CHAPTER XXII

The Fate of the Prisoner

“THEY are a lawless lot, those Settlement men, and Sam Peters says the crowd known as the Syndicate are the worst of the lot,” said Mrs. Nichols, one afternoon a week later, when, her housework being done, she came to sit with Nell, who was resting on the couch which stood under the window in the cheerful little sitting-room.

Very much of an invalid was Nell, for the fright or the shock, or the secret trouble which she could not keep wholly in abeyance, had pulled her down until she was but a wan shadow of herself.

She could talk again, although her words came with a halting slowness which made the doctor frown when he heard her, just as he frowned when she described the noise in her injured ear, which sometimes was so great that she could hear nothing else on that side. But he told her she would be better in time, so she was trying to bear the discomfort patiently.

She glanced up with quick inquiry in her face, at the remark made by Mrs. Nichols about the men of the Settlement.

“Why do you think they are so lawless?” she asked, her heart beating a little faster, for this was the first time since her arrival that Mrs. Nichols had shown any desire to gossip.

“Because of the way they took the law into their own hands last week, about that fellow you chained up in the coffin,” replied the stout woman, holding her head very much on one side while she contemplated a patch which did not look straight.

“I thought Gertrude said the police went up to Camp’s Gulch on the early cars next morning to arrest him?” said Nell, with a dismayed look.

“So they did, only when they got there he was gone; one of the big doors was lifted clean off its hinges, and the Chinaman’s coffin had been taken away. It made us all feel pretty weird at the time, I can tell you, so the doctor said you were not to be told, for fear there was a tragedy behind, which would have upset you. But Sam Peters came down this morning to see about packing up his furniture, and he’s just been over and told me all about what has come out since.”

“Yes?” queried Nell, doubtfully.

Mrs. Nichols cleared her throat vigorously. Next to hearing a bit of neighbourly gossip which had no venom in it, was the pleasure of passing it on, so she was disposed to make the most of the occasion.

“It seems that some of the miners—the Roseneath lot, you know—recognized the voice of the man in the coffin as belonging to young Dick Brunsen, who had swindled the Syndicate. So, when the doctor and Sam brought the engine and the rest of you back here, one of the men started hot-foot to the Settlement, to let the Syndicate know where the man was to be found who had cheated them so badly. It was a risky thing to do, and I guess that Dick Brunsen’s life had never been in quite so much danger before.”

“Did they hurt him?” queried Nell, faintly.

“No; that is the funny part of it, for when men take the law into their own hands there is mostly a tragedy somewhere. Directly the Syndicate got word about where Dick Brunsen was to be found, they set off for the depot to get their revenge before the police arrived to arrest the prisoner. But it seems that the young man’s father was hanging about the depot, and when he heard what was on hand, he came forward and made a bargain with them.”

“What sort of a bargain?” asked Nell.

“The very best sort from the point of view of the Syndicate. He offered to return every dollar of the money out of which they had been cheated, if only they would do something to set young Dick free; but if they would not do this, Brunsen said that both he and his son would die before they would reveal the hiding-place of the money, which, as good luck would have it, they had not been able to spend. The Syndicate figured it out then that dollars were more satisfactory than revenge, so they agreed to get young Dick free somehow, even if they had to pull the shed down to do it. But they vowed that if the money was not forthcoming after they had done their part, the Brunsens, father and son, should be strung up to the nearest tree by their necks.”

“How horrible!” groaned Nell, with a shiver.

“But they did not do it, so there is nothing to turn white about,” retorted Mrs. Nichols. “They just swarmed down to the depot, a mob thirty or forty strong. The miners on guard there instantly gave way before them, and passively looked on, if they did not help. The great door was lifted by main force, though how much it weighs I shouldn’t like to make a guess at, and young Dick, with the Chinaman’s coffin, was carried away. Nothing else was meddled with though there was property enough in the shed to have tempted people more honest than they ever professed to be.”

“I know that. It was the fear of its being stolen which bothered me so badly,” sighed Nell.

