XV
WETHERFORD PASSES ON
For the next two days Cavanagh slept but little, for his patient grewsteadily worse. As the flame of his fever mounted, Wetherford pleaded forair. The ranger threw open the doors, admitting freely the cool, sweetmountain wind. "He might as well die of a draught as smother," was histhought; and by the use of cold cloths he tried to allay the itching andthe pain.
"What I am doing may be all wrong," he admitted to Swenson, who came oftento lean upon the hitching-pole and offer aid. "I have had no training as anurse, but I must be doing something. The man is burning up, and hasn'tmuch vitality to spare. I knew a ranger had to be all kinds of things,cowboy, horse-doctor, axe-man, carpenter, surveyor, and all the rest ofit, but I didn't know that he had to be a trained nurse in addition."
"How do you feel yourself?" asked his subordinate, anxiously.
"Just tired; nothing more. I reckon I am going to escape. I should beimmune, but you never can tell. The effect of vaccination wears off aftera few years."
"The women folks over there are terribly worried, and the old lady hasmade me promise to call her in if you show the slightest signs of comingdown."
"Tell her to rest easy. I am keeping mighty close watch over myself, andanother night will tell the story so far as the old man is concerned. Iwish I had a real doctor, but I don't expect any. It is a long hard climbup here for one of those tenderfeet."
He returned to his charge, and Swenson walked slowly away, back to thecamp, oppressed with the sense of his utter helplessness.
Again and again during the day Lee Virginia went to the middle of thebridge, which was the dead-line, and there stood to catch some sign, somewave of the hand from her lover. Strange courtship! and yet hour by hourthe tie which bound these young souls together was strengthened. Shecooked for him in the intervals of her watch and sent small pencillednotes to him, together with the fish and potatoes, but no scrap of papercame back to her--so scrupulous was Cavanagh to spare her from thefaintest shadow of danger.
Swenson brought verbal messages, it was true, but they were by no meanstender, for Cavanagh knew better than to intrust any fragile vessel ofsentiment to this stalwart young woodsman. Now that Lee knew themysterious old man was dying, she longed for his release--for his releasewould mean her lover's release. She did not stop to think that it would belong, very long, before she could touch Cavanagh's hand or even speak withhim face to face. At times under Swenson's plain speaking she grew faintwith the horror of the struggle which was going on in that silent cabin.
This leprous plague, this offspring of crowded and dirty tenements and offoul ship-steerages, seemed doubly unholy here in the clean sanity of thehills. It was a profanation, a hideous curse. "If it should seize uponRoss--" Words failed to express her horror, her hate of it. "Oh God, savehim!" she prayed a hundred times each day.
Twice in the night she rose from her bed to listen, to make sure thatCavanagh was not calling for help. The last time she looked out, a whiteveil of frost lay on the grass, and the faint light of morning was in theeast, and in the exquisite clarity of the air, in the serene hush of thedawn, the pestilence appeared but as the ugly emanation of disorderedsleep. The door of the ranger's cabin stood open, but all was silent. "Heis snatching a half-hour's sleep," she decided.
If the guard had carried in his mind the faintest intention of permittingLize to go to Cavanagh's aid, that intention came to no issue, for withthe coming of the third night Wetherford was unconscious andunrecognizable to any one who had known him in the days of "the freerange." Lithe daredevil in those days, expert with rope and gun, he was asfar from this scarred and swollen body as the soaring eagle is from thecarrion which he sees and scorns.
He was going as the Wild West was going, discredited, ulcerated, poisoned,incapable of rebirth, yet carrying something fine to his grave. He hadacted the part of a brave man, that shall be said of him. He had gone tothe rescue of the poor Basque, instinctively, with the same recklessdisregard of consequences to himself which marked his character when as acow-boss on the range he had set aside the most difficult tasks for hisown rope or gun. His regard for the ranger into whose care he was nowabout to commit his wife and daughter, persisted in spite of hissuffering. In him was his hope, his stay. Once again, in a lucid moment,he reverted to the promise which he had drawn from Cavanagh.
"If I go, you must take care--of my girl--take care of Lize, too. Promiseme that. Do you promise?" he insisted.
"I promise--on honor," Ross repeated, and, with a faint pressure of hishand (so slender and weak), Wetherford sank away into the drowse whichdeepened hour by hour, broken now and then by convulsions, which wrung thestern heart of the ranger till his hands trembled for pity.
