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

Then he roused out of his mood, and addressed himself more definitely to the boy.

“You see, laddie, I don’t belong to this country. But I stay right here till I’ve searched all I know, and so done my ‘piece.’ Then I’ll up stakes and move on. You see, it’s no use going back where I belong, because what I’m looking for don’t exist there. Maybe I’ll never find what I’m looking for–that is to keep and hold it. Maybe, as I say, I’ll get it in driblets, and it’ll fly away again. It don’t much matter. Meanwhile I find gold–in those places folks don’t guess it’s any use looking. Do you get my meaning?”

The quizzical smile that accompanied his final question was very gentle, and revealed something of the soul of the man.

Elia didn’t answer for some moments. He was trying to straighten out the threads of light which his twisted mind perceived. Finally he shook his head. And when he spoke his words showed only too plainly how little he was interested in the other’s meaning, and how much his cupidity was stirred.

“And that gold–in Barnriff? When you’ve found it?”

Peter laughed to think that he had expected the boy to understand him. How could he–at his age?

“I’ll give it to you, laddie–all of it.”

“Gee!”

Elia’s cold eyes lit with sudden greed.

“But you’d best say nothing to the folks,” Peter added slyly. “Don’t let ’em know we’re looking for anything.”

“Sure,” cried the boy quickly, with a cunning painful to behold. “They’d steal it. Will Henderson would.”

Peter thought for a moment, and relit his pipe, which had gone out while he was talking.

“You don’t like Will, laddie,” he said presently, and so blundered into the midst of the boy’s greedy reverie.

“I hate him!”

Any joy that the thought of the promised gold might have given him suddenly died out of the dwarf’s vindictive heart, and in its place was a raging storm of hatred. Such savage passion was his dominating feature. At the best there was little that was gentle in him.

“You hate him because of that night–about the chickens?”

But no answer was forthcoming. Peter waited, and then went on.

“There’s something else, eh?”

But the eyes of the boy were fixed upon the now smouldering fire, nor could the other draw them. So he went on.

“Will’s your sister’s husband now. Sort of your–brother. Your sister’s been desperate good to you. You’ve had everything she could give you, and mind, she’s had to work for it–hard. She loves you so bad, she’d hate to see you hurt your little finger–she’s mighty good to you. Gee, I wish I had such a sister. Well, now she’s got a husband, and she loves him bad, too. I was wondering if you’d ever thought how bad she’d feel if she knew you two were at loggerheads? You’ve never thought, have you? Say, laddie, it would break her up the back. It would surely. She’d feel she’d done you a harm–and that in itself is sufficient–and she’d feel she was upsetting Will. And between the two she’d be most unhappy. Say, can’t you like him? Can’t you make up your mind to get on with him right when he comes back? Can’t you, laddie?”

The boy’s eyes suddenly lifted from the fire, and the storm was still in them.

“I hate him!” he snarled like a fierce beast.

“I’m sorry–real sorry.”

“Don’t you go fer to be sorry,” cried the boy, with that strange quickening of all that was evil in him. “I tell you Will’s bad. He’s bad, an’ he sure don’t need to be, ’cause it’s in him to be good. He ain’t like me, I guess. I’m bad ’cause I’m made bad. I don’t never think good. I can’t. I hate–hate–allus hate. That’s how I’m made, see? Will ain’t like that. He’s made good, but he’s bad because he’d rather be bad. He’s married my sister because she’s a fool, an’ can’t see where Jim Thorpe’s a better man. Jim Thorpe wanted to marry her. He never said, but I can see. An’ she’d have married him, on’y fer Will comin’ along. She was kind o’ struck on Jim like, an’ then Will butts in, an’ he’s younger, an’ better lookin’, an’ so she marries him. An’–an’ I hate him!”

“But your sister? What’s poor Eve going to do with you always hating Will? She’ll get no happiness, laddie, and you’d rather see her happy. Say, if you can’t help hating Will, sure you can hide it. You needn’t to run foul of him. You go your way, and he can go his. Do you know I’m pretty sure he’ll try and do right by you, because of Eve–”

“Say, Peter, you’re foolish.” The boy had calmed, and now spoke with a shrewd decision that was curiously convincing. “Will’ll go his way, and Eve won’t figger wuth a cent with him. I know. Eve’ll jest have to git her toes right on the mark, same as me. He’s a devil, and I know. Will’ll make Eve hate herself, same as he’ll make me. Say, an’ I’ll tell you this, Eve’ll hev to work for him as well as me. I know. I can see. You can’t tell me of Will, nor of nobody that’s bad–’cause I ken see into ’em. I’m bad, an’ I ken see into folks who ’re bad.”

