I
There were seventeen policies in all and they aggregated an even milliondollars. It thrilled Butler Murray to note his own name neatly typedupon the outside of each. Those papers possessed a remarkablefascination for him, not only because they meant the settlement of hisdebt to Muriel, but because his life, instead of being the whollyuseless thing he had come to regard it, was really, by virtue of thosedocuments, a valuable asset upon which he could realize at once.
One million dollars was a great deal of money, even to Butler Murray,and yet it was so easy! Why, it was even easier to make that amount thanit had been to spend it! Although the former process might not prove soamusing, it at least offered a degree of interest wholly lacking in thelatter.
When DeVoe entered, Murray greeted him warmly. "I'm glad I caught you,Henry. They told me you've been out West somewhere."
"Yes, I'm promoting, you know--mines!" DeVoe flung off his fur coat andsettled into an easy-chair.
"Getting along all right?"
"No. My friends either know too little about mines or too much about me.I've a good proposition, though, and if I could ever get started, I'dclean up a million."
"It's not so hard to make a million dollars."
"How the deuce do you know? You've never had to try. By the way, why areyou living here at the club? Where is Mrs. Murray?"
"She is at the farm with the children. We have--separated."
"_No!_ Jove! I'm sorry. What does it mean--the road to Reno?"
"I hardly think she will divorce me, on account of the publicity;although she ought to."
"Woman scrape, I suppose."
"No, nothing like that. I've spent all her money."
DeVoe opened his eyes in amazement. "Oh, see here now, you couldn'tspend it _all_! Why, she had even more than you!"
"It's all gone--hers and mine."
"Good _Lord_!"
"Yes. I was always extravagant, but I've been speculating lately. Ithought I'd get a sensation either way the market went, but I wasdisappointed. I dare say I have exhausted my capabilities forexcitement. It's a long story, and I won't bore you with it, but, to beexact, all I have left is the town house and the farm and the place inVirginia. There isn't enough income, however, to keep any one of themgoing."
"Well, well! You _have_ been stepping along. Why, it's inconceivable!"DeVoe stirred uneasily in his chair. The calm indifference of thisbroad-shouldered, immaculate fellow amazed him. He could not tellwhether it was genuine or assumed, and in either event he was sorry hehad come, for he did not like to hear tales of misfortune. ButlerMurray, the millionaire, was a good man to know, but--
"I sent for you because I need--"
"See here, Butler," the younger man broke in, abruptly, "you know Ican't lend. I'm borrowing myself. In fact, I was going to make a touchon you."
"Oh, I don't want your money; I want your help. I think, perhaps, I'mentitled to it, eh?"
Henry flushed a trifle. "You're welcome to that at all times, of course,and if I had a bank-roll, I'd split it with you, but I just can't seemto get started."
"Suppose you had twenty-five thousand dollars, cash; would that help?"
"Help! Great Heavens! I could swing this deal; it would put me on myfeet."
"I'm ready to pay you that amount for a few weeks of your time."
"Take a year of it, two years. Take my life's blood. Twenty-fivethousand! You needn't tell me any more; just name the job and I'll takemy chances of being caught. But--I say, you just told me you werebroke."
"I received about fifty thousand dollars from the sale of the yacht, andI invested the money. I want you to help me realize on that investment."Murray tossed the packet of papers he had been examining into DeVoe'slap.
After scrutinizing them an instant, the latter looked up with a crooked,startled stare.
"Are you joking? Why, these are your insurance policies!"
"Exactly! There are seventeen of them, and they foot up one milliondollars--the limit in every company. They begin to expire in March, andI don't intend to renew them. In fact, I couldn't if I wanted to."
The two men regarded each other silently for a moment, then the youngerpaled.
"Are you--crazy?" he gasped.
"The doctors didn't think so, and that is the heaviest life insurancecarried by any man in America, with a few exceptions. Do you think theywould have passed me if I'd been wrong up here?" He tapped his forehead."I intend that you shall receive twenty-five thousand dollars of thatmoney; the rest will go to Muriel."
DeVoe continued to stare alternately at the policies and his friend;then cleared his throat nervously.
"Let's talk plainly."
"By all means. You will need to know the truth, but you are the only oneoutside of myself who will. For some time I have felt the certainty thatI am going to die."
"Nonsense! You are an ox."
