Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 1480
“See here, Chief — a door — and somebody’s holding it from the inside,” he declared.
“Wait, Smith,” ordered Bell, striding forward. But before he got half-way across the room the door opened. A girl stepped out and shut it back of her. Lane sustained a singular shock. That girl was Bessy Bell.
“Hello, Dad — it’s Bessy,” she said, clearly. She was pale, but did not seem frightened.
Chief Bell halted in the middle of a stride and staggered a little as his foot came down. A low curse of utter amaze escaped his lips. Suddenly he became tensely animated.
“How’d you come here?” he demanded, towering over her.
“I walked.”
“What’d you come for?”
“To warn Daren Lane that you were going to raid these club-rooms to-night.”
“Who told you?”
“I won’t tell. I got it over the ‘phone.” I ran over here. I knew where the key was. I’ve been here before — afternoons — dancing.... I let myself in.... But when they — they came I got frightened and hid in the closet.”
Chief Bell seemed about to give way to passion, but he controlled it. After that moment he changed subtly.
“Is Daren Lane your friend?” he demanded.
“Yes. The best and truest any girl ever had.... Dad, you know mother told you I had changed lately. I have. And it’s through Daren.”
“Where’d you see him?”
“He has been coming out to the house in the afternoons.”
“Well, I’m damned,” muttered the Chief, and wheeled away. Sight of his gaping patrolman seemed to galvanize him into further realization of the situation. “Smith, beat it out and draw the other men round in front. Give me time enough to get Bessy out. Send hurry call for ambulance.... And Smith, keep your mouth shut. I’ll make it all right. If Mrs. Bell hears of this my life will be a hell on earth.”
“Mum’s the word, Chief. I’m a married man myself,” he replied, and hurried out.
Lane was watching Bessy. What a wonderful girl! Modern tendencies might have corrupted the girls of the day, but for sheer nerve, wit and courage they were immeasurably superior to those of former generations. Bessy faced her father calmly, lied magnificently, gazed down at the ghastly, bloody faces with scarcely a shudder, and gave Lane a smile from her purple eyes, as if to cheer him, to assure him she could save the situation. It struck Lane that Chief Bell looked as if he might be following a similar line of thought.
“Bessy, put on your hat,” ordered Bell. “And here ... tuck that veil around. There, now you beat it for home. Lane, go with her to the stairs. Take a good look in the street. Bessy, go home the back way. And Lane, you hurry back.”
Lane followed Bessy out and caught up with her in the hall. She clasped his arm.
“Some adventure, I’ll say!” she burst out, in breathless whisper. “It was great until I recognized your voice. Then all inside me went flooey.”
“Bessy, you’re the finest little girl in the world,” returned Lane, stirred to emotion.
“Here, Daren, cut that. You didn’t raise me on soft soap and mush. If you get to praising me I’ll fall so far I’ll never light.... Now, Dare, go back and fool Dad. You must save the girls. It doesn’t matter about me. He’s my Dad.”
“I’ll do my best,” replied Lane.
They reached the landing of the outside stairway. Peering down, Lane did not see any one.
“I guess the coast is clear. Now, beat it, Bessy.”
She lifted the white veil and raised her face. In the dim gray light Lane saw it as never before.
“Kiss me, Daren,” she whispered.
Lane had never kissed her. For an instant he was confused.
“Why — little girl!” he exclaimed.
“Hurry!” she whispered, imperiously.
Some instinct beyond Lane’s ken prompted him to do what she asked.
“Good-bye, my little Princess,” he whispered. “Don’t ever forget me.”
“Never, Daren. Good-bye.” She slipped down the stairway and in a moment more vanished in the gray gloom of the misty night.
Only then did Lane understand what she, with her woman’s intuition, had divined — that they would never be together again. The realization gave him a pang. Bessy was his only victory.
Slowly Lane made his way back to the club-rooms. He had begun to weaken under the strain and felt the approach of something akin to collapse. When he reached the large room he found Swann half conscious and Thesel showing signs of coming to.
