git locoed that-a-way, you can put a rope around any office we got
runnin' around loose down our way. Now, Brother Ladd, we'd like a
contribution from you. Can't let you overlook the plate that-a-way."
"As I'm not armed--" said Ladd, but the minute he said it he knew it was
a mistake.
"Guess ag'in," said McShay with a provoking smile.
"Oh, I had forgotten this," corrected Ladd, removing a magazine gun from
his pockets. "This is an old hunting coat of mine and I had neglected
to remove it."
The cowman looked a quizzical "How careless!" but refrained from further
comment.
"Would you like to make sure that is all?" said Ladd to the other.
Much to the disappointment of the preacher, McShay rejoined: "If you
don't mind," and proceeded to tap him for further concealed weapons.
Ladd submitted to this with a good grace that pleased the chairman,
particularly when no further artillery was in evidence.
"I'm not armed," said Baker.
"I'll take the captain's word for that," said the chairman.
"You have no other weapons, Mr. Calthorpe?"
"None," said Hal; "but any one is at liberty to make sure."
"I'll take your word," said McShay.
The inferential insult of this was not lost on Ladd, but he had made up
his mind not again to lose his temper, and to let McShay rattle on and
expose his hand.
"Oh, by the way," observed the chairman, looking around; "oughtn't the
Indians to have a representative here?"
"_I_ represent the Indians," said Ladd laconically.
"Never mind the Injins," agreed McShay.
The chairman made a note of the fact that no one thought it worth while
to consult the Indians about lands presumably belonging to them. Both
parties to the dispute were agreed in this, so the clergyman let it pass
without further comment.
"Now we will sit down," he said, "and listen to each other calmly.
First, Mr. McShay, we will hear from you. Don't rise. This is
informal. We will try to avoid provocation and also try to be patient
under provocation. Go on." McShay fired the first shot.
"Mr. Chairman, gentlemen, and--Injin agent."
The slight pause before "Injin agent" did not promise well for the
avoidance of provocation, but Ladd ignored it.
"I represent the cowboys and settlers who are in present possession of
these lands. Possession is usually considered nine points of the law,
and when backed up by repeatin' rifles it sometimes tallies up to ten."
"You mean that you are in forcible possession," said the chairman, "but
of course you don't insist that might is right."
"Well, might comes mighty near bein' right, Parson. In my experience
it's the best argument I'm acquainted with."
"You've 'jumped' these lands and, unless you get off, I shall be forced
to get Captain Baker to assist my Indian police in putting you off."
Ladd had regained his composure and said this without feeling.
"You ain't agoin' to put us off, Mr. Agent, 'cause we've a right to be
there. We hold two tracts under two separate titles--first, the lands
formerly belonging to the Red Butte Ranch, we own them----"
"Under what sort of title?"
Every one turned to the speaker. It was the young chief of police who
spoke, and even Ladd showed plainly his surprise at this obvious
meddling in matters which did not concern him. McShay was about to ask
him what business it was of his, but a second glance at the youngster
made him think better of it, so he only remarked:
"By purchase. Bought 'em from the owner."
"The owner? Meaning?"
"The Earl of Kerhill."
"You bought them from the Earl of Kerhill?" persisted the other, but he
pronounced the name as if it were spelled "Karhill," and Mike corrected
him with obvious patience.
"Surest thing you know. We bought 'em from Charley Short and Andy
Openheim, two of his old cowboys, who bought 'em from the earl direct."
"I'm afraid you've been taken in, Mr. McShay."
"Taken in? Not me. Not a take-in. Never been took in--wouldn't know
how."
"I'm afraid you were a bit too eager to get these lands. For once your
rapacity got the better of your caution."
The muscles around the Irishman's eyes contracted.
"Parson, I don't care much for the word rapacity."
"It isn't parliamentary," said the chairman, amused in spite of himself.
"I declare it out of order. I hope Mr. Calthorpe will----"
"I withdraw it," said Hal good-humoredly. "Sorry! What I meant was they
sold you something they didn't have, Mr. McShay."
"It's giving our hand away," said the cowman with an assumed serenity he
did not feel, for there was something about the manner and speech of the
other which made him uneasy in spite of himself.
"It's a-giving our hand away, but I don't mind puttin' you wise.
There's a deed!"--and he took a paper from his wallet--"and it's signed,
'James Wynnegate, Earl of KERhill.'"
"_Kar_hill," corrected the boy.
"_Kerr_hill," insisted Mike, and then spelled it--"Kay-arr-hell."
"May I see that?"
"Sure! Strictly speakin', I don't know as it's any of your business,
but maybe it'll be good for what ails you."
Hal looked at it, read it, examined it swiftly but carefully, amid a
silence which was intense! The interest had shifted from the agent to
the chief of police, and every one present was wondering how it happened
and what it could mean. While the document was under examination, Big
Bill sauntered in, trying to look absent and desultory, and failing
completely. He tried to appear on his way to the store, but his open
face showed plainly his anxiety to know what was going on.
"The signature is a forgery," said Calthorpe simply.
"What?" bellowed McShay, jumping into the air and feeling for his gun.
His dismay on realizing that he didn't have this final argument was
pathetic.
"I told you, Parson," he said to the chairman bitterly; "I told you it
was a mistake."
"No unsupported statement need bother you, Mr. McShay," suggested the
preacher, his eyes, twinkling, for now that he felt that he had the
situation well in hand he was amused at the play of human emotions going
on before him.
"That's right, Parson," said McShay. "That's right, 'unsupported' is a
glad word and it epitomizes the situation. But the young feller'll have
to make this good some other time and place."
"I'll make it good now, Mr. McShay. Bill, come here, will you?"
As the big foreman sauntered over to him, the young man went on:
"As you all know, Bill was the Earl's foreman for years, and knows his
signature as well as he knows his own. Will you let me submit this
signature to Bill?"
As Mr. McShay did not refuse, being by this time somewhat bewildered,
Hal passed the paper up to the cattle-boss, who looked it over and over,
and then, thinking Of other things, looked at the back of the paper.
"He didn't sign it on both sides of the paper, Bill," growled McShay
impatiently, "and it ain't leaked through."
"'Tain't Jim's--the Earl's, I mean," said Bill decisively.
"This is a put-up job, that's what it is, a put-up job," and the
representative of the cowboys, now thoroughly enraged, made a movement
in the direction of the pile of guns nestling in front of Wah-na-gi.
"McShay!" cried Ladd imperatively; "I wouldn't advise you to try to get
your gun. My Indian police are within call and they have orders to put
down violence."
The baffled fury of the cowman was a pleasant sight to the agent and he
smiled broadly as he explained:
"You know this is as much of a surprise to me as it is to you," and this
was strictly true; "but I am endeavoring to take it calmly," he added
with an irritating grin. "You don't see me getting excited."
"Well, boys," said McShay to his followers, "the wheel is crooked and
the cards are marked, but we'll sit through the game out of respect for
the chairman."
McCloud bowed, pleased and flattered by the deference of the rough man
whose sincerity was unmistakable.
"Thank you. I'm sure the agent will have no excuse for using the police
even to keep the peace." And he felt grateful to McShay that the latter
did not for a moment suspect him of being connected in any way with what
he was pleased to regard as a crooked game.
"I thought it best to be on the safe side," explained the agent. "And
now I think it only fair, also in the interests of peace, to make my
position plain. The rest of the lands you cowboys are illegally holding
are on the Reservation and you've got to get off."
"Don't think so," said McShay, having now in a measure regained his
poise. "No, don't think so. They were thrown open by Act of Congress
and we hold 'em as original discoverers and locators. We hold 'em under
the mineral laws."
"This isn't your day at home, McShay. You're wrong all the way round.
Calthorpe here is a surveyor----"
"Say, he's all sorts of cute and convenient things, ain't he?"
McShay was getting himself in hand once more.
"All right, Parson," he said in response to a gesture of protest by the
chairman; "all right, I ain't a-sayin' what they are. I'm a-sayin' it."
"Mr. McShay," said the preacher with good-humored forbearance, "a wise
man once said: 'Surely the churning of milk bringeth forth butter and
the wringing of the nose bringeth forth blood, so the forcing of wrath
bringeth forth strife.'"
Cadger appeared at the window of his store and he was busy cleaning a
Colt's 48. Ladd did not look at him, but he knew he was there.
"Now let's get down to business," he said sharply. "My chief of police
here has surveyed these lands and boundaries and finds the original
monuments have been moved."
"Oh, he's a handy man to have about the house, ain't he?" insinuated
McShay. "Well, useful," he said, turning to Hal with an ominous sneer.
