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

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER XXIX

  THE MAW OF THE MUSKEG

  Down the sloping shore to the level of the great keg, the party ofBreeds--and in their midst the doomed money-lender--made their way.Jacky and "Lord" Bill, on their horses, brought up the rear.

  The silent _cortege_ moved slowly on, out on to the oozing path acrossthe mire. Lablache was now beyond human aid.

  The right and wrong of their determination troubled the Breeds not onewhit. But it was different with the two white people. What thoughts Billhad upon the matter he kept to himself. He certainly felt that he oughtto interfere, but he knew how worse than useless his interference wouldbe. Besides, the man should die. The law of Judge Lynch was the only lawfor such as he. Let that law take its course. Bill would have preferredthe stout tree and a raw-hide lariat. But--and he shrugged hisshoulders.

  Jacky felt more deeply upon the subject. She saw the horror in all itstruest lights, and yet she had flouted her lover's suggestion that sheshould not witness the end. Bad and all as Lablache was--cruel as washis nature, murderer though he be, surely no crime, however heinous,could deserve the fate to which he was going. She hadremonstrated--urged Baptiste to forego his wanton cruelty, to deal outjustice tempered with a mercy which should hurl the money-lender tooblivion without suffering--with scarce time to realize the happening.Her efforts were unavailing. As well try to turn an ape from itsmischief--a man-eater from its mania for human blood. The inherent loveof cruelty had been too long fostered in these Breeds of Foss River.Lablache had too long swayed their destinies with his ruthless hand ofextortion. All the pent-up hatred, stored in the back cells of memory,was now let loose. For all these years in Foss River they had beenforced to look to Lablache as the ruler of their destinies. Was he notthe great--the wealthy man of the place? When he held up his finger theymust work--and his wage was the wage of a dog. When money was scarceamong them, would he not drive them starving from his great store? Whentheir children and women were sick, would he not refuse themdrugs--food--nourishment of any sort, unless the money was down? Theyhad not even the privilege of men who owned land. There was no creditfor the Breeds--outcasts. Baptiste and his fellows remembered all thesethings. Their time had come. They would pay Lablache--and their score ofinterest should be heavy.

  On their way from the shed to the muskeg Lablache had seen thereflection of the fire at his store in the sky. Gautier had takendevilish satisfaction in telling the wretched man of what had beendone--mouthing the details in the manner of one who finds joy incruelty. He remembered past injuries, and reveled in the money-lender'sagony.

  After a toilsome journey the Breeds halted at the point where the pathdivided into three. Jacky and Bill sat on their horses and watched thescene. Then, slowly, something of Baptiste's intention was borne in uponthem.

  Jacky reached out and touched her lover's arm.

  "Bill, what are they going to do?"

  She asked the question. But the answer was already with her. Hercompanion remained silent. She did not repeat her question.

  Then she heard Baptiste's raucous tones as he issued his commands.

  "Loose his hands!"

  Jacky watched Lablache's face in the dim starlight. It was ghastly. Thewhole figure of the man seemed to have shrunk. The wretched man stoodfree, and yet more surely a prisoner than any criminal in a condemnedcell.

  The uncertain light of the stars showed only the dark expanse of themire upon all sides. In the distance, ahead, the mountains were vaguelyoutlined against the sky; behind and around, nothing but that awfuldeath-trap. Jacky had lived all her life beside the muskeg, but never,until that moment, had she realized the awful terror of its presence.

  Now Baptiste again commanded.

  "Prepare for death."

  It seemed to the listening girl that a devilish tone of exultation rangin his words. She roused herself from her fascinated attention. She wasabout to urge her horse forward. But a thin, powerful hand reached outand gripped her by the arm. It was "Lord" Bill. His hoarse whisper sungin her ears.

  "Your own words--Leave well alone."

  And she allowed her horse to stand.

  Now she leaned forward in her saddle and rested her elbows upon the hornin front of her. Again she heard Baptiste speak. He seemed to be in solecommand.

  "We'll give yer a chance fur yer life--"

  Again the fiendish laugh underlaid the words.

  "It's a chance of a dog--a yellow dog," he pursued. Jacky shuddered."But such a chance is too good fur yer likes. Look--look, those hills.See the three tall peaks--yes, those three, taller than the rest. Onestraight in front; one to the right, an' one away to the left. Guessthis path divides right hyar--in three, an' each path heads for one ofthose peaks. Say, jest one trail crosses the keg--one. Savee? The othersend sudden, and then--the keg."

  The full horror of the man's meaning now became plain to the girl. Sheheaved a great gasp, and turned to Bill. Her lover signed a warning. Sheturned again to the scene before her.

