The Trail to Yesterday

by Seltzer, Charles Alden

  “Before, yes—and after. I met him twice.”

  She discerned his motive in asking these questions, but it made no difference to her and she answered truthfully. She did not intend to shield Dakota; the fact that Doubler had not been killed outright did not lessen the gravity of the offense in her eyes.

  “Before you found Doubler!” Langford’s voice came with a vicious snap. “You met him coming from Doubler’s cabin, I suppose?”

  “Yes,” she answered wearily, “I met him coming from there. I was on the trail—going there—and I heard the shot. I know Dakota killed him.”

  Langford made an exclamation of satisfaction.

  “Well, it isn’t so bad, after all. You’ll have to be a witness against Dakota. And very likely Doubler will die—probably is dead by this time; will certainly be dead before the Lazette doctor can reach his cabin. No, my dear,” he added, smiling at Sheila, “it isn’t so bad, after all.”

  Sheila rose. Her poignant anger against him was equaled only by her disgust. He expected her to bear witness against Dakota; desired her to participate in his scheme to fasten upon the latter the entire blame for the commission of a crime in which he himself was the moving factor.

  “I shall not bear witness against him,” she told Langford coldly. “For I am going away—back East—to-morrow. Don’t imagine that I have been in complete ignorance of what has been going on; that I have been unaware of the part you have played in the shooting of Doubler. I have known for quite a long while that you had decided to have Doubler murdered, and only recently I learned that you hired Dakota to kill him. And this morning, when I met Dakota on the river trail, he dropped this from a pocket of his vest.” She fumbled at her bodice and produced the signed agreement, holding it out to him.

  As she expected, he repudiated it, though his face paled a little as he read it.

  “This is a forgery, my dear,” he said, in the old, smooth, even voice that she had grown to despise.

  “No,” she returned calmly, “it is not a forgery. You forget that only a minute ago you practically admitted it to be a true agreement by telling me that I should have allowed Doubler to die. You are an accomplice in the shooting of Doubler, and if I am compelled to testify in Dakota’s trial I shall tell everything I know.”

  She watched while he lighted a match, held it to the paper, smiling as the licking flames consumed it. He was entirely composed now, and through the gathering darkness of the interior of the office she saw a sneer come into his face.

  “I shall do all I can to assist you to discontinue the associations which are so distasteful to you. You will start for the East immediately, I presume?”

  “To-morrow,” she said. “In the afternoon. I shall have my trunks taken over to Lazette in the morning.”

  “In the morning?” said Langford, puzzled. “Why not ride over with them, in the afternoon, in the buckboard?”

  “I shall ride my pony. The man can return him.” She took a step toward the door, but halted before reaching it, turning to look back at him.

  “I don’t think it is necessary for me to say good-by. But you have not treated me badly in the past, and I thank you—for that—and wish you well.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Sheila had walked to the door and stood with one hand on the latch. He came and stood beside her, a suppressed excitement in his manner, his eyes gleaming brightly in the dusk which had suddenly fallen.

  “I think I told you that before. Ben Doubler is alone, and he needs care. I am going to him—to stay with him until the doctor arrives. He will die if someone does not take care of him.”

  “You are determined to continue to meddle, are you?” he said, his voice quivering with anger, his lips working strangely. “I am sick of your damned interference. Sick of it, I tell you!” His voice lowered to a harsh, throaty whisper. “You won’t leave this office until to-morrow afternoon! Do you hear? What business is it of yours if Doubler dies?”

  Sheila did not answer, but pressed the door latch. His arm suddenly interposed, his fingers closing on her arm, gripping it so tightly that she cried out with pain. Then suddenly his fingers were boring into her shoulders; she was twisted, helpless in his brutal grasp, and flung bodily into the chair beside the desk, where she sat, sobbing breathlessly.

  She did not cry out again, but sat motionless, her lips quivering, rubbing her shoulders where his iron fingers had sunk into the flesh, her soul filled with a revolting horror for his brutality.

