 CHAPTER XIV. THE GREAT WHITE QUEEN Hal Haynes's best driving team was lathered with foam and the buck-board swung through the gate on two wheels as Bill Cabot drove back to the double-cross ranch. The young cowboy whom Haynes had ordered to carry the news of disaster to Mrs. Haynes, seeing the buck-board and only Cabot driving, knew instantly that something had gone wrong. What is it, Will? She called, running down to the gate. Didn't she come? Has anything happened to Hal? She was held up and carried off, Mrs. Haynes. I know, I know, you played the joke, but what happened? She looked at the foaming horses. What made you drive home like this? She demanded. She wasn't carried off by us, Mrs. Haynes. Some other crowd got ahead of us, some crowd that meant what they was doing. The boss and the boys has got the trail by this time, I guess. The boss said I should come and tell you. For a moment, Mrs. Haynes looked at him in doubt. Is this another joke, Will? She asked. There hasn't been a hold-up in this section for ten years. I guess the jokin' is all knocked out of all of us. Answered Bill, turning shame-facedly away. No, ma'am, this is the truth, and I wish the boss had took someone else's horse instead of mine. Never mind. They'll have all the men in Montana out to find that girl if this isn't a hoax. Cried, Mrs. Haynes, in a voice that choked. Go tell the other boys to get ready. The sheriff will want them, if Hal doesn't. She sped back to the house, and with a trembling hand rang the bell of the old-fashioned telephone that furnished a new blessing to the ranches. A moment later, Kurt Sykes, the telegraph operator at Rockvale, almost fell from his chair as he took the following message over the wire at Mrs. Haynes' dictation. Harry Marvin, Fifth Avenue, New York, Pauline kidnapped. Come at once, Mary Haynes. What? What's it mean, Mrs. Haynes? He gasped into the transmitter. It ain't the young lady that Hal just took off the express, is it? Yes, that's who it is, Kurt. Cabot and the boys are coming into town as fast as they can ride. But you call Sheriff Hill and get as many men as you can in case we need them. You'll hurry, won't you, Kurt? Yes, ma'am, and I'll get your message right on the wire. They'll put it ahead all along the line. If Kurt's speed in getting the telegram away was inspired partly by burning need of telling the news to Rockvale that did not reflect on Kurt, he flashed after the New York message a terse call up and down the line to find the sheriff, and then bolted out to the platform. His shout was heard not only at the little hotel across the street from the station, but at the city limits of Rockvale a good mile away. Rockvale answered the shout as a clan answering the beacons flair. When Kurt Sykes shouted, it meant news. His messages along the line had little effect. He had spent the morning flaunting the news to fellow operators and rival communities that the express had stopped at Rockvale. They had only half believed that. And now this added flourish was too much. Even Sheriff Hill, whom the message overtook at Gatesburg, fifteen miles south, laughed when he read it, and started for Rockvale only because he was going there anyway to get Case Egan. There ain't much doubt which is our leading city, Butte or Rockvale? He remarked as he swung to his saddle and set off with two deputies. He found something more than overdone hometown pride in Rockvale, however. The narrow streets were filled with men, women, and curious wide-mouthed children. Horses, packed for long riding, with rifles bolstered to the saddles, were tied all along the rails of both the main hotel and the station. Kurt Sykes was the center of a changing but ever interested group, but two of the Haynes posse who had just come in without any report of capture, but with all the vivid news of the holdup, were now the main objects of attention. Briefly they told the story of the pursuit. With Haynes leading, they had struck a trail that took them to the river. They had waded the river and found no trail on the other side. Knowing the bandits had taken to the middle of the stream, Haynes had divided his party. He sent two men downstream, one on each side, and he and the three others rode upstream, two on each side. After long, rough riding, Haynes had found a trail coming out of the water. All four had followed it a long way. There were three bandits making the trail, but the three stopped and each took a different direction. One straight up into the hills, one straight down into the valley, and the other off here towards town. Haynes and one man had started on the trail to the hills. The other two, the two talking now, had each taken one of the other trails, but had lost them. They thought Haynes would lose his too. It had been a clean, up-to-date, expert piece of work, this kidnapping. The getaway had been a work of art, just as the holdup had been a wonderpiece of stage setting. You saw all the gang that held you up, asked the sheriff. We wasn't held up, that had been a little too rich, I guess, said one of the cowboys. It was Boss Haynes and the girl that was stopped. Well, then, I mean did Haynes see the gang? Were any of them Indians? Engines? No. I just think some of them were cattle-cooks from the Cays-Egan outfit. I guess they ain't no Montana engines that had started anything like that. You guess a lot more than you know. Said the sheriff quietly. I may be calling on any of you boys for some fast work against the old Red Snake any of these days. What's the trouble, Sheriff? Uh-oh. Just one of their devils brewing bad medicine again up at the Shiwaki village. Red Snake always was a little bit crazy, talking about the thieving white man that stole his country and looking for a chance to get the rest of his people killed off. I heard that down at Halux last week. Drawn the man in the crowd. The Sue's only waiting for the great white queen to come out of the heart of the earth and lead him on the warpath. They got a surprise and plenty of arms, too, for reservation engines. Know that, Sheriff? The sheriff nodded slowly. I wish Haynes would get in. He said. I'd like to have a talk with him before we start, but it's getting late. The dull thudding of tired horses hooves from the other side of the hill below town came to him as an answer. Presently, Haynes and his companion joined, silently, the eager crowd at the station. The owner of the Double Cross seemed to have aged ten years since he had driven away with Pauline from that same station platform only a few hours before. He would have given all the acres of the Double Cross for just a word about Pauline. He would have given his life to know that she was alive. There's nothing for it, Sheriff, but to rake the whole country. He said wearily. They've hidden her somewhere, if they haven't killed her. And if they've killed her mind, it's me you're to hang for it. The sheriff laid a strong hand on his old friend's shoulder. I can get the state militia to look for that girl, Hal. He said. By the way, is there anything, anything queer about her? He asked. Oh, what do you mean? Well, only that her folks have been rotten to the governor at Helena. Sex just gave me this from Governor Cassin himself. Who is this Raymond Owen who's been wiring to the governor? That's her guardian, I think. Hmm. Mused Haynes as he read the message. That is queer. I wish they'd have wired me that yesterday. The sheriff folded the telegram and putting it back in his pocket, stepped up on a box near the hotel door. I went to call for a hundred volunteer citizens to go hunt this girl. He announced. A minute later, all that was left of Rockvale was the buildings and the women, children and old men who stood watching a cloud of dust blotting the sunset glow and listening to the retreating clatter of a flying calvacade. Sykes kept the office open late. At seven o'clock he telephoned to Mrs. Haynes at the double cross. What does he say? She cried. Just one word, coming. Said Kurt in an aggrieved voice. He could have sent ten words for the same price. He grumbled. Red Snake was one of the younger chiefs of the Sioux. He was too young to have had a share in the bloody last stand of his race in their Montana wilderness. But he was old enough to have watched the dwindling of spirit and power among them for twenty years. And every day of watching kindled new hate in the breast of the Indian. In him the spirit of his fathers had left the old unquenchable belief in the day of restoration, when by some supernatural intervention the Indians would return to their lands, the lands revert to their primeval state, and civilization be lost in the obliterating wilderness. The officers of the agency had had trouble with Red Snake on several occasions. Twice he had started out at the head of war parties and had been caught just in time to prevent bloodshed among the isolated settlers. But of late he had been docile and peaceful. The new disturbances, the occasional shooting of a cowboy and the petty stealing of cattle dated from the beginning of the sway of a new medicine man in Red Snake's principal village of Shiwaki. His name was of many syllables in the native language, but he was known as Big Smoke. He was a young Indian who had spent some years among the whites in the southwest, had made a pretense at getting an education, but had reverted violently to the life and faith of his fathers. Big Smoke had predicted to Red Snake the coming of the great white queen who would empower the arms of the Red Man to overthrow the whites and would make him, again, master of his rightful lands. Red Snake squatted on a blanket beside his teepee, listening with in-mobile features but with a thrilled heart. He summoned a council of the chiefs secretly, and the medicine man addressed his message to them also. Thereafter, the Indians of Shiwaki were restive. Their growing spirit of rebellion manifested itself in foolish