THE RIM OF THE BENCH
Out on the flat the Texan was riding "straight up" amid a whirl of
white dust.
"Fan him, Tex!"
"Stay with him!"
The cries of the cowboys cut high above the chorus of yelling applause
as the furious outlaw tried every known trick to unseat the rider.
High in the air he bucked, swapping ends like a flash, and landing with
all four feet "on a dollar," his legs stiff as jack-pine posts. The
Texan rode with one hand gripping the hackamore rope and the other his
quirt which stung and bit into the frenzied animal's shoulders each
time he hit the ground. In a perfect storm of fury the horse plunged,
twisted, sunfished, and bucked to free himself of the rider who swayed
easily in the saddle and raked him flank and sides with his huge
rowelled spurs.
"Stay a long time!"
"Scratch him, Tex!" yelled the delighted cowpunchers.
Suddenly the yells of appreciation gave place to gasps even from the
initiated, as the rage-crazed animal leaped high into the air and
throwing himself backward, crashed to the ground squarely upon his
back. As the dust cloud lifted the Texan stood beside him, one foot
still in the stirrup, slashing right and left across the struggling
brute's ears with his braided quirt. The outlaw leaped to his feet
with the cowboy in the saddle and the crowd went wild. Then with the
enthusiasm at its height, the man jerked at his hackamore knot, and the
next moment the horse's head was free and the rider rode "on his
balance" without the sustaining grip on the hackamore rope to hold him
firm in his saddle. The sudden loosening of the rawhide thongs gave
the outlaw new life. He sunk his head and redoubled his efforts, as
with quirt in one hand and hackamore in the other the cowboy lashed his
shoulders while his spurs raked the animal to a bloody foam. Slower
and slower the outlaw fought, pausing now and then to scream shrilly as
with bared teeth and blazing eyes he turned this way and that, sucking
the air in great blasts through his blood-dripping nostrils.
At last he was done. Conquered. For a moment he stood trembling in
every muscle, and as he sank slowly to his knees, the Texan stepped
smiling from the saddle.
"Sometime, Slim," he grinned as he reached for his tobacco and papers,
"if you-all can get holt of a horse that ain't plumb gentle, I'll show
you a real ride."
All about was the confusion attendant to the breaking-up of the crowd.
Men yelled at horses as they hitched them to the wagons. Pedestrians,
hurrying with their tickets toward the saloons, dodged from under the
feet of cowboys' horses, and the flat became a tangle of wagons with
shouting drivers.
Alice Marcum stood upon the edge of the lumber-pile with the wind
whipping her skirts about her silk stockings as the Texan, saddle over
his arm, glanced up and waved, a gauntleted hand. The girl returned
the greeting with a cold-eyed stare and once more found herself growing
furiously angry. For the man's lips twisted into their cynical smile
as his eyes rested for a moment upon her own, shifted, lingered with
undisguised approval upon her silk stockings, and with devilish
boldness, returned to her own again. Suddenly his words flashed
through her brain. "I always get what I go after--sometimes." She
recalled the consummate skill with which he had conquered the renegade
steer and the outlaw broncho--mastered them completely, and yet always
in an off-hand manner as though the thing amused him. Never for a
moment had he seemed to exert himself--never to be conscious of effort.
Despite herself the girl shuddered nervously, and ignoring Endicott's
proffer of assistance, scrambled to the ground and hastened toward her
coach.
A young lady who possessed in a high degree a very wholesome love of
adventure, Alice Marcum coupled with it a very unwholesome habit of
acting on impulse. As unamenable to reason as she was impervious to
argument, those who would remonstrate with her invariably found
themselves worsted by the simple and easy process of turning their
weapons of attack into barriers of defence. Thus when, an hour later,
Winthrop Adams Endicott found her seated alone at a little table in the
dining-car he was agreeably surprised when she greeted him with a smile
and motioned him into the chair opposite.
