Outlaw and Lawmaker/Chapter 34
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE TRAGEDY OF THE WATERFALL.
But when Elsie, in her helpless despair, called aloud on Lord Horace and Ina, she did not know the tragedy which had befallen Horace, and both Ina and another woman. Frank and Lady Waveryng had gone some way in search of specimens of ferns. Minnie Pryde and her lover—for such he now was—had disappeared. The young man with the Kodak was posing the half-castes at a little distance from the Fall, and Sam Shehan was jogging sulkily back towards the camp. All these several persons, with the exception of the stockman, were recalled by piercing shrieks rising above the roar of the waterfall.
Lady Waveryng turned very pale.
"Good heavens! what is that?" she cried. "I am afraid something has happened," said Frank Hallett. He only thought of Elsie, and strode on over stones and fallen trees and through patches of spinnifex like one possessed with fear. Lady Waveryng struggled to keep pace with him. Others had heard the shrieks. The young man with the Kodak was leaping the brushwood from an opposite direction, and so were Minnie Pryde and Mr. Craig.
"What is the matter?" they all cried. "Has anything happened to Elsie?" They, too, thought of Elsie.
But there was no sound nor sign of Elsie. It was Mrs. Allanby who came tragically forward. Her face was like death. She could scarcely speak, and only pointed with nerveless hand to where Lord Horace, looking strangely dazed and heavy, was leaning against a flat-topped rock.
"He put his hand on it," gasped Mrs. Allanby. "It bit him." And then she uttered a heart-rending shriek. "Oh, my God, it is my punishment! What shall I do? what shall I do! he is all I had in the world."
Lady Waveryng gave a sudden start, and looked at her straight with her proud eyes from under her level brows. She went direct to Mrs. Allanby, never losing her presence of mind, though she seemed to see at a glance what had happened. She took Mrs. Allanby's hand.
"Hush," she said imperiously, but very low. "You mustn't say such things; for his sake and for your own, and for the sake of his wife."
"It has bitten him," cried Mrs. Allanby, "and I fainted when I saw it, and there's been time lost. Can't you do anything? Oh, can't you do anything? But I know you can't. It's deadly"
And then she was seized with a fit of shuddering.
Lady Waveryng shook her off, as though she too had been a reptile, and rushed to her brother's side.
"Take care, Em," he said. "I'm done for, dear, and the beast is there yet."
And on the flat top of the rock, sluggish, stunted of shape, and with the cruel broad head of the deadly reptile, was the death adder which had bitten him.
Mr. Craig killed it. Frank Hallett had his knife out in a twinkling. "Where?" he said.
Lord Horace held out his hand. Frank made one or two transverse cuts, and then unhesitatingly put his mouth to the wound and sucked the blood, while Minnie Pryde's squatter tied a ligature tightly round the arm.
"Too late, old chap," said Lord Horace, faintly. "It's all up with me. All I can do is to die game, and whatever we Gages were, bad or good, we all of us could do that—couldn't we, Em?"
Lady Waveryng's eyes gave the answer. She was very pale, almost stunned by the blow, but she never lost her self-possession, a contrast to the weeping panic-stricken woman whom Lord Horace loved.
"Can nothing be done?" she said, turning to Frank, and sweeping Mrs. Allanby with her gaze. "Brandy, ammonia—is there no ammonia?"
They had already begun pouring brandy down Lord Horace's throat. No one had ammonia, an omission for which Frank cursed himself; he usually carried his injecting apparatus with him on the run, in the snake season; upon this occasion he had forgotten it. But in the face of that murderous hlunt-headed reptile they all knew that neither brandy nor ammonia could be of any avail.
Lord Horace's face had become waxen in hue, and already he had the dull, dazed look of a drunken man. It was only his healthy vitality which had kept the poison from working more speedily. He staggered as they walked him to and fro, and before many minutes the collapse came. Frank and Lady Waveryng did all they could to rouse him, and with an effort he collected his dying faculties.
The others had drawn aside. Only Mrs. Allanby clung to him, and Lady Waveryng, stern and stately, and yet pitiful, stood shielding them both.
"Horace," she said, "is there anything you would like me to tell Ina?"
Lord Horace's glazed eyes fastened themselves on his sister beseechingly, and wandered from her to Mrs. Allanby. "Don't let Ina know," he said, "and take care of her. I wasn't good enough for Ina."
And those were the last words he spoke.
As if obeying his last behest, Lady Waveryng, when all was over, took Mrs. Allanby very gently by the hand and placed her on a ledge, in an angle of the rocks, where the poor woman sank moaning hysterically.
"It is my punishment," she cried. "God has sent His vengeance upon me. Do you know what he was doing when that thing fastened on him? He had his arm round me; he kissed me, he had put his hand down on the rock. His kiss—oh! my God! his last kiss!"
