CHAPTER XXII
TERROR IN THE MOUNTAINS
Fear drove Chepstow headlong for the dugout. Mason's words, his toneand manner, had served to excite him to a pitch closely bordering uponabsolute terror. What of Betty? Over and over again he asked himselfwhat might not happen to her, left alone at the mercy of these savages?What if, baulked of their prey, they turned to loot and wreck his hut?It was more than possible. To his fear-stricken imagination it wasinevitable. His gorge rose and he sickened at the thought, and he racedthrough the fog to the girl's help.
The self-torture he suffered in those weary minutes was exquisite. Herailed at his own criminal folly in letting her leave his side. Hereviled Mason and his wild schemes. Dave and his interests werebanished from his mind. The well-being of Malkern, of the mills, ofanybody in the world but the helpless girl, mattered not at all to him.It was Betty--of Betty alone he thought.
An innocent girl in the hands of such ruthless brutes as thesestrikers--what could she do? It was a maddening thought. He prayed toHeaven as he went, that he might be in time, and his prayers rang witha fervor such as they never possessed in his vocation as a churchman.And this mood alternated with another, which was its direct antithesis.The vicious thoughts of a man roused to battle ran through his brain ina fiery torrent. His whole outlook upon life underwent a change. Allthe kindly impulses of his heart, all the teachings of his church, allhis best Christian beliefs, fell from him, and left him the naked,passionate man. Churchman, good Christian he undoubtedly was, but,before all things, he was a man; and just now a man in fighting mood.
It probably took him less than twenty minutes to make the returnjourney, yet it seemed to him hours--he certainly endured hours ofmental anguish. But at last it ended with almost ludicrous abruptness.In the obscurity of the fog he was brought to a halt by impact with thewalls of the dugout.
He recovered himself and stood for a moment listening. There was nosound of any one within, nor was there any sign of the strikers. Hemoved round to the door; a beam of light shone beneath it. He breathedmore freely. Then, to his dismay, at his first touch, the door swungopen. His fears leapt again, he dreaded what that open door mightdisclose. Then, in the midst of his fears, a cry of relief and joybroke from him.
"Thank God, you're safe!" he exclaimed, as he rushed into the room.
Betty looked up from the work in her lap. She was seated beside thebox-stove sewing. Her calmness was in flat contrast to her uncle'sexcited state. She smiled gently, and her soft eyes had in them aquestioning humor that had a steadying effect upon the man.
"Safe? Why, dear, of course I'm safe," she said. "But--I was a littleanxious about you. You were so long getting back. Did Bob Mason getsafely away?"
Chepstow laughed.
"Yes, oh yes. _He_ got away safely."
"He?"
The work lay in Betty's lap, and her fingers had become idle.
"Yes. But we captured one of the strikers."
The parson suddenly turned to the door and barred it securely. Then, ashe went on, he crossed to the windows, and began to barricade them.
"Yes, we had a busy time. They were hard on his heels when he pulled upfor me. We nailed the foremost. He jumped on the buckboard and almoststrangled Mason. I jumped on it too, and--and almost strangled him."
He laughed harshly. His blood was still up. Betty bent over her workand her expressive face was hidden.
"Who was he? I mean your prisoner. Did you recognize him, or was he anew hand?"
Chepstow's laugh abruptly died out. He had suddenly remembered who hisprisoner was; and he tried to ignore the question.
"Oh, yes, we recognized him. But," he went on hurriedly, "we must getsome supper. I think we are in for a busy time."
But Betty was not so easily put off. Besides, her curiosity was rousedby her uncle's evident desire to avoid the subject.
"Who was he?" she demanded again.
There was no escape, and the man knew it. Betty could be verypersistent.
"Eh? Oh, I'm afraid it was Jim--Jim Truscott," he said reluctantly.
Betty rose from her chair without a word. She stirred the fire in thecook-stove, and began to prepare a supper of bacon and potatoes andtea, while her uncle went on with his task of securing the windows. Itwas the latter who finally broke the silence.
