The Story of the Foss River Ranch: A Tale of the Northwest

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  SETTLING THE RECKONING

  Jacky stood at the gate of the fifty-acre pasture. She had been standingthere for some minutes. The night was quite dark; there was no moon. Herhorse, Nigger, was standing hitched to one of the fence posts a fewyards away from her and inside the pasture. The girl was waiting for"Lord" Bill.

  Not a sound broke the stillness of the night as she stood listening. Awonderful calmness was over all. From her position Jacky had seen thelight shining through the window of the implement shed. Now the shed wasquite dark--the window had been covered. She knew that her uncle andLablache were there. She was growing impatient.

  Every now and then she would turn her face from the contemplation of theblackness of the distant end of the field to the direction of thesettlement, her ears straining to catch the sound of her dilatorylover's coming. The minutes passed all too swiftly. And her impatiencegrew and found vent in irritable movements and sighs of vexation.

  Suddenly her ears caught the sound of distant cries coming from thesettlement. She turned in the direction. A lurid gleam was in the sky.Then, as she watched, the glare grew brighter, and sparks shot up in agreat wreathing cloud of smoke. The direction was unmistakable. She knewthat Lablache's store had been fired.

  "Good," she murmured, with a sigh of relief. "I guess Bill'll come rightalong now. I wish he'd come. They've been in that shack ten minutes ormore. Why don't he come?"

  The glare of the fire fascinated her, and her eyes remained glued in thedirection of it. The reflection in the sky was widespread and she knewthat the great building must be gutted, for there was no means ofputting the fire out. Then her thoughts turned to Lablache, and shesmiled as she thought of the surprise awaiting him. The sky in thedistance grew brighter. She could only see the lurid reflection; arising ground intervened between her and the settlement.

  Suddenly against the very heart of the glare the figure of a horsemancoming towards her was silhouetted as he rode over the rising ground.One glance sufficed the girl. That tall, thin figure wasunmistakable--her lover was hastening towards her. She turned to herhorse and unhitched the reins from the fence post.

  Presently Bill came up and dismounted. He led Golden Eagle through thegate. The greeting was an almost silent one between these two. Doubtlesstheir thoughts carried them beyond mere greetings. They stood for asecond.

  "Shall we ride?" said Jacky, inclining her head in the direction of theshed.

  "No, we will walk. How long have they been there?"

  "A quarter of an hour, I guess."

  "Come along, then."

  They walked down the pasture leading their two horses.

  "I see no light," said Bill, looking straight ahead of him.

  "It is covered--the window, I mean. What are you going to do, Bill?"

  The man laughed.

  "Lots--but I shall be guided by circumstances. You must remain outside,Jacky; you can see to the horses."

  "P'r'aps."

  The man turned sharply.

  "P'r'aps?"

  "Yes, one never knows. I guess it's no use fixing things when--guided bycircumstances."

  They relapsed into silence and walked steadily on. Half the distance wascovered when Jacky halted.

  "Will Golden Eagle stand 'knee-haltering,' Bill?"

  "Yes, why?"

  "We'll 'knee-halter' 'em."

  Bill stood irresolute.

  "It'll be better, I guess," the girl pursued. "We'll be freer."

  "All right," replied Bill. "But," after a pause, "I'd rather you didn'tcome further, little woman--there may be shooting--"

  "That's so. I like shootin'. What's that?"

  The girl had secured her horse, Bill was in the act of securing his.Jacky raised her hand in an attitude of attention and turned her face towindward. Bill stood erect and listened.

  "Ah!--it's the boys. Baptiste said they would come."

  There was a faint rustling of grass near by. Jacky's keen ears haddetected the stealing sound at once. To others it might have passed forthe effect of the night breeze.

  They listened for a few seconds longer, then Bill turned to the girl.

  "Come--the horses are safe. The boys will not show themselves. I fancythey are here to watch only--me."

  They continued on towards the shed. They were both wrapt in silentthought. Neither was prepared for what was to come. They were stillnearly a quarter of a mile from the building. Its outline was dimlydiscernible in the darkness. And, too, now the light from the oil lampcould be seen dimly shining through the red bandanna which was stretchedover the window.

  Now the sound of "Poker" John's voice raised in anger reached them. Theystood still with one accord. It was astonishing how the voice traveledall that distance. He must be shouting. A sudden fear gripped theirhearts. Bill was the first to move. With a whispered "Wait here," he ranforward. For an instant Jacky waited, then, on a sudden impulse, shefollowed her lover.

  The girl had just started. Suddenly the sharp report of firearms splitthe air. She came up with Bill, who had paused at the sound.

  "Hustle, Bill. It's murder," the girl panted.

  "Yes," and he ran forward with set face and gleaming eyes.

  Murder--and who was the victim? Bill wondered, and his heart misgavehim. There was no longer any sound of voices. The rancher had beensilenced. He thought of the girl behind him. Then his whole mindsuddenly centered itself upon Lablache. If he had killed the rancher nomercy should be shown to him.