"The more I've thought about it the more certain I've become, until nowthere isn't the slightest doubt in my mind. I took my last dollar andbought that insurance. Do you understand? I'm considered rich, thereforethey allowed me to take out a million dollars."
"Sui--God Almighty, man!" DeVoe's sagging jaw snapped shut with a click.
"Let me finish; then you can decide whether I'm sane or crazy, andwhether you want that twenty-five thousand dollars enough to help me. Tobegin with, I'll grant you that I'm young--only forty--healthy andstrong. But I'm broke, Henry. I don't believe you realize what thatmeans to a chap who has had two fortunes handed to him and hassquandered both. I'm really twice forty years of age, perhaps threetimes, for I have lived faster than most men. I have been everywhere, Ihave seen everything, I have done everything--except manual labor, andof course I don't know how to do that--I have had every sensation. I'msated and old, and sometimes I'm a bit tired. I have no enthusiasm left,and I'm bankrupt. To make matters worse I have a wife who knows thetruth and two lovely children who do not. Those kids believe I'm a heroand the greatest man in all the universe; in their eyes I'm a sort ofdemigod, but in a few years they'll learn that I have been a waster andthrown away not only my own fortune, but the million that belonged tothem. That will be tough for all of us. Muriel knows how deeply I'vewronged her, but she is too much a thoroughbred to make it public.Nevertheless, she detests me, and I detest myself; she may decide todivorce me. At any rate, I have wrecked whatever home life I used tohave, for I'll never be able to support her, even if I sell the threeplaces. I'll be known as a failure; I'll be ridiculed by the world. Onthe other hand, if I should die before next March she would be richagain." Murray's eyes rested upon the package of policies. "Perhaps timewould soften her memory of me. The youngsters would have what they'reentitled to, and they would always think of me as a grand, good,handsome parent who was taken off in his prime." He smiled whimsicallyat this. "That is worth something to a fellow, isn't it? I don't wantthem to be disillusioned, Henry; I don't want to endure their pity andtoleration. I don't want to be in their way and hear them say, 'Hush!Here comes poor old father!' Do you understand?"
"To a certain extent. Then you really intend--to kill yourself?" DeVoeglanced about the cozy room as if to assure himself that he was notdreaming.
"Decidedly not. That insurance wouldn't be payable if--it was suicide. Iintend to die from natural causes--before the first of March."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Very little; keep me company, answer questions about my illness,perhaps; attend to a few things after I'm gone. You might even have toprove that I didn't take my own life. Do you agree?"
"Whew! That's a cold-blooded proposition. Are you really in earnest?"
"It took nearly my last dollar to buy that insurance. I will execute apromissory note to you for twenty-five thousand dollars, payable oneyear from date. Borrowed money, understand? The executors will see thatit is paid. Is that satisfactory?"
"But you say you can't kill yourself and yet--Good Lord! How calmlywe're discussing this thing! What makes you think you'll die of naturalcauses w
ithin the next three months?"
"I shall see that I do. Oh, I've thought it all out. I've studiedpoisons, but there is the danger of discovery when one uses them.They'll do to fall back upon if necessary, but there is a better waywhich is quite as certain, reasonably quick, and utterly abovesuspicion."
"What is it?" questioned DeVoe, interestedly.
"Pneumonia! I had a touch of it once, and I know. They nearly lost me.It takes us big, robust fellows off with particular ease and expedition.You and I will take a hunting trip; it is winter; I will suffer someunexpected exposure; you'll do what you can to save me, but medicalattention will come too late. It won't take two weeks altogether."
"If you're looking for pneumonia I know the place. When I left, ten daysago, men were dying like flies. You won't need to go hunting it; it willcome hunting you."
"Out West somewhere, eh?".
"The Nevada desert. That's where I'm mining."
"Deserts are usually hot."
DeVoe shivered. "Not this one, at this season. It's a hell of a country,Butler; five thousand feet elevation, biting winds, blizzards, and allthat. You just can't keep warm. But the danger is in the Poganip."
"The what?"
"The Poganip; what they call 'the Breath of Death' out there. It's asort of frozen fog peculiar to that locality."
"Then you accept my offer?"
Again DeVoe hesitated. "Are you really going to do it? Well then, yes.If I don't take your money, I suppose you'll employ somebody else."
"Good! We'll leave to-morrow."
"Can you get your affairs in shape by then?"