  "Now, see hyar, you scum," Baptiste went on. "This is yer chance. Chooseyer path and foller it. Guess yer can't see it no more than yer ken seethis one we're on, but you've got the lay of it. Guess you'll travel thepath yer choose to--the end. If yer don't move--an' move mightyslippy--you'll be dumped headlong into the muck. Ef yer git on to theright path an' cross the keg safe, yer ken sling off wi' a whole skin.Guess you'll fin' it a ticklish job--mebbe you'll git through. But I'vea notion yer won't. Now, take yer dog's chance, an' remember, its deathif yer don't, anyway."

  The man ceased speaking. Jacky saw Lablache shake his great head. Thensomething made him look at the mountains beyond. There were the threedimly-outlined peaks. They were clear enough to guide him. Jacky,watching, saw the expression of his face change. It was as though aflicker of hope had risen within him. Then she saw him turn and eyeBaptiste. He seemed to read in that cruel, dark face a vengeful purpose.He seemed to scent a trick. Presently he turned again to the hills.

  How plainly the watching girl read the varying emotions which beset him.He was trying to face this chance calmly, but the dark expanse of thesurrounding mire wrung his heart with terror. He could not choose, andyet he knew he must do so or--

  Baptiste spoke again.

  "Choose!"

  Lablache again bent his eyes upon the hills. But his lashless lids wouldflicker, and his vision became impaired. He turned to the Breed with animploring gesture. Baptiste made no movement. His relentless expressionremained unchanged. The wretched man turned away to the rest of theBreeds.

  A pistol was leveled at his head and he turned back to Baptiste. Theonly comfort he obtained was a monosyllabic command.

  "Choose!"

  "God, man, I can't." Lablache gasped out the words which seemedliterally to be wrung from him.

  "Choose!" The inexorable tone sent a shudder over the distraught man.Even in the starlight the expression of the villain's face was hideousto behold.

  Baptiste's voice again rang out on the still night air.

  "Move him!"

  A pistol was pushed behind his ear.

  "Do y' hear?"

  "Mercy--mercy!" cried the distraught man. But he made no move.

  There was an instant's pause. Then the loud report of the threateningpistol rang out. It had been fired through the lobe of his ear.

  "Oh, God!"

  The exclamation was forced from Jacky. The torture--the horror nearlydrove her wild. She lifted her reins as though to ride to the villain'said. Then something--some cruel recollection--stayed her. She rememberedher uncle and her heart hardened.

  The merciless torture of the Breed was allowed to pass.

  To the wretched victim it seemed that his ear-drum must be split for theshot had left him almost stone deaf. The blood trickled from the wound.He almost leapt forward. Then he stood all of a tremble as he felt theground shake beneath him. A cold sweat poured down his great face.

  "Choose!" Baptiste followed the terror-stricken man up.

  "No--no! Don
't shoot! Yes, I'll go--only--don't shoot."

  The abject cowardice the great man now displayed was almost pitiable.Bill's lip curled in disdain. He had expected that this man would haveshown a bold front.

  He had always believed Lablache to be, at least, a man of courage. Buthe did not allow for the circumstances--the surroundings. Lablache onthe safe ground of the prairie would have faced disaster verydifferently. The thought of that sucking mire was too terrible. The oilymaw of that death-trap was a thing to strike horror into the bravestheart.

  "Which path?" Baptiste spoke, waving his hand in the direction of themountains.

  Lablache moved cautiously forward, testing the ground with his foot ashe went. Then he paused again and eyed the mountains.

  "The right path," he said at last, in a guttural whisper.

  "Then start." The words rang out cuttingly upon the night air.

  Lablache fixed his eyes upon the distant peak of the mountain which wasto be his guide. He advanced slowly. The Breeds followed, Jacky and Billbringing up the rear. The ground seemed firm and the money-lender movedheavily forward. His breath came in gasps. He was panting, not withexertion, but with terror. He could not test the ground until his weightwas upon it. An outstretched foot pressed on the grassy path told himnothing. He knew that the crust would hold until the weight of his bodywas upon it. With every successful step his terror increased. What wouldthe next bring forth?

  His agony of mind was awful.

  He covered about ten yards in this way. The sweat poured from him. Hisclothes stuck to him. He paused for a second and took fresh bearings. Heturned his head and looked into the muzzle of Baptiste's revolver. Heshuddered and turned again to the mountains. He pressed forward. Stillthe ground was firm. But this gave him no hope. Suddenly a frightfulhorror swept over him. It was something fresh; he had not thought of itbefore. The fact was strange, but it was so. The path--had he taken thewrong one? He had made his selection at haphazard and he knew that therewas no turning back. Baptiste had said so and he had seen his resolvewritten in his face. A conviction stole over him that he was on thewrong path. He knew he was. He must be. Of course it was only natural.The center path must be the main one. He stood still. He could havecried out in his mental agony. Again he turned--and saw the pistol.