little offenses against the white men. These were punished with the white man's customary sternness, and this increased the ranker of the Indians. It increased, too, their eagerness for the fulfillment of the strange prophecy of the coming of the white queen. On the very day when the white man's village of Rockville was in a hubbub of excitement because of the kidnapping of Pauline, the village of Shiwaki was tumultuous with a different fervor. Into the circle of the assembled chiefs, rimmed with odd faces of squaws and papooses, had danced the weird figure of Big Smoke. He had been called upon by Red Snake to announce what further of the white queen his medicine had revealed. Big Smoke wore the head of a wolf with cow's horn set over the ears. His lith red body was covered with a long bare skin. His legs were bare to the tops of his gaily-beated moccasins. He circled the silent group with fantastic gyrations and stopped finally in the center. Lifting his hands he addressed the tribe. First in glowing rhetoric he pictured the ancient glory of the Sioux, their wealth in lands, their prowess in the hunt, their triumph over all other red men. He told of their long and brave struggle with the white man, who by the intervention of wicked gods had been enabled to conquer them. But the time of vengeance and retribution had come after long years. The Indian was to return to his own. The great spirit is sending us a leader, said Big Smoke. The great spirit has spoken to me and said, Lo, I will send a white queen with golden hair. She shall come from the heart of the earth, and she shall lead your warriors against the oppressor. This was the third time Big Smoke had said this. That was what made it most impressive to the listeners. Big Smoke had staked not only his reputation as a medicine man, but also his life, upon this wonderful prediction which had aroused his people as they had not been aroused in fifty years. Before it was the law of the ancient code that fulfillment must follow immediately the third announcement of the miracle. If fulfillment failed, there remained only the great death stone in the valley. No prophet of the tribe had ever won in their race with the death stone. And so the chief sat in respectful silence, and the young braves arose eager for the war dance when Big Smoke finished speaking. The dance, beginning slowly, waxed wilder. The tom-toms beat more vibrantly until the whole village was encircled by the painted and bonneted tribesmen. The red glare of daylight fires illuminated the wild faces. The women cowered with their children beside the tepees. In the midst of the tumult, the medicine man stood with hands stretched upward, calling on the great spirit to send the white queen. When the dance had subsided, the council resumed its deliberations. It was arranged that there should be a hunt that afternoon, and the foxes or coyotes should be driven as near as possible to the settlements. This would be a means of reconordering, and it would make the whites think the Indians were engaged in peaceful pursuits. Pauline, after her first startled cry, stood spellbound by the two glowing eyes that shone from the far end of the cave. There was no light now, save for the eyes. The rift in the roof from which the mysterious glow had come seemed to have been closed suddenly. The pitch darkness made the eyes doubly terrible, and just perceptibly they moved and flashed which showed they were living eyes. Pauline longed to scream, but could not. Behind those fiery points imagination could picture all manner of horrible shapes. Was the creature about to spring upon her? The eyes vanished as suddenly as they had appeared. The low rustling sound came again, then the utter silence. Pauline, freed of the uncanny gaze, was able to think and act. If that animal could find its way into her prison house, there must be another entrance to the cave. It was plain that the animal had been crouching on the slant rock above the ledge. Pauline began again to grope around the wall. She could touch the top of the ledge, and now in several places she found small crevices in the wall by which she tried to climb. Time and again she fell back. Her soft hands were torn by the jagged rock. Her dress was in shreds. Her golden hair fell down upon her shoulders. She might have been some preternatural dweller of the place. At last her foot held firm in a crevice three feet above the floor. Clutching the ledge top she groped for another step and found it. In a moment she was on the ledge. She sank there covering her face with her hands. The eyes had blazed again scarcely three feet away. She felt the breath of hot nostrils, the rough hair of a beast, as the things sprang. She felt that the end had come, but she still clung to the ledge. As she uncovered her eyes slowly she was astonished to see that the faint light had returned. It came as she had thought over a concealed shelf of stone above the rocky incline. The eyes had vanished, the cave was still. She began to scale the incline. Her hands and feet caught nubs and slits of the surface and a little higher she felt the cool dampness of earth and grasped the root of a tree. As she drew herself up she looked over the shelf and saw at one end of it the open day. She crawled a little way upon the shelf then stopped. She hardly dared to go on. What if the opening, large enough to admit the light, were too small for her to pass through? What if the light had been only allure to torture her? What if she must return into the darkness with that thing unknown, the thing with the blazing eyes? She crept on with her eyes shut. A stronger glow of light upon the closed lids told her she had reached the end of the shelving. The next moment would tell her if she had reached freedom or renewed captivity. She looked up. Three of Red Snake's young warriors had gained most of the plaudits of the village during the afternoon of the hunt. They rode together and not only did they bring in many foxes and coyotes but much news of the white people. They had met armed men throughout all the mountain country riding up and down the river. The armed men had greeted them fairly and had asked them for information of other white men who had stolen a girl and carried her away. The white men were thus fighting among themselves. It was a propitious time for the coming of the new queen. These three young men, about five o'clock in the afternoon, had just started the drive of a coyote towards the level country when the quarry doubled suddenly and turned into the hills. With shouts and shots the Indians pursued it, but their horses were no match for it on the devious wooded paths, and grunting their disgust they saw it dive into a burrow in a rocky hollow of the cliff. They dismounted and stood about the mouth of the burrow grumbling and cursing their luck in an ancient tongue. At last two of them mounted and started to ride away. Their companion followed slowly, leading his horse. A sound made him turn his head. With a cry of mingled fear and joy, of awe and triumph, he threw himself prostrate before the mouth of the burrow. The other Indians dashed back. They literally fell from their horses to the feet of the wonderful being who had risen from the heart of the earth, the promised goddess who would lead them against the oppressors. In the poor, disheveled person of Pauline coming from her prison cave they saw their great white queen. CHAPTER 15 THE DEATH STONE As the thrilled and frightened Indian lay prostrate at her feet, he might well have believed her to be some creature from another world. Her face was very pale, and round it fell into mulchuous glory the cascades of her golden hair. Her dress was torn to shreds by the jagged rocks, and there was blood upon the delicate hands that she held out in pleading to the only living thing she saw, the red man. He did not move. She stepped nearer, and stooping gently touched his shoulder. At the touch he trembled like a leaf, but raised his head and looked at her with terror and awe and adoration in his eyes. Won't you help me? I've been a prisoner in the cave. I must find Mr. Haynes. Haynes, do you hear? Or go to Rockvale. Rockvale! She repeated, hoping that the names at least he might understand. He motioned questioningly towards his horse, and at her nod he sprang up and brought the animal to her side. Helping her to mount, he took the bridle and began to lead the way into the thickly wooded hills. The journey was slow and arduous, but it was not long. Haynes had not yet fallen when the hill trail dipped into a valley, and Pauline's weary, hopeful eyes looked down upon a village on the plain. The hope vanished quickly, as she realized that the houses of the village were teapies, and that the people that moved among them were braves and squaws. An Indian boy of perhaps twelve years sprang suddenly from a thicket beside the trail, with one glance at her, and with a shriek, set off at full speed toward the teapies. Cry sounded and resounded from the hills. Tom-Toms were beating. She became aware that the Indians were swarming about her and acclaiming her a gust of unusual honor. They stopped her horse at the entrance to Red Snake's teapie. The great chief stepped forth himself, with big smoke the medicine man close behind him. The Prophet, who had foretold the coming of the great White Queen, wore a mean of pride and triumph, even as he bowed low before Pauline. But of all the Red Folk and Shiwaki village, big smoke was undoubtedly the most amazed at the fulfillment of his prophecy. The braves, who were assigned to lift Pauline from her horse and bear her into the chief's teapie, were surprised that one immortal should be so weak as almost to fall into their arms, so weary as to be scarcely able to walk. But Pauline, seated upon a high pile of furs within the teapie, where the weird light of a fire fell upon her pallid features and her flowing