The Forfeit Page 4

  CHAPTER IV

  THE WEAKER VESSEL

  The homestead rested upon the southern slope of a wood-crowned hill,which was merely one of a swarm of hills of lesser or greatermagnitude. Westward, away in the distance, the silver sheen of themain mountain range still continued to reflect the rainbow tints of aradiant sunset.

  It was a homestead to associate with hands less than 'prentice. Therewas neither imagination nor very definite purpose in its planning. Itrather gave the impression of the driving of sheer necessity than theenthusiasm of effort toward the achievement of a heartily conceivedpurpose. Furthermore, it bore evident signs of a desire to escape asfar as possible the burdens of the life it represented.

  The squalid two-roomed house was sunk into the backing to the slopinghill. Its front and sides were of green logs and a mud plaster. Itsroof was of a primitive thatch, held secure from winter storms bysapling logs lashed fast across it. The central doorway was filled bya rough-boarded door, and the apertures left for added light werecovered with thin cotton material. They were left wide open in summer,and in winter only served to shut out the worst of the driven snows andmost of the daylight.

  The adjacent barn was of far greater extent, but of considerably lessdegree. Still, it was sufficiently weather-proof, which was all thatcould be reasonably hoped for by the toughened creatures, who foundshelter beneath its crazy roof. Higher up the slope stood a couple ofcorrals of sorts. Their position was at the southern extremity of thewoodland crown, their placing probably inspired by the adjacency of thematerial required for their construction.

  Below the house stretched a sloping patch of growing wheat, perhapsabout thirty acres in extent. This was the real business of thehomestead, and, in spite of the crazy fencing of barbed wire about it,it looked to be richly flourishing.

  For all the general ineffectiveness of the place, however, it was notwithout significance. For it gave that human touch which at oncebreaks up the overpowering sensation which never fails to depress inthe silent heart of Nature's immensity. It spoke of courage, too. Thereckless courage of early youth, plunging for the first time intoindependence. Furthermore, it suggested something of the first greatsacrifice which the hot tide of love, surging through youthful veins,is prepared to make for the object of its passionate regard. In anycase it symbolized the irresistible progress of man's effort whenpitted against the passive resistance of Nature's most fiercely ruggedfrontiers.

  A wonderful harmonious peace reigned over the scene which was bathed inthe light of a drooping sun. It was the chastened pastoral peace, thanwhich there is no more perfect in the world. Cattle were grazing theirway homeward; the cows bearing their burden of laden udders to yield itfor the benefit and prosperity of the community; the steers lingeringat the banks of the murmuring mountain stream, or standing knee-deep inits waters, their sleek sides sheathed in rolls of fat, only waiting toyield up their humble lives as their contribution to the insatiabledemands of the dominant race.

  Two or three horses stood adjacent to the doorway of the humble barn,patiently flickering their long, unkempt tails in a vain effort to wardoff the attacks of swarming flies. A few chickens moved aboutdrowsily, just outside the hutch which had been contrived for theirnightly shelter. While stretched upon the dusty earth, side by side,lay two great rough-coated dogs slumbering their hours of watch andward away in the shade, with the indifference of creatures whose vainhopes of battle have been all too long deferred.

  All of a sudden there came a partial awakening.

  Out of the west, down the slope of a neighboring hill came a figure onhorseback. It was moving at a rapid gallop. The horses at the barnturned about and raised their heads watchfully. They whinnied at theapproach. The two dogs were on their feet startled into alertness,vain hope rising once more in their fierce hearts. The hens cackledfussily at the prospect of their deferred evening meal. The last ofthe cattle ambled heavily from the water's edge. It was rather likethe obscure movement of a mainspring, setting into motion even theremotest wheel of a mechanism.

  Effie galloped up to the house. Nothing of the gentle waking hercoming had inspired attracted her observation. Her handsome eyes werepreoccupied, and their gaze wandered back over the way she had come,searching the distance with the minutest care. Finally she dismountedand off-saddled, turning her pony loose to follow the promptings of itsown particular requirements. Then she set about releasing the carcaseof the deer upon her saddle, and bore it away to a lean-to shed at theside of the house. Emerging therefrom she picked up her saddle andbridle and took them into the house. Then she took up her stand withinthe doorway and, once more, narrowly searched the surrounding hillswith eyes as eager and doubtful as they were beautiful.

