LELAND STRIKES BACK
It was about ten o'clock at night, and Carrie was sitting with Eveline
Annersly in the big general room at Prospect. Leland, who had been
brought downstairs to be further away from the hot roof, lay asleep in
another room that opened off the corridor leading to the kitchen. Almost
every man attached to the homestead was away. The threshers were
expected on the morrow, for throughout that country the wheat is
threshed where it stands in the sheaves, and it had always been a
difficult matter to convey the mill and engine across the ravine. The
thresher now expected was an unusually large one, and Gallwey had set
out with most of the teams to assist the men in charge of it. He had,
however, promised to come back with some of the boys that night.
Carrie was a little sleepy, for she had borne her part in the stress of
work usual in a Western homestead at harvest time; but she had no
thought of retiring until Gallwey arrived. Nothing had been heard of the
outlaws since the fire, but since most of the harvesters would require
to be paid and sent home in a day or two, there was a good deal of money
for the purpose in the house. It seemed that Eveline Annersly was also
thinking of it, for presently she looked at her companion with a little
smile.
"It is on the whole fortunate my nerves are reasonably good," she said.
"It would be singularly inconvenient if Charley's whisky-smuggling
friends should visit us to-night. Your bills could, one would fancy, be
got rid of more easily than English notes, and I understand there are a
good many of them in Charley's room."
Carrie laughed, for she was unwilling to admit she had any
apprehensions. She felt that, if she did so, they might become
oppressive.
"There are," she said. "A visit to the settlement means two days lost,
and Gallwey and I decided to get enough to pay the threshers, too, so as
to save another journey. I had expected him back by now."
She rose, and, going out, opened the homestead door. It was a quiet,
star-lit night, with no moon in the sky, and the prairie rolled away
before her dim and shadowy. Not a sound rose from it. Even the wind was
still. As she gazed out across the dusky waste, something in its
vastness and silence impressed her as never before. She had grown to
love the prairie, but there were times when its desolation reacted
almost unpleasantly on her. The homestead, with its barns and stables
standing back beneath the stars, seemed so little, an insignificant
speck on that great sweep of plain. She roused herself to listen, but no
beat of hoofs crept out of the soft darkness, and it was evident that
Gallwey was a long way off yet.
Then she turned with a little shiver, and went back into the house.
Crossing the big room, she went down the corridor, and softly opened the
door of the room where her husband slept. A lamp was burning dimly, and
it showed his quiet face, now a trifle haggard and lined with care.
Carrie's eyes grew gentle as she looked at him, for he had been very
restless and apparently not so well that day, while it was evident to
her that his vigour was coming back to him very slowly. Then, as she
turned, her eyes rested on the safe, and again a thrill of apprehension
ran through her. She was glad that Gallwey had the key.
She went back to the general room, and, though she had not noticed it so
much before, found the stillness oppressive. There was not a sound, and,
when her companion turned over a paper, the rustle of it startled her.
"I almost wish I had not let Tom Gallwey go," she said. "Still, it was
necessary. The threshers couldn't have got their machine here without
the boys."
Eveline Annersly looked up. "I certainly wish he had come back, though I
suppose he can't be very long now. He told you ten o'clock, I think. In
the meanwhile you might find this account of the wedding at Scaleby
Garth interesting."
Carrie held out her hand for the paper, but her attention wandered from
the description of the scene in the little English church. She had left
the outer door open, and found herself listening for a reassuring beat
of hoofs; but nothing disturbed the deep silence of the prairie. Half an
hour had passed when she straightened herself suddenly in her chair,
with her heart beating fast, and saw that Eveline Annersly's face was
intent as she gazed towards the door.
"Oh!" she said. "You heard it, too?"
"Yes," said the elder lady, with a tremor in her voice. "It sounded like
a step."
In another moment there was no doubt about it, and Carrie rose with a
little catching of her breath as a shadowy figure appeared in the hall.
For a moment she stood as though turned to stone, and then suddenly
roused herself to action as a man came into the room.
He stopped just inside the threshold, a big, dusty man, with a damp,
bronzed face; but, as it happened, it was Eveline Annersly his eyes
first rested on. He glanced at her suspiciously, and then swung round as
he heard a rattle, just in time to see Carrie snatch down her husband's
rifle.
She stood very straight, breathless, and a trifle white in face, but
there was something suggestive in the way the rifle lay in her left
hand. The man could see that a swift jerk would bring the butt in to her
shoulder and the barrel in line with him, while the girl's gaze was also
disconcertingly fixed and steady. She had stood now and then just
outside the woods at Barrock-holme, with a little 16-bore in her hands,
getting her share of the pheasants as they came over. The intruder could
shoot well enough himself to realise that when the barrel went up her
finger would be clenched upon the trigger. His hand was at his belt, but
he kept it there, and for a second or two the pair looked at one
another. Then he quietly turned round, which argued courage, and called
to somebody outside.
