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She held out her hand to him and, in a paroxysm of ardent feeling, he clutched it and kissed it passionately. A moment later he was gone.
As the door closed Elia stepped into the light. The girl had forgotten all about him. Now she was startled.
“Eve, wot fer did you lie about that?” he said, pointing at her bandaged head.
The girl’s head was aching so that it seemed it would split, and she closed her eyes. But the boy would not be denied.
“You lied, sis,” he exclaimed vehemently, though his face and eyes were quite calm. “Will did that, ’cause you wouldn’t give him thirty dollars. I see him throw you ’crost the room. I hate him.”
Eve was wide-eyed now.
“You saw him?” she cried in alarm. Then she paused. Suddenly her tone changed. “Come here, Elia,” she said gently.
The boy came toward her and she took one of his hands and fondled it.
“How did you see him?” she went on.
“Through the window. I was waitin’ fer supper.” In spite of her caress the boy was sulky.
“Well, promise me you won’t tell anybody. You haven’t, have you?”
The boy shook his head.
“I won’t tell, sis, if you don’t want me. But––but why don’t you kill him?”
The three men were walking across the market-place.
“That’s Will Henderson’s work,” exclaimed Crombie with a fierce oath, nodding his head back at Eve’s house.
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Jim and Peter offered no comment. Both had long since realized the fact.
“Gol durn him!” cried the fiery doctor. “He’ll kill her––if he don’t get killed instead.”
Jim said nothing. Eve’s passionate appeal to him was still ringing in his ears. It was Peter who answered.
“You goin’ to home, Doc? I’m goin’ down to the saloon––to fetch Will.”
“You are?” It was Jim’s startled inquiry. “What for?”
“I’m going to yarn some––mebbe. You get right out to the ranch, boy. An’ don’t get around here till I send you word.”
The doctor stood for a moment.
“He needs hangin’,” he declared. Then, in the cheery starlight, he looked into the two men’s faces and grinned. He had a great knowledge of the men of his village. “Well, so long,” he added, and abruptly strode away.
The moment he had gone Jim protested.
“Peter,” he said, “we’ve got to help him; we’ve got to get him clear of that saloon. It’s not because I like him or want–––”
“Just so. But we got to help him. So, you get right out to the ranch, an’––leave him to me.”
173CHAPTER XVIDEVIL DRIVEN
The saloon was full and Rocket was busy. His face glowed with funereal happiness. He was sombrely delighted at the rapidity with which the tide of dollars was flowing across his dingy counter. He was more than ordinarily interested, too, which was somewhat remarkable.
The fact was Barnriff’s scandal had received a fillip in a fresh and unprecedented direction. McLagan had been in, bringing two of his cow-punchers with him. The hot-headed Irishman had crashed into the midst of Barnriff with such a splash that it set the store of public comment hissing and spluttering, and raised a perfect roar of astonishment and outraged rectitude.
He had arrived late, after the usual evening game had started. His first inquiry was for Jim Thorpe, and he cursed liberally when told that nobody had seen him. Then he fired his angry story at the assembled company of villagers, and passed on to make camp at a rival ranch five miles to the northwest.
It was a rapidly told story full of lurid trimmings, and, judging by its force, came from his heart.
“It’s duffing, boys,” he cried, with an oath, and a thump on the bar which set the glasses, filled at his expense, rattling. “Dogone cattle-duffing! Can you beat it? The first in five year, since Curly Sanders got gay, and then spent a vacation treadin’ air. We got first174wind of it nigh a week back, Jim an’ me. We missed a bunch o’ backward calves. We let ’em run this spring round-up, guessin’ we’d round ’em up come the fall. Well, say, Jim went to git a look at ’em––they was way back there by the foot-hills, in a low hollow––an’ not a blame trace or track of ’em could he locate. We just guessed they was ‘stray,’ and started in to round ’em up. Well, the boys has been busy nigh on a week, an’ here, this sundown, Nat Pauley an’ Jim Beason come riding in, till their bronchos was nigh foundered, sayin’ a bunch of twenty cows on the Bandy Creek station has gone too. D’you git that? Those blamed calves was on the Bandy Creek range, too. It’s darnation cattle-thievin’, an’ I’m hot on the trail.”
And Barnriff was stirred. It was more. It was up in arms. There was no stronger appeal to its sympathies than the cry of “cattle-thief!” As a village it lived on the support of the surrounding ranches, and their ills became the scourge of this hornet’s nest of sharp traders. McLagan had raised the cry here knowing full well the hatred he would stir, and the support that would be accorded him should he need it.