All day, while the clouds sailed by, white as snow and dazzlingly pure,while the stream roared with joy of exploration, and the sunshine fell indazzling floods upon the world, the ranger bent above his ward or walkedthe floor of his cabin marvelling that the air and light of this highplace should be so powerless to check the march of that relentless plague.It seemed that to open the doors, to fill the room with radiance, mustsurely kill the mutinous motes which warred upon the tortured body. But inthe midst of nature's sovereign charm the reek of the conflict went up;and he wondered whether even the vigor which his outdoor life had built upcould withstand the strain another day.
Once Lee Virginia approached close enough to hear his voice as he warnedher to go back. "You can do nothing," he called to her. "Please go away."His face was haggard with weariness, and her heart filled with bitterresentment to think that this repulsive warfare, this painful duty, shouldbe thrust upon one so fine.
He himself felt as though his youth were vanishing, and that in these fewdays he had entered upon the sober, care-filled years of middle life. Theone sustaining thought, his one allurement, lay in the near presence ofthe girl to whom he could call, but could not utter one tender word. Shewas there where he could see her watching, waiting at the bridge. "Thesound of the water helps me bear the suspense," she said to Swenson, andthe occasional sight of her lover, the knowledge that he was stillunbroken, kept her from despair.
The day was well advanced when the sound of rattling pebbles on the hillback of his cabin drew his attention, and a few moments later a man on aweary horse rode up to his door and dropped heavily from the saddle. Hewas a small, dark individual, with spectacles, plainly of the city.
"Beware! Smallpox!" called Ross, as his visitor drew near the door.
The new-comer waved his hand contemptuously. "I've had it. Are you RossCavanagh?"
"I am!"
"My name is Hartley. I represent the Denver _Round-up_. I'm interested inthis sheep-herder killing--merely as a reporter," he added, with afleeting smile. "Did you know old man Dunn, of Deer Creek, had committedsuicide?"
Cavanagh started, and his face set. "No!"
"They found him shot through the neck, and dying--this morning. As he wasgasping his last breath, he said, 'The ranger knows,' and when they asked,'What ranger,' he said, 'Cavanagh.' When I heard that I jumped a horse andbeat 'em all over here. Is this true? Did he tell you who the murderersare?"
Cavanagh did not answer at once. He was like a man caught on a swayingbridge, and his first instinct was to catch the swing, to get his balance."Wait a minute! What is it all to you?"
Again that peculiar grin lighted the small man's dark, unwholesome face."It's a fine detective stunt, and besides it means twenty dollars percolumn and mebbe a 'boost.' I can't wait, you can't wait! It's up to us tostrike _now_! If these men knew you have their names they'd hike for Texasor the high seas. Come now! Everybody tells me you're one of theseidealistic highbrow rangers who care more for the future of the West thanmost natural-born Westerners. What's your plan? If you'll yoke up with mewe'll run these devils into the earth and win great fame, and you'll bedoing the whole country a service."
The ranger studied the small figure before him with penetrating gaze.There was deliberative fearlessness in
the stranger's face and eyes, andnotwithstanding his calm, almost languid movement, restless energy couldbe detected in his voice.
"What is your plan?" the ranger asked.
"Get ourselves deputized by the court, and jump these men before theyrealize that there's anything doing. They count the whole country on theirside, but they're mistaken. They've outdone themselves this time, and atremendous reaction has set in. Everybody knows you've held an even handover these warring Picts and Scots, and the court will be glad to deputizeyou to bring them to justice. The old sheriff is paralyzed. Everybodyknows that the assassins are prominent cattle-ranchers, and yet no onedares move. It's up to you fellows, who represent law and order, to actquick."
Cavanagh followed him with complete comprehension, and a desire to carryout the plan seized upon him.
"I'd do it if I could," he said, "but it happens I am nursing a sick man.I am, perhaps, already exposed to the same disease. I can't leave here fora week or more. It would not be right for me to expose others--"
"Don't worry about that. Take a hot bath, fumigate your clothing, shaveyour head. I'll fix you up, and I'll get some one to take your place."Catching sight of Swenson and Lize on the bridge, he asked: "Who are thosepeople? Can't they take your nursing job?"
"No!" answered Cavanagh, bluntly. "It's no use, I can't join you inthis--at least, not now."
"But you'll give me the names which Dunn gave you?"
"No, I can't do that. I shall tell the Supervisor, and he can act as hesees fit--for the present I'm locked up here."
The other man looked the disappointment he felt. "I'm sorry you don't feellike opening up. You know perfectly well that nothing will ever be doneabout this thing unless the press insists upon it. It's up to you and me(me representing 'the conscience of the East'"--here he winked aneye--"and you Federal authority) to do what we can to bring these men totheir punishment. Better reconsider. I'm speaking now as a citizen as wellas a reporter."
