Red Feather's mind was not constituted to entertain more than one leading thought at a time. Ever since the desertion and death of his daughter, revenge had been his dominant passion. It was in order to find Gledware that he had haunted the trail during the years of lahoma's youth, always hoping to discover him in the new country—gliding behind herds of cattle, listening to scraps of talks among the cattlemen, earning from Mizzoo the uneasy designation, "the ghost."
Thanks to the reading aloud of Lahoma's letter, he had learned of Gledware's presence in the city which he had known years before as Westport Landing. He went thither unbewildered by its marvelous changes, undistracted by its tumultuous flood of life—for his mind was full of his mission; he could see only the blood following the blade of his knife, heard nothing but a groan, a death-rattle.
Gledware's presence in the boat this morning had been made possible only by the interposition of Lahoma; but for the Indian's deep-seated affection for her whom he regarded as a child, the man now smiling into Annabel's pale face would long ago have found his final resting-place. It was due to the Indian's singleness of thought that Lahoma's plan had struck him as good. Gledware, stripped of all his possessions, slinking as a beggar from door to door, no roof, no bed, but sky and earth—that is what Red Feather had meant.
He had believed Gledware glad of the respite. That he should accept the alternative seemed reasonable. There was a choice only between death and poverty—and Gledware wished to live so desperately—so basely! The chief cared little for life; still, he would unhesitatingly have preferred the most meager existence to a knife in his heart; how much more, then, this craven white man. But the plan had failed because Gledware did not believe death was the other alternative. Never in the remotest way had it occurred to the avenger that Gledware could be spared should he prove false to his oath. Red Feather was less a man with passions than a cold relentless fate. This fate would surely overcome the helpless wretch, should he cling to his riches.
As Red Feather skimmed the water with long sweeps of his oars, never looking back, the voices of his passengers came to his ears without meaning. He was thinking of the last few days and how this morning's ride was their fitting sequel. The early sunbeams were full on him as he tilted back his head, but they showed no emotion on his face, hard-set and dully red in the clear radiance.
Crouching near the summer-house at Gledware's place, he had overheard Red Kimball boast to bring Gledware the pearl and onyx pin. Then had shot through his darkened mind the suspicion that Gledware meant to escape the one condition on which his life was to be spared. With simple cunning he had left the pin where the outlaw must find it; his own death would be taken for granted—what then?
What then? This ride in the boat. Gledware had made his choice; he had clung to his possessions—and now Death held the oars. He was scarcely past middle age. He might have lived so long, he who so loved to live! But no, he had chosen to be rich—and to die.
When Red Feather brought his mind back to the present, Gledware was describing to Annabel a ranch in California for which he had traded the house near Independence. He would take her far away; he would build a house thus and thus—room so; terraces here; marble pillars....
Annabel listened gravely, silently, her face all the paler for the sunlight flashing over it, for the mimic sun on the waves glancing up into her pensive eyes. Somehow, the sunshine, the ripple of the water, seemed to form no part of her life, belonged rather, to Edgerton Compton rowing in solitude against the sky. Those naked trees, bare brown hills and ledges of huge stones seemed her world-boundaries, kin to her, claiming her— But there was California ... and the splendid house to be built....
The Indian was listening now, but as he heard projected details glowingly presented, no change came in his grim deep-lined face. He simply knew it was not to be—let the fool plan! He found himself wondering dully why he no longer hated Gledware with that vindictive fury that gloats over the death-grip, lingers in fiendish leisure over the lifted scalp. He scarcely remembered the wrong done his daughter; it was almost as if he had banished the cause of his revenge; as if vengeance itself had become a simple stroke of destiny. Gledware had chosen his possession, and the Indian was Fate's answer.
"Beautiful one," he heard Gledware say, speaking in an altered tone, "all that is in the future—but see what I have brought you; this is for today. It's yours, dear—let me see it around your neck with the sun full upon it—"
Red Feather turned his head, curiously.
Gledware held outstretched a magnificent diamond necklace which shot forth dazzling rays as it swung from his eager fingers.