hair, presented a picture strange and marvelous. They gathered around her, Red Snake and the medicine man in the center of the adobe, the lesser chiefs behind them, and in another circle the ranks of the braves. Even in her utter exhaustion, the savage solemnity of the gathering fascinated Pauline. Had she been left alone, she would have fallen asleep upon the piled furs. But this low muttering, grim visage dissemblage of the Red Man forced her to respectful attention. That they honored her, she understood. But she saw, too, that the Indians were all armed, and some of them were painted. As Red Snake arose to address the tribe, a menacing murmur filled the teapie, and the young chiefs wedded their knives upon the ground. Red Snake's harangue, unintelligible to Pauline, had an electrical effect upon the Indians. Frequently as he spoke, he turned toward her, and always when he did so he bent his head upon his breast, and raised his mighty arms in token of submission to a power mightier than his own. As he finished, Pauline arose, swaying a little from her great weakness. She shook her head in token that she did not understand. Her outstretched, pleading hands bewildered, but subdued the warlike assembly. Red Snake called a ringing summons, and from the rear circle of the audience shuffled forward the strangest man Pauline had ever seen. His undersized, stooping form was garbed in a miner's cast-off red shirt, a ranchman's ex-trousers, a pair of tattered moccasins, and a much-dented derby hat, with a lone feather in the band of it. It was White Man's hat, a half-breed interpreter. As he approached, cringing and bowing, Pauline noted that a penetrating, not unkindly eye, gleamed from under his bushy brow, scrutinizing her in flashes between his obsesence. Unlike the other Indians, he was not afraid to look the great white queen in the face as he solemnly repeated the last words of Red Snake. According to the prophecy, you have come from the heart of the world to lead us against those who steal our land. Pauline stood for a moment in complete bewilderment. Then, as the meaning of the words, with the meaning of the strange gathering, flashed upon her mind, she took a step forward, speaking in earnest protest. But she spoke only to the chief, for the Indians had broken all restraint and were crushing their way out of the tepee with cries and brandishing of weapons. They swept the little interpreter with them, and Red Snake saw in Pauline's look and tone of appeal only the pleading of a wronged goddess for vengeance upon her enemies. They called the women of his household, who shyly led the queen away. Darkness had fallen as the women glided ahead of her to a spot outside the main village, where a spacious tepee had been erected apart. Only a peaceful moon and a firmament glittering with stars lighted their path. But from the town behind came terrifying yells, the rattle of tom-toms and occasionally a rifle-shot, as the braves prepared their spirits for the test of battle. Pauline found her new home filled with all the luxuries and sacred relics of the tribe. There were rugs richer than those in the chief's house, the walls were festooned with strung beads, and on the large, low couch of bearskins lay the most splendid of Indian raiment. The women, with better understanding than men, of the earthly needs of immortals, made her lie down, while they bathed her aching temples and wounded hands, replaced her torn garments with a gorgeous blanket-robe, and smoothed her flying tresses into long, comfortable braids. Other women came bringing food, and there was a pipe and a pouch of agency tobacco with which the goddess might soothe the hours after repose. Pauline ate eagerly while the women looked on in silent approval. When she had finished, she arose smiling and signed to them that she would rest. They left softly, and neither the exciting recollections of the day's adventures nor the tumult of the braves outside could hold her for a moment longer from the blessedness of sleep. She slept far into the next morning, but so did the village, for the Indians had reveled to exhaustion. It was nearly noon before she attired herself in a fringed and beaded dress of buckskin with leggings and exquisite little moccasins, and laughingly permitted one of the women attendants to place a painted war-feather in her hair. Thus clad, and with her wide braids falling, she sat regally to receive the morning call of Red Snake. She was beginning to take a tremulous pleasure in the game of being an immortal. Pauline's questing spirit was too happy an adventure not to find a thrill in being thus translated from hungering captive to reigning queen, from queen to angel. Red Snake's call was formal and politely brief. He brought with him the amusing interpreter to inquire if the spirit had found comfort in the hospitality of his people, and more particularly if the war-dance of the preceding night had given her satisfaction. Pauline replied with gracious solemnity that her spirit had found good repose, and had been comforted by the pleasant music. And when will the white queen lead us against our enemies, the men of her own color but not of her kind? Inquired the chief with childlike eagerness. Pauline hesitated an instant after the interpreter repeated the question. Then recovering herself she answered gravely, Today, Red Snake, the queen rests from her long journey out of the happy hunting ground. Tomorrow also, upon the next day, perhaps, she will lead the warriors. The little interpreter's keen eyes flashed understandingly as he left out the word perhaps in repeating her answer. Red Snake was elated. He made profound salutations, promised that the war-party would do her honor, and hastened away to announce the news. The interpreter lingered, pretending to smooth the door-rug. He looked up suddenly, and his eyes met Pauline's with an expression of friendly interest. Instinctively she accepted the tacitly offered friendship. You are a white man. You speak English, she said. Parts white, parts red. You speak all white. He added significantly. Of course. She whispered, stepping to his side. I am not a queen, not a spirit. I do not know why they believe I am, but I must get away to Rockvale, to Mr. Haines's ranch, to the white people, anywhere. You will help me. He looked at her pityingly now. He had believed that she was an accomplice of the medicine-man in a shrewd fraud. And he had merely wanted to share the joke, risky as it was. To find her an accidental and unwilling monarch struck him dumb. Oh, that is very hard. He said slowly. Look! He parted the folds of the teepee-door curtain, so that she looked out toward the village. Three women sat next to the door, and beyond were groups of braves still in their war-paint, some conversing, some stalwart and still. They seemed to be doing nothing in particular. Well, questioned Pauline, he led her across the teepee to a narrow slit in the rear curtain. Through this she peered as she had peered through the door, and saw exactly what she had seen through the door, women crouching at their tasks in the near foreground, an armed circle of warriors beyond. Now she understood. I'm a prisoner, then? They will guard you night and day. Why? It was prophesied that a great white queen would come to lead them to battle. You have come, as the prophet said, and you have promised to lead them to battle. Above all, be proud and not afraid. The interpreter hesitated a moment. There was another white queen whose coming was prophesied many hundreds of years ago. He said. She came. She led the Indians' victory over other Indians, and then she vanished in the strangest way. I would tell you of it, but I am afraid. They say her spirit is always near. Someday you may know how she vanished. Before she could speak again, he had glided out of the tipi. While Pauline was away, Harry had planned to accomplish mighty labours. With masculine fatuity he let himself believe, before she went away, that a man can get more work done with his goddess afar than when Cupid has a desk in his office. It did not take more than thirty-six hours to turn separation into bereavement, not more than forty-eight to turn his freedom for work into slavery to the fidgets. The office, instead of a refuge, became a prison to him. However, he made a pretense of sticking to the grind, and it was not until the Thursday on which his charting showed Pauline would arrive at Rockvale that he actually quit and went home. He slipped into the library to be alone. It was more restful here. As he sat in the great leather chair and unfolded a newspaper, the portrait of Pauline smiled brightly down at him in seeming camaraderie. At his side stood the mummy so intimately associated with her and his dead father's strange vision from the tomb. Harry began to read, but he was still nervous to the point of excitement and his thoughts wandered from the words. He was suddenly conscious of another presence in the room. He let the paper fall and gazed intently at the portrait. But a moment later Harry Marvin sprang excitedly from the chair and fairly leaped toward the picture. From somewhere out of the dim air of the library a hand had reached and touched his. It had touched his shoulder and then, with a commanding finger, had pointed upward at the picture on the wall. The mummy, it has warned again. Gaffed Harry. Polly, Polly. He cried to the portrait. I'm coming. Just hold on. He strode back to the table and pressed a bell. Tell Reynolds to pack me up, Beames. He charged the astonished butler. Tell him it's for Montana, in a rush. Have a machine ready for me in fifteen minutes. Even Beames's constitutional aversion to haste was overridden. He sped into the hall, calling to the valet as Harry picked up a telephone. Hello? This is H.B. Marvin. I want our private car attached to the Chicago Flyer. He said, No matter if it holds up the Flyer, I'll have President