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“Ho, boy, it’s Doc Crombie, an’ a whole gang. An’ dey see us, too, sure. But dey never catch us!”
Spurs went into their horses’ flanks and the race began. For the noose of the rope was looming large and ominous before their terrified eyes.
A quarter of a mile from the hollow they divided and went their ways in three different directions.
286CHAPTER XXVION THE LITTLE BLUFF RIVER
Away to the west, where the plains cease and the hills begin, where the Little Bluff River debouches upon the plains from its secret path through cañon and crevasse, Jim Thorpe was standing beside a low scrub bush, gazing ruefully at his distressed horse. The poor brute was too tired to move from where he stood, nipping at the rich prairie grass about his feet. He still had the strength and necessary appetite to do this, but that was about all.
In his anxiety to serve the woman he loved Jim had done what years ago he had vowed never to do. He had ridden his willing servant to a standstill.
The saddle had been removed for more than an hour and was lying beside the bush, and the man, all impatience and anxiety, was considering his position and the possibility of fulfilling his mission. The outlook was pretty hopeless. He judged that he had at least ten miles to go, with no other means of making the distance than his own two legs.
And then, what would be the use? Doc Crombie was probably on the road. He had heard the men preparing for the start before he left the village. True, they had not overtaken him, but that was nothing. There were other ways of reaching the rustlers’ hollow. He knew of at least three trails, and the difference in the distance between them was infinitesimal.
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For all he knew the other men might have already reached their destination. Yes, they probably had. He had been out of the saddle more than an hour. It was rotten luck. What would Eve think? He had failed her in her extremity. At least his horse had. And it was much the same thing. He realized now the folly of his attempt on a tired horse. But then there had been no time to get a fresh one. No possibility of getting one without rousing suspicion. Truly his luck was devilish.
He sat down, his back propped against the stump of a dead sapling. And from beneath the wide brim of his hat, pressed low down upon his forehead, he gazed steadily out over the greensward at the southern sky-line. His face was moody. His feelings were depressed. What could he do? In profound thought he sat clasping one knee, which was drawn up almost to his chin.
The beauty and peace of the morning had no part in his thoughts just now. Bitter and depressed feelings alone occupied him. Behind him the noisy little river sped upon its tumultuous way, just below sharp, high banks, and entirely screened from where he sat. There was a gossipy, companionable suggestion in the bustling of the noisy waters. But the feeling was lost upon him. He prayed for inspiration, for help. It was not for himself. It was for a woman. And the bitterness of it all was that he, he with all his longing, was denied the power to help her.
He turned from the hills with a feeling of irritation. Away to his left the prairie rolled upward, a steady rise to a false sky-line something less than a mile away. There was sign of neither man, nor beast, nor habitation of any sort in the prospect. There was just the river bank on288which he sat to break up the uniformity of the plain. Here was bush, here were trees, but they were few and scattered.
Presently he rose from his seat and moved over to his horse. The animal lifted its head and looked wistfully into his face. The man interpreted the appeal in his own fashion. And the look hurt him. It was as if the poor beast were asking to be allowed to go on feeding a little longer. Jim was soft-hearted for all dumb animals, and he quietly and softly swore at his luck. However, he resaddled the animal to protect its back from the sun and turned back again to the bush.
But he never reached his seat. At that instant the quiet was suddenly and harshly broken. The stillness of the plain seemed literally split with the crack of firearms. Two shots rang out in rapid succession, and the faintest of echoes from the distant hills suggested an opposing fire at long range. But the first two shots were near, startlingly near.
All was still again. The man stood staring out in the direction whence came those ominous sounds. No, all was not quite still again. His quick ears detected a faint pounding of hoofs, and a racing thought flew through his brain. His movements became swift, yet deliberate. He crossed over to his horse and replaced the bit in its mouth. Then he faced round at the rising ground and watched the sky-line. It was thence that the reports had come, and his practiced ears had warned him that they were pistol shots.
Now he shaded his eyes gazing at one particular spot on the sky-line. For his horse, too, was gazing thither, with its ears sharply pricked. And, in consequence, he knew that the man, or men who had fired those shots were there, beyond the rise.
Also he was gripping a heavy revolver in his hand.
Also he was gripping a heavy revolver in his hand.
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He waited. Suddenly a moving speck broke the sky-line. Momentarily it grew larger. Now it was sufficiently silhouetted for him to recognize it. A horseman was coming toward him, racing as hard as spurs could drive the beast under him.
Just for a moment he wondered. Then he glanced swiftly round at the river behind him. Yes, the river. This man was riding from the hills. And he understood in a flash. He was pursued. The hounds had him out in the open. The only shelter for miles around was the sparse bush at the riverside, and––the river itself. His interest became excitement, and a sudden wild hope. He now searched the horizon behind the man. There was not a soul in sight––and yet––those two shots.
But the situation suddenly became critical for himself. He realized that the fugitive had seen him. From a low bending attitude over his horse’s neck the man had suddenly sat erect. Also he was gripping a heavy revolver in his hand.
Suddenly a further excitement stirred the waiting man. As the fugitive sat up he recognized him. It was Will Henderson.
He was still a hundred yards away, but the distance was rapidly narrowing. At fifty yards he, Jim, would be well within range, and the memory of those two shots warned him that the revolver in the horseman’s hand was no sort of bluff. It meant business, sure enough, and his own identity was not in the least likely to add to his safety. He must convey his peaceful intentions at once.
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It was difficult. He dared not shout. He knew how the voice traveled over the plains. Suddenly he remembered. He was one of the few prairie men who still clung to the white handkerchief of civilization. He drew one out of his pocket. It was anything but clean, but it would serve. Throwing up both arms he waved it furiously at the man. This he did three times. Then, dropping it to the ground, he held up both hands in the manner of a prairie surrender.
