir."
"Right. Finish your job and clear out. Inspector Forshaw will be here soon."
With Blythe's departure, Hector gathered himself together for the great effort facing him. His brain was working more freely, but his physical weakness filled him with panic.
"God, but this illness must have pulled me down," he thought, and with the thought resolved to see if it was so.
Against all orders, he got out of bed and put his slippers on. The effort was stupendous. The room swam before his eyes and he thought himself about to faint. But he set his teeth, calling all his tremendous will-power to his aid, feeling that inestimable things depended on his success or failure now. Then, clutching at the bed, the chair, the table, for support, he made a tragic and heart-breaking pilgrimage on his trembling legs across the narrow space to the shaving mirror by the lamp. Sweat streaming down his face, his heart pounding furiously, he looked into the mirror—received a stunning shock——
His face had shrunk to livid whiteness and was as thin as a knife. Two black hollows showed 'round his eyes, two in his wasted cheeks. His bloodless lips were set tight and his hair—almost in a night—had become streaked with grey.
That grey hair was the price of the mental torment he had endured. That face was the face of the man on whom depended everything in Black Elk, that raw skeleton actually all that stood between Lancaster and his enemies. Then God help Lancaster!
Exhausted, he turned back to bed. How he reached it he never knew.
Presently came Forshaw's knock.
He braced himself to fight his great fight.
"Come in!"
A moment later he found himself haltingly dictating orders to the little Adjutant.
I
In a small room in a low-down house in Discovery, Welland and Greasy Jones met secretly.
Greasy had successfully made his way through Hopeful Pass in disguise and was now in hiding in this low-down house, awaiting the hour of the miners' rally, when the long and carefully planned coup was to be made and Black Elk Territory declared a republic.
The rally was planned for eight o'clock that night. It was now six a.m.
The two conspirators had met to arrange the final details. Welland had not seen the gangster since their last meeting in Prospect. The risks were too great. And one meeting—this meeting—in Discovery was all he dared venture. Even now he was very nervous.
"You're sure everyone's asleep?" he asked. "And that no-one can overhear us?"
"Sure," replied Greasy impatiently. "There's only two people in the house. One's the owner, a man the yallah-legs don't suspect, the other's my woman—an' she don't count."
"Your—why did you bringheralong? We don't want women here."
"You forget I was a respectable trader goin' to open store in Discovery," the gangster grinned. "An' t' have a wife along helped the effect."
"All right," said Welland apologetically. "Don't think me a fuss-cat, Greasy. But you understand—a man in my position——"
"What about a man inmine? If the yallah-legs knew I was here, I'd be behind the bars in two snorts——"
"Well, they don't," said Welland, "and won't—till too late. Now, do all hands know about the meeting?"
"Yes," smiled Greasy. "It's a meetin' to present a petition to his Nibs the Lieut. Gov. The first-comers, though, an' my men, has been tipped off to what's goin' to happen. They're all armed an' ready to fight, if necess'ry. Arms concealed, o' course. Are you sure the yallah-legs knows nothin'?"
"Of our intentions? Nothing! They think it's a tea party. Of course, they're scared—a little."
"Sure to be," Greasy agreed.
"How many of your men got through the pass?"
"'Bout thirty. Enough, I guess. That includes Philibert, Kelly, an' Pete—the best o' 'em. The Spaniard was spotted an', o' course, No-nose, early in the game."
"Good. And they're to take charge, if it comes to violence?"
"Yep. They'll be in the crowd, same as me."
"I've promised the Lieutenant-Governor to go on the platform with him. As an M.P., it's my place. You'll have to arrest me—for appearance' sake. You can let me out afterwards, but I must be arrested, with the rest of them."
"Yep. I understand. Now what about a programme?"
"Well, Lancaster proposes to speak first, pleading his case. Then the men with the petition plan to present it and answer him. I understand Adair may speak, too."
"Hell, yes," said Greasy fiercely. "I thought he was dyin'. Yesterday, when the news come 'round that he was better—why, it was a real surprise packet, that was!"
"It certainly was. Even I knew nothing about his recovery till it was announced."
"Damn the swine! It 'ud have served us perfectly if he'd died. Our biggest enemy out o' the way——!"
"That's true." Welland's voice was suddenly very sinister. "But I've a plan for settling him. Best we could have—puts him out at the start."
"What is it?"
"This: The time for us to throw down our cards is just after Lancaster and himself have spoken. Adair's had a flag hoisted above the platform. On a given signal, picked men'll rush forward, led by yourself and your lieutenants, capture everyone on the platform, you'll say your say for the Republic, tear down the flag—run up your own—and tell Lancaster to order the Police to surrender. He'll do it, you bet, when he sees the odds—every man in Black Elk will be there. And—the Territory's ours!"
"That's O.K. But what about Adair?"
