Since the day that he had given Margaret his promise to make good,
Gardley had been regularly employed by Mr. Rogers, looking after
important matters of his ranch. Before that he had lived a free and easy
life, working a little now and then when it seemed desirable to him,
having no set interest in life, and only endeavoring from day to day to
put as far as possible from his mind the life he had left behind him.
Now, however, all things became different. He brought to his service the
keen mind and ready ability that had made him easily a winner at any
game, a brave rider, and a never-failing shot. Within a few days Rogers
saw what material was in him, and as the weeks went by grew to depend
more and more upon his advice in matters.
There had been much trouble with cattle thieves, and so far no method of
stopping the loss or catching the thieves had been successful. Rogers
finally put the matter into Gardley's hands to carry out his own ideas,
with the men of the camp at his command to help him, the camp itself
being only a part of Rogers's outlying possessions, one of several such
centers from which he worked his growing interests.
Gardley had formulated a scheme by which he hoped eventually to get
hold of the thieves and put a stop to the trouble, and he was pretty
sure he was on the right track; but his plan required slow and cautious
work, that the enemy might not suspect and take to cover. He had for
several weeks suspected that the thieves made their headquarters in the
region of Old Ouida's Cabin, and made their raids from that direction.
It was for this reason that of late the woods and trails in the vicinity
of Ouida's had been secretly patrolled day and night, and every
passer-by taken note of, until Gardley knew just who were the
frequenters of that way and mostly what was their business. This work
was done alternately by the men of the Wallis camp and two other camps,
Gardley being the head of all and carrying all responsibility; and not
the least of that young man's offenses in the eyes of Rosa Rogers was
that he was so constantly at her father's house and yet never lifted an
eye in admiration of her pretty face. She longed to humiliate him, and
through him to humiliate Margaret, who presumed to interfere with her
flirtations, for it was a bitter thing to Rosa that Forsythe had no eyes
for her when Margaret was about.
When the party from the fort rode homeward that Sunday after the service
at the school-house, Forsythe lingered behind to talk to Margaret, and
then rode around by the Rogers place, where Rosa and he had long ago
established a trysting-place.
Rosa was watching for his passing, and he stopped a half-hour or so to
talk to her. During this time she casually disclosed to Forsythe some of
the plans she had overheard Gardley laying before her father. Rosa had
very little idea of the importance of Gardley's work to her father, or
perhaps she would not have so readily prattled of his affairs. Her main
idea was to pay back Gardley for his part in her humiliation with
Forsythe. She suggested that it would be a great thing if Gardley could
be prevented from being at the play Tuesday evening, and told what she
had overheard him saying to her father merely to show Forsythe how easy
it would be to have Gardley detained on Tuesday. Forsythe questioned
Rosa keenly. Did she know whom they suspected? Did she know what they
were planning to do to catch them, and when?
Rosa innocently enough disclosed all she knew, little thinking how
dishonorable to her father it was, and perhaps caring as little, for
Rosa had ever been a spoiled child, accustomed to subordinating
everything within reach to her own uses. As for Forsythe, he was nothing
loath to get rid of Gardley, and he saw more possibilities in Rosa's
suggestion than she had seen herself. When at last he bade Rosa good
night and rode unobtrusively back to the trail he was already
formulating a plan.
It was, therefore, quite in keeping with his wishes that he should meet
a dark-browed rider a few miles farther up the trail whose identity he
had happened to learn a few days before.
Now Forsythe would, perhaps, not have dared to enter into any compact
against Gardley with men of such ill-repute had it been a matter of
money and bribery, but, armed as he was with information valuable to the
criminals, he could so word his suggestion about Gardley's detention as
to make the hunted men think it to their advantage to catch Gardley
some time the next day when he passed their way and imprison him for a
while. This would appear to be but a friendly bit of advice from a
disinterested party deserving a good turn some time in the future and
not get Forsythe into any trouble. As such it was received by the
wretch, who clutched at the information with ill-concealed delight and
rode away into the twilight like a serpent threading his secret, gliding
way among the darkest places, scarcely rippling the air, so stealthily
did he pass.
