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diff --git a/26951-h/26951-h.htm b/26951-h/26951-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..398e858 --- /dev/null +++ b/26951-h/26951-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10813 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> +<title> +The Project Gutenberg eBook of "Firebrand" Trevison, by Charles Alden Seltzer. +</title> + +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + h3 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size: 1.2em;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center;} + div.ce p {text-align: center; margin: auto 0;} + .caption {font-size:.8em;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + hr.tb {width: 35%; margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both;} + .blockquot {margin-left:5%; margin-right:5%;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + div.ra p {text-align: right; margin: auto 0;} + hr.major {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both;} + hr.silver {width: 100%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver;} + h2 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size: 1.4em;} +// --> +/* XML end ]]>*/ +</style> + +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of 'Firebrand' Trevison, by Charles Alden Seltzer + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: 'Firebrand' Trevison + +Author: Charles Alden Seltzer + +Illustrator: P. V. E. Ivory + +Release Date: October 18, 2008 [EBook #26951] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 'FIREBRAND' TREVISON *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.6em;'>“FIREBRAND” TREVISON</p> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a> +<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 384px; height: 571px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 384px;'> +INSTINCTIVELY EACH KNEW THE OTHER FOR A FOE. [<i>Page 25</i>]<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:2.2em; margin-top:1em;'>“FIREBRAND”</p> +<p style=' font-size:2.2em; margin-bottom:1.3em;'>TREVISON</p> +<p>BY</p> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em; margin-bottom:3em;'>CHARLES ALDEN SELTZER</p> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>AUTHOR OF</p> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>THE VENGENCE OF JEFFERSON GAWNE,</p> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>THE BOSS OF THE LAZY Y,</p> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em; margin-bottom:3em;'>THE RANGE BOSS, <span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Etc.</span></p> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>ILLUSTRATED BY</p> +<p style=' font-size:1em; margin-bottom:2em;'>P. V. E. IVORY</p> +</div> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-emb.png' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' margin-top:2em;'>GROSSET & DUNLAP</p> +<p style=' margin-bottom:1em;'>PUBLISHERS NEW YORK</p> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em; margin-bottom:2em;'>Made in the United States of America</p> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce' style=' font-size:0.8em;'> +<p>Copyright</p> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p>A. C. McClurg & Co.</p> +<p>1918</p> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p>Published September, 1918</p> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p><i>Copyrighted in Great Britain</i></p> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.4em; margin-bottom:1em;'>Contents</p> +</div> + +<table border='0' width='500' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><span style='font-size:small;'>CHAPTER</span></td> + <td></td> + <td align='right'><span style='font-size:small;'>PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>I</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Rider of the Black Horse</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#I_THE_RIDER_OF_THE_BLACK_HORSE'>1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>II</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>In Which Hatred is Born</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#II_IN_WHICH_HATRED_IS_BORN'>10</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>III</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Beating a Good Man</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#III_BEATING_A_GOOD_MAN'>30</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Long Arm of Power</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IV_THE_LONG_ARM_OF_POWER'>42</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>V</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>A Telegram and a Girl</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#V_A_TELEGRAM_AND_A_GIRL'>53</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>A Judicial