CHAPTER II
A SHOOTING MATCH
In silence the two men sat smoking. Will Henderson, half sitting, halflying on the stretcher-bed, gazed out through the doorway at thedistant mountain peaks. His hands were clasped behind his head, and asullen, preoccupied look was in his eyes. Jim Thorpe was sitting,frog-fashion, on an upturned soap-box, watching him. His eyes were ashade anxious, but full of good feeling.
Jim was nine years his cousin's senior, and Will was twenty-four. Theywere really almost foster-brothers, for from the younger man'searliest days he had lived with Jim, in the care of the latter'swidowed mother. He was an orphan, both his parents having died beforehe was two years old, and so it was that he had been adopted by Jim'smother, the child's only living relative. For years Jim had lavishedon him an elder brother's affection and care. And when his own motherdied, and he was left to his own resources, it still made nodifference. Will must share in everything. Will's education must becompleted adequately, for that was Jim's nature. His duty andinclination lay straight ahead of him, and he carried both out to theend. Perhaps he did more. Perhaps he overindulged and spoiled theyoungster of whom he was so fond. Anyway, as in many similar cases,Will accepted all as his right, and gave very little in return. He wasselfish, passionate, and his temper was not always a nice one.
In appearance there was a striking resemblance between these two. Notin face, but in figure, in coloring, in general style. A back view ofthem was identical. In face they differed enormously. They were bothextremely handsome, but of utterly different types. Jim wasclassically regular of feature, while Will possessed all theirregularity and brightness of his Hibernian ancestry. Both were dark;dark hair, dark eyes, dark eyebrows. In fact, so alike were they ingeneral appearance that, in their New York days, they had been knownby their intimates as the "twins."
Just now there was something troubling. And that something seemed tobe worrying Will Henderson even more than his cousin. At least, tojudge by outward appearances. He showed it in his expression, whichwas somewhat savage. He showed it in his nervous, impatient movements,in the manner in which he smoked. Jim had seen it at once, andunderstood. And he, too, was troubled.
They had been silent some time, and eventually it was Jim who spoke.
"Come on, lad. Let's have it out," he said, decidedly.
His voice was full and strong, and kindly.
The other stirred, but did not reply.
"This is your busy time, Will," Jim went on. "You didn't come awayfrom those hills yonder to pass the time of day with me. You camebecause something wouldn't let you rest. I know you, boy; I know you.Something's troubling that mind of yours in a way that makes it hardfor you to speak, even now you're here. Shall I try and begin it foryou?"
There was infinite kindness in the man's tone. There was a smile inhis eyes that might well have drawn a responsive smile from even anangry child.
Will removed his pipe, but the responsive smile was not forthcoming.
"I'll open out, Jim," he said coldly.
The other waited. The smoke of their pipes rolled up on thestill, warm air of the room, upsetting the calculations of a fewmischievously busy mosquitoes. The sun shone in through the doorway.The ranch was quiet now. All the "hands" had departed to theirwork, and only the occasional lowing of a solitary milch cow in oneof the corrals, and the trampling feet of the horses waiting to be"broken," and the "yeps" of a few mouching dogs, afforded any signof life outside in the ranch yards.
Jim began to grow restive.
"Well, boy: I've some 'breaking' to do. Maybe you'll come along. Youcan talk as we go."
He half rose, but Will sat up in a moment.
"Not yet, Jim," he said, almost roughly. Then his tone changed in away through which his mercurial disposition spoke. "Look here," hewent on, "whatever happens in the future, I'd like you to understandthat all you've done for me in the past counts for something."
"Then it's real serious, lad?" Jim smiled back at him. But he failedto catch his eye. Then he, too, changed his manner, and there was asudden coolness in it. "You needn't recite," he said. "Anything I'vedone has been a--a pleasure to me. Our ways have lain a bit apart forsome months, but it makes no difference to my feelings, except to makeme regret it. The fortunes of war, eh? And a fair bit of grist isrolling into our separate mills. Honest grist. We're good friends,lad--so let's have it. It's--it's a woman?"
At the mention of the word, "woman," Will seemed to utterly freezeup.
"Yes, it's--a woman," he said frigidly.
