_The_

 VAGRANT DUKE

 BY GEORGE GIBBS

 The Vagrant Duke The Splendid Outcast The Black Stone The Golden Bough The Secret Witness Paradise Garden The Yellow Dove The Flaming Sword Madcap The Silent Battle The Maker of Opportunities The Forbidden Way The Bolted Door Tony's Wife The Medusa Emerald

 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY Publishers New York

[Illustration: PETER STRUCK HIM FULL ON THE HEAD]

 _The_ VAGRANT DUKE

 BY

 GEORGE GIBBS

 AUTHOR OF "THE SPLENDID OUTCAST, " "THE YELLOW DOVE, " "THE SECRET WITNESS, " ETC. 

 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY NEW YORK LONDON 1921

 COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

 Copyright, 1920, by The Story Press Corporation PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

 CONTENTS

 CHAPTER PAGE

 PROLOGUE 1

 I INTRODUCING PETER NICHOLS 15

 II NEW YORK 27

 III THE OVERALL GIRL 42

 IV THE JOB 56

 V NEW ELEMENTS 71

 VI THE HOUSE OF TERROR 88

 VII MUSIC 105

 VIII THE PLACARD 121

 IX SHAD IS UNPLEASANT 137

 X "HAWK" 153

 XI ANCIENT HISTORY 170

 XII CONFESSION 186

 XIII THE CHASE 207

 XIV TWO LETTERS 226

 XV SUPERMAN 236

 XVI IDENTIFICATION 253

 XVII PETER BECOMES A CONSPIRATOR 266

 XVIII FACE TO FACE 276

 XIX YAKIMOV REVEALS HIMSELF 291

 XX THE RUSSIAN PAYS 308

 XXI THE INFERNO 326

 XXII RETRIBUTION 343

 XXIII A VISITOR 357

 _The_ VAGRANT DUKE

THE VAGRANT DUKE

_PROLOGUE_

_At the piano a man sat playing the "Revolutionary Étude" of Chopin. Theroom was magnificent in its proportions, its furnishings were massive, its paneled oak walls were hung with portraits of men and women in thecostumes of a bygone day. Through the lofty windows, the casements ofwhich were open to the evening sky there was a vista of forest andmeadow-land stretching interminably to the setting sun. The mosquelikecupola of a village church, a few versts distant, glimmered like a pearlin the dusky setting of wooded hills, and close by it, here and there, tiny spirals of opalescent smoke marked the dwellings of Zukovovillage. _

_But the man at the piano was detached, a being apart from this scene ofquiet, absorbed in his piano, which gave forth the turbulence which hadbeen in the soul of the great composer. The expression upon the darkface of the young musician was rapt and eager, until he crashed thechords to their triumphant conclusion when he sank back in his chairwith a gasp, his head bent forward upon his breast, his dark gaze fixedupon the keys which still echoed with the tumult. _

_It was at this moment that a door at the side of the room was openedand a white-haired man in purple livery entered and stood in silenceregarding rather wistfully the man at the piano, who raised his headabruptly like one startled from a dream. _

_"What is it, Vasili?" asked the musician. _

_The servant approached softly a few steps. _

_"I did not wish to intrude, Highness, but----"_

_As the old servant hesitated, the young man shrugged and rose, disclosing a tall, straight figure, clad in a dark blue blouse, loosetrousers and brown boots liberally bespattered with mud. The glow of thesun which shot across his face as he came forward into the light, showedswarthy features, level brows, a straight nose, a well turned chin, asmall mustache and a generous mouth which revealed a capacity for humor. He was quite calm now, and the tones of his voice were almost boyish intheir confidence and gayety. _

_"Well, what is it, Vasili?" he repeated. "You have the air of one withmuch on your conscience. Out with it. Has Sacha been fighting with youagain?"_

_"No, Master, not Sacha, " said the old man clearing his throatnervously, "it is something worse--much worse than Sacha. "_

_"Impossible!" said the other with a laugh as he took up a cigarettefrom the table. "Nothing could be worse than a Russian cook when shegets into a rage----"_

_"But it is, Master--something worse--much worse----"_

_"Really! You alarm me. " The Grand Duke threw himself into an armchairand inhaled luxuriously of his cigarette. And then with a shrug, "Well?"_

_The old man came a pace or two nearer muttering hoarsely, "They'vebroken out in the village again, " he gasped. _

_The Grand Duke's brow contracted suddenly. _

_"H-m. When did this happen?"_

_"Last night. And this morning they burned the stables of PrinceGalitzin and looted the castle. "_

_The young man sprang to his feet. _

_"You are sure of this?"_

_"Yes, Master. The word was brought by Serge Andriev less than tenminutes ago. "_

_He took a few rapid paces up and down the room, stopping by the openwindow and staring out. _

_"Fools!" he muttered to himself. Then turning to the old servitor, "But, Vasili--why is it that I have heard nothing of this? To-dayConrad, the forester, said nothing to me. And the day before yesterdayin the village the people swept off their caps to me--as in the olddays. I could have sworn everything would be peaceful at Zukovo--atleast, for the present----" he added as though in an afterthought. _

_"I pray God that may be true, " muttered Vasili uncertainly. And thenwith unction, "In their hearts, they still love you, Highness. They arechildren--your children, their hearts still full of reverence for theGrand Duke Peter Nicholaevitch in whom runs the same blood as that whichran in the sacred being of the Little Father--but their brains! They aredrunk with the poison poured into their minds by the Committeemen fromMoscow. "_

_"Ah, " eagerly, "they returned?"_

_"Last night, " replied the old man wagging his head. "And your peopleforgot all that you had said to them--all that they owe to you. They aremad, " he finished despairingly, "mad!"_

_The Grand Duke had folded his arms and was staring out of the windowtoward the white dome of the church now dyed red like a globule of bloodin the sunset. _

_The old man watched him for a moment, all the fealty of his many yearsof service in his gaze and attitude. _

_"I do not like the look of things, Highness. What does it matter howgood their hearts are if their brains are bad?"_

_"I must go and talk with them, Vasili, " said the Grand Duke quietly. _

_The old man took a step forward. _

_"If I might make so free----"_

_"Speak----"_

_"Not to-night, Master----"_

_"Why not?"_

_"It will be dangerous. Last night their voices were raised even againstyou. "_

_"Me! Why? Have I not done everything I could to help them? I am theirfriend--because I believe in their cause: and they will get their rightstoo but not by burning and looting----"_

_"And murder, Master. Two of Prince Galitzin's foresters were killed. "_

_The Grand Duke turned. "That's bad. Murder in Zukovo!" He flicked hisextinguished cigarette out of the window and made a gesture with hishand. _

_"Go, Vasili. I want to think. I will ring if I need you. "_

_"You will not go to Zukovo to-night?"_

_"I don't know. "_

_And with another gesture he waved the servant away. _

_When Vasili had gone, the Grand Duke sat, his legs across the chair bythe window, his arms folded along its back while his dark eyes peeredout, beyond the hills and forests, beyond the reddened dome of thevillage church into the past where his magnificent father NicholasPetrovitch held feudal sway over all the land within his vision and hisfather's fathers from the time of his own great namesake held all Russiain the hollow of their hands. _

_The Grand Duke's eyes were hard and bright above the slightly prominentcheek bones, the vestiges of his Oriental origin, but there wassomething of his English mother too in the contours of his chin andlips, which tempered the hardness of his expression. The lines at hisbrows were not the savage marks of anger, or the vengefulness that hadcharacterized the pitiless blood which ran in his veins, but rather werethey lines of disappointment, of perplexity at the problem thatconfronted him, and pity for his people who did not know where to turnfor guidance. He still believed them to be his people, a heritage fromhis lordly parent, his children, who were responsible to him and to whomhe was responsible. It was a habit of thought, inalienable, the productof the ages. But it was the calm philosophy of his English mother thathad first given him his real sense of obligation to them, her teachings, even before the war began, that had shown him how terrible were theproblems that confronted his future. _

_His service in the Army had opened his eyes still wider and when Russiahad deserted her allies he had returned to Zukovo to begin the work ofreconstruction in the ways his awakened conscience had dictated. He hadvisited their homes, offered them counsel, given them such money as hecould spare, and had, he thought, become their friend as well as theirhereditary guardian. All had gone well at first. They had listened tohim, accepted his advice and his money and renewed their fealty underthe new order of things, vowing that whatever happened elsewhere inRussia, blood and agony and starvation should not visit Zukovo. _

_But the news that Vasili brought was disquieting. It meant that theminds of his people were again disturbed. And the fact that PrinceGalitzin had always been hated made the problems the Grand Duke facednone the less difficult. For his people had burned, pillaged and killed. They had betrayed him. And he had learned in the Army what fire and thesmell of blood could do. .. . _

_With a quick nod of resolution he rose. He would go to them. He knewtheir leaders. They would listen to him. They_ must _listen. .. . _

_He closed the piano carefully, putting away the loose sheets of music, picked up his cap and heavy riding crop from the divan, on his way tothe door, pausing, his hand on the bell-rope as a thought brought adeeper frown to his brow. .. . Why had Conrad Grabar, his chief forester, said nothing to-day? He must have known--for news such as this travelsfrom leaf to leaf through the forest. Conrad! And yet he would havesworn by the faithfulness of his old friend and hunting companion. Perhaps Conrad had not known. .. . _

_The Grand Duke pulled the bell-rope, then went to the window again andstood as though listening for the voices of the woods. Silence. The sunhad sunk, a dull red ball, and the dusk was falling swiftly. The aspensbelow his window quivered slightly, throwing their white leaves upwardsas though in pain. The stately pines that he loved, mute, solemn, changeless, filled the air with balsam, but they gave no answer to hisproblem. It was difficult to believe that, there, in the restless soulsof men war could rage. And yet. .. . _

_He peered out more intently. Beyond the pine forest, a murky cloud wasrising. A storm? Hardly. For the sun had set in a clear sky. But therewas a cloud surely, growing in darkness and intensity. He could see itmore clearly now, billowing upward in grim portent. _

_The Grand Duke started and then stared again. The cloud was of smoke. Through the woods, tiny lights were sparkling, picked out with ominousbrilliancy against the velvet dusk. Peter Nicholaevitch leaned far outof the window, straining his ears to listen. And now he seemed to hearthe crackle of flames, the distant sound of hoarse voices, shouting andsinging. _

_And while he still listened, aware that a great crisis had come intohis life, there was a commotion just below him, the sound of voicesclose at hand and he saw a man come running from the woods, approachingthe gateway of the Castle. _

_He recognized him by the gray beard and thickset figure. It was BorisRylov, the Huntsman, and as he ran he shouted to some one in thecourtyard below. The Grand Duke made out the words:_

_"They're burning the Hunting Lodge--where is the Master----?"_

_Peter Nicholaevitch waited at the window no longer, but ran out of theroom and down the flight of stairs into the great hall below. For heknew what had happened now. The Red Terror had come to Zukovo. _

_He went out to the garden terrace, crossing quickly to the courtyardwhere he met the frightened group of servants that had assembled. _

_Boris, the Huntsman, much out of breath was waving his arms excitedlytoward the cloud of smoke rising above the pine trees, now tinged adirty orange color from beneath. _

_"They came from all directions, Master, " he gasped, "like the blackflies upon a dead horse--hundreds--thousands of them from the villageand all the country round. I talked with the first that came, AntonLensky, Gleb Saltykov, Michael Kuprin and Conrad Grabar----"_

_"Conrad----!" gasped the Grand Duke. _

_"Yes, Highness, " muttered Boris, his head bowed, "Conrad Grabar. Theytried to restrain me. Michael Kuprin I struck upon the head with astick--and then I fled--to warn your Highness--that they mean to comehither. "_

_The face of the Grand Duke, a trifle pale under its tan, was set instern lines, but there was no fear in his manner as he quicklyquestioned, his eyes eagerly scrutinizing the frightened men and womenabout him while he spoke to them with cool decision. _

_"Thanks, Friend Rylov--you have done me a service I shall not forget. "Then to the others, "If there are any of you who fear to remain with me, you may go. I cannot believe that they will come to Zukovo Castle, butwe will close the gate to the courtyard at once. I will talk with themfrom the terrace wall. "_

_"Master! Highness!" broke in the Huntsman violently, "you do notunderstand. You cannot stay here. They are mad. They will kill you. Itis for that they come----"_

_"Nevertheless--I mean to stay----"_

_"It is death----"_

_"Go thou, then, and Vasili, and Ivan. For before they burn Zukovo, Imean to talk with them----"_

_"It is madness----!"_

_"Come, Highness, " broke in Leo Garshin, the head-groom, eagerly, "Iwill put the saddle upon Vera, and you can go out of the iron gate fromthe stable-yard into the forest. Nothing can catch you and you can reachthe river----"_

_"No, Leo----" put in the Grand Duke kindly. "I shall stay. "_

_The servants glanced at one another, appalled at the Master's attitude. Some of them, had already disappeared into the Castle but others, lesstimorous, had already rushed to close the courtyard gate. _

_"You say they are many, Friend Rylov?" he asked again. _

_"As the hairs of your head, Master--from Ivanovna, Jaroslav--everywhere--and women, Highness, more terrible than themen----"_

_"And the leaders----?"_

_"Dmitri Sidorov of the Zemstvo and Michael Kositzin and Anton Lensky. See, yonder! Where the road turns from the clearing--they come!"_

_The keen eyes of Boris saw further through the forest than those ofmost men but in a moment those of the Grand Duke Peter confirmed him. Figures were moving in the twilight, along the roads and bypaths. _

_To Peter Nicholaevitch they seemed like a great river which had floodedover its banks seeking new levels. Behind them the flames from thewooden hunting lodge roared upward painting a lurid sky. He saw that theflood came rapidly, and above the roar of the flames came the sound ofvoices singing the Russian version of the "Marseillaise. " The Grand Dukestood at the terrace wall watching their approach. He knew that if theymeant to attack the Castle the gate could not hold long, but he had hopethat he might still be able to prevail upon them to listen to him. In amoment they saw him and began running forward toward the courtyard gate. He recognized individuals now--Anton Lensky, Michael Kuprin, with hishead tied in a dirty handkerchief--and Conrad Grabar. The defection ofhis old instructor in wood-lore disturbed him. Conrad must have knownwhat was to happen and he had said nothing. If Conrad had turned againsthim, what hope had he of prevailing against the others?_

_The singing died away and in its place, shouts and cries burst forth ina bedlam. "Open the gate!" "Let us in!"_

_The Grand Duke had heard that note in men's voices in the Carpathianpasses, and he knew what it meant, but while his gaze sought out the fatfigure of Michael Kositzin who was the leader of the uprising, he heldup his hand for silence. _

_There was a roar of voices. _

_"Peter Nicholaevitch wishes to speak. "_

_"It is our turn to speak now. "_

"Nasha pora prishlà, " (_our time has come_). 

_"Let the little master speak. "_

_"We know no little masters here!"_

_"No, nor old ones!"_

"Smiert Bourjouiam" (_Death to the bourgeoisie_). 

_But as the young Grand Duke began to speak the voices of the most rabidof the peasants were hushed for a moment by the others. _

_"My friends and my children" he began, "one word before you dosomething that you will forever regret. I am your friend. I am young--ofthe new generation. I have kept abreast of the new thought of the timeand I believe in the New Life that is for you and for us all. I haveproved it to you by bringing the New Life to Zukovo by peaceful means, by friendliness and brotherhood while other parts of Russia near by arein agony and darkness. " (Cries of "That is true. ") "It was in my heartthat I had brought the Revolution to Zukovo, a Revolution against theold order of things which can be no more, implanting in you the strongseeds of Peace and Brotherhood which would kill out the ugly weeds ofviolence and enmity. "_

_Here a hoarse voice rang out: "Fire--only fire can clean. " Then thereply of a woman, "Yes, _ Tovaristchi, _it is the only way. "_

_Peter Nicholaevitch tried to seek out the speakers with his gaze. Oneof them was Michael Kuprin whom when a child the Grand Duke had seenflogged in this very courtyard. _

_"There are sins of the past, " he went on, raising his voice against thelow murmur of the mob, "many sins against you, but one sin does not washout another. Murder, rapine, vengeance will never bring peace toZukovo. What you do to-day will be visited on you to-morrow. I praythat you will listen to me. I have fought for you and with you--withGleb Saltykov and Anton Lensky, against the return of Absolutism inRussia. The old order of things is gone. Do not stain the new with crimein Zukovo. I beseech you to disperse--return to your homes and I willcome to you to-morrow and if there are wrongs I will set them right. Youhave believed in me in the past. Believe in me now and all may yet bewell in Zukovo. Go, my friends, before it is too late----"_

_The crowd wavered, murmuring. But just then a shot rang out and the capof the Grand Duke twitched around on his head. _

_A roar went up from near the gate, _ "Nasha pora prishlà! _Break in thegate!" cried the voices and there were those of women among themshouting_ "Tovaristchi! _Forward!"_

_Over the heads of those in the front ranks, Peter Nicholaevitch sawsome men bringing from the forest the heavy trunk of a felled pine tree. They meant to break down the gate. He knew that he had failed but stillhe stood upright facing them. Another shot, the bullet this time grazinghis left arm. The sting of it angered him. _

_"Cowards!" he yelled, shaking his fist at them. "Cowards!"_

_A volley followed but no other bullets struck him. Behind him in theCastle doorway he heard the voice of Boris Rylov, calling to himhoarsely. _

_"Come, Master. For the love of God! There is yet time. "_

_There was a crash of the heavy timbers at the gate. _

_"Come, Master----"_

_With a shrug Peter Nicholaevitch turned and walked across the terracetoward the Castle. _ "Bolvany!" _he muttered. "I've finished withthem. "_

_Boris and Vasili stood just within the door, pleading with him tohurry, and together they made their way through the deserted kitchensand over past the vegetable gardens to the stables, where Leo Garshinawaited them, the saddles on several horses. Behind them they could nowhear the triumphant cries as the courtyard gate crashed in. _

_"Hurry, Master!" cried Garshin eagerly. _

_"Where are the others?" asked the Grand Duke. _

_"Gone, Highness. They have fled. "_

_Boris Rylov was peering out past an iron door into the forest. _

_"There is no one there?" asked Garshin. _

_"Not yet. They have forgotten. "_

_"Come then, Highness. "_

_But the Grand Duke saw that the aged Vasili was mounted first and thenthey rode out of the iron gate into a path which led directly into theforest. It was not until they were well clear of the buildings that ashout at one side announced that their mode of escape had beendiscovered. Men came running, firing pistols as they ran. Boris Rylov, bringing up the rear, reined in his horse and turning emptied a revolverat the nearest of their pursuers. One man fell and the others halted. _

_Until they found the other horses in the stables pursuit wasfruitless. _

_Peter Nicholaevitch rode at the head of the little cavalcade, down thefamiliar aisles of the forest, his head bowed, a deep frown on hisbrows. It was Vasili who first noticed the blood dripping from hisfinger ends. _

_"Master, " he gasped, "you are wounded. "_

_"It is nothing, " said the Grand Duke. _

_But Vasili bound the arm up with a handkerchief while Leo Garshin andBoris Rylov watched the path down which they had come. They could hearthe crackling of the flames at the Hunting Lodge to the southward andthe cries of the mob at the Castle, but there was no sign of pursuit. Perhaps they were satisfied to appease their madness with pillage andfire. Half an hour later Boris pointed backward. A new glow had risen, aredder, deeper glow. _

_"The Castle, Master----" wailed Vasili. _

_Peter Nicholaevitch drew rein at a cross-path, watched for a moment andthen turned to his companions, for he had reached a decision. _

_"My good friends, " he said gently, "our ways part here. "_

_"Master! Highness!"_

_But he was resolute. _

_"I am going on alone. I will not involve you further in my misfortunes. You can do nothing for me--nor I anything for you except this. Vasiliknows. In the vault below the wine-cellar, hidden away, are some objectsof value. They will not find them. When they go away you will return. The visit will repay you. Divide what is there into equal parts--silver, plate and gold. As for me--forget me. Farewell!"_

_They saw that he meant what he said. He offered these few faithfulservitors his hand and they kissed his fingers--a last act of fealty anddevotion and in a moment they stood listening to the diminishinghoof-beats of Vera as the young master went out of their lives. _

_"May God preserve him, " muttered Vasili. _

_"Amen, " said Boris Rylov and Leo Garshin. _

CHAPTER I

INTRODUCING PETER NICHOLS

The British refugee ship _Phrygia_ was about to sail for Constantinoplewhere her unfortunate passengers were to be transferred to other vesselssailing for Liverpool and New York. After some difficulties the refugeemade his way aboard her and announced his identity to the captain. If hehad expected to be received with the honor due to one of his rank andstation he was quickly undeceived, for Captain Blashford, a man of roughmanners, concealing a gentle heart, looked him over critically, examinedhis credentials (letters he had happened to have about him), and thensmiled grimly. 

"We've got room for one more--and that's about all. "

"I have no money----" began the refugee. 

"Oh, that's all right, " shrugged the Captain, "you're not the only one. We've a cargo of twenty princes, thirty-two princesses, eighteengenerals and enough counts and countesses to set up a new nationsomewhere. Your 'Ighness is the only Duke that has reached us up to thepresent speakin' and if there are any others, they'll 'ave to be briskfor we're sailin' in twenty minutes. "

The matter-of-fact tones with which the unemotional Britisher made thisannouncement restored the lost sense of humor of the Russian refugee, and he broke into a grim laugh. 

"An embarrassment of riches, " remarked the Grand Duke. 

"Riches, " grunted the Captain, "in a manner of speakin', yes. Money isnot so plentiful. But jools! Good God! There must be half a ton ofdiamonds, rubies and emeralds aboard. All they're got left most of 'em, but complaints and narvousness. Give me a cargo of wheat and I'm yourman, " growled the Captain. "It stays put and doesn't complain, " and thenturning to Peter--"Ye're not expectin' any r'yal suite aboard the_Phrygia_, are ye?"

"No. A hammock for'rad will be good enough for me. "

"That's the way I like to 'ear a man talk. Good God! As man to man, Iarsk you, --with Counts throwin' cigarette butts around an' princessescryin' all over my clean white decks an' all, what's a self-respectin'skipper to do? But I 'ave my orders to fetch the odd lot toConstantinople an' fetch 'em I will. Oh! They're odd--all right. Gobelow, sir, an' 'ave a look at 'em. "

But Peter Nicholaevitch shook his head. He had been doing a deal ofquiet thinking in those starry nights upon the Dnieper, and he hadworked out his problem alone. 

"No, thanks, " he said quietly, "if you don't mind, I think I'd ratherpreserve my incognito. "

"Incognito, is it? Oh, very well, suit yourself. And what will I becallin' your Highness?"

"Peter Nichols, " said the Grand Duke with a smile, "it's as good as anyother. "

"Right you are, Peter Nichols. Lay for'rad and tell the bos'n to showyou up to my cabin. "

So Peter Nichols went forward, avoiding the cargo aft, until within aday's run of the Bosphorus when he found himself accosted by no less aperson than Prince Galitzin who had strolled out to get the morning air. He tried to avoid the man but Galitzin planted himself firmly in hispath, scrutinizing him eagerly. 

"You too, Highness!" he said with an accent of grieved surprise. 

The Grand Duke regarded him in a moment of silence. 

"It must be evident to you, Prince Galitzin, that I have some object inremaining unknown. "

"But, Your Highness, such a thing is unnecessary. Are we not alldedicated to the same misfortunes? Misery loves company. "

"You mean that it makes you less miserable to discover that I share yourfate?"

"Not precisely that. It is merely that if one holding your liberal viewscannot escape the holocaust that has suddenly fallen there is littlehope for the rest of us. "

"No, " said the Grand Duke shortly. "There is no hope, none at all, forus or for Russia. "

"Where are you going?"

"To America. "

"But, your Highness, that is impossible. We shall all have asylum inEngland until conditions change. You should go there with us. It willlend influence to our mission. "

"No. "

"Why?"

"I am leaving Russia for the present. She is outcast. For, not contentwith betraying others, she has betrayed herself. "

"But what are you going to do?"

Peter Nicholaevitch smiled up at the sky and the fussy, fat, bejeweledsycophant before him listened to him in amazement. 

"Prince Galitzin, " said the Grand Duke amusedly, "I am going to do thatwhich may bring the blush of shame to your brow or the sneer of pity toyour lips. I am going to fulfill the destiny provided for every man witha pair of strong hands, and a willing spirit--I am going to work. "

The Prince stepped back a pace, his watery eyes snapping inincomprehension. 

"But your higher destiny--your great heritage as a Prince of the Royalblood of Holy Russia. "

"There is no Holy Russia, my friend, until she is born again. Russia isworse than traitor, worse than liar, worse than murderer and thief. Sheis a fool. "

"All will come right in time. We go to England to wait. "

"I have other plans. "

"Then you will not join us? Princess Anastasie, my daughter, is here. General Seminoff----"

"It is useless. I have made up my mind. Leave me, if you please. "

Prince Galitzin disappeared quickly below to spread the information ofhis discovery among the disconsolate refugees and it was not long beforeit was known from one end of the _Phrygia_ to the other that the fellowwho called himself Peter Nichols was none other than the Grand DukePeter Nicholaevitch, a cousin to his late Majesty Nicholas and a Princeof the Royal blood. Peter Nichols sought the Captain in his cabin, putting the whole case before him. 

"H-m, " chuckled the Captain, "Found ye out, did they? There's only a fewof you left, that's why. Better stay 'ere in my cabin until we reachConstantinople. I'd be honored, 'Ighness, to say nothin' of savin' you abit of bother. "

"You're very kind. "

"Not at all. Make yourself at 'ome. There's cigarettes on the locker anda nip of the Scotch to keep the chill out. Here's a light. You've beenworryin' me some, 'Ighness. Fact is I didn't know just how big a bug youwere until to-day when I arsked some questions. You'll forgive me, 'Ighness?"

"Peter Nichols, " corrected the Grand Duke. 

"No, " insisted the Captain, "we'll give you yer title while we can. Youknow we British have a bit of a taste for r'yalty when we know it's thereal thing. I don't take much stock in most of my cargo aft. And beggin'yer 'Ighness's pardon I never took much stock in Russia since she laydown on the job and left the Allies in the lurch----"

"Captain Blashford, " said the Grand Duke quietly. "You can't hurt myfeelings. "

"But I do like you, 'Ighness, and I want to do all that I can to 'elpyou when we get to anchor. "

"Thanks. "

"I take it that you don't want anybody ashore to know who ye are?"

"Exactly. Most of these refugees are going to England. I have reasonsfor not wishing to go with them. "

"Where then do you propose to go?"

"To the United States, " said the Grand Duke eagerly. 

"Without money?"

"I'd have no money if I went to England unless I subsisted on thecharity of my friends. My branch of the family is not rich. The war hasmade us poorer. Such securities as I have are in a vault in Kiev. Itwould be suicide for me to attempt to reclaim them now. I'm going to tryto make my own way. "

"Impossible!"

The Grand Duke laughed at the Englishman's expression. 

"Why?"

"Yer 'ands, 'Ighness. "

The Grand Duke shrugged and grinned. 

"I'll risk it. I'm not without resources. Will you help me to a shipsailing for America?"

"Yes--but----"

"Oh, I'll work my passage over--if nobody bothers me. "

"By George! I like your spirit. Give me your 'and, sir. I'll do what Ican. If the _Bermudian_ hasn't sailed from the Horn yet, I think I canmanage it for ye. "

"And keep me clear of the rest of your passengers?" added His Highness. 

"Righto. They'll go on the _Semaphore_. You stay right 'ere and mum'sthe word. " And Captain Blashford went out on deck leaving Peter Nicholsto his cigarette and his meditations. 

Many times had the Grand Duke Peter given thanks that the blood of hismother flowed strongly in his veins. He was more British than Russianand he could remember things that had happened since he had grown toadolescence which had made the half of him that was English revoltagainst the Russian system. It was perhaps his musical education ratherthan his University training or his travels in England and France thathad turned him to the _Intelligentsia_. In the vast republic of art andletters he had imbibed the philosophy that was to threaten the veryexistence of his own clan. The spread of the revolution had not dismayedhim, for he believed that in time the pendulum would swing back andbring a constitutional government to Russia. But in the weeks ofstruggle, privation, and passion a new Peter Nicholaevitch was born. 

The failure of his plans in the sudden flood of anarchy which had sweptover Zukovo, the treachery of those he had thought faithful and theattempt upon his life had changed his viewpoint. It takes a truly noblespirit to wish to kiss the finger that has pulled the trigger of arevolver, the bullet from which has gone through one's hat. Fromdisappointment and dismay Peter Nicholaevitch had turned to anger. Theyhadn't played the game with him. It wasn't cricket. His resolution tosail for the United States was decided. To throw himself, an object ofcharity, upon the mercies of the Earl of Shetland, his mother's cousin, was not to be thought of. 

To his peasants he had preached the gospel of labor, humility and peace, in that state of life to which they had been called. He had tried toexemplify it to them. He could do no less now, to himself. By teachinghimself, he could perhaps fit himself to teach them. In England it wouldperhaps be difficult to remain incognito, and he had a pride in wishingto succeed alone and unaided. Only the United States, whose form ofgovernment more nearly approached the ideal he had for Russia, couldoffer him the opportunities to discover whether or not a prince couldnot also be a man. 

To the Princess Anastasie he gave little thought. That their commonexile and the chance encounter under such circumstances had aroused noreturn of an entente toward what had once been a half-sentimentalattachment convinced him of how little it had meant to him. There wereno royal prohibitions upon him now. To marry the Princess Anastasie andsettle in London, living upon the proceeds of her wealthy father'sAmerican and British securities, was of course the easiest solution ofhis difficulties. A life of ease, music, good sportsmanship, the comfortthat only England knows. .. . She was comely too--blond, petite, andsmoked her cigarette very prettily. Their marriage had once beendiscussed. She wanted it still, perhaps. Something of all this may havebeen somewhere in the back of Prince Galitzin's ambitious mind. The onecourse would be so easy, the other----

Peter Nicholaevitch rose and carefully flicked his cigarette through theopen port. No. One does not pass twice through such moments of struggleand self-communion as he had had in those long nights of his escapealong the Dnieper. He had chosen. Peter Nichols! The name amused him. IfCaptain Blashford was a man of his word to-night would be the end of theGrand Duke Peter Nicholaevitch, and the Princess Anastasie might findsome more ardent suitor to her grace and beauty. 

She did not seek him out. Perhaps the hint to Galitzin had beensufficient and the Grand Duke from his hiding place saw her prettyfigure set ashore among the miscellany of martyred "r'yalty. " He turnedaway from his port-hole with a catch of his breath as the last vestigeof his old life passed from sight. And then quietly took up a freshcigarette and awaited the Captain. 

The details were easily arranged. Blashford was a man of resource and atnight returned from a visit to the Captain of the _Bermudian_ with wordthat all was well. He had been obliged to relate the facts but CaptainArmitage could keep a secret and promised the refugee a job under hissteward who was short-handed. And so the next morning, after shaving anddressing himself in borrowed clothes, Peter Nichols shook CaptainBlashford warmly by the hand and went aboard his new ship. 

Peter Nichols' new job was that of a waiter at the tables in the diningsaloon. He was a very good waiter, supplying, from the wealth of aContinental experience, the deficiencies of other waiters he had known. He wore a black shell jacket and a white shirt front which remainedinnocent of gravy spots. The food was not very good nor very plentiful, but he served it with an air of such importance that it gained flavorand substance by the reflection of his deference. There were Englishofficers bound for Malta, Frenchmen for Marseilles and Americans of theRed Cross without number bound for New York. Girls, too, clear-eyed, bronzed and hearty, who talked war and politics beneath his very nose, challenging his own theories. They noticed him too and whispered amongthemselves, but true to his ambition to do every task at the best of hisbent, he preserved an immobile countenance and pocketed his fees, whichwould be useful ere long, with the grateful appreciation of one to whomshillings and franc pieces come as the gifts of God. Many were theattempts to draw him into a conversation, but where the queries couldnot be answered by a laconic "Yes, sir, " or "No, sir, " this paragon ofwaiters maintained a smiling silence. 

"I'm sure he's a prince or something, " he heard one young girl of ahospital unit say to a young medico of the outfit. "Did you ever seesuch a nose and brows in your life? And his hands----! You can nevermistake hands. I would swear those hands had never done menial work fora thousand years. "

All of which was quite true, but it made the waiter Peter uncomfortablycareful. There were no women in the kitchen, but there was an amatorystewardess, fat and forty, upon whom the factitious technique of thesaloon fell with singular insipidity. He fled from her. Peter, thewaiter, was already a good democrat but he was not ready to spread hisphilosophy out so thin. 

He slept forward, messed abaft the galley, enriched his vocabulary andbroadened his point of view. There is no leveler like a ship's fo'c'sle, no better school of philosophy than that of men upon their "beam ends. "There were many such--Poles, Slovaks, Roumanians, an Armenian or two, refugees, adventurers from America, old, young, dissolute, making anecessity of virtue under that successful oligarchy, the ship's bridge. 

In the Americans Peter was interested with an Englishman's point ofview. He had much to learn, and he invented a tale of his fortunes whichlet him into their confidences, especially into that of Jim Coast, waiter like himself, whose bunk adjoined his own. Jim Coast was acitizen of the world, inured to privation under many flags. He had beenborn in New Jersey, U. S. A. , of decent people, had worked in thecranberry bogs, farmed in Pennsylvania, "punched" cattle in Wyoming, "prospected" in the Southwest, looted ranches in Mexico, fought againstDiaz and again with the insurgents in Venezuela, worked on cattle-shipsand so, by easy stages, had drifted across the breadth of Europe livingby his wits at the expense of the credulous and the unwary. And now, forthe first time in many years, he was going home--though just what thatmeant he did not know. He had missed great fortune twice--"by the skinof his teeth, " as he picturesquely described it, once in a mine inArizona and again in a land-deal in the Argentine. There were reasonswhy he hadn't dared to return to the United States before. He was a manwith a grievance, but, however free in his confidences in otherrespects, gave the interested Peter no inkling as to what that grievancewas. 

No more curious acquaintanceship could possibly be imagined, butprivation, like politics, makes strange bedfellows, and, from toleranceand amusement, Pete, as the other called him, found himself yielding, without stint, to the fantastic spell of Jim Coast's multifariousattractions. He seemed to have no doubts as to the possibility of makinga living in America and referred darkly to possible "coups" that wouldnet a fortune. He was an agreeable villain, not above mischief to gainhis ends, and Peter, who cherished an ideal, made sure that, once safeashore, it would be best if they parted company. But he didn't tell JimCoast so, for the conversational benefits he derived from thatgentleman's acquaintance were a liberal education. 

We are admonished that they are blessed who just stand and wait, andPeter Nichols, three days out of New York harbor, found himself thepossessor of forty dollars in tips from the voyage with sixty dollarscoming to him as wages--not so bad for a first venture upon the highseas of industry. It was the first real money he had ever made in hislife and he was proud of it, jingling it contentedly in his pockets andrubbing the bills luxuriously one against the other. But his plansrequired more than this, for he had read enough to know that in theUnited States one is often taken at one's own estimate, and that if hewasn't to find a job as a ditch-digger, he must make a good appearance. And so it was now time to make use of the one Grand Ducal possessionremaining to him, a gold ring set with a gorgeous ruby that had oncebelonged to his father. This ring he had always worn and had removedfrom his finger at Ushan, in the fear that its magnificence might betrayhim. He had kept it carefully tied about his neck in a bag on a bit ofstring and had of course not even shown it to Jim Coast who might havedeemed it an excuse to sever their strange friendship. 

Through the Head Steward he managed a message to Captain Armitage andwas bidden to the officer's cabin, where he explained the object of hisvisit, exhibited his treasure and estimated its value. 

The Captain opened his eyes a bit wider as he gazed into the sanguinedepths of the stone. 

"If I didn't know something of your history, Nichols, " he said with awink, "I might think you'd been looting the strong box of the Sultan ofTurkey. Pigeon's blood and as big as my thumb nail! You want to sellit?"

"I need capital. "

"What do you want for it?"

"It's worth a thousand pounds of English money. Perhaps more, I don'tknow. I'll take what I can get. "

"I see. You're afraid to negotiate the sale ashore?"

"Exactly. I'd be arrested. "

"And you don't want explanations. H-m--leave it with me over night. I'llsee the Purser. He'll know. "

"Thanks. "

The Captain offered the waiter in the shell-jacket the hospitality ofhis cabin, but Peter Nichols thanked him gratefully and withdrew. 

The result of this arrangement was that the ruby ring changed owners. The Purser bought it for two thousand in cash. He knew a good thing whenhe saw it. But Peter Nichols was satisfied. 

CHAPTER II

NEW YORK

The Duke-errant had prepared himself for the first glimpse of thebattlements of lower New York, but as the _Bermudian_ came up the baythat rosy spring afternoon, the western sun gilding the upper half ofthe castellated towers which rose from a sea of moving shadows, itseemed a dream city, the fortress of a fairy tale. His fingers tingledto express this frozen music, to relieve it from its spell ofenchantment, and phrases of Debussy's "Cathédrale Engloutie" camewelling up within him from almost forgotten depths. 

"_Parbleu!_ She's grown some, Pete, since I saw her last!"

This from his grotesque companion who was not moved by concord of sweetsounds. "They've buried the Trinity clean out of sight. "

"The Trinity?" questioned Peter solemnly. 

"Bless your heart----" laughed Coast, "I'd say so----But I mean, thechurch----And that must be the Woolworth Building yonder. Where's yerSt. Paul's and Kremlin now? Some village, --what?"

"Gorgeous!" muttered Peter. 

"Hell of a thing to tackle single-handed, though, eh, boh?"

Something of the same thought was passing through Peter's mind but heonly smiled. 

"I'll find a job, " he said slowly. 

"Waitin'!" sneered Coast. "Fine job that for a man with your learnin'. 'Hey, waiter! Some butter if you please, '" he satirized in mincingtones, "'this soup is cold--this beef is underdone. Oh, _cawn't_ yougive me some service here!' I say, don't you hear 'em--people that neversaw a servant in their own home town. Pretty occupation for an old warhorse like me or a globe-trotter like you. No. None for me. I'll fry myfish in a bigger pan. _Allons!_ Pete. I like you. I'll like you morewhen you grow some older, but you've got a head above your ears thatain't all bone. I can use you. What d'ye say? We'll get ashore, someway, and then we'll show the U. S. A. A thing or two not written in thebooks. "

"We'll go ashore together, Jim. Then we'll see. "

"Righto! But I'll eat my hat if I can see you balancin' dishes in aBroadway Chop House. "

Peter couldn't see that either, but he didn't tell Jim Coast so. Theirhour on deck had struck, for a final meal was to be served and they wentbelow to finish their duties. That night they were paid off anddischarged. 

The difficulties in the way of inspection and interrogation of PeterNichols, the alien, were obviated by the simple expedient of his goingashore under cover of the darkness and not coming back to the ship--thisat a hint from the sympathetic Armitage who gave the ex-waiter ahandclasp and his money and wished him success. 

Midnight found Peter and Jim Coast on Broadway in the neighborhood ofForty-second Street with Peter blinking comfortably up at the electricsigns and marveling at everything. The more Coast drank the deeper washis cynicism but Peter grew mellow. This was a wonderful new world hewas exploring and with two thousand dollars safely tucked on the insideof his waistcoat, he was ready to defy the tooth of adversity. 

In the morning Peter Nichols came to a decision. And so over the coffeeand eggs when Coast asked him what his plans were he told him he wasgoing to look for a job. 

Coast looked at him through the smoke of his cigar and spoke at last. 

"I didn't think you'd be a quitter, Pete. The world owes us alivin'--you and me----Bah! It's easy if you'll use your headpiece. Ifthe world won't give, I mean to take. The jobs are meant for littlemen. "

"What are you going to do?"

"An enterprisin' man wouldn't ask such a question. Half the people inthe world takes what the other half gives. You ought to know what half_I_ belong to. "

"I'm afraid I belong to the other half, Jim Coast, " said Peter quietly. 

"_Sacré--!_" sneered the other, rising suddenly. "Where you goin' towait, Pete? At the Ritz or the Commodore? In a month you'll be waitin'on _me_. It'll be _Mister_ Coast for you then, _mon garçon_, but you'llstill be Pete. " He shrugged and offered his hand. "Well, we won'tquarrel but our ways split here. "

"I'm sorry, Jim. Good-by. "

He saw Coast slouch out into the street and disappear m the crowd movingtoward Broadway. He waited for a while thinking deeply and then with adefinite plan in his mind strolled forth. First he bought a second-handsuit case in Seventh Avenue, then found a store marked "Gentlemen'sOutfitters" where he purchased ready-made clothing, a hat, shoes, underwear, linen and cravats, arraying himself with a sense of somesatisfaction and packing in his suitcase what he couldn't wear, wentforth, found a taxi and drove in state to a good hotel. 

 * * * * *

New York assimilates its immigrants with surprising rapidity. Throughthis narrow funnel they pour into the "melting pot, " their racialcharacteristics already neutralized, their souls already inoculated withthe spirit of individualism. Prepared as he was to accept with a goodgrace conditions as he found them, Peter Nichols was astonished at theease with which he fitted into the niche that he had chosen. His roomwas on the eighteenth floor, to which and from which he was shot in anenameled lift operated by a Uhlan in a monkey-cap. He found that itrequired a rather nice adjustment of his muscles to spring forth atprecisely the proper moment. There was a young lady who presided overthe destinies of the particular shelf that he occupied in this enormouscupboard, a very pretty young lady, something between a French Duchessand a lady's maid. Her smile had a homelike quality though and it wasworth risking the perilous catapulting up and down for the mere pleasureof handing her his room key. Having no valuables of course but his moneywhich he carried in his pockets there was no danger from unprincipledpersons had she been disposed to connive at dishonesty. 

His bedroom was small but neat and his bathroom was neat but small, tiled in white enamel, containing every device that the heart of a cleanman could desire. He discovered that by dropping a quarter into variousapertures he could secure almost anything he required from tooth pasteto razor blades. There was a telephone beside his bed which rang atinconvenient moments and a Bible upon the side table proclaimed thereligious fervor of this extraordinary people. A newspaper was sent into him every morning whether he rang for it or not, and every time hedid ring, a lesser Uhlan brought a thermos bottle containing iced water. This perplexed him for a time but he was too much ashamed of hisignorance to question. You see, he was already acquiring the firstingredient of the American character--omniscience, for he found that inNew York no one ever admits that he doesn't know everything. 

But it was all very wonderful, pulsing with life, eloquent ofachievement. He was in no haste. By living with some care, he found thatthe money from his ruby would last for several months. Meanwhile he wasstudying his situation and its possibilities. Summing up his ownattainments he felt that he was qualified as a teacher of the piano orof the voice, as an instructor in languages, or if the worst came, as awaiter in a fashionable restaurant--perhaps even a head-waiter--whichfrom the authority he observed in the demeanor of the lord of the hoteldining room seemed almost all the honor that a person in America mighthope to gain. But, in order that no proper opportunity should slip by, he scanned the newspapers in the hope of finding something that he coulddo. 

As the weeks passed he made the discovery that he was being immenselyentertained. He was all English now. It was not in the least difficultto make acquaintances. Almost everybody spoke to everybody without theslightest feeling of restraint. He learned the meaning of the latestAmerican slang but found difficulty in applying it, rejoiced in thesyncopation of the jazz, America's original contribution to the musicalart, and by the end of a month thought himself thoroughly acclimated. 

But he still surprised inquiring glances male and female cast in hisdirection. There was something about his personality which, disguise itas he might under American-made garments and American-made manners, refused to be hidden. It was his charm added to his general good natureand adaptability which quickly made Peter Nichols some friends of thebetter sort. If he had been willing to drift downward he would have castin his lot with Jim Coast. Instead, he followed decent inclinations andfound himself at the end of six weeks a part of a group of youngbusiness men who took him home to dine with their wives and gave him thebenefit of their friendly advice. To all of them he told the same story, that he was an Englishman who had worked in Russia with the Red Crossand that he had come to the United States to get a job. 

It was a likely story and most of them swallowed it. But one clever girlwhom he met out at dinner rather startled him by the accuracy of herintuitions. 

"I have traveled a good deal, Mr. Nichols, " she said quizzically, "butI've never yet met an Englishman like you. "

"It is difficult for me to tell whether I am to consider that asflattery or disapproval, " said Peter calmly. 

"You talk like an Englishman, but you're entirely too much interested ineverything to be true to type. "

"Ah, really----"

"Englishmen are either bored or presumptuous. You're neither. Andthere's a tiny accent that I can't explain----"

"Don't try----"

"I must. We Americans believe in our impulses. My brother Dick saysyou're a man of mystery. I've solved it, " she laughed, "I'm sure you'rea Russian Grand Duke incognito. "

Peter laughed and tried bravado. 

"You are certainly all in the mustard, " he blundered helplessly. 

And she looked at him for a moment and then burst into laughter. 

These associations were very pleasant, but, contrary to Peter'sexpectations, they didn't seem to be leading anywhere. The efforts thathe made to find positions commensurate with his ambitions had ended inblind alleys. He was too well educated for some of them, not well enougheducated for others. 

More than two months had passed. He had moved to a boarding house in adecent locality, but of the two thousands dollars with which he hadentered New York there now remained to him less than two hundred. Hewas beginning to believe that he had played the game and lost and thatwithin a very few weeks he would be obliged to hide himself from theseexcellent new acquaintances and go back to his old job. Then the tide ofhis fortune suddenly turned. 

Dick Sheldon, the brother of the girl who was "all in the mustard, "aware of Peter's plight, had stumbled across the useful bit ofinformation and brought it to Peter at the boarding house. 

"Didn't you tell me that you'd once had something to do with forestry inRussia?" he asked. 

Peter nodded. "I was once employed in the reafforestation of a largeestate, " he replied. 

"Then I've found your job, " said Sheldon heartily, clapping Peter on theback. "A friend of Sheldon, Senior's, Jonathan K. McGuire, has a bigplace down in the wilderness of Jersey--thousands of acres and he wantsa man to take charge--sort of forestry expert and generalsuperintendent, money no object. I reckon you could cop out threehundred a month as a starter. "

"That looks good to me, " said Peter, delighted that the argot fell soaptly from his lips. And then, "You're not spoofing, are you?"

"Devil a spoof. It's straight goods, Nichols. Will you take it?"

Peter had a vision of the greasy dishes he was to escape. 

"Will I?" he exclaimed delightedly. "Can I get it?"

"Sure thing. McGuire is a millionaire, made a pot of money somewhere inthe West--dabbles in the market. That's where Dad met him. Crusty oldrascal. Daughter. Living down in Jersey now, alone with a lot ofservants. Queer one. Maybe you'll like him--maybe not. "

Peter clasped his friend by the hands. 

"Moloch himself would look an angel of mercy to me now. "

"Do you think you can make good?"

"Well, rather. Whom shall I see? And when?"

"I can fix it up with Dad, I reckon. You'd better come down to theoffice and see him about twelve. "

Peter Sheldon, Senior, looked him over and asked him questions and theinterview was quite satisfactory. 

"I'll tell you the truth, as far as I know it, " said Sheldon, Senior(which was more than Peter Nichols had done). "Jonathan K. McGuire is astrange character--keeps his business to himself----. How much he'sworth nobody knows but himself and the Treasury Department. Does a gooddeal of buying and selling through this office. A hard man in a deal butreasonable in other things. I've had his acquaintance for five years, lunched with him, dined with him--visited this place in Jersey, but Igive you my word, Mr. Nichols, I've never yet got the prick of a pinbeneath that man's skin. You may not like him. Few people do. Butthere's no harm in taking a try at this job. "

"I shall be delighted, " said Nichols. 

"I don't know whether you will or not, " broke in Sheldon, Senior, frankly. "Something's happened lately. About three weeks ago Jonathan K. McGuire came into this office hurriedly, shut the door behind him, locked it--and sank into a chair, puffing hard, his face the color ofputty. He wouldn't answer any questions and put me off, though I'd havegone out of my way to help him. But after a while he looked out of thewindow, phoned for his car and went again, saying he was going down intoJersey. "

"He was sick, perhaps, " ventured Peter. 

"It was something worse than that, Mr. Nichols. He looked as though hehad seen a ghost or heard a banshee. Then this comes, " continued thebroker, taking up a letter from the desk. "Asks for a forester, a goodstrong man. You're strong, Mr. Nichols? Er--and courageous? You're notaddicted to 'nerves'? You see I'm telling you all these things so thatyou'll go down to Black Rock with your eyes open. He also asks me toengage other men as private police or gamekeepers, who will act underyour direction. Queer, isn't it? Rather spooky, I'd say, but if you'regame, we'll close the bargain now. Three hundred a month to start withand found. Is that satisfactory?"

"Perfectly, " said Peter with a bow. "When do I begin?"

"At once if you like. Salary begins now. Fifty in advance for expenses. "

"That's fair enough, Mr. Sheldon. If you will give me the directions, Iwill go to-day. "

"To-morrow will be time enough. " Sheldon, Senior, had turned to his deskand was writing upon a slip of paper. This he handed to Peter with acheck. 

"That will show you how to get there, " he said as he rose, brusquely. "Glad to have met you. Good-day. "

And Peter felt himself hand-shaken and pushed at the same time, reachingthe outer office, mentally out of breath from the sudden, swift movementof his fortunes. Sheldon, Senior, had not meant to be abrupt. He wasmerely a business man relaxing for a moment to do a service for afriend. When Peter Nichols awoke to his obligations he sought outSheldon, Junior, and thanked him with a sense of real gratitude andSheldon, Junior, gave him a warm handclasp and Godspeed. 

 * * * * *

The Pennsylvania Station caused the new Superintendent of Jonathan K. McGuire to blink and gasp. He paused, suit case in hand, at the top ofthe double flight of stairs to survey the splendid proportions of thewaiting room where the crowds seemed lost in its great spaces. In Europesuch a building would be a cathedral. In America it was a railwaystation. And the thought was made more definite by the Gregorian chantof the train announcer which sounded aloft, its tones seeking concordamong their own echoes. 

This was the portal to the new life in which Peter was to work out hisown salvation and the splendor of the immediate prospect uplifted himwith a sense of his personal importance in the new scheme of things ofwhich this was a part. He hadn't the slightest doubt that he would beable to succeed in the work for which he had been recommended, for apartfrom his music--which had taken so many of his hours--there was nothingthat he knew more about or loved better than the trees. He had providedhimself the afternoon before with two books by American authorities andother books and monographs were to be forwarded to his new address. 

As he descended the stairs and reached the main floor of the station, his glance caught the gaze of a man staring at him intently. The man wasslender and dark, dressed decently enough in a gray suit and soft hatand wore a small black mustache. All of these facts Peter took note ofin the one glance, arrested by the strange stare of the other, whichlingered while Peter glanced away and went on. Peter, who had anexcellent memory for faces, was sure that he had never seen the manbefore, but after he had taken a few steps, it occurred to him that inthe stranger's eyes he had noted the startled distention of surprise andrecognition. And so he stopped and turned, but as he did so the fellowdropped his gaze suddenly, and turned and walked away. The incident wascurious and rather interesting. If Peter had had more time he would havesought out the fellow and asked him why he was staring at him, butthere were only a few moments to spare and he made his way out to theconcourse where he found his gate and descended to his train. Here heensconced himself comfortably in the smoking car, and was presently shotunder the Hudson River (as he afterwards discovered) and out into thesunshine of the flats of New Jersey. 

He rolled smoothly along through the manufacturing and agriculturaldistricts, his keenly critical glances neglecting nothing of the wasteand abundance on all sides. He saw, too, the unlovely evidences ofpoverty on the outskirts of the cities, which brought to his mind othercommunities in a far country whose physical evidences of prosperity wereno worse, if no better, than these. Then there came a catch in histhroat and a gasp which left him staring but seeing nothing. The feelingwas not nostalgia, for that far country was no home for him now. At lasthe found himself muttering to himself in English, "My home--my home ishere. "

After a while the mood of depression, recurrent moments of which hadcome to him in New York with diminishing frequency, passed into one ofcontemplation, of calm, like those which had followed his nights ofpassion on the Dnieper, and at last he closed his eyes and dozed. Visions of courts and camps passed through his mind--of brilliantuniforms and jeweled decorations; of spacious polished halls, resplendent with ornate mirrors and crystal pendant chandeliers; ofdiamond coronets, of silks and satins and powdered flunkies. And thenother visions of gray figures crouched in the mud; of rain coming out ofthe dark and of ominous lights over the profile of low hills; ofshrieks; of shells and cries of terror; of his cousin, a tall, beardedman on a horse in a ravine waving an imperious arm; of confusion andmoving thousands, the creak of sanitars, the groans of men calling uponmothers they would never see. And then with a leap backward over theyears, the vision of a small man huddled against the wall of a courtyardbeing knouted until red stains appeared on his gray blouse and thenmingled faintly in the mist and the rain until the small man sank to thefull length of his imprisoned arms like one crucified. .. . 

Peter Nichols straightened and passed a hand across his damp forehead. Through the perspective of this modern civilization what had beenpassing before his vision seemed very vague, very distant, but he knewthat it was not a dream. .. . 

All about him was life, progress, industry, hope--a nation in themaking, proud of her brief history which had been built around an ideal. If he could bring this same ideal back to Russia! In his heart hethanked God for America--imperfect though she was, and made a vow thatin the task he had set for himself he should not be found wanting. 

Twice he changed trains, the second time at a small junction amid anugliness of clay-pits and brickyards and dust and heat. There wereperhaps twenty people on the platform. He walked the length of thestation and as he did so a man in a gray suit disappeared around thecorner of the building. But Peter Nichols did not see him, and in amoment, seated in his new train in a wooden car which reminded him ofsome of the ancient rolling stock of the St. Petersburg and MoscowRailroad, he was taken haltingly and noisily along the last stage of hisjourney. 

But he was aware of the familiar odor of the pine balsam in hisnostrils, and as he rolled through dark coverts the scent of the growingthings in the hidden places in the coolth and damp of the sandy loam. Hesaw, too, tea-colored streams idling among the sedges and charredwildernesses of trees appealing mutely with their blackened stumps likewounded creatures in pain, a bit of war-torn Galicia in the midst ofpeace. Miles and miles of dead forest land, forgotten and uncared for. There was need here for his services. 

With a wheeze of steam and a loud crackling of woodwork and creaking ofbrakes the train came to a stop and the conductor shouted the name ofthe station. Rather stiffly the traveler descended with his bag andstood upon the small platform looking about him curiously. The baggageman tossed out a bundle of newspapers and a pouch of mail and the trainmoved off. Apparently Peter Nichols was the only passenger with PickerelRiver as a destination. 

And as the panting train went around a curve, at last disappearing, itseemed fairly reasonable to Peter Nichols that no one with the slightestchance of stopping off anywhere else would wish to get off here. Thestation was small, of but one room and a tiny office containing, as hecould see, a telegraph instrument, a broken chair with a leathercushion, a shelf and a rack containing a few soiled slips of paper, butthe office had no occupant and the door was locked. This perhapsexplained the absence of the automobile which Mr. Sheldon had informedhim would meet him in obedience to his telegram announcing the hour ofhis arrival. Neither within the building nor without was there anyperson or animate thing in sight, except some small birds fluttering andquarreling along the telegraph wires. 

There was but one road, a sandy one, wearing marks of travel, whichemerged from the scrub oak and pine and definitely concluded at therailroad track. This, then, was his direction, and after reassuringhimself that there was no other means of egress, he took up his blacksuitcase and set forth into the wood, aware of a sense of beckoningadventure. The road wound in and out, up and down, over what at one timemust have been the floor of the ocean, which could not be far distant. Had it not been for the weight of his bag Peter would have enjoyed theexperience of this complete isolation, the fragrant silences broken onlyby the whisper of the leaves and the scurrying of tiny wild things amongthe dead tree branches. But he had no means of knowing how far he wouldhave to travel or whether, indeed, there had not been some mistake onSheldon, Senior's, part or his own. But the directions had been quiteclear and the road must of course lead somewhere--to some village orsettlement at least where he could get a lodging for the night. 

And so he trudged on through the woods which already seemed to bepartaking of some of the mystery which surrounded the person of JonathanK. McGuire. The whole incident had been unusual and the more interestingbecause of the strange character of his employer and the evident fear hehad of some latent evil which threatened him. But Peter Nichols hadaccepted his commission with a sense of profound relief at escaping theother fate that awaited him, with scarcely a thought of the dangerswhich his acceptance might entail. He was not easily frightened and hadwelcomed the new adventure, dismissing the fears of Jonathan K. McGuireas imaginary, the emanations of age or an uneasy conscience. 

But as he went on, his bag became heavier and the perspiration poureddown his face, so reaching a cross-path that seemed to show signs ofrecent travel he put the suitcase down and sat on it while he wiped hisbrow. The shadows were growing longer. He was beginning to believe thatthere was no such place as Black Rock, no such person as Jonathan K. McGuire and that Sheldon, Senior, and Sheldon, Junior, were engaged in aconspiracy against his peace of mind, when above the now familiarwhisperings of the forest he heard a new sound. Faintly it came at firstas though from a great distance, mingling with the murmur of thesighing wind in the pine trees, a voice singing. It seemed a child'svoice--delicate, clear, true, as care-free as the note of abird--unleashing its joy to the heavens. 

Peter Nichols started up, listening more intently. The sounds werecoming nearer but he couldn't tell from which direction, for every leafseemed to be taking up the lovely melody which he could hear quiteclearly now. It was an air with which he was unfamiliar, but he knewonly that it was elemental in its simplicity and under thesecircumstances startlingly welcome. He waited another long moment, listening, found the direction from which the voice was coming, andpresently noted the swaying of branches and the crackling of dry twigsin the path near by, from which, in a moment, a strange figure emerged. 

At first he thought it was a boy, for it wore a pair of blue denimoveralls and a wide-brimmed straw hat, from beneath which the birdlikenotes were still emitted, but as the figure paused at the sight of him, the song suddenly ceased--he saw a tumbled mass of tawny hair and a pairof startled blue eyes staring at him. 

"Hello, " said the figure, after a moment, recovering its voice. 

"Good-afternoon, " said Peter Nichols, bowing from the waist in the mostapproved Continental manner. You see he, too, was a little startled bythe apparition, which proclaimed itself beneath its strange garments inunmistakable terms to be both feminine and lovely. 

CHAPTER III

THE OVERALL GIRL

They stood for a long moment regarding each other, both in curiosity;Peter because of the contrariety of the girl's face and garments, thegirl because of Peter's bow, which was the most extraordinary thing thathad ever happened in Burlington County. After a pause, a smile whichseemed to have been hovering uncertainly around the corners of her lipsbroke into a frank grin, disclosing dimples and a row of white teeth, the front ones not quite together. 

"Could you tell me, " asked Peter very politely as he found his voice, "if this road leads to Black Rock?"

She was still scrutinizing him, her head, birdlike, upon one side. 

"That depends on which way you're walkin', " she said. 

She dropped her "g" with careless ease, but then Peter had noticed thatmany Americans and English people, some very nice ones, did that. 

Peter glanced at the girl and then down the road in both directions. 

"Oh, yes, of course, " he said, not sure whether she was smiling at orwith him. "I came from a station called Pickerel River and I wish to goto Black Rock. "

"You're _sure_ you want to go there?"

"Oh, yes. "

"I guess that's because you've never been to Black Rock, Mister. "

"No, I haven't. "

The girl picked a shrub and nibbled at it daintily. 

"You'd better turn and go right back. " Her sentence finished in a shrug. 

"What's the matter with Black Rock?" he asked curiously. 

"It's just the little end of nothin'. That's all, " she finisheddecisively. 

The quaint expression interested him. "I must get there, nevertheless, "he said; "is it far from here?"

"Depends on what you call far. Mile or so. Didn't the 'Lizzie' meet thesix-thirty?"

Peter stared at her vacuously, for this was Greek. 

"The 'Lizzie'?"

"The tin 'Lizzie'--Jim Hagerman's bus--carries the mail and papers. Sometimes he gives me a lift about here. "

"No. There was no conveyance of any sort and I really expected one. Iwish to get to Mr. Jonathan K. McGuire's. "

"Oh!"

The girl had been examining Peter furtively, as though trying vainly toplace him definitely in her mental collection of human bipeds. Now shestared at him with interest. 

"Oh, you're goin' to McGuire's!"

Peter nodded. "If I can ever find the way. "

"You're one of the new detectives?"

"Detective!" Peter laughed. "No. Not that I'm aware. I'm the newsuperintendent and forester. "

"Oh!"

The girl was visibly impressed, but a tiny frown puckered her brow. 

"What's a forester?" she asked. 

"A fellow who looks after the forests. "

"The forests don't need any lookin' after out here in the barrens. Theyjust grow. "

"I'm going to teach them to grow better. "

The girl looked at him for a long moment of suspicion. She had taken offher hat and the ruddy sunlight behind her made a golden halo all abouther head. Her hands he had noted were small, the fingers slender. Hernose was well shaped, her nostrils wide, the angle of her jaw firmlymodeled and her slender figure beneath the absurd garments revealed bothstrength and grace. But he did not dare to stare at her too hard or toquestion her as to her garments. For all that Peter knew it might be thecustom of Burlington County for women to wear blue denim trousers. 

And her next question took him off his guard. 

"You city folk don't think much of yourselves, do you?"

"I don't exactly understand what you mean, " said Peter politely, markingthe satirical note. 

"To think you can make these trees grow better!" she sniffed. 

"Oh, I'm just going to help them to help themselves. "

"That's God's job, Master. "

Peter smiled. She wouldn't have understood, he thought, so what was theuse of explaining. There must have been a superior quality in Peter'ssmile, for the girl put on her hat and came down into the road. 

"I'm goin' to Black Rock, " she said stiffly, "follow me. " And she wentoff with a quick stride down the road. 

Peter Nichols took up his bag and started, with difficulty getting to aplace beside her. 

"If you don't mind, " he said, "I'd much rather walk with you than behindyou. "

She shrugged a shoulder at him. 

