THE SECOND OBSTACLE
Lawler went outside with Caldwell and the others--after Caldwell
returned from his visit to Gary Warden--and, standing in the flickering
glare of light from inside the hotel, he watched the men ride away.
There was a smile on his lips as he saw them fade into the yawning gulf
of moonlit distance,--going in different directions toward their
ranches--an ironic smile, softened by understanding and friendship.
For he bore the men no ill will because their decision had not agreed
with his. He had not expected them to do as he was determined to do. And
he had not asked them.
Had it not been for the agreement he had made with Jim Lefingwell the
previous spring, Lawler might also have accepted Gary Warden's price
rather than face the hazards of the long drive to Red Rock.
Warden's attitude, however, his arrogance, and the hostile dislike in
his eyes, had aroused in Lawler a cold contempt for the man. Added to
that was disgust over the knowledge that Warden, and not Jim Lefingwell,
was a liar--that Warden had no respect for the sacredness of his word,
given to Lefingwell. The man's honor must be wrapped in a bond or a
written contract.
The incident in the Hamlin cabin had contributed hatred to the other
passions that contact with Warden had aroused in Lawler; but it had been
his visit to Simmons and his talks with Hatfield and the governor that
had aroused in him the fighting lust that gripped him now.
The ironic smile had faded when he reached the stable where he had left
Red King. It had set in serious lines and his chin had taken on a
pronounced thrust when he mounted the big horse and sent him
southeastward into the glowing moonlight.
He brought Red King to a halt at a spot on the plains where the herd of
Circle L cattle were being held for the night, with some cowboys riding
monotonous circles around them.
Blackburn had seen him coming, and recognizing him, met him near the
camp fire.
The range boss listened, his lips grimming, then silently nodded.
It was past midnight when Lawler reached the Circle L. He let himself
into the house noiselessly, changed his clothes, donning the corduroy,
the woolen shirt, and the spurred boots that he had worn before
beginning his trip to the capital. Then, penning a note to his mother,
informing her that he was going to Red Rock with his men, he went out
and rode down into the valley, where the other men of the outfit were
guarding the main herd, which had been held in the valley at his orders.
Long before dawn the big herd was on the move, heading northward, toward
Willets, the twenty men of the outfit flanking them, heading them up
the great slope that led out of the valley.
The progress of the herd was slow, for there was good grazing and the
cattle moved reluctantly, requiring the continued efforts of the men to
keep them moving at all. And yet when darkness came that night they had
reached the Rabbit Ear--where two nights before Blackburn had held the
first herd.
It was late in the afternoon of the second day when Lawler and his men
came within sight of Willets. They drove the second herd to where
Blackburn and his men were holding the first. Leaving Blackburn to make
arrangements for camp, Lawler rode on into Willets. From a distance he
saw that the company corral was well filled with cattle; and when he saw
Lem Caldwell talking with some other men in front of the hotel, he knew
the cattle in the corral bore Caldwell's brand.
He waved a hand to Caldwell and the others as he rode past the hotel;
but he kept on until he reached the station, where he dismounted,
hitched Red King to a rail and crossed the railroad track.
A frame building, small, with a flat shedlike roof, stood near the
corral fence--between the tracks and the big gates--and Lawler entered
the open door, to find a portly, bald-headed man sitting at a rough,
flat-top desk. The man was busy with a pencil and a pad of papers when
Lawler entered, and he continued to labor with them, not seeming to
notice his visitor.
Lawler halted just inside the door, to await the man's leisure. And then
he saw Gary Warden lounging in a chair in a far corner. Warden did not
appear to see Lawler, either; he was facing the back of the chair,
straddling it, his elbows crossed on the back, his chin resting on his
arms, his gaze on the rough board floor.
Lawler noted, his lips straightening a little, that in the movements of
the man at the desk was a deliberation that was almost extravagant. The
man was writing, and the pencil in his hand seemed to lag. He studied
long over what he wrote, pursing his lips and scratching his head. But
not once did he look up at Lawler.
"Wrestling with a mighty problem, Jordan?" finally asked Lawler, his
patience strained, his voice in a slow drawl.