Grigsby's authorization in your hands in five minutes. Thank you. Goodbye. As he reached the door of the machine, a messenger boy turned up the steps. Harry called to him, took the telegram, and read Mrs. Hain's message. Pauline kidnapped. Come at once. With a muffled ejaculation, he dropped the slip of paper and sprang into the car, which, in ten minutes, pulled up to the station, just as the disgruntled but curious trainmen were coupling the luxurious Marvina to the eighteen-hour express. Owen, coming quietly down the steps of the Marvin House, picked up the telegram which Harry had let fall. Reading it, he smiled, and he was still smiling when another messenger boy followed him to the door. Owen took the second message, and the smile broadened into an ugly grin as he read. Raymond Owen, Fifth Avenue, New York. All's well. Hicks. Five days after the disappearance of Pauline, the express stopped again at Rockvale Station. As Harry swung from the rear step to the dingy platform, there were many curious eyes to observe his arrival, the watchers were mostly women and children. The men of Rockvale were still out on the long hunt for Pauline. Harry hurried first to the station telephone. Sykes had got Mrs. Haynes on the wire as soon as the smoke of the express had been sited ten miles away. But all she could tell Harry was that there was nothing to tell. His lips were set in a hard line as he hung up the receiver. He asked a few hazy questions of Sykes, hurried across to the little hotel, paid for a room, and hired a horse. Blankets and provisions strapped behind. He went out and away up the road to the mountains within an hour. And while he urged his sturdy little mount to better speed on his uncharted journey, Pauline, not twenty miles away, was preparing for the last journey she might ever make. The blow had fallen. Her royal place, her immortal power, had vanished. The Indians had permitted one postponement of the Day of Battle. She had said that the spirits had spoken to her and warned against bloodshed upon that day. It should be the second day thereafter, the spirits had said. The Indians were disappointed, but they bowed to the edict. The morrow passed quietly, but on the next day, the fifth of her royal captivity, she was summoned from her house by the assembled chiefs in battle-paint and feathers. She tried to whisper through the doorway that the spirits had forbidden again, but Red Snake answered, You are greater than all other spirits. You will lead us to-day. Tell them, said Pauline to the interpreter, that the White Queen does not lead to-day. Red Snake, his face black with anger after haranguing the chiefs, turned to Pauline. Daughter of the earth, twice our warriors have been ready for battle, and you would not lead them. Today you must go before the oracle and prove your immortality. The oracle will tell. The warriors departed. Only the little interpreter remained. What does it mean? cried Pauline. It is the race with a great death-stone. He answered, and his own voice trembled. But— He whispered, I will ride. I will try to find help. Wait! He slipped under the back of the teepee. Unseen by the excited Indians, he made his way to the line of ponies, with lariats and rifles swung from their saddles. He picked one, and, mounting, rose slowly out of the village, speaking here and there to the braves he met. Pauline, left alone, fell upon her knees and prayed. Harry met Haines and two of his posse on the road to the mountains. They were on their way back to a general rendezvous ordered by the sheriff. But Harry continued on his way up the mountain. Mile after mile the little Mustang put behind him while the sun was still high. On the slope of a hill they came to a crossroads, and Harry, riding almost blindly, reigned to the right. The ponies swerved wildly to the left. Instinctively Harry gave the frightened horse its head. A half-mile farther on the animals stopped and sniffed the wind. At the same instant Harry heard a feeble shout from the road. A weirdly garbed little half-breed lay on the ground, holding the bridle of the horse that had thrown him. Anchor gone. He explained, writing for help. I help was. You ride now. White girl, they are killing her up there now. White girl, where? Talk fast, man. Two miles over the mountain and down to the valley straight ahead. You go to the bottom of the valley, not to the top, not where the Indians are. Climb tree. Take my rope. It's the only chance now. Harry caught the coiled lariat from the other saddle and rode as he had never ridden before. All was vague in his mind except that Pauline was near, was in peril, and he must reach her. How by road and trail he ever reached the valley of the death-stone Harry never knew. Perhaps chance, perhaps some invisible courier guided him to the lonely spot. After long, hard riding he was attracted by the low rumble of many voices lifted in a sort of chant. Following the voices he came to the foot of a steep cliffside where a long trench, partly of natural formation, partly hewn from the stone, made a chute or runway from mountaintop to valley. At the upper end of the runway a motley band of Indians were engaged in some weird worship. Harry started his horse up the steep in the shelter of the woods. When he came to a spot where a huge tree-limb crossed the runway he remembered the little half-breeds words. Climb the tree. It is the only chance. Almost at the same instant, from the midst of the Indian group emerged two giant braves carrying a white woman between them. They placed her in the runway. Her golden hair, unbound, floated on the wind. Harry choked back a cry, threw aside his rifle, caught the lariat and, swinging up the tree, crawled swiftly out on the overhanging limb, concealed by the foilage he waited. A rifle cracked, and, for the first time, he saw that at the top of the runway behind Pauline stood a mighty boulder, almost perfectly round, the diameter of which, about five feet, fitted the trench so well that it could roll in it like a ball in a bowling gutter. None, even among the Indians, knew how many times the stone of death had rolled and then dragged back again to the top of the cliff. The stains upon it were unnumbered. Up on its surface was written in blood the doom of the false prophets and pretending immortals. None had ever won in the race with the death-stone. The crack of the rifle was the signal for a group of red men to press behind the stone to free it on its fearful course. It was also the signal for Pauline to run. Her hair streamed wildly in the wind as she sped like a frightened deer down the deadly path. The rifle sounded again, and the Indians heaved the stone into the trench. It rumbled as it came. It gained on the fleeing girl. They had planned to prolong the torture by giving her a hopeless lead. Dancing, gesticulating, shouting, the Indians watched the race. Only one watcher was silent and motionless. Hidden by the leaves he braced himself upon the tree-limb. For the first moments after the rock was released he had turned sick and dizzy. Now, as they came near, the thing relentless but inanimate pursuing the thing helpless, beautiful, and most precious to him, of all things in the world, not the quiver of a muscle hindered the desperate task that he had set himself. A moment later he was sobbing like a child as he half-dragged, half-carried Pauline to his waiting horse. By the magic of luck, by the mystery of a protecting fate the hilarious noose had fallen about her shoulders. To the amazed and terrified Indians up the cliff she had soared suddenly spirit-like out of the trench and vanished in the foliage of the tree while the boulder thundered on, cheated of its prey. But swiftly out of the woods upon the open plain below appeared a rider with a woman clasped before him on the saddle. The muffled Indians scurried for their horses. They reached the valley. They gained upon the burdened horseman and his tired horse. They fired as they rode, the bullets spitting venomously in the dust around Harry and Pauline. The pony stumbled. Harry jerked it up and it struggled bravely on but the cries behind sounded louder. The bullet hit nearer. Suddenly the firing increased. There were more cries and Harry, reigning the pony, saw galloping over the ridge to the westward the full posse of Hal Haines. They fired as they came. They cut between him and the Indians. He stopped the pony and lifted Pauline to the ground. My precious one, God bless you and forgive us all. He solved Mrs. Haines as Polly was caught in her mothering embrace. And you, you had to come all the way from New York to save her. She added, turning to Harry. Don't say anything about it, Mrs. Haines. He said in a stage whisper. I came out here to rest and avoid publicity. End of Chapter 15 The Death Stone The Perils of Pauline Chapter 16 by Charles Goddard This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Chapter 16 Sophie McAllen's Wedding A few days after their return from Montana, Pauline sat reading by the library window. They had come late to the country this summer and the Park of Castle Marvin had had time to leave and bloom into utter splendor. It was like a flowery kingdom in the land of fairy. And as her eyes were lifted, listlessly now and then from the printed page, they roamed over the garden, which lay like some vast and radiant oriental rug in nature's palace hall. The distant forest was the palace wall, tapestry and green. It's dome, a sky of tender blue. It's lamp, the morning sun. It's prince, her Harry, standing in the garden. He should always stand in the garden, thought Pauline tenderly. The flowers are such a splendid foil for him. She shut her eyes in sheer satity of beauty, not even the shabby man mopping his hot forehead as he came along the road marred the picture. She was a little surprised to see him a moment later, talking in an easy way with Harry. But there was no