THE OUTLAWS STRIKE BACK
The brief spring was merging suddenly, earlier even than usual, into
summer, and it was a still, oppressive night when Leland sat, somewhat
grim in face, in a mortgage and land broker's office at the railroad
settlement. The little, dusty room, with its litter of papers and survey
prints, was very hot, and Leland, who had just come in from the dusk,
was a trifle dazed by the light the kerosene lamp flung down. He had in
his hand two or three letters the broker had given him, and glanced at
one of them moodily, only with difficulty fixing his attention on it. He
had toiled with feverish activity that spring, and at last the strain
was telling, for his head ached, and he felt limp and weary. It had,
too, been dry weather ever since he put the first plough into the
ground, and that night there was an oppressive tension in the
atmosphere.
Macartney, the land-broker, sat opposite him, a gaunt, keen-eyed man,
with a thin jacket over his white shirt. Leland knew him for an upright
man, though nobody is supposed to be particularly scrupulous in the
business he followed.
"You are looking a little played out," he said. "I can give you some ice
and soda, but it's partly due to your own efforts that I've nothing
else. Whisky can, I believe, be had, but, in the face of the fall in
land and wheat, the figure the few men want who venture to keep it is
prohibitive."
He filled a tumbler from the fountain on the side-table, and dropped in
a lump of ice. Leland drained it thirstily.
"I've been round since sun-up, and have driven forty miles," he said,
putting down the empty glass. "I guess it's the weather, for a thing of
that kind shouldn't have troubled me. Not a blade of wheat up yet, and
the seed-beds all clods and dust. There are very few of us going to
escape the frost in the fall."
Macartney nodded sympathetically. "If I come out a hundred cents on the
dollar when harvest's over, it's rather more than I expect," he said.
"My stake's in land and wheat, and I couldn't unload anything except at
a smart loss just now. In the circumstances, it seems to me that Bruce
is making you a reasonable offer."
"I'm not likely to raise on it from anybody else," and Leland frowned as
he glanced at the letter. "Still, if I let him have the cattle, I can't
stock the ranch again. They should have cleared me quite a few thousand
dollars, if I could have held on, and sold them fat in the fall."
"If I were in your place and could hold on, I would. Still, you have to
have some money in hand. The banks won't look at land, and I couldn't
raise you anything on mortgage except at a crippling interest."
"That's just my trouble, I haven't got any cash."
The broker glanced at him reflectively. "Well," he said, "it's not my
business, but you must have had a pile last year. Of course, you were
over in the Old Country, but you could afford it, and you never struck
me as an extravagant man."
Leland smiled in a somewhat wry fashion. "I don't quite think I am, but
that's not the question. I've got to have the money to go on with, and,
as you say, I couldn't get it on a mortgage that wouldn't ruin me. Tell
Bruce he can have the cattle, and, if he'll let me know when he wants
them, we'll round them up for him. It's that or nothing, but I stand to
lose 'most enough on the run to break me this year."
"From what you told me, if you hang on to the run, you'll have to let
Prospect go."
Leland's face hardened. "Well," he said, "I guess I would, and that, if
it has to be, is going to hurt me. If I stood as I did last fall, I
could carry over, but now the market and the season are both against me.
But I must be getting home. You'll fix it up with Bruce?"
The ostler from the Occidental was waiting outside with a hired horse,
and Leland, swinging himself wearily into the saddle, rode down the
unpaved street. A blaze of light shone out from the verandah of the
little hotel, and he could hear the laughter of those inside and the hum
of merry voices. Further on, somebody was playing a fiddle in a house
the door and windows of which stood wide open. He sighed a little as he
rode by. A year ago, he would have spent the night there or at the
hotel, taking his part in the pointed badinage with keen enjoyment. His
good-humour had been infectious then, and everybody had had a pleasant
word for him; but things were different now.
The market was going against him, the season was getting more
unpropitious. If ruin could be staved off, it would be only by unceasing
toil and Spartan self-denial. After working from sunrise, he had driven
forty miles that afternoon, and there was the same distance still to be
covered in the saddle. He might count himself fortunate if he reached
Prospect in time for barely two hours' sleep before he must set about
his work again. He had never spared himself, and he had no thought of
doing so now, when every effort he could make was urgently necessary.
Branscombe Denham's creditors had been, if not satisfied, at least
pacified for a time with the money that would have seen him through, and
Leland, who knew his man, smiled grimly as he recalled that Denham had
termed it a loan.
There was nobody in the rutted street, the stores were closed, and only
a single light burned in the little wooden shed beside the railroad
track. The place seemed deadly desolate, and Leland, whose physical
weariness had reacted on his mind, shrank for once from the greater
loneliness, as he rode out into the silent, empty waste. Save when the
blue sheet-lightning fell with a sudden blaze, black darkness rested
heavily upon the night. The drumming of his horse's hoofs rose with a
jarring distinctness, the air was thick and hot, and the smell of
sun-scorched earth was in his nostrils. A light, fibrous dust settled on
his perspiring face.
