RED KING RUNS
Sheriff Moreton had left Red King at the livery stable, and after Lawler
had thanked the sheriff for his part in the little drama that had just
been played, he walked to the stable, saddled and bridled the big horse,
mounted and rode out of town, toward the Circle L.
While grim tragedy had lurked over the incident that had just closed,
the thing had had its humorous side. And as Lawler rode he reflected
smilingly, though feeling a pulse of shame for Della Wharton.
In spite of the fact that the woman had charged Gary Warden with
evolving the plot, Lawler felt nothing but contempt for the man.
Warden's schemes, so far, had resulted only in discomfiture for Warden
himself. And because Lawler was not vindictive, he entertained no
thoughts of reprisal.
However, Lawler was now well equipped with evidence of Warden's
misdeeds. Months before, he had sent to Metcalf, the editor of the
_News_, in the capital, the story of the drive to Red Rock, embellished
with an account of his adventure with Antrim's gang, his capture of
Antrim and the subsequent bringing of the outlaw to Willets, where he
had delivered him to Warden.
Metcalf had written him that the publication of the article had created
a sensation in the state, and it appeared from the prominent position in
which Metcalf had placed the story--on the front page, with a picture of
Lawler dominating; and big, black headlines announcing:
"PROMINENT CATTLEMAN WORSTS TRAIL HORDE!"--that Metcalf had kept his
promise to the effect that he intended to "feature" his fight against
the power that was attempting to control the cattle industry.
So far, though, Lawler had no evidence that the governor's power had
been used against them. He was convinced that Warden, Jordan, Simmons,
and the others were employing their talents against him with the secret
approval of the governor; but until he secured absolute, damning
evidence he dared not openly charge it.
Lawler had been waiting patiently for such evidence. He had felt all
along that sooner or later his enemies would over-reach themselves,
leaving some weak spot through which he could attack, and he had been
content to wait until that time, merely defending himself and his
interests, planning no aggressive campaign.
The effect of the assaults of his enemies thus far had disturbed him
little. He had been able to anticipate most of their attacks and they
had resulted in little harm to himself. They had left him unperturbed,
unharmed--like the attacks of an excitable poodle upon a giant,
contemptuous mastiff.
Deep in his heart, though, lurked a spark of passion that, day by day,
had been slowly growing, warming him, making his veins swell a little
when his thoughts dwelt upon Warden and the others; bringing into his
heart a savage longing that he often had yielded to in the old
days--before he had learned to control his passions. There were times
when he was almost persuaded to break the laws for which he had fought
in the old days--moments when it seemed to him that further toleration
of the attacks of his enemies would be a sign of weakness. But he had
conquered those surges of passion, though the victory always left him
with a smile on his face that would have awed Warden, had he seen it.
Something of that passion was in his heart now, as he rode toward the
Circle L. It had become plain to him that Warden would adopt any means
to destroy him; that in the man's heart was a malignant hatred that was
driving him to a boldness that could mean nothing but that in the end
they must settle their differences as man to man. Lawler would not
always be able to control the passion that lurked in him. He knew it.
One day Warden would press him too hard. And then----
His thoughts had made him oblivious to his surroundings. A whinney from
Red King brought him out of his ruminations, and he looked swiftly up,
and then directly ahead, to see a horseman racing toward him; the rider
crouched in the saddle, the horse running low, coming toward him at a
speed that brought him out of depressions with light, flying bounds, and
over the crests of small hills with a velocity that was dizzying.
The running horse and the crouching rider were still a mile from Lawler;
but even at that distance Lawler recognized Shorty, and he urged Red
King on to meet him, suspecting that nothing but a stern emergency would
make the man race his horse at that speed.
Lawler glanced back as he rode. He had come several miles, and the
rolling character of the plains behind him had blotted Willets out. He
saw, too, that he had reached a point where three trails converged.
One--which Shorty was traveling--came westward from the Two
Bar--Hamlin's ranch; the other, leading almost straight southward, was
the Circle L trail; the third, leading southward also, though inclining
in a westward direction, ran to the Rabbit Ear, near the Dickman
cabin--the ranch where Antrim and his men had established themselves.
Shorty came on at cyclonic speed. When he reached a point within a
hundred yards of Lawler, the latter observed that Shorty's face was
pale; that his jaws were set and his eyes glowing with a wild, savage
light.
Stiffening, his lips straightening, a responsive passion assailing him,
Lawler drew Red King down and waited for Shorty to reach him. He knew
Shorty did not permit himself to become excited without cause.
