CHAPTER XVIII
THE STRANGE TENT
"Do nothing until I return," ran her letter, which Dr. Slavens read bythe last muddy light of day. "I will hold you to a strict account ofyour promise to me that you would not act in this matter without firstreturning here."
There was no word of where she had gone, no time fixed for her toreturn. He had found the envelope pinned to the tent-cloth when he rodeup, weary and grim, from his journey to Meander.
Inside the tent all was in order. There stood her boxes of canned goodsand groceries against the wall. There was her cot, its blanket foldedover the pillow and tucked in neatly to keep out the dust. She had notleft hastily, it appeared, although the nervous brevity of her noteseemed to indicate the contrary. She had contrived herself a broom ofgreasewood branches, with which she swept the space between stove andtent, keeping it clean down to hard earth. It stood there as she hadleft it, handle down, as carefully placed as if it were a most expensiveand important utensil.
Slavens smiled as he lifted it. Even in the wilderness a true womancould not live without her broom, a greater civilizing influence, hethought, than the sword.
He did not go inside the tent, but stood holding up the flap, lookingaround the dim interior. Her lantern stood on a box, matches beside it,as if it had been left there ready to his hand in the expectation thathe would come in and make himself at home.
It was not likely, he thought, that any of the neighbors could tell himwhere she had gone when she had not felt like giving him that much ofher confidence. But he went down to Smith's, making casual inquiry,saying nothing about the note which she had left, not taking that to beany of Smith's concern.
As always, Smith had been astir at an early hour. He had seen her pass,going in the direction of Comanche. She was riding briskly, he said, asif she had only a short journey ahead of her, and was out of hail beforehe could push the pan of biscuits he was working over into the oven andopen the door. It was Smith's opinion, given with his usual volubilityand without solicitation, that she had gone out on one of herexcursions.
"More than likely," said the doctor. "I think I'll go back up there andkind of keep an eye on her stuff. Somebody might carry some of it off."
This unmalicious reflection on the integrity of the community hurtSmith. There was evidence of deep sorrow in his heart as he began toargue refutation of the ingenuous charge. It was humiliating, hedeclared, that a man should come among them and hold them in such lowesteem.
"In this country nobody don't go around stealin' stuff out of houses andtents," he protested. "You can put your stuff down on the side of theroad and leave it there, and go back in a month and find it. Sheepmenleave supplies for their herders that way, and I've known 'em to leavetheir pay along with 'em. Maybe it'd be a week or two before themfellers got around to it, but it'd be there when they got there. There'sno such a thing as a tramp in this country. What'd a tramp live onhere?"
"I don't question your defense of conditions as they were," the doctorrejoined; "but I'm looking at things as they are. There are a lot of newpeople in here, the country is becoming civilized; and the morecivilized men grow the more police and battle-ships and regiments ofsoldiers they need to keep things happy and peaceful between them, andto prevent their equally civilized and cultured neighbors from steppingin from across the seas and booting them out of their comfortable homes.You've got to keep your eyes on your suitcase and your hand on yourwallet when you sit down among civilized people, Smith."
"Say, I guess you're right about that," admitted Smith after somereflection. "I read in the paper the other day that they're goin' tobuild three new battle-ships. Yes, I reckon things'll change here inthis part of Wyoming now. It'll be so in a year or two that a man can'tleave his pants hangin' out on the line overnight."
"Yes, you'll come to that," the doctor agreed.
"Pants?" pursued Smith reminiscently. "Pants? Well, I tell you. Therewas a time in this country, when I drove stage from Casper to Meander,that I knew every pair of pants between the Chugwater and the WindRiver. If one man ever had come out wearin' another feller's pants, I'd'a' spotted 'em quick as I would a brand on a stray horse. Pants wasn'tas thick in them days as they are now, and crooks wasn't as plentifulneither. I knew one old sheepman back on the Sweetwater that wore onepair of pants 'leven years."
"That's another of the inconveniences of civilization."
"Pants and pie-annos," said Smith. "But I don't care; I'll put in astock of both of 'em just as soon as folks get their houses built andtheir alfalfa in."
"That's the proper spirit," commended Slavens.
"And insurance and undertakin'," added Smith. "I'll ketch 'em comin' andgoin'."
"If you had a doctor to hitch in with you on the deal," suggestedSlavens.
"What's the matter with you?" grinned Smith.
"I'll be cutting a streak out of here before long, I think."
"Soon as you sell that claim?"
Slavens nodded.
"Don't let 'em bluff you on the price," advised Smith. "They're long onthat game here."