false pride in her lover. Brother and all men were his friends until they proved themselves his enemies. All except Owen. The shabby man holding his hat between his nervous hands was evidently an applicant for work. Harry pointed to the flower beds and the rose trees with a nod of inquiry. The man assented vaguely, and they came on up the path together, making their way towards the servants' quarters over the garage. Harry paused at the window. I have hired a new gardener who does not know his own name. He said as they passed on, he turned back to the pages of the cosmopolitan. A picture in an article on the motor races caught her eye and held it for some reason that she did not at first understand. It was a picture of a man in auto racer's costume, with a helmet tied upon his head and the keen features and daring eyes peculiar to those who live by peril. She had started to read the caption when she was interrupted by Bemis bringing her letters. With a little flutter of pleasure, womanlike, she began to read the letters from their postmarks before opening them. She hit upon one that brought a little peel of laughter from her, and she opened it eagerly in red. Walter and I want you and Harry to be with us at the wedding. Don't faint. We decided only yesterday and it's going to be very quiet, with just the few people whom we can reach with informal notes like this. You can motor over in an hour. Tell Harry our lions arrived last Thursday from Germany, and after the wedding the keeper will exhibit them. If Harry won't come to see me married, he'll come to see the lions. Yours in a flurry, Sophie McAllen. Pauline laughed again. It was like her unconventional chum, Sophie, to arrange her wedding with the same startling haste that had marked all the breathless events of her life. The lessons she mentioned were typical of her original ideas. She had suddenly announced to her parents one day that she was tired of domestic animals and was going to keep lions instead. And her amused and amazed father had not only been forced to yield, but to keep his eye out all over Europe, Asia and Africa for new bargains in well-bred lions ever since. It was also typical of Sophie that she had selected from among all the dashing lures at her heels Walter Trumwell, simple and sedate, who was horrified by her pranks and shocked by her use of slang, but who adored her with the devotion of a frightened puppy. Their engagement had been long announced. It was only in its high-handed abruptness that the wedding was a surprise. Pauline dropped the letter on the table and hurried from the room to look for Harry. He had heard her first call and was coming in from the garage. Pausing at the door of the library, where he had last seen her, he narrowly avoided a collision with Owen, who was hurrying out. The look of covert guilt on the secretary's face aroused his latent suspicion. But Owen, quickly recovering himself, bowed, apologized and passed on. Harry stepped into the library. He saw the open letter on the table, looked at the envelope and saw that he was included in the address. He read the letter and the old look of trouble came into his eyes as he turned to see if Owen were watching. As he stepped into the hall, he saw the secretary leaving the house. He stood in the doorway and watched Owen depart in his own machine, driven by his own chauffeur, a sullen young fellow whom the other employees held in aversion. He's up to something. I wonder what harm he could do at the McCallan wedding. Muddered Harry as he moved down the steps and out to where the new gardener was working. The man had been greatly improved as to cleanliness and clothes, but there was still the strange distant look in his eyes as he got up from a flower bed to speak to Harry. Pauline, after circling the house in vain search of her brother, had returned to her unread letters and her magazine. As she lifted the ladder from the table, the picture of the man in racing costume again struck her eye and this time she read the caption. Ralph Palmer, whose skull was fractured in the Vanderbilt Cup race and who disappeared from the hospital six weeks ago. She studied the face again. It seemed the living likeness of one whom she had seen dead. Suddenly her thoughts crystallized and she sprang up. She rushed again to the front door carrying the magazine open and saw Harry and the gardener talking on the path. She ran down to them. The gardener took off his hat but Pauline looked at him with such piercing scrutiny that he hurried to resume his work. Harry, after a brief affectionate greeting, turned to give some last instructions and behind his back Pauline stole another look at the magazine. It is. I'm sure it is. She said half aloud. Harry turned quickly. What is it, dear goddess of the garden? He asked cheerily. Pauline closed the magazine abruptly. Oh, I—I was dreaming! She answered with a little nervous laugh. You can't have a dream when you are one. He said, putting his arm about her waist, as they moved back towards the house. I have news! She exclaimed, remembering the wedding invitation. Sophie McAllen is to be married tonight, just like that, without telling till the last minute. I read the letter in the library. Did you tell Farrell to have the car ready? I will, dearest, but I'm not sure that I can go. But you must go. I got a telegram this morning and I must go into town. To New York? Oh, Harry, I simply hate your old business. Haven't we got enough money without trying to make all there is in the world? Aren't we— No, not to New York. Just into Westbury, Miss Firebrand. I must use the wire direct to the office. Absurd! Why don't you telephone your message? Code messages, dear. They can't be talked to. But you'll be back in time to go with me. I'll do my best. I'm starting directly. There's Farrell with the machine now. But Farrell must get my car ready. He will. Farrell isn't going with me. Her threats and pretty pleadings followed him as he drove away. But Harry did not drive towards Westbury farther than the first crossroads. Instead, he swerved out across country towards Windywild, the great McCallan estate. Only a vague purpose moved him. His suspicions were groping. But he was forming dimly in his mind a plan to keep Pauline away from the McCallan wedding. Premonition whispered that even among the nuptial gayities there might be danger. On the crest of Wynton's Hill from which the road slopes down to beautiful Windywild through parked forests but from which the rambling white villa with its barns and garage can be seen in striking bird's eye view Harry stopped his machine. To his far vision there was no unusual stir about the McCallan house in spite of the wedding day. Owen's car was not at the gate nor in the yard and he certainly would not have sent it to the garage if he were making a business visit to the manager of the estate. With a hateful sense of spying on the innocent and the sincere dread of being met there by anyone even by Owen he was about to turn around, go back and agree to take Pauline to the wedding when the movement of a figure through the distant garage yard made him stiffen to attention and strain his gaze. In an instant he had whipped his binoculars from under the seat of the runabout and was staring through them at the establishment below. A few moments afterwards he carefully replaced the glasses and drove away. He had left the Marvin place in haste seemingly intent upon a direct and important errand but if anyone had seen where the car stopped an hour later both the haste and the errand would still have been unexplained. They were in the loneliest stretch of woods about a half mile beyond the McCallan house when Owen leaned forward and said to his driver You may stop here. Owen answered the young man with a respect that he showed to no one else. He drew the machine to the roadside and then asked Am I going to go with you or stay here? Stay here. Answered Owen But don't sit there lolling in the seat we have broken down you understand and you will keep us broken down and keep on mending the machine until I return. Not averse to physical effort when his dearest object was at stake walk the half mile to Windy Wilde rapidly unlike Harry's, Owen's plans were definite and fixed. He strode through the front gate but took his way immediately to the stable in front of which two grooms were currying a restless horse Hello Simon said Owen My car's broken down up the road there I wonder if you can help me out I guess so said the groom, not very cheerfully We've got plenty to do today as it is Mr. Owen, with the wedding party on and them goal-blame lions to look after Who talk of the lions cried a grim voice and turning Owen pretended to see for the first time a short, heavyset man of the gypsy type seated on a box at the stable door smoking a cigarette and evidently regarding all the world as the object of his personal hate Why, who is that man? asked Owen of the groom in a tone of condescending interest Where have I seen him before? If he ever saw him before he wouldn't want to see him again declared the groom He's Garcia, Miss Sophie's new lion tamer but we ain't had time to tame him yet He's wild The answer to this taunt was a rush from Garcia who, uttering an unintelligible roar that might have done credit to one of his lions sprang towards the groom the latter took quick refuge behind the horse The man's fury made Owen step aside too but he looked on with an appreciative smile As Garcia came back, growling to his seat on the box the secretary stepped up to him and held out his hand Is it really you? he said, the patronage in his voice offsetting the familiarity of his manner If he looks like me, it is me snarled the gypsy Him, over there he cried, pointing to the groom He don't look like his own face if I get him Come, old friend said Owen in a low voice Don't you remember me? Don't you remember the zoological garden in Brussels