"Suit yourself, " she said. 

In this position, Peter made the discovery that her profile was quite asinteresting as her full face, but she no longer smiled. Her reference tothe Deity entirely eliminated Peter and the profession of forestry fromthe pale of useful things. He was sorry that she no longer smiledbecause he had decided to make friends at Black Rock and he didn't wantto make a bad beginning. 

"I hope you don't mind, " said Peter at last, "if I tell you that youhave one of the loveliest voices that I have ever heard. "

He marked with pleasure the sudden flush of color that ran up under herdelicately freckled tan. Her lips parted and she turned to himhesitating. 

"You--you heard me!"

"I did. It was like the voice of an angel in Heaven. "

"Angel! Oh! I'm sorry. I--I didn't know any one was there. I just singon my way home from work. "

"You've been working to-day?"

She nodded. "Yes--Farmerettin'. "

"Farmer----?"

"Workin' in the vineyard at Gaskill's. "

"Oh, I see. Do you like it?"

"No, " she said dryly. "I just do it for my health. Don't I look sick?"

Peter wasn't used to having people make fun of him. Even as a waiter hehad managed to preserve his dignity intact. But he smiled at her. 

"I was wondering what had become of the men around here. "

"They're so busy walkin' from one place to another to see where they canget the highest wages, that there's no time to work in between. "

"I see, " said Peter, now really amused. "And does Mr. Jonathan McGuirehave difficulty in getting men to work for him?"

"Most of his hired help come from away--like you----But lately theyhaven't been stayin' long. "

"Why?"

She slowed her pace a little and turned to look at him curiously. 

"Do you mean that you don't know the kind of a job you've got?"

"Not much, " admitted Peter. "In addition to looking after the preserve, I'm to watch after the men--and obey orders, I suppose. "

"H-m. Preserve! Sorry, Mr. What's your name----"

"Peter Nichols----" put in Peter promptly. 

"Well, Mr. Peter Nichols, all I have to say is that you're apt to have ahard time. "

"Yes, I'm against it!" translated Peter confidently. 

The girl stopped in the middle of the road, put her hands on her hipsand laughed up at the purpling sky. Her laugh was much like hersinging--if angels in Paradise laugh (and why shouldn't they?). Thenwhile he wondered what was so amusing she looked at him again. 

"_Up_ against it, you mean. You're English, aren't you?"

"Er--yes--I am. "

"I thought so. There was one of you in the glass factory. He alwaysmuffed the easy ones. "

"Oh, you work in a glass factory?"

"Winters. Manufacturin' whiskey and beer bottles. Now we're goin' dry, they'll be makin' pop and nursin' bottles, I guess. "

"Do you help in the factory?"

"Yes, and in the office. I can shorthand and type a little. "

"You must be glad when a summer comes. "

"I am. In winter I can't turn around without breakin' something. Theydock you for that----"

"And that's why you sing when you can't break anythin'?"

"I suppose so. I like the open. It isn't right to be cooped up. "

They were getting along beautifully and Peter was even beginning toforget the weight of his heavy bag. She was a quaint creature and quiteas unconscious of him as though he hadn't existed. He was just somebodyto talk to. Peter ventured. 

"Er--would you mind telling me your name?"

She looked at him and laughed friendly. 

"You must have swallowed a catechism, Mr. Nichols. But everybody inBlack Rock knows everybody else--more'n they want to, I guess. There'sno reason I shouldn't tell you. I don't mind your knowin'. My name isBeth Cameron. "

"Beth----?"

"Yes, Bess--the minister had a lisp. "

Peter didn't lack a sense of humor. 

"Funny, isn't it?" she queried with a smile as he laughed, "bein' tiedup for life to a name like that just because the parson couldn't talkstraight. "

"Beth, " he repeated, "but I like it. It's like you. I hope you'll let mecome to see you when I get settled. "

"H-m, " she said quizzically. "You don't believe in wastin' your time, doyou?" And then, after a brief pause, "You know they call us Pineys backhere in the barrens, but just the same we think a lot of ourselves andwe're a little offish with city folks. You can't be too particularnowadays about the kind of people you go with. "

Peter stared at her and grinned, his sense of the situation more keenlytouched than she could be aware of. 

"Particular, are you? I'm glad of that. All the more credit to me ifyou'll be my friend. "

"I didn't say I was your friend. "

"But you're going to be, aren't you? I know something about singing. I've studied music. Perhaps I could help you. "

"You! You've studied? Lord of Love! You're not lyin', are you?"

He laughed. "No. I'm not lying. I was educated to be a musician. "

She stared at him now with a new look in her eyes but said nothing. SoPeter spoke again. 

"Do you mean to say you've never thought of studying singing?"

"Oh, yes, " she said slowly at last, "I've thought of it, just as I'vethought of goin' in the movies and makin' a million dollars. Lots ofgood _thinkin'_ does!"

"You've thought of the movies?"

"Yes, once. A girl went from the glass factory. She does extra ladies. She visited back here last winter. I didn't like what it did to her. "

"Oh!" Peter was silent for a while, aware of the pellucid meaning of her"it. " He was learning quite as much from what she didn't say as fromwhat she did. But he evaded the line of thought suggested. 

"You do get tired of Black Rock then?"

"I would if I had time. I'm pretty busy all day, and--seehere--Mr. --er--Nichols. If I asked as many questions as you do, I'd knowas much as Daniel Webster. "

"I'm sorry, " said Peter, "I beg your pardon. "

They walked on in silence for a few moments, Peter puzzling his brainover the extraordinary creature that chance had thrown in his way. Hecould see that she was quite capable of looking out for herself and thatif her smattering of sophistication had opened her eyes, it hadn't muchharmed her. 

He really wanted to ask her many more questions, but to tell the truthhe was a little in awe of her dry humor which had a kind of primitiveomniscience and of her laughter which he was now sure was more _at_, than with, him. But he had, in spite of her, peered for a moment intothe hidden places of her mind and spirit. 

It was this intrusion that she resented and he could hardly blame her, since they had met only eighteen minutes ago. She trotted along besidehim as though quite unaware of the sudden silence or of the thoughtsthat might have been passing in his mind. It was Beth who broke thesilence. 

"Is your bag heavy?" she asked. 

"Not at all, " said Peter, mopping the perspiration from his forehead. "But aren't we nearly there?"

"Oh, yes. It's just a mile or so. "

Peter dropped his bag. 

"That's what you said it was, back there. "

"Did I? Well, maybe it isn't so far as that now. Let me carry your bag awhile. "

Thus taunted, he rose, took the bag in his left hand and followed. 

"City folks aren't much on doin' for themselves, are they? The taxisystem is very poor down here yet. "

Her face was expressionless, but he knew that she was laughing at him. He knew also that his bag weighed more than any army pack. It seemed toothat she was walking much faster than she had done before--also thatthere was malicious humor in the smile she now turned on him. 

"Seems a pity to have such a long walk--with nothin' at the end of it. "

"I don't mind it in the least, " gasped Peter. "And if you don't objectto my asking you just one more question, " he went on grimly, "I'd likeyou to tell me what is frightening Mr. Jonathan K. McGuire?"

"Oh, McGuire. I don't know. Nobody does. He's been here a couple ofweeks now, cooped up in the big house. Never comes out. They say hesees ghosts and things. "

"Ghosts!"

She nodded. "He's hired some of the men around here to keep watch forthem and they say some detectives are coming. You'll help too, I guess. "

"That should be easy. "

"Maybe. I don't know. My aunt works there. She's housekeeper. It'sspooky, she says, but she can't afford to quit. "

"But they haven't _seen_ anything?" asked Peter incredulously. 

"No. Not yet. I guess it might relieve 'em some if they did. It's onlythe things you don't see that scare you. "

"It sounds like a great deal of nonsense about nothing, " muttered Peter. 

"All right. Wait until you get there before you do much talkin'. "

"I will, but I'm not afraid of ghosts. " And then, as an afterthought, "Are you?"

"Not in daylight. But from what Aunt Tillie says, it must be somethingmore than a ghost that's frightenin' Jonathan K. McGuire. "

"What does she think it is?"

"She doesn't know. Mr. McGuire won't say. He won't allow anybody aroundthe house without a pass. Oh, he's scared all right and he's got most ofBlack Rock scared too. He was never like this before. "

"Are you scared?" asked Peter. 

"No. I don't think I am really. But it's spooky, and I don't care muchfor shootin'. "

"What makes you think there will be shooting?"

"On account of the guns and pistols. Whatever the thing is he's afraidof, he's not goin' to let it come near him if he can help it. AuntTillie says that what with loaded rifles, shotguns and pistols lyin'loose in every room in the house, it's as much as your life is worth todo a bit of dustin'. And the men--Shad Wells, Jesse Brown, they allcarry automatics. First thing they know they'll be killin' somebody, "she finished with conviction. 

"Who is Shad Wells----?"

"My cousin, Shadrack E. Wells. He was triplets. The other two died. "

"Shad, " mused Peter. 

"Sounds like a fish, doesn't it? But he isn't. " And then more slowly, "Shad's all right. He's just a plain woodsman, but he doesn't knowanything about making the trees grow, " she put in with prim irony. "You'll be his boss, I guess. He won't care much about that. "

"Why?"

"Because he's been runnin' things in a way. I hope you get along withhim. "

"So do I----"

"Because if you don't, Shad will eat you at one gobble. "

"Oh!" said Peter with a smile. "But perhaps you exaggerate. Don't youthink I might take two--er--gobbles?"

Beth looked him over, and then smiled encouragingly. 

"Maybe, " she said, "but your hands don't look over-strong. "

Peter looked at his right hand curiously. It was not as brown as hers, but the fingers were long and sinewy. 

"They are, though. When you practice five hours a day on the piano, yourhands will do almost anything you want them to. "

A silence which Peter improved by shifting his suitcase. The weight ofit had ceased to be amusing. And he was about to ask her how muchfurther Black Rock was when there was a commotion down the road ahead ofthem, as a dark object emerged from around the bend and amid a whirl ofdust an automobile appeared. 

"It's the 'Lizzie', " exclaimed Beth unemotionally. 

And in a moment the taxi service of Black Rock was at Peter's disposal. 

"Carburetor trouble, " explained the soiled young man at the wheelbriefly, without apology. And with a glance at Peter's bag--

"Are you the man for McGuire's on the six-thirty?"

Peter admitted that he was and the boy swung the door of the tonneauopen. 

"In here with me, Beth, " he said to the girl invitingly. 

In a moment, the small machine was whirled around and started in thedirection from which it had come, bouncing Peter from side to side andenveloping him in dust. Jim Hagerman's "Lizzie" wasted no time, once itset about doing a thing, and in a few moments from the forest theyemerged into a clearing where there were cows in a meadow, and a view ofhouses. At the second of these, a frame house with a portico coveredwith vines and a small yard with a geranium bed, all enclosed in apicket fence, the "Lizzie" suddenly stopped and Beth got down. 

"Much obliged, Jim, " he heard her say. 

Almost before Peter had swept off his hat and the girl had nodded, the"Lizzie" was off again, through the village street, and so to a woodenbridge across a tea-colored stream, up a slight grade on the other side, where Jim Hagerman stopped his machine and pointed to a road. 

"That's McGuire's--in the pines. They won't let me go no further. "

"How much do I owe you?" asked Peter, getting down. 

"It's paid for, Mister. Slam the door, will ye?" And in another momentPeter was left alone. 

It was now after sunset, and the depths of the wood were bathed inshadow. Peter took the road indicated and in a moment reached two stonepillars where a man was standing. Beyond the man he had a glimpse oflawns, a well-kept driveway which curved toward the wood. The man at thegate was of about Peter's age but tall and angular, well tanned byexposure and gave an appearance of intelligence and capacity. 

"I came to see Mr. McGuire, " said Peter amiably. 

"And what's your name?"

"Nichols. I'm the new forester from New York. "

The young man at the gate smiled in a satirical way. 

"Nichols. That was the name, " he ruminated. And then with a shout tosome one in the woods below, "Hey, Andy. Come take the gate. "

All the while Peter felt the gaze of the young man going over himminutely and found himself wondering whether or not this was the personwho was going to take him at a gobble. 

It was. For when the other man came running Peter heard him call thegateman, "Shad. "

"Are you Mr. Shad Wells?" asked Peter politely with the pleasant air ofone who has made an agreeable discovery. 

"That's my name. Who told you?"

"Miss Beth Cameron, " replied Peter. "We came part of the way together. "

"H-m! Come, " he said laconically and led the way up the road toward thehouse. Peter didn't think he was very polite. 

Had it not been for the precautions of his guide, Peter would have beenwilling quite easily to forget the tales that had been told him of BlackRock. The place was very prettily situated in the midst of a very finegrowth of pines, spruce and maple. At one side ran the tea-coloredstream, tumbling over an ancient dam to levels below, where it joinedthe old race below the ruin that had once been a mill. The McGuirehouse emerged in a moment from its woods and shrubbery, and stoodrevealed--a plain square Georgian dwelling of brick, to which had beenadded a long wing in a poor imitation of the same style and a garage andstables in no style at all on the slope beyond. It seemed a most prosaicplace even in the gathering dusk and Peter seemed quite unable tovisualize it as the center of a mystery such as had been described. Andthe laconic individual who had been born triplets was even lesscalculated to carry out such an illusion. 

But just as they were crossing the lawn on the approach to the house, the earth beneath a clump of bushes vomited forth two men, like thefruit of the Dragon's Teeth, armed with rifles, who barred their way. Both men were grinning from ear to ear. 

"All right, Jesse, " said Shad with a laugh. "It's me and the newforester. " He uttered the words with an undeniable accent of contempt. 

The armed figures glanced at Peter and disappeared, and Peter and Mr. Shad Wells went up the steps of the house to a spacious portico. Therewas not a human being in sight and the heavy wooden blinds to the lowerfloor were tightly shut. Before his guide had even reached the door thesound of their footsteps had aroused some one within the house, the doorwas opened the length of its chain and a face appeared at the aperture. 

"Who is it?" asked a male voice. 

"Shad Wells and Mr. Nichols, the man from New York. "

"Wait a minute, " was the reply while the door was immediately shutagain. 

Peter glanced around him comparing this strange situation with anotherthat he remembered, when a real terror had come, a tangible terror inthe shape of a countryside gone mad with blood lust. He smiled towardthe bush where the armed men lay concealed and toward the gate wherethe other armed man was standing. It was all so like a situation out ofan _opéra bouffe_ of Offenbach. 

What he felt now in this strange situation was an intense curiosity tolearn the meaning of it all, to meet the mysterious person around whomall these preparations centered. Peter had known fear many times, forfear was in the air for weeks along the Russian front, the fear ofGerman shells, of poison gas, and of that worst poison of all--Russiantreachery. But that fear was not like this fear, which was intimate, personal but intangible. He marked it in the scrutiny of the man whoopened the door and of the aged woman who suddenly appeared beside himin the dim hallway and led him noiselessly up the stair to a lightedroom upon the second floor. At the doorway the woman paused. 

"Mr. Nichols, Mr. McGuire, " she said, and Peter entered. 

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. 

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 think 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. 

CHAPTER V

NEW ELEMENTS

Some of the men on guard in the middle watch reported that they hadheard what seemed to be the sounds of music very far away in the woodsand were disturbed at the trick their ears had played upon them. ButPeter didn't tell them the truth. If listening for the notes of a pianowould keep them awake, listen they should. He slept until noon and thenwent to the house for orders. 

Morning seemed to make a difference in the point of view. If the moonhad made the night lovely, the sun brought with it the promise of everygood thing. The walk through the woods to Black Rock House was a joy, very slightly alleviated by the poor condition of the trees under whichPeter passed. It was primeval forest even here, with valuable treesstunted and poor ones vastly overgrown according to nature's law whichprovides for the survival of the fittest. This was the law too, whichwas to be applied to Peter. Would he grow straight and true in thisforeign soil or gnarled and misshapen like the cedars and the maplesthat he saw? Yes. He would grow and straight . .. Straight. 

Optimism seemed to be the order of the new day. At the house he foundthat his employer had put on a clean shirt and was freshly shaven. Thewindows of the room were opened wide to the sunlight which streamed intothe room, revealing its darkest corners. McGuire himself seemed to haveresponded to the effulgence of the sun and the balmy air which sweptacross his table. His manner was now calm, his voice more measured. 

When Peter came into the room, Mr. McGuire closed the heavy doors of thesteel safe carefully and turned to greet him. 

"Oh, glad to see you, Nichols, " he said more cheerfully. "A quiet night, I understand. "

"Yes, " laughed Nichols, "except for the man who got through the guardsand smoked a cigarette on your portico. "

"What!" gasped McGuire. 

"Don't be alarmed, sir. It was only myself. I wanted to show Shad Wellsthe defects of his police system. "

"Oh! Ah! Ha, ha, yes, of course. Very good. And you weren't shot at?"

"Oh, no, sir--though I'd given them leave to pot me if they could. But Ithink you're adequately protected now. "

"Good, " said McGuire. "Have a cigar. I'm glad you've come. I wanted totalk to you. "

And when they had lighted their cigars, "It's about this very guard. I--I'm afraid you'll have to keep your men under cover at least in thedaytime. "

"Under cover?"

"Well, you see, " went on McGuire in some hesitation, "my daughter (hecalled it darter) Peggy is motoring down from New York to-day. I don'twant her, but she's coming. I couldn't stop her. She doesn't knowanything about this--er--this guarding the house. And I don't want herto know. She mustn't know. She'd ask questions. I don't want questionsasked. I'll get her away as soon as I can, but she mustn't be put intoany danger. "

"I see, " said Peter examining the ash of his cigar. "You don't want herto know anything about the impending attempts upon your life andproperty. "

"Yes, that's it, " said McGuire impatiently. "I don't want her to findout. Er--she couldn't understand. You know women, Nichols. They talk toomuch. " He paused "It's--er--necessary that none of her friends in NewYork or mine should know of--er--any danger that threatens me. And ofcourse--er--any danger that threatens me would--in a way--threaten her. You see?"

"I think so. "

"I've put all weapons under cover. I don't want her to see 'em. So whenshe comes--which may be at any moment--nothing must be said about themen outside and what they're there for. In the daytime they must begiven something to do about the place--trimming the lawns, pruning treesor weeding the driveway. Pay 'em what they ask, but don't let any of 'emgo away. You'll explain this to the new men. As for yourself--er--ofcourse you're my new superintendent and forester. "

McGuire got up and paced the floor slowly looking at Peter out of thetail of his eye. 

"I like you, Nichols. We'll get along. You've got courage andintelligence--and of course anybody can see you're a gentleman. You'llkeep on taking your meals in the house----"

"If you'd like me to go elsewhere----"

"No. I see no reason why Peggy shouldn't like you. I hope she will. Butshe's very headstrong, has been since a kid. I suppose I humor her abit--who wouldn't? I lost my oldest girl and her boy with the 'flu. ' Herhusband's still in France. And Peggy's got a will of her own, Peg has, "he finished in a kind of admiring abstraction. "Got a society bee in herbonnet. Wants to go with all the swells. I'm backin' her, Nichols. She'll do it too before she's through, " he finished proudly. 

"I haven't a doubt of it, " said Peter soberly, though very much amusedat his employer's ingenuousness. Here then, was the weak spot in thearmor of this relentless millionaire--his daughter. The older one andher child were dead. That accounted for the toys in the cabin. Peggysounded interesting'--if nothing else, for her vitality. 

"I'd better see about this at once, then. If she should come----"

Peter rose and was about to leave the room when there was a sound of anautomobile horn and the sudden roar of an exhaust outside. He followedMcGuire to the window and saw a low red runabout containing a girl and amale companion emerging from the trees. A man in the road was holding uphis hands in signal for the machine to stop and had barely time to leapaside to avoid being run down. The car roared up to the portico, thebreathless man, who was Shad Wells, pursuing. Peter was glad that he hadhad the good sense not to shoot. He turned to his employer, prepared foreither anger or dismay and found that McGuire was merely grinning andchuckling softly as though to himself. 

"Just like her!" he muttered, "some kid, that!"

Meanwhile Shad Wells, making a bad race of it was only halfway up thedrive, when at a signal and shout from McGuire, he stopped running, stared, spat and returned to his post. 

There was a commotion downstairs, the shooting of bolts, the sounds ofvoices and presently the quick patter of feminine footsteps whichMcGuire, now completely oblivious of Peter, went to meet. 

"Well, daughter!"

"Hello, Pop!"

Peter caught a glimpse of a face and straggling brown hair, quicklyengulfed in McGuire's arms. 

"What on earth----" began McGuire. 

"Thought we'd give you a little touch of high life, Pop. It was so hotin town. And the hotel's full of a convention of rough necks. I broughtFreddy with me and Mildred and Jack are in the other car. We thought therest might do us good. "

The voice was nasal and pitched high, as though she were trying to makeherself audible in a crowd. Peter was ready to revise his estimate thather face was pretty, for to him no woman was more beautiful than her ownvoice. 

"But you can't stay here, Peg, " went on McGuire, "not more than overnight--with all these people. I'm very busy----"

"H-m. We'll see about that. I never saw the woods look prettier. We cameby Lakewood and Brown's Mills and--Why who----?"

As she sidled into the room she suddenly espied Peter who was stillstanding by the window. 

"Who----? Why--Oh, yes, this is my new superintendent and forester. Meetmy daughter, --Mr. Nichols. "

Peter bowed and expressed pleasure. Miss McGuire swept him with a quickglance that took in his flannel shirt, corduroy breeches and roughboots, nodded pertly and turned away. 

Peter smiled. Like Beth Cameron this girl was very particular inchoosing her acquaintances. 

"I nearly killed a guy in the driveway, " she went on, "who was he, Pop?"

"Er--one of the gardeners, I've told them to keep people off the place. "

"Well. I'd like to see him keep _me_ off! I suppose he'll be trying tohold up Mildred and Jack----"

She walked to the window passing close beside Peter, paying as littleattention to his presence as if he had been, an article of furniture. 

"Can't you get this man to go down, " she said indicating Peter, "andtell them it's all right?"

"Of course, " said Peter politely. "I'll go at once. And I'd like toarrange to look over part of the estate with Wells, Mr. McGuire, " headded. 

"All right, Nichols, " said the old man with a frown. And thensignificantly--"But remember what I've told you. Make carefularrangements before you go. "

"Yes, sir. "

Peter went down the stairs, amused at his dismissal. On the veranda hefound a young man sitting on some suitcases smoking a cigarette. Thiswas Freddy, of course. He afterwards learned that his last name wasMordaunt, that he was a part of Peggy's ambitions, and that he had beeninvalided home from a camp and discharged from the military service. AsFreddy turned, Peter bowed politely and passed on. Having catalogued himby his clothing, Freddy like Peggy had turned away, smoking hiscigarette. 

Peter thought that some Americans were born with bad manners, someachieved bad manners, and others had bad manners thrust upon them. Impoliteness was nothing new to him, since he had been in America. Itwas indigenous. Personally, he didn't mind what sort of people he met, but he seemed to be aware that a new element had come to Black Rockwhich was to make disquietude for Jonathan K. McGuire and difficulty forhimself. And yet too there was a modicum of safety, perhaps, in thepresence of these new arrivals, for it had been clear from hisemployer's demeanor that the terrors of the night had passed with thecoming of the day. 

He commented on this to Shad Wells, who informed him that night wasalways the old man's bad time. 

"Seems sort o' like he's skeered o' the dark. 'Tain't nateral. 'Fraid o'ghosts, they say, " he laughed. 

"Well, " said Peter, "we've got our orders. And the thing he fears isn'ta ghost. It's human. "

"Sure?"

"Yes. And since he's more afraid after dark he has probably had hiswarning. But we're not to take any chances. "

Having given his new orders to Jesse, who was to be in charge duringtheir absence, they struck into the woods upon the other side of theCreek for the appraisal of a part of the strip known as the "UpperReserve. " From an attitude of suspicion and sneering contempt Peter'scompanion had changed to one of indifference. The unfailing good humorof the new superintendent had done something to prepare the ground foran endurable relation between them. Like Beth Cameron Shad had sneeredat the word "forester. " He was the average lumberman, only interested inthe cutting down of trees for the market--the commercial aspect of thebusiness--heedless of the future, indifferent to the dangers ofdeforestation. Peter tried to explain to him that forestry actuallymeans using the forest as the farmer uses his land, cutting out themature and overripe trees and giving the seedlings beneath more lightthat they may furnish the succeeding crop of timber. He knew that theman was intelligent enough, and explained as well as he could from suchstatistics as he could recall how soon the natural resources of thecountry would be exhausted under the existing indifference. 

"Quite a bit of wood here, Mister--enough for my job, " said Shad. 

But after a while Peter began to make him understand and showed him whattrees should be marked for cutting and why. They came to a burned patchof at least a hundred acres. 

"Is there any organized system for fighting these fires?" Peter asked. 

"System! Well, when there's a fire we go and try to put it out----"laughed Wells. 

"How do the fires start?"

"Campers--hunters mos'ly--in the deer season. Railroads sometimes--atthe upper end. "

"And you keep no watch for smoke?"

"Where would we watch from?"

"Towers. They ought to be built--with telephone connection toheadquarters. "

"D'ye think the old man will stand for that?"

"He ought to. It's insurance. "

"Oh!"

"It looks to me, Wells, " said Peter after a pause, "that a good 'crown'fire and a high gale, would turn all this country to cinders--likethis. "

"It's never happened yet. "

"It may happen. Then good-by to your jobs--and to Black Rock tooperhaps. "

"I guess Black Rock can stand it, if the old man can. "

They walked around the charred clearing and mounted a high sand dune, from which they could see over a wide stretch of country. With a highwooden platform here the whole of the Upper Reserve could be watched. They sat for a while among the sandwort and smoked, while Peterdescribed the work in the German forests that he had observed before thewar. Shad had now reached the point of listening and asking questions asthe thought was more and more borne into his mind that this newsuperintendent was not merely talking for talk's sake, but because heknew more about the woods than any man the native had ever talked with, and wanted Shad to know too. For Peter had an answer to all of hisquestions, and Shad, though envious of Peter's grammar--for he hadreached an age to appreciate it--was secretly scornful of Peter's whitehands and carefully tied black cravat. 

This dune was at the end of the first day's "cruise" and Shad had risenpreparatory to returning toward Black Rock when they both heard asound, --away off to their right, borne down to them clearly on thebreeze--the voice of a girl singing. 

"Beth, " said Shad with a kindling eye. And then carelessly spat, toconceal his emotions. 

"What on earth can she be doing in here?" asked Peter. 

"Only half a mile from the road. It's the short cut from Gaskill's. "

"I see, " from Peter. 

"Do you reckon you can find your way back alone, Nichols?" said Shad, spitting again. 

Peter grinned. "I reckon I can try, " he said. 

Shad pointed with his long arm in the general direction of Heaven. "Thatway!" he muttered and went into the scrub oak with indecent haste. 

Peter sat looking with undisguised interest at the spot where he haddisappeared, tracing him for a while through the moving foliage, listening to the crackling of the underbrush, as the sounds receded. 

It was time to be turning homeward, but the hour was still inviting, thebreeze balmy, the sun not too warm, so Peter lay back among the grassesin the sand smoking a fresh cigarette. Far overhead buzzards werewheeling. They recalled those other birds of prey that he had oftenwatched, ready to swoop down along the lines of the almost defenselessRussians. Here all was so quiet. The world was a very beautiful place ifmen would only leave it so. The voice of the girl was silent now. Shadhad probably joined her. Somehow, Peter hadn't been able to think of anyrelationship, other than the cousinly one, between Shad Wells and Beth. He had only known the girl for half an hour but as Aunt Tillie Bergenhad said, her niece seemed different from the other natives that Peterhad met. Her teeth were sound and white, suggesting habits of personalcleanliness; her conversation, though careless, showed at the veryleast, a grammar school training. And Shad--well, Shad was nothing but a"Piney. "

Pity--with a voice like that--she ought to have had opportunities--thisscornful little Beth. Peter closed his eyes and dozed. He expected tohave no difficulty in finding his way home, for he had a pocket compassand the road could not be far distant. He liked this place. He wouldbuild a tower here, a hundred-foot tower, of timbers, and here a manshould be stationed all day--to watch for wisps of smoke during thehunting season. Smoke . .. Tower . .. In a moment he snored gently. 

"Halloo!" came a voice in his dream. "Halloo! Halloo!"

Peter started rubbing his eyes, aware of the smoking cigarette in thegrasses beside him. 

Stupid, that! To do the very thing he had been warning Shad Wellsagainst. He smeared the smoking stub out in the sand and sat up yawningand stretching his arms. 

"Halloo!" said the voice in his dream, almost at his ear. "Tryin' to setthe woods afire?"

The question had the curious dropping intonation at its end. But thepurport annoyed him. 

Nothing that she could have said could have provoked him more! Behindher he saw the dark face of Shad Wells break into a grin. 

"I fell asleep, " said Peter, getting to his feet. 

Beth laughed. "Lucky you weren't burnt to death. _Then_ how would thetrees get along?"

Peter's toe burrowed after the defunct cigarette. 

"I know what I'm about, " he muttered, aware of further loss of dignity. 

"Oh, do you? Then which way were you thinkin' of goin' home?"

Peter glanced around, pointed vaguely, and Beth Cameron laughed. 

"I guess you'd land in Egg Harbor, or thereabouts. "

Her laugh was infectious and Peter at last echoed it. 

"You's better be goin' along with us. Shad asked me to come and get you, didn't you, Shad?"

Peter glanced at the woodsman's black scowl and grinned, recalling hisdesertion and precipitate disappearance into the bushes. 

"I'm sure I'm very much obliged to you both, " said Peter diplomatically. "But I think I can find my way in. "

"Not if you start for Hammonton or Absecon, you can't. I've known peopleto spend the night in the woods a quarter of a mile from home. "

"I shouldn't mind that. "

"But Shad would. He'd feel a great responsibility if you didn't turn upfor the ghost-hunt. Wouldn't you, Shad?"

Shad wagged his head indeterminately, and spat. "Come on, " he saidsullenly, and turned, leading the way out to the northward, followed byBeth with an inviting smile. She still wore her denim overalls whichwere much too long for her and her dusty brown boots seemed like achild's. Between moments of avoiding roots and branches, Peter watchedher strong young figure as it followed their leader. Yesterday, he hadthought her small; to-day she seemed to have increased in stature--souncertain is the masculine judgment upon any aspect of a woman. But hisnotions in regard to her grace and loveliness were only confirmed. Therewas no concealing them under her absurd garments. Her flanks were longand lithe, like a boy's, but there was something feminine in the way shemoved, a combination of ease and strength made manifest, which couldonly come of well-made limbs carefully jointed. Every little while sheflashed a glance over her shoulder at him, exchanging a word, evenpolitely holding back a branch until he caught it, or else when he wasleast expecting it, letting it fly into his face. From time to time ShadWells would turn to look at them and Peter could see that he wasn't ashappy as he might have been. But Beth was very much enjoying herself. 

They had emerged at last into the road and walked toward Black Rock, Beth in the center and Peter and Shad on either side. 

"I've been thinkin' about what you said yesterday, " said Beth to Peter. 

"About----?"

"Singin' like an angel in Heaven, " she said promptly aware of Shad'sbridling glance. 

"Oh, well, " repeated Peter, "you do--you know. "

"It was very nice of you--and you a musician. "

"Musician!" growled Shad. "He ain't a musician. "

"Oh, yes, he is, and he says I've a voice like an angel. _You_ neversaid that, Shad Wells. "

"No. Nor I won't, " he snapped surlily. 

Peter would have been more amused if he hadn't thought that Shad Wellswas unhappy. 

He needed the man's allegiance and he had no wish to make an enemy ofhim. 

"Musician!" Shad growled. "Then it was you the men heard last night. "

"I found a piano in the cabin. I was trying it, " said Peter. Shad saidnothing in reply but he put every shade of scorn into the way in whichhe spat into the road. 

"A piano----!" Beth gasped. "Where? What cabin?"

"The playhouse--where I live, " said Peter politely. 

"Oh. "

There was a silence on the part of both of his companions, awkwardlylong. 

So Peter made an effort to relieve the tension, commenting on the newarrivals at Black Rock House. 

At the mention of Peggy's name Beth showed fresh excitement. 

"Miss McGuire! Here? When----?"

"This morning. Do you know her?"

"No. But I've seen her. I think she's just lovely. "

"Why?"

"She wears such beautiful clothes and--and hats and veils. "

Peter laughed. "And that's your definition of loveliness. "

"Why, yes, " she said in wonder. "Last year all the girls were copyin'her, puttin' little puffs of hair over their ears--I tried it, but itlooked funny. Is she going to be here long? Has she got a 'beau' withher? She always had. It's a wonder she doesn't run over somebody, theway she drives. "

"She nearly got me this mornin', " growled Shad. 

"I wish she would--if you're going to look like a meat-ax, Shad Wells. "

There was no reconciling them now, and when Beth's home was reached, allthree of them went different ways. What a rogue she was! And poor ShadWells who was to have taken Peter at a gobble, seemed a very poor sortof a creature in Beth's hands. 

She amused Peter greatly, but she annoyed him a little too, ruffled upthe shreds of his princely dignity, not yet entirely inured to thetrials of social regeneration. And Shad's blind adoration was merely avehicle for her amusement. It would have been very much better if shehadn't used Peter's compliment as a bait for Shad. Peter had come tothe point of liking the rough foreman even if he was a new kind of humananimal from anything in Peter's experience. 

And so was Beth. A new kind of animal--something between a harrier and askylark, but wholesome and human too, a denim dryad, the spirit ofhealth, joy and beauty, a creature good to look at, in spite of her envyof the fashionable Miss Peggy McGuire with her modish hats, cerise veilsand ear puffs, her red roadsters and her beaux. Poverty sat well uponBeth and the frank blue eyes and resolute chin gave notice that whateverwas to happen to her future she was honorable and unafraid. 

But if there was something very winning about her, there was somethingpathetic too. Her beauty was so unconscious of her ridiculous clothing, and yet Peter had come to think of it as a part of her, wondering indeedwhat she would look like in feminine apparel, in which he could notimagine her, for the other girls of Black Rock had not so far blessedhis vision. Aunt Tillie Bergen had told him, over his late breakfast, ofthe difficulties that she and Beth had had to keep their little placegoing and how Beth, after being laid off for the summer at the factory, had insisted upon working in the Gaskill's vineyard to help out with thehousehold. There ought to be something for Beth Cameron, better thanthis--something less difficult--more ennobling. 

Thinking of these things Peter made his way back to the cabin. Nothingof a disturbing nature had happened around Black Rock House, except thearrival of the remainder of McGuire's unwelcome house party, which hadtaken to wandering aimlessly through the woods, much to the disgust ofJesse Brown, who, lost in the choice between "dudes" and desperadoes, had given up any attempt to follow Peter's careful injunctions in regardto McGuire. It was still early and the supper hour was seven, so Peterunpacked his small trunk which had arrived in his absence and then, carefully shutting door and windows, sat at the piano and played quietlyat first, a "Reverie" of Tschaikowsky, a "Berceuse" of César Cui, the"Valse Triste" of Jean Sibelius and then forgetting himself--launchedforth into Chopin's C Minor Étude. His fingers were stiff for lack ofpractice and the piano was far from perfect, but in twenty minutes hehad forgotten the present, lost in memories. He had played this forAnastasie Galitzin. He saw the glint of the shaded piano lamp upon hergolden head, recalled her favorite perfume. .. . Silver nights upon thecastle terrace. .. . Golden walks through the autumn forest. .. . 

Suddenly a bell rang loudly at Peter's side, it seemed. Then while hewondered, it rang again. Of course--the telephone. He found theinstrument in the corner and put the receiver to his ear. It wasMcGuire's voice. 

"That you, Nichols?" it asked in an agitated staccato. 

"Yes, sir. "

"Well, it's getting dark, what have you done about to-night?"

"Same as last night, " said Peter smiling, "only more careful. "

"Well, I want things changed, " the gruff voice rose. "The whole d--nhouse is open. I can't shut it with these people here. Your men willhave to move in closer--but keep under cover. Can you arrange it?"

"Yes, I think so. "

"I'll want you here--with me--you understand. You were coming tosupper?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Well--er--I've told my daughter and so--would you mind putting on adress suit----? Er--if you have one--a Tuxedo will do. "

"Yes, sir, " said Peter. "That's all right. "

"Oh--er--thanks. You'll be up soon?"

"Yes. "

"Good-by. "

With a grin, Peter hung up the receiver, recalling the soiled, perspiring, unquiet figure of his employer last night. But it seemed asthough McGuire were almost as much in awe of his daughter as of thedanger that threatened, for, in the McGuire household, Miss Peggy, itappeared, was paramount. 

Peter's bathroom was Cedar Creek. In his robe, he ran down the duskypath for a quick plunge. Then, refreshed and invigorated, he lighted hislamp and dressed leisurely. He had come to his cravat, to which he waswont to pay more than a casual attention, when he was aware of a feelingof discomfort--of unease. In the mirror something moved, a shadow, atthe corner of the window. He waited a moment, still fingering hiscravat, and then sure that his eyes had made no mistake, turned quicklyand, revolver in hand, rushed outside. Just as he did so a man with astartled face disappeared around the corner of the cabin. Peter rushedafter him, shouting and turned the edge just in time to see his shapeleap into the bushes. 

"Who goes there?" shouted Peter crisply. "Halt, or I'll fire. "

But the only reply was a furious crashing in the undergrowth. Peterfired twice at the sound, then followed in, still calling. 

No sound. Under the conditions a chase was hopeless, so Peter pausedlistening. And then after a few moments a more distant crackling advisedhim that his visitor had gotten well away. And so after a while hereturned to the cabin and with his weapon beside him finished hisinterrupted toilet. 

But his brows were in a tangle. The mystery surrounding him seemedsuddenly to have deepened. For the face that he had seen at the windowwas that of the stranger who had stared at him so curiously--the man ofthe soft hat and dark mustache--who had seemed so startled at seeing himin the Pennsylvania Station when he was leaving New York. 

CHAPTER VI

THE HOUSE OF TERROR

Who--what was this stranger who seemed so interested in his whereabouts?Peter was sure that he had made no mistake. It was an unusual face, swarthy, with high cheek bones, dark eyes, a short nose with prominentnostrils. Perhaps it would not have been so firmly impressed on hismemory except for the curious look of startled recognition that Peterhad surprised on it at the station in New York. This had puzzled him forsome moments in the train but had been speedily lost in the interest ofhis journey. The man had followed him to Black Rock. But why? What didhe want of Peter and why should he skulk around the cabin and risk thedanger of Peter's bullets? It seemed obvious that he was here for somedishonest purpose, but what dishonest purpose could have any interest inPeter? If robbery, why hadn't the man chosen the time while Peter wasaway in the woods? Peter grinned to himself. If the man had any privatesources of information as to Peter's personal assets, he would haveknown that they consisted of a two-dollar watch and a small sum inmoney. If the dishonest purpose were murder or injury, why hadn't heattacked Peter while he was bathing, naked and quite defenseless, in thecreek?

There seemed to be definite answers to all of these questions, but noneto the fact of the man's presence, to the fact of his look ofrecognition, or to the fact of his wish to be unobserved. Was he a partof the same conspiracy which threatened McGuire? Or was this a littleprivate conspiracy arranged for Peter alone? And if so, why? So far asPeter knew he hadn't an enemy in America, and even if he had made one, it was hardly conceivable that any one should go to such lengths toapproach an issue and then deliberately avoid it. 

But there seemed no doubt that something was up and that, later, morewould be heard from this curious incident. It seemed equally certainthat had the stranger meant to shoot Peter he could easily have done soin perfect safety to himself through the window, while Peter wasfastening his cravat. Reloading his revolver and slipping it into hispocket, Peter locked the cabin carefully, and after listening to thesounds of the woods for awhile, made his way up the path to Black RockHouse. 

He had decided to say nothing about the incident which, so far as hecould see, concerned only himself, and so when the men on guardquestioned him about the shots that they had heard he told them that hehad been firing at a mark. This was quite true, even if the mark hadbeen invisible. Shad Wells was off duty until midnight so Peter went therounds, calling the men to the guardhouse and telling them of the changein the orders. They were to wait until the company upon the portico wentindoors and then, with Jesse in command, they were to take new stationsin trees and clumps of bushes which Peter designated much nearer thehouse. The men eyed his dinner jacket with some curiosity and not alittle awe, and Peter informed them that it was the old man's order andthat he, Peter, was going to keep watch from inside the house, but thata blast from a whistle would fetch him out. He also warned them that itwas McGuire's wish that none of the visitors should be aware of thewatchmen and that therefore there should be no false alarms. 

Curiously enough Peter found McGuire in a state very nearly borderingon calm. He had had a drink. He had not heard the shots Peter had firednor apparently had any of the regular occupants of the house. Thevisitors had possibly disregarded them. From the pantry came a soundwith which Peter was familiar, for Stryker was shaking the cocktails. And when the ladies came downstairs the two men on the portico came inand Peter was presented to the others of the party, Miss Delaplane, Mr. Gittings and Mr. Mordaunt. The daughter of the house examined Peter'sclothing and then, having apparently revised her estimate of him, becamealmost cordial, bidding him sit next Miss Delaplane at table. 

Mildred Delaplane was tall, handsome, dark and aquiline, and made a foilfor Peggy's blond prettiness. Peter thought her a step above Peggy inthe cultural sense, and only learned afterward that as she was not verywell off, Peggy was using her as a rung in the social ladder. Mordaunt, Peter didn't fancy, but Gittings, who was jovial and bald, managed toinject some life into the party, which, despite the effect of thecocktails, seemed rather weary and listless. 

McGuire sat rigidly at the head of the table, forcing smiles andglancing uneasily at doors and windows. Peter was worried too, not as tohimself, but as to any possible connection that there might be betweenthe man with the dark mustache and the affairs of Jonathan McGuire. Mildred Delaplane, who had traveled in Europe in antebellum days, foundmuch that was interesting in Peter's fragmentary reminiscences. She knewmusic too, and in an unguarded moment Peter admitted that he hadstudied. It was difficult to lie to women, he had found. 

And so, after dinner, that information having transpired, he wasimmediately led to the piano-stool by his hostess, who was frequentlybiased in her social judgments by Mildred Delaplane. Peter played CyrilScott's "Song from the East, " and then, sure of Miss Delaplane'sinterest, an Étude of Scriabine, an old favorite of his which seemed toexpress the mood of the moment. 

And all the while he was aware of Jonathan McGuire, seated squarely inthe middle of the sofa which commanded all the windows and doors, withone hand at his pocket, scowling and alert by turns, for, though thenight had fallen slowly, it was now pitch black outside. Peter knew thatMcGuire was thinking he hadn't hired his superintendent as a musician toentertain his daughter's guests, but that he was powerless to interfere. Nor did he wish to excite the reprobation of his daughter by going upand locking himself in his room. Peggy, having finished her cigarettewith Freddy on the portico, had come in again and was now leaning overthe piano, her gaze fixed, like Mildred's, upon Peter's mobile fingers. 

"You're really too wonderful a superintendent to be quite true, " saidPeggy when Peter had finished. "But _do_ give us a 'rag. '"

Peter shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I can't do ragtime. "

"Quit your kidding! I want to dance. "

"I'm not--er--kidding, " said Peter, laughing. "I can't play it atall--not at all. "

Peggy gave him a look, shrugged and walked to the door. 

"Fred-die-e!" she called. 

Peter rose from the piano-stool and crossed to McGuire. The man's cigarwas unsmoked and tiny beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. 

"I don't think you need worry, sir, " whispered Peter. "The men are allaround the house, but if you say, I'll go out for another look around. "

"No matter. I'll stick it out for a while. "

"You're better off here than anywhere, I should say. No one woulddare----"

Here Freddy at the piano struck up "Mary" and further conversation wasdrowned in commotion. Mildred Delaplane was preëmpted by Mr. Gittingsand Peggy came whirling alone toward Peter, arms extended, the passionfor the dance outweighing other prejudices. 

Peter took a turn, but four years of war had done little to improve hissteps. 

"I'm afraid all my dancing is in my fingers, " he muttered. 

Suddenly, as Freddy Mordaunt paused, Peggy stopped and lowered her arms. 

"Good Lord!" she gasped. "What's the matter with Pop?"

McGuire had risen unsteadily and was peering out into the darknessthrough the window opposite him, his face pallid, his lips drawn into athin line. Peggy ran to him and caught him by the arm. 

"What is it, Pop? Are you sick?"

"N-no matter. Just a bit upset. If you don't mind, daughter, I thinkI'll be going up. "

"Can I do anything?"

"No. Stay here and enjoy yourselves. Just tell Stryker, will you, Nichols, and then come up to my room. "

Peggy was regarding him anxiously as he made his way to the door andintercepted Peter as he went to look for the valet. 

"What is it, Mr. Nichols?" she asked. "He may be sick, but it seems tome----" she paused, and then, "Did you see his eyes as he looked out ofthe window?"

"Indigestion, " said Peter coolly. 

"You'll see after him, won't you? And if he wants me, just call over. "

"I'm sure he won't want you. A few home remedies----"

And Peter went through the door. Stryker had appeared mysteriously fromsomewhere and had already preceded his master up the stair. When Peterreached the landing, McGuire was standing alone in the dark, leaningagainst the wall, his gaze on the lighted bedroom which, the valet wascarefully examining. 

"What is it, sir?" asked Peter coolly. "You thought you saw something?"

"Yes--out there--on the side portico----"

"You must be mistaken--unless it was one of the watchmen----"

"No, no. I saw----"

"What, sir?"

"No matter. Do you think Peggy noticed?"

"Just that you didn't seem quite yourself----"

"But not that I seemed--er----"

"Alarmed? I said you weren't well. "

Peter took the frightened man's arm and helped him into his room. 

"I'm not, Nichols, " he groaned. "I'm not myself. "

"I wouldn't worry, sir. I'd say it was physically impossible for any oneto approach the house without permission. But I'll go down and haveanother look around. "

"Do, Nichols. But come back up here. I'll want to talk to you. "

So Peter went down. And, evading inquiries in the hallway, made his wayout through the hall and pantry. Here a surprise awaited him, for as heopened the door there was a skurry of light footsteps and in a moment hewas in the pantry face to face with Beth Cameron, who seemed muchdismayed at being discovered. 

"What on earth are you doing here?" he asked in amazement. 

She glanced at his white shirt front and then laughed. 

"I came to help Aunt Tillie dish up. "

"You!" He didn't know why he should have been so amazed at finding heroccupying a menial position in this household. She didn't seem to belongto the back stairs! And yet there she was in a plain blue gingham dresswhich made her seem much taller, and a large apron, her tawny haircasting agreeable shadows around her blue eyes, which he noticed seemedmuch darker by night than by day. 

She noticed the inflection of his voice and laughed. 

"Why not? I thought Aunt Tillie would need me--and besides I wanted topeek a little. "

"Ah, I see. You wanted to see Miss Peggy's new frock through thekeyhole?"

"Yes--and the other one. Aren't they pretty?"

"I suppose so. "

"I listened, too. I couldn't help it. "

"Eavesdropping!"

She nodded. "Oh, Mr. Nichols, but you do play the piano beautifully!"

"But not like an angel in Heaven, " said Peter with a smile. 

"Almost--if angels play. You make me forget----" she paused. 

"What----?"

"That's there's anything in the world except beauty. "

In the drawing-room Freddy, having found himself, had swept into a songof the cabarets, to which there was a "close harmony" chorus. 

"There's that----, " he muttered, jerking a thumb in the direction fromwhich he had come. 

But she shook her head. "No, " she said. "That's different. "

"How--different?"

"Wrong--false--un--unworthy----"

As she groped for and found the word he stared at her in astonishment. And in her eyes back of the joy that seemed to be always dancing in themhe saw the shadows of a sober thought. 

"But don't you like dance music?" he asked. 

"Yes, I do, but it's only for the feet. Your music is for--for _here_. "And with a quick graceful gesture she clasped her hands upon her breast. 

"I'm glad you think so, because that's where it comes from. "

At this point Peter remembered his mission, which Beth's appearance haddriven from his mind. 

"I'll play for you sometime, " he said. 

He went past her and out to the servants' dining-room. As he enteredwith Beth at his heels, Mrs. Bergen, the housekeeper, turned in from theopen door to the kitchen garden, clinging to the jamb, her lipsmumbling, as though she were continuing a conversation. But her roundface, usually the color and texture of a well ripened peach, was thecolor of putty, and seemed suddenly to have grown old and haggard. Hereyes through her metal-rimmed spectacles seemed twice their size andstared at Peter as though they saw through him and beyond. She falteredat the door-jamb and then with an effort reached a chair, into which shesank gasping. 

Beth was kneeling at her side in a moment, looking up anxiously into herstartled eyes. 

"Why, what is it, Aunt Tillie?" she whispered quickly. "What it is? Tellme. "

The coincidence was too startling. Could the same Thing that hadfrightened McGuire have frightened the housekeeper too? Peter rushedpast her and out of the open door. It was dark outside and for a momenthe could see nothing. Then objects one by one asserted themselves, theorderly rows of vegetable plants in the garden, the wood-box by thedoor, the shrubbery at the end of the portico, the blue spruce treeopposite, the loom of the dark and noncommittal garage. He knew that oneof his men was in the trees opposite the side porch and another aroundthe corner of the kitchen, in the hedge, but he did not want to raise ahue and cry unless it was necessary. What was this Thing that createdterror at sight? He peered this way and that, aware of an intenseexcitement, in one hand his revolver and in the other his policewhistle. But he saw no object move, and the silence was absolute. In amoment--disappointed--he hurried back to the servants' dining-room. 

Mrs. Bergen sat dazed in her chair, while Beth, who had brought her aglass of water, was making her drink of it. 

"Tell me, what is it?" Beth was insisting. 

"Nothing--nothing, " murmured the woman. 

"But there is----"

"No, dearie----"

"Are you sick?"

"I don't feel right. Maybe--the heat----"

"But your eyes look queer----"

"Do they----?" The housekeeper tried to smile. 

"Yes. Like they had seen----"

A little startled as she remembered the mystery of the house, Beth casther glance into the darkness outside the open door. 

"You _are_--frightened!" she said. 

"No, no----"

"What was it you saw, Mrs. Bergen, " asked Peter gently. 

He was just at her side and at the sound of his voice she half arose, but recognizing Peter she sank back in her chair. 

Peter repeated his question, but she shook her head. 

"Won't you tell us? What was it you saw? A man----?"

Her eyes sought Beth's and a look of tenderness came into them, banishing the vision. But she lied when she answered Peter's question. 

"I saw nothin', Mr. Nichols--I think I'll go up----"

She took another swallow of the water and rose. And with her strengthcame a greater obduracy. 

"I saw nothin'----" she repeated again, as she saw that he was stilllooking at her. "Nothin' at all. "

Peter and Beth exchanged glances and Beth, putting her hand under thehousekeeper's arm, helped the woman to the back stairs. 

Peter stood for a moment in the middle of the kitchen floor, his gaze onthe door through which the woman had vanished. Aunt Tillie too! She hadseen some one, some Thing--the same some one or Thing that McGuire hadseen. But granting that their eyes had not deceived them, granting thateach had seen Something, what, unless it were supernatural, could havefrightened McGuire and Aunt Tillie too? Even if the old woman had beentimid about staying in the house, she had made it clear to Peter thatshe was entirely unaware of the kind of danger that threatened heremployer. Peter had believed her then. He saw no reason to disbelieveher now. She had known as little as Peter about the cause for McGuire'salarm. And here he had found her staring with the same unseeing eyesinto the darkness, with the same symptoms of nervous shock as McGuirehad shown. What enemy of McGuire's could frighten Aunt Tillie intoprostration and seal her lips to speech? Why wouldn't she have dared totell Peter what she had seen? What was this secret and how could sheshare it with McGuire when twenty-four hours ago she had been incomplete ignorance of the mystery? Why wouldn't she talk? Was thevision too intimate? Or too horrible?

Peter was imaginative, for he had been steeped from boyhood in thesuperstitions of his people. But the war had taught him that devils hadlegs and carried weapons. He had seen more horrible sights than most menof his years, in daylight, at dawn, or silvered with moonlight. Hethought he had exhausted the possibilities for terror. But he foundhimself grudgingly admitting that he was at the least a littlenervous--at the most, on the verge of alarm. But he put his whistle inhis mouth, drew his revolver again and went forth. 

First he sought out the man in the spruce tree. It was Andy. He had seenno one but the people on the porch and in the windows. It was very darkbut he took an oath that no one had approached the house from his side. 

"You saw no one talking with Mrs. Bergen by the kitchen door?"

"No. I can't see th' kitchen door from here. "

Peter verified. A syringa bush was just in line. 

"Then you haven't moved?" asked Peter. 

"No. I was afraid they'd see me. "

"They've seen something----"

"You mean----?"

"I don't know. But look sharp. If anything comes out this way, take ashot at it. "

"You think there's something----"

"Yes--but don't move. And keep your eyes open!"

Peter went off to the man in the hedge behind the kitchen--Jesse Brown. 

"See anything?" asked Peter. 

"Nope. Nobody but the chauffeur. "

"The chauffeur?"

"He went up to th' house a while back. "

"Oh--how long ago?"

"Twenty minutes. "

"I see. " And then, "You didn't see any one come away from the kitchendoor?"

"No. He's thar yet, I reckon. "

Peter ran out to the garage to verify this statement. By the light of alantern the chauffeur in his rubber boots was washing the two cars. 

"Have you been up to the house lately?"

"Why, no, " said the man, in surprise. 

"You're sure?" asked Peter excitedly. 

"Sure----"

"Then come with me. There's something on. "

The man dropped his sponge and followed Peter, who had run back quicklyto the house. 

It was now after eleven. From the drawing-room came the distractingsounds from the tortured piano, but there was no one on the portico. SoPeter, with Jesse, Andy and the chauffeur made a careful round of thehouse, examining every bush, every tree, within a circle of a hundredyards, exhausting every possibility for concealment. When they reachedthe kitchen door again, Peter rubbed his head and gave it up. A screechowl somewhere off in the woods jeered at him. All the men, except Jesse, were plainly skeptical. But he sent them back to their posts and, stillpondering the situation, went into the house. 

It was extraordinary how the visitor, whoever he was, could have gottenaway without having been observed, for though the night was black theeyes of the men outside were accustomed to it and the lights from thewindows sent a glimmer into the obscurity. Of one thing Peter was nowcertain, that the prowler was no ghost or banshee, but a man, and thathe had gone as mysteriously as he had come. 

Peter knew that his employer would be anxious until he returned to him, but he hadn't quite decided to tell McGuire of the housekeeper's sharein the adventure. He had a desire to verify his belief that Mrs. Bergenwas frightened by the visitor for a reason of her own which had nothingto do with Jonathan McGuire. Any woman alarmed by a possible burglar orother miscreant would have come running and crying for help. Mrs. Bergenhad been doggedly silent, as though, rather than utter her thoughts, shewould have bitten out her tongue. It was curious. She had seemed to betalking as though to herself at the door, and then, at the sound offootsteps in the kitchen behind her, had turned and fallen limp in thenearest chair. The look in her face, as in McGuire's, was that ofterror, but there was something of bewilderment in both of them too, like that of a solitary sniper in the first shock of a shrapnel wound, alook of anguish that seemed to have no outlet, save in speech, which wasdenied. 

To tell McGuire what had happened in the kitchen meant to alarm himfurther. Peter decided for the present to keep the matter from him, giving the housekeeper the opportunity of telling the truth on themorrow if she wished. 

He crossed the kitchen and servants' dining-room and just at the foot ofthe back stairs met Mrs. Bergen and Beth coming down. So he retraced hissteps into the kitchen, curious as to the meaning of her reappearance. 

At least she had recovered the use of her tongue. 

"I couldn't go to bed, just yet, Mr. Nichols, " she said in reply toPeter's question. "I just couldn't. "

Peter gazed at her steadily. This woman held a clew to the mystery. Sheglanced at him uncertainly but she had recovered her self-possession, and her replies to his questions, if anything, were more obstinate thanbefore. 

"I saw nothin', Mr. Nichols--nothin'. I was just a bit upset. I'm allright now. An' I want Beth to go home. That's why I came down. "

"But, Aunt Tillie, if you're not well, I'm going to stay----"

"No. Ye can't stay here. I want ye to go. " And then, turning excitedlyto Peter, "Can't ye let somebody see her home, Mr. Nichols?"

"Of course, " said Peter. "But I don't think she's in any danger. "

"No, but she can't stay here. She just can't. "

Beth put her arm around the old woman's shoulder. 

"I'm not afraid. "

Aunt Tillie was already untying Beth's apron. 

"I know ye're not, dearie. But ye can't stay here. I don't want ye to. Idon't want ye to. "

"But if you're afraid of something----"

"Who said I was afraid?" she asked, glaring at Peter defiantly. "I'mnot. I just had a spell--all this excitement an' extra work--an'everything. "

She lied. Peter knew it, but he saw no object to be gained in keepingBeth in Black Rock House, so he went out cautiously and brought thechauffeur, to whom he entrusted the safety of the girl. He would havefelt more comfortable if he could have escorted her himself, but he knewthat his duty was at the house and that whoever the mysterious personwas it was not Beth that he wanted. 

But what was Mrs. Bergen's reason for wishing to get rid of her?

As Beth went out of the door he whispered in her ear, "Say nothing ofthis--to any one. "

She nodded gravely and followed the man who had preceded her. 

When the door closed behind Beth and the chauffeur, Peter turned quicklyand faced the housekeeper. 

"Now, " he said severely, "tell me the truth. "

She stared at him with a falling jaw in a moment of alarm--then closedher lips firmly. And, as she refused to reply, "Do you want me to tell Mr. McGuire that you were talking to a strangerat the kitchen door?"

She trembled and sinking in a chair buried her face in her hands. 

"I don't want to be unkind, Mrs. Bergen, but there's something here thatneeds explaining. Who was the man you talked to outside the door?"

"I--I can't tell ye, " she muttered. 

"You must. It's better. I'm your friend and Beth's----"

The woman raised her haggard face to his. 

"Beth's friend! Are ye? Then ask me no more. "

"But I've got to know. I'm here to protect Mr. McGuire, but I'd like toprotect you too. Who is this stranger?"

The woman lowered her head and then shook it violently. "No, no. I'llnot tell. "

He frowned down at her head. 

"Did you know that to-night McGuire saw the stranger--the man that _you_saw--and that he's even more frightened than you?"

The woman raised her head, gazed at him helplessly, then lowered itagain, but she did not speak. The kitchen was silent, but an obbligatoto this drama, like the bray of the ass in the overture to "MidsummerNight's Dream, " came from the drawing-room, where Freddy Mordaunt wasnow singing a sentimental ballad. 

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Bergen, but if Mr. McGuire is in danger to-night, I'vegot to know it. "

"To-night!" she gasped, as though clutching at a straw. "Not to-night. Nothin'll happen to-night. I'm sure of that, Mr. Nichols. "

"How do you know?"

She threw out her arms in a wide gesture of desperation. "For the loveo' God, go 'way an' leave me in peace. Don't ye see I ain't fit to talkto anybody?" She gasped with a choking throat. "_He_ ain't comin' backagain--not to-night. I'll swear it on th' Bible, if ye want me to. "

Their glances met, hers weary and pleading, and he believed her. 

"All right, Mrs. Bergen, " he said soothingly. "I'll take your word forit, but you'll admit the whole thing is very strange--very startling. "

"Yes--strange. God knows it is. But I--I can't tell ye anything. "

"But what shall I say to Mr. McGuire--upstairs. I've got to go up--now. "

"Say to him----?" she gasped helplessly, all her terrors renewed. "Yecan't tell him I was talkin' to anybody. " And then more wildly, "Yemustn't. I wasn't. I was talkin' to myself--that's the God's truth, Iwas--when ye come in. It was so strange--an' all. Don't tell him, Mr. Nichols, " she pleaded at last, with a terrible earnestness, andclutching at his hand. "For my sake, for Beth's----"

"What has Beth to do with it?"

"More'n ye think. Oh, God----" she broke off. "What am I sayin'----?Beth don't know. She mustn't. He don't know either----"

"Who? McGuire?"

"No--no. Don't ask any more questions, Mr. Nichols, " she sobbed. "Ican't speak. Don't ye see I can't?"

So Peter gave up the inquisition. He had never liked to see a woman cry. 

"Oh, all right, " he said more cheerfully, "you'd better be getting tobed. Perhaps daylight will clear things up. "

"And ye won't tell McGuire?" she pleaded. 

"I can't promise anything. But I won't if I'm not compelled to. "

She gazed at him uncertainly, her weary eyes wavering, but she seemed totake some courage from his attitude. 

"God bless ye, sir. "

"Good-night, Mrs. Bergen. "

And then, avoiding the drawing-room, Peter made his way up the stairswith a great deal of mental uncertainty to the other room of terror. 

CHAPTER VII

MUSIC

Stryker, who kept guard at the door of McGuire's room, opened itcautiously in response to Peter's knock. He found McGuire sittingrigidly in a rocking-chair at the side of the room, facing the windows, a whisky bottle and glass on the table beside him. His face had lost itspallor, but in his eyes was the same look of glassy bewilderment. 

"Why the H---- couldn't you come sooner?" He whined the question, notangrily, but querulously, like a child. 

"I was having a look around, " replied Peter coolly. 

"Oh! And did you find anybody?"

"No. "

"H-m! I thought you wouldn't. "

Peter hesitated. He meant to conceal the housekeeper's share in thenight's encounters, but he knew that both Andy and the chauffeur wouldtalk, and so, "There _was_ somebody outside, Mr. McGuire, " he said. "You were notmistaken, a man prowling in the dark near the kitchen. Andy thought itwas the chauffeur, who was in the garage washing the cars. "

"Ah!"

McGuire started up, battling for his manhood. It seemed to Peter thathis gasp was almost one of relief at discovering that his eyes had notdeceived him, that the face he had seen was that of a real person, instead of the figment of a disordered mind. 

"Ah! Why didn't they shoot him?"