"Hush," said Lady Waveryng, shuddering. "He is dead. Think of his wife."
"She never loved him," Mrs. Allanby broke out. "She loved Frank Hallett, who is going to marry her sister. She married him so that she might not be in her sister's way. I know it. No one told me. It came to me. I saw it in her look. It was in her voice when she spoke to Frank. I told him. She is very good, too good for him, I suppose. I was better suited for him. . . . What does it matter to her?" The poor woman wandered on. "She will be glad after a little while that he is dead. They never could have been happy. If she had been a different woman he wouldn't have wanted me. He did want me. I don't know what would have come of it. I suppose we should have gone off together; he asked me to go; it was almost settled—yesterday, as we rode out. And now he is dead. And what is to become of me? I worshipped him—I would have died for him. You should be sorry for me."
"I am sorry for you," said Lady Waveryng. "I will take care of you. I will shield you. Only for your own sake—for his sake don't betray him now that he is dead; and remember that he was my favourite brother, and that if you mourn him as having lost your all, I too have lost almost the dearest thing in the world to me."
Mrs. Allanby grew more composed. Gradually she sank into a silent, tearless condition, keeping close to Lady Waveryng while arrangements were being made for taking the dead man to the camp. It was Frank Hallett who organized these. A rough litter was prepared, on which the body was laid, and they carried it in turns through the gorges and along the scrub to the point where the horses were waiting.
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Trant stood motionless against the wall of the old crater. Elsie, strengthened by the brandy she had drunk, left him and walked on, determined to take the bearings of her prison. She walked steadily, examining every inch of the wall for an opening. She even looked for some little zig-zag path, some crumbling of the stone, some wallaby hole, but there was none. For the most part the wall was of naked rock, with here and there patches of hanging creepers, and as the sun lowered so long was the shadow it cast that she supposed the wall to be two or three hundred feet in height. She had walked almost round the enclosure when she at last saw an opening, leading she imagined into the cave through which she had passed from the outer world into this strange retreat. She went in and found herself in a lofty rock chamber, from which led several smaller grottoes, one of which was evidently used as a kind of stable, for there was fodder in it and the trace of a horse's occupation. Saddles, bridles, and stout leather saddle bags lay stacked on the ground near the entrance to the stable cell. She wondered vaguely how they had come there, and by whom the place was used, but she was too dazed and her mind too pre-occupied with her own danger for the real truth to take any hold upon her faculties. There was no outlet to the stable cell. Of that she assured herself, and proceeded to examine the rest of the chamber, going systematically round its wall. There were two other grottoes, both without an outlet, and both used apparently as sleeping quarters, for in each was a rude wooden bunk and roll of blankets and some saddlebags that seemed to be tilled with blankets or clothes. In each also was a tin basin and soap, and some toilet implements. Elsie pursued her investigations in the larger cave. Here also was a bunk, and piled in the corner were some more rolls of blankets. Near the mouth of the cave were the remains of a fire, and there were several blackened billys and pint pots lying about. She saw also a rude settle and a sort of table made of slabs laid upon four firm stones. In a recess was a supply of provisions; bags, large and small, some sticky with sugar and white and caked with flour, and others which she supposed contained tea; several small kegs, and some cakes of store tobacco. She saw also tins of preserved meat or grocery. Then the truth flashed upon Elsie. She was in Moonlight's lair.
She forgot everything in the excitement of her discovery. She rushed out into the open. Trant was still standing passively against the wall. "I know you," the girl cried. "How could you dare to bring me here? Are you not afraid? This is Moonlight's hiding-place. You have been lying to me; lying, lying all through. I understand everything now. I understand why Sam Shehan didn't want us to come here. You are Moonlight—you—you"
She burst into a fit of hysterical laughter.
"No," he answered, "I am not Moonlight, and I am not lying to you now. It is true this is Moonlight's lair. And are you surprised that the police haven't found him? But I am not Moonlight."
"Then who is Moonlight?" she said.
"Ah," he answered, "it would surprise you to know that. Perhaps you may find out later."
"Are you not afraid that I shall betray you?" she said.
"No. I have told you that I don't intend to let you leave this place till you go with me to the nearest township to be married. You are not likely to betray your husband. Besides, I don't mean to give you the chance. I have made all my arrangements, and when I leave this it will be for good. The Moonlight drama is played out. As soon as you are Mrs. Dominic Trant, we sail for Europe."
"Where are Lady Waveryng's diamonds?" she asked suddenly.
"Do you think I am likely to tell you that?" he said. "Let us drop unpleasant subjects, Elsie. You know the worst that is to be known. We have never killed anybody, and we have gone in for things on a generous scale. You can't call us petty ruffians. In fact I have heard you express admiration for Moonlight."
