The Finding of Jasper Holt E-Book

Grace Livingston Hill

• Herausgeber: Classica Libris
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

The night of the train crash, their lives became entwined. And even though stories of Jasper Holt’s wild past were rampant, Jean Grayson knew her heart would always belong to this handsome stranger who had saved her life. But Jasper knew Jean’s family would never accept him. So he made her a promise that one day he would prove his worth to all who were determined to keep them apart…

Leseprobe

Grace Livingston Hill

THE FINDING OF JASPER HOLT

Copyright

First published in 1916

Copyright © 2019 Classica Libris

Chapter 1

Slowly the train rumbled out of the station, gathering speed with every moment, and leaving behind the friendly faces on the platform.

The girl who had just entered the car looked about her in dismay at the rough looking crowd by whom she was surrounded. It was the last long stretch of her journey now, out on the plains and across the desert, and the porter of the sleeper had refused to let her enter the Pullman coach without a Pullman ticket. Of course it would be all right when the conductor came, but—suppose her brother-in-law had forgotten to telegraph for the reservation and she should have to spend the night in this car?

She slipped into the only vacant seat and sat anxiously awaiting the coming of the conductor, who was not anywhere in sight.

For the most part the people about her were rough, stolid looking men, with hard brown faces. Here and there a woman was huddled wearily into a corner of the seat trying to sleep. They were commonplace folk, nearly all of them, and their very ordinariness brought her some measure of assurance, yet she shuddered at the thought of spending her night huddled into a seat, like the other women, with all those men about, free to gaze on her as she slept.

She glanced across the aisle where the seat was turned over and two men faced each other, an old man and a young one. The old man sat just across from her, his coarse stubbly face turned boldly toward her. He had crafty little eyes that intruded with their merest glance, windows out of which Coarseness, Hate, Cruelty and Fear alike might look; a sensual loose-hung mouth, and a whole repulsive atmosphere of cunning that made his face seem utterly evil. Insensibly she shrank farther away and looked hurriedly about to see if perchance there might not after all be another vacant seat where she could be entirely out of his range. Then her eyes suddenly met the eyes of his companion who faced her, the young man in the turned-over seat, and she wondered how she could have failed to notice him at once. There was something about his face—perhaps it was the splendid gray eyes that were looking at her so keenly and respectfully or was it the firm chin and almost stern set of the beautiful lines of lip and brow—that gave her confidence in him at once. For there was a strength and beauty in his face such as one seldom sees blended in a man, which marked him at once as being different from others. There was nothing weak nor womanish about him, in spite of the perfect modelling of his features and the clear coloring of his skin. The fine golden-brown hair that rippled back from his forehead like a halo gave the impression of curling out of perverseness rather than from the owner’s wish.

He was tall and lean and wiry yet giving the idea of great strength and fine training. If it had not been for an abnormal gravity and the sternness about his mouth she would have judged him to be a mere boy, yet there was an air of maturity about him that puzzled her. But his gray eyes met hers kindly, understandingly, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking—all her anxiety—anxiety—and would let her know that she was safe, that he would see that she was safe! It was with an almost startled feeling that she met his eyes a second time as if to be sure she had not been mistaken, and then settled back into her seat, somehow comforted, assured; as if he had spoken to her and told her not to fear. It was really as if something had looked out of their two souls and acknowledged a sort of mute introduction. And yet he had not been obtrusive, and almost immediately his eyes had been withdrawn from her face as if he would not intrude. He was looking now at the dreadful old man, rebuking him for his interest in her it would seem, rebuking most effectually yet without a word, for the old man wriggled around uneasily in his seat and turned his eyes away to look out of the window, the hate in his face getting the uppermost as he cast a furtive, fearsome glance at the younger man and then turned back to the window.

They were a curious pair; the younger man had the air of being the keeper of the older one. The girl wondered how they came to be travelling together, they seemed so absolutely alien to each other. It was obvious that the young man had some power over the other, and this fact gave the girl comfort.

To these two men the entrance of the lovely girl into the monotony of the journey was a refreshment. Even the old man, Scathlin, whose low type of life received only fleshly impressions, and who had grown up from his tainted babyhood without honor for any woman, felt the fineness of her nature, the rareness of her modest beauty as she came near.

