The Forfeit Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  CONFLICTING CURRENTS

  They were busy days in Orrville. But business rarely yielded outwarddisplay in its citizens. Men talked more. They perhaps moved aboutmore--in their customary leisurely fashion. But any approach to bustlewas as foreign to the rule of the township as it would be to a colonyof aged snails in a cyclone.

  It was the custom of Orrville to rise early and go to bed late. Butthis by no means implies any excessive activity. On the contrary.These spells of activity lasted just as long as their accomplishmentrequired. In the interim its citizens returned to a slumber littleless profound than that which supervened at night after the lastroysterer had been ejected, by force, or persuasion, from thesalubrious precincts of Ju Penrose's saloon.

  Orrville was a ranching township in the northwestern corner of Montanalying roughly some twenty miles west of the foothills of the CathillMountains, which, in turn, formed a projecting spur of the main rangeof the Rockies.

  Orrville was the township and Ju Penrose was the pioneer of itscommerce. He was a man of keen instincts for commerce of his ownespecial brand, and rejoiced in a disreputable past. He possessed athin, hooked nose of some dimensions, which never failed to cut a wayfor its owner into the shady secrets of his neighbors. He possessed atemper as amiable and mild as a spring lamb when the stream ofprosperity and profit flowed his way, and as vitriolic as a she-wolf inwinter, when that stream chanced to become diverted into a neighbor'sdirection.

  He was considered a man of some importance in the place. But this wasprobably the result of the nature of his trade, which, in the eyes ofthe denizens of the neighborhood, certainly possessed an advantage oversuch stodgy callings as "dry goods." But besides the all-importantthirst-quenching purpose of his establishment, it had become a sort ofbureau for large and small transactions of a ranching nature, and aresort where every sort of card game could be freely indulged in,without regard for the limit of the stakes, and had thus gained foritself the subsidiary title amongst its clientele of "Ju's Poker Joint."

  At the moment Ju's usually busy tongue was taking a well-earned rest,and his hawk-like visage was shrouded in a deep, contemplative repose.His always bloodshot eyes were speculative as he surveyed thesmoke-laden scene from behind his shabby bar. The place was full ofdrinkers and gamblers. The hour was past midnight. And he wasestimating silently the further spending possibilities of hiscustomers, and consequently considering the advisability of closingdown.

  A group of three ranch hands leaned against the centre of the bar.Their glasses were empty and none of them seemed anxious to commandtheir refilling. They were talking earnestly. And their voices wereunusually modulated. Just beyond these a slight, good-looking man inchapps, with a face of particularly refined but somewhat debauchedappearance, was obviously interested in their talk, although he took nopart in it. On the other side of them, away at the far end of the bar,leaned a solitary, tough-looking drinker, who seemed to take nointerest whatever in his surroundings. Every man in the place, thedozen or so occupying the card tables included, was fully armed in thecustomary fashion prevailing in this distant corner of the ranchingworld, and it would have needed no second thought to realize that theseheavy, loaded weapons were not by any means intended for decorativepurposes.

  "Wal, anyways they're a long time fixin' things," observed one of thethree at the centre of the bar, with a yawn that displayed a double rowof gleaming white teeth. "The boss guessed I'd best wait around, so itain't a heap o' use kickin'. I'll hev to wait till the durnedcommittee's through, if it takes 'em sittin' as long us a hide-boundhen."

  "It's allus that-a-way when folks gets on a committee racket, Curly,"replied one of his friends with a sympathetic grin.

  "That's just how, Dan," agreed the third. "Hot air. That's what itis. This tarnation Vigilance stunt sets folk whisperin' among'emselves 'bout the hell goin' to be ladled out to all cattle thievesin general. Gives 'em visions of hangin'-bees, an' a sort o' fireworkdisplay with guns an' things, an' when they hatched out, what's theresult? Why, a waste o' hot air, an'--no checkens."

