Transcriber's Note: As originally printed, there are two cattle brands
represented by pictographs. A pictograph of two stars side by side is
represented in this text by "[double star]" and a pictograph of a
diamond is represented by "[diamond]."
[Illustration: "There's a great big God--just such a God as you and I
have knelt to when we were bits of kiddies."]
THE ONE-WAY TRAIL
A Story of the Cattle Country
By Ridgwell Cullum
Author of "The Watchers of the Plains," "The Sheriff of Dyke Hole,"
"The Trail of the Axe," etc.
"... And the One-Way Trail is just the trail of Life. It's chock full of
pitfalls and stumbling blocks that make us cuss like mad. But it's good
for us to walk over it. There are no turnings or bye-paths, and no
turning back. And maybe when we get to the end something will have been
achieved in His scheme of things that our silly brains can't grasp...."
PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1911, by George W. Jacobs and Company
CONTENTS
I. A GENTLEMAN RANKER 7
II. A SHOOTING MATCH 18
III. IN BARNRIFF 28
IV. JIM PROPOSES 36
V. TO THE RED, DANCING DEVIL 53
VI. EVE AND WILL 71
VII. THE CHICKEN-KILLING 78
VIII. THE "BOYS" OF THE VILLAGE 86
IX. A WOMAN'S CARE 101
X. AN EVIL NIGHT 113
XI. A WEDDING-DAY IN BARNRIFF 119
XII. THE QUEST OF PETER BLUNT 135
XIII. AFTER ONE YEAR 146
XIV. THE BREAKING POINT 153
XV. A "PARTY CALL" 161
XVI. DEVIL DRIVEN 173
XVII. THE WORKING OF THE PUBLIC MIND 187
XVIII. A WOMAN'S INSTINCT 195
XIX. BRANDED 206
XX. APPROACHING THE TRIBUNAL 221
XXI. INSPIRATION 226
XXII. THE VIGILANCE COMMITTEE 238
XXIII. TERROR 252
XXIV. FOR A WOMAN 265
XXV. THE TRAIL OF THE RUSTLERS 275
XXVI. ON THE LITTLE BLUFF RIVER 286
XXVII. ANNIE 303
XXVIII. WILL 312
XXIX. JIM 324
XXX. WILL HENDERSON REACHES THE END 333
XXXI. THE DISCOMFITURE OF SMALLBONES 345
XXXII. THE TRIUMPH OF SMALLBONES 355
XXXIII. AFTER THE VERDICT 364
XXXIV. THE TRUTH 369
XXXV. IN THE SHADOW OF THE GALLOWS TREE 383
XXXVI. THE PASSING OF ELIA 393
XXXVII. GOLD 401
XXXVIII. ON, OVER THE ONE-WAY TRAIL 406
ILLUSTRATIONS
"There's a great big God--just such a God as you and
I have knelt to when we were bits of kiddies." _Frontispiece_
He sat glaring at the table, the smoke of his pipe
clouding the still air of the neat kitchen. 156
Also he was gripping a heavy revolver in his hand. 288
"We've just come over to say that we, too, are going
to hit the trail." 410
THE ONE-WAY TRAIL
CHAPTER I
A GENTLEMAN RANKER
Dan McLagan shifted his cigar, and his face lit with a grin of
satisfaction.
"Seventy-five per cent. of calves," he murmured, glancing out at the
sunlit yards. "Say, it's been an elegant round-up." Then his
enthusiasm rose and found expression. "It's the finest, luckiest ranch
in Montana--in the country. Guess I'd be within my rights if I said
'in the world.' I can't say more."
"No."
The quiet monosyllable brought the rancher down to earth. He looked
round at his companion with an inquiring glance.
"Eh?"
But Jim Thorpe had no further comment to offer.
The two were sitting in the foreman's cabin, a small but roughly
comfortable split-log hut, where elegance and tidiness had place only
in the more delicate moments of its occupant's retrospective
imagination. Its furnishing belonged to the fashion of the prevailing
industry, and had in its manufacture the utilitarian methods of the
Western plains, rather than the more skilled workmanship of the
furniture used in civilization. Thus, the bed was a stretcher
supported on two packing-cases, the table had four solid legs that had
once formed the sides of a third packing-case, while the cupboard,
full of cattle medicines, was the reconstructed portions of a fourth
packing-case.