  The calm of evening had settled once more upon the place. The peace ofit all was superlative. It was peace to which Effie was something morethan averse. She dreaded it. For all her two years of life in themeagre home her husband had provided her with, it required all hercourage and fortitude to endure it. The hills haunted and oppressedher, and her only hope lay in the active prosecution of her work.

  She breathed a profound sigh. There was relief in the expression ofher face. The drooping corners of her mouth and the tight compressionof her well-formed lips told their own story of her emotions. She hadpassed through an anxious time, and only now was she beginning to feelreassured.

  Yes. All was well, she believed. She had lost her pursuers, thanks tothe staunchness of her pony, and her knowledge of the country abouther. With another sigh, but this time one of weariness, she left herdoorway and moved over to the barn. There was still the dreary roundof "chores" to which her life seemed dedicated.

  * * * * * *

  A solitary horseman sat gazing out through a leafy barrier across thenarrow valley of the little mountain stream. His eyes were fixed uponthe dejected homestead on the slope of the hill beyond. He wasbe-chapped, and carried the usual complement of weapons at his waist.His horse was an unusually fine creature, and well up to the burden itwas called upon to bear. Nor was that burden a light one, for the manwas both massive and muscular.

  The watchful eyes were deep set in a mahogany-hued setting. It was ahard face, brutal, and the eyes were narrow and cruel.

  For a long time he sat there regarding the homestead. He beheld thegraceful form of the woman as she moved swiftly about her work.Judging from his expression, which was by no means pleasant, twoemotions were struggling for dominance. For some time doubt held chiefplace, but slowly it yielded to some more animal emotion. Furthermoretemptation was urging him, and more than once he lifted his reins,which became a sign of yielding.

  But all these emotions finally passed. It was evident that some evenstronger force was really governing him. For, with a sharp ejaculationthat conveyed every feeling suggested by disappointment, he swung hishorse about and galloped off in a southeasterly direction--towardOrrville.

  * * * * * *

  It was past midnight. Effie, flushed with an unusual excitement, wasgazing up into her husband's face. She was listening almostbreathlessly to the story he was telling her. The little living-room,more than half kitchen, was bathed in the yellow light of a small tinkerosene lamp. For the time at least her surroundings, the poverty anddrudgery of her life, were forgotten in the absorbing feelingsconsuming her.

  "I tell you, Effie, I was scared--plumb scared when I saw what it was,"Bob Whitstone ended up. "Guess we've known long enough the wholeblamed countryside is haunted by cattle rustlers, but--that's the firsttime I've seen 'em, and I guess it's the first time any one's seen 'emat work. Say, I'm not yearning for the experience again."

  But Effie had no interest beyond his story. His feelings on the matterof his experience were of no concern whatever at the moment. Therewere other things in her mind, things of far greater import. Shereturned to the rocker chair, which was the luxury of their home, andsat down. There was one t
hing only in Bob's story which mattered toher just now.

  "Ten thousand dollars," she murmured. "_Ten thousand_! It'sa--fortune."

  Bob moved across to a rough shelf nailed upon the wall and picked up apipe.

  "A bit limited," he observed contemptuously, as poured some tobaccodust into the bowl.

  "I was thinking of--ourselves."

  The man ceased his operation to gaze swiftly down upon the gentlyswaying figure in the chair.

  "What d'you mean, Effie?" he demanded sharply.

  The girl's steady eyes were slowly raised in answer to the challengingtone. They met her husband's without a shadow of hesitation.

  "It sounds like a fortune to me, who have not handled a dollar that Icould spend without careful thought--for two years," she declared withwarmth.

  Bob completed the filling of his pipe. He did not answer for a fewmoments, but occupied himself by lighting it with a reeking sulphurmatch.

  "That's a pretty hard remark," he said at last, emitting heavy cloudsof smoke between his words.

