DEVIL DRIVEN
The saloon was full and Rocket was busy. His face glowed with funereal
happiness. He was sombrely delighted at the rapidity with which the
tide of dollars was flowing across his dingy counter. He was more than
ordinarily interested, too, which was somewhat remarkable.
The fact was Barnriff's scandal had received a fillip in a fresh and
unprecedented direction. McLagan had been in, bringing two of his
cow-punchers with him. The hot-headed Irishman had crashed into the
midst of Barnriff with such a splash that it set the store of public
comment hissing and spluttering, and raised a perfect roar of
astonishment and outraged rectitude.
He had arrived late, after the usual evening game had started. His
first inquiry was for Jim Thorpe, and he cursed liberally when told
that nobody had seen him. Then he fired his angry story at the
assembled company of villagers, and passed on to make camp at a rival
ranch five miles to the northwest.
It was a rapidly told story full of lurid trimmings, and, judging by
its force, came from his heart.
"It's duffing, boys," he cried, with an oath, and a thump on the bar
which set the glasses, filled at his expense, rattling. "Dogone
cattle-duffing! Can you beat it? The first in five year, since Curly
Sanders got gay, and then spent a vacation treadin' air. We got first
wind of it nigh a week back, Jim an' me. We missed a bunch o' backward
calves. We let 'em run this spring round-up, guessin' we'd round 'em
up come the fall. Well, say, Jim went to git a look at 'em--they was
way back there by the foot-hills, in a low hollow--an' not a blame
trace or track of 'em could he locate. We just guessed they was
'stray,' and started in to round 'em up. Well, the boys has been busy
nigh on a week, an' here, this sundown, Nat Pauley an' Jim Beason come
riding in, till their bronchos was nigh foundered, sayin' a bunch of
twenty cows on the Bandy Creek station has gone too. D'you git that?
Those blamed calves was on the Bandy Creek range, too. It's darnation
cattle-thievin', an' I'm hot on the trail."
And Barnriff was stirred. It was more. It was up in arms. There was no
stronger appeal to its sympathies than the cry of "cattle-thief!" As a
village it lived on the support of the surrounding ranches, and their
ills became the scourge of this hornet's nest of sharp traders.
McLagan had raised the cry here knowing full well the hatred he would
stir, and the support that would be accorded him should he need it.
He had come and gone a veritable firebrand, and the hot trail he had
left behind him was smouldering in a manner unhealthy for the
cattle-thieves.
When Peter Blunt entered the saloon it was to receive McLagan's tale
from all sides. And while he listened to the story, now garbled out of
all semblance of its original form by the whiskey-stimulated
imaginations, he found himself wondering how it came that Jim Thorpe
had given him no word of it. And he said so.
"Say, boys," he observed, when he got a chance to speak, "I only left
Jim Thorpe a while back. He rode in to see me. He didn't give me word
of this."
It was Abe Horsley who explained.
"McLagan came in looking for him. Jim's only got the week old stuff.
The news hit the ranch at sundown to-day."
Peter nodded.
"I see."
"You'll see more, Peter," broke in Smallbones viciously. "You'll see a
vigilance committee right here, if this gambol don't quit. Barnriff
don't stand for cattle-duffin' worth a cent."
"Upsets trade," lumbered Jake Wilkes, with the tail of his eye on the
busy Smallbones.
Gay laughed ponderously.
"Smallbones'll show us how to form a corporation o' vigilantes. Though
it ain't a finance job."
"Ay, that I will. I'm live anyways. I've had to do with 'em before."
"You didn't get hanged," protested Jake, after heavy thought. "Guess
you ain't got no kick coming."
Smallbones purpled to the roots of his bristly hair. Jake irritated
him to a degree, and the roar of laughter which greeted the
slow-witted baker's sally set him completely on edge.
"Guess I was on the other end of the rope," he retorted, trying to
turn the laugh, but the baker, with grave deliberation, added to his
score.
"Which was a real mean trick o' fortune on us folks o' Barnriff," he
murmured.
In the midst of the laughter Peter moved away to the tables. He looked
on here and there watching the varying fortunes with all the interest
of his intensely human mind. The weaknesses of human nature appealed
to his kindly sympathy as they can only to those of large heart. He
begrudged no man moments when the cares of everyday life might be
pushed into the background, however they might be obtained.
He argued that the judgment of Nature needed no human condemnation
added to it. Human penalty must be reserved for the administration of
social laws. To his mind the broad road of evil would automatically
claim its own without the augmentation of the loads of human freight
borne thither on the dump-carts of the self-righteous. Rather it was
his delight to hold out a hand to a poor soul in distress, even if his
own ground were none too secure.