  Bill was rapidly nearing the building, and it was wrapped in an ominoussilence.

  For a second he again came to a stand. He wanted to make sure. He couldhear Jacky's speeding footfalls from behind. And he could hear thestealthy movements of those others. These were the only sounds thatreached him. He-went on again. He came to the building. The window wasdirectly in front of him. He tried to look into the room but thehandkerchief effectually hid the interior. Suddenly the light went out.He knew what this meant. Turning away from the window he crept towardsthe door. Jacky had come up. He motioned her into the shadow. Then hewaited.

  The door opened and a great figure came out. It was Lablache. Even inthe darkness Bill recognized him. His heavy, asthmatical breathing musthave betrayed the money-lender if there had been no other means ofidentification.

  Lablache stepped out on to the prairie utterly unconscious of thefigures crouching in the darkness. He stepped heavily forward. Foursteps--that was all. A silent spring--an iron grip round themoney-lender's throat, from behind. A short, sharp struggle--a greatgasping for breath. Then Lablache reeled backwards and fell to theground with Bill hanging to his throat like some tiger. In the fall themoney-lender's pistol went off. There was a sharp report, and the bullettore up the ground. But no harm was done. Bill held on. Then came theswish of a skirt. Jacky was at her lover's side. She dragged themoney-lender's pistol from his pocket. Then Bill let go his hold andstood panting over the prostrate man. The whole thing was done insilence. No word was spoken.

  Lablache sucked in a deep whistling breath. His eyes rolled and hestruggled into a sitting posture. He was gazing into the muzzle ofBill's pistol.

  "Get up!" The stern voice was unlike Bill's, but there was nothing ofthe twang of Retief about it.

  The money-lender stared, but did not move--neither did he speak. Jackyhad darted into the hut. She had gone to light the lamp and learn thetruth.

  "Get up!" The chilling command forced the money-lender to rise. He sawbefore him the tall, thin figure of his assailant.

  "Retief!" he gasped, and then stood speechless.

  Now the re-lighted lamp glowed through the doorway. Bill pointed towardsthe door.

  "Go inside!" The relentless pistol was at Lablache's head.

  "No--no! Not inside." The words whistled on a gasping breath.

  "Go inside!"

  Cowed and fearful, Lablache obeyed the mandate.

  Bill followed the money-lender into the miserable room. His keen eyestook in the scene in on
e swift glance. He saw Jacky kneeling beside theprostrate form of her uncle. She was not weeping. Her beautiful face wasstonily calm. She was just looking down at that still form, that drawngray face, the staring eyes and dropped jaw. Bill saw and understood.Lablache might expect no mercy.

  The murderer himself was now looking in the direction of--but notat--the body of his victim. He was gazing with eyes which expressedhorrified amazement at the sight of the crouching figure of JackyAllandale. He was trying to fathom the meaning of her association withRetief.

  Bill closed the door. Now he came forward towards the table, alwayskeeping Lablache in front of him.

  "Is he dead?" Bill's voice was solemn.

  Jacky looked up. There was a look as of stone in her somber eyes.

  "He is dead--dead."

  "Ah! For the moment we will leave the dead. Come, let us deal with theliving. It is time for a final reckoning."

  There was a deadly chill in the tone of Bill's voice--a chill which wasinfinitely more dreadful to Lablache's ears than could any passionateoutburst have been.

  The door opened gently. No one noticed it, so absorbed were they in theghastly matter before them. Wider the door swung and several dusky facesappeared in the opening.

  The money-lender stood motionless. His gaze ignored the dead. He watchedthe living. He wondered what "Lord" Bill's preamble portended. He shookhimself like one rousing from some dreadful nightmare. He summoned hiscourage and tried to face the consequences of his act with an outwardcalm. Struggle as he might a deadly fear was ever present.

  It was not the actual fear of death--it was the moral dread of somethingintangible. He feared at that moment not that which was to come. It wasthe presence of the dusky-visaged raider and--the girl. He feared mostlythe icy look on Jacky's face. However, his mind was quite clear. He waswatching for a loophole of escape. And he lost no detail of the scenebefore him.

  A matter which puzzled him greatly was the familiar voice of the raider.Retief, as he knew him, spoke with a pronounced accent, but now he onlyheard the ordinary tones of an Englishman.

  Bill had purposely abandoned his exaggerated Western drawl. Now heremoved the scarf from his neck and proceeded to wipe the yellow greasefrom his face and neck. Lablache, with dismay in his heart, saw thewhite skin which had been concealed beneath the paint. The truthflashed upon him instantly. And before Bill had had time to remove hiswig his name had passed the money-lender's lips.

  "Bunning-Ford?" he gasped. And in that expression was a world of moralfear.

  "Yes, Bunning-Ford, come to settle his last reckoning with you."

  Bill eyed the murderer steadily and Lablache felt his last grip on hiscourage relax. A terrible fear crept upon him as his courage ebbed.Slowly Bill turned his eyes in the direction of the still kneelingJacky. The girl's eyes met his, and, in response to some muteunderstanding which passed between them, she rose to her feet.

