A TRAGEDY IN THE TIMBER GROVE
The black was undoubtedly broken. His subsequent actions proved that.
He did not become docile by any means, but he was tractable, which is
to say that he did as he was bidden with a minimum of urging; he was
intelligent, divining, and learned quickly. Also, he respected his
conqueror. If Dade or Malcolm came near him he gave unmistakable
evidence of hostility; he even shied at sight of Betty, who was his
most sincere admirer, for had not his coming to the Lazy Y been
attended with a sentiment not the less satisfying because concealed?
But the black suffered Calumet's advances, his authority, his
autocratic commands, with a patience that indicated that his
subjugation was to be complete and lasting.
When, toward the middle of the week, Kelton's men--two bepistoled,
capable punchers--drove the cattle comprising the Lazy Y purchase into
the valley, Calumet immediately set to work to train the black to
observe the various niceties of the etiquette of cow-punching. He soon
learned, that when the rope whistled past his ears he was to watch its
progress, and if its loop encircled a neck or a leg he was to brace
himself for the inevitable shock. If the loop failed--which it rarely
did--he discovered that he was to note at which particular steer it had
been hurled, and was to follow that steer's progress, no matter where
it went, until the rope went true. He discovered that it was
imperative for him to stand without moving when his master trailed the
reins over his head; he early learned that the bit was a terrible
instrument of torture, and that it were better to answer to the
pressure of Calumet's knee than to be subjected to the pain it caused
him.
He was taught these things, and many more, while the work of rebranding
the Diamond K cattle went forward.
This work was no sinecure. Dade and Malcolm, and even Bob, assisted in
it--Malcolm and Bob attending to the heating of the branding irons
while Calumet roped the steers and dragged them to the fire where Dade
pressed the white-hot irons to their hips. But the work was done
finally, and the cattle turned out into the valley.
On the night that saw the finish of the branding, Calumet, Dade, and
Malcolm retired early. Betty and Bob remained in the kitchen for some
time, but finally they, too, went to bed.
At one second before midnight Calumet was sleeping soundly--as soundly
as it is possible for a man to sleep who has been working out of doors
and is physically tired. At exactly midnight he was wide awake, lying
on his back, looking with unblinking eyes at the ceiling, all his
senses aroused and alert, his nerves and muscles at a tension.
He did not know what had awakened him, though he was convinced that it
had been something strange and unusual. It had happened to him before;
several times when cattle had stampeded; once when a Mexican freighter
at a cow camp had rose in the night to slip his knife into a puncher
with whom he had had trouble during the day. Incidentally, except for
Calumet, the Mexican would have made his escape. It had happened to
him again when a band of horse thieves had attempted to run off some
stock; it had never happened unless something unusual was going on.
And so he was certain that something unusual was going on now, and he
lay still, looking around him, to make sure that what was happening was
not happening in his room. He turned his head and looked at Dade.
That young man was breathing heavily and regularly. He turned toward
the door of the room. The door was closed. A flood of moonlight
entered the window; objects in the room were clearly distinguishable,
and nothing seemed wrong here. But something was wrong--he was certain
of that. And so he got carefully out of bed and looked out of the
window, listening, peering intently in all directions within the limits
of his vision. No sound greeted his ears, no moving object caught his
gaze. But he was not satisfied.
He put on his clothes, buckled his cartridge belt around his waist,
took his six-shooter from beneath his pillow, and stuck it into the
holster, and in his stockinged feet opened the door of the room and
stepped out into the hall. He was of the opinion that something had
gone wrong with the horses, and he intended to make the rounds of the
stable and corrals to satisfy his curiosity. Strangely, he did not
think of the possibility of Betty meeting Taggart again, until he had
reached the bottom of the stairs. Even then he was half-way across the
dining-room, stepping carefully and noiselessly for fear he might
awaken someone, when he glanced back with a sudden suspicion, toward
the door of the office. As in that other time there shone a streak of
light through the crevice between the bottom of the door and the
threshold.
He stood still, his muscles contracting, his lips curling, a black,
jealous anger in his heart. Taggart was there again.
But he would not escape this time. He would take care to make no noise
which would scare him away. He listened at the door, but he heard no
voices. They were in there, though, he could distinguish slight
movements. He left the door and stole softly up the stairs to his
room, getting his boots and carrying them in his hand. As before, he
intended putting them on at the kitchen door. But Bob's dog would not
betray him this time, for since the other accident he had contrived to
persuade Bob to keep the dog outside at night. Nor would there occur
any other accident--he would take care of that. And so it took him a
long time to descend the stairs and make his way to the kitchen door.
