Chapter V

The river was a sheet of glass that afternoon. Elaine suggested that we take the punt, a broad flat-bottomed, square-ended boat, and go out and spear garfish, schools of which were sunning their backs above water. She was quick and accurate in handling the three-tined spear and pulled in two for my one. The camaraderie engendered in this hour of sport, “ridding the river of a pest,” as Elaine put it, completely broke down the timidity which I must confess possessed me while with Elaine, ever since that first episode while dining with Hugh.

It was about three o’clock and we were working fast when a bell atop a barn on the hill back of the house, but in plain view to us, began to ring vociferously. Elaine in the front of the boat, spear held crosswise in both hands, turned facing me, a strange look of fear or horror pictured in her great brown eyes.

“Another unfortunate,” she said as though speaking to herself, “and Hugh is away.” Quickly she put out the oars, motioning me back as I stepped forward to take them from her. I asked her what the bell meant, but she made no answer.

I perforce merely steered the boat, while I watched the group of buildings, expecting to see a fire break out. Not until we were on the pier did Elaine vouchsafe a word, then she said, “You must help me with the dogs,” as we went breathlessly up through the house and orchard back walk to the dog kennels, a low stone building in a picket fence enclosure.

A man with a great shock of snow-white hair and a young face touched his forehead and said, “Haig, Miss; he has been uneasy for a week,” then he picked up a leather boot, adding, “We changed his boots, Miss, since Mr. Hugh noticed his nervousness.”

Two hounds giving evidence of having just abandoned their dinner came lounging forward. Elaine placed two fingers in her mouth and gave a shrill whistle, a duplicate of her brother’s signal when I first made the acquaintance of the pack, and every beast was at the fence in a jiffy.

The white-haired man now snapped a leash onto the collar of the wickedest-looking of the animals, handed the braided strap to Elaine and surrounded by the dogs we went toward the wood.

“Haig was disking in the firewood field, Miss. We think he took to the swamp; has been gone hours probably. We missed him only after lunch-hour and did not wish to disturb you knowing that the master was away.”

“You should have notified me at once,” Elaine answered, “The poor fellow is not in good health.”

The gray-haired man left us. We soon reached the plow from which the horses had been turned loose. The half-mile walk was passed in silence except that Elaine talked constantly to the brutes as they crowded about her, whimpering replies strangely, seemingly comprehendingly.

The long boot brought by the man was investigated, I believe, by every dog and they then spread out, circling over the field nearby, silently for a moment, then one gave vent to a prolonged howl, a most dismal sound, and headed off toward the woods on the east; the other dogs in turn found the scent, each giving his lugubrious signal and then running in silence.

As two men on horseback came in sight over a rise of ground, Elaine pointed to the pack and the men spurred toward the swamp woods, making a short cut.

As we walked back toward the house, Elaine explained that she and her brother entertained about forty “guests,” liberated from Canadian and American prisons, that they were constantly coming and going, but they all came “on condition that they should stay at the Hall until Hugh gave them permission to go.”

He found places for them in occupations suited to their condition. Some stayed permanently, working at farming, keeping accounts, or doing such work as best fitted them for the world outside. Most of those liberated through Hugh’s efforts were educated men, proven innocent of the crimes for which they were incarcerated or carrying unreasonably long sentences, all alike robbed of spirit through prison discipline.

“Haig’s case?” I asked.

“Hugh will tell you all about it,” she evaded.

Regulations were that each might choose his work and change it if it proved unsuitable. They were all silent men, good listeners, tractable, helpful to each other, timid for a time, always respectful to Hugh, herself, and the supervisors, who were all life-termers, who chose to remain permanently at the Hall.

The white-haired man and the two house men whom I had seen were rescued from life imprisonment through Hugh’s efforts.

“Was she afraid of her guests?”

“No, only sorry for them. She wished to help Hugh whose ambition was to make of this work a national institution on a big scale.”

The case of the runaway was unfortunate inasmuch as his home was in the village which he doubtless would attempt to reach--and he had not yet recovered from “prison poisoning” as Elaine put it.

After six o’clock and no word from the runaway; Elaine had excused herself. I selected a book from the library and then wandered down to the river; the sun was behind the big hill to the west when I returned to the house, found that the searchers were still out, but that the dogs had lost the scent; repaired to my room to find my bags awaiting me, bathed, debated, then city habit winning, donned dinner clothes and returned to the library.

“Miss Craighead is resting,” the “guest”-waiter explained; “would I prefer to wait, would I dine at the usual hour or await her pleasure?”

“I would prefer to wait,” I replied.