  "'T'so, Dan," agreed Curly, with easy decision. "The boss is too nearrelative of a fancy gentleman for to hand out the sort o' dope rustlersneed. If us boys had the job we'd fix things quick. You'd see thisbum gang kicking air at the end of a rope 'fore Ju, here, had time todope out four fingers of rotgut at the expense of the house."

  He leered across at the unsmiling face of the saloon-keeper. Jupermitted himself to be drawn.

  "Nothin' doin', Curly." A solemn shake of the head set his walrusmoustache flapping. Then he drew a cigar from a top vest pocket andbit the end through, brushing his moustache aside to discover a placein which to deposit it in his mouth. "I'd sure hate to dope out anyrotgut on you boys. Y'see, I sure got your health at heart. I kind o'love you fellers to death. I'd hate to see you sufferin' at my hands.Guess I was raised Christian."

  "Was you?"

  Curly's sarcasm achieved the laugh intended, and, as a result of hissatisfaction, he flung his last half-dollar on the dingy bar.

  "Make that into three drops of liver souse, an' hand us a smile, Ju.Your face is sure killin' trade."

  Ju rolled his cigar across his mouth under the curtain of moustache,lit it, and proceeded to push an uncorked bottle across to hiscustomers.

  "Guess it ain't a bad proposition handin' you boys a smile. Smilesallus happen easy on foolish faces. Seein' I ain't deaf I beenlistenin' to your talk, an' I ain't made up my mind if you're as brightas you're guessin', or if you're the suckers your talk makes you out.Seein' I don't usual take chances, I'll put my dollars on the suckerbusiness. I've stood behind this darned old bar fer ten years, an' Iguess for five of 'em I've listened to talk like yours--from fellerslike you." He removed the bottle from which the three men had helpedthemselves to liberal "four fingers," and eyed their glasses askance."Now, you're worritin' over this lousy Lightfoot gang. So was theothers. So's everybody bin fer five years. An' fer five years thissame lousy Lightfoot gang has just been helpin' 'emselves to the cattleon the ranches around here--liberal. Same as youse fellers have helpedyourselves out o' this bottle. An', durin' that time, I ain't heardtell of one o' them boys who's been spoilin' to hang 'em all doin' athing. Not a thing, 'cep' it's lap up whisky to keep up a supply o'hot air.

  "Wal," he proceeded, in his biting fashion, as he thrust the bottle onthe shelf and began wiping glasses with a towel that looked to bedecomposing for want of soap, "them lousy rustlers is still runningtheir play in the district jest wher', when, an' how they darn please.See? You, Curly, are kickin' because your boss Dug McFarlane is toomuch of a gentleman. Wal, if I know a man from a seam-squirrel, I'dsure say Dug's got more savee in his whiskers than you got dirt--whichis some. If I got things right, this night's sittin's goin' to putpaid to the Lightfoot gang's account. I'd be glad to say the same ofone or two scores three bums have lately run up right here."

  The offensiveness of his manner left the men quite undisturbed. Theplace would have been strange to them without it. They accepted it aspart of the evening's entertainment. But the allusion to the VigilanceCommittee's efforts brought them into attitudes of close attention. Itdrew the attention, too, of the cattleman with the refined features,and, equally, that of the tough-looking individual at the far end ofthe bar.

  "What are they goin' to do?" demanded Dan urgently.

  Ju puffed aggravatingly at his cigar.

  "Do?" he echoed at last, gazing distantly at the card players acrossthe room. "Why, what any bunch of savee should ha' done five yearsago. Put out a great reward."

  Curly snorted in disdain.

  "See, I tho't it was to be a big play."

  "You allus was bright," sneered Dan. "How's that goin' to fix theLightfoot crowd?"

  "How?" Ju's contempt always found an outlet in the echo of anopponent's interrogation. "Say, Dan, how old are you? Twenty?"

  "That ain't nuthin' to you," the cowpuncher retor
ted, with a gesture ofhot impatience.

