An Oregon Girl: A Tale of American Life in the New West

An attempt at rescue by the police would, no doubt, result in the death of Dorothy. She must act alone, act at once. Having arrived at that conclusion, she arose to her feet. To get Dorothy home was the first thing to be done – the mother’s life depended upon that.

How could she get twenty thousand dollars to pay the ransom? She bent her head in thought. She had been instrumental in the ruin and disgrace of her only brother’s happy home. If it was in human power to restore happiness to that home, she would do it. The Italian is in desperate need of money. She could hypothecate her income; sell her jewels.

“I will offer him all I can possibly obtain – then, if he will not release Dorothy,” and her voice took on a soft, strange, resolute calmness. “God helping me, I will take her from him, even though,” and she looked at her own little white hands, “these do become stained red in the work.”

Then she made her way out of the park, and returned to her home.

CHAPTER VI

Sam had followed Virginia and stood unseen within ten yards of her when that morning she sat under the maple after she had left Constance. He noted how absorbed she was in thought – noted her grave, white, shocked face, and her bowed head. His sympathy went out to her. Oh, what wouldn’t he then have given to be able to clasp her in his arms, to comfort her – the woman he so madly loved! Though free and impulsive in his manner with other women, to her he was as coy and modest and respectful as a boy of fifteen.

He lingered near the premises for a time, from an impelling sympathy to be near her in her trouble, and hoping she would re-appear, but in that he was disappointed.

He returned again in the evening, resolved to call on her. He ascended the piazza steps and crossed to the door, but somehow at the moment could not muster courage to push the button. After meditating for a moment, he turned and softly passed along the piazza. On reaching the south extension he halted, for the sound of a door softly closing caught his ear, and then he saw Virginia emerging from the side entrance, closely veiled. In a moment Sam was all alertness.

He wondered at her veiled appearance at that hour, about half past ten, and at her avoiding the main front entrance. He followed at a distance and saw her enter a Washington and Twenty-third street car. He boarded the next one that came along.

Fortunately the interval between the two cars was short, there having been a breakdown on Fifth and Washington streets, resulting in the cars being bunched. Sam stood at the front end of the car beside the motorman, and in the darkness – the front inside blinds being down – was able to keep a sharp lookout at the car just ahead.

At the intersection of Washington and Twenty-third streets, the forward car stopped, and he distinctly saw a woman alight. “Virginia!” he muttered, and as his car passed on, he saw her walking toward the park entrance. One block further along Twenty-third street Sam alighted, and rapidly retraced his steps to Washington street. On rounding the corner, and coming into view of the park entrance, where blazed an arc light, he caught sight of her again, entering the gateway.

Sam briskly covered the distance, keeping well under the line of shadows.

“Did you notice the path a lady took, who entered the park a minute since?” he inquired of a park policeman.

“Yes; that way!” and the policeman waved his hand to the left.

“Thank you,” and Sam followed the direction indicated. A strange foreboding hurried him on. He was then fully aroused to something extraordinary about to happen. He walked on the grass whenever possible to muffle the sound of his footfalls, and soon was rewarded by making out the dim form of a woman some distance ahead, being still in the range of the gate arc light. There was no mistaking the figure. From that moment he never lost sight of her.

To avoid suspicion of shadowing her, he took a diverging path and boldly clambered over the hill, and proceeded toward the children’s playgrounds, apparently away from her. Passing on and in the direction of the reservoirs, he at length stopped at the fountain.

He was the “man near the fountain” whom she discovered while she was standing under the cedar.

Sam had stopped but a moment when, to his amazement, he discovered Virginia suddenly had disappeared down the hillside. He at once followed her, and was the man she again saw on the driveway beneath her. Again she disappeared, and he shrewdly suspected, into the deep shadow of the clump of firs nearby.

He was straining his eyes diagonally up the slope, trying to penetrate the gloom, when a low scream of terror assailed his ears, and was quickly followed by a low, reassuring masculine voice. He determined to get near them. He threw himself flat against the bank and, shielded some by the unmowed grassy slope, dragged himself along for about fifty feet, to where the driveway, rounding westward, divided them from the long flight of steps. He passed within fifty feet of the couple, then cautiously pulled himself near the summit. The ridge was strategically of great value. It enabled him to flank them unseen.

