ON THE ROAD HOME
The train from Los Angeles rolled slowly up to the little station at
Marion and the asthmatic engine seemed to wheeze its relief that its
labor was ended, as an old man stepped from the last car and looked
eagerly along the platform. Then a certain degree of disappointment
overspread his fine face, and shouldering a heavy parcel, strapped
round with leather to give a holding place, he strode rather
unsteadily forward over the same sandy road, or street, which had
tried Ninian Sharp's patience on his first visit to the post town.
Yet, after a little, the man grew accustomed to his own stiffness of
limb and moved with a sort of halting swiftness which soon brought him
to the little hostelry of one Aleck McLeod, where a group of ranchmen
were sunning themselves while they waited the distribution of the
mail.
It was noticeable that the porch was spotlessly clean and that none of
the idlers profaned its cleanliness by so much as one expectoration of
tobacco juice, though all were either smoking or chewing that weed.
They had far too great respect for Janet, Aleck's wife, and for the
labor that cleanliness meant in that waterless region. They were all
deep in the discussion of the late events at Sobrante and none heard
the old traveler's approach over the soft ground, till he stood close
beside them with his foot on the lower step.
But he heard them and their eager talk; and, pausing a bit, the more
completely to surprise them by an intended halloo, he forgot that and
all else save what they were saying.
"It was ten to one she was never found. 'Pears like a miracle to me,
that old Pedro was led to find that very cave just when he did. My
wife claims it was a miracle, same as used to be in Bible days, and
you can't talk her out of it. You know how women are," said one
ranchman, who had aided in the search for Jessica.
"Well, first and last, them Trents have done a heap for this section
of our 'native.' And they're square folks, every identical of them.
Even the little tacker, that boy Ned. There's more in his head than he
gets credit for, and one these days he'll show there is. He's a master
hand with a gun, baby as he is, and if he'd had one handy I wager he'd
have put some shot into the ugly carcass of that Ferd---- But he
hadn't the iron and he didn't," added another smoker.
"It was a prime spread Mis' Trent gave us. Must have took about all
the provisions she had in store, but nothing was too good for them
that helped her in her trouble. Or tried to help, same thing; since it
was her own man, Pedro, found the child. Away down in the bottom of a
pit in the depth of an unknown cave! Think of it, somebody! It just
makes my hair rise on end, known' there is such a fool and scoundrel
joined in one dwarf's body--Hello! hel--lo!"
The last speaker's words ended in a sort of screech of astonishment
and recognition, as a hard hand was laid upon his shoulder, and
Ephraim Marsh demanded, fiercely:
"What's that you say, neighbor?"
"Why, hello, Marsh! Where'd you drop from?" cried one, rising and
extending a hand in greeting.
"You're a sight to cure sick folks!" shouted another, pressing to
"Forty-niner's" side, and slapping the veteran's shoulder in high good
will.
But Ephraim had no feeling at present, save anxiety to know what their
discussion had meant; and, all talking, they laid a succinct history
of the last few days before him. He listened in increasing alarm and
amazement and his old limbs tottered beneath him, so that he called
out, hastily:
"Give me a seat, somebody, quick, before I fall. I--I--to think of my
little gell--my own sweet-faced, lovin' little gell----Oh, I can't
believe it! I can't and I won't. It's some plaguey Californy yarn'
you're passin' the time with. Atlantic! But you might have chose a
likelier subject to fool over, you might."
But Aleck himself had seen the arrival through the window and came out
to greet him with the heartiness accorded all the Sobrante people, and
to assure him that the story was all true; and that, after all, it
were better that he had not been at home when the trouble came; "for
it would have broke your heart, 'Forty-niner,' into more pieces than
old Stiffleg broke your bones, and it wouldn't have healed so soon,
neither. But, come in, come in, boy, and have a mouthful of dinner.
Janet has as fine a dish of haggis as ever I tasted in Aberdeen at
home, and it should relish to you, after all that hospital fare and so
on. Janet! Janet! Here's Ephraim Marsh! Come welcome him!"
And Janet came quickly, like her husband cordial and sympathetic, and
led the deeply moved frontiersman into her own kitchen, where no
uninvited ranchman dared intrude, and there served him well with good
things, including the haggis. And as she served she talked in a wise,
womanly way that soothed his agitation and turned his thoughts from
enmity against the dwarf into thanksgiving that now all was well.
"For since it is over and done with we can reckon the gain. The sweet
bit bairnie has won for herself fresh friends. In all the countryside
there was but one feeling, 'The child must be found.' No other thing
was of any moment, and found she was, by a man so much older than any
of the rest that nobody, not even you, can grudge him the honor. More
hot milk? Oat cake? Nothing? Well, well; for a man that's traveling
you've a small appetite. Must be off already and pack your own bundle?
Why, friend, you would better leave that till one the boys rides up
for the mail. Due before this, indeed, for Sobrante ranchers are ever
keen for their post stuff. No? A horse, then? Aleck was going to do a
bit of plowing with her, later on, but he'll eagerly give over that
for you."
