XXXV
OUT OF THE PAST
Michail Lafond drove on slowly down the valley of Copper Creek,although, if he intended to reach Rapid before dark, there would seemto be every reason for haste.
He usually conducted his affairs so carefully, so shrewdly, socalculatingly. How had he happened to give way so to an impulse? Heregretted lashing the girl with his whip, because he felt that it wasunnecessary. Doing unnecessary evil had always been against Lafond'sprinciples. He considered it bad luck, and somehow that spectre of badluck seemed to be coming very close. He had lost confidence.Therefore he made mistakes.
Just outside of town he encountered Blair's stage crawling along on amended axle. Naturally both vehicles pulled up. After explanations ofthe accident, Blair remarked casually--
"Struck Billy down the road a piece."
"Yes," said Mike, "he left this morning."
"Almighty lucky happen-so for him, 'cause I had an old codger aboardthat was just on his way to visit Billy. Nice old cuss, too. NameBuckley, or Bulkley, or something like that. Come from out Wyomingway."
Lafond clamped on his brake again.
"Yes," said he, "I used to know him. He went off with Billy, you say?"
"Yes, bag _an'_ baggage."
"Goin' to Rapid?"
"Near as I could make out," said Blair. "They reversed the propositionon the spot. Place of him a visitin' of Billy, Billy he aims to visithim. Things movin' at camp?"
"They'll tell you up there," replied Lafond and drove on.
What a fiendish stroke of luck! This one man in all the West who knewof the affair at Spanish Gulch in the seventies, who would remember thedoctor's wife, who would recognize the strong resemblance of herdaughter to her, who might stir up that dust of the past which Lafondhad so carefully laid--that he should come just at this time! To besure, there was nothing, absolutely nothing, to implicate him--Lafond.But Buckley was a tenacious sort of individual; he would insist oninvestigating. That would mean explanations by Lafond, a detailedaccount. The details would have to be invented. And then a chillstruck his heart as he realized that he could not recall all the storyhe had told the Indian agent when he had left the little girl in hischarge!
He pulled his horses down to a walk and set himself to thinkingearnestly. He went over in sequence, as nearly as he could rememberthem, every word and action, from his meeting with Durand to hisdeparture from the agency. It was no use. Even at the time, he hadinvented the story lightly, without much thought of its importanceexcept as a temporary expedient. Now the matter had quite escaped him.Jim Buckley's return West, which had before seemed merely fortunate, hesaw now had been providential. It was a narrow escape. He must visitthe agent as soon as possible, for the purpose of refreshing his memory.
He came to Durand's cabin. The old man stood near the doorwayexamining something which he held flat in the palm of his hand. At hisfeet, Jacques, the little raccoon, was curled up in a bright-eyed ballof fur, enjoying the early sun. Out behind the cabin, Isabeau, thetasselled lynx, stepped lightly to and fro along the length of hischain; and the great Pantalon sat drolly on his shaggy haunchessniffing the air. Lafond stopped. He felt he must talk to some one orgive way to this incomprehensible impulse to shriek aloud.
They exchanged greetings. At once Lafond saw something suspicious inthe old man's attitude. He was preternaturally grave. He seemed to bethinking of something behind his actual speech.
"I've something to show you, Lafond," he remarked after a little."It's very queer," and with what Lafond saw at once to be an accusingmotion he held before the latter's eyes the little ivory miniature ofPrue Welch.
He had found it under a _mesquite_ bush. Ever since he had beenstruggling vainly to place the familiarity of the features. He had notseen enough of the girl at the camp to be able to do so definitely, buthe had succeeded in bringing his mind almost to the point of arecognition which was continually just escaping him.
Lafond started violently, and stared at the portrait.
"Why, what's the matter?" cried Durand. "You look as though you'd seena ghost!"
On the instant Lafond recovered his self-possession. He glanced withside-long evil look at the old man.
"Nothing," said he briefly.
It was evident that the naturalist was trying to trap him.
"Where have you seen her before?" asked the latter, returning to theportrait. "She is old-fashioned--must have had that painted fifteen ortwenty years ago--and yet I've seen her recently."
Lafond stiffly descended from the vehicle, both hands thrust deep intothe pockets of his canvas coat, and peered over the old man's shoulder.
