The One-Way Trail: A story of the cattle country

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER XXIII

  TERROR

  Eve was alone. Never in all her life had she been so absolutely aloneas now. She rocked herself to and fro beside her kitchen stove, herthoughts and fears rioting through body and mind, until she satshivering with terror in the warmth of her own fireside.

  It was nearly nine o'clock in the evening and the vigilantes were dueback in the village before midnight. What would be their news?What----? She paused, listening fearfully. But the sound she heard wasonly a creaking of the frame of her little home.

  The suspense was nerve racking. Would it never end? Yes, she felt itwould end--certainly, inevitably. And the conviction produced a freshshudder in her slight body. Three hours ago she had seen Jim Thorpeand his jaded horse return to the village. She had longed to seek himout--he had gone to Peter Blunt's hut for the night--and question him.But she had refrained. Whatever Jim's actual attitude toward her, shemust think of him in her calculations as the bitterest enemy. In hertense nervousness she laughed hysterically. Jim, her enemy? Howridiculous it seemed. And a year ago he had been her lover.

  For a moment her terror eased. Thoughts of a year ago were far removedfrom the horror of her present. Jim could be nobody's enemy unless itwere his own. Her enemy? Never. He was too kind, too honest, too mucha man. And yet--the haunting of the moment broke out afresh--he mustbe. In self-defense he must be her enemy. He could not clear his ownname otherwise.

  She pondered. Her eyes grew less wild, less frightened, and a softglow welled up in her heart as she thought of the man whom shedeclared must be her enemy. Just for a moment she thought howdifferent things might have been had only her choice fallen otherwise.Then she stifled her regrets, and, in an instant, was caught again inthe toils of the horror that lay before her.

  She tried to think out what she must do when the vigilantes returned.What would be her best course? She wanted advice so badly. She wantedto talk it over with somebody, somebody who had clear judgment,somebody who could think with a man's cool courage. Yes, she wanted aman's advice. And there was no man to whom she could appeal. Jim?--no,she decided that she could not go to him. She felt that, for safety,she had seen too much of him already. Peter? Ah, yes! But the thoughtof him only recalled to her mind another trouble with which she wasbeset. It was one, which, amidst the horror of the matter of thecattle stealing, had, for the moment, been banished from her mind.

  She remembered the note she had received from him that morning, andgroped for it in the bosom of her dress. It had reached her by aspecial messenger, and its tone, for Peter, was urgent and serious.She found it at last, and straightened out its creases. She wasthankful for the occupation, and lingered over it before she read itover again.

  "DEAR EVE,

  "Has Elia returned home? He left camp two mornings ago, before sun up. I've been hunting him ever since, but can't locate him. I've a shrewd idea that he's on the trail of your Will, but can't be sure. Anyway, I'm worried to death about him, and, as a last resource, thought he might have gone back to you. Send word by the bearer.

  "Yours, "PETER BLUNT."

  Elia gone. The thought filled her with dismay. Elia was the one personin the world she still clung to. And now he had gone--been spiritedaway.

  She thought of the poor stricken lad with his crooked body. She lovedhim as she might have loved a child of her own. Yes, he was much moreto her than her brother. Had not she cared and struggled for him allthese years? He had become part of her very life.

  And Peter, in whose care she had left him, had failed her. Who onearth could she trust, if not Peter? She blamed him, blamed himbitterly; but, in her heart, she knew she had no right to. Peter wouldnot willingly hurt her, and she knew well enough that if Elia had goneit was through no carelessness of this gentle, kindly man.

  She put the note away, and sat staring into the fire. The change ofthought had eased the pitch of her nerves for a moment. If she couldonly blot that other out altogether--but even as the wish wasformulated in her brain, the horror and dread were on her againcrushing her.

  She sprang to her feet and paced the room with rapid, uneven strides.She could not rest. The dread of the return of the vigilantes obsessedher. She found herself vaguely wondering if they were all out. Was DocCrombie out? No, she knew he wasn't. That was something. That was theman she most dreaded. To her heated imagination he seemed inevitable.He could not fail in his self-imposed mission. He would hunt his mandown. He would never pause until the wretched victim was swinging atthe rope end.

