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Read books online » Fiction » The Law of the Land by Emerson Hough (top 10 inspirational books .txt) 📖

Book online «The Law of the Land by Emerson Hough (top 10 inspirational books .txt) đŸ“–Â». Author Emerson Hough



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the captain,” Eddring answered with a wave of the hand, and again turned away. Perhaps it was the very stress of that moment which finally indeed brought Captain Wilson of the Opelousas Queen into the presence of his enigmatical passenger.

“Well, sir?” cried Wilson, as he approached, “what can I do for you?”

“Captain Wilson,” said Eddring, quietly, “I want to take your boat off her regular run. I have got to get up the river, and I am afraid the roads are wiped out.”

The river-man’s astonishment at this bade fair to end in explosion. “My boat!” he ejaculated. “Quit my run?”

“Yes,” said Eddring. “I’ll explain to you later the necessity I have for getting up the river quickly—and why it means that I have got to have your boat.”

“Have my boat!” said Wilson, his voice sinking into an inarticulate whisper. “And me with mail, and passengers, and freight to leave from Plaquemine to St. Louis! Have my boat! Have my–-”

“Put your passengers off at Baton Rouge in the morning. Transfer your mails there. Let everything get through the best it can. It can wait. As for me, I can’t wait; I must go through direct.”

Wilson endeavored to look at him calmly. “If you talk that way to me much longer,” said he, “I’ll say you’re surely crazy.”

“I’ll see you about it in the morning,” said Eddring, quietly. His singleness of purpose had its effect. Captain Wilson abruptly turned on his heel.

Meantime Miss Lady and Madame Delchasse had drawn apart in their own excitement, exclaiming only against the fact that this boat, so far from crossing the river, was now forging steadily upstream. Along the distant bends there could be seen the black masses of shadow, picked out here and there by the star-like points of the channel lights; while the low banks of the western shore, dimly indicated by the ferry lights, slowly slipped away.

“We are h’run away,” cried Madame Delchasse. “It is not to Algiers. Ah, my angel, what fortune I am here!” Miss Lady silently pressed her hand, and they moved farther forward on the guards.

Eddring heard them talking, and knew the cause of their uneasiness. He sat apart on the forward guards planning for a further attempt with Captain Wilson, and planning also for another meeting which he knew he might presently expect. He needed all his faculties at that moment, as he sat with his back to the rail, and his eyes commanding the approaches to the deck. He was waiting for what he knew would be the most exacting situation he had known in all his life—the encounter with Henry Decherd.

As for the latter, it had been his plan to absent himself from Miss Lady until after the boat should have swung well into the upstream journey; then, he meant to do whatever might be necessary to carry out his main purpose. Abduction, compulsion, force—none of these things would have caused Henry Decherd to hesitate at this time of desperation. Miss Lady’s sudden desertion and flight to the ladies’ cabin disconcerted him. The sound of Eddring’s voice and that of madame filled him with dismay. He tried to compose himself, but found his nerves trembling. Hurrying to the bar, he sought aid in a glass of liquor. He knew there must be a reckoning. As he returned from the bar he met Madame Delchasse with Miss Lady, and was obliged to speak.

“Madame, how did you come here?” he stammered. “Why, where is this boat going?”

“It is not go to Algiers, no?” said madame, freezingly. “By this time, Monsieur Decherd, I have expect mademoiselle to be at my ‘ome.”

“Why, we only wanted to run across the river together. We were coming home,” protested Decherd. “We did not know this was an up-river boat.”

Madame Delchasse drew herself up magnificently. “I, Clarisse Delchasse,” said she, “have arrive’. I shall take care of mademoiselle.” Decherd again began, but she interrupted him. “If it is not for this stranger, this Mr. Eddrang,” said madame, “I am not here this moment to care for mademoiselle. What care have you take? People would not talk, no? You to protect! Bah!” She slammed the glass door of the cabin in his face.

Decherd stood irresolute, ill-armed in the injustice of his quarrel. He had not a moment to wait.

“Decherd!” The voice was John Eddring’s.

Decherd turned. The silent watcher beside the rail had risen and was coming straight toward him.

CHAPTER IX THE ACCUSER

Henry Decherd paused under the steadfast gaze which met him.

“Decherd,” said Eddring, simply, “I want to talk to you. Come and sit down.” They moved a pace or two forward, Eddring taking care that the other should sit facing the light which streamed through the glass doors of the cabin.

“Stop! Decherd, I wouldn’t do that.” Eddring glanced at the hand which Decherd would have moved toward a weapon. Eddring’s own hands hung idly between his knees as he leaned forward in his chair.

“I would like to know what you mean by meddling in my affairs,” began Decherd. “You are interfering—”

“Yes,” said a voice, soft but very cold, “I’m interfering. I am going to spoil your chances, Decherd. Sit down.” The man thus accosted involuntarily sank back into a seat. Then a sudden rage caught him, and he half-started up again. This time he saw something blue gleaming dully in the idle hand which hung between Eddring’s knees.