And when Shorty drew his horse to a sliding halt within half a dozen
paces of Red King, Lawler saw that Shorty was in the grip of a cold,
deadly passion. His eyes were glittering, his lips were stiff and white,
and he was drawing great, long breaths that could be heard above the
shuddering gasps of the horse he rode.
The giant's fingers were working--clenching and unclenching near the
butts of the two guns he wore; and his eyes were pools of icy rage that
chilled Lawler.
Twice he tried to speak as Lawler shot a short question at him, and
twice he failed, making guttural sounds that betrayed the awful
agitation that had seized him. At the third attempt he blurted:
"Lawler, Antrim's gang has cleaned up the Circle L! Damn their sneakin',
dirty hides! They've run off our cattle--takin' 'em through Kinney's
cañon! They've wiped out the Circle L outfit! Blackburn's
left--Blackburn an' three more poor fellows they plugged, an' didn't
finish!
"Blackburn made me ride for help--damn him, anyway, Lawler! I wanted to
stay with the bunch!" Shorty's voice broke; his lips quivered; his voice
rose to a screech of impotent, awful rage. Brokenly, he told Lawler what
had happened after the stampeding of the cattle by Antrim's men. He
related, in tumbling, rapid, quavering sentences, how he had got the
help Blackburn had sent him for--Caldwell's outfit--with the exception
of two men who had been sent in different directions to other ranches.
And how, later in the morning, he had returned to the shallow gulley on
the plains where he had left Blackburn and the others, to find most of
them dead. Blackburn and three more had been wounded, but had survived.
"Fifteen men, Lawler!" raged Shorty; "fifteen men wiped out by that
miserable gang of coyotes! But damn them!" he added with a fierce,
savage joy; "they didn't get away without payin' toll, either! There's
twenty of them layin' out there, Lawler--twenty of them for the coyotes
to find. For Caldwell an' his outfit wouldn't touch 'em. When I left, to
come an' tell you--thinkin' you was in jail--Caldwell an' his boys was
plantin' our fellows, an' takin' Blackburn and the three others to the
Hamlin shack!"
He looked hard at Lawler, noted the paleness of the man's face, and then
spoke less excitedly, and with deep regret in his voice.
"Lawler, I hate to tell you this. After I seen what happened to our
boys, I rode this way, intendin' to tell you. The trail took me past the
Hamlin shack. I wasn't intendin' to stop, but it seems like they heard
me comin' an' run out to see what was up.
"It was your mother stopped me, Lawler--smiling kind of grim--like she
always smiles when things go wrong.
"'Shorty,' she says; 'you go directly to town and find Kane. You know
he's in jail, for I told you so last night. Tell Sheriff Moreton to
release him; and then tell Kane that Antrim has stolen all the Circle L
cattle and has burned all the Circle L buildings. Tell him that Antrim
himself burned the buildings, and that Antrim said he would wait for
Kane at Antrim's shack--and that he dared Kane to come there for him.
'Shorty,' she said, cold an' ca'm; 'you tell Kane to get out of jail and
go to Antrim's cabin, and kill him!'"
Lawler had sat, grim and silent, listening to Shorty. Twice had Shorty
seen his eyes quicken--when Shorty had mentioned his mother, and again
when he had spoken of Antrim's action in burning the Circle L
buildings.
Now, he leaned forward and peered intently at Shorty, and Shorty
marveled how his eyes bored into his own--with a cold intensity that
chilled the giant.
"Shorty," he said, in a low, strained voice; "Mother hasn't been hurt?"
"I forgot to tell you that," said Shorty; "she said, 'tell Kane I am all
right.'"
Shorty opened his mouth to speak further, but closed it again when he
saw Red King leap down the trails--a flaming red streak that flashed
over the new grass at a speed that took him a hundred yards before
Shorty could get his own horse turned.
The big red horse was lost in a dust cloud when Shorty urged his own
animal southward. And Shorty rode as he had never ridden before, in an
effort to lessen the space between himself and the flying Red King.
To no avail, however. Shorty's horse was fast, but Red King seemed to
have wings, so lightly did he skim over the green gulf of distance that
stretched between his master and the vengeance for which Lawler's soul
was now yearning. Shorty's horse was tired, and Red King was fresh; and
the distance between them grew greater--always greater--slowly,
surely--until the red horse was lost in the tiny dust cloud that moved
with unbelievable velocity far down the trail toward the Rabbit Ear.