Once outside, he drew on his boots and stole silently and swiftly to
the front door of the house.
To his astonishment, when he arrived at the door, there was no light,
no sound to indicate that anybody was in the room. He tried the
door--it was barred. He stepped to the window. If there was a light
within it would show through the cracks and holes in the shade, for the
latter was old and well worn.
But no light appeared. If there was anyone inside they must have heard
him in spite of his carefulness, and had put out the light. He cursed.
He could not watch both the back and the front door, but he could watch
the outside of the house, could go a little distance away from it and
thus see anybody who would leave it.
He walked away toward the timber clump, looking around him. As his
gaze swept the wood near the river he caught a glimpse of a horse and
rider as they passed through a clearing and went slowly away from him.
They had tricked him again! Probably by this time Betty was in her
room, laughing at him. Taggart was laughing, too, no doubt. The
thought maddened him. He cursed bitterly as he ran to the stable. He
was inside in a flash, saddling Blackleg, jamming a bit into his mouth.
He would follow Taggart to the Arrow, to hell--anywhere, but he would
catch him. Blackleg could do it; he would make him do it, if he killed
him in the end.
In three minutes Blackleg shot out of the stable door--a flash in the
night. The swift turn that was required of him he made on his hind
legs, and then, with a plunge and a snort of delight, he was away over
the level toward the wood.
Calumet guided Blackleg toward the spot where he had seen the rider,
certain that he could not have gone far during the interval that had
elapsed, but when he reached the spot there was no sign of a horse and
rider in any direction.
For an instant only Calumet halted Blackleg, and then he spurred him
down the river trail. One mile, two, three, he rode at a breakneck
pace, and then suddenly he was out of the timber and facing a plain
that stretched into an interminable distance. The trail lay straight
and clear; there was no sign of a horse and rider on it. Taggart had
not come in this direction, though in this direction lay the Arrow.
He wheeled Blackleg and, with glowering eyes and straightened lips,
rode him back the way he had come, halting often and peering into
shadows. By the time he arrived at the spot where he had first seen
the horse and rider he had become convinced that Taggart had secreted
himself until he had passed him and had then ridden over the back
trail, later to return to the Arrow by a circuitous route.
Calumet determined to cut across the country and intercept him, and he
drove the spurs into Blackleg and raced him through the wood. His
trail took him into a section which led to the slope which the horses
drawing the wagon had taken on the night of the ambush. He was tearing
through this when he broke through the edge of a clearing about a
quarter of a mile from the ranchhouse. At about the center of the
clearing Blackleg came to a jarring, dizzying stop, rearing high on his
hind legs. When he came down he whinnied and backed, and, peering over
his shoulder to see what had frightened him, Calumet saw the body of a
man lying at the edge of a mesquite clump.
With his six-shooter in hand, Calumet dismounted and walked to the man.
The latter was prone in the dust, on his face, and as Calumet leaned
over him the better to peer into his face--for he thought the man might
be Taggart--he heard a groan escape his lips. Sheathing his weapon,
Calumet turned the man over on his back. Another groan escaped him;
his eyes opened, though they closed again immediately. It was not
Taggart.
"Got me," he said. He groaned again.
"Who got you?" Calumet bent over to catch the reply. None came; the
man had lost consciousness.
Calumet stood up and looked around. He could see nothing of the rider
for whom he was searching. He could not leave this wounded man to
pursue his search for Taggart; there might be something he could do for
the man.
But he left the man's side for an instant while he looked around him.
Some dense undergrowth rose on his right, black shadows surrounding it,
and he walked along its edge, his forty-five in hand, trying to peer
into it. He saw nothing, heard nothing. Then, catching another groan
from the man, he returned to him. The man's eyes were open; they
gleamed brightly and wildly.
"Got me," he said as he saw Calumet.
"Who got you?" repeated Calumet.
"Telza."
"Telza?" Calumet bent over him again; the name sounded foreign. "Talk
sense," he said shortly; "who's Telza?"
"A Toltec Indian," said the man. "He's been hangin' around here--for a
month. Around the Arrow, too. Mebbe two months. Nobody knows. He's
like a shadow. Now you see him an' now you don't," he added with a
grim attempt at a joke. "Taggart's had me trailin' him, lookin' for a
diagram he's got."
"Diagram of what?" demanded Calumet. His interest was intense. A
Toltec! Telza was of the race from whom his father and Taggart had
stolen the idol. He leaned closer to the man.
"Are Telza an' Taggart friends?" he asked.
