The Flockmaster of Poison Creek

by George W. Ogden

  CHAPTER XXVI

  PAYMENT ON ACCOUNT

  Mackenzie raised his eyes slowly from his task of blending tobacco,looked for a moment into Reid's determined face, remembering with afalling heart that he had taken his own revolver off and hung it inthe wagon when he came in, to relieve himself of the weight.

  "Hurry--hand it out!"

  Reid lifted himself slightly, elbow still pressed close to his side,raising his face a foot nearer Mackenzie's, his eyes drawn small, thecorners of his mouth twitching.

  Mackenzie's hands were poised one above the other, as he had suspendedhis milling operations. As quickly as the hand of a prestidigitatorflashes, Mackenzie swept the one that held the tobacco, dashing thepowdered mixture into Reid's eyes.

  Reid fired as he sprang to his feet, gasping and choking, momentarilyblinded by the fiery tobacco. Mackenzie felt the bullet lift his hairas it passed his temple, and before it was many rods on its waythrough the canvas top of the wagon he had grappled with Reid andwrenched his gun away.

  Reid had no hands for a fight, even if it had been in him to attemptit, being busy with his streaming eyes. He cursed Mackenzie as hesputtered and swabbed.

  "Damn it all, Mackenzie, can't you take a joke?" he said.

  "No, I don't get you--you're too funny for me," Mackenzie returned."Here--wash your eyes."

  Mackenzie offered the water pail, Reid groping for it like a blindman, more tears streaming down his face than he had spent before inall his life together. He got the rough of it out, cursing the while,protesting it was only a joke. But Mackenzie had read human eyes andhuman faces long enough to know a joke when he saw it in them, and hehad not seen even the shadow of a jest in the twitching mask of Reid'sunfeeling countenance as he leaned on his elbow holding his gun.

  "You were right about it a little while ago," Mackenzie told Reid whenhe looked up with red, reproachful eyes presently; "this range isn'tbig enough for you and me." Mackenzie jerked his hand toward thesaddle and bridle which Reid had lately taken from his horse. "Get tohell out of here!"

  Reid went without protest, or word of any kind, wearing his belt andempty scabbard. Mackenzie watched him saddle and ride over the ridge,wondering if he would make a streak of it to Sullivan and tell himwhat a poor hand his school-teaching herder was at taking a joke.Curious to see whether this was Reid's intention, Mackenzie followedhim to the top of the hill. Reid's dust was all he could trace him bywhen he got there, and that rose over toward Swan Carlson's ranch,whence he had come not more than an hour ago.

  Pretty thick business between that precious pair, Mackenzie thought,and of a sort not likely to turn out of much profit to either them oranybody else. Carlson was a plain human brute without any sense ofhonor, or any obligation to the amenities of civilized society; Reidwas simply an unmoral sharper.

  It didn't make any difference where Reid went, or what he planned; hewould have to stay away from that camp. That Mackenzie vowed, meaningit to the last letter. Tim Sullivan would be informed of this latestpleasantry at their first meeting, also, and hear a chapter fromMackenzie's heart on the matter of Joan.

  Joan! If that leper Reid ever came near Joan, or ever blew thepollution of a word to her, he would nail him to the ground with abullet, no matter that he was in debt to him for his life.

  Mackenzie found the rifle that Sullivan had provided Reid for hisdefense under the bunk in the wagon, with ammunition enough towithstand a siege. Reid evidently had not been using the gun inpractice very much, confining his rehearsals to the quick slinging ofhis pistol, rather, as the cunning of his hand in the attemptedrobbery that afternoon seemed to prove. Not wanting Reid to have anyweapon to his hand in case he came back, Mackenzie buckled on therevolvers, hid the rifle near the wagon, and went back to guard thesheep.

  Mackenzie felt himself softening in his judgment of Reid as the daydrew toward evening. He feared he had been a little severe with him,taking his gun away and sending him off, surly and vindictive. Perhapsit was only a joke, as Reid had protested, although there had been noglimmer of jest in his eyes when he had slung out his gun.

  Still, the boy was hardly responsible, oppressed by his load ofdissatisfaction, harrassed and disturbed by that unbalancing ailmentthey called the lonesomeness. If he had come at it right, Mackenziereflected, he could have had a hundred dollars or so, even though instaking him to it he would have been helping a criminal to escape.

