GOING EAST
Within fifteen minutes after he had left Ruth Hamlin with Slade at the
side door of the Wolf, Warden had sent a telegram to Lawler, at the
capital, informing him that the girl might be found at the brothel with
the outlaw. He had signed no name to the telegram, but that did not
lessen the venomous satisfaction he felt over sending it.
It had been nearly eleven o'clock when Warden sent the wire and allowing
for some minutes of waste time before the message could be delivered,
and the space of time that must elapse before Lawler could reach
Willets--even if he came on a special train--he knew that Lawler could
not arrive before the early hours of the morning.
Lawler, Warden knew, would be in a killing mood when he reached Willets.
And he knew, also, that Slade would be waiting for Lawler, and that he
would kill Lawler on sight.
Slade would have to kill Lawler, for Lawler, as governor, had the power
to be revenged upon the outlaw for the abduction of Ruth; and Slade
would know that Lawler would use that power to the limit. If Slade
killed Lawler, that would be another matter. The outlaw would have to
hide, to evade the clutches of the law. But hiding was not more than
Slade had been accustomed to for years, and that necessity would work
no hardship upon him.
That was Warden's reasoning. Perhaps it was faulty, for it hinged upon
the vagaries of a wanton character who could not be depended upon. But
Warden had to take that chance.
And Warden's reasoning, of late, had been influenced by his passionate
hatred of Lawler. That hatred had warped his judgment until he had
become a creature guided by the savage impulses that filled his brain.
When he left Slade and Ruth at the door of the Wolf, he went directly to
his office, taking Singleton with him. He lit a kerosene lamp, built a
fire in the small stove that stood in a corner; seated himself in a
chair, motioned Singleton to another, lit a cigar and smoked--his eyes
gleaming with the vindictive joy he felt.
However, the cigar in his mouth was not half smoked, when from a
distance, on the steady west wind, was borne to his ears the faint,
wailing shriek of a locomotive whistle.
The cigar drooped from his lips and he looked swiftly at Singleton.
Singleton had heard the sound, too, for his eyes had narrowed and his
attitude had become tense.
That both men had the same thought was evidenced by the glance they
exchanged--incipient apprehension.
"It's a freight, likely," muttered Singleton.
Warden took a nervous puff at his cigar. Then he got up, walked to a
window and stood, looking out into the night. He stood there for a few
minutes, Singleton watching him--until the whistle shrieked again and a
muffled roar reached their ears. Then Warden turned, his face ashen.
"Singleton, it's a special!" he said, jerkily; "an engine and one car!"
Singleton got up and walked to the window, beside Warden. As they stood
there, they saw the train stop at the station. They saw, in the dim
light from the coach, the figure of a tall man alight and dart across
the platform, to vanish in the shadow of the station. Simultaneously,
there came to their ears the staccato reports of pistols, the sounds
rendered faint and muffled by distance.
Singleton flashed around, his face pale and his eyes bulging.
"It's Lawler! I'd know him among a million! An' somethin's happened at
the Wolf. That's where the shootin' is! Warden," he said, nervously; "it
looks like there's goin' to be hell to pay!"
Warden's face was ashen, but he laughed.
"Don't worry, Singleton; Slade will take care of Lawler," he said. But
the words carried no conviction with them--they had been uttered without
expression.
Warden walked to the door and gazed down the dimly lighted stairway.
There was suppressed excitement in his manner, nervous anxiety in his
eyes. He walked back into the room, threw his cigar into a cuspidor, and
stood with his back to the stove, listening.
Singleton said nothing; though his lips had settled into a pout and his
eyes had a sullen, malignant expression. He, too, was wishing--what
Warden was wishing--that Slade would kill Lawler. The death of Lawler
would make the future safe for both of them; it would remove a menace to
their lives and a barrier to their schemes for the autocratic control of
the cattle industry.
But they doubted. Deep in their hearts lurked a fear that something had
gone wrong--which thought was suggested by the sounds of the shooting
they had heard.
