by Zane Grey
But in the light of all her vacillation Kalispel realized that he was not the man to make her happy. One wild hope shook him to the core—to take her and his gold, and go back where she belonged, where his fateful gun-play would never be called upon again. This idea, however, was untenable. He belonged to the West. They were incompatible. The biggest thing he could do for Sydney was to conquer his longing for her, to renounce her beauty, and to let her go to a better and more suitable mate. He succeeded, but it was the bitterest victory of his life.
It did not leave him peace. The long strife wore his nerves raw. What seemed left was a stern duty to expel these softer emotions which had made him weak, and get back to the grim and hard passion that had obsessed him before this upheaval.
Jake returned to the cabin late, to find Kalispel burning the midnight oil.
“Hello!” he said. “I allowed I’d let you have plenty of time with your lady-love.”
“Wal, I had plenty, believe me,” replied Kalispel, gruffly.
“Peaches an’ cream, thet girl, an’ sweet on you, Kal, or I’m a born fool.”
“You are a born fool, Jake.”
“Reckon I better change the subject or get bored. ... Lots of talk downtown.”
“What about?”
“Masters an’ Leavitt have locked horns, it seems. You know Leavitt has been sore about Masters’ election. Wal, they’re at odds now about a vigilante committee. Masters wants one elected by the miners, with him, of course, at the head. An’ Leavitt holds that he has power to appoint the vigilantes.”
“Whew!—That’ll make a hell of a mess.—Jake, keep this under your hat. Leavitt is the boss of these bandits.”
“Thunderation an’ damnation!—Is it possible? But I’d believe anythin’ of thet man....Are you shore, Kal?”
“Absolutely positive.”
“Can you prove it.”
“I could to honest, fair-minded men. Not to Leavitt’s crowd.”
“An’ that’s the rub.—Son, look here. If Leavitt organizes a band of vigilantes to catch an’ hang his own outfit—that will be a hell of a mess.”
“Worse. They’d hang me.”
“I wish you’d bored thet——long ago,” declared Jake, thoughtfully. “What’re we goin’ to do?”
“Hang on an’ see what comes off. But I’m bound to say, if this news of yours isn’t just camp gossip, it’s gettin’ sort of hot around here.”
“I should smile it is.”
“An’ I’m at the end of my rope.”
“Wal, thet’s good. Just so long as you’ll not be at the end of their rope!”
“How’s the weather?” asked Kalispel, as he began to pull off his boots.
“Mistin’ a little. But clouds breakin’ some. It’ll rain shore, sooner or later. Then it’ll turn off cold an’ winter will set in colder’n blue blazes.”
Kalispel lay awake for a long while, and then slept late, far into the morning. Upon arising he shaved and then partook of a belated breakfast which Jake threatened he would not keep hot any longer. Kalispel did not waste words that morning. From the open door he saw that the storm still held aloof. Securing Blair’s wallet, he wrapped the bulky thing in a burlap sack and set out.
“Mind camp,” he said to Jake. “From now on one of us must be here all day.”
The hour was about noon. He found the kitchen door of Blair’s cabin open. Father and daughter were at lunch. “Howdy! Excuse me, but this is sort of ticklish,” said Kalispel, as he went in and closed the door.
Blair’s greeting was cordial and curious. Sydney had been weeping. Her smile was something to conjure with.
“Can you be trusted—now?” he asked Sydney, with strong emphasis on the last word.
Sydney submerged the old outraged dignity, but it took an effort. Kalispel unwrapped the burlap sack and laid the wallet on the table.
“Can you be trusted to take care of this yourself?” demanded Kalispel.
Blair leaped up in great excitement. “For the land’s sake!—My wallet!... Let me feel—let me look!”
“No, I will,” declared Sydney, after a gulp, and she snatched the wallet away from Blair’s clutching hands. She opened it. “Yes—yes—the money appears to be all here. Oh, how glad I am!... Kalispel, where did you get this wallet?”
“Where do you suppose?” he launched at her, keenly.
She flushed. “I—I did not mean anything....But where?”
“I stole it from Leavitt.”