"Friends!" The man's weak laugh was full of scorn. "Taggart's
stringin' him. Telza's lookin' for an idol--all gold an' diamonds, an'
such. Worth thousands. Taggart set Telza on Betty Clayton." The man
choked; his breath came thickly; red stained his lips. "Hell!" he
said, "what you chinnin' me for? Get that damned toad-sticker out of
me, can't you. It's in my side, near the back--I can't reach it."
Calumet felt where the man indicated, and his hand struck the handle of
a knife. It had a large, queerly-shaped handle and a long, thin blade
like a stiletto. It had been driven into the man's left side just
under the fleshy part of the shoulder, and it was plain that its point
had found a vital spot--probably through the lung and near the heart,
for the man was limp and helpless, his breath coughed in his throat,
and it was certain that he had not many minutes to live. Calumet
carefully withdrew the weapon, and the man settled back with a sigh of
relief.
"You're Marston, ain't you?" he said, slowly and painfully, gasping
with every breath. "I've heard the Taggart's talk about you. Old
Tom's developed a yellow streak in his old age an' he's leavin' all his
dirty work to Neal. Neal's got a yellow streak, too, for that matter,
but he's young an' ain't got no sense. I reckon I'm goin' somewhere
now, an' so I can say what I like. Taggart ain't no friend of
mine--neither of them. They've played me dirt--more than once. My
name's Al Sharp. You know that Tom Taggart was as deep in that idol
business as your dad was. He told me. But he's got Telza soft-soaped
into thinkin' that Betty Clayton's folks snaked it from Telza's people.
Taggart's got evidence that your dad planted the idol around here
somewheres--seems to know that your dad drawed a diagram of the place
an' left it with Betty. He set Telza to huntin' for it. Telza got it
tonight--it was hid somewhere. I was with him--waitin' for him. If he
got the diagram I was to knife him and take it away from him. Taggart
an' his dad is somewhere around here--I was to meet them down the river
a piece. Telza double-crossed me; tried to sneak over here an' hunt
the idol himself. I found him--he had the diagram. I tried to get it
from him--he stuck his toad-sticker in me, . . . the little
copper-skinned devil. He--" He hesitated and choked, raising himself
as though to get a long breath. But a dark flood again stained his
lips, he strangled and stretched out limply.
Calumet turned him over on his back and covered his face with a
handkerchief. Then he stood up, looking around at the edge of the
clearing. Ten feet in front of him, curled around the edge of a bit of
sagebrush, was a dirty white object. He walked over, kicked the
sagebrush violently, that a concealed rattler might not spring on him,
and took up the object. It was a piece of paper about six inches
square, and in the dim moonlight Calumet could see that it contained
writing of some sort and a crude sketch. He looked closer at it, saw a
spot marked "Idol is here," and then folded it quickly and placed it,
crumpled into a ball, into a pocket of his trousers.
He was now certain that Taggart had been merely deceiving Betty; there
had been no other significance to his visits. The visits were merely
part of a plan to get possession of the idol. While he had been
talking to Betty in the office tonight Telza had stolen the diagram.
There was more than triumph in Calumet's eyes as he turned his
pony--there was joy and savage exultation. The idol was his; he would
get the money, too. After that he would drive Betty and all of them--
But would he? A curious indecision mingled with his other emotions at
this thought. His face grew serious. Lately he was developing a
vacillating will; whenever he meditated any action with regard to Betty
he had an inclination to defer it. He postponed a decision now; he
would think it over again. Before he made up his mind on that question
he wanted to enjoy her discomfiture and confusion over the loss of the
diagram.
He had lost all thought of pursuing Taggart. Sharp had said that
Taggart was somewhere in the vicinity, but it was just possible that
Sharp had been so deeply engaged with Telza about the time Taggart had
made his escape that he had not seen him. There was time for him to
settle with Taggart.
He took up the bridle rein, wheeled, placed one foot into the stirrup,
intending to mount, when he became aware of a shadow looming near him.
He pulled the foot out of the stirrup, dropped the reins with the same
movement, and turned in a flash.
Neal Taggart, sitting on a horse at the edge of the clearing, not over
twenty feet from him, was looking at him from behind the muzzle of a
six-shooter. At a trifling distance from Taggart was another man, also
bestride a horse. A rifle was at this man's shoulder; his cheek was
nuzzling its stock, and Calumet saw that the weapon was aimed at his
chest.
He rapidly noted the positions of the two, estimated the distance,
decided that the risk of resistance was too great, and slowly raised
his hands above his head.
"Surprise party, eh?" he said. "Well," he added in a self-accusing
voice, "I reckon I was dreamin' some."
Neal Taggart dismounted, moving quickly aside so that the man with the
rifle had an unobstructed view of Calumet. He went close to the latter.