"I've just said, sir, Andy thought it was the chauffeur. "

McGuire was pacing the floor furiously. 

"He has no business to think. I pay him to act. And you--what did youdo?"

"Three of us searched the whole place--every tree, every bush--everyshadow----. The man has gone. "

"Gone, " sneered the other. "A H---- of a mess you're making of thisjob!"

Peter straightened angrily, but managed to control himself. 

"Very well, Mr. McGuire, " he said. "Then you'd better get somebody elseat once. "

He had never given notice before but the hackneyed phrase fell crisplyfrom his lips. For many reasons, Peter didn't want to go, but he bowedand walked quickly across the room. "Good-night, " he said. 

Before he had reached the door the frightened man came stumbling afterhim and caught him by the arm. 

"No, no, Nichols. Come back. D'ye hear? You mustn't be so d---- touchy. Come back. You can't go. I didn't mean anything. Come now!"

Peter paused, his hand on the knob, and looked down into the man'sflabby, empurpled countenance. 

"I thought you meant it, " he said. 

"No. I--I didn't. I--I like you, Nichols--liked you from the veryfirst--yesterday. Of course you can't be responsible for all theboneheads here. "

Peter had "called the bluff. " Perhaps the lesson might have a salutaryeffect. And so, as his good humor came back to him, he smiledpleasantly. 

"You see, Mr. McGuire, you could hardly expect Andy to shoot thechauffeur. They're on excellent terms. "

McGuire had settled down into a chair near the table, and motioned Peterto another one near him. 

"Sit down, Nichols. Another glass, Stryker. So. " He poured the whiskywith an assumption of ease and they drank. 

"You see, Nichols, " he went on as he set his empty glass down, "I knowwhat I'm about. There _is_ somebody trying to get at me. It's nodream--no hallucination. You know that too, now. I saw him--I would haveshot him through the window--if it hadn't been for Peggy--and theothers--but I--I didn't dare--for reasons. She mustn't know----" Andthen eagerly, "She doesn't suspect anything yet, does she, Nichols?"

Peter gestured over his shoulder in the direction of the sounds whichstill came from below. 

"No. They're having a good time. "

"That's all right. To-morrow they'll be leaving for New York, I hope. And then we'll meet this issue squarely. You say the man has gone. Whydo you think so?"

"Isn't it reasonable to think so? His visit was merely a reconnoissance. I think he had probably been lying out in the underbrush all day, getting the lay of the land, watching what we were doing--seeing wherethe men were placed. But he must know now that he'll have to trysomething else--that he hasn't a chance of getting to you past theseguards, if you don't want him to. "

"But he nearly succeeded to-night, " mumbled McGuire dubiously. 

Peter was silent a moment. 

"I'm not supposed to question and I won't. But it seems to me, Mr. McGuire, that if this visitor's plan were to murder you, to get rid ofyou, he would have shot you down to-night, through the window. From hisfailure to do so, there is one definite conclusion to draw--and that isthat he wants to see you--to talk with you----"

McGuire fairly threw himself from his chair as he roared, "I can't see him. I won't. I won't see anybody. I've got the law on myside. A man's house is his castle. A fellow prowls around here in thedark. He's been seen--if he's shot it's his own lookout. And he _will_be shot before he reaches me. You hear me? Your men must shoot--shoot tokill. If they fail I'll----"

He shrugged as if at the futility of his own words, which came stumblingforth, born half of fear, half of braggadocio. 

Peter regarded him soberly. It was difficult to conceive of this man, who talked like a madman and a spoiled child, as the silent, stubborn, friendless millionaire, as the power in finance that Sheldon, Senior, had described him to be. The love of making money had succumbed to amore primitive passion which for the time being had mastered him. Fromwhat had been revealed, it seemed probable that it was not death orbodily injury that he feared, for Peter had seen him stand up at thewindow, a fair target for any good marksman, but an interview with thisnocturnal visitor who seemed bent upon bringing it about. Indeed, thechildish bravado of his last speech had voiced a wish, but beneath thewish Peter had guessed a protest against the inevitable. 

Peter acknowledged McGuire's right to seclusion in his own house, but hefound himself wondering whether death for the intruder as proposed byhis employer were a justifiable means of preserving it, especially ifthe strange visitor did not himself use violence to gain his ends. Andso, when McGuire presently poured himself another glass of whisky, anddrank it, Peter took the liberty of asking the question. 

"I am ignorant of your laws in this country, Mr. McGuire, but doesn't itseem that short of forcible entry of this house we would hardly bejustified in shooting the man?"

"I take the responsibility for that. "

"I understand. But what I was going to propose was a hunt through thewoods to-morrow. A description of this man would be helpful. Forinstance, whether he was smoothly shaven or whether he had abeard--or--or a mustache?"

McGuire scowled. 

"The man has a slight growth of beard--of mustache. But what differencedoes that make? No one has a right here--without my permission. "

Peter sipped at his glass. As he had suspected, there were two of them. 

"That's true. But even with this, we can move with more intelligence. This forest is your property. If we find any person who can't give anaccount of himself, we could take him into custody and turn him over tothe proper authorities. "

"No. No, " cried McGuire. "And have him set loose after a trivialexamination? Little good that would do. This man who is trying to reachme----"

McGuire stopped suddenly, glaring at his superintendent with bloodshoteyes, and Peter very politely waited for him to go on. But he broughthis empty glass down on the table with a crash which shattered it. 

"He mustn't reach me, " he roared. "I won't see him. That's understood. He's a man I'd have no more compunction about shooting than----"

McGuire, with a curious suddenness, stopped again. Then rose and resumedhis habit of pacing the floor. For a moment it had almost seemed as ifhe were on the point of a revelation. But the mood passed. Instead ofspeaking further he threw out his arms in a wide gesture. 

"I've said enough, " he growled, "more than enough. You know your duty. "And he gestured toward the door. "Do it!" he finished brusquely. 

Peter had already risen, and Stryker unemotionally opened the door forhim. 

"I'll stay on duty all night, Mr. McGuire, " he said quietly. "I'd adviseyou to turn in and get some sleep. You need it. "

"Yes. Yes, I will. Thanks, Nichols, " said McGuire, following him to thedoor and offering a flabby hand. "Don't mind what I've said to-night. Ithink we understand each other. Stryker will see that the house islocked when the young people come up. Keep your men to the mark and takeno chances. "

"Good-night. "

The remainder of the night, as Mrs. Bergen had predicted, proveduneventful, and at daylight Peter went to his cabin and tumbled intobed, too tired to think further of McGuire's visitors--or even of theman with the black mustache. 

The next day he lay abed luxuriously for a while after he had awakened, but no amount of quiet thinking availed to clarify the mystery. Therewere two men, one bearded, interested in watching McGuire, another witha black mustache, interested in Peter. And so, after wondering again forsome puzzling moments as to how Mrs. Bergen, the housekeeper, had cometo be involved in McGuire's fortunes, he gave the problem up. 

Foreseeing difficulties over breakfast at the house, he had arranged tomake his own coffee on a small oil stove which happened to be available, and so Peter set the pot on to boil and while he dressed turned over inhis mind the possibilities of the future. It seemed quite certain thatthe antagonism, whatever its nature, between his employer and theprowling stranger must come to an issue of some sort almost at once. Theintruder, if he were the sort of man who could inspire terror, wouldnot remain content merely to prowl fruitlessly about with every dangerof being shot for his pains, and McGuire could hardly remain long in hispresent situation without a physical or mental collapse. 

Why hadn't McGuire taken flight? Why indeed had he come to Black RockHouse when it seemed that he would have been much safer amongst thecrowds of the city, where he could fall back upon the protection of thepolice and their courts for immunity from this kind of persecution?

Pieced together, the phrases his employer had let slip suggested thethought that he had come to Black Rock to escape publicity in anythingthat might happen. And McGuire's insistence upon the orders that theguards should shoot to kill also suggested, rather unpleasantly, thethought that McGuire knew who the visitor was and earnestly desired hisdeath. 

But Mrs. Bergen could have no such wish, for, unlike McGuire, she hadshown a reticence in her fears, as though her silence had been intendedto protect rather than to accuse. Beth Cameron, too, was in some wayunconsciously involved in the adventure. But how? He drank his coffeeand ate his roll, a prey to a very lively curiosity. Beth interestedhim. And if Aunt Tillie Bergen, her only near relative, showed signs ofinquietude on the girl's account, the mysterious visitor surely had itin his power to make her unhappy. As he washed up the dishes and madehis bed, Peter decided that he would find Beth to-night when she cameback from work and ask her some questions about her Aunt Tillie. 

Beth Cameron saved him that trouble. He was sitting at the piano, awaiting a telephone call to Black Rock House, where he was to have aconference with his employer on the forestry situation. He was so deeplyabsorbed in his music that he was unaware of the figure that had stolenthrough the underbrush and was now hidden just outside the door. It wasBeth. She stood with the fingers of one hand lightly touching the edgeof the door-jamb, the other hand at her breast, while she listened, poised lightly as though for flight. But a playful breeze twitched atthe hem of her skirt, flicking it out into the patch of sunlight by thedoorsill, and Peter caught the glint of white from the tail of his eye. 

The music ceased suddenly and before Beth could flee into the bushesPeter had caught her by the hand. 

Now that she was discovered she made no effort to escape him. 

"I--I was listening, " she gasped. 

"Why, Beth, " he exclaimed, voicing the name in his thoughts. "How longhave you been here?"

"I--I don't know. Not long. "

"I'm so glad. "

She was coloring very prettily. 

"You--you told me you--you'd play for me sometime, " she said demurely. 

"Of course. Won't you come in? It's rather a mess here, but----"

He led her in, glancing at her gingham dress, a little puzzled. 

"I thought you'd be farmeretting, " he said. 

But she shook her head. 

"I quit--yesterday. "

He didn't ask the reason. He was really enjoying the sight of her. Fewwomen are comely in the morning hours, which have a merciless way ofexaggerating minute imperfections. Beth hadn't any minute imperfectionsexcept her freckles, which were merely Nature's colorings upon awoodland flower. She seemed to fill the cabin with morning fragrance, like a bud just brought in from the garden. 

"I'm very glad you've come, " he said gallantly, leading her over to thedouble window where there was a chintz-covered seat. "I've wanted verymuch to talk to you. "

She followed him protestingly. 

"But I didn't come to be talked to. I came to listen to you play. "

"You always arrive in the midst of music, " he laughed. "I played you in, without knowing it. That was an Elfentanz----"

"What's that?"

"A dance of the Elves--the fairies. " And then, with a laugh, "And thelittle devils. "

"The little devils? You mean _me_!"

"Elf--fairy and devil too--but mostly elf. "

"I'm not sure I like that--but I _do_ like the music. Please play itagain. "

She was so lovely in her eagerness that he couldn't refuse, his fingersstraying from the dance by slow transitions into something more quiet, the "Romance" of Sibelius, and then after that into a gay little_scherzo_, at the end of which he turned suddenly to find her flushedand breathless, regarding him in a kind of awe. 

"How lovely!" she whispered. "There were no devils in that. "

"No, only fairies. "

"Angels too--but somethin' else--that quiet piece--like the--the memoryof a--a--sorrow. "

"'Romance, ' it's called, " he explained gently. 

"Oh!"

"The things we dream. The things that ought to be, but aren't. "

She took a deep breath. "Yes, that's it. That's what it meant. I feltit. " And then, as though with a sudden shyness at her self-revelation, she glanced about. "What a pretty place! I've never been here before. "

"How did you find your way?"

"Oh, I knew where the cabin was. I came through the woods and across thelog-jam below the pool. Then I heard the music. I didn't think you'dmind. "

"Mind! Oh, I say. I don't know when I've been so pleased. "

"Are you really? You _say_ a lot. "

"Didn't I play it?"

That confused her a little. 

"Oh!" she said demurely. 

"And now, will you talk to me?"

"Yes, of course. But----"

"But what----?"

"I--I'm not sure that I ought to be here. "

"Why not?"

"It's kind of--unusual. "

He laughed. "You wouldn't be you, if you weren't unusual. "

She glanced at him uneasily. 

"You see, I don't know you very well. "

"You're very exclusive in Black Rock!" he laughed. 

"I guess we _have_ to be exclusive whether we want to or not, " shereplied. 

"Don't you think I'll do?"

"Maybe. I oughtn't to have come, but I just couldn't keep away. "

"I'm glad you did. I wanted to see you. "

"It wasn't that, " she put in hastily. "I had to hear you play again. That's what I mean. "

"I'll play for you whenever you like. "

"Will you? Then play again, now. It makes me feel all queer inside. "

Peter laughed. "Do you feel that way when you sing?"

"No. It all comes out of me then. "

"Would you mind singing for me, Beth?" he asked after a moment. 

"I--I don't think I dare. "

He got up and went to the piano. 

"What do you sing?"

But she hadn't moved and she didn't reply. So he urged her. 

"In the woods when you're coming home----?"

"Oh, I don't know----It just comes out--things I've heard--things I makeup----"

"What have you heard? I don't know that I can accompany you, but I'lltry. "

She was flushing painfully. He could see that she wanted to sing forhim--to be a part of this wonderful dream-world in which he belonged, and yet she did not dare. 

"What have you heard?" he repeated softly, encouraging her by runninghis fingers slowly over the simple chords of a major key. 

Suddenly she started up and joined him by the piano. 

"That's it--'The long, long trail a-windin'----" and in a moment wassinging softly. He had heard the air and fell in with her almost atonce. 

 "There's a long, long trail a-winding Into the land of my dreams, Where the nightingale is singing And a bright moon beams----"

Like the good musician that he was, Peter submerged himself, playinggently, his gaze on his fingers, while he listened. He had made nomistake. The distances across which he had heard her had not flattered. Her voice was untrained, of course, but it seemed to Peter that it hadlost nothing by the neglect, for as she gained confidence, she forgotPeter, as he intended that she should, and sang with the completeabstraction of a thrush in the deep wood. Like the thrush's note, too, Beth's was limpid, clear, and sweet, full of forest sounds--the fallingbrook, the sigh of night winds. .. . 

When the song ended he told her so. 

"You do say nice things, don't you?" she said joyously. 

"Wouldn't you--if it cost you nothing and was the truth? You must haveyour voice trained. "

"Must! I might jump over the moon if I had a broomstick. "

"It's got to be managed somehow. "

"Then you're not disappointed in the way it sounds, close up?"

She stood beside him, leaning against the piano, her face flushed, herbreath rapid, searching his face eagerly. Peter knew that it was onlythe dormant artist in her seeking the light, but he thrilled warmly ather nearness, for she was very lovely. Peter's acquaintance with womenhad been varied, but, curiously enough, each meeting with this girlinstead of detracting had only added to her charm. 

"No. I'm not disappointed in it, " he said quite calmly, every impulse inhim urging a stronger expression. But he owed a duty to himself. _Noblesse oblige!_ It was one of the mottoes of his House--(not alwaysfollowed--alas!). With a more experienced woman he would have said whatwas in his mind. He would probably have taken her in his arms and kissedher at once, for that was really what he would have liked to do. ButBeth. .. . 

Perhaps something in the coolness of his tone disconcerted her, for sheturned away from the piano. 

"You're very kind, " she said quietly. 

He had a feeling that she was about to slip away from him, so he got up. 

"Won't you sing again, Beth?"

But she shook her head. For some reason the current that had run betweenthem was broken. As she moved toward the door, he caught her by thehand. 

"Don't go yet. I want to talk to you. "

"I don't think I ought. " And then, with a whimsical smile, "And youought to be out makin' the trees grow. "

He laughed. "There's a lot of time for that. "

She let him lead her to the divan again and sat, her fingers dovetailedaround a slender knee. 

"I--I'm sorry I made fun of you the other day, " she confessedimmediately. 

"I didn't mind in the least. "

"But you _did_ seem to know it all, " she said. And then smiled in thedirection of the piano. "Now--I'm comin' to think you do. Even Shad saysyou're a wonder. I--I don't think he likes you, though----" sheadmitted. 

"I'm sorry to hear that. "

"Don't you care. Shad don't like anybody but himself andGoda'mighty--with God trailin' a little. "

Peter smiled. Her singing voice may have been impersonal but one couldhardly think that of her conversation. 

"And you, Beth--where do _you_ come in?"

She glanced at him quickly. 

"Oh, I----, " she said with a laugh, "I just trail along after God. "

Her irony meant no irreverence but a vast derogation of Shad Wells. Somehow her point of view was very illuminating. 

"I'm afraid you make him very unhappy, " he ventured. 

"That's _his_ lookout, " she finished. 

Peter was taking a great delight in watching her profile, the blue eyesshadowed under the mass of her hair, eyes rather deeply set andthoughtful in repose, the straight nose, the rather full underlip endingin a precipitous dent above her chin. He liked that chin. There wascourage there and strength, softened at once by the curve of the throat, flowing to where it joined the fine deep breast. Yesterday she hadseemed like a boy. To-day she was a woman grown, feminine in everygraceful conformation, on tiptoe at the very verge of life. 

But there was no "flapper" here. What she lacked in culture was made upin refinement. He had felt that yesterday--the day before. She belongedelsewhere. And yet to Peter it would have seemed a pity to have changedher in any particular. Her lips were now drawn in a firm line and herbrows bore a curious frown. 

"You don't mind my calling you Beth, do you?"

She flashed a glance at him. 

"That's what everybody calls me. "

"My name is Peter. "

"Yes, I know. " And then, "That's funny. "

"Funny!"

"You look as if your name ought to be Algernon. "

"Why?" he asked, laughing. 

"Oh, I don't know. It's the name of a man in a book I read--anEnglishman. You're English, you said. "

"Half English, " said Peter. 

"What's the other half?"

"Russian. " He knew that he ought to be lying to her, but somehow hecouldn't. 

"Russian! I thought Russians all had long hair and carried bombs. "

"Some of 'em do. I'm not that kind. The half of me that's English is thebiggest half, and the safest. "

"I'm glad of that. I'd hate to think of you as bein' a Bolshevik. "

"H-m. So would I. "

"But Russia's where you get your music from, isn't it? The band leaderat Glassboro is a Russian. He can play every instrument. Did you learnmusic in Russia?"

Beth was now treading dangerous ground and so it was time to turn thetables. 

"Yes, a little, " he said, "but music has no nationality. Or why would Ifind a voice like yours out here?"

"Twenty miles from nowhere, " she added scornfully. 

"How did you come here, Beth? Would you mind telling me? You weren'tborn here, were you? How did you happen to come to Black Rock?"

"Just bad luck, I guess. Nobody'd ever come to Black Rock just becausethey want to. We just came. That's all. "

"Just you and Aunt Tillie? Is your father dead?" he asked. 

She closed her eyes a moment and then clasped her knees again. 

"I don't like to talk about family matters. "

"Oh, I----"

And then, gently, she added, "I never talk about them to any one. "

"Oh, I'm sorry, " said Peter, aware of the undercurrent of sadness in hervoice. "I didn't know that there was anything painful to you----"

"I didn't know it myself, until you played it to me, just now, the piecewith the sad, low voices, under the melody. It was like somebody deadspeakin' to me. I can't talk about the things I feel like that. "

"Don't then----Forgive me for asking. "

He laid his fingers softly over hers. She withdrew her hand quickly, butthe look that she turned him found his face sober, his dark eyes warmwith sympathy. And then with a swift inconsequential impulse born ofPeter's recantation, "I don't s'pose there's any reason why I shouldn't tell you, " she saidmore easily. "Everybody around here knows about me--about us. AuntTillie and I haven't lived here always. She brought me here when I was achild. "

She paused again and Peter remained silent, watching her intently. Asshe glanced up at him, something in the expression of his face gave hercourage to go on. 

"Father's dead. His name was Ben Cameron. He came of nice people, " shefaltered. "But he--he was no good. We lived up near New Lisbon. He usedto get drunk on 'Jersey Lightnin'' and tear loose. He was all rightbetween whiles--farmin'--but whisky made him crazy, and then--then hewould come home and beat us up. "

"Horrible!"

"It was. I was too little to know much, but Aunt Tillie's husband cameat last and there was a terrible fight. Uncle Will was hurt--hurt sobad--cut with a knife--that he never was the same again. And my--myfather went away cursing us all. Then my mother died--Uncle Willtoo--and Aunt Tillie and I came down here to live. That's all. Not muchto be proud of, " she finished ruefully. 

Peter was silent. It was a harrowing, sordid story of primitive passion. He was very sorry for her. 

Beth made an abrupt graceful movement of an arm across her brows, asthough to wipe out the memory. 

"I don't know why I've told you, " she said. "I never speak of this toany one. "

"I'm so sorry. "

He meant it. And Beth knew that he did. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE PLACARD

The look that she had given him showed her sense of his sympathy. So heventured, "Did you hear from your father before he died?"

"Aunt Tillie did, --once. Then we got word he'd been killed in a railwayaccident out West. I was glad. A man like that has no right to live. "

"You and Aunt Tillie have had a pretty hard time----" he mused. 

"Yes. She's an angel--and I love her. Why is it that good people havenothin' but trouble? She had an uncle who went bad too--he was youngerthan she was--my great-uncle--Jack Bray--he forged a check--or somethin'up in Newark--and went to the penitentiary. "

"And is he dead too?"

"No--not at last accounts. He's out--somewhere. When I was little heused to come to Aunt Tillie for money--a tall, lantern-jawed man. I sawhim once three years ago. He was here. Aunt Tillie tried to keep me outof the kitchen. But I thought he was up to some funny business andstayed. He took a fancy to me. He said he was camera man in the movies. He wanted me to go with him--thought I could be as good as MaryPickford. I'm glad I didn't go--from what I know now. He was a bad man. Aunt Tillie was scared of him. Poor soul! She gave him all she had--mostof what was left from the old farm, I guess. "

"Do you think----" began Peter, then paused. And as she glanced at himinquiringly, "Did you notice that your Aunt Tillie seemed--er--frightenedlast night?" he asked at last. 

"I thought so for a while, but she said she was only sick. She neverlies to me. "

"She seemed very much disturbed. "

"Her nerve's not what it used to be--especially since Mr. McGuire'staken to seein' things----"

"You don't believe then that she could have seen John Bray--that he hadcome back again last night?"

"Why, no, " said Beth, turning in surprise. "I never thought of it--andyet, " she paused, "yes, --it might have been----"

She became more thoughtful but didn't go on. Peter was on the trail of aclew to the mystery, but she had already told him so much that furtherquestions seemed like personal intrusion. And so, "I'd like to tell you, Beth, " he said, "that I'm your friend and Mrs. Bergen's. If anything should turn up to make you unhappy or to make youraunt unhappy and I can help you, won't you let me know?"

"Why--do you think anything is goin' to happen?" she asked. 

His reply was noncommittal. 

"I just wanted you to know you could count on me----" he said soberly. "I think you've had trouble enough. "

"But I'm not afraid of Jack Bray, " she said with a shrug, "even if AuntTillie is. He can't do anything to me. He can't _make_ me go to New Yorkif I don't want to. "

She had clenched her brown fists in her excitement and Peter laughed. 

"I think I'd be a little sorry for anybody who tried to make you doanything you didn't want to do, " he said. 

She frowned. "Why, if I thought that bandy-legged, lantern-jawed, oldbuzzard was comin' around here frightenin' Aunt Tillie, I'd--I'd----"

"What would you do?"

"Never you mind what I'd do. But I'm not afraid of Jack Bray, " shefinished confidently. 

The terrors that had been built up around the house of McGuire, themystery surrounding the awe-inspiring prowler, the night vigils, thesecrecy--all seemed to fade into a piece of hobbledehoy buffoonery atBeth's contemptuous description of her recreant relative. And he smiledat her amusedly. 

"But what would you say, " he asked seriously, "if I told you that lastnight Mr. McGuire saw the same person your Aunt Tillie did, and that hewas terrified--almost to the verge of collapse?"

Beth had risen, her eyes wide with incredulity. 

"Merciful Father! McGuire! Did he have another spell last night? Youdon't mean----?"

"I went up to his room. He was done for. He had seen outside thedrawing-room window the face of the very man he's been guarding himselfagainst. "

"I can't believe----, " she gasped. "And you think Aunt Tillie----?"

"Your Aunt Tillie talked to a man outside the door of the kitchen. Youdidn't hear her. I did. The same man who had been frightening Mr. McGuire. "

"Aunt Tillie!" she said in astonishment. 

"There's not a doubt of it. McGuire saw him. Andy saw him too, --thoughthe was the chauffeur. "

Beth's excitement was growing with the moments. 

"Why, Aunt Tillie didn't know anything about what was frightening Mr. McGuire--no more'n I did, " she gasped. 

"She knows now. She wasn't sick last night, Beth. She was justbewildered--frightened half out of her wits. I spoke to her after youwent home. She wouldn't say a word. She was trying to conceal something. But there was a man outside and she knows who he is. "

"But what could Jack Bray have to do with Mr. McGuire?" she asked inbewilderment. 

Peter shrugged. "You know as much as I do. I wouldn't have told you thisif you'd been afraid. But Mrs. Bergen is. "

"Well, did you _ever?_"

"No, I never did, " replied Peter, smiling. 

"It does beat _anything_. "

"It does. It's most interesting, but as far as I can see, hardlyalarming for you, whatever it may be to Mr. McGuire or Mrs. Bergen. Ifthe man is only your great-uncle, there ought to be a way to deal withhim----"

"I've just got to talk to Aunt Tillie, " Beth broke in, moving toward thedoor. Peter followed her, taking up his hat. 

"I'll go with you, " he said. 

For a few moments Beth said nothing. She had passed through the stagesof surprise, anger and bewilderment, and was now still indignant butquite self-contained. When he thought of Beth's description of the Ghostof Black Rock House, Peter was almost tempted to forget the terrors ofthe redoubtable McGuire. A man of his type hardly lapses into hysteriaat the mere thought of a "bandy-legged buzzard. " And yet McGuire'sterrors had been so real and were still so real that it was hardlyconceivable that Bray could have been the cause of them. Indeed it washardly conceivable that the person Beth described could be a source ofterror to any one. What was the answer?

"Aunt Tillie doesn't know anything about McGuire, " Beth said suddenly. "She just couldn't know. She tells me everything. "

"But of course it's possible that McGuire and this John Bray could havemet in New York----"

"What would Mr. McGuire be doin' with him?" she said scornfully. 

Peter laughed. 

"It's what he's doing with McGuire that matters. "

"I don't believe it's Bray, " said Beth confidently. "I don't believeit. "

They had reached a spot where the underbrush was thin, and Beth, who hadbeen looking past the tree trunks toward the beginnings of the lawns, stopped suddenly, her eyes focusing upon some object closer at hand. 

"What's that?" she asked, pointing. 

Peter followed the direction of her gaze. On a tree in the woods not farfrom the path was a square of cardboard, but Beth's eyes were keenerthan Peter's, and she called his attention to some writing upon it. 

They approached curiously. With ironic impudence the message wasscrawled in red crayon upon the reverse of one of Jonathan McGuire'sneat trespass signs, and nailed to the tree by an old hasp-knife. Sideby side, and intensely interested, they read:

 TO MIKE MCGUIRE

 I'VE COME BACK. 

 YOU KNOW WHAT I'VE GOT AND I KNOW WHAT YOU'VE GOT. ACT PRONTO. I'LL COME FOR MY ANSWER AT ELEVEN FRIDAY NIGHT--AT THIS TREE. NO TRICKS. IF THERE'S NO ANSWER--YOU KNOW WHAT I'LL DO. 

 HAWK. 

"Hawk!" muttered Beth, "who on earth----?"

"Another----, " said Peter cryptically. 

"You see!" cried Beth triumphantly, "I knew it couldn't be Jack Bray!"

"This chap seems to be rather in earnest, doesn't he? _Pronto!_ Thatmeans haste. "

"But it's only a joke. It must be, " cried Beth. 

Peter loosened the knife, took the placard down and turned it over, examining it critically. 

"I wonder. " And then, thoughtfully, "No, I don't believe it is. It'saddressed to McGuire. I'm going to take it to him. "

"Mike McGuire, " corrected Beth. And then, "But it really does lookqueer. "

"It does, " assented Peter; "it appears to me as if this message musthave come from the person McGuire saw last night. "

Beth looked bewildered. 

"But what has Aunt Tillie got to do with--with Hawk? She never knewanybody of that name. "

"Probably not. It isn't a real name, of course. "

"Then why should it frighten Mr. McGuire?" she asked logically. 

Peter shook his head. All the props had fallen from under his theories. 

"Whether it's real to McGuire or not is what I want to know. And I'mgoing to find out, " he finished. 

When they reached a path which cut through the trees toward the creek, Beth stopped, and held out her hand. 

"I'm not goin' up to the house with you and I don't think I'll see AuntTillie just now, " she said. "Good-by, Mr. ----"

"Peter----, " he put in. 

"Good-by, Mr. Peter. "

"Just Peter----" he insisted. 

"Good-by, Mr. Just Peter. Thanks for the playin'. Will you let me comeagain?"

"Yes. And I'm going to get you some music----"

"Singin' music?" she gasped. 

He nodded. 

"And you'll let me know if I can help--Aunt Tillie or you?"

She bobbed her head and was gone. 

Peter stood for a while watching the path down which she haddisappeared, wondering at her abrupt departure, which for the momentdrove from his mind all thought of McGuire's troubles. It was difficultto associate Beth with the idea of prudery or affectation. Her visitproved that. She had come to the Cabin because she had wanted to hearhim play, because she had wanted to sing for him, because too hispromises had excited her curiosity about him, and inspired a hope of hisassistance. But the visit had flattered Peter. He wasn't inured to thissort of frankness. It was perhaps the greatest single gift of tributeand confidence that had ever been paid him--at least by a woman. A visitof this sort from a person like Anastasie Galitzin or indeed from almostany woman in the world of forms and precedents in which he had livedwould have been equivalent to unconditional surrender. 

The girl had not stopped to question the propriety of her actions. Thatthe Cabin was Peter's bedroom, that she had only seen him twice, that hemight not have understood the headlong impulse that brought her, hadnever occurred to Beth. The self-consciousness of the first few momentshad been wafted away on the melody of the music he had played, and afterthat he knew they were to be friends. There seemed to be no doubt inPeter's mind that she could have thought they would be anything else. 

And Peter was sure that he had hardly been able, even if he had wished, to conceal his warm admiration for her physical beauty. She had beenvery near him. All he would have had to do was to reach out and takeher. That he hadn't done so seemed rather curious now. And yet heexperienced a sort of mild satisfaction that he had resisted so trying atemptation. If she hadn't been so sure of him. .. . Idealism? Perhaps. Thesame sort of idealism that had made Peter believe the people at Zukovowere fine enough to make it worth while risking his life for them--thathad made him think that the people of Russia could emerge above Russiaherself. He had no illusions as to Zukovo now, but Beth was a child--andone is always gentle with children. 

He puzzled for another moment over her decision not to be seen comingwith him from the Cabin. Had this sophistication come as anafterthought, born of something that had passed between them? Or was itmerely a feminine instinct seeking expression? Peter didn't care whoknew or saw, because he really liked Beth amazingly. She had a gorgeousvoice. He would have to develop it. He really would. 

All the while Peter was turning over in his fingers the placard bearingthe strange message to "Mike" McGuire from the mysterious "Hawk. " Heread and reread it, each time finding a new meaning in its wording. Blackmail? Probably. The "_pronto_" was significant. This message couldhardly have come from Beth's "bandy-legged buzzard. " He knew little ofmovie camera men, but imagined them rather given to the depiction ofvillainies than the accomplishment of them. And a coward who would preyupon an old woman and a child could hardly be of the metal to attemptsuch big game as McGuire. The mystery deepened. The buzzard was now ahawk. "Hawk, " whatever his real name, was the man McGuire had seen lastnight through the window. Was he also the man who had frightened Mrs. Bergen? And if so, how and where had she known him without Beth's beingaware of it? And why should Beth be involved in the danger?

Peter was slowly coming to the belief that there had been two menoutside the house last night, "Hawk" and John Bray. And yet it seemedscarcely possible that the men on guard should not have seen the secondman and that both men could have gotten away without leaving a trace. And where was the man with the black mustache? Was he John Bray?Impossible. It was all very perplexing. But here in his hand he held thetangible evidence of McGuire's fears. "You know what I've got and I knowwhat you've got. " The sentence seemed to have a cabalisticsignificance--a pact--a threat which each man held over the other. Perhaps it wasn't money only that "Hawk" wanted. Whatever it was, hemeant to have it, and soon. The answer the man expected was apparentlysomething well understood between himself and McGuire, better understoodperhaps since the day McGuire had seen him in New York and had fled interror to Sheldon, Senior's, office. And if McGuire didn't send thedesired answer to the tree by Friday night, there would be the verydevil to pay--if not "Hawk. "

Peter was to be the bearer of ill tidings and with them, he knew, allprospect of a business discussion would vanish. The situation interestedhim, as all things mysterious must, and he could not forget that he was, for the present, part policeman, part detective; but forestry was hisreal job here and every day that passed meant so many fewer days inwhich to build the fire towers. And these he considered to be a primenecessity to the security of the estate. 

He rolled the placard up and went toward the house. On the lawn hepassed the young people, intent upon their own pursuits. He was gladthat none of them noticed him and meeting Stryker, who was hoveringaround the lower hall, he sent his name up to his employer. 

"I don't think Mr. McGuire expects you just yet, sir, " said the man. 

"Nevertheless, tell him I must see him, " said Peter. "It's important. "

Though it was nearly two o'clock, McGuire was not yet dressed and hislooks when Peter was admitted to him bespoke a long night of anxiety andvigil. Wearing an incongruous flowered dressing gown tied at the waistwith a silken cord, he turned to the visitor. 

"Well, " he said rather peevishly. 

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. McGuire, but something has happened thatI thought----"

"What's happened?" the other man snapped out, eying the roll ofcardboard in Peter's hand. "What----?" he gasped. 

Peter smiled and shrugged coolly. 

"It may be only a joke, sir--and I hardly know whether I'm evenjustified in calling it to your attention, but I found this placardnailed to a tree near the path to the Cabin. "

"Placard!" said McGuire, his sharp glance noting the printing of thetrespass sign. "Of course--that's the usual warning----"

"It's the other side, " said Peter, "that is unusual. " And unrolling itcarefully, he laid it flat on the table beside his employer's breakfasttray and then stood back to note the effect of the disclosure. 

McGuire stared at the headline, starting violently, and then, as thoughfascinated, read the scrawl through to the end. Peter could not see hisface, but the back of his neck, the ragged fringe of moist hair aroundhis bald spot were eloquent enough. And the hands which held theextraordinary document were far from steady. The gay flowers of thedressing gown mocked the pitiable figure it concealed, which seemedsuddenly to sag into its chair. Peter waited. For a long while thedressing gown was dumb and then as though its occupant were slowlyawakening to the thought that something was required of him it stirredand turned slowly in the chair. 

"You--you've read this?" asked McGuire weakly. 

"Yes, sir. It was there to read. It was merely stuck on a tree with thishasp-knife, " and Peter produced the implement and handed it to McGuire. 

McGuire took the knife--twisting it slowly over in his fingers. "Ahasp-knife, " he repeated dully. 

"I thought it best to bring them to you, " said Peter, "especially onaccount of----"

"Yes, yes. Of course. " He was staring at the red crayon scrawl and as hesaid nothing more Peter turned toward the door, where Stryker stood onguard. 

"If there's nothing else just now, I'll----"

"Wait!" uttered the old man, and Peter paused. And then, "Did any oneelse see this--this paper?"

"Yes--Mrs. Bergen's niece--she saw it first. "

"My housekeeper's niece. Any one else?"

"I don't know. I hardly think so. It seemed quite freshly written. "

"Ah----" muttered McGuire. He was now regarding Peter intently. "Where--where is the tree on which you found it?"

"A maple--just in the wood--at the foot of the lawn. "

"Ah!" He stumbled to the window, the placard still clutched in hishands, and peered at the woods as though seeking to pick out the singletree marked for his exacerbation. Then jerked himself around and facedthe bearer of these tidings, glaring at him as though he were the authorof them. 

"G---- d---- you all!" he swore in a stifled tone. 

"I beg pardon, " said Peter with sharp politeness. 

McGuire glanced at Peter and fell heavily into the nearest armchair. "Itcan't--be done, " he muttered, half to himself, and then another oath. Hewas showing his early breeding now. 

"I might 'a' known----, " he said aloud, staring at the paper. 

"Then it isn't a joke?" asked Peter, risking the question. 

"Joke!" roared McGuire. And then more quietly, "A joke? I don't want ittalked about, " he muttered with a senile smile. And then, "You say awoman read it?"

"Yes. "

"She must be kept quiet. I can't have all the neighborhood into myaffairs. "

"I think that can be managed. I'll speak to her. In the meanwhile ifthere's anything I can do----"

McGuire looked up at Peter and their glances met. McGuire's glancewavered and then came back to Peter's face. What he found there seemedto satisfy him for he turned to Stryker, who had been listeningintently. 

"You may go, Stryker, " he commanded. "Shut the door, but stay withincall. "

The valet's face showed surprise and some disappointment, but he merelybowed his head and obeyed. 

"I suppose you're--you're curious about this message, Nichols--coming insuch a way, " said McGuire, after a pause. 

"To tell the truth, I am, sir, " replied Peter. "We've done all we couldto protect you. This 'Hawk' must be the devil himself. "

"He is, " repeated McGuire. "Hell's breed. The thing can't go on. I'vegot to put a stop to it--and to him. "

"He speaks of coming again Friday night----"

"Yes--yes--Friday. " And then, his fingers trembling along the placard, "I've got to do what he wants--this time--just this time----"

McGuire was gasping out the phrases as though each of them was wrenchedfrom his throat. And then, with an effort at self-control, "Sit down, Nichols, " he muttered. "Since you've seen this, I--I'll haveto tell you more. I--I think--I'll need you--to help me. "

Peter obeyed, flattered by his employer's manner and curious as to theimminent revelations. 

"I may say that--this--this 'Hawk' is a--an enemy of mine, Nichols--abitter enemy--unscrupulous--a man better dead than alive. I--I wish toGod you'd shot him last night. "

"Sorry, sir, " said Peter cheerfully. 

"I--I've got to do what he wants--this time. I can't have this sort ofthing goin' on--with everybody in Black Rock reading these damn things. You're sure my daughter Peggy knows nothing?"

"I'd be pretty sure of that----"

"But she might--any time--if he puts up more placards. I've got to stopthat, Nichols. This thing mustn't go any further. "

"I think you may trust me. "

"Yes. I think I can. I've _got_ to trust you now, whether I want to orno. The man who wrote this scrawl is the man I came down here to getaway from. " Peter waited while McGuire paused. "You may think it's verystrange. It is strange. I knew this man--called 'Hawk, ' many years ago. I--I thought he was dead, but he's come back. "

McGuire paused again, the placard in his hands, reading the line whichso clearly announced that fact. 

"He speaks of something I've got--something he's got, Nichols. It's apaper--a--er--a partnership paper we drew up years ago--out West andsigned. That paper is of great value to me. As long as he holds itI----, " McGuire halted to wipe the sweat from his pallid brow. "He holdsit as a--well--not exactly as a threat--but as a kind of menace to myhappiness and Peggy's. "

"I understand, sir, " put in Peter quietly. "Blackmail, in short. "

"Exactly--er--blackmail. He wanted five thousand dollars--in New York. Irefused him--there's no end to blackmail once you yield--and I came downhere--but he followed me. But I've got to get that paper away from him. "

"If you were sure he had it with him----"

"That's just it. He's too smart for that. He's got it hidden somewhere. I've got to get this money for him--from New York--I haven't got it inthe house--before Friday night----"

"But blackmail----!"

"I've got to, Nichols--this time. I've got to. "

"I wouldn't, sir, " said Peter stoutly. 

"But you don't know everything. I've only told you part, " said McGuire, almost whining. "This is no ordinary case--no ordinary blackmail. I'vegot to be quick. I'm going to get the money--I'm going to get you to goto New York and get it. "

"Me!"

"Yes. Yes. This is Wednesday. I can't take any chances of not having ithere Friday. Peggy is going back this afternoon. I'll get her to driveyou up. I'll 'phone Sheldon to expect you--he'll give you the money andyou can come back to-morrow. "

"But to-night----"

"He knows the danger of trying to reach me. That's why he wrote this. Iwon't be bothered to-night. I'll shut the house tight and put some ofthe men inside. If he comes, we'll shoot. "

"But Friday----Do you mean, sir, that you'll go out to him with fivethousand dollars and risk----"

"No, I won't. _You_ will, " said McGuire, watching Peter's face craftily. 

"Oh, I see, " replied Peter, aware that he was being drawn more deeplyinto the plot than he had wished. "You want me to meet him. "

McGuire noted Peter's dubious tone and at once got up and laid his handsupon his shoulders. 

"You'll do this for me, won't you, Nichols? I don't want to see thisman. I can't explain. There wouldn't be any danger. He hasn't anythingagainst you. Why should he have? I haven't any one else that I cantrust--but Stryker. And Stryker--well--I'd have to tell Stryker. _You_know already. Don't say you refuse. It's--it's a proof of my confidence. You're just the man I want here. I'll make it worth your while to staywith me--well worth your while. "

Peter was conscious of a feeling partly of pity, partly of contempt, forthe cringing creature pawing at his shoulders. Peter had never liked tobe pawed. It had always rubbed him the wrong way. But McGuire's need wasgreat and pity won. 

"Oh, I'll do it if you like, " he said, turning aside and releasinghimself from the clinging fingers, "provided I assume noresponsibility----"

"That's it. No responsibility, " said McGuire, in a tone of relief. "You'll just take that money out--then come away----"

"And get nothing in return?" asked Peter in surprise. "No paper--noreceipt----?"

"No--just this once, Nichols. It will keep him quiet for a month or so. In the meanwhile----" The old man paused, a crafty look in his eyes, "In the meanwhile we'll have time to devise a way to meet thissituation. "

"Meaning--precisely what?" asked Peter keenly. 

McGuire scowled at him and then turned away toward the window. 

"That needn't be your affair. "

"It won't be, " said Peter quickly. "I'd like you to remember that I camehere as a forester and superintendent. I agreed also to guard your houseand yourself from intrusion, but if it comes to the point of----"

"There, there, Nichols, " croaked McGuire, "don't fly off the handle. We'll just cross this bridge first. I--I won't ask you to do anythinga--a gentleman shouldn't. "

"Oh, well, sir, " said Peter finally, "that's fair enough. "

McGuire came over and faced Peter, his watery eyes seeking Peter's. 

"You'll swear, Nichols, to say nothing of this to any one?"

"Yes. I'll keep silent. "

"Nothing to Sheldon?"

"No. "

"And you'll see this--this niece of the housekeeper's?"

"Yes. "

The man gave a gasp of relief and sank into his chair. 

"Now go, Nichols--and shift your clothes. Peggy's going about four. Comeback here and I'll give you a letter and a check. "

Peter nodded and reached the door. As he opened it, Stryker straightenedand bowed uncomfortably. But Peter knew that he had been listening atthe keyhole. 

CHAPTER IX

SHAD IS UNPLEASANT

Peter returned from New York on Thursday night, having accomplished hiscurious mission. He had first intercepted Beth on her way to the kitchenand sworn her to secrecy, advising her to say nothing to Mrs. Bergenabout the events of the previous night. And she had agreed to respecthis wishes. On the way to New York he had sat in the rumble of the lowred runabout, Miss Peggy McGuire at the wheel, driving the fashionableFreddy. Miss McGuire after having yielded, the night before, to themusical predilections of Miss Delaplane, had apparently reconsideredPeter's social status and had waved him to the seat in the rear with amere gesture and without apologies. And Peter, biting back a grin andtouching his hat, had obeyed. The familiarities tolerable in such awilderness as Black Rock could not of course be considered in the hallsof the fashionable hotel where Miss Peggy lived in New York, and whereby dint of great care and exclusiveness she had caught a hold of thefringe of society. But Peter sat up very straight, trying not to hearwhat was said in front. If he could only have worn his Colonel's uniformand decorations, or his Grand Ducal coronet, and have folded his arms, the irony would have been perfection. 

He had gone to Sheldon, Senior, in the morning and in return forMcGuire's check had been given cash in the shape of ten virginal fivehundred dollar bills. This money had been put into an envelope and wasnow folded carefully in Peter's inside pocket. Sheldon, Senior, to besure, had asked questions, but with a good grace Peter had evaded him. Dick Sheldon was out of town, so Peter put in the remaining periodbefore his train-time in a music store where he spent all the money thatremained of his salary, on books, a few for the piano but most of themfor Beth. Peter had wasted, as he had thought, two perfectly good yearsin trying to learn to sing. But those two years were not going to bewasted now--for Beth was to be his mouthpiece. He knew the beginnings ofa training--how to give her the advantage of the instruction he hadreceived from one of the best teachers in Milan. He was lucky enough tofind books on the Italian method of voice production and on the way backto McGuire's, armed with these, he stopped off at the Bergen house inBlack Rock village and returned Beth's call. 

There he found Shad Wells, in his shirt-sleeves, smoking a pipe in theportico, and looking like a thundercloud. In response to Peter's query, he moved his right shoulder half an inch in the direction of the door, and then spat in the geranium bed. So Peter knocked at the door, softlyat first, then loudly, when Beth emerged, her sleeves rolled to hershoulders and her arms covered with soapsuds. 

"Why, Shad, " she said witheringly, after she had greeted Peter, "youmight have let me know! Come in, Mr. Nichols. Excuse my appearance. Wash-day, " she explained, as he followed her into the dark interior. 

"I can't stop, " said the visitor, "I just came to bring these books----"

"For _me_!" she exclaimed, hurriedly wiping her arms on her apron. 

"I got them in New York----"

She pulled up the shade at the side, letting in the sunlight, an actpermissible in the parlors of Black Rock only on state occasions, forthe sunlight (as every one knew) was not kind to plush-coveredfurniture. 

"For _me_!" Beth repeated softly. "I didn't think you meant it. "

"_Tone production--Exercises_, " explained Peter, "and here's one on _TheLives of the Great Composers_. I thought you might be interested inreading it. "

"Oh, yes. I am--I will be. Thank you ever so much----"

"Of course you can't do much by yourself just yet--not without apiano--to get the pitch--the key--but I've brought a tuning forkand----"

"But I've got the harmonium----, " Beth broke in excitedly. "It's alittle out of tune, but----"

"The harmonium!" asked the bewildered Peter. "What's that?"

Beth proudly indicated a piece of furniture made of curly walnut whichstood in the corner of the room. There were several books on the top ofit--_Gospel Tunes_--_Moody and Sankey_, a Methodist Episcopal hymn book, and a glass case containing wax flowers. 

"We play it Sundays----, " said Beth, "but it ought to help----"

"You play----!" he said in surprise. 

"Aunt Tillie and I--oh, just hymns----. " She sat, while Peter watched, began pumping vigorously with her feet and presently the instrumentemitted a doleful sound. "It has notes anyhow, " said Beth with a laugh. 

"Splendid!" said Peter. "And when I've told you what to do you canpractice here. You'll come soon?"

She nodded. "When?"

"To-morrow--sometime?" And then, "What's the matter with Wells?" heasked. 

She frowned. "He just asked me to marry him. It's the twenty-seventhtime. "

"Oh----"

"I can't be botherin' with Shad--not on wash-day--or any other day, " sheadded as though in an afterthought. 

Peter laughed. He was quite sure that nobody would ever make her doanything she didn't want to do. 

"He knows I was at the Cabin yesterday, " she said in a low voice. "Hewas watchin'. "

Peter was silent a moment, glancing at the books he had just broughther. 

"Of course if he has any claim on you, perhaps----, " he began, when shebroke in. 

"Claim! He hasn't, " she gasped. "I'll do as I please. And he'd betterquit pesterin' me or I'll----"

"What?"

She laughed. 

"I'll put him through the clothes-wringer. "

Peter grinned. "He almost looks as though you'd done that already. "

And as she followed him to the door, "I thought I ought to tell youabout Shad. When he gets ugly--he's ugly an' no mistake. "

"Do you still think he'll--er--swallow me at one gobble?" he asked. 

She stared at him a moment and then laughed with a full throat. "I hopehe don't--at least not 'til I've had my singin' lessons. "

"I think I can promise you that, " said Peter. 

She followed him out to the porch, where they looked about for Shad. Hehad disappeared. And in the "Lizzie, " which had been panting by the sideof the road, Peter was conducted by the soiled young man at the wheel toBlack Rock House. 

Nothing unusual had happened in his absence, nor had any other messageor warning been posted, for Stryker, released for this duty, hadsearched all the morning and found nothing. "Hawk" was waiting, bidinghis hour. 

Curiously enough, an astonishing calm seemed to have fallen over theperson of Jonathan K. McGuire. When Peter arrived he found his employerseated on the portico in a wicker chair, smoking his after-supper cigar. True, the day guards were posted near by and Stryker hovered as was hiswont, but the change in his employer's demeanor was so apparent thatPeter wondered how such a stolid-looking creature could ever have losthis self-control. It was difficult to understand this metamorphosisunless it could be that, having come to a decision and aware of theprospect of immunity, if only a temporary one, McGuire had settled downto make the best of a bad job and await with stoicism whatever thefuture was to bring. This was Peter's first impression, nothing elsesuggesting itself, but when he followed the old man up to his room andgave him the money he had brought he noted the deeply etched lines atnostril and jaw and felt rather than saw the meaning of them--thatJonathan McGuire was in the grip of some deep and sinister resolution. There was a quality of desperation in his calmness, a studiedindifference to the dangers which the night before last had seemed soappalling. 

He put the money in the safe, carefully locked the combination and thenturned into the room again. 

"Thanks, Nichols, " he said. "You'd better have some supper and get tobed to-night. I don't think you'll be needed. " And then, as Peter's lookshowed his surprise, "I know my man better than you do. To-morrow nightwe shall see. "

He closed his lips into a thin line, shot out his jaw and lowered hisbrows unpleasantly. Courage of a sort had come back to him, the courageof the animal at bay, which fights against the inevitable. 

To Peter the time seemed propitious to state the need for theobservation towers and he explained in detail his projects. But McGuirelistened and when Peter had finished speaking merely shook his head. 

"What you say is quite true. The towers must be built. I've thought sofor a long time. In a few days we will speak of that again--_afterto-morrow night_, " he finished significantly. 

"As you please, " said Peter, "but every day lost now may----"

"We'll gain these days later, " he broke in abruptly. "I want you to stayaround here now. "

On Friday morning he insisted on having Peter show him the tree wherethe placard had been discovered, and Peter, having taken lunch with him, led him down to the big sugar maple, off the path to the cabin. Petersaw that he scanned the woods narrowly and walked with a hand in hiswaist-band, which Peter knew held an Army Colt revolver, but the whinewas gone from his voice, the trembling from his hands. He walked aroundthe maple with Peter, regarding it with a sort of morbid abstraction andthen himself led the way to the path and to the house. Why he wanted tolook at the tree was more than Peter could understand, for it was Peter, and not he, who was to keep this costly assignation. 

"You understand, Nichols, " he said when they reached the portico, "you've agreed to go--to-night--at eleven. "

"I wish you'd let me meet him--without the money. "

"No--no. I've made up my mind----, " gasped McGuire with a touch of hisold alarm, "there can't be any change in the plan--no change at all. "

"Oh, very well, " said Peter, "it's not my money I'm giving away. "

"It won't matter, Nichols. I--I've got a lot more----"

"But the principle----" protested Peter. 

"To H---- with the principle, " growled the old man. 

Peter turned and went back to the Cabin, somewhat disgusted with hiswhole undertaking. Already he had been here for five days and, exceptfor two walks through the woods for purposes of investigation, nothingthat he had come to do had been accomplished. He had not yet evenvisited the sawmills which were down on the corduroy road five milesaway. So far as he could see, for the present he was merely McGuire'shandy man, a kind of upper servant and messenger, whose duties couldhave been performed as capably by Stryker or Shad Wells, or even JesseBrown. The forest called him. It needed him. From what he had heard heknew that down by the sawmills they were daily cutting the wrong trees. He had already sent some instructions to the foreman there, but he couldnot be sure that his orders had been obeyed. He knew that he ought tospend the day there, making friends with the men and explaining thereasons for the change in orders, but as long as McGuire wanted himwithin telephone range, there was nothing to do but to obey. 

He reached the Cabin, threw off his coat, and had hardly settled down atthe table to finish his drawing, a plan of the observation towers, whenBeth appeared. He rose and greeted her. Her face was flushed, for shehad been running. 

"Has Shad been here?" she asked breathlessly. 

"No. "

"Oh!" she gasped. "I was afraid he'd get here before me. I took theshort cut through the woods. "

"What's the matter?"

"He said he--he was going to break you to bits----"

"To bits! Me? Why?"

"Because he--he says I oughtn't to come here----"

"Oh, I see, " he muttered, and then, with a grin, "and what do _you_think about it, Beth?"

"I'll do what I please, " she said. "So long as I think it's all right. What business has he got to stop me!"

Peter laughed. "Don't let's bother then. Did you bring your books?"

She hadn't brought them. She had come in such a hurry. 

"But aren't you afraid--when he comes?" she asked. 

"I don't know, " said Peter. "Do you think I ought to be?"

"Well, Shad's--he's what they call a Hellion around here. "

"What's a--er--Hellion?"

"A--a scrapper. "

"Oh, a fighting man?"

"Yes. "

Peter sat down at the piano and struck loudly some strident discords inthe bass. "Like this!" he laughed. "Isn't it ugly, Beth--that's whatfighting is--I had it day and night for years. If Shad had been in thewar he wouldn't ever want to fight again. "

"Were you in the war?" asked Beth in amazement. 

"Of course. Where would I have been?" And before she could reply he hadswept into the rumbling bass of the "Revolutionary Étude. " She sank intoa chair and sat silent, listening, at first watching the door, and thenas the soul of the artist within her awoke she forgot everything but themusic. 

There was a long silence at the end when Peter paused, and then he heardher voice, tense, suppressed. 

"I could see it--you made me see it!" she gasped, almost in a whisper. "War--revolution--the people--angry--mumbling--crowding, pushing . .. Acrowd with guns and sticks howling at a gate . .. And then a man tryingto speak to them--appealing----"

Peter turned quickly at the words and faced her. Her eyes were likestars, her soul rapt in the vision his music had painted. Peter hadlived that scene again and again, but how could Beth know unless he hadmade her see it? There was something strange--uncanny--in Beth's visionof the great drama of Peter's life. And yet she had seen. Even now herspirit was afar. 

"And what happened to the man who was appealing to them?" he askedsoberly. 

She closed her eyes, then opened them toward him, shaking her head. "I--I don't know--it's all gone now. "

"But you saw what I played. That is what happened. "

"What do you mean?" She questioned, startled in her turn. 

Peter shrugged himself into the present moment. "Nothing. It'sjust--revolution. War. War is like that, Beth, " he went on quietly aftera moment. "Like the motif in the bass--there is no end--the threat of itnever stops--day or night. Only hell could be like it. "

Beth slowly came out of her dream. 

"You fought?" she asked. 

"Oh, yes. "

Another silence. "I--I think I understand now why you're not afraid. "

"But I _am_ afraid, Beth, " he said with a smile. "I was always afraid inthe war. Because Death is always waiting just around the corner. Nobodywho has been in the war wants ever to fight again. "

He turned to the piano. "They all want happiness, Beth. Peace. This!" hefinished, and his roving fingers played softly the Tschaikowsky"Reverie. "

When he had finished he turned to her, smiling. 

"What vision do you see in that, Beth?"

She started as though from a dream. "Oh, happiness--and sadness, too. "

"Yes, " said Peter soberly. "No one knows what it is to be happy unlessone has been sad. "

"That's true, isn't it?" she muttered, looking at him in wonder. "Inever knew what unhappiness was for--but I guess that's it. "

He caught the minor note in her voice and smiled. 

"Come now, " he said, "we'll have our first lesson. "

"Without the books?"

"Yes. We'll try breathing. "

"Breathing?"

"Yes--from the diaphragm. "

And as she looked bewildered, "From the stomach--not from thechest--breathe deeply and say 'Ah. '"

She obeyed him and did it naturally, as though she had never breathed inany other way. 

"Fine, " he cried and touched a note on the piano. "Now sing it. Throw itforward. Softly first, then louder----"

It was while she was carrying out this instruction that a shadowappeared on the doorsill, followed in a moment by the figure of ShadWells. Beth's "Ah" ceased suddenly. The visitor stood outside, his handson his hips, in silent rage. 

Peter merely glanced at him over his shoulder. 

"How are you, Wells?" he said politely. "Won't you come in? We've havinga singing lesson. "

Shad did not move or speak as Peter went on, "Take the chair by thedoor, old man. The cigarettes are on the table. Now, Beth----"

But Beth remained as she was, uneasily regarding the intruder, for sheknew that Shad was there for no good purpose. Peter caught her look andturned toward the door, deliberately ignoring the man's threateningdemeanor. 

"We won't be long, " he began coolly, "not over half an hour----"

"No, I know ye won't, " growled Shad. And then to the girl, "Beth, comeout o' there!"

If Shad's appearance had caused Beth any uncertainty, she found herspirit now, for her eyes flashed and her mouth closed in a hard line. 

"Who are you to say where I come or go?" she said evenly. 

But Shad stood his ground. 

"If you don't know enough to know what's what I'm here to show you. "

"Oh, I say----, " said Peter coolly. 

"You can say what you like, Mister. And I've got somethin' to say to youwhen this lady goes. "

"Oh, ----" and then quietly to Beth, "Perhaps you'd better go. Bring thebooks to-morrow--at the same time. "

But Beth hadn't moved, and only looked at Peter appealingly. So Peterspoke. 

"This man is impolite, not to say disagreeable to you. Has he any rightto speak to you like this?"

"No, " said Beth uneasily, "but I don't want any trouble. "

Peter walked to the door and faced Shad outside. 

"There won't be any trouble unless Wells makes it. " And then, as if anew thought had come to him, he said more cheerfully, "Perhaps hedoesn't quite understand----"

"Oh, I understand, all right. Are you goin', Beth?"

She glanced at Peter, who nodded toward the path, and she came betweenthem. 

"Go on back, Shad, " she said. 

"No. "

"Do you mean it? If you do I'm through with you. You understand?"

Peter took the girl by the arm and led her gently away. 

"Just wait a minute, Wells, " he flung over his shoulder at the man, "I'll be back in a second. "

The careless tone rather bewildered the woodsman, who had expected tofind either fear or anger. The forester-piano-player showedneither--only careless ease and a coolness which could only be becausehe didn't know what was coming to him. 

"D--n him! I'll fix him!" muttered Shad, quivering with rage. But Peterhaving fortified himself with a cigarette was now returning. Wellsadvanced into an open space where there was plenty of room to swing hiselbows and waited. 

"Now, Wells, " said Peter alertly, "you wanted to see me?"

"Yes, I did, ye stuck-up piano-playin', psalm-singin' ---- ---- --------. " And suiting the action to the word leaped for Peter, both fistsflying. 

The rugged and uncultured often mistake politeness for effeminacy, sensibility for weakness. Shad was a rough and tumble artist of a highproficiency, and he had a reputation for strength and combativeness. Hewas going to make short work of this job. 

But Peter had learned his boxing with his cricket. Also he had practicedthe _Savate_ and was familiar with _jiu jitsu_--but he didn't needeither of them. 

Wells rushed twice but Peter was not where he rushed. The only damage hehad done was to tear out the sleeve of Peter's shirt. 

"Stand up an' fight like a man, " growled Shad. 

"There's no hurry, " said Peter, calmly studying Shad's methods. 

"Oh, _ain't_ there!"

This bull-like rush Peter stopped with a neat uppercut, straighteningShad's head which came up with a disfigured nose and before he couldthrow down his guard, Peter landed hard on his midriff. Shad winced butshot out a blow which grazed Peter's cheek. Then Peter countered onShad's injured nose. Shad's eyes were now regarding Peter inastonishment. But in a moment only one of them was, for Peter closed theother. 

"We'd better stop now, " gasped Peter, "and talk this over. "

"No, you ---- ---- ----, " roared Shad, for he suspected that somewherein the bushes Beth was watching. 

Peter lost what remained of his shirt in the next rush and sprained athumb. It didn't do to fight Shad "rough and tumble. " But he got away atlast and stood his man off, avoiding the blind rushes and landing almostat will. 

"Had enough?" he asked again, as politely as ever. 

"No, " gulped the other. 

So Peter sprang in and struck with all the force of his uninjured handon the woodsman's jaw, and then Shad went down and lay quiet. It hadbeen ridiculously easy from the first and Peter felt some pity for Shadand not a little contempt for himself. But he took the precaution ofbending over the man and extracting the revolver that he found in Shad'ship pocket. 

As he straightened and turned he saw Beth standing in the path regardinghim. 

"Beth!" he exclaimed with a glance at Shad. "You saw?"

"Yes. " She covered her face with her hands. "It was horrible. "

"I tried to avoid it, " he protested. 

"Yes, I know. It was his own fault. Is he badly hurt?"

"No, I think not. But you'd better go. "

"Why?"

"It will only make matters worse if he sees you. "

She understood, turned and vanished obediently. 

Then Peter went to the house, got a basin and, fetching some water fromthe creek, played the Samaritan. In a while Shad gasped painfully andsat up, looking at the victor. 

"Sorry, " said Peter, "but you _would_ have it. "

Shad blinked his uninjured eye and rose, feeling at his hip. 

"I took your revolver, " said Peter calmly. 

"Give it here. "

"A chap with a bad temper has no business carrying one, " said Petersternly. 

"Oh----. " The man managed to get to his feet. 

"I'm sorry, Shad, " said Peter again, and held out his hand. "Let's befriends. "

Shad looked at the hand sullenly for a moment. "I'll fix _you_, Mister. I'll fix you yet, " he muttered, then turned and walked away. 

If Peter had made one friend he had also made an enemy. 

