CHAPTER XIV.
"BILL IS GONE TO BED."
What was happening to Danny at the Lockjaw Creek?
Throughout two hours and a half he had lain in the cold, motionless and silent, among the rocks outside the castle. When the time came he had leaped into the boat which the police brought with them, and pulled away. He had strained every muscle to reach the Poolvash, knowing full well that if he gained it one minute late it might be indeed the bay of death. Before he had crossed that point at which the two streams meet midway in the strait he could see the Ben-my-Chree tacking into the harbor. Then, indeed, he sculled with all his strength. He ran ashore. He mounted to the cliff-head. With the matches in his hand he peered through the darkness to where the lamp still burned on the end of the pier. Yes, he was in time. But what was the red riot that was now rising in his heart?
It was then, and not till then, that the thought came to him, "What am I here for?" What for? Who for? Why? It was a moment of blank bewilderment. Then in an instant, as if by a flash of lightning, everything became plain. Mona, Christian, Ruby—these three, linked together for the first time in the lad's mind, flashed the truth, the fact, the secret upon him. Danny had at length stumbled into the hidden grave. He saw it all now. What had lain concealed from other and wiser heads, vainer heads, heads lifted above his in lofty pride, was revealed to his simple intelligence and great yearning heart.
Yes, Danny knew now why he was there. It was to save the life of the man who was beloved by the woman whom he loved.
The world seemed in that moment to crumble beneath his feet. He dropped his eyes in deep self-abasement, but he raised them again in self-sacrifice and unselfish love. There was no doubt as to what he should do. No, not even now, with the life of Christian in the palm of his hand. Some power above himself controlled him.
"For her sake," he whispered. "Oh, for her sake, for all," he murmured, and at that moment the light on the pier went down.
He struck his matches and lit the gorse. It was damp, and at first it would not burn. It dried at last and burst into flame. Then the lad crept down to the water's edge and waited.
The water lay black as the raven outside, but the light of the burning gorse overhead gilded the rolling wavelets at his feet.
In five minutes the dingy of the Ben-my-Chree shot into the creek, and four men leaped ashore. One was Kisseck, another Christian, and the other two were Paul Corteen and Luke Killip. All were violently agitated.
"What for is all this, you young devil?" cried Kisseck. "What does it all mean?—out with it, quick!—what tricks have you been playing? Damn his fool's face, why doesn't he speak?" And Kisseck struck the lad, and he fell. Danny got up strangely quiet, strangely calm, with great wide eyes, and a face that no man could look on without fear. Kisseck trembled before it, but—from dread alone and without waiting for a word of explanation—he raised his hand once more.
Christian interposed. Danny told his story; how the police were on the cliff-head as well as the island; how they would certainly make for this spot; how Mona Cregeen would send them along the high path; and how they—Kisseck, Christian, and the others—were to take the low path, get back with all haste to the cottage, and make pretence that they had never been out.
Christian started away. He had climbed the precipitous cliff-head in a minute, the others following. When they reached the top, Danny was side by side with his uncle, staring with wild eyes into his face. Kisseck stopped.
"——, what for do you look at me?" he cried. Then again he lifted his hand and struck the lad and threw him. When Danny rose to his feet after this second blow he laughed aloud. It was a laugh to freeze the blood. Christian turned back. He took Kisseck by the shoulder. "By ——," he said, between gusts of breath, "touch him again and I'll pitch you into the sea."
Kisseck was silent and cowed. There was no time to stand quarreling there. "Come on," cried Christian, and he set off to run. He speedily outran the rest, and they lost sight of him.
The two paths that led to the Lockjaw came together within a hundred yards at the end. In the darkness, in the confusion, in the turmoil of soul, Christian missed the lower path and followed the higher one. He did not realize his mistake. Running at his utmost speed, however, he heard footsteps in front of him. They were coming toward him. They were the footsteps of the police. Christian was uncertain what to do. For himself he cared little. But he thought of his father, of Mona, of little Ruby, and then life and fame were dear.
