A NIGHT OF TERROR
That midnight drive was one long nightmare to the unfortunate captive.
He had been thrown, sprawling, into the iron-railed "carryall" platform
at the back of the buckboard, and lay on the nut-studded slats, where he
was jolted and bumped about like the proverbial pea on a drum.
When the raider changed his direction, and turned off the trail on to
the open prairie, the horrors of the prisoner's position were
intensified a hundredfold. Alone, there was insufficient room for the
suffering man in the limited space of the "carryall," but beside him
sat, or rather crouched, a burly Breed, ready at a moment's notice to
quash any attempt at escape on the part of the wretched money-lender.
Thus he was borne along, mile after mile, southward towards his own
ranch. Sometimes during that terrible ride Lablache found time to wonder
what was the object of these people in thus kidnapping him. Surely if
they only meant to carry off his cattle, such a task could have been
done without bringing him along with them. It seemed to him that there
could be only one interpretation put upon the matter, and, in spite of
his present agonies, the great man shuddered as he thought.
Courageous as he was, he endured a period of mental agony which took all
the heart out of him. He understood the methods of the prairie so well
that he feared the very worst. A tree--a lariat--and he saw, in fancy, a
crowd of carrion swarming round his swinging body. He could conceive no
other object, and his nerves became racked almost to breaking pitch.
The real truth of the situation was beyond his wildest dreams. The
significance of the fact that this second attack was made against him
was lost upon the wretched man. He only seemed to realize with natural
dread that Retief--the terror of the countryside--was in this, therefore
the outcome must surely be the very worst.
At length the horses drew up at Lablache's lonely ranch. His nearest
neighbor was not within ten miles of him. With that love of power and
self aggrandisement which always characterized him, the money-lender had
purchased from the Government a vast tract of country, and retained
every acre of it for his own stock. It might have stood him in good
stead now had he let portions of his grazing, and so settled up the
district. As it was, his ranch was characteristic of himself--isolated;
and he knew that Retief could here work his will with little chance of
interference.
As Lablache was hoisted from the buckboard and set upon his feet, and
the gag was removed from his mouth, the first thing he noticed was the
absolute quiescence of the place. He wondered if his foreman and the
hands were yet sleeping.
He was not long left in doubt. Retief gave a few rapid orders to his
men, and as he did so Lablache observed, for the first time, that the
Breeds numbered at least half-a-dozen. He felt sure that not more than
four besides their chief had traveled with them, and yet now the number
had increased.
The obvious conclusion was that the others were already here at the time
of the arrival of the buckboard, doubtless with the purpose of carrying
out Retief's plans.
The Breeds moved off in various directions, and their chief and the
money-lender were left alone. As soon as the others were out of earshot
the raider approached his captive. His face seemed to have undergone
some subtle change. The lofty air of command had been replaced by a look
of bitter hatred and terrible cruelty.
"Now, Lablache," he said coldly, "I guess you're goin' to see some fun.
I ain't mostly hard on people. I like to do the thing han'some. Say
I'll jest roll this bar'l 'long so as you ken set. An' see hyar, ef
you're mighty quiet I'll loose them hands o' yours."
Lablache deigned no reply, but the other was as good as his word.
"Sulky, some, I guess," the half-breed went on. "Wal, I'm not goin' back
on my word," he added as he rolled the barrel up to his prisoner and
scotched it securely. "Thar, set."
The money-lender didn't move.
"Set!" This time the word conveyed a command and the other sat down on
the barrel.
"Guess I can't stand cantankerous cusses. Now, let's have a look at yer
bracelets."
He sat beside his captive and proceeded to loosen the rope which bound
his wrists. Then he quietly drew his pistol and rested it on his knee.
Lablache enjoyed his freedom, but wondered what was coming next.
There was a moment of silence while the two men gazed at the corrals and
buildings set out before them. Away to the right, on a rising ground,
stood a magnificent house built of red pine lumber. Lablache had built
this as a dwelling for himself. For the prairie it was palatial, and
there was nothing in the country to equal it. This building alone had
cost sixty thousand dollars. On a lower level there were the great
barns. Four or five of these stood linked up by smaller buildings and
quarters for the ranch hands. Then there was a stretch of low buildings
which were the boxes built for the great man's thoroughbred stud horses.
He was possessed of six such animals, and their aggregate cost ran into
thousands of pounds, each one having been imported from England.
Then there were the corrals with their great ten-foot walls, all built
of the finest pine logs cut from the mountain forests. These corrals
covered acres of ground and were capable of sheltering five thousand
head of cattle without their capacity being taxed. It was an ideal place
and represented a considerable fortune. Lablache noticed that the
corrals were entirely empty. He longed to ask his captor for
explanation, but would not give that swarthy individual the satisfaction
of imparting unpleasant information.
However, Retief did not intend to let the money-lender off lightly. The
cruel expression of his face deepened as he followed the direction of
Lablache's gaze.