The incident with Shad Wells was unfortunate, but Peter didn't see howit could have been avoided. He was thankful nevertheless for his Englishschooling, which had saved him from a defeat at the hands of a"roughneck" which could have been, under the circumstances, nothing lessthan ignominious. For if Shad Wells had succeeded in vanquishing him, all Peter's authority, all his influence with the rest of the men inMcGuire's employ would have gone forever, for Shad Wells was not thekind of man upon whom such a victory would have lightly sat. If he hadthrashed Peter, Shad and not Peter would have been the boss of BlackRock and Peter's position would have been intolerable. 

As Peter laved his broken knuckles and bruised cheek, he wondered if, after all, the affair hadn't been for the best. True, he had made anenemy of Shad, but then according to the girl, Shad had already been hisenemy. Peter abhorred fighting, as he had told Beth, but, whatever theconsequences, he was sure that the air had cleared amazingly. He wasaware too that the fact that he had been the champion of Beth'sindependence definitely stood forth. Whatever the wisdom or thepropriety, according to the standards of Black Rock society, of Beth'svisits to the Cabin, for the purpose of a musical education or for anyother purposes, Peter was aware that he had set the seal of his approvalupon them, marked, that any who read might run, upon the visage of Mr. Wells. Peter was still sorry for Shad, but still more sorry for Beth, whose name might be lightly used for her share in the adventure. 

He made up his mind to say nothing of what had happened, and he feltreasonably certain that Shad Wells would reach a similar decision. Hewas not at all certain that Beth wouldn't tell everybody what hadhappened for he was aware by this time that Beth was the custodian ofher own destinies and that she would not need the oracles of Black Rockvillage as censors of her behavior. 

But when he went up to the house for supper he made his way over thelog-jam below the pool and so to the village, stopping for a moment atthe Bergen house, where Beth was sitting on the porch reading _The Livesof the Great Composers_. She was so absorbed that she did not see himuntil he stood at the little swing gate, hat in hand. 

She greeted him quietly, glancing up at his bruised cheek. 

"I'm so sorry, " she said, "that it was on my account. "

"I'm not--now that I've done the 'gobbling, '" he said with a grin. Andthen, "Where's Shad?"

"I haven't seen him. I guess he's gone in his hole and pulled it inafter him. "

Peter smiled. "I just stopped by to say that perhaps you'd better saynothing. It would only humiliate him. "

"I wasn't goin' to--but it served him right----"

"And if you think people will talk about your coming to the Cabin, Ithought perhaps I ought to give you your lessons here. "

"Here!" she said, and he didn't miss the note of disappointment in hertone. 

"If your cousin Shad disapproves, perhaps there are others. "

She was silent for a moment and then she looked up at him shyly. 

"If it's just the same to you--I--I'd rather come to the Cabin, " shesaid quietly. "It's like--like a different world--with your playin' an'all----" And then scornfully, "What do I care what they think!"

"Of course--I'm delighted. I thought I ought to consult you, that's all. And you'll come to-morrow?"

"Yes--of course. "

He said nothing about the meeting that was to take place that night withthe mysterious "Hawk" at the maple tree. He meant to find out, ifpossible, how Beth could be concerned (if she was concerned) in thefortunes of the mysterious gentleman of the placard, but until helearned something definite he thought it wiser not to take Beth furtherinto his confidence. 

CHAPTER X

"HAWK"

Three months ago it would have been difficult for His Highness, GrandDuke Peter Nicholaevitch, to imagine himself in his present situation assponsor for Beth Cameron. He had been no saint. Saintly attributes werenot usually to be found in young men of his class, and Peter's traininghad been in the larger school of the world as represented in theContinental capitals. He had tasted life under the tutelage of a fatherwho believed that women, bad as well as good, were a necessary part of agentleman's education, and Peter had learned many things. .. . Had it notbeen for his music and his English love of fair play, he would havestood an excellent chance of going to the devil along the precipitousroad that had led the Grand Duke Nicholas Petrovitch there. 

But Peter had discovered that he had a mind, the needs of which weremore urgent than those of his love of pleasure. Many women he had known, Parisian, Viennese, Russian--and one, Vera Davydov, a musician, hadenchained him until he had discovered that it was her violin and not hersoul that had sung to him . .. Anastasie Galitzin . .. A dancer in Moscow. .. And then--the War. 

In that terrible alembic the spiritual ingredients which made Peter'ssoul had been stirred until only the essential remained. But thatessence was the real Peter--a wholesome young man steeped in idealismslightly tinged with humor. It was idealism that had made him attemptthe impossible, humor that had permitted him to survive his failure, forno tragedy except death itself can defy a sense of humor if it'swhimsical enough. There was something about the irony of his position inBlack Rock which interested him even more than the drama that lay hiddenwith McGuire's Nemesis in the pine woods. And he couldn't deny the factthat this rustic, this primitive Beth Cameron was as fine a little ladyas one might meet anywhere in the wide world. She had amused him atfirst with originality, charmed him with simplicity, amazed him laterwith talent and now had disarmed him with trust in his integrity. If atany moment the idea had entered Peter's head that here was a wild-flowerwaiting to be gathered and worn in his hat, she had quickly disabusedhis mind of that chimera. Curious. He found it as difficult to conceiveof making free with Beth as with the person of the Metropolitan ofMoscow, or with that of the President of the Pennsylvania Railroad. Shehad her dignity. It was undeniable. He imagined the surprise in herlarge blue eyes and the torrent of ridicule of which her tongue could becapable. He had felt the sting of its humor at their first meeting. Hehad no wish to test it again. 

And now, after a few days of acquaintanceship, he found himself Beth'schampion, the victor over the "Hellion" triplet, and the guardian of hergood repute. He found, strangely enough, the responsibilitystrengthening his good resolves toward Beth and adding another tie tothose of sympathy and admiration. The situation, while not altogether ofhis making, was not without its attractions. He had given Beth herchance to withdraw from the arrangement and she had persisted in theplan to come to the Cabin. Very well. It was his cabin. She should comeand he would teach her to sing. But he knew that Peter Nichols wasthrowing temptation in the way of Peter Nicholaevitch. 

 * * * * *

McGuire was quiet that night and while they smoked Peter talked atlength on the needs of the estate as he saw them. Peter went down to theCabin and brought up his maps and his plans for the fire towers. McGuirenodded or assented in monosyllables, but Peter was sure that he heardlittle and saw less, for at intervals he glanced at the clock, or at hiswatch, and Peter knew that his obsession had returned. Outside, somewhere in the woods, "Hawk" was approaching to keep his tryst andMcGuire could think of nothing else. This preoccupation was marked by afrowning thatch of brow and a sullen glare at vacancy which gave noevidence of the fears that had inspired him, but indicated a mind madeup in desperation to carry out his plans, through Peter, whateverhappened later. Only the present concerned him. But underneath hisoutward appearance of calm, Peter was aware of an intense alertness, forfrom time to time his eyes glowed suddenly and the muscles worked in hischeeks as he clamped his jaws shut and held them so. 

As the clock struck ten McGuire got to his feet and walked to the safe, which he opened carefully and took out the money that Peter had brought. Then he went to a closet and took out an electric torch which he testedand then put upon the table. 

"You're armed, Nichols?" he asked. 

Peter nodded. "But of course there's no reason why your mysteriousvisitor should take a pot at me, " he said. And then, curiously, "Do youthink so, Mr. McGuire?"

"Oh, no, " said the other quickly. "You have no interest in this affair. You're my messenger, that's all. But I want you to follow myinstructions carefully. I've trusted you this far and I've got to go thewhole way. This man will say something. You will try to remember wordfor word what he says to you, and you're to repeat that message to me. "

"That shouldn't be difficult. "

McGuire was holding the money in his hand and went on in an abstractionas though weighing words. 

"I want you to go at once to the maple tree. I want you to go now sothat you will be there when this man arrives. You will stand waiting forhim and when he comes you will throw the light into his face, so thatyou can see him when you talk to him, and so that he can count thismoney and see that the amount is correct. I do not want you to go tooclose to him nor to permit him to go too close to you--you are merely tohand him this package and throw the light while he counts the money. Then you are to say to him these words, 'Don't forget the blood on theknife, Hawk Kennedy. '"

"'Don't forget the blood on the knife, Hawk Kennedy, '" murmured Peter inamazement. And then, "But suppose he wants to tell me a lot of thingsyou don't want me to know----"

"I'll have to risk that, " put in McGuire grimly. "I want you to watchhim carefully, Nichols. Are you pretty quick on the draw?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, can you draw your gun and shoot quickly--surely? If you can't, you'd better have your gun in your pocket, keep him covered and at thefirst sign, shoot through your coat. "

Peter took out his revolver and examined it quizzically. "I thought yousaid, Mr. McGuire, " he put in coolly, "that I was not to be required todo anything a gentleman couldn't do. "

"Exactly, " said the old man jerkily. 

"I shouldn't say that shooting a defenseless man answers thatrequirement. "

McGuire threw up his hands wildly. 

"There you go--up in the air again. I didn't say you were to shoot him, did I?" he whined. "I'm just warning you to be on the lookout in case heattacks you. That--that's all. "

"Why should he attack me?"

"He shouldn't, but he might be angry because I didn't come myself. "

"I see. Perhaps you'd better go, sir. Then you can do your killingyourself. "

McGuire fell back against the table, to which he clung, his face graywith apprehension, for he saw that Peter had guessed what he hoped. 

"You want this man killed, " Peter went on. "It's been obvious to me fromthe first night I came here. Well, I'm not going to be the one to doit. "

McGuire's glance fell to the rug as he stammered hoarsely, "I--I neverasked you to do it. Y-you must be dreaming. I--I'm merely making plansto assure your safety. I don't want you hurt, Nichols. That's all. You're not going to back out now?" he pleaded. 

"Murder is a little out of my line----"

"You're not going to fail me----?" McGuire's face was ghastly. "You_can't_, " he whispered hoarsely. "You can't let me down now. _I_ can'tsee this man. I can't tell Stryker all you know. You're the only one. You promised, Nichols. You promised to go. "

"Yes. And I'll keep my word--but I'll do it in my own way. I'm notafraid of any enemy of yours. Why should I be? But I'm not going toshoot him. If that's understood give me the money and I'll be off. "

"Yes--yes. That's all right, Nichols. You're a good fellow--and honest. I'll make it worth your while to stay with me here. " He took up themoney and handed it to Peter, who counted it carefully and then put itin an inside pocket. "I don't see why you think I wanted you to killHawk Kennedy, " McGuire went on, whining. "A man's got a right to protecthimself, hasn't he? And you've got a right to protect _yourself_, if hetries to start anything. "

"Have you any reason to believe that he might?"

"No. I can't say I have. "

"All right. I'll take a chance. But I want it understood that I'm notresponsible if anything goes wrong. "

"That's understood. "

Peter made his way downstairs, and out of the front door to the portico. Stryker, curiously enough, was nowhere to be seen. Peter went out acrossthe dim lawn into the starlight. Jesse Brown challenged him by the bigtree and Peter stopped for a moment to talk with him, explaining that hewould be returning to the house later. 

"The old man seems to be comin' to life, Mister, " said Jesse. 

"What do you mean?"

"Not so skeered-like. He was out here when you went to the Cabin forthem plans----"

"Out here?" said Peter in amazement. 

Andy nodded. "He seemed more natural-like, --asked what the countersignwas and said mebbe we'd all be goin' back to the mills after a night orso. "

"Oh, did he? That's good. You're pretty tired of this night work?"

"Not so long as it pays good. But what did he mean by changin' theguards?"

"He didn't say anything to me about it, " said Peter, concealing hissurprise. 

"Oh, didn't he? Well, he took Andy off the privet hedge and sent himdown to the clump of pines near the road. "

"I see, " said Peter. "Why?"

"You've got me, Mister. If there's trouble to-night, there ain't no oneat the back of the house at all. We're one man short. "

"Who?"

"Shad Wells. He ain't showed up. "

"Ah, I see, " muttered Peter. And then, as he lighted a cigarette, "Oh, well, we'll get along somehow. But look sharp, just the same. "

Peter went down the lawn thoughtfully. From the first he hadn't been anytoo pleased with this mission. Though Peter was aware that in the realmof big business it masqueraded under other names, blackmail, at thebest, was a dirty thing. At the worst--and McGuire's affair with theinsistent Hawk seemed to fall into this classification, --it was bothsinister and contemptible. To be concerned in these dark doings even asan emissary was hardly in accordance with Peter's notion of his job, andhe had acceded to McGuire's request without thinking of possibleconsequences, more out of pity for his employer in his plight than forany other reason. But he remembered that it usually required a guiltyconscience to make blackmail possible and that the man who paid alwayspaid because of something discreditable which he wished to conceal. 

McGuire's explanations had been thin and Peter knew that the real reasonfor the old man's trepidations was something other than the ones he hadgiven. He had come to Black Rock from New York to avoid any possiblepublicity that might result from the visits of his persecutor and wasnow paying this sum of money for a respite, an immunity which at thebest could only be temporary. It was all wrong and Peter was sorry tohave a hand in it, but he couldn't deny that the interest with which hehad first approached Black Rock House had now culminated in a curiositywhich was almost an obsession. Here, close at hand, was the solution ofthe mystery, and whether or not he learned anything as to the factswhich had brought McGuire's discomfiture, he would at least see and talkwith the awe-inspiring Hawk who had been the cause of them. Besides, there was Mrs. Bergen's share in the adventure which indicated thatBeth's happiness, too, was in some way involved. For Peter, having hadtime to weigh Beth's remarks with the housekeeper's, had come to theconclusion that there had been but one man near the house that night. The man who had talked with Mrs. Bergen at the kitchen door was not JohnBray the camera-man, or the man with the dark mustache, but Hawk Kennedyhimself. 

Peter entered the path to the Cabin, and explored it carefully, searching the woods on either side and then, cutting into the scrub oakat the point where he and Beth had first seen the placard, made his wayto the maple tree. There was no one there. A glance at his watch underthe glare of the pocket torch showed that he was early for the tryst, sohe walked around the maple, flashing his light into the undergrowth andat last sat down, leaning against the trunk of the tree, lighted anothercigarette and waited. 

Under the depending branches of the heavy foliage it was very dark, andhe could get only the smallest glimpses of the starlit sky. At one pointtoward Black Rock House beyond the boles of the trees he could see shortstretches of the distant lawn and, in the distance, a light which hethought must be that of McGuire's bedroom, for to-night, Peter hadnoticed, the shutters had been left open. It was very quiet too. Peterlistened for the sounds of approaching footsteps among the dry leaves, but heard only the creak of branches overhead, the slight stir of thebreeze in the leaves and the whistle of a locomotive many miles away, onthe railroad between Philadelphia and Atlantic City. 

The sound carried his mind beyond the pine-belt out into the great worldfrom which he had come, and he thought of many things that might havebeen instead of this that was--the seething yeast that was Russia, thetearing down of the idols of centuries and the worship of new gods thatwere no gods at all--not even those of brass or gold--onlyvisions--will-o'-the-wisps. .. . The madness had shown itself here too. Would the fabric of which the American Ideal was made be strong enoughto hold together against the World's new madness? He believed inAmerican institutions. Imperfect though they were, fallible as the humanwills which controlled them, they were as near Liberty, Equality, Fraternity as one might yet hope to attain in a form of government thisside of the millennium. 

Peter started up suddenly, for he was sure that he had heard somethingmoving in the underbrush. But after listening intently and hearingnothing more he thought that his ears had deceived him. He flashed hislantern here and there as a guide to Hawk Kennedy but there was nosound. Complete silence had fallen again over the woods. If McGuire'smysterious enemy was approaching he was doing it with the skill of anIndian scout. And it occurred to Peter at this moment that Hawk Kennedytoo might have his reasons for wishing to be sure that he was to befairly dealt with. The placard had indicated the possibility ofchicanery on the part of McGuire. "No tricks, " Hawk had written. Hewould make sure that Peter was alone before he showed himself. So Peterflashed his lamp around again, glanced at his watch, which showed thatthe hour of the appointment had passed, then lighted a third cigaretteand sank down on the roots of the tree to wait. 

There was no other sound. The breeze which had been fitful at best haddied and complete silence had fallen. Peter wasn't in the least alarmed. Why should he be? He had come to do this stranger a favor and no oneelse except McGuire could know of the large sum of money in hispossession. The trees were his friends. Peter's thoughts turned backagain, as they always did when his mind was at the mercy of hisimagination. What was the use of it all? Honor, righteousness, pride, straight living, the ambition to do, to achieve something real by hisown efforts--to what end? He knew that he could have been living snuglyin London now, married to the Princess Galitzin, drifting with thecurrent in luxury and ease down the years, enjoying those things----

Heigho! Peter sat up and shrugged the vision off. He must not bethinking back. It wouldn't do. The new life was here. _Novaya Jezn. _Like the seedling from the twisted oak, he was going to grow straightand true--to be himself, the son of his mother, who had died with aprayer on her lips that Peter might not be what his father had been. Thus far, he had obeyed her. He had grown straight, true to the memoryof that prayer. 

Yes, life was good. He tossed away his cigarette, ground it into theground with his heel, then lay back against the tree, drinking in greatdrafts of the clean night air. The forest was so quiet that he couldhear the distant tinkle of Cedar Creek down beyond the Cabin. The timewas now well after eleven. What if Hawk Kennedy failed to appear? Andhow long must----?

A tiny sound close at hand, clear, distinct. Peter took a chance andcalled out, "Is that you, Hawk Kennedy?"

Silence and then a repetition of the sound a little louder now and fromdirectly overhead. Peter rose, peering upward in amazement. 

"Yes, I'm here, " said a low voice among the leaves above him. 

And presently a foot appeared, followed by legs and a body, emergingfrom the gloom above. Peter threw the light of his torch up into thetree. 

"Hey! Cut that, " commanded a voice sharply. 

And Peter obeyed. In a moment a shape swung down and stood beside him. After the glare of the torch Peter couldn't make out the face under thebrim of the cap, but he could see that it wore a mustache and shortgrowth of beard. In size, the stranger was quite as tall as Peter. 

Hawk Kennedy stood for a moment listening intently and Peter was soastonished at the extraordinary mode of his entrance on the scene thathe did not speak. 

"You're from McGuire?" asked the man shortly. 

"Yes. "

"Why didn't he come himself?"

The voice was gruff, purposely so, Peter thought, but there wassomething about it vaguely reminiscent. 

"Answer me. Why didn't he come?"

Peter laughed. 

"He didn't tell me why. Any more than you'd tell me why you've been upthis tree. "

"I'm takin' no chances this trip. I've been watchin'--listenin', " saidthe other grimly. "Well, what's the answer? And who--who the devil areyou?"

The bearded visage was thrust closer to Peter's as though inuncertainty, but accustomed as both men now were to the darkness, neither could make out the face of the other. 

"I'm McGuire's superintendent. He sent me here to meet you--to bring yousomething----"

"Ah--he comes across. Good. Where is it?"

"In my pocket, " said Peter coolly, "but he told me to tell you first notto forget the blood on the knife, Hawk Kennedy. "

The man recoiled a step. 

"The blood on the knife, " he muttered. And then, "McGuire asked you tosay that?"

"Yes. "

"Anything else?"

"No. That's all. "

Another silence and then he demand in a rough tone, "Well, give me the money!"

Impolite beggar! What was there about this shadow that suggested toPeter the thought that this whole incident had happened before? Thatthis man belonged to another life that Peter had lived? Peter shruggedoff the illusion, fumbled in his pocket and produced the envelopecontaining the bills. 

"You'd better count it, " said Peter, as the envelope changed hands. 

"It's not 'phoney'----?" asked Hawk's voice suspiciously. 

"Phoney?"

"Fake money----?"

"No. I got it in New York myself yesterday. "

"Oh----. " There was a silence in which the shade stood uncertainlyfingering the package, peering into the bushes around him and listeningintently. And then, abruptly, "I want to see the color of it. Switch on your light. "

Peter obeyed. "You'd better, " he said. 

In the glow of lamp Hawk Kennedy bent forward, his face hidden by hiscap brim, fingering the bills, and Peter saw for the first time that hisleft hand held an automatic which covered Peter now, as it had coveredhim from the first moment of the interview. 

"Five hundreds--eh, " growled Kennedy. "They're real enough, all right. One--two--three--four----"

A roar from the darkness and a bullet crashed into the tree behindthem. .. . Another shot! Peter's startled finger relaxed on the button ofthe torch and they were in darkness. A flash from the trees to theright, the bullet missing Peter by inches. 

"A trick! By ----!" said Hawk's voice in a fury, "but I'll get _you_ forthis. "

Peter was too quick for him. In the darkness he jumped aside, strikingKennedy with his torch, and then closed with the man, whose shot wentwild. They struggled for a moment, each fighting for the possession ofthe weapon, McGuire's money ground under their feet, but Peter was theyounger and the stronger and when he twisted Hawk's wrist the mansuddenly relaxed and fell, Peter on his chest. 

The reason for this collapse was apparent when Peter's hand touched themoisture on Kennedy's shoulder. 

"Damn you!" Hawk was muttering, as he struggled vainly. 

Events had followed so rapidly that Peter hadn't had time to think ofanything but his own danger. He had acted with the instinct ofself-preservation, which was almost quicker than his thought, but as heknew now what had happened he realized that he, too, had been tricked byMcGuire and that the murderous volley directed at Hawk Kennedy had comeperilously near doing for himself. With the calm which followed theissue of his struggle with Kennedy, came a dull rage at McGuire forplacing him in such danger, which only showed his employer's desperateresolve and his indifference to Peter's fate. For Hawk Kennedy had beenwithin his rights in supposing Peter to be concerned in the trick andonly the miracle of the expiring torch which had blinded the intruderhad saved Peter from the fate intended for Hawk. Peter understood nowthe meaning of McGuire's explicit instructions and the meaning of thechanging of the guards. The old man had hoped to kill his enemy with oneshot and save himself the recurrence of his terror. What had become ofhim now? There was no sound among the bushes or any sign of him. He hadslipped away like the poltroon that he was, leaving Peter to his fate. 

"Damn you!" Hawk muttered again. "What did _you_ want to come meddlingfor!"

The man couldn't be dangerously hurt if he possessed the power ofinvective and so, having possessed himself of Hawk's automatic, Petergot off his chest and fumbled around for the electric torch. 

"It won't do you any good to lie there cursing me. Get up, if you'reable to. "

"Got me in the shoulder, " muttered the man. 

"And he might have gotten _me_, " said Peter, "which would have beenworse. "

"You mean--you didn't--_know_, " groaned Hawk, getting up into a sittingposture. 

"No. I didn't, " replied Peter. 

He had found the torch now and was flashing it around on the groundwhile he picked up the scattered money. 

"I'll fix him for this, " groaned the stranger. 

Peter glanced at him. 

"His men will be down here in a moment. You'd better be getting up. "

"I'm not afraid. They can't do anything to _me_. They'd better leave mealone. McGuire don't want me to talk. But I'll squeal if they botherme. " Peter was aware that the man was watching him as he picked up thebills and heard him ask haltingly, "What are you--going to do--with thatmoney?"

"My orders were to give it to you. Don't you want it?"

Peter turned and for the first time flashed the lamp full in the injuredman's face. Even then Peter didn't recognize him, but he saw HawkKennedy's eyes open wide as he stared at Peter. 

"Who----?" gasped the man. And then, "_You_ here! '_Cré nom!_ It's Pete, the waiter!"

Peter started back in astonishment. 

"Jim Coast!" he said. 

Hawk Kennedy chuckled and scrambled to his feet, halfway between a laughand a groan. 

"Well, I'm damned!"

Peter was still staring at him, the recovered bills loose in his hand. Jim Coast thrust out an arm for them. 

"The money, " he demanded. "The money, Pete. "

Without a word Peter handed it to him. It was none of his. Coast countedthe bills, the blood dripping from his fingers and soiling them, but hewiped them off with a dirty handkerchief and put them away into hispocket. Blood money, Peter thought, and rightly named. 

"And now, _mon gars_, if it's all the same to you, I'd like you to takeme to some place where we can tie up this hole in my shoulder. "

This was like Coast's impudence. He had regained his composure againand, in spite of the pain he was suffering, had become his proper self, the same Jim Coast who had bunked with Peter on the _Bermudian_, full ofsmirking assertiveness and sinister suggestion. Peter was too full ofastonishment to make any comment, for it was difficult to reconcile thethought of Jim Coast with Hawk Kennedy, and yet there he was, the terrorof Black Rock House revealed. 

"Well, Pete, " he growled, "goin' to be starin' at me all night?"

"You'd better be off, " said Peter briefly. 

"Why?"

"They'll be here in a minute. You've got your money. "

"Let 'em come. They'll have to take me to McGuire----"

"Or the lock-up at Egg Harbor----"

"All right. I'll go. But when I open my mouth to speak, McGuire willwish that Hell would open for him. " And then, "See here, Pete, do youknow anything of what's between me and McGuire?"

"No--except that he fears you. "

"Very well. If you're workin' for him you'll steer these guys away fromme. I mean it. Now think quick. "

Peter did. Angry as he was at McGuire, he knew that Jim Coast meant whathe said and that he would make trouble. Also Peter's curiosity knew nosubsidence. 

"You go to my cabin. It's hidden in the woods down this path at theright----"

"That's where you live, is it?"

"Yes. You'll find water there and a towel on the washstand. I'll bethere to help you when I sheer these men off. "

Coast walked a few steps and then turned quickly. 

"No funny business, Pete. "

"No. You can clear out if you like. I don't care. I only thought if youwere badly hurt----"

"Oh, all right. Thanks. "

Peter watched the dim silhouette merge into the shadows and disappear. Then flashed his light here and there that the men who must beapproaching now might be guided to him. In a moment they were crashingthrough the undergrowth, Jesse and Andy in the lead. 

"What's the shootin'?" queried Jesse Brown breathlessly. 

"A man in the woods. I'm looking for him, " said Peter. "He got away. "

"Well, don't it beat Hell----"

"But it may be a plan to get you men away from the house, " said Peter asthe thought came to him. "Did you see McGuire?"

"McGuire! No. What----?"

"All right. You'd better hurry back. See if he's all right. I'll getalong----"

"Not if you go flashin' _that_ thing. I could a got ye with my rifle aseasy as----"

"Well, never mind. Get back to the house. I'll poke around here for awhile. Hurry!"

In some bewilderment they obeyed him and Peter turned his footsteptoward the Cabin. 

CHAPTER XI

ANCIENT HISTORY

Peter wasn't at all certain that he had done the right thing. One eventhad followed another with such startling rapidity that there hadn't beentime to deliberate. Jim Coast was wounded, how badly Peter didn't know, but the obvious duty was to give him first aid and sanctuary until Petercould get a little clearer light on Coast's possibilities for evil. Noneof this was Peter's business. He had done what McGuire had asked him todo and had nearly gotten killed for his pains. Two fights already and hehad come to Black Rock to find peace!

In his anger at McGuire's trick he was now indifferent as to what wouldhappen to the old man. There was no doubt that Jim Coast held all thecards and, unless he died, would continue to hold them. It was evidentthat McGuire, having failed in accomplishing the murder, had placedhimself in a worse position than before, for Coast was not one to relaxor to forgive, and if he had gotten his five thousand dollars so easilyas this, he would be disposed to make McGuire pay more heavily now. Peter knew nothing of the merits of the controversy, but it seemedobvious that the two principals in the affair were both tarred with thesame stick. _Arcades Ambo_. He was beginning to believe that Coast wasthe more agreeable villain of the two. At least he had made no bonesabout the fact of his villainy. 

Peter found Coast stripped to the waist, sitting in a chair by thetable, bathing his wounded shoulder. But the hemorrhage had stopped andPeter saw that the bullet had merely grazed the deltoid, leaving a cleanwound, which could be successfully treated by first aid devices. So hefound his guest a drink of whisky, which put a new heart into him, thentore up a clean linen shirt, strips from which he soaked in iodine andbandaged over the arm and shoulder. 

Meanwhile Coast was talking. 

"Well, _mon vieux_, it's a little world, ain't it? To think I'd find_you_, my old bunkie, Pete, the waiter, out here in the wilds, passin'the buck for Mike McGuire! Looks like the hand o' Fate, doesn't it?Superintendent, eh? Some job! Twenty thousand acres--if he's got aninch. An' me thinkin' all the while you'd be slingin' dishes in a NewYork chop house!"

"I studied forestry in Germany once, " said Peter with a smile, as hewound the bandage. 

"Right y'are! Mebbe you told me. I don't know. Mebbe there's a lot o'things you _didn't_ tell me. Mebbe there's a lot of things I didn't tell_you_. But I ought to 'a' known a globe trotter like you never would 'a'stayed a waiter. A waiter! _Nom de Dieu!_ Remember that (sanguine)steward on the _Bermudian_? Oily, fat little beef-eater with the goldteeth? Tried to make us 'divy' on the tips? But we beat him to it, Pete, when we took French leave. H-m! I'm done with waitin' now, Pete. So areyou, I reckon. Gentleman of leisure, _I_ am!"

"There you are, " said Peter as he finished the bandage, "but you'll haveto get this wound dressed somewhere to-morrow. "

"Right you are. A hospital in Philly will do the trick. And McGuire paysthe bill. "

Jim Coast got up and moved his arm cautiously. 

"Mighty nice of you, Pete. That's fine. I'll make him pay through thenose for this. " And then turning his head and eyeing Peter narrowly, "You say McGuire told you nothin'!"

"Nothing. It's none of my affair. "

The ex-waiter laughed. "He knows his business. Quiet as death, ain't he?He's got a right to be. And scared. He's got a right to be scared too. I'll scare him worse before I'm through with him. "

He broke off with a laugh and then, "Funny to find you guardin' _him_against _me_. House all locked--men with guns all over the place. Hewanted one of those guys to kill me, didn't he? But I'm too slick forhim. No locked doors can keep out what's scarin' Mike McGuire----"

He broke off suddenly and held up his empty glass. "Another drink of thewhisky, _mon gars_, and I'm yer friend for life. "

Peter was still curious, so he obeyed and after cleaning up the messthey had made he sank into a chair, studying the worn features of hisold companion. He had taken the precaution to pull in the heavy shutterof the window which had been opened and to lock the door. Peter did notrelish the idea of a murder committed in this cabin. 

"Not apt to come now, are they, Pete? Well, let 'em, " he answeredhimself with a shrug. "But they won't if McGuire has his way. Murder isthe only thing that will suit McGuire's book. He can't do that--not withwitnesses around. Ain't he the slick one, though? I was watchin' forjust what happened. That's why I stayed in the tree so long--listenin'. He must of slipped in like a snake. How he did it I don't know. I'm aworse snake than he is but I always rattle before I strike. "

He laughed again dryly. 

"I've got _him_ rattled all O. K. Mebbe he'd of shot straighter if hehadn't been. He used to could--dead shot. But I reckon his talents arerunnin' different _now_. Millions he has they say, _mon vieux_, millions. And I'll get my share of 'em. "

Jim Coast smoked for a moment in contented silence. 

"See here, Pete. I like you. Always did. Straight as a string--you are. You've done me a good turn to-night. You might of put me out--killed mewhen you had me down----"

"I'm no murderer, Jim. "

"Right. Nor I ain't either. I don't want to hurt a hair of McGuire'shead. Every one of 'em is precious as refined gold. I want him tolive--to keep on livin' and makin' more money because the more moneyhe's got the more I'll get--see. "

"Blackmail, " said Peter shortly. 

Coast glanced at him, shrugged and laughed. 

"Call it that if you like. It's a dirty word, but I'll stand for it, seein' it's you. Blackmail! What's a waiter's tip but blackmail for goodservice? What's a lawyer's fee from a corporation but money paid by mento keep them out of the jail? What's a breach of promise case?Blackmail--legal blackmail. I'm doin' nothin' less an' nothin' more thana million other men--but I'm not workin' with a lawyer. I'll turn thetrick alone. What would you say if I told you that half of every dollarMcGuire has got is mine--a full half--to say nothin' of payment for theyears I was wanderin' an' grubbin' over the face of the earth, while hewas livin' easy. Oh! You're surprised. You'd better be. For that's theGod's truth, _mon ami_. "

"You mean--he--he----" Peter's credulity was strained and he failed tofinish his query. 

"Oh, you don't believe? Well, you needn't. But there's no blackmail whenyou only take what belongs to you. The money--the money that made hismillions was as much mine as his. I'm going to have my share withcompound interest for fifteen years--and perhaps a bit more. "

"You surprise me. But it seems that if there's any justice in yourclaim, you could establish it legally. "

Jim Coast laughed again. 

"There's a quicker--a safer way than that. I'm takin' it. " He filled hisglass again and went on, leaning far over the table toward Peter. "_Voyons_, Pete. When we came ashore, I made you an offer to play mygame. You turned me down. It's not too late to change your mind. The oldman trusts you or he wouldn't of sent you out with that money. I mayneed some help with this business and you're fixed just right to lend mea hand. Throw in with me, do what I want, and I'll see that you're fixedfor life. "

Peter shook his head slowly from side to side. 

"No, Jim. He pays me well. I'm no traitor. "

"H-m. Traitor!" he sneered. "_He_ wasn't overparticular about _you_. Hemight of killed you or _I_ might of, if you hadn't been too damn quickfor me. What do you think Mike McGuire cares about _you_?" he laughedbitterly. 

"Nothing. But that makes no difference. I----"

A loud jangle of a bell from the corner and Jim Coast sprang to hisfeet. 

"The telephone, " explained Peter, indicating the instrument. "That'sMcGuire now. " He rose and moved toward it, but Coast caught him by thearm. 

"Worried, eh?" he said with a grin. "Wants to know what's happened! Allright. Tell him--tell the----. " And then, as Peter released himself, "Wait a minute. Tell him you've got me here, " laughed Coast, "aprisoner. Tell him I'm talking. Ask for instructions. He'll tell youwhat to do with me, damn quick, " he sneered. 

Peter waited a moment, thinking, while the bell tinkled again, and thentook down the receiver. He was in no mood to listen to McGuire. 

"Hello--Yes, this is Nichols. .. . All right, yes. Shot at from thedark--while paying the money. You hit Hawk Kennedy in the shoulder. .. . Yes, _you_. I'm no fool, McGuire. .. . He's here--at the Cabin. I've justfixed his shoulder----. All right----. What shall I do with him----?Yes--Yes, he's talking. .. . Let him go----! Hello! Let him go, you say?Yes----"

"Let me get to him----, " growled Coast, pushing close to thetransmitter. "Hello--Mike McGuire--hello----"

"He's gone, " said Peter. 

"'Let him go, '" sneered Coast. "You'd bet he'd let me go. " Then helooked at Peter and laughed. "He's scared all right--beat it like acottontail. Seems a shame to take the money, Pete--a real shame. "

He laughed uproariously, then sauntered easily over to the table, tookanother of Peter's cigarettes and sank into the easy chair again. Petereyed him in silence. He was an unwelcome guest but he hadn't yetgratified Peter's curiosity. 

"Well, what are you going to do?" asked Peter. 

"Me?" Coast inhaled Peter's cigarette luxuriously, and smiled. "I'mgoin' West, _pronto_--to get my facts straight--all at the expense ofthe party of the first part. I might stop off at the Grand Cañon firstfor the view. I need a rest, Pete. I ain't as young as I was--or Imightn't of let you put me out so easy to-night. I'm glad of that, though. Wouldn't like to of done you hurt----"

"And then----?" asked Peter steadily. 

"Then? Oh, I'll beat it down to Bisbee and ask a few questions. I justwant to hook up a few things I _don't_ know with the things I _do_ know. I'll travel light but comfortable. Five thousand dollars makes a heap ofdifference in your point of view--and other people's. I'll be aneastern millionaire lookin' for investments. And what I won't know aboutJonathan K. McGuire, alias Mike McGuire--won't be worth knowin'. " Hebroke off and his glance caught the interested expression on the face ofhis host. 

"H-m. Curious, ain't you, Pete?"

"Yes, " said Peter frankly. "I am. Of course it's none of my business, but----"

"But you'd like to know, just the same. I get you. " He flicked off theash of his cigarette and picked up his whisky glass. "Well----, " he wenton, "I don't see why I shouldn't tell you--some of it--that is. It won'tdo any harm for you to know the kind of skunk you're workin' for. There's some of it that nobody on God's earth will ever know but me andMike McGuire--unless he slips up on one of his payments, and theneverybody's goin' to know. _Everybody_--but his daughter first of all. "

Coast was silent a long moment while he drained the whisky and slowlyset the glass down upon the table. The shadows upon his face wereunpleasant, darkened perceptibly as they marked the years his thoughtsfollowed, and the lines at his lips and nostrils became more deeplyetched in bitterness and ugly resolve. 

"It was down in the San Luis valley I first met up with Mike McGuire. Hewas born in Ireland, of poor but honest parents, as the books tell us. He changed his name to 'Jonathan K. ' when he made his first 'stake. 'That meant he was comin' up in the world--see? Me and Mike workedtogether up in Colorado, punchin' cattle, harvestin', ranchin'generally. We were 'buddies, ' _mon gars_, like you an' me, eatin', sleepin' together as thick as thieves. He had a family somewhere, sameas me--the wife had a little money but her old man made him quit--sometrouble. After awhile we got tired of workin' for wages, grub staked, and beat it for the mountains. That was back in nineteen one or two, Ireckon. We found a vein up above Wagon Wheel Gap. It looked good and westaked out claims and worked it, hardly stoppin' to eat or sleep. " Coaststopped with a gasp and a shrug. "Well, the long an' short of that, _monvieux_, was a year of hard work with only a thousand or so apiece toshow for it. It was only a pocket. Hell!" He broke off in disgust andspat into the fireplace. "Don't talk to me about your gold mines. Thereain't any such animal. Well, Mike saved his. I spent mine. Faro. Youknow--an' women. Then I got hurt. I was as good as dead--but I pulledthrough. I ain't easy to kill. When I came around, I 'chored' for awhile, doin' odd jobs where I could get 'em and got a little moneytogether and went to Pueblo. When I struck town I got pretty drunk andbusted a faro bank. I never _did_ have any luck when I was sober. "

"Yes, you've told me about that, " said Peter. 

"So I did--on the _Bermudian_. Well, it was at Pueblo I met up with MikeMcGuire, and we beat it down into Arizona where the copper was. Bisbeewas only a row of wooden shacks, but we got some backin', bought anoutfit and went out prospectin' along the Mexican border. And what with'greasers' and thievin' redskins it was some job in those days. But wemade friends all right enough and found out some of the things we wantedto know. 

"Now, Pete, if I was to tell you all that went on in that long trailinto the Gila Desert and what happened when we got what we went for, you'd know as much as I do. You'd know enough to hold up Mike McGuireyourself if you'd a mind to. This is where the real story stops. Whathappened in between is my secret and Mike McGuire's. We found the minewe were lookin' for. .. . That's sure----How we got it you'll never know. But we got it. And here's where the real story begins again. We weremiles out in the Gila Desert and if ever there's a Hell on earth, it'sthere. Sand, rocks, rocks and sand and the sun. It was Hell with thecover off and no mistake! No water within a hundred miles. 

"Now, this is where the fine Eyetalian hand of Mike McGuire showsitself. We were rich. Any fool with half an eye could see that. Theplace was lousy--fairly lousy! It was ours----, " Coast's brow darkenedand his eyes glittered strangely as a darting demon of the past gotbehind them. "Yes--_ours_. _Sacré bleu!_ Any man who went through whatwe did deserved it, by G----! We were rich. There was plenty enough fortwo, but McGuire didn't think so. And here's what he does to me. In themiddle of the night while I'm asleep he sneaks away as neat as youplease, with the horses and the pack-mules and the water, leavin' mealone with all the money in the world, and a devourin' thirst, more thana hundred miles from nowhere. "

"Murder, " muttered Peter. 

Coast nodded. "You bet you. Murder. Nothin' less. Oh, he knew what _he_was about all right. And I saw it quick. Death! That's what it meant. Slow but sure. Hadn't I seen the bones bleaching all along the trail? Heleft me there to die. He thought I would die. _Dios!_ That thirst!"Coast reached for the pitcher and splashed rather than poured a glass ofwater which he gulped down avidly. "There was nothin' for it but to tryafoot for Tucson, which was due east. Every hour I waited would of mademe an hour nearer to bein' a mummy. So I set out through the hot sand, the sun burnin' through me, slowly parchin' my blood. My tongue swelled. I must of gone in circles. Days passed--nights when I lay gaspin' on myback, like a fish out of water, tryin' to suck moisture out of dryair. .. . Then the red sun again--up over the edge of that furnace, mockin' at me. I was as good as dead and I knew it. Only the mummy ofme, parched black, stumbled on, fallin', strugglin' up again, fallin' atlast, bitin' at the sand like a mad dog. .. . "

"Horrible, " muttered Peter. 

"It was. I reckon I died--the soul of me, or what was left of it. I cameto life under the starlight, with a couple of 'greasers' droppin' wateron my tongue. They brought me around, but I was out of my head for aweek. I couldn't talk the lingo anyhow. I just went with 'em like achild. There wasn't anything else to do. Lucky they didn't kill me. Iguess I wasn't worth killin'. We went South. They were makin' forHermosillo. Revolutionists. They took all my money--about three hundreddollars. But it was worth it. They'd saved my life. But I couldn't goback now, even if I wanted to. I had no money, nor any way of gettin'any. "

Jim Coast leaned forward, glowering at the rag carpet. 

"But I--I didn't want to go back just then. The fear of God was in me. I'd looked into Hell. "

He laughed bitterly. 

"Then I joined the 'greasers' against Diaz. I've told you about that. And the 'Rurales' cleaned us up all right. A girl saved my life. Insteadof shootin' me against a mud wall, they put me to work on a railroad. Iwas there three years. I escaped at last and reached the coast, where Ishipped for South America. It was the only way out, but all the while Iwas thinkin' of Mike McGuire and the copper mine. You know the rest, Pete--the Argentine deal that might of made me rich an' how it fellthrough. Don't it beat Hell how the world bites the under dog!"

"But why didn't you go back to America and fight your claim withMcGuire?" asked Peter, aware of the sinister, missing passage in thestory. 

Coast shot a sharp glance at his questioner. 

"There were two reasons--one of which you won't know. The other was thatI couldn't. I was on the beach an' not too popular. The only ships outof Buenos Aires were for London. That was the easiest way back toAmerica anyhow. So I shipped as a cattle hand. And there you are. Ilived easy in London. That's me. Easy come easy go. There it was I wrotea man I knew out in Bisbee--the feller that helped stake us--and heanswered me that McGuire was dead, and that the mine was a flivver--toofar away to work. You see he must of showed the letter to McGuire, andMcGuire told him what to write. That threw me off the track. I forgothim and went to France. .. . "

Coast paused while he filled his glass again. 

"It wasn't until I reached New York that I found out McGuire was alive. It was just a chance while I was plannin' another deal. I took it. Ihunted around the brokers' offices where they sell copper stocks. Itdidn't take me long to find that my mine was the 'Tarantula. ' McGuirehad developed it with capital from Denver, built a narrow gauge in. Thenafter a while had sold out his share for more than half a millionclear. "

Peter was studying Coast keenly, thinking hard. But the story held withwhat he already knew of the man's history. 

"That's when Mike McGuire tacked the 'Jonathan K. ' onto his name, " Coastwent on. "And that money's mine, the good half of it. Figure it out foryourself. Say five hundred thou, eight per cent, fifteen years--Ireckon I could worry along on that even if he wouldn't do better--whichhe will. 

"Well, Pete--to shorten up--I found McGuire was here--in New York--and Ilaid for him. I watched for a while and then one day I got my nerve upand tackled him on the street. You ought to of seen his face when I toldhim who I was and what I'd come for. We were in the crowd at Broadwayand Wall, people all about us. He started the 'high and mighty' stufffor a minute until I crumpled him up with a few facts. I thought he wasgoin' to have a stroke for a minute, when I made my brace for the fivethou--then he turned tail and ran into the crowd pale as death. I losthim then. But it didn't matter. I'd find him again. I knew where hisoffice was--and his hotel. It was dead easy. But he beat it down here. It took me awhile to pick up the trail. But here I am, Pete--here Iam--safe in harbor at last. "

Coast took the bills out of his pocket and slowly counted them again. 

"And when you come back from the West, what will you do?" asked Peter. 

"Oh, now you're talkin', Pete. I'm goin' to settle down and liverespectable. I like this country around here. I came from Jersey, youknow, in the first place. I might build a nice place--keep a few horsesand automobiles and enjoy my old age--run over to gay Paree once ayear--down to Monte Carlo in the season. Oh, I'd know how to _live_ now. You bet you. I've seen 'em do it--those swells. They won't have anythingon me. I'll live like a prince----"

"On blackmail----, " said Peter. 

"See here, Pete----!"

"I meant it. " Peter had risen and faced Coast coolly. "Blackmail! Youcan't tell me that if you had any legal claim on McGuire you couldn'tprove it. "

"I mightn't be able to----, " he shrugged. 

"What is McGuire frightened about? Not about what he owes you. He couldpay that ten times over. It's something else--something that happenedout there at the mine that you dare not tell----"

"That I _won't_ tell, " laughed Coast disagreeably. 

"That you _dare_ not tell--that McGuire dares not tell. Something thathas to do with his strange message about the blood on the knife, andyour placard about what you've got holding over him----"

"Right you are, " sneered the other. 

"It's dirty money, I tell you--bloody money. I know it. And I know whoyou are, Jim Coast. "

Coast started up and thrust the roll deep into his trousers pocket. 

"You don't know anything, " he growled. 

Peter got up too. His mind had followed Coast's extraordinary story, andso far as it had gone, believed it to be true. Peter wanted to know whathad happened out there at the mine in the desert, but more than that hewanted to know how the destinies of this man affected Beth. And so thethought that had been growing in his mind now found quick utterance. 

"I know this--that you've come back to frighten McGuire, but you've alsocome back to bring misery and shame to others who've lived long in peaceand happiness without you----"

"What----?" said Coast incredulously. 

"I know who you are. You're Ben Cameron, " said Peter distinctly. 

The effect of this statement upon Jim Coast was extraordinary. Hestarted back abruptly, overturning a chair, and fell rather than leanedagainst the bedpost--his eyes staring from a ghastly face. 

"What--what did--you say?" he gasped chokingly. 

"You're Ben Cameron, " said Peter again. 

Coast put the fingers of one hand to his throat and straightened slowly, still staring at Peter. Then uneasily, haltingly, he made a sound in histhroat that grew into a dry laugh----

"Me--B-Ben Cameron! That's damn good. Me--Ben Cameron! Say, Pete, whatever put _that_ into your head?"

"The way you frightened the old woman at the kitchen door. "

"Oh!" Coast straightened in relief. "I get you. You've been talkin' to_her_. "

"Yes. What did you say to her?"

"I--I just gave her a message for McGuire. I reckon she gave it to him. "

"A message?"

"Oh, you needn't say you don't know, Pete. It didn't fetch him. So I putup the placard. "

Peter was now more bewildered than Coast. "Do you deny that you're BenCameron?" he asked. 

Coast pulled himself together and took up his coat. 

"Deny it? Sure! I'm not--not him--not Ben Cameron--not Ben Cameron. Don't I know who I am?" he shouted. Then he broke off with a violentgesture and took up his cap. "Enough of your damn questions, I say. I'vetold you what I've told you. You can believe it or not, as you choose. I'm Jim Coast to you or Hawk Kennedy, if you like, but don't you gothrowin' any more of your dirty jokes my way. Understand?"

Peter couldn't understand but he had had enough of the man. So hepointed toward the door. 

"Go, " he ordered. "I've had enough of you--get out!"

Coast walked a few paces toward the door, then paused and turned andheld out his hand. 

"Oh, Hell, Pete. Don't let's you and me quarrel. You gave me a startback there. I'm sorry. Of course, you knew. You been good to meto-night. I'm obliged. I need you in my business. More'n ever. "

"No, " said Peter. 

"Oh, very well. Suit yourself, " said Coast with a shrug. "There's plentyof time. I'll be back in a month or six weeks. Think it over. I've madeyou a nice offer--real money--to help me a bit. Take it or leave it, asyou please. I'll get along without you, but I'd rather have you with methan against me. "

"I'm neither, " said Peter. "I want nothing to do with it. "

Coast shrugged. "I'm sorry. Well, so long. I've got a horse back in thedunes. I'll take the milk train from Hammonton to Philadelphia. Youwon't tell, Pete?"

"No. "

"Good-night. "

Peter didn't even reply. And when the man had gone he opened the doorand windows to let in the night air. The room had been defiled by theman's very presence. Ben Cameron? Beth's father? The thing seemedimpossible, but every fact in Peter's knowledge pointed toward it. Andyet what the meaning of Jim Coast's strange actions at the mention ofhis name? And what were the facts that Jim Coast _didn't_ tell? What hadhappened at the mine that was too terrible even to speak about? What wasthe bond between these two men, which held the successful one in terror, and the other in silence? Something unspeakably vile. A hideous pact----

The telephone bell jangled again. Peter rose and went to it. But he wasin no humor to talk to McGuire. 

"Hello, " he growled. "Yes--he's gone. I let him go. You told me to. .. . Yes, he talked--a long while. .. . No. He won't be back for a month. .. . We'll talk that over later. .. . No. Not to-night. I'm going to bed. .. . No. Not until to-morrow. I've had about enough of this. .. . All right. Good-night. "

And Peter hung up the receiver, undressed and went to bed. 

It had been rather a full day for Peter. 

CHAPTER XII

CONFESSION

In spite of his perplexities, Peter slept soundly and was only awakenedby the jangling of the telephone bell. But Peter wanted to do a littlethinking before he saw McGuire, and he wanted to ask the housekeeper afew questions, so he told McGuire that he would see him before teno'clock. The curious part of the telephone conversation was that McGuiremade no mention of the shooting. "H-m, " said Peter to himself as he hungup, "going to ignore that trifling incident altogether, is he? Well, we'll see about that. It doesn't pay to be too clever, old cock. " Hispity for McGuire was no more. At the present moment Peter felt nothingfor him except an abiding contempt which could hardly be modified by anysubsequent revelations. 

Peter ran down to the creek in his bath robe and took a quick plunge, then returned, shaved and dressed while his coffee boiled, thinking witha fresh mind over the events and problems of the night before. Curiouslyenough, he found that he considered them more and more in their relationto Beth. Perhaps it was his fear for her happiness that laid stress onthe probability that Jim Coast was Ben Cameron, Beth's father. Howotherwise could Mrs. Bergen's terror be accounted for? And yet why hadCoast been so perturbed at the mere mention of Ben Cameron's name? Thatwas really strange. For a moment the man had stared at Peter as thoughhe were seeing a ghost. If he _were_ Ben Cameron, why shouldn't he haveacknowledged the fact? Here was the weak point in the armor of mystery. Peter had to admit that even while Coast was telling his story and theconviction was growing in Peter's mind that this was Beth's father, thevery thought of Beth herself seemed to make the relationship grotesque. This Jim Coast, this picturesque blackguard who had told tales on the_Bermudian_ that had brought a flush of shame even to Peter'scheeks--this degenerate, this scheming blackmailer--thief, perhapsmurderer, too, the father of Beth! Incredible! The merest contact withsuch a man must defile, defame her. And yet if this were the fact, Coastwould have a father's right to claim her, to drag her down, a prey tohis vile tongue and drunken humors as she had once been when a child. Her Aunt Tillie feared this. And Aunt Tillie did not know as Peter nowdid of the existence of the vile secret that sealed Coast's lips andheld McGuire's soul in bondage. 

Instead of going directly up the lawn to the house Peter went along theedge of the woods to the garage and then up the path, as Coast must havedone a few nights before. The housekeeper was in the pantry and therePeter sought her out. He noted the startled look in her eyes at themoment he entered the room and then the line of resolution into whichher mouth was immediately drawn. So Peter chose a roundabout way ofcoming to his subject. 

"I wanted to talk to you about Beth, Mrs. Bergen, " he began cheerfully. She offered him a chair but Peter leaned against the windowsill lookingout into the gray morning. He told her what he had discovered about herniece's voice, that he himself had been educated in music and that hethought every opportunity should be given Beth to have her voicetrained. 

He saw that Mrs. Bergen was disarmed for the moment as to the realpurpose of his visit and he went on to tell her just what had happenedat the Cabin with Shad Wells the day before, and asking her, as Beth'sonly guardian, for permission to carry out his plan to teach her allthat he knew, after which he hoped it would be possible for her to go toNew York for more advanced training. 

Mrs. Bergen listened in wonder, gasping at the tale of Shad Wells'sundoing, which Peter asked her to keep in confidence. From Mrs. Bergen'scomments he saw that she took little stock in Shad, who had beenbothering Beth for two years or more, and that her own love for the girlamounted to a blind adoration which could see no fault in anything thatshe might do. It was clear that she was delighted with the opportunitiesPeter offered, for she had always known that Beth sang "prettier thananybody in the world. " As to going to the Cabin for the lessons, thatwas nobody's business but Beth's. She was twenty-two--and able to lookout for herself. 

"I'm an old woman, Mr. Nichols, " she concluded timidly, "an' I've seen alot of trouble, one kind or another, but I ain't often mistaken in myjudgments. I know Beth. She ain't nobody's fool. And if she likes you, you ought to be glad of it. If she's willin' to come to your cabin, I'mwillin' that she should go there--no matter who don't like it or why. She can look after herself--aye, better than I can look after her. " Shesighed. And then with some access of spirit, "You're different from mostof the folks around here, but I don't see nothin' wrong with you. If yousay you want to help Beth, I'm willin' to believe you. But if I thoughtyou meant her any harm----"

She broke off and stared at him with her mild eyes under brows meant tobe severe. 

"I hope you don't want to think that, Mrs. Bergen, " said Peter gently. 

"No. I don't want to. Beth don't take up with every Tom, Dick and Harry. And if she likes you, I reckon she knows what's she's about. "

"I want to help her to make something of herself, " said Peter calmly. "And I know I can. Beth is a very unusual girl. "

"Don't you suppose I know that? She always was. She ain't the same asthe rest of us down here. She always wanted to learn. Even now whenshe's through school, she's always readin'--always. "

"That's it. She ought to complete her education. That's what I mean. Iwant to help her to be a great singer. I can do it if you'll let me. "

"Where's the money comin' from?" sighed Mrs. Bergen. 

"No need to bother about that, yet. I can give her a beginning, if youapprove. After that----" Peter paused a moment and then, "We'll see, " hefinished. 

He was somewhat amazed at the length to which his subconscious thoughtwas carrying him, for his spoken words could infer nothing less than hisundertaking at his own expense the completion of the girl's education. The housekeeper's exclamation quickly brought him to a recognition ofhis meaning. 

"You mean--that _you_----!" she halted and looked at him over herglasses in wonder. 

"Yes, " he said blandly, aware of an irrevocable step. "I do, Mrs. Bergen. "

"My land!" she exclaimed. And then again as though in echo, "My land!"

"That's one of the reasons why I've come here to you to-day, " he went onquickly. "I want to help Beth and I want to help _you_. I know thateverything isn't going right for you at Black Rock House. I've beendrawn more deeply into--into McGuire's affairs than I expected to be andI've learned a great many things that aren't any business of mine. Andone of the things I've learned is that your peace of mind and Beth'shappiness are threatened by the things that are happening around you. "

The housekeeper had risen and stood leaning against the dresser, immediately on her guard. 

"Mrs. Bergen, " he went on firmly, "there's no use of trying to evadethis issue--because it's here! I know more than you think I do. I'mtrying to get at the root of this mystery because of Beth. You told methe other night that Beth's happiness was involved when that strangercame to the kitchen porch----"

"No, no, " gasped the woman. "Don't ask me. I'll tell you nothin'. "

"You saw this man--outside the kitchen door in the dark, " he insisted. "You talked with him----"

"No--no. Don't ask me, Mr. Nichols. "

"Won't you tell me what he said? I saw him last night--talked with himfor an hour----"

"_You_--talked--with him!" she gasped in alarm. And then, haltingly, "What did he say to you? What did he do? Is he coming back?"

She was becoming more disturbed and nervous, so Peter brought a chairand made her sit in it. 

"No. He's not coming back--not for a month or more, " he repliedreassuringly. "But if I'm to help you, I've got to know something moreabout him, and for Beth's sake you've got to help me. " And then quietly, "Mrs. Bergen, was this man who came to the kitchen door, Ben Cameron, Beth's father?"

"My God!" said the housekeeper faintly, putting her face in her hands. 

"Won't you tell me just what happened?" Peter asked. 

"I--I'm scared, Mr. Nichols, " she groaned. "The whole thing has been toomuch for me--knowin' how scared Mr. McGuire is too. I can't understand, I can't even--think--no more. "

"Let me do your thinking for you. Tell me what happened the other night, Mrs. Bergen. "

The woman raised a pallid face, her colorless eyes blinking up at himbeseechingly. 

"Tell me, " he whispered. "It can do no possible harm. "

She glanced pitifully at him once more and then haltingly told herstory. 

"I--I was sittin' in the kitchen there, the night of the supperparty--by the door--restin' and tryin' to get cool--when--when a knockcome on the door-jamb outside. It sounded queer--the door bein'open--an' my nerves bein' shook sorter with the goin's on here. But Iwent to the door an' leaned out. There was a man standin' in theshadow----"

Mrs. Bergen paused in a renewed difficulty of breathing. 

"And then----?" Peter urged. 

"He--he leaned forward toward me an' spoke rough-like. 'You're the cook, ain't you?' he says. I was that scared I--I couldn't say nothin'. An' hewent on. 'You tell McGuire to meet me at the end of the lawn to-morrownight. '"

"And what did you say?"

"Nothin'. I couldn't. "

"What else did he tell you?"

Mrs. Bergen bent her head but went on with an effort. 

"He says, 'Tell McGuire Ben--Ben Cameron's come back. '"

"I see. And you were more frightened than ever?"

"Yes. More frightened--terrible. I didn't know what to do. I mumbledsomethin'. Then you an' Beth come in----"

"And _was_ it Ben Cameron that you saw?"

The poor creature raised her gaze to Peter's again. 

"B-Ben Cameron? Who else could it 'a' been? An' I thought he was dead, Mr. Nichols--years ago. "

"You didn't recognize him, then?"

"I--I don't know. It was all so sudden--like seein' a corpse--speakin'that name. "

"He wore a short beard?"

"Yes. But Ben Cameron was smooth shaved. "

"Did Ben Cameron have any distinguishing mark--anything you couldremember him by?"

"Yes. Ben Cameron's little finger of his left hand was missin'----. Butof course, Mr. Nichols, I couldn't see nothin' in the dark. "

"No, of course, " said Peter with a gasp of relief. "But his voice----?"

"It was gruff--hoarse--whisperin'-like. "

"Was the Ben Cameron you knew, your brother-in-law--was he tall?"

She hesitated, her brows puckering. 

"That's what bothered me some. Beth's father wasn't over tall----"

"I see, " Peter broke in eagerly, "and this man was tall--about mysize--with a hook nose--black eyes and----"

"Oh, I--I couldn't see his face, " she muttered helplessly. "The nightwas too dark. "

"But you wouldn't swear it was Ben Cameron?"

She looked up at him in a new bewilderment. "But who else could it 'a'been--sayin' that name--givin' that message?"

Peter rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 

"Queer, isn't it? I don't wonder that you were alarmed--especially forBeth, knowing the kind of man he was. "

"It's terrible, Mr. Nichols. A man like Ben Cameron never gets madeover. He's bad clear through. If you only knew----" Mrs. Bergen's paleeyes seemed to be looking back into the past. "He means no good toBeth--that's what frightens me. He could take her away from me. She'shis daughter----"

"Well--don't worry, " said Peter at last. "We'll find a way to protectyou. " And then, "Of course you didn't take that message to McGuire?" heasked. 

"Why, no--Mr. Nichols. I couldn't. I'd 'a' died first. But what does itall mean? _Him_ bein' scared of Ben Cameron, too. I can't make itout--though I've thought and thought until I couldn't think no more. "

She was on the point of tears now, so Peter soothed her gently. 

"Leave this to me, Mrs. Bergen. " And then, "You haven't said anything ofthis to any one?"

"Not a soul--I--I was hopin' it might 'a' been just a dream. "

Peter was silent for a moment, gazing out of the window and thinkingdeeply. 

"No. It wasn't a dream, " he said quietly at last. "You saw a man by thekitchen door, and he gave you the message about Ben Cameron, _but theman you saw wasn't Ben Cameron_, Mrs. Bergen, because, unless I'm verymuch mistaken, Ben Cameron is dead----"

"How do you----?"

"He didn't die when you thought he did, Mrs. Bergen--but later. I can'ttell you how. It's only a guess. But I'm beginning to see a light inthis affair--and I'm going to follow it until I find the truth. Good-by. Don't worry. "

And Peter, with a last pat on the woman's shoulder and an encouragingsmile, went out of the door and into the house. 

Eagerly Peter's imagination was trying to fill the gap in Jim Coast'sstory, and his mind, now intent upon the solution of the mystery, gropedbefore him up the stair. And what it saw was the burning Gila Desert . .. The mine among the rocks--"lousy" with outcroppings of ore . .. "Mike"McGuire and "Hawk" Kennedy, devious in their ways, partners in a vileconspiracy. .. . 

But Peter's demeanor was careless when Stryker admitted him to McGuire'sroom and his greeting in reply to McGuire's was casual enough to put hisemployer off his guard. After a moment's hesitation McGuire sent thevalet out and went himself and closed and locked the door. Peter refusedhis cigar, lighting one of his own cigarettes, and sank into the chairhis host indicated. After the first words Peter knew that his surmisehad been correct and that his employer meant to deny all share in theshooting of the night before. 

"Well, " began the old man, with a glance at the door, "what did he say?"

Peter shook his head judicially. He had already decided on the directionwhich this conversation must take. 

"No. It won't do, Mr. McGuire, " he said calmly. 

"What do you mean?"

"Merely that before we talk of what Hawk Kennedy said to me, we'lldiscuss your reasons for unnecessarily putting my life in danger----"

"This shooting you've spoken of----"

"This attempted _murder_!"