There was a moment of anxious waiting, then, to his relief, he saw Will head his hard blowing horse in his direction. But still retaining his hold of his pistol, he came on. And in those few moments before he reached him Jim had an opportunity of close observation.
First he saw that the horse was nearly done. Evidently the chase had been, if short, at least a hard one, and if the hunters were close behind, there was little enough chance of escape for him. The man’s eyes were alight and staring with the suspicious look of the hunted. His young mouth was set desperately, and the watching man read in his face a determination to sell his life at the highest price he could demand. And somehow, in spite of all that had gone, he felt a great pity for him.
Then, in a moment, his pity fled. It was the color of the man’s shirt that first caught his attention. It was identical with his own. From this he examined the rest of his clothing. Will Henderson was clad as much like himself as possible. And the meaning of it was quite plain to him.
The horseman came up. He flung himself back in the saddle and reined his horse up with a jerk.
“What’s your game?” he demanded fiercely, still291gripping the threatening revolver, as Jim dropped his hands.
“I came to warn you––but my horse foundered. See.”
Jim pointed at the dejected beast. “I came because she asked me to come,” he added.
Will glanced back up the hill. It needed little enough imagination to guess what he was looking for.
“Well, the game’s up, and––I’m hunted. They’re about three miles behind––all except one.” He laughed harshly. Then he caught Jim’s eyes. “You came because she sent you? That means you’re goin’ to help me, I guess, but only––because she sent you. Are you goin’ to?” He edged his gun forward so that the other could not miss seeing it.
But Jim had no fear. He was thinking with all the power of his brain. Time was everything. He doubted they had more than five minutes. He knew this patch of country by heart, which was one of the reasons he had taken the northern trail. Now his knowledge served him.
He answered instantly, utterly ignoring the threatening gun.
“Yes. Now get this quickly. Your only chance is to drop down into that river. It’s shallow, though swift––about two feet to possibly two and a half. Ride down stream for two miles. It winds tremendously, so the others won’t see you. You’ll come to a thick patch of woods on either bank. Take the left bank, and make through the woods, north. Then keep right on to some foot-hills about ten miles due north. Once there you can dodge ’em, sure. Anyway it’s up to you. Leave292’em to me, when they come up. I’ll do my best to put ’em off.”
Jim’s voice was cold enough, but he spoke rapidly. Will, who had turned again to scan the sky-line, now looked down at him suspiciously.
“Is this bluff––or straight business?” he demanded harshly.
Jim shrugged.
“You best get on––if you’re going to clear. You said they were three miles off,” he reminded him, in the same cold manner.
Will looked back. He was still doubtful, but––he realized he must take the advice. He had delayed too long now for anything else.
“She sent you, eh?” he asked, sharply. “It’s not your own doin’?”
“I’ve no sympathy with––cattle-thieves,” Jim retorted. “Git, quick!”
His eyes were on the horizon now. And it was his alert look that finally decided the doubting man. He swung his horse round, and rode for the river.
“So long,” he called back. But there was no word of thanks. Neither had the other any response to his farewell.
Jim watched him till he disappeared, then he turned again to the rising grassland and watched for the coming of the hunters. And as he watched his thoughts reverted to the doctrine of the one-way trail. Will was traveling it hard. For him there was certainly no turning back now.
But his horse had ceased grazing again, and once more stood with ears pricked, gazing up the slope. Its master293understood. This was no moment to consider abstract problems, however they might interest him. Stern reality lay ahead of him, and he knew he was in for an unpleasant time. He linked his arm through his horse’s reins, and, with head bent, trailed slowly up the incline, pausing and stooping to examine the hoof-prints of Will Henderson’s horse, as though it were a trail he had just discovered, and was anxious to learn its meaning. He was thinking hard the while, and calculating his chances when the hunters should come up.
While he appeared to be studying the track so closely, he yet was watching the hill-crest ahead. He knew the men were rapidly approaching, for the rumble of galloping horses was quite distinct to his well-trained ears. He wanted his intentness to be at its closest when the gang first discovered him.
He had his wish. As the men topped the ridge he was on one knee studying a clearer imprint than usual. Doc Crombie and Smallbones, riding at the head of a party of five men, saw him, and the latter shouted his joy.
“Gee! we’ve got him! Say–––” He broke off, staring hard at the kneeling figure. The outline was familiar. Suddenly Jim stood up, and the little man instantly recognized him. “Guess you lost that three-year-old ‘driver,’ Doc,” he cried, his face alight with malice. “Ther’s our man, an’––it’s Jim Thorpe. I thought I rec’nized him from the first, when he broke cover. This is bully!”
But the stern-faced doctor had no answer for him. His eyes were fixed on the man, who now stood calmly waiting for him to approach. Experienced in such matters294as he was, he looked for the threatening gun in Jim Thorpe’s hand. There was none. On the contrary, the man seemed to be waiting for them in the friendliest spirit. There was his horse, too; why was he on foot? It struck him that the riddle wanted more reading than Smallbones had given it. He was not so sure he had yet lost that three-year-old “driver.”
Jim made no change of position as they clattered up. Smallbones was ahead, with a gun leveled as he came.
“Hands up! Hands up, you dogone skunk, or I’ll blow your roof off!” he cried fiercely.
But Jim only grinned. It was not a pleasant grin, either, for the hardware dealer’s epithet infuriated him.
“Don’t be a blamed fool, Smallbones,” he said sharply. “You’re rattled.”
“Put your darned hands up, or–––!”
But Doc Crombie knocked the little man’s gun up.
“Say, push that back in its kennel,” he cried, harshly. “You sure ain’t safe with a gun.”
Then, after seeing that his comrade obeyed him, and permitting himself a shadowy grin at the man’s crestfallen air, he turned to Jim Thorpe.
“Wal?” he drawled questioningly.
