The Forfeit Page 7

  CHAPTER VII

  OUTLAND JUSTICE

  The noon sun sweltered down through the rank vegetation of the narrowdefile. The heat was almost too burdensome to endure. It was moist;it was dank with the reek of decaying matter. The way was a seeminglyendless battle against odds. But the travelers were buoyed with theknowledge that it was a short cut, calculated to save them many hoursand many miles.

  Bud Tristram had pointed the way. Furthermore, he had urged Jeff toaccept and endure the tortures and shortcomings which he knew they mustface in the heart of this remote gulch.

  Nor were his warnings unneeded, for Nature had set up no inconsiderabledefenses. Here were swarms of over-grown mosquitoes of a peculiarlyvicious type, which covered their horses' flanks in a gray horde,almost obliterating their original colors; and a bleeding mass resultedevery time either man raised a hand to the back of his own neck tosoothe the fierce irritation of the vicious attacks. Then the wayitself. It was a narrow gorge almost completely occupied by the muddybed and boggy shores of a drying mountain creek.

  It was, in Jeff's own words, a "fierce journey." The heat left themdrenched in perspiration, and wiltering. The two packhorses fought fortheir very lives, often hock deep in a sucking mire. While the beasts,who bore the burden of their exacting masters, were driven to battleevery inch of the way against a fiercely obstinate rampart of densegrown bush.

  Mercifully the gorge was less than three miles in length. A greaterdistance must have left the nervous equine mind staggered, andhelpless, and beaten. As it was nearly three hours of incessantstruggle only served to pass the final barrier.

  "Phew!"

  Jeff Masters drew off his hat as they emerged upon the wide opening ofa great valley. Then he flung himself out of the saddle and began tosweep the blood-inflated mosquitoes from his horse's flanks. Bud, withless haste, proceeded to do the same. Finally, both men walked roundthe weary beasts and examined the security of the packs on the ledhorses.

  Bud pointed down the valley with one outstretched arm.

  "We'll make that way," he said, his deep eyes dwelling almostaffectionately upon the wide stretch of blue-tinted grass. "Guesswe'll take the high land an' camp fer food."

  Then he turned back to his horse and remounted. Jeff silently followedhis example and they rode on.

  For many minutes no word passed between them. Each was busy with hisown particular thoughts. The deep look of friendly affection was stillin Bud's eyes. Jeff was far less concerned with the wonderful sceneslowly unfolding itself as they proceeded than with the purpose of hisjourney. He knew they had reached the central point from which theywere to radiate their search of the labyrinth of hills. His mind wasupon the wealth of possibility before them. The difficulties. Bud,for the time at least, was concerned only with that which his eyesbeheld, and the memories of other days far, far back when he hadpossessed no greater responsibility than the quest of adventure, andhis own safe delivery from the fruits of his unwisdom.

  It was he who first broke the silence between them.

  "Gee!" he exclaimed, with that curious note of appreciation which thatejaculation can assume. "It's big. Say, Jeff, it's big an' good tolook on. Sort of makes you think, too, don't it? Jest get a peek thatway. Them slopes." He indicated the western boundary of the valleyrising up, up to great pine-crested heights. "A thousand--two thousandfeet. And hills beyond. Big hills, with snows you couldn't meltanyhow. Over there, too." One great hand waved in the direction ofthe east. "Lesser hills. Lesser woods. But--man, it's fine! Thenahead. Miles an' miles of this queer blue grass which sets fat oncattle inches deep."

  His words ceased, but his eyes continued to feast, flooding the simplebrain behind them with a joy which no words could describe. Presentlyhe went on:

