Oakhurst's mien and countenance, not only prematurely fluttered the pigeons, but absolutely occasioned much uneasiness among the fish-hawks who circled below him with their booty."Dash me! but he's as likely to go after us as anybody," said Joe Fielding.
It wanted but a few days before the close of the brief summer season at San Isabel Warm Springs.Already there had been some migration of the more fashionable; and there was an uncomfortable suggestion of dregs and lees in the social life that remained.Mr.
Oakhurst was moody.It was hinted that even the secure reputation of Mrs.Decker could no longer protect her from the gossip which his presence excited.It is but fair to her to say, that, during the last few weeks of this trying ordeal, she looked like a sweet, pale martyr, and conducted herself toward her traducers with the gentle, forgiving manner of one who relied not upon the idle homage of the crowd, but upon the security of a principle that was dearer than popular favor."They talk about myself and Mr.Oakhurst, my dear," she said to a friend; "but heaven and my husband can best answer their calumny.It never shall be said that my husband ever turned his back upon a friend in the moment of his adversity, because the position was changed,--because his friend was poor, and he was rich." This was the first intimation to the public that Jack had lost money, although it was known generally that the Deckers had lately bought some valuable property in San Francisco.
A few evenings after this, an incident occurred which seemed to unpleasantly discord with the general social harmony that had always existed at San Isabel.It was at dinner; and Mr.Oakhurst and Mr.Hamilton, who sat together at a separate table, were observed to rise in some agitation.When they reached the hall, by a common instinct they stepped into a little breakfast-room which was vacant, and closed the door.Then Mr.Hamilton turned with a half-amused, half-serious smile toward his friend, and said,--"If we are to quarrel, Jack Oakhurst,--you and I,--in the name of all that is ridiculous, don't let it be about a"--I do not know what was the epithet intended.It was either unspoken or lost; for at that very instant Mr.Oakhurst raised a wineglass, and dashed its contents into Hamilton's face.
As they faced each other, the men seemed to have changed natures.
Mr.Oakhurst was trembling with excitement, and the wineglass that he returned to the table shivered between his fingers.Mr.Hamilton stood there, grayish white, erect, and dripping.After a pause, he said coldly,--"So be it.But remember, our quarrel commences here.If I fall by your hand, you shall not use it to clear her character: if you fall by mine, you shall not be called a martyr.I am sorry it has come to this; but amen, the sooner now, the better."He turned proudly, dropped his lids over cold steel-blue eyes, as if sheathing a rapier bowed, and passed coldly out.
They met, twelve hours later, in a little hollow two miles from the hotel, on the Stockton road.As Mr.Oakhurst received his pistol from Col.Starbottle's hands, he said to him in a low voice, "Whatever turns up or down, I shall not return to the hotel.You will find some directions in my room.Go there"-- But his voice suddenly faltered, and he turned his glistening eyes away, to his second's intense astonishment."I've been out a dozen times with Jack Oakhurst," said Col.Starbottle afterward, "and I never saw him anyways cut before.Blank me if I didn't think he was losing his sand, till he walked to position."The two reports were almost simultaneous.Mr.Oakhurst's right arm dropped suddenly to his side, and his pistol would have fallen from his paralyzed fingers; but the discipline of trained nerve and muscle prevailed, and he kept his grasp until he had shifted it to the other hand, without changing his position.Then there was a silence that seemed interminable, a gathering of two or three dark figures where a smoke-curl still lazily floated, and then the hurried, husky, panting voice of Col.Starbottle in his ear, "He's hit hard--through the lungs you must run for it!"Jack turned his dark, questioning eyes upon his second, but did not seem to listen,--rather seemed to hear some other voice, remoter in the distance.He hesitated, and then made a step forward in the direction of the distant group.Then he paused again as the figures separated, and the surgeon came hastily toward him.
"He would like to speak with you a moment," said the man."You have little time to lose, I know; but," he added in a lower voice, "it is my duty to tell you he has still less."A look of despair, so hopeless in its intensity, swept over Mr.
Oakhurst's usually impassive face, that the surgeon started."You are hit," he said, glancing at Jack's helpless arm.
"Nothing--a mere scratch," said Jack hastily.Then he added with a bitter laugh, "I'm not in luck to-day.But come: we'll see what he wants."His long, feverish stride outstripped the surgeon's; and in another moment he stood where the dying man lay,--like most dying men,--the one calm, composed, central figure of an anxious group.Mr.
Oakhurst's face was less calm as he dropped on one knee beside him, and took his hand."I want to speak with this gentleman alone,"said Hamilton, with something of his old imperious manner, as he turned to those about him.When they drew back, he looked up in Oakhurst's face.
"I've something to tell you, Jack."
His own face was white, but not so white as that which Mr.Oakhurst bent over him,--a face so ghastly, with haunting doubts, and a hopeless presentiment of coming evil,--a face so piteous in its infinite weariness and envy of death, that the dying man was touched, even in the languor of dissolution, with a pang of compassion; and the cynical smile faded from his lips.