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Perils of Pauline (dramatic reading)

<h1 id="id01373" style="margin-top: 5em">CHAPTER XIII</h1> <h5 id="id01374">DOUBLE CROSS RANCH</h5> "I tell you, Harry, I can't endure it. I couldn't face anyone I know. I want to run away—far, far away, where nobody ever heard of balloons or automobiles, or me." "Polly, you aren't afraid of a little talk, are you? Everyone is saying how brave you were, and, here, when the danger's over, I find you a flimsy little coward!" She picked up one of a pile of newspapers that lay on the stand beside her, and thrust it before Harry's eyes with a manner at once questioning and rebuking. He read the head lines: <h5 id="id01378"> SOCIETY GIRL CARRIED OFF IN BALLOON</h5> Miss Pauline Marvin Has Remarkable Experience After Accident on Palisades. Harry laughed and patted her hand reassuringly. "Oh, but that's only one of them," wailed Pauline. "Look at this one: <h5 id="id01381"> PAULINE MARVIN LOST IN THE SKY</h5> "Can any woman live after that," she cried. "Why, it's no crime to be lost in a balloon," said Harry. "See, they tell it just as it was—they make you a real heroine." "A man might live it down, dear, but a woman, never! To be 'lost in the sky' is altogether too giddy. Margaret!" she called. The maid stepped quickly forward. "You may pack my things, Margaret, and be sure to put in some warm winter ones. Is the snow on mountains cold like real snow, or is it like the frosting on cake?" she inquired, turning again to Harry. "What are you up to this time?" he demanded. "Montana first," she proclaimed with a melodramatic flourish. "And if I am followed by my fame or by my relatives—I shall go on—to the end of the world." Harry had long ago abandoned the idea of laughing at her whims. Even the most fantastic of her projects was serious to her. He merely looked at her in mute suspense awaiting the fall of the blow. "You needn't begin to see trouble-yet," she laughed. "But I am going, Harry. I'm going to accept Mary Haines's invitation and visit her and her nice, queer husband on their ranch. You remember Mrs. Haines, that dear Western girl that we met on the steamer when she was on her honeymoon?" "Well, it's pretty tough just at this time," objected Harry. "Business is bothersome, and I ought to be here; but if you insist . . . " "Oh, you're not coming with me," stated Pauline, cheerily. "In the first place you are not invited, and in the second place you are not needed in the least. Now get me a telegraph blank." He came back with the desired paper and a fountain pen and she scribbled: Mrs. Mary Haines, Rockvale, Montana. Care Double Cross Ranch. Arrive Thursday at 8 a.m. Will explain haste when see you., Pauline Marvin." "Run down and 'phone that to the telegraph office," she told Harry. "And now for the packing, Margaret." She thrust a tiny foot in a pink slipper over the edge of the bed. "But you are ill, Miss Marvin," protested the nurse with a first faint assertion of authority. "That's so," said Polly. "How can we get around that? Oh, yes; it's time for your airing, dear—and when you come back I shall be well and packed." "Plenty of air," suggested Harry sarcastically from the doorway, "if it takes you as long to pack as it does to put on your hat." Pauline flung him a laughing grimace and he strode off to the library. As he was repeating the brief message to the telegraph office he did not hear the light footfalls that ceased at the library door, nor could he see the drawn, gray face of Owen who heard the message spoken over the telephone, and was passing up the stairs with his slow, dignified tread when Harry came into the hall. "Good morning, Mr. Harry. I see you are quite yourself again. Yesterday was a terrible day." "You do look done up," retorted Harry, curtly, as he picked up his hat. Owen's step was not slow or dignified after the door shut upon Harry. He sprang up the last stairs and into his own room. Here on a small writing desk was another telephone. He snatched it up nervously and gave the call number of the place where he had held his first conference with Hicks. He held a brief conversation over the wire, snapped down the receiver, sprang to a wardrobe for his hat and stick and hurried from the house. The dullness that a sleepless night had left in his eyes had disappeared. The fear that had shaken him ever since the uncanny reappearance of Harry and Pauline was dissipated, or at least concealed by a new hope—a new plan of destruction. He knew only that Pauline was going away and that she must be followed —no matter whither her whims might lead. Hicks was seated in a