Blair betrayed his excitement by cursing prodigiously.
“Sydney, it’s not likely Leavitt will suspect you or search your house,” said Kalispel. “But hide the wallet in your bed or on your person. An’ never forget it. Pack your belongin’s an’ plan to leave the valley with one of these freighters as soon as this storm is over. I wouldn’t advise it till then. You might get caught up on top. An’ that’d shore not be any fun.”
“Pack!... Are you leaving, too?” she inquired, tremulously.
“No. Not unless I get chased out.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed, and dropped her tell-tale eyes. “Come back and let me thank you.”
“Kal, I just noticed you’re wearing two guns,” said Blair, his eyes popping. “Must be going to a prayermeeting.”
“Ornamental, that’s all, Blair. So long,” drawled Kalispel, and cautiously opening the door, he saw that the coast was clear and went out.
Once at the gateway of the town it seemed to Kalispel that he was entering Laramie or Medicine Bow or Butte or Kalispel. It was not a happy nor an easy mood. Thunder City did not look as if it had lost half of its inhabitants, for the thoroughfare was as crowded, as loud, as bustling as usual. But the fact was that at least half of the miners had decided against being snowed in on a bonanza diggings the bright bubble of which had burst.
Kalispel had no particular objective just then except to ascertain the facts about the Masters-Leavitt controversy. If the argument developed into a dispute, that would be favorable to Kalispel. He went into one place after another. The business of buying, selling, freighting, eating, drinking, gambling, gossiping, prevailed as always. Kalispel received his meed of greetings and avoidances. Far ahead he espied Haskell and Selby, the latter still with his arm in a sling, standing in front of the Dead Eye Saloon. They crossed the wide street, obviously to let Kalispel pass.
At length he ran straight into Masters, who emerged from his office with no other than Borden.
“Hello! Just the man Pm lookin’ for,” ejaculated the sheriff.
“Wal, if you want anythin’ short of arrestin’ me you got to keep better company,” replied Kalispel, curtly.
Borden broke out of his rigidity; his swarthy face paled, his jaw bulged, his big eyes dilated, and with an imprecation he strode swiftly away up the street. Kalispel turned deliberately to watch him.
“Chip on yore shoulder, eh? An’ packin’ double hardware?” drawled Masters. “Will you come in an’ have a little talk?”
Kalispel followed him into the little board shack without troubling to reply. The room contained a rude table piled high with papers, two boxes for seats, a sawed-off shotgun, and a rifle.
“I needn’t tell you that walls have ears,” warned Masters, dryly, as he fastened his searching, eagle eyes upon his guest. “Our little plan to locate the bandits didn’t work, eh?”
“Not yet. An’ I reckon I’ll lay off that,” replied Kal-ispel.
“Just as wal. It might have turned out embarrassin’ for me.”
“Masters, I don’t need to make bluffs to get a line on the bandits,” declared Kalispel, pointedly, as he sized up his man. “Do you want to know who’s their chief?”
“Emerson, I’m not so damn keen as I was,” drawled the sheriff.
“Gettin’ cold feet?” queried Kalispel, just a little sarcastic.
“No. My feet air always warm an’ they stay on the ground. I’m leary, Emerson. I want to find out more before I act.”
“More about wh
at—or who?”
“I reckon you could tell me, Emerson.”
“I reckon I could. But it looks like I’m playin’ a lone hand.”
“You mean I’ve got to show my hand, heah? Declare myself for Kalispel Emerson or against him?”
“You savvy.”
“Wal, I’ll do that. I’d stack yore friendship against the enmity of Borden an’ Leavitt any day. They’re the men buckin’ me heah.”
“Straight talk from a Texan,” returned Kalispel. “Shore you’ve heard this low-down hint about me bein’ a bandit?”
“Yes. I’ve been asked to arrest you.”
“Wal, I reckon if you go hobnobbin’ all over town with me it’ll offset thet talk.”
“Yes, an’ raise a hell of a lot more. But I’ll do it.”
“All right. Now what’s this vigilante deal?”
