The Trail to Yesterday

by Seltzer, Charles Alden

  As quite unconsciously we are prone to place the interests of self above considerations for the comfort and the convenience of others, so Sheila had grown to judge her father through the medium of his treatment of her. Her own father—who had died during her infancy—could not have treated her better than had Langford. Since her mother’s death some years before, Langford had been both father and mother to her, and her affection for him had flourished in the sunshine of his. No matter what other people thought, she was satisfied with him.

  As a matter of fact David Dowd Langford allowed no one—not even Sheila—to look into his soul. What emotions slumbered beneath the mask of his habitual imperturbability no one save Langford himself knew. During all his days he had successfully fought against betraying his emotions and now, at the age of fifty, there was nothing of his character revealed in his face except sternness. If addicted to sharp practice in business no one would be likely to suspect it, not even his victim. Could one have looked steadily into his eyes one might find there a certain gleam to warn one of trickery, only one would not be able to look steadily into them, for the reason that they would not allow you. They were shifty, crafty eyes that took one’s measure when one least expected them to do so.

  Over the motive which had moved her father to retire from business while still in his prime Sheila did not speculate. Nor had she speculated when he had bought the Double R ranch and announced his intention to spend the remainder of his days on it. She supposed that he had grown tired of the unceasing bustle and activity of city life, as had she, and longed for something different, and she had been quite as eager as he to take up her residence here. This had been the limit of her conjecturing.

  He had told her when she left Albany that he would follow her in a month. And therefore, in a month to the day, knowing his habit of punctuality, Sheila had come to Lazette for him, having been driven over from the Double R by one of the cowboys.

  She saw the station agent now, beckoning to the driver of the wagon, and she went over to the edge of the station platform and watched while the trunks were tumbled into the wagon.

  The driver was grumbling good naturedly to Langford.

  “That darned six-o’clock train is always late,” he was saying. “It’s a quarter to eight now an’ the sun is goin’ down. If that train had been on time we could have made part of the trip in the daylight.”

  The day had indeed gone. Sheila looked toward the mountains and saw that great long shadows were lengthening from their bases; the lower half of the sun had sunk behind a distant peak; the quiet colors of the sunset were streaking the sky and glowing over the plains.

  The trunks were in; the station agent held the horses by the bridles, quieting them; the driver took up the reins; Sheila was helped to the seat by her father, he jumped in himself, and they were off down the street, toward a dim trail that led up a slope that began at the edge of town and melted into space.

  The town seemed deserted. Sheila saw a man standing near the front door of a saloon, his hands on his hips. He did not appear interested in either the wagon or its occupants; his gaze roved up and down the street and he nervously fingered his cartridge belt. He was a brown-skinned man, almost olive, Sheila thought as her gaze rested on him, attired after the manner of the country, with leathern chaps, felt hat, boots, spurs, neckerchief.

  “Why, it is sundown already!” Sheila heard her father say. “What a sudden change! A moment ago the light was perfect!”

  A subconscious sense only permitted Sheila to hear her father’s voice, for her thoughts and eyes were just then riveted on another man who had come out of the door of another saloon a little way down the street. She recognized the man as Dakota and exclaimed sharply.

  She felt her father turn; heard the driver declare, “It’s comin’ off,” though she had not the slightest idea of his meaning. Then she realized that he had halted the horses; saw that he had turned in his seat and was watching something to the rear of them intently.

  “We’re out of range,” she heard him say, speaking to her father.

  “What’s wrong?” This was her father’s voice.

  “Dakota an’ Blanca are havin’ a run-in,” announced the driver. “Dakota’s give Blanca till sundown to get out of town. It’s sundown now an’ Blanca ain’t pulled his freight, an’ it’s likely that hell will be a-poppin’ sorta sudden.”

  Sheila cowered in her seat, half afraid to look at Dakota—who was walking slowly toward the man who still stood in front of the saloon—though in spite of her fears and misgivings the fascination of the scene held her gaze steadily on the chief actors.

  Out of the corners of her eyes she could see that far down the street men were congregated; they stood in doorways, at convenient corners, their eyes directed toward Dakota and the other man. In the sepulchral calm which had fallen there came to Sheila’s ears sounds that in another time she would not have noticed. Somewhere a door slammed; there came to her ears the barking of a dog, the neigh of a horse—sharply the sounds smote the quiet atmosphere, they seemed odd to the point of unreality.

  However, the sounds did not long distract her attention from the chief actors in the scene which was being worked out in front of her; the noises died away and she gave her entire attention to the men. She saw Dakota reach a point about thirty feet from the man in front of the saloon—Blanca. As Dakota continued to approach, Sheila observed an evil smile flash suddenly to Blanca’s face; saw a glint of metal in the faint light; heard the crash of his revolver; shuddered at the flame spurt. She expected to see Dakota fall—hoped that he might. Instead, she saw him smile—in much the fashion in which he had smiled that night in the cabin when he had threatened to shoot the parson if she did not consent to marry him. And then his hand dropped swiftly to the butt of the pistol at his right hip.