  "Is it? But--it's just plain facts."

  "I s'pose it is."

  The girl had permitted her gaze to wander. It passed from herhusband's face to the deplorable surroundings which she had almostgrown accustomed to, but which now stood out in her mind with an addedsense of hopelessness. The lime-wash over the cracked and brokenplaster which filled the gaps between the logs of the walls. Themiserable furnishing, much of it of purely home manufacture, thrown upinto hideous relief by the few tasteful knickknacks which had beenwedding presents from her intimate friends and relatives in the east.The earthen floor, beaten hard and kept scrupulously swept by her ownhands. The cook-stove in the corner, with its ill-set stovepipepassing out of a hole in the wall which had been crudely covered withtin to keep out the draughts in winter. The drooping ceiling of cottonmaterial, which sagged in great billows under the thatch of the roof.It was all deplorable to a woman who had known the comfort of an almostluxurious girlhood. Into her eyes crept a curious light. It was halfresentful, half triumphant. It was wholly absorbed.

  "Suppose? There's no supposition," she cried bitterly. "I have hadthe experience of it all, the grind. Maybe you don't know what it isto a woman, a girl, to find herself cut off suddenly from all thelittle luxuries she has always been used to. I don't meanextravagances. Just the trifling refinements which count for so muchin a young woman's life. The position is possible, so long as the hoperemains of their return later, perhaps fourfold. But when that hope nolonger exists--I guess there's nothing much else that's worth while."

  The man continued to smoke on for some silent moments. Then, as thegirl, too, remained silent, he glanced at her out of the corners of hiseyes.

  "You gave up a good deal for me--for this," he said in gentle protest."But you did it with your eyes open--I mean, to the true facts of myposition. Say, Effie, I didn't hold you up for this thing. I laidevery card on the table. My father threatened us both, to our faces,if we persisted in marrying. Well, I guess we persisted, and he--why,he just handed us what he promised--the dollars that bought usthis--farm. That was all. It was the last cent he figured to pass ourway. You know all that, and you never squealed--then. You knew whatwas in store. I mean--this." He flung out one arm in a comprehensivegesture. "You guessed you'd grit enough to face it--with me. We hopedto win out." Then he smiled. "Say, I guess I haven't given up athing--for you, eh? I haven't quit the home of millionaire fatherwhere my year's pocket money was more than the income of seventy percent. of other folks! I, too, did it for this--and you. Won't youstick it for me?"

  The man's appeal was spoken in low earnest tones His eyes were gentle.But the girl kept hers studiously turned from his direction, and it wasimpossible for him to read that which lay behind them.

  Again some silent moments passed. The girl was gently rocking herself.At last, however, she drew in her feet in a nervous, purposefulmovement, and sat forward.

  "Bob," she exclaimed, and now there were earnestness and kindness inthe eyes that gazed up at the man, "it's no use for us to talk thisway," she cried. "I began it, and I ought to be sorry--real sorry.But I'm not. I wouldn't have acted that way under ordinarycircumstances. But it's different now, and it was your own talk mademe. You sneered at that ten thousand dollars, which seems to be afortune to me. Ten thousand dollars!" she breathed. "And we haven'tten dollars between us in this--house. Bob, it makes me mad when Ithink of it. You don't care. You don't worry. All yon care for is toget away from it all--from me--and spend your time among the boys inOrrville. You've been away ever since dinner to-day, and now it's pastmidnight. Why? Why, when there's a hundred and one things to doaround this wretched shanty? No--you undertake this thing, andthen--spend every moment you can steal--yes, that's the word--steal,hanging around Ju Penrose's saloon. I'm left to fix things righthere--to do the work which you have undertaken. Then you sneer when Isee a fortune in that ten thousand dollars reward."

  The girl's swift heat was not without effect. She had not intended toaccuse in so straight a fashion. It was the result of long pent-upbitterness, which never needs more than a careless word to hurl intoactive expression. Bob's mild expression of contempt looked to beabout to cost him dear.

  A moody look not untouched with some sort of fear had crept into theman's eyes. Now he tried to smooth the threat of storm he saw looming.Furthermore, an uncomfortable feeling of his own guilt was possessinghim.

