# The Red Mist/Chapter 14

CHAPTER XIV
A MARRIAGE BY DURESS
THE girl was evidently right, although the path the party followed swung so far to the left I could see little of them from the window. The fence concealed their number, but there was a dozen, at least, and they moved steadily, the red flames gleaming on what I took to be gun barrels. They disappeared behind a low shed, merging almost mysteriously in its shadow. I heard no orders given, no sound of a voice. The silently moving figures seemed more like specters than men. As I strove vainly to discover where they had vanished I perceived the faint tinge of gray across the eastern sky. Daylight was coming; the gang meant to search the house again, perhaps fire it as they had the stable, and then ride away before the Federal garrison at Lewisburg could receive the alarm. The light of the fire would certainly be perceived there by the sentries, and reported. Perhaps already the troopers were in their saddles—but they would be too late. I turned away from the window to perceive Nichols sitting up on the edge of the bed.
​"What's afire?" he asked.
"The stable," I answered crossing the room, "and, as near as I can make out the whole gang is headed back this way to finish their job. Get down in the corner, where you cannot be seen from the windows. Oh, yes you can; you are not so badly hurt. Miss Noreen."
She did not answer, but came to where I was standing, gliding swiftly along in the shadow of the wall. The light of the blazing stable illumined the face upturned questioningly to mine.
"What do you suppose those men will do?"
"That is all guesswork. The firing of the stable may have been an accident; but if it was done purposely then I believe they will also apply a torch to the house before they leave. But I am not so afraid of that, as I imagine the cowards will ride away so soon as they are assured the fire is well started. They will fear the approach of soldiers from Lewisburg. Of what does that garrison consist?"
"Two troops of cavalry—but what is it you most fear?"
"That the search without has convinced Cowan that we are still hidden in the house. Anything else is preferable to having you fall into the hands of that villain. He came here with one object in ​view; and will not give up while there is a hope left. Is there any other place better than this in which to hide?"
She shook her head.
"Well, then we must fight it out here if they come; you have your revolver—ah! the squad is already below; listen!"
We stood side by side, scarcely breathing, close to the bolted door. The flames of the burning stable were dying down, yet there was sufficient light to render every object in the room plainly visible. Intent as I was on every slight sound below and without, I kept my eyes on Nichols, seated dejectedly in one corner. Feet tramped noisily back and forth in the lower hall, and the sound of voices reached us, the words indistinguishable. There was an echo of splintered wood, the crash of dishes, and a loud laugh. The fellows seemed to be looting the kitchen and pantry, destroying whatever they could not use. Suddenly there arose a sound of smashing glass at the front of the house, and the tinkling of a piano as if some rough hand swept across the keys. Noreen pressed closer, lifting her eyes in appeal.
"They—they are searching the house," she whispered, her voice shaking, "and—looting it. Do you hear that? they are even tearing the carpet from the floor. Some of them will come up here."
​"I am afraid so—but you must not lose your nerve. We shall have to fight!"
"Fight? yes; but what use?" and she grasped my arm with both hands. "Why—why they are ten to one, and there is no chance for us to outwit them. Do not think me a fool or a hysterical girl—it—it is not that! I—I would not be so afraid, only for that man. I cannot fall into his power. I will kill myself first! You do not know Anse Cowan; but I do; he is a dirty, foul, cruel dog; I would rather die than have his hands touch me. I hate and despise him; he is an incarnate brute—and—and he is here after me!"
"Hush," I urged, holding her tightly, her slight form trembling. "Do not let go yet; they may not even come up the stairs."
"But they will," she insisted. "I tell you I know the man. He—he swore he would marry me two years ago; he told me so, and I laughed at him. He stopped my father on the road, held a rifle to his head, and boasted that some day he would make me pay his debts. This is no mere incident of war—it is revenge! I—I would not be frightened but for that—that awful alternative. Tell me—tell me what to do!"
She stared pleadingly into my face, but, reading no answer there to her wild appeal, sank to her knees, ​and buried her face in her hands. All that was strong about the girl seemed swept away by sudden, uncontrollable terror—by dread of Anse Cowan. While there appeared to be some hope of escape her courage had sustained her, but now, all at once, it gave way entirely, leaving her in a perfect panic of fear. I realized fully the nature of this threat which had broken her spirit. She was no less womanly, no less worthy respect and love, in her shrinking of terror. It was not death she dreaded, nor any physical danger—it was dishonor; the contaminating touch of a brutal hand, the foul insult of a dirty cur. But what could I say? What could I do? I stood helpless, uncertain, unable even to find words of encouragement. No thought, no plan occurred to me—only to defend her while I lived. A hoarse, strange voice roared out an order, seemingly from the very foot of the stairs.
"That's enough of that, Samuels! Here, take your men up above. Be lively now, and don't let a rat get away."