“Lane, come here,” said the Chief, drawing Lane away from the writhing forms on the floor. “You’re under arrest.”
“Yes, sir. What’s the charge?”
“Let’s see. That’s the puzzler,” replied the Chief, scratching his head. “Suppose we say gambling and fighting.”
“Fine!” granted Lane, with a smile.
“When the ambulance comes you get out of sight until we pack these fellows out. I’ll leave the door open — so if there’s any reason you want to come back — why—”
Chief Bell half averted his face, seemingly not embarrassed, but rather pondering in thought. “Thanks, Chief. You understand me perfectly,” responded Lane. “I’ll appear at police headquarters in half an hour.”
The officer laughed, and returning to the injured men he knelt beside them. Swann sat up moaning. Blood had blinded his sight. He did not see Lane pass. Sounds of an ambulance bell had caught Lane’s quick ear. Finding the washroom, he went in and, locking the door, leaned there to wait. In a very few moments the injured Swann and Thesel had been carried out. Lane waited five minutes after the sound of wheels had died away. Then he hurried out and opened the door of the closet.
Lorna almost fell over him in her eagerness. If she had been frightened, she had recovered. Gail staggered out, pale and sick looking.
“Oh, Daren, can you get us out?” whispered Lorna, breathlessly.
“Hurry, and don’t talk,” replied Lane.
He led them out into the hall and down to the stairway where he had taken Bessy. As before, all appeared quiet below.
“I guess it’s safe.... Girls, let this be a lesson to you.”
“Never any more for mine,” whimpered Gail.
But Lorna was of more tempered metal.
“Believe me, Daren, I’m glad you knocked the lamps out of those swell boobs,” she whispered, passionately. “Dick Swann used me like dirt. The next guy like him who tries to get gay with me will have some fall, I’ll tell the world.... Me for Harry! There’s nothing in this q-t stuff.... And say, what do you know about Bessy Bell? She came here to save us.... Hot dog, but she’s a peach!”
Lane admonished the girls to hurry and watched them until they reached the street and turned the corner out of sight.
CHAPTER XVII
THE REACTION FROM that night landed Lane in the hospital, where, during long weeks when he did have a lucid interval, he saw that his life was despaired of and felt that he was glad of it.
But he did not die. As before, the weak places in his lungs healed over and he began to mend, and gradually his periods of rationality increased until he wholly gained his mental poise. It was, however, a long time before he was strong enough to leave the hospital.
During the worst of his illness his mother came often to see him; after he grew better she came but seldom. Blair and Colonel Pepper were the only others who visited Lane. And as soon as his memory returned and interest revived he learned much peculiarly significant to him.
The secret of the club-rooms, so far as girls were concerned, never became fully known to Middleville gossips. Strange and contrary rumors were rife for a long time, but the real truth never leaked out. There was never any warrant sworn for Lane’s arrest. What the general public had heard and believed was the story concocted by Thesel and Swann, who claimed that Lane, over a gambling table, had been seized by one of the frenzied fits common to deranged soldiers, and had attacked them. Thesel lost his left eye and Swann carried a hideous red scar from brow to cheek. Neither the club-room scandal nor his disfigurement for life in any wise prevented Mrs. Maynard from announcing the engagement of her daughter Margaret to Richard Swann. The most amazing news was to hear that Helen Wrapp had married a rich young politician named Hartley, who was running for the office of magistrate. According to Blair, Daren Lane had divided Middleville into two dissenting factions, a large one who banned him in disgrace, and a small one who lifted their voices in his behalf. Of all the endless bits of news, little and big, the one that broke happily on Lane’s ears was the word of a nurse, who told him that during his severe illness a girl had called on the telephone every day to inquire for him. She never gave her name. But Lane knew it was Mel and the mere thought of her made him quiver.