There was much truth in what he said, but Cavanagh refused to go furtherin the matter until he had consulted with Redfield.
"Very well," replied Hartley, "that's settled. By-the-way, who is yourpatient?"
Eloquently, concisely, Ross told the story. "Just a poor old mounted hobo,a survival of the cowboy West," he said; "but he had the heart of a heroin him, and I'm doing my best to save him."
"Keep him in the dark, that's the latest theory--or under a red light.White light brings out the ulcers."
"He hates darkness; that's one reason why I've opened the doors andwindows."
"All wrong! According to Finsen, he wouldn't pit in the dark. However, itdoesn't matter on a cowboy. You've a great story yourself. There's a finesituation here which I'll play up if you don't object."
Cavanagh smiled. "Would my objection have any weight?"
The reporter laughed. "Not much; I've got to carry back some sort of game.Well, so long! I must hit the trail over the hill."
Cavanagh made civil answer, and returned to his patient more than halfconvinced that Hartley was right. The "power of the press" might prove tobe a very real force in this pursuit.
As the journalist was about to mount his horse he discovered Lee Virginiaon the other side of the creek. "Hello!" said he, "I wonder what thispretty maiden means?" And, dropping his bridle-rein again, he walked downto the bridge.
Swenson interposed his tall figure. "What do you want?" he asked, bluntly."You don't want to get too close. You've been talking to the ranger."
Hartley studied him coolly. "Are you a ranger, too?"
"No, only a guard."
"Why are you leaving Cavanagh to play it alone in there?"
Lee explained. "He won't let any of us come near him."
"Quite right," retorted Hartley, promptly. "They say smallpox has lost itsterrors, but when you're eight hours' hard trail from a doctor, or ahospital, it's still what I'd call a formidable enemy. However, Cavanagh'simmune, so he says."
"We don't know that," Lee said, and her hands came together in a spasm offear. "Are you a doctor?"
"No, I'm only a newspaper man; but I've had a lot of experience withplagues of all sorts--had the yellow fever in Porto Rico, and the typhoidin South Africa; that's why I'm out here richochetting over the hills. Butwho are you, may I ask? You look like the rose of Sharon."
"My name is Lee Wetherford," she answered, with childish directness, forthere was something compelling in the man's voice and eyes. "And this ismy mother." She indicated Lize, who was approaching.
"_You_ are not out here for your health," he stated, rather thoughtfully."How happens it you're here?"
"I was born here--in the Fork."
His face remained expressionless. "I don't believe it. Can such maidenscome out of Roaring Fork--nit! But I don't mean that. What are you doingup here in this wilderness?"
Lize took a part in the conversation. "Another inspector?" she asked, asshe lumbered up.
"That's me," he replied; "Sherlock Holmes, Vidocque, all rolled intoone."
"My mother," again volunteered Lee.
Hartley's eyes expressed incredulity; but he did not put his feelings intowords, for he perceived in Lize a type with which he was entirelyfamiliar--one to be handled with care. "What are you two women doing here?Are you related to one of these rangers?"
Lize resented this. "You're asking a good many questions, Mr. Man."
"That's my trade," was the unabashed reply, "and I'm not so old but that Ican rise to a romantic situation." Thereupon he dropped all directinterrogation, and with an air of candor told the story of his mission.Lize, entirely sympathetic, invited him to lunch, and he was soon inpossession of their story, even to the tender relationship between LeeVirginia and the plague-besieged forest ranger.
"We're not so mighty disinterested," he said, referring to his paper."_The Round-up_ represents the New West in part, but to us the New Westmeans opportunity to loot water-sites and pile up unearned increment. Ohyes, we're on the side of the fruit and alfalfa grower, because it pays.If the boss of my paper happened to be in the sheep business, as SenatorBlank White is, we would sing a different tune. Or if I were a Congressmanrepresenting a district of cattle-men, I'd be very slow about helping tobuild up any system that would make me pay for my grass. As it is, I'mcommissioned to make it hot for the ranchers that killed those dagoes, andI'm going to do it. If this country had a man like Cavanagh for sheriff,we'd have the murderers in two days. He knows who the butchers are, andI'd like his help; but he's nailed down here, and there's no hope of hisgetting away. A few men like him could civilize this cursed country."