  "Ain't it? Wal, mebbe it ain't," Ju agreed imperturbably. "But y'seeit takes years an' years gettin' the value o' dollars right. I allowther's folks guesses dollars talks. Wal, I'm guessin' they just_holler_. Make the wad big enough and ther' ain't nuthin' you can'tbuy from a wheat binder to a royal princess with a crown o' jools. Theonly thing you're li'ble to have trouble over is the things Natur'fancies handin' you fer--nix. That an' hoss sense. That's pretty wellthe world to-day, no matter what the sky-pilots an' Sunday-schoolma'ams dope out in their fancy literature. I know. You offer tenthousand dollars for the hangin' of Lightfoot's gang, an', I say righthere, there ain't a feller in it from Lightfoot--if there is sech afeller--down, who wouldn't make a grab at that wad by givin' the restof the crowd away. Makes you think, don't it? Sort o' worries themempty think tanks o' yours."

  But Ju's satisfaction received an unexpected shaking.

  "Some wind," observed the slim, lonely drinker, in the blandest fashion.

  Ju was round on him in a flash, his walrus moustache bristling.

  "I'm listening," he said, with a calmness which belied his attitude.

  The other set his glass down on the counter with a bump.

  "If you're listening," he said, "you have probably understood what Isaid. You're talking through a fog of cynicism which seems to obscurean otherwise fairly competent intellect. You've plundered so manyinnocents in your time by purveying an excessive quantity of bluestonedisguised under the name of alcohol that your overweening conceit hasentirely distorted your perspective till you fancy that your own dregsof human nature constitute the human nature of all the rest of theworld, who would entirely resent being classed as your fellows. In aword you need physic, Ju."

  The speaker laughed amiably, and his smile revealed the weakness whichwas pointed by the signs of debauchery in his good-looking face. Jueyed him steadily. The offense of his words was mitigated by hismanner, but Ju resented the laugh which went round the entire room athis expense.

  "See here, Bob Whitstone," he began, abandoning his glass wiping andsupporting himself on his counter, with his face offensively thrust inhis opponent's direction, "I ain't got the langwidge you seem to havelapped up with your mother's milk. I don't guess any sucker paid athousand dollars a year for my college eddication so I could come outhere and grow a couple of old beeves and spend my leisure picklin' myfood depot in a low down prairie saloon. Therefor' I'll ask you toexcuse me if I talk in a kind o' langwidge the folks about here mostgener'ly understan'. Guess you think you know some. Maybe you figgerto know it all. Wal, get this. When you get back home jest stand infront of a fi' cent mirror, if you got one in your bum shanty, an' geta peek at your map, an' ask yourself--when you studied it well--if Icouldn't buy you, body an' soul, fer two thousand dollars--cash. I'dsure hate slingin' mud at any feller's features, much less yours,who're a good customer to me, but you're comin' the highbrow, an' yougot notions of honor still floatin' around in your flabby thinkin'department sech as was handed you by the guys who ran that thousanddollar college. Wal, ef you'll look at yourself honest, an' argue withyourself honest, you'll find them things is sure a shadder of the pastwhich happened somew'eres before you tasted that first dose o' prairiepoison which has since become a kind o' habit. It ain't no use ingetting riled, Bob, it ain't no use in workin' overtime on that collegedictionary o' yours to set me crawlin' around among the spit boxes.Fac's is fac's. Ken you hand me a list o' the things you--you whoain't got two spare cents to push into the mission box, an' who'dwillingly sleep in a hog pen if it weren't for a dandy wife who'd gotno more sense than to marry you--wouldn't do if I was to hand you out aroll of ten thousand dollars right now--cash? Tcha! You think. Iknow."

  He turned away in a wave of contemptuous disgust. And as he did so aharsh voice from the other end of the bar held him up.

  "What about me, Ju?"

  The tough-looking prairie man made his demand with a laugh only a shadeless harsh than his speaking voice.

  Ju stood. His desperate, keen face was coldly still as he regarded thepowerful frame of his challenger. Then his retort came swift andpoignant.

  "You, Sikkem? You'd allus _give_ yourself away. Get me?"

