Eveline Mandeville The Horse Thief Rival

CHAPTER X.

When Duf­fel learned that Mr. Man­dev­ille would not in­ter­pose parental au­thor­ity to com­pel his daugh­ter to ac­qui­esce in his wish­es for her in re­gard to mar­riage, he set his schem­ing wits to work for the pur­pose of de­vis­ing some means where­by to ac­com­plish his ends. As we have al­ready said, Duf­fel had tak­en a fan­cy to Miss Man­dev­ille, with whom he was bet­ter pleased than with any oth­er la­dy of his ac­quain­tance. He called his pas­sion _love_, but it was too sor­did and self­ish to be wor­thy of a name so sa­cred. More than once he called to see Eve­line, and though she treat­ed him civil­ly, he saw plain­ly that she had an aver­sion for his so­ci­ety, and that it cost her an ef­fort to treat him with po­lite­ness, even though it was for­mal; so, as we were say­ing, he en­deav­ored to hit up­on some more suc­cess­ful mode of fur­ther­ing his wish­es.

“If Bill and Dick were on­ly here,” he thought to him­self, “the mat­ter could be eas­ily come at; but, as it is, I don't see my way ex­act­ly. I should not like to trust ev­ery one, even of the League, with my se­cret, much less with the ex­ecu­tion of such a dif­fi­cult un­der­tak­ing as that of plac­ing her there. I wish I had not sent them af­ter Hadley; I might have ac­com­plished all with­out that; and it is not the pleas­an­test thing in the world to have a mur­der lay­ing on one's con­science. But then, I thought oth­er means would suc­ceed: I had no idea that old Man­dev­ille was be­com­ing so ten­der-​heart­ed. The old dev­il him­self must have been play­ing mis­chief with my cal­cu­la­tions. Well, let him play away; once Bill and Dick re­turn, and I'll try my hand at head­ing his sul­phurous majesty, and all oth­ers that op­pose me.”

In this mood, Duf­fel found him­self when the du­ties of his of­fice, in the ab­sence of the cap­tain, re­quired his pres­ence at the cave, to pre­side over the League at the reg­ular meet­ing, as al­ready known to the read­er. The night of the meet­ing came, and found him un­de­cid­ed as to the course of ac­tion to pur­sue. Time was short; the cap­tain might re­turn any day and re­sume com­mand; and what was to be done must be done soon.

In this state of un­cer­tain­ty, he re­paired to the cave, with the vague and in­def­inite hope that his as­so­ciates in crime might be there al­so. Ar­rived there, he be­gan pac­ing up and down in a state of un­easy and rest­less dis­qui­et, look­ing ex­pec­tant­ly At ev­ery new-​com­er, but with the same re­sult--dis­ap­point­ment. It was but a few min­utes un­til the hour for busi­ness, and he re­tired to the cap­tain's room to make such prepa­ra­tions as were nec­es­sary for the oc­ca­sion.

When he re­turned, the mem­bers present were all masked, a rule of the or­der mak­ing this a du­ty at ini­ti­at­ing meet­ings, and he could not tell whether Bill and Dick were among the num­ber or not.

The busi­ness pro­ceed­ed un­til the ques­tion was asked:

“Is there any one who, hav­ing knocked at the door of our or­der, is now wait­ing for ad­mis­sion?”

“There is, your hon­or, Abram Hurd, who has been found wor­thy of a place among us.”

“Is he present?”

“He is in wait­ing, your hon­or.”

“Let him be con­duct­ed in­to the pres­ence of the or­der.”

It is not our in­ten­tion to en­ter in­to all the de­tails at­tend­ing the cer­emo­ny of ini­ti­ation in­to the or­der, as we ap­pre­hend that a few of the lead­ing fea­tures in the pro­cess of vil­lain-​mak­ing will be more en­ter­tain­ing and ac­cept­able to the read­er.

