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

No, his set purpose was to return to Barnriff and fight the public feeling he knew there was against him, and to live it down. Besides, there was Eve. Who could tell, with such a husband as Will, when she might not need the help of a strong, willing arm? His love for her was stronger than his discretion, it was more powerful than any selfish consideration.

He had but one real friend in Barnriff that he knew of. There were several, he believed, who, at a crisis, would vote in his favor, but that was all. Peter Blunt he knew he could rely on to the last. And, somehow, this man, to his mind, was an even more powerful factor than Doc Crombie. It was not that Peter held any great appeal with the people, but somehow there was a reserve of mental strength in the man that lifted him far above his fellows, in his capacity to do in emergency. He felt that, with the great shadow of Peter standing by, he had little to fear from such jackals as Smallbones.

Yet the outlook was depressing enough as he drew near his destination. He no longer had the possibility of clearing his name. That was past. A hope abandoned with many others in his short life. All thought of establishing his innocence must be wiped out forever. He had enlisted himself in Eve’s service for good or evil, and the only thing remaining to him was, by facing the yelping of the Barnriff pack, with a dogged, defiant front, to attempt to live down his disgrace. In this, to his simple mind, there was one great thing in his favor. The cattle stealing was at an end. There would be no further depredations. And this alone would be of incalculable help to him. He knew the cattle world well enough to understand that the ethics of the case were not of paramount importance with these people. It was the loss of stock which rankled. It was the definite, material loss and injury to the commerce of the district.

But to a man of his honor and love of fair play the position was desperately hard. Fate was driving him at a pace that threatened to wreck in no uncertain manner. The downward path looked so easy–was so easy. Lately he had frequently found himself wondering why he didn’t go with the tide and head straight for the vortex that he felt would be only too ready to engulf him. He had been so near it once. That moment was indelibly fixed on his memory. He doubted that but for Peter Blunt he would never have resisted the temptation. He knew himself, he was honest with himself. That day when he first discovered Will’s treachery Peter had saved him.

Now everything seemed somehow different. His thoughts were frequently desperate enough, but, whereas a year ago he would have cried out against Heaven, against everything in Heaven or on earth, now he wanted to set his back to the wall and fight. He felt it in him to fight, let the odds be what they might. And he knew that he owed this new spirit to the big-hearted Peter, who had once shown him how wrong he was.

But though less acknowledged, there was another influence at work within him. Eve was there alone, far more alone than if she had never married Will. He only guessed what her feelings must be, for she was still in doubt as to Will’s safety. Yes, he would at least have the privilege of carrying her the glad tidings.

He laughed bitterly. He could not help it. Yes, she would be the happier for his tidings, and with that he must be content. Now, no one would ever know. Her disgrace would be hidden, and she would be able to live on quietly in the village with her young brother until such time as she felt it safe to join her husband.

Try as he would to appreciate the comparative happiness he was conveying to the woman, he felt the sharp pricks of the thorny burden he was bearing. He smiled in the growing darkness, and told himself that there was no disaster that brought happiness to any one but must be counted as a good work.

He could see the twinkling lights of the village less than half a mile ahead, and he glanced over them carefully. There was the saloon. Who could mistake it, with its flamboyant brilliance against the lesser twinkle of the smaller houses? His eyes searched for the lights of Eve’s home. He could not see them. Possibly she was in her kitchen, that snug little room, where, up to a year ago, he had many a time taken tea with her. Yes, it would be about her supper-time. He looked back at the western sky to verify the hour. The last faint sheen of sunset was slipping away into the soft velvet of night.

He thought for a moment as to his best course. Should he wait until morning to bear his tidings to her? No, that would leave her unnecessary time for worry and anxiety. Best go to her to-night–at once.

He shook up his horse into a better gait. It were best to hurry. He did not want to be seen visiting her late in the evening. He knew the scandalous tongues of the village only too well.

In a few minutes he was nearing the saloon. He would pass within fifty yards of it. As he came abreast of it he turned his head curiously in its direction. There was a great din of voices coming from its frowzy interior, and he wondered. The men seemed to have begun their nightly orgie early. Then it occurred to him that perhaps Crombie’s men had returned, and were out to make a night of it. He smiled to himself. They would need a good deal of drink to wash out the taste of the bitter pill of Will’s escape.

