CHAPTER X
Butto go back to the pursuer, in his berth, baffled and frantic and raging. With hands that fumbled because of their very eagerness he sought to get into his garments, and find his shoes from the melée of blankets and other articles in the berth, all the time keeping one eye out of the window, for he must not let his prey get away from him now. He must watch and see what they were going to do. How fortunate that he had wakened in time for that. At least he would have a clue. Where was this? A station?
He stopped operations once more to gaze off at the landscape, a desolate country scene to his city hardened eyes. Not a house in sight, nor a station. The spires of the distant village seemed like a mirage to him. This couldn’t be a station. What were those two doing down there anyway? Dared he risk calling the conductor and having him hold them? No, this affair must be kept absolutely quiet. Mr. Holman had said that if a breath of the matter came out it was worse than death for all concerned. He must just get off this train as fast as he could and follow them if they were getting away. It might be he could get the man in a lonely place—it wouldbe easy enough to watch his chance and gag the lady—he had done such things before. He felt far more at home in such an affair than he had the night before at the Holman dinner-table. What a pity one of the others had not come along. It would be mere child’s play for two to handle those two who looked as if they would turn frightened at the first threat. However, he felt confident that he could manage the affair alone.
He panted with haste and succeeded in getting the wrong legs into his trousers and having to begin all over again, his efforts greatly hampered by the necessity for watching out the window.
Then came the distant rumble of an oncoming train, and an answering scream from his own engine. The two on the ground had crossed quickly over the second track and were looking down the steep embankment. Were they going down there? What fate that he was not ready to follow them at once! The train that was coming would pass—their own would start—and he could not get out. His opportunity was going from him and he could not find his shoes!
Well what of it? He would go without! What were shoes in a time like this? Surely he could get along barefoot, and beg a pair at some farmhouse, or buy a pair at a country store. He must get outat any cost, shoes or no shoes. Grasping his coat which contained his money and valuables he sprang from his berth straight into the arms of the porter who was hurrying back to his car after having been out to gossip with a brakeman over the delay.
“What’s de mattah, sah?” asked the astonished porter, rallying quickly from the shock and assuming his habitual courtesy.
“My shoes!” roared the irate traveller. “What have you done with my shoes?”
“Quiet, sah, please sah, you’ll wake de whole cyah,” said the porter. “I put yoh shoes under de berth sah, right whar I allus puts ’em aftah blackin’ sah.”
The porter stooped and extracted the shoes from beneath the curtain and the traveller, whose experience in Pullmans was small, grabbed them furiously and made for the door, shoes in hand, for with a snort and a lurch and a preliminary jar the train had taken up its motion, and a loud rushing outside proclaimed that the other train was passing.
The porter, feeling that he had been treated with injustice, stood gazing reproachfully after the man for a full minute before he followed him to tell him that the wash-room was at the other end of the car and not down past the drawing-room as he evidently supposed.
He found his man standing in stocking feet on the cold iron platform, his head out of the opening left in the vestibuled train, for when the porter came in he had drawn shut the outer door and slammed down the movable platform, making it impossible for anyone to get out. There was only the little opening the size of a window above the grating guard, and the man clung to it as if he would jump over it if he only dared. He was looking back over the track and his face was not good to see.
He turned wildly upon the porter.
“I want you to stop this train and let me off,” he shouted. “I’ve lost something valuable back there on the track. Stop the train quick, I tell you, or I’ll sue the railroad.”
“What was it you lost?” asked the porter respectfully. He wasn’t sure but the man was half asleep yet.
“It was a—my—why it was a very valuable paper. It means a fortune to me and several other people and I must go back and get it. Stop the train, I tell you, at once or I’ll jump out.”
“I can’t stop de train sah, you’ll hev to see de conductah sah, ’bout dat. But I specks there’s mighty little prospec’ o’ gettin’ dis train stopped foh it gits to its destinashun sah. We’s one houra’hind time now, sah, an’ he’s gotta make up foh we gits to Buff’lo.”
The excited passenger railed and stormed until several sleepers were awakened and stuck curious sleepy countenances out from the curtains of their berths, but the porter was obdurate, and would not take any measures to stop the train, nor even call the conductor until the passenger promised to return quietly to his berth.
The thick-set man was not used to obeying but he saw that he was only hindering himself and finally hurried back to his berth where he hastily parted the curtains, craning his neck to see back along the track and over the green valley growing smaller and smaller now in the distance. He could just make out two moving specks on the white winding ribbon of the road. He felt sure he knew the direction they were taking. If he only could get off that train he could easily catch them, for they would have no idea he was coming, and would take no precautions. If he had only wakened a few seconds sooner he would have been following them even now.
Fully ten minutes he argued with the conductor, showing a wide incongruity between his language and his gentlemanly attire, but the conductor would do nothing but promise to set him down at a watertower ten miles ahead where they had to slow up for water. He said sue or no sue he had his orders, and the thick-set man did not inspire him either to sympathy or confidence. The conductor had been many years on the road and generally knew when to stop his train and when to let it go on.