"Get on. Don't you see your master's waitin' fer you. Let's see just
how much of a fancy liar you really are."
Every man got to his feet and there was an instinctive impulse which
demonstrated the wisdom of the chairman's point of order. This was
followed by a simultaneous movement to get between the two men, which
was checked by the perfect calmness of the younger who raised his hand
in a deprecatory way.
"I let the word liar pass for the present," said Hal coolly. "We can
take that up later, Mr. McShay and I. You see the agent isn't quite
accurate. I did make a survey."
Before the quiet young man could finish his sentence Ladd slipped his
leash.
"And you're on Government lands, McShay, and, by God, you've got to get
off." It was an explosion. The austere official went up in smoke,
leaving fierce self-interest showing its teeth. It was unmistakable
that Ladd meant what he said. His jaws were set and his clenched fist
quivered in the Irishman's face.
"Wait a moment, wait a moment, Mr. Agent," said Hal with a soft,
soothing menace. "You're going too fast. You must let me tell my own
story and in my own way. On the contrary, I told you these lands were
_not_ on the Reservation."
Ladd turned gray and for a moment could not speak. His eyes contracted
in a fierce deadly glitter. Then quite naturally, as a bewildered man
might, _he took off his hat_ and passed his other hand over his brow.
Cadger glanced up from the cleaning of his gun. The movement seemed to
arrest his attention.
"What?" gasped Ladd, finding his voice at last.
"Isn't that what I reported?" asked the youngster calmly.
"You? Why, there, there, there must be some mistake."
The agent began to falter, stutter, grope his way. What could it mean?
Was the boy crazy? Would he throw away his chances? Had the other side
bought him too and paid him more? And there were all these men, all
these hostile eyes glaring at him, searching him, gloating over his
confusion. There was McShay hovering near like an eagle about to swoop.
He could hear the Irishman's mocking voice, like a mischievous boy,
playing about him.
"This is as much a surprise to me as it is to you," it jibed, "but I'm
trying to take it calmly. You don't see _me_ gittin' excited." Ladd
realized that they were his own words thrown back in his face like dirty
water. His surprise, confusion, shame were being swallowed up in a
murderous hate. He would hurt, tear, rend, kill. There was Cadger in
the background. All these men faced him, the agent. Their backs were
turned to the store. It was easy, so easy it gave him a moment's pause.
He must be careful. He must make no mistake. He would be sure. If this
boy betrayed him, why then-- The only thing he missed in his rapid
mental survey of the situation was a little girl crouching on the steps
over the discarded weapons, her fierce little black eyes following his
every movement, searching his face for every thought. Yes, there was
Cadger cleaning his gun, and--waiting for the signal, the _second_
signal!
"He means," he heard himself say with a fair assumption of serenity; "he
means he told me they were on the Reservation." He addressed this to
McShay. Then he turned directly to Hal, looked him straight in the eye,
and said:
"And the monuments--the landmarks?"
Before Hal replied he saw what the answer would be, saw it in the
relentless face, the mocking eye.
"That was _your_ idea, that they had been moved, _not mine_."
Any hesitation the agent may have felt was gone. Irresolution vanished.
_He put on his hat_! And he put it on with decision, as if in his
opinion the conference was over. Then for the first time he noticed
that Wah-na-gi had left her position as custodian of the armory, had
mounted the steps of the store, and stood for a moment by the window
like a cat waiting to spring, every nerve and muscle tense, and as
Cadger raised his gun she stepped in front of him. The trader drew back
swiftly and tried to step to one side. She followed him.
"Git out of my light! Can't you see I can't see?"
He executed a rapid movement to push her aside. Again she covered him.
"Git away from my store winder or I'll break your face, you----" and
Cadger called her a name not used in good society.
All those present got up and turned at this sudden and untoward
disturbance. Hal was the only one who did not look back. He could see
what was happening in the agent's face.
"Have Cadger step here a moment, will you?" said Hal to Ladd.
"What for?"
"Bill," said Hal to the cattle-boss who was manoeuvring in the
background, greatly puzzled by what was going on at the window. "Ask
the Indian trader to step here?"
"Stop," called Ladd to Bill. "Cadger don't want to be mixed up in this.
Besides, he can't leave the store."
The agent was conscious that this sounded hurried and feeble, and it
seemed not to impress Bill, for he went on directly into the store. Hal
reassured the agent--with the suggestion that Bill would look after the
store for the trader. Indeed, one per cent. of small boy would have
been able to take care of the trade just at that moment.
"Things are coming my way to-day, Mr. Ladd; better let me have my way."
Whether the agent would have consented to this or not, the chief of
police had his way, for Bill appeared with Cadger in charge.
In fact, Cadger knew that Bill would bring him bodily, so he thought it
more dignified to come of his own accord.
"Just put your weapon with the others, Cadger," said Calthorpe, "and
come here."
The little furtive man glanced swiftly at Ladd for guidance and Bill
took his gun and rags out of his hands before he could determine on what
course he ought to pursue. Bill broke the gun, then glanced curiously
over the little man:
"Cleanin' a _loaded_ gun, too! Ain't you careless?"
"Wah-na-gi, come here, please," said Hal, never taking his eyes from
Ladd's face.
She had remained in the background as Cadger came down. Now she came to
Hal who was standing with the trader in easy reach. Cadger seemed to
shrink and get smaller as he blinked feebly. The business of the
meeting was forgotten. Again the young man diverted the interest and
every one wondered what would happen next.
"Wah-na-gi, Mr. Cadger wants to tell you before these gentlemen that he
made a mistake, that he would like to beg your pardon. Mr. Cadger wants
to apologize."
"Like hell I do," growled the trader.
"Calthorpe," called out the agent; "you're the one that's making the
mistake. You're going too far. I won't stand for this."
"Oh, yes, I think you will," asserted the boy quietly.
The agent gave him a swift look, trying to determine how far he had gone
or would go. Something had gone wrong. The machinery had slipped a
cog, but how far wrong was it? Could it be repaired? Could it be fixed
up? Was it a strike for higher pay? Or was it the eternal woman
interfering and putting them at cross purposes? His own interest in the
woman, guarded with the greatest care, kept under lock and key, in the
dark, had this boy seen a furtive glance, the flash of a hidden desire?
He must proceed cautiously until he saw the other's hand and knew his
cards. Still, this boy must be taught his place.
"I want you to understand I'm the agent, Calthorpe."
"Yes, that's why you'll protect this woman from insult."
"You leave that to me. This is outside our business, and----"
"As the insult became a part of our proceedings," said McCloud calmly,
"it seems right for the apology to be included."
"Parson," exclaimed McShay, delighted; "you're a sport, and I'll back
any play you make."
"I think you would facilitate matters, Mr. Ladd," added the preacher,
"if you instructed your man to comply with Mr. Calthorpe's request."
"Please don't make him," begged Wah-na-gi timidly.
"Come on, little man," said Hal coaxingly.
"Oh, well, apologize, Cadger, and get it over with. We're wasting time."
And Ladd walked away. Hal applied a sharp squeeze to the back of the
trader's neck, just under the ears, and he squirmed with pain.
"Oh, hell, I apologize," he blithered.
"She accepts your apology," said Hal graciously, and every one except
Cadger breathed a sigh of relief. _That_ was a closed incident.
"Now sit down here where I can see you," and he tossed him lightly on a
bale of goods that was leaning against the steps waiting to be unpacked,
and he brushed his hands as if they had been soiled. "Now I feel more
comfortable in my mind"--and added to himself--"and in my back."
"Now see here, Calthorpe," said Ladd, coming down swiftly and gripping
the situation with at least the show of authority. "What do you mean by
this? Didn't you tell me these lands were on the Reservation?"
"I did not!"
The issue was joined. For a moment the agent's mind refused to face the
situation. His jaw dropped and he looked at the other blankly.
"You, you, you mean to say--" he stammered. Then he gazed into the
unrelenting face opposite and fell back and cowered like a whipped dog,
white with fear. "You mean to say you didn't tell me? Why, why you're
going back on your word, why, you scoundrel, you have, you have----"
"I have your money," said Hal, picking the words out of his mouth and
completing the unspoken thought. "That's right, I have. And there it
is," and he took some papers from his pocket. "Fifteen thousand
dollars' worth of gilt-edged securities in the Asphalt Trust. And here
is a receipt for the fifteen thousand dollars I _didn't_ pay for them.
I took your money because it was the only way to make you show your
hand. Every one knows you're a crook and grafter, but nobody could
prove it. It's my sworn duty to catch thieves and everybody knows
you're robbing these helpless people, and that you're the paid agent of
the Asphalt Trust. I've been camping on your trail, David Ladd, and I'm
going to camp on it until I have your official head."