Had he but known it, the occasion was a meeting of the townsmen to decide his fate. Had he but known it, Peter Blunt was there watching his interests and ready to fight with both brains and muscle on his behalf. But then, had he known it, it might have altered the whole complexion of the events which happened in Barnriff that night.

He did not know it, so he rode straight on to Eve’s house. Nor did it occur to him as strange, at that hour in the evening, that he did not encounter a single soul on his way.

Arrived at her gate he dismounted and off-saddled. He would not need his horse again that night, so he turned the animal loose to graze at its leisure. It would find its way to the water when it wanted to, and when he had seen Eve he would carry his saddle back to Peter’s hut, where he was going to sleep.

Just for a moment he paused before opening the gate. The house was still in darkness. He had half a mind to go round the back and see if there were lights in the kitchen. But it seemed like spying to him, and so he refrained.

But somehow the place suggested that there was no one within, and eventually he started up the path with a feeling of keen disappointment. At the door he paused and felt for the latch. Then, just as his hand came into contact with it, and he was about to lift it, he started, and, motionless, stood listening.

What was that? He thought he heard a peculiar moaning beyond the door. No, he was mistaken. There was no sound now. At least– Ah, there it was again. He pressed one ear against the door and immediately started back. He had not been mistaken.

He no longer hesitated, but, lifting the latch noisily, pressed against the door. It was fast. And now the moaning suddenly became louder. Without a thought, without a scruple, he promptly thrust his toe against the foot of the door and pressed heavily. Then, lifting the latch, he threw all the weight of his powerful shoulder against the lock. The door gave before him, nearly precipitating him headlong into the room.

He managed to save himself and stepped hurriedly within. Then he again stood listening. The room was quite dark, but now he had no difficulty in placing the moaning. It came from just across the room beside Eve’s stove.

“Eve,” he called softly. “Eve!” But as no answer came a great fear gripped his heart. Was this a repetition of– No, Will was away out in the mountains.

Now the moaning was louder, and there was a distinct rustling whence the sound came. He fumbled a match from his pocket and struck it. One glance toward the stove set him rushing across to the parlor lamp.

He lit the lamp and hurried back to the chair beside the stove. He needed but one glance to realize Eve’s condition, and his heart was filled with a great rage. Who? Who had done this thing? was the question that ran through his mind as he set to work to undo the cruel bonds that held her to her chair.

It was the work of a few moments to remove the gag that was nearly choking her. Then the knots about her wrists and feet were swiftly undone. Released at last, Eve sank back in a semi-fainting condition, and Jim looked on helplessly. And in those moments he made up his mind that some one was going to pay dearly for this.

Then it occurred to him that no time must be lost, so he hurried into the kitchen and came back with a dipper of drinking water. He held it to the girl’s lips, and after she had drunk he soaked his handkerchief in what remained, and bathed her forehead and temples with a wonderful tenderness and silent sympathy.

But suddenly Eve opened her eyes. And at once he saw that her weakness had passed. The horror of recollection was alive once more within her, and her terrified eyes sought his. When she saw who he was she sprang to her feet with a great cry.

“Jim!” she cried. And, staggering in her weakness, she would have fallen.

He caught her just in time, and gently returned her to her seat. But with a great effort she overcame her faintness.

“For God’s sake, save him!” she cried wildly. “Oh, Jim, he’s gone to kill him! Save him for me! Only save him!”

The position was difficult. Jim’s heart bled for the distraught woman. But he realized that he must calm her at once, or she would break out into shrieking hysterics.

“Be calm, Eve,” he said almost roughly. “How can I understand when you talk like that? Don’t let’s have any foolishness. Now quietly. Who’s gone to kill–who?”

His manner had its effect. Eve choked back her rising emotion with an effort, and her eyes lost some of their straining.

“It’s Will,” she said, with a sort of deliberate measuring of her words. “He’s gone to kill Elia. Out there, back at the bluff. It’s for setting the men after him. And–then, and then he’s coming back–”

Jim was staggered. He looked at the woman wondering if she had suddenly lost her senses.