and the lion that bent the cage so easily one day that it killed her brooner, a Berlin The last word spoken, almost in a whisper had an electrical effect upon the lion tamer He fairly rived in his seat and cowered away from Owen as from one who held a knife over his head It was at this moment that Harry looking from the hill put away his binoculars and turned his car around Come, let's see the lions May I? asked Owen, cheerily ignoring the man's terror secretly enjoying it Without a word, Garcia led the way into the stables The lions, six in number were quartered in box stalls rebuilt with heavy steel bars They had been quiet, but the sight of a stranger set them wild and their roaring thundered through the building Garcia led Owen to the farthest cage and stopped abruptly You were after me He inquired, his nerve partially recovered Yes, but to help you, not to harm your old friend You lie, I think You tell the police of the little accident in Brazil, you know No indeed, you are too useful a man to lose, Garcia Besides, I need you again The gypsy held up his hands in refusal No I have a wanted man's face here always He pointed to his eyes I cry it away I go all over the world I not forget He not forget He follow me Owen laughed Come, come He said You are foolish You had nothing to do with that affair except to loosen one little bar ever so little Oh And it would be just as easy to leave, say a cage door open tonight while they're having the wedding Are you all me? I mean only a little joke Nobody will be hurt, I feel sure Of course, if anyone should be, you could not be blamed I want a quick answer If you won't do it Of course you don't want anything Said about Brussels, do you, old friend? The man uttered another cry Owen drew money from his pocket The man seized it greedily If he was to do the blackest of deeds There was nothing in his conscience To prevent him from profiting Tonight, during the wedding, remember? Said Owen I will give you the signal And mind you, brute, if you don't do it You know what I'll do to you A few moments later He was out chatting cheerily with the grooms I'm not going to ask you to help me with the car, Simon He said You're too crowded today, I see I'll send Farrell up to the Hodgins' house And wait for him Good day He swung off down the road Greatly at peace with all the world He did not even rebuke his chauffeur When he caught him loafing on the grass Harry and the household chauffeur Farrell Were talking together outside the garage And Harry was handing a ten-dollar bill to Farrell Who grinned broadly as he pocketed it Owen saw nothing in this to cause him apprehension Harry was always generous with the employees It was well for Owen's plan That he should go to the wedding in so pleasant a mood Pauline looked up from her book as Harry entered the library I'm so happy! She cried You are a darling boy to come home so soon He accepted her rewarding kiss, gratefully Yes, I think it's all right He said Though there are some serious matters in hand at the office The butler appeared at the door Farrell asks if he may have a word with you, sir Farrell? Why yes, let him come here The chauffeur, cap in hand, stepped into the room I guess I got to take the big cart to New York, sir I haven't got the parts to fix it and I can't get them nowhere but in New York Very well, that's all right, Farrell But be back surely by four o'clock, Farrell, warned Pauline You're the only driver I have Oh, ah, I'll get back to right, miss But immediately after uttering these words in a tone of perfect respect Farrell committed an astonishing offense against the laws that separate servitor and employer He caught the shimmer of a wink upon Harry's eye And he had the audacity to return it Three minutes afterwards Farrell did a stranger thing Going direct from the house to the telephone in the garage He took up the receiver and called up the house Owen, passing by, stopped, spellbound At the door to hear these mandatory words spoken by the chauffeur to Harry Marvin Whose answering voice could actually be heard by Owen through the open window of the library Mr. Marvin, you are needed at your office Come at once Phoned Farrell He was grinning again as he came out of the garage Got into a machine and drove away Owen gazed after him with puzzled, lowering brows End of Chapter 16 Sophie McAllen's Wedding The Perils of Pauline, Chapter 17, by Charles Goddard This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Chapter 17 Palmer comes back Harry had just hung up the receiver of the telephone And had turned to Pauline with faint disappointment My office is calling me He said I'm needed there at once I shan't be able to go to the wedding The sight of the happiness fading from her flower-like face filled him with shame It was the first time in his life that he had lied to her And he was half sorry now that he had done so But he must go through with it now And if there was an apology in the kisses he pressed on her reproachful eyes It was not confessed I'm going to the wedding just the same Declared Pauline Of course you are He agreed heartily Farrell will be back with a car by five o'clock But who will shop around me? She objected, womanlike, to her own decision It would look absurd to take Margaret and Owen isn't invited You will not need a chaperone going over Provided Farrell gets back He said as he took his hat from the table You mean you don't believe Farrell will get back? She exclaimed You are treating me like a child You don't want me to go to the wedding just because you can't go Now don't, don't He pleaded as she started to leave the room I don't mean anything of the kind I mean Farrell is the only man who can drive the large car or the roadsters safely There is no reason in the world why he shouldn't get back And how am I to come home? She demanded turning again toward him I will call for you in the runabout on my way from New York Perhaps even I shall be able to arrive in time to greet the happy pair He added cheerfully You'll make my excuses Owen, who was listening at the door, had just time to glide away before Harry hurried out The young master of the house had driven far toward the station Before the secretary returned to the library This time he entered and pretended to be hunting for a magazine Pauline's disconsolate face gave him the excuse he desired Why, Miss Marvin, has anything happened? He asked in a tone of concern Oh, everything has gone wrong She cried almost in tears What do you mean? Harry has called to the city just when we were invited to Sophie McCallan's wedding And Farrell has taken the limousine for some silly repairs They'll not get back I know they'll not They never do But Miss Marvin Oh, don't try to apologize for him He cares more for his old business than he does for me He makes automobiles himself And yet I can't have enough for my own personal use I'm sorry I forgave him She flared You're right, Miss Marvin It is an outrage She looked at Owen in astonishment It was the first time she had ever heard him venture a critical word against Harry I think it is your fault She declared You were the one who should see that I have cars and drivers Everything I want But you know the machines have not come from the townhouse, Miss Marvin They'll be here tomorrow Well, Owen, it isn't for you to say that what my brother does is an outrage He does everything for the best Miss Marvin Harry is lying to you He said quietly He and your chauffeur have formed a plot against you Your car will not be back this afternoon at all She sprang to her feet furious Owen, be still! How do you dare to say such things? Raymond Owen had found his great moment His enemy had set his own trap And Owen would see that he should not escape easily The opportunity to break forever the bond of faith and affection between Harry and Pauline had come His voice rose as he poured out his revelations and denunciations Pauline was leaving the room when he thrust himself before her You must hear me. I know what I say is true It hurts me as deeply as it will hurt you But you must hear it I believe I have discovered, by the nearest accident, the cause of all your perils The plots against you have been arranged at home You are mad. I will not listen to you. Let me pass Not until you have heard He declared firmly I was passing the door of the garage only moments ago I saw a pharaoh at their telephone He called the private house number, the number of this phone on the table You and Mr. Marvin were sitting here I was so surprised that I stopped and listened to Pharaoh's words I could see Mr. Marvin listening at the phone here Pharaoh said, Mr. Marvin, you were needed at your office Come at once Then he hung up the receiver and came out laughing He got into the limousine and drove off towards the city If he could drive the limousine to the city, could he not drive it to the McCallons for you? Pauline put her hands to her ears with a protesting cry It isn't true She whispered It is only a scheme of perils to get an afternoon off It is a scheme of harries to keep you from the wedding For what purpose only he knows It is one of many schemes that have held your life in constant peril I saw their plan arranged I saw your brother hand money to ferret the door of the garage And they parted, laughing Pauline's mind whirled I won't believe it. I can't. I can't She cried Doubt and fear and fury mingled in her breast Weeping tumultuously, she rushed past Owen and up to her own room Two hours later, the struggle over, she called Margaret who bathed her hot temples and dressed her for the wedding Harry Marvin, in town, tried his best to make good use of the time he had stolen But the thought of his well-meant chicanery was heavy on his mind And it was not unmixed with apprehension After all, Pauline might find a way to go to the wedding Might he not, instead of having averted a danger Simply have absented himself from