  The frigidity of the saloon-keeper's manner was over-powering. The mancalled Sikkem was unequal in words to such a challenge. A flush slowlydyed his lean cheeks, and an angry depression of the brows suggestedsomething passionate and forceful. Just for a moment many eyes glancedin his direction. The saloon-keeper was steadily regarding him. Therewas no suggestion of anger in his attitude, merely cat-likewatchfulness. Their eyes met. Then the cloud abruptly lifted fromSikkem's brow, and he laughed with unsmiling, black eyes. Thesaloon-keeper rinsed a glass and unconcernedly began to wipe it.

  The incident was allowed to pass. But it was the termination of thediscussion, a termination which left Ju victor, not because of therightness of his views, but because there was no man in Orrvillecapable of joining issue with him in debate with any hope of success.Action rather than words was the prevailing feature with these people,and, in his way, Ju Penrose was equal, if not superior, not only indebate, but in the very method these people best understood.

  A moment later Sikkem took his departure.

  * * * * * *

  It was well past midnight when the last man turned out of Ju's bar.But the crowd had not yet scattered to their various homes. They weregathered in a small, excited cluster gaping up at a big notice pastedon the weather-boarding of the saloon-keeper's shack. Ju himself wasstanding in their midst, right in front of the notice, which had beenindited in ink, evidently executed with a piece of flat wood. He washolding up a lantern, and every eye was carefully, and in manyinstances laboriously, studying the text inscribed.

  It was a notice of reward. A reward of ten thousand dollars forinformation leading to the capture of the gang of cattle thieves knownas the "Lightfoot gang." And it was signed by Dug McFarlane on behalfof the Orrville Rancher's Vigilance Committee.

  "Guess Ju knowed after all," somebody observed, in a confidential toneto his neighbor.

  But Ju's ears were as long and sharp as his tongue. He flashed roundon the instant, his lantern lowered from the level of the notice board.There was a sort of cold triumph in his manner as his eyes fell uponthe speaker.

  "Know'd?" he cried sharply. "Ain't 'knowin'' my business? Psha!" Hiscontempt was withering. Then his manner changed back to the triumphwhich the notice had inspired. "Say, it's a great piece of money. Itsurely is some bunch. Ten thousand dollars! Gee! His game's up.Lightfoot's as good as kickin' his heels agin the breezes. He's playedhis hand, an'--lost."

  And somehow no one seemed inclined to add to his statement. Nor, whichwas much more remarkable, contradict it. Now that these men had seenthe notice with their own eyes the force of all Ju had so recentlycontended came home to them. There was not one amongst that littlegathering who did not realize the extent of the odds militating againstthe rustlers. Ten thousand dollars! There was not a man present whodid not feel the tremendous power of such a reward.

  The gathering melted away slowly, and finally Bob Whitstone was leftalone before the gleaming sheet of paper, with Ju standing in hisdoorway. The lantern was at his feet upon the sill. His hands werethrust in the tops of his shabby trousers. He was regarding the"gentleman" rancher meditatively, and his half burnt cigar glowed underthe deep intake of his powerful lungs.

  "It's a dandy bunch, Bob, eh?" he demanded presently, in an ironicaltone. "Guess I'd come nigh sellin' my own father fer--ten thousanddollars. An' I don't calc'late I'd get nightmare neither." Then hedrew a deep breath which suggested regret. "But--it ain't comin' myway. No. Not by a sight." Then, after a watchful pause, hecontinued: "I'm kind o' figgerin' whose way. Not mine, or--yours. Eh,Bob? We could do with it. Pity, ain't it?"

  Bob turned. His eyes sought the face in the shadow of the doorway.

 
; "I'm no descendant of Judas," he said coldly.

  "No. But--Judas didn't sell a gang of murdering cattle rustlers. Thatain't Judas money."

  "Maybe. But it's blood money all the same."

  "Mighty bad blood that oughter be spilt."

  Bob turned away. His gaze wandered out westward. Then his eyes cameslowly back to the man in the door-way.