The sod, green no longer, was turning white before its season, and broad
cracks seamed its surface from want of moisture. He could remember only
one or two springs that had been like this; and they, he recalled, had
broken many a prairie farmer. Seed will not germinate under such
conditions, and the prairie summer is usually quite short enough to
ripen the crops. There was nobody to observe him, so he bent under the
strain, riding slackly in his weariness, with all the vigour gone out of
him. What his thoughts were, he could never quite remember. Indeed, he
was not sure that he had had any definite thoughts at all, being
conscious only of utter lassitude and dejection.
The horse started in alarm whenever the blue radiance flashed athwart
the prairie, showing here and there a clump of willows, or a birch bluff
etched black against the brightness. Then darkness followed, and he felt
his way by the sound the hoofs made on the sun-baked soil of the trail.
He was astonished, on making the big bluff by the ravine, to hear a beat
of hoofs among the trees he had not seen until he rode into the midst of
them. There were evidently a good many horses, and it flashed upon him
that only the rustlers would be riding that way in a body and at that
hour of night. He had no pistol, nothing in fact, but a heavy riding
quirt. This he grasped by the thinner end as he rode on. In his present
mood, he would not have left the trail had he known absolutely that the
outlaws had come there in search of him.
They were hidden in the blackness, but he could hear them calling to
their horses as they climbed the trail out of the hollow, and he
stiffened himself a little, shifting his hand on the bridle, and feeling
for a firmer grip with his knees. As he did so, the gap between the
trunks was filled with a blue flash, and he could plainly see the white
faces of the foremost of the outlaws. The light lasted long enough to
show that men and beasts were dripping with wet. Then a curious thing
happened. Leland's grasp of the riding quirt suddenly relaxed, and he
checked his horse.
"You have had rain, boys?" he said.
"A shower," said a startled man, who had seen him for an instant. "More
of it to the westwards--the creek's rising."
There was another blue flash, and Leland's horse plunged. As he swayed
in his saddle, two, at least, of the others saw his face; but they stood
still in the black darkness that followed, and he rode through the midst
of them with a firm grasp on the bridle. Then he gave the startled horse
the rein. A confused clamour rose from the blackness behind him as he
swept across the bridge, and he felt that whimsical chance alone had
saved him. Had he planned his moves with definite purpose, the thing he
had done would have been impossible.
Reining in when he reached the level beyond the ravine, he sat
listening. There was no sound of pursuit. As a big, warm drop splashed
upon one hand, he started nervously. Then from out the silence came a
soft murmur that rose in sharp crescendo. Suddenly a rush of rain smote
his perspiring face. The patter swelled into a roar, and a heavy, steamy
smell like that of a hothouse rose from the drinking earth. Leland felt
his pulse quicken as the warm deluge washed his cares away. Its value
could be calculated in hard cash, for it saved his wheat.
He rode for a while bareheaded, with the water trickling over him.
Though he was physically very weary, the lassitude and dejection melted
out of him. There was no longer a tension in the atmosphere, and he was
an optimist again, vaguely thankful for the things he had and the
strength to grapple with those against him. With that, a great
tenderness towards his wife swept over him like a wave, and he
remembered, not her scorn and bitter words, but that there was so much
she must miss at Prospect. He had left her alone, neglected, while he
thought only of his work, and, even though she cared nothing for him, he
might in many ways have made her life pleasanter. He could, he
reflected, do it yet, for ruin seemed remote, now the wheat was saved.
The rain still beat his clothing flat against his tired limbs, but he
rode on almost light-heartedly, with the mire splashing high about him,
welcoming every drop.
It was still dark when he reached Prospect, wet through and half-asleep,
but, swinging himself wearily down from the saddle, he made shift to put
the horse into one of the stables. There were more than one of them, for
the buildings had been erected here and there as they had been wanted,
and as the farm had grown. Letting himself into the silent house, and
groping his way to his room, he shed his wet and muddy garments on the
floor and crawled dead-tired into bed. He slept very soundly, for Nature
would have her way, and it was seven in the morning when Carrie, who did
not know he had returned, entered his room. Though she knew little of
household management, she had, during the last month or two, been
quietly assuming the direction of affairs at Prospect.
She started when she saw him, but it was evident that he was very fast
asleep, so she stood for several minutes looking down on him. One arm
was flung out on the coverlet, bare to the elbow, sinewy and brown. She
noticed the hardness of the hand, and her heart grew soft towards him as
she saw how worn his face was with the resolution melted out of it. The
man looked so weary in his sleep. When she glanced round the room, his
very clothes, from which the water had spread across the uncovered
floor, were suggestive of the hard fight he had fought and the weariness
it had brought him. There had been no care in his face at Barrock-holme.