  "But what if it can be called a fortune, Effie?" he demanded swiftly."It don't concern us. I don't guess it's liable to come our way."

  "Why not?"

  The girl's challenge came short and sharp, and her beautiful eyes wereturned upon him full of cold regard.

  The man was startled. He was even shocked.

  "How?" he demanded. "I don't get you."

  The girl sprang from her chair in a movement of sup-pressed excitement.She came toward him, her eyes shining. A glorious ruddy tint shonethrough the tanning of her fair cheeks. She was good to look at, andBob felt the influence of her beauty at that moment just as he had feltit when, for her, he had first flung every worldly consideration to thefour winds.

  "Will you listen, Bob? Will you listen to me while I tell you allthat's been churning around in my head ever since you told me of thatreward? You must. You shall. I have lived through a sort ofpurgatory in these hills for too long not to make my voice heardnow--now when there's a chance of making our lives more tolerable. Oh,I've had a day while you've been away. It's been a day such as in mycraziest moments I've never even dreamed of. Bob, I've discovered whatthey've all been trying to discover for years. I've found Lightfoot'scamp!"

  "And then?"

  The girl's enthusiasm left her husband caught in a wave ofapprehension. He saw with a growing sense of horror the meaning ofthat sudden revolt. This was displayed in his manner. Nor was Effieunobservant of it. Nor unresentful.

  She shrugged her perfect shoulders with assumed unconcern.

  "That reward--those ten thousand dollars are mine--ours--if I choose.And--I do choose."

  There was no mistaking the firmness, the decision in her final words.They came deliberate and hard, and they roused the man to prompt andsharp denial.

  "You--do--not."

  He was no longer propped against the table. He was no longer gentle.He stood erect and angry, and their regard was eye to eye. But even sothere was no disputing the woman's dominance of personality. The man'seyes, for all their anger, conveyed not a tithe of the other'sdecision. His whole attitude was subjective to the poise of thewoman's beautiful head, her erect, sculptured shoulders. Her measuringeyes were full of a fine revolt. There was nothing comparable betweenthem--except their anger.

  "Who can stop me? You?"

  The scornful challenge rang sharply through the little room. Then asilence fraught with intense moment followed upon its heels.

  The man nodded. His movement was followed by Effie's mockin
g laugh.

  Perhaps Bob realized the uselessness, the danger of retaining such anattitude. Perhaps his peculiar nature was unequal to the continuouseffort the position called for. In a moment he seemed to shrink beforethose straight gazing eyes, and the light of purpose behind them. Whenhe finally spoke a curious, almost pleading tone blended with thegenuine horror in his words.

  "No, no, Effie, you can't--you daren't!" he cried passionately. "Doyou know what you're doing? Do you know what that reward means toyou--to us? Look at your hands. They're clean, and soft, and white.Say, girl, that's blood money, blood money that'll surely stain themwith a crimson you'll never wash off 'em all your life. It's bloodmoney. Man's blood. Human blood. Just the same as runs through ourveins. Oh, say, girl, I've no sort of use for rustlers. They'recrooks, and maybe murderers. Guess they're everything you can thinkof, and a sight more. But they're men, and their blood's hot, warmblood the same as yours and mine. And you reckon to chaffer that bloodfor a price. You're going to sell it--for a price. You're going to domore. Yes. You're going to wreck a woman's conscience for life forthose filthy, blood-soaked dollars. The price? Effie, things aremighty hard with us. Maybe they're harder with you than me. But Ijust can't believe we've dropped so low we can sell the life blood ofeven a--murderer. I can't believe it. I just can't. That's all.Tell 'em, Effie. Tell 'em all you know and have discovered if youwill. Tell 'em in the cause of justice. But barter your soul andconscience for filthy blood money--I--bah! It makes me turn sick tothink that way."

  But Effie was in no mood to listen to the dictates of squeamishprinciples from a man who lacked the spirit and power--the will toraise her out of the mire of penury into which he had helped to plungeher. The hours of dreary, hopeless labor; the weeks and months ofdismal and grinding poverty had sunk deeply into her soul. No pricewas too high to pay to escape these things. In a moment her reply waspouring forth in a passionate torrent.