"So it's you, eh?" he said. "We saw you tearin' up an' down the river
trail, when we was back in the timber a piece. Racin' your fool head
off. Nothin' in sight. Saw you come in here ten minutes ago. What
you doin' here?"
"Exercisin'," said Calumet; "takin' my midnight constitutional." He
looked at the man with the rifle.
The latter was hatless. Long gray hair, unkempt, touched his
shoulders; a white beard, scraggly, dirty, hid all of his face except
the beak-like, awry nose. Beady, viciously glowing eyes gleamed out of
the grotesque mask.
"Who's your friend?" questioned Calumet, with a derisive grin. "If I
was a sheep-man now, I'd try an' find time, next shearin'--"
"My father," growled Neal.
"Excuse me," said Calumet with a short laugh, though his eyes shone
with a sudden hardness; "I thought it was a--"
"You're Calumet Marston, I reckon," interrupted the bearded man.
"You're an impertinent pup, like your father was. Get his guns!" he
commanded gruffly.
Neal hesitated and then took a step toward Calumet. The latter
crouched, his eyes narrowing to glittering pin points. In his attitude
was a threat, a menace, of volcanic, destroying action. Neal stopped a
step off, uncertain.
Calumet's lips sneered. "Take my guns, eh?" he said. "Reach out an'
grab them. But say your prayers before you do--you an' that sufferin'
monolith with the underbrush scattered all over his mug. Come an' take
them!" He jeered as he saw Neal Taggart's face whiten. "Hell!" he
added as he saw the elder Taggart make a negative motion toward his
son, "you ain't got no clear thoughts just at this minute, eh?"
"We ain't aimin' to force trouble," growled the older man. "We're just
curious, that's what. Also, there's a chance that we can settle this
thing peaceable. We want to palaver. If you'll give your word that
there won't be no gun-play until after the peace meetin' is over, you
can take your hands down."
"No shootin' goes right now," agreed Calumet. "But after this peace
meetin'--"
"We ought to come to terms," said Taggart, placing his rifle in the
saddle holster as Calumet's hands came down. "There hadn't ought to be
any bad blood between us. Me an' your dad was a heap friendly until we
had a fallin' out over that she-devil which he lived with--Ezela."
There was an insincere grin on his face.
It was plain to Calumet that the elder Taggart had some ulterior motive
in suggesting a peace conference. He noted that while Taggart talked
his eyes kept roving around the clearing as though in search of
something. That something, Calumet divined, was Sharp and Telza. He
suspected that Calumet had seen Telza and Sharp, or one of them, enter
the clearing, and had followed them. Neal had said that they had seen
Calumet when he had been racing up and down the river trail; they had
suspected he had been after Sharp or Telza, and had followed him. No
doubt they were afflicted with a great curiosity. They were playing
for time in order to discover his errand.
"I reckon we'll get along without mushin'," suggested Calumet. "What
terms are you talkin' about?"
Taggart climbed down from his pony and stood beside it.
"Half-an'-half on the idol," he said. "That's square, ain't it?" He
looked at Calumet with the beginning of a bland smile, which instantly
faded and turned into a grimace of fear as he found himself looking
into the gaping muzzles of Calumet's pistols, which had appeared with
magic ease and quickness.
"I'm runnin' a little surprise party of my own," declared Calumet.
"Was you thinkin' I was fool enough to go to gassin' with you, trustin'
that you wouldn't take your chance to perforate me? You've got another
guess comin'."
The disappointed gleam in Taggart's eyes showed that such had been his
intention. "There wasn't to be no shootin' until after we'd held our
peace meetin'," he complained.
"Correct," said Calumet. "But the peace meetin' is now over. Get your
sky-hooks clawin' at the clouds!" he warned coldly as Neal hesitated.
When both had raised their hands above their heads he deftly plucked
their weapons from their holsters. Then, alert and watchful, he drew
the elder Taggart's rifle from its sling on the saddle and threw it a
dozen feet away.
"Now just step over to that bunch of mesquite," he ordered; "there's
somethin' there that I want to show you."
In obedience to his command they went forward. Both came to a halt
when around the edge of the mesquite clump they saw the dead body of
Sharp, with the handkerchief over his face. Neither recognized the man
until Calumet drew the handkerchief away, and then both started back.
"Know him, eh?" said Calumet, watching them narrowly. "Well, he done
his duty--done what you wanted him to do. But your man, Telza,
double-crossed him--knifed him." He took up the rapier-like blade that
he had drawn from Sharp's side and held it before their eyes. Again
they started, and Calumet laughed.
"Know the knife, too!" he jeered. "An' after what you've done you've
got the nerve to ask me to divvy with you."