"Eve Marsham?"
"Yes."
Jim sighed. He knew there were breakers ahead. Breakers which must befaced, and faced sternly.
"You love her?" There was a dryness in his throat.
"Yes. I--I can't live without her. She is my whole world. She is morethan that. God! How I love her!"
"I love her, too."
Jim's darkly brilliant eyes were on the younger man's face. Theycompelled his gaze, and the two men looked long at each other, vainlytrying to penetrate to that which lay behind. It was Will who turnedaway at last.
"I knew it," he said, and there was no longer any pretense ofcordiality in his tone.
"Well?"
"Well?"
It was a tense moment for both men; and tremendous in its possibilities.There was no shrinking in either now; no yielding. But, as it ever was,Jim took the lead after a few moments' silence.
"And--does she love you?" he asked slowly.
His words were little above a whisper, but so tense was his feelingthat his voice seemed to cut through the still air of the room. Willhesitated before replying. Perhaps he was reckoning up Jim's chancesas compared with his own. Finally, he was reluctantly compelled tomake an admission.
"I don't know--yet."
The other sighed audibly. Then he mechanically began to refill hispipe. He wanted to speak, but there seemed to be nothing adequate tosay. Two men, virile, thrilling with the ripe, red blood of perfectmanhood, friends, and--a woman stood between them.
"It's no good," Jim said, preparing to light his pipe. "The positionis--impossible."
"Yes."
Now both pipes were smoking as under a forced draught.
"I'd give my life for her," the elder muttered, almost unconsciously.
Will caught at his words.
"My life is hers," he cried, almost defiantly.
They were no further on.
"Can you--suggest----?"
Will shook his head. The snow on the distant peaks glistened likediamonds in the gorgeous sunlight, and his attention seemed rivetedupon it.
"What pay are you making, Will?" Jim inquired presently.
"Eighty dollars a month--why?"
"Ten more than me." Jim laughed harshly. "You're the better match.You're younger, too."
"She's got a wad of her own. A thousand dollars," added Will.
His remark was unpleasing, and Jim's eyes grew colder.
"That don't cut any figure. That's hers," he said sharply.
"But--it's useful----"
"To her--maybe."
The flow of their talk dried up again. They could make no headway inclearing up their dilemma. To Jim each passing moment was makingthings harder; with each passing moment their friendship was strainingunder the pressure. Suddenly a thought flashed through his brain. Itwas a light of hope, where, before, all had been darkness.
"I haven't asked her yet," he said. "And you--you haven't?"
"No."
"Say, we're sailing an uncharted sea, and--there's a fog."
It was a reluctant nod Jim received in reply.
"We'll have to ask her," he went on. "She can't marry us both. Maybeshe'll marry neither."
"That's so." Jim failed to observe Will's smile of confidence. "Yes,we'll both ask her. I've got to go through Barnriff on my way to thehills. I'll call and see her. You can ride in this evening."
Jim shook his head.
"Guess that's an elegant plan--for you."
"What d'you mean?"
"Just what I say." Jim's response seemed to have less friendliness init. Then he knocked his pipe out, and rose from his seat. "No, boy,"he said. "We'll just play the game right here. We'll take a chance forwho goes to her first. If she wants neither of us--well, we'll haveplayed the game by each other, anyway. And if she chooses either ofus then the other must take his medicine like a man. Let's--besportsmen."
"What's your game?" There was no yielding in Will's sharp question.
"Just this."
Jim leaned forward, holding his empty pipe to point his words. Therewas a glow of excited interest in his eyes as he propounded his idea.With Will it was different. He sat frigidly listening. If through anygenerosity he lost Eve, he would never forgive himself--he would neverforgive Jim. He must have her for his own. His love for her was a fargreater thing, he told himself, than the colder Jim's could ever be.He could not understand that Jim, in offering his plan, merely wantedto be fair, merely wanted to arrange things so that Eve should notcome between them, that neither should be able to reproach the otherfor any advantage taken. He suspected trickery. Nor had he any rightto such base suspicion. Jim's idea was one to make their way easier.Eve would choose whom she pleased--if either of them. He could not,did not want to alter that. Whatever the result of her choice he wasready to accept it.
