OUTLAND JUSTICE
The noon sun sweltered down through the rank vegetation of the narrow
defile. The heat was almost too burdensome to endure. It was moist;
it was dank with the reek of decaying matter. The way was a seemingly
endless battle against odds. But the travelers were buoyed with the
knowledge that it was a short cut, calculated to save them many hours
and many miles.
Bud Tristram had pointed the way. Furthermore, he had urged Jeff to
accept and endure the tortures and shortcomings which he knew they must
face in the heart of this remote gulch.
Nor were his warnings unneeded, for Nature had set up no inconsiderable
defenses. Here were swarms of over-grown mosquitoes of a peculiarly
vicious type, which covered their horses' flanks in a gray horde,
almost obliterating their original colors; and a bleeding mass resulted
every time either man raised a hand to the back of his own neck to
soothe the fierce irritation of the vicious attacks. Then the way
itself. It was a narrow gorge almost completely occupied by the muddy
bed and boggy shores of a drying mountain creek.
It was, in Jeff's own words, a "fierce journey." The heat left them
drenched in perspiration, and wiltering. The two packhorses fought for
their very lives, often hock deep in a sucking mire. While the beasts,
who bore the burden of their exacting masters, were driven to battle
every inch of the way against a fiercely obstinate rampart of dense
grown bush.
Mercifully the gorge was less than three miles in length. A greater
distance must have left the nervous equine mind staggered, and
helpless, and beaten. As it was nearly three hours of incessant
struggle only served to pass the final barrier.
"Phew!"
Jeff Masters drew off his hat as they emerged upon the wide opening of
a great valley. Then he flung himself out of the saddle and began to
sweep the blood-inflated mosquitoes from his horse's flanks. Bud, with
less haste, proceeded to do the same. Finally, both men walked round
the weary beasts and examined the security of the packs on the led
horses.
Bud pointed down the valley with one outstretched arm.
"We'll make that way," he said, his deep eyes dwelling almost
affectionately upon the wide stretch of blue-tinted grass. "Guess
we'll take the high land an' camp fer food."
Then he turned back to his horse and remounted. Jeff silently followed
his example and they rode on.
For many minutes no word passed between them. Each was busy with his
own particular thoughts. The deep look of friendly affection was still
in Bud's eyes. Jeff was far less concerned with the wonderful scene
slowly unfolding itself as they proceeded than with the purpose of his
journey. He knew they had reached the central point from which they
were to radiate their search of the labyrinth of hills. His mind was
upon the wealth of possibility before them. The difficulties. Bud,
for the time at least, was concerned only with that which his eyes
beheld, and the memories of other days far, far back when he had
possessed no greater responsibility than the quest of adventure, and
his own safe delivery from the fruits of his unwisdom.
It was he who first broke the silence between them.
"Gee!" he exclaimed, with that curious note of appreciation which that
ejaculation can assume. "It's big. Say, Jeff, it's big an' good to
look on. Sort of makes you think, too, don't it? Jest get a peek that
way. Them slopes." He indicated the western boundary of the valley
rising up, up to great pine-crested heights. "A thousand--two thousand
feet. And hills beyond. Big hills, with snows you couldn't melt
anyhow. Over there, too." One great hand waved in the direction of
the east. "Lesser hills. Lesser woods. But--man, it's fine! Then
ahead. Miles an' miles of this queer blue grass which sets fat on
cattle inches deep."
His words ceased, but his eyes continued to feast, flooding the simple
brain behind them with a joy which no words could describe. Presently
he went on:
"Makes you feel A'mighty God's a pretty big feller, don't it? Guess He
jest tumbles things around, an' sets up, an' levels down in a way that
wouldn't mean a thing to brains like ours--till He's finished it all,
and sort of swep' up tidy. Look at them colors, way up there to the
west. Queer? Sure. Every sort o' blamed color in a tangle no earthly
painter could set out. Ain't it a pictur'? It's jest a sort o'
pictur' a painter feller's li'ble to spend most of his wholesome nights
dreamin' about. An' when he wakes up, why, I don't guess he kin even
think like it, an' he sure ain't a hell of a chance to paint that way
anyhow. Say, d'you make it these things are, or is it jest something
He sets in us makes us see 'em that way? He's big--He surely is. I'm
glad I come along with you, Jeff, boy. Y' see, a feller sort o' sits
around home, an' sees the same grass, an' brands the same steers, an'
thinks the same thinks. Ther' ain't nothin' he don't know around home.