To Jasper Holt she was the sudden startling revelation of some pure dream of his childhood, the reality of which he had come to doubt. His knowledge of the world told him that probably she was frail and human and selfish like all the rest if one came to know her, but for the sake of what she seemed to be he was glad of the vision and would protect her at all costs because she was a woman and ought to have been perfect. That was his attitude toward the world of women at that time.

Nevertheless as he looked again at the pure profile turned now toward her window and studied the sweet outline of the firm little chin, pleasant lips, the gentle contour of cheek and lash and brow, the luminous eyes that were glowing for the moment at the stain of sunset beginning to trickle through the gloomy gray of the sky, he could not but feel that here was something different. It was something for which he had been hoping all his life—searching for, but never finding. Something it was good just to know existed; something whose existence would make even a stranger better and braver and purer.

She was slight, small, exquisitely fashioned; dressed in some simple, clinging, dark blue material of form so suitable as to make one fail to notice just what it was. Sheer white rolled-back collar and cuffs set out the white throat and the small gloved hands; the close, dark blue hat with its graceful tilt and simple garnishing seemed just the loveliest setting for the beautiful face framed in its soft dark hair. Her face was wonderfully pure, free from self-consciousness and pride; yet she looked as if she knew her own mind and could stand like a rock for a principle. There was also a determined little uplift to her chin that showed a spirit of her own, and a fleeting dimple that promised a merry appreciation of humor if one knew her well enough; but the whole dainty person was good to look upon and Holt kept the vision within his consciousness while he covered Scathlin with his gaze.

He loathed his task of watching Scathlin, and somehow the sight of the pure-faced girl had made it even more distasteful. For almost two weeks now he had been at it, day and night. He had not let Scathlin out of his sight for one moment since he had found him in Pittsburgh two days after the theft of his wallet containing valuable papers, land grants, water rights and other documents relating to his silver mines and other property.

Holt had suspected the old man at once when the wallet was missing, partly because Scathlin had been seen twice in conversation with the man Harrington who was Holt’s sworn enemy and who was doing all he could to ruin his prospects and dispute his rights to the water power which made the working of his mines possible; and partly because Scathlin had been dismissed summarily from Holt’s employ but a few days previous to the disappearance of the property.

He had trailed Scathlin to Pittsburgh where he found him mounted on a high stool in the station restaurant eating a comfortable breakfast. The old rascal turned white under his tan and stubble and dropped his knife and fork loudly on the marble of the counter at the appearance of his former employer; but the cunning in his face had come at once to the front, and he welcomed Holt as if it were the pleasantest thing in the world to have him appear just at that lonely moment and eat breakfast with him.

It was Holt’s way not to settle the matter right then and there by turning the old man over to the police on suspicion, but to attach himself to Scathlin and find out exactly where those papers were, and who were the man’s employers in the theft. He was wary enough to know that Scathlin might have already got rid of the wallet, and he wished if possible to find out what he had done with the papers and get Scathlin into his power until he could make him produce them or tell their whereabouts.

Harrington was superintendent of large mine interests in Hawk Valley, located near Holt’s veins of silver, and owned by an Eastern syndicate. Holt knew that capital and cunning might do a great deal to cripple his interests i f they once got him in their power. Therefore he had shadowed Scathlin day and night all these days. On pretense of wanting company for a pleasure trip he had gone wherever Scathlin professed to be going, giving him no opportunity to even telegraph to any of the other conspirators for money or instructions; eating with him, sleeping with him—at least pretending to sleep—sticking to him every minute and watching him every waking second.