corner of the rendezvous drinking whiskey and water. He was plainly in a black mood. "You got a pretty fat roll yesterday, Hicks. But," Owen drew out his wallet, "here is a little. Get yourself ready to make a trip tomorrow. I'll let you know the time and the train." Hicks looked covetously at the bills, but he demurred: "You mean we're after them two again!" "Hicks, we must be after them because one of them will soon be after us." "Where they goin' now?" "Rockvale, Montana. That is, the girl's going. What I haven't found out yet is whether Harry goes, too. If he stays here, I'll stay, and you'll go West." "After Pauline?" "Ahead of her!" "And then what?" "Then you will have to use your own judgment. But don't get excited and kill her, Hicks." He accompanied the sharp warning with the alleviating roll of yellowbacks, which Hicks quickly deposited in an inside pocket. The next morning they shook hands at the gate of the Pennsylvania station. Hicks looking a bit uncomfortable but much improved, in a suit of new clothes, and carrying a suitcase, hurried to catch the flyer for the West. A few hours later Owen was wishing a happy journey to Pauline at the same station rail. Mary Haines stood in the low doorway of the Double Cross ranch house and gazed down the sun-baked road to where, in the far distance, a little wisp of dust was visible. Laughing, she turned and called to someone inside the house. A towering, slow-moving, but quick-eyed man, in a flannel shirt, with corduroys tucked into the tops of spurred boots, appeared on the stoop. Hal Haines was so tall that his broad-brimmed hat grazed the porch roof of the house. "Hal! Hal!" she cried eagerly. "What do you think? Pauline Marvin is coming to visit us—Pauline Marvin!" "The little girl we met on the ship that I had to yarn to about the wild West?" "Yes, of course. How you did lie to her! Goodness, I hope that's not why she's coming. She'll be awfully disappointed." "Oh, I don't know as it's necessary to disappoint her," said Haines. "If the State of Montana don't know how to entertain a lady from the East as she likes to be entertained it's time to quit bein' a State at all." "Hal!" Mrs. Haines eyed her husband sternly. "I want you to remember who Pauline Marvin is. I'm not going to have her frightened by any of your wild jokes." Haines burst into a ringing laugh. "Honest, my dear, I promised that young lady if she ever came to Rockvale she'd see all the Wild West I told her about. I gave her my word. You don't want to make me out a liar, do you?" "You can say that conditions have changed greatly in the last two years." "Oh, come, just one little hold-up the day she gets here. She'll think it's great. She'll think she's the lost heiress that was carried off in the mountains—the one I told her about." "I tell you I will not hear a word of it. She may be ill or something; it would scare her to death." "I'll ask her if she's ill before I let the boys rob the buck-board. What dye say, mother? Just this once." His boyish joy in the prank brought laughter to her eyes, and he knew that his sins would be condoned. Four days later Hicks, who looked as far from home in his excellent clothes as the clothes looked far from home in Rockvale, alighted, from a lumbering local train. He made an inquiry of a man on the platform, and, carrying a heavy suitcase, slouched up the main street of the town. Ham Dalton's place was the one the man had directed him to, and Hicks, I after engaging the best rooms in the house for seventy-five cents, scrubbed a little of the dust of travel from his person and went down to the bar and gambling room. The drink of whiskey he got made even his trained throat writhe, and he strolled over to the poker table to join a group of calm and plainly-armed spectators of high play. From the conversation he learned that the dam at Red Gut was washed out; that Case Egan, a noted rancher, was in jail for shooting a deputy sheriff, and that Hal Haines was expecting a "millionairess gal" visitor from New York. "When'll she be on?" drawled one of the players. "Tomorrow's express." "Sence when did the express stop at Rockvale?" "Sence the president o' the road told it to stop for this here young person," replied the informant crushingly. Hicks was scanning the faces of the men about him with a purposeful eye. Especially he watched one—a lean man in red shirt and leather breeches, booted and spurred, who stood near the table. Hicks approached him. "Hello, Patten," he said. The man whirled so sharply that the revolver he had drawn, in whirling, caught in Hick's coat and jerked him into the middle of the room. The poker game