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The Firing Line by Robert W. Chambers

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"Did you see!" she breathed, partly turning her head.

"Good heavens, yes! What was it; the archangel Michael?"

"Only a snowy heron."

The Seminole had halted and laid his hand flat on the dead leaves under
a gigantic water-oak.

"A-po-kes-chay," he whispered; and Shiela translated close to Hamil's
ear: "He says that we must all sit down here--" A sudden crackle in the
darkness stilled her voice.

"Im-po-kit-chkaw?" she asked. "Did you hear that? No-ka-tee; what is
it?"

"Deer walk," nodded the Seminole; "sun gone down; moon come. Bimeby
roost um turkey. Li-kus-chay! No sound."

Shiela settled quietly on the poncho among the dead leaves, resting her
back against the huge tree trunk. Hamil warily sank into position beside
her; the Indian stood for a while, head raised, apparently gazing at the
tree-tops, then, walking noiselessly forward a dozen yards, squatted.

Shiela opened the conversation presently by whispering that they must
not speak.

And the conversation continued, fitfully in ghostly whispers, lips
scarcely stirring close to one another's ears.

As for the swamp, it was less reticent, and began to wake up all around
them in the darkness. Strange creaks and quacks and croaks broke out,
sudden snappings of twigs, a scurry among dead leaves, a splash in the
water, the far whir of wings. There were no insect noises, no resonant
voices of bull-frogs; weird squeaks arose at intervals, the murmuring
complaint of water-fowl, guttural quack of duck and bittern--a vague
stirring everywhere of wild things settling to rest or awaking. There
were things moving in the unseen ooze, too, leaving sudden sinuous
trails in the dim but growing lustre that whitened above the
trees--probably turtles, perhaps snakes.

She leaned almost imperceptibly toward him, and he moved his shoulder
close to hers.

"You are not nervous, Shiela?"

"Indeed I am."

"Why on earth did you come?"

"I don't know. The idea of snakes in darkness always worries me....
Once, waking in camp, reaching out through the darkness for the
water-bottle, I laid my hand on an exceedingly chilly snake. It was a
harmless one, but I nearly died.... And here I am back again. Believe
me, _no_ burnt child ever dreaded the fire enough to keep away from it.
I'm a coward, but not enough of a one to practise prudence."

He laughed silently. "You brave little thing! Every moment I am learning
more and more how adorable you are--"

"Do men adore folly?"

"Your kind of folly. Are you cold?"

"No; only foolish. There's some sort of live creature moving rather
close to me--hush! Don't you hear it?"

But whatever it was it went its uncanny way in darkness and left them
listening, her small hand remaining loosely in his.

"What on earth is the matter now, Shiela?" he whispered, feeling her
trembling.

"Nothing. They say a snake won't strike you if you hold your breath. Its
nonsense, but I was trying it.... What is that ring I feel on your
hand?"

"A signet; my father's." He removed it from his little finger, tried it
on all of hers.

"Is it too large?"

"It's a little loose.... You don't wish me to wear it, do you?... Your
_father's_? I'd rather not.... Do you really wish it? Well, then--for a
day--if you ask me."

Her ringed hand settled unconsciously into his again; she leaned back
against the tree, and he rested his head beside hers.

"Are you afraid of wood-ticks, Mr. Hamil? I am, horribly. We're inviting
all kinds of disaster--but isn't it delicious! Look at that whitish
light above the trees. When the moon outlines the roosting-tree we'll
know whether our labour is lost. But I wouldn't have missed it for all
the mallard on Ruffle Lake. Would you? Are you contented?"

"Where you are is contentment, Shiela."

"How nice of you! But there is always that sweet, old-fashioned, boyish
streak in you which shows true colour when I test you. Do you know, at
times, you seem absurdly young to me."

"That's a pleasant thing to say."

Their shoulders were in contact; she was laughing without a sound.

"At times," she said, "you are almost what young girls call cunning!"