"Here, Lafond," the latter was saying, "you know more about this than Ido----" He meant that the half-breed possessed a wider circle ofacquaintances. At his words Lafond drew an ivory-handled clasp-knifefrom the pocket of his canvas coat, opened it in two lightning motionsand stabbed the old man deeply in the back. The latter stumbledforward, half turning as he fell. Lafond plunged his blade wickedlyinto Durand's throat, where it stuck, twisting out of the murderer'shands. The victim writhed twice, gasped, and died.
Black Mike stood over the body for a moment, panting. He stooped torecover the knife. On its ivory handle he read the words "WilliamKnapp," on which he remembered, and left it where it was. Then heclimbed into his wagon and insanely lashed his horses into a franticrun.
The little furry 'coon approached its master bristling. It dabbled itsblack paws, almost human, in the blood that stood on the threshold, andthen, frothing at the muzzle, it scrambled into the house and up a highbookshelf, where it crouched, its eyes like coals of green fire.
On the hillside opposite a white-faced little boy rose from behind amesquite clasping the neck of a homely dog. He ran at once to town,where he burst in on Moroney, crying, "Pop, pop, Black Mike's gone andkilled old Bugchaser with a knife," after which he began to cryhysterically. It took time for the camp to arouse, to dress, to hearthe tale, to believe, to visit the scene of the deed, to believe againafter finding Billy's knife, to discuss, to decide, and finally tosaddle horses and depart, puzzled, on the trail of Lafond. It had arope. But it also wanted to hear more about it. Therefore its speedwas not as rapid as it might have been, had a horse thief, forinstance, been the object of pursuit.
So Lafond, after his first impulse to get away from the scene of hisdeed had spent itself, jogged along unmolested toward Rapid. His brainwas working like lightning, but always on one line. He saw himselfalone, standing opposed to this huge black Bad-luck. Everything wasagainst him. But they couldn't get him down. He wasMan-who-speaks-Medicine, the Sioux; he was Lafond, the half-breed; hewas Black Mike, the pioneer. Let them come on! They thought theycould corner him. He would show them. One was gone. There remainedthe other two. Lafond's mind saw red; he was set on murder. Noconsideration of reason, probability, or common sense obtruded itselfathwart his plan. He could perceive one fact--that three men knew hissecret, of whom one was dead and the other two were living. Why Knappand Buckley should have told Durand; what they expected to gain bygoing to Rapid; or what benefit the naturalist imagined could accrue tohim from his insinuating the state of affairs to the half-breed, thelatter did not inquire. He only knew that he wanted to catch Knapp'sbuckboard before it had left the pine belt. Ambush would then beeasier. He lashed his horses unmercifully.
Rockerville told him the two men had passed through not half an hourbefore, and wondered at the wildness of his eye.
That was well. They could not escape him now, for their wagon washeavily loaded, and they were travelling leisurely, having no reasonfor haste. Remembering appearances, he told Rockerville that it didnot much matter, he would not try to catch up; and then drove backtoward Copper Creek, only to make a detour by a wood road into theRapid trail again. As he approached the foothills, he could hearoccasionally the creak of a brake below him, by which he knew that hewas drawing near. He slowed up at once, for he kn
ew of a short cut amile or so ahead, which the prospectors would not attempt because oftheir heavy load, but by which he could come out ahead of his victims.Then he would lie in wait. The short cut in question dipped steeplydown into the bed of a creek, and as steeply up on the other side;while the main stage-road made a long horseshoe curve around the headof the canyon. Lafond decided to drive rapidly down, to leave his teamin the creek bottom, and to climb on foot to the level of the main roadon the other side. In the meantime he drew as near to the other wagonas he could without being seen. The minutes seemed to drag.
At last he discerned the dimly blazed trail, rocky and dangerousenough, which dropped sheer away into the underbrush below. He lockedthe brakes and turned sharply down to the right. The descent washazardous, bumpy, exceedingly noisy. For this reason, it was not untilhe had reached the level ground at the bottom of the canyon and theclash of iron tire against stone had ceased, that he became aware theravine was already occupied. A sound of voices and laughter floated upthrough the thin screen of leaves. As the half-breed's vehicle pushedout toward the creek itself, he saw that he had unwittingly stumbled ona camp of Indians up in the Hills on one of their annual jaunts afterteepee poles.
