CHAPTER XIII. A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE
AT THE sound of the harsh voices so close upon her Barbara Harding wasgalvanized into instant action. Springing to Byrne's side she whippedTheriere's revolver from his belt, where it reposed about the fallenmucker's hips, and with it turned like a tigress upon the youth.
"Quick!" she cried. "Tell them to go back--that I shall kill you if theycome closer."
The boy shrank back in terror before the fiery eyes and menacingattitude of the white girl, and then with the terror that animated himringing plainly in his voice he screamed to his henchmen to halt.
Relieved for a moment at least from immediate danger Barbara Hardingturned her attention toward the two unconscious men at her feet. Fromappearances it seemed that either might breathe his last at any moment,and as she looked at Theriere a wave of compassion swept over her, andthe tears welled to her eyes; yet it was to the mucker that she firstministered--why, she could not for the life of her have explained.
She dashed cold water from the spring upon his face. She bathed hiswrists, and washed his wounds, tearing strips from her skirt to bandagethe horrid gash upon his breast in an effort to stanch the flow oflifeblood that welled forth with the man's every breath.
And at last she was rewarded by seeing the flow of blood quelled andsigns of returning consciousness appear. The mucker opened his eyes.Close above him bent the radiant vision of Barbara Harding's face. Uponhis fevered forehead he felt the soothing strokes of her cool, softhand. He closed his eyes again to battle with the effeminate realizationthat he enjoyed this strange, new sensation--the sensation of beingministered to by a gentle woman--and, perish the thought, by agentlewoman!
With an effort he raised himself to one elbow, scowling at her.
"Gwan," he said; "I ain't no boob dude. Cut out de mush. Lemme be. Beatit!"
Hurt, more than she would have cared to admit, Barbara Hardingturned away from her ungrateful and ungracious patient, to repeather ministrations to the Frenchman. The mucker read in her expressionsomething of the wound his words had inflicted, and he lay thinkingupon the matter for some time, watching her deft, white fingers as theyworked over the scarce breathing Theriere.
He saw her wash the blood and dirt from the ghastly wound in the man'schest, and as he watched he realized what a world of courage it mustrequire for a woman of her stamp to do gruesome work of this sort. Neverbefore would such a thought have occurred to him. Neither would hehave cared at all for the pain his recent words to the girl mighthave inflicted. Instead he would have felt keen enjoyment of herdiscomfiture.
And now another strange new emotion took possession of him. It was noneother than a desire to atone in some way for his words. What wonderfultransformation was taking place in the heart of the Kelly gangster?
"Say!" he blurted out suddenly.
Barbara Harding turned questioning eyes toward him. In them was thecold, haughty aloofness again that had marked her cognizance of him uponthe Halfmoon--the look that had made his hate of her burn most fiercely.It took the mucker's breath away to witness it, and it made the speechhe had contemplated more difficult than ever--nay, almost impossible.He coughed nervously, and the old dark, lowering scowl returned to hisbrow.
"Did you speak?" asked Miss Harding, icily.
Billy Byrne cleared his throat, and then there blurted from his lipsnot the speech that he had intended, but a sudden, hateful rush of wordswhich seemed to emanate from another personality, from one whom BillyByrne once had been.
"Ain't dat boob croaked yet?" he growled.
The shock of that brutal question brought Barbara Harding to her feet.In horror she looked down at the man who had spoken thus of a brave andnoble comrade in the face of death itself. Her eyes blazed angrily ashot, bitter words rushed to her lips, and then of a sudden she thoughtof Byrne's self-sacrificing heroism in returning to Theriere's side inthe face of the advancing samurai--of the cool courage he had displayedas he carried the unconscious man back to the jungle--of thedevotion, almost superhuman, that had sustained him as he struggled,uncomplaining, up the steep mountain path with the burden of theFrenchman's body the while his own lifeblood left a crimson trail behindhim.
Such deeds and these words were incompatible in the same individual.There could be but one explanation--Byrne must be two men, with astotally different characters as though they had possessed separatebodies. And who may say that her hypothesis was not correct--at leastit seemed that Billy Byrne was undergoing a metamorphosis, and atthe instant there was still a question as to which personality shouldeventually dominate.
Byrne turned away from the reproach which replaced the horror inthe girl's eyes, and with a tired sigh let his head fall upon hisoutstretched arm. The girl watched him for a moment, a puzzledexpression upon her face, and then returned to work above Theriere.
