The Twins of Suffering Creek

She could see the crowded corrals from where she stood. She could hear the bellowing of the restless cattle as they pushed and horned each other in their forceful, bovine desire to get out to the succulent grass of their beloved pastures. All the men were astir, preparing for their lawless expedition. The saddle-horses, ready for the trail, were hitched to the corral fences. Through the open window she could hear her lover ordering and hectoring, as was his way of dealing with the ruffians who served under his leadership; and a thrill of excitement, a subtle sympathy, stirred her. She moved to the window, leaving her beautiful hair flowing in the bright air, and stood watching for the departure.

Then came that hideous thing which was to shadow all her future life. It came almost without warning. In a flash, it seemed, the last tinge of romance was swept from her thoughts, and the hideous skeleton of reality was laid bare.

The men had tightened up the cinchas of their saddles, and passed the reins over their horses’ heads, ready to mount. She watched them all with something very like admiration in her blinded eyes. Their hard, desperate faces did not appear so to her. These things, in her foolish mind, were the hall-mark of reckless courage, of strong, virile manhood. They were men who feared nothing, who cared no more for their own lives than they would care for the life of an enemy. And somehow this seemed to her just as it should be.

She waited to see them mount their raw-boned bronchos. But somehow there was a delay; and in this delay a change came over the scene. The men drifted away from their horses and gathered into groups. They stood whispering together with faces averted from their leader. A feeling of apprehension somehow caught hold of her. She did not understand why, but she felt that all was not right. She turned to James, and saw that he was moving round his horse all unconcernedly, and she wondered if he were aware of the change in his men.

But all further speculation was abruptly checked, for at that moment she heard the leader issue one of his sharp orders. She did not quite catch his words, but she noticed that no one moved or attempted to comply. Only talk ceased instantly. Then she saw the handsome face of her lover flush, as he glanced about him at this unusual phenomenon, and in a moment she recognized the sudden savage anger that flashed into his eyes. Simultaneously his hand dropped to the butt of one of his guns.

Then she heard his words, as they were shouted to the accompaniment of a string of vicious oaths.

“Ho, you, Ned, an’ you, too, Sully!” he cried fiercely, “get your ears flappin’. Huyk that rotten skunk Conroy out. I ain’t tellin’ you again.”

The woman had thrilled at his words. There was such command, such fearlessness in them, in his whole poise. She felt, too, that there was trouble looming. There was rebellion in the air. Her excitement rose, and her sympathies were all for this one man.

The two men indicated suddenly bestirred themselves, and moved off under their leader’s eye. The rest drifted together–eight of them, she found herself counting. And as they drew together a murmur arose.

Instantly James’ gun flew from its holster; and he stood, the personification of cold authority.

“Another word an’ I empty this into your lousy hides!” she heard him cry. And instantly the murmur died out.

But the threatening weapon did not return to its holster. James stood there waiting. And presently she beheld the two men he had despatched returning, bringing in their custody, tottering awkwardly between them, the man Abe Conroy, with his arms tightly fastened behind his back, and a pair of horse-hobbles securing his ankles. They came slowly, for the hobbles allowed but little play, and halted less than five yards away from their leader.

As they paused the woman shivered. Some premonition of what was about to happen got hold of her, and struck terror to her heart. She stood staring now, unable to move. A hideous fascination seemed to paralyze her.

The next thing that reached her comprehension was that James was speaking in a harsh metallic voice. She had never heard him speak like that before, and her fears swiftly increased as his words floated in through the open window.

“Now, you skunk,” he was saying, “you guess you’re man enough to run this lay-out. You guess you’re a bigger man than me. You guess you got me squealin’ around like a suckin’ kid. You! An’ I took you out o’ jail, wher’ they was goin’ to set you swingin’. Gee! I could tell you a heap, but I ain’t no time talkin’ to bastards of your kidney. Swingin’s too good fer sech as you. Anyway, when I got work to do I do it myself. Here, you, Ned, an’ you, Sully, stand aside!”

She saw the two men withdraw. She wanted to scream, without quite knowing why. But no sound came. Her eyes were starting out of her head with the horror of what she knew to be about to happen. But she had no power to stir hand or foot.