the scene of danger when he was most needed His nervousness increased He found himself incapable of work And at three o'clock, to the surprise of his clerks Who had thought his unexpected visit must mean an important conference of directors He called a taxi cab and started for Westbury But he had no intention of going to Castle Marvin unless it was necessary He meant to telephone from Westbury and learn whether or not Pauline had gone to the wedding If she had not, he would remain away until late A few minutes before four o'clock, Farrell, with his pretty wife whom he had called to share his plot and his holiday Drove up to a rural telegraph office They were both laughing as Farrell handed this message to the operator Miss Pauline Marvin, Castle Marvin, Westbury, blow out Can't get back this evening, George Farrell You don't want to say what kind of a blowout it is, do you? Grinned the operator, glancing out of the window at the spick and span machine If you don't see everything you look at, you'll save your eyesight Replied Farrell cheerfully At the next town he telephoned to the Marvin office in New York He came out of the booth with a worried look The boss has left in a taxi for home He said I don't know what that means I guess we'd better sort of travel along towards Westbury He might need me They changed their course and had driven for some time at an easy rate through the smiling country When the sound of a machine coming up speedily behind caused Farrell to look around The passenger in the open cab waved his hand and Farrell saluting slowed down The car stopped side by side Harry raised his hat to the young woman You're not going home, are you, Farrell? He said I heard you'd left the office and I thought something might have happened And I'd be near enough so that you could get me quick Nothing has happened You'd get along nicely with this cab You'd better keep a good distance and not come home until tomorrow morning Very well, sir. Well, that suits us for you Farrell grinned The taxi started on and Farrell turned off at the next cross-road He's a great boss, but a queer one He said to his wife It's queer family all around I wonder what's being cooked up now When the time of Farrell's expected return drew near, Pauline's despair and anger increased with every moment When four o'clock struck, she arose and walked nervously out to the garage to ask if any word had been received from Farrell She found Owen there As she turned toward him, after her futile questioning, Pauline's grief suddenly mounted to anger It is after four, and Farrell has not returned She exclaimed She had come out to the yard in the exquisite white gown that she was to wear to the wedding A flashing jewel at her white throat, her hair done regally high Now in her anger she was a picture of fury made beautiful Her outburst was interrupted by a messenger boy with a telegram She opened the message with nervous fingers Blow out, can't get back this evening She read She tore the message into pieces, dropped them and stamped upon them with her white slippers It's true, it's true She cried, turning desperately to Owen I am terribly, hopelessly sorry, but I knew that it was true He said solemnly At this moment along the drive came the new gardener, wheeling a barrel of fresh mold His rake and hoe lying across it HOMMER! Pauline cried The man let fall the barrel as if he had been cut with a whip-blash He looked up and for an instant his dazed eyes seemed to brighten Then he picked up the barrel as if no one had spoken and went on Pauline followed him Bring out the roadster, she called over her shoulder And as she stopped beside the gardener The garagemen, bewildered but used to the kindly vagaries of their pretty employer Sent the machine down the driveway Can you drive an automobile Palmer? asked Pauline This time the man's eyes did not brighten He looked at her respectfully but dolly She drew him to the car and repeated the question He only grinned foolishly and kept on shaking his head Wait, she said, and running back to the house reappeared directly wearing her hat And flowing white wrap Come Palmer, you must drive me to the wedding She declared She made him get into the car and take the wheel As she got in beside him his hands fumbled aimlessly with the lever Palmer, Palmer She didn't his forgotten name into his ears Don't you remember the race, the road, the flying cars, the speed, the speed Don't you remember the man who was in the lead, the man the crowd cheered for That was you Palmer, the greatest of all the drivers She leaned forward in the seat, arms outstretched as if holding a tugging wheel Eyes straight ahead, slippered feet, threading imaginary levers Graceful body swerving He watched her frowning A vague purpose seemed to animate the hand groping with the levers Wake up Palmer, it's time for the race, the Vanderbilt Cup Kirby and Michaels have started There's Wharton coming to the line Don't you see the crowds? Can't you hear the cheering? Palmer, Palmer Yes, we're coming Palmer is coming back Way there He found the self-starter, the engine sounded He found the clutch and gears, his eyes were shut The car started slowly and he opened his eyes Pauline sank back in the seat Laughing and clapping her hands half hysterically Bravo Palmer The astonished workmen saw them glide through the outer gate Raymond Owen from his window saw them and rubbed his hands pleasantly Fate indeed seemed to be favouring his deadly work today The car swung into the highway Try faster, commanded Pauline The listless hands hardened on the wheel She saw him bend over and fix his vision on the road She thrilled at the miracle she had wrought More speed and the wind blew her cape from her shoulders The dust beaten her face She merely tightened her veil and sat silent Take the first turn to the right She called in his ear as they neared the crossroad He did not slacken the speed It's a sharp term, slow a little She cautioned, he did not seem to hear her She placed her hand sharply on his arm He drove past the crossroad the speed to the last notch Pauline tried to stand up in the seat and seize the wheel He thrust her back with one hand, not even looking at her He was leaning far over the wheel now, his eyes blazing She could see the bead of blood in his temple Stop, stop! You're on the wrong road, you will kill us both! She screamed in his deaf ears She tried again to rest the wheel from him But this time he held her fast after he had flung her back She had raised up a Frankenstein for her own destruction She was being driven by a madman As they took the curve outside Westbury Village Another car filled with men and women fairly grazed them The women screamed and the men shouted wildly after them But they flashed on Down the hill at Grangley's Mills the pace grew even greater From the west prong of the road fork at the bottom A taxi cab shot into view There was a shout of warning, a rattle and a creak As the taxi swerved safe by inches On the skirts of Clayville a group of farmers And a constable were arguing a roadside dispute Pauline could see dim figures leap into the road waving arms She could hear them shouting The figures jumped to either side as Palmer drove through the group They sprang back into the road, cursing and shaking their fists Only to be rooted anew by the rush of the taxi cab following The roadster straightened out on the ledge of Skrog Hill In spite of the curve and the precipice Palmer held his speed His daring, his utter mastery, stirred a kind of admiration in Pauline And the death she saw looming stirred anew her courage She wrenched her arm free from his grip She stood up and swung her weight against the man grasping for the wheel The car swerved toward the cliff But he jerked it back striking at her brutally with his free hand She fell in the seat but returned desperate to the encounter She caught the wheel, she tried to command it But his strength drew the other way The machine shot toward the abyss There was a crackle as the wooden guide fence splintered under the wheels There was a crash Harry, leaning from the taxi cab behind, uttered a groan The roadster had gone over the cliff Fifty feet down the rock-narled hillside they took Pauline from the clutch of the dead driver His fall had broken hers and it was only from fear that she had fainted Harry, pressing the taxi driver s flask to her lips, saw her eyes open And his cry was like a prayer of Thanksgiving When Harry lifted Pauline to carry her to the taxi cab To his abasement he felt her hands press him away He thought she had not yet recovered that she believed herself still in the grasp of the madman He set her on her feet and looked at her questioningly Without a word she turned from him and started up the road Pauline He cried What do you mean? Don't you know me? It's Harry She kept on without turning He caught her by the arm Don't you know me? Your brother? He pleaded She turned tremblingly You are not my brother She blazed And I did not know you until today You are hurt and ill, dearest Come, let me take you home She walked on up the road But where are you going? He demanded I am going to the wedding You tried to keep me away by your base trick, but you can't do it Now he understood I know, I know He groaned It was the meanest and most useless thing But I did not think it was safe for you to go to the wedding I am sorry to the bottom of my heart Goodbye She said coldly, walking on But you can't go like that He exclaimed Pointing to her torn and draggled clothes Her unfastened hair It is better to go to friends Whom I can trust She said coldly and moved on As gently as he could He lifted her into his arms And carried her to the taxi cab Placing her in the seat he followed And as the machine started Began to pour out his repentance She would not even answer But sat with averted face Weeping and trembling At last she became quiet He drew her tattered