He pointed at the revolvers hanging on the wall.
"They shall decide who has first speak with her," he said. "We'llempty six at a mark, and the one who does the best shooting has--firstgo in."
Will shrugged.
"I don't like it."
"It's the best way. We're a fair match. You're reckoned the boss shotin the hills, and I don't guess there's any one on this ranch handierthan I am. We've both played with those two guns a heap. It'll savebad blood between us. What say?"
Will shook his head.
"It's bad. Still----" He looked at the guns. He was thinking swiftly.He knew that he was a wonderful shot with a revolver. He was inconstant practice, too. Jim was a good shot, but then his practice wasvery limited. Yes, the chances were all in his favor.
"Get busy then," he said presently, with apparent reluctance.
He rose and moved toward the guns.
"Whose choice?" he demanded.
Nor did he observe the other's smile as he received his reply.
"It's yours."
While Will chose his weapon with studied care, Jim picked up the soapbox and fumbled through his pockets till he found a piece of chalk.With this he drew a bull's-eye on the bottom of the box, and sketchedtwo rough circles around it. Will had made his choice of weapons bythe time the target was completed.
"Will it do?" Jim inquired, holding up the box for his inspection.
"It's got to," was the churlish reply.
Jim gave him a quick glance as he moved across the room and possessedhimself of the remaining pistol. Then he examined its chambers andsilently led the way out of the hut.
They left the ranch buildings and moved out upon the prairie. A spotwas selected, and the box set down. Then Jim paced off sixty yards.
"Sixty," he said, as he came to a halt.
"Sixty," agreed Will, who had paced beside him.
"It's your choice. Will you--get busy?"
"All right."
Will stepped on to the mark confidently, raising his gun with thesurety of a man who does not know what it means to miss. Yet, beforedropping the hammer, he braced himself with unusual care.
"Plonk!" The bullet struck the box. He had found his mark, and inrapid succession the remaining five chambers of his gun were emptied.Each shot found its mark with deadly accuracy, for Will meant to winthe contest.
Then they set out to inspect the target. Will led now. He was eager toascertain the actual result. An exclamation of joy broke from him ashe snatched up the box. The bull's-eye was about two inches indiameter; one of his shots had passed through it, three had broken itsouter line, while the other two were within a quarter of an inch ofthe little white patch. All six shots could have been covered by athree-inch circle.
"Good," cried Thorpe. And he turned the box round and drew anothertarget on its side.
The new bull's-eye was a shade smaller. It may have been accident. Itmay have been that Jim preferred to make his own task more difficultthan err on the side of his own advantage. Will said nothing, and theywalked back to the firing point.
Jim lifted his gun and fired. His shots rang out like the rattle of amaxim gun, so swiftly did he empty the six chambers. In a few momentsthey were once more on their way to inspect the target.
Five bullets had passed through the bull's-eye, the sixth had brokenits line.
"I shall see Eve to-morrow morning," said Jim quietly. "You can seeher later."
Without a word Will turned away, and moved off toward the ranch. Jimfollowed him. Nor was a word exchanged between them till the hut wasreached, and Will had unhitched his horse from the tying-post.
"Going?" inquired Jim, for something to say.
"Yes."
There was no mistaking the younger man's tone, and his friend lookedaway while he leaped into the saddle.
Jim seemed to have drawn none of the satisfaction which the winning ofthe match should have afforded him, for he flung the box which he hadbeen carrying aside as though it had offended him. He wanted to speak,he wanted to say something pleasant. He wanted to banish that surlylook from Will's eyes; but somehow he could find nothing to say,nothing to do. He looked on while the other lifted his reins to rideoff. Then, in desperation, he came up to the horse's shoulder.
"Shake, Will," he said.
It was the effort of a big heart striving to retain a preciousfriendship which he felt was slipping away from him.
But Will did not see the outstretched hand. He hustled his horse, and,in moving off, his own right foot struck the waiting man violently. Itwas almost as though he had kicked him.
Jim watched him go with regretful eyes. Then, as the man disappearedamong the ranch buildings, he turned and slowly made his way to thebunk house of the horse-breakers.
The One-Way Trail: A story of the cattle country Page 4