Читать книгу The Spoilers of the Valley - Robert Watson - Страница 9

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He took it from her with reluctance, pushed his arms into it and drew it over his head and shoulders.

“Thank you!” he said in a quiet voice. “I was sick and in prison––I was anhungered––I was thirsty––I was naked. I don’t know exactly how it goes,” he apologised, “but it is something like that and it certainly does apply to you, miss.”

His mood changed. He turned up part of the sleeve of the sweater and put it to his lips.

Eileen’s face took on a flood of colour despite herself.

A smile flitted across the unshaven face of the man, disclosing his regular, clean teeth.

Eileen drew herself up stiffly.

She went to the door and opened it to allow him to pass out of her life as he had come into it. But as he turned to go, he started back at a sound in the dark.

The tall, athletic figure of a man loomed up, blocked the way and stepped into the kitchen beside them.

Eileen gasped and clutched at her bosom in terror.

“Mr. Brenchfield,” she cried in sudden anger, “what do you mean? You––you have been watching. I didn’t think you were a spy, although after all, possibly I did, for I intentionally held back the man you are after.”

Brenchfield ignored her remark and pointed with his finger at the fugitive, who came forward, his eyes staring as if he were seeing an apparition.

“Great God,––you!” exclaimed the young man. Then with a catching sound in his throat, he sprang at the burly, well-fed man before him.

Brenchfield was taken completely by surprise. He staggered against the side of the door, as thin claw-like fingers found his throat and tried to stop the vital air. The fingers closed on his windpipe too tightly for comfort.

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Eileen cried out and tried to go between, but she was thrust aside.

The men swayed together, then Brenchfield’s hands went up, catching the other by the wrists in a firm hold. There was a momentary struggle, the runaway’s grip was broken and he was flung to the floor.

Brenchfield turned to Eileen.

“Miss Pederstone, have you gone crazy trying to hide this man? Don’t you know he is a runaway; a dangerous convict? The police––blind fools––didn’t tumble to your nervousness, but I caught on. I knew you had him hidden in the wood-box.”

The hunted man rose slowly from the floor and staggered forward, gasping for breath. He gave Brenchfield a look of loathing.

“Graham,” he said brokenly, “may the good God forgive you, for I never shall.”

He threw out his thin arms and looked at them, while tears of impotence came into his eyes. He clenched his hands and grit his teeth. “And may the devil, your friend, protect you,” he continued threateningly, “when these grow strong again.”

Brenchfield looked him over with indifference.

“My good fellow, you’ll excuse me! You have wheels in your head. I don’t know you from a hedge-fence. Damn it!” he suddenly flared angrily, “I don’t want to know you. Get out; quick! before I help you along, or put you in the hands of your friends down the hill who are so anxious to renew your acquaintance.”

The young man stared fearlessly into the eyes of Graham Brenchfield, wealthy rancher, cattleman, grain merchant and worthy Mayor of Vernock. Then his lips parted in a strange smile, as he threw up his head.

He turned to Eileen.

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“Guess I’ve got to go now. I have my marching orders.”

“Come on;––enough of this––git!” put in Brenchfield roughly, stepping up in a threatening manner.

The fugitive ignored the interruption.

“Good-bye, Miss––Miss Pederstone––and, remember this from a convict who doesn’t count:––as surely as there is a wolf-note in some violins, so surely is there a wolf-note in some men. Strike the wolf-note and you set the devils in hell jumping.”

In the next moment he passed out at the door and down the dusty highway leading to Vernock.

Graham Brenchfield stood looking after him until the night shut him out.

Eileen Pederstone stared in front of her with eyes that saw no outward thing.

At last Brenchfield broke the silence.

“It was rather unwise––foolish––harbouring such a man as that; and your father from home.”

“Yes?” queried Eileen, with a slow intonation of resentment.

“Unprotected as you were!”

“We girls would have little need for protection if you men were all as gentlemanly as he was. He seemed to be an old acquaintance of yours. Who is he?”

Brenchfield shrugged his shoulders.

“Pshaw!––that kind would claim acquaintance with the very devil himself. You don’t suppose I ever met him before. He is a dangerous criminal escaped from Ukalla.”

“He told me so,” put in Eileen, as if tired of the interview, “and he seemed quite annoyed when I refused to believe the dangerous criminal part.”

“But the police tell me he is. It was only for your sake that I let him go.”

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Brenchfield tried to turn her to the seriousness of her misdemeanour. “For the sake of your good name, you had no right admitting him. You know what Vernock is like for gossip. You know the construction likely to be placed on your action.”

Eileen drew herself up haughtily.

“You’ll excuse me, Mr. Brenchfield! When did you earn the right to catechise Eileen Pederstone?”

He changed suddenly and his peculiarly strong and handsome face softened.

“I am sorry. I did not mean it in that way, Eileen. And this is no time to speak, but––but I hope––some day–––”

The girl held up her hand, and he stopped.

He was tall, full-chested and tremendously athletic of figure and poise, with dark eyes that fascinated rather than attracted and a bearing of confidence begotten of five years of triumphal success in business ventures and real-estate transactions; a man to whom men would look in a crisis; a man whom most men obeyed instinctively and one to whom women felt drawn although deep down in their hearts they were strangely afraid of him.

He held Eileen with his eyes.

“There is something I wish to ask you some day, Eileen. May I?”

“Nothing serious, I hope, Mr. Brenchfield?” she returned lightly, for she at least had never acknowledged any submission to those searching eyes of his. “And please remember, it is past midnight. My father isn’t here.”

“Serious!––yes!” he returned, ignoring her admonition, “but some day will do.”

“It is an old story;––some day may never come, good sir!”

He smiled indulgently.

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Eileen, despite her apparent unconcern, placed her hand over her heart as if to stay a fluttering there.

Mayor Brenchfield was a young man, a successful man; to many women he would have been considered a desirable man.

He professed friendship with Eileen’s father. He put business her father’s way. He was of the same political leanings. He had met Eileen on many occasions. Brenchfield was a tremendously energetic man; he seemed to be everywhere at once.

Eileen, like other women, could not help admiring him for his forceful handling of other men, for his keen business acumen, for his almost wizardly success.

He had many qualities that appealed strongly to the romantic in her youthful nature; but, girl-like, she had not stopped at any time to analyse the feelings he engendered in her.

And now, up there on the hill, in the chill of the night air, under the stars that hung so low and prominently that one felt one might almost reach up and pluck them from the heavens,––now there came a sudden dread.

It was this inexplicable dread that set her heart athrob.

Brenchfield took her hand from her bosom and patted it gently.

His touch annoyed her. She drew away imperiously, and she shivered.

“Why, little woman!––you are cold and it is very late. How thoughtless of me! Good night, Eileen!”

“Good night!” she returned wearily, closing the door.

The moment he heard the bolts shoot home, Brenchfield’s whole nature changed. An oath came to his lips. He crushed his hat down on his head, leapt the fence and rushed headlong by the short cut down through the orchards––townward.

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At the Kenora Hotel corner his low whistle brought two men from the saloon.

The three conversed together earnestly for a few moments, then they separated to different positions in the shadows but commanding a full view of the road leading down the hill from the east of the Main Street of Vernock.

But of all this Eileen Pederstone––alone in the little bungalow up on the hill––was blissfully ignorant.

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