As for Forsythe, he rode blithely to the Temple ranch, with no thought
of the forces he had set going, his life as yet one round of trying to
please himself at others' expense, if need be, but please himself,
_anyway_, with whatever amusement the hour afforded.
At home in the East, where his early life had been spent, a splendid
girl awaited his dilatory letters and set herself patiently to endure
the months of separation until he should have attained a home and a
living and be ready for her to come to him.
In the South, where he had idled six months before he went West, another
lovely girl cherished mementoes of his tarrying and wrote him loving
letters in reply to his occasional erratic epistles.
Out on the Californian shore a girl with whom he had traveled West in
her uncle's luxurious private car, with a gay party of friends and
relatives, cherished fond hopes of a visit he had promised to make her
during the winter.
Innumerable maidens of this world, wise in the wisdom that crushes
hearts, remembered him with a sigh now and then, but held no illusions
concerning his kind.
Pretty little Rosa Rogers cried her eyes out every time he cast a
languishing look at her teacher, and several of the ladies of the fort
sighed that the glance of his eye and the gentle pressure of his hand
could only be a passing joy. But the gay Lothario passed on his way as
yet without a scratch on the hard enamel of his heart, till one wondered
if it were a heart, indeed, or perhaps only a metal imitation. But girls
like Margaret Earle, though they sometimes were attracted by him,
invariably distrusted him. He was like a beautiful spotted snake that
was often caught menacing something precious, but you could put him down
anywhere after punishment or imprisonment and he would slide on his same
slippery way and still be a spotted, deadly snake.
When Gardley left the camp that Monday morning following the walk home
with Margaret from the Sabbath service, he fully intended to be back at
the school-house Monday by the time the afternoon rehearsal began. His
plans were so laid that he thought relays from other camps were to guard
the suspected ground for the next three days and he could be free. It
had been a part of the information that Forsythe had given the stranger
that Gardley would likely pass a certain lonely crossing of the trail at
about three o'clock that afternoon, and, had that arrangement been
carried out, the men who lay in wait for him would doubtless have been
pleased to have their plans mature so easily; but they would not have
been pleased long, for Gardley's men were so near at hand at that time,
watching that very spot with eyes and ears and long-distance glasses,
that their chief would soon have been rescued and the captors be
themselves the captured.
But the men from the farther camp, called "Lone Fox" men, did not arrive
on time, perhaps through some misunderstanding, and Gardley and Kemp and
their men had to do double time. At last, later in the afternoon,
Gardley volunteered to go to Lone Fox and bring back the men.
As he rode his thoughts were of Margaret, and he was seeing again the
look of gladness in her eyes when she found he had not gone yesterday;
feeling again the thrill of her hands in his, the trust of her smile! It
was incredible, wonderful, that God had sent a veritable angel into the
wilderness to bring him to himself; and now he was wondering, could it
be that there was really hope that he could ever make good enough to
dare to ask her to marry him. The sky and the air were rare, but his
thoughts were rarer still, and his soul was lifted up with joy. He was
earning good wages now. In two more weeks he would have enough to pay
back the paltry sum for the lack of which he had fled from his old home
and come to the wilderness. He would go back, of course, and straighten
out the old score. Then what? Should he stay in the East and go back to
the old business wherewith he had hoped to make his name honored and
gain wealth, or should he return to this wild, free land again and start
anew?
His mother was dead. Perhaps if she had lived and cared he would have
made good in the first place. His sisters were both married to wealthy
men and not deeply interested in him. He had disappointed and mortified
them; their lives were filled with social duties; they had never missed
him. His father had been dead many years. As for his uncle, his mother's
brother, whose heir he was to have been before he got himself into
disgrace, he decided not to go near him. He would stay as long as he
must to undo the wrong he had done. He would call on his sisters and
then come back; come back and let Margaret decide what she wanted him to
do--that is, if she would consent to link her life with one who had been
once a failure. Margaret! How wonderful she was! If Margaret said he
ought to go back and be a lawyer, he would go--yes, even if he had to
enter his uncle's office as an underling to do it. His soul loathed the
idea, but he would do it for Margaret, if she thought it best. And so he
mused as he rode!
