CHAPTER IV
THE JOB
The room was full of tobacco smoke, through which Peter dimly made out atable with an oil lamp, beside which were chairs, a sofa, and beyond, asteel safe between the windows. As Peter Nichols entered, a man advancedfrom a window at the side, the shutter of which was slightly ajar. Itwas evident that not content to leave his safety in the hands of thosehe had employed to preserve it, he had been watching too.
He was in his shirt sleeves, a man of medium height, compactly built,and well past the half century mark. The distinguishing features of hisface were a short nose, a heavy thatch of brows, a square jaw whichshowed the need of the offices of a razor and his lips wore a short,square mustache somewhat stained by nicotine.
In point of eagerness the manner of his greeting of the newcomer leftnothing to be desired. Peter's first impression was that Jonathan K.McGuire was quite able to look out for himself, which confirmed theimpression that the inspection to which Peter had been subjected wasnothing but a joke. But when his employer began speaking rather jerkily,Peter noticed that his hands were unsteady and that neither the musclesof his face nor of his body were under complete control. Normally, hewould have seemed much as Sheldon, Senior, had described him--ahard-fisted man, a close bargainer who had won his way to his greatwealth by the sheer force of a strong personality. There was little ofsoftness in his face, little that was imaginative. This was not a manto be frightened at the Unseen or to see terrors that did not exist.Otherwise, to Peter he seemed commonplace to the last degree, of Irishextraction probably, the kind of person one meets daily on Broadway oron the Strand. In a fur coat he might have been taken for a banker; intweeds, for a small tradesman; or in his shirt as Peter now saw him, thewristbands and collar somewhat soiled from perspiration, for a laboringman taking his rest after an arduous day. In other words, he was verymuch what his clothes would make of him, betraying his origins in arather strident voice meant perhaps to conceal the true state of hismind.
"Glad to see you, Mr. Nichols. Thought you were never comin'," he jerkedout.
"I walked most of the way from Pickerel River. Something went wrong,with the 'Lizzie.'"
"Oh--er--'Lizzie'. The flivver! I couldn't send my own car. I've gotonly one down here and I might need it."
"It doesn't matter in the least--since I'm here."
"Sit down, Mr. Nichols," went on McGuire indicating a chair. "You'vebeen well recommended by Mr. Sheldon. I talked to him yesterday overlong distance. He told you what I wanted?"
"Something. Not much," said Peter with a view to getting all theinformation possible. "You wanted a forester----?"
"Er--er--yes, that's it. A forester." And then he went onhaltingly--"I've got about twenty thousand acres here--mostly scruboak--pine and spruce. I've sold off a lot to the Government. A mess ofit has been cut--there's been a lot of waste--and the fire season iscoming around. That's the big job--the all-the-year job. You've hadexperience?"
"Yes--in Russia. I'm a trained woodsman."
"You're a good all-round man?"
"Exactly what----?" began Peter.
"You know how to look after yourself--to look after other men, to takecharge of a considerable number of people in my employ?"
"Yes. I'm used to dealing with men."
"It's a big job, Mr. Nichols--a ticklish kind of a job for afurriner--one with some--er--unusual features--that may call for--er--alot of tact. And--er--courage."
It seemed to Peter that Jonathan K. McGuire was talking almost atrandom, that the general topic of forestry was less near his heartto-night than the one that was uppermost in Peter's mind, the mysterythat surrounded his employer and the agencies invoked to protect him. Itseemed as if he were loath to speak of them, as if he were holding Peteroff at arm's length, so to say, until he had fully made up his mind thatthis and no other man was the one he wanted, for all the while he wasexamining the visitor with burning, beady, gray eyes, as though tryingto peer into his mind.
"I'm not afraid of a forester's job, no matter how big it is, if I havemen enough," said Peter, still curious.
"And you're a pretty good man in a pinch, I mean----" he put in jerkily,"you're not easy scared--don't lose your nerve."
"I'll take my chances on that," replied Peter calmly. "I'm used tocommanding men, in emergencies--if that's what you mean."
"Yes. That's what I mean. Er--you're an Englishman, Mr. Sheldon says."
