CHAPTER VIII
For some time after the door to Kent's room had closed upon the ominousvisitation of the Law, young Mercer remained standing in the hall,debating with himself whether his own moment had not arrived. In theend he decided that it had, and with Kent's fifty dollars in his pockethe made for the shack of the old Indian trailer, Mooie. It was an hourlater when he returned, just in time to see Kent's door open again.Doctor Cardigan and Father Layonne reappeared first, followed in turnby the blonde stenographer, the magistrate, and Constables Pelly andBrant. Then the door closed.
Within the room, sweating from the ordeal through which he had passed,Kent sat bolstered against his pillows, facing Inspector Kedsty withblazing eyes.
"I've asked for these few moments alone with you, Kedsty, because Iwanted to talk to you as a man, and not as my superior officer. I am, Itake it, no longer a member of the force. That being the case, I oweyou no more respect than I owe to any other man. And I am pleased tohave the very great privilege of calling you a cursed scoundrel!"
Kedsty's face was hot, but as his hands clenched slowly, it turnedredder. Before he could speak, Kent went on.
"You have not shown me the courtesy or the sympathy you have had forthe worst criminals that ever faced you. You amazed every man that wasin this room, because at one time--if not now--they were my friends. Itwasn't what you said. It was how you said it. Whenever there was aninclination on their part to believe, you killed it--not honestly andsquarely, by giving me a chance. Whenever you saw a chance for me towin a point, you fell back upon the law. And you don't believe that Ikilled John Barkley. I know it. You called me a liar the day I madethat fool confession. You still believe that I lied. And I have waiteduntil we were alone to ask you certain things, for I still havesomething of courtesy left in me, if you haven't. What is your game?What has brought about the change in you? Is it--"
His right hand clenched hard as a rock as he leaned toward Kedsty.
"Is it because of the girl hiding up at your bungalow, Kedsty?"
Even in that moment, when he had the desire to strike the man beforehim, it was impossible for him not to admire the stone-likeinvulnerability of Kedsty. He had never heard of another man callingKedsty a scoundrel or dishonest. And yet, except that his faced burnedmore dully red, the Inspector was as impassively calm as ever. EvenKent's intimation that he was playing a game, and his direct accusationthat he was keeping Marette Radisson in hiding at his bungalow, seemedto have no disturbing effect on him. For a space he looked at Kent, asif measuring the poise of the other's mind. When he spoke, it was in avoice so quiet and calm that Kent stared at him in amazement.
"I don't blame you, Kent," he said. "I don't blame you for calling me ascoundrel, or anything else you want to. I think I should do the sameif I were in your place. You think it is incredible, because of ourprevious association, that I should not make every effort to save you.I would, if I thought you were innocent. But I don't. I believe you areguilty. I cannot see where there is a loophole in the evidence againstyou, as given in your own confession. Why, man, even if I could help toprove you innocent of killing John Barkley--"
He paused and twisted one of his gray mustaches, half facing the windowfor a moment. "Even if I did that," he went on, "you would still havetwenty years of prison ahead of you for the worst kind of perjury onthe face of the earth, perjury committed at a time when you thought youwere dying! You are guilty, Kent. If not of one thing, then of theother. I am not playing a game. And as for the girl--there is no girlat my bungalow."
He turned to the door; and Kent made no effort to stop him. Words cameto his lips and died there, and for a space after Kedsty had gone hestared out into the green forest world beyond his window, seeingnothing. Inspector Kedsty, quietly and calmly, had spoken words thatsent his hopes crashing in ruin about him. For even if he escaped thehangman, he was still a criminal--a criminal of the worst sort,perhaps, next to the man who kills another. If he proved that he hadnot killed John Barkley, he would convict himself, at the same time, ofhaving made solemn oath to a lie on what he supposed was his death-bed.And for that, a possible twenty years in the Edmonton penitentiary! Atbest he could not expect less than ten. Ten years--twenty years--inprison! That, or hang.
