The One-Way Trail: A story of the cattle country

Poor Eve! He caught himself pitying her. No, he had no right to pity her. The pity would have been had she married him. And yet–perhaps this would never have happened had she married him. No, he told himself, it would never, could never have happened then. For, in the fact of having won her, would not his luck have been the reverse of what it was?

Suddenly he wondered what she would think when he told her–or when others told her, as, doubtless by this time, they had already done. He shuddered. She was in a cattle country. She was ingrained with all its instincts. Would she condemn him without a hearing? When he went to speak to her, would she turn from him as from something unclean? Again the sweat broke out at his thought. She might. The facts were deadly against him. And yet–and yet somehow– No, he dared not speculate; he must wait.

There was the humble little village on ahead of him, nestling like some tiny boat amidst the vast rollers of the prairie ocean. There, ahead, were his judges, and amongst them the woman who was still more to him than his very life. He must face them, face them all. And when their verdict was pronounced, as he knew it would be in no uncertain manner, then, with girded loins, he must stand out, and, conscious of his innocence, fight the great battle. It was the world–his world–against him, he knew. What–what must be the result?

CHAPTER XXI

INSPIRATION

Half an hour later Jim rode into Barnriff. It was getting on toward noon, and most of the villagers were busy at their various occupations. As he rode on to the market-place he glanced quickly about him, and, all unconsciously, there was defiance and resentment in his dark eyes; the look of a man prepared for the accusations which he knew were awaiting him. But this attitude was quite wasted, for there were few people about, and those few were either too far off, or too busy to note his coming, or appreciate his feelings, as expressed in his dark eyes.

It is strange how instinct will so often take the lead in moments critical in the lives of human beings. Jim had no thought of whither his immediate destination lay, yet he was riding straight for the house of the friendly gold prospector. Doubtless his action was due to a subconscious realization of a friendliness and trust on the part of Peter, which was not to be overborne by the first breath of suspicion.

He was within fifty yards of that friendly, open door, when he became aware that a woman’s figure was standing before it. Her back was turned, and she looked to be either peering within the hut, or talking to some one inside it. Nor, strangely enough, did he recognize the trim outline of her figure until she abruptly turned away and moved off in the direction of her own house. It was Eve Henderson. And, without hesitation, he swung his horse in her direction.

She saw him at once and, smiling a welcome, waited for him to come up. He saw the smile and the unhesitating way she stepped forward to greet him. There could have been no doubt of her cordiality, even eagerness, yet with the shadow of his disgrace hanging over him, he tried to look beyond it for that something which he was ready to resent even in her.

He saw the shadow on her face, which even her smile had no power to lift out of its troubled lines. He saw dark shadows round her eyes, the tremulous, drooping mouth, once so buoyant and happy, and he selfishly took these signs to himself, and moodily felt that she was trying vainly to conceal her real thoughts of him behind a display of loyalty.

There was no verbal greeting between them, and he felt this to be a further ominous sign. Somehow, he could not force himself to an ordinary greeting under the circumstances. She had doubtless heard the story, so– But he was quite wrong. Eve was simply wondering at his coming. Wondering what it portended. She had truly enough heard the story of the recovery of the cattle, as who in Barnriff had not? But her wonder and nervousness were not for him, but for herself. It was for herself, and had to do with that fear she had told Annie Gay of, and which now had become a sort of waking nightmare to her.

Jim sprang from the saddle. Linking his arm through the reins, he stood facing the woman he loved. “Well?” he said, in a curious, half-defiant manner, while his glance swept over every detail of her pretty, troubled face. Finally it settled upon the slight scar over her temple, and a less selfish feeling took possession of him. The change in her expression suddenly told him its own story. Her eyes were the eyes of suffering, not of any condemnation of himself.

“I–I’ve just been over to see if Peter was in,” she said hesitatingly.

“Peter? Oh, yes–and, wasn’t he?”

Jim was suddenly seized with a feeling of awkwardness such as he had never before felt when talking to Eve.

The girl shook her head and began to move in the direction of her house. He fell in beside her, and, for a moment, neither spoke. Finally she went on.

“No,” she said regretfully. “And I sure wanted to see him so badly. You see,” she added hastily, “Elia is away. He’s been away for days, and, well, I want to know where he is. I get so anxious when he’s away. You see, he’s so–”

“And does Peter know where he is?”

