The Odds - Ethel May Dell (read full novel .TXT) 📗

Hill was a sport. He caught on. He came to Barren Valley, and they tinkered round together, and they found gold. That same night they came upon the smugglers, too--only escaped running into them by a miracle. Hill didn't say much. He's not a talker. But after they got back to Wallacetown he made an offer to Buckskin Bill which struck him as being a very sporting proposition for a policeman. He said, 'If you care to take on Barren Valley and make an honest concern of it, I'll get the grant and do the backing. The labour is there,' he said, 'but it's got to be honest labour or I won't touch it.' It was a sporting offer, boys, and, of course, Bill jumped. And so a contract was drawn up which had to be signed. And 'What's your name?' said Fletcher Hill." Warden suddenly began to laugh. "On my oath, he didn't know what to say, so he just caught at the first honest-sounding name he could think of. 'Fortescue,' he said. Hill didn't ask a single question. 'Then that mine shall be called the Fortescue Gold Mine,' he said. 'And you'll work it and make an honest man's job of it.' It was a pretty big undertaking, but it sort of appealed to Buckskin Bill, and he took it on. The only real bad mistake he made was when he trusted Harley. Except for that, the thing worked--and worked well. The smuggling trade isn't what it was, eh, boys? That's because Fortescue--and Fletcher Hill--are using up the labour for the mine. And you may hate 'em like hell, but you can't get away from the fact that this mine is run fair and decent, and there isn't a man here who doesn't stand a good chance of making his fortune if he plays a straight game. It's been a chance to make good for every one of us, and it's thanks to Fletcher Hill--because he hasn't asked questions--because he's just taken us on trust--and I'm hanged if he doesn't deserve something better than a bullet through his brain, even if he is a magistrate and a policeman and a man of honour. Have you got that, boys? Then chew it over and swallow it! And when you've done that, I'll tell you something more."
"Oh, let's have it all, boss, now you're at it!" broke in Nixon. "We shan't have hysterics now. We're past that stage."
Warden turned with a lightning movement and laid his hand upon the girl beside him. "Gentlemen," he said, "it's Fletcher Hill--and not Buckskin Bill--who's the boss of this valley. And he's a good boss--he's a sportsman--he's a maker of men. And this lady is going to be his wife. You're going to stand by her, boys. You aren't going to make a widow of her before she's married. You aren't going to let a skunk like Harley make skunks of you all. You're sportsmen, too--better sportsmen than that stands for--better sportsmen, maybe, than I am myself. What, boys? It's your turn to speak now."
"Wait a bit!" said Nixon. "You haven't quite finished yet, boss."
"No, that's true." Warden paused an instant, then abruptly went forward a pace and stood alone before the crowd. "I've taken a good many chances in my life," he said. "But now I'm taking the biggest of 'em all. Boys, I'm a damned impostor. I've tricked you all, and it's up to you to stick me against a wall and shoot me as I deserve, if you feel that way. For I'm Buckskin Bill--I'm Fortescue--and I'm several kinds of a fool to think I could ever carry it through. Now you know!"
With defiant recklessness he flung the words. They were more of a challenge than a confession. And having spoken them he moved straight forward with the moonlight on his face till he stood practically among the rough crowd.
They opened out to receive him, almost as if at a word of command. And Buckskin Bill, with his head high and his blue eyes flaming, went straight into them with the gait of a conqueror.
Suddenly, with a passionate gesture, he stopped, flinging up his empty right hand. "Well, boys, well? What's the verdict? I'm in your hands."
And a great hoarse roar of enthusiasm went up as they closed around him that was like the bursting asunder of mighty flood-gates. They surged about him. They lifted him on their shoulders. They yelled like maniacs and fired their revolvers in the air. It was the wildest outbreak that Barren Valley had ever heard, and to the girl who watched it, it was the most marvellous revelation of a man's magnetism that she had ever beheld. Alone he had faced and conquered a multitude.
It pierced her strangely, that fierce enthusiasm, stirring her as personal danger had failed to stir. She turned with the tears running down her face and found Fletcher Hill standing unnoticed behind her, silently looking on.
"Oh, isn't he great? Isn't he great?" she said.
He took her arm and led her within. His touch was kind, but wholly without warmth. "There's not much doubt as to who is the boss of Barren Valley," he said.
And with the words he smiled--a smile that was sadder than her tears.


