The Valley of Fear - Arthur Conan Doyle (books to read in your 20s .txt) 📗

savage eyes were blazing with anger. “Maybe you are in a humour for a fight, Mr. Boarder!”

“That I am!” cried McMurdo, springing to his feet. “You never said a more welcome word.”

“For God’s sake, Jack! Oh, for God’s sake!” cried poor, distracted Ettie. “Oh, Jack, Jack, he will hurt you!”

“Oh, it’s Jack, is it?” said Baldwin with an oath. “You’ve come to that already, have you?”

“Oh, Ted, be reasonable⁠—be kind! For my sake, Ted, if ever you loved me, be bighearted and forgiving!”

“I think, Ettie, that if you were to leave us alone we could get this thing settled,” said McMurdo quietly. “Or maybe, Mr. Baldwin, you will take a turn down the street with me. It’s a fine evening, and there’s some open ground beyond the next block.”

“I’ll get even with you without needing to dirty my hands,” said his enemy. “You’ll wish you had never set foot in this house before I am through with you!”

“No time like the present,” cried McMurdo.

“I’ll choose my own time, mister. You can leave the time to me. See here!” He suddenly rolled up his sleeve and showed upon his forearm a peculiar sign which appeared to have been branded there. It was a circle with a triangle within it. “D’you know what that means?”

“I neither know nor care!”

“Well, you will know, I’ll promise you that. You won’t be much older, either. Perhaps Miss Ettie can tell you something about it. As to you, Ettie, you’ll come back to me on your knees⁠—d’ye hear, girl?⁠—on your knees⁠—and then I’ll tell you what your punishment may be. You’ve sowed⁠—and by the Lord, I’ll see that you reap!” He glanced at them both in fury. Then he turned upon his heel, and an instant later the outer door had banged behind him.

For a few moments McMurdo and the girl stood in silence. Then she threw her arms around him.

“Oh, Jack, how brave you were! But it is no use, you must fly! Tonight⁠—Jack⁠—tonight! It’s your only hope. He will have your life. I read it in his horrible eyes. What chance have you against a dozen of them, with Boss McGinty and all the power of the lodge behind them?”

McMurdo disengaged her hands, kissed her, and gently pushed her back into a chair. “There, acushla, there! Don’t be disturbed or fear for me. I’m a Freeman myself. I’m after telling your father about it. Maybe I am no better than the others; so don’t make a saint of me. Perhaps you hate me too, now that I’ve told you as much?”

“Hate you, Jack? While life lasts I could never do that! I’ve heard that there is no harm in being a Freeman anywhere but here; so why should I think the worse of you for that? But if you are a Freeman, Jack, why should you not go down and make a friend of Boss McGinty? Oh, hurry, Jack, hurry! Get your word in first, or the hounds will be on your trail.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” said McMurdo. “I’ll go right now and fix it. You can tell your father that I’ll sleep here tonight and find some other quarters in the morning.”

The bar of McGinty’s saloon was crowded as usual, for it was the favourite loafing place of all the rougher elements of the town. The man was popular; for he had a rough, jovial disposition which formed a mask, covering a great deal which lay behind it. But apart from this popularity, the fear in which he was held throughout the township, and indeed down the whole thirty miles of the valley and past the mountains on each side of it, was enough in itself to fill his bar; for none could afford to neglect his good will.

Besides those secret powers which it was universally believed that he exercised in so pitiless a fashion, he was a high public official, a municipal councillor, and a commissioner of roads, elected to the office through the votes of the ruffians who in turn expected to receive favours at his hands. Assessments and taxes were enormous; the public works were notoriously neglected, the accounts were slurred over by bribed auditors, and the decent citizen was terrorized into paying public blackmail, and holding his tongue lest some worse thing befall him.

Thus it was that, year by year, Boss McGinty’s diamond pins became more obtrusive, his gold chains more weighty across a more gorgeous vest, and his saloon stretched farther and farther, until it threatened to absorb one whole side of the Market Square.

McMurdo pushed open the swinging door of the saloon and made his way amid the crowd of men within, through an atmosphere blurred with tobacco smoke and heavy with the smell of spirits. The place was brilliantly lighted, and the huge, heavily gilt mirrors upon every wall reflected and multiplied the garish illumination. There were several bartenders in their shirt sleeves, hard at work mixing drinks for the loungers who fringed the broad, brass-trimmed counter.

At the far end, with his body resting upon the bar and a cigar stuck at an acute angle from the corner of his mouth, stood a tall, strong, heavily built man who could be none other than the famous McGinty himself. He was a black-maned giant, bearded to the cheekbones, and with a shock of raven hair which fell to his collar. His complexion was as swarthy as that of an Italian, and his eyes were of a strange dead black, which, combined with a slight squint, gave them a particularly sinister appearance.

All else in the man⁠—his noble proportions, his fine features, and his frank bearing⁠—fitted in with that jovial, man-to-man manner which he affected. Here, one would say, is a bluff, honest fellow, whose heart would be sound however rude his outspoken words might seem. It was only when those dead, dark eyes, deep and remorseless, were turned upon a man that he shrank within himself, feeling that he was face to face with an infinite possibility of