He had come and gone a veritable firebrand, and the hot trail he had left behind him was smouldering in a manner unhealthy for the cattle-thieves.
When Peter Blunt entered the saloon it was to receive McLagan’s tale from all sides. And while he listened to the story, now garbled out of all semblance of its original form by the whiskey-stimulated imaginations, he found himself wondering how it came that Jim Thorpe had given him no word of it. And he said so.
“Say, boys,” he observed, when he got a chance to175speak, “I only left Jim Thorpe a while back. He rode in to see me. He didn’t give me word of this.”
It was Abe Horsley who explained.
“McLagan came in looking for him. Jim’s only got the week old stuff. The news hit the ranch at sundown to-day.”
Peter nodded.
“I see.”
“You’ll see more, Peter,” broke in Smallbones viciously. “You’ll see a vigilance committee right here, if this gambol don’t quit. Barnriff don’t stand for cattle-duffin’ worth a cent.”
“Upsets trade,” lumbered Jake Wilkes, with the tail of his eye on the busy Smallbones.
Gay laughed ponderously.
“Smallbones’ll show us how to form a corporation o’ vigilantes. Though it ain’t a finance job.”
“Ay, that I will. I’m live anyways. I’ve had to do with ’em before.”
“You didn’t get hanged,” protested Jake, after heavy thought. “Guess you ain’t got no kick coming.”
Smallbones purpled to the roots of his bristly hair. Jake irritated him to a degree, and the roar of laughter which greeted the slow-witted baker’s sally set him completely on edge.
“Guess I was on the other end of the rope,” he retorted, trying to turn the laugh, but the baker, with grave deliberation, added to his score.
“Which was a real mean trick o’ fortune on us folks o’ Barnriff,” he murmured.
In the midst of the laughter Peter moved away to the tables. He looked on here and there watching the varying176fortunes with all the interest of his intensely human mind. The weaknesses of human nature appealed to his kindly sympathy as they can only to those of large heart. He begrudged no man moments when the cares of everyday life might be pushed into the background, however they might be obtained.
He argued that the judgment of Nature needed no human condemnation added to it. Human penalty must be reserved for the administration of social laws. To his mind the broad road of evil would automatically claim its own without the augmentation of the loads of human freight borne thither on the dump-carts of the self-righteous. Rather it was his delight to hold out a hand to a poor soul in distress, even if his own ground were none too secure.
At one table he saw the winnings almost entirely in one corner, and the expressive yet grim faces of the other players only too plainly showed their feelings. He noticed the greedy manner in which the losers clutched up their cards at each fresh deal. Their hope was invincible, and he loved them for it. It may have been the hope such as a drowning man is credited with. It may have been the sportsman’s instinct seeking a fresh turn in fortune’s wheel. It may have been inspired by the malicious hope of the winner’s downfall. But he felt it was healthy, in spite of the ethical pronouncements of those who repose on the pedestal of their own virtues. It was, to his mind, the spirit of the fighter in the game of life, a spirit, which, even though misdirected, must never be unreservedly deplored. To his mind it were better to fight a battle, however wrong be the prompting instinct, than to run for the shelter of supine ineptitude.
177
He moved slowly round the room till he came to the table where Will Henderson was playing. He had reached his goal, and his self-imposed task had begun. His eyes quickly scanned the table and the faces of the five players. The other four were men he knew, not actually of the village, but hard-faced, lean ranchmen, men who came from heaven alone knew where, and whose earthly career was scarcely likely to bring about the final completion of the circle.
For the moment they mattered little. It was Will he was concerned with; nor was it with his fortunes in the game. The hand had just finished, and he saw one of the men rake in a small pot of “ante’s” without a challenge. While the fresh dealer was shuffling the cards he caught Will’s eye. He read there the anxiety of a gambler whose luck is out. He glanced at his attenuated pile of chips, and took his opportunity.
“Feel like missing the deal, Will?” he asked casually.
But the set of the face lifted to him warned him of the negative which swiftly followed.
“Guess I’m not yearning.”
Peter followed it up while the cards were being cut.
“I’ve got to speak to youparticular.”
A look of doubt suddenly leaped into Will’s eyes, and he hesitated.
“What d’you want?”
Peter eyed the tumbler of whiskey at the man’s elbow. He noted the heavy eyes in the good-looking young face. But the cards were dealt, and he waited for the finish of the hand. He saw Will bet, and lose on a “full-house.” His pile was reduced to four fifty-cent chips and the man’s language was full of venom at his178opponent’s luck. The moment he ceased speaking Peter began again.
“Your wife’s hurt bad,” he said. “Doc Crombie’s only just left her.”