“Thanks, Doc,” said Jim, with a cheery smile. “I guess you saved my life. Smallbones shouldn’t be out without his nurse.” Then he glanced swiftly down at the track he had been examining. “Say, I’ve hit a trail right here. It goes on down to the river, an’ I can’t locate it further. I was just going back on it a piece. Guess you’ve come along in the same direction. See, here it is. A horse galloping hell-for-leather. Guess it’s not a lope. By the splashing of sand, I’d say he was295racing.” He looked fearlessly into the doctor’s eyes, but his heart was beating hard with guilty consciousness. He was trying to estimate the man’s possible attitude.
“That’s the trail we’re on,” the doctor said sharply. “Say, how long you been here?” he inquired, glancing at Jim’s horse.
“Well, round about here, getting on for two hours.”
“What are you out here for, anyway?”
Jim glanced from the doctor to Smallbones, and then on at the rest of the men. They were all cattlemen, none of them were villagers. He laughed suddenly.
“Say, is this an––er––inquisition?”
“Sure.” The doctor’s reply rapped out tartly.
“Well, that being the way of things, guess I’d best tell you first as last. You see, I got back to the village yesterday afternoon. As maybe you know, I’ve been out nearly two days on the trail. Well, late last night, Elia Marsham came to me with a yarn about a hollow in the hills, where he said he’d seen the rustlers at work. He told me how to find it, an’––well, I hit the trail. I hoped to head you, and get ’em myself, but,” with a shrug, “I guess I was a fool some. My plug petered out two hours back, and I had to quit. You see he was stale at the start.”
“An’ this trail?” snapped the doctor.
“I was way back there down the river a goodish piece, getting a sleep by the bush, and easing my plug, when I woke up quick. Seemed to me I heard a gunshot. Maybe I was dreaming. Anyway I sat up and took notice, but didn’t see a thing. So, after a while, I got dozing again. Then my plug started to neigh, and kept whinnying. I got around then, guessing something was296doing. So I started to chase up the river. Then I found this trail. It’s new, fresh done this morning, sure. Guess it must have been some feller passing that worried my horse. You say you’re on this trail? Whose? It isn’t––eh?” as the doctor nodded. “Then come right on down to the river. We’re losing time.”
Jim turned to lead his horse away, but Smallbones laughed. There was no mistaking the derision, the challenge of that laugh. Jim turned again, and the look he favored the hardware dealer with was one that did not escape the doctor, who promptly interposed.
“If you’re right an’ he’s wrong, you’ve got time in plenty to correct him later, Jim,” he said, in his stern fashion. “Meanwhiles you’ll keep your face closed, Smallbones, or––light right out.” Then he turned back to Jim. “Ther’ ain’t a heap o’ hurry now, boy, fer that feller. His horse was nigh done,” he went on, glancing at the dejected creature Jim was leading. “Done jest about as bad as yours. An’ his plug was the same color, and he was rigged out much as you are.” Then his tone became doubly harsh. “Say, the feller we’re chasin’ was your build. He was so like you in cut, and his plug so like yours, that if I put it right here to the vote I’m guessin’ you’d hang so quick you’d wonder how it was done. But then, you see, I’ve got two eyes, an’ some elegant savvee, which some folks ain’t blessed with,” with an eye in Smallbones’ direction. “An’ I tell you right here ther’s just the fact your plug is stone cold between you an’ a rawhide rope. You jest couldn’t be the man we’re chasin’ ’less you’re capable o’ miracles. Get me? But I’m goin’ to do some straight talk. Not more than ten minutes gone the feller we’re after shot down one o’ the297boys back ther’ over the rise. That boy was on a fast hoss, an’ was close on that all-fired Dago’s heels. Wal, he got it plenty, an’ we’re goin’ back to bury that honest citizen later. Meanwhiles, ten minutes gone that rustler got down here, an’ as you say, made that river, an’ you––you didn’t see him. Get me? You’re jest goin’ to show me wher’ you sat.”
For a second Jim’s heart seemed to stand still. He was not used to lying. However, he realized only too well how the least hesitation would surely hang him, and he promptly nodded his head.
“Sure I will. Come right along.” And he led the way diagonally from the horseman’s tracks, so as to strike the river obliquely.
It was a silent procession, and the air was charged with possible disaster. Jim walked ahead, his horse hanging back and being urged forward by no very gentle kicks from Smallbones.
And as he walked he thought hard. He was struggling to remember a likely spot. He dare not choose one where grass lay under foot. These men had eyes like hawks for a spot on such ground. There was only one underlay where their eyes could be fooled, and that was under the shelter of a pine tree, where the pine-needles prevented impress and yielded no trace of footsteps. Was there such a spot near by? He vaguely remembered a small cluster of such trees beside his track, but he couldn’t remember how far away it lay. He knew he must take a big risk.
He did not hesitate, and, though slowly, he walked deliberately in a definite direction, winding in and out the bush. Then to his intense relief, after about five minutes’298walking, he saw the trees he was looking for. Yes, they were right in his track, and he remembered now skirting them as he came along. But he was not yet clear of trouble by any means. What was the underlay like?
He avoided giving any sign of his destination. That was most important. And he was fearful lest he should be questioned. He knew the shrewdness of the redoubtable doctor, and he feared it. He was on his own track now, which showed plain enough in the grass. And as he came to the clump of pines he still kept on until he had practically passed it. He did this purposely. It was necessary to satisfy himself that the ground under the trees was bare except for a thick carpet of pine-needles. Fortune was with him for once, and he suddenly turned and led his horse in among the trees. As he walked he disturbed the carpet as much as he could without attracting attention, and having come to a halt, he quickly turned his horse about the further to disturb the underlay. Then he flung himself into a sitting posture at the foot of one of the trees, at the same time deliberately raising a dust with his feet.