  "You thought I was talking hot air just now--about a man's price. Youdidn't like it. Well, when I find myself with a price I hope I shan'tlive to be paid it. That's all."

  The man in the doorway shook his head. Then he spoke slowly,deliberately. And somehow much of the sharpness had gone out of histone, and the hard glitter of his steely eyes had somehow become lesspronounced.

  "Oh, I guess I got your meanin' right, fer all yer thousand dollarlangwidge. Sure, I took you right away. But--it don't signify a cussanyways. Guess you was born a gentleman, Bob, which I wa'an't. An'because you was born an' raised that-a-way you'd surely like to kepright hold o' the notion that folks ken still act as though they'd beenweaned on talk of honor an' sichlike. I sez kep a holt on that notion.Grip it tight, an' don't never let go on it. Grab it same as you wouldthe feller that's yearnin' fer your scalp. If you lose your grip thattow-colored scalp of yours'll be raised sure, an' every peniciousbreeze that blows 'll get into your think depot and hand you every sortof mental disease ther' ain't physic enough in the world to cure.Guess that's plumb right. It don't cut no ice what I think. A fellerlike me jest thinks the way life happens to boost him. Y'see, I ain'thad no thousand dollar eddication to make me see things any other ways.Life's a mighty tough proposition an' it can't be run on no schedule,an' each feller's got to travel the way he sees with his own two eyes.If he's got the spectacles of a thousand dollar eddication he's ana'mighty lucky feller, an' I'm guessin' they'll help him dodge a wholeheap o' muck holes he'd otherwise bury his silly head in. So hang on,boy. Grip them darn fool notions so they ain't got a chance. If youlet go--wal, you'll get a full-sized peek into a pretty fancy sort o'hell wher' ther' ain't any sort o' chance o' dopin' your visions out o'sight with Ju Penrose's belly wash. So long."

  Ju picked up his lantern and turned back into his bar, closing andsecuring his door behind him. Then, with keen anticipation andenjoyment, he approached his till and proceeded to count his day'stakings.

  * * * * * *

  Bob Whitstone unhitched his horse from Ju's tying post. He swunghimself into the saddle and rode away,--away toward his outland homeunder the starlit roof of the plains. It was an almost nightly journeywith him now, for the saloon habit had caught him in its toils, and wasalready holding him firmly.

  His mood was not easy. He resented Ju Penrose. He resented all men ofhis type. He knew him for a crook. He believed he possessed no moreconscience than any other habitual criminal. But his resentment wasthe weak echo of an upbringing which had never intended him for suchassociation, and, in spite of it, the man's personality held him, andits strength dominated him.

  His way took him out across an almost trackless waste of richgrass-land. Somewhere out there, hidden away at the foot of theCathills, lay his homestead, and the wife for whom he had abandoned allthat his birth had entitled him to. During the past two years he hadlearned truly all that he had sacrificed for the greatest of all dreamsof youth.

  But these things, for the moment, were not in his mind. Only Penrose.Ju Penrose, whom he had learned to detest and despise out of theeducated mind that was his. The man's final homily was entirely lostupon Bob. Such was his temper that only the gross outrages against theprecepts of his youth remained. He only heard the hateful, detestablecynicism, brutally expressed. It was something curious how he onlytook note of these things, and missed the rough solicitude of Ju'sfinal admonishment. But he was young and weak, and a shadow ofbitterness had entered his life, which, at his age, should have foundno place in it.

  The miles swept away under his horse's hoofs. Already the township,that sparse little oasis of shelter in a desert of grass-land, lay lostbehind him in the depths of some hidden trough in the waves of theprairie ocean, The great yellow disc of the moon had cut the horizonand lit his tracks, but its light was still unrevealing and only addedcharm to the blaze of summer jewels which adorned the soft velvet ofthe heavens.

  He glanced back. But almost instantly his eyes were turned againahead. The night scene of these plains was too familiar to him toexcite interest. To him there were simply miles intervening betweenhim and the slumbers he was seeking. The prairie, for all itsbeauties, spelt toilful days and bitter disappointment for him.Wherein then should be discovered its charms?