When the can­di­date for ad­mis­sion en­tered the cave, he found him­self _vis-​a-​vis_ with fifty masks, of all shapes, forms and ap­pear­ances; some hor­ri­ble, some odd, some com­mon­place, and some fan­tas­ti­cal, and al­to­geth­er, a med­ley of strange, un­de­ci­pher­able, yet im­pres­sive com­bi­na­tion of de­vices, well cal­cu­lat­ed to ex­cite a feel­ing of awe, and, with the timid, of ter­ror, in the mind of the be­hold­er. In­to this sin­gu­lar as­sem­blage Hurd was ush­ered, a wilder­ness of con­fused im­ages be­fore him. He was tak­en through a course in­tro­duc­to­ry to the more se­ri­ous parts of the for­mu­la of in­duc­tion in­to the or­der, which were in­tend­ed to in­crease the first be­wil­dered im­pres­sions on en­ter­ing the cave, and was then led up in front of the cap­tain, who ad­dressed him thus:

“Abram Hurd! by your pres­ence here, I am to un­der­stand that you de­sire to be­come a mem­ber of our or­der?”

“I do.”

"Have you con­sid­ered well be­fore tak­ing this step? The du­ties of mem­bers are of­ten la­bo­ri­ous, and their per­for­mance at­tend­ed with the most im­mi­nent dan­ger! We want no un­will­ing hands; are you ready to in­cur the risks?

“I am.”

“Sup­pose the re­quire­ments ex­act­ed at your hands should cause you to look the pen­iten­tiary in the face, have you the courage to do so?”

“I have.”

“But fur­ther yet; should the good of our or­der re­quire you to take the life of a fel­low-​be­ing, would you, in obe­di­ence to the com­mands of your su­pe­ri­or, per­form that ex­treme act?”

“I was not aware that _mur­der_ was in­clud­ed in the cat­alogue of du­ties im­posed up­on mem­bers of the or­der.”

“Nor do I say that it is; I on­ly wish to know if you are will­ing to go _any lengths_ for the preser­va­tion or ad­van­tage of the or­der, in case of ne­ces­si­ty? You will mark the dif­fer­ence be­tween mur­der and killing in _self-​de­fense_. With this ex­pla­na­tion, are you will­ing to take the re­quired obli­ga­tion?”

“I am.”

“With the un­der­stand­ing, then, that you may have to face im­pris­on­ment or death and ob­li­gate your­self to do all that shall be re­quired of you for the _good_ of the or­der, even to the tak­ing of life, in­clud­ing all oth­er acts that are held crim­inal among men, are you still will­ing to pro­ceed?”

“I am!”

“I must fur­ther­more in­form you, that if you fal­ter in the dis­charge of any du­ty im­posed up­on you, or man­ifest the least dis­po­si­tion to be­tray the or­der, your life will fall an im­me­di­ate sac­ri­fice for such delin­quen­cy. Are you pre­pared for this?”

“I am!”

“Will you take up­on your­self these obli­ga­tions in the form of an oath?”

“I will!”

“The oath is a most solemn and bind­ing one; per­haps you may con­sid­er it hor­ri­ble, and we want no fal­ter­ing.”

“I will take it.”

“It in­volves life and death.”

“I am pre­pared if it does.”

“You can­not re­lease your­self from its bind­ing force; it is for life; and whether you abide with us or not, it binds you to se­cre­cy. No af­ter-​thought, no change of feel­ing, no re­pen­tance can un­chain its iron links from your soul. Are you still re­solved?”

“I am!”

“Let me here ad­vise you, that one more step will place you be­yond the pale of re­treat. Con­sid­er well what you are about to do. Un­til the oath is ad­min­is­tered, you are at lib­er­ty to re­tire, and, blind­fold­ed as you came, will be es­cort­ed to a place of safe­ty to your­self and us, where we will leave you as we found you; but once you have tak­en up­on your­self the obli­ga­tions of the oath, all is fixed and im­mutable. Are you yet will­ing to take this last step?”

“I am!”

“Enough! you are wor­thy to be­come a mem­ber of our or­der. Lay your right hand up­on your heart, your left up­on the Book, and re­ceive the oath.”

THE OATH.