“Well, nothing was taken, however, and when the first cars reached Camp’s Gulch in the morning, it was to find the place absolutely deserted, except for poor old Mrs. Trip, who was asleep in her house.”

“I can’t think what made Joey go off in such a fashion. I shouldn’t have been half so much afraid if he had been there to keep me company,” Nell remarked.

“The doctor thinks the poor old man clean forgot that the night cars hadn’t come in. The man that keeps the saloon at the Settlement said Joey looked funny that evening, and some of the customers thought he had been drinking; but it is plain the poor man must have had a stroke on the way home, as they found him lying unconscious under the trees at Hobson’s Gap.”

“How is he now?” asked Nell.

“Sam hasn’t heard this morning; but Dr. Russell has gone up to the Settlement to-day, so we shall most likely hear when he comes back.”

“It will be a great change for Sam Peters to live at Camp’s Gulch,” remarked Nell.

“I am very glad he has got the post,” Mrs. Nichols answered. “He did really deserve promotion; but it is not clear to my mind that he would have had it if it had not been for his swarm of children.”

“Why not?” queried Nell, in surprise.

“It is my opinion that the railway people meant to have as many folks for their money as they could get—it is such a lonely place, don’t you see? And as Sam Peters had such a swarm of children, they reckoned he would populate the depot better than any one else, so he got the berth.”

“How it came about I don’t mind, seeing that he has got it,” Nell answered, with a smile; then she asked, “Who is doing my work—that poor sickly young Robertson?”

“No; the operator is a big red-haired young man, named Scott, and he has fitted up an old freight-wagon to live in, because there is no room in Sam’s house,” Mrs. Nichols said, with an uneasy wriggle as she darted an anxious look at Nell, for Sam Peters had told her that morning that Scott was at Camp’s Gulch for a permanency, which would mean that Nell had been superseded.

She saw the anxious look, and smiled faintly. “You need not be worried about my feelings being hurt. I did not expect to go back to Camp’s Gulch; indeed, I am thinking of sending in my resignation, only it seemed better to wait a few days longer, in order to make quite sure.”

“To make quite sure of what?” asked the stout woman sharply, looking at Nell more anxiously than before.

“That I can’t be an operator any longer. I am all but certain I shall not be able to do it, because of that noise and confusion in my head. The doctor says he hopes it will get better in time, but he does not say what time, and I cannot go dragging on indefinitely.”

“Can’t you hear enough with your other ear?” asked Mrs. Nichols, but Nell shook her head.

“That was my best ear, and now I could never be sure of myself. However, there are other ways of earning one’s living, so I must just begin over again,” she said a little sadly, for beginning over again meant starting at the bottom once more, and this was disappointing.

Mrs. Nichols looked troubled too. “I’m real sorry you feel like that, especially just now, for Miss Lorimer has got to go home; will be away all winter perhaps, if her mother ain’t better, and if you had only been fit for deputy work, why you might have stayed here so comfortable,” she said regretfully.

Nell gave a little start. “Have they sent for Gertrude from Lorimer’s Clearing?” she asked.

She had not seen Gertrude that morning, and had indeed only had brief visits from her on each evening.

“Her father wrote the day before yesterday, and asked her to go home next week. Mrs. Lorimer is very low down, and, judging from a few things that poor girl has let drop, very difficult to live with, I’m afraid.”

“Next week. Poor Gertrude!” Nell sighed heavily, for she had seen far enough into the heart of her friend to know how much it would cost Gertrude to leave Bratley just now.

Then she sat silent for a while, wondering if she dared offer to go to Lorimer’s Clearing and help them all until Mrs. Lorimer was better, finally asking the advice of Mrs. Nichols on the subject.

“You might offer certainly, and I haven’t a doubt you would do a good part by them. But you are worth a better post than that now, and I can’t bear to think of your being dragged backwards when you ought to be rising all the time. Of course, socially, you are a long way above the Lorimers, and I don’t like to think of your drudging for them like a common hired girl,” the stout woman said, in a discontented fashion.

Nell smiled faintly. “Some one must do the drudgery, and I am more fit for it than Gertrude.”