“Yes. At least I’m hoping so. Elia goes with him a deal now, on his expeditions. Peter’s real good to him. I think he’s trying to help him in–in–you know Elia is so–so delicate.”

The girl’s evident reluctance to put into words her well-loved brother’s weaknesses roused all Jim’s sympathy.

“Yes, yes. And is he supposed to be with Peter now?”

“He went away with him four days ago.”

“I see.”

Then there was another awkward pause. Again Eve was the one to break it. They were nearing the gate of her little garden.

“But what has brought you into town, Jim?” she suddenly asked, as though his presence had only just occurred to her as being unusual.

With a rush the memory of all his disgrace came upon him again. He laughed bitterly, harshly.

“Another of Dame Fortune’s kicks,” he said.

“Another?”

“Yes–ah, I forgot. Of course. Well, we’ll call it one of Dame Fortune’s kicks.”

“You mean the–cattle stealing?” She was staring straight ahead of her, and into her eyes had leaped a sudden look of fear which she dared not let him see.

But Jim was too busy with himself to even notice her hesitation. He had no room to realize her emotions just then.

“Yes,” he said, almost viciously. “It’s about that–I s’pose I ought to say ‘because’ of that.” She glanced at him swiftly, but waited for him to go on. He did so with another nervous laugh. “I’m ‘fired,’ Eve. Kicked out by Dan McLagan, and branded by him as a suspected cattle-thief, as surely–as surely as they’ve found a bunch of his cattle branded with my brand.”

They had reached the gate, and Eve turned facing him. There was a curious look in her eyes. It was almost one of relief. Yet it was not quite. There was something else in it. There was incredulity, resentment; something which suggested a whole world of trust and confidence in the man before her.

“Nonsense,” she cried. “You–you accused of cattle stealing? You? He must be mad. They must all be mad.”

“They?”

The girl suddenly flushed. She had said more than she intended. But there was no use drawing back.

“Oh, yes,” she cried hotly. “I didn’t mean to let you know. I’ve heard the story. Of course I have. Who, living in such a place as Barnriff, wouldn’t hear it?” she hurried on bitterly. “Directly they told me I laughed at them. But–but they do suspect you. Oh, Jim, I think I hate these folks. You–you suspected of cattle-duffing. McLagan ought to be ashamed of himself. It’s cruel in such a country as this. And the evidence is so ridiculous. Oh, Jim, if it weren’t so horrible it would be almost–almost laughable.”

“Thanks, Eve. And that–is really what you feel?”

She looked him in the face with wide, wondering eyes.

“Why, of course it is.”

The man smiled ever so slightly. He felt better. A few more loyal friends like this and his position would be considerably easier.

“But they are all branded with my ‘**’s,” he went on doubtfully.

“And what of it? It’s a blind. It’s to put folks off the real track. I–” She broke off, and her eyelids were suddenly lowered to hide the fear with which her own words again inspired her. As she did not continue Jim seized his opportunity to pour out something of what he felt at her unquestioning loyalty.

“Eve,” he cried, his eyes lighting with the love he was powerless to keep altogether under. “You don’t know what all your words mean to me. You don’t know how glad they make me feel. Do you know, when I was riding up to you just now I was looking for a sign of suspicion in your eyes? If I’d seen it–if I’d seen it, I can’t tell you what it would have meant to me. I almost thought I did see it, but now I know I was wrong. There’s just about two folks for whose opinion I care in this village, you and Peter. Well, now I feel I can face the rest. For the present I’m an unconvicted cattle rustler to them. There’s not much difference between that and a rawhide rope with them. But there’s just a bit of difference, and to that bit I’m going to hold good and tight.”

Eve’s face suddenly went an ashy gray.

“But, Jim, they’d never–never hang you.” Her voice was low. There was a thrill of horror in it which made the man’s heart glow. He felt that her horror was for his safety, and not for the fact of the hanging. Then the feeling swiftly passed. He remembered in time that she was the wife of another.

“They would,” he said decidedly. “They’d hang me, or anybody else, with very little more proof than they’ve already got. You don’t realize what cattle-duffing means to these folks. It’s worse than murder. But,” he went on, struggling to lighten his manner, “they’re not going to hang me, if I know it. It’s up to me to run this rustler to earth. I’m going to. That’s what I’m out for. After I’d made up my mind to hunt the devil down McLagan informed me, not in so many words, of course, that to do so was the only way to convince folks of my innocence–himself included. So I’m going to hunt him down, if it takes months, and costs me my last cent. And when I find him”–his eyes lit with a terrible purpose–“may God have mercy on his soul, for I won’t.”