She, she reflected, had brought him trouble. At the thought, there came
over her a feeling of disgust with herself and compassion for him. It
was not love, perhaps, but it was, at least, regretful tenderness, and
she drew nearer with a sudden impulse, the blood creeping into her
cheeks. He lay very still, apparently fast asleep, and she knew that
further trouble awaited him on wakening.
Then the impulse, illogical as she felt it was, grew stronger, until it
became uncontrollable, and she bent down swiftly and kissed his cheek.
He made no sign, but she rose with her blood tingling, and, not daring
to look back at him, slipped out of the room. She met Gallwey on the
stairway, and he looked at her in amazement, for he had never before
seen that colour in her face or that softness in her eyes.
"If one might be permitted to mention it, the loss of sleep and the
alarm last night seem to have agreed with you," he said. "You are
looking as fresh as the prairie after the rain."
Carrie laughed softly, and it seemed to the man that her voice was also
gentler than usual. "I'm afraid I can't make you an equal compliment,"
she said. "You look very woe-begone."
"I expect I do," and Gallwey made a little whimsical gesture. "In fact,
I wish it was any other person's duty to inform your husband what has
happened. I suppose I am in a way responsible, and his remarks are
rather vigorous occasionally."
"You are not going to waken him now?"
"I'm afraid I must. The King's command, madam. I have already gone a
little further than was advisable in giving him an extra hour."
"But," said Carrie, "you don't seem to remember that there is a Queen at
Prospect, too. Let him sleep until nine o'clock. You have my
dispensation."
Gallwey made her a little inclination, and it was more deferential than
joking, though he smiled.
"With that, madam, I will risk my head," he said. "I wonder if I may
dutifully mention that we have wanted a Queen for a long while--one who
will rule."
Carrie felt her cheeks glow, and she was glad when he turned and went
down the stairs in front of her.
It was two hours later when Gallwey, with some difficulty, and not a few
misgivings, awakened Leland, but the latter's first indignation died
away when his comrade mentioned why he had not done so earlier. Gallwey,
who was Carrie Leland's devoted servant, contrived to hide his smile,
though he had drawn his own inferences and was satisfied. By the time he
had said all he had to say, Leland's face had, however, grown grim
again, and that he was quiet was not a favourable sign.
"I will be down in five minutes, and come with you," he said. "One of
the whisky boys or I would have needed burying if I had known of this
last night."
Ten minutes had passed when he and Gallwey walked towards the stables
across the wire-fenced paddock. The rain had ceased, and bright sunshine
was licking up the gleaming moisture from the sod, but Leland saw only a
wide space of sodden ashes, and the blackened ruins of the log-stables,
of which the roofs had fallen in. The birch-trunks that still stood were
charred and tottering, and a little steam rose from them. They went in
among them together. Leland stopped suddenly, with hands tight clenched
and the veins on his forehead standing out, when he saw what lay among a
mass of half-burnt and fallen beams.
"Four of them," he said hoarsely. "Brave old Bright, and Valerie. Many a
long furrow have they ploughed for me. Voyageur and Blackfoot, too!"
He swung round fiercely. "Tom, I'd almost sooner the--hogs had crippled
me. Teams I'd broke and driven year by year. They've done 'most as much
for Prospect as I have. By the Lord, when next I run up against the boys
who did it, there's going to be a reckoning. You are sure of what you
tell me?"
Gallwey touched his arm. "Come and see."
They went out together, across the space of ashes that ran back several
hundred yards from the stables. Then Gallwey stooped beside a half-burnt
tussock of taller grass, and pointed to a little card of pasteboard
sulphur matches. They were, as usual, joined together at the bottom of
the card, and the heads had melted off them; but Gallwey, stooping,
picked up a single half-burnt match, and fitted it to the place from
where it had evidently been broken off.
"I left them there for you to see," he said. "As a rule nobody ever
finds out how a grass-fire starts, but I think the origin of this one is
tolerably plain. You will, of course, have noticed that it is within the
guard-furrows. Perhaps the fellow didn't remember the matches, or he may
have left them as a hint. I suppose it is gratifying to feel that your
enemy knows you intended it when you hurt him."
Gallwey's face hardened, and he went on:
"Jake wakened first, and we had the boys out in five minutes, but the
fire was on the stables then. We couldn't get the door open, either, and
had to wait while one of them brought an axe. I don't know what jammed
it, because, when I went back to see, it was burnt, but it never stuck
fast before. Well, we did what we could, but we couldn't save the four
horses you saw, and, if it hadn't been for the rain, we might have lost
them all."
Leland, looking about him, noticed again that the fire had started just
where the grass was tallest, and within the guard-furrows ploughed to
cut the homestead off from the sweep of the prairie. This fire, it was
very evident to him, had been started with a definite purpose that it
had come very near accomplishing.
"We have everything against us this year," he said, and his brown face
showed very hard and stern. "Still, by the Lord, if we have to go under,
there's going to be a struggle first."