He immediately availed himself of its cover and sneaked slowly and cautiously along the side of the crest to a point which he judged to be near enough to them, and then he peered above the summit. The couple were between him and the dim city lights. He strained his ears to catch their words, and drew himself closer, inch by inch, fearing discovery, yet desperately anxious to catch the purpose of the meeting, and when he saw the glittering knife, his alarm gave expression in the low whistle.

When he sprang on in pursuit of Jack, it was with a determination to ascertain who he was, where he lived, and, if possible, to gain some knowledge of his purpose in this meeting with Virginia at such an unseasonable time and place.

The few words of low-spoken conversation he had heard gave him no clue to the real object of the meeting; but he was convinced that some grave and momentous purpose was involved to have induced Virginia to keep so perilous an appointment alone.

“Did she make the appointment?” The thought was no sooner uttered than it gave place to another equally as suggestive, for just then thoughts raced through Sam’s brain with amazing rapidity. “Or, rather, was she not compelled to meet the stranger by some power which he had obtained over her – some secret of her life which she feared – a deathly fear, of disclosure, and which this man knew, and its power he knew only too well, how to wield.”

The more he thought about it, the more the mystery, for such it appeared to him, deepened. He determined to fathom it. Inured to a rough, open-air life on the Texas plains, his constitution was hard and tough, and well seasoned for the job presented – and, it must be confessed, it was to his liking.

Sam felt his blood tingle as his enthusiasm rose to the prospect of a genuine adventure, and he hurried along, over the soft, yielding grass, to catch sight of the fellow ahead. A clump of low bushes suddenly confronted him. It was an unusually dark spot, and then, for the first time, he thought of the ugly knife the stranger had displayed, and realized that he himself was unarmed.

He almost halted – wary of running into an ambush, and cautiously made a wide detour, meanwhile alert for any sudden surprise from the direction of the bush. Discovering no sign of a crouching figure there, he hastened on, and finally caught sight of a moving shadow, as it crossed a faint shaft of light shot from a window of a dwelling on Ford street, to his left.

“Ah, I guess so. That’s the party,” he muttered to himself, and from that moment Sam was as keen on the trail as a sleuth on the scent, never losing sight of his quarry, but himself avoiding, as he believed, discovery.

Occasionally, as the moon cleared from an obscuring cloud, he could make out the man halting under the shelter of a fir or clump of saplings, evidently to listen for sounds of a pursuer, and then, seemingly satisfied, again move on.

So far the direction of his course was toward the reservoir, but of a sudden he turned, and sharply cutting across Sam’s front, swiftly entered the deep gloom of a cluster of cedars, where he was lost to the eyes of the pursuer.

It was plain that his man intended to avoid exit by the main gate, or by Park avenue, a circumstance to cause Sam keen chagrin, for he hoped by an adroit move to get a good square look at the fellow’s face as he would pass under the entrance arc light.

To the right, a foot path wound its way to the main gate. To the left of a cluster of dark firs stretched a comparative level, past the bear pit, and right down to the deer corral; but what park features lay beyond and between the firs and corral, he could not determine. In his effort to mislead Sam, the fugitive had doubled on his track, and at that moment was but a short distance west of the starting point. Sam reasoned that this man would not cross that smooth, grassy plot, nor emerge from his retreat and go down the path, but most likely would take a direct course through the cluster of firs, and under the shelter of their dark shadow strike the fence directly opposite, and so reach the Barnes road, a hundred yards or so west of the park gate.

It was obvious that time was an important factor. There being no possible place of concealment between his present position and the firs, he must either go back and take a circuitous route, or boldly approach by the path. He chose the latter. Skirting the firs – for he dared not enter the cluster’s gloomy precincts in his defenseless condition – he soon passed them and discovered a succession of odd-looking shrubs, trained to fantastic growths by the gardener. They afforded excellent cover right down past the bear pit to the deer corral fence, which ran along the brow of the hill; farther down, a second fence, which still exists, bounded the deer corral and separated the park from the Barnes road. A little further along and against the upper picket fence (since removed), a mass of tangled ivy and Virginia creeper foliage, revelled in wild luxuriance.