wrap closer about her shoulders And put his arm around her So that her head rested against his breast A moment later, looking down He was surprised to see that she was smiling Like a tired child End of Chapter 17 Palmer comes back The Perils of Pauline Chapter 18 By Charles Goddard This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org Chapter 18 A Hot Young Comet That's right. Praise her. Pet her. Make her think she's great So she'll do it all over again Harry turned away wrathfully From the joyous greetings of Lucille And Chauncey Hamlin to Pauline Harry is quite right, said Lucille I ought to snub you entirely It is disgraceful, it's wicked To be as brave as you are, Paulie Oh, I say Lucille Pleaded her brother You'd have Miss Pauline all upset She likes it Snapped, Harry She's been upset out of everything From a balloon to a house of fire And now she's looking for new, capsizable craft Paulie, you wouldn't try it again You don't want any more thrills after this Lucille's astonishment was sincere Pauline cast a serpentine glance at Harry Am I to live quietly at home With a creature like him? She inquired Why don't you have me beheaded Oh, great white queen The braves are reserved for torture Where are your people going so bright and early? She added, turning to Chauncey Going to take you for a little morning spin Car's perfectly safe Yes, do come along, Paulie Urged Lucille What, in a safe car? Never Exclaimed Harry It isn't done You know, not in this family Now, if you add a hot, restless young comet Hitched to the door, Chauncey Laughed merrily No, I couldn't go this morning Even behind a restless young comet She glanced mischievously at Harry Duty before pleasure Have important business on hand No, I can't tell even you, Lucille You're not to be trusted You'd be sure to tell Harry As the handlines drove off Harry turned anxiously You've not forgotten your promise There is to be a long rest from wildness Isn't there? No more adventures? Yes, a rest from wild ones I'm going to have a tame adventure now Paulie, Paulie What do you mean? This She answered, taking the morning paper from the table Unfolding it, she showed him a headline Great Lordner stables to be auctioned World famous horses of late millionaire sportsmen Under hammer Well Questioned Harry Don't you see? She tantalized him Not in the least I'm going to buy Firefly And ride him in the steeple-chase handicap Harry's smile was almost despairing But he answered quickly Oh, I see You'll have me ride him and break my precious neck I thought for a second you meant to ride yourself That's just what I do mean It will be gorgeously exciting And perfectly safe Safe? Of course I might be killed by a fall or something He laughed in spite of himself I shall not permit it He said You will not permit it She beamed Then I'll ask my guardian I may ride Firefly in the steeple-chase if I choose May I, Owen? She asked brightly Pauline could never bear malice Already she had forgiven Owen As well as Harry The secretary had just entered and was watching the two With a questioning eye If we own Firefly you may He smiled back at her I told you She triumphed over Harry But we don't own him Said Owen puzzled We shall this afternoon The Lord North Stables are being sold Please give me a great deal of money So that I can't be outbid Does Miss Pauline really mean this? Asked the secretary She does Harry answered in a tone of disgust At what he thought now was only Owen's weakness There seemed no chance of a plot against Pauline In this original scheme of her own She rides wonderfully I do not see why she should not Owen condescended You don't seem to see much of anything Declared Harry But you'll take me to the auction Coaxed Pauline I'll have to Or you'll spend the whole estate on a Shetland pony Here Owen sauntered from the room laughing Bear-headed he walked quite across the garden And down into the wood-cops by the path gate A gypsy was leaning upon the gate And gazing nervously up and down the road He turned at the sound of Owen's footsteps And the eyes of the young chief, Michael Mario Gazed apprehensively into the smiling eyes of the secretary How are you, Balthazar? Greeted Owen Don't use that name to me Pleaded the gypsy You have work for me? I've come all the way back from Port Vincent to see you It was kind of you Said Owen with the faintest tinge of sarcasm Yes, I have an important work for you Have you ever doctored a horse Balthazar? Many times, but not with my beauty medicine Grinned the chief Owen with a hypodermic needle I mean a racehorse So that he might possibly fall in a race And injure the rider? Exactly It is very easy, but very dangerous I should why... I know, I know Exclaimed Owen petulantly Here is the money Balthazar gloated over the yellow bills And here is the weapon The gypsy took the needle from the hand of the secretary And thrust it quickly into the inside pocket of his blouse Thank you, master I will do what you say Said the gypsy, making a move to go Not quite so fast Commanded Owen You do not know the place or the time The Jericho track next Saturday Answered the gypsy promptly What is the horse? Firefly It will be bought at the Jericho stables This afternoon You will be there to see it And to remember it Goodbye now Goodbye, master Many thanks Michael Caliban, wealthiest of sportsmen Attended the auction of the Lordner stables And seemed bent on adding the entire string Of splendid horses His own far-famed monarchs of the track The only time during the afternoon That he met with defeat Was when the famous steeple chaser Firefly was brought out Five hundred dollars Said Caliban curtly Six hundred Said the musical voice of a girl And the crowd turned to look Caliban smiled condescendingly A thousand He said See, you can't do it The horse isn't worth any more Cautioned Harry Fifteen hundred dollars Cried Pauline Does she mean that or is this only a joke? Demanded Caliban Turning to the auctioneer The lady's word has got enough for me Going at fifteen hundred Going Going Two thousand dollars I guess that'll stop any jokes around here Grinned Caliban Three thousand Pauline so quickly that even Harry gasped Cut short in mid-protest Caliban turned away and strode disgustedly Out of the crowd amid hoots of laughter He is worth it Why, he is worth any price Cried Pauline as the smiling groom Led Firefly up to her The magnificent animal thrust its nose Instantly between her outstretched arms And as she padded him delightedly The crowd rippled with spontaneous applause Harry joined her on the way to see Firefly put in his stall He gave that caretaker instructions And laughingly dragged Pauline away from her new pet As they entered their machine Raymond Owen came from behind the stable Engrossed in the business complications Growing out of the European conflict Harry had quite forgotten Firefly and the steeple-chase When the day of the great Jericho handicap arrived He was in the library reading a letter When they're burst upon his sight through the open doorway A vision that took his breath away Pauline, in full jockey uniform White and blue and yellow Was pirouetting on her gleaming black boots before him Pauline He cried, unable to grasp the meaning of the prank Have you cut off your hair? He added an alarm No, here it is She laughed, snapping off her visor cap And revealing masses of hair Oh, don't do it He begged Look, here's a letter from the Bincallans Asking us to their house party in the Adirondacks We're expected to moral Let's go there instead He handed her the letter Without glancing at it She flicked it into the air with her riding-crop And danced out of the room So I surrender again He murmured, laughing in spite of himself Riding out toward the starting line Pauline swerved her course a little To avoid the gaze of the gentlemen riders who eyed her curiously She heard a call from an automobile beside the track And rode over to where Harry and Owen were seated in the car Their lifted hats, as she bent to shake hands with them Caused the crowd to stare in astonishment Pauline, blushing furiously, sped Firefly to the line That horse looked queer Commented Harry as she rode away Do you think so? Asked Owen Yes, it's on edge, but its legs are shaky I wonder But the riders were ready The signal sounded The crowd's cheer rose in the names of their various favorites Field glasses were unbuckled By Jolly, Firefly took the first jump in the lead Cried Harry, a thrill of admiration Lightning the worry in his heart He's all right Said Owen Over the wide green, the horses began to string out With Firefly ahead She's going to win it I believe she is Exclaimed Harry excitedly As he and Owen stood in the automobile No, no He wobbled at the fourth jump He's losing ground But Firefly seemed suddenly to grip his strength As one horse passed him He pulled himself together under Pauline's urging He regained the lead They came down splendidly toward the home stretch The bodies of the powerful beasts Rode one by one over the last hedge They're over, they've won, or I haven't helped her, they're down Leading at the last jump The drugged heart of the great horse had conquered his courage As he stumbled heavily Pauline shot over his head And lay helpless in the path of the other riders Harry, dashing madly toward the track But hopelessly far from her Had to turn away his head As the crashing hooves passed her When he looked again Attendants were carrying her swiftly to the clubhouse He sped toward it, Owen following Harry tore his way through the excited crowd To the side of Pauline A doctor was administering restoratives Pauline opened her eyes And looked about her bewildered She saw Harry's anxious face And smiled penitently I've learned a lesson this time She whispered It is nothing serious Your shoulder bruised all over Said the doctor Thank Heaven Breathed Raymond Owen With well-famed emotion End of Chapter 18 A Hot Young Comet