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

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER XXX

  WILL HENDERSON REACHES THE END

  Will Henderson stalked his prey with a caution, a deliberateness, asthough he were dealing with a grown man, a man who could resist, onewhose power to retaliate was as great as was his to attack. Butnothing of this was in his thoughts. It was the fell intent to murderthat now cast its furtive, suspicious, even apprehensive spell overhis mind, and so influenced his actions.

  As Elia at one time had trailed him, so he was now tracking Elia. Frombush to bush and shadow to shadow he searched the bluff for the hunterof jack-rabbits. But the bluff was extensive, the night dark, and themovements of the snarer as silent as those of the man hunting him.There was black murder in Will's heart, the cruel purpose of a mindturned suddenly malignant with a desire for adequate revenge. His wasnothing of the fiery rage which drives a man spontaneously. He meantto kill his victim after he had satisfied his lust for torture, and noone knew better than he how easy his task was, and how cruelly hecould torture this brother of Eve.

  The starlit night yielded up the bluff a wide black patch amidst ashadowed world. There was no moon, but the wealth of stars shed afaint glimmer of soft light on the surrounding plains. The conditionscould not have been more favorable for his purpose, and they gave hima fiendish satisfaction.

  He had skirted the bluff all round. He had passed through its length.And still no sign of his quarry. Twice he started up a jack-rabbit,but the snarer did not seem to be in the vicinity. Now, with much careand calculation, he began to traverse the breadth of the bush in azigzag fashion which was to continue its whole length. His oldtrapping instincts served him, and none but perhaps an Indian wouldhave guessed that a human being was searching every inch of thewoodland shadow.

  The man had already traversed a third of the bush in this fashion whenthe unexpected happened. For the tenth time he approached the southernfringe of the bluff and stood half hidden in the shadow of one of thelarge, scattered bushes outlying. And in the starlight he beheld afamiliar figure out in the open, watching intently the very spot atwhich he had emerged.

  There was no mistaking the figure, even in that dim light. Did noteverybody know that head, bent so deliberately on one side? Thehunched shoulders? The drawn-up hip? It was Elia, and, in thedarkness, a fierce grin of satisfaction lit the murderer's face. Herealized that the snarer must have heard his approach, and, believingit to be a jack-rabbit, had waited to make sure. The thought tickledhis cruel senses, and he wanted to laugh aloud. But he refrained, and,instead, moved stealthily forward.

  The bush hid him while he had a good view of his victim through itsupper branches. And he calculated that if the boy remained standingwhere he was, with a little care he could approach to within a yard ortwo of him without being discovered. So he moved forward, circlingthe bush without any sound. It was wonderful how his training as atrapper had taught him the science of silent woodcraft.

  As he reached the limits of his shelter he dropped upon his stomachand began to wriggle through the grass. It pleased him to do this. Itgave him a sense of delight at the thought of the horrible awakeningthe cowardly boy was presently to receive.

  A yard--two yards, he slid through the grass. Three. One more, and hewould be near enough for his purpose. Suddenly and silently he stooderect, like a figure rising out of the ground. He was directly infront of the boy, and within arm's length of him. He stood thus for asecond that his victim might realize his identity thoroughly, andfully digest the meaning of the sudden apparition.

  He had full satisfaction. Elia recognized him and stood petrified withterror. So awful to him was the meaning of that silent figure that hehad not even the power to cry out. He shook convulsively and stoodwaiting.

  The murderer raised one hand slowly and reached out toward the boy.His hand touched his clothing, and moved up to his throat. Thepowerful fingers came into contact with the soft flesh, and closedupon it. Then it was that the moment of paralysis passed. The boy fellback with a terrible cry.

  But Will followed him up, and again his hand reached his throat. Hegrasped it, and tightened his fingers upon it. A gurgling cry ofabject terror was the response. Again Will's hand released its hold.But now he seized one of the boy's outstretched arms, and, with asudden movement, twisted it behind his back so hard that a third cry,this time of pain alone, was wrung from the terrified lad.