The Frenchman's respiration was scarcely appreciable, yet after a timehe opened his eyes and looked up wearily. At sight of the girl he smiledwanly, and tried to speak, but a fit of coughing flecked his lips withbloody foam, and again he closed his eyes. Fainter and fainter camehis breathing, until it was with difficulty that the girl detected anymovement of his breast whatever. She thought that he was dying, and shewas afraid. Wistfully she looked toward the mucker. The man still laywith his head buried in his arm, but whether he were wrapped in thought,in slumber, or in death the girl could not tell. At the final thoughtshe went white with terror.
Slowly she approached the man, and leaning over placed her hand upon hisshoulder.
"Mr. Byrne!" she whispered.
The mucker turned his face toward her. It looked tired and haggard.
"Wot is it?" he asked, and his tone was softer than she had ever heardit.
"I think Mr. Theriere is dying," she said, "and I--I-- Oh, I am soafraid."
The man flushed to the roots of his hair. All that he could think ofwere the ugly words he had spoken a short time before--and now Therierewas dying! Byrne would have laughed had anyone suggested that heentertained any other sentiment than hatred toward the second officer ofthe Halfmoon--that is he would have twenty-four hours before; but now,quite unexpectedly, he realized that he didn't want Theriere to die, andthen it dawned upon him that a new sentiment had been born within him--asentiment to which he had been a stranger all his hard life--friendship.
He felt friendship for Theriere! It was unthinkable, and yet the muckerknew that it was so. Painfully he crawled over to the Frenchman's side.
"Theriere!" he whispered in the man's ear.
The officer turned his head wearily.
"Do youse know me, old pal?" asked the mucker, and Barbara Harding knewfrom the man's voice that there were tears in his eyes; but what she didnot know was that they welled there in response to the words the muckerhad just spoken--the nearest approach to words of endearment that everhad passed his lips.
Theriere reached up and took Byrne's hand. It was evident that he toohad noted the unusual quality of the mucker's voice.
"Yes, old man," he said very faintly, and then "water, please."
Barbara Harding brought him a drink, holding his head against her kneewhile he drank. The cool liquid seemed to give him new strength forpresently he spoke, quite strongly.
"I'm going, Byrne," he said; "but before I go I want to tell you that ofall the brave men I ever have known I have learned within the past fewdays to believe that you are the bravest. A week ago I thought you werea coward--I ask your forgiveness."
"Ferget it," whispered Byrne, "fer a week ago I guess I was a coward.Dere seems to be more'n one kind o' nerve--I'm jest a-learnin' of theright kind, I guess."
"And, Byrne," continued Theriere, "don't forget what I asked of youbefore we tossed up to see which should enter Oda Yorimoto's house."
"I'll not ferget," said Billy.
"Good-bye, Byrne," whispered Theriere. "Take good care of Miss Harding."
"Good-bye, old pal," said the mucker. His voice broke, and two big tearsrolled down the cheeks of "de toughe
st guy on de Wes' Side."
Barbara Harding stepped to Theriere's side.
"Good-bye, my friend," she said. "God will reward you for yourfriendship, your bravery, and your devotion. There must be a specialhonor roll in heaven for such noble men as you." Theriere smiled sadly.
"Byrne will tell you all," he said, "except who I am--he does not knowthat."
"Is there any message, my friend," asked the girl, "that you would liketo have me deliver?"
Theriere remained silent for a moment as though thinking.
"My name," he said, "is Henri Theriere. I am the Count de Cadenet ofFrance. There is no message, Miss Harding, other than you see fitto deliver to my relatives. They lived in Paris the last I heard ofthem--my brother, Jacques, was a deputy."
His voice had become so low and weak that the girl could scarcedistinguish his words. He gasped once or twice, and then tried to speakagain. Barbara leaned closer, her ear almost against his lips.
"Good-bye--dear." The words were almost inaudible, and then the bodystiffened with a little convulsive tremor, and Henri Theriere, Count deCadenet, passed over into the keeping of his noble ancestors.