Will started. He had forgotten. A sudden fear held him silent, while he waited for more. But no more was forthcoming. Only the blue eyes of his informant searched his face, and, to the guilty man, they seemed to be reading to the very depths of his soul. Something urged him, and he suddenly stood up.
“You best deal four hands,” he said hastily to his companions. “I’ll be back directly.”
Then he moved away from the table unsteadily, and Peter made a guess at the quantity of bad whiskey he had consumed. He led the way from the tables, and, once clear of them, glanced over his shoulder.
“We best get outside,” he said.
But Will was already regretting his game. The feeling of guilt was passing. It had only been roused by the suddenness of Peter’s announcement. A look of resentment accompanied his reply.
“I ain’t going to miss more than a couple of hands,” he protested.
“Then we best hurry.”
Peter led the way through the crowd, and the two passed out. With the glare and reek of the bar behind them he dropped abreast of Will, and walked him steadily in the direction of his own hut. At first Henderson failed to notice the intention; he was waiting for Peter to speak. He was waiting for the “particular” he had spoken of. Then, as it did not seem to be forthcoming, he promptly rebelled.
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“You can tell me right here,” he said, with distinct truculence, and coming to a dead standstill.
Peter reached out, and his powerful hand closed about the other’s upper arm.
“What I’ve got to tell you can be told in my shack. You best come right on.”
“Take your darned hand off me!” cried Will, angrily. “You’ll tell me here, or I get back to my game.” He tried to twist himself free. But Peter’s hand tightened its hold.
“You’re quitting that saloon for to-night, Will,” he said quietly.
The other laughed, but he had a curiously uncomfortable feeling under his anger. Suddenly he put more exertion into his efforts to release himself, and his fury rose in proportion.
“Darn your soul, let me go!” he cried.
But Peter suddenly seized his wrist with his other hand, and it closed on it like a vice.
“Don’t drive me to force,” he warned. “That saloon is closed to you to-night. Do you understand? I’ve got to say things that’ll likely change your way of thinking. Don’t be a fool; come on up to my shack.”
There was something so full of calm strength, so full of conviction in Peter’s tone that it was not without its effect. That guilty thought rose again in Will’s mind, and it weakened his power of resistance. His rage was no less, but now there was something else with it, an undermining fear, and in a moment he ceased to struggle.
“All right,” he said, and moved forward at the other’s side.
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Peter released his wrist, but kept his hold on his arm.
And they walked in silence to the “shack.” Will had long known the gold prospector, and had become so accustomed to the mildness of his manner, as had all the village, that this sudden display of physical and moral force brought with it an awakening that had an unpleasant flavor. Then, too, his own thoughts were none too easy, and the picture of Eve as he had last seen her would obtrude itself, and created, if no gentler feeling, at least a guilty nervousness that sickened his stomach.
Peter said that Doc Crombie had only just left her. What did that mean? Only just left her, and––it had occurred nearly two hours ago. He was troubled. But his trouble was in no way touched with either remorse or pity. He was thinking purely of himself.
Of course she had recovered, he told himself. He had watched her breathing before he left her. Yes, he had ascertained that. She had been merely stunned. Ah, a sudden thought! Perhaps she had told them what had happened. A black rage against her suddenly took hold of him. If she had––but no. Even though he was––as he was, he realized, as bad natures often will realize in others better than themselves, Eve’s loyalty and high-mindedness. It could not be that. He wondered. And wondering they reached their destination.
Peter let him pass into the hut, and, following quickly, lit the lamp. Then he pointed at the only comfortable seat, and propped himself against the table, with the light shining full on Will’s face.
“Will,” he began, without any preamble, “you’ve got to take a fall––quick. You’ve got to get such a big fall181that maybe it’ll hurt some––at first. But you’ll get better––later.”
“I don’t get you.”
The man assumed indifference. He felt that he must steady himself. He wanted to get the measure of the other before giving vent to those feelings which were natural to him since drink had undermined all that was best in him.
“You’ve nearly killed your wife to-night,” Peter went on, with a new note of harshness in his voice. “Look you, I’m not going to preach. It’s not our way here, and none of us are such a heap good that preaching comes right from us. I’m warning you, and it’s a warning you’ll take right here, or worse’ll come. Now I don’t know the rights of what has happened between you and Eve, but I’ll sort of reconstruct it to you in my own way, and it matters nothing if I am right or wrong. Eve and you had words. What about I can only guess at. Maybe it was money, maybe the saloon, maybe poker. You two must have got to words, which ended by you brutally pitching her on to the edge of the coal box, and nearly killing her. After that you went out, leaving her to die––by your act––if it took her that way. Mark you, she didn’t fall. She couldn’t have––and smashed her forehead as she did. She told us she did, but that, I guess, was to shield you.”