The sweat broke out on his face. He did not curse Kedsty now. His angerwas gone. Kedsty had seen all the time what he, like a fool, had notthought of. No matter how the Inspector might feel in that deeplyburied heart of his, he could not do otherwise than he was doing. He,James Kent, who hated a lie above all the things on the earth, waskin-as-kisew--the blackest liar of all, a man who lied when he wasdying.
And for that lie there was a great punishment. The Law saw with its owneyes. It was a single-track affair, narrow-visioned, caring nothing forwhat was to the right or the left. It would tolerate no excuse which hemight find for himself. He had lied to save a human life, but that lifethe Law itself had wanted. So he had both robbed and outraged the Law,even though a miracle saved him the greatest penalty of all.
The weight of the thing crushed him. It was as if for the first time awindow had opened for him, and he saw what Kedsty had seen. And then,as the minutes passed, the fighting spirit in him rose again. He wasnot of the sort to go under easily. Personal danger had always stirredhim to his greatest depths, and he had never confronted a dangergreater than this he was facing now. It was not a matter of leapingquickly and on the spur of the moment. For ten years his training hadbeen that of a hunter of men, and the psychology of the man hunt hadbeen his strong point. Always, in seeking his quarry, he had triedfirst to bring himself into a mental sympathy and understanding withthat quarry. To analyze what an outlaw would do under certainconditions and with certain environments and racial inheritances behindhim was to Kent the premier move in the thrilling game. He had evolvedrules of great importance for himself, but always he had worked themout from the vantage point of the huntsman. Now he began to turn themaround. He, James Kent, was no longer the hunter, but the hunted, andall the tricks which he had mastered must now be worked the other way.His woodcraft, his cunning, the fine points he had learned of the gameof one-against-one would avail him but little when it came to thewitness chair and a trial.
The open window was his first inspiration. Adventure had been the bloodof his life. And out there, behind the green forests rolling away likethe billows of an ocean, lay the greatest adventure of all. Once inthose beloved forests covering almost the half of a continent, he wouldbe willing to die if the world beat him. He could see himself playingthe game of the hunted as no other man had ever played it before. Lethim once have his guns and his freedom, with all that world waiting forhim--
Eagerness gleamed in his eyes, and then, slowly, it died out. The openwindow, after all, was but a mockery. He rolled sideways from his bedand partly balanced himself on his feet. The effort made him dizzy. Hedoubted if he could have walked a hundred yards after climbing throughthe window. Instantly another thought leaped into his brain. His headwas clearing. He swayed across the room and back again, the first timehe had been on his feet since the half-breed's bullet had laid him out.He would fool Cardigan. He would fool Kedsty. As he recovered hisstrength, he would keep it to himself. He would play sick man to thelimit, and then some night he would take advantage of the open window!
The thought thrilled him as no other thing in the world had everthrilled him before. For the first time he sensed the vast differencebetween the hunter and the hunted, between the man who played the gameof life and death alone and the one who played it with the Law and allits might behind him. To hunt was thrilling. To be hunted was morethrilling. Every nerve in his body tingled. A different kind of fireburned in his brain. He was the creature who was at bay. The otherfellow was the hunter now.
He went back to the window and leaned far out. He looked at the forestand saw it with new eyes. The gleam of the slowly moving river held ameaning for him that it had never held before. Doctor Cardigan, seeinghim then, would have sworn the fever had returned. His e
yes held aslumbering fire. His face was flushed. In these moments Kent did notsee death. He was not visioning the iron bars of a prison. His bloodpulsed only to the stir of that greatest of all adventures which layahead of him. He, the best man-hunter in two thousand miles ofwilderness, would beat the hunters themselves. The hound had turnedfox, and that fox knew the tricks of both the hunter and the hunted. Hewould win! A world beckoned to him, and he would reach the heart ofthat world. Already there began to flash through his mind memory of theplaces where he could find safety and freedom for all time. No man inall the Northland knew its out-of-the-way corners better than he--itsunmapped and unexplored places, the far and mysterious patches of _terraincognita_, where the sun still rose and set without permission of theLaw, and God laughed as in the days when prehistoric monsters fed fromthe tops of trees no taller than themselves. Once through that window,with the strength to travel, and the Law might seek him for a hundredyears without profit to itself.