At one table he saw the winnings almost entirely in one corner, and
the expressive yet grim faces of the other players only too plainly
showed their feelings. He noticed the greedy manner in which the
losers clutched up their cards at each fresh deal. Their hope was
invincible, and he loved them for it. It may have been the hope such
as a drowning man is credited with. It may have been the sportsman's
instinct seeking a fresh turn in fortune's wheel. It may have been
inspired by the malicious hope of the winner's downfall. But he felt
it was healthy, in spite of the ethical pronouncements of those who
repose on the pedestal of their own virtues. It was, to his mind, the
spirit of the fighter in the game of life, a spirit, which, even
though misdirected, must never be unreservedly deplored. To his mind
it were better to fight a battle, however wrong be the prompting
instinct, than to run for the shelter of supine ineptitude.
He moved slowly round the room till he came to the table where Will
Henderson was playing. He had reached his goal, and his self-imposed
task had begun. His eyes quickly scanned the table and the faces of
the five players. The other four were men he knew, not actually of the
village, but hard-faced, lean ranchmen, men who came from heaven alone
knew where, and whose earthly career was scarcely likely to bring
about the final completion of the circle.
For the moment they mattered little. It was Will he was concerned
with; nor was it with his fortunes in the game. The hand had just
finished, and he saw one of the men rake in a small pot of "ante's"
without a challenge. While the fresh dealer was shuffling the cards he
caught Will's eye. He read there the anxiety of a gambler whose luck
is out. He glanced at his attenuated pile of chips, and took his
opportunity.
"Feel like missing the deal, Will?" he asked casually.
But the set of the face lifted to him warned him of the negative which
swiftly followed.
"Guess I'm not yearning."
Peter followed it up while the cards were being cut.
"I've got to speak to you _particular_."
A look of doubt suddenly leaped into Will's eyes, and he hesitated.
"What d'you want?"
Peter eyed the tumbler of whiskey at the man's elbow. He noted the
heavy eyes in the good-looking young face. But the cards were dealt,
and he waited for the finish of the hand. He saw Will bet, and lose on
a "full-house." His pile was reduced to four fifty-cent chips and the
man's language was full of venom at his opponent's luck. The moment
he ceased speaking Peter began again.
"Your wife's hurt bad," he said. "Doc Crombie's only just left her."
Will started. He had forgotten. A sudden fear held him silent, while
he waited for more. But no more was forthcoming. Only the blue eyes of
his informant searched his face, and, to the guilty man, they seemed
to be reading to the very depths of his soul. Something urged him, and
he suddenly stood up.
"You best deal four hands," he said hastily to his companions. "I'll
be back directly."
Then he moved away from the table unsteadily, and Peter made a guess
at the quantity of bad whiskey he had consumed. He led the way from
the tables, and, once clear of them, glanced over his shoulder.
"We best get outside," he said.
But Will was already regretting his game. The feeling of guilt was
passing. It had only been roused by the suddenness of Peter's
announcement. A look of resentment accompanied his reply.
"I ain't going to miss more than a couple of hands," he protested.
"Then we best hurry."
Peter led the way through the crowd, and the two passed out. With the
glare and reek of the bar behind them he dropped abreast of Will, and
walked him steadily in the direction of his own hut. At first
Henderson failed to notice the intention; he was waiting for Peter to
speak. He was waiting for the "particular" he had spoken of. Then, as
it did not seem to be forthcoming, he promptly rebelled.
"You can tell me right here," he said, with distinct truculence, and
coming to a dead standstill.
Peter reached out, and his powerful hand closed about the other's
upper arm.
"What I've got to tell you can be told in my shack. You best come
right on."
"Take your darned hand off me!" cried Will, angrily. "You'll tell me
here, or I get back to my game." He tried to twist himself free. But
Peter's hand tightened its hold.
"You're quitting that saloon for to-night, Will," he said quietly.
The other laughed, but he had a curiously uncomfortable feeling under
his anger. Suddenly he put more exertion into his efforts to release
himself, and his fury rose in proportion.
"Darn your soul, let me go!" he cried.
But Peter suddenly seized his wrist with his other hand, and it closed
on it like a vice.
"Don't drive me to force," he warned. "That saloon is closed to you
to-night. Do you understand? I've got to say things that'll likely
change your way of thinking. Don't be a fool; come on up to my
shack."
There was something so full of calm strength, so full of conviction in
Peter's tone that it was not without its effect. That guilty thought
rose again in Will's mind, and it weakened his power of resistance.
