Part 31 (1/2)

Hervey and Prudence moved away and pa.s.sed down the trail. Neche reluctantly left his bone--having satisfied himself in a comprehensive survey that no canine interloper was about who could steal his treasure during his absence--and followed them. He walked beside the girl without any sign of pleasure. He was a dog that seemed to find no joy in his master's or mistress's company. He seemed to have no affection in him, and lived a life of mute protest.

Hervey did not speak for a few minutes. It was Prudence who broke the silence.

”I suppose it is something to do with Leslie's death that you want to talk to me about. I wondered what your object was when you questioned me so closely upon his dying words. Have you discovered a fresh clue?”

”Something more than a fresh clue.” Hervey had relapsed into his old moroseness.

”Ah!” The girl's face lit with an almost painful eagerness. For a moment her own immediate troubles were forgotten. A wild feeling surged up in her heart which set the blood tingling in her veins, and she waited almost breathlessly for her brother's next words.

Hervey displayed no haste. Rather he seemed as though he would gain time.

”That message or advertis.e.m.e.nt in the paper. Did you ever attempt to fathom its meaning? It was something of a puzzle.”

Prudence gazed up at the dark face beside her. Hervey was looking down upon the dusty trail. His look was one of profound thought. In reality he was calculating certain chances.

”I tried, but failed dismally. To me it conveyed nothing beyond the fact that its author shot Leslie.”

”Just so. But before I tell you what I have discovered you must understand the argument. That line contained a message, a message so significant that once read with understanding the mystery of Grey's death became one that a child might solve.”

”Yes--yes. But the reading of it,” Prudence exclaimed impatiently.

”It is intelligible to me.”

”And----”

It was a different girl to the one we have hitherto seen who awaited the man's next words. The old, gentle calmness, the patient, even disposition had given place to a world of vengeful thought. There was a look in those usually soft brown eyes which bore a strange resemblance to her brother's. A moment had arrived in her life when circ.u.mstances aroused that other side of her character of which, perhaps, even she had been ignorant. She learned now of her own capacity for hatred and revenge. Some preliminary warnings of these latent pa.s.sions had been given when Grey had died, but the moment had pa.s.sed without full realization. Now she felt the ruthless sway of a wave of pa.s.sionate hatred which seemed to rise from somewhere in her heart and creep over her faculties, locking her in an embrace in which she felt her good motives and love being crushed out of all recognition. There could be no doubt as to the resemblance between these two people in that one touch of nature. Hervey was a long time in answering. He had not only to tell her of his discovery, but there were his personal interests to consider. He wished to re-a.s.sure himself of his own advantage.

”See here, Prue, what are you offering--or rather, is mother offering--to that detective chap if he discovers the murderer of Grey?

Let us quite understand one another. I don't intend to part with my discovery for nothing. I want money as badly as anybody can want it.

For a consideration I'll tell you, and prove to you, who murdered your man. Provided, of course, the consideration is sufficiently large.

Otherwise I say nothing.”

For a moment Prudence looked up from beneath her sun-bonnet into her brother's face. The scorn in her look was withering. She had long since learned the selfish nature of this man, but she had not realized the full depths to which he had sunk until now. He would sell his information. And the thought scorched her brain with its dreadful significance.

”How much will buy you?” she asked at last. And words fail to express the contempt she conveyed in her tone.

Hervey laughed in a hollow fas.h.i.+on.

”You don't put it nicely,” he said. ”Ah, how much will buy me?” he added thoughtfully.

”When a man chooses the methods of Judas it seems to me there need be no picking or choosing of words. What do you want? How much?”

His answer came swiftly. He spoke eagerly, and his tone was quite different from that which his companion was used to. It was as if some deep note in his more obscure nature had been struck, and was now making itself heard above the raucous jangling of discord by which his life was torn. His words were almost pa.s.sionate, and there was a ring of truth in them which was astonis.h.i.+ng, coming from such a man.

”Look here, Prue, I want to get away from here. I want to get out upon the world again, alone, to make my life what I choose. I can't stand this place; the quiet surroundings; the people with whom I come in contact. It isn't living; it's existence, and a h.e.l.lish one at that. Look around; prairie--nothing but prairie. In the winter, snow, endless snow; in the summer, the brown, scorched prairie. The round of unrelieved, monotonous labour. Farming; can mind of man conceive a life more deadly? No--no! I want to get away from it all; back to the life in which I was my own master, unfettered by duties and distasteful labours for which I am responsible to others. From the beginning my life has been a failure.

But that was not originally my fault. I worked hard, and my ideals were sound and good. Then I met with misfortune. My life was my own to make or mar after that; what I chose to do with it was my own concern. But here I do not live. I want the means to get away; to make a fresh start in different surroundings. Sooner or later I must go, or I shall become a raving maniac. You can help me in this, even as I can help you in the cause in which you are now spending and wasting a lot of money. Get mother to give me fifteen thousand dollars, not only as the price of my information, but also to help me, as your brother, to make another start. I am not wanted here, neither do I want to remain.”

He ceased speaking. The truth had died out of his tone when he mentioned the money, and his words were the specious wheedling of one who knows the generous kindliness of those with whom he is dealing.

But Prudence gave no heed to anything but that which found an answering chord in the pa.s.sionate emotion which swayed her. Hervey's appeal to get away drew from her some slight proportion of sympathetic understanding, but her main feeling was a desire to learn the truth which he had discovered.

”Yes, yes; but the clue--discovery.”