"It is a shame for you to speak of such things to me, Tom. Consider what I have endured--what you have made me endure. People said I was standing by you, condoning a sin that no right-minded young woman should condone.
I bore it because I thought, I believed, you were sorry. And at that very time you were deceiving me--deceiving every one. You have dragged me in the very dust of shame!"
"There is no shame save what we make for ourselves," he retorted. "One day, according to your creed, we shall stand naked before your G.o.d, and before each other. In that day you will know what you have done to me to-night. No, don"t speak, please; let me finish. The last time we were together you gave me a strong word, and--and you kissed me. For the sake of that word and that kiss I went out into the world a different man.
For the little fragment of your love that you gave me then, I have lived a different man from that day to this. Now you shall see what I shall be without it."
Before he had finished she had turned from him gasping, choking, strangling in the grip of a mighty pa.s.sion, new-born and yet not new.
With the suddenness of a revealing flash of lightning she understood; knew that she loved him, that she had been loving him from childhood, not because, but in spite of everything, as he had once defined love. It was terrible, heartbreaking, soul-destroying. She called on shame for help, but shame had fled. She was cold with a horrible fear lest he should find out and she should be for ever lost in the bottomless pit of humiliation.
It was the sight of the little orange-colored spot glowing and growing beyond the Chiawa.s.see chimneys that saved her.
"Look!" she cried. "Isn"t that a fire down in the valley just across the pike from the furnace? It _is_ a fire!"
He made a field-gla.s.s of his hands and looked long and steadily.
"You are quite right," he said coolly. "It"s my foundry. Can you get back to the hotel alone? If you can, I"ll take the short cut down through the woods. Good night, and--good-by." And before she could reply, he had lowered himself over the cliff"s edge and was crashing through the underbrush on the slopes below.
XXIX
AS BRUTES THAT PERISH
It was the office building of the pipe foundry that burned on the night of July fifteenth, and the fire was incendiary. Suspicion, put on the scent by the night-watchman"s story, pointed to Tike Bryerson as the criminal. The old moonshiner, in the bickering stage of intoxication, had been seen hanging about the new plant during the day, and had made vague threats in the hearing of various ears in Gordonia.
Wherefore the small world of Paradise and its environs looked to see a warrant sworn out for the mountaineer"s arrest; and when nothing was done, gossip reawakened to say that Tom Gordon did not dare to prosecute; that Bryerson"s crime was a bit of wild justice, so recognized by the man whose duty it was to invoke the law.
It was remarked, also, that neither of the Gordons had anything to say, and that an air of mystery enveloped the little that they did. The small wooden office building was a total loss, but the night shift at the Chiawa.s.see had saved most of the contents; everything of value except the small iron safe which had stood behind the manager"s desk in the private office. The safe, as the onlookers observed, was taken from the debris and conveyed, unopened, across the road to the Chiawa.s.see laboratory and yard office. Whether or not its keepings were destroyed by the fire, was known only to the younger Gordon, who, as the foreman of the Chiawa.s.see night shift informed a _Tribune_ reporter, had broken it open himself, deep in the small hours of the night following the fire, and behind the locked door of the furnace laboratory.
At another moment South Tredegar newspaperdom might have made something of the little mystery. But there were more exciting topics to the fore.
The great strike, with Chicago and Pullman as its storm-centers, was gripping the land in its frenzied fist, and the press despatches were greedy of s.p.a.ce. Hence, young Gordon was suffered to open his safe in mysterious secrecy; to rebuild his burned office; and to let the incendiary, sufficiently identified by the watchman, it was believed, go scot-free.
With the greater land-wide interest to divert it, even Paradise failed to note the curious change that had come over the younger of the Gordons, dating from the night of burnings. But the few who came in contact with him in the business day saw and felt it. Miss Ackerman, the pipe-works stenographer, quit when her week was up. It was nothing that the young manager had said or done; but, as she confided to her sister, more fortunately situated in town, it was like being caged with a living threat. Even Norman, the trusted lieutenant, was cut out of his employer"s confidence; and for hours on end in the business day the card "Not in" would be displayed on the gla.s.s-paneled door of the private room in the rebuilt office.