"For goodness' sake, Winthrop, sit down and talk to me. There's
nothing so stupid as dining alone--and especially when you want to talk
to somebody." As Endicott seated himself, she rattled on: "I wanted to
go to that preposterous supper they are going to 'dish up' at the
hotel, but when I found they were going to separate the 'ladies and
gents' and feed them in relays, I somehow lost the urge. The men, most
of them, are interesting--but the women are deadly. I know just what
it would be--caught snatches of it from the wagons during the
lulls--preserves, and babies, and what Harry's ma died of. The men
carry an atmosphere of unrestraint--of freshness----"
Endicott interrupted her with a nod: "Yes," he observed, dryly, "I
believe that is the term----"
"Don't be guilty of a pun, Winthrop. At least, not a slangy one. It's
quite unsuited to your style of beauty. But, really, wasn't it all
delightful? Did you ever see such riding, and shooting, and lassoing?"
"No. But I have never lived in a country where it is done. I have
always understood that cowboys were proficient along those lines, but
why shouldn't they be? It's their business----"
"There you go--reducing everything to terms of business! Can't you see
the romance of it--what it stands for? The wild free life of the
plains, the daily battling with the elements, and the mastery of nerve
and skill over blind brute force and fury! I love it! And tonight I'm
going to a real cowboy dance."
"Alice!" The word carried a note of grave disapproval. "Surely you
were not serious about attending that orgy!"
The girl stared at him in surprise. "Serious! Of course I'm serious!
When will I ever get another chance to attend a cowboy dance--and with
a real cowboy, too?"
"The whole thing is preposterous! Perfectly absurd! If you are bound
to attend that affair I will take you there, and we can look on and----"
"I don't want to look on. I want to dance--to be in it all. It will
be an experience I'll never forget."
The man nodded: "And one you may never cease to regret. What do you
know of that man? Of his character; of his antecedents? He may be the
veriest desperado for all you know."
The girl clapped her hands in mock delight: "Oh, wouldn't that be
grand! I hadn't thought of that. To attend a dance with just a plain
cowboy doesn't fall to every girl's lot, but one who is a cowboy and a
desperado, too!" She rolled her eyes to express the seventh heavendom
of delight.
Endicott ignored the mockery. "I am sure neither your mother nor your
father----"
"No, neither of them would approve, of course. But really, Winthrop,
I'm way past the short petticoat stage--though the way they're making
them now nobody would guess it. I know it's improper and
unconventional and that it isn't done east of the Mississippi nor west
of the Rocky Mountains. But when in Rome do as the roamers do, as
someone has said. And as for Mr. Purdy," she paused and looked
Endicott squarely in the eyes. "Do you know why he didn't shoot that
disgusting Tex when he insulted him?"
Endicott nodded. "Yes," he answered. "Because he was afraid to."
Colour suffused the girl's face and she arose abruptly from the table.
"At least," she said haughtily, "you and Wolf River are thoroughly in
accord on _that_ point."
As the man watched her disappear through the doorway he became aware
that the fat woman who had sought refuge under the coach was staring at
him through her lorgnette from her seat across the aisle.
"Young man, I believe you insulted that girl!" she wheezed indignantly.
"You should be a detective, madam. Not even a great one could be
farther from the truth," he replied dryly, and rising, passed into the
smoking compartment of his Pullman where he consumed innumerable
cigarettes as he stared out into the gathering night.
Seated in her own section of the same Pullman, Alice Marcum sat and
watched the twilight deepen and the lights of the little town twinkle
one by one from the windows. Alone in the darkening coach the girl was
not nearly so sure she was going to enjoy her forthcoming adventure.
Loud shouts, accompanied by hilarious laughter and an occasional pistol
shot, floated across the flat. She pressed her lips tighter and
heartily wished that she had declined Purdy's invitation. It was not
too late, yet. She could plead a headache, or a slight indisposition.
She knew perfectly well that Endicott had been right and she wrong but,
with the thought, the very feminine perversity of her strengthened her
determination to see the adventure through.
"Men are such fools!" she muttered angrily. "I'll only stay a little
while, of course, but I'm going to that dance if it is the last thing I
ever do--just to show him that--that--" her words trailed into silence
without expressing just what it was she intended to show him.
As the minutes passed the girl's eyes glowed with a spark of hope.
"Maybe," she muttered, "maybe Mr. Purdy has forgotten, or--" the
sentence broke off shortly. Across the flat a rider was approaching
and beside him trotted a lead-horse upon whose back was an empty
saddle. For just an instant she hesitated, then rose from her seat and
walked boldly to the door of the coach.