  "Makes you feel A'mighty God's a pretty big feller, don't it? Guess Hejest tumbles things around, an' sets up, an' levels down in a way thatwouldn't mean a thing to brains like ours--till He's finished it all,and sort of swep' up tidy. Look at them colors, way up there to thewest. Queer? Sure. Every sort o' blamed color in a tangle no earthlypainter could set out. Ain't it a pictur'? It's jest a sort o'pictur' a painter feller's li'ble to spend most of his wholesome nightsdreamin' about. An' when he wakes up, why, I don't guess he kin eventhink like it, an' he sure ain't a hell of a chance to paint that wayanyhow. Say, d'you make it these things are, or is it jest somethingHe sets in us makes us see 'em that way? He's big--He surely is. I'mglad I come along with you, Jeff, boy. Y' see, a feller sort o' sitsaround home, an' sees the same grass, an' brands the same steers, an'thinks the same thinks. Ther' ain't nothin' he don't know around home.He gets so life don't seem a thing, an' he jest feels he's runningthings so as he pleases. He sort o' fergets he's jest a part o' thescenery around. He fergets he's set in that scenery by an A'mighty bigHand, same as them all-fired m'squitters we just found, an' kind o'guesses he is that A'mighty Hand." He turned his deeply smiling eyeson his companion. "I don't often take on like this, Jeff," heapologized, "but the sight o' this place makes me want to shout an' getright out an' thank the good God He's seen fit to let me sit around an'live."

  But Jeff had no means of simple expression such as Bud. He could nevergive verbal expression to the emotions locked away in his heart. Thosewho knew him regarded it as reserve, even hardness. Perhaps it wasonly that shyness which the strongest characters are often most proneto.

  He ignored the older man's quaintly expressed feelings, and fastenedupon the opening he had at last received, and which he had been seekingever since it had become obvious that Bud's knowledge of the greatCathill range was almost phenomenal.

  "You know these parts a heap," he observed.

  "Know 'em?" Bud laughed in his deep-throated way, which was onlyanother indication of his buoyant mood. "You'd know 'em, boy, if you'dhad a father build up a big pelt trading post right in this valley, an'fer sixteen years o' your life you'd ridden, an' shot, an' hunted overthis blue grass, and these hills, for nigh a range of fifty mile.Guess I know this territory same as you know the playgrounds o' thecollege that handed you your knowledge o' figgers. Know it? Say, youcould dump me right down anywhere around here for fifty miles an' more,an' I'd travel straight here same as the birds fly." He laughed again."When you said you'd the notion of huntin' out your brother, who washuntin' these hills, you give me the excuse I'd been yearnin' to findin years. I wanted to see these hills again. I wanted it bad. GuessI was jest crazy fer it. It didn't get me figgerin' long, either, tolocate wher' we'd likely find that boy you're lookin' fer. Ther' ain'tno better huntin' ground than around this valley. It's sort ofuntouched since my father died, an' I had to quit it and take topunchin' cattle. Then ther's that post he built. A dandy place, withnigh everything a pelt hunter needs fer his comfort. We're making forthat post right now, an' when we make it I'm guessin' we ain't goin' tochase much farther to locate that twin brother of yours."

  "But you never----"

  Bud shook his great head, and stretched his ungainly legs with hisstirrups thrust out wide.

  "Sure I didn't tell you these things," he nodded, in simple, almostchildlike enjoyment.

  "I never---- Say, does Nan know you were--raised here?"

  "Surely." Then Bud went on with an amused twinkle in his eyes. "But Iguess Nan's like me. It ain't our way worryin' other folks with ourtroubles. You see, most folks ain't a heap o' time to listen to otherfolks' troubles. Most everybody's jest yearnin' to tell their own."

  "Troubles?" Jeff smiled in his own peculiarly shadowy fashion. "Youdon't seem to figure this valley's any sort of trouble, nor itsassociations. But maybe there's a bone or two hidden around you don'tfigure to show me."

  Bud remained silent for some moments. Then he gave way to another ofhis joyous, deep-throated laughs.

  "No, sirree! Ther' ain't no troubles to this valley fer me. None. Igot memories I wouldn't sell fer a farm. Them wer' days you didn'tfind trouble in nothin'. No. It's lat
er on you see things diff'rent.Make good, an' you see troubles wher' there shouldn't be none. You an'me we're guessin' to make a pile o' dollars, so we could set up apalace on 5th Av'noo, New York, if we was yearnin' that-a-way. I don'treckon there's many fellers 'ud find trouble in such a play as that.Wal, I'd be willing enough to turn it all down, an' pitch camp righthere among these hills, an' chase pelts for the few dollars needed tokeep the wind from rattling my bones--'cep' fer Nan."