Slavens answered as Smith doubtless expected, and with a show of thedeepest confidence in his own sagacity, no matter what feeling lay inthe well of his conscience at that hour. He left Smith and went back toAgnes' camp, hoping to see a light as he drew near. There was none. Ashe carried no food with him, he was forced to draw on her stores forsupper.
For a long time he lay upon his saddle, smoking beside the stove,turning over in his mind a thousand conjectures to account for hersudden and unexplained absence. He was not worried for her safety, forhe believed that she had gone to Comanche, and that was a ride too longfor her to attempt in a day. Doubtless she would set out on the returnearly in the morning, and reach home about noon.
It was well in the turn of the following afternoon when Slavens decidedthat he would wait in camp for her no longer. Fears were beginning torise in him, and doubt that all was with her as it should be. If shewent toward Comanche, she must return from Comanche; he might meet heron the way to his own camp. If not, in the morning he would go on toComanche in search of her.
His horse, fresh and eager, knowing that it was heading for home,carried him over the road at a handsome gait. At the first stage-stationout of Comanche, a matter of twenty-five miles, and of fifteen beyondhis camp, he made inquiry about Agnes.
She had passed there the morning before, the man in charge said,measuring Slavens curiously with his little hair-hedged eyes as he stoodin the door of his shanty, half a cabbage-head in one hand, abutcher-knife in the other. Slavens thanked him and drew on the reins.
"I'm breaking in on your preparations for supper."
"No; it's dinner," the man corrected.
"I didn't know that you'd come to six-o'clock dinners in this part ofthe country," the doctor laughed.
"Not as I know of," the cook-horse-wrangler said. "This dinner that I'mgittin' ready, stranger, is for tomorrow noon, when the stage comes byfrom Comanche. I always cook it the day before to be sure it'll be readyon time."
With that the forehanded cook turned and went back to his pot. AsSlavens rode away he heard the cabbage crunching under the cook's knifeas he sliced it for the passengers of the Meander stage, to have it hotand steaming, and well soaked with the grease of corned beef, when theyshould arrive at noon on the morrow.
Dusk was settling when the doctor reached his tent. Before he dismountedhe rode to a little clear place among the bewilderment of stones whichgave him a view of half a mile, and he sat there looking a while downthe stage-trail toward Comanche. Beyond him a few hundred yards anothertent had been planted. In front of it a man sat cooking his supper overa little blaze.
"Boyle lost no time in getting here," muttered the doctor, turning tohis own shelter and kindling a fire on the ashes of other days.
Ashes were graying again over the embers long after he had boiled hispot of coffee and put away his can of warmed-over beans. Night wascharged with a threat of frost, as is not
uncommon in those altitudes atthe beginning of September. It was so chilly that Slavens had drawn ablanket over his back as he sat before his dying fire, Indian fashion,on the ground, drawing what solace he could from his pipe.
A sound of scrambling hoofs laboring up the sharp hill from thedirection of Meander came to him suddenly, startling him out of hisreflections. His thought leaped to the instant conclusion that it wasAgnes; he laid light fuel to the coals, blowing it to quicken a blazethat would guide and welcome her.
When the rider appeared an eager flame was laving the rocks in theyellow light, and Slavens was standing, peering beyond its radius. Aglance told him that it was not she for whom he had lighted his guidingfire. It was a man. In a moment he drew up on the other side of theblaze and leaned over, looking sharply into Slavens' face.
"Hello!" he hailed loudly, as if shouting across a river.
Slavens returned his bellowed hail with moderation, recognizing in thedusty traveler Comanche's distinguished chief of police, Ten-Gallon, ofthe diamond rings. Slavens never had been able to feel anything but themost lively contempt for the fellow; now, since learning of Ten-Gallon'streatment of Agnes, and his undoubted hand in the plot of Hun Shanklinand Boyle against himself, the doctor held him to be nothing short of anopen enemy.
"I'm lookin' for a man by the name of Boyle," announced Ten-Gallon. "Areyou holdin' down camp for him?"
"He's on down the road a little way."
"Oh, yes," said Ten-Gallon, "I know you now. You're the feller that beathim to it. Well, I had a complaint ag'in' you for stealin' a man's coatover in Comanche."
"I'm out of your jurisdiction right now, I guess; but I'll go down toComanche and give you a chance at me if you want to take it," the doctortold him, considerably out of humor, what with his own disappointmentand the fellow's natural insolence.
The police chief of Comanche laughed.
"I'd be about the last man to lay hands on you for anything you done tothat feller, even if you'd 'a' took his hide along with his coat," saidhe.
"Then the crime trust of Comanche must be dissolved?" sneered Slavens.
"I don't git you, pardner," returned Ten-Gallon with cold severity.
"Oh, never mind."
