The Short Cut

by Jackson Gregory

  CHAPTER XXVII

  HUME RIDES THE ONE OPEN TRAIL

  Hard driven, conscious of a compelling force more dominant than thestrong will of a man, Sledge Hume rode the one trail open to him. Itwas as though the deeds of his life were now grown tangible separatesquares of rock cemented into sheer walls rising about him, narrowing,forcing him into the one way open.

  He rode into El Toyon and signed the deed before a notary. He returnedit by a boy to Helga Strawn, and by the same messenger he sent back herhorse. From the stable he hired another animal, and with no friendlyword to man, woman or child, struck out for the Echo Creek. As he rodeby the court house he looked at it curiously. Wayne Shandon was there,was spending his brief time in jail very much as an honoured guest. Hewould come out in a few days and then--then MacKelvey would be lookingfor another man--

  Hume turned and rode back into town, going this time to the bank.Explaining briefly that he expected to turn a big deal and would needthe ready cash, he drew out all but a few dollars of his emergencyfund. His lips were tight pressed, his eyes hard, as he rode by thejail again and out into the county road. The sight of MacKelvey at anopen window talking with Brisbane and Edward Kinsell, made him frownblackly. Little things had come to be full of significance.

  It was nearly fifty miles to Martin Leland's. But Hume had riddenearly to Helga Strawn and now had a strong, fresh horse under him.Looking at his watch, he saw that it was not yet half past nine. Hecould make it by half past four or five, riding hard. And he was inthe mood for hard riding.

  Very few times did he stop on the long way. Once he paused at a littleroad house for a pound of cheese and some bread; once at a certaincrossing where a broad trail crossed Echo Creek. He sat here a moment,motionless, staring out across the little valley lying warm under theafternoon sun, his eyes running up and down along the course of thestream.

  Raking his spurs against his horse's sweat-dripping sides he rode on.In half an hour he threw himself from the saddle at Leland's house.

  He heard the sound of singing within, a girl's voice liltingwordlessly, happily, bespeaking a heart that was brimming with the purejoy of life and love. Striding to Leland's office he flung the dooropen. In a moment, answering his impatient rap, Martin entered.

  "I've come to talk business," Hume said, flinging himself into a chair."What's doing?"

  "What do you mean, Mr. Hume?" Leland asked gravely.

  "I want to know where you stand. Conway's strong for pulling out, eh?"

  "I told you all that he wrote me."

  "What have you done about it?"

  "Nothing."

  "You're going to buy him out?"

  "No."

  "Damn it!" cried Hume irritably. "Don't make me pump at you like a drywell! You know what I'm driving at. If Shandon goes clear where areyou and I coming out?"

  "Mr. Hume," returned the old man heavily, "I'm glad you came, for I wascoming to you. Shandon is going clear. I've talked with his lawyer,I've talked with Kinsell--"

  "What's Kinsell got to do with it?"

  "Kinsell is a detective sent up here by Brisbane to work up the case.Also, I have talked with Wayne Shandon." This came slowly, with anevident effort, but it came calmly. "Shandon will go free because heis not the man who killed Arthur Shandon."

  "You're swapping horses, eh?" sneered Hume.

  "Perhaps not exactly. But I have gone to him and told him that I hadallowed myself to think of him as a murderer for the illogical but nonethe less potent reason that I hated his father. And I apologised tohim, having no other amends to make."

  "Cut the sentimental drivel short," cut in Hume unpleasantly. "Haveyou gone over to his side of the deal? Are you throwing me down andtying up with him?"

  "No." Leland threw out his hands in a wide gesture. "I am done withthe whole thing."

  "And what happens to me! Here I am in up to my neck and you go andchuck the thing. Do you think I'll stand for the double cross likethat?"

  "Hume," cried Leland sharply, "I don't want to quarrel with you. I amquitting because I am ashamed of the things I have already done. Itried to blind myself by thinking that I was usurping the prerogativeof God, in telling myself that it was my duty to punish. Now I amashamed, I tell you. And not a second too soon can you understand andthe world know that you and I are in no way interested in each other.I have learned since I saw you that you were going on with a matterwhich I can have nothing to do with."

  "What's that?"