  "Ah yes--Nan. There's Nan to think of. And Nan's more to you, Bud,than anything else in life. Say, your little girl's a bright jewel. Idon't need to say a word about her value, eh? But some day you'regoing to lose her. And then?"

  Bud's eyes came round upon him and for some moments encountered Jeff'ssteady regard. Then he looked away, and slowly all its simple delightdropped from the strong weather-tanned face, to be replaced by analmost painful dejection. Presently he turned again, and, in a moment,Jeff found an added interest in the wonderful scene that lay ahead ofhim.

  "Nan's a fine, good gal," Bud declared, with simple earnestness."Guess she's her mother over again--only she's jest Nan. Nan's more tome than all the dollars in creation, boy. Guess you're right. Oh,yes, you're right--sure." The man brushed aside the beads of sweatfrom his broad forehead. "An' Nan's goin' to do jest as she notions.She's goin' to live around her home as long as she feels that way.When she don't feel that way she's goin' to quit. When she feels likechoosin' a man fer herself--why, I'm goin' to do all I know helpin' herthat way. But it's goin' to be her choice, boy. An' when that timecomes, why, I'll get right down on my knees an' pray A'mighty God he'sthe feller for her, an' the man I'm hopin' she'll choose, an' that hewants her, same as she wants him."

  Then he shook his head and a deep sigh escaped him.

  "But I don't know. It don't seem to me reasonable. Y' see, the luck'srun all my way so far, an' I don't guess you can keep on dealin' thecards without 'em gettin' right up an' handin' it you plenty--sometime."

  Jeff had no reply. Something warned him to keep silent. The older manin his earnest simplicity had opened out to him a vista which he felthe had no right to gaze upon.

  As they jogged steadily along over the blue-green carpet, and thekaleidoscopic coloring of the distant slopes fell away behind them, hiswhole mental vision became occupied by the sweet picture of abrown-eyed, brown-haired girl. But he was regarding it without anylover's emotions. Rather was he regarding it as one who calmlyappraises a beautiful jewel he does not covet. He was thinking of Nanas he had known her for some five years. From the days of herschoolgirlhood he had watched her develop into a grown woman full ofall that was wholesome and winsome. She was her father over again,trustful, simple, fearless, and she was possessed of a whimsicalphilosophy quite beyond her years. Her beauty was undeniable, hergentle kindliness was no less. But the memory of these things made nostirring within him. Nan was just a loyal little friend whom he lovedand was ready to serve as he might love and help a sister, but regardof her broke off at that. So, as he rode, the pictures of her failedto hold him, and, finally, his roving gaze became caught and held by asudden and striking anachronism in the scene about him.

  He claimed Bud's attention with a gesture which roused him from hisengrossing thought.

  "Fire," he observed.

  Bud's gaze became rivetted on the spot.

  "Yes, it's fire--sure," he admitted.

  It was a long way ahead. Only the trained eyes of prairiemen couldhave read the sign aright at such a distance. It was a break in thewonderful sea of varying shades of restful green. It was, to them, anominous dead black patch which broke the sky-line with unmistakableskeleton arms.

  It was the only remark upon the subject which passed between them, butas they rode on it occupied something more than a passing attention.

  With Jeff his interest was mere curiosity. With Bud it was deeper andmore significant. Had the younger man observed him he might havediscovered a curious expression almost amounting to pain in the deepeyes which contemplated the blackened limbs where the fire had wroughtits havoc.

  As they drew nearer it became apparent that the havoc was even greaterthan they had first supposed. A wide patch of woodland, hundreds ofacres in extent, whose upper limits were confined only by the summit ofthe valley's slope, where it cut the sky-line, had been completelyburnt out. Nor was it possible to tell if even that limit was theextent of the disaster.

  Bud suddenly reined in his horse as they came abreast of it, and hisvoice broke with painful sharpness upon the deathly stillness of theworld about them.

  "It's gone," he cried, with a note of deep distress and grievousdisappointment. "It's burnt right out to a shell. Say----"

  "What's gone?"