It was not bravado in his blood that stirred these thoughts. It was notpanic or an unsound excitement. He was measuring things even as hevisioned them. He would go down-river way, toward the Arctic. And hewould find Marette Radisson! Yes, even though she lived at Barracks atFort Simpson, he would find her! And after that? The question blurredall other questions in his mind. There were many answers to it.
Knowing that it would be fatal to his scheme if he were found on hisfeet, he returned to his bed. The flush of his exertion and excitementwas still in his face when Doctor Cardigan came half an hour later.
Within the next few minutes he put Cardigan more at his ease than hehad been during the preceding day and night. It was, after all, anerror which made him happier the more he thought about it, he told thesurgeon. He admitted that at first the discovery that he was going tolive had horrified him. But now the whole thing bore a different aspectfor him. As soon as he was sufficiently strong, he would begingathering the evidences for his alibi, and he was confident of provinghimself innocent of John Barkley's murder.
He anticipated ten years in the Edmonton penitentiary. But what wereten years there as compared with forty or fifty under the sod? He wrungCardigan's hand. He thanked him for the splendid care he had given him.It was he, Cardigan, who had saved him from the grave, he said--andCardigan grew younger under his eyes.
"I thought you'd look at it differently, Kent," he said, drawing in adeep breath. "My God, when I found I had made that mistake--"
"You figured you were handing me over to the hangman," smiled Kent."It's true I shouldn't have made that confession, old man, if I hadn'trated you right next to God Almighty when it came to telling whether aman was going to live or die. But we all make slips. I've made 'em. Andyou've got no apology to make. I may ask you to send me good cigars nowand then while I'm in retirement at Edmonton, and I shall probablyinsist that you come to smoke with me occasionally and tell me the newsof the rivers. But I'm afraid, old chap, that I'm going to worry you abit more here. I feel queer today, queer inside me. Now it would be atopping joke if some other complication should set in and fool us allagain, wouldn't it?"
He could see the impression he was making on Cardigan. Again his faithin the psychology of the mind found its absolute verification.Cardigan, lifted unexpectedly out of the slough of despond by the veryman whom he expected to condemn him, became from that moment, in theface of the mental reaction, almost hypersympathetic. When finally heleft the room, Kent was inwardly rejoicing. For Cardigan had told himit would be some time before he was strong enough to stand on his feet.
He did not see Mercer all the rest of that day. It was Cardigan whopersonally brought his dinner and his supper and attended him last atnight. He asked not to be interrupted again, as he felt that he wantedto sleep. There was a guard outside his door now.
Cardigan scowled when he volunteered this information. It was sheernonsense in Kedsty taking such a silly precaution. But he would givethe guard rubber-soled shoes and insist that he make no sound thatwould disturb him. Kent thanked him, and grinned exultantly when he wasgone.
He waited until his watch told him it was ten o'clock before he beganthe exercise which he had prescribed for himself. Noiselessly he rolledout of bed. There was no sensation of dizziness when he stood on hisfeet this time. His head was as clear as a bell. He began experimentingby inhaling deeper and still deeper breaths and by straightening hischest.
There was no pain, as he had expected there would be. He felt likecrying out in his joy. One after the other he stretched up his arms. Hebent over until the tips of his fingers touched the floor. He crookedhis knees, leaned from side to side, changed from one attitude toanother, amazed at the strength and elasticity of his body. Twentytimes, before he returned to his bed, he walked back and forth acrosshis room.