Though now that the sun was down, the fresh Canadian autumn air with a tang and the unusual exercise of the afternoon had aroused in me a splendid appetite, I would have risked starving rather than forego the pleasure of a tête-à-tête dinner with this interesting personality.

I wandered out into the orchard, my thoughts drawing me to the tree of the morning’s adventure. The “twelve baskets” were not there, but I had no difficulty in finding what I wished, an apple to eat.

I dined late, and alone; it must have been at least nine o’clock. Elaine offered no excuse through the servant.

“She must be asleep,” I reasoned. I retired about midnight, ill at ease and not a little disappointed at the ending of a day that had begun so pleasantly.

“Mr. Montrose!”

Was I dreaming? were my last thoughts on losing consciousness, a silvery voice from the branches of the apple tree, carrying me through the mystery period called sleep?

“Mr. Montrose!”

I was awake now, and sprang from my bed, calling excitedly, “What’s wrong, what is it?” as I sensed anxiety or some great change in the voice of Elaine calling from the hallway.

“Please dress quickly and warmly; I have found the runaway. He will die before morning unless we can get to him. I shall be in the hall downstairs or at the pier.”

I dressed quickly and as I started downstairs, Elaine called, “Please get Stanton from the west corner room. I’ll be down in a minute.”

I confess feeling panicky as I rushed through the upper hall, dark as a pocket, knocked, then without awaiting a reply, entered, to find that Stanton was the young-faced gray-haired man who had started the hunt for Haig.

The man was ready to go almost before I could get out of the room and joined me at the foot of the stairway, just as Elaine came down the stairs.

She was clad as in the morning, but wore a short coat of deerskin and a close-fitting deerskin cap. The straight brown line of the cap crossing her forehead probably accentuated her paleness, certainly the hours of “rest” had worked on her sad havoc as she looked more like a spectre than the reality of the girl of the evening. She spoke nervously, authoritatively,

“Stanton, Haig is in the old Blank house beyond the swamp. He needs help--pneumonia perhaps; bring a couple of blankets. Mr. Montrose, will you put on an overcoat, a sweater, that will be better, you will have to work. I’ll bring Hugh’s. Get the big canoe out,” and she ran swiftly upstairs.

I followed, picked up my topcoat, for the night was chilly, and got back to the front door to see Elaine flying down the pathway to the landing.

Stanton was launching a good-sized canoe, wide of beam, beautifully shaped from a pine tree log, and remarked, just as I arrived, “It will hold four, but why should you go, Miss. Mr. Montrose and I can look after him.”

Elaine’s answer was to stoop and seize the roll of blankets, throw them into the bow of the canoe, and seat herself upon them, turning up the collar of her coat, as she faced the two of us, I on the center thwart and Stanton steering.

As we paddled eastward in silence, my mind, I must say, was not on the case of Haig. A delicate white throat peeping out between the upturned lapels of leather; the fair, wan face above it, the graceful outline of the girl as she half reclined in the narrow prow of the canoe, were of much greater interest than was the welfare of the fleeing ex-convict at two o’clock in the morning.

I handled a paddle well, thanks to my early love of the open water and a light canoe. While the fast little craft cut through the water in the darkness, my mind was busy--almost to the asking point. I wondered how Elaine knew about the hiding place of Haig.

Presently, after proceeding a long distance straight east as I judged the direction on swinging out from the pier, we veered to the left a little and proceeding a half-mile or so, turned sharply into a channel with great-limbed water-killed trees on either side, at first dimly outlined, then more close to us. How far we came I could not even guess. The silent night, the sombre surroundings, the gentle dip, dip of the paddles; the strange girl, seemingly asleep, but only seemingly, and I thought with the purpose of avoiding conversation, had their effect on my nerves.

I was relieved to hear Stanton say, “We must go slowly here or I shall miss the channel and come to grief,” a long speech for a Craighead Hall “guest.”

The canoe came almost to a standstill, then moved sharply to the left at a paddle stroke by Stanton, gliding gently among the dead trees whose limbs seemed to reach out like living tentacles of the octopus, in an attempt to enfold us. Into the living woods, ash and willow, through lily pads in clusters, an almost imperceptible path in a field of wild rice and rushes.

Hugh’s description of his boyhood adventure at Blank’s house came vividly before me as we pushed the canoe alongside the remnants of a crude landing pier. It was a pier only in semblance. Ice had loosened boards which time and neglect had reduced almost to nothingness. There were gaps and rotted planks; Mirza’s bridge at Bagdad was not more hazardous, but Elaine lightly sprang over the open places until she reached more solid footing on logs laid lengthwise. Even they were precarious as they also had yielded to time and the elements.