  He began to hope Reid would come back and try to square it. If hewanted the money to leave the country on then he could have it.Holding him there in the sheep country would not work his reformation,but would breed and store the virus of resentment, making him a trulydangerous man to set free to prey upon society when his term wasdone.

  But Reid never would remain to finish his three years of penancethere. Joan had seen it, even before his malady had fastened upon himso deeply. It might be a merciful deed to finance his going, and speedhim toward the land of his desire. But how he would live in Mexicowould be another matter. Perhaps he would work. At any event, he wouldbe free.

  Mackenzie had ranged his flock a considerable distance from the wagon,keeping to the hilltops above the sheep, according to the custom ofherders. He was sitting in a gully, his back against the bank, feelinga weariness over him that he blamed mainly to the weight of therevolvers and cartridge belt in his weakened state, when he saw Reidcoming back.

  Reid broke over the hill beyond the sheep-wagon at a gallop, hatless,riding low, and the sound of shots behind him beat the tune to whichhe traveled. Mackenzie got to his feet, his weariness gone on thesurge of concern that thrilled him. Hector Hall had come to collecthis outstanding account at last.

  And Reid was unarmed. Because of this he had been forced to flee beforehis enemy like a coward, against his nature, to his humiliation,Mackenzie knew. He should not have allowed Reid to leave camp withouthis gun, he would not have done it if he had reflected a moment onthe risk of going unarmed when there was one abroad on the range whosought his life. If Reid should fall, Mackenzie felt he would be anaccessory to the crime.

  Two men were pursuing Reid. They drew up a moment on the hilltop, thencame down the long slope at reckless speed, not wasting any moreammunition at that distance, which was not above two hundred yards,but dividing to cut off Reid's retreat, draw in on him then, and makean end of it at close range.

  Reid halted at the wagon, where he made a hasty search for the riflewithout dismounting, hidden for a moment from his pursuers. He was toofar away to hear Mackenzie's shouted directions for finding the gun.On again toward Mackenzie he came, halting a little way along to lookback at the men who were maneuvering to cut off any swerving orretreat that he might attempt. Mackenzie beckoned him on, shouting,waving his hat, running forward to his relief.

  Mackenzie's thought was to give Reid his revolver, split theammunition with him, each of them take a man, and fight it out. ButReid sat straight in the saddle, looking back at the two who camepressing on, seeming to fear them less than he hated the humiliationof seeking shelter under Mackenzie's protection. Mackenzie understoodhis feeling in the matter, and respected Reid for it more than foranything he ever had done.

  While Mackenzie was yet a hundred yards from Reid he saw him swingfrom the saddle and shelter himself behind his horse. Hall and hiscompanion were standing off warily, a good pistol shot from Reid,distrustful of this sudden change in his tactics, apparently believinghe had come to the place he had selected to make his defensive stand.A little while they stood waiting for him to fire, then separated, thestranger circling to come behind Mackenzie, Hall moving a littlenearer to Reid, who kept his horse before him with the craft of anIndian.

  Hall stood a little while, as if waiting for Reid to fire, then rodeforward, throwing a stream of lead as he came. Reid's horse reared,ran a few rods with head thrown wildly high, its master clinging tothe bit, dragging over shrub and stone. Suddenly it collapsed forwardon its knees, and stretched dead.

  Reid flung himself to the ground behind the pr
otection of its carcass,Hall pausing in his assault to reload. The man who had ridden a wideand cautious circuit to get behind Mackenzie now dismounted and beganfiring across his saddle. Mackenzie turned, a pistol in each hand,indecisive a moment whether to return the fellow's fire or rushforward and join Reid behind the breastworks of his beast.

  The stranger was nearer Mackenzie by many rods than Hall, but still sofar away that his shots went wide, whistling high over Mackenzie'shead, or kicking dirt among the shrubs at either hand. Hall wascharging down on Reid again, but with a wariness that held him off adistance of comparative safety.

  In the moment that he paused there, considering the best and quickestmove to make to lessen Reid's peril, the thought shot to Mackenzielike a rending of confusing clouds that it was not so much Reid'speril as his own. These men had come to kill him; their sighting Reidon the way was only an incident. It was his fight, and not Reid's, forReid was safe behind his horse, lying along its body close to theground like a snake.