"We'll want a signal, won't we? And Adair out of the way? We all recognize him as the backbone of resistance, don't we? Well, you get a man you can trust—a dead shot; station him somewhere overlooking the platform; as soon as Adair finishes speaking, let him be shot down—kill him! That blows up your resistance—bang! And there's your signal!"
"By George, you're a slick 'un!"
"Do you agree?"
"You bet I do. I know just the man. It's settled, then. We shoot Adair!"
II
At six o'clock in the evening, Hector sat in his room, awaiting the hour of the meeting.
Though the week intervening since his recovery had done much for him, he was still pitifully thin and weak. His clothes sagged on him and his face was deathly. Only the determination to see the matter through personally kept him up. The Lieutenant-Governor and all his friends marvelled at his resolution.
He was quite calm.
Blythe came in.
"Please, sir," he said gloomily, "there's a woman wants to see you, sir. All in a hurry, she is—out o' breath. Matter o' life an' death, she says. Queer lookin', sir, queer."
"Never mind. Show her in."
The woman was queer. She was in the late forties. Her once beautiful hair had been dyed to hide the grey. She had been very pretty in her time, but was now flabby, unhealthy and inclined to fatness. And she was hopelessly painted and pencilled. She wore a heavy fur coat. Hector had seen many of her kind—women of the streets.
"What can I do for you?" he asked.
Horror crept into her eyes at sight of his emaciated face. Her nerves on the raw, she twisted her hands restlessly, looked here, there, everywhere.
"You needn't be afraid of me. What is it?" he said, very quietly.
She burst into a confession, the wildest, maddest thing he had ever heard. At the end, she was sobbing at his feet.
He listened and his face never changed in the slightest, but to become a little more set, a little sterner. Nor did he move a muscle—just sat motionless.
"You overheard this fellow talking to the man you live with?" he asked at last.
She nodded, crying.
"And he is to shoot me when I go up on the platform tonight?"
She nodded again.
"You don't know the man?"
"No. I was in the room upstairs. I heard them through the floor."
"I see. You wouldn't know his voice? You didn't hear his name?
"No."
"I see." Still that calm, thoughtful tone. "They didn't mention where the shot was to come from?"
"No. Just from the crowd."
"So I'm to be shot by an unknown assassin from somewhere in the crowd—a crowd of at least ten thousand, from every part of Black Elk," he said bitterly.
"That's it," she said.
He knew that to discover the assassin in the crowd would be impossible.
There came a painful silence. Hector broke it.
"You won't tell me your man's name? Is it useless to ask?"
She nodded.
"I love him," she whispered.
"So I can't get at him. You won't even point out the house?"
"No."
"Won't anything I say drag the information from you?"
"Nothing will."
He considered a while, facing this terrible and unexpected menace.
"Suppose I arrest you?"
She started to her knees.
"Oh, for God's sake, no!" she gasped. "Don't do that! Sooner or later he—my man—he'd get at me, knowing I'd betrayed his plan. And he'd kill me. He'd kill me when you let me out, if not before."
"But I could jail him too. Suppose I keep you. I can get someone to identify you. Then I can arrest your man—and discover this assassin from him."
"You can't," she declared. "Not before the meeting. There isn't time. And anyway, I swear, before God, no-one knows me in Discovery."
"There's isn't time," he thought. "That's true."
"Well," he asked her, "what do you propose to do, when you leave here?"
"I'm going to clear out—to Prospect—leave this damn country—go home—right now."
"Right now, eh?" he repeated.
'I'll have you followed when you leave here and trace you to that precious man of yours,' had been his thought. But if she fled at once from Discovery, to follow her would be futile.
"Your man will follow and kill you just the same. He'll easily trace you and catch you up."
"I must chance that," she said desperately.
He saw that she was really resolved on immediate flight.
"Why don't you go back to your man?" he asked.
"After betraying his plans? And after he'd forbidden me to leave the house today? You don't know him!"
"Well, evidently, if I go, I'm certain to be shot," he smiled "Isn't that so?"
"Yes," she muttered.
"Then—why did you come to warn me?"
"I can't—" she choked—"I can't stand by and see you shot!"
"Not even by your man's assassin?"
"Not even that."
"For Christ's sake, Major Adair," she burst out suddenly, "don't go!"
"That's for me to decide," he said grimly. "If you'd tell me where to find that assassin—I don't ask you to betray your man—I understand that side of it—you might save my life. Or if you'd come earlier——"
"I came as soon as I could," she protested. "Before God, that's true."
"All right. I believe you."
By this time, recovering a little, she had risen. He was thinking hard.
"Promise you won't go," she begged.
He looked at her—a piteous object, her powder trailed by tears.
"I promise—nothing," he said firmly.
"Oh, if you go, all this will be wasted—you know the risks I've run—I've been through hell today."
Her voice rang with agony and despair.
"I appreciate that," he answered quietly, "and thank you. Now—to get you away safely."
"Eh?"
