CHAPTER XXIV A STRANGE VICTORY
Apparently it is true that, under certain circumstances at least, one canrecognize a person by his whisper. Certain it is that Grace Krowl, uponopening her door for a second time that night and upon hearing thewhispered message, "Merry Christmas, Grace Krowl," said without amoment's hesitation:
"_You are the Whisperer._"
"I am." The slim, gray-haired man before her smiled. "May I come in?"
She stepped aside. He entered and took a seat.
"It was generous of you to trust me," he said. "You will not regret it.
"You see--" His eyes strayed about the place. "I fitted these rooms upfor myself. Then, for reasons you shall know of later, I was obliged toleave them. When I learned of your presence here, I decided to trust you,and to use you. I-- You have Nida's story?"
Grace nodded.
"She is the daughter of a very old friend." The little, gray-haired manleaned forward. "Will you tell me the story?"
Grace told the story as best she could.
"It is as I thought." The Whisperer sprang to his feet. "That man, J.Templeton Semp, is a rascal. He tried to hide his evil deeds bypersecuting others. I must go!" He seized his hat.
"But who--who are you?" Grace cried.
"I--" He smiled. "I am Newton Mills." Then he was gone.
What a commotion that declaration would have caused among the watchers inthe little gray house on the prairies! Newton Mills, Joyce Mills' father,boon companion of Drew Lane, Tom Howe and Johnny Thompson--Newton Millscome to life and he, of all men, the Whisperer! But no word of this couldreach them now.
* * * * * * * *
It was cold over there by the north window of the little gray house.Before he and Alice established themselves there, Johnny gathered up hisheavy coat and wrapped it about the girl. He was very close to her now,this brave and beautiful child of a slain policeman. They were facingdeath together, these two. And death drew them closer.
Bleak night was outside, and out there somewhere in hiding, creeping upbehind that barn or the grove where the Captain had played as a boy, orperhaps behind the great cottonwood just before them, death was comingnearer. Johnny was seized with an involuntary shudder.
"What is it, my friend Johnny?" The little Canadian's shoulder touchedhis.
"Nothing. Only thinking." He laughed a low, uncertain laugh.
"Do you know," he said a moment later in a voice that was all but awhisper, "that old barn behind the cottonwood was standing when theCaptain was a boy? On rainy days they played in the hay, climbed high andpushed one another down, made swings of the hay ropes and leaped into themow from twenty feet in air. They played hide and seek, boys and girlstogether. Sounds sort of peaceful and joyous, doesn't it? Not--not likethis."
"You make it seem so real. Perhaps, after all, this is only a dream. Or,or only a trick to frighten us. Christmas morning will come as it came inthose good days. Stockings all in a row." Her voice was dreamy."Presents, and a fire laughing up the chimney. All that and--
"Johnny!" She broke off suddenly to grip his arm. "What was that? Ashot?"
"I--I don't know."
Johnny's right hand gripped his automatic. Surely there had come a sharpcrack. It sounded strange in the night.
"Board nails snapping in the frost perhaps." He relaxed a little.
"Look, Johnny!" She gripped his arm till it hurt. "Look! Some dark objecttumbling about under that huge tree. It--I think it looks like a man!"
Johnny was on his feet. "Drew! Drew Lane! Come here quick!" He all butshouted the words.
Before the call died on his lips, Drew was at his side. By that time notone dark object, but three were to be seen tumbling about on the snowbeneath the giant cottonwood. Their antics were grotesque in theextreme--like men sewed into canvas sacks.
"Something's happening," Johnny hazarded.
"Or it's a decoy to call us out," Drew replied dryly.
What was to be done? Surely here was a quandary. One of the figures hadstiffened and lay quite still like a corpse.
"May be faked," Drew said grimly. "But a fellow has to see." One hand onthe door, the other gripping his automatic, he was prepared for a dash,when Johnny pulled him back.
"No! No! Let me go! You are older. If anything goes wrong, you'll beneeded here. You must remember the women."
"All--all right." Drew backed away reluctantly. Then, standing up at fullheight, ready for instant action, he prepared to protect Johnny as besthe might.
Johnny was out of the door and away like a shot. Not so fast, however,but that a dark, muffled figure followed him.
Reaching the first prostrate form, he uttered a low exclamation. It was aman. Apparently quite unconscious, he lay there, his face half buried inthe snow. There was a curious odor about the place. Johnny felt a faintdizziness in his head.
He stepped to the next figure. To his surprise and horror he saw it wasSpider. He too lay motionless.
"Gas!" a voice said in his ear. "Can't you see they've been gassed?"
He wheeled about to find himself staring in the face of the little FrenchCanadian girl, Alice.
"You!" he murmured.
"Come out of it!" She dragged him away. "There is still some of that gasin the air."
Johnny had got a little more of that gas than he thought. He did not loseconsciousness, but he did have only a hazy notion of that which went onabout him. It will always remain so--how the other members of the partycame swarming out, how they found four members of the "Massacre Parade"prostrate on the snow, and Spider beside them on the ground with a brokenarm--all this will always be a dream to Johnny. So too will be the storyof how Drew and Tom went after the missing Iggy, who was not one of thefour under the tree, and how they found him waiting in a high-poweredcar, and, having been fired upon, how they mowed him down with the verymachine gun that had been loaded for the purpose of massacring women, menand girls alike.
The effect of the gas did not last more than twenty minutes. The wordsused by the four would-be savage massacre men when they found handcuffson their wrists and clothes-line rope bound round their legs, werescarcely in keeping with the spirit of Christmas. It will not seemstrange that no one cared.
As for Spider, he had some explaining to do. When a doctor had set hisbroken arm and he had fully recovered from his share of the gas, he tolda strange story.
He had caught a glimpse of someone dodging behind the old barn. Puttingthe whole thing together, he had decided that the men with machine gunswould take their stand behind the giant cottonwood. Its thick base wouldoffer perfect protection from bullets.
"I thought," he went on, "if only I can beat them to the tree and climbit, with that gas bomb on my back, I'll be in a position to put them allto sleep at once. There wasn't a minute to lose, so, without sayinganything, I made a dash for it."
"But it's twenty feet to the first branch!" Johnny protested. "How'd youmake it?"
"The bark of that old tree," said Spider with a smile, "is like the edgeof inch-thick boards sticking out. Nothing easier than getting a grip andgoing up."
"For you," Johnny agreed. "But you were found on the ground," heobjected.
"Things didn't go just right." Spider indulged in a wry smile. "I got upthe tree all right. They did their part, came and got under. Then I sawsomething I hadn't counted on--saw the tops of heads, yours and Alice'sby that window.
"Ten seconds more, and they'd have riddled you with bullets. Guess I gotexcited; must have moved. Anyway, one of 'em spotted me and fired.
"Bullet hit my arm. Lost my balance, and down I came, gas bomb and all.The bomb burst all right. And, well, you know the rest."
"Alice!" Johnny was looking into the little Canadian's eyes. He wasthinking, "What if that machine gun had stuttered just once!"
When he realized that in the face of death Alice had followed him intothe night, he wanted awfully to cry, then to seize the little
Canadianand kiss her on both cheeks. Being a modest youth, he merely flushed anddid neither the one nor the other, which was just as well, since Alicecould understand blushes quite as readily as tears and other things.