THE DIM TRAIL.
A shadow fell upon the rock. Ferguson turned his head and looked
toward the west, where the sun had already descended over the mountains.
"Why it's sundown!" he said, smiling into Miss Radford's eyes. "I
reckon the days must be gettin' shorter."
"The happy days are always short," she returned, blushing. He kissed
her for this. For a while they sat, watching together the vari-colors
swimming in the sky. They sat close together, saying little, for mere
words are sometimes inadequate. In a little time the colors faded, the
mountain peaks began to throw sombre shades; twilight--gray and
cold--settled suddenly into the flat. Then Miss Radford raised her
head from Ferguson's shoulder and sighed.
"Time to go home," she said.
"Yes, time," he returned. "I'm ridin' down that far with you."
They rose and clambered down the hillside and he helped her into the
saddle. Then he mounted Mustard and rode across the flat beside her.
Darkness had fallen when they rode through the clearing near the cabin
and dismounted from their ponies at the door. The light from the
kerosene lamp shone in a dim stream from the kitchen door and within
they saw dishes on the table with cold food. Ferguson stood beside his
pony while Miss Radford went in and explored the cabin. She came to
the door presently, shading her eyes to look out into the darkness.
"Ben has been here and gone," she said. "He can't be very far away.
Won't you come in?"
He laughed. "I don't think I'll come in," he returned. "This lover
business is new to me, an' I wouldn't want Ben to come back an' ketch
me blushin' an' takin' on."
"But he has to know," she insisted, laughing.
"Sure," he said, secure in the darkness, "but you tell him."
"I won't!" she declared positively, stamping a foot.
"Then I reckon he won't get told," he returned quietly.
"Well, then," she said, laughing, "I suppose that is settled."
She came out to the edge of the porch, away from the door, where the
stream of light from within could not search them out, and there they
took leave of one another, she going back into the cabin and he
mounting Mustard and riding away in the darkness.
He was in high spirits, for he had much to be thankful for. As he rode
through the darkness, skirting the cottonwood in the flat, he allowed
his thoughts to wander. His refusal to enter the cabin had not been a
mere whim; he intended on the morrow to seek out Ben and tell him. He
had not wanted to tell him with her looking on to make the situation
embarrassing for him.
When he thought of how she had fooled him by making it appear that she
had led him on for the purpose of getting material for her love story,
he was moved to silent mirth. "But I cert'nly didn't see anything
funny in it while she was puttin' it on," he told himself, as he rode.
He had not ridden more than a quarter of a mile from the cabin, and was
passing a clump of heavy shrubbery, when a man rose suddenly out of the
shadows beside the trail. Startled, Mustard reared, and then seeing
that the apparition was merely a man, he came quietly down and halted,
shaking his head sagely. Ferguson's right hand had dropped swiftly to
his right holster, but was raised again instantly as the man's voice
came cold and steady:
"Get your hands up--quick!"
Ferguson's hands were raised, but he gave no evidence of fear or
excitement. Instead, he leaned forward, trying, in the dim light, to
see the man's face. The latter still stood in the shadows. But now he
advanced a little toward Ferguson, and the stray-man caught his breath
sharply. But when he spoke his voice was steady.
"Why, it's Ben Radford," he said.
"That's just who it is," returned Radford. "I've been waitin' for you."
"That's right clever of you," returned Ferguson, drawling his words a
little. He was puzzled over this unusual occurrence, but his face did
not betray this. "You was wantin' to see me then," he added.
"You're keen," returned Radford, sneering slightly.
Ferguson's face reddened. "I ain't no damn fool," he said sharply.
"An' I don't like holdin' my hands up like this. I reckon whatever
you're goin' to do you ought to do right quick."
"I'm figuring to be quick," returned Radford shortly. "Ketch hold of
your guns with the tips of one finger and one thumb and drop them.
Don't hit any rocks and don't try any monkey business."
He waited until Ferguson had dropped one gun. And then, knowing that
the stray-man usually wore two weapons, he continued sharply: "I'm
waiting for the other one."
Ferguson laughed. "Then you'll be waitin' a long time. There ain't
any 'other one. Broke a spring yesterday an' sent it over to Cimarron
to get it fixed up. You c'n have it when it comes back," he added with
a touch of sarcasm, "if you're carin' to wait that long."
Radford did not reply, but came around to Ferguson's left side and
peered at the holster. It was empty. Then he looked carefully at the
stray-man's waist for signs that a weapon might have been concealed
between the waist-band and the trousers--in front. Then, apparently
satisfied, he stepped back, his lips closed grimly.
"Get off your horse," he ordered.
Ferguson laughed as he swung down. "Anything to oblige a friend," he
said, mockingly.
The two men were now not over a yard apart, and at Ferguson's word
Radford's face became inflamed with wrath. "I don't think I'm a friend
of yours," he sneered coldly; "I ain't making friends with every damned
sneak that crawls around the country, aiming to shoot a man in the
back." He raised his voice, bitter with sarcasm. "You're thinking
that you're pretty slick," he said; "that all you have to do in this
country is to hang around till you get a man where you want him and
then bore him. But you've got to the end of your rope. You ain't
going to shoot anyone around here.