She stared.
"You must be escorted," he went on, his coolness bewildering her, "or that man of yours will get you. A mail leaves here in half an hour—dog-train; the fastest run to Prospect going. I'll send you out with it. It's under Police escort. You'll be safe."
"I—I don't know—what to say——"
"Don't say anything," he answered. "I owe you this for your warning. And—before you go—won't you tell me really why you came? I recognise—forgive my saying so—that you're not illiterate. What induced you——"
She hung her head—then, swiftly, threw it back—great courage in the way she faced the scorn she felt impending.
"Hector," she exclaimed, "don't you remember—Georgina Harris—in Toronto?"
He puckered his brows, struggling with his memory. Slowly it all came back. He saw the girl standing with him, under the lamp—many years, many years ago.
Georgina Harris—the hideous truth confronted him. The girl had followed the path that might have been expected, then. This painted, wornout woman, mistress to a criminal, was Georgina Harris. Life suddenly seemed a terrible thing, youth dead with them both——
"I loved you once, Hector," she said wanly. "That's why I couldn't see you shot in cold blood—now. Don't condemn me, Hector. Please!"
He could not speak a word.
As soon as the woman had gone, under Blythe's escort, to join the mail, Hector thought the matter over.
To discover the assassin now was impossible. Two alternatives faced him if he was to save his life: One, to order the meeting cancelled; two, to stay away.
To cancel the meeting at this stage would be useless. The crowd would insist on holding it, defying the law. The fat would then be in the fire. To stay away would be a confession of weakness, after the declaration that he would attend. Moreover, Lancaster could not handle the crowd alone.
He must either betray his trust, let down the country when he was needed most, or—face practically certain death.
He had a very short time in which to make his decision—a decision that was so momentous.
Now he must be truly 'Spirit-of-Iron'! To face death in cold blood, not in battle, but at the hands of an unknown assassin—to sacrifice life on the gory altar of Duty—that was what he was required to do.
Blow on blow—trial on trial—racking him—scourging him——
The night was dark—very, very dark.
III
At seven o'clock the Rev. Mr. Northcote, strangely excited, came over to Hector, demanding his immediate attendance at the parson's quarters.
"I'm very busy," said Hector. "What is it?"
"A most urgent and important matter."
"This is very mysterious," Hector smiled. "Well, just for a minute, then. Go ahead. But not too fast. I'm tottery still."
They walked slowly over to Northcote's. The world was ominously still, frozen in deathly silence. From the town came the occasional howl of a husky and a murmur, as of a great crowd gathering. The night was pregnant with possibilities.
They entered the shack. Northcote pushed open the sitting-room door.
"In there," he whispered, smiling—gave Hector a gentle push—he went in.
The room was brightly lighted. By the stove stood a woman, in breeches, heavy stockings, moccasins and mackinaw coat—a woman with ruddy-gold hair—strangely familiar——
"Hector!" she said.
He heard his own voice, on a strained, unnatural note:
"Frances!"
Then everything went black before his eyes.
The shock passed, leaving behind an ecstasy. He felt that he was dreaming and would awake to a world of cold, deadly fact at any moment. He saw her hanging back, irresolute, as if she doubted his feelings after all these years. And, a second later, he knew himself holding her hands, tumbling out broken, incoherent words, leaving no time for her breathless, half-crying, half-laughing answers, and at last, taking her in his arms, kissing her desperately, saying over and over again:
"Frances! ... Frances!"
While she answered, as he allowed her, with: "Hector! Oh, Hector! My dear, darling.... Hector——?"
Then—everything else forgotten—except the marvellous, wonderful fact that she was with him—he began, turning her face to the light, holding her hands in a fevered clutch:
"But Frances.... Why are you here? When did you get here? Frances, I don't understand.... This is too miraculous——"
"Didn't you get my letter?"
"Your letter—when?"
"Hector, I wrote you not long ago, telling you I was on my way up here, and to write and tell me not to if you—if you'd forgotten. And, as you didn't answer——"
"I never had it. Our mails are uncertain. Several have been lost—shipwreck and so on. Frances, this is a surprise.... I can't speak...."
"I was terribly afraid—before you came in—that you'd—you might have—forgotten, Hector. I didn't know whether you'd think me mad—but I had faith in you. I've never forgotten what you said—that night at home—when you said you'd never—well, love anyone else—and I promised to be true to you. So I thought, 'He'll keep his word.' Then, when I met Mr. Northcote—he's such a dear—and found he knew you so well—I just told him, Hector. And he said he was sure—I needn't be afraid——"
"Afraid?" She was in his arms again. "Afraid? Frances, if you only knew—how I've thought of you—how your face has always been before me—day and night—in these fifteen long, long years—what hell I went through when I lost you—and how hope left me long ago—so I just went on alone. I'm not the sort that loves more than once, Frances. I've loved you always—you don't know what you've been to me—I'm no orator, Frances, but——"
"I can guess—" she whispered.