  She shuddered. This sort of thing had never before impressed itshorror upon her as it did now. How should it? It had always seemed sofar away, so remote from her life. And now--oh, God, to think that itsshadow was so near her!

  Then for a second her struggling brain eased with an undefined hope.She was thinking of how they had tried to track Will before, and howthey had failed. She tried to tell herself that then their incentivehad been even greater. Had it not been the greed of gold? And she wellknew its power with these men. Yes, it suggested hope. But that onepassing gleam vanished all too swiftly. She felt in her inmost heartthat no such luck would serve him now. These men were bloodhounds on atrail of blood. They were demanding a life, nor would they lift theirnoses from the scent until their work was accomplished.

  It was not the man. It was not the thought of his life that drove herfrantic now. It was the horror of such an end to her wretchedmarriage. The wife of a cattle-thief! The widow of a man lynched byhis fellow citizens! She buried her face in her hands, and hard, drysobs racked her body.

  For a moment she stood thus. Then she suddenly lifted her head, hereyes staring, her whole attitude alert, intent. There was a soundoutside. She heard the clank of the latch. And now an awkwardshuffling gait just outside her door. She moved toward the parlor andstood listening in the doorway.

  Suddenly a light broke in upon her. That awkward footstep! She knewit! Her relief was heartbreaking. It was Elia. With a rush she was atthe door, and the next moment she dragged the boy in, and was crooningover him like some mother over a long-lost child.

  But the boy pushed her away roughly. His calm face and gentle eyes nowshone with excitement, one of those excitements she so dreaded inhim.

  "Quit, sis," he cried sharply. "I ain't no use fer sech slobberin'. Iain't a kid. Say----"

  He broke off, eyeing her with his head bent sideways in theextraordinary attitude which a cruel nature had inflicted upon him.

  "Yes."

  Eve's eyes were full of a yearning tenderness. His rebuff meantnothing to her devotion. She believed it to be only his way. Part ofthe cruel disease for which he must be pitied and not blamed.

  But his broken sentence remained uncompleted. His eyes were fixed uponher face bland yet sparkling with the thought behind them.

  "Peter sent word to me to-day that you--you were lost," Eve said.

  The boy laughed without relaxing a muscle.

  "Did he? He's a fule someways."

  He passed into the kitchen and took Eve's rocking-chair. She followedhim, and stood leaning against the table.

  "Then you--you didn't get lost?"

  "Say, you folks make me sick. Why 'ud I get lost more'n other fellers?You guess I'm a kid--but I ain't. Lost! Gee! Say, sis, Peter orterknow'd wher' I was. I told him I was goin'. An' I went. Sure I went."He rubbed his delicate hands together in his glee. His eyes sparkledagain with rising excitement. But Eve forgot her fears for him now;she was interested. She was lifted out of her own despair by hisevident joy, and waited for him to tell his story.

  But Elia had his own way of doing things, and that way was rarely apleasant one. Nor was it now, as Eve was quickly to learn.

  "Yes, sure, Peter's a fule, someways--but I like him. He's real good.Say, sis, he's goin' to give me all the gold he finds. He said so.Yep. An' he'll do it. Guess he's good. That's sure why I didn't dowhat he told me not to."

&n
bsp; He sat blinking up at his sister with impish amusement. Suddenlysomething in his expression stirred his sister to alarm. Nor could shehave said how it came to her, or what the nature of the alarm. It wasthere undefined, but none the less certain.

  "What did he tell you not to do?" she asked anxiously.

  "Give him away. Say, here, I'll tell you. It's a dandy yarn. Y'see Iain't just as other folks are, sis; there's things I ken do, an'things I ken understand wot other folks can't. Say, I ken traillike--like a wolf. Well, I guess one day I told Peter I could trail. Itold him I could trail your Will, an' find out wher' he got hisgold."

  "And did you?"

  The girl's demand was almost a shriek. The boy nodded his bent headwisely, and his eyes lit with malice.

  "And you didn't give him away? You wouldn't--you wouldn't? He's myhusband."