The words cut the tense silence like lightning flashes. No one spoke or
moved.
The appearance of the agent was pitiable, but only for a moment. As he
realized that the young chief of police had not only caught him "with
the goods" but, what was worse, had made him look "easy," he felt the
agony of unspeakable hate, and it brought him to himself.
"Why, you rotten traitor--" he screamed and threw himself upon Hal to
tear him to pieces. The latter caught his right arm by the wrist and
threw his own left across the other's throat, forcing back his head and
stopping his wind. Ladd was a quick, muscular, wiry man. The boy drew
him close for a second and then he threw him off. As soon as Ladd
recovered his balance he made for the pile of guns. Hal blew upon a
shrill, sharp whistle that dangled at his wrist. Before the agent could
reach the weapons a half-dozen Indian police appeared like magic on the
scene. They had been hidden behind the trader's store.
"Shoot any man who moves toward those guns," said their chief to them,
pointing. Ladd was phased. He fell back.
"You order my own men to fire on me?"
"Your own orders, Mr. Agent, to preserve the peace."
"Say, Parson," exclaimed McShay; "that gun order of yourn was a
inspiration. It sure was a inspiration."
"Calthorpe, you're removed. You're no longer my chief of police." Hal
smiled.
"It'll take my men a couple of days to get that through their heads. In
the meantime, don't forget that they will act under my orders."
Then he turned to them and said:
"Don't let any one put a finger on those guns until I'm out of sight.
You savey me all right. And you, McShay," he said, turning sharply to
that exultant citizen; "you and your men must get off my ranch."
"Your ranch? What the hell! Your ranch? What next?"
"My ranch. My name is Effington. The Earl of Kerhill is my father.
The Red Butte Ranch is mine. I'm going over now to take possession of
it. Better come over and see me do it. Come on, Bill."
As he jumped on "Calico" and rode off on the run, followed by Big Bill,
McShay exclaimed:
"Say, Parson, the kid's on the level. He's on the level."
*CHAPTER VIII*
Hal and Bill were well mounted, had an excellent start, and before the
members of the peace conference had recovered from their astonishment
the two horsemen were out of sight and night had fallen. As they left
the Agency behind the heart of Big Bill grew lighter. The fact that Hal
had not taken him into his confidence did not worry the simple-minded
Bill, but he rejoiced that at last they were on the straight and narrow
way and had left behind them the world, the flesh, and the devil, always
and everywhere of the female gender. The fact that they had a dangerous
job ahead of them did not worry Bill, for it involved nothing more
serious than just men. Bill had dealt with men as men and in a straight
and fearless way had found himself capable, but where woman was
involved, with nothing like the experience to justify it, he had arrived
at the conclusion of the wise man who said: "Can a man take fire into
his bosom and his clothes not be burned?" Indeed, greater minds than
gentle Bill's have felt bewildered by "the way of a man with a maid."
In his role of parent and guardian he had several times started to speak
to his companion in words of commendation and encouragement, but
impenetrable gloom enveloped the boy and the words died unborn. He
essayed blithesome song, but even this personal expression degenerated
into a whistle and dribbled feebly away, so, finally, the big man shook
himself down into his saddle and they rode in silence--a silence that
seemed to drip with a chilling mist. So they rode on into the radiant
night indifferent to its splendors. They knew that the horses' stride
was steady and strong in the clean, cool air that romped down from the
snows, laden with the perfume of the pines, and that a matchless moon
made it possible for them to leave the road at every opportunity and hit
the trails and short cuts, but the poem of the night was not for them,
its melody and its mystery.
Wah-na-gi--"the soul when separated from the body!" That was the
meaning of her name. The young man had a queer feeling that _his_ body
was riding away from his soul into the night, into the unknown, into the
far away. All of a sudden it came to him that he had been very happy at
the Agency. Why was he riding away? What was this asphalt that made men
lie and steal and jump at each other's throats? What was it to him?
What did he care for the Red Butte Ranch, except that his mother was
buried there? That it was rich in minerals which could be exchanged for
money, wealth, was outside his purposes. It was not the legal but the
spiritual ownership which determined him. When we understand more about
psychical phenomena we shall know more about our Indians. It wasn't only
that the big appeal of the open was here intensified. Half memories,
vague instincts, ghostly and subliminal concords met him here, took him
by the hand, and said: "Come apart and be at peace." But all this was
there, would wait. He never doubted his ultimate possession of the
ranch. The Shades who owned it would eventually hand it over to him,
their rightful heir. All that was only a matter of time. It could
wait. Meantime, what was he doing? He was riding into the future
unwillingly. He had left the Agency, and knew it was forever. He knew
in a dull way that he had finished a chapter in his life, and that it
would never be quite the same again. How did it happen? Ought he to
have prevented it?
His thought wandered back over the devious ways he had come. His life
seemed so impersonal, his own will and purpose had had so little to do
with it. He could only think of a boat swept from its moorings, floating
about on the waves of circumstance, driven before this wind, twisted by
that current, tossed on the shore to be caught up again in the high tide
and taken back to the deeps, back to the wanton winds and waves. He
knew it would be useless to turn the horses' heads and try to go back.
Always before he had submitted; what did it matter? Now it mattered.
When was it he first cared? Swiftly his thought travelled back until it
focussed on those two rough men in the library at Portman
Square--awkward, shy, fumbling their broad-brimmed hats in their hands,
dressed in their "store clothes"; all the more unmistakable for the
London setting and for the contrast with his father with whom they were
talking! He recalled his own wonder that the high-bred, delicate man
with his distinguished face could ever have been tanned and
weather-stained like these uncouth men and been their companion on the
frontier. He recalled his own surprise at the familiarity of his father
with them. The Earl had called them "Andy" and "Shorty," and he was
rather punctilious about the forms and ceremonies. It was a revelation
of a hitherto unsuspected talent for unbending. How his father had
plied them with cigars and liquors, and their astonishing capacity! The
amount of neat liquor they had taken at a gulp!
These men, so different from all the types with which he had been
familiar, and each so unlike the other! "Andy," an Austrian Jew, was so
determined to be conciliatory and ingratiating that he had developed a
conservative stutter which, with its saving clauses and roundabout
phrases, enabled him to estimate the effect upon his listener even
before he had actually committed himself to the proposition in hand.
"Shorty," quick, sharp, explosive, going direct to the point and
disarming suspicion by a method the reverse of the other! There was
something about these men that had interested him from the first, then
amused him, then fascinated him. The subject of the talk did not
immediately claim his attention. Every one knew that the ranch had been
an expensive experience to the Earl, and it was a foregone conclusion
that he would jump at the chance to sell it. The negotiations had gone
quickly to a conclusion. The Earl had accepted their first offer and a
deed had been prepared and was about to be signed. Then the young man
interposed for the first time. He had suddenly received an impression,
a "hunch," as the cowboys say, that seemed later to be clairvoyant. At
first it was only a vague sentiment, too vague to be expressed, too
vague to be used as an argument, or to influence practical men, so he
only asked that the matter might be postponed until the following
morning. His father and the Westerners were annoyed by this freak of
eccentricity, but humored him as we humor children, or the
irresponsible, for he remembered that he had been drinking, was perhaps
drunk, as he often was in those evil days. The following morning a cable
came from Big Bill saying: "Don't sell ranch. Have sent letter." The
letter which followed explained what we already know, that asphalt had
been found, that in Bill's opinion a lot of this valuable mineral was on
the ranch, which had been "jumped" by the cowboys, and he strongly
advised the Earl to send some one out there to investigate the matter;
he suggested that this investigation should be conducted as secretly as
possible; that he was himself too well known, and his former
affiliations with the Earl were too well known, to permit of his doing
this successfully. There was a job open at the Agency, the chief of
Indian police, and Bill offered to use his influence to get it for any
one the Earl would send out to look after his interests.
Then something in the young man's soul rose up and said: "Here am I."
And when he turned his face to the West the winds and the waves beckoned
to him and recognized him and led him to his own. Then for the first
time he recognized purpose in his life. Ladd had seen in him only the
usual adventurer trying to hide away from his past and one likely to be
amenable and useful. It would have been difficult to find any one more
suitable to the position of chief of police. In a country where men
required initiative, self-reliance, and courage he had found conditions
suitable to his temperament and abilities. He had felt "at home" and had
been a success from the start. About the time that he took charge of
the police, Wah-na-gi returned from Carlisle, and every phase of her
struggle with her environment and heredity was obvious to him. He saw
at once what she did not see, that it was hopeless, but it lent to her
the charm of poetry and romance, and she was pretty enough not to
require such assistance. For a long time he was very cunning in
concealing and disguising his interest in the girl, and he continued to
fool himself long after he had ceased to fool any one else. And now he
was riding away from everything that made life worth living, and the
fact that he had just come successfully through a big fight meant
nothing to him. He would have liked to go back, but that was
impossible, and he rode in bitterness and rebellion.