“This is the spot,” he said, looking frankly up into the doctor’s face. “I s’pose I must have been here somewhere around two hours. How far have we come? A matter of two hundred yards? Look out there. It’s more or less a blank outlook of trees.”
But Doc Crombie was studying the ground. Jim sprang up and began to move round his horse, feeling the cinchas of his saddle. He felt he could reasonably do this, and further disturb the underlay without exciting suspicion. It was a dreadful moment for him, for he noted that all eyes were closely scrutinizing the ground.
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Suddenly the doctor fixed an eagle glance on his face. Jim met it. He believed it to be the final question. But the man gave him no satisfaction. He left him with the uncertainty as to whether he had wholly fooled him or not. His words were peremptory.
“We’ll git back an’ finish the hunt,” he declared. Then, “Will that durned plug carry you now?”
Jim shrugged.
“Maybe at a walk.”
“Wal, git right on.”
Jim obeyed. It would have been madness to refuse. But his brain was desperately busy.
They rode back to the river bank at the point where the fugitive had taken to the water. Most of the men dismounted, and, with noses to the ground, they studied the tracks. Two or three moved along the bank vainly endeavoring to discover the man’s further direction; and two of them rode across to the opposite side. But the banks told them nothing. Their quarry had obviously not crossed the water. A quarter of an hour was spent thus, Jim helping all he knew; then finally Doc Crombie called his men together.
“We’ll git right on,” he declared authoritatively.
“Which way?” inquired Smallbones. He was angry, but looked depressed.
The doctor considered a moment, and the men stood round waiting.
“We’ll head up-stream for the hills,” he said at last. “Guess he’ll make that way. We’ll divide up on either side of the river. Guess you best take three men, Smallbones, an’ cross over. You, Thorpe, ’ll stop with me.”
But Thorpe shook his head. He saw an opportunity to300play a big hand for Eve, and, win or lose, he meant to play it. He would not have attempted it on a man less keen than the doctor.
“You’re wrong, Doc,” he said coolly, and all eyes were at once turned upon him. Every man in the party was at once agog with interest, for not one of them but shared Smallbones’ suspicion in some degree, however little it might be.
“See here,” Jim went on, with a great show of enthusiasm, “do you know this river? Well,” as the doctor shook his head, “I do. That’s why I came this trail. I guessed if any of the rustlers were liable to hit the trail, it ’ud be somewhere around this river. You figger he’s gone up-stream. I’d gamble he’s gone down. There’s a heavy timber two miles or so down-stream, and that timber is a sheer cover right up to the hills farther north. D’you get me? Well, personally, I don’t think he’s gone up-stream––so I hunt down.”
He was relying on the independence of his manner and the truth of his arguments for success, and he achieved it even beyond his hopes. Doc Crombie’s eyes blazed.
“You’ll hunt with me, Jim Thorpe,” he cried sharply.
But Jim was ready. This was what he was looking for.
“See here, Doc, I’m not out for foolishness, neither are you. Oh, yes, I know I’m suspected, and there’s folks, especially our friend Smallbones, would like to hang me right off. Well, get busy and do the hanging, I shan’t resist, and you’ll all live to regret it; that is, except Smallbones. However, this is my point. This suspicion is on me, and I’ve got to clear it. I’m a sight more interested than any of you fellows. I believe that fellow has headed301down-stream, and I claim the right, in my own self-defense, to follow him as far as my horse will let me. I want to hit his trail, and I’ll run him to earth if I have to do it on foot. And I tell you right here you’ve no authority to stop me. I’m not a vigilante, and you’re not a sheriff, nor even a ‘deputy.’ I tell you you have neither moral nor legal right to prevent me clearing myself in my own way.”
“Want to get rid of us,” snarled Smallbones.
Jim turned on him like a knife.
“I’ve a score to settle with you, and, small as you are, you’re going to get all that’s coming to you––later.”
“You’ll have to get busy quick, or you won’t have time,” grinned the little man, making a hideous motion of hanging.
But further bickering was prevented by the doctor. At this moment he rose almost to the greatness which his associates claimed for him. Bitter as his feelings were at thus openly being defied and flouted, he refused to blind himself to the justness of the other’s plea. He even acquiesced with a decent grace, although he refused––as Jim knew he would––to change his own opinions.
“Hit your trail, boy,” he cried, in his large, harsh voice. “Guess you sure got the rights of a free citizen, an’––good luck.”
He rode off; and Smallbones, with a venomous glance back at the triumphant Jim, started across the river. Jim remounted his horse and rode off down the river. He glanced back at the retreating party with the doctor, and sighed his relief. He felt as though he had been passing through a lifetime of crime, and ahead lay safety.
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He did not attempt to push his tired horse faster than a walk, but continued on until he came to the woods, where he knew Will had sought shelter; then he off-saddled. He had no intention of proceeding farther until sundown.
He thanked his stars that he had read Doc Crombie aright. He would never have dared to bluff a lesser man than he.
And then, having seated himself for rest under a bush, his last waking thoughts were black with the despair of an honest man who has finally and voluntarily made it impossible to prove his own innocence.
303CHAPTER XXVIIANNIE
Doc Crombie and his men had returned to Barnriff after a long and fruitless hunt. Two days and two nights they had spent on the trail. They had found the haunt of the rustlers; they had seen the men––at least, they had had an excellent view of their backs; they had pursued––and they had lost them all four. But this was not all. One of the boys had been shot down in his tracks by the man they believed to be the leader of the gang. So it was easy enough to guess their temper.
The doctor said little, because that was his way when things went wrong. But the iron possessed his soul to a degree that suggested all sorts of possibilities. And Barnriff was a raging cauldron of fury and disappointment. So was the entire district, for the news was abroad, travelling with that rapidity which is ever the case with the news of disaster. Every rancher was, to use a local phrase, “up in the air, and tearing his sky-piece” (his hair), which surely meant that before long there would be trouble for some one, the nature of which would be quite easy to guess.