Once a year they make these excursions. The whole band--men, women,children, ponies, dogs, and household goods--goes along. It is anouting. The women fell and strip the long slender saplings. The menloaf lazily in front of their temporary shelters or ride about theHills to the various camps, giving war dances for nickels and silverpieces. The occasion is eminently peaceful.
Of such a nature was the gathering which Michail Lafond came upon inthe level of the little canyon. The wigwams had been pitched eitherside of the old overgrown road. Children had cut away the slightunderbrush to clear a round smooth park of perhaps thirty yardsdiameter, in the circumference of which were crowded the persons andhousehold belongings of four score people. Near the centre stood thechief's lodge distinguished by a shield and spear. The whole was afacsimile of a plains camp, except that here the whole affair was inminiature--little wigwams, little kettle-tripods, little space--for thecamp was but temporary. Perhaps a score of men were idling about,dressed in blue overalls and old flannel shirts. Moccasins and no hatsleft still a slight flavor of savagery. The women were clothed for themost part in dirty calico prints. The children had on just nothing atall.
Lafond cursed a little excitedly as he became aware of this notunpicturesque gathering. It was plainly out of the question to leavehis horses and wagon in the creek bottom as he had intended; and it wasnow equally impossible to waylay the prospectors at the top of thegrade. A shot would bring out the entire band. The situation was muchcomplicated, for just beyond lay the rolling treeless foothills. Morebad luck!
Still the half-breed remembered it was yet many miles to Rapid; and anambush would not be impossible in some one of the numerous gullies thatseamed the foothills. He must hurry his tired horses up the steepslope in order to emerge on the main road ahead of Knapp and Buckley.
"How!" said the nearest warrior, raising his hand palm outward.
"How!" replied Lafond gravely.
He drove on through the half-obliterated road, responding to theconventional salutations of those on the right and on the left. Nearthe further side of the little clearing, a tiny copper-colored boy rosefrom the grass and scurried across in front of the horses, so near thatLafond had to pull up sharply to keep from running over him. An oldwoman, evidently its nurse, hurried to catch him. When she came to theroad, however, she stopped short, and stared at Black Mike wildly, andbegan to scream out in the language of the Brule Sioux.
"'Tis he, the Defiler! 'Tis he!"
She was an unkempt, wild old hag, and Lafond thought her mad. Her facewas lined deeply, as only an Indian's face ever is; a few ragged wispsof gray hair fell over her eyes; and her skinny arm showed that she wasthin almost to emaciation.
At her scream a warrior arose before the chief's lodge and approached.From all directions the other warriors gathered. Two of the youngermen had already taken the horses by the bits. Lafond did notunderstand it, and was about to expostulate vigorously against what hethought was intended robbery until he saw the face of the chieftain,who now drew near. Then he turned cold to the marrow.
The chief looked him in the face for almost a minute.
"It is not so," he said quietly.
The hag had ceased her cries when the two young men had grasped thehorses' bits.
"It is so, O Lone Wolf," she replied with respect. "The form ischanged by the hand of Manitou, but the spirit is the same, and I knowit in his eyes. It is the Defiler."
"Let Rippling Water be sought," responded the savage, still withoutexcitement.
About him the old-time dignity clung as a mantle. To any one in a lessdesperate situation than Michail Lafond there would have been somethingstrangely incongruous and a little pathetic in this contrast betweenthe manner of the old wild plains savage and the habit of the modernward of the government. Even he was cool enough to see that the oncepowerful tribe had sadly shrunk in numbers and in wealth.
After a moment the woman called by the name of Rippling Water appearedfrom a distance, where she had been cutting birch bark. In thesyllables of the beautiful name Lafond had recognized that of thesecond of his Indian wives; in the prematurely aged withered squaw whonow approached he recognized nothing.
"My daughter," said Lone Wolf, "look upon this man. Have you seen himever?"
She peered at him a moment through short-sighted eyes.
"I have lain on his bosom," she answered simply.
"It is----?"
"It is the Defiler," she replied.
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