The cowboys had found the holding of the asphalt territory rather
irksome. At first it had been all hurrah, but as week followed week and
month followed month, and no armed conflict took place, they grew very
tired. The Trust had entered upon the long siege with bomb-proof
galleries and an elaborate system of underground approaches. No
isolated fort ever successfully withstood such a siege. The asphalt
vein stretched across considerable country and to police it all and hold
it by force of arms against an invisible enemy that did not materialize
but might at any moment do so, and at some unexpected place, was a
nerve-racking job for a time, and then grew monotonous, and with
monotony came carelessness. The Red Butte Ranch was their base of
supplies and operations, and in possession of this they felt legally and
morally secure, having been held up for it by two robbers in the usual
and conventional way of the business world.
The majority of their men were therefore, as Hal knew, distributed along
the asphalt vein, but he also knew that there were more than enough left
at the ranch to put up a winning fight against two men. So it was
necessary to exercise caution and strategy, and fight only if cornered
and compelled to.
In his capacity of chief of police, Hal had ridden over every foot of
the country and knew it as well as Bill. It was therefore greatly to
the surprise of the latter when the young man, after crossing a spur of
the Bad Lands, left the trail and struck into the hills.
"Where you goin', son?" he asked with obvious disapproval.
"We got to do this on the jump, Bill, or not at all. Time is the
important thing, particularly if any of those bandits try to follow us.
It's an awful bluff, but we'll get away with it."
"You can't git through that-a-way. You'll just run up against the
'Knife-edge'!"
"That's right. I'm going to cross it."
"Why, you're crazy. You can't do it."
"I've done it."
"Gosh! Honest? I never heard of any one fool enough to try it."
"My Indian police and I have done it."
"But, gosh-a-mighty, not at night!"
"No; but it's almost as light as day. My horse saveys it. Just shut
your eyes, leave the reins on your horse's neck, and let him follow me."
"All right, son. I've had my innings. A Big Bill more or less don't
matter. Go ahead."
The Knife-edge was a narrow ledge of sandstone that crossed a deep gash
in the hills. It was not over one hundred yards in length, but its
negotiation was apparently impossible. A single false step meant
precipitation into the arid abyss, a thousand feet below. It was
wonderful the way these Indian ponies felt their way across, a sort of
equine tight-rope performance. Hal was right. The rider had nothing to
do with it, except to sit straight and easily, without strain or fear,
and let the pony do the rest. It was a test of nerves, and Bill, whose
avoirdupois was not adjustable to tight-rope niceties, was in a profuse
perspiration when his pony had taken the last careful step that put the
Knife-edge into the background of things one would willingly forget.
Bill had spent the best days of his life as foreman at the ranch, and
could have found his way about blindfold, so when they were about a mile
from the ranch Bill took the lead.
After riding a few moments over some bare clay hills they descended into
an arroyo and followed its tortuous course unseen and unheard, for the
horses' footfalls made no noise on the silent sands. It was necessary
to dismount and lead the horses, and it was slow work. Suddenly Bill
stopped short and pointed. It was an effulgent night and there against
the skyline was limned the figure of a sentry, sitting before a little
camp-fire, serenely smoking. He was perched on a little elevation just
where the arroyo took a sharp bend, his rifle leaning against some
greasewood near at hand. Bill unlimbered his gun, but Hal put his hand
out and made a sign to stay him. The young man then uncoiled his lariat
from his saddle and, hugging the walls of the dead stream, he crept to
within reach of the dark figure and, with a hand that had become more
than expert, coiled the deadly loop, then sent it into the silent air,
where it poised for a moment like a snake about to strike, then it
settled down about the body of its victim with the incredible squeeze of
a constrictor. With a swift jerk the figure tumbled into the dry gulch
and, before he realized what had happened to him, Hal's knee was on his
chest and his gun-barrel at his head. Bill immediately disarmed the
prostrate figure, taking his pistol from its holster as Hal said: "Don't
speak." Indeed, there was really no need for this injunction. It had
happened so quickly and the sentry was so unprepared that he hadn't a
sound in him. It took him several valuable seconds to realize just what
had happened, and by that time it was obvious that he was a prisoner.
Bill took a hitch knot in the lariat and Hal ordered the man to stand
up.
"Do as you're told and no harm'll come to you," he said quietly. Then
he turned to Bill and said: "Shall we go on or shall we wait for the
others? They must have the ranch surrounded by this time."
"I guess you and I can persuade 'em resistance would be useless."
This was to impress the prisoner who was by this time in an
impressionable frame of mind.
"All right. Now, Curley," he said to the man whom he recognized; "we
got the drop on you fellows. While McShay and your crowd have been
gabbing over at the Agency we've got you cornered. Now I want you to
walk ahead of us to the house, then call Coyote Kal out and we'll do the
rest. Bill will have you covered from the stable and I will have you
covered from behind the rock (meaning the rock that marked Nat-u-ritch's
grave). If you give us away, neither of us could miss you. You're a
dead man twice," he added with a laugh. His ill-humor always vanished
in action. When the three men reached the barns, Hal made a short
detour, crawling on his hands and knees until he was in the shelter of
the rough, undressed bowlder which his father had hauled down from the
canyons to mark the grave of the little Indian woman who had been his
wife and the mother of the son who now crouched behind it, oblivious for
the moment of everything except the dangerous business in hand. Then
Bill untied Curley and pointed to the house opposite. The space over
which Curley walked slowly was bathed in a flood of light. There didn't
seem any way out of the predicament, so Curley stood before the adobe
house and called softly: "Kal--Kal."
As this was repeated a sleepy voice within growled: "What the hell?"
Then a tousled head appeared at the window and said: "That you, Curley?
What's up? Has a messenger come from the Agency?"
"Yes. Come on out," urged Curley. "It's important."
The other man drew his trousers on and came out into the moonlight.
"What is it?" Then he noticed. "Where's your gun?"
"They took it away from me."
"They? What are you talking about?"
"It's no use, Kal; they got us surrounded."
With an oath the man addressed as Kal backed toward the house.
Instantly Bill and Hal stepped into the light and covered him.
"Don't move," said Hal, and Coyote Kal had a solemn moment when the
issue was uncertain.
Curley decided for him.
"Don't be a damn fool, Kal; they got us. What's the use?"
"Why didn't you ring the bell," said Kal surlily, "and call the men in?"
"Ring the bell?" sneered Curley. "Ring the bell? Say, wake up. Ring
the bell with a couple of cannon up against your bowels? Does it take
you a week to tumble? It didn't me. They stole up the dry crik and
lassoed me; jerked me into the middle of next week before I knowed what
ailed me. Ring the bell! I'll wring your neck if you say that to me
ag'in."
"Bill, get that bench against the wall and put it there," indicating the
middle of the court-yard. Bill did this with alacrity.
"Now, gentlemen, we're not going to fatigue you. We're going to treat
you with distinguished consideration. Please be seated side by side on
that bench. You can hold each other's hands if you get lonesome."
The two men obeyed in an apologetic way. Kal growled: "Why don't you
tell us what you're up to and be done with it?"
"Now, Bill, ring that anxious bell for Coyote Kal."
Bill stepped over to the barn and rung a small bell affixed to its outer
wall.
"Now, Kal, I want you to tell your men that they are trespassers on this
property, and that you will be graciously permitted to withdraw if you
do so at once and without trouble. If they stop to discuss the matter,
there'll be a fight, and I don't think there'll be enough of you left to
get away. Bill will occupy the stable and I will occupy the house, and
if there is any show of resistance by your men you and Curley will be
the first to meet your Maker; and I think you need more time for
preparation."
"You sure ain't prepared," ejaculated Bill. "You sure ain't."
The ranch house was a mixture of styles. A log-cabin met an adobe
addition at right angles. Each was supplied with a door, flanked by a
window, and a portico leaned wearily against the house in various
attitudes of discouragement. Hal took his stand in the shelter of the
angle. He had the house on two sides of him. His position was exposed
to the stable, where Bill was secreted, and the space between the house
and stable was completely dominated by them both. One could have read a
paper in the moonlight.
"My, it's clear to-night," said Hal, surveying the situation with a grin
of satisfaction. "Anyway it happens it looks to me as if you two out
there were a sure thing."