“Then she didn’t give you this pretty yarn?” inquired Will, sarcastically. He was feeling better. He gathered that Eve was not going to die. “You kind of made it up on your own?”
“Just so,” replied Peter, quite unmoved. “I––we––Doc Crombie, Jim Thorpe, and I. We made it up, as182you choose to call it, because we’ve eyes and ears and common sense. And Doc Crombie knows just about how much force it would take to smash her head as it was smashed.”
“And what were you fellows doing in my house?” Will demanded, his anger gaining ground in proportion to the abatement of his fears.
“We were inEve’shouse,” answered Peter, drily, “for the reason that we wished to have a chat with her. That is, Jim and I. Doc Crombie came because we’d a notion we were sorry for Eve, and didn’t want her to die on our hands. That’s why we were there.”
Will laughed.
“Jim Thorpe was there, eh? And who’s to say that you and he didn’t do the mischief? Guess Jim hates things enough, seeing I married Eve. She’d got no broken head when I left her.”
“You needn’t to lie about it, Will,” Peter said calmly. “Least of all to me. But that makes no odds. As I said, you’ve got to take a fall. Barnriff’s got ears and eyes that puts it wise to a lot. It’s wise to how things have been going with you and Eve. It’s wise to the fact you’re bumming your living out of her, that you’re a drunken, poker-playing loafer, and that you’re doing it on her earnings. And Barnriff, headed by a few of us, and Doc Crombie, aren’t going to stand for it. If you don’t get busy you’ll find there’s trouble for you, and if, from this out, Barnriff gets wise to your ill-treatment of Eve, in any way––God help you. You’ll get less mercy shown you than you showed that poor girl to-night. That’s what I brought you here to say. And I’d like to add a piece of friendly advice. Don’t183you show your face in Rocket’s saloon to get a drink or deal a hand at poker for a month or––well, I needn’t warn you further of what’s going to happen. If you’ve got savvee you’ll read through the lines. Maybe you’ll take this hard––I can see it in your face. But you’re a man, and you’ve got some grit––well, get right out and do things. That’s your chance here in Barnriff.”
Will Henderson’s face was a study while he listened to his arraignment and final sentence by the mild Peter Blunt. At first rage was his dominant emotion, but it gave way before the mild but resolute fashion in which the large man poured out the inexorable flow of the sentence. And somehow for a moment those calm words got hold of all that was vital in him, and he shrank before them. But neither did this feeling last. A bitter hatred rose up in his heart, a black, overmastering, passionate desire for vengeance fired him, and proportionate with its strength a cunning stirred which held it in check. He put an abrupt question, nor could he keep his angry feelings out of his voice.
“So Jim Thorpe’s helped in this?” he said savagely. “No need to ask his reason. Gee, it’s a mean man that can’t take his med’cine.”
“You needn’t bark up that tree, Will,” said Peter, patiently. “We’re all responsible for this––the whole of Barnriff.” Then he smiled. “You see, Doc Crombie has approved.”
Then it was that Henderson saw fit to change his manner. It seemed almost as if the enormity of his offense had been suddenly brought home to him, and contrition had begun to stir.
“Seems to me, Peter, as if the ways of things were184queer,” he said, after a long pause. “I’ve got something that’ll keep me out of Barnriff a good deal in future. I’ve had it a week an’ more back. I’ve struck a good thing up in the hills.” He laughed. “A real good thing––and it’s easy, too.”
“I’m glad,” the other said genuinely.
“It’s gold. Something in your line, eh? Placer. Gee, I’ll make things hum when I’ve taken the stuff out of it. S’truth, I’ll buy some of ’em! And sell ’em, too, for that matter.”
Peter was interested.
“Gold, eh? Well, good luck to you. I’m glad––if it’s to make a man of you.”
For a second Will’s eyes flashed.
“Yes, you’re right; it’ll make a man of me. And, being a man, there are some things I’m not likely to forget. Say, you’ve passed sentence––you and your friends, which include Jim Thorpe. You won’t have to carry it out. I’ll knuckle down, because I know you all. But, by gee! I’ve struck what you’re looking for, and when I’ve gathered the dust I’ll make some folks jump to my own tune! Get that, Peter Blunt.”
Peter smiled at the sudden outburst of malicious rage. Then his face grew cold, and his even tone checked the tide of the other’s impotent rage.
