THE PRIMITIVE LAW
Bostwick and McCoppet had made ample provision against attack at the
claim. Their miners, who set to work at once to enlarge the facilities
for extracting the gold from the ground, were gun-fighters first and
toilers afterward. The place was guarded night and day, visitors being
ordered off with a strictness exceptionally rigid.
Van and his partners were down and out. They had saved almost nothing
of the gold extracted from the sand, since the bulk of their treasure
had fallen, by "right of law" into the hands of the jumpers.
Bostwick avoided Van as he would a plague. There was never a day or
night that fear did not possess him, when he thought of a possible
encounter; yet Van had planned no deed of violence and could not have
told what the results would be should he and Bostwick meet.
In his customary way of vigor, the horseman had begun a semi-legal
inquiry the first day succeeding the rush. He interviewed Lawrence,
the Government representative, since Culver's removal from the scene.
Lawrence was prepared for the visit. He expressed his regrets at the
flight Van's fortunes had taken. Bostwick had come, he said, with
authority from Washington, ordering the new survey. No expectation had
been entertained, he was sure, that the old, "somewhat imaginary" and
"decidedly vague" reservation line would be disturbed, or that any
notable properties would be involved. Naturally, after the line was
run, establishing the inclusion of the "Laughing Water" claim, and much
other ground, in the reservation tract, Mr. Bostwick had been justified
in summary action. It was the law of human kind to reach for all
coveted things.
Van listened in patience to the exposition of the case. He studied the
maps and data as he might have studied the laws of Confucius written in
their native tongue. The thing looked convincing. It was not at all
incredible or unique. It bore Government sanction, if not its
trademark. And granting that the reservation tract did actually extend
so far as to lap across the "Laughing Water" claim, the right of an
entrant to locate the ground and oust all previous trespassers after
the legal opening was undeniable.
Much of the natural fighting spirit, welded by nature into Van's being,
had been sickened into inactivity by the blow succeeding blow received
at the hands of Beth Kent. The case against her was complete.
Her letter to her brother was sufficient in itself. The need for its
delivery in person to her brother he thought undoubtedly a ruse to get
himself out of the way. If she had not planned with the others to warn
the convict, Barger, of his trip, she had certainly loaned her money to
Bostwick for his needs--and her letter contained the threat, "I will
repay!"
At the end of three days of dulling disgust and helplessness, Van and
his "family" were camping in a tent above the town of Goldite, on a
hill. They were all but penniless: they had no occupation, no hope.
They were down once more at the ladder's bottom rung, depleted in
spirit, less young than formerly, and with no idea of which way to turn.
Van meant to fight, if the slightest excuse could be discovered. His
partners would back him, with their lives. But he and they, as they
looked their prospects fairly in the face, found themselves utterly
disarmed. Except for the credit, extended by friends of Van,
starvation might have lurked about their tent. All delayed seeking for
outside work while the prospect of putting up a fight to regain their
property held forth a dim glimmer of hope.
The last of Van's money went to meet a debt--such a debt as he would
not disregard. The account was rendered by a cutter of stone, who had
carved upon a marble post the single legend:
QUEENIE.
This post was planted where a small earth mound was raised upon the
hill--and word of the tribute went the rounds of the camp, where
everyone else had forgotten.
The town's excitement concerning the rush had subsided with greater
alacrity as reports came back, in rapid procession--no gold on the
reservation. The normal excitements of the mining field resumed where
the men had left them off. News that Matt Barger was not only still at
large, but preying on wayside travelers, aroused new demands for the
sheriff's demonstrations of his fitness to survive. The fact was
recalled that Cayuse, the half-breed murderer of Culver, was as yet
unreported from the hills.
The sheriff, who had ridden day and night, in quest of either of the
"wanted" men, came back to Goldite from a week's excursion, packed full
of hardships, vigilance, and work, to renew his force and make another
attempt. He offered a job to Van.
