JIM
It was with no very cheerful feelings that Jim Thorpe approached
Barnriff once more. He had delayed his return as long as possible, not
from any fear for himself, but for the sake of giving color to his
final protestations to Doc Crombie, when they parted company at the
Little Bluff River.
After resting his horse in the river woods for a full twenty-four
hours--and, in that time, the tough beast had fully recovered from his
journey--he then, with simple strategy, hunted up Will's tracks where
the fugitive had left the river, and steadily trailed him to the
northern hills. There he gave up further pursuit, having fully
satisfied himself that the man's escape had been accomplished. So he
turned his horse's head toward Barnriff, and prepared himself to face
the trouble that he knew would be awaiting him.
It was a cheerless journey, harassed by thoughts and speculations that
could be hardly considered illuminating. Curiously enough he had no
thought of making a run for it to a district where he was still
unknown. Why should he? There was not a guilty thought in his mind,
unless it were the recollection of the trick he had played on the
lynching party to save Will from the rope.
No, his set purpose was to return to Barnriff and fight the public
feeling he knew there was against him, and to live it down. Besides,
there was Eve. Who could tell, with such a husband as Will, when she
might not need the help of a strong, willing arm? His love for her
was stronger than his discretion, it was more powerful than any
selfish consideration.
He had but one real friend in Barnriff that he knew of. There were
several, he believed, who, at a crisis, would vote in his favor, but
that was all. Peter Blunt he knew he could rely on to the last. And,
somehow, this man, to his mind, was an even more powerful factor than
Doc Crombie. It was not that Peter held any great appeal with the
people, but somehow there was a reserve of mental strength in the man
that lifted him far above his fellows, in his capacity to do in
emergency. He felt that, with the great shadow of Peter standing by,
he had little to fear from such jackals as Smallbones.
Yet the outlook was depressing enough as he drew near his destination.
He no longer had the possibility of clearing his name. That was past.
A hope abandoned with many others in his short life. All thought of
establishing his innocence must be wiped out forever. He had enlisted
himself in Eve's service for good or evil, and the only thing
remaining to him was, by facing the yelping of the Barnriff pack, with
a dogged, defiant front, to attempt to live down his disgrace. In
this, to his simple mind, there was one great thing in his favor. The
cattle stealing was at an end. There would be no further depredations.
And this alone would be of incalculable help to him. He knew the
cattle world well enough to understand that the ethics of the case
were not of paramount importance with these people. It was the loss of
stock which rankled. It was the definite, material loss and injury to
the commerce of the district.
But to a man of his honor and love of fair play the position was
desperately hard. Fate was driving him at a pace that threatened to
wreck in no uncertain manner. The downward path looked so easy--was so
easy. Lately he had frequently found himself wondering why he didn't
go with the tide and head straight for the vortex that he felt would
be only too ready to engulf him. He had been so near it once. That
moment was indelibly fixed on his memory. He doubted that but for
Peter Blunt he would never have resisted the temptation. He knew
himself, he was honest with himself. That day when he first discovered
Will's treachery Peter had saved him.
Now everything seemed somehow different. His thoughts were frequently
desperate enough, but, whereas a year ago he would have cried out
against Heaven, against everything in Heaven or on earth, now he
wanted to set his back to the wall and fight. He felt it in him to
fight, let the odds be what they might. And he knew that he owed this
new spirit to the big-hearted Peter, who had once shown him how wrong
he was.
But though less acknowledged, there was another influence at work
within him. Eve was there alone, far more alone than if she had never
married Will. He only guessed what her feelings must be, for she was
still in doubt as to Will's safety. Yes, he would at least have the
privilege of carrying her the glad tidings.
He laughed bitterly. He could not help it. Yes, she would be the
happier for his tidings, and with that he must be content. Now, no one
would ever know. Her disgrace would be hidden, and she would be able
to live on quietly in the village with her young brother until such
time as she felt it safe to join her husband.
Try as he would to appreciate the comparative happiness he was
conveying to the woman, he felt the sharp pricks of the thorny burden
he was bearing. He smiled in the growing darkness, and told himself
that there was no disaster that brought happiness to any one but must
be counted as a good work.
He could see the twinkling lights of the village less than half a mile
ahead, and he glanced over them carefully. There was the saloon. Who
could mistake it, with its flamboyant brilliance against the lesser
twinkle of the smaller houses? His eyes searched for the lights of
Eve's home. He could not see them. Possibly she was in her kitchen,
that snug little room, where, up to a year ago, he had many a time
taken tea with her. Yes, it would be about her supper-time. He looked
back at the western sky to verify the hour. The last faint sheen of
sunset was slipping away into the soft velvet of night.
He thought for a moment as to his best course. Should he wait until
morning to bear his tidings to her? No, that would leave her
unnecessary time for worry and anxiety. Best go to her to-night--at
once.
He shook up his horse into a better gait. It were best to hurry. He
did not want to be seen visiting her late in the evening. He knew the
scandalous tongues of the village only too well.
In a few minutes he was nearing the saloon. He would pass within fifty
yards of it. As he came abreast of it he turned his head curiously in
its direction. There was a great din of voices coming from its frowzy
interior, and he wondered. The men seemed to have begun their nightly
orgie early. Then it occurred to him that perhaps Crombie's men had
returned, and were out to make a night of it. He smiled to himself.
They would need a good deal of drink to wash out the taste of the
bitter pill of Will's escape.
Had he but known it, the occasion was a meeting of the townsmen to
decide his fate. Had he but known it, Peter Blunt was there watching
his interests and ready to fight with both brains and muscle on his
behalf. But then, had he known it, it might have altered the whole
complexion of the events which happened in Barnriff that night.