"Fine place, this," he said, with a comprehensive nod. "Cost a pile o'
dollars, I take it."
No answer.
"You ain't got much stock. Guess the boys 'ave helped themselves
liberal."
Lablache turned his face towards his companion. He was fast being drawn.
"Heard 'em gassin' about twenty thousand head some days back. Guess
they've borrowed 'em," he went on indifferently.
"You villain!" the exasperated prisoner hissed at last.
If ever a look conveyed a lust for murder Lablache's lashless eyes
expressed it.
"Eh? What? Guess you ain't well." The icy tones mocked at the distraught
captive.
The money-lender checked his wrath and struggled to keep cool.
"My cattle are on the range. You could never have driven off twenty
thousand head. It would have been impossible without my hearing of it.
It is more than one night's work."
"That's so," replied the half-breed, smiling sardonically. "Say, your
hands and foreman are shut up in their shack. They've bin taking things
easy fur a day or two. Jest to give my boys a free hand. Guess we've
been at work here these three days."
The money-lender groaned inwardly. He understood the Breed's meaning
only too well. At last his bottled-up rage broke out again.
"Are you man or devil that you spirit away great herds like this.
Across the keg, I know, but how--how? Twenty thousand! My God, you'll
swing for this night's work," he went on impotently. "The whole
countryside will be after you. I am not the man to sit down quietly
under such handling. If I spend every cent I'm possessed of, you shall
be hounded down until you dare not show your face on this side of the
border."
"Easy, boss," the Breed retorted imperturbably. "Ef you want to see that
precious store o' yours again a civil tongue 'll help you best. I'm
mostly a patient man--easy goin'-like. Now jest keep calm an' I'll let
you see the fun. Now that's a neat shack o' yours," he went on, pointing
to the money-lender's mansion. "Wonder ef I could put a dose o' lead
into one o' the windows from here."
Lablache began to think he was dealing with a madman. He remained
silent, and the Breed leveled his pistol in the direction of the house
and fired. A moment's silence followed the sharp report. Then Retief
turned to his captive.
"Guess I didn't hear any glass smash. Likely I missed it," and he
chuckled fiendishly. Lablache sat gazing moodily at the building. Then
the half-breed's voice roused him. "Hello, wot's that?" He was pointing
at the house. "Why, some galoot's lightin' a bonfire! Say, that's
dangerous Lablache. They might fire your place."
But the other did not answer. His eyes were staring wide with horror. As
if in answer to the pistol-shot a fire had been lit against the side of
the house. It was no ordinary fire, either, but a great pile of hay. The
flames shot up with terrible swiftness, licking up the side of the red
pine house with lightning rapidity. Lablache understood. The house was
to be demolished, and Retief had given the signal. He leapt up from his
seat, forgetful of his bound feet, and made as though to seize the Breed
by the throat. He got no further, however, for Retief gripped him by the
shoulder, and, notwithstanding his great bulk, hurled him back on to the
barrel, at the same time pressing the muzzle of his pistol into his
face.
"Set down, you scum," he thundered. "Another move like that an' I'll
let the atmosphere into yer." Then with a Sudden return to his grim
pastime, as the other remained quiet, "Say, red pine makes powerful fine
kindlin'. I reckon they'll see that light at the settlement. You don't
seem pleased, man. Ain't it a beaut. Look, they've started it the other
side. Now the smoke stack's caught. Burn, burn, you beauty. Look,
Lablache, a sixty thousand dollar fire, an' all yours. Ain't you proud
to think that it's all yours?"
Lablache was speechless with horror. Words failed to express his
feelings. The Breed watched him as a tiger might contemplate its
helpless prey. He understood something of the agony the great man was
suffering. He wanted him to suffer--he meant him to suffer. But he had
only just begun the torture he had so carefully prepared for his victim.
Presently the roof of the building crashed in, and, for the moment, the
blaze leapt high. Then, soon, it began to die down. Retief seemed to
tire of watching the dying blaze. He turned again to his prisoner.
"Not 'nough, eh? Not 'nough. We can't stop here all night. Let's have
the rest. The sight'll warm your heart." And he laughed at his own grim
pleasantry. "The boys have cleared out your stud 'plugs.' And, I guess,
yer barns are chocked full of yer wheel gearing and implements. Say, I
guess we'll have 'em next."
He turned from his silent captive without waiting for reply, and rapidly
discharged the remaining five barrels of his pistol. For answer another
five bonfires were lighted round the barns and corals. Almost instantly
the whole place became a gorgeous blaze of light. The entire ranch, with
the exception of one little shack was now burning as only pine wood can
burn. It was a terrible, never-to-be-forgotten sight, and Lablache
groaned audibly as he saw the pride of his wealth rapidly gutted. If
ever a man suffered the money-lender suffered that night Retief showed
a great understanding of his prisoner--far too great an understanding
for a man who was supposed to be a stranger to Lablache--in the way he
set about to torture his victim. No bodily pain could have equaled the
mental agony to which the usurer was submitted. The sight of the
demolishing of his beautiful ranch--probably the most beautiful in the
country--was a cruelly exquisite torture to the money-loving man. That
dread conflagration represented the loss to him of a fortune, for, with
grasping pusillanimity, Lablache had refused to insure his property. Had
Retief known this he could not have served his own purpose better.