Presently, he asked her, overwhelmed once more with wonder:
"But Frances—how did you get here—where did you meet Northcote? Surely you didn't come into this wild part of the world—alone?"
"Not exactly alone. I chummed up with some men on the boat—and your fellows—how magnificent they are, Hector!—helped me along. I met Mr. Northcote by chance, at Lucky. The blizzard caught him there, like the rest of us—he'd come down on business, he said. He offered to escort me to Discovery. And that explains, doesn't it?"
"But then—you really came alone—all this way? Why?"
"Must I tell you?" she asked, eyes very misty.
"Frances—not——?"
"Because you were here? Yes, Hector."
"But—why, it's the pluckiest——"
"Love makes heroes of us all, Hector."
He kissed her again, passionately.
"Still I'm in the dark, Frances. Your long silence—where have you been? What have you been doing? I wrote when I got my Commission, you know—to the address you gave Mrs. Tweedy—you remember her? Well, it came back—a 'dead letter'—and after that it was useless, of course, to write again. Why didn't you get that letter?"
"We moved away from that address in a day or so. Then father started us off on a wild pilgrimage—everywhere, in the States, to cover our trail—afterwards to England—France——"
"I see. But why didn't you write—you had my address—a word—a line?"
"Don't reproach me, Hector. Father had me spied on shamelessly. I couldn't get a letter out of the house—or write one. It was terrible. But I stood it, for mother's sake."
"But surely—in fifteen years?"
"Wait. When we got to France, father made a marriage of convenience for me—a wealthy young Frenchman—Deschamps——"
"Then—why are you here?"
She saw the light dying in his eyes.
"Goose," she laughed. "Let me finish. I had to marry him. Oh, Hector, I can't tell you the agony, the shame, I went through—the fight I made. But it was no good. I married him at last—because I had to, Hector. I gave you up then, forever—because I had to. Jules was terribly jealous—he really did love me, Hector. When once his wife, I had to play the game, even though it—broke my heart. Youmustunderstand, Hector."
"I do," he answered.
"But—afterwards—I couldn't put you out of my mind. God knows, I tried. I couldn't love Jules. We drifted apart. But I played the game. All the same, I couldn't forget you. I followed your career, Hector, as well as I could. You don't know how proud and happy I was to see you climbing up—up—up—all the time." She smiled delightfully. "I watched for—a wife, Hector. But none appeared. Can you guess my thoughts, then? I can't express them. They're a secret between God and me. But I was happier than ever."
"Frances!" he said.
"A year ago, Jules died. As soon as his affairs were settled, I travelled extensively. I was restless—didn't know what to do. Father and mother are both dead, so I couldn't go back to them. Gradually it came to me, Hector, that, I should seek you out—wherever you were. I felt sure of you still, Hector, dear, you see—and perhaps you needed me. But what's the use of saying more? I returned to Canada. It was easy to find out where you were. Then I wrote—and followed the letter. That's all."
"Frances! After all these years——"
So, for a moment, they gave themselves up to their great happiness. It seemed to Hector that all his dreary, toilsome life was compensated for, then and there; that once again he was back in Paradise.
"We can still begin, Frances," he told her. "It's not too late. But if only you'd come before.... Frances, I'm in the forties—think of it—with you, it doesn't matter—" He took her face in his hands and looked at her with a tenderness that pierced her heart. "Frances, dear, you're just the same! You've hardly changed a bit—and I—I!——"
"Hector, don't talk like that." Tears blinded her. "You've been ill—my poor boy! Mr. Northcote didn't know, till we got here this afternoon, or we'd have hurried even more. Hector—Hector——"
For the first time she realised to the full his ghastly thinness, the age in his hair, and contrasted it, agonizingly, with the proud strength and youth she had known long ago.
"Don't cry, little girl," he soothed her. "I'm all right. It's not too late. I——"
Then he remembered——
Remembered the situation in Black Elk—that in a few minutes he must join issue single-handed with a hostile crowd—and, worse than that, face certain death.
Slowly, the awful cruelty of the position sank into his breast; that, just when, after fifteen dreary years, Frances had been given back to him, he was required by circumstances to give her up again.
The iron hand of Duty had him in its grip, was crushing him—robbing him of everything.
Why had Frances been given to him, at this, of all times, when he must give her up so soon? Better if she had not come at all. It was not fair—it was hideous—that he should be faced with such a choice as this——
The choice between his duty and his great love.
Yet that choice he had to make. To the meeting he must go—after a little half-hour of ecstasy—half an hour in fifteen years!—he must say 'Goodbye.'
The Human Parson's words came back to him now, in all their awful truth:
'Everything worth while is won by sacrifice.' 'There comes a time, at least once in every man's life, when he must make one big concrete sacrifice.'
This was the time for him. It had him now!
She read the agony in his face.