“I, Abram Hurd, call­ing heav­en, earth and hell to wit­ness, do most solemn­ly swear, in pres­ence of these, my fel­low-​be­ings, and in­to the ears of the spir­its of the in­vis­ible world, that I now take up­on my­self the obli­ga­tion of a mem­ber of the _Or­der of the League of In­de­pen­dents_, as laid down in the rules or­dained for the gov­ern­ment of said Or­der, and ex­plained to me this night; and I al­so ob­li­gate my­self to obey the of­fi­cers of the League who shall be ap­point­ed over me for the good gov­ern­ment of the same, in the per­for­mance of all and sin­gu­lar the du­ties that shall be re­quired at my hands; and I fur­ther­more ob­li­gate my­self to ad­vance the in­ter­ests of the Or­der to the ut­most of my abil­ity, in all things and in all ways, even to the tak­ing of prop­er­ty and life, if need be; and in so do­ing will use all the means of aid in my reach, in­clud­ing fire, steel and pow­der. And I most solemn­ly swear, in the pres­ence afore­said, of the vis­ible and in­vis­ible worlds, that I will faith­ful­ly keep the se­crets of the Or­der, and of all the mem­bers of the same that shall be in­trust­ed with me, and no tor­ture of body or mind shall ex­tort them from me. And I here­by bind my­self, in the same solemn man­ner, and in the same pres­ence, that I will de­fend the mem­bers of the Or­der in all cir­cum­stances and places, us far as in me lies, even to the giv­ing up of my own life, if such a sac­ri­fice shall be re­quired--that I will stand by them one and all in ev­ery emer­gen­cy, and, if oc­ca­sion re­quire, will not hes­itate to give false tes­ti­mo­ny in courts of jus­tice, to clear them in suits at law, or in crim­inal pros­ecu­tions, choos­ing rather to brave the penal­ties of per­jury than vi­olate this my most solemn oath. And as I faith­ful­ly per­form this my oath to the Or­der, in whole and in part, may I pros­per; but if I will­ful­ly fail in any­wise, to ful­fill all that I have here­in ob­li­gat­ed my­self to per­form, may the heav­ens be­come black above me, may the earth be­come thorns and this­tles, and a curse to me in body and in soul; may my life be de­void of peace, and ha­rass­ing care be my por­tion, with blight and mildew on all my hopes, and all that my hand shall touch; may my friends desert me, and my own blood rise up and curse me; may I be­come an out­cast, among men, a wan­der­er and a vagabond on the face of the earth, a prey to fear, and to the lash­ings of con­science: and, fi­nal­ly, when death comes, may he send me from the tor­tures of this life, to those of end­less perdi­tion here­after.”

Af­ter tak­ing this hor­ri­ble and blas­phe­mous oath, the ini­ti­at­ed was re­quired to sign a com­pact with his own blood, when he was du­ly pro­nounced a mem­ber of the Or­der, which might tru­ly be termed hellish. This done, the cap­tain said:

“Brethren of the Or­der, re­move your masks, and wel­come your broth­er!”

In a minute the fifty masks were cast aside, and Hurd looked around him in amaze­ment, for in that com­pa­ny were more than a dozen of his ac­quain­tances and neigh­bors, who passed in so­ci­ety--most of them--for hon­est men; but most of all was he sur­prised to see _Duf­fel_ there, in the char­ac­ter of first of­fi­cer.

All came and shook him by the hand, and to their friend­ly greet­ing he could re­ply to many:

“Why, A., B., C., D., are you here? and here's 'Squire F., and Con­sta­ble H., as I'm alive!” and such like ex­pres­sions of recog­ni­tion.

When the masks were re­moved, Duf­fel had the sat­is­fac­tion of see­ing Bill and Dick among those present, and so soon as the League ad­journed, he drew them one side, and be­gan a con­fi­den­tial con­ver­sa­tion with them; but fear­ing that they might be over­heard, be­fore en­ter­ing up­on the se­crets of their own, he con­duct­ed them in­to the cap­tain's room.

