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

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER XXXV

  IN THE SHADOW OF THE GALLOWS TREE

  The creak of a saddle; the shuffling and rustle of horses moving at awalk through the long prairie grass; the sudden jolt of a wheel as itdropped from a tufty wad to the barren sand intersecting the clumps ofgrass of which the prairie is largely made up; the half-hearted neighof a horse, as though it were striving to break from under the spellof gloomy depression which seemed to weigh heavily upon the veryatmosphere; these were the only sounds which broke the gray stillnessof dawn.

  No one seemed to have words to offer. No one seemed to have sufficientlightness even to smoke a morning pipe. There were few amongst thoseriding out from Barnriff who would not far sooner have remained intheir beds, amidst the easy dreams of healthy, tired nature, now thatthe last moments of a man's life were at hand. There were few, nowthat the heat and excitement of accusation were past, but would farrather have had the easy thought that they had been on the other sideof the ballot. But this was mere human sentimentality at the thoughtof the passing of one man's life. This thing was necessary, necessaryfor example and precept. A man had slain another. He was guilty; hemust die. The argument was as old as the world.

  Yet life is very precious. It is so precious that these men could notrid themselves of the haunting ghost of self-consciousness. Theyplaced themselves in the position of the condemned, and at oncedepression wrapped them in its pall, and, shrinking within themselves,all buoyancy left them. A man had to die, and each man felt he wasinstrumental in wresting from him that which of all the world must bemost prized. And in many the thought was painful.

  The gray world looked grayer for their mission. The daylight seemed togrow far more slowly than was its wont. Where was the ruddy splendorof the day's awakening, where the glory of dawning hope? Lost, lost.For the minds of these men could not grasp that which lay beyond theobject of their journey.

  The long-drawn howl of the prairie scavenger broke the stillness. Itwas answered by its kind. It was a fitting chorus for the situation.But ears were deaf to such things, for they were too closely inharmony with the doings of the moment. The gray owls fluttered by,weary with their night's vigil, but with appetites amply satisfiedafter the long chase, seeking their daylight repose in sparse anddistant woodland hidings. But there were no eyes for them. Eyes wereon the distant bluff to the exclusion of all else.

  Six men rode ahead of the buckboard. Smallbones was on the lead. Itwas his place, and he triumphantly held it. His was the office. JimThorpe had reached the end of the one-way trail. And it was his tospeed him on--beyond. The rope hung coiled over the horn of hissaddle. It was a good rope, a strong, well-seasoned rope. He had seento that, for he had selected it himself from a number of others. Themen with him were those who would act under his orders, men whosesenses were quite deadened to the finer emotions of life.

  Those behind the buckboard were there to witness the administration ofthe sentence passed upon the prisoner by his fellow townsmen.

  Doc Crombie drove the buckboard. And he watched the condemned manbeside him out of the tail of his eye. Jim's attitude gave him relief,but it made him feel regret.

  They had passed the limits of the village when his prisoner suddenlypointed with his bound hands at a pile of soil rising amidst the levelof the prairie grass.

  "Peter Blunt's cutting," he said, with curious interest. "He's trackedthe gold ledge from the head waters down to here." His tone was halfmusing. It almost seemed as though he had no concern with the objectof their journey.

  "Peter's crazy on that gold," said the doctor. "He guesses too much."

  Jim shook his head. And for some moments there was silence. Finallyhis answer came with a smile of understanding.

  "He's not crazy. You fellers are all wrong. Peter's got the gold allright."

  "He's welcome, sure."

  The doctor had no sympathy with any gold find at that moment, andpresently he looked round at his prisoner. The man's indifferencealmost staggered him. He chewed his wad of tobacco viciously. At thatmoment he hated himself, he hated Jim, he hated everybody--but most ofall he hated Smallbones.

  After a while he spoke, and though his manner was sharp he meantkindly--

  "You ain't told what, I'm guessin', you could tell, Jim," he said.Then he added significantly, "We've nigh a mile to go."