"Er--yes," said Peter, "an Englishman," for this was the truth now morethan ever before, and then repeated the story he had told in New Yorkabout his work in Russia. While Peter was talking, McGuire was pacing upand down the room with short nervous strides, nodding his head inunderstanding from time to time. When Peter paused he returned to hischair.
"You British are a pretty steady lot," said McGuire at last. "I thinkyou'll do. I like the way you talk and I like your looks. Younger thanI'd hoped maybe, but then you're strong--Mr. Sheldon says you're strong,Mr. Nichols."
"Oh, yes," said Peter, his curiosity now getting the better of him. "Butit might be as well, Mr. McGuire, if you let me know just what, that isunusual, is to be required of me. I assume that you want me to takecommand of the men policing your grounds--and immediate property?"
"Er--yes. That will have to be put in shape at once--at once." He leanedsuddenly forward in his chair, his hairy hands clutching at his knees,while he blurted out with a kind of relieved tension, "No one must comenear the house at night. No one, you understand----"
"I understand, sir----" said Peter, waiting patiently for a revelation.
"There'll be no excuse if any one gets near the house without mypermission," he snarled. And then almost sullenly again--"Youunderstand?"
"Perfectly. That should not be difficult to----"
"It may be more difficult than you think," broke in McGuire, springingto his feet again, and jerking out his phrases with strange fury.
"Nothing is to be taken for granted. Nothing," he raged. Peter wassilent for a moment, watching McGuire who had paced the length of theroom and back.
"I understand, sir," he said at last. "But doesn't it seem to you thatboth I and the man under me could do our work with more intelligence ifwe knew just who or what is to be guarded against?" Mr. McGuire stoppedbeside him as though transfixed by the thought. Then his fingersclutched at the back of a chair to which he clung for a moment insilence, his brows beetling. And when he spoke all the breath of hisbody seemed concentrated in a hoarse whisper.
"You won't know that. You understand, I give the orders. You obey them.I am not a man who answers questions. Don't ask them."
"Oh, I beg your pardon. So long as this thing you fear is human----"
"Human! A ghost! Who said I was afraid? Sheldon? Let him think it. Thisis _my_ business. There are many things of value in this house," and heglanced towards the safe. "I'm using the right of any man to protectwhat belongs to him."
"I see," said Peter.
The man's tension relaxed as he realized Peter's coolness.
"Call it a fancy if you like, Mr. Nichols----" he said with a shrug. "Aman of my age may have fancies when he can afford to gratify 'em."
"That's your affair," said Peter easily. "I take it then that thesystematic policing of the grounds is the first thing I am to consider."
"Exactly. The systematic policing of the grounds--the dividing of yourmen into shifts for day and night work--more at night than in the day.Three more men come to-morrow. They will all look to you for orders."
"And who is in charge now?"
"A man named Wells--a native--the foreman from one of the sawmills--buthe--er--well, Mr. Nichols--I'm not satisfied. That's why I wanted a manfrom outside."
"I understand. And will you give the necessary orders to him?"
"Wells was up here to-day, I told him."
"How many men are on guard here at the house?"
"Ten and with the three coming--that makes thirteen----" McGuirehalted--"thirteen--but you make the fourteenth," he added.<
br />
Peter nodded. "And you wish me to take charge at once?"
"At once. To-night. To-morrow you can look over the ground morecarefully. You'll sleep in the old playhouse--the log cabin--down by thecreek. They'll show you. It's connected with this house by 'phone. I'lltalk to you again to-morrow; you'd better go down and get something toeat."
McGuire went to the door and called out "Tillie!"
And as a faint reply was heard, "Get Mr. Nichols some supper."
Peter rose and offered his hand.
"I'll try to justify your faith in me, sir. Much obliged."
"Good-night."