Sullenly the thick-set man accepted the conductor’s decision and prepared to leave the train at the water tower, his eye out for the landmarks along the way as he completed his hasty toilet.
He was in no pleasant frame of mind, having missed a goodly amount of his accustomed stimulants the night before, and seeing little prospect of either stimulants or breakfast before him. He was not built for a ten-mile walk over the cinders and his flabby muscles already ached at the prospect. But then, of course he would not have to go far before he found an automobile or some kind of conveyance to help him on his way. He looked eagerly from the window for indications of garages or stables, but the river wound its silver way among the gray green willow fringes, and the new grass shone a placid emerald plain with nothing more human than a few cows grazing here and there. Not even a horse that might be borrowed without his owner’s knowledge. It was a strange, forsaken spot, ten whole miles and no sign of any public livery! Offto the right and left he could see villages, but they were most of them too far away from the track to help him any. It began to look as if he must just foot it all the way. Now and then a small shanty or tiny dwelling whizzed by near at hand, but nothing that would relieve his situation.
It occurred to him to go into the dining-car for breakfast, but even as he thought of it the conductor told him that the train would stop in two minutes and he must be ready to get off, for they did not stop long.
He certainly looked a harmless creature, that thick-set man as he stood alone upon the cinder elevation and surveyed the landscape o’er. Ten miles from his quarry, alone on a stretch of endless ties and rails with a gleaming river mocking him down in the valley, and a laughing sky jeering overhead. He started down the shining track his temper a wreck, his mind in chaos, his soul at war with the world. The worst of it all was that the whole fault was his own for going to sleep. He began to fear that he had lost his chance. Then he set his ugly jaw and strode ahead.
The morning sun poured down upon the thick-set man on his pilgrimage, and waxed hotter until noon. Trains whizzed mercilessly by and gave him no succor. Weary, faint, and fiercely thirsty he came atlast to the spot where he was satisfied his quarry had escaped. He could see the marks of their rough descent in the steep cinder bank, and assaying the same himself came upon a shred of purple silk caught on a bramble at the foot.
Puffing and panting, bruised and foot-sore, he sat down at the very place where Celia had stopped to have her shoes fastened, and mopped his purple brow, but there was triumph in his ugly eye, and after a few moment’s rest he trudged onward. That town over there ought to yield both conveyance and food as well as information concerning those he sought. He would catch them. They could never get away from him. He was on their track again, though hours behind. He would get them yet and no man should take his reward from him.
Almost spent he came at last to the village, and ate a surprisingly large dish of beef and vegetable stew at the quaint little house where Celia and Gordon had breakfasted, but the old lady who served it to them was shy about talking, and though admitting that a couple of people had been there that morning she was non-committal about their appearance. They might have been young and good-looking and worn feathers in their hats, and they might not. She wasn’t one for noticing people’s appearance if they treated her civilly and paid their bills. Wouldhe have another cup of coffee? He would, and also two more pieces of pie, but he got very little further information.
It was over at the corner store where he finally went in search of something stronger than coffee that he further pursued his investigations.
The loungers were still there. It was their only business in life and they were most diligent in it. They eyed the newcomer with a relish and settled back on their various barrels and boxes to enjoy whatever entertainment the gods were about to provide to relieve their monotonous existence.
A house divided against itself cannot stand. This man’s elegant garments assumed for the nonce did not fit the rest of his general appearance which had been accentuated by his long, hot, dusty tramp. The high evening hat was jammed on the back of his head and bore a decided dent where it had rolled down the cinder embankment, his collar was wilted and lifeless, his white laundered tie at half mast, his coat awry, and his fine patent leather shoes which pinched were covered with dust and had caused a limp like the hardest tramp upon the road. Moreover, again the speech of the man betrayed him, and the keen-minded old gossips who were watching him suspiciously sized him up at once the minute he opened his mouth.
“Saw anything of a couple of young folks walking down this way?” he enquired casually, pausing to light a cigar with which he was reinforcing himself for further travel.
One man allowed that there might have passed such people that day. He hardly seemed willing to commit himself, but another vouchsafed the information that “Joe here driv two parties of thet description to Milton this mornin’—jes’ got back. Mebbe he could answer fer ’em.”
Joe frowned. He did not like the looks of the thick-set man. He still remembered the forget-me-not eyes.
But the stranger made instant request to be driven to Milton, offering ten dollars for the same when he found that his driver was reluctant, and that Milton was a railroad centre. A few keen questions had made him sure that his man had gone to Milton.
Joe haggled, allowed his horse was tired, and he didn’t care about the trip twice in one day, but finally agreed to take the man for fifteen dollars, and sauntered off to get a fresh horse. He had no mind to be in a hurry. He had his own opinion about letting those two “parties” get out of the way before the third put in an appearance, but he had no mind tolose the fifteen dollars. It would help to buy the ring he coveted for his girl.