But Ephraim felt that he could delay for nothing more, not even for
the arrival of a Sobrante messenger; and as for Jean, the sorrel
mare--he and she were old acquaintances, and he declined her services
with a grim smile, saying:
"Thank you, Janet, it's kindly offered, but I'm in haste and I'd
rather trust my own lame leg than her four lagging ones. Besides, if
Aleck has been afield in this search he'll be behindhand in his work,
and he's a hand to keep things up to the level line. Good-by, good-by.
Oh! wait a bit, though. I'd clean forgot that I put a scrap of white
Scotch linen and a yard or two of plaid bodice stuff in my pack for
you. This business of my captain getting lost has shaken my wits."
Though Janet protested against the trouble her face glowed at prospect
of her gifts, and as she assisted him to unstrap and refasten his
canvas sack, and even begged to be shown the simple remembrances he
had procured for everybody he knew "at home;" not least among them
being calicoes of brilliantly unwashable colors for Aunt Sally's
patchwork. Then he set off alone, staff in hand, stolidly yet swiftly
covering the ground with that halting stride of his that soon took him
out of sight.
The assembled ranchmen received their own mail matter, mounted and
rode away; and there settled over the little town that monotonous
quiet which would not be broken again until the arrival of the evening
train, when, possibly, some chance passenger might alight on the
deserted platform.
Meanwhile, Ephraim was passing over the level road toward "home,"
feeling keener delight and longing with each step's advance, and when
he came to a little branch trail, where a rude signpost stated the
fact that he had come "Five miles from Marion," he made his first
halt, sitting to rest for a few moments under the eucalyptus trees
bordering the arroyo. The branch road led to and disappeared among a
group of buildings, some distance to the north, on the ranch of one
Miguel Solano, a friend of Antonio Bernal, and a Mexican of
ill-repute. The ranch was comparatively new and was rich in olive
orchards and all the conveniences for producing a fine quality of oil,
and had been bought and arranged by an easterner with all the
accessories of profitable farming. Death had put an end to the
settler's industry, and the property had come, at a low figure, into
Solano's hands; whereupon everything industrious lapsed, neglect and
discomfort usurping the place of thrifty comfort.
Gazing toward this place, Ephraim reflected that; "If that Greaser had
half as much snap as he has wickedness he'd be a rich man. As 'tis,
honest folks sort of give Solano's a wide berth. I'm thirsty as a dog
and wouldn't mind havin' a drink out that artesian well they have
there, but--Atlantic! There's somebody already stoopin' over it; looks
mighty familiar!"
Then the old man stood up and shielded his eyes with his hand as he
peered into the distance, ending his scrutiny with a shake of his fist
in the direction he had gazed, and muttering aloud:
"No, I'm better off here. Queer how you can recognize a snake, no
matter how far off! That's Ferd, the dwarf; and if I was near enough
to touch him I couldn't keep my fingers off his dirty throat, nohow,
till I'd choked the life out of him! Ugh! When I think---- But I
mustn't think. I must just get up and jog on till I see a prettier
sight than that. If I can spy the hunchback at one mile off I can see
my little captain's bonny head at ten. Home, old 'Forty-niner'! Home's
the word!"
As if the thought of Jessica had put new strength into his body
Ephraim again shouldered his pack and started forward; but he had
proceeded a short distance only when he again halted and this time in
consternation. On the road before him, where it dipped slightly into a
hollow, lay the prostrate figure of a man, face downward in the dust;
and from the shrubbery near by came the helpless floundering of some
big animal and its occasional cry of distress, than which there is no
sound more pitiful in all the world.
Away flew the pack, and Ephraim bent over the man, gently turning him
over, and crying in fresh dismay:
"It's Marty! George Cromarty, of all men, dead as a doornail!"
Alas! Ephraim's home-coming was proving anything but the delight he
had anticipated. To be met first by the story of the trouble which had
visited Sobrante and now by this dreadful discovery almost unnerved
him; but he was a man of action and his hand flew to Marty's breast to
feel if his heart still beat. With the other hand he softly brushed
the dust from the rigid features and rubbed the colorless temples.
After a second or two his face brightened, and he cried aloud, as if
the other might hear and be cheered:
"Well, you aren't a dead man, after all, Marty, my lad! But I'd give a
heap, this minute, for a bit of cold water to give you. And, Atlantic!
I believe I'm losing my wits. 'Course, he's got it himself, handy. All
the boys carry a flask in their pockets, even on the short ride to
post, but Marty, being teetotal, fills his with water and gets laughed
at for his notions. A mighty good notion it'll prove for him if it
saves his life, and here goes!"
Raising Marty's lean body so that his head rested on the fallen
bundle, Ephraim secured the flask, found it full, and began to
moisten the white lips; then, cautiously, to force a few drops down
the stiffening throat. Success soon crowned his efforts since,
fortunately, the ranchman was merely stunned, not killed, by the ugly
fall he had taken when his horse so suddenly pitched forward and
tossed him overhead against the pile of rocks.