"You're dreaming. "

Peter laughed at him. "You'll be telling me in a moment that you didn'thear the shots. " And then, leaning forward so that he stared deep intohis employer's eyes, "See here, Mr. McGuire, I'm not to be trifled with. I know too much of your affairs--more than you think I do----"

"He talked----?" McGuire's poise was slipping from him. 

"One moment, if you please. I want this thing perfectly understood. Yourarrangements were cleverly made--changing the guards--your instructionsto me--the flashlight and all the rest. You didn't want to kill me ifyou could help it. I'm obliged for this consideration. You forgot thatyour hand isn't as steady now as it was when you were a dead shot out inArizona--Ah! I see that you already understand what I mean. "

McGuire had started forward in his chair, his face livid. 

"You know----?"

"Yes. More than I wanted to know--more than I would ever have known ifyou'd played fair with me. You cared nothing for my life. You shot, twice, missed killing your man and then when the light went out, sneakedaway like the coward that you are----"

"D----n you, " croaked McGuire feebly, falling back in his chair. 

"Leaving me to the mercies of your ancient enemy in the dark--whothought _me_ your accomplice. You can hardly blame him under thecircumstances. But I got the best of him--luckily for me, and disarmedhim. If you had remained a few moments longer you might have taken partin our very interesting conversation. Do you still deny all this?"

McGuire, stifled with his fear and fury, was incapable of a reply. 

"Very good. So long as we understand each other thus far, perhaps youwill permit me to go on. As you know, I came to you in good faith. Iwanted to help you in any way that a gentleman could do. Last night youtricked me, and put my life in danger. If you had killed Kennedyeverything would have been all right for _you_. And I would have beenaccused of the killing. If _I_ had been killed no harm would have beendone at all. That was your idea. It was a clever little scheme. Pity itdidn't work out. "

McGuire's faltering courage was coming back. 

"Go on!" he muttered desperately. 

"Thanks, " said Peter, "I will. One shot of yours scraped Kennedy'sshoulder. He was bleeding badly, so I took him to the Cabin and fixedhim up. He was rather grateful. He ought to have been. I gave him adrink too--several drinks. You said he wouldn't talk, but he did. "

"You _made_ him talk, d----n you, " McGuire broke in hoarsely. 

"No. He volunteered to talk. I may say, he insisted upon it. You see, Ihappened to have the gentleman's acquaintance----"

"You----!"

"We met on the steamer coming over when we were escaping from Russia. His name was Jim Coast then. He was a waiter in the dining saloon. Sowas I. Funny, isn't it?"

To McGuire it seemed far from that, for at this revelation his jawdropped and he stared at Peter as though the entire affair were beyondhis comprehension. 

"You knew him! A waiter, _you_!"

"Yes. Misfortune makes strange bedfellows. It was either that orstarvation. I preferred to wait. "

"For--for the love of God--go on, " growled McGuire. His hands wereclutching the chair arm and there was madness in his shifting eyes, soPeter watched him keenly. 

"I will. He told me how you and he had worked together out in Colorado, up in the San Luis valley, of the gold prospect near Wagon Wheel Gap, ofits failure--how you met again in Pueblo and then went down into thecopper country--Bisbee, Arizona. "

Peter had no pity now. He saw McGuire straighten again in his chair, hisgaze shifting past Peter from left to right like a trapped animal. Hisfingers groped along the chair arms, along the table edge, trembling, eager but uncertain. But the sound of Peter's narrative seemed tofascinate--to hypnotize him. 

"Go on----!" he whispered hoarsely. "Go on!"

"You got an outfit and went out into the Gila Desert, " continued Peter, painting his picture leisurely, deliberately. "It was horrible--theheat, the sand, the rocks--but you weren't going to fail this time. There was going to be something at the end of this terrible pilgrimageto repay you for all that you suffered, you and Hawk Kennedy. There wasno water, but what you carried on your pack-mules--no water within ahundred miles, nothing but sand and rocks and the heat. No chance at allfor a man, alone without a horse, in that desert. You saw the bones ofmen and animals bleaching along the trail. That was the death thatawaited any man----"

"You lie!"

Peter sprang for the tortured man as McGuire's fingers closed onsomething in the open drawer of the table, but Peter twisted the weaponquickly out of his hand and threw it in the corner of the room. 

"You fool, " he whispered quickly as he pinioned McGuire in his chair, "do you want to add another murder to what's on your conscience?"

But McGuire had already ceased to resist him. Peter hadn't been toogentle with him. The man had collapsed. A glance at his face showed hiscondition. So Peter poured out a glass of whisky and water which hepoured between his employer's gaping lips. Then he waited, watching theold man. He seemed really old now to Peter, a hundred at least, for hissagging facial muscles seemed to reveal the lines of every event in hislife--an old man, though scarcely sixty, yet broken and helpless. Hecame around slowly, his heavy gaze slowly seeking Peter's. 

"What--what are you going to do?" he managed at last. 

"Nothing. I'm no blackmailer. " And then, playing his high card, "I'veheard what Hawk said about Ben Cameron, " said Peter. "Now tell me thetruth. "

At the sound of the name McGuire started and then his eyes closed for amoment. 

"You know--everything, " he muttered. 

"Yes, _his_ side, " Peter lied. "What's yours?"

McGuire managed to haul himself upright in his chair, staring up atPeter with bloodshot eyes. 

"He's lied to you, if he said I done it----, " he gasped, relapsing intothe vernacular of an earlier day. "It was Hawk. He stabbed him in theback. I never touched him. I never had a thing to do with the killin'. Iswear it----"

Peter's lips set in a thin line. 

"So Hawk Kennedy killed Ben Cameron!" he said. 

"He did. I swear to God----"

"And then _you_ cleared out with all the water, leaving Hawk to die. _That_ was murder--cold-blooded murder----"

"My God, don't, Nichols!" the old man moaned. "If you only knew----"

"Well, then--tell me the truth. "

Their glances met. Peter's was compelling. He had, when he chose, an airof command. And there was something else in Peter's look, inflexible asit was, that gave McGuire courage, an unalterable honesty which had beenso far tried and not found wanting. 

"You know--already, " he stammered. 

"Tell me your story, " said Peter bluntly. 

There was a long moment of hesitation, and then, "Get me a drink, Nichols. I'll trust you. I've never told it to a livingman. I'll tell--I'll tell it all. It may not be as bad as you think. "

He drank the liquor at a gulp and set the glass down on the table besidehim. 

"This--this thing has been hanging over me for fifteen years, Nichols--fifteen years. It's weighted me down, made an old man of mebefore my time. Maybe it will help me to tell somebody. It's made mehard--silent, busy with my own affairs, bitter against every man whocould hold his head up. I knew it was going to come some day. I knew it. You can't pull anything like that and get away with it forever. I'd madethe money for my kids--I never had any fun spending it in my life. I'm alonely man, Nichols. I always was. No happiness except when I came backto my daughters--to Peggy and my poor Marjorie. .. . "

McGuire was silent for a moment and Peter, not taking his gaze from hisface, patiently waited. McGuire glanced at him just once and then wenton, slipping back from time to time into the speech of a bygone day. 

"I never knew what his first name was. He was always just 'Hawk' to usboys on the range. Hawk Kennedy was a bad lot. I knew it up there in theSan Luis valley but I wasn't no angel from Heaven myself. And he had away with him. We got on all right together. But when the gold mine up atthe Gap petered out he quit me--got beaten up in a fight about a woman. I didn't see him for some years, when he showed up in Pueblo, where Iwas workin' in a smelter. He was all for goin' South into the coppercountry. He had some money--busted a faro bank he said, and talked bigabout the fortune he was goin' to make. Ah, he could talk, when he hadsomething on his mind. .. . I had some money saved up too and so I quit myjob and went with him down to Bisbee, Arizona. I wish to God I neverhad. I'd gotten pretty well straightened out up in Pueblo, sendin' moneyEast to the wife and all----. But I wanted to be rich. I was forty-fiveand I had to hurry. But I could do it yet. Maybe this was my chance. That's the way I thought. That's why I happened to listen to HawkKennedy and his tales of the copper country. 

"Well, we got an outfit in Bisbee and set out along the Mexican border. We had a tip that let us out into the desert. It was just a tip, that'sall. But it was worth following up. It was about this man Ben Cameron. He'd come into town all alone, get supplies and then go out again nextday. He let slip something over the drink one night. That was the tip wewere followin' up. We struck his trail all right--askin' questions ofgreasers and Indians. We knew he'd found somethin' good or he wouldn'thave been so quiet about it. 

"I swear to God, I had no idea of harmin' him. I wanted to find what BenCameron had found, stake out near him and get what I could. Maybe HawkKennedy had a different idea even then. I don't know. He never said whathe was thinkin' about. 

"We found Ben Cameron. Perched up in a hill of rocks, he was, livin' inthe hole he'd dug where he'd staked his claim. But we knew he hadn'ttaken out any papers. He never thought anybody'd find him out there inthat Hell-hole. It was Hell all right. Even now whenever I think of whatHell must be I think of what that gulch looked like. Just rocks andalkali dust and heat. 

"It all comes back to me. Every little thing that was said anddone--every word. Ben Cameron saw us first--and when we came up, he wassittin' on a rock, his rifle acrost his knees, a hairy man, thin, burnt-out, black as a greaser. Hawk Kennedy passed the time of day, butBen Cameron only cursed at him and waved us off. 'Get the Hell out ofhere, ' he says--ugly. But we only laughed at him--for didn't we both seethe kind of an egg Ben Cameron was settin' on?

"'Don't be pokin' jokes at the Gila Desert, my little man, ' say Hawk, polite as you please. 'It's Hell that's here and here it will remain. 'And then we said we were short of water--which we were not--and had heany to spare? But he waved us on with his rifle, never sayin' a word. Sowe moved down the gulch a quarter of a mile and went into camp. Therewas ore here, too, but nothin' like what Ben Cameron had. 

"Hawk was quiet that night--creepin' about among the rocks, but hedidn't say what was on his mind. In the mornin' he started off to talkto Ben Cameron an' I went with him. The man was still sittin' on hisrock, with the rifle over his knees--been there all night, I reckon. Buthe let us come to hailin' distance. 

"'Nice claim you got there, pardner, ' says Hawk. 

"'Is it?' says he. 

"'Ain't you afraid of rubbin' some o' that verdigris off onto yourpants, ' says Hawk. 

"'They're my pants, ' says Cameron. 'You ain't here for any good. Getout!' And he brings his rifle to his hip. We saw he was scared allright, maybe not so much at what we'd do to him as at sharin' what he'dfound. 

"'The Gila Desert ain't _all_ yours, is it, pardner? Or maybe you got amortgage on the earth!' says Hawk, very polite. 'You ain't got noobjection to our stakin' alongside of you, have you? Come along, now. Let's be neighbors. We see what you've got. That's all right. We'll takeyour leavin's. We've got a right to them. '

"And so after a while of palaverin' with him, he lets us come up andlook over his claim. It didn't take any eye at all to see what he'd got. He wasn't much of a man--Ben Cameron--weak-eyed, rum-dum--poor too. Youcould see that by his outfit--worse off than we were. Hawk told him wehad a lot of friends with money--big money in the East. Maybe we couldwork it to run a railroad out to tap the whole ridge. That kind of gothim and we found he had no friends in this part of the country--so wesat down to grub together, Ben Cameron, like me, unsuspectin' of whatwas to happen. 

"My God, Nichols, I can see it all like it had happened yesterday. HawkKennedy stood up as though to look around and then before I knew what hewas about had struck Ben Cameron in the back with his knife. 

"It was all over in a minute. Ben Cameron reached for his gun but beforehis hand got to it he toppled over sideways and lay quiet. 

"I started up to my feet but Hawk had me covered and I knew from whathad happened that he'd shoot, too. 

"'Don't make a fuss, ' he says. 'Give me your gun. ' I knew he had me torights and I did what he said. 'Now, ' he says, 'it's yours and mine. '"

McGuire made a motion toward the glass. Peter filled it for him and hedrank. 

"And then--what happened?" asked Peter quietly. 

"Hawk Kennedy had me dead to rights. There was only one thing to do--tomake believe I was 'with him. ' We buried Ben Cameron, then went down andbrought our outfit up, Hawk watchin' me all the while. He'd taken my gunand Ben Cameron's and unloaded them and carried all the ammunition abouthim. But I didn't know what I was in for. That night he made me sit downwhile he drew up a paper, torn from an old note book of Ben Cameron's--apartnership agreement, a contract. "

McGuire broke off suddenly and got up, moving nervously to the safe, from one of the drawers of which he took a blue linen envelope andbrought forth a paper which he handed to Peter. 

"That's the hellish thing, Nichols, " he said hoarsely. "That's why I'mafraid of Hawk Kennedy. A lie that he forced me to sign! And there'sanother paper like this in his possession. Read it, Nichols. "

Peter took the paper in his fingers and looked at it curiously. It wassoiled and worn, broken at the edges, written over in lead pencil, butstill perfectly legible. 

 AGREEMENT BETWEEN HAWK KENNEDY AND MIKE McGUIRE

 Us two found Ben Cameron on his copper claim in Madre Gulch. We killed him. Both of us had a hand in it. This mine is Hawk Kennedy's and Mike McGuire's and we are pardners in the same until death us do part, so help us God. 

 (Signed) MIKE MCGUIRE. HAWK KENNEDY. 

"He wanted it on me----" McGuire gasped. "You see? To keep me quiet. "

"I understand, " said Peter. "This is 'what you've got and what I've got'referred to in the placard. "

"Yes, " said McGuire. "A partnership agreement and a confession--ofsomething I didn't do. "

Peter's eyes were searching him through and through. 

"You swear it?"

McGuire held up his right hand and met Peter's gaze without flinching. 

"Before God, I do. "

Peter was silent for a moment, thinking. 

"And then, you left Hawk Kennedy there to die, " he said slowly, watchingthe man. 

McGuire sank into his chair with a sigh, the perspiration now beaded onhis pale forehead. 

"I didn't know what to do, I tell you, " he almost whispered. "He hadme. I was unarmed. I'd 'a' killed him if I'd had a gun. But I waited afew days after we buried Cameron--makin' believe I was satisfied witheverything and he believed me, and at last he fell asleep tired withkeepin' watch on me. He was all in. I bored holes in Ben Cameron'sbarrels, lettin' the water out down the rocks, then took the threehorses and the mules with all the water that was left and got awaybefore he woke up. 

"It was a terrible thing to do, Nichols--call it murder if you like. Butit served him right. It was comin' to him--and I got away with it. Atfirst when I reached water I had a thought of goin' back--to save himbefore he died--to get that paper I couldn't get that was inside hisshirt. "

McGuire leaned forward, his face in his hands for a moment, trying tofinish. 

"But I didn't go back, Nichols. I didn't go back. That's the crime I'mpayin' for now--not the other--not the murder of Ben Cameron--I didn'tdo that--the murder of Hawk Kennedy--who has come back. "

"What happened then?"

"I turned Ben Cameron's horse and burros loose where there was water andgrass and went on to Bisbee. I told them my buddy had died of a fever. Ithought he had by now. They didn't ask any questions. I was safe. Therest was easy. I filed a claim, found some real money and told what I'dfound. I waited a month, then went back to Madre Gulch with Bill Munroe, the fellow that helped stake us. There was no one there. We searched therocks and plains for miles around for signs of Hawk Kennedy's body, forwe knew he couldn't have got far in that heat without water. But wefound nothin'. Hawk Kennedy had disappeared. "

"Then, " said Peter, "you built a railroad in and sold out for half amillion dollars----?"

McGuire looked up, mystified. 

"Or thereabouts, " he muttered. "But Hawk Kennedy was alive. I found thatout later when he wrote from London. We steered him off the track. But Iknew he'd come back some day with that paper I'd signed. That's what'sbeen hangin' over me. An' now it's fallen. I've told you the truth. Ihad to. You believe me, don't you?" he asked appealingly. 

Peter had watched him keenly. There seemed little doubt that what hetold was the truth. There was no flaw in the tale. 

"Yes, " he said after a pause. "I believe you've told me the truth. Butyou can hardly blame Hawk Kennedy, murderer though he is, for hating youand wanting what he thinks is his. "

"No. That's true. "

"And you can't blame me for being angry at the trick you played me----"

"I was desperate. I've been desperate since I saw him in New York. Sometimes I've been a bit queer, I reckon--thinkin' about Peggy hearin'this. I wanted to kill him. It was a good chance last night. Nobodywould have blamed me, after his being around the place. It was an easyshot--but my hand wasn't steady----"

"Pity you didn't know that before you put me in danger. "

"I'm sorry, Nichols--sorry. I'll do anything you like. What do you wantme to do?"

Instead of replying at once Peter took out a cigarette and lighted itcarefully. And then, "You've never taken the trouble to make any inquiries as to thewhereabouts of the family of Ben Cameron?" he asked. 

The old man shook his head. 

"Why not?"

"I was afraid to ask. "

"I see. Don't you think it's about time you did? It's _his_ money thatmade your fortune. "

"He was no good. Nobody knew him. So far as I ever heard, nobody everasked about him. "

"Nevertheless he must have had some friends somewhere. "

"Maybe. I don't know. I'm willing to help them if I can, providing thisthing can be kept quiet. " And then, pleadingly, "You're not going totalk--to use it against me, Nichols?"

Peter's pity for McGuire had come back. The man's terror, hisdesperation of the past weeks had burned him out, worn him to a shell. 

"No, I'm not going to talk. Hawk Kennedy didn't dare tell what you'vetold me. That's why I believe you. "

"And you'll stay on here and help me?"

"Yes----We'll see how we can balk Hawk Kennedy. "

"I'll pay him fifty thousand--a hundred thousand--for thatagreement----"

"Not a dollar. I've got a better use for your money than that. "

McGuire thought Peter referred to the necessary improvements of theestate. But Peter had another idea in mind. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE CHASE

Peter had discovered the means of providing for Beth's musicaleducation. Upon inquiry he had found that McGuire hardly knew Bethexcept as a dependent relative of Mrs. Bergen, who came in sometimes tohelp her aunt with the cleaning--usually before McGuire came down fromNew York. Their little home was not on his visiting list. 

He delayed telling McGuire. There was plenty of time and there was nodoubt of his employer's doing the right thing by the daughter of themurdered man. Meanwhile, having completed his plans for the estate, hehad suggested that McGuire go off for a trip somewhere to rest andrecover his poise. Peter had promised his allegiance to McGuire whenHawk Kennedy returned, but he knew that he would have to fight fire withfire. For Hawk had proved himself both skillful and dangerous, and wouldstruggle desperately to get what he thought was his own. It was his lastchance to make a big stake--to be independent for the rest of his life. He was tasting luxury now and wouldn't give up without a fight to thedeath. Something must be thought of--some plan to outwit him, tocircumvent the schemes which would come out of his visit ofinvestigation to the copper country. 

Peter had said nothing to Beth or to Mrs. Cameron of what he haddiscovered. He was under no oath of secrecy to the old man, but herealized that while Hawk Kennedy held the "confession" McGuire was in apredicament which would only be made more difficult if the facts gotabroad. And so Peter had gone about his work silently, aware that theburden of McGuire's troubles had been suddenly shifted to his ownshoulders. He spent most of his days at the lumber camp and now hadevery detail of the business at his fingers' ends. Timbers had beenhauled to the appointed sites and under his direction the fire towerswere now half way to completion. 

He had found Shad Wells down at the mills, morose, sullen and disposedto question his authority, but McGuire had visited the bunk-house onenight before he went away, and it was soon discovered that Peter and noother was the boss of the job. Peter for reasons of his own retainedShad, much to that gentleman's surprise, as foreman of the lumberinggang, but Peter wasn't at all satisfied with conditions as he had foundthem at the lumber camp and mills and, as he discovered later, thecontinuance of Shad in the foreman's job was a mistake. If Peter hadhoped by this act of conciliation to heal Shad's wounds and bring abouta spirit of useful coöperation with the man, he soon found that the veryreverse of this had been accomplished. The lumbermen were anunregenerate lot, some of them "pineys, " a few Italians, but most ofthem the refuse of the factories and shipyards, spoiled by the fatal"cost plus" contracts of war time. All of these facts Peter learnedslowly, aware of an undercurrent moving against him and yet entirelydependent upon this labor--which was the best, indeed the only labor, tobe had. He made some improvements in the bunk-house for their comfort, increased the supply of food and posted notices that all complaints ofwhatever nature would be promptly investigated. But day after day newstories came to him of shirking, of dissatisfaction and continuedtrouble-making. 

This labor trouble was no new thing at Black Rock, and had existedpractically since the beginning of the work on the lumber contract sixmonths before Peter had been employed. But it was not long before Peterdiscovered through Jesse Brown, whose confidence he had gained, thatthere were agitators in the camp, undoubtedly receiving theirinspiration and pay from sources inimical to all capital in the abstractand to all order and decency at Black Rock in the concrete, who werefomenting the unrest and dissatisfaction among the men. In order toinvestigate the difficulties personally Peter went down to the camp andlived there for a time, bunking with the men and listening to theirstories, winning some of them to his side and tracing as far as he couldthe troubles to their sources, two men named Flynn and Jacobi. Hedischarged these two men and sent them out of the camp over Wells'sprotest. But even then he had a sense of failure. The trouble was deeperthan was manifest upon the surface. No mere raise in wages would clearit away. It was born of the world's sickness, with which the men fromthe cities had been inoculated. 

One night while he sat in the bunk-house smoking a pipe and talking withJesse Brown, Shad Wells suddenly appeared in the doorway, framed againstthe darkness. Shad's gaze and Peter's met--then Peter's glance turned toShad's companion. As this man saw Peter he turned his head and went downthe length of the bunk-house. Peter got up at once, followed him andfaced him. The man now wore a dark beard, but there was no mistake. Itwas the fellow of the black mustache--the stranger whom Peter had seenin the Pennsylvania Station in New York, the same man he had caughtprowling some weeks ago around his cabin in the darkness. 

Peter stared at him for a moment but the man would not meet his gaze. 

"Who are you?" asked Peter at last. And then, as he made no reply, "What were you doing prowling around my cabin up by the creek?"

The stranger shook his head from side to side. 

"No understan', " he muttered. 

At this point, Shad Wells, who had followed with Jesse Brown, came inbetween them. 

"That's right, Nichols, " he growled. "No understan'--He's a 'guinea. '"To Wells all men were "guineas" who didn't speak his own language. 

"Italian? Are you? French? Spanish? Slovak?"

Each time the man shook his head. And then, with an inspiration, Petershot at him a quick phrase in Russian. But the man gave no sign ofcomprehension. 

"Who put this man on?" asked Peter, turning to Wells. 

"I did, " said the native sullenly. 

"Why?" said Peter, growing warmer. "Didn't I tell you that in future Iwould hire all the men myself?"

"We're short-handed, since you fired two of the best axmen we got----"

"You disobeyed orders----"

"_Orders_--Hell!"

"All right. We'll see who's running this camp, you or me. To-morrowmorning Jesse Brown starts as foreman here. Understand?"

Shad's eyes shot fire, then smoldered and went out as he turned with asneering laugh and walked away. 

"As for you, " said Peter to the stranger, who stood uncertainly, "you goto the office in the morning and get your envelope. " Then repeated thesentence in Russian. "If you don't understand--find somebody who does. "

That the stranger had understood Peter's demeanor if not his languagewas evident, for in the morning he had vanished. 

After that clearing of the air things went somewhat better at the camp. Jesse Brown, though not aggressive, was steady and honest and had acertain weight with the Jerseymen. As to the others, there was doubt asto whether anything would have satisfied them. For the present, atleast, it was a question of getting on as well as possible with themeans at hand. There was a limit to Peter's weekly pay roll and othermen were not to be had. Besides, Peter had promised McGuire to keep thesawmills busy. He knew that when he had come to Black Rock the work onthe lumber contract had already fallen behind the schedule, and thatonly by the greatest perseverance could he make up the time alreadylost. 

As he rode back to his cabin on the afternoon after his encounter withShad Wells and the stranger with the black mustache, he found himselfquite satisfied with regard to his summary dismissal of them both. OnBeth's account he had hesitated to depose Shad. He knew that before hehad come to Black Rock they had been friends as well as distantrelatives, and Beth in her frequent meetings with Peter had expressedthe hope that Shad would "come around. " Peter had given him everychance, even while he had known that the Jerseyman was working againstboth McGuire's and Peter's interests. Flynn and Jacobi, the men Peterhad sent away, were radicals and agitators. Flynn had a police recordthat did not bear close inspection, and Jacobi was an anarchist out andout. Before Peter had come to Black Rock they had abused Shad'scredulity and after the fight at the Cabin, he had been their willingtool in interrupting the completion of the contract. For of course Shadhad hoped that if Peter couldn't get the lumber out when promised, McGuire would put the blame on the new superintendent and let him go. That was Shad's idea. If he had ever been decent enough to warrantBeth's friendship, his jealousy had warped his judgment. Peter was nolonger sorry for Shad Wells. He had brought all his troubles onhimself. 

As to the stranger with the black mustache, that was a more seriousmatter. Every circumstance--the recognition in New York, the skill withwhich the man had traced him to Black Rock, the craft with which he hadwatched Peter and his success in finally getting into the camp andgaining Shad's confidence, made a certainty in Peter's mind that thestranger had some object in remaining near Peter and keeping him underobservation. And what other object than a political one? The trail hehad followed had begun with the look of recognition in the PennsylvaniaStation in New York. And where could that look of recognition havesprung from unless he had identified Peter Nichols as the Grand DukePeter Nicholaevitch? It seemed incredible, but there could be no otherexplanation. The man had seen him somewhere--perhaps in Russia--perhapsin Paris or London, or perhaps had only identified him by his portraitswhich had been published frequently in the Continental magazines andnewspapers. But that he had really identified him there could not be theslightest doubt and Peter's hope that he would have been able to losehis identity in the continent of America and become merged into adifferent civilization where he could work out the personal problem ofexistence in his own time, by his own efforts and in his own way, seemeddestined to failure. 

If the stranger knew that Peter was in New Jersey there was no doubtthat there were others who knew it also, those who employed him--thosein whose interests he was working. Who? The same madmen who had doneNicholas to death and had killed one by one the misguided Empress, Olga, Tania, the poor little Czarevitch and the rest. .. . Did they considerhim, Peter Nichols, lumber-jack extraordinary, as a possible futureclaimant to the throne of Russia? Peter smiled grimly. They were"straining at a gnat while swallowing the camel. " And if they fearedhim, why didn't they strike? The stranger had already had ampleopportunity to murder him if he had been so disposed, could still do itduring Peter's daily rides back and forth from the Cabin to the camp andto the Upper Reserve. 

All of these thoughts percolated slowly, as a result of the suddeninspiration at the bunk-house which had liberated a new train of ideas, beginning with the identification of the Russian characteristics of thenew lumberman, which were more clearly defined under the beard andworkman's shirt than under the rather modish gray slouch hat andAmerican clothing in which Peter had seen him earlier. And Peter hadmerely let the man go. He had no proof of the fellow's purposes, and ifhe had even discovered exactly what those purposes were, there was norecourse for Peter but to ask for the protection of Washington, and thishe had no desire to do. 

If the man suspected from the quickly spoken Russian sentence that Peternow guessed his mission, he had given no sign of it. But that meantnothing. The fellow was clever. He was doubtless awaiting instructions. And unless Peter took his case to the Department of Justice he couldneither expect any protection nor hope for any security other than hisown alertness. 

At the Cabin Beth was waiting for him. These hours of music and Bethwere now as much a part of Peter's day as his breakfast or his dinner. And he had only failed her when the pressure of his responsibilities wastoo great to permit of his return to the Cabin. The hour most convenientfor him was that at the close of the day, and though weary ordiscouraged, Peter always came to the end of this agreeable hour restedand refreshed, and with a sense of something definitely achieved. Forwhatever the days brought forth of trouble and disappointment, down atthe logging camp or the mills, here was Beth waiting for him, full ofenthusiasm and self-confidence, a tangible evidence of success. 

The diligence with which she applied his instructions, the ease withwhich she advanced from one step to another, showed her endowed with anintelligence even beyond his early expectations. She was singing simpleballads now, English and French, and already evinced a sense ofinterpretation which showed the dormant artist. He tried at first, ofcourse, to eliminate all striving for effect, content to gain the purityof tone for which he was striving, but she soared beyond him sometimes, her soul defying limitations, liberated into an empyrean of song. Ifanything, she advanced too rapidly, and Peter's greatest task was torestrain her optimism and self-confidence by imposing the drudgery offundamental principles. And when he found that she was practicing toolong, he set her limits of half-hour periods beyond which she must notgo. But she was young and strong and only once had he noted theslightest symptom of wear and tear on her vocal chords, when he hadclosed the piano and prohibited the home work for forty-eight hours. 

As to their personal relations, Peter had already noticed a differencein his own conduct toward Beth, and in hers toward him, --a shade ofrestraint in Beth's conversation when not on the topic of music, whichcontrasted rather strangely with the candor of their first meetings. Peter couldn't help smiling at his memories, for now Beth seemed to beupon her good behavior, repaying him for her earlier contempt with akind of awe at his attainments. He caught her sometimes in unguardedmoments looking at him curiously, as though in wonder at a mystery whichcould not be explained. And to tell the truth, Peter wondered a little, too, at his complete absorption in the task he had set himself. He triedto believe that it was only the music that impelled him, only the joy ofan accomplished musician in the discovery of a budding artist, but heknew that it was something more than these. For reducing the theorem todifferent terms, he was obliged to confess that if the girl had been anyone but Beth, no matter how promising her voice, he must have been boredto extinction. No. He had to admit that it was Beth that interested him, Beth the primitive, Beth the mettlesome, Beth the demure. For if nowdemure she was never dull. The peculiarity of their situation--of theirown choosing--lent a spice to the relationship which made each of themaware that the other was young and desirable--and that the world wasvery far away. 

However far Beth's thoughts may have carried her in the contemplation ofthe personal pulchritude of her music master (somewhat enhanced by theextirpation of the Hellion triplet in her own behalf) it was PeterNicholaevitch who made the task of Peter Nichols difficult. It was theGrand Duke Peter who wanted to take this peasant woman in his arms andteach her what other peasant girls had been taught by Grand Dukes sincethe beginning of the autocratic system of which he had been a part--butit was Peter Nichols who restrained him. Peter Nicholaevitch fearednothing, knew no restraint, lived only for the hour--for the moment. Peter Nichols was a coward--or a gentleman--he was not quite certainwhich. 

When Peter entered the Cabin on the evening after the appointment ofJesse Brown as foreman at the lumber camp, Beth could not help noticingthe clouds of worry that hung over Peter's brows. 

"You're tired, " she said. "Is anything wrong at the camp?"

But he only shook his head and sat down at the piano. And when shequestioned him again he evaded her and went on with the lesson. Musicalways rested him, and the sound of her voice soothed. It was the"Elégie" of Massenet that he had given her, foolishly perhaps, adifficult thing at so early a stage, because of its purity andsimplicity, and he had made her learn the words of the French--like aparrot--written them out phonetically, because the French words werebeautiful and the English, as written, abominable. And now she sang itto him softly, as he had taught her, again and again, while he correctedher phrasing, suggesting subtle meanings in his accompaniment which shewas not slow to comprehend. 

"I didn't know that music could mean so much, " she sighed as she sankinto a chair with a sense of failure, when the lesson was ended. "Ialways thought that music just meant happiness. But it means sorrowtoo. "

"Not to those who hear you sing, Beth, " said Peter with a smile, as helighted and smoked a corncob pipe, a new vice he had discovered at thecamp. Already the clouds were gone from his forehead. 

"No! Do you really think that, Mr. Nichols?" she asked joyously. 

She had never been persuaded to call him by his Christian name, thoughPeter would have liked it. The "Mr. " was the tribute of pupil to master, born also of a subtler instinct of which Peter was aware. 

"Yes, " he replied generously, "you'll sing that very well in time----"

"When I've suffered?" she asked quickly. 

He glanced up from the music in his hand, surprised at her intuition. 

"I don't like to tell you so----"

"But I think I understand. Nobody can sing what she doesn't feel--whatshe hasn't felt. Oh, I know, " she broke off suddenly. "I can sing songsof the woods--the water--the pretty things like you've been givin' me. But the deep things--sorrow, pain, regret--like this--I'm not 'up' tothem. "

Peter sat beside her, puffing contentedly. 

"Don't worry, " he muttered. "Your voice will ripen. "

"And will I ripen too?"

He laughed. "I don't want you ever to be any different from what youare. "

She was thoughtful a moment, for Peter had always taken pains to besparing in personalities which had nothing to do with her voice. 

"But I don't want always to be what I am, " she protested, "just growin'close to the ground like a pumpkin or a squash. "

He laughed. "You might do worse. "

"But not much. Oh, I know. You're teachin' me to think--and to feel--sothat I can make other people do the same--the way you've done to me. Butit don't make me any too happy to think of bein' a--a squash again. "

"Perhaps you won't have to be, " said Peter quietly. 

"And the factory--I've got to make some money next winter. I can't useany of Aunt Tillie's savin's. But when I know what I _might_ be doin', it's not any too easy to think of goin' back _there_!"

"Perhaps you won't have to go, " said Peter again. 

Her eyes glanced at him quickly, looked away, then returned to his facecuriously. 

"I don't just understand what you mean. "

"I mean, " said Peter, "that we'll try to find the means to keep you outof the glass factory--to keep on with the music. "

"But how----? I can't be dependent on----" She paused with a glance athim. And then quickly, with her characteristic frankness that alwaysprobed straight to her point, "You mean that _you_ will pay my way?"

"Merely that I'm going to find the money--somehow. "

But she shook her head violently. "Oh, no, I couldn't let you do that, Mr. Nichols. I couldn't think of it. "

"But you've got to go on, Beth. I've made up my mind to that. You'll gopretty fast. It won't be long before you'll know all that I can teachyou. And then I'm going to put you under the best teacher of this methodin New York. In a year or so you'll be earning your own way----"

"But I can't let you do this for me. You're doin' too much as it is--toomuch that I can't pay back. "

"We won't talk of money. You've given me a lot of enjoyment. That's mypay. "

"But this other--this studyin' in New York. No, I couldn't let you dothat. I couldn't--I can't take a cent from you or from any man--womaneither, for that matter. I'll find some way--workin' nights. But I'm notgoin' back, " she added almost fiercely between her teeth, "not to theway I was before. I won't. I can't. "

"Good. That's the way great careers are made. I don't intend that youshall. I'm going to make a great singer of you, Beth. "

She colored with joy. 

"Are you, Mr. Nichols? Are you? Oh, I want to make good--indeed I do--tolearn French and Italian----" And then, with a sharp sigh, "O Lord, ifwishes were horses----!" She was silent again, regarding him wistfully. "Don't think I'm not grateful. I'm afraid you might. I _am_ grateful. But--sometimes I wonder what you're doin' it all for, Mr. Nichols. Andwhether----"

As she paused again Peter finished for her. 

"Whether it wouldn't have been better if I hadn't let you justremain--er, " he grinned, "a peach, let's say? Well, I'll tell you, Beth, " he went on, laying his pipe aside, "I came here, without afriend, to a strange job in a strange country. I found you. Or rather_you_ found _me_--lost like a babe in the woods. You made fun of me. Nobody had ever done that before in my life, but I rather liked it. Iliked your voice too. You were worth helping, you see. And then alongcame Shad. I couldn't have him ordering you about, you know--not the wayhe did it--if he hadn't any claim on you. So you see, I had a sense ofresponsibility for you after that----About you, too----, " he added, asthough thinking aloud. 

His words trailed off into silence while Beth waited for him to explainabout his sense of responsibility. She wasn't altogether accustomed tohave anybody responsible for her. But as he didn't go on, she spoke. 

"You mean that you--that I--that Shad forced me on you?"

"Bless your heart, child--no. "

"Then what _did_ you mean?" she insisted. 

Peter thought he had a definite idea in his mind about what he felt asto their relationship. It was altruistic he knew, gentle he was sure, educational he was positive. But half sleepily he spoke, unaware thatwhat he said might sound differently to one of Beth's independent mind. 

"I mean, " he said, "that I wanted to look after you--that I wanted ourfriendship to be what it has proved to be--without the flaw ofsentiment. I wouldn't spoil a single hour by any thought of yours ormine that led us away from the music. "

And then, while her brain worked rapidly over this calm negation of his, "But you can't be unaware, Beth, that you're very lovely. "

Now "sentiment" is a word over which woman has a monopoly. It is herproperty. She understands its many uses as no mere man can ever hope todo. The man who tosses it carelessly into the midst of a delicatesituation is courting trouble. Beth perked up her head like a startledfawn. What did he mean? All that was feminine in her was up in arms, nordid she lay them down in surrender at his last phrase, spoken with suchan unflattering air of commonplace. 

Suddenly she startled Peter with a rippling laugh which made him sit upblinking at her. "Are you apologizin' for not makin' love to me?" shequestioned impertinently. "Say--that's funny. " And she went off intoanother disconcerting peal of laughter. 

But it wasn't funny for Peter, who was now made aware that she hadturned his mind inside out upon the table between them, so to speak, that she might throw dust in the wheels. And so he only gasped andstared at her--startlingly convinced that in matters of sentiment thecleverest man is no match for even the dullest woman and Beth couldhardly be considered in this category. At the challenge of his halfexpressed thought the demureness and sobriety of the lesson hour hadfallen from her like a doffed cloak. 

Peter protested blandly. 

"You don't understand what----"

But she broke in swiftly. "Maybe you were afraid I might be fallin' inlove with _you_, " she twitted him, and burst into laughter again. 

"I--I had no such expectation, " said Peter, stiffening, sure that hisdignity was a poor thing. 

"Or maybe----, " she went on joyfully, "maybe you were afraid _you_ mightbe fallin' in love with _me_. " And then as she rose and gathered up hermusic, tantalizingly, "What _did_ you mean, Mr. Nichols?"

He saw that he was losing ground with every word she uttered, but hissense of humor conquered. 

"You little pixie!" he cried, dashing for her, with a laugh. "Where haveyou hidden this streak of impudence all these weeks?" But she eludedhim nimbly, running around the table and out of the door before he couldcatch up with her. 

He halted at the doorsill and called to her. She emerged cautiously frombehind a bush and made a face at him. 

"Beth! Come back!" he entreated. "I've got something to say to you. "

"What?" she asked, temporizing. 

"I want to talk to you--seriously. "

"Good Lord--seriously! You're not goin' to--to take the risk of--ofhavin' me 'vamp' you, are you?"

"Yes. I'll risk that, " he grinned. 

But she only broke off a leaf and nibbled at it contemplatively. "Maybe_I_ won't risk it. 'I don't want to spoil a single hour, '" she repeated, mocking his dignity, 'by any thought of yours or mine that would lead usaway from the music. ' Maybe _I'm_ in danger. " And then, "You know_you're_ not so bad lookin' yourself, Mr. Nichols!"

"Stop teasing, Beth. "

"I won't. "

"I'll make you. " He moved a step toward her. 

"Maybe I hadn't better come any more, " she said quizzically. 

"Beth!"

"Suppose I _was_ learnin' to love you a little, " she went on ironically, "with you scared I might be--and not knowin' how to get out of it. Wouldn't that be terrible! For me, I mean. 'She loved and lost, in sevenreels. '"

She was treading on precarious ground, and she must have seen her dangerin Peter's face, for as he came toward her she turned and ran down thepath, laughing at him. Peter followed in full stride but she ran like adeer and by the time he had reached the creek she was already halfwayover the log-jam below the pool. Her laugh still derided him and now, eager to punish her, he leaped after her. But so intent he was onkeeping her in sight upon the farther bank that his foot slipped on atree trunk and he went into the water. A gay peal of laughter echoed inhis ears. And he caught a last glimpse of her light frock as it vanishedinto the underbrush. But he scrambled up the bank after her and dartedalong the path--lost her in the dusk, and then deep in the woods at oneside saw her flitting from tree to tree away from him. But Peter's bloodwas now warm with the chase--and it was the blood of Peter Nicholaevitchtoo. Forgotten were the studious hours of patience and toil. Here was agirl who challenged his asceticism--a beautiful young female animal whodared to mock at his self-restraint. She thought that she could getaway. But he gained on her. She had stopped laughing at him now. 

"Beth! You little devil!" he cried breathlessly, as he caught her. "Youlittle devil, I'll teach you to laugh at me. "

"Let me go----"

"No----"

He held her in his arms while she struggled vainly to release herself. Her flushed face was now a little frightened and her large blue eyesstared in dismay at what she saw in his face. 

"Let me go?" she whispered. "I didn't mean it----"

But he only held her closer while she struggled, as he kissed her--onthe brows, the chin, the cheeks, and as she relaxed in sheerweakness--full on the lips--again--again. 

"Do you think I haven't been trying to keep my hands off you all theseweeks?" he whispered. "Do you think I haven't wanted you--to teach youwhat women were meant for? It's for this, Beth--and this. Do you thinkI haven't seen how lovely you are? Do you think I'm a saint--ananchorite? Well, I'm not. I'll make you love me--love me----"

Something in the reckless tones of his voice--in his very words arousedher to new struggles. "Oh, let me go, " she gasped. "I don't love you. Iwon't. Let me go. "

"You shall!"

"No. Let me loose or I--I'll despise you----"

"Beth!"

"I mean it. Let me go. "

If a moment ago when she was relaxed in his arms he had thought that hehad won her, he had no such notion now, for with a final effort of herstrong young arms, she thrust away from him and stood panting anddisordered, staring at him as though at one she had never seen before. 

"Oh--how I hate you!"

"Beth!"

"I mean it. You--you----, " she turned away from him, staring at the tornmusic on the ground as at a symbol of her disillusionment. Peter saw herlook, felt the meaning of it, tried to recall the words he had said toher and failed--but sure that they were a true reflection of what hadbeen in his heart. He had wanted her--then--nothing else hadmattered--not duty or his set resolve. .. . 

"You mocked at me, Beth, " he muttered. "I couldn't stand that----"

"And is _this_ the way you punish me? Ah, if you'd only--if you'donly----"

And then with another glance at the torn music, she leaned against thetrunk of a tree, sobbing violently. 

"Beth----" he whispered, gently, "don't----"

"Go away. Oh, go. Go!"

"I can't. I won't. What did you want me to say to you? That I love you?I do, Beth--I do, " he whispered. It was Peter Nichols, not PeterNicholaevitch, who was whispering now. 

"Was this what your teachin' meant?" she flashed at him bitterly. "Wasthis what you meant when you wanted to pay my way in New York? Oh, howyou shame me! Go! Go away from me, please. "

"Please don't, " he whispered. "You don't understand. I never meant that. I--I love you, Beth. I can't bear to see you cry. "

She made a valiant effort to control her heaving shoulders. And then, "Oh, you--you've spoiled it all. S-spoiled it all, and it was sobeautiful. "

Had he? Her words sobered him. No, that couldn't be. He cursed hismomentary madness, struggling for words to comfort her, but he had knownthat she had seen the look in his eyes, felt the roughness of hisembrace. Love? The love that she had sung to him was not of these. Hewanted now to touch her again--gently, to lift up her flushed face, wetlike a flower with the fresh dew of her tears, and tell her what lovewas. But he didn't dare--he couldn't, after what he had said to her. Andstill she wept over her broken toys--the music--the singing--for theyhad mattered the most. Very childlike she seemed, very tender andpathetic. 

"Beth, " he said at last, touching her fingers gently. "Nothing ischanged, Beth. It can't be changed, dear. We've got to go on. It meansso much to--to us both. "

But she paid no attention to the touch of his fingers and turned away, leaving the music at her feet, an act in itself significant. 

"Let me go home. Please. Alone. I--I've got to think. "

She did not look at him, but Peter obeyed her. There was nothing elseto do. There was something in the clear depths of her eyes that haddaunted him. And he had meant her harm. Had he? He didn't know. Hepassed his hand slowly across his eyes and then stood watching her untilshe had disappeared among the trees. When she had gone he picked up thetorn music. It was Massenet's "Elégie. "

 O doux printemps d'autrefois. .. . Tout est flétrie. 

The lines of the torn pieces came together. Spring withered! The joyoussongs of birds--silenced! Beth's song? He smiled. No, that couldn't be. He folded the music up and strode off slowly, muttering to himself. 

CHAPTER XIV

TWO LETTERS

Peter passed a troublous evening and night--a night of self-revelations. Never that he could remember had he so deeply felt the sting ofconscience. He, the Grand Duke Peter Nicholaevitch, in love with thislittle rustic? Impossible! It was the real Peter, tired of the sham andmake-believe of self-restraint and virtue, who had merely kissed acountry girl. He was no anchorite, no saint. Why had he tied himself tosuch a duty from a motive of silly sentimentalism?

He winced at the word. Was it that? Sentimentalism. He had shown her thebest side of him--shown it persistently, rather proud of his capacityfor self-control, which had ridden even with his temptations. Why shouldit matter so much to him what this girl thought of him? What had he saidto her? Nothing much that he hadn't said to other women. It was the factthat he had said it to Beth that made the difference. The things onemight say to other women meant something different to Beth--the thingsone might do. .. . He had been a fool and lost his head, handled herroughly, spoken to her wildly, words only intended for gentle moods, softer purposes. Shrewd little Beth, whose wide, blue eyes had seenright down into the depths of his heart. He had been clumsy, if nothingelse, and he had always thought that clumsiness was inexcusable. He hada guilty sense that while Beth was still the little lady to her fingertips, born to a natural nobility, he, the Grand Duke Peter, had been theboor, the vulgar proletarian. The look in her eyes had shamed him asthe look in his own eyes had shamed her. She had known what his wooingmeant, and it hadn't been what she wanted. The mention of love on lipsthat kissed as his had done was blasphemy. 

Yes. He cared what she thought of him--and he vainly cast about for away in which to justify himself. To make matters worse Beth stillbelieved that this was the payment he exacted for what he had done forher, what he had proposed to do for her, that he measured her favors interms of value received. What else could she think but that? Every hourof his devotion to her music defamed her. 

The situation was intolerable. In the morning he went seeking her at herhome. The house was open. No one in Black Rock village locked doors byday or night. Beth was not there. A neighbor said that she had goneearly alone into the woods and Peter understood. If she hadn't cared forhim she wouldn't have needed to go to the woods to be alone. Of courseshe didn't appear at the Cabin the next day, and Peter searched forher--fruitlessly. She weighed on his conscience, like a sin unshrived. He had to find her to explain the unexplainable, to tell her what herconfidence had meant to him, to recant his blasphemy of her idols ingentleness and repentance. 

As he failed to find her, he wrote her a note, asking her forgiveness, and stuck it in the mirror of the old hat-rack in the hall. Many womenin Europe and elsewhere, ladies of the great world that Beth had onlydreamed about, would have given their ears (since ear puffs were infashion) to receive such a note from Peter. It was a beautiful notebesides--manly, gentle, breathing contrition and self-reproach. Bethmerely ignored it. Whatever she thought of it and of Peter she wantedto deliberate a longer while. 

And so another music lesson hour passed while Peter sat alone in theCabin waiting. That night two letters were brought to him. Thesuperscription of one was scrawled in a boyish hand. The other wasscented, dainty, of pale lavender, and bore a familiar handwriting and afamiliar coronet. In amazement he opened this first. It was from thePrincess Galitzin, written in the polyglot of French, English andRussian which she affected. 

 "CHERE PIERRE, " it ran, --in the English, somewhat as follows: "You will no doubt be surprised at hearing from me in far-off America and amazed at the phenomenon of your discovered address at the outlandish place you've chosen for your domicile. It's very simple. In America you have been watched by agents of the so-called government of our wretched country. We know this here in London, because one of _our_ agents is also a part of their secret organization. He came upon the report of your doings and knowing that father was interested, detailed the information to us. 

 "So far as I can learn at the present writing you are in no immediate danger of death, but we do not know here in London how soon the word may be sent forth to 'remove' persons of your importance in the cosmic scheme. It seems that your desire to remain completely in hiding is looked upon with suspicion in Russia as evidence of a possible intention on your part to come to light at the beginnings of a Bourbon movement and proclaim yourself as the leader of a Royalist party. Your uncles and cousins have chosen the line of least resistance in yielding to the inevitable, living in Switzerland, and other spots where their identities are well known. 

 "I pray, my well remembered and _bel ami_, that the cause of Holy Russia is still and ever present in your heart of hearts and that the thing these devils incarnate fear may one day come to pass. But I pray you to be discreet and watchful, if necessary changing your place of abode to one in which you will enjoy greater security from your enemies. There is at last one heart in London that ever beats fondly in memory of the dear dead days at Galitzin and Zukovo. 

 "_Helas!_ London is dead sea fruit. People are very kind to us. We have everything that the law allows us, but life seems to have lost its charm. I have never quite forgiven you, _mon Pierre_, for your desertion of us at Constantinople, though doubtless your reasons for preserving your incognito were of the best. But it has saddened me to think that you did not deem me worthy of a closer confidence. You are doubtless very much alone and unhappy--also in danger not only from your political enemies, but also from the American natives in the far away woods in which you have been given occupation. I trust, such as it is, that you have taken adequate measures to protect yourself. I know little of America, but I have a longing to go to that splendid country, rugged in its primitive simplicity, in spite of inconveniences of travel and the mass of uncultured beings with whom one must come into contact. Do you think it would be possible for a spoiled creature like me to find a boudoir with a bath--that is, in the provinces, outside of New York?

 "It is terrible that you can have no music in your life! I too miss your music, _Pietro mio_, as I miss you. Perhaps one day soon you will see me. I am restless and bored to extinction, with these ramrods of Englishmen who squeeze my rings into my fingers. But if I come I will be discreet toward Peter Nichols. That was a clever invention of yours. It really sounds--quite--American. 

 "_Garde toi bien, entendez vous? Tout de suite je viendrai. Au revoir. _

 "ANASTASIE. "

Peter read the letter through twice, amused, astounded and dismayed byturns. His surmise in regard to the stranger with the black mustache hadbeen correct then. The man was a spy of the Russian Soviets. And soinstead of having been born immaculate into a new life, as he hadhoped--a man without a past, and only a future to be accounted for--hewas only the Grand Duke Peter after all. And Anastasie! Why the devildid she want to come nosing about in America, reminding him of all thethings that he wanted to forget? The odor of her sachet annoyed him. Abath and boudoir! He realized now that she had always annoyed him withher pretty silly little affectations and her tawdry smatterings of thethings that were worth while. He owed her nothing. He had made love toher, of course, because that was what a woman of her type expected frommen of his. But there had been no damage done on either side, for he hadnot believed that she had ever really cared. And now distance, itseemed, had made her heart grow fonder, distance and the romanticcircumstances of his exile. 

It was kind of her, of course, to let him know of his danger, but onlyhuman after all. She could have done no less, having the information. And now she was coming to offer him the charity of her wealth, to tempthim with ease, luxury and London. He would have none of them. 

He picked up the other letter with even more curiosity until he read thepostmark, and then his interest became intense, for he knew that it wasfrom Jim Coast--Hawk Kennedy. The letter bore the heading, "AntlersHotel, Colorado Springs. "

 "DEAR PETE, " he read, through the bad spelling, "Here I am back at the 'Springs, ' at the 'Antlers, ' after a nice trip down Bisbee way, and out along the 'J. And A. ' to the mine. It's there all right and they're workin' it yet to beat the cards with half a mountain still to be tapped. I ain't going into particulars--not in a letter, except to tell you that I got what I went for--names, dates and amounts--also met the gents our friend sold out to--nice people. Oh, I'm 'A1' with that outfit, old dear. I'm just writing this to show you I'm on the job and that if you've got an eye to business you'd better consider my proposition. I'll make it worth your while. You can help all right. You did me a good turn that night. I'll give you yours if you'll stand in proper and make McG. Do what's right. It ain't what you said it was--it's justice all around. That's all I'm asking--what's right and proper. 

 "I ain't coming back just yet, not for a month, maybe. I'm living easy and there's a lady here that suits my fancy. So just drop me a line at the above address, letting me know everything's O. K. Remember I'm no piker and I'll fix you up good. 

 "Your friend, "JIM. "

Peter clenched the paper in his fist and threw it on the floor, frowningangrily at the thought of the man's audacity. But after a while hepicked the crumpled note up and straightened it out upon the table, carefully rereading it. Its very touch seemed to soil his fingers, buthe studied it for a long while, and then folded it up and put it in hispocket. It was a very careful game that Peter would have to play withHawk Kennedy, a game that he had no liking for. But if he expected tosucceed in protecting McGuire, he would have to outwit Jim Coast--orHawk Kennedy, as he now thought of him--by playing a game just a littledeeper than his own. 

Of course he now had the advantage of knowing the whole of McGuire'sside of the story, while Kennedy did not believe the old man would havedared to tell. And to hold these cards successfully it would benecessary to continue in Kennedy's mind the belief that Peter did notshare McGuire's confidences. It would also be necessary for Peter tocast in his lot, apparently, with Kennedy against McGuire. It was adirty business at best, but he meant to carry it through if he could, and get the signed agreement from the blackmailer. 

Peter seemed to remember an old wallet that Jim Coast had alwayscarried. He had seen it after Coast had taken slips of paper from it andshowed them to Peter, --newspaper clippings, notes from inamorata and thelike--but of course, never the paper now in question. And if he hadcarried it all these years, where was it now? In the vault of some bankor trust company probably, and this would make Peter's task difficult, if not impossible. 

Peter got up and paced the floor, thinking deeply of all these things intheir relation to Beth. And then at last he went out into the night, hisfootsteps impelled toward the village. After all, the thoughts uppermostin his mind were of Beth herself. Whatever the cost to his pride, hewould have to make his peace with her. He knew that now. Why otherwisedid his restless feet lead him out into the pasture back of the littlepost office toward the rear of Mrs. Bergen's house? Yet there he foundhimself presently, smoking his corncob pipe for comfort, and staring atthe solitary light in Tillie Bergen's parlor, which proclaimed itsoccupant. Mrs. Bergen's house stood at a little distance from itsnearest neighbor, and Peter stole slowly through the orchard at the reartoward the open window. It was then that he heard the music for thefirst time, the "harmonium" wailing softly, while sweet and clear abovethe accompaniment (worked out painstakingly but lovingly by the girlherself) came Beth's voice singing the "Elégie. "

Peter came closer until he was just at the edge of the shadow outsidethe window. He knew that her back would be turned to him and so hepeered around the shutter at her unconscious back. She sang the songthrough until the end and then after a pause sang it again. Peter had noear now for the phrasing, for faults in technique, or inaccuracies inenunciation. What he heard was the soul of the singer calling. All thathe had taught her in the hours in the Cabin was in her voice--andsomething more that she had learned elsewhere. .. . Her voice wasricher--deeper, a child's voice no longer, and he knew that she wassinging of his mad moment in the woods, which had brought the end of allthings that had mattered in her life. It was no girl who sang now, but awoman who had learned the meaning of the song, the plaint of birds oncejoyous, of woodland flowers once gay--at the memory of a spring that wasno more. He had told her that she would sing that song well some daywhen she learned what it meant. She would never sing it again as she hadsung it to-night. All the dross that Peter had worn in the world wasstripped from him in that moment, all that was petty and ignoble in hisheart driven forth and he stood with bowed head, in shame for what hehad been, and in gentleness for this dear creature whose idols he hadcast down. 

At the end of the second verse, her fingers slipped from the keys andfell to her sides while she bowed her head and sat for a momentimmovable. And then her shoulders moved slightly and a tiny smotheredsound came from her throat. Suddenly her head bent and she fell forwardon her arms upon the muted keys. 

Noiselessly he passed over the low windowsill and before she even knewthat he was there, fell to his knees beside her. 

"Beth, " he whispered. "Don't--child--don't!"

She straightened, startled and incredulous at the sight of him, andtried to move away, but he caught one of her hands and with bent headgently laid his lips upon it. 

"Don't, Beth--please. I can't bear to see you cry----"

"I--I'm _not_ crying, " she stammered helplessly, while she winked backher tears, "I--I've just--just got the--the--stomachache. "

She tried to laugh--failing dismally in a sob. 

"Oh, Beth--don't----" he whispered. 

"I--I can't help it--if I--I've got a--a pain, " she evaded him. 

"But I can, " he murmured. "It's in your heart, Beth. I'm sorry foreverything. Forgive me. "

"There's nothing to forgive. "

"Please!"

"There's nothing to forgive, " she repeated dully. But she had controlledher voice now and her fingers in his were struggling for release. 

"I was a brute, Beth. I'd give everything to have those moments back. Iwouldn't hurt you for the world. See--how changed I am----"

She released her fingers and turned slightly away. 

"I--I'm changed too, Mr. Nichols, " she murmured. 

"No. You mustn't be, Beth. And I've got to have you back. You've got tocome back to me, Beth. "

"Things can't be the same now. "

"Yes--just the same----"

"No. Something's gone. "

"But if something else has taken its place----"

"Nothing can----"

"Something greater----"

"I don't care for the sample you showed me, " she returned quietly. 

"I was crazy, Beth. I lost my head. It won't happen again. "

"No. I know it won't----"

"You don't understand. It couldn't. I've made a fool of myself. Isn't itenough for me to admit that?"

"I knew it all the time. " She was cruel, and from her cruelty he guessedthe measure of her pride. 

"I've done all I can to atone. I want you to know that I love you. I do, Beth. I love you----"

There was a note in his voice different from that she had heard theother day. His head was bent and he did not hear the little gasp or seethe startled look in her eyes, which she controlled before he raised hishead. With great deliberateness she answered him. 

"Maybe you and I--have a different idea of what love ought to be, " shesaid. But he saw that her reproof was milder. 

"I know, " he insisted. "You've sung it to me----"

"No--not to you--not love, " she said, startled. And then, "You had noright to be listenin'. " And then, with a glance at Aunt Tillie's clock, "You have no right to be here now. It's late. "

"But I can't go until you understand what I want to do for you. You saythat I can't know what love is. It asks nothing and only gives. I swearI wanted to give without thought of a return--until you laughed at me. And then--I wanted to punish you because you wouldn't understand----"

"Yes. You punished me----"

"Forgive me. You shouldn't have laughed at me, Beth. If you kneweverything, you'd understand that I'm doing it all without a hope ofpayment, --just because I've got to. "

Her eyes grew larger. "What do you mean?"

"I can't tell you now--but something has happened that will make a greatdifference to you. "

"What?"

"Forgive me. Come to-morrow and perhaps I'll tell you. We've alreadywasted two days. "

"I'm not so sure they've been wasted, " said Beth quietly. 

"I don't care if you'll only come. Will you, Beth? To-morrow?"

She nodded gravely at last. 

"Perhaps, " she said. And then, gently, "Good-night, Mr. Nichols. "

So Peter kissed her fingers as though she had been his Czarina and wentout. 

CHAPTER XV

SUPERMAN

Of course Beth Cameron knew nothing of Russia's grand dukes. The onlyDuke that she had ever met was in the pages of the novel she had read inwhich the hero was named Algernon. That Duke was of the English variety, proud, crusty, and aged and had only made an unpleasant impression uponher because she had liked Algernon, who had fallen in love with thedaughter of the Duke, and the Duke had been very horrid to him inconsequence or by reason of that mishap. When she had said to Peter thathe reminded her of Algernon she had meant it, and that was really verynice of her, because she thought Algernon all that a self-respectinghero should be. It was true that Peter, though mostly an Englishman, didn't play polo and ride to hounds or swagger around a club and orderpeople about, because he was too poor and was obliged to work for hisliving. 

But he did remind her of Algernon somehow. He had a way with him, asthough if there _had_ been butlers and valets at Black Rock he _could_have swaggered and ordered them around if he'd had a mind to. He wasgood looking too. She had noted that even from the very first when shehad found him lugging his suitcase down on the road from Pickerel River. Then too he did say things to her, nicer things than any fellow had everknown how to say to her before, and he was much more polite than she hadever believed it possible for any one, to be without seeming queer. Butwhen, eavesdropping at McGuire's, she had heard Peter play the piano, she felt herself conducted into a new world which had nothing at all todo with glass factories and vineyards. Even the sartorial splendor ofMiss Peggy McGuire paled into insignificance beside the new visionswhich the music of Peter Nichols had invoked. He hadn't just lied toher. He _was_ a musician. He _could_ play. She had never heard anybodybring from a piano sounds like these. And he had said he wanted her tosing for him. 

Beth had sung always--just as she had always breathed--but she had neverheard any good music except on a talking machine at the boarding houseat Glassboro--an old record of Madame Melba's that they playedsometimes. But even that song from an opera ("Lay Boheem" they calledit), mutilated as it was, had shown her that there was something morewonderful than the popular melodies that the other people liked. Beth'staste for good music, like her taste for nice people, was instinctive. And she had found that in her walk of life the one was about asdifficult to find as the other. She had had her awakenings and herdisillusionments, with women as well as men, but had emerged from herexperiences of two winters in a factory town with her chin high and herheart pure--something of an achievement for one as pretty as Beth. 

All in all, she had liked Shad Wells better than any of the men she hadmet. He was rough, but she had discovered that good manners didn'talways mean good hearts or clean minds. 

It was this discovery that had made her look askance at Peter Nicholswhen she had first met him on the road, for he was politer than anybodyshe had ever met. If her philosophy was to be consistent this newsuperintendent would need watching. But his music disarmed her andcaptured her imagination. And then came the incident of the jealousShad and the extraordinary outcome of Mr. Nichols's championship of herrights. She had witnessed that fight from the shelter of the bushes. Ithad been dreadful but glorious. Peter's chivalry appealed to her--alsohis strength. From that moment he was superman. 

Then had followed the long wonderful weeks of music at the Cabin, inwhich she had learned the beginnings of culture and training. Hermusic-master opened new and beautiful vistas for her, told her of thegreat musicians and singers that the world had known, described theopera houses of Europe, the brilliant audiences, the splendid ballets, the great orchestras, and promised her that if she worked hard, shemight one day become a part of all this. She had learned to believe himnow, for she saw that as time went on he was more exacting with herwork, more sparing in his praise of her, and she had worked hard--indespair at times, but with a slowly growing confidence in her star ofdestiny. 