The cliff was on the right of him, as he supposed, the sea on the left. He reckoned that he must be near to Kisseck's cottage now. Perhaps he could reach it before the men came up to it. They were drawing very close. Along the higher path Christian ran at his utmost speed.
Ah! here is the cottage, nearer than he had expected. He must have run faster than he supposed. In the uncertain light Christian sees what he takes to be the old quarry. There is no time to go round by the road and in at the front. He must leap down the back of the shallow quarry, light on the thatch, and lie there for a minute until the men have passed.
He runs, he leaps, but—he has jumped down the open shaft of the old disused lead mine.
Meantime Kisseck and Danny Fayle, with Corteen and Killip, found the low path and followed it. They heard the strangers pass on the high path, but they were themselves running softly on the thin grass, and a cliff was between the police and them. When they got to the angle of the roads and turned down the footpath in front of the house they passed Mona. As they entered, "Who was that woman?" said Kisseck.
"Mona," answered Danny.
"Damn her, I'll lay my soul that craythur is at the bottom of it all."
Danny's dilated eyes flashed fire. But he was otherwise outwardly quiet and calm.
"Where's that other fellow—Christian?" said Kisseck. "He has led me into all this cursed mess."
"That's a lie," said Danny, with the color gone from his cheeks.
Kisseck walked across to him with uplifted arm. Never flinching, the lad waited for the blow. Kisseck dropped his hand. Curling his lip in biting mockery, he said, "What for is that she-devil sthrowling around here?"
One bright spot of blood came into the lad's face, and as he drew in his breath it went through his teeth. But he was silent still.
"She has the imperince of sin," said Kisseck. "If she comes here she'll suffer for it."
Danny walked to the door and pushed the bolt. Kisseck laughed bitterly.
"I knew it," he said. "I knew she was in it. But I'll punish her. Out of the way, you idiot waistrel."
There was a hurried step on the road outside.
Danny put his back to the door. His eyes melted, and he cried beseechingly—
"You'll not do that, Uncle Bill?"
"Out of the road, you young pauper," cried Kisseck; and he took hold of Danny and thrust him aside. "You shall not do it," screamed the lad, running to the hearth and snatching up a poker.
All Danny's unnatural quiet had forsaken him.
There was a knock at the door, and an impatient footstep to and fro.
Kisseck walked into an inner room, and came back with a pistol in his hand.
"Men, don't you see it plain? That woman is at the bottom of it all," he said, turning to Corteen and Killip, and pointing, as he spoke, to the door. "She brought us here to trap us, and now she has come to see if we are at home. She has the men from Castle Rushen behind her; but she shall pay for it with her life. Out of the way, I say. Out—of—the—way."
Danny was standing again with his back to the door. He had the poker in his hand. Kisseck put the pistol on a table, and closed with Danny to push him aside. There was a terrible struggle. Amid curses from Kisseck and shouts from Corteen and Killip, the poker was wrenched from Danny's grasp and thrown on the floor. The lad himself was dragged away from the door, and the bolt was drawn.
Then in an instant Danny rushed to the table and picked up the pistol. There was a flash, a deafening explosion, a shriek, a heavy fall, and Kisseck rolled on the floor dead.
Danny staggered back to the door, the hot pistol still in his hand. He was petrified. His great eyes seemed to leap out of his head. When the smoke cleared he saw what he had done. His lips moved, but no words came from him. The other men were speechless. There was a moment of awful silence. Then, once more, there came a knock at the door against which Danny leaned.
Another knock. No answer. Another—louder. Still no reply.
"Bridget," cried a voice from without. It was Mona's voice.
"Bridget, let me in. What has happened?"
No one stirred.
"Bridget, they are coming. Tell the men to go off to sea."
None spoke or moved. The latch was lifted, but in vain.
"Bridget—Christian—Christian!"—(knocking continued).
"Kisseck—Kisseck—Bill Kisseck—Bill!"
At last one of the men found his voice:
"Bill is gone to bed," he said, hoarsely.