For it was a horse in agony which sent that moving appeal from the
thicket near by, and as soon as "Forty-niner" was sure that the man
was recovering, though he could not as yet speak, he sought the poor
beast and saw, to his distress, that for it there was no respite save
in death.
"Well, well, well! This is a bad job all round, but better a horse
than a man, and lucky for both I came when I did. If I had a gun I'd
end the misery of one, straight off. And maybe Marty has. I'll look
and see."
Returning to the road he was greeted by a prolonged stare from the
dazed ranchman, who had, indeed, been able to drag his body to a
sitting posture, but vainly sought to understand what had happened.
Ephraim spoke to him, asking in a matter-of-fact tone:
"Got a revolver with you, lad?"
"Eh? W-h-a-t?" returned Marty, wonder drawing upon him at finding who
his companion was. "You--Eph?"
"Course. Who else! Been quite a spell since we two met, but better
late than never. Got a pistol, I say?"
"What for?"
The sharpshooter hesitated, then gave an evasive answer:
"Powerful long since I done any practicin', and feel like I better try
my hand."
At that instant there was another heavy floundering behind the bushes
and another brutish moan of pain. With this full consciousness came
to the injured ranchman and he tried to rise, crying in his own
distress:
"That's Comanche!"
"Forty-niner" gravely nodded.
"He's hurt?" demanded Marty, as if he defied the answer to be
affirmative.
Ephraim turned away his face. To them, horses were almost as human
beings, and the love of a master for his beast was something
fraternal.
"Help me to him," said the ranchman, staggering to his feet.
"Better not, lad. Best trust to me," protested the elder man.
"Trust--what?"
The look in Ephraim's eyes was all the answer needed to this fierce
question, and Marty turned away his own gaze as he faltered the next
one:
"Yes, mate, but take it like a man. Better him than you, and--give me
the gun."
Marty straightened and stiffened himself.
"Help me to him. Something's wrong with my legs. I'll see for myself.
If it must be, I'll do it for myself."
The frontiersman understood the sentiment and respected it. He had had
to do a like hard duty for his own horseflesh before that, and he had
always felt it a sort of murder. He did not look at Marty's face as he
carefully guided his wavering steps into the thicket and the presence
of the suffering Comanche, where one look sufficed his master.
"Oh, you poor fellow!"
For an instant the tall head stooped to the level of the struggling
animal, and a strange, expressive look passed between the great equine
eyes and the misty ones of the man. Then Marty's hand went swiftly
around to his pocket, there was the click of a weapon, a flash and
report, and Comanche moved no more.
More shaken and ill from this deed than from his terrible fall, Marty
sat long in silence by Ephraim's side beneath the eucalyptus trees;
then suddenly rousing, exclaimed:
"Now, to find out the cause!"
It was not far to seek, though difficult to understand. Of all men in
that countryside, gay, big-hearted George Cromarty had most friends
and fewest enemies. He took life lightly, merrily, with a good word
for the virtues of others and silence for their vices; yet there
before them, unmistakably plain, was the trap that had been set for
his life. A pit had been dug across the whole width of the road,
shallow, indeed, but sufficiently deep to throw any horse passing over
it. Its top had been screened with interlacing twigs, over which had
been scattered soil and dust enough to hide them. One who rode with
his eyes on the ground, as Antonio used, might easily, perhaps, have
discovered the fiendish work; but he who rode with head upraised and
his gaze on the distance would ride to his ruin as Marty had done. To
make the treachery more secure, some sprays of wild grapes had been
tightly stretched beneath the whole, and this showed a deliberation of
evil that turned Ephraim sick, but the other man furious.
"Who did that will pay the price! I swear it!" he cried.
"It surely was meant for a Sobrante man, for they're few besides who
ride this way," answered "Forty-niner," thoughtfully. "And, Atlantic!
Here's the mail pouch! Maybe 'twas robbery, pure and simple. Was it a
money day, for supplies or such?"
"Reckon it was. The mistress herself locked and gave the bag to me,
bidding me be careful. As if I was ever careless; but there was one
letter in it I heard about, that the little captain wrote to Ninian
Sharp. Wrote herself, an invite to the Christmas doings. Try it."
Examination proved that the bag had been tampered with, though the
lock was a spring and now securely fastened; but a small leather flap,
intended to cover the keyhole, had been torn from its fastenings and
lay on the ground. The pouch itself had been flung slightly out of the
way, under the bushes, as if the trespasser had satisfied himself with
and concerning it and had no further use for it.
"Well, there used to be three keys to this concern. One the mistress
has; one the postmaster keeps at the office; and the other was
Antonio's, since he always was wanting to open and put something extra
in the bag after Mrs. Trent had done with it. I never liked the look
of that, and it's my opinion that it's the very key has unlocked this
bag, if unlocked it's been. Which is more'n likely."
Cromarty's head was again beginning to grow dizzy, and he sat again
upon the rock to recover himself, making no answer to Ephraim's words
than the exclamation:
"How am I going to get that bag to post in time?"