Bab Bab 47 · BOOK III CHAPTER XXI

I was lying in bed, and a heavy weight was pressing on me, so that, in

spite of my struggles, I could not move. I was hot, insufferably hot.

The blood ran boiling through my veins. My flesh was burning up. My

brain would not work. It was all cobwebs, murky and stale as a

charnel-house. Yet at times were strange illuminations, full of terror

and despair. Blood-red lights and purple shadows alternated in my

vision. Then came the dreams.

* * * * *

There was always Berna. Through a mass of grimacing, greed-contorted

faces gradually there formed and lingered her sweet and pensive one. We

were in a strange costume, she and I. It seemed like that of the early

Georges. We were running away, fleeing from some one. For her sake a

great fear and anxiety possessed me. We were eloping, I fancied.

There was a marsh to cross, a hideous quagmire, and our pursuers were

close. We started over the quaking ground, then, suddenly, I saw her

sink. I rushed to aid her, and I, too, sank. We were to our necks in the

soft ooze, and there on the bank, watching us, was the foremost of our

hunters. He laughed at our struggles; he mocked us; he rejoiced to see

us drown. And in my dream the face of the man seemed strangely like

Locasto.

* * * * *

We were in a bower of roses, she and I. It was still further back in

history. We seemed to be in the garden of a palace. I was in doublet and

hose, and she wore a long, flowing kirtle. The air was full of fragrance

and sunshine. Birds were singing. A fountain scattered a shower of

glittering diamonds on the breeze. She was sitting on the grass, while I

reclined by her side, my head lying on her lap. Above me I could see her

face like a lily bending over me. With dainty fingers she crumpled a

rose and let the petals snow down on me.

Then, suddenly, I was seized, torn away from her by men in black, who

roughly choked her screams. I was dragged off, thrown into a foul cell,

left many days. Then, one night, I was dragged forth and brought before

a grim tribunal in a hall of gloom and horror. They pronounced my

doom--Death. The chief Inquisitor raised his mask, and in those gloating

features I recognised--Locasto.

* * * * *

Again it seemed as if I were still further back in history, in some city

under the Roman rule. I was returning from the Temple with my bride. How

fair and fresh and beautiful she was, garlanded with flowers and

radiantly happy. Again it was Berna.

Suddenly there are shouts, the beating of drums, the clash of cymbals.

The great Governor of the Province is coming. He passes with his

retinue. Suddenly he catches sight of her whom I have but newly wed. He

stops. He asks who is the maid. They tell him. He looks at me with

haughty contempt. He gives a sign. His servants seize her and drag her

screaming away. I try to follow, to kill him. I, too, am seized,

overpowered. They bind me, put out my eyes. The Roman sees them do it.

He laughs as the red-hot iron kisses my eye-balls. He mocks me, telling

me what a dainty feast awaits him in my bride. Again I see Locasto.

* * * * *

Then came another phase of my delirium, in which I struggled to get to

her. She was waiting for me, wanting me, breaking her heart at my delay.

O, Berna, my soul, my life, since the beginning of things we were fated.

'Tis no flesh love, but something deeper, something that has its source

at the very core of being. It is not for your sweet face, your gentle

spirit, my own, that you are dearer to me than all else: it is

because--you are you. If all the world were to turn against you, flout

you, stone you, then would I rush to your side, shield you, die with

you. If you were attainted with leprosy, I would enter the lazar-house

for your sake.

"O Berna, I must see you, I must, I must. Let me go to her ... now ...

dear! She's calling me. She's in trouble. Oh, for the love of God, let

me go ... let me go, I say.... Curse you, I will. She's in trouble. You

can't hold me. I'm stronger than you all when she calls.... Let me ...

let me.... Oh, oh, oh ... you're hurting me so. I'm weak, yes, weak as

a baby.... Berna, my child, my poor little girl, I can do nothing.

There's a mountain weighing me down. There's a slab of gold on my chest.

They're burning me up. My veins are on fire. I can't come.... I can't,

dear.... I'm tired...."

Then the fever, the ravings, the wild threshing of my pillow, all passed

away, and I was left limp, weak, helpless, resigned to my fate.

I was on the sunny slope of convalescence. The Prodigal had remained

with me as long as I was in danger, but now that I had turned the

corner, he had gone back to the creeks, so that I was left with only my

thoughts for company. As I turned and twisted on my narrow cot it seemed

as if the time would never pass. All I wanted was to get better fast,

and to get out again. Then, I thought, I would marry Berna and go

"outside." I was sick of the country, of everything.

I was lying thinking over these things, when I became aware that the man

in the cot to the right was trying to attract my attention. He had been

brought in that very morning, said to have been kicked by a horse. One

of his ribs was broken, and his face badly smashed. He was in great

pain, but quite conscious, and he was making stealthy motions to me.

"Say, mate," he said, "I piped you off soon's I set me lamps on you.

Don't youse know me?"

I looked at the bandaged face wonderingly.

"Don't you spot de man dat near let youse down de shaft?"

Then, with a great start, I saw it was the Worm.

"'Taint no horse done me up," he said in a hoarse whisper; "'twas a man.

You know de man, de worst devil in all Alaska, Black Jack. Bad luck to

him! He knocked me down and give me de leather. But I'm goin' to get

even some day. I'm just laying for him. I wouldn't be in his shoes for

de richest claim in de Klondike."

The man's eyes glittered vengefully between the white bandages.

"'Twas all on account of de little girl he done it. You know de girl I

mean. Black Jack's dead stuck on her, an' de furder she stands him off

de more set he is to get her. Youse don't know dat man. He's never had

de cold mit yet."

"Tell me what's the matter, for Heaven's sake."