“Very likely you are, so far as strength goes; but, well, you ought to be above that sort of thing now. I hate for you to take a low-down place, so there!” said Mrs. Nichols, vehemently.

Nell laughed outright at this, only somehow there was a lack of mirth in the sound. Then she took a sudden resolve, and began to tell Mrs. Nichols of the encounter with Doss Umpey at Camp’s Gulch, which had resulted in her injuries.

“I could not speak of it while there was any danger of the police finding him,” she said sadly. “But if the Brunsens got clear away, most certainly granfer would get away too. Only when you begin to talk about my social position being so much better than Gertrude’s, it is as well that you should know what weights there are to drag me down.”

“Oh, the wicked old man, to strike you such cruel blows!” cried Mrs. Nichols, in horrified tones. “Why, he ought to be shut up in prison for the remainder of his life.”

“Hush, hush! I could not bear that. He was just mad with rage, or he would not have struck so hard, and I was too dazed and stupid to get out of his way in time,” Nell said hastily, more willing to make excuses for the old man now than she had been in the past.

“Don’t talk about him; it turns me sick!” exclaimed Mrs. Nichols, angrily. “That reminds me, too, that I brought a parcel home with me from the American side for you. But we’ve been in such a state of worry and confusion ever since, that I haven’t thought a word about it until now.”

“A parcel for me? What is it?” cried Nell, a tinge of pink coming into her pale cheeks.

“That I don’t know. But when I was staying with my cousin, Sabina Clack, at Lewisville, a Mrs. Joe Lipton, from Button End, came on a visit to her sister who lived opposite, and, as luck would have it, we got quite intimate.”

“Why, I know her—at least, I’ve seen her,” said Nell. “She was kind, too. I remember she gave me a lot of old magazines once, because I hadn’t anything to read.”

“I saw she was a kind-hearted sort; but she hadn’t a single good word for Doss Umpey, and she said all Button End was up in arms at the way he went off and left you to the mercy of them Gunnages.”

“But I did not stay with them long,” said Nell, smiling now to remember how angry Mrs. Gunnage had been with her for going away.

“A good thing, too. Well, when Mrs. Lipton was going on about Doss Umpey, and saying that he was no better than a murderer, because he had driven you to wander till you died, I just told her that I happened to know you were not dead, and, what is more, I knew where you were and what you were doing. I did not open my mouth very wide as to particulars, but told her enough to satisfy her about you. Then she asked me if I would take charge of a parcel which had been left at her house, and give it to you when I had the chance.”

“Who left the parcel there?” asked Nell.

“A gentleman, Mrs. Lipton said, and she told me she should have sent it over to the Lone House with the Gunnages, only she didn’t trust Mrs. Gunnage any further than she could see her.”

“Dear me! it sounds mysterious. Can I have the parcel now, or am I to wait a while, in order to have my curiosity roused to boiling point?” asked Nell, eagerly.

“You shall have it now; then you can look at it while I take Miss Lorimer’s tea across to the depot,” said Mrs. Nichols, thrusting her work on one side, and going off to her room in search of the mysterious parcel.

It was of considerable size and bulky, well tied up in stout brown paper with strong string fastened in many knots, and it was addressed “Miss Nell, care of Mr. Doss Umpey.”

A wave of burning colour surged over Nell’s face as she looked at the handwriting and read the address. But she seemed to have lost all interest concerning the contents, and sat with it unopened on her lap, while Mrs. Nichols prepared Gertrude’s tea, and went off with it to the depot.

Even then, when she was alone, a great reluctance to open it still oppressed her, until at length, ashamed of what looked so much like cowardice, she picked up a knife, and cutting the string pulled off the outer wrappings.

Then was revealed a big piece of crimson merino, yards and yards of it, a long length of soft white flannel, some ribbon to match the merino, and four books. There was a letter packed in between the books, and Nell picked it up with an odd sensation of knowing already exactly what it contained.

“DEAR MISS NELL” (so ran the letter),

“Will you please pardon the liberty I am taking in sending you the accompanying books and material? The books were all the store-keeper had, of a readable sort that is, and the choice of material was likewise limited, but I thought you would look so nice in a red frock, so I am sending it along.