  This understanding of the situation cleared the air tremendously.Where he had seen in confusion, with a sense of mingling and turningbut a moment before, Mackenzie now beheld things with the sharpness ofself-interest, calculating his situation with a comprehensiveappraisement of every yard that lay between him and his enemies. Hewas steady as a tree, light with a feeling of relief, of justificationfor his acts. It was as if putting off the thought that he was goinginto this fight for Earl Reid had taken bonds from his arms, leavinghim free to breathe joyously and strike with the keenness of a man whohas a wild glory in facing tremendous odds.

  All in a moment this clearing of brain and limb came to him, settinghim up as if he had passed under an icy torrent and come out refreshedand clear-eyed into the sun. He bent low behind a shrub and rusheddown the hillside toward the man who stood reloading his pistol, hishat-crown showing above the saddle.

  Reid was all right back there for a little while, he knew; Hall wouldhold off a bit, not knowing what he might meet by rushing in withprecipitation. This one first, then Hall. It was not Reid's fight; itwas his fight, Reid but an incident in it, as a sheep might runbetween the combatants and throw its simple life in peril.

  The fellow behind the horse, too sure of his safety, too contemptuousof this shepherd schoolmaster whose notorious simplicity had goneabroad in the sheeplands exciting the rough risibilities of men, wascareless of whether his target stood still or ran; he did not lift hiseyes from the reloading of his gun to see. And in those few preciousmoments Mackenzie rushed down on him like a wind from the mountain,opening fire with not more than twenty yards between.

  Mackenzie's first shot knocked leather from the saddle-horn. The horsesquatted, trembling, snorted its alarm, trampled in panic, lifting acloud of dust. And into this rising dust Mackenzie sent his lead, notseeing where it struck, quickly emptying one revolver, quicklyshifting weapons from hand to hand, no pause in his hot assault.

  The stranger cursed his frightened horse, both hands busy with thebeast to stay it from plunging away and leaving him exposed tosomething he had not counted on meeting. Mackenzie pushed on, firingat every step. The horse partly turned, head toward him, partly baringthe scoundrel who was that moment flinging his leg over the saddle toseek a coward's safety. It was a black mare that he rode, a white starin its forehead, and now as it faced about Mackenzie, not thirty feetaway, threw a bullet for the white spot between the creature's eyes.It reared, and fell, coming down while its rider's leg still layacross the saddle, his other foot held in the stirrup.

  A moment Mackenzie stood, the smoking pistol in his hand, leaningforward like a man who listened into the wind, his broad hat-brimblown back, the smoke of his firing around him. The horse lay still,its rider struggling with one leg pinned under it, the other acrossthe saddle, the spur of that foot tearing the dead creature's flesh indesperate effort to stir in it the life that no cruelty could awaken.

  Leaning so, the wind in his face, the smoke blowing away behind him,Mackenzie loaded his revolvers. Then he ran to the trapped invader ofhis peace and took away his guns, leaving him imploring mercy andassistance, the dead horse across his leg.

  Mackenzie was aware of shooting behind him all this time, but only asone is conscious of something detached and immaterial to the thing hehas in hand. Whether Hector Hall was riding down on him in defense ofhis friend, or whether he was trying to drive Reid from the shelter ofhis fallen horse, Mackenzie did not know, but from that moment Hallwas his business, no matter where he stood.

  Putting out of the fight the man who lay pressed beneath his horse hadbeen a necessary preliminary, a colorless detail, a smoothing away ofa small annoyance in the road of that hour's great work. For the endwas justified beforehand between him and Hall. It was not a matter ofvengeance, but of justice. This man had once attempted to take awayhis life by the most diabolical cruelty that human depravity coulddevise.

  This passed through Mackenzie's thoughts like the heat of a fire thatone runs by as he swung round to face Hall. Apparently unconcerned bywhat had befallen his friend, Hall was circling Reid's dead horse,holding tenaciously to his intention of clearing the ground before himas he advanced. Reid snaked himself on his elbows ahead of his enemy'sencircling movement, keeping under cover with admirable coolness andcraft.

  Mackenzie ran forward, throwing up his hand in command to Hall,challenging him as plainly as words to turn his efforts from adefenseless man to one who stood ready to give him battle. Hall drewoff a little from Reid's concealment, distrustful of him even thoughhe must have known him to be unarmed, not caring to put a man behindhis back. Still drawing off in that way, he stopped firing to slipmore cartridges into his automatic pistol, watching Mackenzie's rapidadvance, throwing a quick eye now and then toward the place where Reidlay out of his sight.