Annabel uttered a smothered cry of delight as the iridescence filled her eyes. She looked across the water toward the pagoda-shaped club-house where her mother stood, faintly defined as a speck of white against the green wall-shingles of the piazza. It seemed that it needed this glance to steady her nerves. Edgerton was forgotten. She reached out her hand. And then, perplexed at the necklace being suddenly withdrawn, she looked up. She caught a glimpse of Gledware's face, and her blood turned cold.
That face was frozen in horror. At the turning of the boatman's head, he had instantly recognized under the huge-brimmed hat, the face of his enemy as if brought back from the grave.
There was a moment's tense silence, filled with mystery for her, with indescribable agony for him, with simple waiting for the Indian. Annabel turned to discover the cause of Gledware's terror, but she saw no malice, no threat, in the boatman's eyes.
Gledware ceased breathing, then his form quivered with a sudden inrush of breath as of a man emerging from diving. His eyes rolled in his head as he turned about scanning the shore, glaring at Edgerton's distant boat. Why had he come unarmed? How could he have put faith in Red Kimball's assurances? He tortured his brain for some gleam of hope.
"This is all I have," he shrieked, as if the Indian's foot was already upon his neck. "This is all I have." He flung the necklace into the water. "It was a lie about the California ranch—it's a lie about all my property—I've got nothing, Annabel! I sold the last bit to get you the necklace, but I shouldn't have done that. Now it's gone. I have nothing!"
The Indian rose slowly. The oars slipped down and floated away in the flashing stream of the sun's rays.
Annabel, realizing that the Indian, despite his impassive countenance, threatened some horrible catastrophe, started up with a scream. Edgerton had already turned toward them; alarmed at sound of Gledware's terror. He bent to the oars, comprehending only that Annabel was in danger.
"Edgerton!" she shrieked blindly. "Edgerton! Edgerton! Edgerton!"
Gledware crouched at her feet, crying beseechingly, "I swear I have nothing—nothing! I sold everything—gave it away—left it—nothing in all the world! I'm willing to beg, to starve—I don't want to own anything—I only want to live—to live.... My God! TO LIVE..."
Red Feather did not utter a word. But with the stealthy lightness and litheness of a panther, he stepped over the seat and moved toward Gledware.
Then Gledware, pushed to the last extremity, despairing of the interposition of some miraculous chance, was forced back upon himself. With the vision of an inherent coward he saw all chances against him; but with the desperation of a maddened soul, he threw himself upon the defensive.
Red Feather had not expected to see him offer resistance. This show of clenched teeth and doubled fists suddenly enraged him, and the old lust of vengeance flamed from his eyes. Hat and disguising coat were cast aside. For a moment his form, rigid and erect, gleamed like a statue of copper cut in stern relentless lines, and the single crimson feather in his raven locks matched, in gold, the silver brightness of his upraised blade.
The next moment his form shot forward, his arm gripped Gledware about the neck, despite furious resistance, and both men fell into the water.
The violent shock given to the boat sent Annabel to her knees. Clutching the side she gazed with horrified eyes at the water in her wake. The men had disappeared, but in the glowing white path cut across the lake by the sun, appeared a dull red streak that thinned away to faint purple and dim pink. She watched the sinister discoloration with fascinated eyes. What was taking place beneath the smooth tide? Or was it all over? Had Red Feather found a rock to which he could cling while he drowned himself with his victim? Or had their bodies been caught in the tangled branches of a submerged forest tree? It was one of the mysteries of the Ozarks never to be solved.
She was still kneeling, still staring with frightened eyes, still wondering, when Edgerton Compton rowed up beside her.
"He said he had nothing," she stammered, as he helped her to rise. "He said he had nothing.... How true it is!" Edgerton gently lifted her to his skiff, then stepped in beside her. He, too, was watching the water for the possible emergence of a ghastly face.
Annabel began trembling as with the ague. "Edgerton!... He said it was all a lie—about his property—and so it was. Everything is a lie except—this..."
She clung to him.
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