When the Lone Fox camp was reached and the men sent out on their belated
task, Gardley decided not to go with them back to meet Kemp and the
other men, but sent word to Kemp that he had gone the short cut to
Ashland, hoping to get to a part of the evening rehearsal yet.
Now that short cut led him to the lonely crossing of the trail much
sooner than Kemp and the others could reach it from the rendezvous; and
there in cramped positions, and with much unnecessary cursing and
impatience, four strong masked men had been concealed for four long
hours.
Through the stillness of the twilight rode Gardley, thinking of
Margaret, and for once utterly off his guard. His long day's work was
done, and though he had not been able to get back when he planned, he
was free now, free until the day after to-morrow. He would go at once to
her and see if there was anything she wanted him to do.
Then, as if to help along his enemies, he began to hum a song, his
clear, high voice reaching keenly to the ears of the men in ambush:
"'Oh, the time is long, mavourneen,
Till I come again, O mavourneen--'"
"And the toime 'll be longer thun iver, oim thinkin', ma purty little
voorneen!" said an unmistakable voice of Erin through the gathering
dusk.
Gardley's horse stopped and Gardley's hand went to his revolver, while
his other hand lifted the silver whistle to his lips; but four guns
bristled at him in the twilight, the whistle was knocked from his lips
before his breath had even reached it, some one caught his arms from
behind, and his own weapon was wrenched from his hand as it went off.
The cry which he at once sent forth was stifled in its first whisper in
a great muffling garment flung over his head and drawn tightly about his
neck. He was in a fair way to strangle, and his vigorous efforts at
escape were useless in the hands of so many. He might have been plunged
at once into a great abyss of limitless, soundless depths, so futile did
any resistance seem. And so, as it was useless to struggle, he lay like
one dead and put all his powers into listening. But neither could he
hear much, muffled as he was, and bound hand and foot now, with a gag in
his mouth and little care taken whether he could even breathe.
They were leading him off the trail and up over rough ground; so much he
knew, for the horse stumbled and jolted and strained to carry him. To
keep his whirling senses alive and alert he tried to think where they
might be leading him; but the darkness and the suffocation dulled his
powers. He wondered idly if his men would miss him and come back when
they got home to search for him, and then remembered with a pang that
they would think him safely in Ashland, helping Margaret. They would not
be alarmed if he did not return that night, for they would suppose he
had stopped at Rogers's on the way and perhaps stayed all night, as he
had done once or twice before. _Margaret!_ When should he see Margaret
now? What would she think?
And then he swooned away.
When he came somewhat to himself he was in a close, stifling room where
candle-light from a distance threw weird shadows over the adobe walls.
The witch-like voices of a woman and a girl in harsh, cackling laughter,
half suppressed, were not far away, and some one, whose face was
covered, was holding a glass to his lips. The smell was sickening, and
he remembered that he hated the thought of liquor. It did not fit with
those who companied with Margaret. He had never cared for it, and had
resolved never to taste it again. But whether he chose or not, the
liquor was poured down his throat. Huge hands held him and forced it,
and he was still bound and too weak to resist, even if he had realized
the necessity.
The liquid burned its way down his throat and seethed into his brain,
and a great darkness, mingled with men's wrangling voices and much
cursing, swirled about him like some furious torrent of angry waters
that finally submerged his consciousness. Then came deeper darkness and
a blank relief from pain.
Hours passed. He heard sounds sometimes, and dreamed dreams which he
could not tell from reality. He saw his friends with terror written on
their faces, while he lay apathetically and could not stir. He saw tears
on Margaret's face; and once he was sure he heard Forsythe's voice in
contempt: "Well, he seems to be well occupied for the present! No danger
of his waking up for a while!" and then the voices all grew dim and far
away again, and only an old crone and the harsh girl's whisper over him;
and then Margaret's tears--tears that fell on his heart from far above,
and seemed to melt out all his early sins and flood him with their
horror. Tears and the consciousness that he ought to be doing something
for Margaret now and could not. Tears--and more darkness!