Peter went down the stairs with mingled feelings. If the words of BethCameron had created in his mind a notion that the mystery surroundingBlack Rock was supernatural in character, the interview with Jonathan K.McGuire had dispelled it. That McGuire was a very much frightened manwas certain, but it seemed equally certain to Peter that what he fearedwas no ghost or banshee but the imminence of some human attack upon hisperson or possessions. Here was a practical man, who bore in everyfeature of his strongly-marked face the tokens of a successful strugglein a hard career, the beginnings of which could not have been any toofortunate. A westerner whose broad hands and twisted fingers spokeeloquently of manual labor, a man who still possessed to all appearancesconsiderable physical strength--a prey to the fear of some night dangerwhich was too ominous even to be talked about.
It was the quality of his terror that was disturbing. Peter was wellacquainted with the physical aspects of fear--that is the fear ofviolence and death. That kind of fear made men restless and nervous, orsilent and preoccupied; or like liquor it accentuated their weaknessesof fiber in sullenness or bravado. But it did not make them furtive. Hecould not believe that it was the mere danger of death or physicalviolence that obsessed his employer. That sort of danger perhaps theremight be, but the fear that he had seen in McGuire's fanatical gray eyeswas born of something more than these. Whatever it was that McGuirefeared, it reached further within--a threat which would destroy not hisbody alone, but something more vital even than that--the very spiritthat lived within him.
Of his career, Peter knew nothing more than Sheldon, Senior, had toldhim--a successful man who told nothing of his business except to theTreasury Department, a silent man, with a passion for making money. Whatcould he fear? Whom? What specter out of the past could conjure up thevisions he had seen dancing between McGuire's eyes and his own?
These questions it seemed were not to be answered and Peter, as he satdown at the supper table, put them resolutely from his mind andaddressed himself to the excellent meal provided by the housekeeper. Forthe present, at least, fortune smiled upon him. The terrors of hisemployer could not long prevail against the healthy appetite ofsix-and-twenty.
But it was not long before Peter discovered that the atmosphere of theroom upstairs pervaded the dining room, library and halls. There were acook and housemaid he discovered, neither of them visible. Thehousekeeper, if attentive, was silent, and the man who had opened thefront door, who seemed to be a kind of general factotum, as well aspersonal bodyguard to Mr. McGuire, crept furtively about the house in anunquiet manner which would have been disturbing to the digestion of oneless timorous than Peter.
Before the meal was finished this man came into the room and laid apolice whistle, a large new revolver and a box of cartridges besidePeter's dish of strawberries.
"These are for you, sir," he whispered sepulchrally. "Mr. McGuire askedme to give them to you--for to-night."
"Thanks," said Peter, "and you----"
"I'm Stryker, sir, Mr. McGuire's valet."
"Oh!"
Peter's accent of surprise came from his inability to reconcile Strykerwith the soiled shirt and the three days' growth of beard on the manupstairs, which more than ever testified to the disorder of his mentalcondition.
And as Stryker went out and his footsteps were heard no more, thehousekeeper emerged cautiously from the pantry.
"Is everything all right, Mr. Nichols?" she asked in a stage whisper.
"Right as rain. Delicious! I'm very much obliged to you."
"I mean--er--there ain't anythin' else ye'd like?"
"Nothing, thanks," said Peter, taking up the revolver and breaking it.He had cut the cover of the cartridge box and had slipped a cartridgeinto the weapon when he heard the voice of the woman at his ear.
"D'ye think there's any danger, sir?" she whispered, while she nervouslyeyed the weapon.
"I'm sure I don't know. Not to you, I'd say," he muttered, still puttingthe cartridges in the pistol. As an ex-military man, he was takinggreat delight in the perfect mechanism of his new weapon.
"What is it----? I mean, d'ye think----," she stammered, "did Mr.McGuire say--just what it is he's afraid of?"
"No," said Peter, "he didn't." And then with a grin, "Do you know?"
"No, sir. I wish t'God I did. Then there'd be somethin' to go by."
"I'm afraid I can't help you, Mrs. ----"
"Tillie Bergen. I've been housekeeper here since the new wing was puton----"
"Oh, yes," said Peter, pausing over the last cartridge as the thoughtcame to him. "Then you must be Beth Cameron's aunt?"
"Beth?" The woman's sober face wreathed in a lovely smile. "D'ye knowBeth?"
"Since this afternoon. She showed me the way."
"Oh. Poor Beth."
"Poor!"