Thereupon he drew from three pairs of lips a statement of the kind of manRoss Cavanagh was, but most significant of all were the few words of thegirl, to whom this man of the pad and pencil was a magician, capable ofexalting her hero and of advancing light and civilization by the meremotion of his hand. She liked him, and grew more and more willing tocommunicate, and he, perceiving in her something unusual, lingered onquestioning. Then he rose. "I must be going," he said to Lee. "You'vegiven me a lovely afternoon."
Lee Virginia was all too ignorant of the ways of reporters to resent hisnote-taking, and she accepted his hand, believing him to be the sincereadmirer of her ranger. "What are you going to do?" she asked.
"I'm going back to Sulphur to spread the report of Cavanagh's quarantine."Again that meaning smile. "I don't want any other newspaper men mixed upin my game. I'm lonesome Ned in stunts like this, and I hope if they _do_come up you'll be judiciously silent. Good-bye."
Soon after the reporter left, Cavanagh called to Swenson: "The old mancan't last through another such a night as last night was, and I wish youwould persuade Mrs. Wetherford and her daughter to return to the valley.They can do nothing here--absolutely _nothing_. Please say that."
Swenson repeated his commands with all the emphasis he could give them,but neither Lize nor Lee would consent to go. "It would be heathenish toleave him alone in this lonesome hole," protested Lize.
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p; "I shall stay till he is free," added Lee. And with uneasy heart shecrossed the bridge and walked on and on toward the cabin till she wasclose enough to detect the lines of care on her lover's haggard face.
"Stop!" he called, sharply. "Keep away. Why don't you obey me? Why don'tyou go back to the valley?"
"Because I will not leave you alone--I can't! Please let me stay!"
"I beg of you go back."
The roar of the stream made it necessary to speak loudly, and he could notput into his voice the tenderness he felt at the moment, but his face wasknotted with pain as he asked: "Don't you see you add to my uneasiness--mypain?"
"We're so anxious about you," she answered. "It seems as though we shouldbe doing something to help you."
He understood, and was grateful for the tenderness which brought her sonear to him, but he was forced to be stern.
"There is nothing you can do--nothing more than you are doing. It helps meto know that you are there, but you must not cross the bridge. Please goback!" There was pleading as well as command in his voice, and with arealization of the passion his voice conveyed, she retraced her steps, herheart beating quickly with the joy which his words conveyed.
At sunset Redfield returned, bringing with him medicines but no nurse."Nobody will come up here," he said. "I reckon Ross is doomed to fight itout alone. The solitude, the long trail, scares the bravest of them away.I tried and tried--no use. Eleanor would have come, of course--demanded tocome; but I would not permit that. She commissioned me to bring you bothdown to the ranch."
Lee Virginia thanked him, but reiterated her wish to stay until allpossible danger to Cavanagh was over.
Redfield crossed the bridge, and laid the medicines down outside thedoor.
"The nurse from Sulphur refused to come when she found that her patientwas in a mountain cabin. I'm sorry, old man; I did the best I could."
"Never mind," replied Cavanagh. "I'm still free from any touch of fever.I'm tired, of course, but good for another night of it. My main anxietyconcerns Lee--get her to go home with you if you can."
"I'll do the best I can," responded Redfield, "but meanwhile you must_not_ think of getting out of the Forest Service. I have some cheeringnews for you. The President has put a good man into the chief's place."
Cavanagh's face lighted up. "That'll help some," he exclaimed; "but who'sthe man?"
Redfield named him. "He was a student under the chief, and the chief sayshe's all right, which satisfies me. Furthermore, he's a real forester, andnot a political jobber or a corporation attorney."
"That's good," repeated Cavanagh; "and yet--" he said, sadly, "it leavesthe chief out just the same."
"No, the chief is not out. He's where he can fight for the idea to betteradvantage than when he was a subordinate under another man. Anyhow, heasks us all to line up for the work and not to mind him. The work, hesays, is bigger than any man. Here's that resignation of yours," he said,taking Cavanagh's letter from his pocket; "I didn't put it on file. Whatshall I do with it?"
"Throw it to me," said Cavanagh, curtly.
Redfield tossed it over the hitching-pole, and Ross took it up, looked atit for a moment in silence, then tore it into bits and threw it on theground.
"What are your orders, Mr. Supervisor?" he asked, with a faint, quizzicalsmile around his eyes.
"There's nothing you can do but take care of this man. But as soon as youare able to ride again, I've got some special work for you. I want you tojoin with young Bingham, the ranger on Rock Creek, and line up the'Triangle' cattle. Murphy is reported to have thrown on the forest nearlya thousand head more than his permit calls for. I want you to see aboutthat. Then complete your maps so that I can turn them in on the first ofNovember, and about the middle of December you are to take charge of thisforest in my stead. Eleanor has decided to take the children abroad for acouple of years, and as I am to be over there part of the time, I don'tfeel justified in holding down the Supervisor's position. I shall resignin your favor. Wait, now!" he called, warningly. "The District Foresterand I framed all this up as we rode down the hill yesterday, and it goes.Oh yes, there's one thing more. Old man Dunn--"
"I know."