"I'm giving you a chance to say what you've got to say and then I'm
going to fill you full of lead and plant you over in the cottonwood--in
a place where no one will ever be able to find you--not even Stafford.
I'd have shot you off your horse when you come around the bend," he
continued coldly, "but I wanted you to know who was doing it and that
the man that did it knowed what you come here to do." He poised his
pistol menacingly. "You got anything to say?" he inquired.
Ferguson looked steadily from the muzzle of the poised weapon to
Radford's frowning eyes. Then he smiled grimly.
"Some one's been talkin'," he said evenly. He calmly crossed his arms
over his chest, the right hand slipping carelessly under the left side
of his vest. Then he rocked slowly back and forth on his heels and
toes. "Someone's been tellin' you a pack of lies," he added. "I
reckon you've wondered, if I was goin' to shoot you in the back, that I
ain't done it long ago. You're admittin' that I've had some chance."
Radford sneered. "I ain't wondering why you ain't done it before," he
said. "Mebbe it was because you're too white livered. Mebbe you
thought you didn't see your chance. I ain't worrying none about why
you didn't do it. But you ain't going to get another chance." The
weapon came to a foreboding level.
Ferguson laughed grimly, but there was an ironic quality in his voice
that caught Radford's ear. It seemed to Radford that the stray-man
knew that he was near death, and yet some particular phase of the
situation appealed to his humor--grim though it was. It came out when
the stray-man spoke.
"You've been gassin' just now about shootin' people in the back--sayin'
that I've been thinkin' of doin' it. But I reckon you ain't thought a
lot about the way you're intendin' to put me out of business. I was
wonderin' if it made any difference--shootin' a man in the back or
shootin' him when he ain't got any guns. I expect a man that's shot
when he ain't got guns would be just as dead as a man that's shot in
the back, wouldn't he?"
He laughed again, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. "That's the
reason I ain't scared a heap," he said. "From what I know about you
you ain't the man to shoot another without givin' him a chance. An'
you're givin' me a chance to talk. I ain't goin' to do any prayin'. I
reckon that's right?"
Radford shifted his feet uneasily. He could not have told at that
moment whether or not he had intended to murder Ferguson. He had
waylaid him with that intention, utterly forgetful that by shooting the
stray-man he would be committing the very crime which he had accused
Ferguson of contemplating. The muzzle of his weapon drooped
uncertainly.
"Talk quick!" he said shortly.
Ferguson grinned. "I'm takin' my time," he returned. "There ain't any
use of bein' in such an awful hurry--time don't amount to much when a
man's talkin' for his life. I ain't askin' who told you what you've
said about me--I've got a pretty clear idea who it was. I've had to
tell a man pretty plain that my age has got its growth an' I don't
think that man is admirin' me much for bein' told. But if he's wantin'
to have me put out of business he's goin' to do the job himself--Ben
Radford ain't doin' it."
While he had been talking he had contrived to throw the left side of
his vest open, and his right hand was exposed in the dim light--a heavy
six-shooter gleaming forebodingly in it. His arms were still crossed,
but as he talked he had turned a very little and now the muzzle of the
weapon was at a level--trained fairly upon Radford's breast. And then
came Ferguson's voice again, quiet, cold, incisive.
"If there's goin' to be any shootin', Ben, there'll be two of us doin'
it. Don't be afraid that you'll beat me to it." And he stared grimly
over the short space that separated them.
For a full minute neither man moved a muscle. Silence--a premonitory
silence--fell over them as they stood, each with a steady finger
dragging uncertainly upon the trigger of his weapon. An owl hooted in
the cottonwood nearby; other noises of the night reached their ears.
Unaware of this crisis Mustard grazed unconcernedly at a distance.
Then Radford's weapon wavered a little and dropped to his side.
"This game's too certain," he said.
Ferguson laughed, and his six-shooter disappeared as mysteriously as it
had appeared. "I thought I'd be able to make you see the point," he
said. "It don't always pay to be in too much of a hurry to do a
thing," he continued gravely. "An' I reckon I've proved that someone's
been lying about me. If I'd wanted to shoot you I could have done it
quite a spell ago--I had you covered just as soon as I crossed my arms.
You'd never knowed about it. That I didn't shoot proves that whoever
told you I was after you has been romancin'." He laughed.
"An' now I'm tellin' you another thing that I was goin' to tell you
about to-morrow. Mebbe you'll want to shoot me for that. But if you
do I expect you'll have a woman to fight. Me an' Mary has found that
we're of one mind about a thing. We're goin' to hook up into a double
harness. I reckon when I'm your brother-in-law you won't be so worried
about shootin' me."
Radford's astonishment showed for a moment in his eyes as his gaze met
the stray-man's. Then they drooped guiltily.
"Well I'm a damn fool!" he said finally. "I might have knowed that
Mary wouldn't get afoul of any man who was thinkin' of doing dirt to
me." He suddenly extended a hand. "You shakin'?" he said.
Ferguson took the hand, gripping it tightly. Neither man spoke. Then
Radford suddenly unclasped his hand and turned, striding rapidly up the
trail toward the cabin.
For a moment Ferguson stood, looking after him with narrowed, friendly
eyes. Then he walked to Mustard, threw the bridle rein over the pommel
of the saddle, mounted, and was off at a rapid lope toward the Two
Diamond.