IN WHICH MATTERS REACH A CLIMAX
Foss River Settlement was, at the time, a very small place, and of
practically no importance. It was brought into existence by the
neighborhood of one or two large ranches; these ranches employed
considerable labor. Foss River might be visited by an earthquake, and,
provided the earthquake was not felt elsewhere, the world would not be
likely to hear of it for weeks. The newspapers of the Western cities
were in their infancy, and contented themselves with the news of their
own towns and feverish criticisms of politics which were beyond the
understanding of their editors. Progress in the West was very
slow--almost at a standstill.
After the death of Horrocks the police had withdrawn to report and to
receive augmentation. No one felt alarm at their absence. The
inhabitants of Foss River were a self-reliant people--accustomed to look
to themselves for the remedy of a grievance. Besides, Horrocks, they
said, had shown himself to be a duffer--merely a tracker, a prairie-man
and not the man to bring Retief to justice. Already the younger members
of the settlement and district were forming themselves into a vigilance
committee. The elders--those to whom the younger looked for a lead in
such matters--had chosen to go to the police; now the younger of the
settlement decided to act for themselves.
This was the condition and feeling in Foss River at the time of the
death of Horrocks; this was the state of affairs when the _insouciant_
Bill leisurely strolled into the sitting-room at the Foss River Ranch,
about the time that Joaquina Allandale had finished her tea. With the
familiarity of the West, Bill entered by the French window. His lazy
smile was undisturbed. He might have been paying an ordinary call
instead of answering a summons which he knew must be a matter of
emergency, for it was understood between these two that private meetings
were tabooed, except when necessity demanded them.
Jacky's greeting was not reassuring, but her lover's expression remained
unchanged, except that his weary eyelids further unclosed.
"Guess we're side-tracked, Bill," she said meaningly. "The line's
blocked. Signals dead against us."
Bill looked into her eyes; then he turned and closed the window,
latching it securely. The door was closed. His keen eyes noted this.
"What do you mean?"
The girl shrugged.
"The next twelve hours must finish our game."
"Ah!"
"Yes," the girl went on, "it is Lablache's doing. We must settle our
reckoning with him to-night."
Bill flung himself into a chair.
"Will you explain?--I don't understand. May I smoke?"
Jacky smiled. The request was so unnecessary. She always liked Bill's
nonchalance. It conveyed such a suggestion of latent power.
"Yes, smoke, Bill; smoke and get your thinking box in order. My yarn
won't take a deal of time to tell. But it'll take a deal of thought to
upset Lablache's last move, without--shootin'."
"Um--shooting's an evil, but sometimes--necessary. What's his racket?"
The girl told her story quickly. She forgot nothing. She never allowed
herself to fall into the womanly mistake of omitting details, however
small.
Bill fully appreciated her cleverness in this direction. He could trust
what she said implicitly. At the conclusion of the story he sat up and
rolled another cigarette.
"And your uncle is upstairs in bed?"
"Yes, when he wakes I guess he'll need a bracer. He'll be sober. He must
play. Lablache means to win."
"Yes, he means to win. He has had a bad scare."
"What are we going to do?"
The girl eyed her lover keenly. She saw by his manner that he was
thinking rapidly.
"The game must be interrupted--with another scare."
"What?"
Bill shrugged and laughed.
"What are you going to do?"
"Burn him out--his store. And then--"
"And then?" eagerly.
"Retief will be present at the game. Tell him what has happened and--if
he doesn't leave Foss River--shoot him. Mortgages and all records of
debts, etc., are in his store."
"Good."
After expressing her approval the girl sat gazing into her lover's face.
They talked a little longer, then Bill rose to go.
"Eleven o'clock to-night you say is the appointed hour?"
"Yes. I shall meet you at the gate of the fifty-acre pasture."
"Better not."
"Yes, I am going to be there," with a decisive nod. "One cannot be sure.
You may need me."
"Very well. Good-by, little woman." "Lord" Bill bent and kissed her.
Then something very like a sigh escaped him. "I think with you this game
is nearly up. To-night will settle things one way or the other."
"Yes. Trouble is not far off. Say, Bill, when it comes, I want to be
with you."
Bill looked tenderly down into the upturned face.
"Is that why you insist on coming to-night?"
"Yes."
Another embrace and Bill left the house.
He sauntered leisurely down the avenue of pines. He kept straight on
towards the muskeg. Then he turned away from the settlement, and was
soon lost behind the rising ground which shored the great mire. Once out
of sight of the house he quickened his pace, gradually swinging away
from the keg, and heading towards the half-breed camp.