The vines had seized upon and had grown about and over some dwarf locust trees, forming a series of natural bowers, rather picturesque by daylight, but at night, dismally dark and forbidding.

Sam hesitated, which was well for him, for under the shadow of these dark vines, Rutley and Jack Shore had met by previous arrangement. They were silently watching him.

“I cannot shake him off. He tracks me like a bloodhound,” Jack informed his companion, in a whisper.

“The meddlesome fool!” replied Rutley. “If he will not stop following you – why – he carries his life in his hands.”

“No, no! Not that. We don’t want any killing in ours, Phil, anything but that. Who is he?”

“Sam Harris. I saw him follow Virginia and was sure he would run foul of you.”

“The simpleton is harmless anyway. He is moving to the fence. See him? Hist!”

After studying the wild growth for a few moments, Sam decided to approach it by way of the fence. There he suddenly dropped to his knees and crept noiselessly – very close beside the fence, toward the tangle. As he neared it he could make out its black cavernous recesses. Twice he paused, his eyes strained with the utmost tension of watchfulness against a surprise, for he now fully believed that the man he was attempting to shadow was a desperate character.

However, he crept nearer, hardly stirring a blade of grass, so cautious was his progress – so silent his movements. He listened intently, scarcely breathing, lest its sound should betray his presence. His hands gently touched a vine to part the leaves – instantly he was greeted with a hiss and a rattle, and then something glittered close to his eyes, which in the moment of his startled alarm he believed to be the glitter of a reptile’s fangs. It caused him to bolt suddenly with a panicky feeling at his heart, and then it brought from Jack a soft chuckle of merriment.

“He’s not as plucky as the girl. We must throw him off the scent at any cost,” whispered Rutley, “or we will be trapped.” Suddenly he laid his hand on Jack’s arm and continued with a low, sardonic laugh: “I have it, Jack. You lead him down on the Barnes road; I’ll meet him there,” and without any further delay Rutley slipped down the steep slope to his automobile, which lay in the deep shadow of the canyon walls, a little further to the west, where he waited with the evil purpose in his heart for the climax.

Sam was no coward. He had faced dangerous situations fearlessly, but that hiss and rattle, in the stillness of a dark, lonely and forbidding place, fairly raised his hair, and lent a lightness to his feet that amazed him, when he halted and noted the distance covered in the few moments of his flight.

“One of those deadly reptiles got out of the park zoo,” he thought, “sneaked his way into that jungle – I guess so!” and he wiped the beads of perspiration from his face as he added aloud: “An almighty close call! But,” and he looked up at the dark sky, and then around and about, and as gathering confidence returned to him, continued: “I shall not give up yet, not yet. I guess not.”

Yet it was apparent his pursuit of the stranger had signally failed, and he stood motionless wondering what course then best for him to adopt.

True, he was in a dilemma, and instinctively realized that to remain in the park was useless. So, without forming any practical conclusion, and for the purpose of keeping active, he again moved toward the fence. It was then he conceived the notion to climb over the fence and make a short descent to the gate, in order to catch sight of Virginia, for she could not be far away yet, and to follow her and secretly to protect her on her return to her home. With that object in mind, he climbed the fence, and, securing a position on its top, looked cautiously about. He was some distance to the west of the tangle of vines, from which he was screened by the foliage of a small tree that grew nearby.

The gate light threw a faint glimmer along the fence, and on the Barnes road in the gorge below. He peered down the steep hillside, and looked up and down the road. There being no one in sight, he let his legs slip quietly down the other side of the fence, and gradually lowered himself, without sustaining other injury than a few trivial scratches. As he brushed mechanically the debris which had clung to his clothes, he was surprised to see the figure of a man step out, seemingly from the fence itself, and slip down the hillside, and climbing the lower fence, cross the almost dry bed of the stream, close to the road, and proceed cityward.

Sam was sure the man, whoever he was, had not been on the corral side of the fence a moment before, and to give the mysterious appearance a deeper significance, the point of exit was about the location of the tangled vines. The appearance of the man differed from the one he had followed, inasmuch that one had on a long coat and bushy beard, the other wore a short pilot coat and mustache. For a moment Sam was puzzled, and he scratched his head. Suddenly he broke out in an unconscious whisper to himself, as though urged on by some supernatural agency, for afterward it surprised him when he thought of that moment: “Damned if I don’t think he’s the same party I’ve been after, disguised.”