I followed more carefully, but in the dark made one mistake which left me with a leg to the thigh dripping with water and black ooze from a spot that looked solid.

Elaine waited for us, ’twas just a moment, and we proceeded through a tangle for a seemingly interminable distance. How foolish of us to have forgotten to bring a lantern or candle even. I had matches, and used a few before we came to the bottom of a garden in a small clearing. Even the garden was a labyrinth difficult of threading. All sorts of vines seemed to reach up to trip us and weeds abounded.

We stood before a log house, one story high with two small-paned windows, a door between. I could see the outlines of a barn or shed to the left.

I tried the door, Stanton standing back as though awaiting orders, while Elaine still held the roll of blankets that she had elected to carry, notwithstanding my protest. The door withstanding all my efforts, refused to open; there was something more substantial than a lock holding it, I felt.

At Elaine’s suggestion, I tried the window on the right without avail. Stanton, better riverman than I, had carried his paddle to help his balance on the pier and logs. This he inserted under the window frame, which raised.

He threw up the window and called, “Haig!”

No reply.

“He is in there,” Elaine said, and looked at me.

Stanton was holding up the lower frame of the window. I am not a coward, but I certainly had no relish for what was evidently my task. But had I known that the place was full of serpents, I would not have hesitated in her presence.

I crawled awkwardly through the opening which was almost breast-high from the ground. Inside, I listened intently just a moment, then touching the wall with both hands, moved to the right, until I found the door, felt a heavy bar across, lifted one end until it swung upright on a hinge and from the sound, snapped into a holder. I could see nothing. The darkness was inky.

Stanton was trying to and finally did force the lock, and it was a relief to find him beside me, endeavoring to strike a match.

What is there in a human habitation, long deserted, which brings a chill to the spine when entered at the darkest hour of night? Is it a rendezvous for the baser spirits of the departed, the outcasts from the civilization of the tomorrow?

Certainly as I stood awaiting the forcing of the door, I could feel the foul things all about; could even hear them. I was not afraid, merely palsied with horror, quivering.

“Bats,” Stanton said. “Please stay outside, out of the doorway, Miss, they will strike you,” he called to Elaine as his match flared up for a second, then went out, intensifying the darkness.

Stanton again called. Silence, except for that indescribable sough produced by the wings of flying bats. Another match, two this time, and Stanton opened the nearest door in the west half partition. I had found my matches and before his expired was beside him with a fresh light. There was not an article of furniture in the room, but huddled in the far corner, in a half lying, half sitting posture, was Haig, a white-faced frail-looking lad, not long out of his teens apparently. Seemingly the spark of life had left him, he was so still. Elaine was on her knees, beside him, feeling through his wet clothes for heart-beats.

“He is alive, barely alive,” she exclaimed, excitedly. “Make a fire of something. He will not live until we get him home and Hughie would never forgive me.”

I wrapped one of the blankets about him, cursing myself for not bringing either a light or a stimulant; carried him out and rubbed his body vigorously while Stanton tore a cupboard from a corner of the larger room and soon had a fire going outside.

The second blanket was warmed and replaced the first. As I worked over him, I wondered what crime this delicate boy could have committed which would harden the hearts of a jury of men to the extent of condemning so innocent-looking a youth to a living death in prison. I must ask Hugh about it.

He opened his eyes and tried to speak. Elaine, who was close beside him, placed her little white hand over his lips and said, just as a mother would, “Now don’t speak. Just shut your eyes and rest. We shall take you home.”

After Haig’s clothing was dry, at least thoroughly heated, we wrapped him in the two blankets, both hot, and Stanton carried him over the hazardous places alone, while I helped when I could.

We found our way out to the open river just before dawn. It was bitterly cold on the water. Elaine wore my topcoat. When I helped her into it, she was tremulous, almost hysterical, now that the anxiety was over.

I reached the conclusion, as I tucked the ample folds of the coat about her, as she sat in the bottom of the canoe near the bow, that here was a wonderful thing, a girl, a woman, such as I had never thought existed. I wanted to take her in my arms and tell her--much.

Instead, I placed Haig’s head in her lap, at her demand, stretched his body back with feet under my seat amidship, and with Stanton paddled back the long four-mile detour to Craighead Hall.

Tucked into Stanton’s bed, with a drink of brandy, hot water bottles about him, I left Haig and sought my room. I did not retire then; broad daylight found me pacing the floor, filled with unease, doubt, fear, yet with a longing unfathomable. I had come searching for a man astray, and had lost myself. What would be the sequel?