Foss River might have been deserted for all signs of life he
encountered. The prairie was calmly silent. Not even the call of the
birds broke the stillness around. The heat of the afternoon had lulled
all nature to repose.
He strode on swiftly until he came to a small bluff. Here he halted and
threw himself full length upon the ground in a welcome shade. He was
within sight of the half-breed camp. He shifted his position until his
head was in the sun. In this way he could see the scattered dwellings of
the prairie outcasts. Then he drew a small piece of looking-glass from
his pocket and held it out in the sun. Turning and twisting it in the
direction of the camp, as might a child who wishes to dazzle a
play-fellow's eyes. For several minutes he thus manipulated his
impromptu heliograph. Then, as he suddenly beheld an answering flash in
the distance, he desisted, and returned the glass to his pocket. Now he
drew back in the shade and composed himself to smoke.
The half-closed eyes of the recumbent man gazed steadily out towards the
camp. He had nearly finished his third cigarette when his quick ears
caught the sound of footsteps. Instantly he sat up. The steps grew
louder and then round the sheltering bush came the thick-set form of
Gautier. He was accompanied by an evil-looking dog which growled sulkily
as it espied the white man.
"Ugh! Hot walkin'," said the newcomer, by way of greeting.
"Not so hot as it'll be to-night," said the white man, quietly. "Sit
down."
"More bonfires, boss?" said the half-breed, with a meaning grin, seating
himself as he spoke.
"More bonfires. See you, I want six of the boys at Lablache's store
to-night at eleven o'clock. We are going to burn his place. It will be
quite easy. Lablache will be away, and only his clerks on the premises.
The cellar underneath the building is lit by barred windows, two under
the front, and two under the office at the back. All you have to do is
to break the glass of the window at the back and pour in a couple of
gallons of coal oil. Then push in some straw, and then light a piece of
oil-soaked rope and drop it in. The cellar is full of cases of goods and
barrels of oil. The fire will be unextinguishable. Directly it is well
lit see that the clerks are warned. We want no lives lost. You
understand? The stables are adjacent and will catch fire too. I sha'n't
be there until later. There will be no risk and lots of loot. Savee?"
The cunning face of the half-breed was lit by an unholy grin. He rubbed
his hands with the unctuous anticipation of a shop-walker. Truly, he
thought, this white man was a man after his own heart. He wagged his
head in approval.
"Easy--easy? It is childlike," he said in ecstasy. "I have long thought
of it, sure. An' thar is a big store of whisky thar, eh, boss?
Good--good! And what time will you come?"
"When the fire is lit. I go to deal with Lablache. Look you here,
Gautier, you owe that man a grudge. You would kill him but you don't
dare. I may pay off that grudge for you. Pay it by a means that is
better than killing."
"Torture," grinned the half-breed.
Bill nodded.
"Now see and be off. And don't make any mistake, or we may all swing for
it. Tell Baptiste he must go over the keg at once and bring Golden Eagle
to my shack at about half-past ten. Tell him to be punctual. Now scoot.
No mistakes, or--" and Bill made a significant gesture.
The man understood and hurried away. "Lord" Bill was satisfied that his
orders would be carried out to the letter. The service he demanded of
this man was congenial service, in so far that it promised loot in
plenty and easily acquired. Moreover, the criminal side of the
half-breed's nature was tickled. A liberal reward for honesty would be
less likely to secure good service from such as Gautier than a chance of
gain for shady work. It was the half-breed nature.
After the departure of the half-breed, Bill remained where he was for
some time. He sat with his hands clasped round his knees, gazing
thoughtfully out towards the camp. He was reviewing his forces and
mentally struggling to penetrate the pall which obscured the future. He
felt himself to be playing a winning game; at least, that his vengeance
and chastisement of Lablache had been made ridiculously easy for him.
But now he had come to that point when he wondered what must be the
outcome of it all as regarded himself and the girl he loved. Would his
persecution drive Lablache from Foss River to the security of Calford,
Where he would be able to follow him and still further prosecute his
inexorable vengeance? Or would he still choose to remain? He knew
Lablache to be a strong man, but he also knew, by the money-lender's
sudden determination to force Jacky into marriage with him, that he had
received a scare. He could not decide on the point. But he inclined to
the belief that Lablache must go after to-night. He would not spare him.
He had yet a trump card to play. He would be present at the game of
cards, and--well, time would show.