It had not been a pleasant task. Scathlin was a foul-mouthed, foul-souled companion for any man to tie to, and his personal habits were anything but attractive. Time and again Holt had almost turned from his task with disgust, resolved to let his rights and all go rather than be tied to the creature another hour. Yet he had stuck to him; and now, after these many days of cunning and craftiness, of trickeries too numerous to mention, of attempted escape on Scathlin’s part; after taking side trips to funerals of Scathlin’s relatives who never had existed, except in imagination; visits to business men who were supposed to be hounding Scathlin to his death and yet who were never found—after all this they were on their way back to Hawk Valley! Scathlin had come to the end of his money and his wits and had been compelled to accept the escort and financial aid of Holt back to the place from which he had started, because he did not dare to do anything else. This he did both on his own account and for the sake of his employers, who would not hesitate to leave him in the lurch to save themselves, and who had warned him above all things not to let Holt suspect his mission with those papers to the Eastern syndicate. Besides, there was always the hope that he might yet escape and make his way back in time to present those papers to the man whom Harrington had said would pay him a big reward for bringing them. Harrington and his men could not have done it without suspicion, but the plan was that Scathlin should profess to have found something valuable to the syndicate and be willing to sell it at a good price.

It was no wonder that Scathlin’s eyes had a hunted look, and his bad old face under its stubbly growth was almost pitifully desperate as he looked at the fresh face of the sweet young girl, and for the moment forgot his misery, gloating over her beauty, while Holt seemed to be engaged with the sunset view. But Holt caught the gleam in his victim’s eye and his heart burned hotly within him. He could have crushed the creature then and there for the insolence of his gaze. He could have crushed him like vermin and felt no sin. All the man in him roused to resent the evil look.

“Scathlin!” His tone was cutting with command and the old man turned cringing and met the steely glance of his captor, then impatient and trembling with anger began to look again out of the window; again the crimson wrath surged up his leathery neck and suffused his coarse features.

The girl, half aware of what had been going on, turned and took it all in, a frightened color flickering up into her cheeks. Her eyes, growing large with vague horror, met Holt’s steely gaze, saw it change and soften reassuringly, as if he were holding at bay a loathsome blood-hound and wished her to understand she need not fear. The girl, with one fleeting look of gratitude toward the young man, turned back again to her window as if nothing had happened. In fact no onlooker would have suspected that anything at all had happened, and yet really a little drama had been enacted and all the actors understood it as thoroughly as if it had been spoken. But one word only had been audible, and the girl wasn’t sure she had heard that aright.

The dusk dropped down and the train sped on over the plains.

And now the sunset stains grew deeper and blended into gold and crimson and lifted the gray into clear opal spaces of luminous beauty, spreading the panoply of color far along the horizon of the plain. It was a thing to make one look in awe, to hush evil thoughts and bring a holiness to hearts. Something of its calm and strength crept into the girl’s expression as she watched it, and once she half turned to see if Holt was watching too. But Holt was sitting facing the other way and could see only the fading trails of glory in the sky as it sped away from his gaze, though he had caught the reflection of wonder from her face and averted his own eyes as if from too holy a sight. Those who knew Holt, or thought they knew him, would have laughed loud and long at such an idea of him, but it was true. The girl felt it as she turned safely back to her sunset.

Scathlin was not enjoying the view. He was looking furtively on every side to see if there could be by any chance a good place where he might risk throwing out that cursed wallet and hope ever to find it again. If only there would be a station—or he could risk dropping it out of the window near some water tank or something. But the plain slid by, a level monotony, broken only by the rose and emerald and gold of the setting sun. Scathlin grew more and more desperate. It was growing dark, and he dared not throw the wallet where he could not find it again, or where someone else might find it—and yet! They were nearing Hawk Valley. The morning would bring them within the ranging of Holt’s men—that band of trained and devoted outlaws who were as relentless in their justice as they were careless of their lives. No mercy was to be expected from their hands if once he fell among them. He shivered as a tall shaft of a bare tree, dead and stark, stood out in the distance against the clear gold of the sunset line. It was on such a tree he had seen a cattle thief hang, ghastly against the sky, as he rode by once just at nightfall. It might easily be his fate before another sunset. If he could not get away in the night all chance of escape before they reached Hawk Valley was gone, for well he knew Jasper Holt’s men were set at intervals along the way, sentinels ready to head him off. And what treatment could he expect from either Jasper Holt or his men with that incriminating wallet in his pocket? He had been a fool to take up with Harrington’s offer. Money or no money, it wasn’t worth the risk. He was getting to be an old man and not so ready to face death as when his blood was hot and his hand steady. He had not even any weapons of defense, thanks to his grim captor who had disarmed him while he slept, the first night of their journey together. There had never been any open recognition of the fact between them, save that one glance as Scathlin put his hand to the pocket where it had been and was not. He had charged with his eyes in one look of helpless fury, and Holt’s clear gray eyes had met his unflinchingly in acknowledgment That had been all, but Scathlin knew then that there was nothing for him but to evade Holt and get away if possible. He would stand no chance in an open conflict, and his captor was untiringly vigilant. He glanced again at the stern face opposite him, wondering what would be the fate to which he was surely, swiftly hastening. States prison? Or would they take the law into their own hands? He knew what that might mean only too well, and again the desperate look passed over his face with Hate and Murder looking dimly from his eyes. How he would like to spring at that slim brown throat opposite him and throttle the life from the young fellow. Only a kid—a mere kid—and yet he had withstood many and had power to crush Scathlin in spite of all his boasted cunning. The look of a serpent crept into the little gleaming eyes of the old man as he noticed the quick glance his companion cast at the girl across the aisle; and his own eyes followed filled with hate. Yes, he would like to drive his fat, hairy fingers into the white throat of the girl before the eyes of her gallant defender if only he had Holt helpless! But instead, here was he, helpless himself! And he must find a way to escape before morning, or else get rid of that wallet in some safe way. Surely, surely Holt would be off his guard sometimes for a little space. He had scarcely slept a wink for four days; how could he endure it much longer?