"How did you learn it?"
"A reporter came boiling over the ridge about noon to-day, wanting me togive him the names which Dunn had given me. I was strongly tempted to doas he asked me to--you know these newspaper men are sometimes the bestkind of detectives for running down criminals; but on second thought Iconcluded to wait until I had discussed the matter with you. I haven'tmuch faith in the county authorities."
"Ordinarily I would have my doubts myself," replied Redfield, "but thewhole country is roused, and we're going to round up these men this time,sure. The best men and the big papers all over the West are demanding anexercise of the law, and the reward we have offered--" He paused,suddenly. "By-the-way, that reward will come to you if you can bring aboutthe arrest of the criminals."
"The reward should go to Dunn's family," replied the ranger, soberly."Poor chap, he's sacrificed himself for the good of the State."
"That's true. His family is left in bad shape--"
Cavanagh broke off the conversation suddenly. "I must go back to--" he hadalmost said "back to Wetherford." "My patient needs me!" he exclaimed.
"How does he seem?"
"He's surely dying. In my judgment he can't last the night, but so long ashe's conscious it's up to me to be on the spot."
Redfield walked slowly back across the river, thinking on the patientcourage of the ranger.
"It isn't the obvious kind of thing, but it's courage all the same," hesaid to himself.
Meanwhile Lize and Virginia, left alone beside the fire, had drawn closertogether.
The girl's face, so sweet and so pensive, wrought strongly upon the olderwoman's sympathy. Something of her own girlhood came back to her. Beingfreed from the town and all its associations, she became more considerate,more thoughtful. She wished to speak, and yet she found it very hard tobegin. At last she said, with a touch of mockery in her tone: "You likeRoss Cavanagh almost as well as I do myself, don't you?"
The girl flushed a little, but her eyes remained steady. "I would not behere if I did not," she replied.
"Neither would I. Well, now, I have got something to tell you--something Iought to have told you long ago--something that Ross ought to know. Iintended to tell you that first day you came back, but I couldn't somehowget to it, and I kept putting it off and putting it off till--well, then Igot fond of you, and every day made it harder." Here she made her supremeeffort. "Child, I'm an old bluff. I'm not your mother at all."
Lee stared at her in amazement. "What do you mean?" she asked.
"I mean your real mother died when you was a tiny little babe. You see, Iwas your father's second wife; in fact, you weren't a year old when wemarried. Ed made me promise never to let you know. We were to bring you upjust the same as if you was a child to both of us. Nobody knows but Reddy.I told him the day we started up here."
The girl's mind ran swiftly over the past as she listened. The truth ofthe revelation reached her instantly, explaining a hundred strange thingswhich had puzzled her all her life. The absence of deep affection betweenherself and Lize was explained. Their difference in habit, temperament,thought--all became plain. "But my mother!" she said, at last. "Who _was_my mother?"
"I never saw her. You see, Ed came into the country bringing you, a littlemotherless babe. He always said your mother was a fine woman, but I neverso much as saw a picture of her. She was an educated woman, he said--aSouthern woman--and her name was Virginia, but that's about all I can tellyou of her. Now, I am going to let Ross know all of this as soon as I can.It will make a whole lot of difference in what he thinks of you."
She uttered all this much as a man would have done, with steady voice andwith bright eyes, but Lee Virginia could feel beneath her harshinflections the deep emotion which vibrated there, and her heart went outtoward the lonely woman in a new rush of tenderness.
Now that she wasreleased from the necessity of excusing her mother's faults--faults shecould now ignore; now that she could look upon her as a loyal friend, shewas moved to pity and to love, and, rising, she went to her and put herarm about her neck, and said: "This won't make any difference. I am goingto stay with you and help you just the same."
The tears came to the old woman's eyes, and her voice broke as shereplied: "I knew you would say that, Lee Virginia, but all the same Idon't intend to have you do any such thing. You've got to cut loose fromme altogether, because some fine chap is going to come along one of thesedays, and he won't want me even as a _step_-mother-in-law. No, I havedecided that you and me had better live apart. I'll get you a place tolive up in Sulphur, where I can visit you now and again; but I guess I amelected to stay right here in the Fork. They don't like me, and I don'tlike them; but I have kind o' got used to their ways of looking at mesidewise; they don't matter as much as it would up there in the city."