"I don't want them in shape. Don't you understand?"
"I see." After a moment the younger man continued, "It's all very wellfor us to plan this way--but I'm not sure we'll succeed in ourenterprise."
"Why not, pray?"
"Well, I dare say I'm a good deal of a rotter--I must be to go into athing like this--but I have a superstitious streak in me. Possibly it'sreverence; at any rate I believe there is a Power outside of ourselveswhich appoints the hour of our coming and the hour of our going. I'm notso sure you can pull this off until that Power says so."
Murray laughed. "Nonsense! What is to prevent my shooting myself at thismoment, if I want to?"
"Nothing, if you want to--but you don't want to. Why don't you want to?Because that Power hasn't named this as your time. I don't make myselfvery clear."
"I think I see what you're driving at, but you're wrong. We are mastersof our own destinies; we make our lives as full or as empty as wechoose. I have emptied mine of all it contained, and I don't considerthat I am doing any one an injury in disposing of what belongs alone tome. Now we'll complete the details."
The speaker drew a blank note from his desk and filled it in.
It was with a very natural feeling of interest that Butler Murraywatched the desert unfold before his car window a few days later as histrain made its way southward from the main line and into the Bad Landsof the Nevada gold-fields. There was snow everywhere; not enough forwarmth, but enough to chill the landscape with a gray, forbiddingaspect. It lay, loose-piled and shifting, behind naked rocks, orstreamed over the knife-edge ridges, swirling and settling in thegullies like filmy winding-sheets. All the world up here was barren,burned out, and cold, like his own life; it was a fitting place in whichto end an existence which had proven such a mockery and failure.
Goldfield was a conglomerate city in the hectic stage of its growth.Rough, uncouth, primitive, it lay cradled in the lap of inhospitablehills upon the denuded slopes of which derricks towered like gallows.The whole naked country spoke of death and desolation.
A bitter wind laden with driving particles of sleet met the travelers asthey stepped off the train.
DeVoe's headquarters consisted of a typical mining-camp shack in theheart of the town, containing a bare little office and twosleeping-rooms, the hindermost of which gave egress to a yard banked insnow and flanked by other frame buildings.
Murray selected the coldest apartment and unpacked his belongings, themost precious of which was a folding morocco case containing threephotographs--one of Muriel and one each of the boy and the girl.
Then followed a week of careful preparation. Together the two men madefrequent excursions to various mining properties. Murray mingled withthe heterogeneous crowd of brokers, promoters, gamblers, andmine-owners; he took options on claims and made elaborate plans todevelop them; he was interviewed by reporters from the local papers;articles were printed telling of his proposed activities. When he hadlaid a secure foundation, he announced to DeVoe that the time had come.
It appeared that the latter had by no means exaggerated the dangers ofthis climate, for men were really dying in such numbers as to createalmost a panic, the hospitals were overcrowded, and Murray had beenrepeatedly warned to take the strictest care of himself if he wished topreserve his health. The altitude combined with the cold and wet and thelack of accommodations was to blame, it seemed, and accounted for thehigh mortality rate. Doctors assured him that once a man was strickenwith pneumonia in this climate there was little chance of saving him.
* * * * *
That evening he let the fire die out of the stove in his room, then wentnext door to a little Turkish-bath establishment, and proceeded to sweatfor an hour. Instead of drying himself off he flung a greatcoat over hisstreaming shoulders, slipped into boots and trousers, then steppedacross the snow-packed yard to his own quarters, where he found DeVoebundled up to the chin and waiting. His brief passage across the opensnow had chilled him, for the wind was cruel, but he blew out the lightin his chamber, flung off his overcoat, then, standing in the open door,drank the frost-burdened air into his overheated lungs.
"God! You're half naked!" chattered the onlooker. "You'll freeze."
The moisture upon Murray's body dried slowly. He began to shake in everymuscle, but he continued his long, deep breaths--breaths that congealedhis lungs. He became cramped and stiff. He suffered terribly. He feltconstricting bands about his chest; darting, numbing pains ran throughhim. He could not tell how long he continued thus, but eventually thesheer agony of it drove him back. He closed the door and crept into bed,the clammy cotton sheets of which were warm against his flesh. Throughrattling teeth he bade good night to his friend, saying:
"D-don't mind--anything I do or--say during the night."
DeVoe lost no time in seeking his own warm room, where Murray heard himstamping and threshing his arms to revive his circulation.