“I get it,” he said. “But meanwhile Barnriff is top dog, an’ you best write that down in big letters, and set it where you can read it easily. Now you can go home and look after your poor wife. And remember, as sure as there’s a God in heaven, if you make that girl’s life a misery, or in any way hurt her, you’ll sicken at the thought of Barnriff. Now you can go.”
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Peter’s quiet manner carried unpleasant conviction to the departing man. The conviction was so strong that he obeyed him to the letter. He walked without hesitation, without any desire to do otherwise, in the direction of his home. But this was an almost mechanical result. His mind was occupied in a way that would have astonished the men of Barnriff.
His fury had gone. His brain was filled with cold, hard thoughts, the more cruel for their lack of heat. His thoughts were of that which he had struck in the hills, and of a revenge which he felt he could play off on these people who demanded that he should guide his life as they dictated. He saw subtle possibilities which gave him enjoyment. He would work, and work hard. And then the manner of the revenge he would take! He laughed.
Then his laugh died out, for Jim Thorpe wholly occupied his thoughts, and there was no room for laughter where Jim was concerned. He remembered Jim was making money––and how. Suddenly he paused in his walk, and a delighted exclamation broke from him.
“Gee! The very thing I’ve been looking for. He’s got that land from McLagan. He’s going to run a ranch. He’s going to play big dog. Gee! That’s the game! Say, master Jim,” he went on, apostrophizing the absent man he had so easily learned to hate, “I’ll make you a sick man before the snow falls. Gee! You’d butt in in my affairs. You’re standing Eve’s friend.” He laughed. “Go ahead, boy. I’ll play up to you. Eve shall tell you I’m a reformed man, and you’ll feel better. And then–––”
And by the time he reached his home there was apparently186a complete transformation in him. The old moody selfishness and brutality toward his wife seemed to have fallen from him like a hideous cloak. He played the game he intended with such an appearance of good faith that the sick woman suddenly experienced the first relief and comfort she had known for months.
He waited on her, repentant and solicitous, till she could hardly believe her senses, and she even forgot to ask the result of his gamble. And the next morning, when necessity forced her to ask him for money, she was content that he returned to her something under ten dollars of that which he had stolen from her.
Later in the day he left for the hills, and from that moment an entire change came over Eve’s whole life.
187CHAPTER XVIITHE WORKING OF THE PUBLIC MIND
The month following Will’s departure from the village saw stirring times for the citizens of Barnriff.
The exploding of Dan McLagan’s bombshell in their midst was only the beginning; a mere herald of what was to follow. Excitement after excitement ran riot, until the public mind was dazed, and the only thing that remained clear to it was that crime and fortune were racing neck and neck for possession of their community.
The facts were simple enough in themselves, but the complexity of their possibilities was a difficult problem which troubled Barnriff not a little.
In the first instance McLagan’s alarm set everybody agog. Then a systematic wave of cattle-stealing set in throughout the district. Nor were these depredations of an extensive nature. Cattle disappeared in small bunches of from ten to forty head, but the persistence with which the thefts occurred soon set the aggregate mounting up to a large figure.
The “AZ’s” lost two more bunches of cattle within a week. The “diamondP’s” followed up with their quota of forty head, which set “old man” Blundell raving through the district like a mad bull. Then came a raid on the “U––U’s.” Sandy McIntosh cursed the rustlers in the broadest Scotch, and set out to scour the country with his boys. Another ranch to suffer was the “crook-bar,” but they, like the “TT’s,” couldn’t tell the extent of188their losses definitely, and estimated them at close on to thirty head of three-year-old beeves.
The village seethed, furious with indignation. For years Barnriff had been clear of this sort of thing, and, as a consequence, the place had been left to bask in the sun of commercial prosperity consequent upon the thriving condition of the surrounding ranches. Now, that prosperity was threatened. If the ranches suffered Barnriff must suffer with them. Men spoke of a vigilance committee. But they spoke of it without any real enthusiasm. The truth was they were afraid of inaugurating an affair of that sort. There was scarcely a man in the place but had at some time in his life felt the despotic tyranny of a vigilance committee. Though they felt that such an organization was the only way to cope with the prevailing trouble they cordially dreaded it.
Then, in the midst of all this to-do, came the news of Will’s rich strike in the hills. He had discovered a “placer” which was yielding a profit of fabulous dimensions. Of how rich his strike really was no one seemed to possess any very definite information. In the calm light of day men spoke of a handsome living wage, but, as the day wore on, and Silas Rocket’s whiskey did its work, Will’s possible wealth generally ended in wild visions of millions of dollars.