The collected art on the walls consisted of two rareties. One was a
torn print of a woman's figure, classically indecent with regard to
apparel; and the other was a fly-disfigured portrait of a sweet-faced
old lady, whose refinement and dignity of expression suggested
surroundings of a far more delicate nature than those in which she now
found herself. Besides these, a brace of ivory-butted revolvers served
to ornament the wall at the head of the bed. And a stack of five or
six repeating rifles littered an adjacent corner.
It was a man's abode, and the very simplicity of it, the lack of cheap
ornamentation, the carelessness of self in it, suggested a great deal
of the occupant's character. Jim Thorpe cared as little for creature
comforts as only a healthy-minded, healthy-bodied man, who has tasted
of the best and passed the dish--or has had it snatched from him--will
sometimes care. His thoughts were of the moment. He dared not look
behind him; and ahead?--well, as yet, he had no desire to think too
far ahead.
The ranch owner was sitting on the side of the stretcher, and Jim
Thorpe, his foreman, stood leaning against the table. McLagan's Irish
face, his squat figure and powerful head were a combination suggesting
tremendous energy and determination, rather than any great mental
power, and in this he strongly contrasted with the refined, thoughtful
face of his foreman.
But then, in almost every characteristic the Irishman differed from
his employee. While Jim's word was never questioned even by the
veriest sceptic of the plains, McLagan was notoriously the greatest,
most optimistic liar in the state of Montana. A reputation that
required some niceness of proficiency to retain.
McLagan's ranch was known as the "AZ's." It was a brand selected to
illuminate his opinion of his own undertakings. He said that his ranch
must be the beginning and end of all things in the cattle world, and
he was proud of the ingenuity in his selection of a brand. The less
cultured folk, who, perhaps, had more humor than respect for the
Irishman, found his brand tripped much more easily off the tongue by
replacing the Z with an S, and invariably using the plural.
"Say, Jim," the rancher went on, buoyed with his own enthusiasm, "it's
been a great round-up. Seventy-five per cent. Bully! I'll open out my
scheme. Listen. Ther's Donagh's land buttin' on us. Thirty sections.
They got stations for 10,000 head of stock. We'll buy 'em right out of
business. See? I'm goin' to turn those stations into double. That
slice of land will carry me backing right up into the foot-hills,
which means shelter for my stock in winter. See? Then I'll rent off a
dozen or more homesteads for a supply of grain and hay. You know I
hate to blow hot air around, but I say right here I'm going to help
myself to a mighty big cinch on Montana, and then--why, I'll lay right
on the heels of Congress."
He looked for approval into the bronzed face of his companion. But
Thorpe hesitated, while a shadowy smile lurked in his clear, dark
eyes.
"That's so," he observed, with a suspicious quietness.
"Sure," added the other, to clinch what he believed to be his
companion's approval.
"And then?"
The rancher stirred uneasily. The tone of Thorpe's inquiry suggested
doubt.
"And then?" McLagan repeated uncertainly.
"Why, when you've got all this, and you're the biggest producer in the
country, the beef folk in Chicago 'll beat you down to their price,
and the automobile folk will cut the ground clear from under your
horses' feet. You won't hit Congress, because you won't have the
dollars to buy your graft with. Then, when you're left with nothing to
round-up but a bunch of gophers, the government will come along and
have you seen to."
The Irishman's face grew scarlet, and he began to splutter, but Jim
Thorpe went on mercilessly.
"Cut it out, boss. We're cattlemen, both of us. You've grown up to
cattle, and I--well, I've acquired the habit, I guess. But cut it out,
and put your change into automobiles. They aren't things to breed
with, I guess. But I'd say they'd raise a dust there's more dollars in
than there's beans in our supper hash."
The rancher's swift anger had gone. He shook his head, and his hard,
blue eyes stared out through the doorway at the busy life beyond. He
could see the lines of buildings packed close together, as though
huddling up for companionship in that wide, lonesome world of grass.
He could see the acres and acres of corrals, outlying, a rampart to
the ranch buildings. Then, beyond that, the barbed wire fencing, miles
and miles of it. He could see horsemen moving about, engaged upon
their day's work. He could hear the lowing of the cattle in the
corrals. As Thorpe had said, he had grown up to cattle. Cattle and
horses were his life.