  "I refer to the way in which you are seeking to tunnel from theMcIntosh property into Shandon's, to take the water whether or no.That may be in your mind a bold stroke of business. I can'tcountenance that sort of thing."

  "Ho! How you've taken the robe of righteousness upon your shoulders!And after trying to steal Shandon's ranch from him on a mortgage!"

  Martin made no reply. Not once during the conversation did his eyeslight with anger; not for a moment was the underlying shadow of sadnessgone from them. He was holding a strong rein upon himself. He wasjudging himself now; he was passing judgment upon no other man.

  Hume, glancing at him quickly, curiously, felt that he knew what Lelandwas thinking. Then his mind came back abruptly to his own interests.

  "So you don't know what Conway is going to do?"

  "I have advised him to sell to Shandon and to give Shandon the time hewants to make his payments."

  "And you will sell to Shandon too?"

  "I think not. My holdings are too heavy for him to swing. No, I amgoing to give them away."

  "Not to him!"

  "No, not to him. He wouldn't accept them. To my daughter--for herwedding present. And I pray God that they will bring her morehappiness than they have brought me."

  Hume's big fist came smashing down upon the table.

  "By God, you've got to buy me out! I'm ruined, ruined, I tell you, ifyou and Conway drop me now."

  "I'll do it." The calm words surprised Hume who had expected a bluntrefusal. "Upon one consideration. Namely that you sell to me at thefigure which you paid. I am willing to play fair and I think that thatis fair. It leaves you where you started. It leaves me where Istarted except that I shall have been spending a good many thousandsfor Wanda's wedding present."

  Hume, his brows knitted, rose to his feet and strode back and forth inthe room, trying to look his problem squarely in the face. Failureconfronted him, and failure was more hideous to him than the shame,dishonour, disgrace, which would accompany it. In a flash that lefthis face drawn he saw himself as he had never seen himself before.

  He went to the window looking out into the fields over which theafternoon sun was dropping low. He wanted to think; and he did notwant Martin Leland to see his face. He heard Wanda singing happily.Her voice was not like Helga's, and yet, tinkling through it he seemedto hear Helga's cool laughter.

  "I'm tired out," he said abruptly, coming back to Leland. "Let me havea bed. We'll settle it in the morning."

  Leland looked at him curiously. This was unlike Sledge Hume's usualway. But, offering no remark he showed Hume his room.

  It was far into the night before Hume's tired body found the rest ofdeep sleep. It was long after sunrise when he awoke. It had been aman's voice that jarred upon his ears even in sleep, that finallybrought him to his elbow with a start.

  Slipping out of bed he stepped quickly to his window. There were threehorses in the yard, saddled, sweaty and dusty. MacKelvey's heavy voicecame to him again from Leland's study.

  He dressed swiftly, his eyes glittering. Spinning the cylinder of hisrevolver, he shoved it into his pocket and into another pocket thrustthe thick pad of bank notes which had been under his pillow during thenight. Then he went back to the window.

  He could hear Julia in the kitchen. He could hear Leland's voice now,now MacKelvey's, then another man's. Was it Johnson's?

  "That cursed woman," he muttered bitterly. "She double crossed meafter all. God! I was a fool!"
r />   He did not hesitate. Kinsell was a detective, who had been inShandon's hire for six months. A hundred little things that had beentrifles at the time came back to him now to whisper that Kinsell hadknown a long time. And Helga had given them the rest of the evidencethey lacked. Helga, a woman, had tricked him, had deceived him, hadmade him love her in the only way love was possible to this man, andthen had laughed at him and doublecrossed him.

  Making no sound he slipped out of the window, and stooping low so thatfrom no other window could he be seen, he ran around to the back of thehouse. A glance at the saddled horses in the yard showed him thattheir legs were shaking, that they were done up from a hard ride. Hemoved on, further from the house, dodging behind a tree, stopping tolisten, to peer out, hearing the maddening beat, beat, beat of his ownheart. He must have a horse and then as Wayne Shandon had done, hecould disappear into this wilderness of rocks and trees, hide for weeksor months, and at last get out of the country. Flight lay before him;his quickened senses told him what lay behind unless he fled now andswiftly.