"Good evenin', mom," the cowboy smiled as he dismounted to assist her
from the steps of the coach.
"Good evening," returned the girl. "But, you needn't to have gone to
the trouble of bringing a horse just to ride that little way."
"'Twasn't no trouble, mom, an' he's woman broke. I figured yeh
wouldn't have no ridin' outfit along so I loant a sideways saddle offen
a friend of mine which his gal usta use before she learnt to ride
straddle. The horse is hern, too, an' gentle as a dog. Here I'll give
yeh a h'ist." The lead-horse nickered softly, and reaching up, the
girl stroked his velvet nose.
"He's woman broke," repeated the cowboy, and as Alice looked up her
eyes strayed past him to the window of the coach where they met
Endicott's steady gaze.
The next moment Purdy was lifting her into the saddle, and without a
backward glance the two rode out across the flat.
The girl was a devoted horsewoman and with the feel of the horse under
her, her spirits revived and she drew in a long breath of the fragrant
night. There was a living tang to the air, soft with the balm of June,
and as they rode side by side the cowboy pointed toward the east where
the sharp edge of the bench cut the rim of the rising moon. Alice
gasped at the beauty of it. The horses stopped and the two watched in
silence until the great red disc rose clear of the clean-cut sky-line.
About the wreck torches flared and the night was torn by the clang and
rattle of gears as the great crane swung a boxcar to the side. The
single street was filled with people--women and men from the wagons,
and cowboys who dashed past on their horses or clumped along the wooden
sidewalk with a musical jangle of spurs.
The dance-hall was a blaze of light toward which the people flocked
like moths to a candle flame. As they pushed the horses past, the girl
glanced in. Framed in the doorway stood a man whose eyes met hers
squarely--eyes that, in the lamplight seemed to smile cynically as they
strayed past her and rested for a moment upon her companion, even as
the thin lips were drawn downward at their corners in a sardonic grin.
Unconsciously she brought her quirt down sharply, and her horse, glad
of the chance to stretch his legs after several days in the stall,
bounded forward and taking the bit in his teeth shot past the little
cluster of stores and saloons, past the straggling row of houses and
headed out on the trail that wound in and out among the cottonwood
clumps of the valley. At first, the girl tried vainly to check the
pace, but as the animal settled to a steady run a spirit of wild
exhilaration took possession of her--the feel of the horse bounding
beneath her, the muffled thud of his hoofs in the soft sand of the
trail, the alternating patches of moonlight and shadow, and the keen
tang of the night air--all seemed calling her, urging her on.
At the point where the trail rose abruptly in its ascent to the bench,
the horse slackened his pace and she brought him to a stand, and for
the first time since she left the town, realized she was not alone.
The realization gave her a momentary start, as Purdy reined in close
beside her; but a glance into the man's face reassured her.
"Oh, isn't it just grand! I feel as if I could ride on, and on, and
on."
The man nodded and pointed upward where the surface of the bench cut
the sky-line sharply.
"Yes, mom," he answered respectfully. "If yeh'd admire to, we c'n
foller the trail to the top an' ride a ways along the rim of the bench.
If you like scenes, that ort to be worth while lookin' at. The dance
won't git a-goin' good fer an hour yet 'til the folks gits het up to
it."
For a moment Alice hesitated. The romance of the night was upon her.
Every nerve tingled, with the feel of the wild. Her glance wandered
from the rim of the bench to the cowboy, a picturesque figure as he sat
easily in his saddle, a figure toned by the soft touch of the moonlight
to an intrinsic symbolism of vast open spaces.
Something warned her to go back, but--what harm could there be in just
riding to the top? Only for a moment--a moment in which she could
feast her eyes upon the widespread panorama of moonlit wonder--and
then, they would be in the little town again before the dance was in
full swing. In her mind's eye she saw Endicott's disapproving frown,
and with a tightening of the lips she started her horse up the hill and
the cowboy drew in beside her, the soft brim of his Stetson concealing
the glance of triumph that flashed from his eyes.
