CHAPTER XVI
DEVIL DRIVEN
The saloon was full and Rocket was busy. His face glowed with funerealhappiness. He was sombrely delighted at the rapidity with which thetide of dollars was flowing across his dingy counter. He was more thanordinarily interested, too, which was somewhat remarkable.
The fact was Barnriff's scandal had received a fillip in a fresh andunprecedented direction. McLagan had been in, bringing two of hiscow-punchers with him. The hot-headed Irishman had crashed into themidst of Barnriff with such a splash that it set the store of publiccomment hissing and spluttering, and raised a perfect roar ofastonishment and outraged rectitude.
He had arrived late, after the usual evening game had started. Hisfirst inquiry was for Jim Thorpe, and he cursed liberally when toldthat nobody had seen him. Then he fired his angry story at theassembled company of villagers, and passed on to make camp at a rivalranch five miles to the northwest.
It was a rapidly told story full of lurid trimmings, and, judging byits force, came from his heart.
"It's duffing, boys," he cried, with an oath, and a thump on the barwhich set the glasses, filled at his expense, rattling. "Dogonecattle-duffing! Can you beat it? The first in five year, since CurlySanders got gay, and then spent a vacation treadin' air. We got firstwind of it nigh a week back, Jim an' me. We missed a bunch o' backwardcalves. We let 'em run this spring round-up, guessin' we'd round 'emup come the fall. Well, say, Jim went to git a look at 'em--they wasway back there by the foot-hills, in a low hollow--an' not a blametrace or track of 'em could he locate. We just guessed they was'stray,' and started in to round 'em up. Well, the boys has been busynigh on a week, an' here, this sundown, Nat Pauley an' Jim Beason comeriding in, till their bronchos was nigh foundered, sayin' a bunch oftwenty cows on the Bandy Creek station has gone too. D'you git that?Those blamed calves was on the Bandy Creek range, too. It's darnationcattle-thievin', an' I'm hot on the trail."
And Barnriff was stirred. It was more. It was up in arms. There was nostronger appeal to its sympathies than the cry of "cattle-thief!" As avillage it lived on the support of the surrounding ranches, and theirills became the scourge of this hornet's nest of sharp traders.McLagan had raised the cry here knowing full well the hatred he wouldstir, and the support that would be accorded him should he need it.
He had come and gone a veritable firebrand, and the hot trail he hadleft behind him was smouldering in a manner unhealthy for thecattle-thieves.
When Peter Blunt entered the saloon it was to receive McLagan's talefrom all sides. And while he listened to the story, now garbled out ofall semblance of its original form by the whiskey-stimulatedimaginations, he found himself wondering how it came that Jim Thorpehad given him no word of it. And he said so.
"Say, boys," he observed, when he got a chance to speak, "I only leftJim Thorpe a while back. He rode in to see me. He didn't give me wordof this."
It was Abe Horsley who explained.
"McLagan came in looking for him. Jim's only got the week old stuff.The news hit the ranch at sundown to-day."
Peter nodded.
"I see."
"You'll see more, Peter," broke in Smallbones viciously. "You'll see avigilance committee right here, if this gambol don't quit. Barnriffdon't stand for cattle-duffin' worth a cent."
"Upsets trade," lumbered Jake Wilkes, with the tail of his eye on thebusy Smallbones.
Gay laughed ponderously.
"Smallbones'll show us how to form a corporation o' vigilantes. Thoughit ain't a finance job."
"Ay, that I will. I'm live anyways. I've had to do with 'em before."
"You didn't get hanged," protested Jake, after heavy thought. "Guessyou ain't got no kick coming."
Smallbones purpled to the roots of his bristly hair. Jake irritatedhim to a degree, and the roar of laughter which greeted theslow-witted baker's sally set him completely on edge.
"Guess I was on the other end of the rope," he retorted, trying toturn the laugh, but the baker, with grave deliberation, added to hisscore.
"Which was a real mean trick o' fortune on us folks o' Barnriff," hemurmured.
In the midst of the laughter Peter moved away to the tables. He lookedon here and there watching the varying fortunes with all the interestof his intensely human mind. The weaknesses of human nature appealedto his kindly sympathy as they can only to those of large heart. Hebegrudged no man moments when the cares of everyday life might bepushed into the background, however they might be obtained.
He argued that the judgment of Nature needed no human condemnationadded to it. Human penalty must be reserved for the administration ofsocial laws. To his mind the broad road of evil would automaticallyclaim its own without the augmentation of the loads of human freightborne thither on the dump-carts of the self-righteous. Rather it washis delight to hold out a hand to a poor soul in distress, even if hisown ground were none too secure.