  Sheila’s eyes closed; she swayed and felt her father’s arm come out and grasp her to keep her from falling. But she was not going to fall; she had merely closed her eyes to blot out the scene which she could not turn from. She held her breath in an agony of suspense, and it seemed an age until she heard a crashing report—and then another. Then silence.

  Unable longer to resist looking, Sheila opened her eyes. She saw Dakota walk forward and stand over Blanca, looking down at him, his pistol still in hand. Blanca was face down in the dust of the street, and as Dakota stood over him Sheila saw the half-breed’s body move convulsively and then become still. Dakota sheathed his weapon and, without looking toward the wagon in which Sheila sat, turned and strode unconcernedly down the street. A man came out of the door of the saloon in front of which Blanca’s body lay, looking down at it curiously. Other men were running toward the spot; there were shouts, oaths.

  For the first time in her life Sheila had seen a man killed—murdered—and there came to her a recollection of Dakota’s words that night in the cabin: “Have you ever seen a man die?” She had surmised from his manner that night that he would not hesitate to kill the parson, and now she knew that her sacrifice had not been made in vain. A sob shook her, the world reeled, blurred, and she covered her face with her hands.

  “Oh!” she said in a strained, hoarse voice. “Oh! The brute!”

  “Hey!” From a great distance the driver’s voice seemed to come. “Hey! What’s that? Well, mebbe. But I reckon Blanca won’t rustle any more cattle.” “God!” he added in an awed voice; “both of them hit him!”

  Blanca was dead then, there could be no doubt of that. Sheila felt herself swaying and tried to grasp the end of the seat to steady herself. She heard her father’s voice raised in alarm, felt his arm come out again and grasp her, and then darkness settled around her.

  When she recovered consciousness her father’s arms were still around her and the buckboard was in motion. Dusk had come; above her countless stars flickered in the deep blue of the sky.

  “I reckon she’s plum shocked,” she heard the driver say.

  “I don’t wonder,” returned Langford, and Sheila felt a sh
iver run over him. “Great guns!” Sheila wondered at the tone he used. “That man is a marvel with a pistol! Did you notice how cool he took it?”

  “Cool!” The driver laughed. “If you get acquainted with Dakota you’ll find out that he’s cool. He’s an iceberg, that’s what he is!”

  “They’ll arrest him, I suppose?” queried Langford.

  “Arrest him! What for? Didn’t he give Blanca his chance? That’s why I’m tellin’ you he’s cool!”

  It was past two o’clock when the buckboard pulled up at the Double R corral gates and Langford helped Sheila down. She was still pale and trembling and did not remain downstairs to witness her father’s introduction to Duncan’s sister, but went immediately to her room. Sleep was far from her, however, for she kept dwelling over and over on the odd fortune which had killed Blanca and allowed Dakota to live, when the latter’s death would have brought to an end the distasteful relationship which his freakish impulse had forced upon her.

  She remembered Dakota’s words in the cabin. Was Fate indeed running this game—if game it might be called?

  * * *

  CHAPTER VI

  KINDRED SPIRITS

  Looking rather more rugged than when he had arrived at the station at Lazette two weeks before, his face tanned, but still retaining the smooth, sleek manner which he had brought with him from the East, David Dowd Langford sat in a big rocking chair on the lower gallery of the Double R ranchhouse, mentally appraising Duncan, who was seated near by, his profile toward Langford.

  “So this Ben Doubler has been a thorn in your side?” questioned Langford softly.

  “That’s just it,” returned Duncan, with an evil smile. “He has been and still is. And now I’m willing him to you. I don’t know when I’ve been more tickled over getting rid of a man.”

  “Well,” said Langford, leaning farther back in his chair and clasping his hands, resting his chin on his thumbs, his lips curving with an ironic smile, “I suppose I ought to feel extremely grateful to you—especially since when I was negotiating the purchase of the ranch you didn’t hint of a nester being on the property.”

  “I didn’t sell Doubler to you,” said Duncan.

  Langford’s smile was shallow. “But I get him just the same,” he said. “As a usual thing it is pretty hard to get rid of a nester, isn’t it?”

  “I haven’t been able to get rid of this one,” returned Duncan. “He don’t seem to be influenced by anything I say, or do. Some obstinate.”

  “Tried everything?”

  “Yes.”

  “The law?”

  Duncan made a gesture of disgust. “The law!” he said. “What for? I haven’t been such a fool. He’s got as much right to the open range as I have—as you will have. I bought a section, and he took up a quarter section. The only difference between us is that I own mine—or did own it until you bought it—and he ain’t proved on his. He is on the other side of the river and I’m on this. Or rather,” he added with a grin, “he’s on the other side and you are on this. He’s got the best grass land in the country—and plenty of water.”

  “His rights, then,” remarked Langford slowly, “equal yours—or mine. That is,” he added, “he makes free use of the grass and water.”

  “That’s so,” agreed Duncan.

  “Which reduces the profits of the Double R,” pursued Langford.

  “I reckon that’s right.”

  “And you knew that when you sold me the Double R,” continued Langford, his voice smooth and silky.

  Duncan flashed a grin at the imperturbable face of the new owner. “I reckon I wasn’t entirely ignorant of it,” he said.