She saw James move forward. She saw the bloodless, horror-stricken face of the prisoner. She saw him stumble as he attempted to move away. There was no escape.

James moved forward with body crouching, and strides that covered the intervening space with almost feline stealth.

He came right up to the man, his gun leading. She heard a report and one dreadful cry of terror and pain. She saw Conroy crumple and fall writhing upon the ground. She saw the blood streaming from his stomach. Then the further horror came to her staring eyes as she saw James stand over his victim and fire shot after shot into the hideous, writhing heap.

But the limit was reached. With one wild scream she turned away and flung herself upon her bed; and the next moment everything mercifully became a blank to her.

That was on the Sunday morning. She saw nothing of what followed. She knew nothing until she awoke some two hours later to the haunting vision of the scene she had witnessed. And ever since it had clung to her–clung like an obsession, a mental parasite sapping her nerve, her very reason. Nor had she power to disassociate herself from it.

And now she was waiting in an agony of mind for the murderer’s return. Not only was she waiting for his return, but she expected to see him bearing in his arms one of her own innocent children. The thought of little Vada in his arms drove her frantic. Her innocent little Vada in the arms of this cold-blooded assassin!

She knew him now for all he was. The scales had fallen from her foolish eyes. All the romance of his hideous calling had passed in a flash, and she saw it as it was. She had no words to express her feelings of horror and revolting. In her weakness and wickedness she had torn herself out of the life of a good man to fling herself upon the bosom of this black-hearted villain. She loathed him; she loathed his very name. But more than all else she loathed herself. Her punishment was terrible. She was so helpless, so powerless. She knew it, and the knowledge paralyzed her thought. What could she do? She knew she was watched, and any move to get away would be at once frustrated. She could do nothing–nothing.

No longer able to remain in her room, she had come out to breathe air which she vainly hoped was less contaminated with the crimes of the man whose home she had elected to share. But inside or out it made no difference. The haunting was not of the place. It was in her mind; it had enveloped her whole consciousness.

But through it all there was one longing, one yearning for all that she had lost, all she had wantonly thrown away. Suffering Creek, with its poverty-stricken home on the dumps, suggested paradise to her now. She yearned as only a mother can yearn for the warm caresses of her children. She longed for the honest love of the little man whom, in the days of her arrogant womanhood, she had so mercilessly despised. All his patient kindliness came back to her now. All his tremendous, if misdirected, effort on her behalf, his never-failing loyalty and courage, were things which to her, in her misery, were the most blessed of all blessings. She wanted home–home. And in that one bitter cry of her heart was expressed the awakening of her real womanhood.

But it had come too late–too late. There was no home now for her but the home of this man. There was no husband for her, only the illicit love of this man. Her children–she could only obtain them by a theft. And as this last thought came to her she remembered who it was who must commit the theft.

The thought brought a fresh terror. How would he accomplish his end? Had not Scipio tacitly refused to yield up her children? Then how–how? She shivered. She knew the means James would readily, probably only too gladly, adopt. Her husband, the little harmless man who had always loved her, would be swept aside like anyone else who stood in the way. James would shoot him down as he had shot Conroy down; even, she fancied, he would shoot him down for the wanton amusement of destroying his life.

Oh no, no! It was too horrible. He was her husband, the first man she had ever cared for. She thought of all they had been to each other. Her mind sped swiftly over past scenes which had so long been forgotten. She remembered his gentleness, his kindly thought for her, his self-effacement where her personal comforts were in question, his devotion both to herself and her children. Every detail of their disastrous married life sped swiftly before her straining mental vision, leaving the man standing out something greater than a hero to her yearning heart. And she had flung it all away in a moment of passion. She had blinded herself in the arrogance of her woman’s vanity. Gone, gone. And now she was the mistress of a common assassin.

So she lashed herself with the torture of repentance and regret as the darkness fell. She did not stir from her post. The damp of the mist was unnoticed, the chill of the air. She was waiting for that return which was to claim her to an earthly hell, than which she could conceive no greater–waiting like the condemned prisoner, numb, helpless, fearful lest the end should come unobserved.