  For a moment there was no movement. Then, in the semi-darkness she saw him leave the door; watched him as he approached a shelf on which stood a kerosene lamp, lifted the chimney and applied a match to the wick. For an instant after replacing the chimney he stood full in the glare of light, his face contorted with rage, his eyes gleaming with venom.

  “Now you know exactly where I stand, you—you huzzy!” he said, grinning satyrically as she winced under the insult. “I’m your father, damn you! Your father—do you hear? And I’ll not have you go back East to gab and gossip about me. You’ll stay here, and you’ll bear witness against Dakota, and you’ll keep quiet about me!” He was trembling horribly as he came close to her, and his breath was coughing in his throat shrilly.

  “I won’t do anything of the kind!” Sheila got to her feet, and stood, rigid with anger, her eyes flaming defiance. “I am going to Doubler’s cabin this minute, and if you molest me again I shall go to the sheriff with my story!”

  He seemed about to attack her again, and his hands were raised as though to grasp her throat, when there came a sound at the door, it swung open, and Dakota stepped in, closing the door behind him.

  Dakota’s face was white—white as it had been that other day at the quicksand crossing when Sheila had looked up to see him sitting on his pony, watching her. There was an entire absence of excitement in his manner, though; no visible sign to tell that what he had seen on entering the cabin disturbed him in the least. Yet the whiteness of his face belied this apparent composure. It seemed to Sheila that his eyes betrayed the strong emotion that was gripping him.

  She retreated to the chair beside the desk and sank into it. Langford had wheeled and was now facing Dakota, a shallow smile on his face.

  There was a smile on Dakota’s face, too; a mysterious, cold, prepared grin that fascinated Sheila as she watched him. The smile faded a little when he spoke to Langford, his voice vibrating, as though he had been running.

  “When you’re fighting a woman, Langford, you ought to make sure there isn’t a man around!”

  Mingling with Sheila’s recognition of the obvious and admirable philosophy of this statement was a realization that Dakota must have been riding hard. There was much dust on his clothing, the scarf at his neck was thick with it; it streaked his face, his voice was husky, his lips dry.

  Langford did not answer him, stepping back against the desk and regarding him with a mirthless, forced smile which, Sheila was certain, he had assumed in order to conceal his fear of the man who stood before him.

  “So you haven’t got any thoughts just at this minute,” said Dakota with cold insinuation. “You are one of those men who can talk bravely enough to women, but who can’t think of anything exactly proper for a man to hear. Well, you’ll do your talking later.” He looked at Sheila, ignoring Langford completely.

  “I expect you’ve been wondering, ma’am, why I’m here, when I ought to be over at the Two Forks, trying to do something for Doubler. But the doctor’s there, taking care of him. The reason I’ve come is that I’ve found this in Doublet’s cabin.” He drew out the memoranda which Sheila had placed on the shelf in the cabin, holding it up so that she might see.

  “You took my vest,” he went on. “And I was looking for it. I found it all right, but something was missing. You’re the only one who has been to Doubler’s cabin since I left there, I expect, and it must have been you who opened this book. It isn’t in the same shape it was when you pulled it off me when I was talking to yo
u down there on the river trail—something has been taken out of it, a paper. That’s why I rode over here—to see if you’d got it. Have you, ma’am?”

  Sheila pointed mutely to the floor, where a bit of thin, crinkled ash was all that remained of the signed agreement.

  “Burned!” said Dakota sharply.

  He caught Sheila’s nod and questioned coldly:

  “Who burned it?”

  “My—Mr. Langford,” returned Sheila.

  “You found it and showed it to him, and he burned it,” said Dakota slowly. “Why?”

  “Don’t you see?” Sheila’s eyes mocked Langford as she intercepted his gaze, which had been fixed on Dakota. “It was evidence against him,” she concluded, indicating her father.

  “I reckon I see.” The smile was entirely gone out of Dakota’s face now, and as he turned to look at Langford there was an expression in his eyes which chilled the latter.

  “You’ve flunked on the agreement. You’ve burned it—won’t recognize it, eh? Well, I’m not any surprised.”