Puppet</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VI_A_JUDICIAL_PUPPET'>71</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Two Letters Go East</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VII_TWO_LETTERS_GO_EAST'>79</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Chaos of Creation</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VIII_THE_CHAOS_OF_CREATION'>82</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Straight Talk</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IX_STRAIGHT_TALK'>93</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>X</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Spirit of Manti</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#X_THE_SPIRIT_OF_MANTI'>100</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>For the “Kiddies”</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XI_FOR_THE__KIDDIES'>109</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Exposed to the Sunlight</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XII_EXPOSED_TO_THE_SUNLIGHT'>113</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Another Letter</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIII_ANOTHER_LETTER'>130</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>A Rumble Of War</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIV_A_RUMBLE_OF_WAR'>137</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>A Mutual Benefit Association</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XV_A_MUTUAL_BENEFIT_ASSOCIATION'>146</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Wherein A Woman Lies</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVI_WHEREIN_A_WOMAN_LIES'>151</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Justice Vs. Law</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVII_JUSTICE_VS_LAW'>155</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Law Invoked and Defied</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVIII_LAW_INVOKED_AND_DEFIED'>169</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>A Woman Rides in Vain</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIX_A_WOMAN_RIDES_IN_VAIN'>183</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>And Rides Again—in Vain</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XX_AND_RIDES_AGAIN_IN_VAIN'>192</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Another Woman Rides</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXI_ANOTHER_WOMAN_RIDES'>209</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>A Man Errs—and Pays</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXII_A_MAN_ERRS_AND_PAYS'>221</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>First Principles</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXIII_FIRST_PRINCIPLES'>234</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXIV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Another Woman Lies</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXIV_ANOTHER_WOMAN_LIES'>253</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>In the Dark</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXV_IN_THE_DARK'>264</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXVI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Ashes</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXVI_THE_ASHES'>273</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXVII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Fight</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXVII_THE_FIGHT'>290</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXVIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Dregs</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXVIII_THE_DREGS'>310</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXIX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Calm</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXIX_THE_CALM'>321</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.4em; margin-bottom:1em;'>Illustrations</p> +</div> + +<table border='0' width='400' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Illustrations' style='margin:1em auto'> +<col style='width:80%;' /> +<col style='width:20%;' /> +<tr> + <td></td> + <td align='right'><span style='font-size:small'>PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Instinctively each knew the other for a foe.</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_1'><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“You are going to marry me—some day. That’s what I think of you!”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_2'>97</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“You men are blind. Corrigan is a crook who will stop at nothing.”