"By heavens!" he began indignantly, but she stilled his jerk of
resentment with a quick pressure.

"Lie still! For goodness' sake don't make the leaves rustle, silly! If
there's a flock of turkeys in any of those cypress tops, you may be sure
that every separate bird is now looking straight in our direction.... I
won't torment you any more; I dare not. Little Tiger turned around; did
you notice? He'd probably like to scalp us both."

But the Indian had resumed his motionless study of the darkness,
squatted on his haunches as immobile as a dead stump.

Hamil whispered: "Such a chance to make love to you! You dare not move.
And you deserve it for tormenting me."

"If you did such a thing--"

"Yes?"

"Such a thing as that--"

"Yes?"

"But you wouldn't."

"Why, Shiela, I'm doing it every minute of my life!"

"Now?"

"Of course. It goes on always. I couldn't prevent it any more than I
could stop my pulses. It just continues with every heart-beat, every
breath, every word, every silence--"

"Mr. Hamil!"

"Yes?"

"That _does_ sound like it--a little; and you must stop!"

"Of course I'll stop saying things, but _that_ doesn't stop with my
silence. It simply goes on and on increasing every--"

"Try silence," she said.

Motionless, shoulder to shoulder, the pulsing moments passed. Every
muscle tense, she sat there for a while, fearful that he could hear her
heart beating. Her palm, doubled in his, seemed to burn. Then little by
little a subtle relaxation stole over her; dreamy-eyed she sank back and
looked into the darkness. A sense of delicious well-being possessed her,
enmeshing thought in hazy lethargy, quieting pulse and mind.

Through it she heard his voice faintly; her own seemed unreal when she
answered.

He said: "Speaking of love; there is only one thing possible for me,
Shiela--to go on loving you. I can't kill hope, though there seems to be
none. But there's no use in saying so to myself for it is one of those
things no man believes. He may grow tired of hoping, and, saying there
is none, live on. But neither he nor Fate can destroy hope any more than
he can annihilate his soul. He may change in his heart. That he cannot
control. When love goes no man can stay its going."

"Do you think yours will go?"

"No. That is a lover's answer."

"What is a sane man's answer?"

"Ask some sane man, Shiela."

"I would rather believe you."

"Does it make you happy?"

"Yes."

"You wish me to love you?"

"Yes."

"You would love me--a little--if you could?"

She closed her eyes.

"Would you?" he asked again.

"Yes."

"But you cannot."

She said, dreamily: "I don't know. That is a dreadful answer to make.
But I don't know what is in me. I don't know what I am capable of
doing. I wish I knew; I wish I could tell you."

"Do you know what I think, Shiela?"

"What?"

"It's curious--but since I have known you--and about your birth--the
idea took shape and persisted--that--that--"

"What?" she asked.

"That, partly perhaps because of your physical beauty, and because of
your mind and its intelligence and generosity, you embodied something of
that type which this nation is developing."

"That is curious," she said softly.

"Yes; but you give me that impression, as though in you were the lovely
justification of these generations of welding together alien and native
to make a national type, spiritual, intelligent, wholesome,
beautiful.... And I've fallen into the habit of thinking of you in that
way--as thoroughly human, thoroughly feminine, heir to the best that is
human, and to its temptations too; yet, somehow, instinctively finding
the right way in life, the true way through doubt and stress.... Like
the Land itself--with perhaps the blood of many nations in your
veins.... I don't know exactly what I'm trying to say--"

"_I_ know."

"Yes," he whispered, "you do know that all I have said is only a longer
way of saying that I love you."

"Through stress and doubt," she murmured, "you think I will find the
way?--with perhaps the blood of many nations in my veins, with all their
transmitted emotions, desires, passions for my inheritance?... It is my
only heritage. They did not even leave me a name; only a capacity for
every human error, with no knowledge of what particular inherited
failing I am to contend with when temptation comes. Do you wonder I am
sometimes lonely and afraid?"

"You darling!" he said under his breath.