"There's ten thousand dollars in Barger," he said. "And I guess you
could use the money. There's nothing but glory in gittin' Cayuse, but
I'll give you your pick of the pair."
That some half-formed notion of procuring a secret survey of the
reservation line, in his own behalf, had occupied Van's thoughts
somewhat insistently, was quite to be expected. That the work would
prove expensive was a matter of course. Money was the one particular
thing of which he stood in need. Nevertheless, at the sheriff's
suggestion he calmly shook his head.
"Thanks, old man. Blood-money wouldn't circulate worth a whoop in my
system. But I think I could land Cayuse." He held no grudge against
Culver now. Perhaps he regretted the fuss he had made on the day of
Culver's death. "I'll take ten dollars a day," he added, "and see what
I can do about the Indian."
"I knew it! I knew you'd do more than all the gang--myself in the
count," the sheriff exclaimed in profound relief. "I'm beat! I own
it! I ain't seen a trace of that black-headed devil since I started.
If you'll fetch him in----"
"Don't promise more than ten dollars a day," Van interrupted. "If you
do you can get him yourself. I haven't said I'll fetch him in. I
merely said perhaps I could get him."
"All right," said the sheriff, bewildered. "All right. I don't care
what happens, if you git him."
Glad, perhaps, to escape the town--to flee from the air that Beth was
breathing, Van rode off that afternoon.
He did not seek the Indian murderer, nor for traces of his place of
concealment. He went due west, to the nearest Indian camp, on the now
diminished reservation. He called upon a wise and grave Piute, as old
as some of the hills.
"Captain Sides," he said, when the due formalities of greeting had been
gratified, "I want you to get Cayuse. He stabbed a white man, Culver,
Government man--and you Piutes know all about it. Indians know where
an Indian hides. This man has broken the law. He's got to pay. I
want your men to get him."
Old Captain Sides was standing before his house. He was tall and
dignified.
"Yesh--he's broke the law," he agreed. "Mebbe my boys, they's get him."
[Illustration: "Yesh--he's broke the law."]
That was all, but a strange thing happened. On the following night
four grim Piutes brought Cayuse from his mountain retreat. They were
all his kinsmen, uncles, brothers, and cousins. He was taken to a
council in the brush, a family council with Captain Sides as Chieftain,
Magistrate, and father of the tribe. And a solemn procedure followed.
Cayuse was formally charged with infraction of the law and asked for
his defense. He had no defense--nothing but justification. He
admitted the killing, and told of why it had been done. He had taken
an eye for an eye.
"I have broken the white man's law," he said. "The white man first
broke mine. I'm ready to pay. The Indian stands no show to get away.
I broke the law, and I am glad. They want my life. That's all right.
That's the law. But I don't want the white man to hang me. That ain't
good Indian way. My people can satisfy this law. They can shoot me
like a man. No white is going to hang Cayuse, and that's all I've got
to say."
To an Anglo Saxon mind this attitude is not to be readily comprehended.
To the Indian members of Cayuse's clan it addressed itself as wisdom,
logic, and right. The council agreed to his demands. The case,
historical, but perhaps not unique, has never been widely known.
As solemnly as doom itself, the council proceeded with its task. Some
manner of balloting was adopted, and immediate members of the Cayuse
totem drew lots as to which must perform the lawful deed. It fell to a
brother of the prisoner--a half-brother only, to be accurate, since the
doomed man's father had been white.
Together Cayuse and this kinsman departed from the camp, walking forth
through the darkness in the brush. They chatted in all pleasantness,
upon the way. Cayuse could have broken and run. He never for a moment
so much as entertained the thought.
They came to a place appropriate, and, still in all friendliness,
backed by a sense of justice and of doom, the guiltless brother shot
the half-breed dead--and the chapter, with the Indians, was concluded.
Van was gone three days from Goldite camp. He returned and reported
all that had been done. He had seen the executed man. An even thirty
dollars he accepted for his time, and with it bought food for his
partners.