He was rich now. This was all his. He was growing richer every year,
and--Thorpe was prophesying the slump, the end. He couldn't believe
it, or rather he wouldn't believe it. And he turned with a fierce
expression of blind loyalty to his calling.
"To h---- with automobiles! It's cattle for me. Cattle or bust!"
Thorpe shook his head.
"There's no alternative, boss. I can see it all coming. Everybody can--if
they look. There's nothing between grain farming and--automobiles. The
land here is too rich to waste on cattle. There's plenty other land
elsewhere that'll feed stock, but wouldn't raise a carrot. Psha! There
won't be need for horses to plough, or even haul grain; and you've got
15,000 head. It'll be all automobiles!"
"I'd 'scrap' the lot!" added the Irishman, briefly and feelingly. Then
he glanced at his companion out of the tail of his eye. "I s'pose it's
your education, boy. That's what's wrong with you. Your head's running
wheels. You come into cattle too late. You've got city doings down
your backbone, and I guess you need weeding bad. Say, you're a West
Point man, ain't you?"
Thorpe seemed to shrink at the question. He turned aside, and his eyes
rested for a moment on the portrait nailed upon his wall. It was only
for a moment his dark eyes encountered the tender old eyes that looked
out at him from the faded picture. Then he looked again at the owner
of the "AZ's," and gave him a smiling nod.
"Sure, boss. I intended to go into the engineers."
"Ah--wheels."
"You see, we've all been soldiers, since way back when my folks came
over with the first lot from England. Guess I'm the first--backslider."
"Nope. You ain't a backslider, Jim Thorpe. I sure wouldn't say that.
Not on my life. Guess you're the victim of a cow-headed government
that reckons to make soldiers by arithmetic, an' wastin' ink makin'
fool answers to a sight more fool questions. Gee, when I hit Congress,
I'll make some one holler 'help.'"
The foreman's smile broadened.
"'Twasn't exams, boss," he said quietly. "I'd got a cinch on them, and
they were mostly past cutting any ice with me. It was--well, it don't
matter now." He paused, and his eyes settled again on the portrait.
The Irishman waited, and presently Jim turned from the picture, and
his quizzical smile encountered the hard blue eyes of the other.
"You said just now my head was full of wheels," he began, with a
humorous light in his eyes that was yet not without sadness. "Maybe it
is--maybe it has reason to be. You see, it was an automobile that
finished my career at West Point. My mother came by her death in one.
An accident. Automobiles were immature then--and--well, her income
died with her, and I had to quit and hustle in a new direction.
Curiously enough I went into the works of an automobile enterprise.
I--I hated the things, but they fascinated me. I made good there, and
got together a fat wad of bills, which was useful seeing I had my
young cousin's--you know, young Will Henderson, of Barnriff; he's a
trapper now--education on my hands. Just as things were good and
dollars were coming plenty the enterprise bust. I was out--plumb out.
I hunched up for another kick. I had a dandy patent that was to do big
things. I got together a syndicate to run it. I'd got a big car built
to demonstrate my patent, and it represented all I had in the world.
It was to be on the race-track. Say, she didn't demonstrate worth a
cent. My syndicate jibbed, and I--well, here I am, a cattleman--you
see cattle haven't the speed of automobiles, but they mostly do what's
expected. That's my yarn, boss. You didn't know much of me. It's not a
great yarn as life goes. Mostly ordinary. But there's a deal of life
in it, in its way. There's a pile of hope busted, and hope busted
isn't a pleasant thing. Makes you think a deal. However, Will
Henderson and I--we can't kick a lot when you look around. I'm earning
a good wage, and I've got a tidy job--that don't look like quitting.
And Will--he's netting eighty a month out of his pelts. After all
things don't much count, do they? Fifty or sixty years hence our
doings won't cut any ice. We're down, out, and nature shuts out
memory. That's the best of it. We shan't know anything. We'll have
forgotten everything we ever did know. We shan't be haunted by the
'might-have-beens'. We shall have no regrets. It'll just be sleep, a
long, long sleep--and forgetfulness. And then--ah, well, boss, I'm
yarning a heap, and the boys are out on the fences with no one to see
they're not shooting 'craps.'"