  The pleading in his sister's voice was pitiful to hear.

  "That's sure what Peter made me promise--or I wouldn't get his gold."

  Eve breathed more freely. But her relief was short-lived.

  The boy began to laugh. It was a soft chuckle that found no expressionin his face. The sound of it sent a shudder through the harassedwoman.

  "No. I didn't give him away," he said suddenly. "Sis, I trailed an'trailed, an' I found him. Gee, I found him. He was diggin' hisgold, but it was in the hides of cattle, an' with a red-hotbrandin' iron. Gee! I watched him, but he didn't see me. Oh, no, Itook care of that. If he'd seen me he'd sure have killed me. Say,sis, your Will's a cattle-thief. You've heerd tell of 'em, ain'tyou? Do you know what they do to cattle-thieves? I'll tell you.They hang 'em. They hang 'em slow. They haul 'em up, an' theirnecks stretch, an'--an' then they die. Then the coyotes come roundan' jump up an' try to eat 'em. An' they hang there till they stink.That's how they treat cattle-rustlers. An' Will's a cattle-rustler."

  "For God's sake, be quiet!"

  The woman's face was terrible in its horror, but it only seemed togive the boy pleasure, for he went on at once.

  "Ther' ain't no use in squealin'. I didn't give him away. I'd like to,because I'd like to see Will with his neck pulled sure. But I wantPeter's gold, an' I wouldn't get it if I give him away."

  "Did you come straight back here?" Eve questioned him sharply, a fainthope stirring her.

  "Yep, sis, straight here." He laughed silently while he watched herwith feline glee. "An' jest as fast as I could get, too. You see, Iguessed I might miss Doc Crombie."

  "Doc Crombie?" The girl's eyes dilated. She stood like one petrified.

  "Sure. You see I couldn't give Will away because of Peter. But I toldhim wher' the stolen cattle wer'. An' that I'd seen the rustlers atwork, an' if he got busy he'd get 'em right off, an'----"

  But he got no further; Eve had him by the shoulders in a clutch thatchilled his heart to a maddening fear. His eyes stared, and he gaspedas though about to faint.

  "You told him that--you--you? You never did! You couldn't! Youwouldn't dare! Oh, God, and to think! Elia, Elia! Say you didn't.You'll never--you'll never get Peter's gold!"

  The woman was beside herself. She had no idea of what she wassaying. All she knew was that Doc Crombie had been told of Will'shiding-place, and, for all she knew, might be on his way there now.Discovery was certain; and discovery meant----

  But suddenly she realized the boy's condition. He was on the verge ofcollapse from sheer dread of physical hurt. His face was ashen, andhis eyes were almost starting from their sockets. In an agony ofremorse and fear she released him and knelt before him.

  "I'm sorry, Elia. I didn't mean to hurt you. But--but you haven't toldDoc?" she cried piteously. "Say you haven't, dear. Oh, God!"

  She abruptly buried her face in her hands as though to shut out thehorrid sight of this thing her brother had done.

  Elia recovered quickly, but his vicious glee had dropped to a sulkysavagery.

  "You're a fule, sis," he said, in a sullen tone. "I sure did it foryou--an' 'cos I hate him. But say," he cried, becoming suddenlysuspicious. "I didn't tell Doc who it was. I kep' my promise to Peter.I sure didn't give him away. So why for do you raise sech a racket?An' anyway if he hangs you won't be married to him no more. You----"

  He broke off, listening. The sound of a horse galloping could beplainly heard. The noise abruptly ceased, and the boy looked up withthe light of understanding in his eyes.

  "One o' the boys, sis. One o' Doc's boys. Mebbe----"

  But he was interrupted by the opening of the outer door, and PeterBlunt strode in.

  The expression of the man's face was sufficient explanation of hisunceremonious visit. He made no pretense at apology. He glancedswiftly round the little parlor, and finally espied Eve and herbrother through the open kitchen door. He hurried across and stoodbefore them, his eyes on the boy he had spent two days searching for.

  "Thank God I've found you, laddie----" he began.

  But Eve cut him short.

  "Oh, Peter, Peter, thank God you've come!" she cried.

