They reached it silently, as the moon, now riding high in the heavens, seemed to touch it with the tender grace and hushed repose of a tomb.It was with something of this feeling that the Right Bower softly pushed open the door; it was with something of this dread that the two others lingered on the threshold, until the Right Bower, after vainly trying to stir the dead embers on the hearth into life with his foot, struck a match and lit their solitary candle.Its flickering light revealed the familiar interior unchanged in aught but one thing.The bunk that the Old Man had occupied was stripped of its blankets; the few cheap ornaments and photographs were gone; the rude poverty of the bare boards and scant pallet looked up at them unrelieved by the bright face and gracious youth that had once made them tolerable.In the grim irony of that exposure, their own penury was doubly conscious.
The little knapsack, the teacup and coffee-pot that had hung near his bed, were gone also.The most indignant protest, the most pathetic of the letters he had composed and rejected, whose torn fragments still littered the floor, could never have spoken with the eloquence of this empty space! The men exchanged no words: the solitude of the cabin, instead of drawing them together, seemed to isolate each one in selfish distrust of the others.Even the unthinking garrulity of Union Mills and the Judge was checked.Amoment later, when the Left Bower entered the cabin, his presence was scarcely noticed.
The silence was broken by a joyous exclamation from the Judge.He had discovered the Old Man's rifle in the corner, where it had been at first overlooked."He ain't gone yet, gentlemen--for yer's his rifle," he broke in, with a feverish return of volubility, and a high excited falsetto."He wouldn't have left this behind.No! Iknowed it from the first.He's just outside a bit, foraging for wood and water.No, sir! Coming along here I said to Union Mills--didn't I?--'Bet your life the Old Man's not far off, even if he ain't in the cabin.' Why, the moment I stepped foot--""And I said coming along," interrupted Union Mills, with equally reviving mendacity, 'Like as not he's hangin' round yer and lyin'
low just to give us a surprise.' He! ho!""He's gone for good, and he left that rifle here on purpose," said the Left Bower in a low voice, taking the weapon almost tenderly in his hands.
"Drop it, then!" said the Right Bower.The voice was that of his brother, but suddenly changed with passion.The two other partners instinctively drew back in alarm.
"I'll not leave it here for the first comer," said the Left Bower, calmly, "because we've been fools and he too.It's too good a weapon for that.""Drop it, I say!" said the Right Bower, with a savage stride towards him.
The younger brother brought the rifle to a half charge with a white face but a steady eye.
"Stop where you are!" he said collectedly."Don't row with ME, because you haven't either the grit to stick to your ideas or the heart to confess them wrong.We've followed your lead, and--here we are! The camp's broken up--the Old Man's gone--and we're going.
And as for the d----d rifle--"
"Drop it, do you hear!" shouted the Right Bower, clinging to that one idea with the blind pertinacity of rage and a losing cause.
"Drop it!"
The Left Bower drew back, but his brother had seized the barrel with both hands.There was a momentary struggle, a flash through the half-lighted cabin, and a shattering report.The two men fell back from each other; the rifle dropped on the floor between them.
The whole thing was over so quickly that the other two partners had not had time to obey their common impulse to separate them, and consequently even now could scarcely understand what had passed.
It was over so quickly that the two actors themselves walked back to their places, scarcely realizing their own act.