"Hector," she begged, terrified. "What is it? What is it?"
He told her—not of the assassin—what was the use?—but of what was before him. And she guessed the rest.
"Is there danger?" she said. Then, "Oh, I know there's danger! Hector, Hector—don't go—my dear—it's too much—after all these years of loneliness—I don't want——"
He took her hands, holding them strongly.
"Frances," he told her, "this is—terrible—to me. Don't make it any harder than it already is."
She clung to him. He took her in his arms. So these two held to each other, the wreckage of their hopes around them, in their great agony....
Northcote knocked softly at the door.
"Major," they heard his voice, "it's time to go."
"Frances—" said Hector.
She made a tremendous effort—triumphed—smiled bravely into his face——
"Go then, dear," she whispered. "God bless you."
This was a woman of the type which makes the old poet's words so very true:
"Sweet and seemly is it to die for one's country."
IV
Throughout the afternoon, Welland had been in joyful mood.
His plans were completed and about to bring forth fruit.
Wandering through crowded Discovery, he sensed the temper of the people and felt that he could not fail.
The revolution which the politician had induced Greasy Jones to foster had, for Welland, two purposes: first, the ruin of Superintendent Adair; second, his own political advancement.
On coming to Black Elk, Welland had aimed to secure a share of its riches and to look for an opportunity of smashing the Superintendent. His effort to break Hector openly having failed—as witness the Whitewash Bill affair—he had recognized that the only method likely to succeed was one of secrecy. A short stay in Prospect, a few weeks in Discovery, had shown him that he had admirable material at hand. Hundreds of desperate men, requiring only judicious bribery or subtle encouragement, were there to do his bidding. Meanwhile, he had acquired his share of Black Elk riches by purchase and partnership.
In time he realised that the civil administration was not incorruptible, though Lancaster, at its head, was above suspicion. He had already discovered much discontent. The idea struck him: Why not secure the services of a desperado—Greasy Jones was the lucky man—to foster this discontent and bring about revolution? A few hundred men, if the plan were kept secret, could overthrow the Government. Adair would be held responsible, as having failed to detect the plot or crush the rising. The result would be his ruin. But, when the wheels were started, Welland realised that, without a just grievance, the movement would be supported only by the discontented minority. Then he remembered the weaknesses of the administration; offered it bribes, through other men; found that it could be tempted; and at once undermined the public confidence in its honesty by systematically corrupting it. This enabled him to enrich himself and to stir the people to a sense of wrong.
In a short time nearly everyone in the Territory was clamouring for a change, or at least a general clean-up. They were ripe for revolution.
And Welland wanted revolution; and wanted Greasy Jones and his crowd to dominate. For revolution would mean Hector's ruin. In that respect, he had been honest with the gangster. But he was far too wise to imagine that the Dominion would permit the Territory to remain under the revolutionary flag. He knew perfectly well that the Government, in the end, would crush the revolt and reestablish the Queen's authority. Therefore, it behooved him to look to the future. And, in looking to the future, he saw his chance to climb out of the wreckage of the revolution to higher things.
Frankly, he intended to do nothing, either for or against the revolution, after the Queen's authority was overthrown. He intended to remain quiet until the troops from Canada arrived. Then his scheme was to help the Government to 'tidy up' in every way. He would tell them that he had foreseen the trouble all along, had written home hinting of its coming—as he actually had—but had felt confident of Lancaster's ability to hold his place. He would tell a long tale of how Greasy Jones, after the revolution, had held him captive. He would make his special knowledge of the Territory invaluable. And, with one thing or another, he would finally appear in the eyes of the Government and of Canada generally as the one capable man in Black Elk, a statesman and a hero. The result would be at least a place in the Cabinet. He might even rival the Prime Minister.
The only man from whom he had anything to fear was Greasy, who alone knew his part in fostering the revolution. Greasy would certainly betray him to the re-established authority—if he waited for it, which Welland was certain he would not. But no one would believe Greasy. His assertions would be thought preposterous. How could his word—or that of any of his confreres—count against that of Mr. Steven Molyneux, M.P.?
Thus would the revolution achieve Welland's two aims: Hector's ruin; and his own climb to great power.
For the first alone, he would never have run such risks; but for both, he had done so. And all was well.
Hector's death, at the hands of an unknown assassin, had come to him in the later stages, as an inspiration. The Superintendent's illness had shown Welland how anxious he really was to see his enemy dead. But, at the same time, he wished him to taste humiliation before he died. His recovery gave Welland a chance to achieve that wish. To find himself shot, at the very moment when the country needed him most, to die with the triumphant shouts of the revolutionists in his ears, shouts telling his degradation—what could be more terrible to Hector? Welland's plan allowed for this.
The politician was very, very happy. He saw the enemy of a lifetime dead at his feet, the revolution a success and the name of Superintendent Adair smirched and blotted, as representing one who had slept at his post and betrayed the people. And then he saw the revolution crushed and himself risen to heights as yet untouched.