went on without a sound or sign of interruption. The bartender took a casual look at Hicks and the gunman, then went on talking to a customer, as before. "Hello, Hicks," said Patten, putting up the gun. "I'm much obliged that I didn't kill you. We don't greet old friends quite so hasty out here, boy, as you do in New York—especially when we haven't heard our right name in some years," he added in a lowered voice. "How long have you been here, Pat?" "Eight-nine-twelve years; ever since that friend of yours, Mr. Owen, paid me $10,000 for getting rid of a certain—what he called a certain obstacle." "Which you didn't get rid of?" "No, he made the mistake of paying me in advance, and it didn't seem necessary to harm anybody." "Got any of the money left?" The lean gunman held his head back and guffawed. "It's near here, I guess, but it ain't mine. It dropped between this bar and that table." "Do you want a little job?" asked Hicks. "But let's go in the back room." They strolled into an empty wine room and ordered drinks. "What kind of a job?" asked Patten. Hicks leaned across the table and whispered rapidly. His old acquaintance drew back, with a sudden suspicion. "But no foolin' this time," warned Hicks. "Only part money in advance." He produced $5,000 in bills from his trousers pocket, but secreted it again quickly as the waiter appeared. Patten got up and sauntered out into the barroom, returning presently with three men of his own brand—broad-built, grim-eyed ruffians of the far north country—three of Case Egan's cattlemen. In the meantime Mrs. Haines was flustered not only by the prospect of meeting her distinguished friend, but by the tumultuous staging of the great hold-up scene that was to mark Pauline's welcome. Hal had been up at three o'clock in the morning rehearsing the boys in their parts. He had set off at five o'clock for the station. As Pauline, trim in her traveling suit of gray and blithe in the clear Western air, tripped from the express, all Rockvale was there to meet her. Hal Haines, mighty man that he was in the region, was red with pride as the girl who could stop the express at Rockvale gave him her hand in happy greeting. As he helped her into the two-seated buckboard, no one in the crowd noticed the man who had arrived the night before standing on the platform and pointing out the girl to Tom Patten who was seen to mount and ride rapidly away. "I hope you saved some of that lovely Wild West for me, Mr. Haines," said Pauline, as the finest pair of horses in the Double Cross stable whisked them along the road to the ranch. "Very little left, Miss Marvin—very little left; still—whoa, there! What's this?" At a bend in the road five masked and mounted men had dashed from cover and quickly surrounded the buckboard with a small circle of leveled gun-barrels. Pauline had time to cry out only once before she felt herself gripped by powerful hands and dragged from the wagon seat, where Hal Haines sat shaking with laughter. He stood up and started to draw his revolver slowly. From behind him a lasso was thrown lightly and the noose tightened around his arms. He kept on laughing, although he was a little afraid the boys were overdoing matters. He knew his wife would never forgive him for this actual kidnapping of Pauline—he certainly had never intended it. And she was really frightened. He could tell that by her cries as she was thrust across the pommel of the masked leader's horse and the horse was spurred to a tearing gallop down the road. Haines tried to shout a command and call the joke off, but the riders had all followed after their leader, and he was alone in the buckboard. "They needn't have been so realistic with their knots," he said, as he struggled to free himself from the rope. It was ten minutes before he wriggled free. He picked up the lines and drove on toward the ranch—a little nervous now over the receptions he would get, but still laughing. At the fork where the road to the mountains left the main highway, Haines flashed out his revolver in real excitement. Another group of five masked men had driven their horses out of a clump of small trees. They fired their revolvers as they surrounded the buckboard. Then suddenly discovering that there was no woman passenger, they tore off their masks and came up with quick, eager inquiries. Perhaps for the first time in his life Hal Haines knew what fear was— not fear for himself, but for another. "Boys, there was another party on the road. They took her. I took 'em for you," he said in a stifled voice. "Come on. Cabot, give me your horse; take the rig back and tell Mrs. Haines." He sprang into the