  Bill did not speak. He merely looked at his pistol. Jacky spoke as ifanswering some remark of his.

  "Yes, this is my affair."

  Then she turned upon the money-lender. There was no wrath in her face,no anger in her tones; only that horrid, stony purpose which Lablachedreaded. He wished she would hurl invective at him. He felt that itwould have been better so.

  "The death which you have dealt to that poor old man is too good foryou--murderer," she said, her deep, somber eyes seeming to pass throughand through the mountain of flesh she was addressing. "I take smallcomfort in the thought that he had no time to suffer bodily pain. Youwill suffer--later." Bill gazed at her wonderingly. "Liar!--cheat!--youpollute the earth. You thought to cozen that poor, harmless old man outof his property--out of me. You thought to ruin him as you have ruinedothers. Your efforts will avail you nothing. From the moment Billdiscovered the use of your memorandum pad"--Lablache started--"your fatewas sealed. We swore to confiscate your property. For every dollar youtook from us you should pay ten. But now the matter is different. Thereis a justice on the prairie--a rough, honest, uncorruptible justice. Andthat justice demands your life. You shall scourge Foss River no longer.You have murdered. You shall die!--"

  Jacky was about to go further with her inexorable denunciation when thedoor of the shed was flung wide, and eight Breeds, headed by Gautier andBaptiste, came in. They came in almost noiselessly, their moccasinedfeet giving out scarcely any sound upon the floor of the room.

  "Lord" Bill turned, startled at the sudden apparition. Jacky hesitated.Here was a contingency which none had reckoned upon. One glance at thosedark, cruel faces warned all three that these prairie outcasts had beensilent witnesses of everything that had taken place. It was a suprememoment, and the deadly pallor which had assumed a leadenish hue onLablache's face told of one who appreciated the horror of that silentcoming.

  Baptiste stepped over to where Jacky stood. He looked at her, and thenhis gaze passed to the dead man upon the floor. His beady, black eyesturned fiercely upon the cowering money-lender.

  "Ow!" he grunted. And his tone was the fierce expression of an Indianroused to homicidal purpose.

  Then he turned back to Jacky, and the look on his face changed to one ofsympathy and even love.

  "Not you, missie--and the white man--no. The prairie is the land of theBreed and his forefathers--the Red Man. Guess the law of the prairie'llcome best from such as he. You are one of us," he went on, surveying thegirl's beautiful face in open admiration. "You've allus been mostly oneof us--but I take it y'are too white. No, guess you ain't goin' ter muckyer pretty hands wi' the filthy blood of yonder," pointing to Lablache."These things is fur the likes o' us. Jest leave this skunk to us. Deathis the sentence, and death he's goin' ter git--an' it'll be somethin'ter remember by all who behold. An' the story shall go down to ourchildren. This poor dead thing was our best frien'--an' he'sdead--murdered. So, this is a matter for the Breed."

  Then the half-breed turned away. Seeing the chalk upon the floor hestooped and picked it up.

  "Let's have the formalities. It is but just--"

  Bill suddenly interrupted. He was angry at the interference of Baptiste.

  "Hold on!"

  Baptiste swung round. The white man got no further. The Breed broke inupon him with animal ferocity.

  "Who says hold on? Peace, white man, peace! This is for us. Dare to stopus, an'--"

  Jacky sprang between her lover and the ferocious half-breed.

  "Bill, leave well alone," she said. And she held up a warning finger.

  She knew these men, of a race to which she, in part, belonged. As wellbaulk a tiger of its prey. She knew that if Bill interfered his lifewould pay the forfeit. The sanguinary lust of these human devils oncearoused, they cared little how it be satisfied.

  Bill turned away with a shrug, and he was startled to see that he hadbeen noiselessly surrounded by the rest of the half-breeds. Had Jacky'scommand needed support, it would have found it in this ominous movement.

  Fate had decreed that the final act in the Foss River drama should comefrom another source than the avenging hands of those who had sealedtheir compact in Bad Man's Hollow.

  Baptiste turned away from "Lord" Bill, and, at a sign from him, Lablachewas brought round to the other side of the table--to where the deadrancher was lying. Baptiste handed him the chalk and then pointed to thewall, on which had been written the score of old John's last gamble.

  "Write!" he said, turning back to his prisoner.

  Lablache gazed fearfully around. He essayed to speak, but his tongueclove to the roof of his mouth.

  "Write--while I tell you." The Breed still pointed to the wall.

  Lablache held out the chalk.

  "I kill John Allandale," dictated Baptiste.

  Lablache wrote.

  "Now, sign. So."

  Lablache signed. Jacky and Bill stood looking on silent and wondering.

  "Now," said Baptiste, with all the solemnity of a court official, "theexecution shall take place. Lead him out!"

  At this instant Jacky laid her
hand upon the half-breed's arm.

  "What--what is it?" she asked. And from her expression something of thestony calmness had gone, leaving in its place a look of wondering notuntouched with horror.

  "The Devil's Keg!"