The “hanging committee,” as the vigilantes were locally called, returned at sundown, and the evening was spent in spreading the news. Thus it was that Annie Gay learned the public feeling, and the general drift of Barnriff’s thought. Her husband dutifully gave her his own opinions first, that there might be no doubt in her304own mind; then he proceeded to show her how Barnriff saw these things.
“Of course,” he said. “What ken you expect wi’ folk like Smallbones an’ sech on a committee like this! Doc’s to blame, sure. Ef he’d sed to me, ‘Gay, you fix this yer racket. I leave it to you,’ I’d sure ’a’ gotmenin the gang, an’ we’d ’a’ cleared the country of all sech gophers as rustlers. But ther’, guess I don’t need to tell you ’bout Doc.”
Annie’s loyalty to him stood the test, and she waited for the rest. It came with his recounting of the details of their exploits. He told her of their journey, of the race. Then he passed on to the story of the Little Bluff River, as he had been told it by Smallbones. He assured her that now everybody, urged on by Smallbones, wanted to hang somebody, and, as far as he could make out, unless they quickly laid hands on the real culprit, Jim Thorpe was likely violently to terminate his checkered career over the one-way trail.
He was convinced that the venom of Smallbones, added to the tongues of the women, which were beginning to wag loudly at what they believed was Jim’s clandestine intimacy with Eve during her husband’s absence, would finally overcome the scruples of Doc Crombie and force him to yield to the popular cry.
He gave her much detail, all of which she added to her own knowledge. And, with her husband’s approval, decided to go to Eve, and, in her own phraseology, “do what she could.” Her husband really sent her, for he liked Jim Thorpe.
So, on the third morning, Annie set out on her errand of kindly warning. The position was difficult. But she305realized that this was no time to let her feelings hinder her. She loved Eve, and, like her husband, she had a great friendliness for Jim.
Then she was convinced that there was nothing between these two yet, other than had always existed, a liking on the woman’s part and a deep, wholesome, self-sacrificing love on the man’s. She saw the danger for Eve well enough, since her husband had turned out so badly; but her sympathetic heart went out to her, and she would never have opened her mouth to say one word to her detriment, even if she knew the women’s accusations to be true. In fact, in a wave of sentimental emotion, she rather hoped they were true. Eve deserved a little happiness, and, if it lay in her power to help her to any, she would certainly not hesitate to offer her services.
To Eve, fighting her lonely battle in the solitude of her small home, amidst the cloth and trimmings of her trade, the sight of Annie’s cheerful, friendly face always had a rousing effect. She lived from day to day in a world of grinding fear. Her mind was never clear of it now. And she clung to her work as being the only possible thing. She dared not go out more than she was actually obliged for fear of hearing the news she dreaded. There was nothing to be done but wait for the sword to fall.
But these last three days her fears had been divided, and she found herself torn in two different directions by them. Where before it had always been her husband, now, ever since the night of Jim Thorpe’s going, he was rarely out of her thoughts. Now, even more than at the time when she first understood the sacrifice he was about306to make for her. And the nobleness of it appealed to her simple woman’s mind as something sublime. He was a branded man before, but now, so long as he remained in Barnriff, or wherever he met a man who had lived in Barnriff at this time, so long as Will escaped capture, the pointing finger would be able to mark honest Jim Thorpe as a––cattle-thief. He was powerless to do more than deny it. The horror of it was dreadful.
He had done it for her. And her woman’s heart told her why. Her thoughts flew back to those days, such a little way back, yet, to her, so far, far away, when his kind serious eyes used to look into hers in their gentle caressing fashion, when his unready tongue used to halt over speaking those nice things a woman, in her simple vanity, loves to hear from a man she likes. She thought of the little presents he used to make her so awkwardly, all prompted by his great, golden, loving heart.
And she had passed him by for that other. The man with the ready, specious tongue, with the buoyant, self-satisfied air, with the bright, merry eyes of one who knows his power with women, who rarely fails to win, and, having won easily, no longer cares for his plaything. But she had loved Will then, and had Jim been an angel sent straight from heaven he could not then have taken her from him.
But now? Ah, well, now everything was different. She was older. She was, perhaps, sadly wiser. She was also married, and Jim was, could be, nothing to her. His nobleness to her was the nobleness which was not the result of a selfish love that looks and hopes for its reward, she told herself. It was part of the man. He would have acted that way whatever his feelings for her.307He was a great, loyal friend, she told herself again and again, and her feeling for him was friendliness, a friendliness she thanked God for, and nothing more. She told herself all this, as many a woman has told herself before, and she fancied, as many another good and virtuous woman has fancied, that she believed it.
When Annie entered her workroom she looked up with a wistful smile of welcome, but the sight of the clouds obscuring the sunshine of the girl’s face stopped her sewing-machine at once, and ready sympathy found prompt expression in her gentle voice.
“What is it, dear?” she inquired. “You look––you look as if you, too, were in trouble.”
Annie tried to smile back in response. But it was a poor attempt. She had been thinking so hard on her way to Eve. She had been calculating and figuring so keenly in her woman’s way. And curiously enough she had managed to make the addition of two and two into four. She felt that she must not hesitate now, or the courage to display the accuracy of her calculation, and at the same time help her friend, would evaporate.
“Trouble?” she echoed absently. “Trouble enough for sure, but not for me, Eve,” she stepped round to the girl’s side and laid a protecting arm about her shoulders. “You can quit those fears you once told me of. I––think he’s safe away.”
Had Annie needed confirmation of her deductive logic she had it. The look of absolute horror which suddenly leaped into Eve’s drawn face was overwhelming. Annie’s arm tightened round her shoulders, for she thought the distraught woman was about to faint.