The ranch wardens waited, too. The man cursed his charge with all the hatred of an evil nature, as the damp penetrated to his mean bones. The dog, too, grew restless, but where his master was, there was his place. He had long since learned that–to his cost.

The night crept on, and there was no change in the position, except that the man sought the sheltering doorway of one of the barns, and covered his damp shirt with a jacket. But the woman did not move. She was beyond all conception of time. She was beyond any thought of personal comfort or fatigue. All she knew was that she must wait–wait for the coming of her now hated lover, that at least she might snatch her child from his contaminating arms. And after that–well, after that–She had no power to think of the afterwards.

The moon rose amidst the obscurity of the fog. It mounted, and at last reached a height where its silvery light could no longer be denied by the low-lying mists. But its reign was brief. Its cold splendor rapidly began to shrink before the pink dawn, and in less than two hours it was but a dim white circle set in the azure of the new-born day.

Still the woman remained at her post, her dark eyes straining with her vigil. She was drenched to the skin with the night-mists, but the chill of her body was nothing to the chill of her heart. The spy was still at his post in the barn doorway, but he was slumbering, as was his canine servitor, lying curled up at his feet. The sun rose, the mists cleared. And now the warming of day stirred the cattle in the corrals.

Suddenly the waiting woman started. Her attention had never once relaxed. She moved out with stiffened joints, and, shading her eyes with her hand, stared into the gleaming sunlight. Her ears had caught the distant thud of horses’ hoofs, and now her eyes confirmed. Away down the valley she could see the dim outline of a number of horsemen riding towards the ranch.

Her heart began to thump in her bosom, and her limbs quaked under her. What could she do? What must she do? Every thought, every idea that her long vigil had suggested was swept from her mind. A blank helplessness held her in its grip. She could only wait for what was to come.

The pounding of hoofs grew louder, the figures grew bigger. They were riding out of the sun, and her eyes were almost blinded as she looked for that which she trembled to behold. She could not be certain of anything yet, except that the return of her lover was at hand.

Nearer, nearer they came. Nearer, nearer still. Then suddenly a sharp exclamation broke from the watcher. It was a cry which had in it a strange thrill. It might have been the gasp of the condemned man at the sound of the word “reprieve.” It might have been the cry of one momentarily relieved from years of suffering.

She could see them plainly. For now the figures were no longer silhouetted against the sun. They had changed their course as they neared the ranch, and the rising sun was well clear. She could even recognize them by their horses. She counted. There were ten of them. One was missing. Who? But her interest was only momentary. She recognized the leader, and after that nothing else concerned her.

She could not mistake him. He sat his dark brown horse differently to anybody else. He looked to be part of it. But there was no admiration in her eyes. And yet there was an expression in them that had not been in them since his departure. There was hope in her eyes, and something akin to joy in her whole attitude. James was riding empty-handed!

Hence her cry. But now she glanced swiftly at each horseman, to be sure that they, too, were empty-handed. Yes, each man was riding with the loose swinging arms of the prairie man. And with a sigh that contained in it every expression of an unbounded relief she turned and vanished into the house. For the time, at least, Vada was safe.

CHAPTER XXVIII

JAMES

James clattered into the empty sitting-room and stared about him. His dark face was flushed with excitement. The savage in him was stirred to its best mood, but it was still the savage. He grinned as he realized that the room was empty, and it was a grin of amusement. Some thought in his mind gave him satisfaction, in spite of the fact that there was no one to greet him.

The grin passed and left him serious. Even his excitement had abated. He had remembered Jessie’s scream at the scene she must have witnessed. He remembered that he had left her fainting. With another quick glance round he stood and called–

“Ho, you! Jess!”

There was no answer; and he called again, this time his handsome face darkening. He had seen her from a distance outside the house, so there was no doubt of her being about.

Still he received no answer.

An oath followed. But just as he was about to call again he heard the sound of a skirt beyond the inner door. Instantly he checked his impulse, and where before his swift-rising anger had shone in his eyes a smile now greeted Jessie as she opened the door and entered the room.