By the time Lane was strong enough to leave the hospital an early winter had set in. The hospital expenses had reduced his finances so materially that he could not afford the lodgings he had occupied before his illness. He realized fully that he should leave Middleville for a dry warm climate, if he wanted to live a while longer. But he was not greatly concerned about this. There would be time enough to consider the future after he had fulfilled the one hope and ambition he had left.
Rooms were at a premium. Lane was forced to apply in the sordid quarter of Middleville, and the place he eventually found was a small, bare hall bedroom, in a large, ramshackle old house, of questionable repute. But beggars could not be choosers. There was no heat in this room, and Lane decided that what time he spent in it must be in bed. He would not give any one his address.
Once installed here, Lane waited only a few days to assure himself that he was strong enough to carry out the plan upon which he had set his heart.
Late that afternoon he went to the town hall and had a marriage license made out for himself and Mel Iden. Upon returning, he found that snow had begun to fall heavily. Already the streets were white. Suddenly the thought of the nearness of Christmas shocked him. How time sped by!
That night he dressed himself carefully, wearing the service uniform he had so well preserved, and sallied forth to the most fashionable restaurant in Middleville, where in the glare and gayety he had his dinner. Lane recognized many of the dining, dancing throng, but showed no sign of it. He became aware that his presence had excited comment. How remote he seemed to feel himself from that eating, drinking, dancing crowd! So far removed that even the jazz music no longer affronted him. Rather surprised he was to find he really enjoyed his dinner. From the restaurant he engaged a taxi.
The bright lights, the falling snow, the mantle of white on everything, with their promise of the holiday season, pleased Lane with the memory of what great fun he used to have at Christmas-time.
When he arrived at Mel’s home the snow was falling thickly in heavy flakes. Through the pall he caught a faint light, which grew brighter as he plodded toward the cottage. He stamped on the porch and flapped his arms to remove the generous covering of snow that had adhered to him. And as he was about to knock, the door opened, and Mel stood in the sudden brightness.
“Hello, Mel, how are you? — some snow, eh?” was his cheery greeting, and he went in and shut the door behind him.
“Why, Daren — you — you—”
“I — what! Aren’t you glad to see me?”
Lane had not prepared himself for anything. He knew he could win now, and all he had allowed himself was gladness. But being face to face with Mel made it different. It had been long since he last saw her. That interval had been generous. To look at her now no one could have guessed her story. Warmth and richness of color had come back to her; and vividly they expressed her joy at sight of him.
“Glad? — I’ve been living — on my hopes — that you—”
Her faltering speech trailed off here, as Lane took one long stride toward her.
Lane put a firm hand to each of her cheeks, and tilting a suddenly rosy face, he kissed her full on the lips. Then he turned away without looking at her and stepped to the little open grate, where a small red fire glowed. Mel gasped there behind him and then became perfectly still.
“Nice fire, Mel,” he spoke out, naturally, as if nothing unusual had happened. But the thin hands he extended to the warmth of the coals trembled like aspen leaves in the wind. How silent she was! It thrilled him. What strange sweet revel in the moment.
When he turned it seemed he saw her eyes, her lips, her whole face luminous. The next instant she came out of her spell; and Lane divined if he let her wholly recover, he would have a woman to deal with.
“Daren, what’s wrong with you?” she inquired.
“Why, Mel!” he ejaculated, in feigned reproach.
“You don’t look irrational, but you act so,” she said, studying him more closely. The hand that had been pressed to her breast dropped down.
“Had my last crazy spell two weeks ago,” he replied.
“Until to-night.”
“You mean my kissing you? Well, I refuse to apologize. You see I was not prepared to find you so improved. Why, Mel, you’re changed. You’re just — just lovely.”
Again the rich color stained her cheeks.
“Thank you, Daren,” she said. “I have changed. You did it.... I’ve gotten well, and — almost happy.... But let’s not talk of myself. You — there’s so much—”
“Mel, I don’t want to talk about myself, either,” he declared. “When a man’s got only a day or so longer—”
“Hush! — Or — Or — ,” she threatened, with a slight distension of nostrils and a paling of cheek.