"He's gone!" whispered the girl, dry-eyed but suffering. She had notloved this man, she realized, but she had learned to think of him as herone true friend in their little world of scoundrels and murderers. Shehad cared for him very much--it was entirely possible that some dayshe might have come to return his evident affection for her. She knewnothing of the seamy side of his hard life. She had guessed nothing ofthe scoundrelly duplicity that had marked his first advances toward her.She thought of him only as a true, brave gentleman, and in that she wasright, for whatever Henri Theriere might have been in the past the lastfew days of his life had revealed him in the true colors that birth andnature had intended him to wear through a brilliant career. In his deathhe had atoned for many sins.
And in those last few days he had transferred, all unknown to himselfor the other man, a measure of the gentility and chivalry that were hisbirthright, for, unrealizing, Billy Byrne was patterning himself afterthe man he had hated and had come to love.
After the girl's announcement the mucker had continued to sit with bowedhead staring at the ground. Afternoon had deepened into evening, andnow the brief twilight of the tropics was upon them--in a few moments itwould be dark.
Presently Byrne looked up. His eyes wandered about the tiny clearing.Suddenly he staggered to his feet. Barbara Harding sprang up, startledby the evident alarm in the man's attitude.
"What is it?" she whispered. "What is the matter?"
"De Chink!" he cried. "Where is de Chink?"
And, sure enough, Oda Iseka had disappeared!
The youthful daimio had taken advantage of the preoccupation of hiscaptors during the last moments of Theriere to gnaw in two the grassrope which bound him to the mucker, and with hands still fast boundbehind him had slunk into the jungle path that led toward his village.
"They will be upon us again now at any moment," whispered the girl."What can we do?"
"We better duck," replied the mucker. "I hates to run away from a bunchof Chinks, but I guess it's up to us to beat it."
"But poor Mr. Theriere?" asked the girl.
"I'll have to bury him close by," replied the mucker. "I don't tink Icould pack him very fer tonight--I don't feel jest quite fit agin yet.You wouldn't mind much if I buried him here, would you?"
"There is no other way, Mr. Byrne," replied the girl. "You mustn'tthink of trying to carry him far. We have done all we can for poorMr. Theriere--you have almost given your life for him already--and itwouldn't do any good to carry his dead body with us."
"I hates to tink o' dem head-huntin' Chinks gettin' him," replied Byrne;"but maybe I kin hide his grave so's dey won't tumble to it."
"You are in no condition to carry him at all," said the girl. "I doubtif you can go far even without any burden."
The mucker grinned.
"Youse don't know me, miss," he said, and stooping he lifted the body ofthe Frenchman to his broad shoulder, and started up the hillside throughthe trackless underbrush.
It would have been an impossible feat for an ordinary man in the pinkof condition, but the mucker, weak from pain and loss of blood, strodesturdily upward while the marveling girl followed close behind him. Ahundred yards above the spring they came upon a little level spot, andhere with the two swords of Oda Yorimoto which they still carried theyscooped a shallow grave in which they placed all that was mortal of theCount de Cadenet.
Barbara Harding whispered a short prayer above the new-made grave, whilethe mucker stood with bowed head beside her. Then they turned to theirflight again up the wild face of the savage mountain. The moon came upat last to lighten the way for them, but it was a rough and dangerousclimb at best. In many places they were forced to walk hand in hand forconsiderable distances, and twice the mucker had lifted the girl bodilyin his arms to bear her across particularly dangerous or difficultstretches.
Shortly after midnight they struck a small mountain stream up which theyfollowed until in a natural cul-de-sac they came upon its source andfound their farther progress barred by precipitous cliffs which roseabove them, sheer and unscalable.
They had entered the little amphitheater through a narrow, rocky pass inthe bottom of which the tiny stream flowed, and now, weak and tired, themucker was forced to admit that he could go no farther.
"Who'd o' t'ought dat I was such a sissy?" he exclaimed disgustedly.
"I think that you are very wonderful, Mr. Byrne," replied the girl. "Fewmen could have gone through what you have today and been alive now."
The mucker made a deprecatory gesture.
"I suppose we gotta make de best of it," he said. "Anyhow, dis ought tomake a swell joint to defend."
Weak as he was he searched about for some soft grasses which he threw ina pile beneath a stunted tree that grew well back in the hollow.
"Here's yer downy," he said, with an attempt at jocularity. "Now you'dbetter hit de hay, fer youse must be dead fagged."
"Thanks!" replied the girl. "I AM nearly dead."