Not to make a mystery of it for ourselves, Tom had pa.s.sed another milestone in the descent to the valley of lost souls. Or rather, let us say, he had taken a longer step backward toward the primitive. Daggered _amour-propre_ is rarely a benign wound. Oftener than not it gangrenes, and there is loss of sound tissue and the setting-up of strange and malevolent growth. With the pa.s.sing of the first healthful shock of honest resentment, Tom became a man of one idea. Somewhere in the land of the living dwelt a man who had robbed him, intentionally or otherwise, indirectly, but none the less effectually, of the enn.o.bling love of the one woman; to find that man and to deal with him as Joab dealt with Amasa became the one thing worth living for.
The first step was taken in secrecy. One day a stranger, purporting to be a walking delegate for the United Miners, but repudiated as such by check-weigher Ludlow, took up his residence in Gordonia and began to interest himself, quite unminer-like, in the various mechanical appliances of the Chiawa.s.see plant, and particularly in the different sources of its water supply.
Divested of his cloakings, this sham walking delegate was a Pinkerton man, detailed grudgingly from the Chicago storm-center on Tom"s requisition. His task was to scrutinize Nancy Bryerson"s past, and to identify, if possible, one or more of the three men who, in January of the year 1890, had inspected and repaired the pipe-line running from the c.o.ke-yard tank up to the barrel-spring on high Lebanon.
To the detective the exclusion card on Tom"s door did not apply, and the conferences between the hired and the hirer were frequent and prolonged.
If we shall overhear one of them--the final one, held on the day of the Farleys" return to Paradise and Warwick Lodge--it will suffice.
"It looks easy enough, as you say, Mr. Gordon," the human ferret is explaining; "but in point of fact there"s nothing to work on--less than nothing. Three years ago you had no regular repair gang, and when a job of that kind was to be done, any Tom, d.i.c.k or Harry picked up a helper or two and did it. But I think you can bet on one thing: none of the three men who made that inspection is at present in your employ."
"In other words, you"d like to get back to your job at Pullman," snaps Tom.
"Oh, I ain"t in any hurry! That job looks as if it would keep for a while longer. But I don"t like to take a man"s good money for nothing; and that"s about what I"m doing here."
Tom swings around to his desk and writes a check.
"I suppose you have no further report to make on the woman?"
"Nothing of any importance. I told you where she is living--in a little cabin up on the mountain in a settlement called Pine k.n.o.b."
"Yes; but I found that out for myself."
"So you did. Well, she"s living straight, as far as anybody knows; and if you can believe what you hear, the only follower she ever had was a young mountaineer named Kincaid. I looked him up; he"s been gone from these parts for something over three years. He is ranching in Indian Territory, and only came back last week. You can check him off your list."
"He was never on, and I have no list," says the manhunter grittingly.
"But I"ll tell you one thing, Mr. Beckham," pa.s.sing the signed check to the other, "I shall begin where you leave off, and end by finding my man."
"I hope you do, I"m sure," says the Pinkerton, moved by the liberal figure of the check. "And if there"s anything more the Agency can do--"
In the afternoon of the same day, when the self-dismissed detective was speeding northward toward Chicago and the car-burners, Tom saddled the bay and rode long and hard over a bad mountain cart track to the hamlet of Pine k.n.o.b. It was a measure of his abandonment that he was breaking his promise to Ardea; and another of his reckless singleness of purpose that he rode brazenly through the little settlement to Nan"s door, dismounted and entered as if he had right.
The cabin was untenanted, but he found Nan sitting on the slab step of a rude porch at the back, nursing her child. She greeted him without rising, and her eyes were downcast.
"I"ve come for justice, Nan," he said, without preface, seating himself on the end of the step and flicking the dust from his leggings with his riding-crop. "You know what they"re saying about us--about you and me. I want to know who to thank for it: what is the man"s name?"
She did not reply at once, and when she lifted the dark eyes to his they were full of suffering, like those of an animal under the lash.
"I nev" said hit was you," she averred, after a time.
"No; but you might as well. Everybody believes it, and you haven"t denied it. Who is the man?"
"I cayn"t tell," she said simply.
"You mean you won"t tell."
"No, I cayn"t; I"m livin" on his money, Tom-Jeff."
"No, you are not. What makes you say that?"
"She told me I was."
"Who? Miss Dabney?"
Her nod was affirmative, and he went on: "Tell me just what she said; word for word, if you can remember."
The answer came brokenly.
"I was ashamed--you don"t believe hit, but hit"s so. I allowed it was _her_ money. When I made out like I"d run off, she said, "No; it"s his money "at"s bein" spent for you, and you have a right to it.""
Tom was silent for a time; then he said the other necessary word.
"She believes I am the man who wronged you, Nan. It was my money."