And he made straight for the place, as near as he could estimate, where the man had emerged.

It was a few moments before he found it, but a close examination soon revealed two yielding pickets of the fence. True, just sufficient to admit a man’s body sideways, but there it was, as he afterwards discovered, and perfectly screened from observation by masses of slender leaf-laded branches and twigs. The inner, bushy part being skilfully cut away. The trick employed to evade him was now palpable. The hiss, the buzzing rattle, the glitter – “Ah; it was the glitter of a steel blade” – and at the thought he shivered, as with an icy chill, for he realized how dangerously near a death-trap he had ventured. As the reaction came, his face flamed with the hot blood of indignation and chagrin at the smart dodge by which he had been temporarily baffled.

In the distance, down near the park entrance, was still dimly visible the retreating form of a man. Sam determined to follow him.

He slid and partly tumbled down the steep hillside, sprang over the lower fence, and crossed the bed of the creek and on to the road – and was so intent on his mission that he did not hear or see, until it was almost upon him, a dark, noiseless machine, approaching from the rear. He moved hastily aside to let it pass, but to his intense astonishment, the automobile followed him with evident intention of running him down. Again he sprang aside, but too late. The front wheel grazed his left leg and swung him around on to the rear wheel, which hurled him violently to the ground.

Having accomplished his purpose, Rutley at once stopped the machine, alighted, and examined Sam.

He was soon joined by Jack, who asked, in a low voice: “Have you killed him?”

“I don’t think so. Bad gash on the side of his head, though.”

“Dangerous?”

“Impossible for me to say.”

“Just unconscious?” anxiously inquired Jack.

“Yes; but I don’t think he will interfere with us again for some time. What shall we do with him?”

“Take him home.”

“Good idea,” grunted Rutley. “It becomes you decidedly well, Jack, after being a villain, to play the good Samaritan. Well, take this handkerchief and bind his wound,” and he raised Sam’s head while Jack bound up the wound.

“It will make old Harris feel under an obligation to me.”

“And you can touch him for the loan of ten thousand, to square accounts,” added Jack. And again Rutley laughed.

“Come, let’s pack him on to the machine.”

CHAPTER VII

Shortly after the insult forced upon him by John Thorpe at the Harris reception, and finding it impossible to enjoy the spirit of the gay throng, Mr. Corway took his departure.

Disappointed in his endeavor to communicate with Hazel, who deemed it discreet to avoid his presence until after the affair had been cleared up – and actuated by the purest motives, he could not but feel that he was the mistaken victim of some foul play with which fate had strangely connected him.

He recalled the profound respect he had always entertained for and on every occasion he had shown Mrs. Thorpe. And as his thoughts of the affair deepened, his natural fire of resentment softened and died out as effectually as though he had been summoned to stand beside the deathbed of some very dear friend. And the more he thought of it, the more disagreeable and repugnant a quarrel with John Thorpe appeared to him; yet his honor as a gentleman grossly insulted, forbade any other way out of it.

Finally he decided to consult Mr. Harris on the best course to pursue, and for that purpose determined to visit Rosemont the next day.

It was well on in the afternoon that he left his hotel for the Jefferson street depot, and while walking along First street he noticed a closed “hack,” drawn by a pair of black horses, rapidly proceeding in the same direction.

As it passed him, he felt sure that he had caught a glimpse of Lord Beauchamp’s profile, through the small, glazed lookout at the back of the vehicle.

It was late when Corway returned from Rosemont, and strangely coincident, as he stepped down off the car he saw that same “hack” move off, and that same face inside, made plain by a chance gleam of light from a street lamp, that quivered athwart the casement of the door. But except for a thought of “devilish queer, unless ‘me lord’ was expecting some one,” he attached no further importance to it, and dismissed it from his mind.

He proceeded up Jefferson street with head bent low, engrossed in deep meditation, for Mr. Harris was unable to give him any concrete advice on the matter, and he was recalling to memory every conceivable act he had committed, or words he had uttered that could have been possibly misconstrued by Mr. Thorpe to urge the latter to a frenzy and so violent an outburst, when he was abruptly halted by a peremptory order: “Hands up!”