His rage was no less, but now there was something else with it, an
undermining fear, and in a moment he ceased to struggle.
"All right," he said, and moved forward at the other's side.
Peter released his wrist, but kept his hold on his arm.
And they walked in silence to the "shack." Will had long known the
gold prospector, and had become so accustomed to the mildness of his
manner, as had all the village, that this sudden display of physical
and moral force brought with it an awakening that had an unpleasant
flavor. Then, too, his own thoughts were none too easy, and the
picture of Eve as he had last seen her would obtrude itself, and
created, if no gentler feeling, at least a guilty nervousness that
sickened his stomach.
Peter said that Doc Crombie had only just left her. What did that
mean? Only just left her, and--it had occurred nearly two hours ago.
He was troubled. But his trouble was in no way touched with either
remorse or pity. He was thinking purely of himself.
Of course she had recovered, he told himself. He had watched her
breathing before he left her. Yes, he had ascertained that. She had
been merely stunned. Ah, a sudden thought! Perhaps she had told them
what had happened. A black rage against her suddenly took hold of him.
If she had--but no. Even though he was--as he was, he realized, as bad
natures often will realize in others better than themselves, Eve's
loyalty and high-mindedness. It could not be that. He wondered. And
wondering they reached their destination.
Peter let him pass into the hut, and, following quickly, lit the lamp.
Then he pointed at the only comfortable seat, and propped himself
against the table, with the light shining full on Will's face.
"Will," he began, without any preamble, "you've got to take a
fall--quick. You've got to get such a big fall that maybe it'll hurt
some--at first. But you'll get better--later."
"I don't get you."
The man assumed indifference. He felt that he must steady himself. He
wanted to get the measure of the other before giving vent to those
feelings which were natural to him since drink had undermined all that
was best in him.
"You've nearly killed your wife to-night," Peter went on, with a new
note of harshness in his voice. "Look you, I'm not going to preach.
It's not our way here, and none of us are such a heap good that
preaching comes right from us. I'm warning you, and it's a warning
you'll take right here, or worse'll come. Now I don't know the rights
of what has happened between you and Eve, but I'll sort of reconstruct
it to you in my own way, and it matters nothing if I am right or
wrong. Eve and you had words. What about I can only guess at. Maybe it
was money, maybe the saloon, maybe poker. You two must have got to
words, which ended by you brutally pitching her on to the edge of the
coal box, and nearly killing her. After that you went out, leaving her
to die--by your act--if it took her that way. Mark you, she didn't
fall. She couldn't have--and smashed her forehead as she did. She told
us she did, but that, I guess, was to shield you."
"Then she didn't give you this pretty yarn?" inquired Will,
sarcastically. He was feeling better. He gathered that Eve was not
going to die. "You kind of made it up on your own?"
"Just so," replied Peter, quite unmoved. "I--we--Doc Crombie, Jim
Thorpe, and I. We made it up, as you choose to call it, because we've
eyes and ears and common sense. And Doc Crombie knows just about how
much force it would take to smash her head as it was smashed."
"And what were you fellows doing in my house?" Will demanded, his
anger gaining ground in proportion to the abatement of his fears.
"We were in _Eve's_ house," answered Peter, drily, "for the reason
that we wished to have a chat with her. That is, Jim and I. Doc
Crombie came because we'd a notion we were sorry for Eve, and didn't
want her to die on our hands. That's why we were there."
Will laughed.
"Jim Thorpe was there, eh? And who's to say that you and he didn't do
the mischief? Guess Jim hates things enough, seeing I married Eve.
She'd got no broken head when I left her."
"You needn't to lie about it, Will," Peter said calmly. "Least of all
to me. But that makes no odds. As I said, you've got to take a fall.
Barnriff's got ears and eyes that puts it wise to a lot. It's wise to
how things have been going with you and Eve. It's wise to the fact
you're bumming your living out of her, that you're a drunken,
poker-playing loafer, and that you're doing it on her earnings. And
Barnriff, headed by a few of us, and Doc Crombie, aren't going to
stand for it. If you don't get busy you'll find there's trouble for
you, and if, from this out, Barnriff gets wise to your ill-treatment
of Eve, in any way--God help you. You'll get less mercy shown you than
you showed that poor girl to-night. That's what I brought you here to
say. And I'd like to add a piece of friendly advice. Don't you show
your face in Rocket's saloon to get a drink or deal a hand at poker
for a month or--well, I needn't warn you further of what's going to
happen. If you've got savvee you'll read through the lines. Maybe
you'll take this hard--I can see it in your face. But you're a man,
and you've got some grit--well, get right out and do things. That's
your chance here in Barnriff."