He gets so life don't seem a thing, an' he jest feels he's running
things so as he pleases. He sort o' fergets he's jest a part o' the
scenery around. He fergets he's set in that scenery by an A'mighty big
Hand, same as them all-fired m'squitters we just found, an' kind o'
guesses he is that A'mighty Hand." He turned his deeply smiling eyes
on his companion. "I don't often take on like this, Jeff," he
apologized, "but the sight o' this place makes me want to shout an' get
right out an' thank the good God He's seen fit to let me sit around an'
live."
But Jeff had no means of simple expression such as Bud. He could never
give verbal expression to the emotions locked away in his heart. Those
who knew him regarded it as reserve, even hardness. Perhaps it was
only that shyness which the strongest characters are often most prone
to.
He ignored the older man's quaintly expressed feelings, and fastened
upon the opening he had at last received, and which he had been seeking
ever since it had become obvious that Bud's knowledge of the great
Cathill range was almost phenomenal.
"You know these parts a heap," he observed.
"Know 'em?" Bud laughed in his deep-throated way, which was only
another indication of his buoyant mood. "You'd know 'em, boy, if you'd
had a father build up a big pelt trading post right in this valley, an'
fer sixteen years o' your life you'd ridden, an' shot, an' hunted over
this blue grass, and these hills, for nigh a range of fifty mile.
Guess I know this territory same as you know the playgrounds o' the
college that handed you your knowledge o' figgers. Know it? Say, you
could dump me right down anywhere around here for fifty miles an' more,
an' I'd travel straight here same as the birds fly." He laughed again.
"When you said you'd the notion of huntin' out your brother, who was
huntin' these hills, you give me the excuse I'd been yearnin' to find
in years. I wanted to see these hills again. I wanted it bad. Guess
I was jest crazy fer it. It didn't get me figgerin' long, either, to
locate wher' we'd likely find that boy you're lookin' fer. Ther' ain't
no better huntin' ground than around this valley. It's sort of
untouched since my father died, an' I had to quit it and take to
punchin' cattle. Then ther's that post he built. A dandy place, with
nigh everything a pelt hunter needs fer his comfort. We're making for
that post right now, an' when we make it I'm guessin' we ain't goin' to
chase much farther to locate that twin brother of yours."
"But you never----"
Bud shook his great head, and stretched his ungainly legs with his
stirrups thrust out wide.
"Sure I didn't tell you these things," he nodded, in simple, almost
childlike enjoyment.
"I never---- Say, does Nan know you were--raised here?"
"Surely." Then Bud went on with an amused twinkle in his eyes. "But I
guess Nan's like me. It ain't our way worryin' other folks with our
troubles. You see, most folks ain't a heap o' time to listen to other
folks' troubles. Most everybody's jest yearnin' to tell their own."
"Troubles?" Jeff smiled in his own peculiarly shadowy fashion. "You
don't seem to figure this valley's any sort of trouble, nor its
associations. But maybe there's a bone or two hidden around you don't
figure to show me."
Bud remained silent for some moments. Then he gave way to another of
his joyous, deep-throated laughs.
"No, sirree! Ther' ain't no troubles to this valley fer me. None. I
got memories I wouldn't sell fer a farm. Them wer' days you didn't
find trouble in nothin'. No. It's later on you see things diff'rent.
Make good, an' you see troubles wher' there shouldn't be none. You an'
me we're guessin' to make a pile o' dollars, so we could set up a
palace on 5th Av'noo, New York, if we was yearnin' that-a-way. I don't
reckon there's many fellers 'ud find trouble in such a play as that.
Wal, I'd be willing enough to turn it all down, an' pitch camp right
here among these hills, an' chase pelts for the few dollars needed to
keep the wind from rattling my bones--'cep' fer Nan."
