The Greatest Works of James Oliver Curwood (Illustrated Edition). James Oliver Curwood
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"Because—" He caught the frightened flutter of her voice again. "Because—they will kill you!"
The low laugh that he breathed in her hair was more of joy than fear.
"I am glad you care—Marion." He spoke her name with faltering tenderness, and led her out into the path.
"You must go," she still persisted.
"With you—yes," he answered.
She surrendered to the determination in his voice and they moved slowly along the path, listening for any sound that might come from ahead of them. Nathaniel had already formed his plan of action. From Marion's words and the voice in which she had uttered them he knew that it would be useless for him as it had been for Neil to urge her to flee from the island. There remained but one thing for him to do, so he fell back upon the scheme which he had proposed to Marion's brother. He realized now that he might be compelled to play the game single-handed unless he could secure assistance from Obadiah. His ship and men were in the hands of the Mormons; Neil, in his search for the captured vessel, stood a large chance, of missing him that night, and in that event Marion's fate would depend on him alone. If he could locate a small boat on the beach back of Obadiah's; if he could in some way lure Marion to it—He gave an involuntary shudder at the thought of using force upon the girl at his side, at the thought of her terror of those first few moments, her struggles, her broken confidence. She believed in him now. She believed that he loved her. She trusted him. The warm soft pressure of her hand as it clung to his arm in the blackening gloom of the forest was evidence of that trust. She looked into his face anxiously, inquiringly when they stopped to listen, like a child who was sure of a stronger spirit at her side. She held her breath when he held his, she listened when he listened, her feet fell with velvet stillness when he stepped with caution. Her confidence in him was like a beautiful dream to Nathaniel and he trembled when he pictured the destruction of it. After a little he reached over and as if by accident touched the hand that was lying on his arm; he dared more after a moment, and drew the warm little fingers into his great strong palm and held them there, his soul thrilled by their gentle submissiveness. And then in another breath there came to still his joy a thought of the terrible power that chained this girl to the Mormon king. He longed to speak words of encouragement to her, to instil hope in her bosom, to ask her to confide in him the secret of the shadow which hung over her, but the memory of what Neil had said to him held his lips closed.
They had walked in silence for many minutes when the girl stopped.
"It is not very far now," she whispered. "You must go!"
"Only a little farther," he begged.
She surrendered again, hesitatingly, and they went on, more slowly than before, until they came to where the path met the footway that led to Obadiah's.
"Now—now you must go," whispered Marion again.
In this last moment Nathaniel crushed her hand against his breast, his body throbbing with a wild tumult, and a half of what he had meant not to say fell passionately from his lips.
"Forgive me for—that—back there—Marion," he whispered. "It was because I love you—love you—" He freed her hand and stood back, choking the words that would have revealed his secret. He lied now for the love of this girl. "Neil is out there waiting for me in a small boat," he continued, pointing beyond Obadiah's to the lake. "I will see him soon, and then I will return to Obadiah's to tell you if he has left for the mainland. Will you promise to meet me there—to-night?"
"I will promise."
"At midnight—"
"Yes, at twelve o'clock."
This time it was Marion who came to him. Her eyes shone like stars.
"And if you make Neil go to the mainland," she said softly, "when I meet you I will—will tell you—something."
The last word came in a breathless sob. As she slipped into the path that led to St. James she paused for a moment and called back, in a low voice, "Tell Neil that he must go for Winnsome's sake. Tell him that her fate is shortly to be as cruel as mine—tell him that Winnsome loves him, and that she will escape and come to him on the mainland. Tell him to go—go!"
She turned again, and Nathaniel stood like a statue, hardly breathing, until the sound of her feet had died away. Then he walked swiftly up the foot-path that led to Obadiah's. He forgot his own danger in the excitement that pulsated with every fiber of his being, forgot his old caution and the fears that gave birth to it—forgot everything in those moments but Marion and his own great happiness. Neil's absence meant nothing to him now. He had held Marion in his arms, he had told her of his love, and though she had accepted it with gentle unresponsiveness he was thrilled by the memory of that last look in her eyes, which had spoken faith, confidence, and perhaps even more. What was that something she would tell him if he got Neil safely away? It was to be a reward for his own loyalty—he knew that, by the half fearing tremble of her voice, the sobbing catch of her breath, the strange glow in her eyes. With her brother away would she confide in him? Would she tell him the secret of her slavedom to Strang? Nathaniel was conscious of no madness in the wild hope that filled him; nothing seemed impossible to him now. Marion would meet him at midnight. She would go with him to the boat, and then—ah, he had solved the problem! He would use no force. He would tell her that Neil was in his canoe half a mile out from the shore and that he had promised to leave the island for good if she would go out to bid him good-by. And once there, a half a mile or a mile away, he would tell her that he had lied to her; and he would give her his heart to trample upon to prove the love that had made him do this thing, and then he would row her to the mainland.
It was the sight of Obadiah's cabin that brought his caution back. He came upon it so suddenly that an exclamation of surprise fell unguarded from his lips. There was no light to betray life within. He tried the door and found it locked. He peered in at the windows, listened, and knocked, and at last concealed himself near the path, confident that the little old councilor was still at St. James. For an hour he waited. From the rear of Obadiah's home a narrow footway led toward the lake and Nathaniel followed it, now as warily as an animal in search of prey. For half a mile it took him through the forest and ended at the white sands of the beach. In neither direction could Nathaniel see a light, and keeping close in the shadows of the trees he made his way slowly toward St. James. He had gone but a short distance when he saw a house directly ahead of him, a single gleam of light from a small window telling him that it was inhabited and that its tenants were at home. He circled down close to the water looking for a boat. His heart leaped with sudden exultation when he saw a small skiff drawn upon the beach and his joy was doubled at finding the oars still in the locks. It took him but a moment to shove the light craft into the sea and a minute later he was rowing swiftly away from the land.
Nathaniel was certain that by this time Neil had abandoned his search for the captured Typhoon and was probably paddling in the direction of St. James. With the hope of intercepting him he pulled an eighth of a mile from the shore and rowed slowly toward the head of the island. There was no moon, but countless stars glowed in a clear sky and upon the open lake Nathaniel could see for a considerable distance about him. For another hour he rowed back and forth and then beached his boat within a dozen rods of the path that came down from Obadiah's.
It was ten o'clock. Two more hours! He had tried to suppress his excitement, his apprehensions, his eagerness, but now as he went back into the darkness of the forest they burst out anew. What if Marion should not keep the tryst? He thought of the spies whom Neil had said guarded the girl's home—and of Obadiah. Could he trust the old councilor? Should he confide his plot to him and ask his assistance? As the minutes passed and these thoughts recurred again and again in his brain he could not keep the nervousness from growing within him. He was sure now that he would have to fight his battle without Neil. He saw the necessity of coolness, of judgment, and he began to demand these things of himself, struggling sternly against those symptoms of weakness which had replaced his confidence of a short time before. Gradually he fought himself back into his old faith. He would save Marion—without Neil, without Obadiah. If Marion did not come to him by midnight it would be because of the guards against whom Neil had warned him, and he would