Will Henderson's face was a study while he listened to his arraignment
and final sentence by the mild Peter Blunt. At first rage was his
dominant emotion, but it gave way before the mild but resolute fashion
in which the large man poured out the inexorable flow of the sentence.
And somehow for a moment those calm words got hold of all that was
vital in him, and he shrank before them. But neither did this feeling
last. A bitter hatred rose up in his heart, a black, overmastering,
passionate desire for vengeance fired him, and proportionate with its
strength a cunning stirred which held it in check. He put an abrupt
question, nor could he keep his angry feelings out of his voice.
"So Jim Thorpe's helped in this?" he said savagely. "No need to ask
his reason. Gee, it's a mean man that can't take his med'cine."
"You needn't bark up that tree, Will," said Peter, patiently. "We're
all responsible for this--the whole of Barnriff." Then he smiled. "You
see, Doc Crombie has approved."
Then it was that Henderson saw fit to change his manner. It seemed
almost as if the enormity of his offense had been suddenly brought
home to him, and contrition had begun to stir.
"Seems to me, Peter, as if the ways of things were queer," he said,
after a long pause. "I've got something that'll keep me out of
Barnriff a good deal in future. I've had it a week an' more back. I've
struck a good thing up in the hills." He laughed. "A real good
thing--and it's easy, too."
"I'm glad," the other said genuinely.
"It's gold. Something in your line, eh? Placer. Gee, I'll make things
hum when I've taken the stuff out of it. S'truth, I'll buy some of
'em! And sell 'em, too, for that matter."
Peter was interested.
"Gold, eh? Well, good luck to you. I'm glad--if it's to make a man of
you."
For a second Will's eyes flashed.
"Yes, you're right; it'll make a man of me. And, being a man, there
are some things I'm not likely to forget. Say, you've passed
sentence--you and your friends, which include Jim Thorpe. You won't
have to carry it out. I'll knuckle down, because I know you all. But,
by gee! I've struck what you're looking for, and when I've gathered
the dust I'll make some folks jump to my own tune! Get that, Peter
Blunt."
Peter smiled at the sudden outburst of malicious rage. Then his face
grew cold, and his even tone checked the tide of the other's impotent
rage.
"I get it," he said. "But meanwhile Barnriff is top dog, an' you best
write that down in big letters, and set it where you can read it
easily. Now you can go home and look after your poor wife. And
remember, as sure as there's a God in heaven, if you make that girl's
life a misery, or in any way hurt her, you'll sicken at the thought of
Barnriff. Now you can go."
Peter's quiet manner carried unpleasant conviction to the departing
man. The conviction was so strong that he obeyed him to the letter. He
walked without hesitation, without any desire to do otherwise, in the
direction of his home. But this was an almost mechanical result. His
mind was occupied in a way that would have astonished the men of
Barnriff.
His fury had gone. His brain was filled with cold, hard thoughts, the
more cruel for their lack of heat. His thoughts were of that which he
had struck in the hills, and of a revenge which he felt he could play
off on these people who demanded that he should guide his life as they
dictated. He saw subtle possibilities which gave him enjoyment. He
would work, and work hard. And then the manner of the revenge he would
take! He laughed.
Then his laugh died out, for Jim Thorpe wholly occupied his thoughts,
and there was no room for laughter where Jim was concerned. He
remembered Jim was making money--and how. Suddenly he paused in his
walk, and a delighted exclamation broke from him.
"Gee! The very thing I've been looking for. He's got that land from
McLagan. He's going to run a ranch. He's going to play big dog. Gee!
That's the game! Say, master Jim," he went on, apostrophizing the
absent man he had so easily learned to hate, "I'll make you a sick man
before the snow falls. Gee! You'd butt in in my affairs. You're
standing Eve's friend." He laughed. "Go ahead, boy. I'll play up to
you. Eve shall tell you I'm a reformed man, and you'll feel better.
And then----"
And by the time he reached his home there was apparently a complete
transformation in him. The old moody selfishness and brutality toward
his wife seemed to have fallen from him like a hideous cloak. He
played the game he intended with such an appearance of good faith that
the sick woman suddenly experienced the first relief and comfort she
had known for months.
He waited on her, repentant and solicitous, till she could hardly
believe her senses, and she even forgot to ask the result of his
gamble. And the next morning, when necessity forced her to ask him for
money, she was content that he returned to her something under ten
dollars of that which he had stolen from her.
Later in the day he left for the hills, and from that moment an entire
change came over Eve's whole life.