Again the girl was seized with hysterical laughter. Her mind went back to various episodes, seizing the threads brokenly. "Oh! Oh!" she gasped. "And you pretended to condole with Lord Waveryng—and when you went away from the corroboree all that story about the butcher waiting!—Oh! and at the Races—and I remember how you joked at Moonlight and Captain Macpherson being fellow guests, and you have been pretending to help Captain Macpherson. And then at Goondi—the gold-escort—at the election. Oh!" the girl's eyes dilated, and she suddenly stopped. She remembered the tall cloaked figure, the gleaming hilt of the revolver, the wild words, the flaming eyes. And then all came clear to her.
"Oh, God!" she cried, and fainted.
Never in all her life before to-day had Elsie fainted. Trant told her that she had been unconscious for a long time. When she came to herself he was chafing her hands with the tenderness of a woman. She asked him to leave her alone, and he went away. For a long time she lay on the grass and thought. She lay there till the sun had sunk behind the rampart of the old crater.
By and by Trant came to her, and in a humble subdued manner asked her if she would like to see the place he had arranged for her to sleep in. Always to Trant's credit it was to be remembered that he acted towards her with a certain chivalric consideration. She did not feel afraid of him now. Her very soul seemed numbed. He asked her if she would take his arm as ceremoniously as if they had been in a ballroom, and she accepted it again with that tendency to hysterical laughter.
He took her into one of the smallest caves, and she was almost touched to see how carefully he had arranged it. He had put some hay on a bunk to serve as a mattress, and had spread the blankets smoothly upon it. He had spread another blanket on the floor, so that her feet should not touch the bare earth of the cave, and he had scoured the tin basin and filled a dipper with water, and laid some soap and even a raw edged cloth—torn from something—for a towel. He had dragged in some stones and a slab, and had extemporized a dressing table, on which he had put a tiny hand glass and a comb, and—loverlike touch!—in a small pint pot were a few sprays of rock lily. He must have gone put and gathered them.
"I'm afraid it is very rough," he said, "but it's the best I can do. Nothing will hurt you. You'll be as safe here as if you were in Lady Horace's room at the Dell. I shall be a good way off, but you can call me if anything frightens you. I'm going to camp outside. And now I shall get you some supper."
He went out. Presently, however, he came back, and called her, "Elsie!"
She went to him.
"Did you find the way out?"
"No," she said, surprised, and fancying he was going to release her.
"Well, I'd better show you—just that it is no use hoping to get away— in case you tried to-night. Come with me."
He had a tiny lantern in his hand, and she followed him. At one end, the larger cave, hollowed inward—she had not reached so far when the horror of her discovery had burst upon her. He led her here, and along a high narrow passage into which only the faintest glimmer of light came from what was evidently the larger cave, into which they had first come yesterday. She knew now that it must have been in this narrow passage he had chloroformed her. He came to a stop and flashed his lantern against a black excrescence, which she saw was a large projecting rock. She saw also beside it an iron tipped staff, which looked as if it had been a cart pole. "Look at me," he said ; "I am a very large and powerful man."
"Yes," she answered, bewildered.
"Well. Do you mind holding the lantern?" She took it from him, and he seized the pole and fixed it in a groove of the rock, using it as a lever and exerting all his strength to turn the mass outward. He was a long time at it. The sweat poured down his forehead. "It takes two of us," he said. "Do you think you could do that?"
By inches he moved the block, and she now saw that it was a stone that must have been dragged sideways from the outside, no doubt by a horse, which when placed across in a perpendicular position completely barred the passage.
"That's the door of your prison," he said. "There's only this entrance to the cave. You have my full leave to hunt for any other. You are not likely to escape."
"No," she answered, submissive in her bewilderment. He led her back again, lighted the fire, and proceeded with his preparations for supper. She tried to eat a little of the salt beef he had boiled, and even told him his johnny-cakes were excellent. It was all so grim, so extraordinary. In his manner now there was nothing melodramatic. He might have been doing the honours of Baròlin. When their meal was over she sat patient, supine, with no heart even to be angry. She knew that his eyes were on her all the time, but she would not look at him. At last she could bear the oppression of his presence in that confined place no longer, and got up and went outside. She longed to fling herself on the ground and sob, but pride kept her from this weakness. She would not let him think she was frightened. Presently he came out to her. "Would you like me to sing?" he said, gently.
She signified assent, and he began, his beautiful voice echoing strangely in this mountain heart. He sang on for an hour, all kinds of things, mostly sad, one or two spirited war songs, and among them "The Marseillaise."
Was ever stranger concert! At last Elsie got up, and said she would go to bed, and he went with her like an attentive host, lighted a fat lamp, and conducted her to the door of her chamber. Then he bowed low and left her.