  He put his foot out. The ground trembled at his touch. He drew backwith a gurgling cry. He turned and tried another spot. It was firm untilhis weight rested upon it. Then it shook. He sought to return to thespot he had left. But now he could not be sure. His mind was uncertain.Suddenly he gave a jump. He felt the ground solid beneath him as healighted. His face was streaming. He passed his hand across it in adazed way. His terror increased a hundredfold. Now he endeavored to takehis bearings afresh. He looked out at the three mountains. The rightone--yes, that was it. The right one. He saw the peak, and made anotherstep forward. The path held. Another step and his foot went through. Hedrew back with a cry. He tripped and fell heavily. The ground shookunder him and he lay still, moaning.

  Baptiste's voice roused him and urged him on.

  "Git on, you skunk," he said. "Go to yer death."

  Lablache sat up and looked about. He felt dazed. He knew he must go on.Death--death which ever way he turned. God! did ever a man suffer so?The name of John Allandale came to his mind and he gazed wildly about,fancying some one had whispered it to him in answer to his thoughts. Hestood up. He took another step forward with reckless haste. Heremembered the pistol behind him. The ground seemed to shake under him.His distorted fancy was playing tricks with him. Another step. Yes, theground was solid--no, it shook. The weight of his body came down on thespot. His foot went through. He hurled himself backwards again andclutched wildly at the ground. He shuddered and cried out. Again cameBaptiste's voice.

  "Git on, or--"

  The distraught man struggled to his feet. He was becoming delirious withterror. He stepped forward again. The ground seemed solid and he laugheda horrid, wild laugh. Another step and another. He paused, breathinghard. Then he started to mutter,--

  "On--on. Yes, on again or they'll have me. The path--this is the rightone. I'll cheat 'em yet."

  He strode out boldly. His foot sank in something soft He did not seem tonotice it. Another step and his foot sank again in the reeking muck.Suddenly he seemed to realize. He threw himself back and obtained afoothold. He stood trembling. He turned and tried another direction.Again he sank. Again he drew back. His knees tottered and he feared tomove. Suddenly a ring of metal pressed against his head from behind. Ina state of panic he stepped forward on the shaking ground. It held. Hepaused, then stepped again, his foot coming down on a reedy tuft. Itshook, but still held. He took another step. His foot sunk quickly, tillthe soft muck oozed round his ankle. He cried out in terror and turnedto come back.

  Baptiste stood with leveled pistol.

  "On--on, you gopher. Turn again an' I wing yer. On, you bastard. You'vechosen yer path, keep to it."

  "Mercy--I'm sinking."

  "Git on--not one step back."

  Lablache struggled to release his sinking limb. By a great effort hedrew it out only to plunge it into another yielding spot. Again hestruggled, and in his struggle his other foot slipped from its reedyhold. It, too, sank. With a terrible cry he plunged forward. He lurchedheavily as he sought to drag his feet from the viscid muck. At everyeffort he sank deeper. At last he hurled himself full length upon thesurface of the reeking mire. He cried aloud, but no one answered him.Under his body he felt the yielding crust cave. He clutched at thesurface grass, but he only plucked the tufts from their roots. They gavehim no hold.

  The silent figures on the path watched his death-struggle. It wasghastly--horrible. The expression of their faces was fiendish. Theywatched with positive joy. There was no pity in the hearts of theBreeds.

  They hearkened to the man's piteous cries with ears deafened to allentreaty. They simply watched--watched and reveled in the watching--forthe terrible end which must come.

  Already the murderer's vast proportions were half buried in the slimyooze, and, at every fresh effort to save himself, he sank deeper. Butthe death which the Breeds awaited was slow to come. Slow--slow. And sothey would have it.

  Like some hungry monster the muskeg mouths its victims with oozingsaliva, supping slowly, and seemingly revels in anticipation of thedelicate morsel of human flesh. The watchers heard the gurgling mud,like to a great tongue licking, as it wrapped round the doomed man'sbody, sucking him down, down. The clutch of the keg seemed likesomething alive; something so all-powerful--like the twining feelers ofthe giant cuttle-fish. Slowly they saw the doomed man's legs disappear,and already the slimy muck was above his middle.

  The minutes dragged along--the black slime rose--it was at Lablache'sbreast. His arms were outspread, and, for the moment, they offeredresistance to the sucking strength of the mud. But the resistance wasonly momentary. Down, down he was drawn into that insatiable maw. Thedying man's arms canted upwards as his shoulders were dragged under.