In due time Joe rode leisurely up and the impatient traveller climbed into the high spring wagon and was driven away from the apathetic gaze of the country loungers, who unblinkingly took in the fact that Joe was headed toward Ashville, and evidently intended taking his fare to Milton by way of that village, a thirty-mile drive at least. The man would get the worth of his money in ride. A grim twinkle sat in their several eyes as the spring wagon turned the curve in the road and was lost to sight, and after due silence an old stager spoke:
“Do you reckon that there was their sho-fur?” he requested languidly.
“Naw!” replied a farmer’s son vigorously. “He wouldn’t try to showf all dolled up like that. He’s the rich dad comin’ after the runaways. Joe don’t intend he shell get ’em yet awhile. I reckon the ceremony’ll be over ’fore he steps in to interfere.” This lad went twice a month to Milton to the “movies” and was regarded as an authority on matters of romance. A pause showed that his theory had taken root in the minds of his auditors.
“Wal, I reckon Joe thinks the longest way round is the shortest way home,” declared the old stager. “Joe never did like them cod-fish swells—but howdo you ’count fer the style o’ that gal? She wan’t like her dad one little bit.”
“Oh, she’s ben to collidge I ’spose,” declared the youth. “They get all that off’n collidge.”
“Serves the old man right fer sendin’ his gal to a fool collidge when she ought to a ben home learnin’ to house-keep. I hope she gits off with her young man all right,” said a grim old lounger, and a cackle of laughter went round the group, which presently broke up, for this had been a strenuous day and all felt their need of rest; besides they wanted to get home and tell the news before some neighbor got ahead of them.
All this time Celia and Gordon were touring Milton, serenely unconscious of danger near, or guardian angel of the name of Joe.
Investigation disclosed the fact that there was a train for Pittsburgh about three in the afternoon. Gordon sent a code telegram to his chief, assuring him of the safety of the message, and of his own intention to proceed to Washington as fast as steam could carry him. Then he took the girl to a restaurant, where they mounted two high stools, and partook with an unusually ravenous appetite of nearly everything on the menu—corn soup, roast beef, baked trout, stewed tomatoes, cold slaw, custard, apple, and mince pies, with a cup of good countrycoffee and real cream—all for twenty-five cents apiece.
It was a very merry meal. Celia felt somehow as if for the time all memory of the past had been taken from her, and she were free to think and act happily in the present, without any great problems to solve or decisions to make. Just two young people off having a good time, they were, at least until that afternoon train came.
After their dinner, they took a short walk to a tiny park where two white ducks disported themselves on a seven-by-nine pond, spanned by a rustic bridge where lovers had cut their initials. Gordon took out his knife and idly cut C. H. in the rough bark of the upper rail, while his companion sat on the little board seat and watched him. She was pondering over the fact that he had cut her initials, and not his own. It would have been like the George of old to cut his own and never once think of hers. And he had put but one H. Probably he thought of her now as Celia Hayne, without the Hathaway, or else he was so used to writing her name Celia Hathaway, that he was not thinking at all.
Those letters! How they haunted her and clouded every bright experience that she fain would have grasped and held for a little hour.
They were silent now, while he worked andshe thought. He had finished the C. H., and was cutting another C, but instead of making another H, he carefully carved out the letter G. What was that for? C. G.? Who was C. G.? Oh, how stupid! George, of course. He had started a C by mistake. But he did not add the expected H. Instead he snapped his knife shut, laid his hand over the carving, and leaned over the rail.
“Some time, perhaps, we’ll come here again, and remember,” he said, and then bethought him that he had no right to hope for any such anniversary.
“Oh!” She looked up into his eyes, startled, troubled, the haunting of her fears in the shadows of the blue.
He looked down into them and read her trouble, read and understood, and looked back his great desire to comfort her.
His look carried further than he meant it should. For the third time that day a thrill of wonder and delight passed over her and left her fearful with a strange joy that she felt she should put from her.
It was only an instant, that look, but it brought the bright color to both faces, and made Gordon feel the immediate necessity of changing the subject.
“See those little fishes down there,” he said pointing to the tiny lake below them.
Through a blur of tears, the girl looked down and saw the tiny, sharp-finned creatures darting here and there in a beam of sun like a small search-light set to show them off.
She moved her hand on the rail to lean further over, and her soft fingers touched his hand for a moment. She would not draw them away quickly, lest she hurt him; why, she did not know, but she could not—would not—hurt him. Not now! The two hands lay side by side for a full minute, and the touch to Gordon was as if a roseleaf had kissed his soul. He had never felt anything sweeter. He longed to gather the little hand into his clasp and feel its pulses trembling there as he had felt it in the church the night before, but she was not his. He might not touch her till she had her choice of what to do, and she would never choose him, never, when she knew how he had deceived her.
That one supreme moment they had of perfect consciousness, consciousness of the drawing of soul to soul, of the sweetness of that hovering touch of hands, of the longing to know and understand each other.
Then a sharp whistle sounded, and a farmer’s boy with a new rake and a sack of corn on hisshoulder came sauntering briskly down the road to the bridge. Instantly they drew apart, and Celia felt that she had been on the verge of disloyalty to her true self.
They walked silently back to the station, each busy with his own thoughts, each conscious of that one moment when the other had come so near.