The rancher turned to the door.
"I'm going out to the fences meself," he said, shortly. Then he went
on: "There's a dozen an' more three-year-olds in the corrals needs
bustin'. You best set two o' the boys on 'em. Ther's a black mare
among 'em. I'll get you to handle her yourself. I'm goin' to ride her,
an' don't want no fool broncho-buster tearing her mouth out."
"Right-ho, boss." Jim was smiling happily at the man's broad back as
he stood facing out of the door. "But, if you've half a minute, I've
got something else to get through me."
"Eh?" McLagan turned. His Irish face was alight with sudden interest.
"Guess I ain't busy fer ten minutes."
"That's more than enough," said Jim, readily. "It's about that land I
was speaking to you of the other day. I told you those things about
myself--because of that. As I said, you didn't know much of me, except
my work for you."
McLagan nodded, and chewed the end of his cigar. His keen eyes were
studying the other's face. At last he removed his cigar, and spat out
a bit of tobacco leaf.
"I know all I need to," he said cordially. "The proposition was one
hundred and sixty acres for a homestead, with grazin' rights. You want
a lease. Gettin' married?"
"It might happen that way," grinned the foreman somewhat sheepishly.
"Found the leddy?"
Jim nodded.
"Marryin's a fool game anyway."
"That's as maybe."
McLagan shrugged.
"Guess I don't want wimmin-folk in mine. You're goin' to hold your
job?"
"Sure. You see, boss----" Jim began to explain.
But McLagan broke in.
"You can have it for rent, boy," he said. "It suits me, if you don't
mean quittin'."
"I don't mean quitting," said Jim. "I'm going to run it with a hired
man. Y'see I've got one hundred and fifty stock and a bit saved for
building. When I get married my wife'll see to things some. See the
work is done while I'm here."
McLagan grinned and nodded.
"Guess you didn't seem like gettin' married jest now, talkin' of those
things. You kind o' seemed 'down' some."
Jim's eyes became thoughtful.
"Makes you feel 'down' when you get remembering some things," he said.
"Y'see it makes you wonder what the future feels like doing in the way
of kicks. Things are going good about now, and--and I want 'em to keep
on going good."
McLagan laughed boisterously.
"You've sure jest got to play hard to-day, let the future worry fer
itself. Well, so long. I'll hand you the papers when you've selected
the ground, boy. An' don't forget the black mare."
He left the hut and Jim watched him stumping busily away across to the
big barn where the saddle horses were kept. His eyes were smiling as
he looked after him. He liked Dan McLagan. His volcanic temper; his
immoderate manner of expression suggested an open enough disposition,
and he liked men to be like that.
But his smile was at the thought that somehow he had managed to make
his "boss" think that extreme caution was one of his characteristics.
Yes, it made him smile. If such had been the case many things in the
past, many disasters might have been averted.
As a matter of fact he had been thinking of the woman he hoped to make
his wife. He was wondering if he had a reasonable prospect of helping
her to all the comfort in life she deserved. He took an ultra serious
view of matrimonial responsibilities. Eve must have a good, ample
home. She must have nothing to worry, none of little petty economies
to study which make life so burdensome. Yes, they must start with
that, and then, with luck, their stock would grow, he would buy more
land, and finally she would be able to hold her place with the wives
of all the richest ranchers in the district. That was what he wanted
for her when they were married.
When they were married. Suddenly he laughed. He had not asked her yet.
Still---- His eyes grew gloomy. His thoughts turned to another man, his
cousin, Will Henderson. He knew that Will liked Eve Marsham. It was
the one cloud upon his horizon. Will was younger than he by a good
deal. He was handsome, too. Eve liked him. Yes, she liked him, he was
sure. But somehow he did not associate marriage with Will. Well,--it
was no good seeking trouble.
He pushed his thoughts aside and stood up. But the cloud upon his dark
face was not so easily got rid of. How could it be? for Eve Marsham
meant the whole world to him.
He moved toward the door, and as he looked out at the sunlit yards he
started. A horseman had just come into view round the corner of one of
the barns. But though his smile was lacking when the man came up and
drew rein at his door, there was no mistaking the kindly cordiality of
his greeting as he held out his hand.
"Why, Will," he cried, "I'm real glad you've come along."