"You're the feller that beat Boyle to it, too," added the chief; "and Iwant to tell you, pardner, I take off my katy to you. You're one smartguy!"
"You'll find your man on down the road about a quarter," directedSlavens, on whose ear the encomiums of Ten-Gallon fell without savor.
"I heard in Meander today that you'd sold out to Boyle," saidTen-Gallon.
"Well, you got it straight," the doctor told him.
Ten-Gallon slued in his saddle, slouching over confidentially.
"Say, it ain't any of my business, maybe, but how much did you git outof this pile of rocks?"
"It isn't any of your business, but I'll tell you. I got more out of itthan this whole blasted country's worth!" Slavens replied.
Ten-Gallon chuckled--a deep, fat, well-contented little laugh.
"Pardner," said he admiringly, "you certainly are one smart guy!"
Ten-Gallon rode on in his quest of Boyle, while Slavens sat again besidehis fire, which he allowed to burn down to coals.
Slavens could not share the fellow's jubilation over the transfer ofthe homestead to Boyle, for he had surrendered it on Boyle's ownterms--the terms proposed to Agnes at the beginning. As he filledhis big, comforting pipe and smoked, Slavens wondered what she wouldsay concerning his failure to return to her before signing therelinquishment. There would be some scolding, perhaps some tears,but he felt that he was steering the boat, and the return merely tokeep his word inviolate would have been useless.
He reviewed the crowded events of the past two days; his arrival atMeander, his talk with the county attorney. While that official appearedto be outwardly honest, he was inwardly a coward, trembling for hisoffice. He was candid in his expression that Boyle would make a caseagainst Agnes if he wanted it made, for there was enough to base anaction upon and make a public showing.
When it came to guarding that part of the people's heritage grandiloquentlydescribed as "the public domain," the Boyles were not always at the front,to be sure. They had entered hundreds of men on the public lands, paidthem a few dollars for their relinquishment, and in that way come intoillegal ownership of hundreds of thousands of acres of grazing land. Butall the big fish of the Northwest did it, said the county attorney; youcouldn't draw a Federal grand jury that would find a true bill in such acase against a big landowner, for the men in shadow always were drawn onthe juries.
Of course, when one of them turned against somebody else that would bedifferent. In the case of the person whose entry of lands was covered bythe doctor's hypothetical statement, and whose name was not mentionedbetween them, the crime had been no greater than their own--not so greatfrom a moral interpretation of the law. Cupidity prompted them; thedesire for a home the other. Still, that would have no weight. If Boylewanted to make trouble, said the county attorney, he could make it, andplenty of it.
Seeing how far the shadow of the Boyles fell over that land, Slavens atonce dismissed the notion that he had carried to Meander with him ofbringing some legal procedure against Boyle and Boyle's accomplices onaccount of the assault and attempted murder which they had practicedupon him. There could be no hope of an indictment if brought before thegrand jury; no chance of obtaining a warrant for the arrest of Shanklinand Boyle by lodging complaint with the county attorney.
Yet he took up that matter with the little lawyer, whose blond hairstood out in seven directions when Slavens told him of the feloniousattack and the brutal disposition of what they had doubtless believed tobe his lifeless body. The county attorney shook his head and showed animmediate disposition to get rid of Slavens when the story was done. Itwas plain that he believed the doctor was either insane or the tallestliar that ever struck that corner of the globe.
"You couldn't make a case stick on that," said he, shifting his feet andhis eyes, busying his hands with some papers on his desk, which he tookup in assumed desire to be about the duties of his office withoutfurther loss of time. "All I can say to you on that is, when you getready to leave the country, take a shot at them. That's about the onlything that's left open for you to do if you want to even it up. Thisoffice can't help you any."
And that was his advice, lightly offered doubtless, with no thought thatit would be accepted and carried out; but strange advice, thoughtSlavens, for the protector of the people's peace and dignity to give. Incase he should take it, he would have to be ready to leave, that wascertain.
At his meeting with Boyle in the hotel at Meander on the appointed hour,Slavens found the Governor's son more arrogant and insistent thanbefore. Boyle set a limit of noon for Slavens to meet his demand.
"I've got everything greased," he boasted, "and I'll cut the string ifyou don't come up to the lick-log then."
He offered to take Slavens to interview the official in charge of theland-office if the doctor doubted that things had not been set in motionto cause trouble for Agnes in the event of Slavens' refusal to yield.While Slavens believed this to be pure bluff, knowing that whateverinfluence Boyle might have with the person in question, the officialwould be too wise to show his subserviency in any such manner, at thesame time the doctor was well enough convinced of Boyle's great andpernicious influence without a further demonstration. He saw nothing tobe gained by holding out until he could return to Agnes and place thesituation before her, if Boyle had been willing to forego moving againsther that long.