“Don’t say a word, Eve, dear. Don’t you––now don’t308you,” she cried. “I’m going to do the talking. But first I’ll just shut the door.” She crossed to the door, speaking as she went. “You’ve just got to sit an’ listen, while I tell you all about it. An’ when we’ve finished, dear,” she said, coming back to her place beside her, “ther’s just one thing, an’ only one person we’ve got to think an’ speak about. It’s Jim Thorpe.”
Annie’s intuition must have been something approaching the abnormal, for she gave Eve no chance whatever to reply. She promptly sat down at the table, and, gazing straight into the stricken woman’s face, told her all that her husband had told her, and all that she had gleaned for herself, elsewhere. She linked everything together in such a manner as to carry absolute conviction, showing the jeopardy in which Jim stood.
Never once did she refer to Will, or hint again that she had discovered Eve’s secret, the secret which Doc Crombie and the whole of Barnriff would have given worlds to possess, but she told her story from the point of view of Jim’s peril as a suspected cattle-thief, and his apparent interest in her, Eve, which the whole of the village women were beginning so virtuously to resent.
“An’ if all that wasn’t sufficient to set a wretched lot o’ scallywags hanging him, along comes this business of the Little Bluff River,” she finished up.
Eve’s face was a study in emotion during the girl’s recital. From terror it passed to indignation, from horror to the shrinking of outraged wifehood. Now she stammered her request for Annie to go on.
“I––I don’t understand,” she declared, “what has that–––?”
“What’s it got to do with it?” cried Annie, with hot309anger at the thought. “Why, just this. It’s that mean Smallbones for sure. It’s him at the bottom of it. They’re saying that Jim did see the rustler, an’ helped him get clear away while he pretended to be chasin’ him. That’s what the mildest of ’em sez. But ther’s others swear, an’ Smallbones is one of ’em, that Jim himself was the rustler, an’ they rec’nized him from the start. But someways he jest managed to fool Doc, ’cause his horse was cool, and didn’t show no signs of the chase.”
The girl’s pretty eyes were wide with anger at these accusers. But her anger was nothing to compare with the fury which now stirred Eve.
“Oh, they’re wicked, cruel monsters! They hate him, and they only want to hang him because they hate him. It’s––it’s nothing to do with the cattle stealing. Smallbones has always hated Jim, because––because Jim’s better educated and comes from good people. Jim a cattle-thief? Jim wouldn’t steal a––a––blade of grass. He’s too noble, and good, and––and honest. Oh, I hate these people! I hate them all––all!”
Annie sat aghast at the storm she had roused. But her woman’s wit at once told her the nature of the real feeling underlying the girl’s words. She had suspected before, but now she understood what, perhaps, Eve herself had no definite understanding of. With the wrecking of her love for her husband it had been salved and safely anchored elsewhere. And Jim was the man who had––anchored it.
However, she wisely refrained from revealing her discovery. She was delighted, sentimentally, foolishly delighted, but unhesitatingly continued with the purpose of her coming.
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“Yes, dear,” she agreed, nodding her pretty head sagely. “And so do I. But we’ve sure got to think of Jim Thorpe. And––and that’s why I came along. Gay knows why I came, too. You know how queer Gay is ’bout some things. He said to me, ‘You best get along. Y’see, I got Jim down fer buryin’ proper when his time comes, an’ I don’t figger to get fooled by any low-down hanging.’ That’s what Gay said, an’ I didn’t think it quite elegant of him at the time. But there,” with a sigh, “men are curious folk ’bout things. Still,” she bustled on alertly, “we got to give him warning. We got to make him keep away for a while anyway. He hasn’t been seen in the village since, and there’s folks say we ain’t likely to see him again. I––I almost hope they’re right, for his sake. It won’t never do for him to come along––true––true it won’t.”
The girl’s earnestness and alarm were reflected in Eve’s face. She saw the necessity, the emergency. But how––how to get word to him? That was the difficulty. How? Neither of them knew where he was, and certainly none of the villagers did.
Eve shook her head desperately.
“I––I don’t seem to be able to think,” she said piteously. “I’ve done so much thinking, and––and scheming, that my head feels silly, and I––I––don’t know what to suggest.”
But Annie was paying only slight attention. Now her round eyes suddenly brightened.
“I’ve got it,” she cried. “There’s––there’s Peter Blunt. He’s sure to know where Jim is, or be able to find him. Yes, and there’s your Elia––if Peter fails.”
But Eve shook her head at the latter suggestion.
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“Peter, yes. He’ll help us, surely. But we must not think of Elia. He’s––he’s too––delicate.”
“Then it’s Peter,” cried Annie, impulsively. “Now I’ll tell you what we’ll do. I’ll find Peter some time to-day, and––and tell him to come along and see you to-night, after dark. You see,” she added naively, “he best not be seen visitin’ you in daylight. Then you can tell him all I’ve told you, and he’ll sure know the best to do. He likes Jim.”
“Yes, yes,” agreed Eve, brightening visibly and catching something of Annie’s confidence in her scheme. “Peter will help me, I know. Oh, Annie, you are a dear, good thing! I don’t know how I’d get through all this without you. But––but––you’ll be secret, won’t you, dear? You see, I’m quite helpless, and––and you know so much.”
“You can trust me, Eve, you can trust me like you can trust––Jim Thorpe. Good-bye, dear, an’ keep bright. I’ll come along after you’ve seen Peter. Yes, we’ve got to help Jim out––that’s how my man said, too. Good-bye.”
She hurriedly kissed her friend and bustled out of the house. All this scheming had got hold of her busy brain, and she was eager to get to work on it.
312CHAPTER XXVIIIWILL
It was a long day of suspense for Eve. There was so little to distract her mind from the things which troubled. A few household duties, that was all. There was Elia’s food to be prepared when he came in from Peter’s new cutting, just outside the village limits. There was her dressmaking. But this last left her so much room for thought, and only helped to lengthen the dragging hours.