Lee turned back wistfully toward the story of her mother. "Where did mymother meet my father? Do you know that?"
"No, I don't. It was a runaway match, Ed said. I never did know who herfolks were--only I know they thought she was marrying the wrong man."
The girl sighed as her mind took in the significance of her mother'scoming to this wild country, leaving all that she knew and loved behind."Poor little mother. It must have been very hard for her."
"I am afraid she did have a hard time, for Ed admitted to me that hehadn't so much as a saddle when he landed in the State. He hadn't muchwhen I met him first, but everybody liked him. He was one of thehandsomest men that ever jumped a saddle. But he was close-mouthed. Younever could get anything out of him that he didn't want to tell, and I wasnever able to discover what he had been doing in the southern part of theState."
As she pondered on her changed relationship to Lize, Lee's heartlightened. It _would_ make a difference to Ross. It would make adifference to the Redfields. Traitorous as it seemed, it was a greatrelief--a joy--to know that her own mother, her real mother, had been"nice." "She _must_ have been nice or Lize would not have said so," shereasoned, recalling that her stepmother had admitted her feeling ofjealousy.
At last Lize rose. "Well, now, dearie, I reckon we had better turn in. Itis getting chilly and late."
As they were about to part at the door of the tent Virginia took Lize'sface between her hands. "Good-night, mother," she said, and kissed her, toshow her that what she had said would not make any difference.
But Lize was not deceived. This unwonted caress made perfectly plain toher the relief which filled the girl's heart.
* * * * *
Lee Virginia was awakened some hours later by a roaring, crackling sound,and by the flare of a yellow light upon her tent. Peering out, she sawflames shooting up through the roof of the ranger's cabin, while besideit, wrapped in a blanket, calmly contemplating it, stood Cavanagh withfolded arms. A little nearer to the bridge Redfield was sitting upon anupturned box.
With a cry of alarm she aroused her mother, and Lize, heavy-eyed, laggardwith sleep, rose slowly and peered out at the scene with eyes of dullamazement. "Why don't they try to put it out?" she demanded, as she tookin the import of the passive figures.
Dressing with tremulous haste, Lee stepped from the tent just in time tosee Swenson come from behind the burning building and join the others insilent contemplation of the scene. There was something uncanny in the calminaction of the three strong men.
A dense fog hung low, enveloping the whole canon in a moist, heavy,sulphurous veil, through which the tongues of flame shot with a grandioseeffect; but the three foresters, whose shadows expanded, contracted, andwavered grotesquely, remained motionless as carven figures of ebony. Itwas as if they were contemplating an absorbing drama, in whose enactmentthey had only the spectator's curious interest.
Slowly, wonderingly, the girl drew near and called to Cavanagh, who turnedquickly, crying out: "Don't come too close, and don't be frightened. I setthe place on fire myself. The poor old herder died last night, and isdecently buried in the earth, and now we are burning the cabin and everythread it contains to prevent the spread of the plague. Hugh and Swensonhave divided their garments with me, and this blanket which I wear is myonly coat. All that I have is in that cabin now going up in smoke--myguns, pictures, everything."
"How could you do it?" she cried out, understanding what his sacrifice hadbeen.
"I couldn't," he replied. "The Supervisor did it. They had to go. Thecabin was saturated with poison; it had become to me a plague spot, andthere was no other way to stamp it out. I should never have felt safe if Ihad carried out even so much as a letter."
Dumb and shivering with the chill of the morning, Lee Virginia drewnearer, ever nearer. "I am so sorry," she said, and yearned toward him,eager to comfort him, but he warningly motioned her away.
"Please don't come any nearer, for I dare not touch you."
"But you are not ill?" she cried out, with a note of apprehension in hervoice.
He smiled in response to her question. "No, I feel nothing but wearinessand a little depression. I can't help feeling somehow as if I were burningup a part of myself in that fire--the saddle I have ridden for years, myguns, ropes, spurs, everything relating to the forest, are gone, and withthem my youth. I have been something of a careless freebooter myself, Ifear; but that is all over with now." He looked her in the face with a sadand resolute glance. "The Forest Service made a man of me, taught me toregard the future. I never accepted responsibility till I became a ranger,and in thinking it all over I have decided to stay with it, as the boyssay, 'till the spring rains.'"
"I am very glad of that," she said.
"Yes; Dalton thinks I can qualify for the position of Supervisor, andRedfield may offer me the supervision of this forest. If he does, I willaccept it--if you will go with me and share the small home which theSupervisor's pay provides. Will you go?"