There was no argument against such an attitude as the boy took. Besides, Peter began to understand. Here was an unique study in psychology. The boy either fancied he possessed–or did possess–such unusual powers of observation that they almost amounted to the prophetic, where that which was bad was concerned. He saw Will in a light in which no one else saw him, although already he, Peter, and Jim had witnessed unpleasant dashes of that side of the man’s character which Elia seemed to read like an open book. However, he could not abandon his task yet, but he changed his tactics.

“Maybe you’re right, laddie,” he said. “I was thinking of poor Eve. I was wondering if you wouldn’t like to try and make her happy, seeing she’s always been so good to you. I do believe you’d rather she was happy.”

The boy nodded his head, and an impish light crept into his eyes.

“And you’re going to try and make her–happy?”

Peter was smiling with simple eager hope. The impish light deepened in the boy’s eyes.

“Maybe,” he said. “Guess I’ll do what I ken. When Will treats me fair I’ll treat him fair. I can’t do a heap of work, seein’ I’m as I am, but if he wants me to do things I’ll do ’em–if he treats me fair. I’ll do what I ken, but I hate him. Maybe you’re guessin’ that’ll be makin’ things fair for Eve. You best guess agin.” Then the impish light left his eyes, and they became quite serious again. “Say, tell me some more ’bout that gold?”

But Peter laughed and shook his head.

“Time enough, laddie,” he said, pleased with the result of his first essay on behalf of peace between Elia and Will. “You’re going to get that gold when we find it, sure, so come right along and let’s get to work–and find it.”

CHAPTER XIII

AFTER ONE YEAR

Scandal was rampant in Barnriff. But it was not of an open nature. That is to say, it was scandal that passed surreptitiously from lip to lip, and was rarely spoken where more than two people foregathered. For small as Barnriff was, ignorant as were the majority of its people, scandal was generally tabooed, and it was only in bad cases where it was allowed to riot.

The reason of this restraint was simple enough. It was not that the people of the village were any different to those of other small places. They loved gossip as dearly as anybody else–when to gossip was safe. But years ago Barnriff had learned that gossip was not always safe in its midst.

The fact was that the peace laws of the place were largely enforced by a process which might be called the “survival of the strong.” There were no duly authorized peace officers, and the process had evolved out of this condition of things. Quarrels and bloodshed were by no means frequent in the village, rather the reverse, and this was due to the regulations governing peace.

If two men quarreled it was on the full understanding of the possible and probable consequences; namely, a brief and effective life and death struggle, followed by a sudden and immediate departure from the fold of the survivor. Hence, scandal was held in close check, and traveled slowly, with the slow twistings and windings of a venemous snake. But for this very reason it was the more deadly, and was the more surely based upon undeniable fact. The place was just now a-simmer with suppressed scandal.

And its object. It was only a year since Eve and Will Henderson’s marriage. A sufficiently right and proper affair, said public opinion. There were of course protestors. Many of the women had expected Eve to marry Jim Thorpe. But then they were of the more mature section of the population, those whose own marriages had taught them worldly wisdom, and blotted out the early romance of their youths. It had been a love match, a match where youth runs riot, and the madness of it sweeps its victims along upon its hot tide. Now the tide was cooling, some said it was already cold.

After their brief honeymoon the young people had returned to the village. The understanding was that Eve should again take up her business, while Will continued his season up in the hills, hunting with his traps and gun. He was to visit Barnriff at intervals during the season, and finally return and stay with Eve during the months when the furs he might take would be unfit for the market. This was the understanding, and in theory it was good, and might well have been carried out satisfactorily. All went passably well until the close of the fur season.

Eve returned to the village a bright and happy woman. She took up her business again, and, perhaps, the novelty of her married state was the reason that at first her trade increased. Then came Will’s visits. At first they were infrequent, with the arranged-for laps of time between them. But gradually they became more frequent and their duration longer. The women wagged their heads. “He is so deeply in love, he can’t stay away,” they said. And they smiled approval, for they were women, and women can never look on unmoved at the sight of a happy love match. But against this the men shrugged their shoulders. “He’s wastin’ a heap o’ time,” they said; “pelts needs chasin’ some, an’ y’ can’t chase pelts an’ make love to your own wife or any one else’s, for that matter.” And this was their way of expressing a kindly interest.