"Oh, we're all poor, Mr. Nichols. But Beth she's--different from therest of us somehow."
"Yes, she _is_ different," admitted Peter frankly.
Mrs. Bergen sighed deeply. "Ye don't know how different. And nowthat--all this trouble has come, I can't get home nights to her. And shecan't come to see me without permission. How long d'ye think it willlast, sir?"
"I don't know," said Peter, slipping the revolver and cartridges intohis pockets. And then gallantly, "If I can offer you my services, I'd beglad to take you home at night----"
"It's against orders. And I wouldn't dare, Mr. Nichols. As it is I'vegot about as much as I can stand. If it wasn't for the money I wouldn'tbe stayin' in the house another hour."
"Perhaps things won't be so bad after a time. If anything is going tohappen, it ought to be pretty soon."
She regarded him wistfully as he moved toward the door. "An' ye'll tellme, sir, if anything out o' the way happens."
"I hope nothing is going to happen, Mrs. Bergen," said Peter cheerfully.
Stryker appeared mysteriously from the darkness as Peter went out intothe hall.
"The upstairs girl made up your bed down at the cabin, sir. Thechauffeur took your bag over. You'll need these matches. If you'll wait,sir, I'll call Mr. Wells."
Peter wondered at the man in this most unconventional household, forStryker, with all the prescience of a well-trained servant, had alreadydecided that Peter belonged to a class accustomed to being waited on.Going to the door he blew one short blast on a police whistle, likePeter's, which he brought forth from his pocket.
"That will bring him, sir," he said. "If you'll go out on the portico,he'll join you in a moment."
Peter obeyed. The door was closed and fastened behind him and almostbefore he had taken his lungs full of the clean night air (for the househad been hot and stuffy), a shadow came slouching across the lawn in themoonlight. Peter joined the man at once and they walked around thehouse, while Peter questioned him as to the number of men and theirdisposition about the place. There were six, he found, including Wells,with six more to sleep in the stable, which was also used as aguardhouse. Peter made the rounds of the sentries. None of them seemedto be taking the matter any too seriously and one at least was soundasleep beneath some bushes. Peter foresaw difficulties. Under theleadership of Shad Wells the strategic points were not covered, and, hadhe wished, he could have found his way, by using the cover of shadow andshrubbery, to the portico without being observed. He pointed this out toWells who, from a supercilious attitude, changed to one of defiance.
"You seem to t
hink you know a lot, Mister?" he said. "I'd like to see yetry it."
Peter laughed.
"Very well. Take your posts and keep strict watch, but don't move. If Idon't walk across the lawn from the house in half an hour I'll give youten dollars. In return you can take a shot if you see me."
He thought the men needed the object lesson. Peter was an excellent"point." He disappeared into the woods behind him and making his waycautiously out, found a road, doubling to the other side of the garagealong which he went on his hands and knees and crawling from shrub toshrub in the shadows reached the portico without detection. Here helighted a fag and quietly strolled down to the spot where he had leftShad Wells, to whom he offered a cigarette by way of consolation. Wellstook it grudgingly. But he took it, which was one point gained.
"Right smart, aren't ye?" said Shad.
"No," said Peter coolly. "Anybody could have done it,--in three ways.The other two ways are through the pine grove to the left and from thebig sycamore by the stream."
"And how do you know all that?"
"I was in the Army," said Peter. "It's a business like anything else."
And he pointed out briefly where the five men should be stationed andwhy, and Shad, somewhat mollified by the cigarette, shrugged andagreed.
"We'll do sentry duty in the regular way," went on Peter cheerfully,"with a corporal of the guard and a countersign. I'll explain in detailto-morrow." And then to Shad, "I'll take command until midnight, whenyou'll go on with the other shift until four. I'll make it clear to theother men. The countersign is the word 'Purple.' You'd better go andturn in. I'll call you at twelve."
Peter watched the figure of the woodsman go ambling across the lawn inthe direction of the garage and smiled. He also marked the vertical lineof light which showed at a window on the second floor where another keptwatch. The man called Jesse, the one who had been asleep beneath thebushes, and who, fully awake, had watched Peter's exhibition ofscouting, now turned to Peter with a laugh.