For a moment no verbal greeting passed between them. The man was taking in every detail of her face and figure, much as a connoisseur may note the points of some precious purchase he is about to make, or a glutton may contemplate a favorite dish. He saw nothing in her face of the effects of the strain through which she had passed. To him her eyes were the same wonderful, passionate depths that had first drawn his reckless manhood to flout every risk in hunting his quarry down. Her lips were the same rich, moist, enticing lips he had pressed to his in those past moments of passion. The rounded body was unchanged. Yes, she was very desirable.

But he was too sure of his ground to notice that there was no responsive admiration in the woman’s eyes. And perhaps it was as well. She was looking at him with eyes wide open to what he really was, and all the revolting of her nature was uppermost. She loathed him as she might some venomous reptile. She loathed him and feared him. His body might have been the body of an Apollo, his face the most perfect of God’s creations. She knew him now for the cold-blooded murderer he was, and so she loathed and feared him.

There were stains upon his cotton shirt-sleeves, upon the bosom of it showing between the fronts of his unbuttoned waistcoat. There were stains upon his white moleskin trousers.

“Blood,” she said, pointing. And something of her feelings must have been plain to any but his infatuated ears.

He laughed. It was a cruel laugh.

“Sure,” he cried. “It was a great scrap. We took nigh a hundred head of Sid Morton’s cattle and burnt him out.”

“And the blood?”

“Guess it must be his, or–Luke Tedby’s.” His face suddenly darkened. “That mutton-headed gambler over on Suffering Creek did him up. I had to carry him to shelter–after he got away.”

But Jessie paid little attention. She was following up her own thought.

“It isn’t–Conroy’s?”

James’ eyes grew cold.

“That seems to worry you some,” he cried coldly. Then he put the thing aside with a laugh. “You’ll get used to that sort of talk after you’ve been here awhile. Say, Jes–”

“I can never get used to–murder.”

The woman’s eyes were alight with a somber fire. She had no idea of whither her words and feelings were carrying her. All her best feelings were up in arms, and she, too, was touched now with the reckless spirit which drove these people. There was no hope for her future. There was no hope whithersoever she looked. And now that she had seen her children were still safe from the life she had flung herself into, she cared very little what happened to her.

But the cruel despot, to whom life and death were of no account whatsoever, was not likely to deal tenderly long with the woman he desired did she prove anything but amenable. Now her words stung him as they were meant to sting, and his mouth hardened.

“You’re talking foolish,” he cried in that coldly metallic way she had heard him use before. “Conroy got all he needed. Maybe he deserved more. Anyhow, ther’s only one man running this lay-out, and I’m surely that man. Say–” again he changed. This time it was a change back to something of the lover she knew, and at once he became even more hateful to her–“things missed fire at–the Creek. I didn’t get hands on your kids. I–”

“I’m glad.” Jessie could have shouted aloud her joy, but the man’s look of surprise brought caution, and she qualified her words. “No; we’d best leave them, after all,” she said. “You see, these men–”

She looked fearlessly into his face. She was acting as only a woman can act when the object of her affections is threatened.

And her lover warmed all unsuspiciously. It would have been better for her had she only realized her power over him. But she was not clever. She was not even brave.

James nodded.

“Sure,” he said; and with that monosyllable dismissed the subject from his mind for matters that gave him savage delight. “Say, we’ve had a good round-up,” he went on–“a dandy haul. But we’re going to do better–Oh yes, much better.” Then his smile died out. He had almost forgotten the woman in the contemplation of what he had in his mind. This man was wedded to his villainies. They came before all else. Jessie was his; he was sure of her. She was his possession, and he took her for granted now. The excitement of his trade had once again become paramount.

“Guess Sufferin’ Creek has gone plumb crazy,” he went on delightedly. “I’ve had boys around to keep me posted. They been spotting things. Old Minky has been sittin’ so tight I guessed I’d have to raid the store for his gold; an’ now they’ve opened out. That buzzy-headed old fool’s goin’ to send out a stage loaded down with dust. It starts Wednesday morning, an’ he guesses it’s to win through to Spawn City. Gee! An’ they’re shoutin’ about it. Say, Jess, they say it’s to carry sixty thousand dollars. Well, it won’t carry it far. That’s why I’m back here now. That’s why I quit worrying with your kids when Wild Bill did up Luke. We hustled home to change our plugs, an’ are hittin’ the trail again right away. Sixty thousand dollars! Gee! what a haul! Say, when I’ve taken that”–he moved a step nearer and dropped his voice–“we’re goin’ to clear out of this–you an’ me. Those guys out there ain’t never going to touch a cent. You leave that to me. We’ll hit for New Mexico, and to hell with the north country. Say, Jess, ain’t that fine? Fine?” he went on, with a laugh. “It’s fine as you are.”