  The older man glanced round. Then his troubled eyes sought the charredremains of the splendid pines once more.

  "Why--the post." Then he pointed amongst the charred skeletons. "Geta peek right in ther'. See, Jeff. Them walls; them fallen logs.Burnt. Burnt right through to the heart of 'em. That's all that'sleft of the home that sheltered me for the first sixteen years of mylife. Say, I'm sick--sick to death."

  Jeff left his packhorse and moved forward amongst the blackened limbs.The reek of burnt wood hung heavily upon the air. He threaded his waycarefully toward the charred remains of an extensive abode, now plainlyvisible amongst the black tree trunks.

  It was a wide rambling structure, and, though burnt to cinders, much ofits general shape, and the great logs which had formed its walls, stillremained to testify to all it had been under the hands of those who hadoriginally wrought there.

  Jeff glanced back at the man he had left behind. He had not stirred.He sat in the saddle just gazing at the destruction. That was all. Sohe turned again to the ruins, and, dismounting, he proceeded on foot toexplore.

  * * * * * *

  They were eyes wide with repulsion and a certain horror that gazed downupon the object at Jeff's feet. It was the rotting, charred remains ofa human figure. It was beyond recognition, except in so far as itshuman identity was concerned. The clothes were gone. The flesh wasseared and shriveled. The process of incineration was almost complete.

  After a few fascinated moments his eyes searched further along theremains of the old post wall. Another figure lay sprawling on theground. Near by it a heavy pistol had fallen wide. A rifle, too, layacross the second body.

  Every detail was swiftly absorbed by the man's keenly active brain. Hestood back from the gutted precincts and gazed speculatively upon thepicture. His imagination reconstructed something of what he believedmust have occurred in the deep heart of these wrecked woodlands.

  What of the fire? How had it been started? Was it the work of anincendiary? Had the heat of the summer sun wrought the mischief? Hadthe hut itself supplied the trouble? None of these questions offeredreal enlightenment through the answers he could supply. No. He sawthe superheated furnace of the woods blazing, and he saw men strugglingwith all their might to save themselves, and some of their moreprecious belongings. The reckless daring of those two, perhaps at thelast moment, returning to their shelter on one final journey to savesome detail of their home. Then the awful penalty for their temerity.Perhaps overwhelmed by smoke. Death--hideous, appalling death. Death,a thousand times worse than that which, in the routine of their lives,it was their work to mete out to the valuable fur bearers which yieldedthem a means of existence.

  A sudden question, not unaccompanied by fear, swept through his brain.It was a question inspired by the belief that these men were furhunters. Who--who were they? He drew close up to each body in turn,seeking identity where none was discoverable. A sweat broke upon histemples. There was no sign in them. There was no human semblanceexcept for outline.

  "God! If it should be----"

  His sentence remained incompleted. A dreadful fear had broken it off.He was gazing down upon the second body, in earnest, horrifiedcontemplation. Then to his amaz
ement he was answered by Bud's familiarvoice.

  "It ain't the boy we're chasin' up, Jeff," he said, with a deepassurance.

  "How d'you know that?"

  The demand was incisive, almost rough.

  "These folks weren't pelt hunters. Not by a sight. I bin around."

  Jeff had turned to the speaker, and a great relief shone in his eyes.

  "What--who were they--then?" he asked sharply.

  "Maybe it was a ranch--of sorts."

  "Of sorts? You mean----?"

  "Rustlers. Come right on out of here, an' I'll show you."

  With gentle insistence he drew his friend away from the painfullyfascinating spectacle which held so difficult a riddle. And presentlythey were again with their horses, which were grazing unconcernedlyupon the sweet blue grass which the valley yielded so generously.

  "Well?" There was almost impatience in Jeff's monosyllable.

  For answer Bud pointed at a number of rough fences, uneven, crude,makeshift, some distance away.

  "See them? Oh, yes, I guess they're corrals sure. But it don't take afeller who's lived all his life among cattle more'n five seconds tolocate their meanin'. They're corrals set up in an a'mighty hurry byfolks who hate work o' that sort anyway. An' I'd say, Jeff,cattlemen--real cattlemen--don't dump a range down in the heart of theCathills, not even fer this sweet-grass you can see around, when ther'sthe prairie jest outside. That is cattlemen who got no sort o' reasonfer keepin' quit of the--open plains. Then ther's bin a big drive awaynorth from here. Mebbe they wer' gettin' clear of this fire."