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_3'>283</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_1' name='page_1'></a>1</span></div> +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.4em;'>“Firebrand” Trevison</p> +</div> + +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='I_THE_RIDER_OF_THE_BLACK_HORSE' id='I_THE_RIDER_OF_THE_BLACK_HORSE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +<h3>THE RIDER OF THE BLACK HORSE</h3> +</div> + +<p>The trail from the Diamond K broke around the +base of a low hill dotted thickly with scraggly oak +and fir, then stretched away, straight and almost level +(except for a deep cut where the railroad gang and a +steam shovel were eating into a hundred-foot hill) to +Manti. A month before, there had been no Manti, and +six months before that there had been no railroad. The +railroad and the town had followed in the wake of a +party of khaki-clad men that had made reasonably fast +progress through the country, leaving a trail of wooden +stakes and little stone monuments behind. Previously, +an agent of the railroad company had bartered through, +securing a right-of-way. The fruit of the efforts of +these men was a dark gash on a sun-scorched level, +and two lines of steel laid as straight as skilled eye and +transit could make them—and Manti.</p> +<p>Manti could not be overlooked, for the town obtruded +upon the vision from where “Brand” Trevison +was jogging along the Diamond K trail astride his big +black horse, Nigger. Manti dominated the landscape, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2' name='page_2'></a>2</span> +not because it was big and imposing, but because it +was new. Manti’s buildings were scattered—there had +been no need for crowding; but from a distance—from +Trevison’s distance, for instance, which was a matter +of three miles or so—Manti looked insignificant, toy-like, +in comparison with the vast world on whose bosom +it sat. Manti seemed futile, ridiculous. But Trevison +knew that the coming of the railroad marked an epoch, +that the two thin, thread-like lines of steel were the +tentacles of the man-made monster that had gripped +the East—business reaching out for newer fields—and +that Manti, futile and ridiculous as it seemed, was an +outpost fortified by unlimited resource. Manti had +come to stay.</p> +<p>And the cattle business was going, Trevison knew. +The railroad company had built corrals at Manti, and +Trevison knew they would be needed for several years +to come. But he could foresee the day when they +would be replaced by building and factory. Business +was extending its lines, cattle must retreat before them. +Several homesteaders had already appeared in the +country, erecting fences around their claims. One of +the homesteaders, when Trevison had come upon him +a few days before, had impertinently inquired why +Trevison did not fence the Diamond K range. Fence +in five thousand acres! It had never been done in +this section of the country. Trevison had permitted +himself a cold grin, and had kept his answer to himself. +The incident was not important, but it foreshadowed +a day when a dozen like inquiries would make +the building of a range fence imperative. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span></p> +<p>Trevison already felt the irritation of congestion—the +presence of the homesteaders nettled him. He +frowned as he rode. A year ago he would have sold +out—cattle, land and buildings—at the market price. +But at that time he had not known the value of his +land. Now—</p> +<p>He kicked Nigger in the ribs and straightened in the +saddle, grinning.</p> +<p>“She’s not for sale now—eh, Nig?”</p> +<p>Five minutes later he halted the black at the crest +of the big railroad cut and looked over the edge appraisingly. +Fifty laborers—directed by a mammoth personage +in dirty blue overalls, boots, woolen shirt, and a +wide-brimmed felt hat, and with a face undeniably +Irish—were working frenziedly to keep pace with the +huge steam shovel, whose iron jaws were biting into +the earth with a regularity that must have been discouraging +to its human rivals. A train of flat-cars, +almost loaded, was on the track of the cut, and a dinky +engine attached to them wheezed steam from a safety +valve, the engineer and fireman lounging out of the +cab window, lazily watching.</p> +<p>Patrick Carson, the personage—construction boss, +good-natured, keen, observant—was leaning against +a boulder at the side of the track, talking to the engineer +at the instant Trevison appeared at the top of the cut. +He glanced up, his eyes lighting.</p> +<p>“There’s thot mon, Trevison, ag’in, Murph’,” he +said to the engineer. “Bedad, he’s a pitcher now, +ain’t he?”</p> +<p>An imposing figure Trevison certainly was. Horse +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span> +and rider were outlined against the sky, and in the dear +light every muscle and feature of man and beast stood +but boldly and distinctly. The big black horse was a +powerful brute, tall and rangy, with speed and courage +showing plainly in contour, nostril and eye; and +with head and ears erect he stood motionless, statuesque, +heroic. His rider seemed to have been proportioned +to fit the horse. Tall, slender of waist, +broad of shoulder, straight, he sat loosely in the saddle +looking at the scene below him, unconscious of the +admiration he excited. Poetic fancies stirred Carson +vaguely.