But the girl had no response for him. Her enthusiastic belief in his innocence found no further expression. When he pronounced his determination her eyes were wide and staring, and as he ceased speaking she turned them toward the distant hills, lest he should witness the terror she could no longer hide. A shudder passed over her slight figure. She was struggling with herself, with that haunting fear that was ever dogging her. The thought of the rawhide rope had set it shuddering through her nerve centres afresh in a way that bathed her in a cold perspiration.

For a moment she stood battling thus. Then, in the midst of the struggle something came upon her, and her heart seemed to stand still. It was as though a flash of mental light had illumined her clouded horizon. Realization swept in upon her, a full terrible realization of the source of her fear.

It was to do with this cattle stealing. Yes, she knew it now. She knew more. She knew who the cattle-rustler was, for whom Jim was to stand the blame. She needed no words to tell her. She had no evidence. She needed none. Her woman’s instinct served her, as though she had witnessed his acts. It was Will. It was–her husband.

And, all unconsciously, for so long this had been her fear. She remembered now so many things. She remembered his cynical laugh when he told her of his gold find, and how easy it was to work. She remembered her lack of confidence in his story–knowing the man as she did. She remembered her repugnance at the sight of the money he had spent on her, and how she could never bring herself to touch that which he sent to her. She had believed then that her reasons were personal. That it was because it came from him, the man who had struck her down, and left her to die at his hands, for all he cared; the man whose brutality had so quickly killed her love; the man whom she had long since admitted to herself that she detested, despised. No, she needed no further evidence. It was her woman’s instinct that guided and convinced her.

She shuddered. She was chilled under a blazing sun that had no power to warm her. But her terror was not for Will. It was for herself. For the hideousness of the disgrace to which he had brought her. In fancy she saw him food for carrion at the end of a rope; she saw his body swaying to the night breeze, an ominous, hideous shadow, a warning to all of the fate awaiting those who sinned against the unwritten laws of the cattle world. She heard the pitying tones of the village women, she saw their furtive side glances, heard their whispering comments as they passed her, these women whom she had always lived amongst, whom she had always counted as friends. Oh, the horror of it all, and she was utterly–utterly powerless. Worse, she must strive her utmost to shield Will. And, because he was her husband, she must leave Jim to fight his own battle with her added wits pitted against him.

She remembered Jim’s words. “May God have mercy on his soul, for I won’t.” Jim–Jim was to be Will’s Nemesis–her Nemesis. He must be the man who would drive the sword crashing her to the dust beneath the weight of her husband’s crime.

A despairing hope swept her. Ah, no, no. It could not be. That would be too cruel. No, no, she must be wrong. Will was not guilty. He could not be. This thing could surely never come upon her. What had she ever done to deserve it? What–? She thought of the man before her. What had he ever done to deserve his fate? And suddenly the momentary hope slid from under her feet.

Now her thought and terror found expression against her will. It would not be denied. It showed in her shrinking attitude. It was displayed in her horrified eyes. And Jim saw these things and read them in his own way. He deemed that he had shocked her by his words, nor could he clearly understand that the force of his determination to defend himself should so shock her. However, he promptly strove to lighten the impression he had made.

“Don’t let us speak of these things. Let us think and speak of other matters. You see,” he went on whimsically, “you were the first person I met, and I s’pose it was only natural you should get all the burden of–of my nightmare.”

But Eve could not rid herself of her terror. She felt she must talk of this thing.

“No,” she said with an effort to keep calm, “we must talk of it. We must think–think–”

“There is no need for you to think, Eve. Put it out of your head. I shall run him to earth–”

“But, Jim,” she broke out, his words driving her to fresh terror, “it must be some half-breeds. Or–or–some ‘toughs’ from across the border. It must be. We are very near the Canadian border, remember. They’re always being driven across by the Mounted Police.”

“No, it’s some one in the locality. Some one nobody would suspect. You see, there have been no strangers in the district for months.”

“How do you know?” Eve’s startled inquiry came almost defiantly.

If the man noticed her tone he gave no sign. He shook his head decidedly.