Under this inspiring news the commercial mind of Barnriff was stirred; it was lifted out of the despondency into which the news of the cattle-stealing had plunged it. It cleaned off its rust and began to oil its joints and look to its tools. With the first news it, metaphorically, “reared up.” Then Will came into town with a bag of dust and nuggets, and the optical demonstration set lips smacking189and eyes gleaming with envy and covetousness. They asked “Where?” But Will shook his head with a cunning leer. Let them go and seek it as he had to do, he said. And forthwith his advice was acted upon by no less than a dozen men, who promptly abandoned profitable billets for the pursuit of the elusive yellow ore.
Two weeks later Will again visited the village. This time he staggered the folks by taking his wife to Abe Horsley’s store, and spending two hundred dollars in dry-goods and draperies for her. He flashed a “wad” of bills that dazzled the lay-preacher’s eyes, and talked of buying a ranch and building himself a mansion on it.
Nor did he visit the saloon. He was sober, and looked the picture of health and cheerfulness. He talked freely of his strike and its possibilities. He swaggered and patronized his less fortunate fellow townsmen, until he had them all by the ears and set them tumbling over each other to get out after the gold.
He was followed and watched. Men shadowed his every movement in the hope of discovering his mine, but he was too clever for them. They kept his trail to the hills, but there he quickly lost them. He never took the same route twice, and, on one occasion, traveled for three days and nights, due north, before entering the foot-hills. He was as elusive as the very gold his pursuers sought.
One by one the would-be prospectors returned disappointed to the village, and again took up their various works, forced to the sorry consolation of listening to the tales of Will’s wealth, and watching him occasionally run in to the village and scatter his money broadcast amongst the storekeepers.
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Of all Barnriff Peter Blunt seemed the least disturbed. He went calmly on with his work, smiling gently whenever spoken to on the subject. And his reply was invariably the same.
“I’m not handling ‘placer,’” he told Doc Crombie one day, when that strenuous person was endeavoring to “pump” him on the subject. “I allow ‘placers’ are easy, and make a big show. But my ‘meat’ is high grade ore that’s going to work for years. His strike don’t interest me a heap, except it proves there’s gold in plenty around these parts.”
Nor could he be drawn into further discussion in the matter.
Yet his interest was far greater than he admitted. He was puzzled, too. He could not quite make out how he had missed the signs of alluvial deposit. Both scientifically and practically he was a master of his hobby, in spite of local opinion. Yet he had missed this rich haul under his very nose. That was his interest as a gold miner. But there was another side to it, which occupied his thoughts even more. And it was an interest based on his knowledge of Will Henderson, and––various other things.
He was out at a temporary camp at one of his cuttings with Elia, who, since his first sojourn with the prospector, now frequently joined him in his work. They had just finished dinner, and Peter was smoking and resting. Elia was perched like a bird on an upturned box, watching his friend with cold, thoughtful eyes. Suddenly he blurted out an irrelevant remark.
“Folks has quit chasin’ Will Henderson,” he said.
“Eh?”
Peter stared at him intently. He was becoming accustomed191to the curious twists of the lad’s warped mind, but he wondered what he was now driving at.
“He’s too slim for ’em,” Elia went on, gazing steadily into the fire. “He’s slim, an’––bad. But he ain’t as bad as me.”
Peter smiled at the naive confession.
“You’re talking foolishly,” he said, in a tone his smile belied.
“Maybe I am. Say, I could track Will.”
“Well?”
“I’m goin’ to. But I’ll need your help. See here, Peter, I’ll need to get away from sis, an’ if I get out without sayin’, she’ll set half the village lookin’ to find me. If I’m with you, she won’t. See?”
Peter nodded.
“But why do you want to track him?”
“’Cause he’s bad––an’ ain’t got no ‘strike.’ He’s on some crook’s work. Maybe he’s cattle duffin’. I mean to find out.”
Peter’s eyes grew cold and hard, and the boy watching him read what he saw with a certainty that was almost uncanny.
“You’ve been thinking that always, too,” he said. “You don’t believe in his strike, neither,” he added triumphantly.
“I don’t see why I shouldn’t,” replied Peter, guardedly.
“Yes, you do,” the boy persisted. “It’s because he’s bad. Say, he’s makin’ Eve bad takin’ that money he sends her. An’ she don’t know it.”
“And supposing it’s as you say––and you found out?”
“The boys ’ud hang him. And––and Eve would be quit of him.”
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“And you’d break her heart. She’s your sister, and would sooner cut off her right hand than hurt you.”
Elia laughed silently. There was a fiendishness in his manner that was absolutely repulsive.