The bald man started and glanced up. Instantly, he reddened and looked
down again, leaving Lawler to wonder how it was that every official with
whom he had conversed within the past few days had exhibited
embarrassment.
"Excuse me, Lawler," said Jordan; "I didn't know you was here. I'll be
with you in a second--just as soon as I check up this tally. Caldwell
drove in here not more'n two hours ago, an' I ain't got his tally
straightened up yet."
Lawler turned his back to Warden and gazed out through the open doorway.
On the siding was a long string of empty box cars, plainly awaiting
Caldwell's cattle.
After a glance at the cars, Lawler wheeled and faced Warden, who was
still gazing meditatively downward.
"I see that cars came quickly enough when you ordered them, Warden," he
said.
Warden raised his head slowly and gazed straight at Lawler, his eyes
gleaming challengingly.
"Yes," he said: "Simmons finally unearthed enough to take care of
Caldwell's cattle. There'll be more, as soon as Simmons can find them.
And he'll have to find them pretty soon or his company will face a
lawsuit. You see, Lawler, I ordered these cars months ago--got a written
contract with the railroad company for them. They've got to take care of
me."
"I reckon you knew they'd take care of you, Warden. You were as certain
of that as you were that they _wouldn't_ take care of any owner who
wouldn't sell to you."
"What do you mean, Lawler?" demanded Warden, his face flushing.
"What I said, Warden. It takes gall to do what you and your friends are
doing. But, given the power, any bunch of cheap crooks could do it. You
understand that I'm not complimenting you any."
It was apparent to Warden, as it was apparent to Jordan--who poised his
pencil over the pad of papers and did not move a muscle--that Lawler's
wrath was struggling mightily within him. It was also apparent that
Lawler's was a cold wrath, held in check by a sanity that forbade
surrender to it--a sanity that sternly governed him.
It was the icy rage that awes with its intensity; the deliberate
bringing to the verge of deadly action the nerves and muscles that yearn
for violent expression--and then holding them there, straining tensely,
awaiting further provocation.
Both men knew what impended; both saw in the steady, unwavering gleam of
Lawler's eyes the threat, the promise of violence, should they elect to
force it.
Jordan was chastened, nerveless. The pencil dropped from his fingers and
he slacked in his chair, watching Lawler with open mouth.
Warden's face had grown dead white. The hatred he bore for this man
glared forth from his eyes, but the hatred was tempered by a fear that
gripped him.
However, Warden was instinctively aware that Lawler would not force that
trouble for which he plainly yearned; that he would not use the gun that
swung from the leather at his hip unless he or Jordan provoked him to
it.
And Warden wore no gun. He felt secure, as he sat for an interval after
considering the situation, and yet he did not speak at once. Then, with
the urge of his hatred driving him, he said, sneeringly:
"Cheap crooks, eh? Well, let me tell you something, Lawler. You can't
intimidate anybody. My business is perfectly legitimate. I am not
violating any law. If I have the foresight to contract for cars in time
to get them for shipment, that is my business. And if I offer you--or
any man--a price, and it doesn't suit you, you don't have to accept it."
He saw a glint of humor in Lawler's eyes--a sign that the man's passions
were not to be permitted to break the leash in which he held them--and
he grew bolder, his voice taking on a vindictive note.
"And I want to tell you another thing, Lawler. As long as I am resident
buyer at Willets you'll never ship a hoof through me. Understand that!
You can drive to Red Rock and be damned! If you'd been halfway decent
about this thing; if you hadn't come swaggering into my office trying to
dictate to me, and calling me a liar, I'd have kept Lefingwell's
agreement with you!"
"Then Lefingwell wasn't the liar," smiled Lawler; "you're admitting it."
Warden's face grew poisonously malevolent. He laughed, hoarsely.
"Bah!" he jeered. "We'll say I lied. What of it! I didn't want to
antagonize you, then. Only a fool is truthful at all times." He laughed
again, mockingly. "I'm truthful when I want to be."
He saw the frank disgust in Lawler's eyes, and the desire to drive it
out, to make the man betray some sign of the perturbation that must be
in him, drove Warden to an indiscretion.
