VII
THE POACHERS
One morning, as he topped the rise between the sawmill and his ownstation, Cavanagh heard two rifle-shots in quick succession snappingacross the high peak on his left. Bringing his horse to a stand, heunslung his field-glasses, and slowly and minutely swept the tawny slopesof Sheep Mountain from which the forbidden sounds seemed to come.
"A herder shooting coyotes," was his first thought; then remembering thatthere were no camps in that direction, and that a flock of mountain-sheep(which he had been guarding carefully) habitually fed round that grassypeak, his mind changed. "I wonder if those fellows are after those sheep?"he mused, as he angled down the slope. "I reckon it's up to me to see."
He was tired and hungry, a huge moraine lay between, and the trail waslong and rough. "To catch them in the act is impossible. However," hereflected, "they have but two trails along which to descend. One of thesepasses my door, and the other, a very difficult trail, leads down theSouth Fork. I'll have time to get breakfast and change horses. They'llprobably wait till night before attempting to go out, anyway."
In less than three hours he was over on the trail in the canon, quitecertain that the hunters were still above him. He rode quietly up thevalley, pausing often to listen and to scrutinize the landscape; but nosign of camp-fire and no further rifle-shots came, and at last he wentinto camp upon the trail, resolved to wait till the poachers appeared, award which his experience as a soldier helped him to maintain withoutnodding.
In these long hours his thought played about the remembrance of his lastvisit to the Fork and his hour with Lee. He wondered what she was doing atthe moment. How charming she had looked there at Redfields'--so girlish inform, so serious and womanly of face!
He felt as never before the ineludible loneliness of the ranger's life.Here he sat in the midst of a mighty forest with many hostile minds allabout him, and it must be confessed he began to wonder whether hisservices to the nation were worth so much hardship, such completeisolation. The stream sang of the eternities, and his own short span oflife (half gone already without any permanent accomplishment) seemedpitifully ephemeral. The guardians of these high places must forever besolitary. No ranger could rightfully be husband and father, for to bringwomen and children into these solitudes would be cruel.
He put all this aside--for the time--by remembering that he was a soldierunder orders, and that marriage was a long way off, and so smoked his pipeand waited for the dawn, persistent as a Sioux, and as silent as a fox.
At daylight, there being still no sign of his quarry, he saddled hishorse, and was about to ride up the trail when he caught the sound ofvoices and the sharp click of iron hoofs on the rocks above him. With hishorse's bridle on his arm he awaited the approaching horseman, resoluteand ready to act.
As the marauders rounded the elbow in the trail, he was surprised torecognize in the leader young Gregg. The other man was a stranger, anolder man, with a grizzled beard, and tall and stooping figure.
"Hello Joe," called the ranger, "you're astir early!"
The youth's fat face remained imperturbable, but his eyes betrayeduneasiness. "Yes, it's a long pull into town."
"Been hunting?" queried the ranger, still with cheery, polite interest.
"Oh no; just visiting one of my sheep-camps."
Cavanagh's voice was a little less suave. "Not on this creek," hedeclared. "I moved your herder last week." He walked forward. "That's aheavy load for a short trip to a sheep-camp." He put his hand on the pack."I guess you'll have to open this, for I heard two shots yesterday morningup where that flock of mountain-sheep is running, and, furthermore, I cansee blood-stains on this saddle-blanket."
Neither of the men made answer, but the old man turned an inquiring lookat his young leader.
The ranger flung his next sentence out like the lash of a whip. "Open thissack or I cut the ropes!"
Gregg threw out a hand in command. "_Open it up, Edwards!_" he said,sullenly.
With mechanical readiness the guide alighted from his horse, loosened thecinch on the pack-horse, and disclosed the usual camp-bed.
"Put off that bedding!" insisted the ranger.
Off came the outfit, and under the tent lay the noble head of a wildram--a look of reproach still in his splendid yellow eyes.
Cavanagh's face hardened. "I thought so. Now heave it back and cinch up.It's you to the nearest magistrate, which happens to be Higley, of RoaringFork. I'll make an example of you fellows."