  Under the influence of Bud's clear convictions all Jeff's fearsvanished. He accepted the other's admittedly better understanding ofthese things all the more readily that he desired earnestly to dispelthe last shadows of his momentary doubt.

  "That's so," he agreed. Then he added: "But anyway, our camp's gone."

  "Yes. We'll make camp some'ere else. Meanwhiles----"

  "Yes?"

  "We must follow up the trail."

  There was irrevocable decision in the older cattleman's tone. And hiswords had the effect of startling the other.

  "But--I don't see----"

  "They're rustlers. Ther's their tracks clear as day. This is theirhiding. Wal, I guess there's jest one thing to be done. It's our dutyto track 'em down. Our duty to the cattle world, Jeff, boy."

  "But what about--Ronald?"

  Bud looked him squarely in the eyes.

  "We're cattlemen first, Jeff. The other'll come later."

  Jeff nodded, but there was a certain reluctance in his manner. Hiswhole heart was set upon the search for his twin brother. He felt thathis duty as a cattleman scarcely had the right to claim him at such atime. But the older man's manner made it difficult to protest, and, indeference to him, he felt it would be ungenerous to refuse. After allit only meant perhaps the delay of a day for his own projects.

  "Then we'll feed and water right here, Bud," he said resignedly. "Wecan leave our pack ponies, and ride light. There's five hours ofdaylight yet."

  "Yes, five hours good. Thanks, boy. Don't you worry a thing. We'llmake this time good. We're goin' to find your Ronald--if he'sanywheres around these Cathills."

  * * * * * *

  The more concentrated the character, the more sure its power of moralendurance, so the more acute its suffering under adversity. Suchpenalties lie ambushed for the strong, as though in delight at theimmensity of the suffering which can thereby be inflicted.

  Such an ambush was awaiting Jeffrey Masters. It came with terrifyingsuddenness. Bud was on the lead. The great sea of blue grass had beenbeaten and crushed by the hoofs of a considerable herd. There was nodifficulty, and the pace he made was rapid. But, even so, Bud's keeneyes never left the well-defined trail. He was reading it with anunderstanding which might well have seemed almost superhuman. And ashe rode he communicated odd fragments of his reading to the man behindhim.

  "It's queer," he observed once, when they had covered nearly two milesof the track. "Ther's a great bunch of horsemen been over this. Kindo' seems to me as if ther' was as many horses as steers. They'reheadin' northeast, too."

  Jeff's eyes were as close upon the trail as Bud's, only he read withless understanding.

  "They seem leading out of the valley," he said. "Maybe there's anothercamp way up further."

  Suddenly Bud drew rein, his great body lurching forward in the saddleas his horse "propped" itself to a standstill. Jeff's horse followedsuit of its own accord.

  "What's doing?"

  Jeff's demand was accompanied by a keen look into the other's face.

  Bud's eyes were wide with speculation.

  "They've broke up--hereabouts," he cried. "More'n half the horses havecut out. Say, ther'," he went on pointing away to the right. "That'sthe way they've took, clear across ther' to the east. The herd's goneon with jest a few boys to handle it. Say----"

  "Look!"

  A curious suppressed force rang in Jeff's exclamation. He was pointingat a bluff of wide-spreading sturdy trees that grew hard in against theeastern slope of the valley.

  Bud followed the direction indicated, and that which he beheld robbedhim of all inclination for further speech.

  Long silent moments passed. Moments fraught with poignant, stirringemotions. Something painful was slowly creeping into the eyes of bothmen as they continued to regard this stout cluster of trees.

  "Oaks."

  The word was muttered.

  Jeff vouchsafed no reply, but led the way toward them at a gallop.

  They drew up almost in the shadow of the trees, at a point where threehideous things were hanging suspended by rawhide ropes. They wereswaying gently, stirred almost imperceptibly under the pressure of thelight breeze.