At ten to eight he walked over to join the Lieutenant-Governor, so that he might sit on the platform and witness Hector's downfall.
Altogether, with his treachery to the Black Elk authorities and his treachery to Greasy Jones, Welland was not unqualified for the stigma, 'traitor.'
V
In the main square of Discovery City a vast crowd, representing most of the inhabitants of Black Elk, was assembled—a wild, undisciplined crowd, a heaping shovelful from the rubbish-heap of the whole wide world. For days it had been gathering together, its outward purpose to force Lancaster's resignation, the real purpose of its leaders to launch revolution. They did not contemplate bloodshed. But they were ready for it.
From a platform at one end of the square the Lieutenant-Governor and the officer commanding the Mounted Police—the one man they really feared—were to speak. Torches and lanterns around it threw it into a fierce light and illuminated the Union Jack which flapped idly from a pole above. The light fell also on the faces of the nearest men and was at last lost in the great heart of the crowd. Overhead the aurora surged and quivered, advanced and retired, staging marvellous pageantry in the intense darkness and seeming to rustle and to whisper. There was an awful atmosphere in the scene, as though something tremendous were about to happen.
It was eight o'clock.
A thunderous roar burst suddenly from the crowd, burst and rolled back and forth, like the roar of a fitful wind over the sea. Acclamation, surprise, above all, hostility, were in that strange cry.
The Lieutenant-Governor's party had appeared on the platform.
Lancaster brought no escort with him. None of the Mounted Police fringed the outskirts of the crowd. But with Lancaster was Major Adair.
Welland seated himself at the edge of the platform. He had no wish to be near Adair when the assassin fired his shot.
The crowd grew impatient, shouting and whistling, jeeringly for the Lieutenant-Governor. Suddenly a man arose, walked forward and held up his hand for silence.
A hush full of surprise—surprise affecting none more than Welland—fell on the crowd. The man was not Lancaster. It was Spirit-of-Iron.
This was an unanticipated change in the programme. In a corner below the platform Nita Oswald, seeking the 'scoop' of her life, made her pencil fly over her notebook.
To the crowd, this man seemed to have arisen from the grave. They knew how close to death he had recently been. And his face was ghastly, while his clothes hung on him. It was evident that he was making a tremendous effort in attending the meeting at all. Grudging admiration seized them. They loved courage. Moreover, the man's personality was already gripping them, making them his.
To Hector, this was the supreme moment of his life, to which he had looked forward for months. He felt that everything depended on him in this crisis. If ever he had swayed men, cowed men, he must sway and cow them now, though he drooped with fatigue.
He had not forgotten the assassin. That unknown devil lurked always at the back of his mind. But he had passed the stage when he really cared whether the shot was fired or not, so long as he could master this immense mob—so immense that it seemed illimitable. Fortunately, he did not feel as if he faced this immensity, this monster stretching away and away into the darkness, alone. He felt—a wonderful feeling—that the strength of all Canada, for whom he was enduring this thing, was behind him, helping him to dominate, trusting him, looking to him—and behind Canada, the Empire——
So in the silence, he began. He had a strange sensation that someone else, far mightier than he, was speaking.
"Men, you are here tonight, believing yourselves victims of a corrupt administration, to present a petition to the Lieutenant-Governor, which, among other things, calls for a general clean-up, for Mr. Lancaster's resignation and for a transference of the power held by the Dominion Government to yourselves. This is the programme. I want to tell you that most of you have been deceived."
Welland felt a sudden chill. The crowd stirred, muttering, with an occasional shout of angry dissent—stirred and was still again.
"Now, it is not my purpose tonight to dispute the arguments of those among you who are sincere. I will show you in a moment, however, that even your petition will prove unnecessary. What I do want to remind you of is that my duty here is to maintain the authority of the Dominion Government. And I am going to do it!"
The crowd waited sullenly. The determined ring in that last sentence stirred them.
"Many of you are foreigners, born under tyrannous governments, hating all constituted authority. The Canadian Government is a government of the people. It is not tyrannous. The Government of the British Empire, as a whole, is the same. Yet, when you come under the British Flag, instead of appreciating all this, you will listen to anyone who asks you to tear it down. Such an act is an act against yourselves—not against a tyrant, as you believe. The people, of whom the Queen is Sovereign, put me here to keep that Flag flying. And I'm going to keep it there!"
Jeers swept up to him. But the great mass of the crowd still waited.
"This isn't a defiance. I'm merely warning you not to do anything you regret. I want you to act like sensible men.
"Now, let me tell you the truth. A big element among you is out, not for constitutional change, but revolution!"
A weird sigh, a long-drawn intaking of breath, ran over the great throng, expressive of stunned surprise and a sense of being trapped. As for Welland, his feelings beggar description. Hector was speaking very rapidly now, driving home his facts, beating down all opposition.