  But Jim was gazing out at the great arc of rosy light growing in theeastern sky, and the doctor stirred impatiently. At last the condemnedman turned to him with a grave smile--

  "Guess there's nothing so beautiful in nature as a perfect summerdawn," he said. "It makes a man feel strong, and--good. I'm glad it'sdawn," he added, with a sigh.

  The doctor spat out his tobacco, and his lean hands clenched tight onthe reins.

  "Maybe it makes you fool-headed, too."

  "Maybe it does," Jim agreed, thoughtfully. "Maybe it's good to befool-headed once in a while. The fool's generally a happy man." Thenhis eyes looked away in the direction of Peter's cutting. "Andhappiness, like Peter's gold, takes a heap of finding," he continued amoment later. "Guess the wiser you are the harder things hit you. Andas you grow older it's so easy to be wise, and so hard to befool-headed. That bluff we're riding to. Maybe it's foolish me ridingto it. That's what you're thinking--because you're wise. It makes meglad I'm fool-headed."

  The doctor unnecessarily slashed the horses with his whip. But he wascareful not to increase the pace.

  Jim went on after a moment's pause, while he watched the hawk-likemould of his companion's profile.

  "Peter's a good friend," he said. "Last night, if I'd said the word,he'd have fought for me. He'd have fought for me till the boys shothim down in his tracks. And he'd have thought no more of giving hislife for me than--than Smallbones would think of taking mine. Andsome of the gold he's looking for would--have come his way."

  The doctor looked round sharply. He began to wonder if Jim weregetting light-headed.

  "You're talkin' foolish," he said.

  But the other shook his head.

  "You see, I don't guess you know Peter as I do--now. I didn't quiteknow him--before. I do now. Life's so mighty full of--well, the thingswe don't want, that it's well to get out and look for something thatdon't seem to be lying around. And every time you find one of thosethings, it seems to set the things life wants you to have farther andfarther away. That's what Peter's doing." He smiled ever so gently."He's looking for what he calls gold. Guess I'll find some of Peter'sgold--in yonder bluff."

  The doctor's eyes were staring out at their destination. He had noanswer. He caught something of Jim's meaning, but his hard mind hadnot the proper power of assimilation.

  "If that bluff was a thousand miles off, Doc, I still shouldn't haveanything in my fool-head to tell. Seems to me a bit chilly. Couldn'twe drive faster?"

  "No. By Gad, we couldn't!"

  The driver's words came with a sudden outburst of passion. If half thesilent curses he was hurling at the head of the venomous Smallbones atthat moment took effect, the man would surely have then and there beenblotted out of the history of Barnriff.

  Jim had no more to say, and the other had no power to frame thethoughts which filled his mind. And so a silence fell upon them asthey approached the woods.

  Through the perfect fretwork of the upper branches the eastern lightshone cold and pure; in the lower depths the gray gloom had not yetlifted. The dark aisles between the trees offered a gloomy welcome.They suggested just such an ending as was intended for their journey.

  The leaders had passed round the southern limits, and were no longerin view. The doctor headed his horses upon their course. Something ofthe eagle light had gone out of his eyes. He stared just ahead of hishorses, but no farther. As they came to the bend, where Barnriff wouldbe shut off from their view, Jim turned in his seat, and who can tellwhat was in his mind at the moment? He knew it was his last glimpse ofthe place, which for him had held so many disappointments, so manyheartaches. Yet--he wanted to see it.

  But his eyes
never reached the village. They encountered two objectsupon the prairie, and fastened themselves upon them, startled, evenhorrified. A large man was running, bearing in his arms a strangeburden, and behind him, trailing wearily, but still running, was awoman. He could have cried out at the sight, and his cry would havebeen one of horror. Instead, he turned to his companion.

  "No reasonable request is denied a--dying man, Doc," he said, eagerly."Drive faster."

  Without a word the other touched his horses with the whip, and theybroke from their amble into a brisk trot.

  In half a minute they drew up in the shadow of a great overhangingtree.

  Jim was promptly assisted to the ground by the waiting men, for he wasbound hand and foot. Now his bonds were removed, and immediately hestepped forward to where Smallbones had just succeeded in throwing hisrope into position overhead, and was testing it with his own weight.