The trail slanted upward through a narrow coulee that reached the bench
level a half-mile back from the valley. As the two came out into the
open the girl once more reined her horse to a standstill. Before her,
far away across the moonlit plain the Bear Paws loomed in mysterious
grandeur. The clean-cut outline of Miles Butte, standing apart from
the main range, might have been an Egyptian pyramid rising abruptly
from the desert. From the very centre of the sea of peaks the
snow-capped summit of Big Baldy towered high above Tiger Ridge, and Saw
Tooth projected its serried crown until it seemed to merge into the
Little Rockies which rose indistinct out of the dim beyond.
The cowboy turned abruptly from the trail and the two headed their
horses for the valley rim, the animals picking their way through the
patches of prickly pears and clumps of low sage whose fragrant aroma
rose as a delicate incense to the nostrils of the girl.
Upon the very brink of the valley they halted, and in awed silence
Alice sat drinking in the exquisite beauty of the scene.
Before her as far as the eye could see spread the broad reach of the
Milk River Valley, its obfusk depths relieved here and there by bright
patches of moonlight, while down the centre, twisting in and out among
the dark clumps of cottonwoods, the river wound like a ribbon of
gleaming silver. At widely scattered intervals the tiny lights of
ranch houses glowed dull yellow in the distance, and almost at her feet
the clustering lights of the town shone from the open windows and doors
of buildings which stood out distinctly in the moonlight, like a
village in miniature. Faint sounds, scarcely audible in the stillness
of the night floated upward--the thin whine of fiddles, a shot now and
then from the pistol of an exuberant cowboy sounding tiny and far away
like the report of a boy's pop-gun.
The torches of the wrecking crew flickered feebly and the drone of
their hoisting gears scarce broke the spell of the silence.
Minutes passed as the girl's eyes feasted upon the details of the scene.
"Oh, isn't it wonderful!" she breathed, and then in swift alarm,
glanced suddenly into the man's face. Unnoticed he had edged his horse
close so that his leg brushed hers in the saddle. The hat brim did not
conceal the eyes now, that stared boldly into her face and in sudden
terror the girl attempted to whirl her horse toward the trail. But the
man's arm shot out and encircled her waist and his hot breath was upon
her cheek. With all the strength of her arm she swung her quirt, but
Purdy held her close; the blow served only to frighten the horses which
leaped apart, and the girl felt herself dragged from the saddle.
In the smoking compartment of the Pullman, Endicott finished a
cigarette as he watched the girl ride toward the town in company with
Purdy.
"She's a--a headstrong _little fool_!" he growled under his breath. He
straightened out his legs and stared gloomily at the brass cuspidor.
"Well, I'm through. I vowed once before I'd never have anything more
to do with her--and yet--" He hurled the cigarette at the cuspidor and
took a turn up and down the cramped quarters of the little room. Then
he stalked to his seat, met the fat lady's outraged stare with an
ungentlemanly scowl, procured his hat, and stamped off across the flat
in the direction of the dance-hall. As he entered the room a feeling
of repugnance came over him. The floor was filled with noisy dancers,
and upon a low platform at the opposite end of the room three
shirt-sleeved, collarless fiddlers sawed away at their instruments, as
they marked time with boots and bodies, pausing at intervals to mop
their sweat-glistening faces, or to swig from a bottle proffered by a
passing dancer. Rows of onlookers of both sexes crowded the walls and
Endicott's glance travelled from face to face in a vain search for the
girl.
A little apart from the others the Texan leaned against the wall. The
smoke from a limp cigarette which dangled from the corner of his lips
curled upward, and through the haze of it Endicott saw that the man was
smiling unpleasantly. Their eyes met and Endicott turned toward the
door in hope of finding the girl among the crowd that thronged the
street.
Hardly had he reached the sidewalk when he felt a hand upon his arm,
and turned to stare in surprise into the dark features of a
half-breed,--the same, he remembered, who had helped the Texan to
saddle the outlaw. With a swift motion of the head the man signalled
him to follow, and turned abruptly into the deep shadow of an alley
that led along the side of the livery bam. Something in the
half-breed's manner caused Endicott to obey without hesitation and a
moment later the man turned and faced him.