There was nothing for Gregg to say and nothing for Edwards to do but obey,for a resolute ranger with an excellent weapon of the latest and mostapproved angular pattern stood ready to enforce his command; and when thepack was recinched, Cavanagh waved an imperative hand. "I guess I'll haveto take charge of your guns," he said, and they yielded without a word ofprotest. "Now march! Take the left-hand trail. I'll be close behind."
A couple of hours of silent travel brought them to the ranger's cabin, andthere he ordered a dismount.
As the coffee was boiling he lectured them briefly. "You fellows are notentirely to blame," he remarked, philosophically. "You've been educated tothink a game warden a joke and Uncle Sam a long way off. But things havechanged a bit. The law of the State has made me game warden, and I'm goingto show you how it works. It's my duty to see that you go down theroad--and down you go!"
Edwards, the guide, was plainly very uneasy, and made several attempts toreach Cavanagh's private ear, and at last succeeded. "I've been fooledinto this," he urged. "I was hard up and a stranger in the country, andthis young fellow hired me to guide him across the range. I didn't shoot athing. I swear I didn't. If you'll let me off, I'll hit the trail to theWest and never look back. For God's sake, don't take me down the road! Letme off."
"I can't do that," replied Cavanagh; but his tone was kindlier, for heperceived that the old fellow was thin, hollow-chested, and poorly clad."You knew you were breaking the laws, didn't you?"
This the culprit admitted. "But I was working for Sam Gregg, and when Joeasked me to go show him the trail, I didn't expect to get cinched forkilling game. I didn't fire a shot--now that's the God's truth."
"Nevertheless," retorted Ross, "you were packing the head, and I mustcount you in the game."
Edwards fell silent then, but something in his look deepened the ranger'spity. His eyes were large and dark, and his face so emaciated that heseemed fit only for a sanitarium.
The trip to the Fork (timed to the gait of a lazy pack-horse) was atedious eight hours' march, and it was nearly seven o'clock when theyarrived at the outskirts of the village. There had been very few wordsspoken by Cavanagh, and those which the prisoners uttered were notcalculated to cheer the way. Joe blamed his guide for their mishap. "Youshould have known how far the sound of our guns would carry," he said.
As they were nearing the village he called out: "See here, Cavanagh,there's no use taking me through town under arrest. I'll cough up all wegot right now. How much is the damage?"
"I can't receive your fine," replied Ross, "and, besides, you took yourchances when you shot that sheep. You lost out, and I'm not going to letyou off. This poaching must stop. You go right along with your guide."
Again Edwards drew near, and pled in a low voice: "See here, Mr. Ranger, Ihave special reasons why I don't want to go into this town under arrest. Iwish you'd let me explain."
There was deep emotion in his voice, but Ross was firm. "I'm sorry foryou," he said, "but my duty requires me to take you before amagistrate--"
"But you don't know my case," he replied, with bitter intensity. "I'm out'on parole.' I can't afford to be arrested in this way. Don't you see?"
Ross looked at him closely. "_Are_ you telling me the truth?"
"Would you have mercy on me if I were?"
"I should be sorry for you, but I couldn't let you go."
"You won't believe me, but it's the God Almighty's truth: I didn't knowJoe intended to kill that sheep. He asked me to show him over the pass. Ihad no intentio
n of killing anything. I wish to God you would let me go!"His voice was tense with pleading.
"How about this, Gregg?" called Ross. "Your guide insists he had no handin killing the ram?"
"He fired first, and I fired and finished him," retorted Gregg.
"'Twas the other way," declared Edwards. "The beast was crippled andescaping--I killed him with my revolver. I didn't want to see him go offand die--"
"I guess that settles it," said Cavanagh, decisively. "You take yourmedicine with Joe. If the justice wants to let you off easy, I can't helpit, but to turn you loose now would mean disloyalty to the service. Climbback into your saddle."
Edwards turned away with shaking hands and unsteady step. "All right," hesaid, "I'll meet it." He came back to say: "There's no need of your sayinganything about what I've told you."
"No, you are a stranger to me. I know nothing of your life except that Ifound you with Joe, with this pack on your horse."
"Much obliged," said he, with a touch of bitter humor.