“Or what?” demanded Lane.
“Or I’ll do to you what you did to me.”
“Oh, you’d kiss me to shut my lips?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Fine, Mel. Come on. But you’d have to keep steadily busy all evening. For I’ve come to talk.” Mel came closer to him, with a catch in her breathing, a loving radiance in her eyes. “Daren, you’re strange — not like your old self. You’re too gay — too happy. Oh, I’d be glad if you were sincere. But you have something on your mind.”
Lane knew when to unmask a battery.
“No, it’s in my pocket,” he flashed, and with a quick motion he tore out the marriage license and thrust it upon her. As her dark eyes took in the meaning of the paper, and her expression changed, Lane gazed down upon her with a commingling of emotions.
“Oh, Daren — No — No!” she cried, in a wildness of amaze and pain.
Then Lane clasped her close, with a force too sudden to be gentle, and with his free hand he lifted her face.
“Look here. Look at me,” he said sternly. “Every time you say no or shake your head — I’ll do this.”
And he kissed her twice, as he had upon his entrance.
Mel raised her head and gazed up at him, wide-eyed, open-mouthed, as if both appalled and enthralled.
“Daren. I — I don’t understand you,” she said, unsteadily. “You frighten me. Let me go — please, Daren. This is — so — so unlike you. You insult me.”
“Mel, I can’t see it that way,” he replied. “I’m only asking you to come out and marry me to-night.”
That galvanized her, and she tried to slip from his embrace.
“I told you no — no — no,” she cried desperately.
“That’s three,” said Lane, and he took them mercilessly. “You will marry me,” he said sternly.
“Oh, Daren, I can’t — I dare not.... Ah!—”
“You will go right now — marry me to-night.”
“Please be kind, Daren.... I don’t know how you—”
“Mel, where’re your coat, and hat, and overshoes?” he questioned, urgently.
“I told you — no!” she flashed, passionately.
Lane made good his threat, and this last onslaught left her spent and white.
“You must like my kisses, Mel Iden,” he said.
“I implore you — Daren”
“I implore you to marry me.”
“Dear friend, listen to reason,” she begged. “You don’t love me. You’ve just a chivalrous notion you can help me — and my boy — by giving us your name. It’s noble, Daren, thank you. But—”
“Take care,” warned Lane, bending low over her. “I can make good my word all night.”
“Boy, you’ve gone crazy,” she whispered, sadly.
“Well, now you may be talking sense,” he laughed. “But that’s neither here nor there.... Mel, I may die any day now!”
“Oh, my God! — don’t say that,” she cried, as if pierced by a blade.
“Yes. Mel, make me happy just for that little while.”
“Happy?” she whispered.
“Yes. I’ve failed here in every way. I’ve lost all. And this thing would make the bitterness endurable.”
“I’d die for you,” she returned. “But marry you! — Daren — dearest — it will make you the laughing-stock of Middleville.”
“Whatever it makes me, I shall be proud.”
“Oh, I cannot, I dare not,” she burst out.
“You seem to forget the penalty for these unflattering negatives of yours,” he returned, coolly, bending to her lips.
This time she did not writhe or quiver or breathe. Lane felt surrender in her, and when he lifted his face from hers he was sure. Despite the fact that he had inflexibly clamped his will to one purpose, holding his emotion in abeyance, that brief instant seemed to be the fullest of his life.
“Mel, put your arm round my neck,” he commanded.
Mel obeyed.
“Now the other.”
Again she complied.
“Lift your face — look at me.”
She essayed to do this also, but failed. Her head sank on his breast. He had won. Lane held her a moment closely. And then a great and overwhelming pity and tenderness, his first emotions, flooded his soul. He closed his eyes. Dimly, vaguely, they seemed to create vision of long future time; and he divined that good and happiness would come to Mel Iden some day through the pain he had given her.
“Where did you say your things are?” he asked. “It’s a bad night.”