</p> +<p>“Luk at ’im now, Murph; wid his big hat, his leather +pants, his spurs, an’ the rist av his conthraptions! +There’s a divvil av a conthrast here now, if ye’d only +glimpse it. This civillyzation, ripraysinted be this railroad, +don’t seem to fit, noways. It’s like it had butted +into a pitcher book! Ain’t he a darlin’?”</p> +<p>“I’ve never seen him up close,” said Murphy. There +was none of Carson’s enthusiasm in his voice. “It’s +always seemed to me that a felluh who rigs himself out +like that has got a lot of show-off stuff in him.”</p> +<p>“The first time I clapped me eyes on wan av them +cowbhoys I thought so, too,” said Carson. “That was +back on the other section. But I seen so manny av +them rigged out like thot, thot I comminced to askin’ +questions. It’s a domned purposeful rig, mon. The +big felt hat is a daisy for keepin’ off the sun, an’ that +gaudy bit av a rag around his neck keeps the sun and +sand from blisterin’ the skin. The leather pants is +to keep his legs from gettin’ clawed up be the thorns +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span> +av prickly pear an’ what not, which he’s got to ride +through, an’ the high heels is to keep his feet from +slippin’ through the stirrups. A kid c’ud tell ye what +he carries the young cannon for, an’ why he wears it +so low on his hip. Ye’ve nivver seen him up close, eh +Murph’? Well, I’m askin’ him down so’s ye can have +a good look at him.” He stepped back from the +boulder and waved a hand at Trevison, shouting:</p> +<p>“Make it a real visit, bhoy!”</p> +<p>“I’ll be pullin’ out of here before he can get around,” +said Murphy, noting that the last car was almost filled.</p> +<p>Carson chuckled. “Hold tight,” he warned; “he’s +comin’.”</p> +<p>The side of the cut was steep, and the soft sand and +clay did not make a secure footing. But when the black +received the signal from Trevison he did not hesitate. +Crouching like a great cat at the edge, he slid his forelegs +over until his hoofs sank deep into the side of the +cut. Then with a gentle lurch he drew his hind legs +after him, and an instant later was gingerly descending, +his rider leaning far back in the saddle, the reins held +loosely in his hands.</p> +<p>It looked simple enough, the way the black was doing +it, and Trevison’s demeanor indicated perfect trust in +the animal and in his own skill as a rider. But the +laborers ceased working and watched, grouped, gesturing; +the staccato coughing of the steam shovel died +gaspingly, as the engineer shut off the engine and stood, +rooted, his mouth agape; the fireman in the dinky +engine held tightly to the cab window. Murphy muttered +in astonishment, and Carson chuckled admiringly, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span> +for the descent was a full hundred feet, and there were +few men in the railroad gang that would have dared to +risk the wall on foot.</p> +<p>The black had gained impetus with distance. A third +of the slope had been covered when he struck some +loose earth that shifted with his weight and carried +his hind quarters to one side and off balance. Instantly +the rider swung his body toward the wall of the cut, +twisted in the saddle and swung the black squarely +around, the animal scrambling like a cat. The black +stood, braced, facing the crest of the cut, while the +dislodged earth, preceded by pebbles and small boulders, +clattered down behind him. Then, under the +urge of Trevison’s gentle hand and voice, the black +wheeled again and faced the descent.</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t ride a horse down there for the damned +railroad!” declared Murphy.</p> +<p>“Thrue for ye—ye c’udn’t,” grinned Carson.</p> +<p>“A man could ride anywhere with a horse like that!” +remarked the fireman, fascinated.</p> +<p>“Ye’d have brought a cropper in that slide, an’ the +road wud be minus a coal-heaver!” said Carson. +“Wud ye luk at him now!”</p> +<p>The black was coming down, forelegs asprawl, his +hind quarters sliding in the sand. Twice as his fore-hoofs +struck some slight obstruction his hind quarters +lifted and he stood, balanced, on his forelegs, and each +time Trevison averted the impending catastrophe by +throwing himself far back in the saddle and slapping +the black’s hips sharply.</p> +<p>“He’s a circus rider!” shouted Carson, gleefully. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span> +“He’s got the coolest head of anny mon I iver seen! +He’s a divvil, thot mon!”