  Langford had partially recovered from the shock occasioned by Dakota’s unexpected appearance, and he shook his head in emphatic, brazen denial.

  “There was no agreement between us, my friend,” he said. “The paper I burned was a forgery.”

  Dakota’s lips hardened. “You called me your friend once before, Langford,” he said coldly. “Don’t do it again or I’ll forget that you are Sheila’s father. I reckon she has told you about Doubler. That’s why I came over here to get the paper, for I knew that if you got hold of it you’d make short work of it. I know something else.” He took a step forward and tried to hold Langford’s gaze, his own eyes filled with a snapping menace. “I know that you’ve sent Duncan to Lazette for the sheriff. The doctor told me he’d met him,—Duncan—and the doctor says Duncan told him that you’d said that I fixed Doubler. How do you know I did?”

  “Duncan saw you,” said Langford.

  Dakota’s lips curled. “Duncan tell you that?” he questioned.

  At Langford’s nod he laughed harshly. “So it’s a plant, eh?” he said, with a mirthless chuckle. “You are figuring to get two birds with one stone—Doubler and me. You’ve already got Doubler, or think you have, and now it’s my turn. It does look pretty bad for me, for a fact, doesn’t it? You’ve burned the agreement you made with me, so that you could slip out of your obligation. I reckon you think that after the sheriff gets me you’ll be able to take the Star without any trouble—like you expect to take Doubler’s land.

  “You’ve got Duncan to swear that he saw me do for Doubler, and you’ve got your daughter to testify that she saw me on the trail, coming from Doubler’s cabin right after she heard the shooting. It was a right clever scheme, but it was my fault for letting you get anything on me—I ought to have known that you’d try some dog’s trick or other.”

  His voice was coming rapidly, sharply, and was burdened with a lashing sarcasm. “Yes, it’s a right clever scheme, Mister Langford, and it ought to be successful. But there’s one thing you’ve forgot. I’ve lived too long in this country to let anyone tangle me up like you’d like to have me. When a man gets double crossed in this country, he can’t go to the law for redress—he makes his own laws. I’m making mine. You’ve double crossed me, and damn your hide, I’m going to send you over the divide in a hurry!”

  One of his heavy revolvers leaped from its holster and showed for an instant in his right hand. Sheila had been watching closely, forewarned by Dakota’s manner, and when she saw his right hand drop to the holster she sprang upon him, catching the weapon by the muzzle.

  Langford had covered his face with his hands, and stood beside the desk, trembling, and Sheila cried aloud in protest when she saw Dakota draw the weapon that swung at his other hip, holding her off with the hand which she had seized. But when Dakota saw Langford’s hands go to his face he hesitated, smiling scornfully. He turned to Sheila, looking down at her face close to his, his smile softening.

  “I forgot,” he said gently; “I forgot he is your father.”

  “It isn’t that,” she said. “He isn’t my father, any more. But—” she looked at Dakota pleadingly—“please don’t shoot him. Go—leave the country. You have plenty of time. You have enough to answer for. Please go!”

  For answer he grasped her by the shoulders, swinging her around so that she faced him,—as he had forced her to face him that day on the river trail—and there was a regretful, admiring gleam in his eyes.

  “You told him—” he jerked a thumb toward Langford—“that you wouldn’t bear witness against me. I heard you. You’re a true blue girl, and your father’s a fool or he wouldn’t lose you, like he is going to lose you. If I had you I would take mighty good care that you didn’t get away from me. You’ve given me some mighty good advice, and I would act on it if I was guilty of shooting Doubler. But I didn’t shoot him—your father and Duncan have framed up on me. Doubler isn’t dead yet, and so I’m not running away. If Doubler had someone to nurse him, he might—” He hesitated and looked at her with a strange smile. “You think I shot Doubler, too, don’t you? Well, there’s a chance that if we can get Doubler revived he can tell who did shoot him. Do you want to know the truth? I heard you say a while ago, while I was standing at the window, looking in at your father giving a demonstration of his love for you, that you intended going over to Doubler’s shack to nurse him. If you’re still of the same mind, I’ll take you over there.”