“As you would not take any payment for your kindness, I just shot a little old case with a few dollars in it under the settle where I slept; please use the money to buy books, or anything else that you may need. I shall not forget that in reality I owe you my life, for I must certainly have died if you had not taken me in and cared for me so kindly. I hope some day to see you again. Until then, I am, sincerely yours,

“D—— B——.”

The name at the bottom was signed in full, but it had evidently been written in a violent hurry with a leaky fountain-pen, then inadvertently smeared so badly that it was undecipherable.

Nell sat looking at it so long that she forgot about the other things, until Mrs. Nichols came back from the depot.

“Oh, what a pretty colour! and it is good merino, too, and the flannel is the best quality—it cost half a dollar a yard, if it did a cent, I guess. Oh, my dear, do tell me the name of the gentleman that sent it!” cried Mrs. Nichols, who was walking round the parcel in an ecstasy of admiration.

“You can see the letter if you like,” replied Nell, quietly; but her colour was coming and going, and it was easy to see that she was having hard work to maintain her self-control.

Mrs. Nichols stood by the table and read the letter through in silence, until she came to the signature, then she said with something like irritation in her tone—

“What is the name?”

“Can’t you read it?” asked Nell.

“It is so horribly smudged. Just like a man to stuff a letter into an envelope without stopping to blot it. The first name looks like Dick, and—but no, it can’t surely be Brunsen!” cried Mrs. Nichols, in a shocked tone.

“I am afraid it is,” sighed Nell.

“And the money, did you find that?” demanded Mrs. Nichols, sharply, referring again to the letter, which she still held in her hand.

“Yes, but I did not use it. I sent it back to Mr. Brunsen just as soon as I knew where to find him,” said Nell, holding her head very high now, while her cheeks glowed redder than before.

“Sent it back? Whatever do you mean, child?” asked Mrs. Nichols, in a puzzled tone.

“I was standing in the big shed at Camp’s Gulch, back in the summer, when I saw the gentleman whom I had taken care of at the Lone House, standing talking to someone else on the Settlement road, and when I asked Joey Trip who it was, he said it was Mr. Dick Brunsen, the man who afterwards cheated the Syndicate. So I wrote a note to say where I had found the money, and sent it back to him in a letter,” said Nell, rather unsteadily.

“What did this person say in reply?” asked Mrs. Nichols, frowning heavily.

“There was no reply, of course, for I put no address, and I posted it here in Bratley,” said Nell.

“That man Joey Trip is an idiot,” announced Mrs. Nichols, with tremendous emphasis.

“What do you mean?” queried Nell, in surprise.

“I mean just what I say; and if I were not so fond of you, I should say that you are an idiot too,” retorted Mrs. Nichols, sourly.

“But why?” asked Nell, more puzzled than before.

“For thinking that the man who took the trouble to send you this parcel was that drinking, cheating, thieving Dick Brunsen whom you tied up in that Chinaman’s coffin.”

“But it must have been the same; Joey Trip said so, and he ought to know, seeing that Mr. Brunsen had been treating him to lemonade every night for weeks past,” Nell answered. But there was a wistful look in her eyes, which showed how gladly she would submit to being worsted in her theories concerning the identity of the man who had remembered her so kindly.

“Joey Trip is stupid as an owl. Most likely he would say that his fire-eating Dick Brunsen was a saint, if you asked him; but reasonable folks would know better. Now, look at these books. Here’s ‘The Pilgrim’s Progress,’ ‘Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier,’ ‘Essays on Chaucer,’ and ‘The Imitation of Christ.’ Are they the sort of books a man would choose as a present for a girl if he were of the sort that we know this Dick Brunsen is?”

“Joey Trip said it was the same; and oh, Mrs. Nichols, if it isn’t, I’ve sent the money to the wrong man!” exclaimed Nell, starting up in great dismay.

“That is just about what you have done, I expect,” replied the stout woman, with an air of gloomy triumph.