"You're a wise guy, Lawler," he jeered. "A minute ago you hinted that
this thing was being engineered by a bunch of cheap crooks. Call them
what you like. They're out to break you--understand? You suspect it, and
I'm telling you. You went around last fall with a chip on your shoulder,
making trouble far Haughton and his friends. And now they're going to
bust you wide open and scatter your remains all over the country.
They're going to fix you so that you'll never shoot off your gab about
conditions in the state again. Governor--hell! you'll be a bum before
that gang gets through with you!"
He paused, breathing rapidly, his face pale with passion; his eyes
glowing with hatred, naked and bitter.
He heard Lawler's short, mirthless laugh; he saw Lawler's eyes narrow
and gleam with a cold flame as he took a step forward and stood over
him.
"Get up, Warden," came Lawler's voice, low and vibrant. "You'll
understand what I'm going to say a whole lot better if you're on your
feet, like a man."
Warden got up, defiantly, and for an instant the two men stood looking
into each other's eyes, both understanding the enmity that was between
them, and both seemingly exulting in it.
"I'm thanking you, Warden, for telling me. But I've known, since I
talked with Simmons about the cars, just what it all meant. My talks
with Hatfield and Governor Haughton convinced me beyond all reasonable
doubt. I'm the man they are after, of course. But incidentally, they're
going to mulct every other cattle owner in the state. It's a mighty big
scheme--a stupendous robbery. The man who conceived it should have been
a pirate--he has all the instincts of one.
"But get this straight. You've got to fight me. Understand? You'll drag
no woman into it. You went to the Hamlin ranch the other day. God's
grace and a woman's mercy permitted you to get away, alive. Don't let it
happen again. Just as sure as you molest a woman in this section, just
so sure will I kill you no matter who your friends are! Do you
understand that, Warden?"
Warden did not move a muscle. He tried to look steadily into Lawler's
eyes, found that he could not endure the terrible intensity of them--and
drooped his own, cursing himself for the surrender.
He heard Lawler laugh again, a sound that sent a cold shiver over him;
and then he saw Lawler standing beside the desk at which Jordan sat.
"Jordan," said Lawler, shortly; "I want you to vent my cattle. There's
eight thousand head, approximately. They're being held just out of
town--about a mile. I'd like to have you give me a certificate of
ownership tonight, so we can start to drive before daylight."
Jordan's face whitened, and then grew crimson. He essayed to look up, to
meet Lawler's eyes, raising his head and then lowering it again without
achieving his desire. He cleared his throat, shifted his body and
scuffed his feet on the floor. At last, after clearing his throat again,
he spoke, huskily:
"We ain't ventin' any trail herds this fall, Lawler."
Lawler stiffened, looked from Jordan to Warden, and then back again at
Jordan, who had taken up the pencil again and was nervously tapping with
it upon the desk top.
"Not venting trail herds, eh?" said Lawler. "Whose orders?"
"The state inspector--headquarters," replied Jordan, hesitatingly.
"Would you mind letting me see the order, Jordan?" asked Lawler, calmly.
Jordan succeeded in looking up at Lawler now, and there was rage in his
eyes--rage and offended dignity.
Both were artificial--Lawler knew it. And his smile as he looked into
Jordan's eyes told the other of the knowledge.
Jordan got up, stung by the mockery in Lawler's eyes.
"Hell's fire, Lawler!" cursed Jordan; "can't you take a man's word?" He
stepped back, viciously pulled open a drawer in the desk, drew out a
paper--a yellow telegraph form, and slapped it venomously down on the
desk in front of Lawler.
"It's ag'in' orders, but I'm lettin' you see it. Mebbe you'll take a
man's word after this!" he sneered.
Lawler read the order. Then he calmly placed it on the desk. He looked
at Jordan, whose gaze fell from his; he turned to Warden, who smiled
jeeringly.
"There is nothing like thoroughness, whenever you do anything on a big
scale, Warden," he said. "This order forces cattle owners in this
section to drive cattle over a trail without proof of ownership. We
fought for that vent law for a good many years, as a weapon against
rustlers. This order leaves a cattle owner without protection against
the horde of rustlers who infest the state. And the order is dated
yesterday. This thing begins to look interesting."
He turned and walked out, not glancing back at the two men inside, who
stood for a long time looking at each other, smiling.