The elder Taggart was the first to recover his composure.
"Telza?" he said. "Why, I reckon you've got me; there ain't no one of
that name--"
But Calumet was close to him, his eyes blazing. "Shut your dirty
mouth, or I'll tear you apart!" he threatened. "You're a liar, an' you
know it. Sharp told me about you settin' the Toltec on Betty. I know
the rest. I know you tried to make a monkey out of my dad, you damned
old ossified scarecrow! If you open your trap again, I'll just
naturally pulverize you! I reckon that's all I've got to say to you."
He walked over to Neal, and the latter shrank from the bitter
malignance of his gaze.
"Can you tell me why I ain't lettin' daylight through you?" he said as
he shoved the muzzle of his six-shooter deep into Neal's stomach,
holding it there with savage steadiness as he leaned forward and looked
into the other's eyes. "It's because I ain't a sneak an' a murderer.
I ain't ambushin' nobody. I've done some killin' in my time, but I
ain't never plugged no man who didn't have the same chance I had. I'm
givin' you a chance."
He drew out one of the weapons he had taken from the two men, holding
it by the muzzle and thrusting it under Neal's nose. The terrible,
suppressed rage in his eyes caused a shiver to run over Neal, his face
turned a dull white, his eyes stared fearfully. He made no move to
grasp the weapon.
"I ain't fightin'," he said with trembling lips.
Calumet reversed the gun and stepped back, laughing harshly, without
mirth.
"Of course you ain't fightin'," he said. "That's the reason it's goin'
to be hard for me to kill you. I'd feel like a cur if I was to
perforate you now--you or your scarecrow dad. But I'm tellin' you
this: You've sneaked around the Lazy Y for the last time. I'm layin'
for you after this, an' if I ketch you maverickin' around here again
I'll perforate you so plenty that it'll make you dizzy. That's all.
Get out of here before I change my mind!"
Shrinking from his awe-inspiring wrath, they retreated from him,
watching him fearfully as they backed toward their horses. They had
almost reached them when Calumet's voice brought them to a halt.
His lips were wreathed in a cold grin, his eyes alight with a satanic
humor. But the rage had gone from his voice; it was mocking, derisive.
"Goin' to ride?" he said. "Oh, don't! Them horses look dead tired.
Leave them here; they need a rest. Besides, a man can't do any
thinkin' to amount to anything when he's forkin' a horse, an' I reckon
you two coyotes will be doin' a heap of thinkin' on your way back to
the Arrow."
"Good Lord!" said the elder Taggart; "you don't mean that? Why, it's
fifteen miles to the Arrow!"
"Shucks," said Calumet; "so it is! An' it's after midnight, too. But
you wouldn't want them poor, respectable critters to be gallivantin'
around at this time of the night, when they ought to be in bed dreamin'
of the horse-heaven which they're goin' to one of these days when the
Taggarts don't own them any more. You can send a man over after them
when you get back, an' if they want to go home, why, I'll let them."
His voice changed again; it rang with a menacing command.
"Walkin' is good!" he said; "get goin'! You've got three minutes to
get to that bend in the trail over by the crick. It's about half a
mile. I'm turnin' my back. If I see you when I turn around I'm
workin' that rifle there."
There was a silence which might have lasted a second. Only this small
space of time was required by the Taggarts to convince them that
Calumet was in deadly earnest. Then, with Neal leading, they began to
run toward the bend in the trail.
Shortly Calumet turned. The Taggarts had almost reached the bend, and
while he watched they vanished behind it.
Calumet picked up the rifle which he had taken from the elder Taggart,
mounted his horse, and drove the Taggart animals into the corral. He
decided that he would keep them there for an hour or so, to give the
Taggarts time to get well on their way toward the Arrow. Had he turned
them loose immediately they no doubt would have overtaken their masters
before the latter had gone very far.
Remounting, Calumet rode to the bend in the trail. He carried
Taggart's rifle. About a mile out on the plain that stretched away
toward the Arrow he saw the two men. They seemed to be walking rapidly.
Calumet returned to the ranchhouse, got a pick and shovel, and went
back to the timber clump. An hour later he was again at the corral.
He led the Taggart horses out, took them to the bend in the trail, and
turned them loose, for he anticipated that the Taggarts would make a
complaint to the sheriff about them, and if they were found in the Lazy
Y corral trouble would be sure to result.
He watched them until they were well on their way toward the Arrow, and
then he returned to the ranchhouse and went to bed. No one had heard
him, he told himself with a grin as he stretched out on the bed beside
Dade to sleep the hour that would elapse before daylight.