“Wal, it’s the queerest deal I ever stacked up against,” declared the Texan, dragging at his mustache. “I proposed to elect a vigilante committee. Judge Leavitt overruled me an’ appointed the men himself.”
“Has he already done it?”
“Shore. This mawnin’.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say. Borden, who I had in heah pumpin’, didn’t know, either. An’ he didn’t care a damn. He’s out with Leavitt.”
“Take a hunch from me, Masters,” rejoined Kalis-pel, imperatively. “Appoint another vigilante committee from the miners you know an’ do it pronto.”
“Youngster, I hadn’t thought of thet. You got the jump on me....What you drivin’ at?”
“Masters, I’m not ready to come clean yet with all I know.”
“Wal, you’ve made one thing damn plain,” declared the sheriff, gravely. “If I cain’t trust Leavitt’s vigilante committee, I cain’t trust Judge Rand Leavitt.”
“Take it as you like,” said Kalispel, coolly. “Come out now an’ make good your friendliness for me.”
“Son, I’ll do thet little thing with genuine pleasure.”
They went out together, and Kalispel was about to lead his companion up the street when a young, heavy-booted miner halted to accost him.
“Ha, Emerson—hyar you—are,” he panted. He was livid of face and sweating. Kalispel recognized one of Sloan’s friends and sensed calamity.
“What’s come off?”
“Sloan!—He’s been beat—and knifed. Bad shape—I’m awful worried....Nugget sent me. I—run all—way to your cabin. Come.”
“Holy—!” Kalispel leaped as one under the leash. “Masters, trail in on this....”
They had almost to run to keep up with the young miner, whose incoherent tongue worked as fast as his legs.
“Get yore breath—an’ then talk,” suggested the Texan, brusquely.
By the time they reached the log bridge over the stream the miner had recovered sufficiently to be understood.
“I got it—this way,” he said. “Sloan had a new claim—over in the brush. He laid off workin’ it—an’ this momin’ when he went there—it had been jumped by three men. Argument ended in a fight. Sloan was hurt serious. He crawled till he got help. They took him home—did all thet was possible for him. But we reckon he’ll cash from the lung stab alone.”
“Ah-huh,” breathed Kalispel, as if a weight were on his chest.
“Did Sloan recognize his assailants?” asked the practical Masters.
“I didn’t hear thet.”
They turned up the trail which ran between tents and cabins and the stream. A knot of miners stood outside Sloan’s cabin.
“You go in, Emerson,” said the sheriff. “I’ll talk to these men heah.”
Kalispel entered. Besides Nugget, and Sloan, who lay on the bed, there were two others present—a neighbor miner whom Kalispel knew by sight, and a seriousfaced woman, evidently his wife.
“Kal!—It took you so long,” said Nugget. “He wanted you so badly. And he’s sinking now.”
“I’m shore sorry,” replied Kalispel, not wanting to face her then. “I wais downtown.”
He approached the bed. Sloan lay dressed, except for his boots, and his boyish face was ghastly of hue. Kalispel had seen the shade of death too many times not to recognize it here. But prepared as he was for the worst, the actual presence of fatality, the pity of it, the raw evil, sent the freezing cold to his marrow.
“Pard,” whispered Sloan, faintly. “Ruth—will—tell you.”
Kalispel took title boy’s limp, clammy hand.
“Dick, it shore breaks my heart to see you this way,” returned Kalispel, huskily. “But don’t give up. You might pull through.”
Sloan’s singularly intense blue eyes appeared to burn with a fire not for himself. Kalispel found them shockingly sad to gaze into.
“Kal, would it be—askin’ too much of you—to take care of Ruth?”
“It shore would not.”
“She has no—other friend....You saved her....”
“I’ll take care of her, Dick,” interrupted Kalispel, squeezing the cold hand.
“Thanks, pard,” Sloan said, more clearly, with passionate gratitude. “Thet was makin’—me hold on....”
“Don’t talk. Only give me a hunch. You told Ruth all you know?”
“Yes,” replied Sloan, appearing to rally as he reached weakly for the girl. Quickly she took his hand in hers, and kneeling pressed it to her breast. “Ruth—thet horrible fear—is gone....Kal will look after you....Some day...”