At one table he saw the winnings almost entirely in one corner, andthe expressive yet grim faces of the other players only too plainlyshowed their feelings. He noticed the greedy manner in which thelosers clutched up their cards at each fresh deal. Their hope wasinvincible, and he loved them for it. It may have been the hope suchas a drowning man is credited with. It may have been the sportsman'sinstinct seeking a fresh turn in fortune's wheel. It may have beeninspired by the malicious hope of the winner's downfall. But he feltit was healthy, in spite of the ethical pronouncements of those whorepose on the pedestal of their own virtues. It was, to his mind, thespirit of the fighter in the game of life, a spirit, which, eventhough misdirected, must never be unreservedly deplored. To his mindit were better to fight a battle, however wrong be the promptinginstinct, than to run for the shelter of supine ineptitude.
He moved slowly round the room till he came to the table where WillHenderson was playing. He had reached his goal, and his self-imposedtask had begun. His eyes quickly scanned the table and the faces ofthe five players. The other four were men he knew, not actually of thevillage, but hard-faced, lean ranchmen, men who came from heaven aloneknew where, and whose earthly career was scarcely likely to bringabout the final completion of the circle.
For the moment they mattered little. It was Will he was concernedwith; nor was it with his fortunes in the game. The hand had justfinished, and he saw one of the men rake in a small pot of "ante's"without a challenge. While the fresh dealer was shuffling the cards hecaught Will's eye. He read there the anxiety of a gambler whose luckis out. He glanced at his attenuated pile of chips, and took hisopportunity.
"Feel like missing the deal, Will?" he asked casually.
But the set of the face lifted to him warned him of the negative whichswiftly followed.
"Guess I'm not yearning."
Peter followed it up while the cards were being cut.
"I've got to speak to you _particular_."
A look of doubt suddenly leaped into Will's eyes, and he hesitated.
"What d'you want?"
Peter eyed the tumbler of whiskey at the man's elbow. He noted theheavy eyes in the good-looking young face. But the cards were dealt,and he waited for the finish of the hand. He saw Will bet, and lose ona "full-house." His pile was reduced to four fifty-cent chips and theman's language was full of venom at his opponent's luck. The momenthe ceased speaking Peter began again.
"Your wife's hurt bad," he said. "Doc Crombie's only just left her."
Will started. He had forgotten. A sudden fear held him silent, whilehe waited for more. But no more was forthcoming. Only the blue eyes ofhis informant searched his face, and, to the guilty man, they seemedto be reading to the very depths of his soul. Something urged him, andhe suddenly stood up.
"You best deal four hands," he said hastily to his companions. "I'llbe back directly."
Then he moved away from the table unsteadily, and Peter made a guessat the quantity of bad whiskey he had consumed. He led the way fromthe tables, and, once clear of them, glanced over his shoulder.
"We best g
et outside," he said.
But Will was already regretting his game. The feeling of guilt waspassing. It had only been roused by the suddenness of Peter'sannouncement. A look of resentment accompanied his reply.
"I ain't going to miss more than a couple of hands," he protested.
"Then we best hurry."
Peter led the way through the crowd, and the two passed out. With theglare and reek of the bar behind them he dropped abreast of Will, andwalked him steadily in the direction of his own hut. At firstHenderson failed to notice the intention; he was waiting for Peter tospeak. He was waiting for the "particular" he had spoken of. Then, asit did not seem to be forthcoming, he promptly rebelled.
"You can tell me right here," he said, with distinct truculence, andcoming to a dead standstill.
Peter reached out, and his powerful hand closed about the other'supper arm.
"What I've got to tell you can be told in my shack. You best comeright on."
"Take your darned hand off me!" cried Will, angrily. "You'll tell mehere, or I get back to my game." He tried to twist himself free. ButPeter's hand tightened its hold.
"You're quitting that saloon for to-night, Will," he said quietly.
The other laughed, but he had a curiously uncomfortable feeling underhis anger. Suddenly he put more exertion into his efforts to releasehimself, and his fury rose in proportion.
"Darn your soul, let me go!" he cried.
But Peter suddenly seized his wrist with his other hand, and it closedon it like a vice.
"Don't drive me to force," he warned. "That saloon is closed to youto-night. Do you understand? I've got to say things that'll likelychange your way of thinking. Don't be a fool; come on up to myshack."
There was something so full of calm strength, so full of conviction inPeter's tone that it was not without its effect. That guilty thoughtrose again in Will's mind, and it weakened his power of resistance.His rage was no less, but now there was something else with it, anundermining fear, and in a moment he ceased to struggle.