"Ah yes--Nan. There's Nan to think of. And Nan's more to you, Bud,
than anything else in life. Say, your little girl's a bright jewel. I
don't need to say a word about her value, eh? But some day you're
going to lose her. And then?"
Bud's eyes came round upon him and for some moments encountered Jeff's
steady regard. Then he looked away, and slowly all its simple delight
dropped from the strong weather-tanned face, to be replaced by an
almost painful dejection. Presently he turned again, and, in a moment,
Jeff found an added interest in the wonderful scene that lay ahead of
him.
"Nan's a fine, good gal," Bud declared, with simple earnestness.
"Guess she's her mother over again--only she's jest Nan. Nan's more to
me than all the dollars in creation, boy. Guess you're right. Oh,
yes, you're right--sure." The man brushed aside the beads of sweat
from his broad forehead. "An' Nan's goin' to do jest as she notions.
She's goin' to live around her home as long as she feels that way.
When she don't feel that way she's goin' to quit. When she feels like
choosin' a man fer herself--why, I'm goin' to do all I know helpin' her
that way. But it's goin' to be her choice, boy. An' when that time
comes, why, I'll get right down on my knees an' pray A'mighty God he's
the feller for her, an' the man I'm hopin' she'll choose, an' that he
wants her, same as she wants him."
Then he shook his head and a deep sigh escaped him.
"But I don't know. It don't seem to me reasonable. Y' see, the luck's
run all my way so far, an' I don't guess you can keep on dealin' the
cards without 'em gettin' right up an' handin' it you plenty--some
time."
Jeff had no reply. Something warned him to keep silent. The older man
in his earnest simplicity had opened out to him a vista which he felt
he had no right to gaze upon.
As they jogged steadily along over the blue-green carpet, and the
kaleidoscopic coloring of the distant slopes fell away behind them, his
whole mental vision became occupied by the sweet picture of a
brown-eyed, brown-haired girl. But he was regarding it without any
lover's emotions. Rather was he regarding it as one who calmly
appraises a beautiful jewel he does not covet. He was thinking of Nan
as he had known her for some five years. From the days of her
schoolgirlhood he had watched her develop into a grown woman full of
all that was wholesome and winsome. She was her father over again,
trustful, simple, fearless, and she was possessed of a whimsical
philosophy quite beyond her years. Her beauty was undeniable, her
gentle kindliness was no less. But the memory of these things made no
stirring within him. Nan was just a loyal little friend whom he loved
and was ready to serve as he might love and help a sister, but regard
of her broke off at that. So, as he rode, the pictures of her failed
to hold him, and, finally, his roving gaze became caught and held by a
sudden and striking anachronism in the scene about him.
He claimed Bud's attention with a gesture which roused him from his
engrossing thought.
"Fire," he observed.
Bud's gaze became rivetted on the spot.
"Yes, it's fire--sure," he admitted.
It was a long way ahead. Only the trained eyes of prairiemen could
have read the sign aright at such a distance. It was a break in the
wonderful sea of varying shades of restful green. It was, to them, an
ominous dead black patch which broke the sky-line with unmistakable
skeleton arms.
It was the only remark upon the subject which passed between them, but
as they rode on it occupied something more than a passing attention.
With Jeff his interest was mere curiosity. With Bud it was deeper and
more significant. Had the younger man observed him he might have
discovered a curious expression almost amounting to pain in the deep
eyes which contemplated the blackened limbs where the fire had wrought
its havoc.
As they drew nearer it became apparent that the havoc was even greater
than they had first supposed. A wide patch of woodland, hundreds of
acres in extent, whose upper limits were confined only by the summit of
the valley's slope, where it cut the sky-line, had been completely
burnt out. Nor was it possible to tell if even that limit was the
extent of the disaster.
Bud suddenly reined in his horse as they came abreast of it, and his
voice broke with painful sharpness upon the deathly stillness of the
world about them.
"It's gone," he cried, with a note of deep distress and grievous
disappointment. "It's burnt right out to a shell. Say----"
"What's gone?"