  He held him thus and looked into the beautiful face now so pitifullydistorted with fear.

  "Guess I've done the tracking this time," Will said through hisclenched teeth. "You put me to a lot of trouble coming all this way.Still, I don't guess I mind much. Most folks get their med'cine.You're going to get yours to-night. How d'you like it?"

  He wrenched the weakly arm till the boy cried out again, and droppedto his knees in anguish. But, with a ruthless jolt, Will jerked him tohis feet, nearly dislocating his arm in the process.

  "Oh, you're squealing, now, eh? You're squealing," he repeated,striking the boy on the hump of his back with his clenched first."That hurts too, eh?" As a fresh cry broke from his victim. "I alwaysheard that the hump was tender in a dog-ghasted cripple. Is it? Isit?" he inquired, at each question repeating the blow with increasedforce.

  He released his hold, and the boy fell to the ground. He stood lookingdown at him with diabolical purpose in his eyes.

  "Say, you figgered to hand me over to the rope, eh? You guessed you'dstand by watching me slowly strangle, eh? So you trailed me, and wenton to Doc Crombie and told him. Ah--h. You like hurting things. Youlike seeing folks hurt. But you're scared to death being hurtyourself. That's how I know. I could kill you with the grip of onehand. But it wouldn't hurt you enough. At least not to suit me. Youmust be hurt first. You must know what it's like being hurt, yourotten, loathsome earthworm!"

  He dealt the lad a terrific kick on his sickly, sunken chest, and aterrible cry broke the silence. It was almost like the cry of a pigbeing slaughtered, so piercing and shrill a squeak was it.

  The noise of his cry startled his torturer. After all they were notfar from the village. Then he laughed. A cry like that from theprairie must sound like a hungry coyote calling to its mate. Yes, noone would recognize it for a human cry. He would try it again.

  He dealt the prostrate boy another furious kick, and he had his wish.A third time the blow was repeated to satisfy his savage lust, and helaughed aloud at the hideous resulting cry. Again and again he kicked.And the cries pleased him, and they sent a joyous thrill through himat the thought of the pain the lad was suffering. He would continue ituntil the cries weakened, then he would cease for a while to let hisvictim recover. Then again he would resume the fiendish kicking, andcontinue it at intervals, until he had kicked the life out of thedeformed body.

  He drew his foot back for another blow. But the blow remainedundelivered. There was a rush of horse's hoofs, a clatter as theyceased, the sound of running feet, and a smashing blow took thetorturer on the side of the jaw. He dropped like a log beside hisvictim. The whole thing was the work of an instant. So swift had comethe avenging blow that, in the darkness, he had no time to realize itscoming.

  Jim Thorpe stood over his man waiting for him to rise, or show somesign of life. But there was neither movement nor apparent life inhim. In the avenger's heart there was a wild hope that the man wasdead. He had hit him with such a feeling in his frenzy of passion. Buthe knew he had only knocked the brute out.

  As Will remained still where he had fallen, Jim turned away with asigh. It would have been difficult to interpret his sigh. Maybe it wasthe sigh of a man who suddenly relaxes himself from a tremendousphysical effort; maybe it was at the thought that his momentary desirehad been accomplished; maybe it was for the poor lad whose terriblecries were still ringing in his ears.

  Thinking only of Elia, he now dropped on his knees beside him. Therewas sufficient light from the stars to show him the lad's pallidupturned face and staring, agonized eyes. In a second his arms wereabout his misformed body, and he tenderly raised him up and spoke tohim.r />
  "Look up, laddie," he said gently. "You aren't hurt too bad, are you?I got here quick as I could. Say, he hasn't smashed you, has he? God!if he has!" He looked round at the fallen man with blazing eyes, asthe thought flashed through his mind.

  But suddenly he felt Elia's body writhe, and he turned to him againwith eager words of encouragement.

  "Buck up, laddie," he said, without much conviction. "Guess you aren'tsmashed as bad as you think. It's Jim. I'll look after you. He won'thit you again. I've fixed him."

