The Greatest Works of James Oliver Curwood (Illustrated Edition). James Oliver Curwood
through the corridor and up the short flight of steps that led out of the jail. To Nathaniel's astonishment there was no light to guide them. Candles and lights had been extinguished. What words he heard were spoken in whispers. In the deep shadow of the prison wall a third guard joined the two ahead and like automatons they strode through the gloom with slow, measured step, their rifles held with soldierly precision. Nathaniel glanced over his shoulder and saw three other white masked faces a dozen feet away. The king had remained behind.
He shuddered and looked at Neil. His companion's appearance was almost startling. He seemed half a head taller than himself, yet he knew that he was shorter by an inch or two; his shoulders were thrown back, his chin held high, he kept step with the guards ahead. He was marching to his death as coolly as though on parade.
Nathaniel's heart beat excitedly as they came to where the scrub of the forest met the plain. They were taking the path that led to Marion's! Again he looked at Neil. There was no change in the fearless attitude of Marion's brother, no lowering of his head, no faltering in his step. They passed the graves and entered the opening in the forest where lay Marion's home, and as once more the sweet odor of lilac came to him, awakening within his soul all those things that he had tried to stifle that he might meet death like a man, he felt himself weakening, until only the cloth about his mouth restrained the moaning cry that forced itself to his lips. If he had possessed a life to give he would have sacrificed it gladly then for a word with the Mormon king, a last prayer that death might be meted to him here, where eternity would come to him with his glazing eyes fixed to the end upon the home of his beloved, and where the sweetness of the flower that had become a part of Marion herself might soothe the pain of his final moment on earth.
His heart leaped with hope as a sharp voice from the rear commanded a halt. It was Jeekum. He came up out of the darkness from behind the rear guard, his face still unmasked, and for a few moments was in whispered consultation with the guards ahead. Had Strang, in the virulence of that hatred which he concealed so well, conceived of this spot to give added torment to death? It was the poetry of vengeance! For the first time Neil turned toward his companion. Each read what the other had guessed. Neil, who was nearest to the whispering four, turned suddenly toward them and listened. When he looked at Nathaniel again it was with a slow negative shake of his head.
Jeekum returned quickly and placed himself between them, seizing each by an arm, and the forward guards, pivoting to the left, set off at their steady pace across the clearing. As they entered the denser gloom of the forest on the farther side Nathaniel felt the jailer's fingers tighten about his arm, then relax—and tighten again. A gentle pressure held him back and the guards in front gained half a dozen feet. In a low voice Jeekum called for those behind to fall a few paces to the rear.
Then came again the mysterious working of the man's fingers on Nathaniel's arm.
Was Jeekum signaling to him?
He could see Neil's white face still turned stoically to the front. Evidently nothing had occurred to arouse his suspicions. If the maneuvering of Jeekum's fingers meant anything it was intended for him alone. Action had been the manna of his life. The possibility of new adventure, even in the face of death, thrilled him. He waited, breathless—and the strange pressure came again, so hard that it hurt his flesh.
There was no longer a doubt in his mind. The king's sheriff wanted to speak to him.
And he was afraid of the eyes and ears behind.
The fingers were cautioning him to be ready—when the opportunity came.
The path widened and through the thin tree-tops above their heads the starlight filtered down upon them. The leading guards were twenty feet away. How far behind were the others?
A moment more and they plunged into deep night again. The figures ahead were mere shadows. Again the fingers dug into Nathaniel's arm, and pressing close to the sheriff he bent down his head.
A low, quick whisper fell in his ear.
"Don't give up hope! Marion—Winnsome—"
The sheriff jerked himself erect without finishing. Hurried footsteps had come close to their heels. The rear guards were so near that they could have touched them with their guns. Had some spot of lesser gloom ahead betrayed the prisoner's bowed head and Jeekum's white face turned to it? There was a steady pressure on Nathaniel's arm now, a warning, frightened pressure, and the hand that made it trembled. Jeekum feared the worst—but his fear was not greater than the chill of disappointment that came to smother the excited beating of Nathaniel's heart. What had the jailer meant to say? What did he know about Marion and Winnsome, and why had he given birth to new hope in the same breath that he mentioned their names?
His words carried at least one conviction. Marion was alive despite her brother's somber prophesies. If she had killed herself the sheriff would not have coupled her name with Winnsome's in the way he had.
Nathaniel's nerves were breaking with suspense. He stifled his breath to listen, to catch the faintest whisper that might come to him from the white faced man at his side. Each passing moment of silence added to his desperation. He squeezed the sheriff's hand with his arm, but there was no responding signal; in a patch of thick gloom that almost concealed the figures ahead he pressed near to him and lowered his head again—and Jeekum pushed him back fiercely, with a low curse.
They emerged from the forest and the clear starlight shone down upon them. A little distance off lay the lake in shimmering stillness. Nathaniel looked boldly at the sheriff now, and as his glance passed beyond him he was amazed at the change that had come over Neil. The young man's head was bowed heavily upon his breast, his shoulders were hunched forward, and he walked with a listless, uneven step. Was it possible that his magnificent courage had at last given way?
A hundred steps farther they came to the beach and Nathaniel saw a boat at the water's edge with a single figure guarding it. Straight to this Jeekum led his prisoners. For the first time he spoke to them aloud.
"One in front, the other in back," he said.
For an instant Nathaniel found himself close beside Neil and he prodded him sharply with his knee. His companion did not lift his head. He made no sign, gave no last flashing comradeship with his eyes, but climbed into the bow of the boat and sat down with his chin still on his chest, like a man lost in stupor.
Nathaniel followed him, scarcely believing his eyes, and sat himself in the stern, leaning comfortably against the knees of the man who took the tiller. He felt a curious thrill pass through him when he discovered a moment later that this man was Jeekum. Two men seized the oars amidships. A fourth, with his rifle across his knees sat facing Neil.
For the first time Nathaniel found himself wondering what this voyage meant. Were they to be rowed far down the shore to some secret fastness where no other ears would hear the sound of the avenging rifles, and where, a few inches under the forest mold, their bodies would never be discovered? Each stroke of the oars added to the remoteness of this possibility. The boat was heading straight out to sea. Perhaps they were to meet a less terrible death by drowning, an end which, though altogether unpleasant, held something comforting in it for Captain Plum. Two hours passed without pause in the steady labor of the men at the oars. In those hours not a word was spoken. The two men amidships held no communication. The guard in the bow moved a little now and then only to relieve his cramped limbs. Neil was absolutely motionless, as though he had ceased to breathe. Jeekum uttered not a whisper.
It was his whisper that Nathaniel waited for, the signaling clutch of his fingers, the sound of his breath close to his ears. Again and again he pressed himself against the sheriff's knees. He knew that he was understood, and yet there came no answer. At last he looked up, and Jeekum's face was far above him, staring straight and unseeing into the darkness ahead. His last spark of hope went out.
After a time a dark rim loomed slowly up out of the sea. It was land, half a mile or so away. Nathaniel sat up with fresh interest, and as they drew nearer Jeekum rose to his feet and gazed long and steadily in both directions along the coast. When he returned to his seat the boat's course was changed. A few minutes later the bow grated upon sand. Still voiceless as specters the guards leaped ashore and Neil roused himself to follow