"All right," he said, and moved forward at the other's side.
Peter released his wrist, but kept his hold on his arm.
And they walked in silence to the "shack." Will had long known thegold prospector, and had become so accustomed to the mildness of hismanner, as had all the village, that this sudden display of physicaland moral force brought with it an awakening that had an unpleasantflavor. Then, too, his own thoughts were none too easy, and thepicture of Eve as he had last seen her would obtrude itself, andcreated, if no gentler feeling, at least a guilty nervousness thatsickened his stomach.
Peter said that Doc Crombie had only just left her. What did thatmean? Only just left her, and--it had occurred nearly two hours ago.He was troubled. But his trouble was in no way touched with eitherremorse or pity. He was thinking purely of himself.
Of course she had recovered, he told himself. He had watched herbreathing before he left her. Yes, he had ascertained that. She hadbeen merely stunned. Ah, a sudden thought! Perhaps she had told themwhat had happened. A black rage against her suddenly took hold of him.If she had--but no. Even though he was--as he was, he realized, as badnatures often will realize in others better than themselves, Eve'sloyalty and high-mindedness. It could not be that. He wondered. Andwondering they reached their destination.
Peter let him pass into the hut, and, following quickly, lit the lamp.Then he pointed at the only comfortable seat, and propped himselfagainst the table, with the light shining full on Will's face.
"Will," he began, without any preamble, "you've got to take afall--quick. You've got to get such a big fall that maybe it'll hurtsome--at first. But you'll get better--later."
"I don't get you."
The man assumed indifference. He felt that he must steady himself. Hewanted to get the measure of the other before giving vent to thosefeelings which were natural to him since drink had undermined all thatwas best in him.
"You've nearly killed your wife to-night," Peter went on, with a newnote of harshness in his voice. "Look you, I'm not going to preach.It's not our way here, and none of us are such a heap good thatpreaching comes right from us. I'm warning you, and it's a warningyou'll take right here, or worse'll come. Now I don't know the rightsof what has happened between you and Eve, but I'll sort of reconstructit to you in my own way, and it matters nothing if I am right orwrong. Eve and you had words. What about I can only guess at. Maybe itwas money, maybe the saloon, maybe poker. You two must have got towords, which ended by you brutally pitching her on to the edge of thecoal box, and nearly killing her. After that you went out, leaving herto die--by your act--if it took her that way. Mark you, she didn'tfall. She couldn't have--and smashed her forehead as she did. She toldus she did, but that, I guess, was to shield you."
"Then she didn't give you this pretty yarn?" inquired Will,sarcastically. He was feeling better. He gathered that Eve was notgoing to die. "You kind of made it up on your own?"
"Just so," replied Peter, quite unmoved. "I--we--Doc Crombie, JimThorpe, and I. We made it up, as you choose to call it, because we'veeyes and ears and common sense. And Doc Crombie knows just about howmuch force it would take to smash her head as it was smashed."
"And what were you fellows doing in my house?" Will demanded, hisanger gaining ground in proportion to the abatement of his fears.
"We were in _Eve's_ house," answered Peter, drily, "for the reasonthat we wished to have a chat with her. That is, Jim and I. DocCrombie came because we'd a notion we were sorry for Eve, and didn'twant her to die on our hands. That's why we were there."
Will laughed.
"Jim Thorpe was there, eh? And who's to say that you and he didn't dothe mischief? Guess Jim hates things enough, seeing I married Eve.She'd got no broken head when I left her."
"You needn't to lie about it, Will," Peter said calmly. "Least of allto me. But that makes no odds. As I said, you've got to take a fall.Barnriff's got ears and eyes that puts it wise to a lot. It's wise tohow things have been going with you and Eve. It's wise to the factyou're bumming your living out of her, that you're a drunken,poker-playing loafer, and that you're doing it on her earnings. AndBarnriff, headed by a few of us, and Doc Crombie, aren't going tostand for it. If you don't get busy you'll find there's trouble foryou, and if, from this out, Barnriff gets wise to your ill-treatmentof Eve, in any way--God help you. You'll get less mercy shown you thanyou showed that poor girl to-night. That's what I brought you here tosay. And I'd like to add a piece of friendly advice. Don't you showyour face in Rocket's saloon to get a drink or deal a hand at pokerfor a month or--well, I needn't warn you further of what's going tohappen. If you've got savvee you'll read through the lines. Maybeyou'll take this hard--I can see it in your face. But you're a man,and you've got some grit--well, get right out and do things. That'syour chance here in Barnriff."