</p> +<p>The descent was spectacular, but it was apparent +that Trevison cared little for its effect upon his audience, +for as he struck the level and came riding toward +Carson and the others, there was no sign of self-consciousness +in his face or manner. He smiled faintly, +though, as a cheer from the laborers reached his ears. +In the next instant he had halted Nigger near the dinky +engine, and Carson was introducing him to the engineer +and fireman.</p> +<p>Looking at Trevison “close up,” Murphy was constrained +to mentally label him “some man,” and he +regretted his deprecatory words of a few minutes +before. Plainly, there was no “show-off stuff” in +Trevison. His feat of riding down the wall of the cut +had not been performed to impress anyone; the look +of reckless abandon in the otherwise serene eyes that +held Murphy’s steadily, convinced the engineer that the +man had merely responded to a dare-devil impulse. +There was something in Trevison’s appearance that +suggested an entire disregard of fear. The engineer +had watched the face of a brother of his craft one night +when the latter had been driving a roaring monster +down a grade at record-breaking speed into a wall of +rain-soaked darkness out of which might thunder at +any instant another roaring monster, coming in the +opposite direction. There had been a mistake in orders, +and the train was running against time to make a +switch. Several times during the ride Murphy had +caught a glimpse of the engineer’s face, and the eyes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span> +had haunted him since—defiance of death, contempt +of consequences, had been reflected in them. Trevison’s +eyes reminded him of the engineer’s. But in Trevison’s +eyes was an added expression—cold humor. +The engineer of Murphy’s recollection would have met +death dauntlessly. Trevison would meet it no less +dauntlessly, but would mock at it. Murphy looked +long and admiringly at him, noting the deep chest, the +heavy muscles, the blue-black sheen of his freshly-shaven +chin and jaw under the tan; the firm, mobile +mouth, the aggressive set to his head. Murphy set his +age down at twenty-seven or twenty-eight. Murphy +was sixty himself—the age that appreciates, and +secretly envies, the virility of youth. Carson was complimenting +Trevison on his descent of the wall of the +cut.</p> +<p>“You’re a daisy rider, me bhoy!”</p> +<p>“Nigger’s a clever horse,” smiled Trevison. Murphy +was pleased that he was giving the animal the +credit. “Nigger’s well trained. He’s wiser than some +men. Tricky, too.” He patted the sleek, muscular +neck of the beast and the animal whinnied gently. +“He’s careful of his master, though,” laughed Trevison. +“A man pulled a gun on me, right after I’d got +Nigger. He had the drop, and he meant business. I +had to shoot. To disconcert the fellow, I had to jump +Nigger against him. Since then, whenever Nigger sees +a gun in anyone’s hand, he thinks it’s time to bowl that +man over. There’s no holding him. He won’t even +stand for anyone pulling a handkerchief out of a hip +pocket when I’m on him.” Trevison grinned. “Try +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span> +it, Carson, but get that boulder between you and Nigger +before you do.”</p> +<p>“I don’t like the look av the baste’s eye,” declined +the Irishman. “I wudn’t doubt ye’re worrud for the +wurrold. But he wudn’t jump a mon divvil a bit quicker +than his master, or I’m a sinner!”</p> +<p>Trevison’s eyes twinkled. “You’re a good construction +boss, Carson. But I’m glad to see that you’re getting +more considerate.”</p> +<p>“Av what?”</p> +<p>“Of your men.” Trevison glanced back; he had +looked once before, out of the tail of his eye. The +laborers were idling in the cut, enjoying the brief rest, +taking advantage of Carson’s momentary dereliction, +for the last car had been filled.</p> +<p>“I’ll be rayported yet, begob!”</p> +<p>Carson waved his hands, and the laborers dove for +the flat-cars. When the last man was aboard, the +engine coughed and moved slowly away. Carson +climbed into the engine-cab, with a shout: “So-long +bhoy!” to Trevison. The latter held Nigger with a +firm rein, for the animal was dancing at the noise made +by the engine, and as the cars filed past him, running +faster now, the laborers grinned at him and respectfully +raised their hats. For they had come from one +of the Latin countries of Europe, and for them, in the +person of this heroic figure of a man who had ridden +his horse down the steep wall of the cut, was romance.