“And I came back to tell you he’d got clear away. By Heaven! And he did this?” He indicated the bonds he had just removed, and his eyes darkened with sudden fury.

The woman nodded. She was holding herself with all her might.

“Yes, but–that’s nothing.” Suddenly she let herself go. All the old terror surged uppermost again. “But don’t wait! Jim, save him for my sake! Save him for me! Oh, my poor, helpless brother! Jim–Jim, you are the only one I can look to. Oh, save him! He’s all I have–all I have.”

It was a dreadful moment for the man. The woman he loved half dead with terror and the cruel handling dealt her by her husband. Now she was appealing to him as the only man in the world she could appeal to. His love rushed to his head and came near to driving him to the one thing in the world he knew he must not do. He longed to crush her in his strong arms, and proclaim his right to protect her against the world. He loved her so that he wanted to defy everybody, all the world, that he might claim her for his own. But she was not his. And he almost spoke the words aloud to convince himself and drive back the demon surging through his blood.

“Where did you say he was?” he demanded, almost savagely in his tremendous self-repression.

“At the bluff, out back. Hurry, hurry, for–God’s sake!”

That was better. The less personal appeal helped him to calm himself.

“How long’s he been gone?” he asked, turning his eyes from her terror-stricken face to help himself regain his own control.

“About a quarter of an hour, or even a half,” she cried.

“It’s a quarter of a mile, isn’t it?”

“More. Nearly a mile.”

“Right. You stay here.” He threw a pistol on the table. “Keep that to protect yourself,” he added, brusquely. “And–Eve, if I get there in time, I’ll save your brother. If I don’t, your husband shall die, as sure as–”

But his sentence remained unfinished. He rushed out of the house and sought his horse. The animal was still grazing near by. He slipped the bit into its mouth. Then he sprang on to its bare back and galloped off.

And as he rushed out Eve fell back into a chair laughing and crying at the same time.

CHAPTER XXX

WILL HENDERSON REACHES THE END

Will Henderson stalked his prey with a caution, a deliberateness, as though he were dealing with a grown man, a man who could resist, one whose power to retaliate was as great as was his to attack. But nothing of this was in his thoughts. It was the fell intent to murder that now cast its furtive, suspicious, even apprehensive spell over his mind, and so influenced his actions.

As Elia at one time had trailed him, so he was now tracking Elia. From bush to bush and shadow to shadow he searched the bluff for the hunter of jack-rabbits. But the bluff was extensive, the night dark, and the movements of the snarer as silent as those of the man hunting him. There was black murder in Will’s heart, the cruel purpose of a mind turned suddenly malignant with a desire for adequate revenge. His was nothing of the fiery rage which drives a man spontaneously. He meant to kill his victim after he had satisfied his lust for torture, and no one knew better than he how easy his task was, and how cruelly he could torture this brother of Eve.

The starlit night yielded up the bluff a wide black patch amidst a shadowed world. There was no moon, but the wealth of stars shed a faint glimmer of soft light on the surrounding plains. The conditions could not have been more favorable for his purpose, and they gave him a fiendish satisfaction.

He had skirted the bluff all round. He had passed through its length. And still no sign of his quarry. Twice he started up a jack-rabbit, but the snarer did not seem to be in the vicinity. Now, with much care and calculation, he began to traverse the breadth of the bush in a zigzag fashion which was to continue its whole length. His old trapping instincts served him, and none but perhaps an Indian would have guessed that a human being was searching every inch of the woodland shadow.

The man had already traversed a third of the bush in this fashion when the unexpected happened. For the tenth time he approached the southern fringe of the bluff and stood half hidden in the shadow of one of the large, scattered bushes outlying. And in the starlight he beheld a familiar figure out in the open, watching intently the very spot at which he had emerged.

There was no mistaking the figure, even in that dim light. Did not everybody know that head, bent so deliberately on one side? The hunched shoulders? The drawn-up hip? It was Elia, and, in the darkness, a fierce grin of satisfaction lit the murderer’s face. He realized that the snarer must have heard his approach, and, believing it to be a jack-rabbit, had waited to make sure. The thought tickled his cruel senses, and he wanted to laugh aloud. But he refrained, and, instead, moved stealthily forward.