He did not know it, so he rode straight on to Eve's house. Nor did it
occur to him as strange, at that hour in the evening, that he did not
encounter a single soul on his way.
Arrived at her gate he dismounted and off-saddled. He would not need
his horse again that night, so he turned the animal loose to graze at
its leisure. It would find its way to the water when it wanted to, and
when he had seen Eve he would carry his saddle back to Peter's hut,
where he was going to sleep.
Just for a moment he paused before opening the gate. The house was
still in darkness. He had half a mind to go round the back and see if
there were lights in the kitchen. But it seemed like spying to him,
and so he refrained.
But somehow the place suggested that there was no one within,
and eventually he started up the path with a feeling of keen
disappointment. At the door he paused and felt for the latch.
Then, just as his hand came into contact with it, and he was
about to lift it, he started, and, motionless, stood listening.
What was that? He thought he heard a peculiar moaning beyond the
door. No, he was mistaken. There was no sound now. At least---- Ah,
there it was again. He pressed one ear against the door and
immediately started back. He had not been mistaken.
He no longer hesitated, but, lifting the latch noisily, pressed
against the door. It was fast. And now the moaning suddenly became
louder. Without a thought, without a scruple, he promptly thrust his
toe against the foot of the door and pressed heavily. Then, lifting
the latch, he threw all the weight of his powerful shoulder against
the lock. The door gave before him, nearly precipitating him headlong
into the room.
He managed to save himself and stepped hurriedly within. Then he again
stood listening. The room was quite dark, but now he had no difficulty
in placing the moaning. It came from just across the room beside Eve's
stove.
"Eve," he called softly. "Eve!" But as no answer came a great fear
gripped his heart. Was this a repetition of---- No, Will was away out
in the mountains.
Now the moaning was louder, and there was a distinct rustling whence
the sound came. He fumbled a match from his pocket and struck it. One
glance toward the stove set him rushing across to the parlor lamp.
He lit the lamp and hurried back to the chair beside the stove. He
needed but one glance to realize Eve's condition, and his heart was
filled with a great rage. Who? Who had done this thing? was the
question that ran through his mind as he set to work to undo the cruel
bonds that held her to her chair.
It was the work of a few moments to remove the gag that was nearly
choking her. Then the knots about her wrists and feet were swiftly
undone. Released at last, Eve sank back in a semi-fainting condition,
and Jim looked on helplessly. And in those moments he made up his mind
that some one was going to pay dearly for this.
Then it occurred to him that no time must be lost, so he hurried into
the kitchen and came back with a dipper of drinking water. He held it
to the girl's lips, and after she had drunk he soaked his handkerchief
in what remained, and bathed her forehead and temples with a wonderful
tenderness and silent sympathy.
But suddenly Eve opened her eyes. And at once he saw that her weakness
had passed. The horror of recollection was alive once more within her,
and her terrified eyes sought his. When she saw who he was she sprang
to her feet with a great cry.
"Jim!" she cried. And, staggering in her weakness, she would have
fallen.
He caught her just in time, and gently returned her to her seat. But
with a great effort she overcame her faintness.
"For God's sake, save him!" she cried wildly. "Oh, Jim, he's gone to
kill him! Save him for me! Only save him!"
The position was difficult. Jim's heart bled for the distraught woman.
But he realized that he must calm her at once, or she would break out
into shrieking hysterics.
"Be calm, Eve," he said almost roughly. "How can I understand when you
talk like that? Don't let's have any foolishness. Now quietly. Who's
gone to kill--who?"
His manner had its effect. Eve choked back her rising emotion with an
effort, and her eyes lost some of their straining.
"It's Will," she said, with a sort of deliberate measuring of her
words. "He's gone to kill Elia. Out there, back at the bluff. It's for
setting the men after him. And--then, and then he's coming back----"
Jim was staggered. He looked at the woman wondering if she had
suddenly lost her senses.
"And I came back to tell you he'd got clear away. By Heaven! And he
did this?" He indicated the bonds he had just removed, and his eyes
darkened with sudden fury.
The woman nodded. She was holding herself with all her might.
"Yes, but--that's nothing." Suddenly she let herself go. All the old
terror surged uppermost again. "But don't wait! Jim, save him for my
sake! Save him for me! Oh, my poor, helpless brother! Jim--Jim, you
are the only one I can look to. Oh, save him! He's all I have--all I
have."
It was a dreadful moment for the man. The woman he loved half dead
with terror and the cruel handling dealt her by her husband. Now she
was appealing to him as the only man in the world she could appeal to.
His love rushed to his head and came near to driving him to the one
thing in the world he knew he must not do. He longed to crush her in
his strong arms, and proclaim his right to protect her against the
world. He loved her so that he wanted to defy everybody, all the
world, that he might claim her for his own. But she was not his. And
he almost spoke the words aloud to convince himself and drive back the
demon surging through his blood.
"Where did you say he was?" he demanded, almost savagely in his
tremendous self-repression.
"At the bluff, out back. Hurry, hurry, for--God's sake!"
That was better. The less personal appeal helped him to calm himself.
"How long's he been gone?" he asked, turning his eyes from her
terror-stricken face to help himself regain his own control.
"About a quarter of an hour, or even a half," she cried.
"It's a quarter of a mile, isn't it?"
"More. Nearly a mile."
"Right. You stay here." He threw a pistol on the table. "Keep that to
protect yourself," he added, brusquely. "And--Eve, if I get there in
time, I'll save your brother. If I don't, your husband shall die, as
sure as----"
But his sentence remained unfinished. He rushed out of the house and
sought his horse. The animal was still grazing near by. He slipped the
bit into its mouth. Then he sprang on to its bare back and galloped
off.
And as he rushed out Eve fell back into a chair laughing and crying at
the same time.