by Rex Beach
CHAPTER XXII. The Showdown
A fire burned briskly in front of Mr. Trendley's cabin that night andseveral punchers sat around it occupied in various ways. Two men leanedagainst the wall and sang softly of the joys of the trail and the range.One of them, Lefty Allen, of the O-Bar-O, sang in his sweet tenor, andother men gradually strolled up and seated themselves on the ground,where the fitful gleam of responsive pipes and cigarettes showed likefireflies. The songs followed one after another, first a lover's plea insoft Spanish and then a rollicking tale of the cow-towns and men. Supperhad long since been enjoyed and all felt that life was, indeed, wellworth living.
A shadow loomed against the cabin wall and a procession slowly made itsway toward the open door. The leader, Hopalong, disappeared within andwas followed by Mr. Trendley, bound and hobbled and tied to Red, therear being brought up by Frenchy, whose rifle lolled easily in thecrotch of his elbow. The singing went on uninterrupted and the hum ofvoices between the selections remained unchanged. Buck left the crowdaround the fire and went into the cabin, where his voice was heardassenting to something. Hopalong emerged and took a seat at the fire,sending two punchers to take his place. He was joined by Frenchy andRed, the former very quiet.
In the center of a distant group were seven men who were not armed.Their belts, half full of cartridges, supported empty holsters. They satand talked to the men around them, swapping notes and experiences, andin several instances found former friends and acquaintances. These menwere not bound and were apparently members of Buck's force. Then one ofthem broke down, but quickly regained his nerve and proposed a gameof cards. A fire was started and several games were immediately inprogress. These seven men were to die at daybreak.
As the night grew older man after man rolled himself in his blanketand lay down where he sat, sinking off to sleep with a swiftness thatbespoke tired muscles and weariness. All through the night, however,there were twelve men on guard, of whom three were in the cabin.
At daybreak a shot from one of the guards awakened every man withinhearing, and soon they romped and scampered down to the river's edgeto indulge in the luxury of a morning plunge. After an hour's horseplaythey trooped back to the cabin and soon had breakfast out of the way.
Waffles, foreman of the O-Bar-O, and You-bet Somes strolled over to theseven unfortunates who had just completed a choking breakfast and noddeda hearty "Good morning." Then others came up and finally all moved offtoward the river. Crossing it, they disappeared into the grove and allsounds of their advance grew into silence.
Mr. Trendley, escorted outside for the air, saw the procession as itbecame lost to sight in the brush. He sneered and asked for a smoke,which was granted. Then his guards were changed and the men began tostraggle back from the grove.
Mr. Trendley, with his back to the cabin, scowled defiantly at the crowdthat hemmed him in. The coolest, most damnable murderer in the West wasnot now going to beg for mercy. When he had taken up crime as a meansof livelihood he had decided that if the price to be paid for his coursewas death, he would pay like a man. He glanced at the cottonwood grove,wherein were many ghastly secrets, and smiled. His hairless eyebrowslooked like livid scars and his lips quivered in scorn and anger.
As he sneered at Buck there was a movement in the crowd before him and apathway opened for Frenchy, who stepped forward slowly and deliberately,as if on his way to some bar for a drink. There was something differentabout the man who had searched the Staked Plain with Hopalong and Red:he was not the same puncher who had arrived from Montana three weeksbefore. There was lacking a certain air of carelessness and he chilledhis friends, who looked upon him as if they had never really known him.He walked up to Mr. Trendley and gazed deeply into the evil eyes.
Twenty years before, Frenchy McAllister had changed his identity froma happy-go-lucky, devil-may-care cow-puncher and became a machine. Thegrief that had torn his soul was not of the kind which seeks its outletin tears and wailing; it had turned and struck inward, and now hisdeliberate ferocity was icy and devilish. Only a glint in his eyes toldof exultation, and his words were sharp and incisive; one could wellimagine one heard the click of his teeth as they bit off the consonants:every letter was clear-cut, every syllable startling in its clearness.
"Twenty years and two months ago to-day," he began, "you arrived at theranchhouse of the Double Y, up near the Montana-Wyoming line. Everythingwas quiet, except, perhaps, a woman's voice, singing. You entered, andbefore you left you pinned a note to that woman's dress. I found it, andit is due."
The air of carelessness disappeared from the members of the crowd andthe silence became oppressive. Most of those present knew parts ofFrenchy's story, and all were in hearty accord with anything he mightdo. He reached within his vest and brought forth a deerskin bag. Openingit, he drew out a package of oiled silk and from that he took a paper.Carefully replacing the silk and the bag, he slowly unfolded the sheetin his hand and handed it to Buck, whose face hardened. Two decades hadpassed since the foreman of the Bar-20 had seen that precious sheet, butthe scene of its finding would never fade from his memory. He stood asif carved from stone, with a look on his face that made the crowd shiftuneasily and glance at Trendley.
