on their hands and knees. Oh, God!”
He struck his clenched fist across his eyes.
“And all the time I was watching the awe and the wonder come up like a fire in the eyes of Kate, while she looked after you.”
Harrigan watched him with the same stupid amazement.
“Harrigan,” said McTee at last, “you’ve won her. When I walked out by myself today, I saw that I was the only obstacle between her and her happiness. She doesn’t dare tell you she loves you, for fear that I’ll try to kill you. So I’ve decided to step out from between—I have stepped out! I’m going back to Scotland and get into the war. If I have fighting enough, I can forget the girl, maybe, and you! I’ve talked to the British consul already, and he’s given me a note that will take me over the water. So, Harrigan, I’ve merely come to say good-by to you— and you can say good-by for me to Kate.”
“Wait,” said Harrigan. “There are a good many kinds of fools, but a Scotch fool is the worst of all. Take that paper out of your pocket and tear it up. Ah-h, McTee, ye blind man! Can’t ye see that gir-rl’s been eatin’ out her hear-rt for the love av ye, damn your eyes? Can’t ye see that the only thing that keeps her from throwin’ her ar-rms around your neck is the fear of Harrigan? Look!”
He pulled out the note which the consul had given him.
“I’ve got the same thing you have. I’m going to go over the water. I tell you, I’ve seen her eyes whin she looked at ye, McTee, an’ that’s how I know she loves ye. Tear up your paper! A blight on ye! May ye have long life and make the girl happy—an’ rot in hell after!”
“By God,” said McTee, “we’ve both been thinking the same thing at the same time. And maybe we’re both wrong. Kate said she had something to say to us. Let’s see her first and hear her speak.”
“It’ll break my heart to hear her confess she loves ye, McTee—but I’ll go!”
They went to the sleepy clerk behind the desk and asked him to send up word to Miss Malone that they wished to see her.
“Ah, Miss Malone,” said the clerk, nodding, “before she left—”
“Left?” echoed the two giants in voices of thunder.
“She gave me this note to deliver to you.”
And he passed them the envelope. Each of them placed a hand upon it and stared stupidly at the other.
“Open it!” said Harrigan hoarsely.
“I’m troubled with my old failing—a weakness of the eyes,” said McTee. “Open it yourself.”
Harrigan opened it at last and drew out the paper within. They stood under a light, shoulder to shoulder, and read with difficulty, for the hand of Harrigan which held the paper shook.
Dear lads, dear Dan and Angus:
As soon as you left me, I went to the British consul, and from him I learned the shortest way of cutting across country to the railroad. By the time you read this, I am on the train and speeding north to the States.
I have known for a long time that the only thing which keeps you from being fast friends is the love which each of you says he has for me. So I have decided to step from between you, for there is nothing on earth so glorious as the deep friendship of one strong man for another.
I fear you may try to follow me, but I warn you that it would be useless. I have taken a course of training, and I am qualified as a nurse. The Red Cross of America will soon be sending units across the water to care for the wounded of the Allies. I shall go with one of the first units. You might be able to trace me to the States, but you will never be able to trace me overseas. This is good-by.
It is hard to say it in writing. I want to take your hands and tell you how much you mean to me. But I could not wait to do that. For your own sakes I have to flee from you both.
Now that I have said good-by, it is easier to add another thing. I care for both of you more than for any man I have ever known, but one of you I love with all my soul. Even now I dare not say which, for it might make enmity and jealousy between you, and enmity between such men as you means only one thing—death.
I have tried to find courage to stand before you and say which of you I love, but I cannot. At the last moment I grow weak at the thought of the battle which would follow. My only resort is to resign him I care for beyond all friends, and him I love beyond all other men.
I know that when I am gone, you will become fast friends, and together you will be kings of men. And in time—for a man’s life is filled with actions which rub out all memories—you will forget that you loved me, I know; but perhaps you will not forget that because I resigned you both, I built a foundation of rock for your friendship.
You will be happy, you will be strong, you will be true to one another. And for that I am glad. But to you whom I love: Oh, my dear, it is breaking my heart to leave you!
Kate
One hand of each was on the paper as they lowered it and stared into each other’s face, with a black doubt, and a wild hope. Then of one accord they raised the paper and read it through again.
“And to think,” muttered Harrigan at last, “that I should have ruined her happiness. I could tear my heart out, McTee!”
“Harrigan,” said the big Scotchman solemnly, “it is you she means. See! She cried over the paper while she was writing. No woman could weep for Black McTee!”
“And no woman could write like that to Harrigan. Angus, you can keep the knowledge that she loves you, but let me keep the letter. Ah-h, McTee, I’ll be afther keepin’ it forninst me heart!”
“Let’s go outside,” said McTee. “There is no air in this room.”
They went out into the black night, and as they walked, each kept his hand upon the letter, so that it seemed to be a power which tied them together.
“Angus,” said Harrigan after a time, “we’ll be fightin’ for the letter soon. Why should we? I know every line of it by heart.”
“I know every word,” answered McTee.
“I’ve a thought,” said Harrigan. “In the ould days, whin a great man died, they used to burn his body. An’ now I’m feelin’ as if somethin’ had died in me—the hope av winnin’ Kate, McTee. So let’s burn her letter between us, eh?”
“Harrigan,” said McTee with heartfelt emotion, “that thought is well worthy of you!”
They knelt on the little spot. They placed the paper between them. Each scratched a match and lighted one side of the paper; the flames rose and met in the middle of the letter. Yet they did not watch the progress of the fire; by the sudden flare of light they gazed steadily into each other’s face, straining their eyes as the light died away as though each had discovered in the other something new and strange. When they looked down, the paper was merely a dim, red glow which passed away as quickly as a flush dies from the face, and the wind carried away the frail ashes. Then they rose and walked shoulder to shoulder on and into the night.
THE GHOST (1919)
The gold strike which led the fortune-hunters to Murrayville brought with them the usual proportion of bad men and outlaws. Three months after the rush started a bandit appeared so consummate in skill and so cool in daring that all other offenders against the law disappeared in the shade of his reputation. He was a public dread. His comings were unannounced; his goings left no track. Men lowered their voices when they spoke of him. His knowledge of affairs in the town was so uncanny that people called him the “Ghost.”
The stages which bore gold to the railroad one hundred and thirty miles to the south left at the most secret hours of the night, but the Ghost knew. Once he “stuck up” the stage not a mile from town while the guards were still occupied with their flasks of snakebite. Again, when the stage rolled on at midday, eighty miles