Singleton had become afflicted with the nervousness that had seized
Warden. The pout on his lips grew; he cast startled, inquiring glances
toward the door. And at last, as they stood silent, looking at each
other, there came a sound--close; the sound of a man walking in the
street. As they listened the sound came closer, reached the front of the
building. Then they heard it on the stairs. Warden stiffened, and
Singleton drew his gun. An instant later the door crashed inward, and
Lawler stood in the opening, his eyes flaming with the cold wrath that
had been in them on the day when, after he had killed Antrim, he had
come to Warden's office for a like purpose.
There was no word spoken. Lawler saw the gun in Singleton's hand. He
leaped quickly to one side as Singleton pulled the trigger--the smoke
streak touching his clothing as he moved. He leaped again as Singleton
shot at him a second time. This time he was so close to Singleton that
the powder burned his face. And before Singleton could shoot again
Lawler struck--with the precision and force that he had put into his
blows that day in the schoolhouse.
Singleton reeled headlong across the room, bringing up against the
farther wall, striking it with his head and tumbling to the floor beside
it.
Then, his lips set stiffly, his eyes flaming with a fire that brought
terror into Warden's heart, he faced the other.
"Now, damn you; I'll teach you to make war on women!" He leaped forward,
striking at Warden with terrific energy.
* * * * *
Still struggling in Shorty's arms, Ruth heard Singleton's shots. She
broke away from Shorty, noting with dull astonishment that Shorty seemed
almost to have permitted it, and ran down the street toward Warden's
office. As she ran she heard a tumult behind her, and steps close beside
her. She glanced swiftly over her shoulder, to see Shorty beside her.
The giant was taking steps that dwarfed hers, and while she looked at
him he drew past her. She heard him muttering as he passed--caught his
words:
"Lawler ain't got no gun--I seen that!"
She ran faster than ever at that, and when Shorty reached the foot of
the stairs leading to Warden's office she was at his heels.
There were other men behind her--a multitude. She felt them pressing
close behind her as she ran up the stairs. But she did not look back,
for she heard sounds of a conflict in Warden's office--the thud and jar
of blows, the crashing of furniture overturned and smashed; the
scuffling of feet on the floors--and screams of rage--in Warden's
voice.
When she reached the top of the stairs and looked into the room between
Shorty's shoulder and the door jamb, she screamed with apprehension. For
she saw Singleton, with blood dripping from a huge gash in his cheek, in
the act of picking up a pistol that, evidently, had fallen on the floor
during the fight that must have raged in the room.
Singleton's face was hideous with rage. It was evident that he did not
see Shorty and herself at the door--and that he had not heard the
tramping of the many feet on the stairs. He was apparently oblivious to
everything but the fact that the pistol was there and that he had an
opportunity to use it.
Ruth saw Warden and Lawler fighting in a corner. Warden's back was
against the wall, near the stove. He was facing the door. His lips were
lacerated, drooling blood, his eyes were puffed and blackened, and he
was screaming and cursing insanely.
As Ruth watched, her gaze taking in the wreck of the room--and Singleton
picking up the pistol--she saw Lawler strike Warden--a full sweeping
blow that sent forth a sodden deadening sound as it landed.
Warden sagged, his eyes closing as he slid to the floor and sat in the
corner his legs doubled under him, his chin on his chest.
The scene had held only for an instant--merely while Ruth screamed. The
sound had hardly died away when Singleton succeeded in grasping the
pistol. Ruth tried to squeeze past Shorty, to prevent the tragedy that
seemed imminent. But Shorty's quick, flashing motion checked her--made
interference by her unnecessary. There was a flash at Shorty's side,
and the crash of his pistol rocked the air in the room and the hallway.
Singleton straightened, turned slowly, looked full at Shorty. Then
without uttering a sound he pitched forward, almost at Lawler's feet.
The roar of the pistol brought Lawler around so that he faced the door.
He saw Shorty and Ruth and the others behind them, but gave no sign. His
rage had left him; he seemed coldly deliberate. The only sign of passion
about him was in his eyes. They were narrowed, and pin points of fire
appeared to flame in them. As though there were no witnesses to what he
was doing, he stooped, lifted Warden and threw him over his shoulder.
The crowd gave way before him as he started for the stairs--even Ruth
and Shorty stepping aside to let him pass. They watched him wonderingly
as he carried his burden down the stairs and out into the street. And
then as he walked they followed him.