  "MacKelvey's a fool at best," he grunted, snatching at a ray of hope."Once I get on a horse--"

  He was taking a chance but he had to take chances. Making a shortcircuit he ran at last, still stooping as he ran. He came safely tothe stable, selected a powerful looking horse, threw on the saddle withhasty hands. The bit was troublesome, the horse, with head liftedhigh, fought against it with big square teeth clenched. But at lastthe job was done and Hume rode out at the side door, his spurs in hishand, not taking time to buckle them on.

  He began to think that his luck was with him now. He rode slowly atfirst, afraid of the noise of his horse's hoofs. A quick glance behindshowed him the three horses in the yard, no man or woman in sight.

  Which way? There was scant time for reflection. It was time forinspiration, for the flash of instinct. He felt the pad of bank notessafe in his pocket. He would ride straight to the Bar L-M, cross thebridge, turn out from the range buildings, reach the upper end of thevalley. He would cross over the ridge to where his hirelings weretunnelling. There was a man among them who was not afraid of the law,a man who would help him, who would go to hell for the half of thatsheaf of paper.

  He buckled on his spurs and drove them into his horse's sides.

  In the study MacKelvey was saying:

  "I dunno. We may have some trouble. Brisbane has gotten an injunctionall right, but that crowd of Hume's looks like a bad one. I have senttwo men on ahead to the Bar L-M. Been deputies of mine on more thanone hard job. By the way, talking of Hume, seen him lately?"

  "Yes," Martin answered. "He's here now. In bed. He stayed last nightwith me. Do you want to see him?"

  "Nothing urgent. I wanted to ask him if he wants to sell Endymion.Shandon wants to buy him back."

  Hume, riding furiously, pushed on through the forest, keeping a courseparallel to the road, near enough to see any one who might be ridingthere, far enough to conceal his horse and himself behind a grove orridge. So at last he came to a knoll from which he could look downupon the bridge, not over a quarter of a mile away. There were two menthere, sitting their horses idly and yet seeming to the man's distortedimagination to be watching every shadow flickering through the woods.He jerked his horse to a quivering standstill.

  He had recognised one of the horses, a great wire limbed pinto. It wasa horse familiar in El Toyon, one of MacKelvey's string.

  "Damn him," snarled Hume, his eyes flashing like bright steel.

  From behind a fringe of trees he watched the two deputies. They madeno move to go on. Ten minutes he waited, ten minutes of precious time.Twice he felt that their eyes had found him out, twice he calledhimself a fool. Five minutes more and then, from behind him, he heardthe pounding of hoofs.

  "It's MacKelvey and the rest," he told himself angrily. "They've gotme like a trapped rat. Damn them. Damn that traitress!"

  He dipped his spurs and shot down a knoll, hoping to be out of sight,to wait until they had passed, then to double on his trail. But hisluck had deserted him. He did not know the woods here, he lost groundin going about a rocky pile of earth, and MacKelvey caught sight of him.

  "Hume!" came the big voice. "Hold on!"

  "_Hold on_!"

  It was as though the world, filled with shouting voices, was callingbehind him. Like an undertone through it the cool laughter of a woman.

  He drove his spurs deeper, he swung his snorting beast about, he raisedhis quirt striking mightily with it, and rushed on. Where? It did notmatter. Anywhere except toward the men in front, anywhere as long asit was away from the men behind. He heard MacKelvey call again, moreloudly, he saw the sheriff wave his arm at him, and he rode on, hishead down now, careless of where he went so that the way led himfarther, farther from what lay behind.

  Suddenly, booming in his ears, came the roar of the river. On, hisleaping horse carried him, stumbling, threatening to unseat its rider,plunging on. The roar of the river grew louder; again there were tenthousand voices shouting, clamouring, yelling at him. He topped a lastridge here and looking down saw the black chasm of the river, the steepbanks.

  "If I only had Endymion! God! If I only had Endymion."

  He jerked savagely at his reins, stopping his horse. As he looked backand saw that MacKelvey and Johnson and another man were riding towardhim. He glanced again at the deep chasm of the river. A quick shudderswept through him and left him steady, whitefaced, cold.

  "Hume!" shouted MacKelvey.

