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Quintus Oakes: A Detective Story

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CHAPTER XXI The Attack We had advanced along River Road to its junction with the Highway, and Martin had just closed in from behind as Dr. Moore started to say something about the dinner that was coming, when, just as we came into the shadows of the great trees to our left, a flame, instantaneous, reddish-blue, streaked forth from the side of the road and a deep, muffled, crashing sound came to our ears. Everyone recognized it instantly—it was not the high crack of a modern weapon such as we carried, but the unmistakable guttural of an old-style heavy revolver. An instant, and the voice of Oakes rang out, cool, but intensely earnest, "To cover"—and we covered. Never before had six men melted from a close formation so rapidly, so silently, so earnestly. Dr. Moore, Elliott and I reached the trees on the other side together, and lost our identity trying to find a place for our hunted bodies. We lay down in [Pg 268]a heap behind a burned tree-stump, and said "damn" together. Somewhere around was the fiend of Mona, and somewhere were Oakes, Hallen and Dowd, but not with us—we could swear to this, for we were in a class by ourselves and we knew one another even in the darkness. We heard a sudden scuffle in the road, and saw a giant figure rush by us, throwing a silhouette on the roadway. It turned, faced about and crouched as another figure darted from the woods across the road. Then the figure crouching made a spring, and the two swayed to and fro before us like great phantoms, and then the figures separated, and one started down the Highway followed by the other at breakneck speed. Then we heard the voice of Oakes from somewhere: "Halt! or I'll shoot." The fugitives stopped, ducked, dashed toward us and by us, into the woods, and after them came the report of Oakes's revolver—we knew it by the quick, high-pitched note—and then—Oakes himself. It was evident to us he had fired in the air, for we all saw [Pg 269]the small flame point heavenward as his weapon was discharged. Neither fugitive slackened his speed, but both rushed across the plains east by northeast into the face of the moon as it rose off the plateau of Mona. "What is who?" gasped Moore. "The which?" I answered, as a polar chill chased up my spine. "Oh, the d——l!" soliloquized Elliott. "See, the second man limps—he must be O'Brien; he is chasing the first one," whispered the doctor as we gazed into the night. "And Oakes is cavorting after the bunch—I play him straight and place," spoke Elliott; "he is gaining." We watched Oakes, fleeter than ever, steadier, disappear in the distance as the moon entered a passing cloud-bank and all became lonesome and dark. "Let's get on the plain," said Elliott, and we crawled as best we could out of the woods toward the place where the three were last seen by us. "Let's be in at the finish," I cried, and we started in the dim steely haze of the obscured moon to follow [Pg 270]the chase. Darkness impenetrable came on, and suddenly a wild moan of anguish reached us—an awful, convulsive cry of terror. It neared us and was in our very neighborhood—in our midst—and again away; and with it came the rush of feet, heavy and tired, and soon the light tread of the pursuer—the athletic, soft tread of Oakes. I shall never forget that cry of terror. It was as though the soul had left the body in anguish—it was a cry of fear greater than man seemed capable of uttering. From out of the darkness came the voice of Moore: "A maniac in terror!" Then the heavy tread was upon us again, a body darted past me, and the heavy revolver spoke again. I felt a stinging sensation in my arm, a numbness, a feeling of dread and of fear; then I reeled and recovered, and looking around me saw the figure dashing away like mad. The moon was uncovering again, and the fighting instinct of the brute was aroused within me. I knew I was wounded, but it was a trivial matter. I felt the surging of blood to my brain, the pumping of my heart, the warmth and glow of the body that comes when [Pg 271]one rallies from fear or surprise, and the next instant I was off in pursuit. Always a good runner, I seemed endowed with the speed of the wind; slowly I gained. The man before me ran rapidly but heavily; he was tired. He glanced around and moved his arms, and I realized that he was unarmed. His weapon had fallen. I shut my mouth and saved my breath, and loosened joints which had not been oiled since the days of long ago, when I played on my college foot-ball team. Slowly I closed in—the capture was to be mine—the honor for Stone, yours truly—lawyer. I unreefed some more, and the ground went by under me like mad. I was dizzy with elation and courage and bull-hearted strength, and then, just as I came within talking distance of the fleeing terror, there was a report and my right leg dragged, my stride weakened and tied itself into bowknots, and I dropped my revolver. I realized I was done for. We all know the symptoms—the starboard front pulley of my new Broadway suspenders had "busted." The next instant the "terror" had turned and was upon me. I felt a crashing fist in my face and another in my neck, a swinging blow on my [Pg 272] jaw and a quick upper cut in my solar plexus; and as the moon had just again disappeared behind the cloud, I sank to the plain of Mona nearly