Simultaneously two masked men stepped out from the shadow of a gloomy recess of a building between Second and Third streets, and one of them poked the muzzle of an ugly-looking revolver in his face.

At that moment Mr. Corway had his hands thrust deep in his light overcoat pockets, and the suddenness of the demand made at a time when his mind was in a perturbed, chaotic state, evidently was not clearly comprehended. At any rate, he failed to comply instantly, with the result that he received a heavy blow on the back of his head with some blunt instrument, which felled him like a log. His unquestioned personal courage, and his reputation of being a dead shot at twenty paces availed him nothing. He was not permitted time, short as was needed, to wrest his mind from its pre-occupied business to grasp a mode of defense, before he was struck down. He thought he had met with, what many others before him have met on the streets of Portland after dark, a “holdup.”

When he recovered consciousness the smell of tar and whiskey was strong about him. To his dazed senses, for his brain had not completely cleared of a stunned sensation in his head, this smell was incomprehensible, and suddenly becoming startled, he cried out, half aloud: “For the love of God, where am I?” And then a recollection of the apparent “holdup” dawned on his mind.

He lay still for a moment trying to trace his actions following the blow he had received, but in vain; all was a blank. It was very dark where he was lying, and he fancied he heard the swish of waters. He put out his right hand and felt the wooden side of a berth. He put out his left hand and felt a wooden wall. Then he tried to sit up, but the pain in his head soon compelled him to desist.

He lay quiet again and distinctly heard a sound of straining, creaking timbers. He at once concluded he was on a ship. “Why! Wherefore! Good God, have I been shanghaied?” were the thoughts that leaped to his mind, and notwithstanding the pain in his head, he attempted to sit up, but his head bumped violently against some boards just above him, and he fell back again, stunned. He had struck the wooden part of the upper berth. He, however, soon recovered and commenced to think lucidly again. He knew how prevalent the practice of forcibly taking men to fill an ocean ship’s crew had become in Portland and other Coast cities by seamen’s boarding house hirelings, and he felt satisfied that he was one of their victims.

He put his hand in his pocket for a match; there was none; and his clothes felt damp, then a fresh whiskey odor entered his nostrils. “Have I been intoxicated?” The question startled him, but he could not remember taking any liquor. “No; I am sure of that, but why this odor; perhaps this berth has been occupied by some ‘drunk’.”

A feeling of disgust urged him to get out of it at once, and he threw his leg over the side of the berth and stood upright.

The pain in the back of his head throbbed so fiercely that he clapped his hand over it, which afforded only temporary relief. He then thought of his handkerchief, which he found in his pocket, and though smelling of whiskey, he bound it about his head.

Being now in full possession of his faculties, and feeling strong on his legs, he determined to investigate his quarters. “Oh, for a light!”

Again he felt in his pockets for a match and found none, but he discovered that his watch was gone, and a further search revealed that every cent of his money was gone.

At this time, in addition to occasional indistinct sounds of the swish of waters against the bow, he heard some tramping about overhead, as by barefooted men, acting seemingly under orders from a hoarse voice farther away.

His first impulse was to shout to apprise them of his presence, but on second thought decided to remain silent for a time, or until he could determine their character.

So he proceeded to grope around, first extending his foot in different directions, and then his hands. He found three berths, one above the other, and then, fearful of bumping his head against some projecting beam or other obstacle, put out his left hand as a feeler before him, and slowly worked along by the side of the berths.

Soon his foot struck something hard, unlike wood, for it appeared to give a little, and putting down his hand, felt it to be a coil of rope. It was in an open space at the end of the berths. A little further his foot struck some wood, and feeling about with his hand, found it was a partition wall. On rounding the partition a very thin ray of light issued from a crevice in front, and then he discovered steps.

He crawled up to a door, opened it, and peered out on a pile of lumber. Above it masts towered up into the darkness, with sails hoisted, but unset and flapping lazily to and fro in the wake of the breeze.

It was near the dawn, light clouds almost transparent and partly obscuring the moon, drifted along in the sky, while here and there, through openings of deepest blue, glittered countless stars.

The air was fresh, too, a little raw and chill, but good to inhale after the dead rank odor from which he had just escaped.