They went to the land-office together, Boyle advancing the money toSlavens for the outright purchase of the land under the provision of theact of Congress under which the reservation had been opened. Slavensimmediately transferred title to Boyle, drew the money which he had ondeposit in the bank at Meander, and rode away with the intention ofquitting the state as soon as might be. How soon, depended upon thereadiness of someone to go with him.
Boy
le had told him that he might take his own time about removing hispossessions from the land; but it was his intention, as he gloomed thereby his low fire, to get them off the next day. In the morning, heintended to go to Comanche, which was only ten miles distant, and try tofind out what had become of Agnes. From there he would send out a wagonto bring in his tent and baggage.
He turned again in his mind every reason, tenable and untenable, that hecould frame to account for Agnes' sudden and unexplained trip. Hethought she probably had gone for her mail, or to send a telegram andreceive a reply, or for money, or something which she needed in camp.More than once he took up the probability that she had gone off on someforlorn scheme to adjust their mutual affairs; but there was not a hookof probability to sustain the weight of this conjecture, so with littlehandling it had to be put down as profitless.
At the best she was gone, and had been gone now two days--a long timefor a trip to Comanche. He wondered if anything had happened to her onthe way; whether she had fled the state in precipitation, so that hishomestead might be saved from Boyle. She was generous enough to do it,but not so thoughtless, he believed, knowing as she must know theconcern and worry to which he would be subject until he could have wordfrom her.
But for Agnes' return to round it out, Slavens' adventure in thatcountry had come to a close. Without Agnes it would be incomplete, aswithout her there would be missing a most important part in the futurepattern of his life. He could not go without Agnes, although he hadnothing yet of success to offer her.
But that was on the way. The knocks which he had taken there in thosefew weeks had cracked the insulation of hopelessness which the frost ofhis profitless years had thickened upon him. Now it had fallen away,leaving him light and fresh for the battle.
Agnes had said little about the money which Dr. Slavens had taken fromShanklin at the gambler's own crooked game. Whether she countenanced itor not, Slavens did not know. Perhaps it was not honest money, in everyapplication of the term, but it was entirely current, and there was amost comfortable sense in the feel of it there bulked in the innerpocket of his coat. He had no qualms nor scruples about it at all. Fatehad put it in his hands for the carrying out of his long-deferreddesires. If it hadn't worked honestly for Shanklin, it was about to setin for a mighty reformation.
But there was the trouble of Agnes' absence, which persisted between himand sleep when he arranged himself in his blankets. He turned with it,and sighed and worked himself into a fever of anxiety. Many times he gotup and listened for the sound of hoofs, to go back to his tent and tellhimself that it was unreasonable to think that she would ride by nightover that lonely road.
When morning began to creep in it brought with it a certain assurancethat all was well with her, as daylight often brings its deceptiveconsolation to a heart that suffers the tortures of despair in the dark.Sleep caught him then, and held him past the hour that he had set forits bound. When he awoke the sun was shining over the cold ashes of hislast night's fire.
Slavens got up with a deeper feeling of resentment against Boyle than heever had felt for any man. It seemed to come over him unaccountably,like a disagreeable sound, or a chill from a contrary wind. It was not apettish humor, but a deep, grave feeling of hatred, as if the germ of ithad grown in the blood and spread to every tissue of his body. Thethought of Boyle's being so near him was discordant. It pressed on himwith a sense of being near some unfit thing which should be removed.
Dr. Slavens never had carried arms in his life, and he had no means ofbuckling Hun Shanklin's old revolver about him, but he felt that he musttake it with him when he left the tent. Big and clumsy as it was, hethrust it under the belt which sustained his trousers, where it promisedto carry very well, although it was not in a free-moving state in casean emergency should demand its speedy use.
There would be no time for breakfast. Even then he should have been inComanche, he told himself with upbraidings for having slept so long. Hishorse had strayed, too. Slavens went after it in resentful mood. Thecreature had followed the scant grazing to the second bench, anelevation considerably above its present site.
Slavens followed the horse's trail, wondering how the animal had beenable to scramble up those slopes, hobbled as it was. Presently he foundthe beast and started with it back to camp. Rounding the base of a greatstone which stood perched on the hillside as if meditating a tumble,Slavens paused a moment to look over the troubled slope of land whichhad been his two days before.
There was Boyle's tent, with a fire before it, but no one in sight; andthere, on the land which adjoined his former claim on the south, wasanother tent, so placed among the rocks that it could not be seen fromhis own.
"It wasn't there when I left," Slavens reflected. "I wonder what he'safter?"
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