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='II_IN_WHICH_HATRED_IS_BORN' id='II_IN_WHICH_HATRED_IS_BORN'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +<h3>IN WHICH HATRED IS BORN</h3> +</div> + +<p>For some persons romance dwells in the new and +the unusual, and for other persons it dwells not +at all. Certain of Rosalind Benham’s friends would +have been able to see nothing but the crudities and +squalor of Manti, viewing it as Miss Benham did, +from one of the windows of her father’s private car, +which early that morning had been shunted upon a +switch at the outskirts of town. Those friends would +have seen nothing but a new town of weird and picturesque +buildings, with more saloons than seemed to +be needed in view of the noticeable lack of citizens. +They would have shuddered at the dust-windrowed +street, the litter of refuse, the dismal lonesomeness, the +forlornness, the utter isolation, the desolation. Those +friends would have failed to note the vast, silent reaches +of green-brown plain that stretched and yawned into +aching distances; the wonderfully blue and cloudless +sky that covered it; they would have overlooked the +timber groves that spread here and there over the +face of the land, with their lure of mystery. No +thoughts of the bigness of this country would have +crept in upon them—except as they might have been +reminded of the dreary distance from the glitter and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span> +the tinsel of the East. The mountains, distant and +shining, would have meant nothing to them; the strong, +pungent aroma of the sage might have nauseated them.</p> +<p>But Miss Benham had caught her first glimpse of +Manti and the surrounding country from a window of +her berth in the car that morning just at dawn, and +she loved it. She had lain for some time cuddled up +in her bed, watching the sun rise over the distant mountains, +and the breath of the sage, sweeping into the +half-opened window, had carried with it something +stronger—the lure of a virgin country.</p> +<p>Aunt Agatha Benham, chaperon, forty—maiden +lady from choice—various uncharitable persons hinted +humorously of pursued eligibles—found Rosalind gazing +ecstatically out of the berth window when she stirred +and awoke shortly after nine. Agatha climbed out of +her berth and sat on its edge, yawning sleepily.</p> +<p>“This is Manti, I suppose,” she said acridly, shoving +the curtain aside and looking out of the window. +“We should consider ourselves fortunate not to have +had an adventure with Indians or outlaws. We have +<i>that</i> to be thankful for, at least.”</p> +<p>Agatha’s sarcasm failed to penetrate the armor of +Rosalind’s unconcern—as Agatha’s sarcasms always +did. Agatha occupied a place in Rosalind’s affections, +but not in her scheme of enjoyment. Since she <i>must</i> +be chaperoned, Agatha was acceptable to her. But +that did not mean that she made a confidante of Agatha. +For Agatha was looking at the world through the eyes +of Forty, and the vision of Twenty is somewhat more +romantic. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span></p> +<p>“Whatever your father thought of in permitting +you to come out here is a mystery to me,” pursued +Agatha severely, as she fussed with her hair. “It was +like him, though, to go to all this trouble—for me—merely +to satisfy your curiosity about the country. I +presume we shall be returning shortly.”</p> +<p>“Don’t be impatient, Aunty,” said the girl, still gazing +out of the window. “I intend to stretch my legs +before I return.”</p> +<p>“Mercy!” gasped Agatha; “such language! This +barbaric country has affected you already, my dear. +Legs!” She summoned horror into her expression, +but it was lost on Rosalind, who still gazed out of the +window. Indeed, from a certain light in the girl’s eyes +it might be adduced that she took some delight in shocking +Agatha.</p> +<p>“I shall stay here quite some time, I think,” said +Rosalind. “Daddy said there was no hurry; that he +might come out here in a month, himself. And I have +been dying to get away from the petty conventionalities +of the East. I am going to be absolutely human for +a while, Aunty. I am going to ‘rough it’—that is, as +much as one can rough it when one is domiciled in a +private car. I am going to get a horse and have a look +at the country. And Aunty—” here the girl’s voice +came chokingly, as though some deep emotion agitated +her “—I am going to ride ‘straddle’!”</p> +<p>She did not look to see whether Agatha had survived +this second shock—but Agatha had survived +many such shocks. It was only when, after a silence of +several minutes, Agatha spoke again, that the girl +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span> +seemed to remember there was anybody in the compartment +with her. Agatha’s voice was laden with +contempt:</p> +<p>“Well, I don’t know what you see in this outlandish +place to compensate for what you miss at home.”</p> +<p>The girl did not look around. “A man on a black +horse, Aunty,” she said. “He has passed here twice. +I have never seen such a horse. I don’t remember to +have ever seen a man quite like the rider. He looks +positively—er—<i>heroish</i>! He is built like a Roman +gladiator, he rides the black horse as though he had +been sculptured on it, and his head has a set that makes +one feel he has a mind of his own. He has furnished +me with the only thrill that I have felt since we left +New York!”