"Has any one--has anybody been here?" he asked awkwardly.
Betty did not look up from her work.
"Two men paid me a visit," she said easily. "One asked for you. Heseemed angry. I--I told him you had gone over to the sick camp--thatyou were coming back to supper. He laughed--fiercely. He said if youdidn't come back I'd find myself up against it. Then he hurriedoff--and I was glad."
"And the other?"
Chepstow's work was finished. He had crossed over and was standingbeside the cook-stove. His question came with an undercurrent offierceness that Betty was unused to, but she smiled up into his face.
"The other? I think he had been drinking. He was one of those two I metin the woods. He asked me why I hadn't taken his warning. I told him Iwas considering it. He leered at me and said it was too late, andassured me I must take the consequences. Then he--tried to kiss me. Itwas rather funny."
"Funny? Great Heavens! And you----"
Betty's smile broadened as she pointed to a heavy revolver lying in thechair she had just vacated.
"I didn't have any trouble. I told him there were five barrels in that,all loaded, and each barrel said he'd better get out."
"Did--did he go?"
Chepstow could scarcely control his fury. But Betty answered him in aquiet determined manner.
"Not until I had emptied one of them," she said. Then with a ruefulsmile she added, "But it went very wide of its mark."
Her uncle tried to laugh, but the result was little better than afurious snort.
"Why did you leave the door open?" he inquired a moment later.
"Well, you were out. You might have returned in--in a hurry and---- Butsit down, uncle dear, food's ready."
The man sat down and Betty stood by to supply him with all he needed.Then he noticed she had only prepared food for one.
"Why, child, what about you?" he demanded kindly.
"I've had some biscuits and tea, before you came in. I'm not hungry.Now don't bother about it, dear. Yes, I am quite well." She shook herhead and smiled at him as he attempted to interrupt her, but the smilewas a mere cloak to her real feelings. She had eaten before he came in,as she said. But if she hadn't she could have eaten nothing now. Hermind was swept with a hot tide of anxious thought. She had a thousandand one questions unanswered, and she knew it would be useless puttingany one of them to her kindly, impetuous uncle. He was to her thegentlest of guardians, but quite impossible as a confidant for herwoman's fears, her woman's passionate desire to help the man she loved.He was staunch and brave, and in what might lay before them she couldhave no better companion, no better champion, but where the subtletiesof her woman's feelings were concerned there could be no confidence inhim.
She watched him eat in silence, and, presently, when he looked up ather, her soft brown eyes were lit by an almost maternal regard for him.He had no understanding of that look, and Betty knew it, otherwise itwould not have been there.
"I can't understand it all," he said. "Jim is a worse--a worse rascalthan I thought. I believe he's not only in this strike, but one of theorganizers. Why? That's what I can't make out. Is it mischief--wantonmischief? Is it jealousy of Dave's success? It's a puzzle I can't solveanyhow. After all his protestations to me the thing's inconceivable.It's enough to destroy all one's belief in human nature."
"Or strengthen it."
"Eh?"
"It is only natural for people to err," Betty said seriously. "Andhaving erred it is human nature, whatever our motives, however good ourintentions, to find that the mire into which we have fallen sucks hard.It is more often than not the floundering to save ourselves that drivesus deeper into it. Poor Jim. He needs our pity and h
elp, just as we sooften need help."
Her uncle stared into the grave young face. His astonishment kept himsilent for a moment. He pushed impatiently away from the table. But itwas not until Betty had moved back to her chair at the stove that hefound words to express himself. He was angry, quite angry with her. Itwas not that he was really unchristian, but when he thought of all thatthis strike meant, he felt that sympathy for the man who was possiblythe cause of it was entirely out of place.