saddle, and, filling their revolvers as they rode, the band of jesters, who had suddenly turned so grimly serious, dashed back toward town. Two miles from where Tom Patten had swung Pauline to his saddle bow they picked up the train hoofs that left the road and made toward the mountains. The men who had set out so gaily a few hours before rode silently, fiercely now. Mile after mile swept behind them as they held to the trail. Sometimes it followed the roads, sometimes it broke over open country. At last it reached the hills and stopped at the river. Patten's band had ridden in the water upstream. After a mile of it the leader ordered three of them out on the south side. They left silently, rode five miles across country and separated, each taking a different route. Patten and one companion kept on with Pauline who was now almost insensible. At last they left the stream on the north bank and climbed into the higher hill country where they entered a thicket and stopped. "Here we are," said Patten. His companion dismounted and lifted Pauline from the other's saddle. With a swift daring and dexterity, born of fear, she flung aside his arms and sprang toward the horse he had just left. She tried to mount, but her strength was gone. They tied her feet with a rope and seated her on a great fallen tree, while they cleared away a tangle of bushes and began to tug with their combined strength at a giant rock, which the bushes had concealed. The stone moved inch by inch until behind it Pauline saw, with a chill shudder, the black opening of a cave. She flung herself from the log pleading piteously. They cut the rope that bound her feet and led her to the cave. As the giant stone was rolled back into its place she uttered one wild far-echoing cry. Then darkness! For many minutes Pauline lay prostrate. A dim light from some hidden orifice in the top of the cave behind a shelving wall, seemed to become brighter as her eyes became more accustomed to the shadows. She arose and began to inspect the cave. It was a chamber of rock about forty feet long and twenty feet wide. The bottom and roof converged slightly towards the end farthest from the giant boulder that formed the door. But even there the cave was twenty-five feet high. The boulder door was set into the rock portal, and not a wisp of light came through the brush that, covered the crevice. Pauline, after a brief hopeless test of her frail strength against the weight of the granite mass, moved slowly along the wall to the extremity of the chamber. Here, about seven feet from the floor, ran a ledge of rock, between two and three feet in width; and, from this ledge upward the wall slanted at an angle of forty-five degrees to a wide shelf or fissure. It was from this fissure that the faint light came. Pauline groped her way back along the other wall to the front of the cave again. Despairing, she sat down on the chill stone. The events of the last few hours had left her in a state of mental vertigo. The hold-up of the buckboard and her carrying off by the bandits seemed fantastically impossible. So this was her "escape" from scenes of adventure. This was the "great, safe, quiet West," where she should forget her perils in New York and wait for others to forget them. She thought of her promise to Harry that she would not try to get into any more scrapes. In her former dangers—even when there seemed hope—she had a buoying trust that there was one man who could save her. He had always saved her. In his protecting shelter she had come to feel almost immune from harm. But with Harry three thousand miles away and totally ignorant of her need of him no sense of imagined protection sustained her now. She took it for granted that Mr. Haines had been made a prisoner or killed. She knew the word would reach Mrs. Haines and the latter would invoke all the powers in the State to find her; but she was, sure she would be dead before anyone unearthed this fearful hiding place. The light at the far end of the cave grew steadily more dim and Pauline judged that the day was waning. A rustling sound caught her ear. Sounds are animate or inanimate. This was unmistakably the sound of a living thing. Pauline trembled a little but she stood up. Was it man or beast that she had for companion in the mysterious cave? She took a faltering step forward. The sound seemed to come nearer. The cave had gone almost pitch dark, and, suddenly, from the mid-level of the back wall—from the rock ledge—there flashed upon the sight of the imprisoned girl two beady, burning eyes. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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