“Guess you’re wrong,” he said decidedly. “It wouldn’t break Eve’s heart worth a cent. She don’t care a cuss for him, since––since that night. Eve’s a heap high-toned in her notions. He hit her. He nigh killed her. She ain’t one to fergit easy.” He laughed again. “I ken see clear through Eve. If Will was dead, in six months she’d marry agin. D’ye know who? Jim Thorpe. She’s jest a fool gal. She’s allus liked Jim a heap. That night’s stickin’ in her head. She ain’t fergot Jim––nor you. Say, d’you know what she’s doin’? When Will sends her money she sets it aside an’ don’t touch it. She don’t buy things for herself. She hates it. She lives on her sewin’. That’s Eve. I tell you she hates Will, same as I do, an’ I’m––I’m glad.”
Peter smiled incredulously. He didn’t believe that the girl’s love for her husband was dead. Possibly her attitude deceived the lad, as well it might. How could one of his years understand a matter of this sort? But he thought long before he replied to the venomous tirade. He knew he must stop the lad’s intention. He felt that it was not for him to hunt Will down, even––even if he were a cattle-thief.
“Look here, laddie,” he said at last, “I promised you all the gold I found in this place. I’m going to keep that promise, but you’ve got to do something for me. See? Now I’m not going to say you can’t track Will if you’ve a notion to. But I do say this, if he’s on the crook, and you find it out, you’ll promise only to tell me and no one193else. You leave Will to me. I’m not going to have you hanging your sister’s husband. You’ve got to promise me, laddie, or you don’t see the color of my gold. And don’t you try to play me up, either, because I’ll soon know if you are. Are you going to have that gold?”
The boy’s face was obstinately set. Yet Peter realized that his cupidity was fighting with the viciousness of his twisted mind, and had no doubt of the outcome. The thought of seeing Will hang was a delirious joy to Elia. He saw the man he hated suffering, writhing in agony at the end of a rope, and dying by inches. It was hard to give it up. Yet the thought of Peter’s gold––not the man himself, of whom, in his strange fashion, he was fond––was very sweet. Gold! It appealed to him, young as he was, as it might have appealed to a mind forty years older; the mind of a man beaten by poverty and embittered by a long life of hopeless struggle. Finally, as Peter expected, cupidity won the day, but not without a hot verbal protest.
“You’re a fool man some ways, Peter,” the boy at last declared in a snarling acquiescence. “What for d’you stop me? Gee, you’ve nothing to help him for. Say, I’d watch him die, I’d spit at him. I’d––I’d–––” But his frenzy of evil joy made it impossible for him to find further words. He broke off, and, a moment later, went on coldly: “All right, I’ll do as you say. Gee, but it makes me sick. Eh? No. I won’t tell other folk. Nor Eve––but––but you’re goin’ to give me that gold, an’ I’ll be rich. Say, I’ll be able to buy buggies, an’ hosses, an’ ranches, an’ things? I’ll be able to have plenty folks workin’ for me? Gee! I’ll make ’em work. I’ll make ’em sick to death when I get that gold.”
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Peter rose abruptly to return to work. The boy’s diseased mind nauseated him. His heart revolted with each fresh revelation of the terrible degeneracy that possessed the lad.
195CHAPTER XVIIIA WOMAN’S INSTINCT
The women of Barnriff were as keenly alive to the prevailing excitements as the men. Perhaps they were affected differently, but this was only natural. The village, with its doings, its gossip, was their life. The grinding monotony of household drudgery left them little margin for expansion. Their horizon possessed the narrowest limits in consequence. Nor could it be otherwise. Most of them lived in a state of straining two ends across an impossible gulf, and the process reduced them to a condition of pessimism which blinded them to matters beyond their narrow focus.
But just now the cloud had lifted for a moment and a flutter of excitement gave them an added interest in things, and relieved them from the burden of their usual topics. When they met now matters of housekeeping and babies, and their men-folk, were thrust aside for the fresher interests. And thus Pretty Wilkes, blustering out of Abe Horsley’s emporium in a heat of indignation, found little sympathy for her grievance from Mrs. Rust and Jane Restless.
“Say, I’ll give Carrie a word or two when I see her,” she cried, viciously flourishing a roll of print in the faces of her friends. “If Abe isn’t a money grubbing skinflint I just don’t know nothin’. Look at that stuff. Do I know print? Do I know pea-shucks! He’s been tryin’ to sell me faded goods that never were anything else but196faded, at twice the price they ever were, when they couldn’t have been worth half of it if the color hadn’t faded that never did, because there wasn’t no decent color to fade. I’ll–––”
But the two women’s attention was wandering. They were gazing across at Eve’s house where Annie Gay was just disappearing through the doorway. Pretty saw her, too, and, in a moment, her anger merged into the general interest.