"Well, when youse didn't come, de little girl she got worried. I used to

be doin' chores round de restaurant, an' she asks me to take a note up

to you. So I said I would. But I got on a drunk dat day, an' for a week

after I didn't draw a sober breath. When I gets around again I told her

I'd seen you an' given you de note an' you was comin' in right away."

"Heaven forgive you for that."

[Illustration: Then, as I hung half in, half out of the window, he

clutched me by the throat]

"Yep, dat's what I say now. But it's all too late. Well, a week went on

an' you never showed up, an' meantime Locasto was pesterin' her cruel.

She got mighty peaked like, pale as a ghost, an' I could see she cried

most all her nights. Den she gives me anudder note. She gives me a

hundred dollars to take dat note to you. I said she could lay on me dis

time. I was de hurry-up kid, an' I starts off. But Black Jack must have

cottoned on, for he meets me back of de town an' taxes me wid takin' a

message. Den he sets on me like a wild beast an' does me up good and

proper. But I'll fix him yet."

"Where are the notes?" I cried.

"In de pocket of me coat. Tell de nurse to fetch in me clothes, an' I'll

give dem to youse."

The nurse brought the clothes, but the little man was too sore to move.

"Feel in de inside pocket."

There were the notes, folded very small, and written in pencil. There

was a strange faintness at my heart, and my fingers trembled as I opened

them. Fear, fear was clutching me, compressing me in an agonising grip.

Here was the first.

"My Darling Boy: Why didn't you come? I was all ready for you. O,

it was such a terrible disappointment. I've cried myself to sleep

every night since. Has anything happened to you, dear? For Heaven's

sake write or send a message. I can't bear the suspense.

"Your loving

"Berna."

Blankly, dully, almost mechanically, I read the second.

"O, come, my dear, at once. I'm in serious danger. He's grown

desperate. Swears if he can't get me by fair means he'll have me by

foul. I'm terribly afraid. Why ar'n't you here to protect me? Why

have you failed me? O, my darling, have pity on your poor little

girl. Come quickly before it is too late."

It was unsigned.

Heavens! I must go to her at once. I was well enough. I was all right

again. Why would they not let me go to her? I would crawl on my hands

and knees if need be. I was strong, so strong now.

Ha! there were the Worm's clothes. It was after midnight. The nurse had

just finished her rounds. All was quiet in the ward.

Dizzily I rose and slipped into the frayed and greasy garments. There

were the hospital slippers. I must wear them. Never mind a hat.

I was out in the street. I shuffled along, and people stared at me, but

no one delayed me. I was at the restaurant now. She wasn't there. Ah!

the cabin on the hill.

I was weaker than I had thought. Once or twice in a half-fainting

condition I stopped and steadied myself by holding a sapling tree. Then

the awful intuition of her danger possessed me, and gave me fresh

strength. Many times I stumbled, cutting myself on the sharp boulders.

Once I lay for a long time, half-unconscious, wondering if I would ever

be able to rise. I reeled like a drunken man. The way seemed endless,

yet stumbling, staggering on, there was the cabin at last.

A light was burning in the front room. Some one was at home at all

events. Only a few steps more, yet once again I fell. I remember

striking my face against a sharp rock. Then, on my hands and knees, I

crawled to the door.

I raised myself and hammered with clenched fists. There was silence

within, then an agitated movement. I knocked again. Was the door ever

going to be opened? At last it swung inward, with a suddenness that

precipitated me inside the room.

The Madam was standing over me where I had fallen. At sight of me she

screamed. Surprise, fear, rage, struggled for mastery on her face. "It's

him," she cried, "_him_." Peering over her shoulder, with ashy,

horrified face, I saw her trembling husband.

"Berna," I gasped hoarsely. "Where is she? I want Berna. What are you

doing to her, you devils? Give her to me. She's mine, my promised bride.

Let me go to her, I say."

The woman barred the way.

All at once I realised that the air was heavy with a strange odour, the

odour of _chloroform_. Frenzied with fear, I rushed forward.

Then the Amazon roused herself. With a cry of rage she struck me.

Savagely both of them came for me. I struggled, I fought; but, weak as I

was, they carried me before them and threw me from the door. I heard the

lock shoot; I was outside; I was impotent. Yet behind those log

walls.... Oh, it was horrible! horrible! Could such things be in God's

world? And I could do nothing.

I was strong once more. I ran round to the back of the cabin. She was in

there, I knew. I rushed at the window and threw myself against it. The

storm frame had not been taken off. Crash! I burst through both sheets

of glass. I was cruelly cut, bleeding in a dozen places, yet I was half

into the room. There, in the dirty, drab light, I saw a face, the

fiendish, rage-distorted face of my dream. It was Locasto.

He turned at the crash. With a curse he came at me. Then, as I hung half

in, half out of the window, he clutched me by the throat. Using all his

strength, he raised me further into the room, then he hurled me

ruthlessly out onto the rocks outside.

I rose, reeling, covered with blood, blind, sick, speechless. Weakly I

staggered to the window. My strength was leaving me. "O God, sustain me!

Help me to save her."

Then I felt the world go blank. I swayed; I clutched at the walls; I

fell.

There I lay in a ghastly, unconscious heap.

I had lost!

BOOK IV

THE VORTEX

He burned a hole in the frozen muck;

He scratched the icy mould;

And there in six-foot dirt he struck

A sack or so of gold.

He burned a hole in the Decalogue,

And then it came about--

For Fortune's only a lousy rogue--

His "pocket" petered out.

And lo! it was but a year all told,

When there in the shadow grim,

But six feet deep in the icy mould,

They burned a hole for him.

--"The Yukoner."