“Be careful,” said the latter. “I told you not to do that. Sit down, now, and listen.” An unreasoning, blind terror seized Henry Decherd, and in spite of himself, he obeyed.

“In the first place, Decherd,” said Eddring, “I want to say that it was not lucky for you when I got hold of your valise by mistake at the Big House wreck—the time I found that list of claims, and the little old book in French. I have studied all those things over carefully, together with other things. I’ve been thinking a great deal. That’s why I am going to spoil your chances.”

“Does she know?” whispered Decherd, hoarsely.

“No, she knows nothing about it at all. She doesn’t know who she is— not even why she happened to take the name of Louise Loisson.” Decherd gasped, but the cold voice went on. “You might have told her some of these things. You might have told her who her real mother was, and who her false mother. You might have given her a chance to know herself. I don’t fancy that you did. I don’t think you told her anything which did not serve your own purposes.”

“We were going to be married,” began Decherd.

“We are going to be married—”

“You were, perhaps,” said Eddring, “but not now. Oh, I don’t doubt that you are willing enough to marry Louise Loisson, and to deceive her after your marriage as you did before. I don’t doubt that in the least.”

“What business is it of yours?” said Decherd, now becoming more sullen than blustering.

“I can’t say that it was my business at all,” said Eddring. “It’s accident, largely; and surely it was not your fault that I blundered on these matters. It was rather fate, or the occasional good fortune of the innocent. You covered up your trail fairly well; but a criminal will always leave behind him some egotistical mark of his crime, either by accident or by intent. You left marks all along your trail, Decherd—there, there, keep quiet. I don’t want to use force with you. I’m not going to be the agent of justice. But it won’t be altogether healthy for the man on whose shoulders a great many of these things are finally loaded. You were enterprising, Decherd, and you were an abler man than I thought, far abler; but you undertook too much.

“Now, here’s a message from Colonel Blount,” Eddring resumed. “It looks as though things were coming pretty nearly to a show-down up there. We are going to find out all about that. Incidentally, we are going to find out everything about this poor girl here, whose name and reputation only the mercy of God kept you from ruining this very night.” The two now sat looking each other fairly and fully in the eye. For the first time in many years Henry Decherd recognized the whip hand.

“I might as well tell you,” said Eddring, “that I know about the old Loisson estate—a great deal more than its lawful heiress does. I know who paid the taxes on the lands. I know as well as you do about the suit in the United States Supreme Court, where you won and lost at the same time. In that case you proved your client, Delphine, to be Indian, and therefore not French—in plain language, you proved that she was the heiress of the Indian, Paul Loise, and therefore could not inherit certain valuable lands of which we both know. Before you found yourself on that account forced to pin your faith to the descendants of the French Comte de Loisson, you were willing to use either line of descent, provided it made it possible for you to get possession of these lands. You were willing to deal with a woman of mixed blood, or with one of pure blood, of noble descent. Let me be frank with you, Decherd. You were playing these girls one against the other. It was Delphine against the descendants of the Comte de Loisson—a delicate game; and you came near winning.”

Decherd passed a hand across his forehead, now grown clammy, but he could see no method either of attack or of escape, for the cold gray eye still held him, and the blue barrel hung steady beneath the idle hand, as the same steel-like voice went on:

“I will just go over the proof once more, Decherd,” said Eddring, “and see if we don’t look at it about alike. For instance, if Delphine is Indian, she isn’t white. Uncle Sam’s Supreme Court says she’s Indian. That’s record, that’s evidence. Take the two girls, one of noble blood, the other of questionable descent, and they are together equal, in posse, as we will say, to these valuable lands. Do you follow me? Oh, give up thinking of your gun. I’ll kill you if you move your hand.

“Very well, then, my friend, it comes simply to a case of cancelation. No matter what you have told or promised either, there can be but one heiress. Mark out one girl, and the other is equal to that estate, we’ll say. You yourself marked out Delphine when you proved her to be of Indian descent. That leaves Miss Lady as the heiress of the estate of the Comte de Loisson, doesn’t it, Decherd?

“It leaves, also, two ways of getting the estate. You could marry the girl, or kill her. You might possibly get a tax-title in the latter case; if you killed the girl the tax-title would mature in your name. You may count that string as broken. Mrs. Ellison, we will say, wanted your paramour, Delphine, canceled, and wanted also to put the remaining claimant out of sight. Then, as mother of this heiress— the false mother, as you and I know—she thought that she would inherit the lands—and you.

“That was Mrs. Ellison’s plan—a very ignorant plan. Then the simple matter of a marriage—or of no marriage—between Mr. Henry Decherd and this Mrs. Alice Ellison, would enable them comfortably to share this estate. That was the way Mrs. Ellison wanted it, perhaps. But you preferred to marry the true claimant, and get rid of Mrs. Ellison. That was your plan. You wanted to cancel every possible claimant except Miss Lady, and then you wanted to force Miss Lady into a marriage with you. Do I make myself clear to

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