This was perfectly plain to Kal and Curley, but outside the purely
physical situation they were completely dazed. McShay and his men were
supposed to be looking out for their interests at the conference at the
Agency, and here was Ladd's chief of police claiming their ranch and
putting them forcibly off the ground they had bought and paid for.
They merely got a vague impression that this was just an effort on the
part of Ladd to shift the battle ground. But as their brains worked
slowly over it nothing seemed to fit into this theory. And it was part
of Hal's plan to leave them no time to think. He realized that his only
chance of success was in rushing them off their feet. It was a perilous
game in which time was to be a deciding factor.
As suggested by Kal, the bell was an alarm that called all the men on
the ranch in for instructions. They came, and quickly, and all armed;
some fifteen men. As they came into view their amazement was comic at
the sight of Curley and their boss sitting on a bench side by side in
the moonlight like two naughty boys kept in at school.
"Speak your little piece, Kal," urged Hal.
"Well, boys," said their leader, shamefaced; "I don't know how it
happened, but the Agency folks got the bulge on us, got us corralled,
Curley says, and it's fight or surrender. As they got a bead on me from
the house and the stable, surrender looks a whole lot better to me. We
can come back and fight 'em for it afterwards."
Instinctively there was a simultaneous movement for cover. The
dilapidated sheds leaning against the barn with their bags, barrels,
bales of hay, etc., were selected by those nearest to them. Carroll and
the rest put the rock that marked Nat-u-ritch's grave in front of them.
"Humpy" Carroll, as his name indicated, was a humpbacked little man with
ambitions. He had always fallen just short of being a leader and it
made him a chronic insurgent. His insubordination had brought him into
frequent conflict with Kal, whose place he coveted, and the latter's
uncomfortable position afforded him keen satisfaction. In fact, Kal's
taking off would not have appealed to Humpy as an irreparable loss.
Kal knew this and it filled him with helpless rage.
"Surrender without a fight?" inquired Humpy in a tone that made Kal
squirm.
But he replied calmly with a slow drawl: "You got a nice fat rock in
front of you, Humpy."
"I don't mind kickin' the bucket with a gun in my hand," chimed in
Curley; "but give us a _chance_ to fight, Humpy?"
"'Tain't our fault if you let 'em rope you."
"Say," said Kal, "if these fellers'll give me a gun, and will stand by,
I'll fight _you_, Humpy; and the feller that gits over it--his word
goes."
"Say, that's sporty," exclaimed Hal, delighted; "I'll stand for that."
Humpy's sardonic face grinned.
"Say, you'd like to get us a killin' each other, wouldn't you? Got us
'surrounded' have you? Well, we'll just have a look around and see."
"No, you don't." cut in Hal with decision. "You surrender or fight
_now_."
"Boys," called out Kal, "you know I'm no coward, but I think you owe it
to me and Curley to give us a chance. I'll give you your innings later.
They can't keep what they've took, and no man of you'll beat me in
comin' back after it."
"I'll give you 'till I count ten," said Hal.
Voices came spontaneously from various places: "Kal's right"--"Let _him_
decide"--"Leave it to Kal," and similar expressions. It was obvious
that the men realized the position of their leader and would temporarily
surrender possession of the ranch rather than see him sacrificed.
Curley's fate was thrown in for good measure.
"Your men are with you, Kal," said Hal, eager to consummate the
precarious deal. "Tell them to put their weapons in a pile back of you
and Curley."
Kal repeated these instructions, but with evident reluctance. It was
obvious that the fact that he was getting away with his life was hardly
compensation for the humiliation suffered before Humpy and his comrades.
As the men came forward from their hiding places Hal relaxed his
tension. It came to him that he was very tired, and he leaned against
the window of the log-cabin, the window Kal had opened before leaving
the house. Just then a warning shout came from the stable. "Look out,
boy! Look out!"
Bill had time to say no more. It all happened in a flash. Two sinewy
bronze arms darted from the window and pinioned Hal from behind in a
vise-like grip. Hal knew instinctively that it was Appah. Bill, as he
was in the act of warning Hal, was over-powered from behind and bound by
Appah's men so quickly that he had only time to see that his warning to
the boy had come too late.
This had occurred without the cowboys being aware of it, so intent were
they on their own part in the drama. Kal's head drooped with shame as
he looked at the ground and said:
"We surrender."
"Surrender? Surrender? What are you talkin' about?"
It was Agent Ladd's voice as he strode nervously through the crowd of
ranchmen. He stopped in front of Kal and Curley, his eyes blazing with
excitement.
"Surrender this ranch to a couple of bluffs? You're a nice
chicken-hearted lot!"
*CHAPTER IX*
As the cowboys turned and saw Hal and Bill with their arms pinioned and
in the custody of Appah's men, they suffered a revulsion of feeling that
boded no good to the men whose bluff had been called.
"And two of 'em, _two_ of 'em hold you up. Why, you'll be the laughing
stock of the country."
Ladd lost no time in fanning their smouldering pride into a relentless
blaze.
"Gosh-a-mighty; ain't these your men?" gasped Kal.
It seemed such a useless question at this juncture to Ladd that he
didn't stop to answer it.
"You lynch cattle thieves out in this country, but you 'surrender' to
land thieves."
Hal looked at his adversary with admiration. He hadn't supposed that
Ladd would follow him, that he would trust himself in the enemy's
country; but here he was in time to turn victory into defeat, and he was
appealing to this mob with all the cunning of a skilled demagogue and
with the ferocity of a tiger.
Kal came over to Calthorpe and, looking him in the eye, said
slowly--emphasizing every word:
"You made me look foolish, boy."
That is an unforgivable sin. You may take a man's honor or his money or
his wife, and indeed have his life, and forgiveness is still possible;
but don't expect mercy if you have made him look foolish.
"And you _roped me_," added Curley. "Ropin' bein' in fashion, we'll let
you in on it." And he threw around Hal's neck a coil of the rope the
latter had used on him.
"Wait a minute," said the irreconcilable Humpy. "If this feller ain't
your man, Mr. Agent; who the hell is he?"
"He's the legal owner of this ranch," declared Bill with emphasis; "and
if you lynch him you'll be guilty of committin' murder."
"Oh, no," said Kal grimly; "we'll just be guilty of a mistake."
"Fer which," added Humpy, "we kin apologize later."
"Is that right?" demanded Kal. "Do you claim this ranch and the asphalt
on it?"
"I do. It's mine."
"Well, I guess that'll be about all."
"I guess we'll have to give your imagination an extra stretch."
"I can prove it."
"'Tain't open to argyment."
"If you git a chance to prove it, it'll sure be contributory negligence
on our part. Ain't that right, boys?"
Everybody was in on the conversation now. The men gathered around Hal
and Bill like carnivorous beasts at the smell of blood. Nothing stirs
the average man's imagination like gold. Each one of these rough men
had seen visions and had fashioned elaborate impossibilities out of this
mysterious asphalt. They told each other apocryphal stories of its
enormous value. Each saw himself fabulously rich. There was enormous
potential wealth here, but nothing could have corresponded to their
grotesque dreams, and the more nebulous and vapory they were the more
these rough men clung to them, and at the mention of their "rights" they
became feverish, fanatical, ready to tear into pieces whoever looked
toward their disputed treasures; ready to tear each other to pieces for
the fraction of a claim to that which they did not possess.
"Lynch him first and discuss it afterwards," suggested Ladd, seeing the
temper of his audience and playing to its sardonic humor.
"You know what's eatin' _him_?" said Bill, pointing an angry finger at
the agent. "The kid showed him up as a crook and a thief. When he's
got you so deep in this you can't git out, he'll be the first to turn on
you and sic justice onto you."
The eyes of all turned from the prisoner to Ladd, and Humpy expressed
the prevailing suspicion of the man they had no reason to trust:
"It ain't been supposed that Mr. Ladd was a sittin' up at nights a
tryin' to think of ways to help us."
Ladd faced them with courage and an air of apparent candor.
"I've fought you, but fair and in the open, and I'm goin' to fight you
for the land that's on the Reservation, but this land, as I understand
it, is yours, bought and paid for."
There was a chorus of fierce assent to this.
"You're in for a long and a losing fight against the Government; so if
you lose _this ranch_ you lose everything."
There was no approving shout for this, but the force of it was felt by
all.
"But this feller here," said the tenacious Humpy, pointing to the
prisoner and not to be diverted by the agent; "what about him?"
Ladd looked at the wild animals with their fangs frankly bared and knew
that they were easy. Then he played his trump card.
"As for this land-grabber, the best I know of him and the best he can
say for himself is that he's a half-breed."