  Elia's staring eyes suddenly lost their tension. He moved his head andtried to free his arms. Jim picked him up and set him on his feet, andnoted that he breathed more freely. Yes, he had been in time.

  Elia steadied himself for a moment against his arm. He was silent, andstill breathing hard. His body was racked with fierce pain, but hispoor distorted mind was suffering greater. Jim waited patiently. Heunderstood. It was the awful shock that the boy, in his helplessfashion, was struggling with.

  Some moments passed thus, and at last the words which Jim was waitingfor came. But they shocked him strangely.

  "Did you kill him?" Elia asked, with a struggle controlling hishalting tongue.

  "No, boy, he's only knocked out--I think."

  "You're a fule," whispered the lad viciously.

  Jim had no answer to this, and the boy, recovering slowly, spokeagain.

  "Best kill him now," he said. "He's a devil. He's smashed me all up.He's smashed my sick body, and things feel queer inside me. Kill him,Jim! Kill him!"

  Watching the working face, the man sickened at the inhuman desire ofthe boy. Where did he ever get such a frightful nature from? It wasmonstrous.

  "Here," he said almost sternly, "can you walk?"

  "I guess." The tone had that peculiar sullenness which generallyportended an outbreak of the most vicious side of the boy's temper.

  "Then get over there by my horse and wait till I come. I'll put you onhim, and you can ride back home."

  "What you going to do?"

  The demand was an eager whisper. It suggested the hope that Jim wasperhaps after all going to do as he asked--and kill Will Henderson.

  "I'm going to see--how bad Will is. Be off now."

  "Can't I stay--an' watch you?"

  "No. Get on after that horse."

  Elia turned away, and Jim watched his painful gait. Once he thought hesaw him stagger, but, as he continued to hobble on, he turned again tothe injured man. One glance at his face showed him the extent of hishandiwork. He was ripped open right along the jaw, and the bone itselfwas badly broken.

  He instantly whipped out his sheath-knife and a handkerchief. Thelatter he cut up into a bandage. Then, removing the silk scarf at hisneck, he folded it into a soft pad, and bound it over the wound.Curiously he felt he must lend what aid he could first, and then sendout adequate help from the village.

  He stood up, took a final glance at the wounded face, and turnedcoldly away toward his horse.

  But now events took an unexpected and disconcerting turn. When hereached his horse Elia was nowhere to be seen. He called, but receivedno answer. He called again, but still no answer. And suddenly hebecame alarmed. He remembered the boy's condition. He must havecollapsed somewhere.

  He promptly began to search. Taking his horse as a central point hemoved round it in ever widening circles, calling at intervals, andwith his eyes glued to the long grass which swished under his feet.For more than ten minutes he searched in vain; and then, once more, hefound himself beside the man he had knocked out.

  He was thoroughly alarmed now. Eve was still anxiously awaiting newsof her brother. The thing was quite inexplicable. He could never haveattempted to walk home. Why should he? Finally he decided that hemust have strolled into the bush and sat down, and----

  His glance fell upon the man lying at his feet. How still he lay.How---- Hello, what was this? He had left him lying on his side. Nowhis pale face was turned directly up at the sky. And--he dropped onhis knees at his side--his bandage had been removed. He glanced about.There it was, a yard away in the grass. In wondering astonishment hiseyes came back to the ghastly face of the unconscious man. Somehow itlooked different, yet----

  A glance at his body drew an exclamation of horror from his lips. Fora moment every drop of blood seemed to recede from his brain, leavinghim cold. A clammy moisture broke out upon his forehead at what hebeheld. The man's clothing had been torn open leaving his chest bare,and he now beheld his own knife plunged to the hilt in the whiteflesh. Will Henderson was dead--stabbed through the heart by----

  He sprang to his feet with a cry of horror, and his eyes flashed rightand left as though in search of the murderer. Who had done this thing?Who----? As though in answer to his thought, Elia's voice reached himfrom out of the bushes.

