Part 10

“Do you WANT me to prove it before witnesses?” said the man, coming nearer her. “Do you want to take my word and keep it between ourselves, or do you want to call in your superintendent and his men, and all Santy Any, to hear me prove your husband was a highwayman, thief, and murderer? Do you want to knock over that monument on Heavy Tree Hill, and upset your standing here among the deacons and elders? Do you want to do all this and be forced, even by your neighbors, to pay me in the end, as you will? Ef you do, call in your witnesses now and let's have it over. Mebbe it would look better ef I got the money out of YOUR FRIENDS than ye--a woman! P'raps you're right!”

He made a step towards the door, but she stopped him.

“No! no! wait! It's a large sum--I haven't it with me,” she stammered, thoroughly beaten.

“Ye kin get it.”

“Give me time!” she implored. “Look! I'll give you a hundred down now,--all I have here,--the rest another time!” She nervously opened a drawer of her desk and taking out a buckskin bag of gold thrust it in his hand. “There! go away now!” She lifted her thin hands despairingly to her head. “Go! do!”

The man seemed struck by her manner. “I don't want to be hard on a woman,” he said slowly. “I'll go now and come back again at nine to-night. You can git the money, or what's as good, a check to bearer, by then. And ef ye'll take my advice, you won't ask no advice from others, ef you want to keep your secret. Just now it's safe with me; I'm a square man, ef I seem to be a hard one.” He made a gesture as if to take her hand, but as she drew shrinkingly away, he changed it to an awkward bow, and the next moment was gone.

She started to her feet, but the unwonted strain upon her nerves and frail body had been greater than she knew. She made a step forward, felt the room whirl round her and then seem to collapse beneath her feet, and, clutching at her chair, sank back into it, fainting.

How long she lay there she never knew. She was at last conscious of some one bending over her, and a voice--the voice of Mr. Brooks--in her ear, saying, “I beg your pardon; you seem ill. Shall I call some one?”

“No!” she gasped, quickly recovering herself with an effort, and staring round her. “Where is--when did you come in?”

“Only this moment. I was leaving tonight, sooner than I expected, and thought I'd say good-by. They told me that you had been engaged with a stranger, but he had just gone. I beg your pardon--I see you are ill. I won't detain you any longer.”

“No! no! don't go! I am better--better,” she said feverishly. As she glanced at his strong and sympathetic face a wild idea seized her. He was a stranger here, an alien to these people, like herself. The advice that she dare not seek from others, from her half-estranged religious friends, from even her superintendent and his wife, dare she ask from him? Perhaps he saw this frightened doubt, this imploring appeal, in her eyes, for he said gently, “Is it anything I can do for you?”

“Yes,” she said, with the sudden desperation of weakness; “I want you to keep a secret.”

“Yours?--yes!” he said promptly.

Whereat poor Mrs. Wade instantly burst into tears. Then, amidst her sobs, she told him of the stranger's visit, of his terrible accusations, of his demands, his expected return, and her own utter helplessness. To her terror, as she went on she saw a singular change in his kind face; he was following her with hard, eager intensity. She had half hoped, even through her fateful instincts, that he might have laughed, manlike, at her fears, or pooh-poohed the whole thing. But he did not. “You say he positively recognized your husband?” he repeated quickly.

“Yes, yes!” sobbed the widow, “and knew that daguerreotype!” she pointed to the desk.

Brooks turned quickly in that direction. Luckily his back was towards her, and she could not see his face, and the quick, startled look that came into his eyes. But when they again met hers, it was gone, and even their eager intensity had changed to a gentle commiseration. “You have only his word for it, Mrs. Wade,” he said gently, “and in telling your secret to another, you have shorn the rascal of half his power over you. And he knew it. Now, dismiss the matter from your mind and leave it all to me. I will be here a few minutes before nine--AND ALONE IN THIS ROOM. Let your visitor be shown in here, and don't let us be disturbed. Don't be alarmed,” he added with a faint twinkle in his eye, “there will be no fuss and no exposure!”

It lacked a few minutes of nine when Mr. Brooks was ushered into the sitting-room. As soon as he was alone he quietly examined the door and the windows, and having satisfied himself, took his seat in a chair casually placed behind the door. Presently he heard the sound of voices and a heavy footstep in the passage. He lightly felt his waistcoat pocket--it contained a pretty little weapon of power and precision, with a barrel scarcely two inches long.

The door opened, and the person outside entered the room. In an instant Brooks had shut the door and locked it behind him. The man turned fiercely, but was faced by Brooks quietly, with one finger calmly hooked in his waistcoat pocket. The man slightly recoiled from him--not as much from fear as from some vague stupefaction. “What's that for? What's your little game?” he said half contemptuously.

“No game at all,” returned Brooks coolly. “You came here to sell a secret. I don't propose to have it given away first to any listener.”

“YOU don't--who are YOU?”

“That's a queer question to ask of the man you are trying to personate--but I don't wonder! You're doing it d----d badly.”

“Personate--YOU?” said the stranger, with staring eyes.

“Yes, ME,” said Brooks quietly. “I am the only man who escaped from the robbery that night at Heavy Tree Hill and who went home by the Overland Coach.”

The stranger stared, but recovered himself with a coarse laugh. “Oh, well! we're on the same lay, it appears! Both after the widow--afore we show up her husband.”

“Not exactly,” said Brooks, with his eyes fixed intently on the stranger. “You are here to denounce a highwayman who is DEAD and escaped justice. I am here to denounce one who is LIVING!--Stop! drop your hand; it's no use. You thought you had to deal only with a woman to-night, and your revolver isn't quite handy enough. There! down!--down! So! That'll do.”

“You can't prove it,” said the man hoarsely.

“Fool! In your story to that woman you have given yourself away. There were but two travelers attacked by the highwaymen. One was killed--I am the other. Where do YOU come in? What witness can you be--except as the highwayman that you are? Who is left to identify Wade but--his accomplice!”

The man's suddenly whitened face made his unshaven beard seem to bristle over his face like some wild animal's. “Well, ef you kalkilate to blow me, you've got to blow Wade and his widder too. Jest you remember that,” he said whiningly.