“Say, if that ain’t the third time this mornin’,” she exclaimed.
“Meanin’ Annie?” inquired Mrs. Rust.
“Chasin’ dollars,” added Jane Restless, with a sniff.
Pretty laughed unpleasantly.
“Why not?” she asked, and promptly answered herself. “Guess her man’s taught her. However, I don’t blame her. Dollars are hard enough to come by in this place. Say, they tell me Eve’s gettin’ ’em in hundreds.”
“Thousands,” said Mrs. Rust, her eyes shining.
“Say, ain’t she lucky?” exclaimed Jane. “I don’t care who knows it. I envy her good an’ plenty. Thousands! Gee!”
“I don’t know she’s to be envied a heap,” said Mrs. Rust. “I ’lows all men has their faults, but Will Henderson ain’t no sort of bokay of virtues. He’s a drunken bum anyway.”
“An’ he knocks her about,” added Pretty, with a snap.
“But he’s pilin’ up the dollars for her,” Jane urged, still lost in serious contemplation of the fabulous sums her simple mind attributed to Eve’s fortune.
But Pretty Wilkes had no sympathy with such excuses.
“Well, dollars or no dollars, I wouldn’t change places197with Eve for a lot. Guess there’s some folk as would sell their souls for dollars,” she said, eyeing Jane Restless severely. “But if dollars means having Will Henderson behind ’em, I’d rather get out an’ do chores all my life.”
“Guess you’re right,” acquiesced Mrs. Rust, thoughtfully. “Will’s a whiskey souse an’ poker playin’ bum. What I sez is, give me a fool man like my Rust, who’s no more sense than to beat hot iron, an’ keep out o’ my way when I’ve a big wash doin’.”
“That’s so,” agreed Pretty. “An’ if I’m any judge, that’s just ’bout how pore Eve feels.”
“Pore?” sniggered Jane.
“Yes, ‘pore.’” Pretty’s manner assumed its most pronounced austerity. “That gal ain’t what she was, an’––an’ I can’t get the rights of it. What for does she keep right on with her needle, with all those dollars? She don’t never laff now for sure. There’s something on her mind, and it’s my belief it’s Will Henderson. Say, Kate Crombie told me that Eve never spent any o’ those dollars, an’ it was her belief she ain’t never touched ’em.Shesays it’s ’cause of him.Shesays it’s ’cause she hates Will, has hated him ever since that time she fell agin the coal box. That was Will. Kate said so; and her man fixed Eve up. Say, he orter been lynched. An’ if the men-folk won’t do it, then we ought to. It makes my blood boil thinkin’ of it. Pore Eve! I allus liked her. But she’s fair lost her snap since she’s got married. Guess it ’ud bin different if she’d married Jim Thorpe.”
“I don’t know,” exclaimed Jane, with some antagonism. “I don’t know. Jim Thorpe’s a nice seemin’ feller enough, someways, but–––”
“But––what?” inquired Mrs. Rust, eagerly.
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“Oh, nothin’ much, on’y there’s queer yarns goin’ of that same Jim Thorpe. Restless was yarning with two of McLagan’s boys, who are out huntin’ the stolen cattle. Well, they got a yarn from one of the boys of the ‘diamondP.’s’ Course I don’t know if it’s right, but this feller seen a big bunch of cattle running where Jim keeps his stock. An’ he swore positive they was re-branded with Jim’s mark. You know, ‘double star,’ which, as he pointed out, was an elegant brand for covering up an original brand. Them boys, Restless said, was off to look up the stock.”
Jane told her story with considerable significance, and, for the moment, her two friends were held silent. Then Pretty Wilkes gathered herself to protest.
“But––but Jim’s McLagan’s foreman. He don’t need to.”
“That’s just it. Folks wouldn’t suspect him easy.”
The force of Jane’s argument almost carried conviction. But the blacksmith’s wife liked Jim, and could not let Jane carry off honors so easily.
“Jim ain’t no cattle-thief,” she said. “And,” she hurried on, with truly feminine logic, “if he was he’d be cleverer than that. Mark me, Jim’s too dead honest. Now, if it was Will Henderson–––”
But the gossip was becoming too concentrated, and Pretty helped it into a fresh channel.
“Talkin’ of Will Henderson,” she said, “Kate Crombie told me the Doc’s goin’ to make him say where he gets his gold––in the interest of public prosperity. That’s how she called it. That’s why he ain’t showed up in town for nigh three weeks. Guess he’ll go on keepin’ away.”