  Sheila was at the door in an instant, but halted on the threshold to listen to Dakota’s parting word to Langford.

  “Mister man,” he said enigmatically, “there’s just one thing that I want to say to you. There’s a day coming when you’ll think thoughts—plenty of them.”

  In a flash he had stepped outside the door and closed it after him.

  A few minutes later, still standing beside the desk, Langford heard the rapid beat of hoofs on the hard sand of the corral yard. Faint they became, and their rhythmic beat faster, until they died away entirely. But Dakota’s words still lingered in Langford’s mind, and it seemed to him that they conveyed a prophecy.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XV

  THE PARTING ON THE RIVER TRAIL

  “I’ll be leaving you now, ma’am.” There was a good moon, and its mellow light streamed full into Dakota’s grim, travel-stained face as he halted his pony on the crest of a slope above the Two Forks and pointed out a light that glimmered weakly through the trees on a level some distance on the other side of the river.

  “There’s Doubler’s cabin—where you see that light,” he continued, speaking to Sheila in a low voice. “You’ve been there before, and you won’t get lost going the rest of the way alone. Do what you can for Doubler. I’m going down to my shack. I’ve done a heap of riding to-day, and I don’t feel exactly like I want to keep going on, unless it’s important. Besides, maybe Doubler will get along a whole lot better if I don’t hang around there. At least, he’ll do as well.”

  Sheila had turned her head from him. He was exhibiting a perfectly natural aversion toward visiting the man he had nearly killed, she assured herself with a shudder, and she felt no pity for him. He had done her a service, however, in appearing at the Double R at a most opportune time, and she was grateful. Therefore she lingered, finding it hard to choose words.

  “I am sorry,” she finally said.

  “Thank you.” He maneuvered his pony until the moonlight streamed in her face. “I reckon you’ve got the same notion as your father—that I shot Doubler?” he said, watching her narrowly. “You are willing to take Duncan’s word for it?”

  “Duncan’s word, and the agreement which I found in the pocket of your vest,” she returned, without looking at him. “I suppose that is proof enough?”

  “Well,” he said with a bitter laugh, “it does look bad for me, for a fact. I can’t deny that. And I don’t blame you for thinking as you do. But you heard what I told your father about the shooting of Doub
ler being a plant.”

  “A plant?”

  “A scheme, a plot—to make an innocent man seem guilty. That is what has been done with me. I didn’t shoot Doubler. I wouldn’t shoot him.”

  She looked at him now, unbelief in her eyes.

  “Of course you would deny it,” she said.

  “Well,” he said resignedly, “I reckon that’s all. I can’t say that I expected anything else. I’ve done some things in my life that I’ve regretted, but I’ve never told a lie when the truth would do as well. There is no reason now why I should lie, and so I want you to know that I am telling the truth when I say that I didn’t shoot Doubler. Won’t you believe me?”

  “No,” she returned, unaffected by the earnestness in his voice. “You were at Doubler’s cabin when I heard the shot—I met you on the trail. You killed that man, Blanca, over in Lazette, for nothing. You didn’t need to kill him; you shot him in pure wantonness. But you killed Doubler for money. You would have killed my father had I not been there to prevent you. Perhaps you can’t help killing people. You have my sympathy on that account, and I hope that in time you will do better—will reform. But I don’t believe you.”

  “You forgot to mention one other crime,” he reminded her in a low voice, not without a trace of sarcasm.

  “I have not forgotten it. I will never forget it. But I forgive you, for in comparison to your other crimes your sin against me was trivial—though it was great enough.”

  Again his bitter laugh reached her ears. “I thought,” he began, and then stopped short. “Well, I reckon it doesn’t make much difference what I thought. I would have to tell you many things before you would understand, and even then I suppose you wouldn’t believe me. So I am keeping quiet until—until the time comes. Maybe that won’t be so long, and then you’ll understand. I’ll be seeing you again.”

  “I am leaving this country to-morrow,” she informed him coldly.

  She saw him start and experienced a sensation of vindictive satisfaction.