  Again his mind settled itself upon the events of the evening. Price?Price? Every man, he had been told, had his price. Every man andwoman. He uttered a sound. It might have been a laugh, but it lackedmirth. It startled his alert horse. It almost seemed to startle thequiet night itself. What was his price? All he knew about price wasits payment. He had only been called upon to pay. And he had paid!My God, he had paid! All that had been his. All the wealth, thecomfort, the luxury and prospects which had been his in his wealthyfather's home, had been the price he had paid for the right, which wasthe right of every man, to choose for himself, and to take to himselfand to wife, the woman who seemed to him to be the one creature in theworld who could yield him the happiness which alone was worth while.

  This talk of a man's price only enraged him the more. He viciouslydetested Ju Penrose, and all such creatures who walked the world.

  Well, the reward was out. Time would show. If it failed to find theJudas he would remind Ju. Oh, yes, he would remind him. He would waithis time for the reminder. He would wait till the saloon was full, andthen--then he would open out his batteries. Men were of----

  What was that?

  He had pulled his horse up with a swift tightening of his hand. Nowthe beast stood with head erect, and pricked ears firmly thrustforward. Its head was turned southward, and the gush of its distendednostrils warned its rider that his question was shared by a creaturewhose instincts were even more acute, here, on the prairie, than thoseof its human master.

  Bob bent down in the saddle the better to obtain the silhouette of thesky-line. The sound which had held him came up on the southern nightbreeze. It was a low murmur, or rumble, and, to his accustomed ears,it suggested the speeding of hoofs over the green clad earth. Hewaited for many moments, but the sound only increased. There was nodoubt left in his mind now. None at all.

  He sat up again and glanced swiftly about him. The moonlight hadincreased, and a silver sheen threw up the surrounding scene intoindistinct relief. Beyond, to his right, he detected a small patch ofscrub and spruce, and, without a second thought, he made for it.

  A minute later he was out of the saddle beside his horse, screened fromview of the plains by a belt of bush. He secured his horse and movedto the fringe of his shelter. Here he took up a position facing south,and his view of the plains beyond became uninterrupted.

  He knew what was coming. Instinct warned him. Perhaps even it was thewish fathering his belief. He felt it was a certainty that therustlers were out pursuing their depredations with their customaryunchallenged daring. Who, he wondered, was the present victim, andwhat was the extent of the raid?

  He had not long to wait. The sound grew. It lost its distantcontinuity and became broken into the distinct hoof beats of largenumbers. Furthermore, by the sound of it, they would pass right acrosshis front. He had been wise in seeking cover. Had he remained----

  But speculation gave way before the interest of movement. Now thesilhouette of the sky-line was dancing before his eyes. In themoonlight he could clearly make out the passing of a driven herd. Itcame on, losing itself in the shadows of a distant trough. Again itappeared. More distinct now. He whistled under his breath. They werecoming from the direction of Dug McFarlane's and it was a large herd.They were traveling northwest, which would
cut into the hills away tothe north of his homestead. They----

  But they were almost abreast of him now, and he heard the voices of menurging and cursing. Lower he dropped toward the earth the better toascertain the numbers. But his estimate was uncertain. There weremoments when the herd looked very large. There were moments when itlooked less. He felt that a conservative estimate would be one hundredperhaps, and some eight or ten men driving them.

  They were gone as they had come, lumbering rapidly, and as they passednorthward the southern breeze carried the sound away. It died outquickly, and for minutes longer than was needed he stood listening,listening. Then, at last, he turned back to his horse.

  In the two years of his sojourn on the land it was the first time hehad witnessed the operation of the Lightfoot gang, and it left a deepimpression upon his mind. A great resentment rose up in him. It wasthe natural temper of a man who is concerned, in however small adegree, in the cattle industry. And his anger urged him to a greaterspeed for home, and a greater sympathy for the man who was prepared toaccept the Judas money offered for the lives of this gang of criminals.