"It's the truth. I have all the proofs. That element is out for revolution—possibly bloody revolution. They want to establish a republic—the Black Elk Republic!"
The bomb was thrown—with extraordinary effect.
"Listen! You've been absolutely fooled! Your leaders have led you into a trap. There's an inner ring in this conspiracy. As soon as the revolution had taken place and the present authorities were overthrown, that ring—a ring of the worst desperadoes on earth, many the sweepings of Prospect—was to establish a dictatorship. Those of you who don't know this would have known it very soon. Those who do, even these leaders themselves, would have found themselves one day with heads in a noose. You want the proofs? You don't. You know it's true."
Welland had grown cold.
"Those of you in the know thought I was asleep. A certain individual who ran the whole thing"—Welland half arose, a mad impulse to run away upon him; but Hector did not betray him—"he thought so, too. What are the facts? I have secret agents everywhere, known only to myself. One of them, in Prospect, brought me the first inkling of the plot. Unfortunately, he was shot before he could get more information. But others worked for me. What they couldn't discover, I guessed. I knew that gangsters were smuggling themselves through the pass; and that arms were being smuggled in, too. In fact, I let many of them through, so that those at the bottom of the plot wouldn't smell a rat. You've been told, by special speakers, a pack of lies. Mr. Lancaster and I, over a month ago, took steps to show you that they were lies. We knew that the telegraph lines were being tapped, but we kept on sending ordinary messages through, so that your leaders wouldn't know that. We knew that even the mails weren't safe. So we sent a special runner to our office in Prospect, with two messages to be forwarded and he brought the answers back. The first message was to the Dominion Government, the second to the Government of the United States, through the Dominion Government. They dealt with the situation and they secured answers which show how you've been duped. In this one, the Dominion Government pledges itself to a clean-up, through Mr. Lancaster, and to grant you wider powers than you have had hitherto. In that one, the American Government assures us that, contrary to what you've been told, it will on no account support any attempt to wrest Black Elk from Canada!"
There was absolute silence. Hector held the letters up.
"Look at them. If you think they're forgeries, let your representatives examine them! But wait—there is something else in this letter from Ottawa. The Government is sending ten thousand troops up here to crush any revolt. We asked for them. They're on their way. That's what you've been led into!
"And the situation—now? I've stripped all my posts and detachments. Nearly all my officers and men arrived here secretly last night. They are now standing to arms with four machine-guns, at the barracks. There are also there a thousand loyal citizens of this Territory, all armed and under my orders. Half an hour ago, raids were made on the places where the would-be leaders of the revolt—Greasy Jones and his cut-throats—were hiding. Greasy Jones was shot dead by Inspector Cranbrook, after the gangster had wounded him. The rest are behind the bars. We also captured documents, stamps, flags and so on, giving conclusive evidence of what was coming. And we know that many of you are armed.
"That's all I have to say. This thing can't succeed. The Americans will not support it. Troops are on the way to back us up. The men who planned it are in our hands. Your grievances have been adjusted. We are fully armed and prepared to stand by the Flag to the last. What I say goes. Now, boys, take my advice and go home."
There he ended.
The effect of this dramatic and totally unexpected exposure of the whole plot and of Adair's preparations was indescribable. Even Lancaster was speechless—Hector had confided in him only what was absolutely necessary. Welland, unable to grasp the situation, was stunned. As for the crowd, it was paralysed. Hector had impressed them from the first. His final disclosures completed their stupefaction. Suddenly they saw the revolution with the bottom knocked out and remembered that this man was called 'Spirit-of-Iron.'
Hector sensed the change immediately and knew that he had triumphed. All his past life, his early training, his development, had been leading up to this crisis—this crisis which involved not only himself and his own welfare, as other crises had done, but also a great national issue, the defeat, not only of his own enemy, but the enemy of his country. In a moment he saw that Destiny had given him victory in this last grim battle. His part was done.
But the assassin had not yet played his part. He had been instructed to fire as soon as the Superintendent ceased speaking. To him the change in the state of affairs involved no change. Through the strange silence came the crash of a rifle fired from somewhere on the outskirts of the great crowd—fired while Hector was still at the edge of the platform. Then Nita Oswald's voice, shrieking, clear and high:
"They've killed him! They've killed him!"
VI
Nugget City,B.E.T.,Today's Date.
To The Officer Commanding,N.W.M.P.Black Elk Territory.
Sir:
I have the honour to enclose a report just received from Sergeant Kellett, in charge of the post on Hopeful Pass. I have the honour to be, sir,
Your obedient servant,J. G. Gemmell, Inspector, N.W.M.P.
Enclosure.
Hopeful Pass Detachment,B. E, T.Today's Date.
Officer Commanding,N.W.M.P.Nugget City,B.E.T.