The girl lifted her head; then got to her feet clinging to the bed-post. I could see the glitter of a pistol in her hand. A thought swept through my brain—so daring, so reckless, I gasped at the mere wildness of the suggestion. Yet it might answer; it might succeed! But would she consent; even in ​her desperation, in the extreme of her terror, would she grasp at such a straw? There was nothing else—not another chance. This might not be one—yet it would surely serve to delay; it would place me in between her and Anse Cowan. He could only reach her over my dead body; for the moment, at least, it would block his plan. She could not legally marry him, if she was once my wife! Of course the man might not hesitate in his mad anger, even at murder—yet again it was possible that my uniform would save me—the troops at Lewisburg were not far away; fear of them might make the villain cautious. It was a chance—a desperate, reckless chance—and no more! But the thought—crazy as it was—flashed instantaneously through my brain; took possession of me. Only the girl whose eyes just then met mine—
"I—I have thought of one way," I said eagerly, the words coming forth almost incoherent. "That is if you will listen to what I propose. There is nothing else feasible so far as I can see. They—they are in the front rooms now—hear them! We haven't a moment to lose. Will you—will you consent to marry me?"
She shrank back a step, staring at me with wide-opened eyes, breathing heavily.
"Marry! marry you?" she faltered wildly. ​"Why what can you mean! I—I do not understand!"
"Of course not—the conception is wild, impractical, perhaps. It must seem so to you—yet listen. It is the one way left open to save you from Anse Cowan. You can trust me? You do trust me, do you not?"
"Ye-es—but—"
"This is no time to question. They are coming here now, those fellows with Anse Cowan at their head. You know what for. Whatever the real object may be some among them have not hesitated at murder for its attainment—they will not spare you. The question is not do you wish to marry me; but do you trust me more than you do Anse Cowan? Do you hear them breaking down those doors at the front of the house? There, by the sound, someone is already in the room next to this. Listen! it will be a form only—I am not conceited enough to believe you desire me for your husband. But you know who I am; you have confidence in my honor, and I offer you this opportunity to escape from that brute. He cannot marry you if you are already my wife—"
"He—he could kill you."
"Yes, there are enough of them; but that might happen anyway. No doubt it would, for otherwise ​I should fight to the end. I do not think being your husband will add in the least to my danger—and it will possibly, legally, protect you."
"But how can I? Will it be legal?"
"Noreen, don't stop to argue, or doubt," I urged, grasping her hand in eagerness. "We haven't time. Listen to those voices in the hall! Of course it will be legal—Nichols is an ordained minister, and no license is required. I shall never attempt to hold you, Noreen, and any court will set you free the moment you tell the story. The one, the only thing, for you to consider now, is escape from Anse Cowan."
"You do this to—to save me?"
"To keep you from falling helplessly into the clutches of a beast—tell me yes! My God, girl, there they are now trying the door! Answer—will you?"
"Yes—yes, Tom Wyatt—"
With one leap past her I had Nichols by the collar, the muzzle of my revolver at his head. A heavy foot crashed against the locked door, and a voice without gave utterance to an oath.
"Marry me to this girl," I commanded sternly. "Come now, not a word; don't wait to ask a question. Noreen, take my hand—"
"Open up in there or we'll break down the door!" came hoarsely from the hallway.
​My eyes never left Nichols' face. What he read of threat I know not, but his lips began to stumble through the form, though I could scarcely distinguish a word. His face was gray with terror, and I dare not look aside at the silent girl—only I vaguely realized that the hand held in mine trembled, and once, when she had to speak, the two words uttered were almost a sob.
Never surely was there a stranger marriage in all the world. The dying embers of the stable fire shot red gleams of flame over us through the unshaded windows, giving to Nichols a ghastly look, and glowing on the steel barrel of the revolver I held poised at his head. His voice faltered and broke, and clotted blood rendered hideous one side of his face, while his hands shook as if with palsy. All the sneaking coward in him was manifest. Outside a dozen voices roared, one rising gruff above the others shouting orders. Once a single shot crashed through the upper panel of the door and broke the glass of a window opposite. The girl, startled, reeled against me, and the preacher stopped, gasping for breath.
"No firing, you fool!" roared a deep voice angrily. "We don't want any dead ones—beat down the door!"
"Go on!" I ordered grimly, and thrust the black ​muzzle hard against his cheek. The preacher choked, but the usual words of the ritual—sounding almost like mockery—dropped mechanically from his tongue.
"And now I pronounce you man and wife, and whom God hath joined together, let not man put asunder. Amen."
She gave vent to a little sobbing cry, half stifled in her throat, and shrank away from me. I knew that her face was buried in her hands, yet had no time to look that way, or utter a word. Rifle butts were crashing in the panels of the door; I could perceive already dim figures revealed through the jagged openings made in the light wood, a vista of faces, a gleam of weapons.
"Hit lower down!" yelled the same gruff voice of command. "There is a bolt that holds fast—reach in Saunders!"
"Get back—beyond the bed," I called, pushing her behind me, and bracing myself for the first shock. The door gave, sagging aside on its hinges, and half falling inward, and through the opening men tumbled forward, carbines gripped in their hands. The red light gleamed ghastly across their faces, and revealed—the blue uniform of Federal cavalry.