"Come in, boys," he said. "Here's a thing we hadn't quite figured on."
Carrie turned when he did, and in another moment she was standing with
her back to the door that led to the corridor, while Eveline Annersly,
who gasped, looked at her with horror in her eyes.
"What are you going to do?" she said.
Carrie did not look in her direction. She was watching the outer door,
and stood tense and still, but with something in her pose that suggested
a readiness for swift, decisive movement. In fact, her attitude vaguely
reminded her companion of a bent bow, or a snake half coiled to strike.
Her face was set, and there was a portentous glint in her very steady
eyes. Her voice was harsh, but impressively quiet.
"If they try to get into Charley's room I am going to kill one of them,"
she said.
Then two other men came in, and one of them made a little half-whimsical
gesture.
"Hadn't you better be reasonable, Mrs. Leland?" he said. "We're not
going to hurt you."
"What do you want?" asked the girl.
"Money," said the man who had come in first. "Anyway, that's the first
thing. You have plenty of it here. Tom Gallwey brought a big wallet out
from the settlement a week ago. They're in the safe in the room behind
you, too."
Carrie, nervous and overwrought as she was, decided to temporise.
Gallwey could not be long, and he had promised to bring some of the boys
home with him.
"Well," she said, in a strained voice, "I haven't the key."
One of the men laughed. "That's not going to worry us. If we can't open
it with a stick of giant-powder, we'll take the safe along. It's hardly
likely to be a big one."
"Then it's only the money you want?"
Carrie's perceptions had never been keener than they were that night,
and she saw one of the others glance at his comrade warningly. She also
saw the little vindictive gleam in another man's eyes, and she
understood. It was not alone to empty Leland's safe they had come, and
he lay sick and helpless in the room where it stood. One other thing was
also clear to her, and it was that none of them should go in there at
any cost.
"Well," said the outlaw, "if we got the money without unpleasantness, it
would help to make things pleasanter for everybody, and we're going to
get it, anyway. The only two men about this homestead are held up in the
stable, and there are quite a few of us here. I guess you had better let
us in to the safe."
Carrie moved a trifle, bringing her left arm, which was aching, further
forward. "I think there are two keys belonging to the safe," she said.
"I wonder if I could remember where the other one is."
She delayed them at least a minute while she appeared to consider, and
then the men evidently lost their patience, for one of them turned
angrily to their leader.
"We have no use for so much talking, and want to get ahead," he said.
"It's a sure thing they wouldn't leave the place empty any length of
time with Leland sick, and I guess you're going to have Gallwey and the
boys down on you if you stay here long."
One of his comrades growled approvingly. "Oh," he said, "quit talking.
If she hasn't got that key on her, she doesn't know where it is. We'll
run in and get hold of her. It's even chances she has nothing in the
gun."
It was evident that the suggestion commended itself to all of them, but
the trouble was that nobody seemed anxious to put it into execution.
Carrie pressed down the magazine slide with one hand. It would, however,
only move a very little, and she realised that the magazine was almost
full. Then she laughed harshly, and the sound jarred on Eveline
Annersly's ears.
"Well," she said, "why don't you come?"
Then she started, and endeavoured to put a further restraint upon
herself, for it seemed to her that a very faint drumming sound rose from
the prairie. None of the others, however, appeared to hear it. In
another moment an inspiration seemed to dawn on one of the men.
"Put the lamp out, and we'll get her easy in the dark," he said.
Eveline Annersly failed to check a little startled cry, but Carrie
turned towards the leader of the outlaws very quietly.
"Stop a moment," she said. "You daren't hurt a woman. It would raise all
the prairie against you; but, if one of you comes near that lamp, I will
certainly shoot him."
The leader made a little gesture, half of admiration and half of anger.
"Now," he said, "we've had 'bout enough talking, and your husband
spoiled our game when he brought those troopers in. We know who sent for
them. Well, we're lighting out for good after we've cleaned his safe
out, and done one or two other little things. We don't want to hurt you,
but we're not going to be held up by a woman. It's your last chance. Do
you mean to be reasonable?"
Carrie was white to the lips, for it was perfectly plain that they
intended to have a reckoning, before they went, with the man who had
driven them out.
"Keep back from the light!" she said.
Then the outlaw made a little half-impatient gesture of resignation.
"Well," he said, "you'll have to get hold of her, boys."
They came forward, but, though that would have been wiser, they did not
run. Two of them moved crouchingly, and Carrie could not see the third
man. Still, they had only made a pace or two when one of them suddenly
straightened himself.