The bush hid him while he had a good view of his victim through its upper branches. And he calculated that if the boy remained standing where he was, with a little care he could approach to within a yard or two of him without being discovered. So he moved forward, circling the bush without any sound. It was wonderful how his training as a trapper had taught him the science of silent woodcraft.

As he reached the limits of his shelter he dropped upon his stomach and began to wriggle through the grass. It pleased him to do this. It gave him a sense of delight at the thought of the horrible awakening the cowardly boy was presently to receive.

A yard–two yards, he slid through the grass. Three. One more, and he would be near enough for his purpose. Suddenly and silently he stood erect, like a figure rising out of the ground. He was directly in front of the boy, and within arm’s length of him. He stood thus for a second that his victim might realize his identity thoroughly, and fully digest the meaning of the sudden apparition.

He had full satisfaction. Elia recognized him and stood petrified with terror. So awful to him was the meaning of that silent figure that he had not even the power to cry out. He shook convulsively and stood waiting.

The murderer raised one hand slowly and reached out toward the boy. His hand touched his clothing, and moved up to his throat. The powerful fingers came into contact with the soft flesh, and closed upon it. Then it was that the moment of paralysis passed. The boy fell back with a terrible cry.

But Will followed him up, and again his hand reached his throat. He grasped it, and tightened his fingers upon it. A gurgling cry of abject terror was the response. Again Will’s hand released its hold. But now he seized one of the boy’s outstretched arms, and, with a sudden movement, twisted it behind his back so hard that a third cry, this time of pain alone, was wrung from the terrified lad.

He held him thus and looked into the beautiful face now so pitifully distorted with fear.

“Guess I’ve done the tracking this time,” Will said through his clenched teeth. “You put me to a lot of trouble coming all this way. Still, I don’t guess I mind much. Most folks get their med’cine. You’re going to get yours to-night. How d’you like it?”

He wrenched the weakly arm till the boy cried out again, and dropped to his knees in anguish. But, with a ruthless jolt, Will jerked him to his feet, nearly dislocating his arm in the process.

“Oh, you’re squealing, now, eh? You’re squealing,” he repeated, striking the boy on the hump of his back with his clenched first. “That hurts too, eh?” As a fresh cry broke from his victim. “I always heard that the hump was tender in a dog-ghasted cripple. Is it? Is it?” he inquired, at each question repeating the blow with increased force.

He released his hold, and the boy fell to the ground. He stood looking down at him with diabolical purpose in his eyes.

“Say, you figgered to hand me over to the rope, eh? You guessed you’d stand by watching me slowly strangle, eh? So you trailed me, and went on to Doc Crombie and told him. Ah–h. You like hurting things. You like seeing folks hurt. But you’re scared to death being hurt yourself. That’s how I know. I could kill you with the grip of one hand. But it wouldn’t hurt you enough. At least not to suit me. You must be hurt first. You must know what it’s like being hurt, you rotten, loathsome earthworm!”

He dealt the lad a terrific kick on his sickly, sunken chest, and a terrible cry broke the silence. It was almost like the cry of a pig being slaughtered, so piercing and shrill a squeak was it.

The noise of his cry startled his torturer. After all they were not far from the village. Then he laughed. A cry like that from the prairie must sound like a hungry coyote calling to its mate. Yes, no one would recognize it for a human cry. He would try it again.

He dealt the prostrate boy another furious kick, and he had his wish. A third time the blow was repeated to satisfy his savage lust, and he laughed aloud at the hideous resulting cry. Again and again he kicked. And the cries pleased him, and they sent a joyous thrill through him at the thought of the pain the lad was suffering. He would continue it until the cries weakened, then he would cease for a while to let his victim recover. Then again he would resume the fiendish kicking, and continue it at intervals, until he had kicked the life out of the deformed body.

He drew his foot back for another blow. But the blow remained undelivered. There was a rush of horse’s hoofs, a clatter as they ceased, the sound of running feet, and a smashing blow took the torturer on the side of the jaw. He dropped like a log beside his victim. The whole thing was the work of an instant. So swift had come the avenging blow that, in the darkness, he had no time to realize its coming.

