THE SECRET CONFERENCE
While Scott finished his supper he planned carefully what he would do
that evening. It would be no simple matter to locate that meeting place
and get near enough to it to see and hear without being detected. At
first he thought it would be best to go early and wait for the others,
but he did not know exactly where it was to be and he did not know when
Jed might get there. If Jed happened to get there before he did and saw
him come snooping along he did not know exactly what would happen, but
he felt pretty sure that he would not be in at the meeting. No, the
safest plan would be to wait till Dawson had gone down the trail and
then follow him.
Scott washed the dishes, finished up his diary and reports and
straightened up the cabin. He glanced at his watch. It was just nine
o’clock. He cast about for something to do, for he did not feel so
nervous when he was busy, but he decided that nerves or no nerves the
thing for him to do was sit quietly down and try to think of every
contingency that might arise.
He pictured the situation as accurately as he could. He planned how he
would try to approach them if they were in the open, or in the brush. He
thought out just what he would say and do if they discovered him when he
was coming down the trail or when he was eavesdropping on the
conversation. He became so absorbed in it that he forgot all about his
nerves.
He looked at his watch once more. Nine-thirty. Dawson might come along
any time now. Suddenly it occurred to him that Dawson might come by the
cabin to make sure that he was there. That would make it awkward. It
would be very hard to get out of the cabin unnoticed without waiting so
long after Dawson left that he might lose him. He decided to leave at
once and wait for Dawson at the chute where the two trails met. Then he
would be sure to see him whether he came by the cabin or not and it
would not be so hard to follow him.
For a moment Scott looked uncertainly at the revolver hanging on the
wall. He felt that he might need it to-night, but he had never carried
one and he did not like the thing. His father’s coachman, an ex-prize
fighter, had given him innumerable boxing lessons and he was not afraid
of a fist fight with any man, but he did not like the idea of shooting a
man. If he happened to hit a man—the chances of his doing so were not
very good—he knew that he would always regret it and would keep
wondering if it had really been unavoidable. He decided to leave the
revolver.
There were no other preparations to make. He stuffed his flashlight into
his pocket as an after thought, left the lamp burning as though he had
just stepped out for a moment, and walked casually out of the cabin
toward the wood pile. If Dawson were passing, it would be just as well
that he did not see him walking down the trail. Once in the shadow of
the woods he stopped and listened intently for some minutes. If there
was any one else around he must have been doing the same thing for he
could hear nothing. He circled around by the corral at the risk of a
nicker from Jed and struck the trail once more well below the cabin. He
walked carefully, avoiding the noisy gravel and arrived at the chute
without accident.
Scott crawled into a little clump of aspens and settled down to wait. He
had been doing so much of this hiding in the past few days that he began
to feel like a sneak thief. It was a beautifully clear starlit night and
cool as the nights in that high altitude always were. Scott missed the
myriad night noises of the North, especially the incessant hum of the
mosquitoes and other insects. Here there was not the buzz of a single
wing. What few noises there were sounded strange to his Northern ear.
The sharp yap of the coyote replaced the full throated bass of the
timber wolf. He missed the weird cry of the loon and the sullen squawk
of the blue heron. An almost imperceptible breeze set the aspen leaves
to whispering softly.
Scott loved these night noises. Several nights at the cabin he had sat
out in the open and listened to them a while before going to bed. Now
they served to while away the time and break the monotony of his anxious
vigil. He kept a sharp lookout on the junction of the trails and
listened intently for he wanted to make certain whether Dawson had come
by the cabin.
He was listening to the far away barking cry of a pack of coyotes on the
trail of game, probably a rabbit. The sound rose and fell as the quarry
led them up onto a ridge or down behind a hill, and almost died away
altogether when the trail doubled back into some deep, spruce-filled
cañon. He could almost see the chase and could tell whether they were
gaining on their prey or losing ground. They were gaining now, gaining
fast, probably with their victim in plain sight. The yaps were coming
fast and furious and he expected them momentarily to break off with a
snarl of triumph which he probably could not hear but would know was
there.