  “That’s bad business,” remarked Langford in a detached manner.

  “What is?” Duncan’s face reddened slightly. “You mean that it was bad business for me to sell when I knowed Doubler owned land near the Double R?” There was a slight sneer in his voice as he looked at Langford. “You’ve never been stung before, eh? Well, there’s always a first time for everything, and I reckon—according to what I’ve heard—that you ain’t been exactly no Sunday school scholar yourself.”

  Langford’s eyes were narrowed to slits. “I meant that it was bad business to allow Doubler’s presence on the Two Forks to affect the profits of the Double R. Perhaps I have been stung—as you call it—but if I have been I am not complaining.”

  Duncan’s eyes glinted with satisfaction. He had expected a burst of anger from the new owner when he should discover that the value of his property was impaired by the presence of a nester near it, but the new owner apparently harbored no resentment over this unforeseen obstacle.

  “I’m admitting,” said Duncan, “that Doubler being there is bad business. But how are you going to prevent him staying there?”

  “Have you tried”—Langford looked obliquely at Duncan, drawling significantly—“force?”

  “I have tried everything, I told you.”

  Duncan gazed at Langford with a new interest. It was the first time since the new owner had come to the Double R that he had dropped the mask of sleek smoothness behind which he concealed his passions. Even now the significance was more in his voice than in his words, and Duncan began to comprehend that Langford was deeper than he had thought.

  “I’m glad to see that you appreciate the situation,” he said, smiling craftily. “Some men are mighty careful not to do anything to hurt anybody else.”

  Langford favored Duncan with a steady gaze, which the latter returned, and both smiled.

  “Business,” presently said Langford with a quiet significance which was not lost on Duncan, “good business, demands the application of certain methods which are not always agreeable to the opposition.” He took another sly glance at Duncan. “There ought to be a good many ways of making it plain to Doubler that he isn’t wanted in this section of the country,” he insinuated.

  “I’ve tried to make some of the ways plain,” said Duncan with a cold grin. “I got to the end of my string and hadn’t any more things to try. That’s why I decided to sell. I wanted to get away where I wouldn’t be bothered. But I reckon that you’ll be able to fix up something for him.”

  During the two weeks that Langford had been at the Double R Duncan had studied him from many angles and this exchange of talk had convinced him that he had not erred in his estimate of the new owner’s character. As he had hinted to Langford, he had tried many plans to rid the country of the nester, and he remembered a time when Doubler had seen through one of his schemes to fasten the crime of rustling on him and had called him to account, and the recollection of what had happened at the interview between them was not pleasant. He had not bothered Doubler since that time, though there had lingered in his heart a desire for revenge. Many times, on some pretext or other, he had tried to induce his men to clash with Doubler, but without success. It had appeared to him that his men suspected his motives and deliberately avoided the nester.

  With a secret satisfaction he had watched Langford’s face this morning when he had told him that Doubler had long been suspected of rustling; that the men of the Double R had never been able to catch him in the act, but that the number of cattle missing had seemed to indicate the nester’s guilt.

  Doubler’s land was especially desirable, he had told Langford, and this was the truth. It was a quarter section lying adjacent to good water, and provided the best grass in the vicinity. Duncan had had trouble with Doubler over the water rights, too, but had been unsuccessful in ousting him because of the fact that since Doubler controlled the land he also controlled the water rights of the river adjoining it. The Two Forks was the only spot which could be used by thirsty cattle in the vicinity, for the river at other points was bordered with cliffs and hills and was inaccessible. And Doubler would not allow the Double R cattle to water at the Two Forks, though he had issued this edict after his trouble with the Double R owner. Duncan, however, did not explain this to Langford.

  The latter looked at him with a smooth smile. “It is
plain from what you have been telling me,” he said, “that there is no possibility of you succeeding in reaching a satisfactory agreement with Doubler, and therefore I expect that I will have to deal with him personally. I shall ride over some day and have a talk with him.”

  The prospect of becoming involved with the nester gave Langford a throb of joy. All his life he had been engaged in the task of overcoming business obstacles and he had reached the conclusion that the situation which now confronted him was nothing more or less than business. Of course it was not the business to which he had been accustomed, but it offered the opportunity for cold-blooded, merciless planning for personal gain; there were the elements of profit and loss; it would give him an opportunity to apply his peculiar genius, to grapple, to battle, and finally overthrow the opposing force.

  Though he had allowed Duncan to see nothing of the emotions that rioted within him over the discovery that he had been victimized by the latter—at least to the extent of misrepresentation in the matter of the nester—there was in his mind a feeling of deep resentment against the former owner; he felt that he could no longer trust him, but for the sake of learning all the details of the new business he felt that he would have to make the best of a bad bargain. He had already arranged with Duncan to remain at the Double R throughout the season, but he purposed to leave him out of any dealings that he might have with Doubler. He smiled as he looked at Duncan.

  “I like this country,” he said, leaning back in his chair and drawing a deep breath. “I was rather afraid at first that I would find it dull after the East. But this situation gives promise of action.”

  Duncan was watching him with a crafty smile. “You reckon on running him off, or——” He leered at Langford significantly.