He went straight across the street, past some low buildings, and over a
vacant stretch between the buildings and the station. The crowd followed
him--Ruth and Shorty closely, silently watching.
The special train in which he had come was still standing beside the
station platform, the engine panting as though from its long run
eastward. Ruth noted that the train crew was on the platform near the
engine, interestedly watching the approach of Lawler carrying his
burden.
Lawler walked to the rear end of the coach and threw Warden bodily upon
it. Then he turned and motioned toward the conductor. The latter
approached him warily, seeming doubtful of what might be in store for
him from a man, who though governor--thus carried the body of a man on
his shoulder. But he listened respectfully when he observed the clear
sanity of Lawler's eyes.
"This man is leaving Willets--immediately!" said Lawler. "He's going
East, to the end of this line--at my expense. When he regains
consciousness you will tell him what I have said."
"It's Warden, ain't it?" grinned the conductor. "Well, I'll be glad to
take him. But I'll have to wire for orders. This guy ain't a _bona fide_
passenger."
He strode to the telegraphers window. There was a short wait; and during
the interval Warden stirred and sat up, swaying from side to side and
staring about him in bewilderment. Lawler stepped forward, leaned over
the platform.
"Warden," he said; "you are going East. You are not coming back. If you
ever step a foot into this state again I will send you to prison for a
term that will make you wish you were dead. I have a signed confession
from Link and Givens that convicts you of a crime for which this state
provides an adequate penalty. Do you understand?"
Warden nodded, wearily, and dropped his chin to his chest. After an
interval, during which the crowd watched him intently, he staggered to
his feet and reeled into the coach, and the crowd saw him no more. An
instant later the conductor went toward the coach, grinning, signaling
the engineer.
A low cheer rose from the crowd as the train started, and a man far back
toward the station shouted, loudly:
"If they hadn't been in such a damned hurry, we'd have raised a
collection to send him to hell!"
A little later Lawler and Ruth and Shorty formed the van of the crowd
that walked down the street toward the Wolf--where the Circle L men had
left their horses. Ruth walked between Lawler and Shorty. Ruth was very
pale, and her lips were trembling. In front of the Willets Hotel--in the
flood of light that came through the windows, she clutched at Lawler's
sleeve.
"Hurry, Kane," she begged; "they have killed daddy!"
"Don't you believe it, Miss Ruth," said Shorty, softly, into her ear.
"When I left Joe Hamlin he was a whole lot alive--an' gettin' more alive
right along. I left Andy Miller with him--an' Andy's got more sabe of
medicine than any doctor in these parts!"
"Shorty!" she breathed, springing around in front of him and catching
him by the shoulders--standing on tip-toe to do it. "_Shorty_, you don't
mean it?"
Shorty laughed lowly. "I'm reckonin' to mean it, Miss Ruth."
"But how," she questioned, her hands still on his shoulders, her eyes
wide and questioning; "how did you happen to go to the Two Bar?"
"Well, you see, Miss Ruth," laughed the giant--while the crowd which had
followed them stood off at a little distance and watched--"it was like
this. Me an' the boys--an' your dad--had been tryin' for a long time to
ketch Singleton runnin' an iron on the Circle L cattle. Your dad an' me
had run a bunch into that gully near the Two Bar, an' tonight me an' the
boys was waitin' in the gully for your dad to bring Singleton there.
Your dad had been brandin' stolen stock--at my orders--an' tonight he
was goin' to refuse--makin' Singleton do it. For Singleton was really
doin' the rustlin'. An' your dad----"
"Was doing it all for you? Is that what you mean, Shorty?"
"Why, I reckon, Miss Ruth. You see----"
Ruth had to leap upward to do it. But somehow the height was achieved.
Two arms went around Shorty's neck and Ruth's lips were pressed against
his with a resounding smack.
"O Shorty!" she exclaimed as she hugged him tightly, after kissing him;
"I just _love_ you!"
Shorty blushed furiously. As soon as Ruth released him he grinned with
embarrassment and walked with giant strides down the street to where he
and his men had left the horses, the laughter and jibes of his fellows
following him.