Suddenly a faint click far up the trail in the direction of the cabin
made him lose all interest in the distant chase. He listened tensely and
caught the sound again. It came again, nearer this time, and soon he
could hear the continuous clatter of steel hoofs of a pacing horse on
the loose gravel of the trail. Dawson was coming and there was nothing
silent or secret about the way he came. There was a difference between
talking conspiracy over a public ’phone and riding over his own district
where he could account for his presence in a thousand ways. In fact no
one had the right to challenge him there at all. It suited Scott all
right. The more noise Dawson made the easier it would be to follow him.
The horseman passed through the chute and so close to Scott that he
instinctively shrank back although he knew that he could not be seen.
But he had forgotten the horse’s nose in laying his plans. The animal
gave a snort of fear and shied violently. It might have led a more
curious or less preoccupied man to stop and investigate, but Dawson did
not seem to be at all suspicious. Indeed, he seemed to be so absorbed in
his own thought that he hardly noted the actions of his horse.
Dawson’s apparent indifference reassured Scott. As soon as he was sure
that he could not be seen he slipped from the shadows and followed as
swiftly and noiselessly as he could. When hidden by a bend in the trail
he ran, in the straight stretches he was obliged to drop farther back.
The cañon was steep and the pace was slow enough to make shadowing
rather easy. There did not seem to be any hesitation on Dawson’s part.
He seemed to know exactly where he was going and Scott gained the
impression that there had been such meetings before in a place well
known to both parties. This impression was strengthened when Dawson
reined in so suddenly that he almost ran onto him at a sharp bend,
listened a second, and rode confidently into the scattered brush beside
the road.
Scott listened a moment. He could still hear the horse going so he
ducked into the brush and followed. Yes, it was evidently a well known
meeting place. Dawson could not expect to be found away back in there
except by some one who knew the way. At last the horse stopped. Scott
listened for voices. Probably Jed had not arrived for he could not hear
anything. He thought it safest to circle the spot and sneak up from the
other side; he did not want Jed to stumble over him.
The experience up the trail with Dawson’s horse had taught him a lesson.
He remembered that a horse has very keen eyesight, could see in the
dark, and could also hear and smell much better than a man. It would be
necessary to steer clear of the horses. He circled far out to the left
and crawled as cautiously as an Indian. A turned over stone or a slip of
any kind might be fatal to the whole enterprise now. It was slow,
tiresome work, but intensely exciting. When the slope of the ground and
the stars told him that he was about opposite the place where he started
he slowly closed in on the trail. He was moving almost by inches now and
stopping every few feet to listen. There was not a sound to guide him.
Suddenly Dawson struck a match to light his pipe. It was not more than
fifteen feet to one side. It seemed to Scott like a coast defense search
light. He could see Dawson so plainly, sitting comfortably on the ground
with his back against an aspen tree, that it seemed as though Dawson
must see him. He crouched as flat as he could and would have dug into
the ground if he had been a badger. It never occurred to him that the
match had effectually blinded Dawson to everything around him. It made
him shudder to think that if his direction had been a little more
accurate he would have been right on top of that silent figure before he
struck the match.
Scott started backing up inch by inch to avoid the possibility of
getting in Jed’s path. He had hardly gained what he considered to be a
safe position when he heard the soft thud of unshod hoofs and saw a dark
shadow looming up through the brush in the direction of the trail. He
had become so accustomed to the starlight that he could see pretty well
now. The newcomer rode straight toward the little tree where Dawson was
sitting, dismounted about twenty feet away and strode over there.
It was Jed Clark, and Scott could see, even in that uncertain light that
he was in an ugly mood.
“Fine night for a party,” Dawson ventured by way of greeting.
Jed answered with a burst of profanity. “Fine mess that saintly
patrolman of yours has gotten us into, too. That fellow is too good for
this world and if I get a good chance I’ll send him up where he
belongs.”
“Pshaw, what are you fussing about. This recount is the best thing that
ever happened. I saw Dugan to-day and he said they had the sheep hidden
as snug as a bug in a rug.”
“They’re hidden, all right,” Jed sneered.
“Then why worry? After the recount we can trot them out again and we’ll
be stronger than ever. Nobody will have the nerve to order another
recount for some time.”