Will Henderson's face was a study while he listened to his arraignmentand final sentence by the mild Peter Blunt. At first rage was hisdominant emotion, but it gave way before the mild but resolute fashionin which the large man poured out the inexorable flow of the sentence.And somehow for a moment those calm words got hold of all that wasvital in him, and he shrank before them. But neither did this feelinglast. A bitter hatred rose up in his heart, a black, overmastering,passionate desire for vengeance fired him, and proportionate with itsstrength a cunning stirred which held it in check. He put an abruptquestion, nor could he keep his angry feelings out of his voice.
"So Jim Thorpe's helped in this?" he said savagely. "No need to askhis reason. Gee, it's a mean man that can't take his med'cine."
"You needn't bark up that tree, Will," said Peter, patiently. "We'reall responsible for this--the whole of Barnriff." Then he smiled. "Yousee, Doc Crombie has approved."
Then it was that Henderson saw fit to change his manner. It seemedalmost as if the enormity of his offense had been suddenly broughthome to him, and contrition had begun to stir.
"Seems to me, Peter, as if the ways of things
were queer," he said,after a long pause. "I've got something that'll keep me out ofBarnriff a good deal in future. I've had it a week an' more back. I'vestruck a good thing up in the hills." He laughed. "A real goodthing--and it's easy, too."
"I'm glad," the other said genuinely.
"It's gold. Something in your line, eh? Placer. Gee, I'll make thingshum when I've taken the stuff out of it. S'truth, I'll buy some of'em! And sell 'em, too, for that matter."
Peter was interested.
"Gold, eh? Well, good luck to you. I'm glad--if it's to make a man ofyou."
For a second Will's eyes flashed.
"Yes, you're right; it'll make a man of me. And, being a man, thereare some things I'm not likely to forget. Say, you've passedsentence--you and your friends, which include Jim Thorpe. You won'thave to carry it out. I'll knuckle down, because I know you all. But,by gee! I've struck what you're looking for, and when I've gatheredthe dust I'll make some folks jump to my own tune! Get that, PeterBlunt."
Peter smiled at the sudden outburst of malicious rage. Then his facegrew cold, and his even tone checked the tide of the other's impotentrage.
"I get it," he said. "But meanwhile Barnriff is top dog, an' you bestwrite that down in big letters, and set it where you can read iteasily. Now you can go home and look after your poor wife. Andremember, as sure as there's a God in heaven, if you make that girl'slife a misery, or in any way hurt her, you'll sicken at the thought ofBarnriff. Now you can go."
Peter's quiet manner carried unpleasant conviction to the departingman. The conviction was so strong that he obeyed him to the letter. Hewalked without hesitation, without any desire to do otherwise, in thedirection of his home. But this was an almost mechanical result. Hismind was occupied in a way that would have astonished the men ofBarnriff.
His fury had gone. His brain was filled with cold, hard thoughts, themore cruel for their lack of heat. His thoughts were of that which hehad struck in the hills, and of a revenge which he felt he could playoff on these people who demanded that he should guide his life as theydictated. He saw subtle possibilities which gave him enjoyment. Hewould work, and work hard. And then the manner of the revenge he wouldtake! He laughed.
Then his laugh died out, for Jim Thorpe wholly occupied his thoughts,and there was no room for laughter where Jim was concerned. Heremembered Jim was making money--and how. Suddenly he paused in hiswalk, and a delighted exclamation broke from him.
"Gee! The very thing I've been looking for. He's got that land fromMcLagan. He's going to run a ranch. He's going to play big dog. Gee!That's the game! Say, master Jim," he went on, apostrophizing theabsent man he had so easily learned to hate, "I'll make you a sick manbefore the snow falls. Gee! You'd butt in in my affairs. You'restanding Eve's friend." He laughed. "Go ahead, boy. I'll play up toyou. Eve shall tell you I'm a reformed man, and you'll feel better.And then----"
And by the time he reached his home there was apparently a completetransformation in him. The old moody selfishness and brutality towardhis wife seemed to have fallen from him like a hideous cloak. Heplayed the game he intended with such an appearance of good faith thatthe sick woman suddenly experienced the first relief and comfort shehad known for months.
He waited on her, repentant and solicitous, till she could hardlybelieve her senses, and she even forgot to ask the result of hisgamble. And the next morning, when necessity forced her to ask him formoney, she was content that he returned to her something under tendollars of that which he had stolen from her.
Later in the day he left for the hills, and from that moment an entirechange came over Eve's whole life.
The One-Way Trail: A story of the cattle country Page 18