He threw away his mangled cigarette end and rose from the ground. One
glance of his keen eyes told him that no one was in sight. He strolled
out upon the prairie and made his way back to the settlement. He need
not have troubled himself about the future. The future would work itself
out, and no effort of his would be capable of directing its course. A
higher power than man's was governing the actions of the participants in
the Foss River drama.
For the rest of the day "Lord" Bill moved about the settlement in his
customary idle fashion. He visited the saloon; he showed himself on the
market-place. He discussed the doings of Retief with the butcher, the
smith, Dr. Abbot. And, as the evening closed in and the sun's power
lessened, he identified himself with others as idle as himself, and
basked in the warmth of its feeble, dying rays.
When darkness closed in he went to his shack and prepared his evening
meal with a simple directness which no thoughts of coming events could
upset. Bill was always philosophical. He ate to live, and consequently
was not particular about his food. He passed the evening between thought
and tobacco, and only an occasional flashing of his lazy eyes gave any
sign of the trend of his mental effort.
At a few minutes past ten he went into his bedroom and carefully locked
the door. Then he drew from beneath his bed a small chest; it was an
ammunition chest of very powerful make. The small sliding lid was
securely padlocked. This he opened and drew from within several articles
of apparel and a small cardboard box.
Next he divested himself of his own tweed clothes and donned the things
he had taken from the box. These consisted of a pair of moleskin
trousers, a pair of chaps, a buckskin shirt and a battered Stetson hat.
From the cardboard box he took out a tin of greasy-looking stuff and a
long black wig made of horse hair. Stepping to a glass he smeared his
face with the grease, covering his own white flesh carefully right down
to the chest and shoulders, also his hands. It was a brownish ocher and
turned his skin to the copperish hue of the Indian. The wig was
carefully adjusted and secured by sprigs to his own fair hair. This,
with the hat well jammed down upon his head, completed the
transformation, and out from the looking-glass peered the strong, eagle
face of the redoubtable half-breed, Retief.
He then filled the chest with his own clothes and relocked it. Suddenly
his quick ear caught the sound of some one approaching. He looked at his
watch; it wanted two minutes to half-past ten. He waited.
Presently he heard the rattle of a stick down the featheredged boarding
of the outer walls of the hut. He picked up his revolver belt and
secured it about his waist, and then, putting out the light, unlocked
the back door which opened out of his bedroom.
A horse was standing outside, and a man held the bridle reins looped
upon his arm.
"That you, Baptiste?"
"Yup."
"Good, you are punctual."
"It's as well."
"Yes."
"I go to join the boys," the half-breed said slowly. "And you?"
"I--oh, I go to settle a last account with Lablache," replied Bill, with
a mirthless laugh.
"Where?"
Bill looked sharply at the man. He understood the native distrust of the
Breed. Then he nodded vaguely in the direction of the Foss River Ranch.
"Yonder. In old John's fifty-acre pasture. Lablache and John meet at the
tool-shed there to-night. Why?"
"And you go not to the fire?" Baptiste's voice had a surprised ring in
it.
"Not until later. I must be at the meeting soon after eleven."
The half-breed was silent for a minute. He seemed to be calculating. At
length he spoke. His words conveyed resolve.
"It is good. Guess you may need assistance. I'll be there--and some of
the boys. We ain't goin' ter interfere--if things goes smooth."
Bill shrugged.
"You need not come."
"No? Nuthin' more?"
"Nothing. Keep the boys steady. Don't burn the clerks in the store."
"No."
"S'long."
"S'long."
"Lord" Bill vaulted into the saddle, and Golden Eagle moved restively
away.
It was as well that Foss River was a sleepy place. "Lord" Bill's
precautions were not elaborate. But then he knew the ways of the
settlement.
Dr. Abbot chanced to be standing in the doorway of the saloon. Bill's
shack was little more than a hundred yards away. The doctor was about to
step across to see if he were in, for the purpose of luring his friend
into a game. Poker was not so plentiful with the doctor now since Bill
had dropped out of Lablache's set.
He saw the dim outline of a horseman moving away from the back of "Lord"
Bill's hut. His curiosity was aroused. He hastened across to the shack.
He found it locked up, and in darkness. He turned away wondering. And as
he turned away he found himself almost face to face with Baptiste. The
doctor knew the man.
"Evening, Baptiste."
"Evening," the man growled.
The doctor was about to speak again but the man hurried away.
"Damned funny," the medical man muttered. Then he moved off towards his
own home. Somehow he had forgotten his wish for poker.