So tired was she that she was asleep almost as soon as she had founda comfortable position in the thick mat of grass, so that she gave nothought to the strange position in which circumstance had placed her.
The sun was well up the following morning before the girl awakened, andit was several minutes before she could readjust herself to her strangesurroundings. At first she thought that she was alone, but finally shediscerned a giant figure standing at the opening which led from theirmountain retreat.
It was the mucker, and at sight of him there swept over the girl theterrible peril of her position--alone in the savage mountains of asavage island with the murderer of Billy Mallory--the beast that hadkicked the unconscious Theriere in the face--the mucker who had insultedand threatened to strike her! She shuddered at the thought. And thenshe recalled the man's other side, and for the life of her she could nottell whether to be afraid of him or not--it all depended upon what moodgoverned him. It would be best to propitiate him. She called a pleasantgood morning.
Byrne turned. She was shocked at the pallor of his haggard face.
"Good morning," he said. "How did yeh sleep?"
"Oh, just splendidly, and you?" she replied.
"So-so," he answered.
She looked at him searchingly as he approached her.
"Why I don't believe that you have slept at all," she cried.
"I didn't feel very sleepy," he replied evasively.
"You sat up all night on guard!" she exclaimed. "You know you did."
"De Chinks might o' been shadowin' us--it wasn't safe to sleep," headmitted; "but I'll tear off a few dis mornin' after we find a feed ofsome kind."
"What can we find to eat here?" she asked.
"Dis crick is full o' fish," he explained, "an' ef youse got a pin Iguess we kin rig up a scheme to hook a couple."
The girl found a pin that he said would answer ver
y nicely, and with ashoe lace for a line and a big locust as bait the mucker set forth toangle in the little mountain torrent. The fish, unwary, and hungry thusearly in the morning proved easy prey, and two casts brought forth twosplendid specimens.
"I could eat a dozen of dem minnows," announced the mucker, and he castagain and again, until in twenty minutes he had a goodly mess of plump,shiny trout on the grass beside him.
With his pocketknife he cleaned and scaled them, and then between tworocks he built a fire and passing sticks through the bodies of his catchroasted them all. They had neither salt, nor pepper, nor butter, nor anyother viand than the fish, but it seemed to the girl that never in herlife had she tasted so palatable a meal, nor had it occurred to heruntil the odor of the cooking fish filled her nostrils that no food hadpassed her lips since the second day before--no wonder that the two ateravenously, enjoying every mouthful of their repast.
"An' now," said Billy Byrne, "I tink I'll poun' my ear fer a few. Youkin keep yer lamps peeled fer de Chinks, an' de first fony noise yousehears, w'y be sure to wake me up," and with that he rolled over upon thegrass, asleep almost on the instant.
The girl, to while away the time, explored their rock-bound haven. Shefound that it had but a single means of ingress, the narrow pass throughwhich the brook found outlet. Beyond the entrance she did not venture,but through it she saw, beneath, a wooded slope, and twice deer passedquite close to her, stopping at the brook to drink.
It was an ideal spot, one whose beauties appealed to her even under theharrowing conditions which had forced her to seek its precarious safety.In another land and with companions of her own kind she could wellimagine the joy of a fortnight spent in such a sylvan paradise.
The thought aroused another--how long would the mucker remain a safecompanion? She seemed to be continually falling from the frying pan intothe fire. So far she had not been burned, but with returning strength,and the knowledge of their utter isolation could she expect this brutalthug to place any check upon his natural desires?
Why there were few men of her own station in life with whom she wouldhave felt safe to spend a fortnight alone upon a savage, uncivilizedisland! She glanced at the man where he lay stretched in deep slumber.What a huge fellow he was! How helpless would she be were he to turnagainst her! Yet his very size; yes, and the brutality she feared, wereher only salvation against every other danger than he himself. The manwas physically a natural protector, for he was able to cope with oddsand dangers to which an ordinary man would long since have succumbed. Soshe found that she was both safer and less safe because the mucker washer companion.
As she pondered the question her eyes roved toward the slope beyond theopening to the amphitheater. With a start she came to her feet, shadingher eyes with her hand and peering intently at something that shecould have sworn moved among the trees far below. No, she could not bemistaken--it was the figure of a man.
Swiftly she ran to Byrne, shaking him roughly by the shoulder.
"Someone is coming," she cried, in response to his sleepy query.