  Hall waited in that sharp pose of watchful indecision a moment, thenspurred his horse with sudden bound toward Reid. He leaped the carcassof Reid's animal at a gallop, firing at the man who huddled closeagainst its protection as he passed over. Mackenzie could not see Reidfrom where he stood, but he felt that his peril was very great, hischances almost hopeless in the face of Hall's determination to haverevenge on his brother's slayer in defiance of what might come tohimself when the thing was done.

  Mackenzie ran a little nearer, and opened fire. Heedless of him, Hallswung his horse back at a gallop, firing at Reid as he advanced. Reidcame rolling round the carcass of his horse to place himself in theprotection of the other side, so nimble in his movements thatMackenzie drew a breath of marveling relief. If Reid was touched atall by Hall's vicious rain of lead, it could be only slightly.

  Hall's headlong charge carried him several rods beyond Reid, the horsespringing high over the barrier. Again Reid escaped, again he camerolling back to shelter, his body as close to the ground as a worm's.When Hall pulled up his sliding, stiff-legged horse and turned in thecloud of dust to ride once more upon his defenseless enemy, it was toface Mackenzie, who had run up and posted himself directly in hisway.

  Reid's dead horse lay not more than twenty feet behind Mackenzie.Hector Hall leaned glowering at him through the dust perhaps twicethat distance ahead. A moment Hall leaned in that way, then camespurring on, holding his fire as if his purpose were to ride Mackenziedown in contempt.

  Mackenzie fired, steady against the onrushing charge as a rock in thedesert wind. He was thrilled by a calm satisfaction in meeting thisman who had contemned and despised him, whose cold eyes spoke insults,whose sneering lips were polluted with the blasphemies of his filthyheart.

  When Hall returned the fire he was so close that the flame of hisweapon struck hot against Mackenzie's face. Mackenzie leaped aside toavoid the horse, untouched save by the spurting flame, emptying hispistol into Hall's body as he passed. A little way on Hall wheeled thehorse and came riding back, but the blindness of death was in hisface, his rapid shots fell wild among the shrubs at Mackenzie's side.

  On past Mackenzie the horse galloped, Hall weaving in the saddle, therein
s hanging free, his hands trailing at his sides. Mackenzie put hispistol in the scabbard with slow and deliberate hand, feeling that thebattle was done, watching Hall as he rode blindly on.

  A little way, and the horse, whether through some wild caprice of itsown, or some touch of its dying rider, circled back, galloping downthe long slope toward the man who had come to help Hall adjust hisdifferences with these contemptible sheepmen. Hall's hat fell off ashis head sank forward; he bent, grappling his horse's mane. So for alittle way he rode, then slipped from the saddle, one foot entangledin the stirrup.

  The horse stopped suddenly, as if a weighted rein had been dropped.Mackenzie ran down the hill to disengage Hall's foot. But his mercifulhaste was useless; Hall was beyond the torture of dragging at astirrup.

  Mackenzie released the foot with a sad gentleness, composed the dustybody, drew the reins over the horse's head and left it standing besideits dead master. Hall's companion in the raid was still strugglingunder his fallen horse, and from the vigor of his attempts to freehimself Mackenzie gathered that he was not much hurt.

  A moment's work set the scoundrel on his feet, where he limped on awhole bone, whole enough to ride on many a rascally foray again.Mackenzie said nothing to him, only indicated by a movement of thehand what he was to do. Limping painfully, the fellow went to Hall'shorse, lifted his friend's body across the empty saddle, mountedbehind it with a struggle, and rode in humiliation from the field,glad enough to be allowed to go.

  Reid was standing beside his dead horse, watching the fellow rideaway. So for a little he stood, as if he debated some movement againstthe man who had sought his life with such hot cruelty but a fewminutes past, not turning to see whether Mackenzie came or went.Presently he took his coat from the saddle, slung it over hisshoulder, looked after the retreating man again, as if debatingwhether to follow.

  Mackenzie came up, Reid's pistol in his hand. This he offered, apologyin his manner, but no words on his lips. Reid took it, silent andunmoved, shoved it into his scabbard, walked away.

  From the manner of his going, Mackenzie knew he was not hurt. It was acomfortable thought for Mackenzie that his interference had at leastsaved Reid a wound. Doubtless he had saved him more. In that lastcharge, Hector Hall would have had his life.

  A part of his tremendous obligation to Reid was paid, and Reidunderstood it so. But the knowledge of it seemed to gall him, sodeeply, indeed, that it appeared he rather would have died than haveMackenzie succeed in his defense.