“Dick, I would never have gone back,” she interposed, softly. “You must not talk so much. It’d bring on another hemorrhage....Rest, and fight the thing, Dick. While there’s life there’s hope.”
He smiled faintly, as one who knew and was relieved, and closed his eyes wearily. A trace of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. Ruth wiped it away. He lay still, breathing slowly.
After a few moments Ruth released his hand and stood up. Kalispel found that Dick had let go of him. Then Kalispel drew the girl away. At that juncture Masters entered and went up to Sloan’s bed to gaze silently down, shaking his lean head. He turned then to whisper:
“We cain’t do nothin’. Shore you got his deposition?”
“Ruth did. Masters, you take these folks out an’ leave me alone with her.”
When the Texan had complied, Kalispel turned to Ruth. She was pale but composed, and outside of a hunted expression in her blue eyes betrayed no other marked evidence of emotion. As he looked down upon her, however, she took hold of his gun-sheath and clung to it, a wholly unconscious action.
“Nug—Ruth, are you up to talkin’ now?” he asked, earnestly.
“Yes.”
“Who do you think is back of it?”
“Borden.”
“Why?”
“Two days straight running he has been here. Last time I had to fight to keep him from packing me off. I kicked and bit and screamed. He went out to run into our neighbors, who’d heard me. When I heard him lie to them I went out, too, and told the truth. Called him I don’t know what, right before them. Then he left, white with rage....I know he is behind this attack on poor Dick.” ’
“Yet he might not be.”
“I feel it. A woman never makes a mistake when she feels that way.”
“I feel it, too. But, Ruth, we must have facts. These miners are in an ugly mood. Did you know Leavitt has organized a vigilante band of his own, with himself as leader?”
“No. I hadn’t heard.”
“Wal, it’s true. An’ it’s bad news. I reckoned he an’ Borden had split. But so far as I’m concerned he’d take Borden’s side. I must have facts.”
“Kal, I have facts as to Dick’s assailants, but I can’t connect Borden with them.”
“Uh-huh. All right, you might as well tell me now.”
“Dick left early this morning,” she began, swiftly and intelligently, “to work his new claim. He hired Presbry, a neighbor miner, to work this claim here, on shares. It is about panned out. Dick’s new c
laim is way across the valley, up high, among the rocks and brush. I’ve been there. It is hard to get to....Well, I don’t know how long ago—two hours, maybe, men came packing Dick in here, all bloody and dirty, terrible to see. He had been stabbed in the back and beaten over the head. While we worked over him as best we could he talked.... He found that his new claim had been jumped. There were three men, one of them digging. Dick had seen him before, but did not know him. They seemed friendly at first, as if he ought to take it for granted they had a right to jump his claim. But as Dick had visited that claim every day, he did not agree with them. They argued, and finally Dick got sore. He jumped in the hole to throw the man out. Then began a fight, in which the other men joined. In the scuffle one of them called out: ‘Don’t shoot! You might hit Mac!’...This man in the hole, then, was the one named Mac. Dick said he had a stubby red beard and a bloody patch pasted over a recent wound just above his ear. One of the two above stabbed Dick in the back. The blade went clear through in front. Then they beat him over the head. When Dick came to he was alone. They had no doubt left him for dead. He walked and crawled down within call of the miners who carried him home—and that’s all, I think.”
“Did they rob him?”
“Oh, I forgot. Yes, his watch, gun, money, everything was taken. And his pockets turned inside out.”
“Pretty slick. Robbery motive, eh? Wal, we know enough. Ruth, that fellow Mac is one of Leavitt’s trusted guards. An’ I made that wound on his head....Why in hell didn’t I kill him while I was about it?”
“Let him go, Kal....Let them all go!” she begged, suddenly changing from the calm, cold girl who had related Sloan’s story. Her eyes turned a darker, stranger blue. Nervous hands pulled at the lapels of Kalispel’s vest.
“Ruth, you ask that?” he queried, in surprise.
“Yes. I implore it.”