At dinner-time Elia informed her that there were some jack-rabbits in a bluff just outside the village, and declared his intention of snaring them for her that night. But she paid only the slightest attention to him, and gave him permission to go almost without thinking. Since Will had escaped there was only one thing of any consequence. It was Jim’s safety from the angry villagers.
That afternoon, as she sat over her work, he alone occupied her thoughts and troubled her to a degree that would have startled her had she been less concerned in his danger. She saw now how the cowardly part she had played in accepting his help to save her worthless husband had thrown the burden of his crime upon Jim’s willing shoulders. And now they wanted to hang him. She was to blame and she alone. She who would not willingly hurt one hair of his head.
Hurt him? Oh, no, no! And yet, how she had hurt him already. She had never meant to. It had been rushed upon her. She had acted upon the impulse of313the moment. And then––then he had refused to listen when she realized the meaning of what she had done. Hurt him? No. Now she felt that nothing else mattered if only she could see a way to clear his name.
She thought long and hopelessly. Then, of a sudden, she sprang to her feet with a cry. Yes, yes, there was a way. They should not hang him. She still had it in her power to save him. She still had it in her power to tell the whole miserable, pitiful truth. She had been a coward, but she would be a coward no longer. This was for Jim. The other had been for herself. Yes, she would tell the truth. She would tell them that Will Henderson––her husband––was the thief. They would believe––yes–––
But her hope suddenly dropped from her. Would they believe? She remembered what Annie had told her. She had been seen with Jim several times in the village since he had left McLagan’s. How many times? Once––twice––– Yes, three times in all. And already the women of the place had started scandalous stories. Would they believe her? If she denounced Will, what then? Their retort would promptly be that she was trying to rid herself of her husband, for––her own ends. Oh, it was cruel!
She flung herself into her chair, and buried her face in her hands. She could do nothing. Nothing but wait for help from others. And God alone knew into what trouble she might not plunge them.
But gradually she became calmer. She began to think in a different channel. She was thinking of these scandalous tongues, and searching for an answer to them. She began to question her feelings. She told herself314that Jim was nothing but a friend. A well-liked friend. She told herself this several times, and thought she believed it. Why should it be otherwise? She had only seen him three times since he came in from McLagan’s. So why should it be otherwise? No, it was not otherwise.
Slowly, as she thought, and the hours drifted on, her fears fell away into the background. Her heart grew very tender, and her denial less decided. She wondered where Jim was. She longed to go to him. She would have loved to carry the warning to him herself. Somehow, she wanted to be at his side, to tell him all she felt at the trouble she had brought upon him. At the wrong she had so thoughtlessly, unintentionally done him. She wanted to show him how she had only done as her weak woman’s conscience had prompted her. She had not thought beyond what she believed to be her duty. She had not paused to think what trouble she was bringing on others––on him. Had she only realized at the time, that, with all her might, she was driving the searing brand deeper into his flesh, she would rather have faced the rope herself. She wanted to tell him all this, to open her heart to him, and let him see that she was not the cruel, selfish creature he must think her for having accepted his sacrifice in bearing the warning to Will.
The fascination of her self-abnegating thought held her, and she drifted on to more personal details. She pictured his kind eyes, and heard his deep, gentle voice telling her that he forgave her, that he preferred to carry the warning rather than she should suffer. She felt in her heart that this was what he would say, for she315knew, as most women know these things, that the old love of a year ago was still as it was then. And the thought of it was sweet and comforting now in her trouble.
She remained in her wondrously seductive dreamland while the minutes crept on. And, as the dusky shadows of evening gathered, she sat silent in her woman’s dream of the man. It was gentle, soothing, irresistible. It was the natural reaction after long hours of mental struggle, when a merciful Providence brings relief to the suffering mind, the saving sedative of a few restful moments in the realms of a gentle dreaming of subconsciousness.
But perhaps this respite was something in the nature of an inversion of the tempering of the wind. Perhaps a strange Providence was giving her a few moments in which to strengthen herself for the blow that was to follow so quickly. It is of small consequence, however. These things pass in a lifetime almost unobserved. It is only on subsequent reflection that they become apparent.
The darkness had closed down, and for once the usually brilliant summer evening was clouded, and the twilight quickly lost. The woman’s introspective gaze was smiling, the drawn lines about her pretty mouth, the shadows under her eyes seemed to have fallen from her. It almost seemed as though the happiness of her dreams had entirely banished the trouble that had so long weighed her down.
Then suddenly the latch of her door lifted with a rattle. She started at once into perfect consciousness. At last. It was Peter Blunt come with his ready help.316She started to her feet, all her dream-castles tumbling about her. The door was pushed roughly open, and Will, her husband, came hurriedly in:
“You?”
Eve’s exclamation was the last thing in horror, the last thing in unconscious detestation. But his eyes held hers as one fascinated by the eyes of some cruel reptile. Nor was it until he nodded his reply that the spell was broken.
“Yes––and I guess you ain’t too pleased.”
There was a harsh sarcasm in his tone, which added to the steely horror in the woman’s heart. Now her eyes glanced swiftly over his body. He was dressed differently to anything she had ever seen him in. He was wearing a suit of store clothes, and a soft cotton shirt with a collar. His whole appearance suggested the Sunday costume of any of the villagers, which they generally wore when setting out on a visit to a town of some importance. Just for a moment she wondered if this was Will’s intention. Was he about to make a bolt out of the country?
He shut the door carefully, and glanced round the darkened room. There was just sufficient glow from the stove to tell him there was no one else in the place.
“Where’s Elia? Are you alone?”
His tone was peremptory and suspicious. His furtive eyes told Eve that he was apprehensive. She nodded.