"Hush; that is forbidden. You know perfectly well it is. _Are_ you
laughing? That is very horrid of you when I'm trying _so_ hard not to
listen when you use forbidden words to me. But I heard you once when I
should not have heard you. Does that seem centuries ago? Alas for us
both, Ulysses, when I heard your voice calling me under the Southern
stars! Would you ever have spoken if you knew what you know now?"

"I would have told you the truth sooner."

"Told me what truth?"

"That I love you, Calypso."

"You always answer like a boy! Ah, well I--if you knew how easily a girl
believes such answers!"

He bent his head, raising her bare fingers to his lips. A tiny shock
passed through them both; she released her hand and buried it in the
folds of her kilt.

There was a pale flare of moonlight behind the forest; trunks and
branches were becoming more distinct. A few moments later the Indian,
bending low, came creeping back without a sound, and straightened up in
the fathomless shadow of the oak, motioning Shiela and Hamil to rise.

"Choo-lee," he motioned with his lips; "Ko-la-pa-kin!"

Lips close to Hamil's ear she whispered: "He says that there are seven
in that pine. Can you see them?"

He strained his eyes in vain; she had already found them and now stood
close to his shoulder, whispering the direction.

"I can't make them out," he said. "Don't wait for me, but take your
chance at once."

"Do you think I would do that?"

"You _must_! You have never shot a turkey--"

"Hush, silly. What pleasure would there be in it without you? Try to see
them; look carefully. All those dark furry blotches against the sky are
pine leaves, but the round shadowy lumps are turkeys; one is quite
clearly silhouetted, now; even to his tail--"

"I believe I _do_ see!" murmured Hamil. "By Jove, yes! Shiela, you're an
angel to be so patient."

"I'll take the top bird," she whispered. "Are you ready? We must be
quick."

"Ready," he motioned.

Then in the dim light one of the shadowy bunches rose abruptly, standing
motionless on the branch, craning a long neck into the moonlight.

"Fire!" she whispered; and four red flashes in pairs split the gloom
wide open for a second. Then roaring darkness closed about them.

Instantly the forest resounded with the thunderous racket of heavy wings
as the flock burst into flight, clattering away through leafy obscurity;
but under the uproar of shot and clapping wings sounded the thud and
splash of something heavy crashing earthward; and the Indian, springing
from root to tussock, vanished into the shadows.

"Two down!" said the girl, unsteadily. "Oh, I am so thankful that you
got yours!"

They exchanged excited handclasps of mutual congratulation. Then he
said:

"Shiela, you dear generous girl, I don't believe I hit anything, but
I'll bet that you got a turkey with each barrel!"

"Foolish boy! Of course you grassed your bird! It wasn't a wing shot,
but we took what fate sent us. Nobody can choose conditions on the
firing line. We did our best, I think."

"Wise little Shiela! Her philosophy is as fascinating as it is sound!"
He looked at her half smiling, partly serious. "You and I are on life's
firing line, you know."

"Are we?"

"And under the lively fusillade of circumstances."

"Are we?"

He said: "It will show us up as we are.... I am afraid for us both."

"If you are--don't tell me."

"It is best to know the truth. We've got to stay on the firing line
anyway. We might as well know that we are not very sure of ourselves. If
the fear of God doesn't help us it will end us. But--" He walked up to
her and took both her hands frankly. "We'll try to be good soldiers;
won't we?"

"Yes."

"And good comrades--even if we can't be more?"

"Yes."

"And help each other under fire?"

"Yes."

"You make me very happy," he said simply; and turned to the Seminole who
was emerging from obscurity, shoulders buried under a mass of bronzed
feathers from which dangled two grotesque heads.

One was a gobbler--a magnificent patriarch; and Shiela with a little cry
of delight turned to Hamil: "That's yours! I congratulate you with all
my heart!"

"No, no!" he protested, "the gobbler fell to you--"

"It is _yours_!" she repeated firmly; "mine is this handsome, plump
hen--"

"I _won't_ claim that magnificent gobbler! Little Tiger, didn't Miss
Cardross shoot this bird?"