Jim Thorpe stood over his man waiting for him to rise, or show some sign of life. But there was neither movement nor apparent life in him. In the avenger’s heart there was a wild hope that the man was dead. He had hit him with such a feeling in his frenzy of passion. But he knew he had only knocked the brute out.

As Will remained still where he had fallen, Jim turned away with a sigh. It would have been difficult to interpret his sigh. Maybe it was the sigh of a man who suddenly relaxes himself from a tremendous physical effort; maybe it was at the thought that his momentary desire had been accomplished; maybe it was for the poor lad whose terrible cries were still ringing in his ears.

Thinking only of Elia, he now dropped on his knees beside him. There was sufficient light from the stars to show him the lad’s pallid upturned face and staring, agonized eyes. In a second his arms were about his misformed body, and he tenderly raised him up and spoke to him.

“Look up, laddie,” he said gently. “You aren’t hurt too bad, are you? I got here quick as I could. Say, he hasn’t smashed you, has he? God! if he has!” He looked round at the fallen man with blazing eyes, as the thought flashed through his mind.

But suddenly he felt Elia’s body writhe, and he turned to him again with eager words of encouragement.

“Buck up, laddie,” he said, without much conviction. “Guess you aren’t smashed as bad as you think. It’s Jim. I’ll look after you. He won’t hit you again. I’ve fixed him.”

Elia’s staring eyes suddenly lost their tension. He moved his head and tried to free his arms. Jim picked him up and set him on his feet, and noted that he breathed more freely. Yes, he had been in time.

Elia steadied himself for a moment against his arm. He was silent, and still breathing hard. His body was racked with fierce pain, but his poor distorted mind was suffering greater. Jim waited patiently. He understood. It was the awful shock that the boy, in his helpless fashion, was struggling with.

Some moments passed thus, and at last the words which Jim was waiting for came. But they shocked him strangely.

“Did you kill him?” Elia asked, with a struggle controlling his halting tongue.

“No, boy, he’s only knocked out–I think.”

“You’re a fule,” whispered the lad viciously.

Jim had no answer to this, and the boy, recovering slowly, spoke again.

“Best kill him now,” he said. “He’s a devil. He’s smashed me all up. He’s smashed my sick body, and things feel queer inside me. Kill him, Jim! Kill him!”

Watching the working face, the man sickened at the inhuman desire of the boy. Where did he ever get such a frightful nature from? It was monstrous.

“Here,” he said almost sternly, “can you walk?”

“I guess.” The tone had that peculiar sullenness which generally portended an outbreak of the most vicious side of the boy’s temper.

“Then get over there by my horse and wait till I come. I’ll put you on him, and you can ride back home.”

“What you going to do?”

The demand was an eager whisper. It suggested the hope that Jim was perhaps after all going to do as he asked–and kill Will Henderson.

“I’m going to see–how bad Will is. Be off now.”

“Can’t I stay–an’ watch you?”

“No. Get on after that horse.”

Elia turned away, and Jim watched his painful gait. Once he thought he saw him stagger, but, as he continued to hobble on, he turned again to the injured man. One glance at his face showed him the extent of his handiwork. He was ripped open right along the jaw, and the bone itself was badly broken.

He instantly whipped out his sheath-knife and a handkerchief. The latter he cut up into a bandage. Then, removing the silk scarf at his neck, he folded it into a soft pad, and bound it over the wound. Curiously he felt he must lend what aid he could first, and then send out adequate help from the village.

He stood up, took a final glance at the wounded face, and turned coldly away toward his horse.

But now events took an unexpected and disconcerting turn. When he reached his horse Elia was nowhere to be seen. He called, but received no answer. He called again, but still no answer. And suddenly he became alarmed. He remembered the boy’s condition. He must have collapsed somewhere.

He promptly began to search. Taking his horse as a central point he moved round it in ever widening circles, calling at intervals, and with his eyes glued to the long grass which swished under his feet. For more than ten minutes he searched in vain; and then, once more, he found himself beside the man he had knocked out.