Frenchy turned to the rustler and regarded him evilly. "You are thehellish brute that wrote that note," pointing to the paper in the handof his friend. Then, turning again, he spoke: "Buck, read that paper."
The foreman cleared his throat and read distinctly:
"McAllister: Yore wife is too blame good to live.
TRENDLEY."
There was a shuffling sound, but Buck and Frenchy, silently backed up byHopalong and Red, intervened, and the crowd fell back, where it surgedin indecision.
"Gentlemen," said Frenchy, "I want you to vote on whether any man herehas more right to do with Slippery Trendley as he sees fit than myself.Any one who thinks so, or that he should be treated like the others,step forward. Majority rules."
There was no advance and he spoke again: "Is there any one here whoobjects to this man dying?"
Hopalong and Red awkwardly bumped their knuckles against their guns andthere was no response.
The prisoner was bound with cowhide to the wall of the cabin and fourmen sat near and facing him. The noonday meal was eaten in silence, andthe punchers rode off to see about rounding up the cattle that grazedover the plain as far as eye could see. Supper-time came and passed,and busy men rode away in all directions. Others came and relieved theguards, and at midnight another squad took up the vigil.
Day broke and the thunder of hoofs as the punchers rounded up the cattlebecame very noticeable. One herd swept past toward the south, guardedand guided by fifteen men. Two hours later and another followed, takinga slightly different trail so as to avoid the close-cropped grass leftby the first. At irregular intervals during the day other herds sweptby, until six had passed and denuded the plain of cattle.
Buck, perspiring and dusty, accompanied by Hopalong and Red, rode upto where the guards smoked and joked. Frenchy came out of the cabinand smiled at his friends. Swinging in his left hand was a newly filledColt's .45, which was recognized by his friends as the one found in thecabin and it bore a rough "T" gouged in the butt.
Buck looked around and cleared his throat: "We've got th' cows on th'home trail, Frenchy," he suggested.
"Yas?" Inquired Frenchy. "Are there many?"
"Yas," replied Buck, waving his hand at the guards, ordering them tofollow their friends. "It's a good deal for us: we've done right smartthis hand. An' it's a good thing we've got so many punchers: we got alot of cattle to drive."
"About five times th' size of th' herd that blamed near made angelsout'en me an' yu," responded Frenchy with a smile.
"I hope almighty hard that we don't have no stampedes on this heredrive. If th' last herds go wild they'll pick up th' others, an' thenthere'll be th' devil to pay."
Frenchy smiled again and shot a glance at where Mr. Trendley was boundto the cabin wa
ll.
Buck looked steadily southward for some time and then flecked a foam-sudfrom the flank of his horse. "We are goin' south along th' Creek untilwe gets to Big Spring, where we'll turn right smart to th' west. Wewon't be able to average more'n twelve miles a day, 'though I'm goin' todrive them hard. How's yore grub?"
"Grub to burn."
"Got yore rope?" Asked the foreman of the Bar-20, speaking as if thequestion had no especial meaning.
Frenchy smiled: "Yes."
Hopalong absent-mindedly jabbed his spurs into his mount with the resultthat when the storm had subsided the spell was broken and he said "Solong," and rode south, followed by Buck and Red. As they swept out ofsight behind a grove Red turned in his saddle and waved his hat. Buckdiscussed with assiduity the prospects of a rainfall and was verycheerful about the recovery of the stolen cattle. Red could see a tall,broad-shouldered man standing with his feet spread far apart, swinging aColt's .45, and Hopalong swore at everything under the sun. Dust arose instreaming clouds far to the south and they spurred forward to overtakethe outfits.
Buck Peters, riding over the starlit plain, in his desire to reach thefirst herd, which slept somewhere to the west of him under the careof Waffles, thought of the events of the past few weeks and graduallybecame lost in the memories of twenty years before, which crowded upbefore his mind like the notes of a half-forgotten song. His nature,tempered by two decades of a harsh existence, softened as he lived againthe years that had passed and as he thought of the things which hadbeen. He was so completely lost in his reverie that he failed to hearthe muffled hoofbeats of a horse that steadily gained upon him, and whenFrenchy McAllister placed a friendly hand on his shoulder he started asif from a deep sleep.
The two looked at each other and their hands met. The question whichsprang into Buck's eyes found a silent answer in those of his friend.They rode on side by side through the clear night and together driftedback to the days of the Double Y.
After an hour had passed, the foreman of the Bar-20 turned to hiscompanion and then hesitated:
"Did, did--was he a cur?"
Frenchy looked off toward the south and, after an interval, replied:"Yas." Then, as an after thought, he added, "Yu see, he never reckonedit would be that way."
Buck nodded, although he did not fully understand, and the subject wasforever closed.