"Gobbler top bird," nodded the Seminole proudly.

"You fired at the top bird, Shiela! That settles it! I'm perfectly
delighted over this. Little Tiger, you stalked them beautifully; but how
on earth you ever managed to roost them in the dark I can't make out!"

"See um same like tiger," nodded the pleased Seminole. And, to Shiela:
"Pen-na-waw-suc-chai! I-hoo-es-chai." And he lighted his lantern.

"He says that the turkeys are all gone and that we had better go too,
Mr. Hamil. What a perfect beauty that gobbler is! I'd much rather have
him mounted than eat him. Perhaps we can do both. Eudo skins very
skilfully and there's plenty of salt in camp. Look at that mist!"

And so, chattering away in highest spirits they fell into file behind
the Seminole and his lantern, who, in the thickening fog, looked like
some slim luminous forest-phantom with great misty wings atrail from
either shoulder.

Treading the narrow way in each other's footsteps they heard, far in the
darkness, the gruesome tumult of owls. Once the Indian's lantern flashed
on a snake which rose quickly from compact coils, hissing and distending
its neck; but for all its formidable appearance and loud, defiant
hissing the Indian picked up a palmetto fan and contemptuously tossed
the reptile aside into the bog.

"It's only a noisy puff-adder," said Shiela, who had retreated very
close against Hamil, "but, oh, I don't love them even when they are
harmless." And rather thoughtfully she disengaged herself from the
sheltering arm of that all too sympathetic young man, and went forward,
shivering a little as the hiss of the enraged adder broke out from the
uncongenial mud where he had unwillingly landed.

And so they came to their horses through a white mist which had
thickened so rapidly that the Indian's lantern was now only an
iridescent star ringed with rainbows. And when they had been riding for
twenty minutes Little Tiger halted them with lifted lantern and said
quietly:

"Chi-ho-ches-chee!"

"Wh-at!" exclaimed the girl, incredulous.

"What did he say?" asked Hamil.

"He says that he is lost!"

Hamil stared around in dismay; a dense white wall shut out everything;
the Indian's lantern at ten paces was invisible; he could scarcely see
Shiela unless she rode close enough to touch his elbow.

"Catch um camp," observed Little Tiger calmly. "Loose bridle! Bimeby
catch um camp. One horse lead. No be scared."

So Hamil dismounted and handed his bridle to the Indian; then Shiela
cast her own bridle loose across the pommel, and touching her horse with
both heels, rode forward, hands in her jacket pockets. And Hamil walked
beside her, one arm on the cantle.

Into blank obscurity the horse moved, bearing to the left--a direction
which seemed entirely wrong.

"Catch um camp," came the Indian's amused voice through the mist from
somewhere close behind.

"It doesn't seem to me that this is the right direction," ventured
Shiela doubtfully. "Isn't it absurd? Where are you, Mr. Hamil? Come
closer and keep in touch with my stirrup. I found you in a fog and I
really don't want to lose you in one."

She dropped one arm so that her hand rested lightly on his shoulder.

"This is not the first mist we've been through together," he said,
laughing.

"I was thinking of that, too. They say the gods arrive and go in a mist.
Don't go."

They moved on in silence, the horse stepping confidently into the
crowding fog. Once Hamil stumbled over a root and Shiela's hand slipped
around his neck, tightening a moment. He straightened up; but her hand
slid back to his coat sleeve, resting so lightly that he could scarce
feel the touch.

Then the horse stumbled, this time over the tongue of the camp wagon.
Little Tiger was right; the horse had brought them back.

Hamil turned; Shiela swung one leg across the pommel and slipped from
her saddle into his arms.

"Have you been happy, Shiela?"

"You know I have.... But--you must release me."

"Perfectly happy?"

"Ah, yes. Don't you know I have?" ... And in a low voice: "Release me
now--for both our sakes."

She did not struggle nor did he retain her by perceptible force.