This room was a cu­ri­ous struc­ture. Its walls were sol­id rock, nat­ural­ly of a brown­ish-​gray col­or, but had been paint­ed in a taste­ful style of art, with grace­ful nymphs, winged cu­pids, vas­es of flow­ers, and many oth­er em­bod­iments of fan­cy, or rep­re­sen­ta­tions from na­ture. The ef­fect on the be­hold­er was pleas­ant and cheer­ing at first view, but a more crit­ical ob­ser­va­tion would lead to the con­clu­sion that there was too much of the volup­tuous in the de­sign and ex­ecu­tion of the pen­cil­ing. In one cor­ner of the room was a door which opened in­to an in­ner room of small di­men­sions, in which was a downy couch, and all the para­pher­na­lia of a lux­uri­ous and el­egant bed-​room. It was a place that con­trast­ed very strange­ly with the mis­ery and crime it had shel­tered--with the tears of un­avail­ing agony that had been wrung from eyes that sparkled above once hap­py hearts--alas! no longer the abode of peace, hope or joy. Ah! had those walls the pow­er of speech, what tales of hor­ror they could re­hearse! what an­guish re­veal! what elo­quent plead­ings for mer­cy dis­re­gard­ed! what si­lenc­ing of hope in de­spair! But they re­veal not the se­crets of the place, which are known to but One, from whose eye no dark dells or earth-​em­bow­eled caves can hide the trans­gres­sor; and the tears, the sighs, the blood--aye, the _blood_--of that soli­tary cav­ern are all known to Him, are all put down by the record­ing an­gel in the archives of heav­en. But we di­gress.

When the three con­fed­er­ates were se­cure­ly to them­selves, Duf­fel in­quired:

“How did you suc­ceed in that af­fair. Well, I hope, as you are so soon back.”

“Yes, bet­ter than we ex­pect­ed. We passed Hadley and await­ed him in the moun­tains. Two pis­tol balls were sent through his heart, and in less than an hour his body was de­voured by howl­ing and hun­gry wolves, from a ravenous pack of which we es­caped our­selves with dif­fi­cul­ty, so fierce had a taste of blood ren­dered them!”

It will be no­ticed that Bill drew large­ly up­on his imag­ina­tion in this brief ac­count of their ad­ven­tures, and that he nev­er once hint­ed at the re­al truth of the mat­ter, and how they were driv­en away, and had to flee for their lives. He knew that his sto­ry had the char­ac­ter­is­tics of prob­abil­ity; and he had an ob­ject in view in im­pos­ing on his su­pe­ri­or, though he had no doubt at all of Hadley's fate, be­liev­ing him to be cer­tain­ly dead.

“So far good,” replied Duf­fel; “but are you sure the act was undis­cov­ered and undis­cov­er­able?”

“Quite sure, your hon­or; it was dark at the time, and no one near, and there­fore im­pos­si­ble that any one should know of the trans­ac­tion.”

“Very well, I am pleased with your prompt­ness and dis­patch in the ex­ecu­tion of this plot. You shall have your re­ward for the dili­gence and faith­ful­ness of your labors. But just now I have an­oth­er af­fair on hand, in which I shall need your aid.”

“We are your men.”

“I know I can re­ly up­on you, and that is the rea­son I have cho­sen you from among all the oth­er mem­bers of the League to as­sist me.”

“And you shall nev­er re­gret the choice. What is the na­ture of the work you would have us per­form?”

“I have hereto­fore spo­ken to you con­cern­ing its prin­ci­pal fea­ture. It re­lates to a la­dy, and you may re­mem­ber what was for­mer­ly said in re­gard to the mat­ter.”

“Oh, yes, per­fect­ly well.”

“Well, I wish the young la­dy to be tak­en--kid­napped--and brought to this place. Can I re­ly up­on you to do the deed?”

“We have al­ready pledged our­selves to that ef­fect.”

“So you did, I had for­got­ten. I shall soon need your ser­vices, if all things pro­ceed as present ap­pear­ances in­di­cate that they will. When ev­ery­thing is ripe for ac­tion, I will in­form you of par­tic­ulars, and give you the nec­es­sary in­struc­tions. Till, then, meet me ev­ery day in the 'swamp,' for I may wish your aid at any mo­ment.”

“All right; we'll be there.”

And thus the con­fer­ence of the vil­lains end­ed.