To the casual observer in a town of this character there was nothingspecially noticeable in three horsemen driving a pack-horse, but to thosewhose eyes were keen the true relationship of the ranger to his captiveswas instantly apparent, and when they alighted at Judge Higley's office abunch of eager observers quickly collected.
"Hello Joe, what luck?" called Ballard.
"Our luck was a little too good--we caught a game warden," replied theyoung scapegrace.
The ranger was chagrined to find the office of the justice closed for theday, and, turning to his captives, said: "I'm hungry, and I've no doubtyou are. I'm going to take you into Mike Halsey's saloon for supper, butremember you are my prisoners." And to the little old remittance man,Sifton, who caught his eye, he explained his need of a justice and thetown marshal.
"I'll try to find the judge," replied Sifton, with ready good-will, and ata sign from the ranger, Gregg and his herder entered the saloon.
In fifteen minutes the town was rumbling with the news. Under Ballard'sdevilry, all the latent hatred of the ranger and all the concealedopposition to the Forest Service came to the surface like the scum on apot of broth. The saloons and eating-houses boiled with indignant protest."What business is it of Ross Cavanagh's?" they demanded. "What call has heto interfere? He's not a game warden."
"Yes he is. All these rangers are game wardens," corrected another.
"No, they're not. They have to be commissioned by the Governor."
"Well, he's been commissioned; he's warden all right."
"I don't believe it. Anyhow, he's too fresh. He needs to have a halt.Let's do him. Let's bluff him out."
Lee Virginia was in the kitchen superintending the service when one of thewaiters came in, breathless with excitement. "Ross Cavanagh has shot JoeGregg for killing sheep!"
Lee faced her with blanched face. "Who told you so?"
"They're all talking about it out there. Gee! but they're hot. Some of 'emwant to lynch him."
Lee hurried out into the dining-room, which was crowded with men andvoicing deep excitement. Anger was in the air--a stormy rage, perceptibleas a hot blast; and as she passed one table after another she heard uglyphrases applied to Cavanagh.
A half-dozen men were standing before the counter talking with Lize, butLee pushed in to inquire with white, inquiring face: "What is it allabout? What has happened?"
"Nothing much," Lize replied, contemptuously, "but you'd think a horse hadbeen stole. Ross has nipped Joe Gregg and one of his herders for killingmountain-sheep."
"Do you mean he shot them?"
"Yes; he took their heads."
Lee stood aghast. "What do you mean? Whose heads?"
Lize laughed. "The sheeps' heads. Oh, don't be scared, no one is hurtyet!"
The girl flushed with confusion as the men roared over her blunder. "Oneof the girls told me Mr. Cavanagh had killed a man," she explained. "Whereis he?"
Lize betrayed annoyance. "They say he's taking supper at Mike Halsey's,though why he didn't come here I don't see. What's he going to do?" sheasked. "Won't the marshal take the men off his hands?"
"Not without warrant from Higley, and Higley is out of town. Ross'll haveto hold 'em till Higley gets back, or else take 'em over to Chauvenet,"Lize snorted. "Old Higley! Yes, he's been known to disappear before whenthere was some real work to be done."
The girl looked about her with a sharpening realization of the fact thatall these men were squarely opposed to the ranger, and rather glad to knowthat his guardianship of the poachers was to be rendered troublesome. Shecould hear on all sides bitter curses openly directed against him. Howlittle of real manliness could be detected in these grinning or malignantfaces! Ill-formed, half-developed, bestial most of them, while others,though weakly good-humored, were ready to go with whatever current ofstrong passion blew upon them. Over against such creatures Ross Cavanaghstood off in heroic contrast--a man with work to do, and doing it like apatriot.
She went back to her own task with a vague sense of alarm. "Certainly theywill not dare to interfere with an officer in the discharge of hisduties," she thought. She was eager to see him, and the thought that hemight be obliged to ride away to Chauvenet without a word to her gave hera deeper feeling of annoyance and unrest. That he was in any real dangershe could not believe.
It was disheartening to Cavanagh to see how some of the most influentialcitizens contrived to give encouragement to the riotous element of thetown. A wink, a gesture, a careless word to the proper messenger, conveyedto the saloon rounders an assurance of sympathy which inflamed theirresentment to the murderous point.