"Won't you release me?"

"Must I?"

"I thought you promised to help me--on the firing line?" She forced a
little laugh, resting both her hands on his wrists against her waist.
"You said," she added with an effort at lightness, "that we are under
heavy fire now."

"The fire of circumstances?"

"The cross-fire--of temptation.... Help me."

His arms fell; neither moved. Then a pale spark grew in the mist,
brighter, redder, and, side by side, they walked toward it.

"What luck!" cried Gray, lifting a blazing palmetto fan above his head.
"We got ten mallard and a sprig! Where's your game? We heard you shoot
four times!"

Shiela laughed as the Seminole loomed up in the incandescent haze of the
camp fire, buried in plumage.

"Dad! Dad! Where are you? Mr. Hamil has shot a magnificent wild turkey!"

"Well, upon my word!" exclaimed Cardross, emerging from his section;
"the luck of the dub is proverbial! Hamil, what the deuce do you mean by
it? That's what' I want to know! O Lord! _Look_ at that gobbler! Shiela,
did you let this young man wipe both your eyes?"

"Mine? Oh, I almost forgot. You see I shot one of them."

"Which?"

"It happened to be the gobbler," she said. "It was a mere chance in the
dark.... And--if my section is ready, dad--I'm a little tired, I think.
Good night, everybody; good night, Mr. Hamil--and thank you for taking
care of me."

* * * * *

Cardross, enveloped in blankets, glanced at Hamil.

"Did you ever know anybody so quick to give credit to others? It's worth
something to hear anybody speak in that fashion."

"That is why I did not interrupt," said Hamil.

Cardross looked down at the dying coals, then directly at the silent
young fellow--a long, keen glance; then his gaze fell again on the
Seminole fire.

"Good night, sir," said Hamil at last.

"Good night, my boy," replied the older man very quietly.




CHAPTER XIII

THE SILENT PARTNERS


Late one evening toward the end of the week a somewhat battered camping
party, laden with plump, fluffy bunches of quail, and plumper strings of
duck, wind-scorched, sun-burnt, brier-torn and trail-worn, re-entered
the _patio_ of the Cardross villa, and made straight for shower-bath,
witch-hazel, fresh pyjamas, and bed.

In vain Jessie Carrick, Cecile, and their mother camped around Shiela's
bed after the tray was removed, and Shiela's flushed face, innocent as
usual of sunburn, lay among the pillows, framed by the brown-gold lustre
of her hair.

"We had _such_ a good time, mother; Mr. Hamil shot a turkey," she said
sleepily. "Mr. Hamil--Mr. H-a-m-i-l"--A series of little pink yawns, a
smile, a faint sigh terminated consciousness as she relaxed into slumber
as placid as her first cradle sleep. So motionless she lay, bare arms
wound around the pillow, that they could scarcely detect her breathing
save when the bow of pale-blue ribbon stirred on her bosom.

"The darling!" whispered Mrs. Carrick; "look at that brier mark across
her wrist!--our poor little worn-out colleen!"

"She was not too far gone to mention Garret Hamil," observed Cecile.

Mrs. Cardross looked silently at Cecile, then at the girl on the bed who
had called her mother. After a moment she bent with difficulty and
kissed the brier-torn wrist, wondering perhaps whether by chance a
deeper wound lay hidden beneath the lace-veiled, childish breast.

"Little daughter--little daughter!" she murmured close to the small
unheeding ear. Cecile waited, a smile half tender, half amused curving
her parted lips; then she glanced curiously at Mrs. Carrick. But that
young matron, ignoring the enfant terrible, calmly tucked her arm under
her mother's; Cecile, immersed in speculative thought, followed them
from the room; a maid extinguished the lights.

In an hour the Villa Cardross was silent and dark, save that, in the
moonlight which struck through the panes of Malcourt's room, an unquiet
shadow moved from window to window, looking out into the mystery of
night.