This irrelevant appeal to prejudice was so crude, raw, and unblushing as
to be obvious to a child, but its effect was instantaneous. Every
vestige of restraint, of irresolution disappeared in the faces of the
mob. Human equality! There is no such thing even theoretically. There
are differences which separate human beings and will always separate
them, but they are moral and intellectual differences. No one admits
the principle of human equality, because:
"The principle of human equality takes away the right of killing
so-called inferior peoples, just as it destroys the right claimed by
some of dominating others. If all peoples are equal, if their different
appearances are only the result of changing circumstances, in virtue of
what principle is it allowable to destroy their happiness and to
compromise their right to independence?"[1]
[1] Finot.
The logic of prejudice is a strange and wonderful thing.
That some criminals were also half-breeds, that many half-breeds were
undesirable citizens has crystallized into the conviction in most
Western communities that all half-breeds are worthless and dangerous,
and are therefore capable of any and all crimes. This has nothing to do
with any ascertainable facts, and if opposite to Agent Ladd had arisen a
man of intellect who had devoted his life and all the energies of a
noble mind to finding out the truth, and had said: "If the word
half-breed was strictly applied to the progeny which has really issued
from a mixture of varieties, it would be necessary to include under this
denomination all human beings with rare exceptions"[2]--it would have
meant nothing to the audience to whom Ladd's appeal meant everything. As
one man they turned upon Hal, their brows lowering and the pupils of
their eyes contracting.
[2] Finot.
"Is it true," said Kal, "that you're a half-breed?"
The boy did not reply at once, but drew himself up proudly and looked
them over contemptuously; he saw his last chance was gone, so he took
his time and said very slowly:
"I'm the son of the Earl of Kerhill and of Nat-u-ritch, an Indian woman;
and I've got better blood in my veins than any man here, you swine!"
"Throw the rope over that beam," said Kal, pointing to the timber that
projected over the loft on the barn.
"Yes," added Humpy; "it's time we made an example of some one.
Land-grabbin' and half-breeds has got to be discouraged."
"You haven't anything against Bill. Let him go," said Hal quickly.
"He'll be a witness against us."
"You bet I will," said Bill promptly.
"No; he'll leave the country."
"I'll camp on the trail of these murderers as long as I live."
"For God's sake, shut up, Bill," begged Hal, as his eyes filled with
involuntary tears.
"Sorry you feel that-a-way," said Humpy; "leaves us no choice. Up with
'em."
"Hold on there--_you_!"
The cowmen turned to see McShay sitting on a smoking, gasping horse with
quivering nostrils and trembling flanks, and mopping his dripping brow
first with his sleeve and then with a huge bandanna handkerchief.
"Say, I ain't had a ride like this since I was a kid. Well, you beat me
to it, Mr. Agent; didn't you? I guess your Injins showed you a short
cut. Some of you hold up this horse, and some more of you help me off'n
him, though I don't know's I can stand much."
The interjection of this cool personality seemed to lower the
temperature several degrees. While McShay was dismounting, Smith and
Lee rode in on horses which showed similar evidence of hard usage.
"If these are my leags as I'm a standin' on, I want to observe that you
are gittin' precipitate a whole lot. I move to reconsider."
"What fer?"
"Well, boys, I'm afraid we're on the young feller's land."
This declaration from their leader would have made a sensation if it had
come before their passions had gained momentum. It might have changed
the progress of events, but now Kal voiced the general sentiment in a
surly: "We'll give him some of it--just about six feet of it."
There is no use talking temperance to the drunkard who has already
started on his debauch. The unacknowledged fear that their acts would
not bear examination made them fiercely resentful of interference, and
there was an unacknowledged conviction that what was done and could not
be undone justified itself as inevitable.
"Even Judge Lynch usually holds court," suggested McShay.
"We've heard what he's got to say."
"Say; you're foolish to interfere."
"Interferin' is my long suit," drawled McShay. "I ain't happy unless I'm
interferin'. Now there are two ways of lynchin' a man. One is to git
hysterical and borey-eyed, and lose yer re-pose. The other is to
proceed in a regular and high-toned way. Now these fellers has the right
to a ca'm judgment, and they will git it."
"They will," glared Humpy; "if you'll agree to abide by the decision of
the majority."
"I've always found I had to do that; so I usually fixed the majority."
McShay's imperturbability was irresistible.
"Now, I've mostly presided at functions like this, but I ain't a-pushin'
my claims. Who do you want fer judge? Show of hands--who's fer me?"
Up went the hands of the two faithful retainers, Orson and Silent, and
Mike saw that his effort to stampede the proceedings was late, perhaps
too late. Before the "opposed" were called for there was a concerted
shout for Kal.
"Majorities are always wrong," commented the experienced McShay; "you
git it, Kal."
Kal took his seat on the bench where he had lately been the prisoner and
Hal and Bill sat in the centre of the motley group of men who were
accusers, witnesses, jurymen, and executioners.
Perhaps there have been times and conditions when Judge Lynch served a
useful purpose, but even when the judge happened by accident to be
right, the resulting demoralization must have been worse than the
initial crimes. Now that McShay had entered the arena, Ladd retired to
the outskirts of the crowd and, having fired the house, was content to
stand by and see it burn.
"I got to have an office," said McShay. "Not gittin' judge, I'm
attorney for the defence."
"All right," said the judge, getting quickly to business. "You have
first innin's. How do you come to know mor'n and better'n us?"
"Well, I know a face card when I see it face up. I'm as good as that."
"He says he owns this ranch," interjected Humpy who was the
self-appointed prosecuting attorney. The offices Humpy got were
self-appointed.
"The worst of it is," answered McShay, "I'm afraid he does."
"You got to show _us_," said the judge in a tone that indicated the
difficulty of such a proceeding.
"Well," replied McShay; "we bought it of Andy and Shorty, and we know
they were crooks, 'cause they were crooked with us. Bill here says the
signature to the deed is a forgery; and Bill knows the Earl's
hand-writin'. That's all."
"Well," smiled Humpy, "that don't go very strong with me. Bill may be
mistaken or he may be lyin'."
"Peradventure he ain't," retorted Mike. "Bill couldn't lie. He ain't
gifted. Bill's the shortest distance between two points. I've knowed
him fer an awful long time, and I wouldn't trust him to lie."
"Is that all?" asked the judge, obviously refusing to be impressed.
"That's all."
"'Tain't conclusive," said Humpy, trying to get the impressive lingo of
opposing counsel.
"By the eternal it's presumptive," bellowed McShay. "Let the young
feller go. If it should turn out that he owns the land, somebody might
insist on making it awkward for some of us; if he don't own it, he can't
prove it; he can't hold it, and no harm done."
"If he owns the land," said the judge, taking a hand; "why didn't he go
to court in a regl'r way?"
Hal almost laughed aloud.
It was the first time he seemed to be even an interested listener.
After his outburst of a moment ago his thought had gone back to the
Agency and had left in his face a vacant and far-away look.
"Go to court, eh? Judge Swayback owns a nice thick wad of your stock
and Sheriff Black owns another. And you have no difficulty in packing
any jury in this part of the State."
"The prisoner seems to be unusually well informed," drawled McShay. "In
resortin' to violence the defendant is at fault, but it is the
indiscretion and exuberance of youth, gentlemen. I sometimes find
myself resortin' to violence, and perhaps you gentlemen may remember in
your own peace-lovin' and law-abidin' careers the sudden impulse to go
and take what you thought was yourn. As a failin' it's distinctly
human."
"I think we've heard enough," remarked the judge. "McShay's full of
presumin's and peradventurin's, and such misleadin' legal gab, but no
feller is agoin' to come around and hold me up at the muzzle of a gun
and git away with it."
"Say, you're a judge; you ain't no right to argue."
"I ain't a-arguin'. It's a fact."
Humpy arose and advanced a step as if he felt the importance of the blow
he was about to deliver.
"Testimony is conflictin'. Bill says he's all right. Ladd says he's all
wrong. Testimony ain't no good any way. Never knew a feller as
wouldn't lie if he had ter. This is the point. This feller wants land
we bought and paid for, and he sets an awful bad example by comin' after
it with a gun. That's enough fer me."
There were murmurs of approval at this simple statement and impatient
cries of "Vote--vote."
"Say, Kid," said McShay to the prisoner; "you better offer to give up
your claims and save your life."
"No half-breed would keep such a promise," said Ladd quickly.
McShay turned on the agent a look that held the other in a breathless
grip for a second; then he only said: "Don't you interfere in this."
"And I won't make such a promise," said Hal simply.
"Vote--vote," came impatiently from all directions.