The men were right and the women were wrong. Will did more than waste time. He literally pitched it away. He prolonged his stays in the village beyond all reason, and as Eve, dutifully engaged upon her business, could not give him any of her working hours, he was forced to seek his pleasures elsewhere. That elsewhere, in a man prone to drink, of necessity became the saloon. And the saloon meant gambling, gambling meant money. Sometimes he won a little, but more often he lost.

Being a reckless player, fired by the false stimulation of Rocket’s bad whiskey, he began to plunge to recoup himself, and, as ever happens in such circumstances, he got deeper into the mire. At first these heavy losses had a salutary effect upon him, and he would “hit the trail” for the hills, and once more ply his trade with a feverish zest.

This sort of thing went on until the close of his fur season. Then he made up his bales of pelts, and, to his horror, discovered that his year’s “catch” was reduced by over fifty per cent., while, in place of a wad of good United States currency in his hip pocket, he had floated a perfect fleet of I. O. U.’s, each in itself for a comparatively small amount, but collectively a total of no inconsiderable magnitude. And each I. O. U. was dated for payment immediately after he had marketed his pelts.

This stress, and the life he had been living in Barnriff, caused his mercurial temper to suffer. And as his nature soured, so all that was worst in him began to rise to the surface. He did not blame himself. Did ever one hear of a man blaming himself when things went wrong? No. He blamed the fur season. The hills were getting played out. The furs were traveling north, and, in consequence were scarce. Besides, how could he be in Barnriff and the hills at the same time? The position was absurd. Eve must join him and give up her business, and they must make their home up in the hills where she could learn to trap. Or they must live in Barnriff and he must find fresh employment.

Yes, he would certainly find out how Eve’s business was prospering. If she had shown a better turnover than he, perhaps it would be as well for him to go into Barnriff for good. The idea rather pleased him. Nor could he see any drawback to it except those confounded I. O. U.’s.

The next news that Barnriff had was that Will and Eve were settled for good in the village, and that he had no intention of returning to the hills. Barnriff’s comment was mixed. The women said, “Poor dears, they can’t live apart.” Again the men disagreed. Their charity was less kind, especially amongst those who had yet to collect the payment of their I. O. U.’s. They said with sarcastic smile, “Wants to live on his woman, and play ‘draw.’” And time soon showed them to be somewhere near the mark.

Will sold his furs, paid his debts, sighed his relief, and settled down to a life in Barnriff. A month later he found to his profound chagrin that the small margin of dollars left over after paying off his I. O. U.’s had vanished, and a fresh crop of paper was beginning to circulate. Whiskey and “draw” had got into his blood, and all unconsciously he found himself pledged to it.

It was during this time that scandal definitely laid its clutch upon the village. But it was not until later that its forked tongue grew vicious. It was at the time that word got round the village that there was trouble in Eve’s little home that the caldron began to seethe. No one knew how it got round; yet it surely did. Scandal said that Eve and Will quarreled, that they quarreled violently, that Will had struck her, that money was the bottom of the trouble, that Will had none to meet his gambling debts, and that Eve, who had been steadily supplying him out of her slender purse, had at last refused to do so any more.

It went on to say that Will was a drunken sot, that his methods at cards were not above suspicion, and that altogether he was rapidly becoming an undesirable.

Peter Blunt heard the scandal; he had watched things himself very closely. Jim Thorpe heard, but, curiously enough, rumor about these two did not seem to reach the “AZ” ranch easily.

However, what did reach Jim infuriated him almost beyond words. It was this last rumor that sent him riding furiously into the village late one night, and drew him up at Peter Blunt’s hut.

He found the gold seeker reading a well-known history of the Peruvian Aztecs, but without hesitation broke in upon his studies.

“What’s this I hear, Peter?” he demanded, without any preamble. “I mean about the–the Hendersons.”

His dark eyes were fierce. His clean-cut features were set and angry. But these signs didn’t seem to hurry Peter’s answer. He laid his book aside and folded his hands behind his head, while he searched the other’s face with his calm blue eyes.

“We’ve just got it out on the ranch,” Jim went on. “He’s–he’s knocking her about–they say.”

“And so you’ve come in. What for?”

The big man’s words had a calming effect.