  Then Hume's spurs drank blood again, once more his frightened horse wasleaping under him, plunging down toward the river. Louder and louderyelled the many voices, mocking, jeering, calling, echoing away intotitanic laughter. And through it all, like the fine note of a violinthrough the pulsing of an orchestra, sounded the cool music of awoman's laughter.

  "Curse her!" shrieked Hume. "Curse them all. A fool girl did this, afool Shandon did it--"

  Like a missile from a giant's catapult he rushed down the steep slope;MacKelvey, from the ridge watched him and wondered. He saw that theman had shaken his reins loose, that his horse had almost reached theverge of the chasm, that as the animal was ready to gather his greatmuscles for the leap the reins had tightened a little, spasmodically,as though the rider's nerve had failed him. And then that theyloosened again as though he had seen it was too late or had regainedhis nerve.

  The horse leaped far out, struck the opposite bank, seemed to hangthere a brief second, straining, balancing, and then with its riderdropped backward.

  The roar of the water boomed on like the clamouring of a world ofvoices; through it ran a finer note like the cool laughter of a woman;and upon Sledge Hume's white face, as he lay still upon a jagged stonebefore the current swept him away, the little drops of spray were likea woman's tears.

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  "IT IS HOME!"

  To those who loved the sensational in and about El Toyon the trial ofWayne Shandon was a disappointment. Never had the courthouse been morecrowded, never had the setting been more stimulating to their highlycoloured imaginations. Red Reckless, looking to their eyespicturesquely pale from his confinement and the sheriff's bullet;Brisbane with his poker table face and his reputation; Edward Kinsell,whose smiling manner no longer concealed the glamour which clung aboutso distinguished a detective; Martin Leland apparently older, lessstern, his eyes gentler; Mrs. Leland, confident and happy from her talkwith Shandon's attorney; Wanda, her eyes very bright, her cheeksflushed, her heart yearning, hoping, praying and a little afraid; HelgaStrawn, now known by her own name, and linked by rumour with the manwho had paid the penalty for the crime of which he had accused WayneShandon, her manner cool, aloof; even Willie Dart, whom everybody knewand who in some strange way had come to be looked upon as a specialdetective, imported a year ago by the counsel for the defence.

  The district attorney's argument was cool, dispassionate, perfunctory.He showed no interest in securing a conviction for the very
simplereason that he felt none. Brisbane was a further, deeperdisappointment. He failed to live up to the reputation that hadpreceded him. He constantly studied his watch and a time-table duringthe argument of the prosecution and when it was done audibly asked thedistrict attorney concerning the best train out of El Toyon. He saidwhat he had to say to the jury in less than half an hour. When chargedby the judge the jury filed out with grave faces only to file back infive minutes smilingly.

  "Not guilty, your honour!"

  Since the principals had seemed to put little fervour into the occasionthe good people of El Toyon supplied the deficit. Amid great shoutingand cheering Wayne Shandon made his smiling, hand-shaking way downthrough his friends, coming straight to the girl whose eyes were thehappiest eyes that he had ever seen, shining through a mist of tears.

  There was no hesitation now as Martin Leland put out his hand.

  "I wronged you, Shandon," he said simply. "And I think that I knew itall the time. It hasn't made me happy. I hope that you will accept mycongratulations."

  "Thank you," answered Shandon. And he locked Leland's hand heartily inhis own.

  Mrs. Leland had her motherly greeting to make and said it happily. Nordid she use unnecessary words. In a moment she had slipped her armthrough her husband's and was moving with him through the surgingcrowd, leaving Wayne with Wanda.

  "Say, Red!" Mr. Dart, struggling valiantly with the crush, red facedand triumphant, was screaming up into Shandon's face. "Some business,ain't it, pal? Shake! Shake, Wanda! Where's old Mart? Good oldscout after all, ain't he? I want to go squeeze his flipper; I want togo squeeze everybody's flipper. I want to go get drunk. Honest I do,Red!"

  Big Bill shoved a great, hard hand by Dart's shoulder, grippingShandon's. He didn't say anything, but his tightening hand, hisflashing eyes were eloquent.

  Only when they had passed out into the courthouse yard, Wanda and Wayneside by side, and had been left behind by the hat-tossing, clamorouscrowd, hastening out into the street, did Wanda speak.