The truth is, this little village, sixty miles from the railway, stillretained in its dives and shanties the lingering miasma of the old-timefree-range barbarism. It trailed a dark history on its legal side as wellas on its openly violent side, for it had been one of the centres of theRustler's War, and one of the chief points of attack on the part of thecattle-barons. It was still a rendezvous for desperate and shamelesscharacters--a place of derelicts, survivals of the days of deep drinking,furious riding, and ready gun-play.
True, its famous desperadoes were now either dead or distantly occupied;but the mantle of violence, the tradition of lawlessness, had fallen tothe seedy old cow-punchers and to the raw and vulgar youths from theill-conditioned homes of the middle West. The air of the reckless old-timerange still clung rancidly in the low groggeries, as a deadly gas hangsabout the lower levels of a mine. It was confessedly one of the worstcommunities in the State.
"Let's run the sonovagun!" was the suggestion of several of Gregg'sfriends.
The fact that the ranger was a commissioned officer of the law, and thatthe ram's head had been found on the poacher's pack, made very littledifference to these irresponsible instigators to assault. It was wonderfulhow highly that loafing young rascal, Joe Gregg, was prized at the moment."It's an outrage that the son of a leading citizen should be held up inthis way by one of the forestry Cossacks," declared one of the merchants.
The discussion which took place over the bars of the town was at theriot-heat by nine o'clock, and soon after ten a crowd of howling, whoopingbad boys, and disreputable ranch-hands was parading the walks, breathingout vile threats against the ranger.
Accustomed to men of this type, Cavanagh watched them come and go atHalsey's bar with calculating eyes. "There will be no trouble for an houror two, but meanwhile what is to be done? Higley is not to be found, andthe town marshal is also 'out of town.'" To Halsey he said: "I am acting,as you know, under both Federal and State authority, and I call upon youas a law-abiding citizen to aid me in holding these men prisoners. I shallcamp right here till morning, or until the magistrate or the marshalrelieves me of my culprits."
Halsey was himself a sportsman--a genuine lover of hunting and a fairlyconsistent upholder of the game laws; but perceiving that the whole townhad apparently lined up in opposition to the ranger, he lost courage. Hisconsent was half-hearted, and he edged away toward the front wind
ow of hisbar-room, nervously seeking to be neutral--"to carry water on bothshoulders," as the phrase goes.
The talk grew less jocular as the drinks took effect, and Neill Ballard,separating himself from the crowd, came forward, calling loudly: "Come outo' there, Joe! Youse a hell of a sport! Come out and have a drink!"
His words conveyed less of battle than his tone. He was, in fact, urging arevolt, and Cavanagh knew it.
Gregg rose as if to comply. The ranger stopped him. "Keep your seat," saidhe. And to Ballard he warningly remarked: "And you keep away from myprisoners."
"Do you own this saloon?" retorted the fellow, truculently. "I reckonHalsey's customers have some rights. What are you doing here, anyway? Thisis no jail."
"Halsey has given me the privilege of holding my prisoners here till thejustice is found. It isn't my fault that the town is without judge orjail." He was weakened by the knowledge that Halsey had onlyhalf-consented to aid justice; but his pride was roused, and he wasdetermined upon carrying his arrest to its legitimate end. "I'm going tosee that these men are punished if I have to carry them to Sulphur City,"he added.
"Smash the lights!" shouted some one at the back.
Here was the first real note of war, and Ross cried out sharply: "If a manlifts a hand toward the light I'll cut it off!"
There was a stealthy movement in the crowd, and leaping upon the counter areckless cub reached for the lamp.
Cavanagh's revolver shattered the globe in the fellow's very palm. "Getdown from there!" he commanded.
The crowd surged back against the front door, several drawn weaponsshining in their hands. Some of the faces were a-grin, others were thrustforward like the heads of snakes, their eyes glittering with hate.
It is an appalling moment to a man of discernment when he looks into thefaces of his fellows and hears only the laugh of the wolf, the hiss of thesnake, the snarl of the tiger. At the moment Cavanagh despised with ameasureless contempt the entire commonwealth and its long-establishedschool of violence; but fixing his thought on his far-away chief, he lostall fear. His voice was perfectly calm as he said: "I am wearing theuniform of the Federal service, and the man that interferes with me willfeel the vengeance of the Federal arm. You can get me, but I'll get someof you at the same time, and the department will get the rest."