She had no answer for him. And he went on quite heedlessly, lost in admiration of his own scheme, and joy at the prospect.

“We’ll settle down to an elegant little ranch, most respectable like. You can go to church. Ha, ha! Yes, you can go to church all reg’lar. You can make clothes fer the poor, an’ go to sociables an’ things. An’ meanwhiles I can slip across the border and gather up a few things–just to keep my hand in–”

“What time are we gettin’ out?”

James swung round with the alertness of a panther. One of the men was standing in the doorway, a burly ruffian whose face was turned to his leader, but whose cruel eyes were rudely fixed on the woman.

“In ha’f-an-hour,” cried James, with a swift return to his harsh command. “Tell the boys to vittle for three days an’ roll a blanket. We’ll need ’em fer sleep. An’, say,” he cried, with sudden threat, “don’t you git around here again till I call you. Get me?”

There was no mistaking his anger at the interruption. There was no mistaking his meaning. The man slunk away. But as James turned back to the woman his previous lightness had gone, and his ill-humor found savage expression.

“There’s someone else needing a lesson besides Conroy,” he snarled.

Jessie shivered.

“He didn’t mean harm,” she protested weakly.

“Harm? Harm? He was staring at you. You ain’t fer sech scum as him to stare at. I’ll have to teach him.”

The man was lashing himself to that merciless fury Jessie had once before witnessed, and now she foolishly strove to appease him. She laughed. It was a forced laugh, but it served her purpose, for the man’s brow cleared instantly, and his thoughts diverted to a full realization of her presence, and all she meant to him.

“You can laugh,” he said, his eyes darkening with sudden lustful passion. “But I can’t have folks–starin’ at you. Say, Jess, you don’t know, you can’t think, how I feel about you. You’re jest mine–mine.” His teeth clipped together with the force of his emotion. The brute in him urged him as madly in his desire as it did in his harsher tempers. “I just don’t care for nothing else but you. An’–I got you now. Here, you haven’t kissed me since I came back. I’d forgot, thinking of that sixty thousand of gold-dust. I’m off again in ha’f-an-hour–an’ I won’t be back for three days. Here–”

His arms were held out and he drew nearer. But now the woman drew back in unmistakable horror.

“Say,” he cried in a voice still passionate, yet half angry, “you don’t need to get away. Ther’s a wall back of you.” Then, as she still shrank back, and he saw the obvious terror in her eyes, his swift-changing mood lost its warmth of passion and left it only angry. “Ther’s three other walls an’ a door to this room, an’ I can easy shut the door.”

He reached out and caught her by one arm. He swung her to him as though she were a child. There was no escape. She struggled to free herself, but her strength was as the strength of a babe to his, and in a moment she was caught in his arms and hugged to his breast. She writhed to free herself, but her efforts made no impression. And, having possession of her, the man laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh. He looked down at her. Her head was thrown back to avoid him. His hot eyes grinned tantalizingly into her face.

“It’s no use,” he said. “You got to kiss me. You’re mine. No, no, don’t you bother to kick any. You can’t get away. Now, Jess, kiss me. Kiss me good–good an’ plenty.” His arms crushed her closer. “What, you won’t? You won’t kiss me? Ha, ha! Maybe that’s why you ran back into the house when I come along. Maybe that’s why you wouldn’t answer when I called. What’s come to you?”

He held her, waiting for a reply. But the woman was beyond speech in her horror and rage. She was no longer terrified. She was beside herself with fury and revolting. She hated the crushing arms about her–the arms of a murderer. That one word stood out in her mind, maddening her. She would not kiss him. She could not. She gasped and struggled. She wanted to shriek for help, but that, she knew, was useless.