  "I am so happy, Wayne," she whispered. "Doesn't it seem as though lifewere just beginning all over this morning?"

  "Like just beginning!" he answered softly, drawing her arm tight, tightto his side. "With you, Wanda."

  There came a bright morning with the sun just blinking genially abovethe tree tops, with the warm glory of the full summer in the air, andunder Wanda's window a voice calling softly. She had been asleep; shewas not certain that she had not been dreaming--

  But the call came again, still softly, still ringing with a note whichsent a flutter into her breast.

  "Awake at last?" and Wayne was laughing happily. "Ten minutes todress, my sleepy miss, and meet me at the stable. I'm going to saddleGypsy."

  She heard him hurry away, and for a little she lay still, smiling.

  He caught her up into his arms, as she came down the path, kissed her,told her not to ask questions and helped her into the saddle. He swungup to Little Saxon's back and together they rode out into the forestthrough the brightening morning.

  "Wayne," she said when he had done nothing but look at her and drivethe colour higher and higher into her cheeks. "Where are we going?"

  "Can't you guess?" he teased her.

  They were riding toward the north, toward the cliffs standing up aboutEcho Creek Valley, toward the cave.

  "Wayne," she said again, a little sadly, "I was going to tell you theother day, but you were in such a hurry-- You are not going to thecave?"

  "Why not?" he asked lightly.

  "I can't go there any more," she answered quickly. "I had come to loveit so, it was so entirely ours, dear. And now, I saw it the last timeI rode that way, there's a sign on the cliffs, 'No Hunting Allowed.' Iasked papa. He has sold all that side of the valley, the cliffs andthe flats beyond to some man in the city."

  Shandon laughed.

  "What's the odds?" as lightly as before. "Come right down to it,Wanda, the cave has served its purpose, hasn't it? And, if you'd beenshut up in it like a prison, I wonder if you'd have any sentiment forit left? Let's make the horses run a bit. I feel like a gallop, don'tyou?"

  She bent forward in the saddle hurriedly, hiding her face from him.How should a man care for the little things which mean so much to agirl?

  But still they rode toward the cliffs. The sign was there, a black andwhite monstrosity which hurt her but which seemed merely to interestShandon. He insisted on riding closer. And when, too proud to showhim all that she felt, she came with him to the big cedar, hedismounted and put out his hands to her.

  "Let's go up," he said lightly. "Just for fun."

  She refused, and he insisted. And at last they climbed up.

  Wayne was upon the ledge of rock before her, his eyes filled with alove that shone sparklingly, laughingly into her troubled ones. Shebegan to wonder--

  She turned swiftly toward the entrance of the cave. There was a doornow made of great rough hewn slabs of wood. Wayne slipped his armabout her and drew her close to it.

  "Will you open it?" he whispered.

  "Wayne!" wonderingly, seeking to understand.

  He took her hand in his, laid it for a moment upon his lips, then puther fingers against the great door.

  "Open it, dear," he told her.

  Slowly the heavy, wide portal swung back to her touch. Her heartbeating madly, she scarce knew why, her step at once eager andhesitant, she stepped by him. And he, close behind her, laughed softlyat her little cry, the one moment amply repaying the man for six monthsof labour.

  Now she understood everything; now her heart stood still and thenthrobbed with a wonderful joy. And she turned and threw her arms abouthis neck, crying softly: "Wayne! It is home!"

  For the darkness which she had expected in the cavern's deep interiorhad fled before the softly brilliant light that bathed it rosily, thatcame from she did not yet know where. She saw a deep throatedfireplace, built of big granite blocks, a monster log blazing androaring mightily in it, the flames leaping up the rock chimney, drawnupward and back into the sloping passage where the draft of air had inthe old days carried away the smoke from her rude stove. And sheguessed who had made the fireplace, piling stone on stone.

  She saw a table, rustic, heavy, with legs of twisted cedar branches,with books upon it, with a vase made of a hollowed out, gnarled limband choked with its great armful of valley flowers. She saw a chairthat patient, loving hands had made from what the winter-locked foresthad provided, seat and back covered with deerskin cushions, a chairthat opened its arms to her as though, still keeping its identity as apart of her woodland, it were welcoming her to a world where love'sheart beat close to nature's. She saw that the hard floor haddisappeared under freshly strewn pine needles and under the two bigbear skin rugs which sprawled mightily before the table and before thefireplace. She saw another chair, Wayne's chair it was going to be,because it was such a monster.