"Look out!" he said; "we're going to have trouble now."
Carrie could not see the door behind her open, but Eveline Annersly saw
it, and gasped. Then she laughed, a little hoarse laugh that at any
other time would have jarred on those who heard it, as Leland appeared
in the opening. He was in pyjamas, and his face was white and haggard.
One arm, still bound up, hung at his side, but a big pistol glinted in
his other hand. One of the outlaws recoiled, but his comrade sprang
towards the lamp. Mrs. Annersly saw Carrie's rifle pitched forward,
there was a double detonation, two jarring reports so close together
that one could scarcely distinguish between them, and the man nearest
the light reeled and struck the table before he sank into a huddled heap
on the floor. A streak of blue smoke hovered in the middle of the room,
and another filmy cloud floated about the inner door, through which
Leland presently lurched, gaunt and pale and grim, with a look in his
eyes that Eveline Annersly remembered afterwards with horror. He said
nothing whatever, but his pistol blazed, and the room resounded with the
quick, whip-like reports. Then there was thick darkness as the light
went out. So far as Eveline Annersly, who was the only one who
remembered anything, could make out, two of the outlaws retreated
towards the door, shouting for their comrades; but they did not reach
it, for a voice rang sharply outside.
"Hold up!" it said; "we've got you this time sure."
What took place outside did not appear at once, but a few minutes later
somebody came in, calling out for Mrs. Leland, and struck a match. It
went out, but another man soon appeared, holding up a lamp, the light of
which showed Leland leaning upon the table with an arm round his wife,
who was laughing hysterically.
"I didn't hit him, I didn't! You fired first!" she said.
"That's all right," said Leland, soothingly. "Anyway, there's a good
deal of life in him yet. I'm quite sure I plugged another of them just
before the light went out."
Carrie turned half round, glancing towards the man, who was struggling
to raise himself from the floor, and then once more clung to Leland with
a little cry.
Then Trooper Standish set down the lamp, and Sergeant Grier came
forward, while several hot and dusty troopers stood revealed about the
door.
"Is there anybody hurt except this man?" he asked.
Leland said there was nobody so far as he knew, and the Sergeant nodded.
"Then I guess you and Mrs. Leland had better light out of this, while we
see what can be done for him and another man the boys have outside. I'll
come along and tell you about it later."
Leland began to expostulate. "I've been tied up by the leg long enough,
and there are one or two things I want to do right now."
The Sergeant, who ignored him, turned to Carrie with a little dry smile.
"Get him back to his bed, Mrs. Leland, as quick as you can, and send
your friend away," he said. "You're going to have no more trouble, but
this is no place for you."
Carrie seemed to rouse herself, and with some difficulty led her
protesting husband away. Half an hour had passed when the Sergeant and
Gallwey, who had arrived in the meanwhile, were admitted to Leland's
room. He now lay, partly dressed, in a big chair, for nothing that
Carrie could do would induce him to go back to bed again. Grier sat down
with a little smile, and Carrie looked at him warningly.
"You are not to excite him," she said.
"Excite me!" said Leland. "It's the one thing that has cured me. I'll be
going round with the threshers in a day or two."
"Well," said the Sergeant, "it's quite a simple tale. One of your
friends, perhaps a boy who'd worked for you, gave us the office at
sun-up, and we started as soon as we heard what the rustlers meant to
do. It seems, from what one or two of them have admitted, that they
knew the game was up when the new troopers came, and meant to get even
with you before lighting out."
"How did they know the boys were away, and what in the name of thunder
did Gallwey keep them all this while at the ravine for?" Leland broke
in.
Grier raised his hand. "You keep still. I'm telling this thing my own
way. How the whisky boys found out more than that is one of the points
I'm going to inquire into. Well, we started, and before we were half-way
most of the horses were dead played out; and though I went round by a
ranch, the boys were out driving cattle, and had only two horses in the
stable. I guess we led the horses most of the rest of the way, until,
when we were a league off, I rode on with one of the boys. Then, coming
in quietly, we saw there was something wrong. While we waited for the
boys, we fixed things so that we got our hands on four of the gang. Two
of them are the bosses, and one of them wants a doctor, as well as the
other man with the bullet in his leg. That's about all there is to it.
You're not going to have any more trouble with the rustlers."
"Will the man Charley shot get well?" asked Carrie, with tense anxiety.
The Sergeant smiled. "Oh, yes," he said. "He'll be on his way to Regina
jail in a day or two."
He went out with Gallwey by-and-bye, and Carrie sat down by her husband,
with a little happy laugh.
"Oh," she said, "that's one trouble done with; and, if you won't excite
yourself, Charley, I'll tell you something more. Wheat is going up."