“Elia’s gone snaring jack-rabbits on the bluff, out back,” she said unsuspiciously. “Shall I light a lamp?”
“No.” His negative came emphatically.
He came round to the stove, and stood looking down at her for some moments. There was a dark, sullen frown317in his eyes which might well have suggested possibilities to the most unsuspicious. But she was not suspicious, just then. She was wondering and fearful that he had returned to the village instead of getting away. Why had he come? she asked herself. But her question found no voice.
“Well?” he said at last, with such a sneer that she lifted a pair of startled eyes to his face. Her heart was hammering in her bosom. She had suddenly realized his temper.
“I’m going away,” he said sharply. “I’ve got to get out. I came in for money. Have you got any of my money?”
“All of it.”
“Ah, good. You’re more use than I thought you. How much?”
“Over a thousand dollars.”
Eve’s voice was icy. Her whole attitude seemed almost mechanical. Yet a wild terror was slowly creeping over her, mounting steadily to her brain. Nor was the reason for it quite apparent yet.
The man’s eyes sparkled, and for a moment his frown lightened.
“Good. You can hand it over.” And his voice was almost friendly.
Eve went into her bedroom and returned with a pile of bills. Will held out his hand for them, but she ignored it, and laid them on the table. He seized upon them greedily, glancing queerly at her as he pocketed them.
“Good,” he said thoughtfully, “now I can get busy.” He lifted his eyes to his wife’s face again, and stared at her malevolently, and the woman shivered under his scrutiny. She had shrunk from coming into contact with318the hand that had shot down one of the boys, and now she was thinking of this man as the murderer.
“You best go,” she said, vainly trying to keep her voice steady.
But the man made no move. His malevolent stare had become more intense. Suddenly he laughed, his teeth baring, but his eyes remaining unchanged.
“So that’s it, eh?” he said. Then the malevolence of his eyes changed to an angry fire. “I’m going sure, but not till I’ve done what I came to do. Y’see, there’s no great hurry. Folks aren’t chasin’ me here. Here, I’m a respectable, hard-working gold prospector. An’ I’ve been down at the saloon an’ talked with the folks. Bluff, eh? Gold prospector. Gee! We know differently, eh? Don’t we? Oh, yes, I’m goin’––when it suits me. Not when it suits you. Guess you’d be glad to be rid of me, eh? So it would leave room for Jim Thorpe. Oh, I’ve heard. All the folks are talking.”
The girl started. An angry flush slowly mounted to her cheeks, and a sudden sparkle lit her eyes.
“But he don’t cut any ice with me,” the man went on with a laugh. “You won’t get him. Nor will any other woman. They’re goin’ to hang him. Say, what was his price for riding out to me? Did you pay it beforehand, or do you reckon to pay it before they hang him? Ha, ha! guess you ain’t paid it yet. Men don’t work for women after they get their pay. I’d say you’re shrewd enough someways.”
Eve’s fury at the man’s loathsome suggestion drove her beyond all caution. And she flung her answer at him with a hatred that was wholly infuriating to the man.
“You best go. Remember, I know the truth of you,”319she cried. “We’ve saved you from the rope, once. I still have it in my power to–––”
“Eh?”
He stepped up to her and stood, his face within a few inches of hers.
“So that’s it, is it? You’d give me away. You!” He shook his head slowly, all his purpose plainly written in his furious eyes. “You won’t give me away. I’ll see to that. For two pins I’d silence you now, only––only it isn’t what I want. But don’t make a mistake, you won’t give me away. Sit down. Sit down right there in the chair behind you.”
He stood over her, compelling her with the force behind his command, and the terrified woman found herself obeying him against her will. She almost fell into the chair. Then the man turned back to the door and secured it.
“We don’t want any one buttin’ in,” he said. “I’ve got to do a big talk first, then I get goin’.”
He came back and stood beside the stove, opposite her, so that he could look right down into her face and watch the effect of his words. He was brimful of a merciless project, which was to be carried out partly for her edification, partly for his own revenge, and wholly for the satisfaction of the devilish nature within him, which now, let fully loose, swayed him beyond any thought of consequences.
“See here, you’ve been my Jonah right along. I never had a cent’s worth of luck since I got scratching around your fence,” he began, almost quietly. Only was the threat in his eyes. “I don’t guess I can say just how things happened––I mean how things got going wrong320with me, unless it was you. I’m going to tell you straight when it happened. I got mean when I was fool enough to guess I was sweet on you. Jim Thorpe was sweet on you too. I got mean toward him. We shot a target for first chance to ask you to marry. He won. I got in ahead, and, like a fool, married you. That was the beginning. An’ I didn’t feel any less mean after. Yes, you were my Jonah, sure. I couldn’t work those first days ’cos of you, an’ after I didn’t guess I wanted to. But it set me savage I didn’t want to. Well, I’m not here to tell you all the things that followed. You know them as well as me. But there’s things you don’t know. After you got hurt that night it was Peter Blunt who drove me out of Barnriff with threats of kicking me out, and setting the townsfolk on me for the way I’d treated you. But Jim was behind it. He didn’t do the talkin’ to me––Peter did that. But Jim came in that night to see you. I found that out. Say, I was mad. I was mad at Jim Thorpe, and not Peter, for I read his doing in my own way. Y’see I was still a fool, an’ still sweet on you. But I saw how I could get back on him. I’d been at work some time on the cattle-duffing, an’ I saw just how I could hurt him too.
“Say, cattle-duffing’s a great gambol, an’ I don’t regret it. I’m going to keep on at it––only elsewhere. Well, I got hold of Master Jim’s brand. I got kit as like he wears as two cents, in case I was located. We’re alike in figure–––”
“But, thank God, there’s no other resemblance.”
Eve’s scathing comment came with startling suddenness. Her terror was passing, and only she felt a great loathing for this man.