  She could only gasp as her dancing eyes tried to see everything atonce--flowers everywhere, hiding the walls, breathing perfume from thecorners, drooping from the ceiling.

  "But the light!" she cried, wonderingly. "It is like day."

  Then at last she saw how everywhere in the high ceiling he hadchiselled out deep inverted bowls, and in each cup-like cavity nothingin the world other than a glowing electric bulb was shining, floodingthe room with a soft glow.

  "And you did all of this yourself? While you were alone here in thewinter?"

  His eyes were like hers, his own face flushed with the happiness of thehour.

  "I didn't make the bulbs," he laughed. "It's taken me a week playingelectrician to get the wires up, the dynamo running back there underthe water fall. Do you like it?"

  She did not answer. She had no time to answer, she was so busy tryingthe two chairs, inhaling the fragrance of the flowers, admiring thefireplace, examining the reading lamp which hung over the table andwhich he had constructed of wood, chosen for beauty of natural colourand grain,
the opaque sides shutting out the light which fell straightdown upon an open book.

  Only now did she realise that the cave seemed smaller. There was apartition running across it, a wide door standing ajar. He followedher as she ran to it.

  "My bedroom," he warned her. "I won't swear to its tidiness."

  Here again was the soft glow of electric lights cunningly concealedwith nowhere a hint of the wires that ran in deeply chiseled grooves;here was a wide couch, a bit of the woodland, as were the chairs andtable, the rough bark still upon the woodwork, cushions and coverlet ofbearskin; here a smaller table, a smaller chair.

  "It's wonderful, you wonderful Wayne!" she cried delightedly.

  But he had his arm about her again and was leading her toward thefireplace, to it, through another door which opened to the passageleading to the chasm where the water leaped down toward the bowels ofthe earth. The door flung open, the passage filled with light and afresh surprise.

  Across the chasm were logs as large as one man could handle, hewn sothat they lay close together, so that their upper surface made a levelfloor. Wanda and Shandon crossed, hearing the water shouting underthem. And here, where Wanda had never been before, they came upon--

  "The kitchen!" she cried. "A real kitchen!"

  With a real stove, only that it was made of slabs and squares ofgranite, a real kitchen table only that it was made from rough pine andcedar, with the bark still on it; and very real dishes. Most of allthe real fragrance of coffee just boiling over. Wanda ran to retrieveit and Wayne went on ahead of her. In a moment he called.

  All new to her, the short climb upward along a flight of steps cut inthe rock, the little winding way up which she ran eagerly, the narrowrock platform, the door against which he stood.

  "First," he commanded gaily, "turn and look back."

  She turned. Looking down she saw the kitchen; looking outward she sawa great cut through the cliffs where they seemed to fall apart in asteep sided ravine, and through this she looked out and down over herforests.

  "The view from My Lady's bedroom," he laughed. "And now My Lady'sbedroom, itself."

  He threw open the door, standing aside to watch her pass.

  A tiny rudely squared chamber, all in white. Countless warm, furrypelts of the snowshoe rabbits he had trapped during the winter, made awhite carpet underfoot; a couch unlike the other in that this wasfashioned entirely of white pine, the smooth surfaces polished andglistening under their many coats of shellac, a coverlet of countlessother white rabbit skins stitched together; a little dressing table ofglistening white pine, with a real mirror reflecting two flushed happyfaces, and on the floor a big white bearskin.

  "And you did it all, every bit, yourself!"

  That was the thought that flooded the caves for her with a light moresoftly radiant than the glow of innumerable electric bulbs; the thoughtwhich hid the little flaws in stone and woodwork and gave a gleam tothem that no mere shellac and white wood could have done.

  They went back to the living room to stand, silent for a little, beforethe fireplace. They watched the flames shoot upward through littlesprays and clusters of fiery sparks. Their hands crept together,clinging close. Slowly their eyes came away from the fire and soughteach the other's. And she saw what he saw, a love that is eternal andthat understands.