“We’ve had the district hunted, scoured thoroughly, sure.” Then he shrugged. “But it don’t matter. Psha! I’d sooner it was some half-breed or tough. I’d–I’d be less sorry for him.” He paused and gazed tenderly into her troubled face. “But you don’t need to be so shocked. Why?” he inquired. “This thing can’t hurt you.”

The girl jumped at the chance of denial.

“No, no, of course not,” she exclaimed eagerly. Then, with a pitiful effort at subterfuge, “But you, Jim. To think that you are blamed.”

In an instant his love was uppermost again. Her distress, whatever its cause, appealed to all that was best and manliest in him. Just now he took it to himself. And, in consequence, he found it hard to keep himself within the bounds of restraint. She was so sweet, so desirable in the pathetic picture she made.

“Never you worry, Eve,” he said, with infinite gentleness. “This is up to me, and–I’m going to see it through. But here, I’m so full of my own troubles I’m forgetting all the good things coming your way. Say, I’m mighty glad of your luck. Will’s claim is a bonanza, I’m told. I hear wonderful accounts of it–and of him.” Then his voice lowered and his calm eyes darkened. “He has straightened up, hasn’t he? It’s a great thing. You’ll be happier–now. You–you won’t need my help–I mean for him. They tell me he’s hit the right trail, and is busy traveling it.” He sighed. “I’m glad, real glad–for you.”

But curiously enough his sympathy met with no response. On the contrary, Eve seemed to freeze up. Every word he uttered lashed her until she felt she must blurt out to him the thing she believed to be the truth. But even in her agony of heart and mind she remembered what she conceived to be her duty, and, in self-defense, assumed a cold unresponsiveness.

“They say he’ll be a way up millionaire,” Jim went on, so busy with his own thoughts that he did not notice her silence. “Gee, and so easy, too. It’s queer how fortune runs. Some folks work like–like Dagos, and get–mud. Others have gold poured over ’em, whether they work or not. But he must have worked to find it. Yes, sure. And having found it you can’t blame him for not letting folks into the secret–eh?”

But Eve had not spoken. It was only a look, and an inarticulate sound. But it was a look of such abject terror that it could no longer escape the man’s thoughtful eyes. Eve had betrayed herself in her very dread lest he should suspect. His reference to Will’s secret had suggested suspicion to her, and the rest was the result of her innate honesty and simplicity.

Jim stared at her. And slowly a curious look crept into his eyes. Her terror was so evident, and–he thought back over the words that had inspired it. He was talking of Will–of Will’s secret. For the moment he stood dumbfounded at that which flashed through his mind. Then he turned slowly, and mechanically threw the reins over his horse’s neck.

When he looked round again Eve was still staring at him. Her terror was, if possible, intensified. Suddenly a great pity for her rose up in his heart. All his love was stirred to the almost limitless depths of his big heart. How he loved this woman! How he longed to take her to his heart, and shelter her from all the cruel buffeting of a harsh life! How he would fight for her, strive for her, work for her–and now? He thought of the brand that had fallen upon him, and he thought of that something which her sudden terrified glance had stirred in his unsuspicious mind.

“Guess I’ll get on to the saloon, as Peter isn’t in his hut,” he said, in a quiet, unmeaning tone. “I’ll see if I can locate Elia for you.” He paused, and then swung into the saddle. Glancing down at her, he leaned forward and spoke earnestly. “Eve,” he said, “it still stands good: the old order. When you need me–for anything, mind–you’ve only got to send me word. Wherever I am I’ll come.” He straightened up. He saw the girl make an effort to swallow, and glanced away to give her a chance to recover her composure. As he did so he saw a number of women and some men scattered about at the doorways of various houses. He promptly turned to the girl.

“Gee!” he cried, with a slightly forced laugh. “The vultures are around. They’re looking for scandal, and, by the signs, I’d say they guess they’ve found it. To a man–or woman–they’re staring this way. Say, I’ll get going. Good-bye–and don’t forget.”

He rode off. Eve had not spoken. She knew that he knew, and she was overwhelmed at the knowledge. She slowly turned to the house, and with weary steps passed up the narrow pathway.

And Jim? The moment his face was turned from her his smile died out, leaving it stern and hard.

