His desire was to make for the camp at once, but he felt that he must see the spot where he had left George Harrington; and to do this he doggedly set forth, making his way to the mouth of the gulch, and then spending half the day in getting round and back to the ledge, along which he and his companion had passed the day before.
It was nearly midday when he passed the spot where they had lain down and slept, and he would have given anything to have rested, but he contented himself with slaking his thirst at a trickling spring and doggedly went on.
“I must see him, and get his rifle,” he muttered, as he trudged on, till at last, peering cautiously about the while, he reached the place where Harrington had stood gazing down, and he had delivered that cowardly blow.
For a moment or two he hesitated and stood panting, with his hand to his side. Then, taking a step forward, he peered down to gaze upon his ghastly work, and stood there, as if fascinated, before he made a terrible effort, and turned and fled.
For there below him, and interposed between him and that he wished to see, was his huge enemy of the previous day, bending down, and evidently licking the rock; till, divining danger, it looked up suddenly, uttered a low fierce growl, and began to climb.
But by the time it reached the rocky path, Dan Portway was out of sight, and he did not pause till he reached the little camp, from which he took the few things he sought, refreshed himself, made ready a pack of necessaries, set fire to the rest, and mounting the horse left hobbled in a grassy hollow, rode slowly away.
“To seek my fortune,” he said with a curious laugh; and then, with bent head and thoughtful brow, he let the reins drop on the horse’s neck, took a pin from out of his knife, and began to make experiments by pricking the skin of his wrist till it bled, and rubbing in gunpowder.
“Easy enough,” he said, with a laugh. “Now we shall see what change of scene will do. Nothing like a removal when a place grows too hot.”
Chapter Five
Mr Hampton is Too Late
“Old boy asleep, Gertie?”
“Mr Saul, why have you come?” cried the frightened girl.
“Because I wanted to see you again; because I was tired of waiting down in that dreary old dining-room. Why, what a little tease you are.”
Gertrude made a step to get on the other side of the bed, so as to place the old man between them; but Saul caught her wrist, and laughingly swung her round.
“Won’t do, my coy little beauty,” he whispered. “I want to settle that little matter.”
“Uncle!”
“Ha!” ejaculated Saul in a fierce whisper. “Wake him if you dare! If you do I’ll swear you asked me to come up and sit with you. Now look here – tell me, Gertie, the old man has left you all his money?”
“No, no, no,” she cried eagerly, “nothing at all.”
“Don’t believe it, darling. Trick to throw me off the scent; but I’m on it safe, and I’m not going to be tricked.”
“Then ask uncle when he wakes,” cried the girl, flushing up angrily, as she snatched her hand away.
“No, thanks; don’t want a bottle or jug thrown at my head. But I don’t believe you, you artful little jade. It’s all your cunning way to lead me on. He has left you all his money, darling, and you’ve played your cards splendidly; but it would not make any difference to me if you hadn’t a penny. You are going to be my little wife.”
“Never!” cried Gertrude, with a hurried glance at the sunken features on the pillow.
They both spoke in a low, quick, subdued whisper, and as if under the influence of the same dread lest the old man should awake.
“Don’t talk stuff, my darling. Think of your position.”
“I tell you I am penniless,” cried Gertrude excitedly, as she felt that Saul’s advances were mainly due to his belief in her future wealth.
“All the more need for you to listen to me, darling,” whispered Saul, as he threw his arm round the girl’s waist, and held her in spite of her struggles. “When the old man dies, if you are as you say, what’s to become of you?”
“I shall not tell you,” cried Gertrude, striving to escape.
“Then I’ll tell you. There’s that nice little idea in your head that my beloved cousin – that Yankee vagabond – is coming back to marry you, so that all is to be happy ever after. But suppose he does not come?”
“He will come; your uncle has sent for him.”
“Ah, he may have sent, but the fellow may not come. He may be drowned if he did; and even if he does come, that’s no reason why he should marry you.”
Gertrude, finding her efforts vain, ceased struggling, but stood there, panting heavily, and waiting her opportunity to free herself from the intruder’s grasp.
“Better come to an understanding, Gertie, and let’s begin to be friends at once. George Harrington must be a Wild West ruffian, not fit to make you a husband, so don’t think any more of that. I know, as well as can be, that he will never come back here; and if anything happens to him, as something is sure to happen, seeing what sort of a character he is. I shall be master here.”
“You?” cried Gertrude, with dilating eyes, as she again tried to get free.
“Yes, I; master of the houses, and lands, tenements, messuages, and all the rest of it; above all, my little struggling pet, master of you.”
“Ha!”
They both turned sharply, and Saul Harrington started back, for that hoarsely-sounding ejaculation came from the bed, and there, with the lamp shining full upon his cavernous eyes, sat the old man, glaring wildly at his nephew, and pointing towards the fireplace with outstretched hand.
“Uncle, dearest,” cried Gertrude, running to his side, and clinging to him; but he did not heed her, only remained pointing towards the fireplace.
“Why is he here?” panted the old man.
“Only a little visit, uncle. Don’t be cross.”
“A lie?” panted the old man hoarsely. “Money – always money,” and he still pointed excitedly towards the fireplace, forgetful of the fact that he had a bell-rope close by his hand.
“Not very polite to your nephew, uncle,” said Saul coolly.
“I heard – all,” he said. “If you would marry him – because you will have my money. That’s why – I wouldn’t leave it to you – strong and fierce – frighten you into accepting him – when I’m gone. But I knew better. No lie, Saul Harrington; she hasn’t a penny. But you’ll be master, eh? If George does not come – if George dies – eh, Saul? Yes, I had forgotten – next-of-kin, I suppose, and you would seize everything, eh? Yes, I know you; but no, Saul Harrington, no, no, no! I’ll take care of that. You did wrong in coming here to-night. Ring, Gertie, ring.”
“Yes, uncle, dear.”
“My solicitor – I want Hampton directly, he is to be fetched. No, no, my dear nephew, if George Harrington does not come home you shall not be master here, next-of-kin though you be. Hampton, Gertie – send for Hampton. I did not think of that. Ring – ring!”
“Yes, uncle, dearest, I have rung,” whispered Gertrude, as she vainly tried to calm the old man. “Lie down now and rest, and Mr Saul Harrington will go. Don’t – pray don’t talk like this.”
“No, no – don’t go, Saul. Stop and see my solicitor – stop and hear the codicil to my will. I’ll have it made right directly. Never be master here, Saul – no, not if George dies – never be master here. Scoundrel, robbed me living, now you would rob me dead; but – but – you shall – Ha!”
“Uncle!