* * * * *

The late morning sun flung a golden net across Malcourt's bed; he lay
asleep, dark hair in handsome disorder, dark eyes sealed--too young to
wear that bruised, loose mask so soon with the swollen shadows under lid
and lip. Yet, in his unconscious features there was now a certain
simplicity almost engaging, which awake, he seemed to lack; as though
latent somewhere within him were qualities which chance might germinate
into nobler growth. But chance, alone, is a poor gardener.

Hamil passing the corridor as the valet, carrying a tray, opened
Malcourt's door, glanced in at him; and Malcourt awoke at the same
moment, and sat bolt upright.

"Hello, Hamil!" he nodded sleepily, "come in, old fellow!" And, to the
valet: "No breakfast for me, thank you--except grape-fruit!--unless
you've brought me a cuckootail? Yes? No? Stung! Never mind; just hand me
a cigarette and take away the tray. It's a case of being a very naughty
boy, Hamil. How are you anyway, and what did you shoot?"

Hamil greeted him briefly, but did not seem inclined to enter or
converse.

Malcourt yawned, glanced at the grape-fruit, then affably at Hamil.

"I say," he began, "hope you'll overlook my rotten behaviour last time
we met. I'd been dining at random, and I'm usually a brute when I do
that."

"Oh, it's all right," said Hamil, looking at the row of tiny Chinese
idols on the mantel.

"No rancour?"

"No. Only--why do you do it, Malcourt?"

"Why do I do which? The wheel or the lady?"

"Oh, the whole bally business? It isn't as if you were lonely and put to
it. There are plenty of attractive girls about, and anybody will take
you on at Bridge. Of course it's none of my affair--but we came
unpleasantly close to a quarrel--which is my only excuse."

Malcourt looked at him thoughtfully. "Hamil, do you know, I've always
liked you a damn sight better than you've liked me."

Hamil said, laughing outright: "I never saw very much of you to like or
dislike."

Malcourt smiled, stretched his limbs lazily, and lighted a cigarette.

"As a matter of fact," he said, "you think I'm worse than I am, but I
_know_ you are worse than you think, because I couldn't even secretly
feel friendly toward a prig. You've had a less battered career than I;
you are, in consequence, less selfish, less ruthless, less cynical
concerning traditions and illusions. You've something left to stick to;
I haven't. You are a little less intelligent than I, and therefore
possess more natural courage and credulity. Outside of these things we
are more or less alike, Hamil. Hope you don't mind my essay on man."

"No," said Hamil, vastly amused.

"The trouble with me," continued Malcourt, "is that I possess a streak
of scientific curiosity that you lack; which is my eternal undoing and
keeps me poor and ignobly busy. I ought to have leisure; the world
should see to it that I have sufficient leisure and means to pursue my
studies in the interest of social economy. Take one of my favourite
experiments, for example. I see a little ball rattling around in a
wheel. Where will that ball stop? You, being less intellectual than I,
don't care where it stops. _I_ do. Instantly my scientific curiosity is
aroused; I reason logically; I evolve an opinion; I back that opinion;
and I remain busy and poor. I see a pretty woman. Is she responsive or
unresponsive to intelligently expressed sentiment? I don't know. _You_
don't care. _I_ do. My curiosity is piqued. She becomes to me an
abstract question which scientific experiment alone can elucidate--"

Hamil, leaning on the footboard of the bed, laughed and straightened up.

"All right, Malcourt, if you think it worth while--"

"What pursuit, if you please, is worthier than logical and scientific
investigations?"

"Make a lot of honest money and marry some nice girl and have horses and
dogs and a bully home and kids. Look here, as Wayward says, you're not
the devilish sort you pretend to be. You're too young for one thing. I
never knew you to do a deliberately ungenerous act--"

"Like most rascals I'm liable to sentimental generosity in streaks?
Thanks. But, somehow, I'm so damned intelligent that I can never give
myself any credit for relapsing into traditional virtues. Impulse is
often my executive officer; and if I were only stupid I'd take great
comfort out of it."

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