  He cried--he shrieked--he raved. Down, down he went--the mud touched hischin. His head was thrown back in one last wild scream. The watchers sawthe staring eyes--the wide-stretched, lashless lids.

  His cries died down into gurgles as the mud oozed over into his gapingmouth. Down he went to his dreadful death, until his nostrils filled andonly his awful eyes remained above the muck. The watchers did not move.Slowly--slowly and silently now--the last of him disappeared. Once hishead was below the surface his limpened arms followed swiftly.

  The Breeds reluctantly turned back from the horrid spectacle. Thefearful torture was done. For a few moments no words were spoken. Then,at last, it was Baptiste who broke the silence. He looked round on thepassion-distorted faces about him. Then his beady eyes rested on thehorrified faces of Jacky and her lover. He eyed them, and presently hisgaze dropped, and he turned back to his countrymen. He merely said twowords.

  "Scatter, boys."

  The tragedy was over and his words brought down the curt
ain. In silencethe half-breeds turned and slunk away. They passed back over theirtracks. Each knew that the sooner he reached the camp again, the soonerwould safety be assured. As the last man departed Baptiste stepped up toJacky and Bill, who had not moved from their positions.

  "Guess there's no cause to complain o' yer friends," he said, addressingJacky, and leering up into her white, set face.

  The girl shivered and turned away with a look of utter loathing on herface. She appealed to her lover.

  "Bill--Bill, send him away. It's--it's too horrible."

  "Lord" Bill fixed his gray eyes on the Breed.

  "Scatter--we've had enough."

  "Eh? Guess yer per-tickler."

  There was a truculent tone in Baptiste's voice.

  Bill's revolver was out like lightning.

  "Scatter!"

  And in that word Baptiste realized his dismissal.

  His face looked very ugly, but he moved off under the covering muzzle ofthe white man's pistol.

  Bill watched him until he was out of sight. Then he turned to Jacky.

  "Well? Which way?"

  Jacky did not answer for a moment. She gazed at the mountains. Sheshivered. It might have been the chill morning air--it might have beenemotion. Then she looked back in the direction of Foss River. Dawn wasalready streaking the horizon.

  She sighed like a weary child, and looked helplessly about. Her loverhad never seen her vigorous nature so badly affected. But he realizedthe terrors she had been through.

  Bill looked at her.

  "Well?"

  "Yonder." She pointed to the distant hills. "Foss River is no longerpossible."

  "The day that sees Lablache--"

  "Yes--come."

  Bill gazed lingeringly in the direction of the settlement. Jackyfollowed his gaze. Then she touched Nigger's flank with her spur. GoldenEagle cocked his ears, his head was turned towards Bad Man's Hollow. Heneeded no urging. He felt that he was going home.

  Together they rode away across the keg.

  * * * * *

  Dr. Abbot had been up all night, as had most of Foss River. Everybodyhad been present at the fire. It was daylight when it was discoveredthat John Allandale and Jacky were missing. Lablache had been missed,but this had not so much interested people. They thought of Retief andwaited for daylight.

  Silas brought the news of "Poker" John's absence--also his niece's.Immediately was a "hue and cry" taken up. Foss River bustled in search.

  It was noon before the rancher was found. Doctor Abbot and Silas had setout in search together. The fifty-acre pasture was Silas's suggestion.Dr. Abbot did not remember the implement shed.

  They found the old man's body. They found Lablache's confession. Silascould not read. He took no stock in the writing and thought only of thedead man. The doctor had read, but he said nothing. He dispatched Silasfor help.

  When the foreman had gone Dr. Abbot picked up the black wig which Billhad used. He stood looking at it for a while, then he put it carefullyinto his pocket.

  "Ah! I think I understand something now," he said, slowly fingering thewig. "Um--yes. I'll burn it when I get home."

  Silas returned with help. John Allandale was buried quietly in thelittle piece of ground set aside for such purposes. The truth of thedisappearance of Lablache, Jacky and "Lord" Bill was never known outsideof the doctor's house.

  How much or how little Dr. Abbot knew would be hard to tell. Possibly heguessed a great deal. Anyway, whatever he knew was doubtless shared with"Aunt" Margaret. For when the doctor had a secret it did not remain hislong. "Aunt" Margaret had a way with her. However, she was the veryessence of discretion.

  Foss River settled down after its nine days' wonder. It was astonishinghow quickly the affair was forgotten. But then, Foss River was not yetcivilized. Its people had not yet learned to worry too much over theirneighbors' affairs.

  THE END