</p> +<p>“He hasn’t seen <i>you</i>!” said Agatha, coldly; “of +course you made sure of <i>that</i>?”</p> +<p>The girl looked mischievously at the older woman. +She ran her fingers through her hair—brown and vigorous-looking—then +shaded her eyes with her hands +and gazed at her reflection in a mirror near by. In +deshabille she looked fresh and bewitching. She had +looked like a radiant goddess to “Brand” Trevison, +when he had accidentally caught a glimpse of her face +at the window while she had been watching him. He +had not known that the lady had just awakened from +her beauty sleep. He would have sworn that she +needed no beauty sleep. And he had deliberately ridden +past the car again, hoping to get another glimpse +of her. The girl smiled.</p> +<p>“I am not so positive about that, Aunty. Let us +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +not be prudish. If he saw me, he made no sign, and +therefore he is a gentleman.” She looked out of the +window and smiled again. “There he is now, Aunty!”</p> +<p>It was Agatha who parted the curtains, this time. +The horseman’s face was toward the window, and he +saw her. An expression of puzzled astonishment +glowed in his eyes, superseded quickly by disappointment, +whereat Rosalind giggled softly and hid her +tousled head in a pillow.</p> +<p>“The impertinent brute! Rosalind, he dared to +look directly at me, and I am sure he would have +winked at me in another instant! A gentleman!” she +said, coldly.</p> +<p>“Don’t be severe, Aunty. I’m sure he is a gentleman, +for all his curiosity. See—there he is, riding +away without so much as looking back!”</p> +<p>Half an hour later the two women entered the dining-room +just as a big, rather heavy-featured, but handsome +man, came through the opposite door. He +greeted both ladies effusively, and smilingly looked at +his watch.</p> +<p>“You over-slept this morning, ladies—don’t you +think? It’s after ten. I’ve been rummaging around +town, getting acquainted. It’s rather an unfinished +place, after the East. But in time—” He made a +gesture, perhaps a silent prophecy that one day Manti +would out-strip New York, and bowed the ladies to +seats at table, talking while the colored waiter moved +obsequiously about them.</p> +<p>“I thought at first that your father was over-enthusiastic +about Manti, Miss Benham,” he continued. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span> +“But the more I see of it the firmer becomes my conviction +that your father was right. There are tremendous +possibilities for growth. Even now it is a +rather fertile country. We shall make it hum, once +the railroad and the dam are completed. It is a logical +site for a town—there is no other within a hundred +miles in any direction.”</p> +<p>“And you are to anticipate the town’s growth—isn’t +that it, Mr. Corrigan?”</p> +<p>“You put it very comprehensively, Miss Benham; +but perhaps it would be better to say that I am the +advance agent of prosperity—that sounds rather less +mercenary. We must not allow the impression to get +abroad that mere money is to be the motive power +behind our efforts.”</p> +<p>“But money-making is the real motive, after all?” +said Miss Benham, dryly.</p> +<p>“I submit there are several driving forces in life, +and that money-making is not the least compelling of +them.”</p> +<p>“The other forces?” It seemed to Corrigan that +Miss Benham’s face was very serious. But Agatha, +who knew Rosalind better than Corrigan knew her, +was aware that the girl was merely demurely sarcastic.</p> +<p>“Love and hatred are next,” he said, slowly.</p> +<p>“You would place money-making before love?” +Rosalind bantered.</p> +<p>“Money adds the proper flavor to love,” laughed +Corrigan. The laugh was laden with subtle significance +and he looked straight at the girl, a deep fire +slumbering in his eyes. “Yes,” he said slowly, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span> +“money-making is a great passion. I have it. But I +can hate, and love. And when I do either, it will be +strongly. And then—”</p> +<p>Agatha cleared her throat impatiently. Corrigan +colored slightly, and Miss Benham smothered something, +artfully directing the conversation into less personal +channels:</p> +<p>“You are going to build manufactories, organize +banks, build municipal power-houses, speculate in real +estate, and such things, I suppose?”</p> +<p>“And build a dam. We already have a bank here, +Miss Benham.”</p> +<p>“Will father be interested in those things?”</p> +<p>“Silently. You understand, that being president of +the railroad, your father must keep in the background. +The actual promoting of these enterprises will be done +by me.”