  Bud sat stock still upon his horse. For a moment Jeff remained at hisside. Then the latter stirred. He pressed his horse forward, urgingit closer under the overhanging boughs. The animal moved willinglyenough for a few yards. Then panic suddenly beset it. It shied. Itreared and plunged. The fierce reminder of the spur was powerless toaffect it beyond driving it to even more strenuous rebellion. Theterror-stricken creature would not approach another step in thedirection of those ominous swinging bodies.

  Jeff finally leaped from the saddle and released his horse. It turnedto bolt, but Bud reached its hanging reins and secured it. Then he satstill, observing the movements of his companion with strained, intentgaze.

  Jeff passed under the great limbs of the tree. He cautiouslyapproached the first of the hanging bodies. It was hideous. There wasa bandage drawn tightly over the dead eyes, but its folds werepowerless to disguise the rest of the contorted features. The head wastilted over on one side. Its flesh was ghastly, and deepdiscolorations blotched it from the neck up. The body was clad in theordinary garb of the prairieman, with the loose waistcoat hanging openover a discolored cotton shirt, and the nether part of it sheathed indirty moleskin trousers. The ankles were lashed securely together, andthe arms firmly pinioned.

  For some moments Jeff stared up at the dead man. His blue eyes werequite unsoftening. There was no real pity in him for the fate of acattle thief. He understood only the justice of it from the point ofview of the cattle grower. So his cold eyes gazed up at the horridspectacle unflinchingly.

  After some moments he passed on to the second body. The sameconditions prevailed. A colored handkerchief concealed the glazedeyes, and the dropping jaw displayed the blackened cavity beyond thelips.

  He moved away to the third. Its back was turned to him, and the baredhead displayed a close mass of fair curling hair. In this instance thebandage over the eyes had fallen from its place, and lay lodged againstthe raw hide rope about the dead man's neck. He moved round quickly.In a moment he was facing the dreadful dead features.

  He stood there without a sound. But his eyes had changed from theircold regard to a horror unspeakable. Once his lips parted, and
therewas an automatic effort to moisten them with a parching tongue. Heswallowed with a visible effort. But no other movement came from him.

  The moments passed. Hideous, dreadful moments of an agony that wasdisplayed in the drawn lines which had suddenly taken possession of hisstrong features. It was the face of a man whose soul is seared withthe blasting fury of a hell from the sight of which he is powerless towithdraw his terrified gaze. He knew nothing but the agony which smotethrough his every sense. The world about him, the place, even thehideous swaying remains of a once joyous life that confronted him. Hewas blind, blind to it all, crushed beneath a burden of agony whichleft him stupefied. His twin brother Ronald was there before him, adreadful, dead thing, hanged for a--cattle thief.

  * * * * * *

  Bud gazed from the dead to the living. His deep eyes were full of anunderstanding which required no words. There was that about the dead,distorted face which was unmistakable. One look into the dreadful eyesof the living had told him all he needed.

  He, too, stood silently contemplating the swaying figure. But it wasonly for a moment. Then he moved swiftly, actively. As he moved hedrew a sheath knife from his belt.

  He reached up. The steel of the knife gleamed. The next moment thedead thing was in his arms.

  A low fierce cry suddenly broke the silence of those dreadful shades.

  "Leave him! Don't dare, or--I'll kill you!"

  Bud's head turned, and the muzzle of a gun touched his cheek. Theblazing eyes behind it shone like coals of fire as they glared into his.

  But the great Bud's purpose was stronger than the madness of theother's agony.

  "Put up your gun, Jeff," he said, in a deep gentle voice. "We're jestgoin' to hide this poor boy wher' the eyes o' men an' beasts can't seehim. We're jest goin' to hide him away wher' mebbe the good God'llwatch over him, an' help him, an' surely will forgive him. You kenjest help me, boy, to locate the place, an' when we find it we'll sorto' seal it up, an' you ken hide the key away in your heart so no one'llever find it. Are you goin' to help, Jeff?"

  For answer the gun was abruptly withdrawn. Then Bud saw the strickenman's hand dash across his eyes, and, as it passed, he realized themoisture of tears upon the back of it.