Lieutenant Russell held a long consultation
with Nellie Dawson, after the departure of Vose Adams.
His first intention had been to press their flight
with all possible vigor, and, as will be recalled,
Adams carried away that belief with him.
“My view of matters has undergone
a change,” he said after a time to his companion,
who looked up in his face for an explanation.
“Instead of waiting until we
reach Sacramento for a meeting with your father, I
believe it will be much better to have it as soon as
possible.”
“Why?” she asked, though
curious to say, she had been wavering for some time
in her belief.
“It will add to rather than
lessen his anger, if he is obliged to follow us that
far, and the fact that he is in a city instead of the
mountains will not decrease his determination to do
me injury.”
“What about those who are with him?”
“Your father is the only one
to be considered. My proposal is that we wait
here till to-morrow morning until they come up; what
is your opinion?”
“I believe you are right; let
us do so; I don’t think father will cast me
off when I go to him.”
The plan was carried out, though the
young man felt more misgiving than his companion suspected.
He remained on guard a part of the night, sharing
the duty with Timon, whose almost human intelligence
made him as reliable as a trained scout himself.
Straight to the spot came the pursuers
soon after daylight, when the horses were saddled
and bridled. Nellie was in a state of feverish
expectancy. When she caught sight of her father,
leading the others, she joyfully uttered his name
and ran toward him with outstretched arms.
“Father, my own father, are
you not glad to see your Nellie?”
Still holding his Winchester half-raised,
he glanced sternly at her and replied:
“Come no nearer; you are no daughter of mine!”
She stopped as if shot, and with hands
still outstretched stood motionless, with her eyes
fixed yearningly upon him. She was like a marble
statue, without the breath of life in her body.
All were silent. Even Timon looked from one to
another without moving. The whole thing was beyond
his comprehension.
Then the dreadful truth seemed to
force itself upon the consciousness of the girl, who
staggered backward to the nearest boulder, upon which
she sank and covered her face with her hands.
She did not weep, for her grief was too deep.
And who shall picture the sorrow that
wrenched the heart strings of the parent? There
was a strange look on his face and his massive frame
trembled. But he quickly recovered his self-poise,
and looking away from his child, fixed his eyes upon
Lieutenant Russell.
“It is with you that I have to settle.”
“I am ready.”
The young officer was standing beside
his pony, with one arm resting on the saddle, across
which his rifle was supported, while the other hand
lay idly on his hip, and his body was borne upon one
foot. His pose was one of negligence, as if he
and his animal had taken position before the camera,
and the world contained no such thing as hatred and
enmity. He looked calmly into the angered countenance,
while he waited for the next words of the man who
was impatient to send a bullet through his heart.
Wade Ruggles and Felix Brush would
have been glad of the privilege of doing this, but
they felt that for the time they were out of it.
The right of calling Lieutenant Russell to account
lay with the father of Nellie. They had nothing
to do or say until that tragedy was ended, and they
stood apart, silent, grim and watchful of everything.
The coolness of the young man disconcerted
the captain for the moment. Feeling it unnecessary
to hold his weapon, he lowered the point, but, never
once removing his eyes from the face of the other,
said:
“I will give you the same chance
as myself for your life; though you do not deserve
to live, it shall never be said I took any advantage
over you. Each of us has a revolver and knows
how to use it; you may pace off the distance for yourself,
but make it short.”
“Captain, I decline to fight
you,” replied Lieutenant Russell, without a
change of pose and in his usual voice.
“Why?” demanded the other.
“You have saved my life on the
battle field; we have been comrades; we have drank
from the same canteen; shoot me if you wish; I will
keep the position I now hold and you may stand where
you are; you have your Winchester in your hands; you
have but to raise it and it will be all over in a
twinkling, but nothing that you can say or do will
induce me to harm one of your gray hairs.”
This reply was unexpected to all,
but it served if possible to intensify the wrath of
Captain Dawson. He shook with tempestuous rage,
and it was several seconds before he could command
his voice. Ruggles, Brush and Adams did not stir
or whisper a word to one another. The white-faced
Nellie remained seated on the boulder, but she lowered
her hands and stared at the two, as if she could not
comprehend it all. Once she made a motion to
rise, but sank back and stared with a fixidity of
gaze that went to the hearts of the three spectators.
“You are a sneaking scoundrel
to use those words,” said Captain Dawson, when
able to command his voice; “all the past is wiped
out except that of the last two days; I shall shoot
you for stealing my child from me.”
The lieutenant looked calmly into
the countenance of the man, and, lowering his tones
almost to a whisper, that was perfectly audible to
all, replied:
“I am at your disposal.”
From the moment Captain Dawson learned
of the flight of his child, he had been eager for
but one thing, the opportunity to draw bead
on the miscreant, without giving him an instant to
prepare for death. That opportunity was his but
he hesitated. Something that he could not explain,
but which incensed him, held his hand motionless.
But perhaps the end would have been
the same, when he rallied from the momentary struggle,
had not his daughter awakened from the daze that had
held her mute and motionless. Like Pocahontas,
she sprang forward, with arms again outstretched,
and with a faint shriek, flung them about the form
of her lover.
“Shoot father, if you will, but you shall kill
me too!”
Felix Brush shivered and turning away
his head, muttered in a broken voice:
“My God, Wade! I can’t stand this!”
Ruggles attempted to reply, but the
words choked in his throat. Still he and Adams
kept their eyes upon the three before them. Ruggles
was on the point of interfering when Nellie Dawson
averted the necessity.
Lieutenant Russell was disconcerted.
His lip quivered, and, with infinite tenderness, he
sought to loosen the arms that entwined him, but she
would not permit it.
“No, no, no! He shall not
part us! Let him slay us both! Do not repulse
me! I will die with you!”
The situation of Captain Dawson was
awful. He was scarcely himself. The dainty
form of his child could not fully shield the athletic
figure of Lieutenant Russell, strive as much as she
might, and the opening for the threatened shot was
as clear as ever. Whether he would have persisted
in his intention can never be known, for at that juncture
the startling incidents were succeeded by one still
more startling and unexpected.