The mob had not found its leader. It hesitated and blustered but did notstrike, and eventually edged out of the door and disappeared; but thesilence which followed its retreat was more alarming to the ranger thanits presence. Some slyer mischief was in these minds. He feared that theywere about to cut the electric-light wires, and so plunge him intodarkness, and to prepare for that emergency he called upon the bartender(Halsey having vanished) for a lamp or a lantern.
The fellow sullenly set about this task, and Ross, turning to Gregg, said:"If you've any influence with this mob, you'd better use it to keep themout of mischief, for I'm on this job to the bitter end, and somebody'sgoing to be hurt."
Gregg, who seemed quite detached from the action and rather delighted withit, replied: "I have no influence. They don't care a hang about me; theyhave it in for you, that's all."
Edwards remained silent, with his hat drawn low over his eyes. It wasevident that he was anxious to avoid being seen and quite willing to keepout of the conflict; but with no handcuffs and the back door of the saloonunguarded, Ross was aware that his guard must be incessant and alertlyvigilant. "Where are the law-abiding citizens of the town?" he asked ofSifton, who remained in the saloon.
The dry little whisp of manhood had some spark of life in him, for hesaid: "In their beds, the cowardly hounds!"
"They must know that this gang of hobos is threatening me."
"Certainly they do; but they don't intend to endanger their precioushides. They would be well pleased to have you disabled."
It was incredible! Low as his estimate of the Fork had been, Cavanaghcould not believe that it would sit quietly by and see an officer of theState defeated in his duty. "Such a thing could not happen under theEnglish flag," he said, and at the moment his adopted country seemed amiserable makeshift. Only the thought of Redfield and the chief nerved himfor the long vigil. "The chief will understand if it comes up to him," hesaid.
Lize Wetherford came hurrying in, looking as though she had just risenfrom her bed. She was clothed in a long red robe, her grizzled hair wasloose, her feet were bare, and she carried a huge old-fashioned revolverin her hand. Her mouth was stern.
Stopping abruptly as she caught sight of Ross standing in the middle ofthe floor unhurt, she exclaimed: "There you are! Are you all right?"
"As a trivet," he replied.
She let her gun-hand relax. "What was the shooting?"
"A little bluff on my part."
"Anybody hurt?"
"No."
She was much relieved. "I was afraid they'd got you. I came as quick as Icould. I was abed. That fool doctor threw a chill into me, and I've beengoing to roost early according to orders. I didn't hear your gun, but Leedid, and she came to tell me. They're hell-roaring down the street yet.Don't let 'em get behind you. If I was any good I'd stay and help. Where'sMike?" She addressed the tender at the bar.
"I don't know. Gone home, I guess."
"Sneaked, has he?"
"So far as I know the only law-upholding citizen in the place, barringyourself, is Sifton," said Ross, indicating the Englishman, who stood asif cold, pressing his hands together to hide their trembling.
Lize perceived the irony of this. "Two Britishers and two women! Well, byGod, this is a fine old town! What you going to do--hold your men here allnight?"
"I don't see any other way. Halsey turned the place over to me--but--" Helooked about him suspiciously.
"Bring 'em into my place. Lee has had new locks put on our doors; they'llhelp some."
"I don't like to do that, Mrs. Wetherford," he replied, with greaterrespect than he had ever shown her before. "They may attack me there."
"All the better; I'll be on hand to help--but they're less likely to boilin on you through a locked door."
"But your daughter? It will alarm her."
"She'll be in the other house, and, besides, she'd feel easier if you arein my place. She's all wrought up by the attack on you."
Ross turned to his prisoners. "Follow Mrs. Wetherford and--eyes front!"
"You needn't worry about me," said Joe, "I won't run."
"I don't intend to give you a chance," replied Ross.
Edwards seemed to have lost in both courage and physical stature; heslouched along with shuffling step, his head bent and his face pale. Rosswas now profoundly sorry for him, so utterly craven and broken was hislook.
Cavanagh, Forest Ranger: A Romance of the Mountain West Page 8