And all the while she was wondering why Peter Nichols was doing this forher and what the outcome of it all was to be. He spoke little of thefuture except to hint vaguely at lessons elsewhere when he had taughther all that he knew. The present it seemed was sufficient for themboth. His moods of soberness, of joy, of enthusiasm, were all catchingand she followed him blindly, aware of this great new element in herlife which was to make the old life difficult, if not impossible. Hetreated her always with respect, not even touching her arms or waist inpassing--an accepted familiarity of men by girls of her social class. Beth understood that it was a consideration due to a delicate situation, the same consideration which had impelled her always to call him Mr. Nichols. 

And yet it was this very consideration of Peter's that vexed her. Itwasn't an air of superiority, for she couldn't have stood that. It wasjust discretion, maybe, or something else, she couldn't decide what. ButBeth didn't want to be put in a glass case like the wax flowers at home. Her voice was a mere mechanical instrument, as he had taken pains sooften to tell her, but he seemed to be making the mistake of thinking_her_ a mechanical instrument too. She wasn't. She was very much alive, tingling with vitality, very human under her demure aspect during thesinging lessons, and it had bothered her that Peter shouldn't know it. His ignorance, his indifference affronted her. Didn't he see what shelooked like? Didn't he see that she might be worth making love to . .. Just a little, a very little . .. Once in a while?

The clouds had broken suddenly, almost without warning, when he hadtalked like a professor--about sentiment--apologized--that was what hehad done--_apologized_ for not making love to her! Oh!

And then things had happened swiftly--incredible, unbelievable things. The lightning had flashed and it had shown an ugly Mr. Nichols--adifferent Mr. Nichols from anything that she could have imagined of him. The things he had said to her . .. His kisses . .. Shameful things! Ahundred times she had brushed them off like the vision of him from hermind. And still they returned, warm and pulsing to her lips. And stillthe vision of him returned--remained. He _had_ been so nice to herbefore. .. . 

 * * * * *

Now Beth sat in the big chair opposite Peter in the Cabin by the logfire (for the evenings were getting cool) while he finished telling herabout the death of Ben Cameron, of the murder and of Jonathan K. McGuire's share in the whole terrible affair. It was with somemisgivings, even after swearing her to secrecy, that he told her what hehad learned through Kennedy and McGuire. And she had listened, wide-eyed. Her father of course was only the shadow of a memory to her, the evil shade in a half-forgotten dream, and therefore it was not griefthat she could feel, not even sorrow for one who in life had been sovile, even if his miserable death had been so tragic--only horror anddismay at the thought of the perpetrator of the infamy. And not untilPeter had come to the end of the story did she realize what thisrevelation meant, that the very foundation of McGuire's great fortunewas laid upon property which belonged to her. 

"Out of all this evil must come some good, Beth, " he finished soberly. "That copper mine was yours. McGuire took it and he is going to pay youwhat he owes. "

Beth had already exhausted all the expletives of horror and amazement, and now for a moment this last information staggered her and she staredat him unbelieving. 

"Pay me? I can't believe----"

"It was your property by every law of God and man, and I mean that youshall have it. " He paused and smiled softly. "You see, Beth, you won'tneed to depend on me now for your training. "

"Oh--then this was what you meant----"

"What I meant when I said that you should owe me nothing--that I----"

"But I _will_ owe you--everything. I shall still owe you everything. "And then, wonderingly, "And just to think of my livin' here all thistime so near the man--and not knowin' about----" Her words trailed offinto silent astonishment. 

"Yes. And to think of his making his fortune on money that belonged toyou! Millions. And he's going to pay you what he got out of theTarantula mine--every dollar with interest to date. "

"But how can you make him do that?" she cried eagerly. "What proof haveyou got?"

He smiled grimly into the fire as he poked a fallen log into the blaze. 

"Blackmail is an ugly word, Beth. But it shouldn't be blackmail, ifsilence is the price of getting what really belongs to you. McGuire isusing your money--and he must give it to you. It's your money--not his. If he won't give it to you of his own free will, he will give it againsthis will. "

"But how can you make him do that?" asked Beth timidly. 

"By saving him from Hawk Kennedy. That's my price--and yours. "

"But how can you?"

"I don't know. I've got to fight Kennedy with his own weapons--outwithim. And I've thought out a plan----"

"But he's dangerous. You mustn't take any further risks with a man likethat for me. "

Peter only smiled. 

"It will amuse me, Beth. And besides----" He bent forward to tend thefire, his face immediately grave again. "Besides--I think I owe youthat, now. "

She understood what he meant and thrilled gently. Her joy had come backto her with a rush. All through the music lesson and through the recitalof the tale of mystery she had hung breathlessly on his words andwatched the changing expression on his features as he talked into thefire. This was _her_ Mr. Nichols who was speaking now, her friend andmentor, who wanted her to understand that this was his way of atonement. But she ignored his last remark, to Beth the most important of theentire conversation. 

"How--how much will the--the money amount to?" she asked timidly. 

Peter laughed. 

"Figure it out for yourself. Half a million--six per cent--fifteenyears----"

"Half a million dollars----!"

"A million--or more!"

"A million! God-a-mercy!"

Peter recognized one of Aunt Tillie's expressions, Beth's vocabularybeing inadequate to the situation. 

"But you haven't got it yet, " he said. 

"And I daren't think of gettin' it. I won't think of it. I'd get mybrain so full of things I wanted it would just naturally _bust_. Ohlordy!"

Peter laughed. 

"You do want a lot of things, don't you?"

"Of course. A silk waist, a satin skirt, some silk stockings--but mostof all, a real sure enough piano, " she gasped. And then, as though inreproach of her selfishness, "And I could pay off the mortgage on AuntTillie's farm back in the clearing!"

"How much is that?"

"Three thousand dollars. I've already paid off three hundred. "

"There ought to be enough for that, " said Peter soberly. 

"Oh, Mr. Nichols. I hope you don't think I'm an awful fool talkin' thisway. "

"Not unless you think _I_ am. "

"But it _is_ nice to dream of things sometimes. "

"Yes. I do that too. What do you dream of, Beth?"

"Oh, of bein' a great singer, mostly--standin' on a stage with peoplelookin' up and clappin' their hands at me. "

"What else?"

"Oh, " she laughed gayly, "I used to dream of marryin' a prince--allgirls do. But there ain't any princes now to marry. "

"No, that's true, " he assented. "The old world hasn't any use forprinces now. " And then, "But why did you want to marry a prince?" heasked. 

"Oh, I don't know. It's just fairy tales. Haven't you ever lived in afairy tale and loved a princess?"

"Yes, I've lived in a fairy tale, but I've never loved a princess. "

"I guess if everybody knew, " said Beth with conviction, "the princes inEurope are a pretty bad lot. "

"Yes, " said Peter slowly, "I guess they are. "

She paused a moment, looking into the fire. And then, "Were you everacquainted with any princes in Europe, Mr. Nichols?"

Peter smiled. "Yes, Beth. I did know one prince ratherintimately--rather too intimately. "

"Oh. You didn't like him?"

"No, not much. He was an awful rotter. The worst of it was that he hadgood instincts and when he went wrong, he went wrong in spite of 'em. You see--he was temperamental. "

"What's temperamental?"

"Having the devil and God in you both at the same time, " muttered Peterafter a moment. 

"I know, " she said. "Satan and God, with God just sittin' back a littleto see how far Satan will go. "

He smiled at her. "You don't mean that you have temptations too, Beth?"

She ignored his question, her face sober, and went back to her subject. 

"I guess your prince wasn't any better or any worse than a lot of otherpeople. Maybe he didn't give God a chance?"

"No. Maybe not, " said Peter. 

"It seems to me he must have been kind of human, somehow, " Bethcommented reflectively. "What's become of him now?" she asked, then. 

"Oh, he's out of it, " replied Peter. 

"Dead?"

"Yes. His country has chucked all the nobility out on the dust heap. "

"Russia?"

"Yes. "

"Did they kill him?"

"They tried to, but couldn't. "

"Where is he now?"

"A wanderer on the face of the earth. "

"I'm so sorry. It must be terrible to have to eat pork and beans whenyour stomach's only used to chocolate sundaes. "

Peter grinned. 

"Some of 'em were glad enough to get off with stomachs to put beans andpork into. Oh, you needn't waste your pity, Beth. "

"I don't. I read the papers. I guess they got what they deserved. Theworkin' people in the world ain't any too keen on buyin' any morediamond tiaras for loafers. I reckon it was about time for a new dealall around without the face cards. "

"Perhaps, Beth. But there's always the ten spot to take the deuce. "

"I hadn't thought of that, " said Beth reflectively. "People aren'treally equal--are they? Some apples _are_ better than others. I guess, "she sighed, "that the real trouble with the world is because there ain'tenough friendship in it. "

Peter was silent for a moment. 

"Yes, that's true, " he said, "not enough friendship--not enough love. And it's all on account of money, Beth. There wouldn't have been anyEuropean war if some people hadn't wanted property that belonged tosomebody else. "

"I hope wanting this money won't make me hate anybody or make anybodyhate me. I don't want to make Mr. McGuire unhappy or Miss McGuire----"

"You needn't worry, " said Peter dryly. "You see, it's your money. "

Beth gave a deep sigh. 

"I can't help it. I _would_ like to have a sport coat and a _cerise_veil like Peggy wears. "

"You shall have 'em. What else?"

"Some pretty patent leather shoes with rhinestone buckles----"

"Yes----"

"And a black velvet hat and nice _lingerie_----" (Beth pronounced itlingery). 

"Of course. And the piano----"

"Oh, yes. A piano and books--lots of books. "

"And a red automobile?"

"Oh, I wouldn't dare wish for that. "

"Why not? It's just as easy to wish for an automobile as a piano. "

"Yes, I suppose so. " She became immediately grave again. "But I can'tseem to believe it all. I'm afraid. "

"Of what?"

"Of Hawk Kennedy. I feel that he's going to make trouble for us all, Mr. Nichols. I'm afraid. I always seem to feel things before they happen. Any man who could do what he did--murder!"

"There will be some way to get around him. "

"But it's dangerous. I don't feel I've got the right to let you do thisfor me. "

"Oh, yes, you have. I'd do it anyhow. It's only justice. "

"But suppose he--suppose----"

"What----?"

"He might kill you, too. "

Peter laughed. "Not a chance. You see, I wasn't born to die a violentdeath. If I had been, I'd have been dead months ago. "

"Oh--the war, you mean?" she asked soberly. 

"Yes--the war. Everything is tame after that. I'm not afraid of HawkKennedy. "

"But there's danger just the same. "

"I hope not. I won't cross that bridge until I come to it. "

Beth was silent for a long moment and then with a glance at the clock onthe mantel slowly gathered her music, aware of his voice close at herear. 

"And if I do this, Beth, --if I get what belongs to you, will you believethat I have no motive but friendship for you, that I care for you enoughto want you to forgive me for what has happened?"

He had caught her fingers in his own but she did not try to releasethem. 

"Oh, don't speak of that--_please_! I want to forget you--that day. "

"Can't you forget it more easily by remembering me as I am now, Beth?See. I want you as much now as I did then--just as much, but I cannothave you until you give yourself to me. "

What did he mean? She wasn't sure of him. If marriage was what he meant, why didn't he say so? Marriage. It was such an easy word to say. Herfingers struggled in his. 

"Please, Mr. Nichols, " she gasped. 

"You mean that you won't--that you don't care enough----?"

"I--I'm not sure of you----"

"I love you, Beth----"

"You _say_ so----"

"I do--better than anything in the world. "

"Enough to--enough to. .. ?"

She was weakening fast. She felt her danger in the trembling of herfingers in his. Why didn't he finish her question for her? Marriage. Itwas such a little word. And yet he evaded it and she saw that he meantto evade it. 

"Enough to have you almost in my arms and yet hardly to touchyou--enough to have your lips within reach of mine and yet not to takethem. Isn't that what you wanted, Beth? Gentleness, tenderness----"

She flung away from him desperately. 

"No--no. I want nothing--nothing. Please! You don't want to understand. "And then with an effort she found her poise. "Things must be as theyare. Nothing else. It's getting late, I must go. "

"Beth--Not yet. Just a minute----"

"No. "

But she did not go and only stood still, trembling with irresolution. Heknew what she wanted him to say. There could be no middle ground forBeth. She must be all to him or nothing. Marriage. It was the Grand DukePeter Nicholaevitch who had evaded this very moment while Peter Nicholshad urged him to it. And it was Peter Nichols who knew that any wordsspoken of marriage to Beth Cameron would be irrevocable, the Grand DukePeter (an opportunist) who urged him to utter them, careless ofconsequences. And there stood Beth adorable in her perplexity, conjuringboth of him to speak. 

It was Peter Nichols who met the challenge, oblivious of all counsels ofpride, culture, vainglory and hypocrisy. This was his mate, a sweeterlady than any he had ever known. 

"Beth, " he whispered. "I love you. Nothing in the world makes anydifference to me but your happiness. "

He came to her and caught her in his arms, while she still struggledaway from him. "I want you. It doesn't matter who I am or who you are. Iwant you to----"

Beth suddenly sprung away from him, staring at a figure which stood inthe doorway as a strident, highly pitched voice cut in sharply onPeter's confession. 

"Oh, excuse _me_! I didn't mean to intrude. "

It was Miss Peggy McGuire in her _cerise_ veil and her sport suit, withhard eyes somewhat scandalized by what she had seen, for Peter wasstanding awkwardly, his arms empty of their prize, who had started backin dismay and now stood with difficulty recovering her self-possession. As neither of them spoke Miss McGuire went on cuttingly, as she glancedcuriously around the Cabin. 

"So this is where you live? I seem to have spoiled your party. And may Iask who----" and her eyes traveled scornfully over Beth's figure, beginning at her shoes and ending at her flushed face--"I think I'veseen you before----"

"Miss McGuire, " said Peter quietly, "This is Miss Cameron----"

"Oh, yes--the kitchen maid. "

"Miss Beth Cameron, " insisted Peter frigidly, "who has just done me thehonor of promising to marry me. "

"Oh! I see----"

Beth stared from one to the other, aware of the meaning of the visitor'smanner and of Peter's reply. 

"That is not true, " she said very quietly, her deep voice vibrant withemotion. "I come here often. Mr. Nichols is teaching me music. I am veryproud of his friendship. But I did not promise to marry him. "

Peggy McGuire turned on her heel. 

"Well, it's almost time you did, " she said insultingly. 

Peter, now pale and cold with fury, reached the door before her andstood blocking the passageway. "Miss McGuire, I'll trouble you to bemore careful in addressing my guests, " he said icily. 

"Let me pass----"

"In a moment. "

"You'd dare----?"

"I would like you to understand that this cabin is mine--while I am inBlack Rock. Any guest here comes at my invitation and honors me byaccepting my hospitality. But I reserve the privilege of saying whoshall come and who shall not. I hope I make myself clear----" And Peterbowed low and then moved aside, indicating the door. "Good-night, " hefinished. 

Miss Peggy McGuire glared at him, red as a young turkey cock, herfinishing school training just saving her from a tirade. "Oh, you! We'llsee about this----" and dashed past him out of the door and disappearedinto the darkness. 

Peter followed her with his angry gaze, struggling for his self-control, and at last turned into the room toward Beth, who now stood a smilingimage turned into stone. 

"Why did you deny what I said, Beth?" he pleaded. 

"It wasn't the truth. I never promised to marry you. You never asked meto. "

"I _would_ have asked you. I ask you now. I _was_ asking you when thatlittle fool came in----"

"Maybe you were. Maybe you weren't. Maybe I'm a little hard of hearin'. But I'm not goin' to make _that_ an excuse for my bein' here----"

"I don't understand----"

"It's just that I came here because I wanted to come and because youwanted me. People have been talkin'. Let them talk. Let _her_ talk----"

"She will. You can be pretty sure of that. "

Peter was pacing up and down the room, his hands behind him. "If she'dbeen a man----" he was muttering. "If she'd only been a man. "

Beth watched him a moment, still smiling. 

"Oh, I got what she meant--she was just tryin' to insult me. "

She laughed. "Seems as if she'd kind of succeeded. I suppose I ought tohave scratched her face for her. I think I would have--if she'd juststayed a minute longer. Funny too, because I always used to think shewas so sweet. "

Peter threw his arms wildly into the air and exploded. 

"Sweet! Sweet! _That_ girl! Yes, if vinegar is. She'll tear yourreputation to shreds. "

Beth had stopped smiling now and leaned against the wall, her chinlowered. 

"I reckon it serves me right. I hadn't any business to be comin'here--not at night, anyway. "

"Oh, Beth, " he pleaded, catching her hands. "Why couldn't you have letthings be?"

She struggled a little. And then, "Let _her_ think I was _engaged_ toyou when I wasn't?" she gasped. 

"But we are, Beth, dear. Say we are, won't you?"

"Not when we're not. "

"Beth----!"

"You should have spoken sooner, if you'd really meant it. Oh, I knowwhat it is. I've always known there's a difference between us. "

"No--not unless you make it. "

"Yes. It was there before I was born. You were brought up in a differentkind of life in a different way of thinkin' from mine----"

"What has that got to do with it?"

"Everything. It's not my fault. And maybe I'm a little too proud. ButI'm straight----"

"Don't, Beth----" He put his arm around her but she disengaged herselfgently. 

"No, let me finish. Maybe you wanted me. I guess you did. But not thatmuch--not enough to speak out--and you were too straight to lie to me. I'm thankful for that----"

"But I _have_ spoken, Beth, " he insisted, taking her by the elbows andholding her so that he could look into her eyes. "I've asked you to--tobe my wife. I ask you now. Is that clear?"

Her eyes evaded him and she laughed uneasily. 

"Yes, it's clear--and--and your reason for it----"

"I love you----"

"A little, maybe. But I'll marry no man just to save my face--and his. "

But he caught her close to him, finding a new joy in his momentousdecision. She struggled still, but he would not be denied. 

"Yes, you will, " he whispered. "You've got to marry me whether you wantto or not. You're compromised. "

"I don't care. "

"Oh, yes, you do. And you love me, Beth. "

"I don't love you----"

"You do. And I'm going to marry you whether you want it or not. "

"Oh, _are_ you?"

"Yes. "

"When?"

"Soon. "

He kissed her. She didn't resist him. Resistance was useless. He hadwon. 

"Beth, dear, " he went on. "I couldn't lie to you. I'm glad you knewthat. And I couldn't hurt you. I think I've always loved you--from thefirst. "

"I too--I too, " she whispered. "I couldn't help it. "

"I think I knew that too----"

"No, no. You couldn't----"

"Yes. It was meant to be. You've given a new meaning to life, torn fromits very roots a whole rotten philosophy. Oh, you don't know what Imean--except that nobility is in the mind, beauty in the heart. Nothingelse matters. "

"No. It doesn't, " she sighed. "You see, I--I do believe in you. "

"Thank God! But you know nothing of me--nothing of my past----"

"I don't care what your past has been or who you are. You're good enoughfor me. I'm satisfied----"

He laughed joyously at the terms of her acquiescence. 

"Don't you want to know what I've been--who I am----?"

"No. It wouldn't make any difference--not now. "

"I'll tell you some day. "

"I'll take a chance on that. I'm not afraid. "

"And whatever I am--you'll marry me?"

"Yes. Whatever--you--are----"

While he smiled down at her she straightened in his arms and gentlyreleased herself, glancing guiltily at the clock. 

"I--I must be going now, " she whispered. 

And so through the quiet forest they went to Black Rock village, hand inhand. 

CHAPTER XVI

IDENTIFICATION

The sudden and unexpected arrival of Miss Peggy McGuire upon the scenehad been annoying. That young person was, as Peter knew, a soullesslittle snob and materialist with a mind which would not be slow to putthe worst possible construction upon the situation. Of course as mattersstood at the close of that extraordinary evening of self-revelations, itdid not matter a great deal what Peggy McGuire thought or said or did, for nothing could hurt Beth now. The Grand Duke Peter Nicholaevitch hadcapitulated and Peter Nichols gloried in his victory over inheritedtradition. He had no regrets and he had made his choice, for Beth waswhat he wanted. She completed him. She was effulgent, --even in homespun. A little tinsel more or less could make no difference in Beth. Those ofhis own class who would not accept her might go hang for all he cared. 

Still Peter had rather that almost any one but Peggy should have comeupon the scene, and Beth's frankness had given her a handle for ascandal, if she chose to make one. Beth cared nothing, he knew, for hersoul was greater than his, but Peter's anger still smoldered at thewords that had been used to Beth. 

He did not fear complications with McGuire, nor did he court them, buthe knew how this daughter had been brought up, spoiled and pampered tothe very limits of McGuire's indulgence and fortune, and he couldn'thelp holding her up in comparison with Beth, much to Peggy's detriment. For Beth was a lady to her finger tips, born to a natural gentility thatput to confusion the mannerisms of the "smart" finishing school whichhad not succeeded in concealing the strain of a plebeian origin, andBeth's dropped g's and her quaint inversions and locutions wereinfinitely more pleasing to Peter than Miss Peggy's slang andself-assurance, which reflected the modernity of the fashionable hoteltea-room. 

Fortunately, Jonathan K. McGuire, who had returned from the seashore thenight before, was not disposed to take his daughter's animadversions tooseriously and when Peter announced his engagement to the niece of hishousekeeper he made no comment further than to offer hiscongratulations. He did not even know her name and when McGuire was toldthat it was Beth Cameron, Peter did not miss his slight start ofinquiry. But of course, having only owned his acres of woodland for halfa dozen years, he knew little as to the origins of the inhabitants ofBlack Rock and as Peter said nothing at that moment he asked noquestions and only listened to the forester's account of the progress ofthe work and of the difficulties experienced in attempting to completethe timber-contract. There was no way of improving the labor situationand a visit to the camp proved to him that Peter had done all that couldbe expected with the poor material at hand. On the way back they stoppedat the Cabin and Peter showed him the letter from Hawk Kennedy. Andthere for a while they sat discussing plans to outwit the enemy and drawhis sting. 

It was going to be no easy task and could only be accomplished byPeter's apparent compliance with Kennedy's wishes in throwing in his lotwith Hawk and simulating an enmity for his employer. McGuire nodded hishead and listened soberly. The rest at the seashore had done him goodand he was disposed to meet the situation with courage, reflectingPeter's own attitude of confidence and optimism, admitting that hisconfession to Peter had lifted a weight from his shoulders and given himthe spirit to meet the issue, whatever it might be. 

"You see, " he said at last, "if the worst comes I'm in a pretty badhole. But it was the shock of meeting Hawk after all these years thattook the courage out of me at first. I wasn't quite right in my head fora while. I'd have killed him gladly and gotten away with it perhaps--butI'm glad now that things turned out the way they did. I've got no bloodon my hands--that's one thing--whatever I signed. I've been thinking agood deal since I've been away. If I signed that fake confession HawkKennedy signed it too. He won't dare to produce it except as a lastresort in desperation, to drag me down with him if he fails. We canstring him along for a while before he does that and if he falls foryour game we may be able to get the paper away from him. You've thoughtof something, Nichols?" he asked. 

"Yes, of several things, " said Peter slowly. "I'm going to try diplomacyfirst. If that doesn't work, then something else more drastic. "

McGuire rose at last and took up his hat. 

"I don't know how to thank you for what you've done, Nichols, " he saidawkwardly. "Of course if--if money will repay you for this sort ofservice, you can count on my doing what you think is right. "

Peter rose and walked to the window, looking out. 

"I was coming to that, Mr. McGuire, " he said gravely. 

McGuire paused and laid his hat down again. 

"Before you went away, " Peter went on, turning slowly toward hisemployer, "you told me that you had never made any effort to discoverthe whereabouts of any of the relatives of Ben Cameron. But I inferredfrom what you said that if you _did_ find them, you'd be willing to doyour duty. That's true, isn't it?"

McGuire examined him soberly but agreed. 

"Yes, that's true. But why do you bring this question up now?"

"I'll explain in a moment. Mr. McGuire, you are said to be a very richman, how rich I don't know, but I think you'll be willing to admit tome, knowing what I do of your history, that without the 'Tarantula' mineand the large sum it brought you you would never have succeeded ingetting to your present position in the world of finance. "

"I'll admit that. But I don't see----"

"You will in a minute, sir----"

"Go on. "

"If I have been correctly informed, you sold out your copper holdings inMadre Gulch for something like half a million dollars----" Peter pausedfor McGuire's comment. He made none. But he had sunk into his chairagain and was listening intently. 

"The interest on half a million dollars, even at six per cent, ifcompounded, would in fifteen years amount with the principal to aconsiderable sum. "

"Ah, I see what you're getting at----"

"You will admit that what I say is true?"

"Yes----"

"You'll admit also, if you're reasonable, that the money which foundedyour great fortune was as a matter of fact not yours but BenCameron's----?"

"But why speak of him now?" muttered the old man. 

"Do you admit this?"

McGuire frowned and then growled, "How can I help admitting it, sinceyou know the facts? But I don't see----"

"Well then, admitting that the 'Tarantula' mine was Ben Cameron's andnot yours or Hawk Kennedy's, it seems clear that if any of Ben Cameron'sheirs should turn up unexpectedly, they might claim at least a share ofwhat should have been their own. "

McGuire had started forward in his chair, his gaze on Peter's face, asthe truth was suddenly borne in upon him. 

"You mean, Nichols, that----. " He paused and gasped as Peter nodded. 

"I mean that Ben Cameron's only child, a daughter, lives here at BlackRock--the niece of your housekeeper--Mrs. Bergen----"

"Miss Cameron--My God!" McGuire fell back in his chair, staring atPeter, incapable of further speech. 

"Beth Cameron, " said Peter gently, "the lady who has done me the honorof promising to become my wife----"

"But how do you know?" gasped McGuire. "There must be some mistake. Areyou sure you----" He broke off and then a sly smile curled at thecorners of his lips. "You know, Nichols, Cameron is not an unusual name. It's quite possible that you're--er--mistaken. "

"No. I'm quite sure there's no mistake. I think the facts can beproved--that is, of course, if you're willing to help to establish thisclaim and to admit it when established. Otherwise I intend to establishit without your assistance--as an act of justice and of--er--retribution. "

McGuire watched his superintendent's face for a while before replying. And then, briefly, "What are the facts on which you base thisextraordinary statement?" he asked. 

"I'll present those facts when the time comes, Mr. McGuire, " said Peterat a venture. "I don't think it will be a difficult matter to identifythe murdered man. He wrote home once or twice. He can be tracedsuccessfully. But what I would like to know first is what yourdisposition toward his daughter will be when the proper proofs arepresented. "

"_If_ they're presented, " said McGuire. 

"Will you answer me?"

"It would seem time enough to answer then. I'll do the right thing. "

"Meaning what?"

"Money enough to satisfy her. "

"That won't do. She must have what is hers by right. Her price is onemillion dollars, " said Peter quietly. 

McGuire started up. "You're dreaming, " he gasped. 

"It's her money. "

"But I developed that mine. "

"It was her mine that you developed. "

McGuire stopped by the window and turned. 

"And if I refuse----?"

"I don't think you will----"

The two men stared at each other, but Peter had the whip hand--orMcGuire thought he had, which was quite sufficient. 

"Will you help me to perform this act of justice?" Peter went on calmly. "It's the only thing to do, Mr. McGuire. Can't you see that?"

McGuire paced the floor heavily a few times before replying. And then, "I've got to think this thing over, Nichols. It's all so very sudden--amillion dollars. My God! man, you talk of a million as if it grew on thetrees. " He stopped abruptly before the fireplace and turned to Peter. "And where does Hawk Kennedy come in on this?"

"Beth Cameron's claim comes before his--or yours, " said Peter quietly. "Whatever happens to either of you--it's not her fault. "

Peter hadn't intended a threat. He was simply stating the principalthought of his mind. But it broke McGuire's front. He leaned upon thearmchair and then fell heavily into it, his head buried in his hands. 

"I'll do--whatever you say, " he groaned at last, "but you've got to getme out of this, Nichols. I've got to have that paper. "

Peter poured out a drink of the whisky and silently handed it to hisemployer. 

"Come, Mr. McGuire, " he said cheerfully, "we'll do what we can. There'llbe a way to outwit Hawk Kennedy. "

"I hope to God there is, " muttered McGuire helplessly. 

"I'll make a bargain with you. "

"What?" asked McGuire helplessly. 

"If I get the confession from Kennedy, you give Beth Cameron the money Iask for. "

"No publicity?"

"None. I give you my word on it. "

"Well, " muttered the old man, "I guess it's coming to her. I'll see. " Hepaused helplessly. "A million dollars! That's a big sum to get together. A big price--but not too big to clear this load off my conscience. "

"Good. I'm glad you see it in this way. "

The old man turned shrewdly. "But I've got to have the proofs----"

"Very well. If you're honest in your intentions you'll help me confirmthe evidence. "

"Yes, " said the other slowly. "I'll do what I can. "

"Then perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me what Ben Cameron lookedlike----"

"I've told you as near as I can remember, " muttered McGuire. 

"Had the murdered man, for instance, lost the little finger of his lefthand?" asked Peter, coolly concealing the anxiety which lay behind hisquestion. 

But he had his reward, for McGuire shot a quick glance at him, hisheavy jowl sagging. And as he didn't reply, Peter urged himtriumphantly. 

"You promised to help. Will you answer me truthfully? It will saveasking a lot of questions. "

At last McGuire threw up his hands. 

"Yes, " he muttered, "that was Ben Cameron. One of his little fingers wasmissing all right enough. "

"Thanks, " said Peter, with an air of closing the interview. "If you wantthis proof that the murdered man was Beth's father, ask Mrs. Bergen. "

There was a silence. Peter had won. McGuire gathered up his hat with themien of a broken man and moved toward the door. 

"All right, Nichols. I guess there's no doubt of it. I'll admit theproof's strong enough. It can be further verified, I suppose, but I'drather no questions were asked. You do your part and I--I'll do mine. "

"Very good, sir. You can count on me. If that fake agreement is still inexistence, I'll get it for you. If it has been destroyed----"

"I'll have to have proof of that----"

"Won't you leave that in my hands?"

McGuire nodded, shook Peter's hand and wandered out up the path in thedirection of Black Rock House. 

From the first, Peter had had no doubt that the murdered man was Beth'sfather, but he had to admit under McGuire's questioning that there mightstill be a difficulty in tracing the vagrant from the meager history ofhis peregrinations that Mrs. Bergen had been able to provide. McGuire'sattitude in regard to the absent little finger had been reallyadmirable. Peter was thankful for that little finger, and for McGuire'shonesty. There was no doubt in his mind now--if any had existed--who BenCameron's murderer was. The affair was simplified amazingly. With Beth'sclaim recognized, Peter could now enter heart and soul into theinteresting business of beating Hawk Kennedy at his own game. He wouldwin--he must win, for the pitiful millionaire and for Beth. 

And so, jubilantly, he made his way to Black Rock village to fill a veryagreeable engagement that he had, to take supper (cooked and served byher own hands) with Miss Beth Cameron. He found that Beth had tried toprevail upon Aunt Tillie to be present but that the arrival of theMcGuire family at Black Rock House had definitely prevented theappearance of their chaperon. Peter's appetite, however, suffered littlediminution upon that account and he learned that singing was not Beth'sonly accomplishment. The rolls, as light as feathers and steaming hot, were eloquent of her skill, the chicken was broiled to a turn, thecreamed potatoes delicious, and the apple pie of puff-paste provokedmemories of the Paris Ritz. Aunt Tillie's best tablecloth and familysilver--old, by the looks of it--had been brought into requisition and abunch of goldenrod and purple asters graced the centerpiece. And aboveit all presided Beth, her face aflame from the cookstove, gracious andmore than lovable in her pride and self-consciousness. 

When the supper was finished, Peter helped her to clear away the thingsand insisted on being allowed to help wash the dishes. But to this Bethdemurred for they were of Aunt Tillie's blue colonial china set and notto be trusted to impious hands. But she let Peter sit in the kitchen andwatch her (which was quite satisfactory) and even spared him a kiss ortwo at propitious intervals. 

Then when all things had been set to rights they went into the littleparlor and sat on the worn Victorian plush-covered sofa. There was muchto talk about, matters of grave importance that concerned themselvesalone, explanations to be made, hopes to be expressed, and Beth's affairwith McGuire to be discussed in all its phases. Peter told her nothingof his rank or station in life, saving that revelation for a latermoment. Was not the present all-sufficient? And hadn't Beth told him anddidn't she tell him again now that she believed in him and that "nomatter what" she loved him and was his, for ever after, Amen. She didn'tcare who he was, you see. 

And when the important business of affirming those vows was concludedagain and again, the scarcely less important business of Beth's futurewas talked over with a calmness which did much credit to Beth's controlof the situation. Peter brought out Hawk Kennedy's letter and they readit together, and talked about it, Peter explaining his intention toacquiesce in Hawk's plan. Then Peter told of his conversation withMcGuire and of the proof of Ben Cameron's identity which the old man hadhonestly admitted. 

"It looks very much, Beth, " said Peter at last, with a smile, "as thoughyou were going to be a very wealthy young woman. "

"Oh, Peter, " she sighed (the elimination of formal appellations had beenaccomplished during the earlier stages of the repast), "Oh, Peter, Ihope it isn't going to bring us unhappiness. "

"Unhappiness! Why, Beth!"

"Oh, I don't know. It seems to me that people with a lot of money alwayslook unhappy wantin' _to want_ somethin'. "

He laughed. 

"The secret of successful wanting is only to want the things you canget. "

"That's just the trouble. With a million dollars I'll get so much morethan I want. And what then----?"

"You'll have to start all over again. "

"No, " she said quietly. "I won't. If wantin' things she can't buy makesa girl _hard_, like Peggy McGuire, I think I'd rather be poor. "

Peter grew grave again. 

"Nothing could ever make you like Peggy McGuire, " he said. 

"I might be--if I ever get into the habit of thinkin' I was somethin'that I wasn't. "

"You'll never be a snob, Beth, no matter how much money you have. "

"I hope not, " she said with a laugh. "My nose turns up enough already. "And then, wistfully, "But I always _did_ want a _cerise_ veil. "

"I've no doubt you'll get it, a _cerise_ veil--mauve, green and blueones too. I'll be having to keep an eye on you when you go to the city. "

She eyed him gravely and then, "I don't like to hear you talk likethat. "

But he kept to his topic for the mere delight of hearing her replies. 

"But then you might see somebody you liked better than me. "

She smiled at him gently. "If I'd 'a' thought that I wouldn't 'a' pickedyou out in the first place. "

"Then you did pick me out. When?"

"H-m. Wouldn't you like to know!"

"Yes. At the Cabin?"

"No----"

"At McGuire's----?"

"No-o. Before that----"

"When----"

She blushed very prettily and laughed. 

"Down Pickerel River road. "

"Did you, Beth?"

"Yes. I liked your looks. You _do_ smile like you meant it, Peter. Isaid to myself that anybody that could bow from the middle like you wasgood enough for me. "

"Now you're making fun of me. "

"Oh, no. I'm not. You see, dear, you've really lived up to that bow!"

"I hope, " said Peter gently, "I hope I always will. "

"I'm not worryin'. And I'm glad I knew you loved me before you knewabout the money. "

"You did know, then----"

"Yes. What bothered me was your findin' it so hard to tell me so. "

Peter was more awkward and self-conscious at that moment than he couldever remember having been in his life. Her frankness shamed him--made itseem difficult for him ever to tell her the real reasons for hishesitation. What chance would the exercise of inherited tradition havein the judgment of this girl who dealt instinctively and intimately withthe qualities of the mind and heart, and only with them?

"I--I was not good enough for you, " he muttered. 

She put her fingers over his lips. And when he kissed them--took themaway and gave him her lips. 

"I'll hear no more of _that_, Peter Nichols, " she whispered. "You'regood enough for me----"

Altogether, it may be said that the evening was a success at every anglefrom which Peter chose to view it. And he made his way back to the Cabinthrough the deep forest along the path that Beth had worn, the path tohis heart past all the fictitious barriers that custom had built abouthim. The meddlesome world was not. Here was the _novaya jezn_ that hispeople had craved and shouted for. He had found it. Newlife--happiness--with a mate . .. His woman--soon to be his wife--whetherBeth Nichols or the Grand Duchess Elizabeth. .. ? There was no title ofnobility that could make Beth's heart more noble, no pride of lineagethat could give her a higher place than that which she already held inhis heart. 

His blood surging, he ran along the log at the crossing and up the pathto the Cabin, where a surprise awaited him. For he found the lamplighted, and, seated complacently in Peter's easy chair, stockinged feettoward the blaze of a fresh log, a bottle at his elbow, was HawkKennedy. 

CHAPTER XVII

PETER BECOMES A CONSPIRATOR

Peter entered and stood by the door, startled from his rhapsody by theappearance of the intruder, who had made himself quite at home, regardless of the fact that the final words of their last meeting hadgiven no promise of a friendship which would make his air of easyfamiliarity acceptable to Peter, whose first impulse moved him to anger, fortunately controlled as he quickly remembered how much hung upon theassumption of an amicable relationship with McGuire's arch enemy. Peterhadn't replied to Hawk's letter which had indicated that some weeksmight elapse before Black Rock received another of his visitations. Thespeculations in Peter's mind as to the change in his visitor's plans andthe possible causes for them may have been marked in his face, for Hawkgrinned at him amiably and rose and offered his hand with an air ofassurance. 

"Wondering why I dropped in on you so unexpected-like? Let's say that Igot tired of staring at the lonely grandeur of Pike's Peak, _mon gars_, or that the lady who gave me the pleasure of her society skipped forDenver with a younger man, or that the high altitude playedBilly-be-damned with my nerves, and you'll have excuse enough. But thefact is, Pete, I _was_ a bit nervous at being so long away from thecenter of financial operations, and thought I'd better come right on andtalk to you. "

"I got your letter, " said Peter calmly, "I hadn't answered it yet----"

"I thought it better to come for my answer. "

"I've been thinking it over----"

"Good. It will be worth thinkin' over. You'll bless the day Jim Coastran athwart your course. "

"You seem to be taking a good deal for granted. "

"I do. I always do. Until the present opportunity it was about the onlything I got a chance to take. You wouldn't of done me a good turn thatnight, if you hadn't been O. K. Will you have a drink of your own? It'sgood stuff--ten years in the wood, I see by the label, and I'm glad toget it, for whisky is scarcer than hen's teeth between this and theRockies. "

As Peter nodded he poured out the drinks and settled down in Peter'schair with the air of one very much at home. 

"Well, Pete, what's yer answer to be?" he said at last. "You weren't anytoo polite when I left here. But I didn't think you'd turn me downaltogether. And you're straight. I know that. I've been countin' on yoursense of justice. How would _you_ like to be treated the way _I_ wastreated by Mike McGuire?"

"I wouldn't like it. "

"You just bet you wouldn't. You wouldn't stand for it, _you_ wouldn't. I've got justice on my side and I've got the law--if I choose to useit--but I'd rather win this case as man to man--without its getting intothe newspapers. That wouldn't matter much to a poor man like me, but itwould make a heap of difference to a man who stands where McGuire does. "

"That's true. "

"Yes. And he knows it. He hasn't got a leg to stand on. " Kennedy pausedand looked Peter over coolly. Peter had been studying the situationcritically, playing his game with some care, willing to placate hisvisitor and yet taking pains not to be too eager to gain hisconfidence. So he carefully lighted his cigarette while he debated hiscourse of action. 

"What makes you think that I'm in a different mood now from when youleft here?"

"Haven't I told you? Because I believe that you know that right's rightand wrong's wrong. "

"But I told you that I didn't want to have anything to do with thecase. "

"True for you. But you will when I've finished talking to you. "

"Will I?"

"You will if you're not a fool, which you ain't. I always said you hadsomethin' between your ears besides ivory. You don't like to stay poorany more than anybody else. You don't have to. A good half of McGuire'smoney is mine. If it hadn't been for me helpin' to smell that copper outhe'd of been out there grub-stakin' yet an' that's a fact. But I'm notgoin' to be too hard on him. I'm no hog. I'm goin' to let him down easy. What's a million more or less to him? It might pinch him a little hereand there sellin' out securities he had a fancy for, but in a year or sohe'd have it all back and more, the way he works. Oh, I know. I've foundout a bit since I've been away. And he'll come across all right, when hehears what I've got to say to him. "

"Why don't you go to him direct?" asked Peter. 

"And have him barricadin' the house and shootin' promiscuous at me fromthe windows? Not on your life. I know what I'm about. This thing has gotto be done quiet. There's no use stirring up a dirty scandal to hurt hisreputation for honest dealin' in New York. Even as it is, the story hasgot around about the mystery of Black Rock. No use makin' talk. That'swhy I want you. You stand ace high with the old man. He'll listen to youand we'll work the game all right and proper. "

"But suppose he won't listen to me. "

"Then we'll put the screws on. "

"What screws?"

Hawk Kennedy closed one eye and squinted the other at Peter quizzically. 

"I'll tell you that all in good time. But first I've got to know how youstand in the matter. "

Peter judicially examined the ash of his cigarette. "He ought to do theright thing, " he said slowly. 

"He will--never you fear. But can I count on _you_, Pete?"

"What do you want me to do?" asked Peter after a moment. 

"Oh, now we're talkin'. But wait a minute. We won't go so fast. Are youwith me sure enough--hope I may die--cross my heart?"

"If you'll make it worth my while, " said Peter cautiously. 

"A hundred thousand. How's that?"

"It sounds all right. But I can't see what I can do that you couldn't doyourself. "

"Don't you? Well, you don't know all this story. There's some of it youhaven't heard. Maybe it's that will convince you you're makin' nomistake----"

"Well--I'm listening. "

A shrewd look came into Kennedy's face--a narrowing of the eyelids, adrawing of the muscles at the mouth, as he searched Peter's face with asharp glance. 

"If you play me false, Pete, I'll have your heart's blood, " he said. 

Peter only laughed at him. 

"I'm not easily scared. Save the melodrama for McGuire. If you can dowithout me--go ahead. Play your hand alone. Don't tell me anything. Idon't want to know. "

The bluff worked, for Kennedy relaxed at once. 

"Oh, you're a cool hand. I reckon you think I need you or I wouldn't behere. Well, that's so. I do need you. And I'm goin' to tell you thetruth--even if it gives away my hand. "

"Suit yourself, " said Peter, indifferently. 

He watched his old "bunkie" pour out another drink of the whisky, and adefinite plan of action took shape in his mind. If he could only getKennedy drunk enough. .. . The whisky bottle was almost empty--so Petergot up, went to his cupboard and brought forth another one. 

"Good old Pete!" said Hawk. "Seems like July the first didn't make muchdifference to you. "

"A present from Mr. McGuire, " Peter explained. 

"Well, here's to his fat bank account. May it soon be ours. " And hedrank copiously. Peter filled his own glass but when the opportunityoffered poured most of it into the slop-bowl just behind him. 

"I'm goin' to tell you, Pete, about me and McGuire--about how we gotthat mine. It ain't a pretty story. I told you some of it but not thereal part--nobody but Mike McGuire and I know that--and he wouldn't tellif it was the last thing he said on earth. "

"Oh, " said Peter, "something crooked, eh?"

Kennedy laid his bony fingers along Peter's arm while his voice sank toan impressive whisper. 

"Crooked as Hell, Pete--crooked as Hell. You wouldn't think Mike McGuirewas a murderer--would you?"

"A murderer----!"

Kennedy nodded. "We took that mine--stole it from the poor guy who hadstaked out his claim. Mike killed him----"

"You don't mean----?"

"Yes, sir. Killed him--stuck him in the ribs with a knife when hewasn't lookin'. What do you think of that?"

"McGuire--a murderer----!"

"Sure. Nice sort of a boss you've got! And he could swing for it if Ididn't hold my tongue. "

"This is serious----"

"You bet it is--if he don't come across. Now I guess you know why he wasso cut up when I showed up around here. I've got it on him all right. "

"Can you prove it?"

Kennedy rubbed his chin for a moment. 

"I could but I don't want to. You see--Pete----" He paused again andblinked pensively at his glass. "Well, you see--in a manner ofspeakin'--he's got it on me too. "

And Peter listened while his villainous companion related the well knowntale of the terrible compact between the two men in which both of themhad agreed in writing to share the guilt of the crime, carefullyomitting to state the compulsion as used upon McGuire. Hawk Kennedylied. If Peter had ever needed any further proof of the honesty of hisemployer he read it in the shifting eye and uncertain verbiage of hisguest, whose tongue now wagged loosely while he talked of the twopapers, one of which was in McGuire's possession, the other in his own. Hawk was no pleasant companion for an evening's entertainment. From theinteresting adventurer of the _Bermudian_, Jim Coast had been slowlychanging under Peter's eyes into a personality more formidable andsinister. And the drink seemed to be bringing into importancepotentialities for evil at which Peter had only guessed. That he meantto fight to the last ditch for the money was clear, and if the worstcame would even confess, dragging McGuire down among the ruins of boththeir lives. In his drunken condition it would have been ridiculouslyeasy for Peter to have overpowered him, but he was not sure to what endthat would lead. 

"You say there were two papers, " said Peter. "Where are they?"

"McGuire's got his--here at Black Rock, " muttered Hawk. 

"How do you know that?" asked Peter with interest. 

"Where would he keep it?" sneered Hawk. "In his business papers for'zecutors to look over?"

"And where's yours?" asked Peter. 

He hoped for some motion of Kennedy's fingers to betray its whereabouts, but the man only poured out another drink and leered at Peterunpleasantly. 

"That'sh _my_ business, " he said with a sneer. 

"Oh. Is it? I thought I was to have a hand in this. "

Kennedy grinned. 

"Y'are. Your job is t' get other paper from McGuire's safe. And thenwe'll have fortune in--hic--nutshell. "

The man wasn't as drunk as he seemed. Peter shrugged. 

"I see. I've got to turn burglar to join your little criminal society. Suppose I refuse?"

"Y' won't. Why, Pete, it ought to be easiest job in world. A few dropshin glass when you're talkin' business and he'd never know it happened. Then we 'beat it, ' y'understand, 'n' write lettersh--nice lettersh. Oneof 'em to that swell daughter of his. That would do the business, _pronto_. "

"Yes, it might, " admitted Peter ruminatively. 

"Sure it will--but we'll give him chance. Are y' on?" he asked. 

Peter was silent for a moment. And then, "I don't see why you want that paper of McGuire's, " he said. "They'reexactly alike, you say--both incriminating. And if you've got your paperhandy----"

Peter paused but Kennedy was in the act of swallowing another glass ofwhisky and he didn't stop to answer the half-formulated query. He gave agasp of satisfaction and then shrugged. 

"No use, Pete, " he said huskily. "I said I had paper and I _have_ paperhandy, but I've got to have McGuire's paper too. I ain't got money andspotless rep'tation like Mike McGuire but I don't want paper like thatfloatin' roun' universh with _my_ name signed to it. "

"I don't blame you, " said Peter dryly. 

Hawk Kennedy was talking thickly now and spilled the whisky in trying topour out a new glassful. 

"Goo' whisky this--goo' ole whisky, Pete. Goo' ole Peter. Say, you'llget pater, Peep--I mean Peter pape--Oh H---- Paper. _You_ know. "

"I'll have to think about it, Jim. "

"Can't think when yer drunk, Pete, " he muttered with an expiring grin. "To-morr'. 'Nother drink an' then we'll go sleep. Don't mind my sleepin'here, Pete. Nice plache shleep. Goo' old shleep. .. . "

Peter paused in the act of pouring out another drink for him and then ata sound from Kennedy set the bottle down again. The man suddenlysprawled sideways in the chair, his head back, snoring heavily. Peterwatched him for a moment, sure that he couldn't be shamming and thenlooked around the disordered room. Hawk's overcoat and hat lay on thebed. On tiptoe Peter got up and examined them carefully, watching theman in the chair intently the while. Hawk stirred but did not awaken. Peter searched the overcoat inch by inch. There was nothing in thepockets, but a tin of tobacco and a Philadelphia newspaper. So Peterrestored the articles and then hung the hat and coat on the nails behindthe door. Hawk Kennedy did not move. He was dead drunk. 

The repulsive task of searching the recumbent figure now lay before him. But the game had been worth the candle. If the fateful confession wasanywhere in Hawk's clothing Peter meant to find it and yet even now hehesitated. He put the whisky bottle away, cleared up the mess and thenbodily picked his visitor up and carried him to the bed. Hawk mutteredsomething in his sleep but fell prone and immediately was snoringstertorously. Then Peter went through his pockets methodically, removingan automatic pistol from his trousers, and examining all his paperscarefully by the light of the lamp-a hotel bill receipted, some lettersin a woman's hand, a few newspaper clippings bearing on the coppermarket, a pocketbook containing bills of large denomination, some soiledbusiness cards of representatives of commercial houses, a notebookcontaining addresses and small accounts, a pass book of a Philadelphiabank, the address of which Peter noted. And that was all. Exhaustingevery resource Peter went over the lining of his coat and vest, inch byinch, even examined his underwear and his shoes and stockings. From theskin out, Hawk Kennedy had now no secrets from Peter. The incriminatingconfession was not on Hawk Kennedy's clothing. 

At last Peter gave up the search and went out into the air, and lightedhis corncob pipe, puzzled at his failure. And yet, was it a failureafter all? Hawk had eluded every attempt to discuss his copy of theconfession. He had it "handy, " he had said. A safe deposit box at thePhiladelphia bank of which Peter had made record would be handy, butsomehow Peter thought the chances were much against Kennedy's having putit there. Men of his type usually carry everything they possess abouttheir persons. Peter remembered the ragged wallet of the _Bermudian_. What if after all these years of hardship the paper had been worn sothat it was entirely illegible, or indeed that in Kennedy's manywanderings it had been lost? Either of these theories was plausible, butnone provoked a decision. So after awhile Peter went indoors and openingall the windows and doors to cleanse the air, sat in the big chair andbundling himself in a blanket fell asleep. 

CHAPTER XVIII

FACE TO FACE

We are told, alas, that at the highest moment of our expectations thegods conspire to our undoing, and therefore that it is wise to take ourjoys a little sadly, that we may not fall too far. But Beth, beingwholesome of mind and body and an optimist by choice, was not disposedto question the completeness of her contentment or look for any dangerswhich might threaten its continuance. And so when Peter went homethrough the forest, she took her kerosene lamp to her room, there tosmile at her joyous countenance in the mirror and to assure herself thatnever since the beginning of the world had there been a girl more gladthat she had been born. All the clouds that had hung about her sincethat evening in the woods had been miraculously rolled away and she knewagain as she had known before that Peter Nichols was the one man in allthe world for her. 

Their evening together was a wonderful thing to contemplate, and she layin bed, her eyes wide open, staring toward the window, beyond which in adark mass against the starlit sky she could see the familiar pines, through which was the path to Peter's cabin. The stars twinkled joviallywith assurance that the night could not be long and that beyond thenight were to-morrows still more wonderful than to-day. And prayinggently that all might be well with them both, she fell asleep, not evento dream. 

Early morning found her brisk at her work around the house, cleansingand polishing, finishing to her satisfaction the tasks which Peter'simpatience had forbidden the night before. All of Aunt Tillie's bluechina set was carefully restored to its shelves, the napery folded away, the shiny pots hung upon their hooks and the kitchen carefully mopped. Then, with a towel wrapped about her head (for such was the custom ofthe country), she attacked the dining-room and parlor with broom anddust-cloth, singing _arpeggios_ to remind herself that everything wasright with the world. 

It was upon the plush-covered sofa where she and Peter had sat the nightbefore that Beth's orderly eye espied a square of paper just upon thepoint of disappearing in the crease between the seat and back of AuntTillie's most cherished article of furniture and of course she pouncedupon it with the intention of destroying it at the cookstove. But whenshe drew it forth, she found that it was an envelope, heliotrope incolor, that it bore Peter's name in a feminine handwriting, and that ithad a strange delicate odor with which Beth was unfamiliar. She held itin her hand and looked at the writing, then turned it over and over, nowholding it more gingerly by the tip ends of her fingers. Then shesniffed at it again. It was a queer perfume--strange--like violet mixedwith some kind of spice. 

She put her broom aside and walked to the window, her brow puckered, andscrutinized the postmark. "London!" Of course--London was in Englandwhere Peter had once lived. And Peter had drawn the letter from hispocket last night with some other papers when he had shown her thecommunication from "Hawk" Kennedy. It was lucky that she had found it, for it might have slipped down behind the plush covering, and so havebeen definitely lost. Of course Peter had friends in London and ofcourse they should wish to write to him, but for the first time itseemed curious to Beth that in all their conversations Peter had nevervolunteered any information as to the life that he had lived before hehad come to Black Rock. She remembered now that she had told him thatwhatever his past had been and whoever he was, he was good enough forher. But the heliotrope envelope with the feminine handwriting and thestrange odor immediately suggested queries along lines of investigationwhich had never before entered her thoughts. Who was the lady of thedelicate script and the strange perfume? What was her relationship toPeter? And upon what topic was she writing to him?

Beth slipped the note about a quarter of an inch out of its envelopeuntil she could just see a line of the writing and then quickly thrustit in again, put the envelope on the mantel above the "parlor heater"and resolutely went on with her sweeping. From time to time she stoppedher work and looked at it just to be sure that it was still there and atlast took it up in her fingers again, a prey to a more lively curiositythan any she had ever known. She put the envelope down again and turningher back to it went into the kitchen. Of course Peter would tell her whothis lady was if she asked him. And there was no doubt at all that it_was_ a lady who had written the letter, some one familiar with adelicate mode of existence and given to refinements which had beendenied to Beth. It was this delicacy and refinement, this flowinginscription written with such careless ease and grace which challengedBeth's rusticity. She would have liked to ask Peter about the lady atonce. But Peter would not be at the Cabin at this early hour of themorning, nor would Beth be able to see him until late thisafternoon--perhaps not until to-night. Meanwhile, the note upon themantel was burning its way into her consciousness. It was endued with apersonality feminine, insidious and persuasive. No ladies of Londonaffecting heliotrope envelopes had any business writing scented notes toPeter now. He was Beth's particular property. .. . 

When she went up to the second floor of the cottage a few minutes latershe took the heliotrope letter with her and put it on her bureau, propped against the pincushion, while she went on with her work. Andthen, all her duties for the morning finished, she sat down in herrocking chair by the window, the envelope in her idle fingers, a victimof temptation. She looked out at the pine woods, her gaze afar, herguilty fingers slipping the letter out of its covering an inch, twoinches. And then Beth opened Peter's heliotrope note and read it. Atleast, she read as much of it as she could understand, --the parts thatwere written in English--with growing amazement and incertitude. A gooddeal of the English part even was Greek to her, but she could understandenough to know that a mystery of some sort hung about the letter andabout Peter, that he was apparently a person of some importance to theheliotrope lady who addressed him in affectionate terms and with theutmost freedom. Beth had learned in the French ballads which Peter hadtaught her that _ami_ meant friend and that _bel_ meant beautiful. Andas the whole of the paragraph containing those words was written inEnglish, Beth had little difficulty in understanding it. What had Peterto do with the cause of Holy Russia? And what was this danger to himfrom hidden enemies, which could make necessary this discretion andwatchfulness in Black Rock? And the last sentence of all danced beforeBeth's eyes as though it had been written in letters of fire. "There isat least one heart in London that ever beats fondly in memory of thedear dead days at Galitzin and Zukovo. "

What right had the heliotrope lady's heart to beat fondly in memory ofdear dead days with Peter Nichols at Galitzin or Zukovo or anywhereelse? Who was she? Was she young? Was she beautiful? And what right hadPeter given her to address him in terms of such affection? Anastasie!

And now for the first time in her life, though to all outward appearancecalm, Beth felt the pangs of jealousy. This letter, most of it in thequeer-looking script (probably Russian) that she could not even read, inits strange references in English to things beyond her knowledge, seemedsuddenly to erect a barrier between her and Peter that could never bepassed, or even to indicate a barrier between them that had alwaysexisted without her knowledge. And if all of the parts of the letterthat she could not understand contained sentiments like the English partthat she _could_ understand, it was a very terrible letter indeed andindicated that this heliotrope woman (she was no longer "lady" now) hadclaims upon Peter's heart which came long before Beth's. And if thisAnastasie--other women too. .. . 

Beth read the letter again and then slipped it back into its envelope, while she gazed out of the window at the pines, a frown at her brows andtwo tiny lines curving downward at the corners of her lips. She was veryunhappy. But she was angry too--angry at the heliotrope woman, angry atPeter and angrier still at herself. In that moment she forgot that shehad taken Peter Nichols without reference to what he was or had been. She had told him that only the future mattered and now she knew that thepast was beginning to matter very much indeed. 

After a while she got up, and took the heliotrope letter to the bureauwhere she wrote upon the envelope rather viciously with a soft leadpencil, "You left _this_ last night. You'd better go back to Anastasie. "Then she slipped the letter into her waist and with an air of decisionwent down the stairs (the ominous parentheses still around her mouth), and made her way with rapid footsteps toward the path through the forestwhich led toward Peter's cabin. 

Beth was primitive, highly honorable by instinct if not by precept, buta creature of impulse, very much in love, who read by intuition theintrusion of what seemed a very real danger to her happiness. If herconscience warned her that she was transgressing the rules of politeprocedure, something stronger than a sense of propriety urged her on toread, something stronger than mere curiosity--the impulse ofself-preservation, the impulse to preserve that which was stronger eventhan self--the love of Peter Nichols. 

The scrawl that she had written upon the envelope was eloquent of herpoint of view, at once a taunt, a renunciation and a confession. "Youleft _this_ last night. You'd better go back to Anastasie!"

It was the intention of carrying the letter to Peter's cabin and thereleaving it in a conspicuous position that now led her rapidly down thepath through the woods. Gone were the tender memories of the nightbefore. If this woman had had claims upon Peter Nichols's heart at thetwo places with the Russian names, she had the same claims upon themnow. Beth's love and her pride waged a battle within her as sheapproached the Cabin. She remembered that Peter had told her last nightthat he would have a long day at the lumber camp, but as she crossed thelog-jam she found herself hoping that by some chance she would findPeter still at home, where, with a fine dignity (which she mentallyrehearsed) she would demand explanation, and listening, grantforgiveness. Or else . .. She didn't like to think of the alternative. 

But instead of Peter, at the Cabin door in the early morning sunlightshe found a strange man, sitting in a chair in the portico, smoking oneof Peter's cigarettes, and apparently much at home. The appearance ofthe stranger was for a moment disconcerting, but Beth approached thefamiliar doorway, her head high, the heliotrope letter burning herfingers. She had intended to walk in at the door of the Cabin, place theletter in a conspicuous position where Peter could not fail to see it, and then return to her home and haughtily await Peter's arrival. But thepresence of this man, a stranger in Black Rock, making free of Peter'shabitation, evidently with Peter's knowledge and consent, made her pausein a moment of uncertainty. 

At her approach the man in the chair had risen and she saw that he wastall--almost as tall as Peter, that he had a hooked nose and displayed aset of irregular teeth when he smiled--which he did, not unpleasantly. There was something about him which repelled her yet fascinated at thesame time. 

"Mr. Nichols has gone out?" Beth asked, for something to say. 

"Yes, Miss, " said the stranger, blinking at her with his bleary eyes. "Mr. Nichols is down at the lumber camp--won't be back until night, Ireckon. Anythin' I can do for ye?"

"No, I----?" Beth hesitated. "I just wanted to see him--to leavesomethin' for him. "

"I guess he'll be right sorry to miss you. Who shall I say called?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter, " said Beth, turning away. But she was now awareof a strange curiosity as to this person who sat with such an air ofwell-being in Peter's chair and spoke with such an air ofproprietorship. The insistence of her own personal affair with Peter haddriven from her mind all thoughts of the other matters suggested in theletter, of the possible dangers to Peter even here in Black Rock andthe mysterious references to Holy Russia. This man who stood in Peter'sportico, whoever he was, was not a Russian, she could see that at aglance and read it in his accents, but she was equally certain from hisgeneral character that he could be no friend of Peter's and that hisbusiness here was not of Peter's choosing. 

"If ye'd like to wait a while----"

He offered her the chair, but Beth did not accept it. 

"Ye don't happen to be Miss Peggy McGuire, do ye?" asked the strangercuriously. 

"No, " replied the girl. "My name is Beth Cameron. "

"Beth----?"

"Cameron, " she finished firmly. 

"Oh----"

The stranger seemed to be examining her with a glowing interest, but hislook was clouded. 

Beth had decided that until Peter came explaining she had no furtherpossible interest either in him or his affairs, but in spite of this shefound her lips suddenly asking, "Are you a friend of Mr. Nichols's?"

The man in the portico grinned somberly. 

"Yes. I guess I am--an old friend--before he came to America. "

"Oh!" said Beth quietly. "You've known him a long time then?"

"Ye might say so. We were buddies together. "

"Then you knew him in--in London?"

The man grinned. "Can't say I did. Not in London. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I just wanted to know. "

The gaze of the stranger upon her was disquieting. His eyes seemed to besmoldering like embers just ready to blaze. She knew that she ought tobe returning and yet she didn't want to go leaving her objectunaccomplished, the dignity of her plan having already been greatlydisturbed. And so she hesitated, curiosity at war with discretion. 

"Would you mind telling me your name?" she asked timidly. 

The man shrugged a shoulder and glanced away from her. "I reckon my namewouldn't mean much to you. "

"Oh--I'm sorry. Perhaps I shouldn't have asked?"

The stranger put his hands into his coat pockets and stared down at Bethwith a strange intrusive kind of smile. 

"You and Pete seem kind of thick, don't ye?" he muttered. 

"Pete!"

"Pete Nichols. That's his name, ain't it? Kind of thick, I'd say. Ican't blame him though----"

"You're mistaken, " said Beth with dignity, "there's nothin' betweenPeter Nichols and me. " And turning heel, Beth took a step away. 

"There! Put my foot in it, didn't I? I'm sorry. Don't go yet. I want toask ye something. "

Beth paused and found that the stranger had come out from the porticoand still stood beside her. And as her look inquired fearlessly, "It's about your name, Miss, " he muttered, and then with an effort spokethe word savagely, as though it had been wrenched from him by an effortof will, "Cameron----? Your name's Cameron?"