Possibly he did know, and possibly that was the inducement which
prompted his action. Truly was the money-lender paying dearly for past
misdeeds. With the theft of his cattle and the burning of his ranch his
loss was terrible, and, in his moment of anguish, he dared not attempt
to calculate the extent of the catastrophe.
When the fire was at its height Retief again addressed his taunting
language to the man beside him, and Lablache writhed under the lash of
that scathing tongue.
"I've heerd tell you wer' mighty proud of this place of yours. Spent
piles o' bills on it. Nothin' like circulatin' cash, I guess. Say now,
how long did it take you to fix them shacks up?"
No answer. Lablache was beyond mere words.
"A sight longer than it takes a bit of kindlin' to fetch 'em down, I
take it," he went on placidly. "When d'ye think you'll start
re-building? I wonder," thoughtfully, "why they don't fire that shed
yonder," pointing to the only building left untouched. "Ah, I was
forgettin', that's whar your hands are enjoyin' themselves. It's
thoughtful o' the boys. I guess they're good lads. They don't cotton to
killin' prairie hands. But they ain't so particular over useless lumps
o' flesh, I guess," with a glance at the stricken man beside him.
Lablache was gasping heavily. The mental strain was almost more than he
could bear, and his crushed and hopeless attitude brought a satanic
smile on the cruel face beside him.
"You don't seem to fancy things much," Retief went on. "Guess you ain't
enjoyin' yerself. Brace up, pard; you won't git another sight like this
fur some time. Why, wot's ailing yer?" as the barrel on which they were
seated moved and Lablache nearly rolled over backwards. "I hadn't a
notion yer wouldn't enjoy yerself. Say, jest look right thar. Them
barns," he added, pointing, towards the fire, "was built mighty solid.
They're on'y jest cavin'."
Lablache remained silent. Words, he felt, would be useless. In fact it
is doubtful if he would have been equal to expression. His spirit was
crushed and he feared the man beside him as he had never feared any
human being before. Such was the nervous strain put upon him that the
sense of his loss was rapidly absorbed in a dread for his own personal
safety. The conflagration had lost its fascination for him, and at every
move--every word--of his captor he dreaded the coming of his own end. It
was a physical and mental collapse, and bordered closely on frenzied
terror. It was no mental effort of his own that kept him from hurling
himself upon the other and biting and tearing in a vain effort to rend
the life out of him. The thought--the fever, desire, craving--was there,
but the will, the personality, of the Breed held him spellbound, an
inert mass of flesh incapable of physical effort--incapable almost of
thought, but a prey to an overwhelming terror.
The watching half-breed at length rose from his seat and shrugged his
thin, stooping shoulders. He had had enough of his pastime, and time was
getting on. He had other work to do before daylight. He put his hand to
his mouth and imitated the cry of the coyote. An instant later answering
cries came from various directions, and presently the Breeds gathered
round their chief.
"Say, bring up the 'plugs,' lads. The old boy's had his bellyfull. I
guess we'll git on." Then he turned upon the broken money-lender and
spoke while he re-charged the chambers of his pistol.
"See hyar, Lablache, this night's work is on'y a beginning. So long as
you live in Foss River Settlement so long will I hunt you out an' hustle
yer stock. You talked of houndin' me, but I guess the shoe's on the
other foot. I ain't finished by a sight, an' you'll hear from me agin'.
I don't fancy yer life," he went on with a grin. "Et's too easy, I
guess. Et's yer bills I'm after. Ye've got plenty an' to spare. But
bills is all-fired awk'ud to handle when they pass thro' your dirty
hands. So I'll wait till you've turned 'em into stock. Savee? I'm jest
goin' right on now. Thar's a bunch o' yer steers waitin' to be taken
off. Happen I'm goin' to see to 'em right away. One o' these lads'll
jest set some bracelets on yer hands, and leave yer tucked up and
comfortable so you can't do any harm, and you can set right thar an'
wait till some 'un comes along an' looses yer. So long, pard, an'
remember, Foss River's the hottest place outside o' hell fur you, jest
now."
Some of the half-breeds had brought up the horses whilst Retief was
talking, and, as he finished speaking, the hustler vaulted on to the
back of the great chestnut, Golden Eagle, and prepared to ride away.
Whilst the others were getting into their saddles he took one look at
the wretched captive whose hands had been again secured. There was a
swift exchange of glances--malevolent and murderous on the part of the
money-lender, and derisive on the part of the half-breed--then Retief
swung his charger round, and, at the head of his men, galloped away out
into the starry night.