He was sleepless. Lying with his back to the pillows he looked out intothe starlight, watching for the first glow of the moon and listeningagain to the owls that had nested in the lightning-shriven tree. Anhour later he resumed his exercise.
He was on his feet when through his window he heard the sound ofapproaching voices and then of running feet. A moment later some onewas pounding at a door, and a loud voice shouted for Doctor Cardigan.Kent drew cautiously nearer the window. The moon had risen, and he sawfigures approaching, slowly, as if weighted under a burden. Before theyturned out of his vision, he made out two men bearing some heavy objectbetween them. Then came the opening of a door, other voices, and afterthat an interval of quiet.
He returned to his bed, wondering who the new patient could be.
He was breathing easier after his exertion. The fact that he wasfeeling keenly alive, and that the thickening in his chest wasdisappearing, flushed him with elation. An unbounded optimism possessedhim. It was late when he fell asleep, and he slept late. It wasMercer's entrance into his room that roused him. He came in softly,closed the door softly, yet Kent heard him. The moment he pulledhimself up, he knew that Mercer had a report to make, and he also sawthat something upsetting had happened to him. Mercer was a bit excited.
"I beg pardon for waking you, sir," he said, leaning close over Kent,as though fearing the guard might be listening at the door. "But Ithought it best for you to hear about the Indian, sir."
"The Indian?"
"Yes, sir--Mooie, sir. I am quite upset over it, Mr. Kent. He told meearly last evening that he had found the scow on which the girl wasgoing down-river. He said it was hidden in Kim's Bayou."
"Kim's Bayou! That was a good hiding-place, Mercer!"
"A very good place of concealment indeed, sir. As soon as it was dark,Mooie returned to watch. What happened to him I haven't fullydiscovered, sir. But it must have been near midnight when he staggeredup to Crossen's place, bleeding and half out of his senses. Theybrought him here, and I watched over him most of the night. He says thegirl went aboard the scow and that the scow started down-river. Thatmuch I learned, sir. But all the rest he mumbles in a tongue I can notunderstand. Crossen says it's Cree, and that old Mooie believes devilsjumped on him with clubs down at Kim's Bayou. Of course they must havebeen men. I don't believe in Mooie's devils, sir."
"Nor I," said Kent, the blood stirring strangely in his veins. "Mercer,it simply means there was some one cleverer than old Mooie watchingthat trail."
With a curiously tense face Mercer was looking cautiously toward thedoor. Then he leaned still lower over Kent.
"During his mumblings, when I was alone with him, I heard him speak aname, sir. Half a dozen times, sir--and it was--_Kedsty_!"
Kent's fingers gripped the young Englishman's hand.
"You heard _that_, Mercer?"
"I am sure I could not have been mistaken, sir. It was repeated anumber of times."
Kent fell back against his pillows. His mind was working swiftly. Heknew that behind an effort to appear calm Mercer was uneasy over whathad happened.
"We mustn't let this get out, Mercer," he said. "If Mooie should bebadly hurt--should die, for instance--and it was discovered that youand I--"
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He knew he had gone far enough to give effect to his words. He did noteven look at Mercer.
"Watch him closely, old man, and report to me everything that happens.Find out more about Kedsty, if you can. I shall advise you how to act.It is rather ticklish, you know--for you! And"--he smiled atMercer--"I'm unusually hungry this morning. Add another egg, will you,Mercer? Three instead of two, and a couple of extra slices of toast.And don't let any one know that my appetite is improving. It may bebest for both of us--especially if Mooie should happen to die.Understand, old man?"
"I--I think I do, sir," replied Mercer, paling at the grimly smilingthing he saw in Kent's eyes. "I shall do as you say, sir."
When he had gone, Kent knew that he had accurately measured his man.True to a certain type, Mercer would do a great deal for fiftydollars--under cover. In the open he was a coward. And Kent knew thevalue of such a man under certain conditions. The present was one ofthose conditions. From this hour Mercer would be a priceless asset tohis scheme for personal salvation.