  "He's sure dead. I hate him."

  Then followed a rustling of the brushwood, as though the boy had takenhimself off.

  Jim made no attempt to follow him. He remained staring into the blackwoods whence that voice had proceeded. He was petrified with thehorror of the boy's deed.

  He stood for some minutes thus. Then thought became active oncemore. And curiously enough it was cool, calm, and debating. Thepossibilities that had so suddenly opened up were tremendous.Tremendous and--hideous. Yet they stirred him far less than mighthave been expected. Black, foul murder had been committed, and ina way that threw the entire blame on himself.

  He saw it all in a flash. It needed but the smallest intelligence todo so. There was no mind in Barnriff but would inevitably fix on hisguilt--even his friend Peter. How could it be otherwise? There was hisknife. There were his handkerchiefs. The white one had his name on it.The knife had his initials branded on its handle. His last words toEve had been a threat to kill her husband.

  And Elia had done this hideous thing. A weak, sickly boy. It wasterrible, and he shuddered. What hatred he must have had for the deadman. He found himself almost sympathizing with the lad's feelings.Yes, Will had certainly brought this thing upon himself. He--deservedhis fate. Yet Elia--the thought revolted him.

  But suddenly a fresh significance came to him. He had missed itbefore. What would this mean to Eve? Elia's guilt. What would Will'sdeath mean to her? But now his thoughts ran faster. Elia's guilt? Evewould never believe it. Besides, if she did it would break her heart.The boy was something like a passion to her. He was almost as thoughhe were part of herself. She loved him as though he were flesh of herown flesh.

  No, even if it were possible to convince her, she must never be told.His crime must be covered up someway. But how?

  The man stood lost in thought for nearly half an hour. They were thethoughts of a man who at last sees the end of all things earthlylooming heavily upon his horizon. There was no cowardly shrinking,there was very little regret. What he must do he felt was being forcedupon him by an invincible fate, but the sting of it was far lesspoignant than would have been the case a few months ago. In fact thesting was hardly there at all.

  At all costs Eve must be protected. She must never know the truth. Itwas bad enough that her husband was dead. He wondered vaguely how farher love had survived the man's outrages. Yes, she loved him still. Hecould never forget her the night he had volunteered to carry thewarning to Will. Strange, he thought, how a woman will cling to theman who has once possessed her love.

  Ah, well, he had never known the possession of such a priceless jewelas a good woman's love. And now he was never likely to have thechance, he admitted with a simple regret. It seemed pretty hard. Andyet--he almost smiled--it would be all the same after a few painfulmoments.

  And only a brief hour ago he had been yearning to fight, with his backto the wall, against the suspicion and feeling against him in thevillage. He smiled with a shadow of bitterness and shook his head.Useless--quite useless. The one-way trail was well marked for him, andhe had traveled it as best he knew how. As Peter said, there were noside paths. Just a narrow road, and the obstructions and perils on theway were set there for
each to face. Well, he would face this lastone with a "stiff upper-lip."

  One thing he was irrevocably determined upon, never by word or actionwould he add to Eve's unhappiness. And, if the cruel fate that hadalways dogged him demanded this final sacrifice, he would at leasthave the trifling satisfaction of knowing, as he went out of theworld, that her future had been rendered the smoother by the blow thathad removed Will from his sphere of crime.

  He walked briskly back to his horse and leaped upon its back. Then,turning its head, he sat for a moment thinking. There was still a wayout. Still a means of escape without Eve's learning the truth. But itwas a coward's way, it was the way of the guilty. It was quite simple,too. He only had to go back and withdraw the knife from the man'sbody, and gather up the two handkerchiefs, and--ride away. It soundedeasy; it was easy. A new country. A fresh people who did not know him.Another start in life. There was hope in the thought. Yes, a little,but not much. The accusing finger would follow him pointing, theshadow of the rope would haunt him wherever he went in spite of hisinnocence.

  "Psha! No!" he exclaimed, and rode away toward the village.