There could be but one outcome to such a suicidal action, the frozen manreflected. Stronger fellows than he were dying daily from half suchexposure. Why, already he could feel his lungs congesting. Although theagony was almost unendurable, he forced himself to lie still, thentraced the course of his blood as it gradually crept through his veins.Eventually he fell asleep, tortured, but satisfied.
Henry found him slumbering peacefully late the next morning, and when hearose he felt better and stronger than he had for years.
"Jove! I'm hungry," he said as he dressed himself.
"I expected to find you mighty sick," his friend exclaimed, wonderingly."I slept cold all night."
"It seems I didn't catch it that time. I must be stronger than Ithought."
He ate a hearty breakfast, and, although he tramped the hills all day inthe snow and cold, watching himself carefully for signs of approachingillness, he was disappointed to discover none whatever. At bedtime herepeated his performance of the night before, but with the same result.When he awoke on the second morning, however, he found the desert townwrapped in the dark folds of a fog that chilled his marrow and clung tohis clothing in little beads. It was a strange phenomenon, for the airwas bitterly cold and yet saturated with moisture; mountain and valleywere hidden in an impalpable dust that was neither fog nor snow, but afreezing, uncomfortable combination of both.
DeVoe hugged the fire all day, saying to his guest: "You'll have to dothe trick alone, Butler; i
t's too deucedly unpleasant sitting there inthe cold every night. I'll get sick."
"It's not very agreeable for me, either, and the least you can do is tokeep me company. That's the agreement, you know."
After some argument DeVoe acceded, saying, "Oh, if you want me to holdyour hand while you freeze I suppose I'll have to do it, although Ican't see the use of it."
That night when Murray had regained his cheerless room after taking hisTurkish bath he drank a goblet of raw whisky, then flung wide the door,and, standing upon the sill, half nude and gleaming with perspiration,inhaled the deadly Poganip. When the fiery liquor had driven the lastdrop of his hot blood to the surface he seized a bottle of alcohol and,upending it, drenched his body. If he had suffered previously, he nowendured supreme agony. As the alcohol evaporated upon his naked skin itfairly froze the blood he had forced up from his heart's cavities. Hegroaned with the pain of it. Again he felt as if his body were coatingwith ice; his lungs contracted with that agonizing grip.
"This is too c-cold for me," DeVoe chattered, finally. "I'm going tobeat it."
As Butler Murray cowered and shook in his bed an hour later he decidedthat his third and final effort had succeeded, for not only did heplainly feel the effects of that terrible ordeal, but by every law ofnature and hygiene he was doomed. He had drunk the whisky to increasethe peripheral circulation of his body to the highest point, then by theuse of the alcohol had reduced his temperature to a frightful extent anddriven his blood back, frozen and sluggish. That was inevitablysuicidal, as the least knowledge of medicine would show; it could not beotherwise. He was very glad, too, for this suffering was more than hehad bargained for.
He awoke in the morning feeling none the worse for his action. He didnot even have a cold.
DeVoe's amazement at this miracle was mingled with annoyance which heshowed by complaining: "See here, Butler, are you kidding? You might atleast have a little consideration for my feelings; this suspense isawful."
"My dear fellow, I'm doing all I can." Murray filled his chest, thenpressed it gingerly with his palm. There was not a trace of soreness;his muscles lacked even a twinge of rheumatism.
* * * * *
That day he had another window cut in the wall of his room, immediatelyover his bed, and, after exposing himself as usual upon retiring, leftit open and slept in the draught. Finding that this had no effect, heundertook to sleep without covers, but the bitter weather would notpermit, so he purchased drugs and, after returning from his Turkishbath, swallowed a sleeping-potion. When he could no longer keep his eyesopen he lay down nude and dripping where the frigid wind sucked overhim. Some time, somehow, before morning he must have covered himself,for he awoke between the sheets as usual. With the exception of a thickfeeling in his head, however, which quickly wore off, he possessed noill effects.
Day after day, night after night, he exposed himself with a deliberatemethodical recklessness that seemed fatal; time after time his goodconstitution threw off the assault. DeVoe declared querulously that hisfriend looked even better than when they had arrived, and the scalesshowed he had put on five pounds of weight. The affair assumed anironical, grisly sort of humor which amused Murray. But it was maddeningto DeVoe.