  Immediately the man's eyes were transferred to her face.

  "What is it?" he demanded sharply. And some of the girl's terrorsuddenly clutched at his heart.

  "He's found him. Will, I mean. Will's the cattle-thief. He found himin the midst of re-branding. And he came right in and told--told DocCrombie."

  In an instant Elia was sitting forward defending himself.

  "I didn't tell him who he was. Sure I didn't, 'cos you said I wouldn'tget that gold if I did--if I give him away. I didn't give him away,sure--sure. I jest told Doc where he'd find the rustlers. That's all.That ain't giving Will away, is it?"

  But Peter ignored the boy's defense. His shrewd mind was workingswiftly. Here was his own unspoken suspicion of the man verified. Thewhole situation was all too clear. He turned to Eve with a sharpinquiry.

  "So Will's the cattle-thief. You knew it?"

  The girl shook her head and wrung her hands piteously.

  "No, no; I didn't know it. Indeed, indeed, I didn't. Lately Isuspected--thought--but I didn't know." Then she cried helplessly."Oh, Peter, what's to be done? We must--we must save him!"

  In an instant Elia was on his feet protesting.

  "What for you want to save him?" he cried. "He's a crook. He's athief. He's bad--I tell you he's bad."

  But Peter suddenly thrust out one great hand and pushed him back intohis chair.

  "Sit there and keep quiet," he said sternly. "Now, let's think. Youtold Doc, eh?"

  "Yes," retorted the boy sulkily. "An' he's goin' out after 'emto-night. An' I'm glad, 'cos they'll get him."

  "If they get him you'll never get your gold, laddie, because you'vegiven him away. Do you understand?"

  Eve, watching these two, began to realize something of the working ofPeter's mind. He meant to win Elia over to his side, and was adoptingthe only possible means.

  The boy remained obstinately silent, and Peter went on.

  "Now, see here, which would you rather do, get that gold--an' there'splenty; it comes right through here to Barnriff--or see Will hang?"

  In spite of his hatred of Will, the boy was dazzled.

  "I'd like to see Will hang--but--I'd rather git the gold."

  "Well," said Peter, with a sigh of relief, "ther's just one way foryou to get it. You've got to put us wise how to get to Will to warnhim before Doc gets him. If Will hangs, you don't get your gold."

  A sudden hope lit Eve's troubled face. This man, she knew, was to beWill's savior--her savior. Her heart swelled with thankfulness andhope. This man, without a second's demur, had embraced her cause, wasready to incriminate himself, to save the worst criminal a cattlecountry knows, because--just because he wanted to help a woman, whowas nothing to him, and never could be anything to him. It was thelove he had for all suffering humanity, the wonderful charity of hiskindly heart, that made him desire to help all those who needed hishelp.

  She was listening now to the manner in which he extracted from herunwilling brother the information he sought. He did it bit by bit,with much care
and deliberation. He wanted no mistake. The directionin which Will's secret corrals lay must be given with the last word inexactness, for any delay in finding him might upset his purpose.

  Having extracted all the information necessary, he gave the lad afinal warning.

  "Now, see here, Elia, you're a good lad--better than you seem; but I'mnot going to be played with. I've got gold in plenty, sure, and you'regoing to get it if you stay right here, and don't say a word to anyone about Will or this cattle-rustling. If you do anything thatprevents Will getting clear away, or let folks know that he's therustler, then you get no gold--not one cent."

  "Then, wot's this I've heerd about Jim? Guess you want him to get theblame. You want 'em to hang Jim Thorpe?"

  The boy's cunning was paralyzing. Eve's eyes widened with a freshfear, and, for a moment, Peter was gravely silent.

  "Yes," he said presently, "for a while he must still have the blame."

  Then he turned to the woman.

  "I wish I could get hold of Jim," he said regretfully. "Amongst otherthings, I want his horse."

  In an instant Eve remembered.

  "He's over in your shack. I saw him go there at sundown."

  Peter's face cleared.

  "Good," he cried. "Come on, we'll all go over there. I'll go by thefront way, with Elia. You sneak out the back way after we're gone."