An open space in the lumber pile just in front of the forecastle door, and left to facilitate ingress and egress, gave him room to stretch. The light that glimmered faintly through a chink in the door was from a lantern that hung on the fore mast, a few feet above the deck-load of lumber.

By the aid of this light he looked over and along the surface of the lumber aft to where some men were dimly silhouetted against the aft sail, then swinging abeam, by a lantern on the poop.

Without hesitation he mounted the lumber and was immediately accosted by a gruff voice from behind: “Where away now shipmate?”

“That’s something I should like to know,” replied Corway, turning around and facing the questioner.

Then he saw that the ship was being towed down the Columbia River, of which he was certain by its width, by a steamer, and the man who had addressed him was leaning on the boom that swung over the forecastle.

“You’ll know soon enough when your ‘watch’ comes,” said the man with a grunt that may have been meant for a laugh.

“I say, friend,” went on Corway, pleadingly, “I am not a sailor, and as there must be some mistake about me being on this ship, may I ask what means were used to get me aboard?”

“Well, that’s a rummie,” said the fellow, leering at Corway, and after a moment of seeming reflection, he continued: “Well, I reckon it’s not a mate’s place to give out information, but bein’ you’ve a sore top an’ wearin’ city clothes, I will say this much: you had stowed away such a bally lot of booze that you come to the ship like a gentleman, sir. Yes, sir. And nothing short of a hack with a pair of blacks to draw it, would do for you, sir.”

“In a hack, you say!” exclaimed Corway, alertly.

“Yes, sir; in a hack, just as we cast off from the sawmill wharf at Portland.”

“Strange! The hack I saw yesterday afternoon, and again at the depot last night, was drawn by black horses,” muttered Corway to himself, and after a moment of deep reflection, went on: “Looks like a conspiracy to get me out of the way. I say, my good fellow, do you remember the time I was brought on board and how many were in the party?”

“That’s none o’ my business,” replied the mate, turning away.

“Oh, come now,” said Corway, pleadingly, for he believed this man could tell more about the affair than he cared to.

“Well, all I seen was three swabs that said they was from the Sailor boardin’ house, chuck you aboard about two bells,” replied the mate, indifferently, as he straightened himself up.

Corway then noted the huge proportions of the fellow and thought: “What a terrorizing bully he could be to the poor sailors that chanced to anger him at sea.”

“But I never was in a sailor boarding house in my life.”

“Oh, tryin’ to crawfish from your bargain, eh?” laughed the big fellow. “It won’t go; ship’s bally well short-handed, long vige, too, and the capt’n had to do it!”

“Do what?” Corway sharply snapped.

“Why, he pays over the money afore they’d h’ist ye over the rail. Better talk to the capt’n. He’s comin’ for’ard now,” and the mate stepped over and leaned on the bulwark.

Corway at once turned and moved toward the captain, who was approaching with his first officer, from amidships, smoking a cigar.

“Yes, I am the captain. What do you want?”

“To be put ashore!” Corway demanded. “I’ve been sandbagged and robbed, and evidently sold to you for a sailor, which I am not.”

“Not a sailor, eh,” the captain said, taking the cigar from his mouth and looking sharply at Corway. “What did you sign the articles for?”

“I never signed any articles.” By this time Corway was fully alive to his position and spoke with rising heat and ill-suppressed indignation.

“Oh, yes you did!” sneered the first officer, “but you were too drunk to remember it.”

“Repeat that, and I’ll choke the words back down your throat,” and Corway stepped menacingly toward him.

The captain held up his hand warningly and looked at Corway as if he was daffy, then said slowly and meaningly: “Be careful, young man; that is insubordination; a repetition will land you in irons. The boarding-house master swore that he saw you sign the articles, and he had other witnesses to your signature to satisfy me before I paid him your wages for six months in advance on your order.”

“I signed no articles, and I know nothing about it,” fumed Corway. “And I again demand, as an American citizen, that you put me ashore, or I shall libel this ship for abduction.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” sneered the first officer, who was unable to conceal his ill-will to Corway since the latter’s threat to choke him. “Give the dandy a lady’s handkerchief, and he’ll believe the ship’s a jolly good wine cask.”