But Scathlin’s cogitations were cut short by the entrance of the conductor at last and he turned to watch the girl as she spoke to him.

“I was to have had a section reserved for me,” she was saying to the conductor. “My brother-in-law, Mr. James Harrington of Hawk Valley, arranged for it, and telegraphed me that it was all right. See, I have the telegram. But the porter said I must come in here until I saw you because I had no ticket for the Pullman.”

She held out the yellow envelope and the conductor looked at it.

“Your brother’s name is Harrington? You are going to Hawk Valley?”

He looked at her sharply. “Well, just wait a few minutes till I go through the next car and then I’ll see to it. It ought to be all right.”

He bustled on his way attending to his passengers and the girl sat back again to wait.

At the name “Harrington” Scathlin had turned with a start and looked toward the girl; but even in the act he caught the narrow gleam of Holt’s half-closed eyes, and, remembering, turned back again to his window while his thoughts went pounding into new channels. He had made a mistake, of course, to let Holt see that he had heard, so he kept his eyes toward the window until it grew quite dark. But he had a plan at last. In another minute he got upon his feet, yawning, and declared his intention of getting a drink of water from the cooler at the other end of the car.

“Good idea!” said Holt, rising and following his captive down the aisle lazily.

Scathlin reached the cooler first and took his drink, while Holt stood waiting for the cup and let Scathlin go back to his seat alone, apparently not noticing him. Scathlin settled back in his seat with one eye on Holt, and one eye on the girl.

Holt stood drinking in a leisurely way, apparently interested in looking through the glass of the door into the next car though he was fully aware that Scathlin was fumbling in the inner pocket of his flannel shirt. He lingered, hoping that the old man would do something which would make him more certain of what he already believed to be true, and saw Scathlin finally, after repeated fumbling under the shirt, draw forth a small dark object that, in the one swift glimpse Holt had of it, looked like his own leather wallet in search of which he had come this long hard journey. Anxious to see what Scathlin’s next move was to be, he remained quietly standing and still apparently looking through the car door, though not a move of Scathlin’s was lost upon him. To his amazement he suddenly saw Scathlin bend forward and pick up something from the car floor, then lean toward the girl in the opposite seat and put the object in her lap, at the same time speaking to her. Had the man picked up something the girl had dropped or was he? Preposterous! The fellow wouldn’t dare, with a strange girl. She was smiling and looking down at the thing in her lap and seemed to be thanking him. She had probably dropped her handkerchief or pocketbook and Scathlin had picked it up. Holt sauntered leisurely back to his seat and found Scathlin fumbling with his shoe lace. He studied him narrowly and fancied that he detected a look of cunning satisfaction on the stubbly old face yet was puzzled to know what caused it. Had the scoundrel dared to give those papers to the girl when he stood in full view? It seemed incredible—and yet? If he had, Holt’s hands were pretty well tied and he had two to watch instead of one. He didn’t like the idea of shadowing this beautiful young woman.