"You hont you 'oman?" Endicott nodded impatiently and the half-breed
continued: "She gon' ridin' wit Purdy." He pointed toward the winding
trail. "Mebbe-so you hur' oop, you ketch." Without waiting for a
reply the man slipped the revolver from his holster and pressed it into
the astonished Endicott's hand, and catching him by the sleeve, hurried
him to the rear of the stable where, tied to the fence of the corral,
two horses stood saddled. Loosing one, the man passed him the bridle
reins. "Dat hoss, she damn good hoss. Mebbe-so you ride lak' hell you
com' long in tam'. Dat Purdy, she not t'ink you got de gun, mebbe-so
you git chance to kill um good." As the full significance of the man's
words dawned upon him Endicott leaped into the saddle and, dashing from
the alley, headed at full speed out upon the winding, sandy trail. On
and on he sped, flashing in and out among the clumps of cottonwood. At
the rise of the trail he halted suddenly to peer ahead and listen. A
full minute he stood while in his ears sounded only the low hum of
mosquitoes and the far-off grind of derrick wheels.
He glanced upward and for a moment his heart stood still. Far above,
on the rim of the bench, silhouetted clearly against the moonlight sky
were two figures on horseback. Even as he looked the figures blended
together--there was a swift commotion, a riderless horse dashed from
view, and the next moment the sky-line showed only the rim of the bench.
The moon turned blood-red. And with a curse that sounded in his ears
like the snarl of a beast, Winthrop Adams Endicott tightened his grip
upon the revolver and headed the horse up the steep ascent.
The feel of his horse labouring up the trail held nothing of
exhilaration for Endicott. He had galloped out of Wolf River with the
words of the half-breed ringing in his ears: "Mebbe-so you ride lak'
hell you com' long in tam'!" But, would he "com' long in tam'"? There
had been something of sinister portent in that swift merging together
of the two figures upon the sky-line, and in the flash-like glimpse of
the riderless horse. Frantically he dug his spurless heels into the
labouring sides of his mount.
"Mebbe-so you kill um good," the man had said at parting, and as
Endicott rode he knew that he would kill, and for him the knowledge
held nothing of repugnance--only a wild fierce joy. He looked at the
revolver in his hand. Never before had the hand held a lethal weapon,
yet no slightest doubt as to his ability to use it entered his brain.
Above him, somewhere upon the plain beyond the bench rim, the woman he
loved was at the mercy of a man whom Endicott instinctively knew would
stop at nothing to gain an end. The thought that the man he intended
to kill was armed and that he was a dead shot never entered his head,
nor did he remember that the woman had mocked and ignored him, and
against his advice had wilfully placed herself in the man's power. She
had harried and exasperated him beyond measure--and yet he loved her.
The trail grew suddenly lighter. The walls of the coulee flattened
into a wide expanse of open. Mountains loomed in the distance and in
the white moonlight a riderless horse ceased snipping grass, raised his
head, and with ears cocked forward, stared at him. In a fever of
suspense Endicott gazed about him, straining his eyes to penetrate the
half-light, but the plain stretched endlessly away, and upon its
surface was no living, moving thing.
Suddenly his horse pricked his ears and sniffed. Out of a near-by
depression that did not show in the moonlight another horse appeared.
It, too, was riderless, and the next instant, from the same direction
sounded a low, muffled cry and, leaping from his saddle, he dashed
toward the spot. The sage grew higher in the depression which was the
head of a branch of the coulee by means of which the trail gained the
bench, and as he plunged in, the head and shoulders of a man appeared
above a bush. Endicott was very close when the man pushed something
fiercely from him, and the body of a woman crashed heavily into the
sage. Levelling the gun, he fired. The shot rang loud, and upon the
edge of the depression a horse snorted nervously. The man pitched
forward and lay sprawled grotesquely upon the ground and Endicott saw
that his extended hand grasped a revolver.
Dully he stared at the thing on the ground at his feet. There was a
movement in the scrub and Alice Marcum stood beside him. He glanced
into her face. And as her eyes strayed from the sprawling figure to
meet his, Endicott read in their depths that which caused his heart to
race madly. She stepped toward him and suddenly both paused to listen.
The girl's face turned chalk-white in the moonlight. From the
direction of the coulee came the sound of horses' hoofs pounding the
trail!