  Reid stopped where Hector Hall's hat had fallen. He turned it with hisfoot, looking down at it, and presently picked it up. He made as ifhe would put it on, but did not, and passed on carrying it in hishand.

  Mackenzie wondered what his plans might be, and whether he ought to goafter him and try to put their differences out of the way. Reid didnot stop at the wagon. He continued on to the top of the hill, defiantof the man who rode away with Hall's body, his pistol again on histhigh. There he stood looking this way and that a little while, as aman looks who is undecided of his road. Then he passed on. WhenMackenzie reached the spot where Reid had stood, he was no longer insight.

  Mackenzie thought Reid might be going deliberately to seek the battlefrom which he had been obliged so lately to flee unarmed. Mackenziewaited on the eminence, listening for the sounds of fight, ready tohasten to Reid's assistance if he should stand in need of it again. Sothe last hour of the afternoon passed. Mackenzie turned back to hisflock at length, believing Reid had gone on his way to the freedom hehad weighed against his inheritance only a few hours before.

  It was just as well then as another day, Mackenzie reflected, as heturned the sheep from their grazing. Not that he had meant to driveReid out of the country when he told him to go, but it was just aswell. Soon or late it would have to come to a show-down between them,and one would have been compelled to leave.

  But how would Sullivan view this abrupt ending of the half-million-dollarpenance, and the loss of three years' unpaid labor? Not kindly,certainly. It probably would result in the collapse of all Mackenzie'sown calculations as well, and the blighting of his sheep-wealth dreams.

  And that day he had slain a man in defense of Earl Reid's life, asReid had killed in defense of his.

  From the first hour he set his feet on the trail to the sheep countrythis culmination of his adventures had been shaping. Little by littleit had been building, the aggression pressed upon him, his attitudeall along one of defense. Perhaps when trouble is heading for a man,as this was inevitably directed, the best thing to do is rush to meetit with a club in the hand.

  That was the way it looked to John Mackenzie that evening. Troublewill put things over on a man who is bent to compromise, every time.Undoubtedly it looked that way. But he had killed a man. It was aheavy thing to carry on his soul.

  This depressing shadow thickened over him as the sun drew down tothe hills, and he went working his flock slowly to the night'sbedding-ground. The complaint of the lambs, weary from following andfrisking the day through, was sadder to him than it ever had fallenon his ears before. It seemed a lament for the pollution of his handsin human blood, moving a regret in his heart that was harder to bearthan fear.

  Mackenzie sat above the resting sheep as the shadows drew toward himbetween the hills, a glow as of a distant city where the sun went downan hour past. The rifle was beside him, his pistol in his belt, forregret of past violence would not make the next hour secure. Iftrouble should lift its head in his path again, he vowed he would killit before it could dart and strike.

  No, it was not a joke that Reid had pulled on him that afternoon. Reidhad meant to rob him, urged on to the deed by his preying discontentand racking desire to be away. Reid was on his way out of the countrynow, and if they caught him and took him before the judge who hadsentenced him to this unique penance, he would have the plea thatMackenzie drove him out, and that he fled to save his life.

  That might be sufficient for the judge; certainly it would be enoughfor Tim Sullivan. Sullivan would bring him back, and Mackenzie wouldbe sent to pick up the trail of his fortunes in another place, withyears of waiting between him and Joan, perhaps.

  So Mackenzie sat with his moody thoughts, depressed, downhearted,regretting bitterly the necessity that had risen for taking away afellow-creature's life. It bore on him heavily now that the heat ofhis blood had subsided; it stood before him an awful accusation. Hehad killed a man! But a man who had forfeited his right to live, a manwho had attempted to take his life in the past, who had come againthat day to hunt him like a coyote on the hills. The law wouldexculpate him; men would speak loudly of his justification. But itwould stand against him in his own conscience all his days. Simple forthinking of it that way, he knew; simple as they held him to be in thesheep country, even down to old Dad Frazer, simplest among men.

  He had no desire in his mouth for supper, although he set aboutpreparing it, wanting it over before dark. No need of a blaze or aglow of a coal to guide anybody that might be prowling around to dropa bullet into him. That surly rascal who bore Hector Hall's body awaymight come back to do it, but the man who stood first in his thoughtsand caution was Earl Reid, out there somewhere in the closing nightwith a gun on him and an itch in his hand to use it.