In the light of his burning cabin, and in the shadow of the great peaks,Lee Virginia could not fail of a certain largeness and dignity of mood.She neither blushed nor stammered, as she responded: "I will go anywherein the world with you."
He could not touch so much as the hem of her garment, but his eyesembraced her, as he said: "God bless you for the faith you seem to have inme!"
* * * * *
Redfield's voice interrupted with hearty clamor. "And now, Miss Virginia,you go back and rustle some breakfast for us all. Swenson, bring thehorses in and harness my team; I'm going to take these women down thecanon. And, Ross, you'd better saddle up as soon as you feel rested andride across the divide, and go into camp in that little old cabin by thedam above my house. You'll have to be sequestered for a few days, Ireckon, till we see how you're coming out. I'll telephone over to the Forkand have the place made ready for you, and I'll have the doctor go upthere to meet you and put you straight. If you're going to be sick we'llwant you where we can look after you. Isn't that so, Lee Virginia?"
"Indeed it is," replied the girl, earnestly.
"But I'm not going to be sick," retorted Cavanagh. "I refuse to be sick."
"Quite right," replied Redfield; "but all the same we want you where wecan get at you, and where medical aid of the right sort is accessible. I'mgoing to fetch my bed over here and put you into it. You need rest."
Lee still lingered after Redfield left them. "Please do as Mr. Redfieldtells you," she pleaded, "for I shall be very anxious till you get safelydown the mountains. If that poor old man has any relatives they ought tobe told how kind you have been. You could not have been kinder to one ofyour own people."
These words from her had a poignancy of meaning which made his replydifficult. His tone was designedly light as he retorted: "I would be afraud if I stood here listening to your praise without saying--withoutconfessing--how deadly weary I got of the whole business. It was simplythat there was nothing else to do. I had to go on."
He led her thoughts to pleasanter paths. "I am glad you are going with theSupervisor. You _are_ going, are you not?"
"Yes, for a few days, till I'm sure you're safe."
"I shall be tempted to pretend being sick just to keep you near me," hewas saying, when Redfield returned, bringing his sleeping-couch. Unrollingthis under a tree beside the creek, the Supervisor said: "Now, get intothat."
Cavanagh resigned Lee with a smile. "Good-night," he said. "Oh, but it'sgood to remember that I shall see you to-morrow!"
With a happy glance and a low "Good-bye" she turned away.
Laying aside his blanket and his shoes, Cavanagh crept into the snuglittle camp-bed. "Ah," he breathed, with a delicious sense of relief, "Ifeel as if I could sleep a week!" And in an instant his eyes closed inslumber so profound that it was barren even of dreams.
When he awoke it was noon, and Swenson, the guard, was standing over him."I'm sorry, but it's time to be moving," he said; "it's a long ride overthere."
"What time is it?" inquired Cavanagh, with some bewilderment.
"Nearly noon. I've got some coffee ready. Want some?"
"Do I? Just watch me!" And he scrambled out of his bed with vigor, andstretched himself like a cat, exclaiming: "Wow! but it does feel good toknow that I am out of jail!"
Going down to the stream, he splashed his face and neck in the clear coldwater, and the brisk rubbing which followed seemed to clear his thought aswell as sharpen his appetite.
"You seem all right so far," hazarded the guide.
"I am all right, and I'll be all right to-morrow, if that's what youmean," replied Cavanagh. "Well, now, pack up, and we'll pull out."
For a few moments after he mounted his horse Cavanagh looked about theplace as if for the last time--now up at the hill, now down at the meadow,and last of all at the stream. "I hope you'll enjoy this station as muchas I have, Swenson. It's one of the prettiest on the whole forest."
Together they zigzagged up the side of the hill to the north, and thenwith Cavanagh in the lead (followed by his pack-horse), they set up thelong lateral moraine which led by a wide circle through the wooded parktoward the pass. The weather was clear and cold. The wind bit, andCavanagh, scantily clothed as he was, drew his robe close about his neck,saying: "I know now how it feels to be a blanket Indian. I must say Iprefer an overcoat."
A little later the keen eyes of the guard, sweeping the mountain-side,were suddenly arrested. "There's a bunch of cowboys coming over the pass!"he called.
"I see them," responded Cavanagh. "Get out your glasses and tell me whothey are."
Swenson unslung his field-glasses and studied the party attentively."Looks like Van Horne's sorrel in the lead, and that bald-face bay justbehind looks like the one Gregg rides. The other two I don't seem toknow."