The older man glanced round. Then his troubled eyes sought the charred
remains of the splendid pines once more.
"Why--the post." Then he pointed amongst the charred skeletons. "Get
a peek right in ther'. See, Jeff. Them walls; them fallen logs.
Burnt. Burnt right through to the heart of 'em. That's all that's
left of the home that sheltered me for the first sixteen years of my
life. Say, I'm sick--sick to death."
Jeff left his packhorse and moved forward amongst the blackened limbs.
The reek of burnt wood hung heavily upon the air. He threaded his way
carefully toward the charred remains of an extensive abode, now plainly
visible amongst the black tree trunks.
It was a wide rambling structure, and, though burnt to cinders, much of
its general shape, and the great logs which had formed its walls, still
remained to testify to all it had been under the hands of those who had
originally wrought there.
Jeff glanced back at the man he had left behind. He had not stirred.
He sat in the saddle just gazing at the destruction. That was all. So
he turned again to the ruins, and, dismounting, he proceeded on foot to
explore.
* * * * * *
They were eyes wide with repulsion and a certain horror that gazed down
upon the object at Jeff's feet. It was the rotting, charred remains of
a human figure. It was beyond recognition, except in so far as its
human identity was concerned. The clothes were gone. The flesh was
seared and shriveled. The process of incineration was almost complete.
After a few fascinated moments his eyes searched further along the
remains of the old post wall. Another figure lay sprawling on the
ground. Near by it a heavy pistol had fallen wide. A rifle, too, lay
across the second body.
Every detail was swiftly absorbed by the man's keenly active brain. He
stood back from the gutted precincts and gazed speculatively upon the
picture. His imagination reconstructed something of what he believed
must have occurred in the deep heart of these wrecked woodlands.
What of the fire? How had it been started? Was it the work of an
incendiary? Had the heat of the summer sun wrought the mischief? Had
the hut itself supplied the trouble? None of these questions offered
real enlightenment through the answers he could supply. No. He saw
the superheated furnace of the woods blazing, and he saw men struggling
with all their might to save themselves, and some of their more
precious belongings. The reckless daring of those two, perhaps at the
last moment, returning to their shelter on one final journey to save
some detail of their home. Then the awful penalty for their temerity.
Perhaps overwhelmed by smoke. Death--hideous, appalling death. Death,
a thousand times worse than that which, in the routine of their lives,
it was their work to mete out to the valuable fur bearers which yielded
them a means of existence.
A sudden question, not unaccompanied by fear, swept through his brain.
It was a question inspired by the belief that these men were fur
hunters. Who--who were they? He drew close up to each body in turn,
seeking identity where none was discoverable. A sweat broke upon his
temples. There was no sign in them. There was no human semblance
except for outline.
"God! If it should be----"
His sentence remained incompleted. A dreadful fear had broken it off.
He was gazing down upon the second body, in earnest, horrified
contemplation. Then to his amazement he was answered by Bud's familiar
voice.
"It ain't the boy we're chasin' up, Jeff," he said, with a deep
assurance.
"How d'you know that?"
The demand was incisive, almost rough.
"These folks weren't pelt hunters. Not by a sight. I bin around."
Jeff had turned to the speaker, and a great relief shone in his eyes.
"What--who were they--then?" he asked sharply.
"Maybe it was a ranch--of sorts."
"Of sorts? You mean----?"
"Rustlers. Come right on out of here, an' I'll show you."
With gentle insistence he drew his friend away from the painfully
fascinating spectacle which held so difficult a riddle. And presently
they were again with their horses, which were grazing unconcernedly
upon the sweet blue grass which the valley yielded so generously.
"Well?" There was almost impatience in Jeff's monosyllable.
For answer Bud pointed at a number of rough fences, uneven, crude,
makeshift, some distance away.
"See them? Oh, yes, I guess they're corrals sure. But it don't take a
feller who's lived all his life among cattle more'n five seconds to
locate their meanin'. They're corrals set up in an a'mighty hurry by
folks who hate work o' that sort anyway. An' I'd say, Jeff,
cattlemen--real cattlemen--don't dump a range down in the heart of the
Cathills, not even fer this sweet-grass you can see around, when ther's
the prairie jest outside. That is cattlemen who got no sort o' reason
fer keepin' quit of the--open plains. Then ther's bin a big drive away
north from here. Mebbe they wer' gettin' clear of this fire."