CHAPTER XIII
THE OFFICIAL SEAL

That life could possibly return to a normal course after that amazing night would have seemed to Dot preposterous but for the extremely practical attitude adopted by Fletcher Hill. But when she saw him again on the day after their safe return to Trelevan there was nothing in his demeanour to remind her of the stress through which they had passed. He was, as ever, perfectly calm and self-contained, and wholly uncommunicative. Adela sought in vain to satisfy her curiosity as to the happenings in Barren Valley which her courage had not permitted her to witness for herself. Fletcher Hill was as a closed book, and on some points Dot was equally reticent. By no persuasion could Adela induce her to speak of Bill Warden. She turned the subject whenever it approached him, professing an ignorance which Adela found excessively provoking.
They saw nothing of him during the remainder of the week, and very little of Fletcher Hill, who went to and fro upon his business with a machine-like precision that seemed to pervade his every action. He made no attempt to be alone with Dot, and she, with a shyness almost overwhelming, thankfully accepted his forbearance. The day they had fixed upon for their marriage was rapidly approaching, but she had almost ceased to contemplate it, for somehow it seemed to her that it could never dawn. Something must happen first! Surely something was about to happen! And from day to day she lived for the sight of Bill Warden's great figure and the sound of his steady voice. Anything, she felt, would be bearable if only she could see him once again. But she looked for him in vain.
When her brother joined them at the end of the week a dullness of despair had come upon her. Again she saw herself trapped and helpless, lacking even the spirit to attempt escape. She greeted Jack almost abstractedly, and he observed her throughout the evening with anxiety in his eyes. When it was over he drew her aside for a moment as she was bidding him good-night.
"What's the matter, little 'un? What's wrong?" he whispered, with his arm about her.
She clung to him for an instant with a closeness that was passionate. But, "It's nothing, Jack," she whispered back. "It's nothing."
Then Fletcher Hill came up to them, and they separated. Adela and Dot went up to bed, and the two men were left alone.
* * * * *


So at length the great day dawned, and nothing had happened. The only news that had reached them was a remark overheard by Adela in the dining-room, to the effect that Harley had thrown up his post and gone.
Dot dressed for her wedding with a dazed sense of unreality. Her attire was of the simplest. She wore a hat instead of a veil. It was to be a quiet ceremony in the early morning, for neither she nor Hill desired any unnecessary parade. When she descended the stairs with Adela, Jack was the only person awaiting her in the hall.
He looked at her searchingly as she came down to him, then without a word he took her in his arms and kissed her white face. She saw that he was moved, and wondered within herself at her own utter lack of emotion. Ever since she had lain against Bill Warden's breast, the wild sweet rapture of his hold had seemed to paralyze in her all other feeling. She knew only the longing for his presence, the utter emptiness of a world that held him not.
She drove to the church with her hand in Jack's, Adela talking incessantly the whole way while they two sat in silence. It was a bare building in the heart of the town, but its bareness did not convey any chill to her. She was already too numbly cold for that.
She went up the aisle between Jack and Adela, because the latter good-naturedly remarked that she might as well have as much support as she could get. But before they reached the altar-steps Fletcher Hill came to meet them, and Adela dropped behind.
He also looked for a moment closely into Dot's face, then very quietly he took her cold hand from Jack and drew it through his arm. She glanced at him with a momentary nervousness as Jack also fell behind.
Then some unknown force drew her as the magnet draws the needle, and she looked towards the altar. A man was standing by the steps awaiting her. She saw the free carriage of the great shoulders, the deep fire of the blue eyes. And suddenly her heart gave a wild throb that was anguish, and stood still.
Fletcher Hill's arm went round her. He held her for a second closely to him--more closely than he had ever held her before. But--it came to her later--he did not utter a single word. He only drew her on.
And so she came to Bill Warden waiting before the altar. They met--and all the rest was blotted out.
She went through that service in a breathless wonderment, an amazement that yet was strangely free from distress. For Bill Warden's hand clasped hers throughout, save when Fletcher Hill took it from him for a moment to give her away.
When it was over, and they knelt together in the streaming sunshine of the morning, she felt as if they two were alone in an inner sanctuary that was filled with the Love of God. Later, those sacred moments were the holiest memory of her life....
Then a strong arm lifted and held her. She turned from the holy place with a faint sigh of regret, turned to meet Fletcher Hill's eyes looking at her with that in them which she was never to forget.
His voice was the first to break through the wonder-spell that bound her.
"Do you think you will ever manage to forgive me?" he said.
She turned swiftly from the arm that encircled her, and impulsively she put her hands upon his shoulders, offering him her lips. "Oh, I don't--know--what--to say," she said, brokenly.
He bent and gravely kissed her. "My dear, there is nothing to be said so far as I am concerned," he said. "If you are happy, I am satisfied."
It was briefly spoken, but it went straight to her heart. She clung to him for