"All in favor of lettin' the prisoner go hold up the right hand."
McShay was always sure of the absolute support of Lee and Silent Smith
on any side of any question.
"Three!" announced the judge grimly. "All in favor of hangin' the
prisoner, similar!"
"He swings!" laconically added Kal.
"Now about Bill. I'm in favor of givin' Bill twenty-four hours to quit
the country. If he's caught after that we'll string him up. All in
favor hold up their hand. Carried! Curley, you're the feller that got
us into this trouble. I'll appoint you to stay on guard, for to see
that no one interferes with the course of justice. The prisoner has a
couple of minutes with his friends."
The court, jury, and executioners considerately moved away, just out of
hearing.
"Boy," said McShay with the shadow of a quiver in his voice; "I can't
prevent this."
"I know you can't, McShay; but I thank you just the same for what you've
done. You're a square man. I wish I'd known it sooner."
The two men looked each other in the eye for a second and in that
silence was born an understanding and a fellowship that each knew to be
proof against time, self-interest, and life's vicissitudes.
Bill muttered more to himself than to them: "I'm an old man. It
wouldn't have mattered about me."
"Is there anything Bill or I could do for you?" asked McShay, trying
hard to keep his voice even and his eye clear.
"Yes; I'm troubled about Wah-na-gi," and Hal's voice shook in spite of
himself. "Tell John McCloud I want him to adopt her. He has
influential friends in the Indian Office. He's the best man I've ever
known. Tell him it's my last request, the only one I have to make. I
want him to get control of her and take her away from the Agency. Write
my father, Bill, that I'd like the two of them to have this ranch. And
tell the governor I took my medicine like a gentleman's son. Don't
forget about Wah-na-gi."
"She shan't want a friend while me or Bill lives; ain't that right,
Bill?"
Bill was crying and couldn't answer.
"Time's up," announced Kal.
Hal's hands had been tied ever since he had been caught through the
window by the Indians and disarmed. Now they led him over to the barn,
tied his feet together, and Curley was placing a bandanna handkerchief
over his eyes.
"I rather you wouldn't do that, if you don't mind," said Hal.
"It's fer _me_," explained Curley in an almost tender voice. "I got to
stay here with you, and I--Well, you understand."
Hal understood and made no further protest.
"Boys," said McShay with a solemnity most unusual to him, "I think
you're a committin' murder, and I won't stay and see you do it. You can
have my share of the asphalt--I wouldn't have it. It's blood money."
And he walked off, followed by Smith and Lee, and they made the greatest
haste to secure their horses and get away before the silent thing hung
in the silent air.
"You might as well make it two instead of one, for I won't quit the
country. I'll bring some one to justice for this," said Bill through
his tears.
"Bill," called the victim in a pleading voice, "live to do what I told
you, for my sake."
"Johnson and McMurdy," said Kal, pointing to Bill; "take him to Carbon
and put him on the train."
The two burly cowmen hustled Bill over to the corral, and Bill was
thankful that fate had decreed that he need not be present at the
ghastly moment. Kal looked the situation over calmly.
"When it is done, every one but Curley hit the trail and forget it. Are
you ready, Calthorpe?"
"Ready!" and the voice was calm and steady now.
"Anything to say?"
"Nothing."
"Let her go."
Up went the body into the air that seemed to grow suddenly still and
cold.
In a twinkling the end of the rope was made fast to a cleat in the side
of the barn, and almost before this was done the crowd melted--vanished.
There was, in fact, a horrible haste to leave the uncanny thing behind.
Almost before it had begun to twist and twirl, Curley found himself
alone with It. He shuddered, turned away, pulled a flask from his
pocket and took a long pull, put the cork back, and tried once more to
look at It. His legs kind of faded under him and he sat down at the
foot of the rock that was Nat-u-ritch's grave; his jaw fell open and he
stared at It, not being able now to look away. He stood this for a
moment, then he succumbed to an overpowering sense of horror.
"I ain't agoin' to stay here and watch _that_," he gasped.
Then he drew his gun and took deliberate aim at the twisting target.
His hand shook. He steadied it and got his aim. There was a flash from
the loft of the stable and Curley sank back against the rock, bleeding.
Then a slender girlish figure leaned out from the loft, a big blade
gleamed in the moonlight, and the horrible twisting thing crumpled to
the ground.
*CHAPTER X*
The town of Calamity got its beginning and its name from a mine which a
desperate prospector had located there. It was his last throw with the
dice, and having tried "The Golden Hope," "Lucky Lode," "Good Fortune,"
and other optimistic challenges to fate, he at last guessed right, and
called it Calamity.
Whether the wickedness of Calamity was unusual or sufficient to justify
a special visitation of divine wrath was an open question, but at all
events it seemed to the inhabitants to be marked for special affliction.
In all the lowlands, along all the rivers of that region the spring
floods had left miles and miles of standing water which bred millions of
mosquitoes, but Calamity wouldn't have minded just an ordinary Egyptian
plague like that. With no one in a position to explain or
scientifically justify their presence, a plague of gnats had descended
on the town and life became an acute exasperation. Unlike the mosquito
and the rattlesnake, this ferocious little beast gave its victims no
warning. He was so small that an ordinary mosquito netting was the open
door and the satisfaction of killing one's tormentor was largely denied
as the angry slap of retaliation found the cowardly assailant gone. A
sharp blow simply stimulated his poignant activities. He had to be
caught and then rolled elaborately to death. This required special
faculties in an advanced state of development and a patience unknown to
high altitudes. At first he was regarded as a joke, but when he invaded
every walk of life with implacable impartiality, sparing neither age,
sex, nor previous pulchritude, the serenity of Calamity developed
virulent and baneful bumps. Facility in expletive already abnormal
filled the air space not occupied by the insects with violent and
unclean words. The first man with the courage to wear gloves and a
mosquito-netting around his hat with a draw-string about his neck
enjoyed the martyrdom of all inventors and discoverers. To wear a veil
certainly seemed effeminate, and that was the last word in Calamity.
But all of a sudden there was a rush to the store for mosquito-netting
by swollen and lumpy citizens with angry spots all over their necks,
hands, and faces, and strong men worked in the sight of other strong men
with _veils_. It may be here stated that one fold of ordinary
mosquito-netting was as good as none at all, and women's veils were
scarce in Calamity and very expensive. They were, however, the only
safeguard, but there was still a lingering suspicion that they were a
shade more effeminate than the regular netting. This got on the nerves
of the citizens finally and men got to be irritable, morose, depressed.
It drove a great many estimable citizens to drink, of those not
previously driven by other causes. McShay was the magnate of Calamity.
He owned the store, the livery and feed stable, the coach line, and the
Palace Saloon. The latter was the business, social, and intellectual
centre of the crude town which sprawled with a shameless disregard for
appearances on both sides of the gulch through which flowed Bitter
Creek.
The Palace wasn't a cheerful place exactly, but it was the nearest
approach to it in Calamity, especially at night. It was early evening
and, though the lights were lit, except for Humpy, Kal, and several
others who were playing poker at one of the tables, the place was empty.
After the events of the last chapter the relations between McShay and
the cowboys were strained. Mike was a leader who didn't know how to
follow and didn't want to learn.
"Hello, Mike," said Kal to the owner as he entered his saloon by the
front door.
"Hello," was the short reply, and the Irishman went directly to the bar
and began a conversation with his barkeeper without even looking at the
speaker.
"Won't you take a hand?"
"Nope."
"Gee, ain't you grouchy!" growled Humpy. "You can't have your way all
the time."
"Well, I ain't agoin' to have your way any of the time, Humpy. Your
calibre is too small and you ain't got sufficient penetration." This
was pretty plain talk, and the men at the table looked at each other and
the game seemed to drag.
"You ain't a goin' to quit us?" asserted Kal uneasily.
"I ain't, 'cause I have."
"You said that when you was excited."
"Well, when I stop to think I'm always wrong," retorted the Irishman
bluntly.
It seemed unreasonable that McShay should be so rigid about a little
thing like a lynching. While Kal was thinking of some way to placate
the big boss, Johnson and McMurdy clattered in. They went directly to
the bar and ordered refreshment.
"Well," called out Humpy; "did you put Bill on the train?"
"We sure did."
"And he got off again at the next station," added McShay with provoking
assurance.
"Shouldn't wonder," admitted Johnson.
"And you'll have him to deal with when he gits back."
This seemed to the poker players extremely likely, but no one admitted
it to their uncompromising critic.
"Bill's a kindly idiot," sneered McShay. "He ain't got sense enough to
keep his mouth shut and you ain't got nerve enough to shut it. Two such
mistakes wouldn't go even in this kummunity."