"I guess you're right, Mister. S'long's we're paid. But I'd like to knowjust what this 'ere thing is the ol' man's skeered of."
"You know as much as I do. It will probably have two legs, two hands anda face and carry a gun. You'd better be sure you're not asleep when itcomes. But if you care to know what I think, you can be pretty sure thatit's coming--and before very long."
"To-night?"
"How do I know? Have a cigarette? You cover from the road to the bigcedar tree; and keep your eyes open--especially in the shadows--anddon't let anybody get you in the back."
And so making the rounds, instilling in their minds a sense of realemergency, Peter gave the men their new sentry posts and made friends.He had decided to stay up all night, but at twelve he called Shad Wellsand went down to look over his cabin which was a quarter of a mile awayfrom the house near Cedar Creek (or "Crick" in the vernacular). The keywas in the cabin door so he unlocked it and went in, and after strikinga match found a kerosene lamp which he lighted and then looked abouthim.
The building had only one room but it was of large dimensions andcontained a wooden bed with four posts, evidently some one's heirloom, abureau, washstand, two tables and an easy chair or two. Behind the bedwas a miscellaneous lot of rubbish, including a crib, a rocking horse, avelocipede, beside some smaller toys. Whom had these things belonged to?A grandson of McGuire's? And was the daughter of McGuire like herfather, unlovely, soiled and terror-stricken? His desultory mentalqueries suddenly stopped as he raised his eyes to the far corner of theroom, for there, covered with an old shawl, he made out the lines of apiano. He opened the keyboard and struck a chord. It wasn't so bad--alittle tuning--he could do it himself....
So this was his new home! He had not yet had the time or the opportunityto learn what new difficulties were to face him on the morrow, but thepersonal affairs of his employer had piqued his interest and for thepresent he had done everything possible to insure his safety for thenight. To-morrow perhaps he would learn something more about the causesof this situation. He would have an opportunity too to look over theproperty and make a report as to its possibilities. To a man inured asPeter was to disappointments, what he had found was good. He had made uphis mind to fit himself soldierlike into his new situation and he had toadmit now that he liked the prospect. As though to compensate for pastmischief, Fate had provided him with the one employment in the new landfor which he was best suited by training and inclination. It was the one"job" in which, if he were permitted a fair amount of freedom of actionand initiative, he was sure that he could "make good." The trees hecould see were not the stately pines of Zukovo, but they were pines, andthe breeze which floated in to him through the cabin door was laden withfamiliar odors.
The bed looked inviting, but he resolutely turned his back to it andunpacked his suitcase, taking off his tailor-made clothing and puttingon the flannel shirt, corduroy trousers and heavy laced boots, all ofwhich he had bought before leaving New York. Then he went to the doorwayand stood looking out into the night.
The moonbeams had laid a patine of silver upon the floor of the smallclearing before the door, and played softly among the shadows. So silentwas the night that minute distant sounds were clearly audible--thestream seemed to be tinkling just at his elbow, while much farther awaythere was a low murmur of falling water at the tumbling dam, minglingwith the sighs of vagrant airs among the crowns of the trees, the rustleand creak of dry branches, the whispering of leaf to leaf. Wakeful birdsdeceived by the moon piped softly and were silent. An owl called. Andthen for the briefest moment, except for the stream, utter silence.
Peter strode forth, bathed himself in the moonlight and drank deep ofthe airs of the forest. America! He had chosen! Her youth called to his.He wanted to forget everything that had gone before, the horrors throughwhich he had passed, both physical and spiritual,--the dying strugglesof the senile nation, born in intolerance, grown in ignorance andstupidity which, with a mad gesture, had cast him forth with a curse. Hehad doffed the empty prerogatives of blood and station and left them inthe mire and blood. The soul of Russia was dead and he had thought thathis own had died with hers, but from the dead thing a new soul mightgerminate as it had now germinated in him. He had been born again._Novaya Jezn!_ The New Life! He had found it.
He listened intently as though for its heartbeats, his face turned uptoward the silent pines. For a long while he stood so and then wentindoors and sat at the old piano playing softly.