Riders in the Dark
Opposite the name of Robert Hamelin had been placed the red symbol of death.
Although it was Locklear's turn, I myself contributed the crimson drop, for Locklear's wound still kept him between the sheets, and already he was sufficiently exsanguined. His stertorous breathing came to us in little gusts from the inner room as we bent above the document of justice; with sinister accuracy, the sound punctuated our accusing sentences as Ridenour read them from the paper.
The sentence passed upon Hamelin was just. There had been no dispute; we were not accustomed to debate our motives nor explain our deeds. And in the index before us, from which we had chosen the name of Robert Hamelin, there appeared no other name but which, with equal justice, might have been selected.
"Tonight, then?" I asked.
"Tonight," replied Flood, soberly. "We have always been prompt. Why do you ask, Stormont?"
Sardis laughed offensively. "Hamelin has a beautiful wife," he sneered.
Flood turned on him in a cold fury.
"There are to be no more such remarks," said the captain, "this evening or any other evening. While I am your leader you will address one another openly and with complete respect. Whatever your private grievances may be, you will not bring them into this house. If your information is of such import as to merit our collective attention, a means is provided in committee."
Before his icy anger, Sardis shrank away; but I only laughed.
"My dear Sardis," I said, "were the motive you would seem to impute to me true, would I not be the first to welcome immediate action?"
At this Flood smiled, and the tense moment passed. Yet I was glad there had been no occasion directly to reply to the captain's question. Truth to tell, there was no assignable reason for my apparent hesitation; the emotion which had dictated my own query was at the moment beyond analysis.
Bereft of its sneer, Sardis's observation was a mere statement of fact. Hamelin did have a wife, but what was that to me? Although reports of her beauty had filled the countryside at the time of her arrival, a year previous to our condemnation of Hamelin, I had never seen her. Had Sardis? I could not help but wonder.
Sardis I hated cordially on general principles; he wore the aspect of a Judas; but his jealousy puzzled me. Was it because of my lieutenancy in the Brotherhood, or this woman?
Remotely, I suppose, I had thought of her, or had been influenced by the subconscious knowledge of her existence. It is true that I had wondered what she—young and lovely, according to gossip—could find to love in Robert Hamelin, the musty and middle-aged lawyer; but that thought had passed. It was no affair of mine, and in those days I had a grand passion for minding my own business. I had been with Flood scarcely six months, in spite of my position at his elbow.
The night was forbidding enough, black as the devil's riding boots, and shot at intervals with far, weird fire, although no rain fell. At the rendezvous our dozen met in silence save for the low trample of the horses' hoofs on the soft earth.
Sardis was the last to arrive. On his coming, a low word of command was given, and we moved out of the grove of young trees into the road. A mile beyond lay the denser tangle of the forest, and, beyond that, rose the mountains, dim and vast in the distorting exaggeration of darkness. Over the scene, with little respites of darkness, played the mysterious fire of the skies, and once in the distance I caught the low mutter of thunder in the hills.
In the wood we walked our horses, threading the maze in silence as deep as our thoughts, although at the moment there was no great need for secrecy. Taciturnity had been our rule for so long, however, that speech would have affected us much as a profanation of our ideals. Therefore, riding in my position at the rear, I was surprised when there came back to me on the light breeze a crisp command.
"Ride beside me, Stormont," ordered Flood, and I pressed forward to his side.
For a time no more was said. We rode close together, and often our knees touched as simultaneously the horses swung inward. Behind us, much in the same order, rose and fell the fantastic procession of our associates. The accidental jingle of a stirrup iron or the clink of rifle against buckle was exaggerated tenfold in the stillness; the stumbling of a horse seemed heavy with portent.
The captain leaned toward me and spoke in a low tone:
"There was nothing in what Sardis said this evening?"
"Nothing, Captain!" I responded. "I have never seen the woman."
He pressed my knee with his disengaged hand.
"I trust you thoroughly, Stormont," he said. "Be prepared to ride forward as scout when we have crossed the mountains."
There was no further speech during the journey, but the lightning wrote amazing messages across the sky. And in the mountains the night was as cold and black as the somber valley of a dream.
The house toward which we were riding was set upon a small hillside, and in daylight was visible from the last ridge of the final mountain. Instinctively, as we reached the crest, we checked our horses and looked down and across the interval to the foothills.
The distance was not great, and at once we saw the pinpoint of light which marked the dwelling. Flood and Sardis exclaimed in surprise. The hour now was late, and in this country the scattered citizenry retired early to their chambers.
"This may prove awkward," observed Flood thoughtfully. "If he has a visitor there may be complications."
He swung in the saddle with quick decision.
"Ride forward at once, Stormont, and reconnoiter. We shall follow slowly and halt in the ravine. Return as quickly as possible."
I pricked my horse gently and began the descent, then, reaching the flat, set out on a slow canter for the opposite hillside.
A curious change had taken place in me. Whereas in the forest and in the mountains premonitions of evil had troubled me, now, in the exhilaration of active service, I was again the daring avenger. The warning sky no longer crushed me with its weight; its hieroglyphics were only futile lightning