“You may ‘trot out’ some of them after the recount, but there’s others
you won’t.”
The bitter sarcasm in Jed’s tone made Dawson sit up in alarm. “What’s
up?” he asked anxiously.
“A lot you don’t seem to know anything about,” Jed retorted angrily. “We
lost three thousand sheep this afternoon, that’s what I’m fussing
about.”
“Lost them? How?”
“Through that cursed patrolman of yours, that’s how.” Jed was so angry
that he was almost beside himself.
“Didn’t eat ’em did he?” Dawson sneered.
“Can now if he wants to,” Jed raved, “they’re dead enough to eat.”
“Dead?” Dawson ejaculated.
“Yes, dead! What did you think I meant? Lost in the brush?”
“Don’t be a fool, Jed,” Dawson answered quietly, “you are acting like a
crazy man. If the sheep are dead it cannot be helped now, but I would
like to know how it happened.”
Jed finally told the story of the lost sheep, interrupted at frequent
intervals by uncontrollable bursts of profanity.
Dawson listened calmly. “How do you know this?” he asked.
“Bob left Sancho up there to watch the sheep in the other cañon and came
down to tell me. Nine thousand dollars gone to smash in one afternoon
and all through that—”
“Don’t get to raving again,” Dawson interrupted. “It’s tough luck but we
can both stand it.”
At this confession of partnership Scott’s eyes popped wide open with
amazement. He had already suspected Dawson of levying graft money for
allowing extra sheep on the forest but such a far-reaching fraud as this
had never occurred to him.
“We _could_ stand it, yes, but I’m not going to.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I am going to own up to running on some extras, let ’em
cancel my permit if they want to, and get into some more profitable
game.”
“You talk like a baby,” Dawson answered coldly. “You know how much we
have made out of this thing in the past and how much more we can make in
the future, and you talk about throwing up the whole thing just for one
stroke of bad luck. Now listen to a little reason. If you give up now,
all those sheep, including the twenty-five hundred in that other cañon,
will have to be sold on a losing market. Nobody knows anything about
this except our own men. We’ll put the recount through to-morrow, clean
up all suspicion, and carry the twenty-five hundred extras through the
summer. Then if you still want to get out we can sell to a good market
in the fall. That’s the sensible way to do it.”
“Have it your way, then,” said Jed sullenly, “but remember this. If you
don’t get rid of that patrolman inside of ten days I’ll blow the whole
thing, so get busy.” He rose as though he had delivered his ultimatum
and was ready to leave.
“I’ll attend to Burton,” Dawson answered quietly. “There will not be
much trouble in getting rid of him after he falls down on that recount
to-morrow. Now we’ll settle those accounts.”
“We’ll settle those after you get rid of that patrolman,” Jed answered
doggedly.
“We’ll settle them now,” Dawson answered coldly.
“Don’t try to bully me,” Jed flared angrily, “if I say the word you know
what they will do to you.”
“Yes,” Dawson answered contemptuously, “I’d lose my little job, but I
doubt if I’d starve. It might be different with you, considering the
mortgage I hold on your ranch. According to my figures you owe me two
thousand dollars on the business of the last six months.”
Jed sullenly handed over some papers. “Don’t be pushing me too far with
that mortgage. It’s not recorded, you know.”
Dawson ignored the threat. He had gained his point and was ready to
smooth down his victim’s feelings. “Well, I did not mean to rub it in,
Jed. You and I have too good a thing in this business to fight with each
other. I’ll attend to this end of the business and I know from
experience that you can handle the other end. I’m going to have the
super up for that recount in the morning and we’ll rub it into that
incorruptible dude in fine shape. Better come up and see the fun.”
“I’ll be there, all right,” Jed replied, very much mollified. “I
wouldn’t miss seeing him taken down for considerable. I’d pretty near be
willing to drive the other twenty-five hundred sheep over the cliff to
make sure of it.”
They mounted and rode slowly out to the trail, all signs of the quarrel
wiped away by the cunning hand of the ranger.
Scott listened until he heard the hoof beats die away in the distance
and then walked slowly back to the cabin thinking of the wonderful
surprise party he was preparing for those two in the morning.