Under the influence of Bud's clear convictions all Jeff's fears
vanished. He accepted the other's admittedly better understanding of
these things all the more readily that he desired earnestly to dispel
the last shadows of his momentary doubt.
"That's so," he agreed. Then he added: "But anyway, our camp's gone."
"Yes. We'll make camp some'ere else. Meanwhiles----"
"Yes?"
"We must follow up the trail."
There was irrevocable decision in the older cattleman's tone. And his
words had the effect of startling the other.
"But--I don't see----"
"They're rustlers. Ther's their tracks clear as day. This is their
hiding. Wal, I guess there's jest one thing to be done. It's our duty
to track 'em down. Our duty to the cattle world, Jeff, boy."
"But what about--Ronald?"
Bud looked him squarely in the eyes.
"We're cattlemen first, Jeff. The other'll come later."
Jeff nodded, but there was a certain reluctance in his manner. His
whole heart was set upon the search for his twin brother. He felt that
his duty as a cattleman scarcely had the right to claim him at such a
time. But the older man's manner made it difficult to protest, and, in
deference to him, he felt it would be ungenerous to refuse. After all
it only meant perhaps the delay of a day for his own projects.
"Then we'll feed and water right here, Bud," he said resignedly. "We
can leave our pack ponies, and ride light. There's five hours of
daylight yet."
"Yes, five hours good. Thanks, boy. Don't you worry a thing. We'll
make this time good. We're goin' to find your Ronald--if he's
anywheres around these Cathills."
* * * * * *
The more concentrated the character, the more sure its power of moral
endurance, so the more acute its suffering under adversity. Such
penalties lie ambushed for the strong, as though in delight at the
immensity of the suffering which can thereby be inflicted.
Such an ambush was awaiting Jeffrey Masters. It came with terrifying
suddenness. Bud was on the lead. The great sea of blue grass had been
beaten and crushed by the hoofs of a considerable herd. There was no
difficulty, and the pace he made was rapid. But, even so, Bud's keen
eyes never left the well-defined trail. He was reading it with an
understanding which might well have seemed almost superhuman. And as
he rode he communicated odd fragments of his reading to the man behind
him.
"It's queer," he observed once, when they had covered nearly two miles
of the track. "Ther's a great bunch of horsemen been over this. Kind
o' seems to me as if ther' was as many horses as steers. They're
headin' northeast, too."
Jeff's eyes were as close upon the trail as Bud's, only he read with
less understanding.
"They seem leading out of the valley," he said. "Maybe there's another
camp way up further."
Suddenly Bud drew rein, his great body lurching forward in the saddle
as his horse "propped" itself to a standstill. Jeff's horse followed
suit of its own accord.
"What's doing?"
Jeff's demand was accompanied by a keen look into the other's face.
Bud's eyes were wide with speculation.
"They've broke up--hereabouts," he cried. "More'n half the horses have
cut out. Say, ther'," he went on pointing away to the right. "That's
the way they've took, clear across ther' to the east. The herd's gone
on with jest a few boys to handle it. Say----"
"Look!"
A curious suppressed force rang in Jeff's exclamation. He was pointing
at a bluff of wide-spreading sturdy trees that grew hard in against the
eastern slope of the valley.
Bud followed the direction indicated, and that which he beheld robbed
him of all inclination for further speech.
Long silent moments passed. Moments fraught with poignant, stirring
emotions. Something painful was slowly creeping into the eyes of both
men as they continued to regard this stout cluster of trees.
"Oaks."
The word was muttered.
Jeff vouchsafed no reply, but led the way toward them at a gallop.
They drew up almost in the shadow of the trees, at a point where three
hideous things were hanging suspended by rawhide ropes. They were
swaying gently, stirred almost imperceptibly under the pressure of the
light breeze.