CHAPTER XXII

THE VIGILANCE COMMITTEE

Silas Rocket’s saloon was more than usually desirable just now. There was so much news of an exciting nature going about. Of course, fertile invention was brought to bear in its purveyance, but that only made it the more exciting.

On the morning that brought Jim Thorpe into Barnriff many of the men of the village were partaking of a general hash up of the overnight dish of news, to which was added the delectable condiment of Jim’s sudden advent in their midst. From the windows of the saloon his movements were closely watched, as, also, were they from many of the village houses. Speculation was rife. Curious eyes and bitter thoughts were in full play, while his meeting with Eve Henderson was sufficiently significant to the scandalous minds of the more virtuous women and the coarser men.

The saloon rang with a discordant blending of curses aimed at the head of the unconscious visitor, and ribald jests at the expense of the absent gold discoverer.

For the moment Anthony Smallbones had the floor. It was a position he never failed to enjoy. He loved publicity. And, in his secret mind, he firmly believed that, but for the presence of Doc Crombie in the village, he would undoubtedly have held place and power, and have been dictating the destiny of the village. Thus it was that, just now, a considerable measure of his spleen was aimed at the absent doctor.

“It’s clear as day. That’s sure. Doc Crombie’s hangin’ back,” he was saying, in his curiously mean, high-pitched voice. “It ain’t for me to say he ain’t got grit. No, folks. But it’s easy to guess for why he hangs back.” He blinked truculently into the faces gathered about him, mutely daring anybody else to state that reason. But few cared to discuss the redoubtable doctor, so he was permitted to continue. “Doc’s a sight too friendly disposed toward sech a skunk as Jim Thorpe. We’ve clear enough proof that feller is a cattle-rustler. We’ve the evidence of our eyes, sure. There’s the cattle; ther’s his brand–and–running with his own stock, hidden away up in the foot-hills. Do we need more? Psha! No. At least no one with any savvee. I’ve see fellers strung up on less evidence than that, an’ I’ve bin on the–”

“Rope?” inquired Gay, sarcastically.

“Not the rope, mister. Not the rope, but the committee as condemned ’em,” retorted Smallbones, angrily.

“Wuss!” exclaimed the baker with profound contempt.

“Eh?” snarled the little man with an evil upward glance at the other.

“Jest this,” cried Wilkes with heat. “The feller that hangs his feller man on slim evidence is a lousy, yaller skunk. Say he’d orter hev his belly tarred, an’ a sky-rocket turned loose in his vitals. I sez right here the evidence against Jim ain’t ’nuff to condemn a gopher. It’s positive ridiculous. Wot needs provin’ is, who set that brand on McLagan’s cattle? That’s the question I’m astin’.”

“Psha! You make me sick!” cried Smallbones, his ferret-eyes dancing with rage. “Put your question. An’ when you put it, who’s got to get busy answerin’? I tell you it’s up to Jim Thorpe to prove he didn’t brand ’em. If he can’t do that satisfact’ry, then he’s got to swing.”

But he had a divided audience. Gay shook his head, and two others audibly disagreed with his methods. But, in spite of this, the weight of opinion against Jim might easily have been carried had not the carpenter suddenly swept the last chance clear from under Smallbones’ feet.

“Wal,” cried the furious Jake, with such swift heat that even those who knew him best were staggered, “I’d sooner call a cattle-rustler friend than claim friendship, with such a low-down bum as Anthony Smallbones. Say, you scrap-iron niggler,” he cried, advancing threateningly upon his victim. “I’ll tell you something that ain’t likely leaked in that sieve head o’ yours. Cattle-rustlers is mostly men. Mebbe they’re low-down, murderin’ pirates, but they’re men–as us folks understands men. They ain’t allus skunkin’ behind Bible trac’s ’cos they’re scairt to git out in the open. They’re allus ready to put up a gamble, with their lives for the pot. An’ when they gits it I guess they’re sure ready to take their med’cine wi’out squealin’. Which needs grit an’ nerve. Two things I don’t guess Anthony Smallbones has ever heerd tell of outside a dime fiction. No, sir, I guess you got a foul, psalm-singin’ tongue, but you ain’t got no grit. Say,” he added witheringly, “I’d hate to see such a miser’ble spectacle as you goin’ to a man’s death. I’d git sick feelin’ sore I belonged to the human race. Nope, you couldn’t never be a man. Say, you ain’t even a–louse.”