"Truscott needs none of your pity, Betty," he said sharply. "If pity beneeded it is surely for those whom one man's mischief will harm. Do youknow what this strike means, child? Before it reaches the outside ofthese camps it will turn a tide of vice loose upon the men themselves.They will drink, gamble. They will quarrel and fight. And when such menfight it more often than not results in some terrible tragedy. Then,like some malignant cuttlefish, this strike will grope its crushingfeelers out from here, its lair, seeking prey on which to fix itssucking tentacles. They will reach Malkern, and work will be paralyzed.That means ruin to more than half the villagers who depend upon theirweekly wage. It goes further than that. The mills will shut down. Andif the mills shut, good-bye to all trade in Malkern. It means ruin foreverybody. It means the wrecking of all Dave's hopes--hopes which havefor their object the welfare of the people of our valley. It is a pieceof rascality that nothing can justify. Jim Truscott does not need ourpity. It is the penitentiary he needs. Betty, I'm--I'm----"
But Betty looked up with passionate, glowing eyes from the work she hadresumed.
"Do you think I don't know what it means, uncle?" she demanded, with adepth of feeling that silenced him instantly. "Do you think because Ipity poor Jim that I do not understand the enormity of his wickednessin this matter? Have I spent the best part of my life in our valleycarrying on the work that has fallen to my share--work that has been myjoy and happiness to do--without understanding the cruelty which thisstrike means to our people, those who are powerless to help themselvesagainst it? Do you think I don't understand what it means to Dave? Oh,uncle, if you but knew," she went on reproachfully. "I know it meanspractically the end of all things for Dave if his contract fails. Iknow that he is all out for the result. That his resources are even nowtaxed to their uttermost limit, and that only the smooth running of thework can save him from a disaster that will involve us all. If I had aman's strength there is nothing I would not do to serve him. If my twohands, if my brain could assist him in the smallest degree, he wouldnot need to ask for them. They are his--his!" she cried, with a passionthat thrilled the listening man. "You are angry with me because I feelsorry for an erring man. I _am_ sorry for him. Yet should evil come toour valley--to Dave--through his work, no wildcat would show him lessmercy than I. Oh, why am I not a man with two strong hands?" she crieddespairingly. "Why am I condemned to be a useless burden to those Ilove? Oh, Dave, Dave," she cried with a sudden self-abandonment, sopassionate, so overwhelming that it alarmed her uncle, "why can't Ihelp you? Why can't I stand beside you and share in your battles withthese two hands?" She held out her arms, in a gesture of appeal. Thenthey dropped to her side. In a moment she turned almost fiercely uponher uncle, swept on by a tide of feeling long pent up behind thebarrier of her woman's reserve, but now no longer possible ofrestraint. "I love him! I love him! I know! You are ashamed for me! Ican see it in your face! You think me unwomanly! You think I haveoutraged the conventions which hem our sex in! And what if I have? Idon't care! I care for nothing and no one but him! He is the world tome--the whole, wide world. I love him so I would give my life for him.Oh, uncle, I love him, and I am powerless to help him."
She sank into her chair, and buried her face in her hands. Blame,displeasure, contempt, nothing mattered. The woman was stirred, letloose; the calm strength which was so great a part of her character,had been swept aside by her passion, which saw only the hopelessnesswith which this strike confronted the man she loved.
Chepstow watched her for some moments. He was no longer alarmed. Hisheart ached for her, and he wanted to comfort her. But it was not easyfor him. At last he moved close to her side, and laid a hand upon herbowed head. The action was full of a tender, even reverential sympathy.And it was that, more than his words, which helped to comfort thewoman's stricken heart.
"You're a good child, Betty," he said awkwardly. "And--and I'm glad youlove him. Dave will win out. Don't you fear. It is the difficulties hehas had to face that have made him the man he is. Remember Mason hasgot away, and---- What's that?"
Something crashed against the door and dropped to the ground outside.Though the exclamation had broken from the man he needed no answer. Itwas a stone. A stone hurled with vicious force.
Betty sat up. Her face had suddenly returned to its usual calm. Shelooked up into her uncle's eyes, and saw that the light of battle hadbeen rekindled there. Her own eyes brightened. She, too, realized thatbattle was imminent. They were two against hundreds. Her spirit warmed.Her recent hopelessness passed and she sprang to her feet.
"The cowards!" she cried.
The man only laughed.