  As the prisoner came up he turned, and a malicious sparkle shone inhis eyes as he confronted the calm face.

  "It'll bear my weight?" Jim inquired, coldly. "It wouldn't be pleasantto go through it twice." He glanced up at the tree as thoughinterested.

  "It's built fer ropin' 'outlaws,'" Smallbones grinned. "I sure don'tguess a low-down skunk of a murderer'll----"

  But the man never finished his sentence. Doc Crombie had him by thethroat in a clutch that threatened to add another and more welcomecrime to the records.

  "Another word from your lousy tongue an' I'll strangle you!" roaredthe doctor, venting at last all the pent-up wrath gathered on thejourney out.

  But Jim was impatient. He remembered those two toiling figuresbehind.

  "Let up, Doc," he said sharply. "His words don't hurt. Let's finishthings."

  The doctor's hand fell from the man's throat and he drew back.

  "Fix the ropes," he said shortly.

  In silence four of the men advanced, while the evil eyes of Smallbonessavagely glowered at the doctor. In a few moments Jim's arms werepinioned, and his ankles bound fast. Then the rope was loosely thrownabout his neck. And after that a man advanced with a large silkhandkerchief, already folded, and with which to blindfold him.

  But suddenly the doctor bethought him of something.

  "Wait!" he cried. Then he addressed himself directly to the condemnedman. "Jim Thorpe, you sure got friends present. You sure got friendsready to hear anything you got to tell. You're goin' out o' this worldright now, actin' a lie if not speakin' one. Ther' are folks among usdead sure, or I wouldn't say it. Mebbe you ain't thought that if thisthing is done, an' what I suspicion is true, you're makin' murderersof us all--an' in pertickler Smallbones. Say, you got your chance.Speak."

  The men round the tree stood hushed in awe, waiting. There was not asound to break the stillness except the soft rustle of the trees inthe morning breeze.

  "I have told you all, I am innocent," Jim said firmly. Then heshrugged. "Guess you must take your own chances what you are when thisis done. We don't need to wait any longer."

  For answer the doctor signed to the man with the handkerchief. Theprisoner's face was pale, but his eyes were steady and his lips firm.There was no weakness in him, and the wondering crowd were troubled.Most of them had seen hangings in their time, but they had never seena man face death in cold blood quite like this.

  Suddenly, while the bandage was being secured, one of the younger menin the front rank threw up his arm as though to ward off a blow. Hecovered his eyes, and fled precipitately behind his comrades, where hecould no longer see. Several others turned their backs deliberately.The whole thing was too terrible. It was hideous.

  Doc Crombie stood with folded arms within two yards of the prisoner.Behind the prisoner Smallbones and the rest of his men stood, theirhands grasping the plaited rope. They were only awaiting the silentsignal from the doctor.

  When the handkerchief had been adjusted the man fell in beside hiscomrades on the rope. The awful moment had arrived when the signalmust be given. The tension amongst the onlookers was breathless, andthe agony of the man about to die must have been appalling, in spiteof his apparent calm.

  The moments passed. It almost seemed as though the hardened nerve ofthe doctor needed support. At last he stiffened. He raised his head,and looked squarely at the pinioned man.

  "Jim Thorpe," he cried, in a harsh, unyielding voice. "You arecondemned to die by the ballot of your fellow citizens, for the murderof Will----"

  "Ho! Ho, Doc! Hold on! For God's sake, hold your hand, Doc!"

  A great hoarse voice split the deathly stillness with a roar thatsuddenly electrified the assembly. Everybody swung round in thedirection whence it came. That is, everybody but the doctor. He hadrecognized the voice, and he had caught Smallbones' gleaming eye. Witha spring he was at Jim's side, and threw the noose clear of his neck.He had no idea of the reason of the interruption, but he had caughtSmallbones' eye.

  He turned about in time to see Peter Blunt break through the crowdbearing in his arms the crippled brother of Eve Henderson. Followingclose upon his heels was Eve herself, gasping and almost fainting withher exertion.