Sir:
With reference to the attempt to establish a revolutionary Government in this Territory, I have the honour to report as follows:
The nine-day blizzard following the night of the meeting at Discovery City tied up all traffic through this pass. Nevertheless, patrols were constantly maintained. Three snow-bound men were rescued, one man destitute taken in and one man, found snowed up, with dogs dead, was brought into the post dying from exhaustion and exposure.
On being revived, the latter individual made a confession bearing on the shooting at Discovery, copy of which is enclosed. However unreliable it may seem, this man was apparently of sound mind when he made this confession.
He stated that for the past eight months he had been employed on secret service work for the Officer Commanding this Territory, whose agents are known only to himself. In the course of his duties, he discovered that Mr. Steven Molyneux, M.P., was hand-in-glove with the gangster, the late Greasy Jones, planning the overthrow of the Government. In Prospect, he gained Jones' confidence and entered Black Elk Territory at about the same time. At noon on the day of the meeting, Greasy Jones informed him that he wished him to assume a post covering the platform and shoot Superintendent Adair. From previous information, he had already deducted that Mr. Molyneux's motive in plotting revolution was to harm Superintendent Adair; and certain statements made by Jones at this time convinced him that Mr. Molyneux had suggested the assassination to Jones. He agreed to do the shooting, but, knowing that Mr. Molyneux would be on the platform, resolved to shoot Mr. Molyneux instead. He therefore occupied a window commanding the platform, having dogs and sled ready for flight, and fired the shot at the time arranged, but at Mr. Molyneux instead of Superintendent Adair, with, as you know, deadly effect. In the confusion, he escaped, his intention being to get through the pass to Prospect and so away.
He stated that his motive in killing Mr. Molyneux was to repay Superintendent Adair, who had given him a chance years ago, when everyone was against him. He considered that a man who would plot such an underhand blow as Molyneux's was not fit to live anyway, and thanked God that he had killed him.
The man expired a short time after making his confession.
He gave the name of Augustus J. Perkins.
I would repeat that, incredible as his accusation against Mr. Molyneux may seem, he was of apparently sound mind when he made it.
The corpse is in a temporary morgue, awaiting burial in the spring.
I have the honour to be, sir,
Your obedient servant,R. S. Kellett, Sergeant, N.W.M.P.
Hector was at work on his account of the attempted revolution, for despatch to the Commissioner. For the last time, before enclosing it, he read Sergeant Kellett's report, carefully and deliberately. Then he thought deeply over Welland's part in the affair and especially of the last words of his enemy, gasped into Hector's ear as he lay dying on the platform, shot through the lungs:
"Adair—if you remember who I really am—for God's sake don't betray me!"
Here, in writing his report, he had a glorious opportunity of paying the dead man back in his own coin—of telling the world that Steven Molyneux was really Joseph Welland, ex-criminal; and that the man to whom the people had entrusted great power had misused it in an attempt to bring about revolution within the Dominion. No good purpose would be served—but revenge is sweet. In his hands alone rested the dead man's honour. He alone possessed the facts.
He turned back to the report—to the paragraph which the Prime Minister himself was to read in Parliament a few months later, in moving a vote of thanks to Superintendent Adair:
'Referring to the attached report from Sergeant Kellett, although the man Perkins actually had acted as one of my agents, there is no evidence to support the statement that he did the shooting, nor to show that the late Mr. Molyneux was concerned in the revolutionary plot. I think this should be sufficient to clear Mr. Molyneux's reputation. Despite Sergeant Kellett's view, I am of the opinion that Perkins was not of sound mind when he made his statement.'
So might Molyneux's reputation be preserved, at no expense to Perkins.
A few words more completed the report. The door opened softly. Frances came in.
"Dare I intrude——" she whispered, "now?"
He was up in a moment, with much of his old vigour and a swiftness that showed him rapidly recovering from his illness of a fortnight before.
"Yes," he answered her, smiling. "Duty first,—but I've finished at last. What is it?"
"I thought I'd come and tell you something, Hector—a splendid surprise. Dr. Quick told it me in confidence and really, though it's a shame to give it away, I'm so proud that I just can't keep it to myself any longer."
"Oh?" He was holding her hands now, towering over her and smiling down quietly upon her with his steel-grey eyes. "What is the surprise?"
"Hector, dear—when Mr. Northcote's tied the knot—tomorrow—there's going to be a huge reception. Everyone will be there—almost all the would-be revolutionists—blind fools, they understand you now—Oh, and lots of others! And they're to present you with an address and a wonderful gift—there'll be thousands of them—Hector! Isn't it glorious?"
"I don't want their presents, Frances—when I have you. I just did—what it was my duty to do. It'syouI want!"
He lifted her lips to his. She ran a hand tenderly over the grey hair.
"'Your duty—that's all!'—'You only want me!' Hector, that's so like you," she whispered. "That is you—my splendid Spirit-of-Iron!"
THE END