unconscious—overpowered. I felt hands with the power of ten men seize my wrists. I felt them being tied together with handkerchiefs; I felt a heavy weight on my stomach, and realized that I was being used as a sofa. Then I started to call for help, to speak and to struggle; but the terror who had murdered and frightened, and held up this part of the State, soaked me again with both fists. I thought of home and New York and mint juleps, and of the two dollars I spent to railroad it up to Mona, and realized that it was cheap for all I was getting. Then I started in to die; and the fiend struck a match in my face, and I nearly did die. For it was that quiet, aristocratic Elliott. "You're the darndest ass I ever saw," said he as he got off; "why didn't you tell who you were?" "Couldn't," I muttered. "I was thinking of——" I never finished that remark, for the next instant Elliott was borne down to the ground by the force of [Pg 273]the impact of a great body. He rolled about with the unknown, and tore and twisted. I heard the deafening blows rain on his head, and was powerless to aid, for my hands were tied and I was strangely weak—I was done for. "You d—— fiend! I've got you. You will murder Stone along with the others, will you? You terror, you." I recognized the voice as I heard the handcuffs click on Elliott, and realized it all. It was too much. "Hallen!" I murmured. "Thank God! Soak him again," and I heard the blows descend on Elliott's anatomy. Then I relented. "Spare him, Chief—it's Mr. Elliott." Hallen roared in surprise. "Then the murderer has gotten away, with Oakes after him. I beg pardon—I—I—ha, ha!" and then the Chief roared again as he undid us and called for the others. Lanterns were now brought from the Mansion, and a crowd of Oakes's men collected around us. I noticed that Moore and Hallen were looking at me [Pg 274]curiously; and then Oakes stepped to my side from somewhere out in the darkness. "You're sick, old fellow!" he said softly. "Sick!" and then I realized that things were strangely distant, that faces seemed far, far away, and that Moore's voice was miles off as he rushed to my side. "Wounded! Look at his arm," he cried. "Yes," I murmured; "it was that last shot—I forgot it." I tried to raise the arm and saw that a red-blue stream was running down and dripping from my hand upon the ground. I stepped forward to point to Hallen, and to tell about how he slugged Elliott; but as I moved I lurched forward, and a great strong arm closed about me and a tender voice whispered—miles—miles away. It was Oakes's voice. "Here, Hallen, give us a hand," and I felt myself lifted tenderly and carried across the plateau. I was dimly conscious that Moore was working silently, rapidly, at my side, and that the strong, supple arm of Oakes was about me, and that Hallen was [Pg 275]helping. A great wave of affection came over me for these tender, dear fellows—and I talked long and loud as Elliott wiped my face; and I told Moore that Elliott was a past master at slugging—and all the time the crowd grew. I heard the name of Mr. Clark shouted, and then my own; and then, as they bore me in at the Mansion gate, I passed away off into the distance and went into a deep, dark tunnel where all was quiet and still. And then I again heard Moore's voice saying: "He has fainted, Oakes. Get him to bed, or he will faint again." There was such gentle tenderness in the faces around me, such gentle, strong words, and such gentle, strong lifting of my body, that I sighed at the deliciousness of it all—the splendor, the beauty of my journey—and all for two dollars' railroad fare. I heard some curious statements about great bravery in dashing after the unknown, and all that sort of thing—and I knew enough to realize that the crowd had things twisted. Oakes was speaking to me like a big brother, and Hallen had somehow quit all his bluster, and was quiet and grave, and Moore and Elliott seemed foolishly attentive. I appreciated [Pg 276]their kindness, but did not quite understand, and their attentions amused me. I should have laughed outright, but things were becoming confused. Then I realized that they were worried. How peculiar it seemed! The angel of friendship was about me. I felt a strange peacefulness as I entered the great Mansion. It seemed like a palace with golden walls, and the familiar voices of welcome warmed me. Then I heard a deep, thumping, rhythmic tremor as it was borne through the air, and I knew that the boat on the river was passing the Mansion. I laughed long and loud at the peculiar words it was saying. I talked to it, commanded it to breathe more quietly, or it would disturb those asleep on the shore. Then I tried to explain to the judge that I was not a brave man—that it was all a mistake; that I had chased Elliott instead of the murderer; that the jury had failed to understand—and I laughed again. My merriment grew as I caught sight of Oakes's face; it was so nonsensical of him not to have perceived that the steamer was at the bottom of the whole mystery. I tried to explain, then I shouted [Pg 277]at their stupidity, and finally laughed angrily and in despair. I was in the grip of delirium. <hr class="tb" /> During the night they searched for the bullet, and found it—and some time next day I awoke in my right mind. <hr class="chap" />[Pg 278] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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