“Peter, can’t you tell me?” Jim went on, with a sudden change of manner that became almost pleading. “It’s awful. I can’t bear to think of Eve suffering. Is it, as they say, money? Has he–gone to the dogs with drink and gambling? Peter,” he said, with sudden sternness, his feelings once more getting the better of him, “I feel like killing him if–”

But the other’s face was cold, and he shook his head.

“I’m not going to talk this scandal,” he said. “You’ve no right to feel like that–yet.” And his words were an admission of his own feelings on the subject.

Peter’s eyes wandered thoughtfully from his friend to the book shelves; and after a moment the other stirred impatiently. Then his eyes came back to Jim’s face. He watched the passionate straining in them, that told of the spirit working within. Nor could he help thinking what a difference there might have been had Eve only married this man.

“You better go back to the ranch,” he said presently.

But the light that suddenly leaped to Jim’s eyes gave him answer without the words which followed swiftly.

“I can’t,” he cried. “I can’t without seeing her, and learning the truth from her own lips.”

“That you’ll never do, boy, if I know Eve.”

But Jim became obstinate.

“I’ll try,” he declared, with an ugly threat in his passionate eyes. “And if it’s Will–if he’s–”

“You’re talking foolish.” The sharpness of Peter’s voice silenced him. But it was only for a moment, and later he broke out afresh.

“It’s no use, Peter, I can’t and won’t listen to reason on this matter. Eve is before all things in my life. I can’t help loving her, even if she is another’s wife, and I wouldn’t if I could. See here,” he went on, letting himself go as his feelings took fresh hold of him, “if Eve’s unhappy there must be some way of helping her. If he’s ruining her life he must be dealt with. If he’s brutal to her, if he’s hurting her, I mean knocking her about, Peter, I’ll–I’ll–smash him, if I swing for it! She’s all the world to me, and by Heavens I’ll rid her of him!”

Peter suddenly drew out his watch; he seemed wholly indifferent to the other’s storming.

“We’ll go and see her now,” he said. “Will ’ll be down at the saloon playing ‘draw.’ He don’t generally get home till Rocket closes down. Come on.”

And the two passed out into the night.

CHAPTER XIV

THE BREAKING POINT

Eve and Will were at supper. The girl’s brown eyes had lost their old gentle smile. Their soft depths no longer contained that well of girlish hope, that trusting joy of life. It seemed as if the curtain of romance had been torn aside, and the mouldering skeleton of life had been laid bare to her. There was trouble and pain in her look, there was fear, too; nor was it quite plain the nature of her fear. It may have been that fear of the future which comes to natures where love is the mainspring of responsibility. It may have been the fear of the weaker vessel, where harshness and brutality are threatened. It may have been a fear inspired by health already undermined by anxiety and worry. The old happy light was utterly gone from her eyes as she silently partook of the frugal supper her own hands had prepared.

Will Henderson moodily devoured his food at the opposite end of the table. The third of their household was not there. Elia rarely took his meals with them. He preferred them by himself, for he hated and dreaded Will’s tongue, which, though held in some check when he was sober, never failed to sting the boy when Silas Rocket’s whiskey had done its work.

The meal was nearly finished, and husband and wife had exchanged not a single word. Eve wished to talk; there was so much she wanted to say to him. The flame of her love still burned in her gentle bosom, but it was a flame sorely blown about by the storm winds of their brief married life. But somehow she could not utter the words she wanted to. There was no encouragement. There was a definite but intangible bar to their expression. The brutal silence of the man chilled her, and frightened her.

Finally it was he who spoke, and he made some sort of effort to hide the determination lying behind his words.

“How much money have you got, Eve?” he demanded, pushing his plate away with a movement which belied his tone. It was a question which had a familiar ring to the ears of the troubled girl.

“Thirty dollars,” she said patiently. Then she sighed.

The man promptly threw aside all further mask.

“For God’s sake don’t sigh like that! You’ll be sniveling directly. One would think I was doin’ you an injury asking you a simple question.”

“It’s not that, Will. I’m thinking of what’s going to happen when that’s gone. It’s got to last us a month. Then I get my money from Carrie Horsley and Mrs. Crombie. They owe me seventy dollars between them for their summer suits. I’ve got several orders, but folks are tight here for money, and it’s always a matter of waiting.”

“Can’t you get an advance from ’em?”

That frightened look suddenly leaped again into the girl’s eyes.

“Oh, Will!”