Bud sat stock still upon his horse. For a moment Jeff remained at his
side. Then the latter stirred. He pressed his horse forward, urging
it closer under the overhanging boughs. The animal moved willingly
enough for a few yards. Then panic suddenly beset it. It shied. It
reared and plunged. The fierce reminder of the spur was powerless to
affect it beyond driving it to even more strenuous rebellion. The
terror-stricken creature would not approach another step in the
direction of those ominous swinging bodies.
Jeff finally leaped from the saddle and released his horse. It turned
to bolt, but Bud reached its hanging reins and secured it. Then he sat
still, observing the movements of his companion with strained, intent
gaze.
Jeff passed under the great limbs of the tree. He cautiously
approached the first of the hanging bodies. It was hideous. There was
a bandage drawn tightly over the dead eyes, but its folds were
powerless to disguise the rest of the contorted features. The head was
tilted over on one side. Its flesh was ghastly, and deep
discolorations blotched it from the neck up. The body was clad in the
ordinary garb of the prairieman, with the loose waistcoat hanging open
over a discolored cotton shirt, and the nether part of it sheathed in
dirty moleskin trousers. The ankles were lashed securely together, and
the arms firmly pinioned.
For some moments Jeff stared up at the dead man. His blue eyes were
quite unsoftening. There was no real pity in him for the fate of a
cattle thief. He understood only the justice of it from the point of
view of the cattle grower. So his cold eyes gazed up at the horrid
spectacle unflinchingly.
After some moments he passed on to the second body. The same
conditions prevailed. A colored handkerchief concealed the glazed
eyes, and the dropping jaw displayed the blackened cavity beyond the
lips.
He moved away to the third. Its back was turned to him, and the bared
head displayed a close mass of fair curling hair. In this instance the
bandage over the eyes had fallen from its place, and lay lodged against
the raw hide rope about the dead man's neck. He moved round quickly.
In a moment he was facing the dreadful dead features.
He stood there without a sound. But his eyes had changed from their
cold regard to a horror unspeakable. Once his lips parted, and there
was an automatic effort to moisten them with a parching tongue. He
swallowed with a visible effort. But no other movement came from him.
The moments passed. Hideous, dreadful moments of an agony that was
displayed in the drawn lines which had suddenly taken possession of his
strong features. It was the face of a man whose soul is seared with
the blasting fury of a hell from the sight of which he is powerless to
withdraw his terrified gaze. He knew nothing but the agony which smote
through his every sense. The world about him, the place, even the
hideous swaying remains of a once joyous life that confronted him. He
was blind, blind to it all, crushed beneath a burden of agony which
left him stupefied. His twin brother Ronald was there before him, a
dreadful, dead thing, hanged for a--cattle thief.
* * * * * *
Bud gazed from the dead to the living. His deep eyes were full of an
understanding which required no words. There was that about the dead,
distorted face which was unmistakable. One look into the dreadful eyes
of the living had told him all he needed.
He, too, stood silently contemplating the swaying figure. But it was
only for a moment. Then he moved swiftly, actively. As he moved he
drew a sheath knife from his belt.
He reached up. The steel of the knife gleamed. The next moment the
dead thing was in his arms.
A low fierce cry suddenly broke the silence of those dreadful shades.
"Leave him! Don't dare, or--I'll kill you!"
Bud's head turned, and the muzzle of a gun touched his cheek. The
blazing eyes behind it shone like coals of fire as they glared into his.
But the great Bud's purpose was stronger than the madness of the
other's agony.
"Put up your gun, Jeff," he said, in a deep gentle voice. "We're jest
goin' to hide this poor boy wher' the eyes o' men an' beasts can't see
him. We're jest goin' to hide him away wher' mebbe the good God'll
watch over him, an' help him, an' surely will forgive him. You ken
jest help me, boy, to locate the place, an' when we find it we'll sort
o' seal it up, an' you ken hide the key away in your heart so no one'll
ever find it. Are you goin' to help, Jeff?"
For answer the gun was abruptly withdrawn. Then Bud saw the stricken
man's hand dash across his eyes, and, as it passed, he realized the
moisture of tears upon the back of it.