"Perhaps it's the sheriff after me for harboring Edwards," suggestedCavanagh.
But Swenson remained sober. He did not see the humor of the remark. "Whatare they doing on the forest, anyhow?" he asked.
Half an hour later the two parties came face to face on a little stretchof prairie in the midst of the wooded valley. There were four in thesheriff's party: Gregg, the deputy, and a big man who was a stranger toCavanagh. Their horses were all tired, and the big civilian lookedsaddle-weary.
"Good evenin', gentlemen!" called the sheriff, in Southern fashion, as hedrew near.
"Good evenin', Mr. Sheriff," Cavanagh civilly answered. "What's themeaning of this invasion of my forest?"
The sheriff, for answer, presented the big stranger. "Mr. Cavanagh, thisis Mr. Simpson, the county attorney."
Cavanagh nodded to the attorney. "I've heard of Mr. Simpson," he said.
Simpson answered the question Ross had asked. "We were on our way to yourstation, Mr. Cavanagh, because we understand that this old man Dunn whoshot himself had visited you before his death, giving you informationconcerning the killing of the Mexican sheep-herders. Is that true?"
"It is."
"When did he visit you?"
"Two days ago, or maybe three. I am a little mixed about it. You see, Ihave been pretty closely confined to my shack for a few days."
Gregg threw in a query. "How _is_ the old man?"
"He's all right; that is to say, he's dead. Died last night."
The sheriff looked at Simpson meaningly. "Well, I reckon that settles hisscore, judge. Even if he was implicated, he's out of it now."
"He couldn't have been implicated," declared the ranger, "for he was withme at the time the murder was committed. I left him high on the mountainin the Basque herder's camp. I can prove an alibi for him. Furthermore, hehad no motive for such work."
"What did Dunn tell you?" demanded the sheriff. "What names did he giveyou?"
"Wait a moment," replied Cavanagh, who felt himself to be on his ownterritory, and not to be hurried. "There's a reward offered for the arrestof these men, is there not?"
"There is," replied the attorney.
"Well, before I make my statement I'd like to request that my share of thereward, if there is any coming to me, shall be paid over to the widow ofthe man who gave me the information. Poor chap, he sacrificed himself forthe good of the State, and his family should be spared all the sufferingpossible."
"Quite right, Mr. Cavanagh. You may consider that request granted. Now forthe facts."
"Before going into that, Mr. Attorney, I'd like to speak to you alone."
"Very well, sir," replied the attorney. Then waving his hand toward theothers, he said: "Boys, just ride off a little piece, will you?"
When they were alone, Cavanagh remarked: "I don't think it wise to givethese names to the wind, for if we do, there will be more fugitives."
"I see your point," Simpson agreed.
Thereupon, rapidly and concisely, the ranger reported what Dunn had said,and the attorney listened thoughtfully without speaking to the end; thenhe added: "That tallies with what we have got from Ballard."
"Was Ballard in it?" asked Cavanagh.
"Yes, we forced a confession from him."
"If he was in it, it was merely for the pay. He represented some oneelse."
"What makes you think that?"
"Because he was crazy to return to the show with which he used to perform,and desperately in need of money. Have you thought that Gregg might havehad a hand in this affair? Dunn said he had, although he was not presentat any of the meetings."
This seemed to surprise the attorney very much. "But he's a sheepman!" heexclaimed.
"I know he is; but he's also a silent partner in the Triangle cattleoutfit, and is making us a lot of trouble. And, besides, he had it in forthese dagoes, as he calls them, because they were sheeping territory whichhe wanted himself."
"I don't think he's any too good for it," responded Simpson, "but I doubtif he had any hand in the killing; he's too cunning and too cowardly. ButI'll keep in mind what you have said, and if he is involved in any degree,he'll have to go down the road with the others--his money can't savehim."
As they came back to the party Cavanagh thought he detected in Gregg'seyes a shifting light that was not there before, but he made no furtherattempt to impress his opinion upon the attorney or the sheriff. He onlysaid: "Well, now, gentlemen, I must go on over the divide. I have anappointment with the doctor over there; also with a bed and a warmer suitof clothes than I have on. If I can be of any service to you when I am outof quarantine, I hope you will call upon me."
"It is possible that we may need you in order to locate some of the menwhose names you have given me."
"Very good," replied Cavanagh. "If they come upon the forest anywhere, theSupervisor and I will find them for you."
So they parted, and Cava
nagh and his guard resumed their slow journeyacross the range.
Cavanagh, Forest Ranger: A Romance of the Mountain West Page 16