"Yes, " said Beth, in some inquietude. 

"Common name in some parts--Cameron--not so common in others--not inJersey anyway----"

"I didn't know----"

"Is yer father livin'?" he snapped. 

"No--dead. Many years ago. Out West. "

"Tsch!" he breathed, the air whistling between his teeth, "Out West, yesay--out West?"

He stood in front of Beth now, his arms akimbo, his head bent forwardunder the stress of some excitement. Beth drew away from him, but hecame forward after her, his gaze still seeking hers. 

"Yes--out West, " said Beth haltingly. 

"Where?" he gasped. 

"I don't know----"

"Was his name--was his name--Ben Cameron?" He shot the question at herwith a strange fury, catching meanwhile at her arm. 

"Let me go----, " she commanded. "You're hurtin' me. "

"Was it----?"

"Yes. Let me go. "

The stranger's grip on her arm suddenly relaxed and while she watchedhis face in curiosity the glow in his eyes suddenly flickered out, hisgaze shifting from side to side as he seemed to shrink away from her. From timidity at his roughness she found new courage in her curiosity athis strange behavior. What had this stranger to do with Ben Cameron?

"What did you want to know for?" she asked him. 

But his bent brows were frowning at the path at his feet. He tried tolaugh--and the sound of the dry cackle had little mirth in it. 

"No matter. I--I thought it might be. I guess ye'd better go--I guessye'd better. " And with that he sank heavily in Peter's chair again. 

But Beth still stood and stared at him, aware of the sudden change inhis attitude toward her. What did it all mean? What were Peter'srelations with this creature who behaved so strangely at the mention ofher name? Why did he speak of Ben Cameron? Who was he? Who----?

The feeling of which she had at first been conscious, at the man's evilleering smile which repelled her suddenly culminated in a pang ofintuition. This man . .. It must be . .. Hawk Kennedy--the man who . .. Shestared at him with a new horror in the growing pallor of her face andHawk Kennedy saw the look. It was as though some devilish psychologicalcontrivance had suddenly hooked their two consciousnesses to the samethought. Both saw the same picture--the sand, the rocks, the blazing sunand a dead man lying with a knife in his back. .. . And Beth continuedstaring as though in a kind of horrible fascination. And when her lipsmoved she spoke as though impelled by a force beyond her own volition. 

"You--you're Hawk Kennedy, " she said tensely, "the man who killed myfather. "

"It's a lie, " he gasped, springing to his feet. "Who told you that?"

"I--I guessed it----"

"Who told ye about Hawk Kennedy? Who told ye about him?"

"No one----"

"Ye didn't dream it. Ye can't dream a name, " he said tensely. "Pete toldye--he lied to ye. "

"He didn't. "

But he had caught her by the wrist again and dragged her into the Cabin. She was thoroughly frightened now--too frightened even to cry out--tooterrified at the sudden revelation of this man who for some days hadbeen a kind of evil spirit in the background of her happiness. He wasnot like what she had thought he was, but he embodied an idea that wassinister and terrible. And while she wondered what he was going to donext, he pushed her into the armchair, locked the door and put the keyinto his pocket. 

"Now we can talk, " he muttered grimly. "No chance of bein'disturbed--Pete ain't due for hours yet. So he's been tellin' _you_ liesabout me. Has he? Sayin' _I_ done it. By G--, I'm beginnin' to see. .. . "

He leered at her horribly, and Beth seemed frozen into her chair. Thecourage that had been hers a moment ago when he had shrunk away from herhad fled before the fury of his questions and the violence of his touch. She was intimidated for the first time in her life and yet she tried tomeet his eyes, which burned wildly, shifting from side to side likethose of a caged beast. In her terror she could not tell what dauntlessinstinct had urged her unless it was Ben Cameron's soul in agony thathad cried out through her lips. And now she had not only betrayedPeter--but herself. .. . 

"I'm beginnin' to see. You and Pete--playin' both ends against themiddle, with McGuire comin' down somethin' very handsome for a weddin'present and leavin' me out in the cold. Very pretty! But it ain't goin'to work out just that way--not that way at all. "

All of this he muttered in a wildly casual kind of a way, at no one inparticular, as his gaze flitted from one object in the room to another, always passing over Beth almost impersonally. But in a moment she sawhis gaze concentrate upon her with sudden eagerness. 

"He told ye I done it, did he? Well, I didn't, " he cried in a stridentvoice. "I didn't do it. It was McGuire and I'll prove it, all right. McGuire. Pete can't fix _that_ on me--even if he wanted to. But he told_you_ or ye wouldn't of spoke like ye did. I guess maybe ye wouldn't ofsaid so much if Pete had been here. But ye let the cat slip out of thebag all right. You and Pete--and maybe McGuire's with ye too--allagainst me. Is that so?. .. Can't yer speak, girl? Must ye sit therejust starin' at me with yer big eyes? What are ye lookin' at? Are yedumb?"

"No, I'm not dumb, " gasped Beth, struggling for her courage, aware allthe while of the physical threat in the man's very presence. 

"Speak then. Tell me the truth. Pete said it was your money McGuiretook--your money McGuire's got to make good to ye? Ain't that thetruth?"

"I won't answer. "

"Oh, yes, ye will. You'll answer all right. I'm not goin' to trifle. What did ye come here to see Pete about? What's that letter ye came togive him? Give it to me!"

Beth clutched the heliotrope note to her bosom but Hawk Kennedy caughtat her hands and tried to tear it away from her. It needed only this newact of physical violence to give Beth the courage of despair. She sprangto her feet eluding him but he caught her before she reached the window. She struck at him with her fists but he tore the letter away from herand hurled her toward the bed over which she fell breathless. There wasno use trying to fight this man. .. . There was a cruelty in his touchwhich spoke of nameless things. .. . And so she lay motionless, nursingher injured wrists, trying desperately to think what she must do. 

Meanwhile, watching her keenly from the tail of his eye, Hawk Kennedywas reading the heliotrope letter, spelling out the English word byword. Fascinated, Beth saw the frown of curiosity deepen to interest andthen to puzzled absorption. 

"Interestin'--very, " she heard him mutter at last, as he glanced towardthe bed. "Holy Russia. H----! What's this mean, girl? Who _is_ PeterNichols? Answer me. "

"I--I don't know, " she said. 

"Yes, ye do. Where did ye get this letter?"

"He left it at--at my house last night. "

"Oh! _Your_ house! Where?"

"In the village. "

"I see. An' this scrawl on the envelope--you wrote it----"

Beth couldn't reply. He was dragging her through the very depths ofhumiliation. 

At her silence his lips curved in ugly amusement. 

"Anastasie!" he muttered. "Some queen that--with her purple paper an'all. And ye don't know who she is? Or who Pete is? Answer me!"

"I--I don't know, " she whispered. "I--I don't, really. "

"H-m! Well, he ain't what he's seemed to be, that's sure. He ain't whathe's seemed to be to you and he ain't what he's seemed to be to me. Butwhoever he is he can't put anything over on _me_. We'll see about this. "

Beth straightened and sat up, watching him pace the floor in deepthought. There might be a chance that she could escape by the window. But when she started up he ordered her back roughly and she soon sawthat this was impossible. 

At last he stopped walking up and down and stared at her, his eyesnarrowed to mere slits, his brows drawn ominously together. It seemedthat he had reached a decision. 

"You behave yourself an' do what I tell ye an' ye won't be hurt, " hegrowled. 

"Wh-what are you goin' to do?" she gasped. 

"Nothin' much. Ye're just goin' with me--that's all. "

"W-where?"

"That's my business. Oh, ye needn't be scared of any love makin'. I'mnot on that lay this trip. "

He went to the drawer of Peter's bureau and took out somehandkerchiefs. 

"But ye'd better be scared if ye don't do what I tell ye. Here. Standup!"

Beth shrank away from, him, but he caught her by the wrists and heldher. 

"Ye're not to make a noise, d'ye hear? I can't take the chance. "

And while she still struggled desperately, he fastened her wriststogether behind her. Then he thrust one of Peter's handkerchiefs in hermouth and securely gagged her. He wasn't any too gentle with her buteven in her terror she found herself thanking God that it was onlyabduction that he planned. 

Hawk Kennedy went to the window and peered out up the path, then heopened the door and looked around. After a moment he came in quickly. 

"Come, " he muttered, "it's time we were off. "

He caught her by the arm and helped her to her feet, pushing her out ofthe door and into the underbrush at the corner of the cabin. Her feetlagged, her knees were weak, but the grasp on her shoulder warned her ofcruelties she had not dreamed of and so she stumbled on--on into thedepths of the forest, Hawk Kennedy's hard hand urging her on to greaterspeed. 

CHAPTER XIX

YAKIMOV REVEALS HIMSELF

It was with some misgivings that Peter left his cabin, leaving HawkKennedy there to sleep off the effects of his potations, but thesituation at the lumber camp was so hazardous that his presence wasurgently required. Hawk had awakened early, very early, and verythirsty, but Peter had told him that there was no more whisky andthreatened to throw over the whole affair if he didn't sober up andbehave himself. And so, having exacted a promise from Hawk Kennedy toleave the Cabin when he had had his sleep out, Peter had gotten the"flivver" from McGuire's garage (as was his custom) and driven rapidlydown toward the camp. 

He had almost reached the conclusion that the copy of the partnershipagreement which Hawk had held as a threat over McGuire had ceased toexist--that it had been lost, effaced or destroyed. But he wanted to bemore certain of this before he came out into the open, showed his handand McGuire's and defied the blackmailer to do his worst. He felt prettysure now from his own knowledge of the man that, desperate though he wasin his intention to gain a fortune by this expedient, he was absolutelypowerless to do evil without the signature of McGuire. The question asto whether or not he would make a disagreeable publicity of the wholeaffair was important to McGuire and had to be avoided if possible, forPeter had given his promise to bring the affair to a quiet conclusion. 

Until he could have a further talk with McGuire, he meant to lead HawkKennedy on to further confidences and with this end in view and with thefurther purpose of getting him away from the Cabin, had promised to meethim late that afternoon at a fork of the road to the lumber camp, theother prong of which led to a settlement of several shanties where Hawkhad managed to get a lodging on the previous night and on several otheroccasions. In his talk with the ex-waiter he learned that on hisprevious visits the man had made a careful survey of the property andknew his way about almost as well as Peter did. It appeared that he alsoknew something of Peter's problems at the lumber camp and thedifficulties the superintendent had already encountered in getting hissawed lumber to the railroad and in completing his fire-towers. Indeed, these difficulties seemed only to have begun again, and it was withgreat regret that Peter was obliged to forego the opportunity of seeingBeth that day, perhaps even that evening. But he had told her nothing ofhis troubles the night before, not wishing to cloud a day so fair forthem both. 

The facts were these: Flynn and Jacobi, the men he had dismissed, hadappeared again at the camp in his absence, bent on fomenting trouble, and Shad Wells, already inflamed against the superintendent, had fallenan easy prey to their machinations. Accidents were always happening atthe sawmills, accidents to machinery and implements culminating at lastin the blowing out of a tube of one of the boilers. It was thismisfortune that had held the work up for several days until a spareboiler could be installed. Peter tried to find out how these accidentshad happened, but each line of investigation led up a blind alley. JesseBrown, his foreman, seemed to be loyal, but he was easy-going and weak. With many of his own friends among the workers both at the camp andmills he tried to hold his job by carrying water on both shoulders andthe consequences were inevitable. He moved along the line of leastresistance and the trouble grew. Peter saw his weakness and would havepicked another man to supersede him, but there was no other available. The truth was that though the men's wages were high for the kind of workthat they were doing, the discontent that they had brought with them wasin the air. The evening papers brought word of trouble in everydirection, the threatened railroad and steel strikes and the prospect ofa coalless winter when the miners went out as they threatened to do onthe first of November. 

At first Peter had thought that individually many of the men liked him. He had done what he could for their comfort and paid them the highestprice justifiable, but gradually he found that his influence was beingundermined and that the good-natured lagging which Peter had at firsttried to tolerate had turned to loafing on the job, and finally to overtacts of rebellion. More men had been sent away and others with even lessconscience had taken their places. Some of them had enunciatedBolshevist doctrines as wild as any of Flynn's or Jacobi's. Jonathan K. McGuire stood as a type which represented the hierarchy of wealth andwas therefore their hereditary enemy. Peter in a quiet talk at thebunk-house one night had told them that once Jonathan K. McGuire hadbeen as poor, if not poorer, than any one of them. But even as he spokehe had felt that his words had made no impression. It was what McGuirewas _now_ that mattered, they told him. All this land, all this lumber, was the people's, and they'd get it too in time. With great earnestness, born of a personal experience of which they could not dream, Peterpointed out to them what had happened and was now happening in Russiaand painted a harrowing picture of helplessness and starvation, but theysmoked their pipes in silence and answered him not at all. They werenot to be reasoned with. If the Soviet came to America they were willingto try it. They would try anything once. 

But Shad Wells was "canny" and Peter had never succeeded in tracing anyof the accidents or any of the dissensions directly to his door. Withoutevidence against him Peter did not think it wise to send him out ofcamp, for many of the men were friendly to Shad and his dismissal wassure to mean an upheaval of sorts. Peter knew that Shad hated him forwhat had happened at the Cabin but that in his heart he feared to comeout into the open where a repetition of his undoing in public mightdestroy his influence forever. So to Peter's face he was sullenlyobedient, taking care to give the appearance of carrying out his orders, while as soon as Peter's back was turned he laughed, loafed andencouraged others to do the same. 

And for the last week Peter had not liked the looks of things. At thelumber camp the work was almost at a standstill, and the sawmills weresilent. Jesse Brown had told him that Flynn and Jacobi had been at thebunk-house and that the men had voted him down when the foreman hadtried to send them away. It was clear that some radical step would haveto be taken at once to restore discipline or Peter's authority andusefulness as superintendent would be only a matter of hours. 

It was of all of these things that Peter thought as he bumped his way inthe "flivver" over the corduroy road through the swampy land which ledto the lower reserve, and as he neared the scene of these materialdifficulties all thought of Hawk Kennedy passed from his mind. There wasthe other danger too that had been one of the many subjects of theletter of Anastasie Galitzin, for Peter had no doubt now that theforeigner with the dark mustache who had followed him down from NewYork and who some weeks ago had been sent out of the camp was no otherthan the agent of the Soviets, who had forwarded to London theinformation as to his whereabouts. Peter had not seen this man since theday of his dismissal, but he suspected that he was in the plot withFlynn, Jacobi and perhaps Shad Wells to make mischief in the lumbercamp. 

The opportunity that Peter sought to bring matters to a focus was notlong in coming, for when he reached the sawmills, which had resumeddesultory operations, he found Flynn and Jacobi, the "Reds, " calmlyseated in the office, smoking and talking with Shad Wells. Peter hadleft his "flivver" up the road and his sudden entrance was a surprise. The men got up sullenly and would have slouched out of the door butPeter closed it, put his back to it, and faced them. He was cold withanger and held himself in with difficulty, but he had taken theirmeasure and meant to bring on a crisis, which would settle their statusand his own, once and for all time. 

"What are you doing here?" he began shortly, eying Flynn. 

The Irishman stuck his hands into his pockets and shrugged impudently. 

"That's my business, " he muttered. 

"H-m. You two men were discharged because you were incompetent, becauseyou were getting money you didn't earn and because you were trying topersuade others to be as worthless and useless as yourselves. You wereordered off the property----"

"Ye can't keep us off----"

"I'll come to that in a moment. What I want to say to you now is this, "said Peter, planting his barbs with the coolness of a matador baitinghis bull. "Some men go wrong because they've been badly advised, somebecause they can't think straight, others because they'd rather gowrong than right. Some of you 'Reds' believe in what you preach, thatthe world can be made over and all the money and the land divided up ina new deal. You two don't. You don't believe in anything except gettinga living without working for it--and trying to make honest men do thesame. You, Jacobi, are only a fool--a cowardly fool at that--who hidesbehind the coat-tails of a man stronger than you----"

"Look-a here, Mister----"

"Yes, Flynn's your master, but he isn't mine. And he isn't the master ofany man on this job while I'm superintendent----"

"We'll see about that, " said Flynn with a chuckle. 

"Yes, we will. Very soon. _Now_, as a matter of fact----"

"How?"

"By proving which is the better man--you or me----"

"Oh, it's a fight ye mean?"

"Exactly. "

The Irishman leered at him cunningly. 

"I'm too old a bird to be caught wit' that stuff--puttin' you wit' theright on yer side. We're afther sheddin' no blood here, Misther Nichols. We're on this job for peace an' justice fer all. "

"Then you're afraid to fight?"

"No. But I'm not a-goin' to----"

"Not if I tell you you're a sneak, a liar and a coward----"

Flynn's jaw worked and his glance passed from Jacobi to Wells. 

"I'll make ye eat them names backwards one day, Misther Nichols--but notnow--I'm here for a bigger cause. Stand away from the door. "

"In a moment. But first let me tell you this, and Shad Wells too. You're going out of this door and out of this camp, --all three of you. And if any one of you shows himself inside the limits of this propertyhe'll have to take the consequences. "

"Meanin' what?" asked Wells. 

"Meaning _me_, " said Peter, "and after me, the law. Now go. "

He stood aside and swung the door open with one hand, but he didn't takehis eyes from them. 

They laughed in his face, but they obeyed him, filing out into the open, and strolled away. 

Peter had hoped to coax a fight out of Flynn, thinking that the Irishblood in him couldn't resist his taunts and challenge. But Flynn hadbeen too clever for him. A defeat for Flynn meant loss of prestige, avictory possible prosecution. Either way he had nothing to gain. Perhapshe was just a coward like Jacobi or a beaten bully like Shad. Whateverhe was Flynn seemed very sure of himself and Peter, though apparentlymaster of the situation for the present, was conscious of a sense ofdefeat. He knew as Flynn did that no matter what forces he called to hisaid, it was practically impossible to keep trespassers off a property ofthis size, and that, after all, the success of his logging operationsremained with the men themselves. 

But he breathed more freely now that he had made his decision withregard to Shad Wells. He spent a large part of the morning going overthe mills, getting the men together and giving them a little talk, thenwent up to the camp in search of Jesse Brown. The news of his encounterwith Shad and the "Reds" had preceded him and he saw that trouble wasbrewing. Jesse Brown wagged his head in a deprecating way and tried toside-step the entire situation. But Peter had reached a point where hewas tired of equivocation. 

"I say, Jesse, " he said at last, "you've let things get into a prettybad mess down here. "

"I'm a peaceable man, Mr. Nichols, " said Jesse. "I've tried to steerthis camp along easy-like, 'til this bit of woods is cleared up and hereyou go stirrin' up a hornet's nest about our ears. "

Peter frowned. "You know as well as I do that the men are doing just asthey please. At the rate they're going they wouldn't have this sectionfinished by Christmas. I'm paying them for work they don't do and youknow it. I put you in here to see that McGuire gets what he's payingfor. You haven't done it. "

"I've done the best I could, " muttered Jesse. 

"That isn't the best I want. You knew Flynn and Jacobi were back in campyesterday. Why didn't you tell me so?"

"I can't do nothin'. They've got friends here. "

"And haven't you got friends here too? I sent those men out of camp. Ifthey're here again I'll find the power to arrest them. "

"I'd advise you not to try that. "

"Why?"

"They're stronger than you think. "

"I'll take my chances on that. But I want to know where you stand. Areyou with me or against me?"

"Well, " said Jesse, rubbing his head dubiously, "I'll do what I can. "

"All right. We'll make a fresh start. Round up all hands. I'm going totalk to them at dinner time. "

Jesse glanced at him, shrugged and went out and Peter went into theoffice where he spent the intervening time going over the books. It wasthere that one of the clerks, a man named Brierly, brought forth fromthe drawer of his desk a small pamphlet which he had picked up yesterdayin the bunk-house. Peter opened and read it. It was a copy of the newmanifest of the Union of Russian Workers and though written in English, gave every mark of origin in the Lenin-Trotzky regime and was cleverlywritten in catch phrases meant to trap the ignorant. It proposed todestroy the churches and erect in their stead places of amusement forthe working people. He read at random. "Beyond the blood-coveredbarricades, beyond all terrors of civil war, there already shines for usthe magnificent, beautiful form of man, without a God, without a master, and full of authority. " Fine doctrine this! The pamphlet derided the lawand the state, and urged the complete destruction of private ownership. It predicted the coming of the revolution in a few weeks, naming theday, of a general strike of all industries which would paralyze all thefunctions of commerce. It was Bolshevik in ideal, Bolshevik ininspiration and it opened Peter's eyes as to the venality of thegentleman with the black mustache. Brierly also told him that whisky hadbeen smuggled into the camp the night before and that a fire in thewoods had luckily been put out before it had become menacing. Brierlywas a discharged soldier who had learned something of the value ofobedience and made no effort to conceal his anxiety and his sympathies. He voiced the opinion that either Flynn or Jacobi had brought in theliquor. Peter frowned. Jesse Brown had said nothing of this. Theinference was obvious. 

At the dinner-shed, Peter was to be made aware immediately of thedifficulty of the task that confronted him, for dour looks met him onall sides. There were a few men who sat near him whom he thought hemight count on at a venture, but they were very few and their positionsdifficult. Some of the men still showed the effects of their drink andhurled epithets about the room, obviously meant for Peter's ear, but hesat through the meal patiently and then got to his feet and demandedtheir attention. 

As he began he was interrupted by hoots and cat-calls but he waitedcalmly for silence and seeing that they couldn't ruffle him bybuffoonery they desisted after a moment. 

"Men, I'm not going to take much of your time, " he said. "A short whileago I came down here and talked to you. Some of you seemed to befriendly toward me and those are the men I want to talk to now. Theothers don't matter. "

"Oh, don't they?" came a gruff voice from a crowd near the door. Andanother, "We'll see about that. "

Peter tried to find the speakers with his gaze for a moment and thenwent on imperturbably. "I'm going to talk to you in plain English, because some things have happened in this camp that are going to maketrouble for everybody, trouble for me, trouble for McGuire, but moretrouble for you. "

"That's what we're lookin' for--trouble----, " cried the same voice, andPeter now identified it as Flynn's, for the agitator had come back andstolen in unawares. 

"Ah, it's you, Flynn, " said Peter easily. "You've come back. " And thento the crowd, "I don't think Flynn is likely to be disappointed if he'slooking for trouble, " he said dryly. "Trouble is one of the few thingsin this world a man can find if he looks for it. "

"Aye, mon, an' without lookin' for it, " laughed a broad-chested Scot atPeter's table. 

"That's right. I met Flynn a while ago over in the office. I made him anoffer. I said I'd fight him fair just man to man, for our opinions. Herefused. I also told him he was a coward, a sneak and a liar. But hewouldn't fight--because he's what I said he was. "

"I'll show ye, Misther----, " shouted Flynn, "but I ain't ready yet. "

"You'll be ready when this meeting is over. And one of us is going outof this camp feet first. "

"We'll see about that. "

"One of us will. And I think I'll do the seeing. "

A laugh went up around Peter, drowned immediately by a chorus of jeersfrom the rear of the room. 

But Peter managed to be heard again. 

"Well, _I_ didn't come on this job looking for trouble, " he went oncoolly. "I wanted to help you chaps in any way I could. " ("The Hell youdid. ") "Yes, I did what I could for your comfort. I raised your wagesand I didn't ask more than an honest day's work from any one of you. Some of you have stuck to your jobs like men, in spite of the talkyou've heard all about you, and I thank you. You others, " he cried, toward the rear of the room, "I've tried to meet in a friendly spiritwhere I could, but some of you don't want friendship----" ("Not withyou, we don't. ") "Nor with any one else----" Peter shouted backdefiantly. "You don't know what friendship means, or you wouldn't try tomake discontent and trouble for everybody, when you're all getting agood wage and good living conditions. " ("That ain't enough!")

Peter calmly disregarded the interruptions and went on. "Perhaps youfellows think I don't know what socialism means. I do. To the truesocialist, socialism is nothing else but Christianity. It's justfriendship, that's all. He believes in helping the needy and the weak. He believes in defending his own life and happiness and the happiness ofothers. " ("That's true--that's right. ") "And he believes that the worldcan be led and guided by a great brotherhood of humanity seeking justlaws and equality for all men. " (Conflicting cries of "That's notenough!" and "Let him speak!") "But I know what anarchy means too, because less than six months ago I was in Russia and I saw the hellishthing at work. I saw men turn and kill their neighbors because theneighbors had more than they had; I saw a whole people starving, womenwith children at the breast, men raging, ready to fly at one another'sthroats from hunger, from anger, from fear of what was coming next. Thatis what anarchy means. "

"What you say is a lie, " came a clear voice in English, with a slightaccent. A man had risen at the rear of the room and stood facing Peter. He was not very tall and he was not in working clothes, but Peterrecognized him at once as the man with the dark mustache, the mysteriousstranger who had followed him to Black Rock. Peter set his jaw andshrugged. He was aware now of all the forces with which he had to deal. 

"What does anarchy mean, then?" he asked coolly. 

"You know what it means, " said the man, pointing an accusing finger atPeter. "It means only the end of all autocracy whether of money or ofpower, the destruction of class distinction and making the workingclasses the masters of all general wealth which they alone produce andto which they alone are entitled. "

A roar of approval went up from the rear of the room and cries of, "Goit, Bolsche, " and "Give him Hell, Yakimov. "

Peter waited until some order was restored, but he knew now that thistype of man was more to be feared than Flynn or any other professionalagitator of the I. W. W. When they had first come face to face, thisRussian had feigned ignorance of English, but now his clearly enunciatedphrases, though unpolished, indicated a perfect command of the language, and of his subject. That he should choose this time to come out into theopen showed that he was more sure of himself and of his audience thanPeter liked. And Peter had no humor to match phrases with him. Whateverhis own beliefs since he had come to America, one fact stood clear: Thathe was employed to get this work done and that Yakimov, Flynn and otherswere trying to prevent it. It was to be no contest of philosophies butof personalities and Peter met the issue without hesitation. 

"You are a communist then and not a socialist, " said Peter, "one whobelieves in everybody sharing alike whether he works for it or not--oran anarchist who believes in the destruction of everything. You're anagent of the Union of Russian Workers, aren't you?"

"And what if I am----?"

"Oh, nothing, except that you have no place in a nation like the UnitedStates, which was founded and dedicated to an ideal, higher than any youcan ever know----"

"An ideal--with money as its God----"

"And what's your God, Yakimov?"

"Liberty----"

"License! You want to inflame--pillage--destroy--And what then?"

"You shall see----"

"What I saw in Russia--no wages for any one, no harvests, factoriesidle, blood--starvation--if that's what you like, why did you leavethere, Yakimov?"

The man stood tense for a second and then spoke with a clearness heardin every corner of the room. 

"I came for another reason than yours. I came to spread the gospel oflabor triumphant. _You_ came because----" Here the Russian leanedforward, shaking his fist, his eyes suddenly inflamed and hissing hiswords in a fury. "_You_ came because you believed in serfs and humanslavery--because your own land spewed you out from a sick stomach, because you were one of the rotting sores in its inside--that had madeRussia the dying nation that she was; because it was time that yourcountry and my country cleansed herself from such as you. That's whyyou came. And we'll let these men judge which of us they want to leadthem here. "

The nature of the attack was so unexpected that Peter was taken for amoment off his guard. A dead silence had fallen upon the room as theauditors realized that a game was being played here that was not on thecards. Peter felt the myriads of eyes staring at him, and beyond themhad a vision of a prostrate figure in the corner of a courtyard, theblood reddening his blouse under the falling knout. They were allMichael Kuprins, these foreigners who stared at him, all the grievancesborn of centuries of oppression. And as Peter did not speak at once, Yakimov pursued his advantage. 

"I did not come here to tell who this man is, " he shouted, "this man whotells you what liberty is. But you ought to know. It's your right. Youknow why Russia rose and threw off the yoke of bondage of centuries. Itwas because this man before you who calls himself Peter Nichols andothers like him bound the people to work for him by terrible laws, taxedthem, starved them, beat them, killed them, that he and others like himmight buy jewels for their mistresses and live in luxury and ease, onthe sweat of the labor of the people. And he asks me why I came toAmerica! It was for a moment such as this that I was sent here to findhim out that I might meet him face to face and confront him with hiscrimes--and those of his father--against humanity. "

Yakimov paused suddenly in his furious tirade for lack of breath and inthe deathly silence of the room, there was a sudden stir as a richbrogue queried anxiously of nobody in particular:

"Who in Hell _is_ he, then?"

"I'll tell you who he is, " the Russian went on, getting his breath. "He's one of the last of a race of tyrants and oppressors, the worstthe world has ever known--in Russia the downtrodden. He fled to Americato hide until the storm had blown over, hoping to return and take hisplace again at the head of a new government of the Democrats and theBourgeoisie--the Grand Duke Peter Nicholaevitch!"

The uproar that filled the room for a moment made speech impossible. Butevery eye was turned on Peter now, some in incredulity, some inmalevolence, and some in awe. He saw that it was now useless to deny hisidentity even if he had wished to do so, and so he stood squarely on hisfeet, staring at Yakimov, who still leaned forward menacingly, shriekingabove the tumult, finally making himself heard. 

"And this is the man who dares to talk to you about a brotherhood ofhumanity, just laws and equality among men! This tyrant and son oftyrants, this representative of a political system that you and men likeyou have overthrown for all time. Is this the man you'll take yourorders from? Or from the Union of Russian Workers which hates and killsall oppressors who stand in the way of the rights and liberties of theworkers of the world!"

A roar of negation went up from the rear of the room, and an ominousmurmur spread from man to man. Only those grouped around Peter, someAmericans, the Scot, Brierly, the ex-soldier, Jesse Brown, and one ortwo of the Italians remained silent, but whether in awe of Peter or ofhis position could not be determined. But Peter still stood, his handsin his pockets, firm of jaw and unruffled. It has been said that Peterhad a commanding air when he chose and when he slowly raised a hand forsilence the uncouth "Reds" at the rear of the room obeyed him, themenacing growl sinking to a mere murmur. But he waited until perfectsilence was restored. And then quietly, "What this man has said is true, " he announced calmly. "I _am_ PeterNicholaevitch. I came to America as you have come--to make my way. Whatdoes it matter who my fathers were? I am not responsible for what myfathers did before me. I am only responsible for what I am--myself. Ifthis man in whom you put your trust would speak the truth, he would tellyou that I tried to bring peace and brotherhood into the part of Russiawhere I lived----"

"He lies----"

"I speak the truth. There people knew that I was their friend. They cameto me for advice. I helped them----"

"Then why did they burn down your castle?" broke in Yakimovtriumphantly. 

"Because people such as you from the Soviet came among honest andpeaceful men, trying to make them as mad as you--I came from Russia tofind new life, work, peace and happiness. I came to build. You came todestroy. And I intend to build and you shall not destroy. If the madnessof Russia comes to Black Rock it will be because mad dogs come foamingat the mouth and making others mad----"

A savage cry went up and a glass came hurtling at Peter's head, but itmissed him and crashed against the wall behind him. That crash of glassliberated the pent-up forces in the hearts of these men, for in a momentthe place was in a furious uproar, the men aligning themselves in twocamps, that of Peter and his friends much the smaller. 

Peter retreated a pace or two as a shot was fired from a revolver, butthe Scot and Brierly and two of the Americans joined him and met thefirst onslaught bravely. The handful of men was forced back against thewall by sheer weight of numbers, but they struck out manfully with theirfists, with chairs, and with their feet, with any object that came tohand, and men went down with bleeding heads. Peter was armed but he didnot wish to kill any one--his idea being to make a successful retreat tothe office, where the telephone would put him in touch with May'sLanding and reinforcements. Yakimov stood at the edge of the crowd, waving a revolver, when a well-aimed missile from the hand of the Scotsent him sprawling to the floor among the benches. 

Peter and his crowd had fought their way to the door, when Flynn andJacobi who had led a group of men by the other door, fell on them fromthe rear. Between the two groups their position was hopeless but Peterfought his way out into the open, dodging a blow from Jacobi and usingthe terrible _savate_ in Flynn's stomach, just as Shad Wells rushed athim from one side. Peter saw the blow coming from a broken axhandle--buthe had no time to avoid it. Instinctively he ducked his head and threwup his left arm, but the bludgeon descended and Peter fell, rememberingnothing more. 

CHAPTER XX

THE RUSSIAN PAYS

When Peter came back to consciousness, he found himself lying in theshelter of the underbrush alone. And while he attempted to gather hisscattered wits together a figure came creeping through the bushes towardhim. It was Brierly, the clerk, carrying a hatful of water which he hadprocured from the neighboring rivulet. Brierly had a lump on hisforehead about the size of a silver dollar, and his disheveledappearance gave evidence of an active part in the mêlée. 

"What's happened?" asked Peter slowly, starting up as memory came backto him. 

But Brierly didn't answer at once. 

"Here, drink this. I don't think you're badly hurt----"

"No. Just dazed a bit, " muttered Peter, and let Brierly minister to himfor a moment. 

"You see, there were too many for us, " Brierly explained. "We made apretty good fight of it at that, but they buried us by sheer weight ofnumbers. Yours isn't the only bruised head, though. Yakimov got hisearly in the game--and Jacobi. And gee! but that was a 'beaut' youhanded Flynn--right in the solar plexus with your heel. The_savate_--wasn't it? I saw a Frenchy pull that in a dive in Bordeaux. Ireckon Flynn won't be doin' much agitatin' for a while--except in hisstommick. "

"How did I get here?" asked Peter. 

"I hauled you into the bush as soon as I got a chance--in theconfusion--and gradually, got you back in here. But I think they'relookin' for us, so we'd better get a move on soon as you're fit enough. "

"Where's Jesse?"

"Beat it, I reckon. Haven't seen him. "

"I see. " And then, "Brierly, I'm obliged to you. I'll try to make it upto you for this. "

"You needn't bother. I'm for you. You can't let a lot of roughnecks putit over on you like this. "

"No--I can't--I can't, " muttered Peter. 

"I wish we had a bunch of the boys I was with over in France down here. There's a few up in May's Landing who'd clean this lot up in no time. "

"I wish we had them. " Peter straightened with some difficulty and roseto a sitting posture as the thought came to him. "I've got to get to the'phone, Brierly. "

"No. I wouldn't advise that--not here. Those roughnecks are between usand the office--in the office too, I reckon, by this time. It wouldn'tbe safe. Who were you goin' to 'phone to?"

"May's Landing--the Sheriff. I'm going to see this thing through. "

"Righto! And I'm with you to a fare-ye-well. But it's got to be manageddifferent. They'll beat you to death if you show up now. It was Yakimovthat shot at you. He's after you. You were armed. It's a wonder youdidn't shoot him down. " And then, with some hesitation, "Say, Mr. Nichols. You ain't really the Grand Duke Peter, are you?"

Peter smiled. "What's left of him--I am. This man Yakimov is an agent ofTrotzky. "

Brierly whistled softly between his teeth. "I reckon _they_ want to getyou, don't they?"

Peter nodded. "But they won't--not yet. "

They held a brief council of war and in a moment on hands and kneeswere making their way through the underbrush in the general direction ofBlack Rock. Behind them they heard rough laughter and an occasionaloutburst of song which proclaimed that new supplies of whisky had beenunearthed and that the anarchy which Yakimov so much desired nowprevailed. After a while, Peter managed to get to his feet and moved onat a greater speed. He had only been stunned by Shad's blow--a part ofthe force of which he had caught on his arm. The arm was still numb andhis head thumped, but as he went on in the cool air his brain clearedand he found it possible to plan with some definiteness. Brierly knewthe sheriff at May's Landing. There was nothing his friends would ratherdo than to be sworn in as deputies for a job like this. He had thoughtit a wonder that Peter hadn't called the Sheriff in before. 

"I thought I could manage the situation alone, Brierly, " said Peterquietly, "but it's got the best of me. "

The way was long to Black Rock--at least eight miles by the way theytook--and it was almost six o'clock when, they reached McGuire's. Theyknew that with the "flivver" in the possession of the outlaws it wasquite possible that some of the ringleaders of the disturbance mighthave preceded them, and so they kept under cover until near the house, when they quickly emerged from the bushes and made their way to thekitchen door, entering without knocking. 

An unpleasant surprise awaited them here, for in the kitchen, securelygagged and bound to a chair, they found McGuire's valet, Stryker. 

It took only a moment to release the man and to get the gag out of hismouth, when he began sputtering and pointing toward the door into thehouse. 

"Hawk--Hawk Kennedy!" the amazed Peter made out. 

And after staring at the man in a moment of bewilderment, Peter drewout his revolver and dashed through the house, keyed up at once to newadventure, the eager Brierly at his heels. They went up the stairs andto the door of McGuire's own room, where they stood for a moment aghastat the disorder and havoc before them. 

Papers and books were scattered everywhere upon the floor, chairs wereoverturned, and the door of the safe was ajar. At first he saw no one, but when Peter entered the room he heard a sound from the corner beyondthe table, a sound halfway between a gasp and a groan, and there hefound his employer, Jonathan K. McGuire, doubled up on the floor, boundand trussed like his valet and quite as helpless. It was evident thatthe long awaited terror had come to Black Rock. 

But if he was dismayed and frightened it seemed that McGuire wasuninjured and when he was released he was lifted to his feet and achair, into which he sank speechless for a moment of rehabilitation. There was no need to question him as to what had happened in this room, for the evidences of Hawk's visit and its purpose were all too evident. Without a word to McGuire, Peter found the telephone in the hall, calledfor May's Landing, then turning the instrument over to Brierly, withinstructions as to what he was to do, returned to McGuire's room andclosed the door behind him. 

"Well, sir, " he said briefly. "I see he's come. "

"My God, yes, " gasped McGuire. "And you know what he came for--he gotit, Nichols. He got it. "

"That proves that he _had_ lost the duplicate, " said Peter quietly. "Howdid it all happen?"

The old man drew a trembling hand across his brow. 

"He took me off my guard--all of us. I don't know. It only happened halfan hour ago. Where's Stryker?"

"He was tied to a chair in the kitchen. We let him loose. He's outsidesomewhere. "

"And Mrs. Bergen and Sarah?"

"I don't know, sir. "

Peter went to the door and called Stryker and that bewildered personappeared at the foot of the steps with Mrs. Bergen and Sarah who hadbeen locked in the cellar. Peter called them up and they all beganscreaming their tale at once. But at last Peter got at the facts. HawkKennedy had come suddenly into the kitchen where the two women were and, brandishing a revolver, commanding silence, threatening death if theymade a sound. He had surprised the valet in the lower hall and hadmarched him back into the kitchen, where he had bound him to a chairwith a clothes-line and then gagged him. 

McGuire waved the trio out of the room when their story was told, andsignaled to Peter to close the door again, when he took up hisinterrupted tale. 

"I was at the window, looking out, Nichols. I didn't expect him for acouple of weeks anyway. I'd just about gotten my nerve back. But he gotthe drop on me, Nichols. How he ever got into the room without myhearin' him! I must have been in a trance. His shoes were off. The firstthing I know is a voice close at my ear and a gun in my ribs. I turnedquick--but my gun was in the table drawer. His face was close to mineand I knew he meant business. If I'd 'a' moved he'd 'a' killed me. So Iput my hands up. There wasn't anything else to do. I thought I'd playfor time but he caught my glance toward the door and only laughed. 

"'There ain't anybody comin', Mike, ' he says. 'It's just you an' me. ' Iasked him what he wanted and he grinned. 'You know, ' he says. And withhis left hand he brought out a rope he had stuffed in his pocket. 'I'llfix _you_ first. Then we'll talk, ' he says. He was cool like he alwayswas. He caught a slip noose around my wrists before I knew it, twistedthe rope around me and threw me over on the floor. I tell you that manis the devil himself. "

"What then?"

"He made me give up the keys to the drawers in the safe--it was openjust like it is now. I wouldn't speak at first but he kicked me and thenput the gun at my head. I still hoped some one would come. I gave in atlast. He found it. My God!" The old man aroused himself with an effortand rose to his feet. "But we've got to catch him--just you and I. Hecan't have gone far. We've got the right to shoot him now--to shoot onsight----"

"Yes--yes. I'm getting the Sheriff at May's Landing now----"

"The Sheriff!" The Irishman's small eyes stared and then became alive insudden comprehension. "Not the Sheriff, Nichols. I won't have him. "

"You've got to--at once. " And then rapidly Peter gave an account of whathad happened at the logging camp. But it seemed to have no effect uponMcGuire, who listened with glassy eyes. He was obsessed with theother--the graver danger. 

"We'll keep this thing quiet if you like--the real meaning of thisvisit, and we've got to pick up his trail. But we can't let those men atthe camp have the run of the place. They'll be looting this house next. "And then, as McGuire seemed to agree, Peter went to the door and foundBrierly still on the 'phone. He was talking to the Sheriff and had toldthe whole story. The Sheriff had already heard something about the BlackRock camp trouble and would be ready to move in an hour. 

"Tell him to move fast and to come to McGuire's first, " said Peter. "Andyou'll be here to show him the way. "

Brierly nodded and finished the message, while Peter returned toMcGuire. 

"What else did Kennedy say?" Peter asked him. 

"He asked a lot of questions--about you and Beth Cameron--about themoney--about what I'd promised you. He's the very devil, I tell you. Heknows everything. He said he'd 'get' you and that he'd 'get' BethCameron. "

Peter caught McGuire fiercely by the shoulder. "What did you say? Areyou sure?"

With all of his other troubles Peter had forgotten Beth and now thoughtguiltily of the possible danger to which she might have been subjected. 

How could Hawk have found out about Beth Cameron?

"What I told you, " muttered McGuire wearily, "he said he'd 'get'her----"

Sick with anxiety, Peter flung away from his protesting employer andmade for the door, rushing past the astonished Brierly in the hall, downthe stairs and out at a run over the bridge and through the village tothe Bergen house. The door was open and he rushed in, calling Beth'sname. There was no response. Now desperate and fearing the worst, he ranfrom room to room, downstairs and up. There were signs of her--a towelon a chair, a broom leaning against a door upstairs, the neatly madebeds, the orderly kitchen, giving evidence of the morning cleaning, butno supper cooking on the stove, the fire of which had burned to cinders. She had not been here for a long while--since early morning possibly. But where had she gone--where? Hawk Kennedy would hardly have dared tocome here--to the village--hardly have succeeded in enticing her awayfrom this house, surrounded by neighbors--still less have succeeded incarrying her off without their knowledge. He rushed out into the roadand questioned. No one seemed to have seen her. The eagerness andsuppressed anxiety of Peter's manner quickly drew a crowd which felt thecontagion of his excitement. A man joined the group. Yes. He had seenBeth in the morning early. She was hurrying down the path which led intothe pines. He had not seen her since. 

Peter glanced at him just once more to be sure that he was speaking thetruth and then, without a thought as to the impression he had created inthe minds of the villagers, set off running through the path toward hiscabin. 

Fool that he had been! To leave Beth unguarded--unwarned even--with Hawkwithin a quarter of a mile of her. Why had he not seen the hand of fatein Beth's presence here at Black Rock near McGuire, the man who hadwronged her father--the hand of fate, which with unerring definitenesswas guiding the principals in this sordid tragedy together from the endsof the earth for a reckoning? And what was this reckoning to be? McGuirehad already fallen a victim to the man's devilish skill and audacity. And Beth----? What match was she for a clever desperate rogue who balkedat nothing? How had he learned of Beth's existence and how, knowing ofit, had he managed to beguile her away from the village? Peter wasbeginning to believe with McGuire that Hawk Kennedy was indeed in leaguewith the devil. 

Peter was not now aware of any pain or even of bodily fatigue, for therewas no room in his mind for any thought of self. Scarcely conscious ofhis new exertions, he ran across the log-jam below the pool and up thepath to the Cabin. What he expected to find there he did not know, butit seemed clear that Beth had come this way in the morning and if not tothe Cabin, where else? Hawk had been here when she had come into thewoodland path. That was enough. As he reached the turn in the path, hesaw that the door of the Cabin was open and when he rushed in, preparedfor anything, he saw that the room was unoccupied. He stood aghast for amoment, trying to adjust his mind to take in logically the evidence hefound there--the overturned chair, the blankets dragging on the floorby the bed, the broken water pitcher, the opened bureau drawers, thetorn bits of linen--parts of his own handkerchiefs--upon the floor--allvisible signs' of a commotion, perhaps of a struggle, that had takenplace. And then under the table he espied a square of heliotrope paper. He picked it up quickly and took it to the light of the window. It wasthe envelope of the letter he had received from Anastasie Galitzin. Andwhat was this----? A scrawl in Beth's hand, "You left _this_ last night. You'd better go back to Anastasie. "

Bewildered for a moment, Peter stared at the forceful characters of thehandwriting, written hurriedly in a scrawl of lead pencil, and then theprobable sequence of events came to him with a rush. She had opened thenote of Anastasie Galitzin and read it. What had it said? He hadforgotten details. But there were phrases that might have beenmisconstrued. And Beth----. He could see her now coming up the path, herhead high, seeking explanations--and meeting Hawk!

But where was the letter itself? He searched for it without success. Hawk! The answer to all of his questions was in the personality of theman as Peter knew him. The bits of torn linen and Beth's ownhandkerchief, which he found in the corner of the bed against the wall, crumpled into a ball and still moist with her tears, were mute buteloquent evidences of her suffering and torture in the presence of thisman who had not been too delicate in the means by which he hadaccomplished her subjugation. 

Peter raged up and down the floor of the Cabin like a caged animal. Whatmust he do--which way turn? That Hawk had gagged and bound her wasobvious. But what then? He rushed outside and examined the shrubberyaround the Cabin. There was nothing to indicate the direction in whichhe had taken her--and the forest at his very elbow stretched for milesin all directions, a hiding place that had served other guilty onesbefore Hawk--the New Jersey pines that he had learned to love, nowwrapped in a conspiracy of silence. It would be dusk very soon. A searchof the pine barrens at night would be hopeless. Besides, Hawk had hadthe whole of the morning and most of the afternoon in which to carry outhis purpose. .. . What was that purpose? Where had he taken Beth? Wherehad he left her when he had returned to Black Rock House to rob McGuire?Or had he. .. ? Impossible! Even Hawk wouldn't have dared. .. . Peterclenched his fists in agony and rage at the terrible thoughts that cameswarming into his brain, driving out all reason. 

His Highness had suffered greatly the last few years of his life, thephysical pain of wounds received in battle, the mental pain of fallinghopes, of fallen pride, of disillusionment, but he could not rememberany pain that had seemed to matter like the anguish of the presentmoment. The other sufferings were those of the Grand Duke PeterNicholaevitch, material sufferings born of his high estate. But thispresent suffering was primitive. It wrenched at the very fibers of theheart, for the love that he had found was a finer thing than had everhappened in his life, a love which asked nothing and only craved the joyof giving. And this woman--this mate that he had chosen out of all thewomen that he had known in the world. .. !

Hawk Kennedy would have fared badly if Peter could have had him withinarm's reach at that moment. But after a time, as Peter went into theCabin, he grew calmer, and pacing the floor for a while, began to thinkmore lucidly. Less than an hour ago Hawk Kennedy had been at Black RockHouse giving Jonathan McGuire and Stryker their unpleasant half-hour. Hewouldn't have dared to return and accomplish what he had done after adeed so terrible as that which had entered Peter's thoughts. He wasstill a human being and Beth. .. . He couldn't have killed Beth out ofhand. The thought was monstrous--even of Hawk. 

He had taken her somewhere--to one of his hiding-places in the woods, and proposed keeping her, the legal heir of Ben Cameron, for ransom, asa part of his plot to win his share of the McGuire fortune. He hadstolen the telltale agreement too and now held all the cards--all ofthem. 

Peter paused standing by the window seat, looking out at the leavesfalling in the rising wind, his mind already resolved on a plan. He wasabout to turn toward the telephone, when he noted a commotion in thebushes opposite his window. A flash of fire almost at the same moment, acrash of broken glass, and the hair on his head twitched violently. 

Instinctively Peter dropped to the floor. 

Close shooting! His scalp stung uncomfortably--but aside from that heknew that he was not hurt. A fraction of an inch lower----

Hawk----! His first impulse had been to rush to the door--but the eventsof the day had taught him caution and so he crouched, drawing hisrevolver. Too much depended upon his existence at the present moment totake a chance in the open with a hidden enemy--especially if that enemywere Hawk Kennedy. He listened intently. No sound. Then the breaking ofa twig and the sibilance of whispering voices--two of them--perhapsmore. And still Peter did not move. His quick thinking had done him aservice. It was clear that the men outside had decided that the shot hadtaken effect. 

And now, instead of creeping to the doorway, Peter settled back upon thefloor again, prostrate, but in such a position that his eyes and hisrevolver commanded the entrance to the Cabin. He waited. It was anerve-racking business but the thought of all that depended upon hissafety steadied him into a preternatural calm like that which falls atthe presence of death. Death was imminent here for some one. It lurkedjust outside. It lurked in the finger that Peter held against thetrigger. And Peter meant that the adventure should end at the doorway. 

Presently he heard a gentle shuffling of feet outside and the whisperagain, this time quite distinctly, "You got him, I reckon. "

Whose voice was that? Not Hawk Kennedy's . .. Peter lowered his head tohis arm and closed his eyes, watching the door-jamb through hiseyelashes, his revolver hidden but its muzzle in line. A bulky shadow onthe step, a foot and then a head cautiously protruded--that of ShadWells, followed immediately by another, swathed in a bandage which onlypartially concealed the dark eyes and beard of Yakimov the Russian. Ittook considerable exercise of will on Peter's part to remain quiescentwith the stare of those four eyes upon him, especially when he noted theweapon in the fingers of the Russian. But he waited until the two mengot into the room. 

"There he is. You got him, Yakimov, " said Shad with a laugh. 

"Perhaps----" Peter heard, "but I'll make sure of it----"

Yakimov's pistol rose slowly, halfway to the level of his eyes. But itwas never fired, for Peter's revolver flashed fire, twice--three times, and Yakimov with a sudden wide stare at vacancy pitched forward andcrashed down. The surprise was complete, for a fourth shot went into theright arm of Shad Wells, which ruined his shot and sent his weaponclattering to the floor. 

Peter had taken Shad's measure once before and the memory of the blowfrom the axhandle earlier in the day did nothing to soften Peter'sintent. The quick command as he scrambled to his feet and the sight ofthe imminent weapon caused Shad suddenly to forget everything but thedesire, whatever else happened, not to die as Yakimov had done. And sohe put his hands up--staggering back against the wall. Peter, with hisweapon still covering Shad, put his fingers over Yakimov's heart. Theman was dead. Then he rose soberly and faced Shad. 

"I ought to kill you like the dog that you are, " he said tensely, "but Iwant to question you first. Stand over by the bed. "

Shad obeyed and Peter, watching him closely, picked up his weapon andYakimov's and examined them carefully, putting one in his pocket andlaying the other beside him on the mantel. But all the fight was out ofShad, who stood stupidly while Peter bound his wrists behind him. Theman was badly hurt, but it was no time for Peter to be playing the goodSamaritan. 

"So much for keeping bad company, " said Peter coolly. "You'll find moreof the same sort in the lock-up at May's Landing. "

"You daresn't send me there, " muttered Shad, with a feeble attempt atbravado. 

"Won't I? You'll see--for attempted murder. The Sheriff is on his wayhere now. Have you anything to say?"

Shad was silent, eying the dead man. 

"Oh, very well, " said Peter. He closed and locked the door and, keepingthe man covered with his revolver, moved to the telephone and gotMcGuire at Black Rock House, telling him in a few phrases what hadhappened. 

"Yes, Yakimov the Russian--I shot him. .. . Yes. .. . I killed him. It wasto save my own life. .. . Shad Wells. .. . A prisoner. Send Brierly with acar down here at once. Hawk has been here too and has met Beth Cameron. .. God knows. He has taken her away with him somewhere--abductedher. .. . Yes . .. Yes . .. I've got to find her. Yes, _Beth_--can't youunderstand?. .. She came here to bring me a letter . .. I found it. Hawkwas here early this morning. .. . I know it. He bound her with some of myhandkerchiefs . .. No, there's no doubt of it--none at all. .. . I can'tstand here talking. Send Brierly at once. Understand?"

And Peter hung up the receiver and turned toward Shad, who was leaningforward toward him, his face pale, his mouth agape at what he had heard. But Peter, unaware of the sudden transformation in his prisoner, onlyglanced at him and bending over began a search of the pockets of thedead man, when Shad's voice cut the silence----

"You--you say----, " he stammered chokingly, "you say B-Beth has beenabducted, Mister--Beth Cameron?"

Peter straightened, his eyes searching the lumberman's face. 

"Yes. To-day--this morning, " he answered crisply. "What of it? Do youknow anything----?"

"Hawk Kennedy took her?" the man faltered. "Are you sure?"

Peter sprang up, his eyes blazing with eagerness. 

"What do you know of Hawk Kennedy?" he cried. And then, as Shad seemedsuddenly to have been stricken dumb, Peter seized him by the shoulderand shook him. "Speak! Do you know Hawk Kennedy?"

"Yes, " said Shad in a bewildered way. "I do--but Beth----"

"He's taken her away--don't you understand?"

"W-Why?"

"God knows, " said Peter wildly. "It's part of a plot--againstMcGuire--to get money. Do you know where he is? Do you know where he'sgone with her? Speak, man! Or must I----?"

"I know him. I've seen him----, " muttered Shad with a hang-dog air. 

"To-day?"

"No. "

Peter gasped in disappointment, but still questioned quickly. 

"Where did you see him?"

"Down near the camp. He came back again yesterday. He'd been away----"

"Yes, yes, I know. What did he say?"

"Oh, he was very peart--swaggered around like he owned the place andtalked about a lot of money he was goin' to have. An' how he was----"

"Do you know where he took Beth Cameron?" broke in Peter again. 

"No. I don't--My God--_him!_"

"Yes, _him_. You know what it means. He'd kill her if he dared. "

"Would he? My God! Mister. You can't let----"

"No. No. " And then, sharply, "Speak up, Wells, and I'll set you free. Doyou know where he could have taken her?"

"I'm not sure, but maybe----"

"Where----?"

"He stayed down at the Forks----"

"Yes. But he wouldn't have dared to take her there----"

"No. That's so. Maybe----"

"Where?"

"Some other place----"

"Of course. Was there any other place that he knew about?"

"Yes, there was. But when he first came he rode down on a horse fromHammonton. "

"Yes, yes. Go on. And later----"

"He used to come around the camp for food. It was when you first came onthe job. But he bought it and paid for it. "

"I don't care about that. Where was he hiding?"

"Back in the woods. He used to sleep in the old tool house down by thecedar swamp. "

Peter was now on edge with excitement. 

"Do you think he'd be likely to take Beth there?"

"How should I know? Maybe he took her to Hammonton or Egg Harbor. "

"No. He wouldn't have had time. Where's this tool house?"

"About half a mile from the mills. "

"Could you show me the way?"

"I reckon I could----, " Shad Wells sank into a chair and bent his head. "My God! Mister. If I'd only 'a' known! If you'd only let me help you--Ican't stand thinkin' of anythin' happenin' to Beth--you an' me--we ain'tgot along, an' maybe you've got the upper hand of me, but----"

"We've got to forget that now, " put in Peter quickly, and taking out hishasp knife he cut the cords that bound Shad's wrists. "Just to show youthat I mean what I say. " And then, soberly, "You know these woods. Helpme to find Beth Cameron and I'll make no charge against you. Is that abargain?"

"Yes, Mister. "

Peter glanced at his face and at the blood dripping from his fingerends. The man was suffering much pain but he hadn't whimpered. 

"All right. Take off your coat and I'll tie your arm up first. "

Silently Shad rose and obeyed while Peter got water and washed thewound, a clean one right through the muscles of the forearm. But nobones were broken and Peter bandaged it skillfully. Shad clenched hisjaws during the washing of the wound but he said nothing more. Peterknew that the man still hated him but he knew also that Shad was nowpowerless to do him any injury, and that there was a tie to bind themnow into this strange alliance. As Peter finished the bandaging and wasimprovising a sling for the wounded arm, Shad crumpled side-long uponthe edge of the bed, his face ghastly, and would have fallen to thefloor if Peter hadn't held him upright, and half carried him to thearmchair. Then Peter unlocked a cupboard and brought forth whisky, giving Shad half a tumblerful and in a moment the man began to revive. So Peter poured another glass and slowly Shad pulled himself together. 

"Perhaps you're not up to it----, " Peter began. 

But Shad wagged his head with some determination. 

"Yes, I--I'm up to it all right. I've got to go, Mister. We'll find herif she's in these woods----"

"Bully for you. Feeling better now?"

Shad nodded and then raised his head, staring with a frown out of thewindow by the piano. Peter had been so absorbed in his task of settingthe man to rights that he had not noticed the dull glow that had risenin the southern sky. And following Shad's glance he turned his head andlooked out of the window. At first he thought it might be the afterglowof the sunset until a word from Shad aroused him to the realsignificance of the light. 

"Fire!" gasped the lumberman. 

"Fire!" echoed Peter, aghast. 

"They've set the woods afire, Mister, " muttered Shad helplessly. 

At the same moment the telephone from the house began janglingfuriously. It was McGuire, who had made the same discovery. 

"Yes, " replied Peter to the hysterical questions. "It's the lumber camp. They've broken loose and set the woods afire. You've got to get all themen you can together and rush them down there. Where's Brierly? On theway? Oh, all right. Good. He'll take me down and I'll send him back. .. . Yes. I've got a clew to Hawk . .. I don't know, but I'm going to try it. I'm taking Shad Wells with me . .. The old tool house by the cedar swamp. Brierly will know. Send the men on in relays when they come--withshovels and sacks. .. . What did you say?. .. What?. .. Oh, 'D----n thewoods. '. .. All right. I'll get the paper if I can . .. Yes. It's myaffair as much as yours now. .. . Yes. .. . Good-by. "

Peter hung up the receiver and turned to Shad, who had risen, his arm inthe sling, just as Brierly came running up the path to the door. 

CHAPTER XXI

THE INFERNO

The way through the woods was long, but Beth stumbled on, urged by therough tone and strong hand of her captor. She knew the woods well, better than Hawk, but she had never ventured so far into the forest ashe led her. She felt very certain that he knew even less than she of theway he was taking, and that his object in avoiding the roads and pathswhich led to the southward was to keep her hidden from the eyes of anypersons that might be met on the paths between Black Rock and the lumbercamp. But after a while she began to think that he knew with more orless definiteness the general direction in which they were moving, forhe stopped from time to time to look at the sun and get his bearings. And then with a gruff word he would move on again, always to the southand east, and she knew that he had already decided upon theirdestination. With her hands still bound behind her, progress through theunderbrush was difficult, for the branches stung her like whip-lashes, and thorn-bushes caught at her arms and tore her flimsy frock to shreds. The gag in her mouth made breathing painful, but Hawk seemed to beunaware of her sufferings or purposely oblivious of them, for he hardlyglanced at her and said no word except to urge her on to greaterexertion. 

When they approached the road which he wanted to cross, he warned herwith an oath to remain where he left her and went forward toinvestigate, after which he returned and hurried her across into thethicket upon the other side. And it was not until they were securelyhidden again far from the sight of any possible passers-by that heuntied the bonds at her wrists and took the gag from her mouth. But sheknew more than ever that she was completely in his power. 

He was sinister. He typified terror, physical and mental--and behind thethreat of his very presence lay the gruesome vision of sand and sun andthe bearded man lying with the knife in his back. She tried to summonher native courage to combat her fears, to believe that the situation inwhich she found herself was not so evil as she imagined it--and thatsoon Hawk Kennedy would have a change of heart and give her a chance tospeak in her own behalf. But he silenced her gruffly whenever sheaddressed him and she gave up at last, in fear of bringing his wrathupon her. She could see that he was deeply intent upon his object to gether away from Black Rock where none could find her. And what then?

In a wild impulse--a moment of desperation, she broke away from him andran, but he caught her easily, for by this time she was very tired. Again, she thought of a struggle with him hand to hand, but he read hermind and drew a pistol, pushing her on ahead of him as before, threatening bodily injury. By this time she had learned to believe himcapable of any cruelty. But she thanked God that the dangers thatthreatened were only those which could come from a brutal enemy and inhis very brutality she even found refuge from the other and moreterrible alternative of his amiability. As Hawk had said, he wasn't "onthat lay this trip. "

But what his ultimate purpose was she had no means of determining. Sheknew that he was totally without scruple and had thought in her firstmoments of terror that he meant to take her far back into the woods--andthere kill her as he had done her father, thus again destroying allclaim. But as the moments passed and she saw that he had some definiteobjective, the feeble remnants of her courage gathered strength. Herattempt to escape had failed, of course, but his tolerance gave her ahope that he did not dare to do the dreadful violence of which she hadthought. 

For hours--it seemed--they went through underbrush and swamp-land, stopping from time to time at Hawk's command while he listened and gottheir bearings. Beth had never been in this part of the woods, but shehad an idea, from the crossing of the road and the character of thetrees, that they were now somewhere in the Lower Reserve and not veryfar from the lumber camp. It was there that Peter Nichols was. Her heartleaped at the thought of his nearness. All memory of the heliotropeenvelope and of its contents seemed to have been wiped from herconsciousness by the rough usage of this enemy to them both. It seemedto matter very little now who this woman was that Peter had known. Shebelonged to a mysterious and unhappy past--for he had hinted atthat--which had nothing to do with the revelation that Beth had read inhis eyes as to the meaning of the wonderful present for them both. Sheknew now that he could have explained, if she had given him the chance. Instead of which she had rushed heedlessly to misfortune, the victim ofa childish pride, plunging them both into this disaster. That pride wasa pitiful thing now, like her disordered hair and her bedraggled frock, which flapped its ribbons, soaked and muddy, about her knees. 