Just then the conductor returned and spoke to the girl.

“Well, your berth’s reserved for you all right, but it was in the name of Harrington. It’s section seven in the next car. This your baggage? Come this way and I’ll show you.”

The girl followed the conductor, with a half hesitating glance toward Scathlin who was engaged with his shoe. Holt noticed she held her hand bag clasped tightly as if she were afraid it might be taken from her. When she was gone the night settled down unpleasantly about them and Scathlin, apparently worn out, snored as he had not dared to do for a week. But Holt sat up and studied his problem. He could not afford to take any chances on sleep that night; moreover his heart was in a tumult. This girl was coming to Hawk Valley, to visit the Harringtons. She was a sister of Mrs. Harrington, the handsomest woman, the best dressed woman, the most influential woman in all that Valley. Would he ever see the girl? Sometimes, from afar perhaps—and a bitter look swept over his face.

Scathlin slept on, with his coarse lower jaw down dropped, and all his unpleasant features relaxed. He was no charming picture to look upon. Holt noticed that there was no longer that furtive grasp of one hand upon his breast which had been since their journey together had begun. Scathlin’s horny hands, with their grasping look of cunning, were lying idly by his side, and Scathlin himself was enjoying a well-earned rest, his heavily shod feet sprawled out under Holt’s seat.

The night droned on; the train sped on its way through the darkness, and still Holt sat wide awake and thinking.

“I can’t quite dope things out,” he said to himself as he settled back in a new position.

Chapter 2

Meanwhile Jean Grayson had followed her bustling conductor into the sleeper with a sense of deep relief. She had been frankly frightened since the rough old tramp-looking creature across the aisle had landed a worn-looking wallet surreptitiously in her lap and asked if he hadn’t heard her say she was going to Mr. Harrington at Hawk Valley, and would she be so good as to give that case of important papers to him and not let anyone else know she had it?

She had accepted the trust because she did not know what else to do; and after all, it seemed a simple enough request. The man had explained that he had to go off in another direction at the next stop and could not deliver the goods himself and it was most important that it get to her brother at once. There did not seem to be any good reason why she should refuse, and yet it had frightened her, and she wished with all her heart that she had gone with the conductor to see about the sleeper and not stayed here to have this dirty old leather case put into her keeping by that dirty old man. She did not know what to do with it. She hated to put it in her dear little new handbag, and she restrained her well cut nose from a shrinking sniff as she hastily put it out of sight.

She had sat looking out of the darkened window with her heart in a tumult as the tall young man with the fine eyes and the air of reckless assurance came back to his seat. What had he to do with the old fellow? Could he be his son? No, never! But did he know about the important papers? Could he have put the old man up to giving them to her, so that, under some pretense or other, he himself might speak to her? She did not dare to look his way lest he should presume upon the old man’s speaking. This, her first Western trip, was a fearsome thing to her, although she reveled in the joy of it.

Yet, when she arose to follow the conductor and gave one swift comprehensive glance toward the opposite seat, she saw a respectful pair of gray eyes looking interestedly at her, with nothing presumptuous in them, and she instantly felt that there was no need to fear that young man. He might be dressed like a cow-boy, but he had eyes like a gentleman.

Miss Grayson was tired, for she had come a long journey, stopping a day on the way with relatives who had taken her sight-seeing and kept her going every minute, so that she was glad to creep into her berth as soon as the porter had made it up.

She shrank in dislike from the leather case in her handbag, and after some hesitation took it out and wrapped it in a leaf from a magazine she had brought with her. She could not bear to have the thing in with all her nice fresh handkerchiefs and dainty little articles. It seemed contaminating. She had a half impulse to throw it away or lose it; and then her conscience reproached her loudly for so dishonorable a thought . The papers might be valuable, of course, and in that case her brother would have just cause to blame her if she did not bring them. At the same time she hated the thought of carrying around anything that had been in the possession of that repulsive-looking man.