“Oh, don’t start that game!” the man retorted savagely. “We’ve got to live, I s’pose. You’ll earn the money. That sort of thing is done in every business. You make me sick.” He lit his pipe and blew great clouds of smoke across the table. “I tell you what it is, we can’t afford to keep your brother doing nothing all the time. If you insist on keeping him you must find the money–somewhere. It’s no use being proud. We’re hard up, and if people owe you money, well–dun ’em for it. I don’t know how it is, but this darned business of yours seems to have gone to pieces.”

“It’s not gone to pieces, Will,” Eve protested. “I’ve made more money this last four months than ever before.” The girl’s manner had a patience in it that came from her brief but bitter experiences.

“Then what’s become of the money?”

But Eve’s patience had its limits. The cruel injustice of his sneering question drove her beyond endurance.

“Oh, Will,” she cried, “and you can sit there and ask such a question! Where has it gone?” She laughed without any mirth. “It’s gone with the rest, down at the saloon, where you’ve gambled it away. It’s gone because I’ve been a weak fool and listened to your talk of gambling schemes which have never once come off. Oh, Will, I don’t want to throw this all up at you. Indeed, indeed, I don’t. But you drive me to it with your unkindness, which–which I can’t understand. Don’t you see, dear, that I want to make you happy, that I want to help you? You must see it, and yet you treat me worse–oh, worse than a nigger! Why is it? What have I done? God knows you can have all, everything I possess in the world. I would do anything for you, but–but–you– Sometimes I think you have learned to hate me. Sometimes I think the very sight of me rouses all that is worst in you. What is it, dear? What is it that has come between us? What have I done to make you like this?”

She paused, her eyes full of that pain and misery which her tongue could never adequately express. She wanted to open her heart to him, to let him see all the gold of her feelings for him, but his moody unresponsiveness set her tongue faltering and left her groping blindly for the cause of the trouble between them.

It was some moments before Will answered her. He sat glaring at the table, the smoke of his pipe clouding the still air of the neat kitchen. He knew he was facing a critical moment in their lives. He saw dimly that he had, for his own interests, gone a shade too far. Eve was not a weakling, she was a woman of distinct character, and even in his dull, besotted way he detected at last that note of rebellion underlying her appeal. Suddenly he looked up and smiled. But it was not altogether a pleasant smile. It was against his inclination, and was ready to vanish on the smallest provocation.

“You’re taking things wrong, Eve,” he said, and the strain of attempting a conciliatory attitude made the words come sharply. “What do I want your money for, but to try and make more with it? Do you think I want you to keep me? I haven’t come to that yet.” His tone was rapidly losing its veneer of restraint. “Guess I can work all right. No, no, my girl, you haven’t got to keep me yet. But money gets money, and you ought to realize it. I admit my luck at ‘draw’ has been bad–rotten!” He violently knocked his pipe out on a plate. “But it’s got to change. I can play with the best of ’em, an’ they play a straight game. What’s losing a few nights, if, in the end, I get a big stake? Why Restless helped himself to a hundred dollars last night. And I’m going to to-night.”

“But, Will, you’ve said that every night for the last month. Why not be fair with yourself? Your luck is out; give it up. Will, give up the saloon for–for my sake. Do, dear.” Eve rose and went round to the man’s side, and laid a tenderly persuasive hand upon his shoulder. She was only waiting for a fraction of encouragement. But that fraction was not forthcoming. Instead he shook her off. But he tried to do it pleasantly.

“Here, sit you down, Eve, and listen to me. I’m going to tell you something that I hadn’t intended to, only–only you’re bothering such a hell of a lot.”

His language passed. She was used to it now. And she sat shrinking at his rebuff, but curious and half fearful at what he might have to tell her.

“I’m going to have a flutter to-night, no matter what comes, make your mind up to that. And, win or lose, it’s my last. Get that? But I’ve got a definite reason for it. You see I haven’t been as idle as you think. I’ve been hunting around on the trail of Peter Blunt. Folks all think him a fool, and cranky some. I never did. He’s been a gold prospector most of his life. And it’s not likely he don’t know. Well, I’m not giving you a long yarn, and to cut it short, I’m right on to a big find. At least I’ve got color in a placer up at the head waters, and to-morrow I go out to work it for all it’s worth. No, I’m not going to tell even you where it is. You see it’s a placer, and anybody could work it, and I’d be cut clean out if others got to know where it was. You savvee?”