  "Blood money?" she cried. "Bob, you're crazier than I'd have thought.Where's the difference? I mean between handin' these folks over tojustice for justice sake, and taking the reward the folks who're mostto benefit by it are ready to hand out to me? Say, you can't talk thatway, Bob. You can't just do it. Aren't the folks who carry out thejustice in the land paid for it--from the biggest judge to the fellowwho handles the levers of the electric chair? Doesn't the country handout thousands of dollars every year for the punishment of offenders,whether it's for the shedding of their life blood, or merely theirheart's blood in the cruel horrors of a penitentiary? Do you think I'mgoing to hand out my secret to a bunch of cattlemen for their benefitand profit, and reap no comfort from it for myself in the miserablelife I'm condemned to endure? Your scruples are just crazy. They'reworse. They're selfish. You'd rather see me drudging all the bestmoments of my life away, so you can lounge around Ju Penrose's saloonspending dollars you've no right to, than risk your peace of mind on anhonest--yes, _honest_--transaction that's going to give me a little ofthe comfort that you haven't the grit to help me to yourself."

  The girl was carried away with the force of her own purpose andcraving. Every word she said was meant from the bottom of her soul.There was not a shadow of yielding. She had no illusions. For twoyears her heart had been hardening to its present condition, and shewould not give up one tittle of the chance that now opened out beforeher hungry eyes.

  Bob was clay in her hands. He was clay in any hands sufficientlydominating. He knew from the moment he had delivered his appeal, andhe had heard only the tones of her reply, that it was he who must yieldor complete irrevocably the barrier which had been steadily growing upbetween them. Just for a moment the weakly, obstinate thought hadoccurred of flinging everything to the winds and of denying her oncemore with all the force at his command. But the moment passed. Itfled before the charm of her presence, and the memory of the lovedwhich he was incapable of shutting out of his heart. He knew he wasright, and she was utterly wrong. But he knew, equally well, from herwords and attitude, that it was he who must give way, or----

  He shook his head with a negative movement which Effie was quick enoughto realize meant yielding. She wanted him to yield. It would simplifyall her purpose. She desired that he should participate in thetransaction.

  "You'll regret it, Effie," he said, in his usual easy tones. "You'llregret it so you'll hate to think of this moment all the rest of yourlife. It's not you talking, my dear, it's just--the experience you'vehad to go through. Can't you see? You've never been like this before.And it isn't you. Say, I'd give my right hand it you'd quit the wholething."

  But the girl's resolution was unwavering.

  "You--still refuse--to countenance it?" she demanded.

  Again Bob shook his head. But now he moved away and struck a match torelight his pipe.

  "No," he said. Then he slowly puffed out great clouds of smoke. "No,my dear, if you're bent on it." Then he moved to the cook-stove andsupported one foot upon it.

  "Say--you guess I'm selfish. You guess I haven't acted as I ought tohelp push our boat along. You reckon I've become a sort ofsaloon-loafing bum. Guess you sort of think I'm just about the limit.Well, maybe I'm nothing to shriek about. However, I've told you all Ifeel. I've told you what you're going to feel--later. Meanwhile it'sup to me to help you all I know. Tell me the whole thing, and I'll dothe business for you. I'll see Dug McFarlane for you, and fix things.But it's on one condition."

  "What is it?"

  Something of the coldness had passed from the girl's eyes. She wassmiling because she had achieved her purpose.

  "Why--just this. That I don't touch one single dollar of the priceyou're to receive for those poor devils' blood. That's all."

  Just for a moment a dull flush surged up under the tan of the girl'scheeks, and her eyes sparkled ominously. Then she returned to herrocker with great deliberation.

  "You're crazy, Bob," she said frigidly, but without any other display."Still--just sit around, and--I'll tell you it all."

  And while the man listened to the story of his wife's adventures hismind went back to the scene in Ju Penrose's saloon, and the denial hehad flung so heatedly at that philosophic cynic.