As she settled herself to sleep and drew around her the folds of the soft silk Pullman robe that had been her mother’s parting surprise, loving thoughts of those she had left behind her filled her mind. All the little tender words, looks and acts of loving sacrifice that she might be well fitted out for this journey, came flocking to be recognized, until unbidden tears filled her eyes. This silken robe was an extravagance, she knew, and would be paid for by many a denial on the part of father and mother, but it represented their great love for her. A thought of what they would have felt about her being accosted by that rough man and asked to carry that package for him came to trouble her, yet what other possible thing was there for her to do but to accept it? It certainly could not be dynamite or an infernal machine. Her mother would have thought of something of that nature the first thing—or infection, perhaps smallpox or something equally horrible. That was possible, of course. But still, the man looked healthy enough.

Her father? Yes, her father would undoubtedly have approved of her taking the package. Her father was one who never thought of himself when anything in the shape of duty demanded attention, and he had brought her up with the same feeling. Anyway, now that she had taken it and agreed to deliver it, there seemed nothing more to be done but to keep her word, and it was a simple enough affair, of course, and after all, quite reasonable. Why should it bother her so?

Nevertheless, it mingled with her dreaming thoughts as she drifted off to sleep, and a kind of assurance with regard to it came as she remembered the steady, clear eyes of the younger man.

Softly in her silken wrapping she lay and slept while the monotonous hum of the rushing train only lulled her to deeper slumber.

Suddenly, in the midst of the commonplace sounds of the journey there came a grinding, grating shriek as of strong metal hard pressed and unable to withstand. A crash, a jolt, then terrible confusion. The very foundations of the earth seemed unshaken, the cars climbing through the awful air, then pitching, writhing, tossing, and at last settling uncertainty in strange positions, while the night was filled with horrid sounds too varying to analyze. Cries of women and children! Groans of men in mortal agony; breaking glass and splintering timbers; rending of metal in reluctant, discordant clang! And below, rising menacingly to threaten all, came the lurid glare of flame, the wild, exultant crackle of fire that knows its opportunity and power; the desperate hysterical clamor of those who have discovered it, and the mad, brave shouts of those who would attempt to conquer it.

Jean Grayson awoke in dazed bewilderment. For a moment the noise seemed a part of her dream; her strange, huddled position on the wood at the foot of her berth, a figment of her imagination. But almost at once the cold breath from the broken window brought her to her senses. An accident! It had come then! The thing which her mother had feared and tried to provide against. She was in a railroad accident all alone and out in the wilds of the West where she was utterly unacquainted with anyone! It was characteristic of Jean that, when she realized her plight, she thought first of how her mother would take the news, and not of how she would bear the experience, or whether it meant life and death to herself. That she must get out of danger and let her mother know of her safety was her instant impulse, and from that moment her senses were keenly on the alert for every detail.

Her mother’s horror of railroad accidents made the possibilities of her present position as plain to her as if she had lived the whole experience before. She seemed to comprehend in a flash just what had happened, and about the position the car was in at the time. The lurid glare that was already leaping and flickering outside showed jagged glass in the window frame and scattered gleaming fragments all about her. She must move carefully not to be cut by them. Fire! That was the next thing she took in. That meant that her only hope of life was to get out at once. Cautiously she looked out of the window to get a better idea of things and her heart stood still with the horror of it all. For one little terrible second she forgot her mother’s fears and felt her own gasping, choking terror at what was before her. One moment she faced a probable death, felt her helplessness, and gave a cry of anguish for those who had always protected her from peril, and who were far away. Then her own brave courage rose and steadied her nerves. She resolved not to die if there were any possible way out of it; and terror relaxed its hold upon her at sight of her courage.

With resolute determination she held her horror-stricken eyes to take in the situation in detail. She’ must know everything, see everything, if she were to save herself, for she comprehended readily enough that as things were it was every one for himself. No one was going to risk his life to hunt her up and drag her forth from the pile of doomed cars.

The train had been crossing a river when the crash came. There was water down below, black and terrifying in the glare of flame that was leaping like great tongues among the ruins just ahead. She could not tell if the cause of the accident had been a broken bridge or a collision and knew little about such things to judge. The cars were piled one upon another in wild confusion, and the Pullman in which she was immured was standing on its forward end almost perpendicularly. The engine was overturned and fire was creeping upward and threatening the whole mass; while below, the great black stretch of water reflected the sight, making doubly terrible every feature.