But as long as she was still alive and in no immediate danger, she triedto hope for some incident which would send Peter back to Black Rockearlier than Hawk had expected, where, at the Cabin, he would guess thetruth as to her meeting with Hawk and what had followed. But how couldhe guess all that? The difficulty dismayed her, He would hunt for her ofcourse as soon as he learned of her disappearance, but clever as he wasthere seemed no way in which he could solve the mystery of her flight, still less, having guessed Hawk Kennedy's purpose, follow any trailthrough the wilderness by which her captor had led her. 

Even in the apparent hopelessness of her situation, she had not reachedthe point of actual despair. Youth and her customary belief in all thatwas good in the world sustained her. Something would happen--something_must_ happen. .. . As she trudged along, she prayed with her whole heart, like David, to be delivered from the hand of the oppressor. 

That prayer comforted her and gave her strength and so when they cameout at the edge of the swamp some moments later she obeyed hisinstructions more hopefully. There was a path along the edge of thewater which presently led into the heart of the woods again, and therealmost before she was aware of it she found herself facing a smallwooden house or shanty which seemed in a fairly good state ofpreservation. 

Silently, Hawk Kennedy unfastened the hasp which held the door, andgruffly ordered her to go inside. Wondering, she obeyed him. But hercaptor now acted with a celerity which while it gave her new fears, setother fears at rest, for he took the handkerchiefs from his pockets andgagged and bound her arms and wrists again, pushing her down on a pileof sacking which had served some one for a bed, tying her feet and kneeswith ropes that were there so that she could neither move nor make asound. 

There for a moment he stood, staring down at her with a grim kind ofhumor, born of his successful flight. 

"Some kid, by G----! I'm kinder sorry--d---- if I ain't. But ye hadn'tany business bein' who ye are. I believe I'd rather kill ye outrightthan hurt ye any more--that I would. Maybe I won't have to do either. Understand? But I got somethin' to do first. It ain't any child's playan' I ain't got much time to spare. Be a good kid an' lie quiet an' goto sleep and I'll be back after a while an' set ye free. Understand?"

Beth nodded helplessly, for it was the only thing that she could do andwith relief watched his evil shape darken the doorway out of which hewent, carefully closing the door and fastening the hasp on the outside. Then she heard the crunch of his footsteps in the dry leaves behind theCabin. They moved rapidly and in a few moments she heard them no more. 

Lying on her side, her head pillowed on the bagging, it did not seem atfirst as though she were uncomfortable, and her eyes, wide open, peeredaround her prison. There was a small window unglazed and by the lightwhich came from it she could see some axhandles piled in one corner ofthe hut, several cross-cut saws on a box at one side, a few picks and ashovel or two. It must be a tool house used for the storage of extraimplements and she remembered dimly that Shad had once spoken of thecutting that had been begun down by the swamp and abandoned for a betterlocation. This then was where Hawk Kennedy had taken her and she knewthat it was a spot little visited nowadays except by hunters, and atsome distance from the scene of present logging operations, toward thespur of the railroad. It was here perhaps that Hawk Kennedy had hiddenwhile making his earlier investigations of Black Rock while he ripenedhis plot against Mr. McGuire. There were several empty bottles upon thefloor, a moldy crust of bread, and a broken water-pitcher whichconfirmed the surmise. 

She realized that Hawk had planned well. It seemed hardly possible tohope for a chance passer-by in this deserted spot. And even if sheheard the sound of guns or even heard footsteps in the leaves, whatchance had she of making known her whereabouts? But she strained herears, listening, only to hear the twittering of the birds, thechattering of squirrels and the moaning of the wind in the tree tops. How near was freedom and yet how difficult of attainment! She wriggledgently in her bonds but each motion seemed to make them tighter, untilthey began to cut more and more cruelly into her tender flesh. She triedby twisting her hands and bending her body to touch the knots at herknees but her elbows were fastened securely and she couldn't reach them. And at last she gave up the attempt, half stifled from her exertions andsuffering acutely. Then she lay quiet, sobbing gently to herself, tryingto find a comfortable posture, and wondering what was to be the end ofit all. 

Hours passed in which the scampering of the four-footed things grew lessand less and the birds ceased their chirping. Only the moaning of thewind continued, high in the tree tops. Once or twice she thought sheplainly heard footsteps near by and renewed her efforts to free herself, but desisted again when she learned that it was only the sound of theflying leaves dancing against the outside walls of her prison. 

She thought of all the things that had happened in her brief anduneventful life, but most she thought of Peter Nichols, and all that hisvisit to Black Rock had meant to her. And even in her physicaldiscomfort and mental anguish found herself hoping against hope thatsomething would yet happen to balk the sinister plans of Hawk Kennedy, whatever they were. She could not believe that happiness such as hershad been could come to such a dreadful end so soon. But what was HawkKennedy's mission now? Where had he gone unless to Black Rock again? Andwhat would he be doing there? Was revenge his motive now, strongersince her revelation of her parentage? And was it Peter that he wasgoing to. .. ? Her cry was muffled in the bandage. He had gone back toBlack Rock to lie in wait for Peter--to kill him perhaps. Sobbing anewshe struggled again with her bonds, until at last she lay back relaxedand exhausted, and prayed with all her might to the God that had alwaysbeen her guide. 

And after a while she grew calm again, refreshed and strengthened by herfaith. No harm would befall Peter. No further harm would come to her. Evil such as Hawk's was powerless against her prayers. Already he haddone her a great injury. The God of her faith would keep her scathelessuntil Peter, the man she loved, came to save her. She was as sure ofthis now as though she could see him coming, vengeance in his hand, withlong strides through the forest to her hiding-place. And so, after awhile, exhausted from her efforts, she fell into a doze. 

When she awoke from troubled dreams it was with a sense of suffocation. She had stirred in her sleep and the thongs had cut more deeply into theflesh at her knees, causing her pain. Below the knees she was numb fromthe constant pressure, but she moved her toes up and down and her limbstingled painfully as the constricted blood flowed into her extremities. How long she had lain there she did not know, but the interior of theshed seemed to have grown quite dark, as though a storm were risingoutside. The wind was still blowing, and above the moaning of the pinesshe could hear the continuous rustle of the leaves and the creaking ofmoving branches. She managed with an effort to turn her head toward thewindow, where through the dark leaves of the overshadowing trees shecould catch glimpses of the sky, which seemed to have turned to apinkish purple, like the afterglow of a sunset. Was it possible that shecould have slept so long? In the turning of her head it seemed that thebandage over her mouth had become loosened and as she tried theexperiment again, the handkerchief slipped down around her neck. In amoment she had gotten rid of the wad of linen in her mouth. At least shecould breathe freely now and moisten her parching lips. This boon seemedalmost in answer to her prayers. And if one bandage could come loose byGod's help, why not another?

And so cheerfully and with a persistence which took no thought of thepain she was inflicting upon herself, she began working her hands to andfro behind her until she fancied that the pressure on her wrists was notso great as before. With an effort she managed to wriggle over againstthe wall and so to straighten into a sitting posture. 

It was then that she suddenly raised her head and sniffed at the airfrom the small window above her through which a slender wisp of smokecame curling. Smoke! The smell of burning brush, familiar to her, andyet back here in the woods, unless from a well tended camp-fire, fraughtwith perilous meaning. She glanced out of the small opening again. Thepurple had grown redder, a dull crimson shot with streaks of blue--smokeeverywhere, endless streamers and tortuous billows sweeping down on thewings of the wind. 

Fire in the woods! She knew the meaning of that. And the reddish purplewas not the sunset but the glow of mighty flames near by, a "crown" firein the pines! From the volume of smoke, increasing with every moment, itseemed that the old tool house in which she was imprisoned must bedirectly in the path of the flames. Now thoroughly aware of her possiblefate if she could not release herself she strained her ears, listening, and now heard distinctly above the sounds nearer at hand a distantcrackling roar and the thud of heavy branches falling. The interior ofthe cabin had now grown even dimmer--to a dark redness--and the smokecame billowing in at the window almost stifling her with its acridfumes. Outside the window, when she struggled for freedom, she caught aglimpse of sparks, flying like meteors past the dim rectangle of hervision, small ones, larger ones, and then flaming brands which must setfire to whatsoever they touched. 

She was half mad now with terror. She tried to think calmly, because sheknew that unless a miracle happened she would die alone here--the mosthorrible of all deaths. And then her eye caught the gleam of somethingupon the tool chest in the shadows beyond--the teeth of the cross-cutsaw!

If she could reach it! She fell over purposely on the sacking and withgreat difficulty wriggled slowly toward it, inch by inch. Could shereach it with her wrists? With an effort she squirmed to the chest andstraightened, her back against it, as she had done against the wall, andthen turning, in spite of the increased pressure of her thongs, managedin some way to get to her knees, feeling for the teeth of the saw withher fingers behind her. It was not very sharp, but if she could directit between her wrists it would do. 

In her new thrill of hope, she was hardly conscious of the suffocatingsmoke which now filled the cabin, stinging her eyes so that she couldhardly see, or of the heat which with her exertions had sent theperspiration streaming down her face. For now, balancing herself withgreat care, she moved her tortured arms, half numb with pain, up anddown against the rusty edges. A sharp pain and she bit herlips, --readjusting herself to her task. But she felt the saw cuttinginto the rope--one strand, another, and in a moment her hands werereleased. 

In her joy of the achievement, she toppled over on the floor, butmanaged to release her elbows. Now, panting with her exertions andmoving her arms quickly to restore the circulation, she felt for theknots at her knees and ankles and in a moment her limbs were free. Butshe had not reckoned with the effects of their long period ofinactivity, for when she tried to get to her feet she found that herlimbs were powerless. But she moved her knees up and down, sufferingkeenly as the blood took up its course, and after a time managed toscramble to her feet, and stagger to the opening in the wall. 

It seemed that all the forest was now a mass of flaming brands and thatthe roar of the flames was at her very ears. It was stiflingly hot tooand in one corner of the cabin there was a tiny bright spot and a curlof smoke. Had her liberty come too late? She was not even free yet, forthe hole in the wall of the building was no larger than a single pane ofglass and the door of the shanty was fastened by the hasp on theoutside. 

There was no time now to hesitate unless she wished to be burned alive. With an effort she threw herself against the door--again and again, butit would not yield. Despairing and blinded by smoke, she staggered tothe box hunting an ax, when her fingers met the handle of the friendlysaw. It was heavy but she knew how to use it, and set it at the hole inthe wall, drawing it back and forth. The wood was dead and she felt ityield to the strong teeth of the tool, so that she struggled on, thewidth of the board; then cut again, at the upper edge of the aperture, and in a moment the board fell away. 

She was not a moment too soon, for as she crawled through the openingand fell exhausted on the outside, one end of the building suddenlycaught fire, blazing fiercely. The sparks were all around her and herskirt caught fire in the flaming leaves into which she had fallen, butshe put it out with her blistered hands and rose to her feet. A figurewas coming toward her, bent, its hand before its eyes. She could notmake out who it was, but as she turned to run Hawk Kennedy espied her. 

"Ho there, kid! Got loose, hey? Just in time. Did ye think I was goin'to let ye be burned to death?"

 * * * * *

With Brierly leading them to the machine and listening to Peter's storyas they went, Peter made his way across the foot of the lawn to the roadwhere the machine was waiting for them. As they climbed into it, theglow to the south had turned a lurid red, staining the dusky sky to thezenith. Brierly drove and for precaution's sake Peter sat in the tonneauwith Shad. But the lumberman, if he had ever been considered formidableeven in his own estimation, showed no evidence of any self-confidence. Peter had given him signs of mettle which were not to be denied and likeall bullies Shad knew that he was beaten. The one vestige of hisdecency, --his honorable affection for Beth, which had blinded him toreason and all sense of duty, was now dedicated to the task of savingher. And though the dull hatred of Peter still burned in his breast, theinstinct of self-preservation, and the chance of retrieving himself atthe last, made it necessary for him to put his pride in his pocket andaccept the inevitable. 

"Ye'll keep yer word, Mister?" he inquired of Peter, after a moment. "Ididn't have nothin' to do with settin' them woods afire. Ye'll get meout o' this scrape?"

"Yes, " said Peter shortly. "I will. "

But he watched him nevertheless. 

The ex-soldier drove the car at a furious pace over the rough road, rejoicing in the open cut-out and the rush of the wind past his ears. Hehad been, for a time, a chauffeur of a staff car on the other side, andthe present conditions were full of promise of the kind of excitementthat appealed to his youthful spirit. Shad shouted instructions overhis shoulder but Brierly only nodded and sent the car on over thecorduroy to which they had come, with the throttle wide. Night hadnearly fallen but the road was a crimson track picked out with longpencilings of shadow. The wind was still tossing the tree tops andleaves and twigs cut sharply across their faces. There was no mistakingthe danger to the whole of the Lower Reserve unless the wind fell--a"crown" fire after two weeks of drought was not a subject for jest. 

But Peter was not thinking of the damage to McGuire's property. Heroared questions eagerly at Wells as to the location of the cabin withreference to the probable course of the flames. The man only shook hishead dubiously, but it was plain that he was considering that danger. Asthey neared the fire they could see the flames clearly now, beyond thepines just before them, which were etched in deeply bitten lines, everyquivering frond in silhouette against the glare. 

As the car neared the "Forks, " Shad directed Brierly to take the turn tothe left--away from the main road to camp, and they swung into a sandyroad, the wind at their backs, their way for a time almost parallel tothe course of the flames. They passed the small settlement of the"Forks, " the few denizens of which were standing beside the road, theirfew household goods packed in barrows and carts, undecided whether ornot the red terror would come their way. The flames were clearly visiblenow, leaping skyward like devils freed from Hell, and so hot was thefire and so high the wind that whole branches were carried high into theair and flaming fell beyond into the cool dark to kindle newdestruction. Anything that lay to leeward of the holocaust was doomed. Peter furiously questioned Wells again, but he only shook his head whilehe anxiously watched the flames as the road converged toward them. Butas the road swung to the left Shad shouted and held up his hand andBrierly brought the car to a stop. 

"This is the nearest point, I guess, Mister. From here on to Cranberrytown the road runs to the left of Cedar Swamp. "

"Where's the cabin?" queried Peter anxiously. 

"In yonder, not far from the edge of the swamp, " Shad replied with afrown. "Looks like the fire's pretty near there. "

"Come on, then, " said Peter quickly. "Brierly, you go back to Black Rockand bring the men here. Follow in. We'll be on the lookout for you. "

And leaving Brierly to turn the car, he started off with Shad Wells intothe underbrush. His heart sank as he saw how furiously the fire wasraging and how near it seemed to be. But Shad needed no urging now andled the way with a long stride, Peter following closely. The woods werenot so heavy here and the forest was now as bright as at midday, and sothey made rapid progress, coming out at the end of some minutes at theedge of the swamp, whose burnished pools sullenly reflected the fieryheavens. There they found a path and proceeded more quickly. To Peter'sanxious questions Shad shook his head and only peered before him, forgetting his own suffering in the dreadful danger to which the girlthey sought might be subjected. A terrible thought had come into Peter'smind in the last few moments--that it was Hawk Kennedy who had set fireto the woods after imprisoning Beth in a cabin in the path of theflames. This was his vengeance, terrible in its simplicity--for alighted match in the dry leaves would do the trick, and incendiarism inthe woods was difficult to trace. A vengeance fatal in itseffectiveness, for such a fire would tell no tales. Peter found himselfhoping that it was not to the old tool cabin that Beth had beentaken--that she was even far away from this inferno that lay before him. The glare was already hot on his face and stray breezes which blewtoward him from time to time showed that the wind might be veering tothe eastward, in which case all the woods which they now traversed wouldsoon be afire. 

But to the credit of Shad Wells it may be said that he did not hesitate, for when he reached a point in the path where it turned closely alongthe edge of the swamp, he plunged boldly into the woods, directly towardthe flames, and Peter, even more eager than he, ran ahead, peering toright and left for signs of the cabin which now could not be far away. The roar and the crackling were now ominously near and the flames seemedto be all about them, while the tree tops seemed to be filled withflaming brands. Sparks and live cinders fell upon them and the hotbreath of the wind blistered them with its heat. 

Suddenly the panting Shad grasped Peter sharply by the arm with hisuninjured hand. 

"The cabin! My God! It's burning now----Quick, Mister--or----"

Peter sprang forward through the flaming leaves. He seemed to be in thevery midst of the flames. Blinded and suffocated by the smoke, Peterplunged forward and reached the cabin. One end and side of it wasblazing furiously but he dashed around the lower end of it, seeking thedoor. It was open and already aflame. The hut was empty. He ran outagain, blinded by the smoke and the glare. Was it a fool's errand? Andhad he and Shad only entrapped themselves to no good end? To the rightof him the fire roared and with his back to the glare his eyes eagerlysought the shadows down the wind. Vague shapes of gnarled branches andpallid tree trunks, spectral bushes quivering before the advancingdemon, some of them already alight. Safety lay only in this onedirection--for Beth, if she had been there, for Shad----Peter suddenlyremembered the lumberman and turned to his left to look, when suddenlyhe espied a figure moving away from him and ran after it, calling. Herealized immediately that his hoarse cry was lost in the inferno of theflames, but he ran more rapidly, beating out the embers which hadignited the sleeve of his shirt. 

He saw the figure clearly now, but it was not Shad--for Shad had been inhis shirt sleeves. This figure wore a coat and stumbled away half bent, one arm over its head, pushing something--some one ahead of it. Peterdrew his revolver, leaping the burning leaves and calling aloud. 

He saw the figures ahead of him halt and turn as they heard his voiceand the glare behind him shone full upon them, the face of the man agapewith inflamed surprise--Hawk Kennedy's, and the other, wide-eyed as atthe sight of an apparition--Beth's. 

Only thirty paces separated them when Hawk Kennedy fired. Peter heardBeth's scream and saw her strike at the man's arm, but furiously heswung her in front of him and fired again. But her struggles and theuncertain light sent the bullet wide. Peter did not dare to shoot forthe man was using her as a shield, but he did not hesitate and ran in, trusting to luck and Beth's struggles. One bullet struck him somewhereas Beth seemed to stumble and crumple to the ground, but he went onunspent and catapulted into his man with a rush that sent them bothsprawling into the smoldering foliage. Blinded by the smoke, but madwith fury, Peter struck and clutched, and Hawk's last shot went upwardfor Peter wrenched his wrist and then struck him full on the head withhis own weapon. 

He felt the man relax and slip down into the dust and smoke, where helay motionless. 

Peter drew himself up to arm's length, wondering at the feebleness ofhis muscles and the trouble with his breathing. 

"Beth!" he gasped, frantically, searching the smoking ground for her. 

"Peter--thank God!" Her voice was just at his ear and an arm went aroundhis neck. 

"Beth! Beth! You've got to get out of this. "

"Come, Peter--there's time----"

Just then a branch crashed down just beside them, showering them withsparks. 

"Come, Peter--come!" she cried. 

He struggled up with an effort, one hand clutching at his breast. 

"Go, Beth!" he gasped. "For God's sake, go!"

Beth stared at him for one short terrible moment as she realized whathad happened to him. 

"Peter! You--you're----"

"I--I think I'm hurt--a little--it isn't much. "

He swayed but she caught him and put an arm around one shoulder, clutching it with the other hand. 

"Lean on me, " she muttered. "I'm strong enough----"

"No--go, Beth----"

But she put her strength under him and began walking while he staggeredon beside her. Sparks and fiery brands rained down upon them, blisteringand burning, the hot breath of the furnace drove their breath poisonedback into their lungs and scorched their bodies, but still they remainedupright--and by a miracle still moved on. 

"To the left, " Peter heard dimly, "the swamp is close by. "

He obeyed her, more dead than alive, and by sheer effort of will kepthis feet moving, paced to hers. He seemed to be walking as though in ared fever, on leaden feet, carrying a body that had no weight orsubstance. 

But after a while his feet too seemed to grow lighter and he felthimself falling through space. But her arms were still about him. 

"Peter, " he heard her voice in agony, "only a few yards further----"

With a last remaining effort he struggled and then his feet stumbling, toppled forward and sank into something soft, something deliciously cooland soothing. He felt a hand tugging at him, but he had no pain now, noweakness--only the perfect happiness of a body that, seeking rest, hasfound it. 

After a while he revived at the sound of a voice at his ear. Water wassplashing over his face and he struggled up. 

"No--keep down, " he heard Beth's voice saying. "We're safe, Peter--thewind is changing----"

"And you, Beth----?"

"All right, dear. A little patience----"

The voice trembled, but there was a world of faith in it. After all thathad happened, it was impossible that further disaster should follow now. 

"Y-you're all right?" he gasped weakly. 

"Yes. Yes. Lie still for a while. "

And so they half lay, half crouched in the mud and water, while theinferno swept over them, passing to the south. His head was on herbreast and against his ear he could feel her heart beating bravely, amessage of strength and cheer. From time to time her wet fingers brushedhis hair with water and then, as he seemed to be sinking into a dreamagain, he felt lips light as thistle-down upon his brows. 

Death such as this, he thought, was very pleasant. 

And then later he was aroused by a shrill clear call. .. . Then saw lightsflashing. .. . Heard men's voices. .. . Felt himself carried in strong arms. .. But all the while there were soft fingers in his own. 

CHAPTER XXII

RETRIBUTION

When they lifted him into the automobile and Beth got in beside him, hisfingers moved in her own. 

"Beth, " she heard him whisper. 

"Peter--I'm here. "

"Thank God. And--and Shad----? He--he was with me----"

"He's asking for Shad, " she repeated to Brierly, unaware that hercousin, like his Biblical namesake, had come scatheless through thefiery furnace. But some one heard the question and replied:

"Shad's here, Miss. He's all right----"

"Oh, " gasped Peter. "And there's something else----"

"No, no--we must go. Your wound----"

But he insisted. "I--I'm all--right. Something else, --Beth--some onemust get--paper--blue envelope--Hawk Ken----"

His words ended in a gasp and he sank back in her arms. 

Beth was frightened at the sudden collapse and the look in his face, butshe knew that his injunction was important. And keeping her courage shecalled Shad Wells to the side of the car and gave quick directions. There was a note of appeal in her voice and Shad listened, his gaze overhis shoulder in the direction she indicated. 

"If he ain't burned to a crisp by now----"

"Go, Shad--please! And if you can get to him bring the papers in hispocket to me. "

He met her gaze and smiled. 

"I reckon I'll get to him if anybody can. "

"Oh, thanks, Shad--thanks----" she muttered, as the lumberman turned, followed by one of the others, and silently moved toward the flames. 

And in a moment the car was on its way to Black Rock, Brierly drivingcarefully over the rough road. That was a terrible ride for Beth. Shesupported the wounded man against her shoulder, her gaze on his pallidface. Her poor blistered arm was about his waist, but she had no thoughtfor her own suffering. Every ounce of strength that remained to her wasgiven to holding Peter close to her so that he would not slip down, every ounce of faith in her soul given to combat with the fears thatassailed her. It seemed to Beth that if the Faith that had brought herthrough this day and out of that furnace were still strong enough shecould combat even the Death that rode with them. And so she prayedagain, holding him closely. But he was so cold and inert. She put herhand over his heart and a tiny pulsation answered as though to reassureher. Her hand came away dry, for the wound was not near his heart. Shethanked God for that. She found it high up on the right side just belowthe collar bone and held her fingers there, pressing them tightly. Ifthis blood were life and she could keep it within him she would do it. But he was so pale. .. . 

Brierly drove to Black Rock House instinctively. Here were beds, servants and the telephone. He sounded his horn as they came up thedriveway and an excited group came out upon the porch. But Beth saw onlyMcGuire. 

"Mr. Nichols has been shot, Mr. McGuire--he's dangerously hurt, " sheappealed. "He's got to have a doctor--at once. "

"Who--who shot him?"

"Hawk Kennedy. "

"And he--Hawk----?"

"He's dead, I think. "

She heard McGuire's sudden gasp and saw Aunt Tillie come running. 

"He's got to be put to bed--Aunt Tillie, " she pleaded. 

"Of course, " said McGuire, finding his voice suddenly, "Of course--atonce. The blue room, Mrs. Bergen. We'll carry him up. Send Stryker. "

And Aunt Tillie ran indoors. 

Peter was still quite unconscious, but between them they managed to gethim upstairs. 

McGuire seemed now galvanized into activity and while the others cutPeter's coat away and found the wound he got Hammonton and a doctor onthe 'phone. It was twelve miles away but he promised to be at Black RockHouse inside half an hour. 

"Twenty minutes and you won't regret it. Drive like Hell. It's a matterof life or death. "

Meanwhile, Aunt Tillie, with anxious glances at Beth, had broughtabsorbent cotton, clean linen, a basin of water and a sponge, andStryker and Brierly washed the wound, while McGuire rushed for hisbottle and managed to force some whisky and water between Peter's teeth. The bullet they found had gone through the body and had come out at theback, shattering the shoulder-blade. But the hemorrhage had almostceased and the wounded man's heart was still beating faintly. 

"It's the blood he's lost, " muttered Brierly sagely. 

"He'll come around all right. You can't kill a man as game as that. "

Beth clung to the arms of the chair in which they had placed her. "Youthink--he--he'll live?"

"Sure he will. I've seen 'em worse'n that----"

She sank back into her chair, exhausted. She had never fainted in herlife and she wasn't going to begin. But now that all that they could dohad been done for Peter, they turned their attention to Beth. She hadnot known how much she needed it. Her hair was singed, her wrists wereraw and bleeding, and her arms, half naked, were red and blistered. Herdress, soaked with mud and water, was partly torn or burned away. 

"She must be put to bed here, Mrs. Bergen, " said McGuire. "She'll needthe doctor too. "

Beth protested and would not leave the room until the doctor came. ButMcGuire, who seemed--and somewhat justly--to have complete faith in theefficacy of his own remedy, gave her some of the whisky and water todrink, while Aunt Tillie washed her face and rubbed vaseline upon herarms, crooning over her all the while in the comforting way of women ofher kind, to the end that Beth felt the pain of her body lessen. 

It was not until the doctor arrived with a businesslike air and made hisexamination, pronouncing Peter's condition serious but not necessarilyfatal, that the tension at Beth's heart relaxed. 

"He--he'll get well, Doctor?" she asked timidly. 

"I think so, " he said with a smile, "but we've got to have absolutequiet now. I'd like some one here to help me----"

"If you'd only let me----"

But she read refusal in his eyes as he looked at her critically, and sawhim choose Stryker. 

"You're to be put to bed at once, " he said dryly. "You'll need attentiontoo, I'm thinking. "

And so Beth, with McGuire's arm supporting and Aunt Tillie's arm aroundher, was led to the room adjoining, --the pink room of Miss PeggyMcGuire. McGuire closed the door and questioned her eagerly. 

"You say Hawk Kennedy was killed----?"

"I think so--or--or burned, " said Beth, now quivering in the reactionof all that she had experienced. "I--I sent Shad Wells to see. We lefthim lying there. We just had time to get away. The fire was all around. We got to the swamp--into the water--but he----" She put her face intoher hands, trembling with the recollection. "It was horrible. I can'ttalk about it. "

Aunt Tillie glared at McGuire, but he still questioned uneasily. 

"You--you saw nothing of a blue envelope, a paper----"

With an effort Beth lowered her hands and replied:

"No--Peter--Mr. Nichols thought of it. Shad Wells will bring it--if itisn't burned. "

"Oh, I see----"

"But what you can't see, " broke in Aunt Tillie with spirit, "is that thepoor child ain't fit to answer any more questions to-night. And sheshan't. "

"Er--no--of course, " said McGuire, and went out. 

If it had been an eventful day for Peter and Beth, the night was toprove eventful for McGuire, for not content to wait the arrival of ShadWells, he took his courage in his hands and with Brierly drove at onceto the scene of the disaster. The wind had died and a gentle rain beganto fall, but the fire was burning fiercely. 

The other matter in McGuire's thoughts was so much the more important tohim that he had given little thought to the damage to his property. Hisforests might all be burned down for all that he cared. 

At the spot to which Beth and Peter had been carried he met Shad and theparty of men that had been looking for Hawk Kennedy, but the place wherethe fight had taken place was still a mass of fallen trees and branchesall flaming hotly and it was impossible for any one to get withinseveral hundred yards of it. 

There seemed little doubt as to the fate of his enemy. Jonathan K. McGuire stood at the edge of the burned area, peering into the glowingembers. His look was grim but there was no smile of triumph at his lips. In his moments of madness he had often wished Hawk Kennedy dead, butnever had he wished him such a death as this. He questioned Shad sharplyas to his share in the adventure, satisfying himself at last that theman had told a true story, and then, noting his wounded arm, sent himback with Brierly in the car to Black Rock House for medical treatmentwith orders to send the chauffeur with the limousine. 

The rain was now falling fast, but Jonathan K. McGuire did not seem tobe aware of it. His gaze was on the forest, on that of the burning areanearest him where the fire still flamed the hottest, beneath the embersof which lay the one dreadful secret of his life. Even where he stoodthe heat was intense, but he did not seem to be aware of it, nor did hefollow the others when they retreated to a more comfortable spot. No oneknew why he waited or of what he was thinking, unless of the damage tothe Reserve and what the loss in money meant to him. They could notguess that pity and fear waged their war in his heart--pity that any manshould die such a death--fear that the man he thought of should not dieit. 

But as the hours lengthened and there was no report brought to him ofany injured man, being found in the forest near by, he seemed to knowthat Peter Nichols had not struck for Beth in vain. 

When the limousine came, he sent the other watchers home, and got intoit, sitting in solitary grandeur in his wet clothing, peering out of thewindow. The glow of the flames grew dimmer and died at last with thefirst pale light to the eastward which announced the coming of the dawn. A light drizzle was still falling when it grew light enough to see. McGuire got down and without awakening the sleeping chauffeur wentforth into the spectral woods. He knew where the old tool cabin hadstood and, from the description Wells had given him, had gained ageneral idea of where the fight had taken place--two hundred yards fromthe edge of the swamp where Nichols and the Cameron girl had been found, and nearly in a line with the biggest of the swamp-maples, the trunk ofwhich still stood, a melancholy skeleton of its former grandeur. 

The ground was still hot under the mud and cinders, but not painfullyso, and he was not aware of any discomfort. Clouds of steam rose andamong them he moved like the ghost of a sin, bent, eager, searching withheavy eyes for what he hoped and what he feared to find. The old toolhouse had disappeared, but he saw a heap of ashes and among them theshapes of saws and iron picks and shovels. But he passed them by, makinga straight line to the eastward and keeping his gaze upon the charredand blackened earth, missing nothing to right and left, fallen branches, heaps of rubbish, mounds of earth. 

Suddenly startled, McGuire halted and stood for a long moment. .. . Then, his hand before his eyes he turned away and slowly made his way back tohis automobile. But there was no triumph in his eyes. A power greaterthan his own had avenged Ben Cameron. 

His vigil was over--his nightly vigil--the vigil of years. He made hisway to his car and, awakening his chauffeur, told him to drive to BlackRock House. But when he reached home, the set look that his face hadworn for so many weeks had disappeared. And in its place among therelaxed muscles which showed his years, sat the benignity of a newresolution. 

It was broad daylight when he quietly knocked at the door of the room inwhich the injured man lay. The doctor came to the door. It seemed thatall immediate danger of a further collapse had passed for the heart wasstronger and unless there was a setback Peter Nichols had an excellentchance of recovery. McGuire himself offered to watch beside the bed; butthe doctor explained that a trained nurse was already on the way fromPhiladelphia and would arrive at any moment. So McGuire went to his ownroom and, sinking into his armchair, slept for the first time in manyweeks at peace, smiling his benignant smile. 

 * * * * *

Beth awoke in the pink room of Miss Peggy McGuire in which she had beenput to bed. She lay for a moment still stupefied, her brain strugglingagainst the effects of the sleeping potion that the doctor had given herand then slowly straightened to a sitting posture, regarding inbewilderment the embroidered night-robe which she wore and the floweredpink hangings at the windows. She couldn't at first understand the painat her head and other aches and pains which seemed to come mysteriouslyinto being. But she heard a familiar voice at her ear and saw theanxious face of Aunt Tillie, who rose from the chair at her bedside. 

"Aunt Tillie!" she whispered. 

"It's all right, dearie, " said the old woman. "You're to lie quite stilluntil the doctor sees you----"

"The doctor----? Oh, I--I remember----" And then with a sudden awakeningto full consciousness--"Peter!" she gasped. 

"He's better, dearie. "

"But what does the doctor say?"

"He's doin' as well as possible----"

"Will he get well?"

"Yes, yes. The doctor is very hopeful. "

"You're sure?"

"Yes. He's sleepin' now--quiet--ye'd better just lie back again. "

"But I want to go to him, Aunt Tillie. I want to. "

"No. Ye can't, dearie--not now. "

And so by dint of reassurance and persuasion, Aunt Tillie prevailed uponthe girl to lie back upon her pillows and after a while she slept again. 

But Beth was no weakling and when the doctor came into her room sometime later, the effects of her potion wearing away, she awoke to fullconsciousness. He saw the imploring question in her eyes, before he tookher pulse and answered it with a quick smile. 

"He's all right. Heart coming on nicely----"

"Will h-he live?" she gasped. 

"He'll be a fool if he doesn't. "

"What----?"

"I'd be, if I knew there was a girl like you in the next room with thatkind of look in her eyes asking for me. "

But his remark went over Beth's head. 

"He's better?"

"Yes. Conscious too. But he'll have to be kept quiet. "

"D-did he speak of me?"

The doctor was taking her pulse and put on a professional air which hidhis inward smiles and provoked a repetition of her question. 

"D-did he?" she repeated softly. 

"Oh, yes, " he said with a laugh. "He won't talk of anything else. I hadto give him a hypodermic to make him stop. "

Beth was silent for a moment. And then timidly----

"What did he say?"

"Oh, just that you saved his life, that's all. "

"Nothing else?"

"Oh, yes. Now that I come to think of it, he did. "

"What?"

"That he wanted to see you. "

"Oh! And can I----?"

The doctor snapped his watch and relinquished her wrist with a smile. 

"If everything goes well--to-morrow--for two minutes--just two minutes, you understand. "

"Not until to-morrow?" she asked ruefully. 

"You ought to be glad to see him alive at all. He had a narrow shave ofit. An inch or two lower----" And then with a smile, "But he's going toget well, I promise you that. "

"Oh, thanks, " said Beth gratefully. 

"Don't worry. And if you behave yourself I'll let you get up afterlunch. " He gave some directions to Mrs. Bergen as to the treatment ofBeth's blistered arms, and went out. 

So in spite of the pain that she still suffered, Beth was content. Atleast she was content until Aunt Tillie brought her Miss Peggy McGuire'ssilver hand-mirror and she saw the reflection of her once beautifulself. 

"Aunt Tillie!" she gasped. "I'm a sight. "

"Maybe--but that's a sight better than bein' burned to death, " said theold lady, soberly. 

"My hair----!"

"It's only frizzled. They say that's good for the hair, " she saidcheerfully. 

"Oh, well, " sighed Beth as she laid the mirror down beside her. "I guessI ought to be glad I'm alive after----"

And then with an uncontrollable shudder, she asked, "And--and--_him_?"

"Dead, " said Aunt Tillie with unction. "Burned to a crisp. "

Beth gasped but said nothing more. She didn't want to think ofyesterday, but she couldn't help it--the horrors that she had passedthrough--the fate that might have been in store for her, if--Peterhadn't found her in time!

Beth relaxed in comfort while Aunt Tillie bathed and anointed her, brushed out the hair that was "frizzled, " refreshing and restoring herpatient, so that after lunch she got up and put on the clothing that hadbeen brought from her home. Her arms were swathed in bandages fromwrists to shoulders but the pain was much less, so, when McGuire knockedat the door and asked if he might see her, she was sitting in a chair bythe window and greeted him with a smile. 

He entered timidly and awkwardly, rubbing his fingers uncomfortablyagainst the palms of his hands. 

"They tell me you're feelin' better, Miss Cameron, " he said soberly. "I--I'd like to talk to you for a moment, " and with a glance at AuntTillie, "alone if you don't mind. "

Aunt Tillie gathered up some bandages and grudgingly departed. 

McGuire came forward slowly and sank into a chair beside Beth's, layinghis hand timidly on hers. 

"I thank God nothing happened to you, child, and I hope you believe mewhen I say it, " he began in an uncertain voice. 

"Oh, yes, sir, I do. "

"Because the only thing that matters to me now is setting myselfstraight with you and Mr. Nichols. "

He paused in a difficulty of speech and then went on. 

"He--Mr. Nichols has told you everything----?"

Beth wagged her head like a solemn child and then laid her other hand onhis. 

"Oh, I'm so sorry for you, " she said. 

"You mustn't say that, " he muttered. "I--I've done you a greatwrong--not trying to find out about Ben Cameron--not trying to find_you_. But I've suffered for it, Miss----" And then eagerly----"Youdon't mind my calling you Beth, do you?"

"No, Mr. McGuire. "

"I ought to have told what happened. I ought to have tried to find outif Ben Cameron had any kin. I did wrong. But I've paid for it. I'venever had a happy hour since I claimed that mine that didn't belong tome. I've made a lot of money but what I did has been hanging over me foryears making an old man of me before my time----"

"Oh, please don't be unhappy any more----"

"Let me talk Miss--Beth. I've got to tell you. It'll make me feel a loteasier. " Beth smoothed his hand reassuringly and he clasped hers eagerlyas though in gratitude. "I never was much good when I was a lad, Beth, and I never could get along even after I got married. It wasn't in mesomehow. I was pretty straight as young fellows go but nothing wentright for me. I was a failure. And then----"

He paused a moment with bent head but Beth didn't speak. It was all verypainful to her. 

"Hawk Kennedy killed your father. But I was a crook too. I left Hawkthere without water to die. It was a horrible thing to do--even afterwhat he'd done to me. My God! Maybe I didn't suffer for that! I was gladwhen I learned Hawk didn't die, even though I knew from that time thathe'd be hanging over me like a curse. He did for years and years. I knewhe'd turn up some day, I tried to forget, but I couldn't. The sight ofhim was always with me. "

"How terrible!" whispered Beth. 

"But from that moment everything I did went well. Money came fast. Iwasn't a bad business man, but even a bad business man could have put_that_ deal through. I sold out the mine. I've got the figures and I'mgoing to show them to you, because they're yours to see. With the moneyI made some good investments. That money made more money and morebesides. Making money got to be my passion. It was the only thing Icared for--except my girls--and it was the only thing that made meforget. "

"Please don't think you've got to tell me any more. "

"Yes, I want to. I don't know how much I'm worth to-day. " And then in aconfidential whisper--"I couldn't tell within half a million or so, butI guess it ain't far short of ten millions, Beth. You're the only personin the world outside the Treasury Department that knows how much I'mworth. I'm telling you. I've never told anybody--not even Peggy. And thereason I'm telling you is because, you've got to know, because I can'tsleep sound yet, until I straighten this thing out with you. It didn'ttake much persuading for Mr. Nichols to show me what I had to do whenhe'd found out, because everything I've got comes from money I took fromyou. And I'm going to give you what belongs to you, the full amount Igot for that mine with interest to date. It's not mine. It's yours andyou're a rich girl, Beth----"

"I won't know what to do with all that money, Mr. McGuire, " said Beth inan awed voice. 

"Oh, yes, you will. I've been thinking it all out. It's a deed by gift. We'll have to have a consideration to make it binding. We may have toput in the facts that I've been--er--only a sort of trustee of theproceeds of the 'Tarantula' mine. I've got a good lawyer. He'll knowwhat to do--how to fix it. "

"I--I'm sure I'm very grateful. "

"You needn't be. " He paused and laid his hand over hers again. "But ifit's all the same to you, I'd rather not have much talk about it--justwhat's said in the deed--to explain. "

"I'll say nothin' you don't want said. "

"I knew you wouldn't. Until the papers are drawn I'd rather you wouldn'tspeak of it. "

"I won't. "

"You're a good girl. I--I'd like to see you happy. If money will makeyou happy, I'm glad I can help. "

"You've been very kind, Mr. McGuire--and generous. I can't seem to thinkabout all that money. It's just like a fairy tale. "

"And you forgive me--for what I did----? You forgive me, Beth?"

"Yes, I do, Mr. McGuire. Don't say anythin' more about it--please!"

The old man bent his head and kissed her hand and then with a great sighof relief straightened and rose. 

"Thank God!" he said quietly. And bidding her good-by he walked from theroom. 

CHAPTER XXIII

A VISITOR

The two minutes permitted by the doctor had come and gone. There hadbeen much to say with too little time to say it in. For Beth, admonishedthat the patient must be kept quiet, and torn between joy at Peter'spromised recovery and pity for his pale face, could only look at him andmurmur soothing phrases, while Peter merely smiled and held her hand. But that, it seemed, was enough, for Beth read in his eyes that what hadhappened had merely set an enduring seal upon the affection of both ofthem. 

With the promise that she could see him again on the morrow, Beth wentback to her room. She had wanted to return to the village, but McGuirehad insisted upon her staying where she was under the care of the doctoruntil what they were pleased to call the shock to her system had yieldedto medical treatment. Beth said nothing. She was already herself andquite able to take up her life just where she had left it, but sheagreed to stay in McGuire's house. It seemed to make him happier whenshe acquiesced in his wishes. Besides, it was nice to be waited on andto be next to the room where the convalescent was. 

But the revelation as to Peter's identity could not be long delayed. Brierly had brought the tale back from the lumber camp, and the villagewas all agog with excitement. But Beth had seen no one but Mr. McGuireand Aunt Tillie, and Peter had requested that no one should tell her buthimself. And so in a day or so when Beth went into Peter's room shefound him with a color in his cheeks, and wearing a quizzical smile. 

"I thought you were never coming, Beth, " he said. 

"I came as soon as they'd let me, Peter. Do you feel stronger?"

"Every hour. Better when you're here. And you?"

"Oh, I'm all right. "

He looked at her with his head on one side. 

"Do you think you could stand hearing something very terrible about me, Beth?"

She glanced at him anxiously and then a smile of perfect faith respondedto his. She knew that he was getting well now, because this was a touchof his old humor. 

"H-m. I guess so. I don't believe it can be so _very_ terrible, Peter. "

"It is--_very_ terrible, Beth. "

But the pressure of his fingers was reassuring. 

"I'm listenin', " she said. 

"Well, you know, you told me once that you'd marry me no matter what I'dbeen----"

"Yes. I meant that, Peter. I mean it now. It's what you are----"

Peter Nichols chuckled. It was his last chuckle as Peter Nichols. 

"Well, I'm not what you thought I was. I've been acting under falsecolors--under false pretenses. My name isn't Peter Nichols. It's PeterNicholaevitch----"

"Then you _are_ all Russian!" she said. 

Peter shook his head. 

"No. Only half of me. But I used to live in Russia--at a place calledZukovo. The thing I wanted to tell you was that they fired me outbecause they didn't want me there. "

"You! How dared they! I'd like to give them a piece of my mind, " saidBeth indignantly. 

"It wouldn't have done any good. I tried to do that. "

"And wouldn't they listen?"

"No. They burned my--my house and tried to shoot me. "

"Oh! How could they!" And then, gently, "Oh, Peter. You _have_ hadtroubles, haven't you?"

"I don't mind. If I hadn't had them, I wouldn't have come here and Iwouldn't have found you. "

"So after all, I ought to be glad they did fire you out, " she saidgently. 

"But aren't you curious to know _why_ they did?"

"I am, if you want to tell me, but even if it was bad, I don't care_what_ you did, Peter. "

He took her fingers to his lips. 

"It wasn't so very bad after all, Beth. It wasn't so much what I did aswhat my--er--my family had done that made them angry. "

"Well, _you_ weren't responsible for what your kin-folks did. "

Peter laughed softly. 

"_They_ seemed to think so. My--er--my kin-folks were mixed up inpolitics in Russia and one of my cousins had a pretty big job--too big ajob for _him_ and that's the truth. " A cloud passed for a moment overPeter's face and he looked away. 

"But what did _his_ job have to do with _you_?" she asked. 

"Well, you see, we were all mixed up with him, just by being related--atleast that's what the people thought. And so when my cousin did a lot ofthings the people thought he oughtn't to do and didn't do a lot of otherthings that they thought he _ought_ to have done, they believed that Iwas just the same sort of man that he was. "

"How unjust, Peter!"

He smiled at the ceiling. 

"I thought so. I told them what I thought. I did what I could tostraighten things out and to help them, but they wouldn't listen. Instead they burned my--my house down and I had to run away. "

"How terrible for you!" And then, after a pause, "Was it a pretty house, Peter?"

"Yes, " he replied slowly, "it was. A very pretty house--in the midst ofa forest, with great pines all about it. I wish they hadn't burned thathouse, Beth, because I loved it. "

"Poor dear! I'm _so_ sorry. "

"I thought you would be, because it was a big house, with pictures, books, music----"

"All burned! Land's sakes alive!"

"And a wonderful grand piano. "

"Oh, Peter!" And then with a flash of joy, "But you're goin' to haveanother grand piano just like it soon. "

"Am I? Who's going to give it to me?"

"_I_ am, " said Beth quietly. "And another house and pictures and booksand music. "

He read her expression eagerly. 

"Mr. McGuire has told you?" he asked. 

She nodded. "You knew?"

"Yes, " he replied. "He told me yesterday. "

"Isn't it wonderful?" she whispered. And then went on rapidly, "So yousee, Peter, maybe I can be some good to you after all. "

He pressed her fingers, enjoying her happiness. 

"I can hardly believe it's true, " she gasped, "but it must be, becauseMr. McGuire had his lawyer here yesterday talkin' about it----"

"Yes. It's true. I think he's pretty happy to get all that off hisconscience. You're a rich girl, Beth. " And then, with a slow smile, "That was one of the reasons why I wanted to talk with you about who _I_was. You see, I thought that now that you're going to have all thismoney, you might want to change your mind about marrying a foresterchap who--who just wants to try to show the trees how to grow. "

"Peter! Don't make fun of me. _Please. _ And you hurt me so!" shereproached him. "You know I'll never want to change my mind ever, _ever_--even if I had all the money in the world. "

He laughed, drew her face down to his and whispered, "Beth, dear. I knewyou wouldn't want to--but I just wanted to hear you say it. "

"Well, I _have_ said it. And I don't want you ever to say such a thingagain. As if I cared for anythin'--anythin' but _you_. "

He kissed her on the lips and she straightened. 

"I wanted to hear you say _that_ too, " he said with a laugh. 

And then, after a silence which they both improved by gazing at eachother mutely, "But you don't seem very curious about who I am. "

Beth pressed his fingers confidently. What he was to _her_ mattered agreat deal--and she realized that nothing else did. But she knew thatsomething was required of her. And so, "Oh, yes. Indeed I am, Peter, --awfully curious, " she said politely. 

"Well, you know, Beth, I'm not really so poor as I seem to be. I've gota lot of securities in a bank in Russia, because nobody knew where theywere and so they couldn't take them. "

"And they would have taken your money too?"

"Yes. When this cousin of mine--his name was Nicholas--when Nicholas waskilled----"

"They killed him! Who?"

"The Bolsheviki--they killed Nicholas and his whole family--his wife, son and four daughters----"

"Peter!" Beth started up and stared at him in startled bewilderment, asshe remembered the talks she had had with him about the RussianRevolution. "Nicholas----!" she gasped. "His wife--son--daughters. Hehad the same name as--as the Czar--!" And as her gaze met his again sheseemed to guess. .. . "Peter!" she gasped. "What--what do you mean?"

"I mean that it was the Little Father--the Czar--who was my cousin, Beth. "

She stared at Peter in awe and a kind of fear of this new element intheir relations. 

"And--and you----? You're----?"

"I'm just Peter Nichols----, " he said with a laugh. 

"But over there----"

"I'm nothing. They chucked us all out, the Bolsheviki--every last one ofus that had a handle to his name. "

"A handle----?"

"Yes. I used to be Grand Duke Peter Nicholaevitch of Zukovo andGalitzin----"

"G-Grand Duke Peter!" she whispered in a daze. And then, "Oh--how--how_could_ you?" she gasped. 

Peter laughed. 

"I couldn't help it, Beth. I was born that--way. But you _will_ forgiveme, won't you?"

"Forgive----? Oh--it--it makes such a difference to find--you're not_you_--but somebody else----"

"No. I _am_--_me_. I'm not anybody else. But I had to tellyou--sometime. You don't think any the less of me, do you, Beth?"

"I--I don't know _what_ to think. I'm so--you're so----"

"What?"

"Grand--and I'm----"

Peter caught her hands and made her look at him. 

"You're the only woman in the world I've ever wanted--the onlyone--and you've promised me you'd marry me--you've promised, Beth. "

Her fingers moved gently in his and her gaze, wide-eyed, sought his. 

"And it won't make any difference----?"

"No, Beth. Why should you think that?"

"I--I was afraid--it might, " she gasped. And then for a while Peter heldher hands, whispering, while Beth, still abashed, answered inmonosyllables, nodding from time to time. 

Later the nurse entered, her glance on her wrist-watch. 

"Time's up, " she said. And Beth rose as one in a dream and moved slowlyaround the foot of the bed to the door. 

 * * * * *

Jonathan K. McGuire had been as much astonished as Beth at therevelation of Peter's identity, and the service that Peter had renderedhim made him more than anxious to show his appreciation by doingeverything he could for the wounded man's comfort and happiness. Hevisited the bedside daily and told Peter of his conversation with Beth, and of the plans that he was making for her future--which now, itseemed, was Peter's future also. Peter told him something of his ownhistory and how he had met Jim Coast on the _Bermudian_. Then McGuirerelated the story of the suppression of the outbreak at the lumber campby the Sheriff and men from May's Landing, and the arrest of Flynn andJacobi on charges of assault and incendiarism. Some of the men were tobe deported as dangerous "Reds. " Brierly had been temporarily put incharge at the Mills and Jesse Brown, now much chastened, was helpingMcGuire to restore order. Shad Wells was technically under arrest, forthe coroner had "viewed" the body of the Russian Committeeman before ithad been removed by his friends and buried, and taken the testimony. ButMcGuire had given bail and arranged for a hearing both as to theshooting of and the death of Hawk Kennedy, when Peter was well enough togo to May's Landing. 

The death of Hawk had produced a remarkable change in the character andpersonality of the owner of the Black Rock Reserve. His back wasstraighter, his look more direct, and he entered with avidity into thebusiness of bringing order out of the chaos that had resulted from theriot. His word carried some weight, his money more, and with thecompletion of his arrangements with Beth Cameron, he drew again thebreath of a free man. 

But of all this he had said nothing to Peggy, his daughter. He hadneither written to her nor telephoned, for he had no desire that sheshould know more than the obvious facts as to the death of Hawk Kennedy, for conflicting reports would lead to questions. Since she had suspectednothing, it was needless to bring that horror to her notice, now thatthe threat had passed. McGuire was a little afraid of his colorfuldaughter. She talked too much and it had been decided that nobody, except the lawyer, Peter, Beth and Mrs. Bergen should know the source ofBeth's sudden and unexpected inheritance. The girl had merely fallenheir to the estate of her father, who had died many years before, notleaving any record of this daughter, who had at last been found. All ofwhich was the truth, so far as it went, and was enough of a story totell Peggy when he should see her. 

But Jonathan McGuire found himself somewhat disturbed when he learnedone morning over the telephone that Peggy McGuire and a guest were ontheir way to Black Rock House for the week-end. The message came fromthe clerk of the hotel, and since Peggy and her friend had alreadystarted from New York, he knew of no way to intercept them. There wasnothing to do but make the best of the situation. Peter had the bestguest room, but Beth had decided the day before to return to thecottage, which was greatly in need of her attention. And so McGuireinformed Mrs. Bergen of the impending visit and gave orders that MissPeggy's room and a room in the wing should be prepared for thenewcomers. 

Beth had no wish to meet Peggy McGuire in this house after the scenewith Peter in the Cabin, when the young lady had last visited BlackRock, for that encounter had given Beth glimpses of the kind of thoughtsbeneath the pretty toques and _cerise_ veils that had once been theapple of her admiring eyes. But as luck would have it, as Beth finishedher afternoon's visit to Peter's bedside and hurried down to get away tothe village before the visitors arrived, Miss Peggy's low runaboutroared up to the portico. Beth's first impulse was to draw back and goout through the kitchen, but the glances of the two girls met, Peggy'sin instant recognition. And so Beth tilted her chin and walked down thesteps just beside the machine, aware of an elegantly attired lady with adoll-like prettiness who sat beside Peggy, oblivious of the sharpinvisible daggers which shot from eye to eye. 

"_You_ here!" said Peggy, with an insulting shrug. 

Beth merely went her way. But no feminine adept of the art of give andtake could have showed a more perfect example of studied indifferencethan Beth did. It was quite true that her cheeks burned as she went downthe drive and that she wished that Peter were well out of the house solong as Peggy was in it. 

But Peggy McGuire could know nothing of Beth's feelings and cared not atall what she thought or felt. Peggy McGuire was too much concerned withthe importance of the visitor that she had brought with her, the firstlive princess that she had succeeded in bringing into captivity. ButAnastasie Galitzin had not missed the little by-play and inquired withsome amusement as to the very pretty girl who had come out of the house. 

"Oh--the housekeeper's niece, " replied Peggy, in her boarding schoolFrench. "I don't like her. I thought she'd gone. She's been having a_petite affaire_ with our new forester and superintendent. "

Anastasie Galitzin, who was in the act of descending from the machine, remained poised for a moment, as it were, in midair, staring at herhostess. 

"Ah!" she said. "_Vraiment!_"

By this time the noise of the motor had brought Stryker and thedownstairs maid from the house, and in the confusion of carrying theluggage indoors, the conversation terminated. It was not until Peggy'snoisy greetings to her father in the hallway were concluded and theintroduction of her new guest accomplished that Jonathan McGuire waspermitted to tell her in a few words the history of the past week, andof the injury to the superintendent, who lay upstairs in the room of theguest of honor. 

"H-m, " sniffed Peggy, "I don't see why you had to bring him _here_!"

"It's a long story, Peg, " said McGuire calmly. "I'll tell you presently. Of course the Princess is very welcome, but I couldn't let him be takenanywhere but here, after he'd behaved so fine all through the rioting. "

"Well, it seems to me, " Peggy began, when the voice of her guest cut inrather sharply. 

"_Pierre!_" gasped Anastasie sharply, and then, in her pretty brokenEnglish, "You say, Monsieur, it is he--Pe-ter Nichols--who 'as beenbadly 'urt?"

"Yes, ma'am, pretty bad--shot through the breast----"

"_Sainte Vierge!_"

"But he's getting on all right now. He'll be sitting up in a day or so, the doctor says. Did you know him, ma'am?"

Anastasie Galitzin made no reply, and only stared at her host, breathingwith some difficulty. Peggy, who had been watching her startled face, found herself intensely curious. But as she would have questioned, thePrincess recovered herself with an effort. 

"No--yes, Monsieur. It--it is nothing. But if you please--I should liketo go at once to my room. "

And Peggy and her father, both of them much mystified, led the way upthe stairs and to the room that had been prepared in the wing of thehouse, Stryker following with the bag and dressing case. 

At the door of the room the Princess begged Peggy to excuse her, pleading weariness, and so the astonished and curious hostess was forcedto relinquish her latest social conquest and seek her own room, there tomeditate upon the extraordinary thing that had happened. Why wasAnastasie Galitzin so perturbed at learning of the wounds of PeterNichols? What did it all mean? Had she known him somewhere in thepast--in England--in Russia? What was he to her?

But in a moment Jonathan McGuire joined her and revealed the identity ofhis mysterious forester and superintendent. At first Peggy wasincredulous, then listened while her father told a story, half true, half fictitious, which had been carefully planned to answer all therequirements of the situation. And unaware of the cyclonic disturbanceshe was causing in the breast of his only child, he told her of Beth andPeter, and of the evidences of their devotion each to the other in spiteof their difference in station. Peggy's small soul squirmed during therecital, but she only listened and said nothing. She realized that in asituation such as this mere words on her part would be superfluous. TheGrand Duke Peter Nicholaevitch! Here at Black Rock! Her pop'ssuperintendent! And she had not known. She had even insulted him. It washideous!

And the Princess? The deep emotion that she had shown on hearing of thedangerous wound of the convalescent was now explained. But only partlyso. The look that Peggy had surprised in Anastasie Galitzin's face meantsomething more than mere solicitude for the safety of one of Russia'sbanished Grand Dukes. It was the Princess who had been shocked at theinformation, but it was the woman who had showed pain. Was there--hadthere ever been--anything between Anastasie Galitzin and this--thisPeter Nichols?

Facts about the early stages of her acquaintanceship with AnastasieGalitzin now loomed up with an unpleasant definiteness. She had beenmuch flattered that so important a personage had shown her suchdistinguished marks of favor and had rejoiced in the celerity with whichthe intimacy had been established. The thought that the PrincessGalitzin had known all the while that the Grand Duke was livingincognito at Black Rock and had merely used Peggy as a means to bringabout this visit was not a pleasant one to Peggy. But the fact was nowquite obvious. She had been making a convenience of her. And what wasnow to be the result of this visit? The Princess did not yet know of theengagement of His Highness to the scullery maid. Who was to tell her?

The snobbish little heart of Peggy McGuire later gained someconsolation, for Anastasie Galitzin emerged from her room refreshed andinvigorated, and lent much grace to the dinner table, telling father anddaughter something of the early life of the convalescent, exhibiting awarm friendship which could be satisfied with nothing less than a visiton the morrow to the sick-room. And His Highness now very much on themend, sent word, with the doctor's permission, that he would be charmedto receive the Princess Galitzin at ten in the morning. 

What happened in the room of the convalescent was never related to PeggyMcGuire. But Anastasie emerged with her head erect, her pretty facewearing the fixed smile of the eternally bored. And then she told Peggythat she had decided to return to New York. So after packing herbelongings, she got into Peggy's car and was driven much against thewill of her hostess to the Bergen cottage. Peggy wouldn't get out of thecar but Anastasie went to the door and knocked. Beth came out with hersleeves rolled above her elbows, her fingers covered with flour. ThePrincess Galitzin vanished inside and the door was closed. Her calllasted ten minutes while Peggy cooled her heels. But whether the visithad been prompted by goodness of heart or whether by a curiosity tostudy the lady of Peter's choice at close range, no one will ever know. Beth was very polite to her and though she identified her withoutdifficulty as the heliotrope-envelope lady, she offered her some of the"cookies" that she had made for Peter, and expressed the warmest thanksfor her kind wishes. She saw Anastasie Galitzin to the door, marking herheightened color and wondering what her fur coat had cost. Beth couldn'thelp thinking, whatever her motive in coming, that the Princess Galitzinwas a very beautiful lady and that her manners had been lovely. But itwas with a sigh of relief that she saw the red car vanish down the roadin a cloud of dust. 

 * * * * *

His convalescence begun, Peter recovered rapidly and in three weeks morehe was himself again. In those three weeks many interesting things hadhappened. 

Jonathan K. McGuire had held a series of important conferences withPeter and Mrs. Bergen who seemed to have grown ten years younger. Andone fine day after a protracted visit to New York with Mrs. Bergen, hereturned laden with mysterious packages and boxes, and stopped at thedoor of the cottage, where Peter was taking a lunch of Beth's cooking. 

It was a beautiful surprise. Mrs. Bergen whispered in Beth's ear andBeth followed her into the kitchen, where the contents of one or two ofthe boxes were exposed to Beth's astonished gaze. Peter, of course, being in the secret, kept aloof, awaiting the result of Mrs. Bergen'sdisclosures. But when Beth came back into the plush-covered parlor, herevealed his share in the conspiracy by producing, with the skill of aconjurer taking a rabbit from a silk hat, a minister and a marriagelicense, the former having been hidden in the house of a neighbor. AndJonathan K. McGuire, with something of an air, fully justified by thedifficulties he had been at to secure it, produced a pasteboard box, which contained another box of beautiful white velvet, which he openedwith pride, exhibiting its contents. On the soft satin lining was abrooch, containing a ruby as large as Beth's thumbnail. 

With a gasp of joy, she gazed at it, for she knew just what it was, thefamily jewel that had been sold to the purser of the _Bermudian_. Andthen she threw her arms around McGuire's neck and kissed him. 

 * * * * *

Some weeks later Beth and Peter sat at dusk in the drawing-room of BlackRock House, for McGuire had turned the whole place over to them for thehoneymoon. The night was chilly, a few flakes of snow had fallen duringthe afternoon, so a log fire burned in the fireplace. Peter sat at thepiano playing the "Romance" of Sibelius, for which Beth had asked, butwhen it was finished, his fingers, impelled by a thought beyond his owncontrol, began the opening rumble of the "Revolutionary Étude. " Themusic was familiar to Beth and it stirred her always because it wasthis gorgeous plaint of hope and despair that had at the very firstsounded depths in her own self the existence of which she had never evendreamed. But to-night Peter played it as she had never heard him play itbefore, with all his soul at his finger tips. And she watched hisdowncast profile as he stared at vacancy while he played. It was inmoments like these that Beth felt herself groping in the dark after him, he was so far away. And yet she was not afraid, for she knew that out ofthe dreams and mysticism of the half of him that was Russian he wouldcome back to her, --just Peter Nichols. 

He did presently, when his hands fell upon the last chords and he satwith head still bowed until the last tremor had died. Then he rose andturned to her. She smiled at him and he joined her on the divan. Theirfingers intertwined and they sat for a long moment looking into thefire. But Beth knew of what he was thinking and Peter knew that sheknew. Their honeymoon was over. There was work to do in the world. 

 +-------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's Note: | | | | Typographical errors corrected in the text: | | | | Page 9 Nicolaevitch changed to Nicholaevitch | | Page 12 Vasil changed to Vasili | | Page 39 reassuring changed to reassuring | | Page 90 rigidily changaed to rigidly | | Page 94 seee changed to see | | Page 158 Andy should read Jesse | | Page 164 the changed to he | | Page 188 Well's changed to Wells's | | Page 353 musn't changed to mustn't | | Page 355 Its changed to It's | | Page 362 Lukovo changed to Zukovo | +-------------------------------------------------+