One howling, stormy afternoon the former bundled his accessory into warmclothes and took him for a long walk. Leaving the town behind them, theyplowed up through the snow to the summit of a near-by mountain where thegale raged past in all its violence. Henry was cursing the cold andgrumbling at his idiocy in coming along, and, when he had regained hisbreath, growled:
"Understand, Butler, this ends it for me. I never agreed to kill_myself_. Hereafter you can make your Alpine trips alone. I've had acold now for a week."
Murray laughed good-naturedly. "Remember, if I fail I can't pay you."
"For Heaven's sake, then, get it over with! I need that money and--Ihave nerves."
The former speaker opened his coat and DeVoe saw that he had left thehouse with no protection whatever beneath it, except trousers andfootgear. His body was wet from the climb, but he exposed it openly tothe storm until he was blue with cold, while the younger man stampedabout, threshing his arms and lamenting his own discomfort.
That night Murray repeated his Turkish bath, swallowed his usualnarcotic, and lay down upon his draughty couch to be awakened some timeafter midnight by a cry of "Fire." He noted dully that a vivid glare wasflickering through his open windows, and saw that the roofs adjoiningwere silhouetted against a redly glowing sky; he heard a great clamor ofshouting voices, gunshots, bells, running feet, so arose and dressedhimself. Instead of donning his regular clothing, however, he drew on apair of trousers, thrust his bare feet into rubber boots, then buttoneda rubber coat over his naked shoulders.
When he undertook to rouse DeVoe, Henry refused to get up, murmuringsourly beneath his blankets:
"It's too cold and I've just fallen asleep--been tossing around forhours."
"Very well. If it should spread in this direction I'll come back andhelp get the things out."
The blizzard of the previous day had increased in violence, and asMurray stepped out into it the cold sank through his thin garb and cuthim to the bone. His rain-coat was almost no protection, the rubberboots upon his bare feet froze quickly, but he smiled with a grim,distorted sense of satisfaction as he decided that here perhaps was hislong-awaited opportunity.
A winter fire in a desert mining-camp is a serious calamity. Water isscarce at all times, and at this particular season Goldfield was evendrier than usual. Volunteers had already joined the insufficient firedepartment, but the blaze was gaining headway in spite of all. The windplayed devilish pranks, serving not only to fan the conflagration, butto deaden human hands and reduce human bodies to helpless, clumsythings.
Butler Murray plunged into the fight with an abandon that won admirationeven in this chaos. He had no fear, he courted danger, he led whereothers shrank from following. In and out of the flames he went, nowblistered by the heat, now numbed by the wintry gale. His body becamedrenched with sweat, only to be caked in ice from the spray a momentlater. Icicles clung to his brows, his boots filled with water. It washe who laid the dynamite, it was he who set it off and razed thebuildings in the path of the conflagration, checking the swift march ofdestruction. Although he labored like a giant, taking insane risks atevery opportunity, his life seemed charmed, and dawn found himuninjured, although staggering from weakness. Women brought him hotcoffee and sandwiches, then when the fire was under control he returnedto his quarters, half naked, as he had set out. It had been one longbattle against the blind god luck and he had emerged unscathed. And yethe had not lost, for no human body could withstand a strain like this;his previous exposures had been as nothing compared with what he hadundergone these many hours. If this did not bring pneumonia nothingcould.
As he lurched up the frozen street men cheered him and something warmawoke in his heart, but when he stumbled into DeVoe's room he found thatyoung man still in bed, his cheeks flushed and feverish. Henry wascoughing and groaning; he complained of pains in his head and chest.
An hour later a doctor pronounced it pneumonia, and when the patientgrew rapidly worse he was moved to the wretched excuse for a hospital.Murray snatched a few hours' sleep that night as he sat by his friend'sbedside and the next day found him as fit as ever. But in spite of everyattention DeVoe's fever mounted, his lungs began to fill, and on thesecond night he died.
The suddenness of this tragedy stunned Butler Murray and its mockeryenraged him. He had promised DeVoe, toward the last, to take his bodyEast, and now decided it was just as well to do so, for he had proven,to his own satisfaction at least, that he could not catch pneumonia, nomatter how hard he tried. A few hours later, therefore, he was on theoverland train bound for New York.
He had wasted a month of valuable time, but as to relinquishing hispurpose, the idea never occurred to him.