"You still think we made a mistake?"
"Huh!" ejaculated Mike with undisguised contempt.
"What makes you think so?" asked Kal meekly.
"Go to Ladd. He's got a ring in your nose. He's your leader. Ask
him."
"Can't you answer a plain question in a plain way?"
"I can, but it ain't worth while. It's too late."
"Maybe we was a bit hasty. Anyway we can't git on without you. You
know that."
This unconditional surrender mollified the magnate some and, as he
really wanted to let them know the full extent of their folly, he added:
"The young feller was on the square. It was to his interest to play in
with Ladd and the Trust, but instead he cut the agent out of the herd
and was a drivin' him to the slaughter-house. This boy held all the
cards, and with him as a partner we could have put Ladd out of the game
and beat the Trust that's behind him. Now we'll lose everything. You
can have my share; divide it among you; it ain't worth fightin' for."
"Mike," called from the door a tough-looking boy with a face as hard as
quartz; "there's a feller outside here wants to see you private."
"Tell him to come in and you git home before I tan yer hide."
The proprietor of the saloon made for the urchin with a view to
enforcing an unwritten curfew edict, and as he got to the door something
in the appearance of the stranger startled him. He stood for a moment
looking intently, then walked out into the night.
Johnson and McMurdy joined the poker players.
"Where's Curley?" asked the latter.
"He ain't turned up yet," said Humpy. "We've sent Dick Roach over to
see what's become of him. Hello, here's Dick now."
Dick staggered into the saloon and lurched over to the bar, calling for
a drink in a husky voice, and repeating the dose at a rate that
indicated undue haste even in a practised hand.
"You got back soon," suggested Kal. "What's become of Curley?"
"Dam'f I know." And as he turned his face to them they saw that Roach
was very pale, except for the angry red spots characteristic of the
local pest. The combination wasn't becoming.
"I didn't git there. Boys, I saw him; saw it--met it."
"Curley?"
"No; the corpse--the feller we--we--hung."
A slow smile spread from face to face at the table.
"Where did you absorb it, Dick?"
Fortified now by a couple of more drinks, and looking around the
familiar saloon and steadied by the cold scepticism of his friends,
Roach began to suspect himself, and taking some more courage with him he
sat down in a corner white and silent, and the poker game proceeded, but
in a perfunctory and listless way. The players felt a growing
resentment against Roach. The gnats alone made life unbearable. Then
they were in the first throes of a horrible reaction, following on the
violence at Red Butte Ranch. Any remaining shred of comfort had been
rudely torn to pieces by the ruthless McShay. And now this white-faced
idiot had to blunder in and force them to remember what they were trying
to forget--"the corpse," and "the feller we hung." It was most
inconsiderate. Besides, fear is contagious. It was unmistakable that
Roach _thought_ he had seen something. Of course he hadn't, but if a
vote had been taken it would have been unanimously voted a "deepressin'
evenin'."
"When I'm out on the mesa," said Kal, trying to give voice to the
general consciousness, "I'm a-longin' fer the reefinements of
civilization, and when I'm enjoying the reefinements"--and his gesture
took in the embellishments of the Palace Saloon--"why, I'm a-longin' for
the mesa. I guess we ain't never satisfied."
Just then one of the embellishments began to smoke. In fact it had
smoked for some time before any one noticed it. The barkeeper finally
observed it, took it out of its bracket, turned it out, and was in the
act of trimming the wick when the oily glass slipped in his fingers,
and, in an effort to catch it, he threw it against the mirror behind the
bar. Involuntarily the players jumped and then each looked about with
annoyance to find out if the others had seen him jump. People are so
afraid of being afraid.
"A lookin'-glass," said one.
"Seven years," added another.
No one used the words--bad luck.
No one believed in bad luck in such a connection, but--it was evident
that they were nervous.
Just then McShay entered and with him through the open door a bat flew
in. There are people queer enough or scientific enough to like bats,
but it is one of those things that most of us can learn to do without,
and the eccentric aviation of a frightened bat in the same room cannot
be recommended as a sedative for nervous people. Again there are some
who tell others that such an incident is an ill omen.
When McShay re-entered the room his eyes were snapping, and if any one
had noticed, which no one did, so absorbed were they with the gyrations
of the uncanny little beast, they would have seen that something had
occurred to encourage or amuse the big boss.
"Hello, Dick," he said as he caught sight of Roach in a corner. "What's
the matter with you? Seen a ghost?"
"That's what I have."
"Say," said Humpy with a cheerless laugh; "Dick's got 'em. Thinks he's
seen the feller as thought he owned the Red Butte Ranch. Ha, ha."
"Well," said McShay, "the longer I live the less I'm sayin' things ain't
so. I ain't a-sayin' positive that dead men come back to camp on the
trail of them as has wronged 'em, but if they do, it's a safe bet that
Dick ain't the only one as 'll be seein' things."
This extraordinary admission from a hardened materialist did not add to
the gayety of the occasion. There was no response to it and the speaker
went behind the bar and whispered a few words to his barkeeper. This
person had a name but every one had long since forgotten it. He had a
smooth round face that looked out on the world with a sort of holy
sorrow. McShay had called him "Sad" and the name had stuck. "Sad" was
fond of remembering that he had seen "better days." He had been an
undertaker and his cultivated manner of subdued sympathy in half lights
was Calamity's idea of the last word in elegance and refinement. Sad
gave the proprietor a reproachful look and then nodded his head gravely.
When a man's money is up he usually exhibits some mental concentration,
but the poker game stumbled badly. There were frequent admonitions to
"git in on it," and lapses were reproved with unnecessary severity.
Somehow the usual desultory talk ceased and the big room became quiet,
uncomfortably so. Even the click of the chips was a relief. The strain
was relaxed to the comfort of all by the entrance of Orson Lee, Silent
Smith, and Rough House Joe, who ambled to the bar, pushing up the
mosquito-netting from their faces as they did so. With them also
entered very quietly a stranger, his head shrouded by a heavy black
close-meshed veil such as women wear. The stranger did not lift his
veil but followed the others to the bar where McShay had already placed
convenient bottles and glasses. The fourth man did not speak but he had
to raise his veil to drink. As he put down his empty glass he turned
and leaned against the bar.
"By G----!" gasped Roach, who had been in close communion with the
bottle since he had been in the saloon. "I've got 'em, have I?"
The poker game stopped and the players followed the wild stare of the
speaker to the figure leaning against the bar.
"You mean to say you don't see _that_?" whispered Dick, pointing a
quivering finger.
It was evident that the people at the table saw something. There was a
moment of oppressive silence, then Smith, Lee, and Joe walked over to
Dick and looked at him carefully, then at the solemn people at the poker
table. Their burly figures hid the stranger for a moment, and when they
turned to walk back to the bar the stranger had disappeared. The poker
players looked rather relieved and a bit limp.
"You fellers better take Dick home," said McShay quietly, "and git some
one to take care of him."
The poker players rose rather hurriedly, some of them tipping over their
chairs, and made a concerted rush to the bar, leaving cards, chips, and
some money on the table. They gulped their liquor feverishly.
"Gee, it's a hot night; ain't it?" said Humpy in a dry voice, and wiping
away the perspiration which stood out in beads on his face.
"Dick sure is bad. He thinks he seen it ag'in--just now--_here_." And
he tried to force a superior smile as he looked around.
"Say," said Kal, pulling himself together with the aid of a couple of
drinks; "it ain't no use to kid ourselves nor to let no one else kid us.
He _did_ see it. That was----"
He didn't finish, for he was cruelly conscious of the pity in the faces
of Orson, Silent, and Joe. He turned to look at McShay and Sad. The
latter wore his professional air of forbearance and bored interest.
McShay raised his eyebrows as much as to say: "Well, old man; what is
it?"
It was Dick's turn. He rose and lurched to the bar, looking at Kal and
the others, and pounding the bar with his fists. "I'm a damn fool, am
I? I've got the williamytrimities, have I?" Then he turned to Lee.
"You mean to say _it_ didn't--_he_ didn't come in here with you?"
"You mean Silent?" blandly inquired Lee, putting his hand on the lanky
man's shoulder. "Yes," he added in a kindly way. "Yes, Richard; Silent
and Joe came in with me."
"Say," said Kal with more courage than the rest; "you can't kid me. He
came in here with you. A fourth man came in here with you; stood up to
the bar and drank with you."
The three men looked helplessly at each other and then at McShay.
"Say, McShay," bellowed the now infuriated Kal; "you ain't a liar nor a
fool. Didn't you serve drinks to a fourth man--here--just now?"