</p> +<p>Miss Benham looked dreamily out of the window. +Then she turned to Corrigan and gazed at him meditatively, +though the expression in her eyes was so +obviously impersonal that it chilled any amorous emotion +that Corrigan might have felt.</p> +<p>“I suppose you are right,” she said. “It must be +thrilling to feel a conscious power over the destiny of +a community, to direct its progress, to manage it, and—er—figuratively +to grab industries by their—” +She looked slyly at Agatha “—lower extremities and +shake the dollars out of them. Yes,” she added, +with a wistful glance through the window; “that must +be more exciting than being merely in love.”</p> +<p>Agatha again followed Rosalind’s gaze and saw the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +black horse standing in front of a store. She frowned, +and observed stiffly:</p> +<p>“It seems to me that the people in these small +places—such as Manti—are not capable of managing +the large enterprises that Mr. Corrigan speaks of.” +She looked at Rosalind, and the girl knew that she was +deprecating the rider of the black horse. Rosalind +smiled sweetly.</p> +<p>“Oh, I am sure there must be <i>some</i> intelligent persons +among them!”</p> +<p>“As a rule,” stated Corrigan, dogmatically, “the +first citizens of any town are an uncouth and worthless +set.”</p> +<p>“The Four Hundred would take exception to that!” +laughed Rosalind.</p> +<p>Corrigan laughed with her. “You know what I +mean, of course. Take Manti, for instance. Or any +new western town. The lowest elements of society are +represented; most of the people are very ignorant and +criminal.”</p> +<p>The girl looked sharply at Corrigan, though he was +not aware of the glance. Was there a secret understanding +between Corrigan and Agatha? Had +Corrigan also some knowledge of the rider’s pilgrimages +past the car window? Both had maligned the +rider. But the girl had seen intelligence on the face +of the rider, and something in the set of his head had +told her that he was not a criminal. And despite his +picturesque rigging, and the atmosphere of the great +waste places that seemed to envelop him, he had made +a deeper impression on her than had Corrigan, darkly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +handsome, well-groomed, a polished product of polite +convention and breeding, whom her father wanted her +to marry.</p> +<p>“Well,” she said, looking at the black horse; “I +intend to observe Manti’s citizens more closely before +attempting to express an opinion.”</p> +<p>Half an hour later, in response to Corrigan’s invitation, +Rosalind was walking down Manti’s one street, +Corrigan beside her. Corrigan had donned khaki clothing, +a broad, felt hat, boots, neckerchief. But in spite +of the change of garments there was a poise, an atmosphere +about him, that hinted strongly of the graces of +civilization. Rosalind felt a flash of pride in him. He +was big, masterful, fascinating.</p> +<p>Manti seemed to be fraudulent, farcical, upon closer +inspection. For one thing, its crudeness was more glaring, +and its unpainted board fronts looked flimsy, transient. +Compared to the substantial buildings of the +East, Manti’s structures were hovels. Here was the +primitive town in the first flush of its creation. Miss +Benham did not laugh, for a mental picture rose before +her—a bit of wild New England coast, a lowering sky, +a group of Old-world pilgrims shivering around a +blazing fire in the open, a ship in the offing. That also +was a band of first citizens; that picture and the one +made by Manti typified the spirit of America.</p> +<p>There were perhaps twenty buildings. Corrigan took +her into several of them. But, she noted, he did not +take her into the store in front of which was the black +horse. She was introduced to several of the proprietors. +Twice she overheard parts of the conversation +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span> +carried on between Corrigan and the proprietors. In +each case the conversation was the same:</p> +<p>“Do you own this property?”</p> +<p>“The building.”</p> +<p>“Who owns the land?”</p> +<p>“A company in New York.”</p> +<p>Corrigan introduced himself as the manager of the +company, and spoke of erecting an office. The two +men spoke about their “leases.” The latter seemed +to have been limited to two months.</p> +<p>“See me before your lease expires,” she heard Corrigan +tell the men.</p> +<p>“Does the railroad own the town site?” asked Rosalind +as they emerged from the last store.</p> +<p>“Yes. And leases are going to be more valuable +presently.”</p> +<p>“You don’t mean that you are going to extort money +from them—after they have gone to the expense of +erecting buildings?”</p> +<p>His smile was pleasant. “They will be treated with +the utmost consideration, Miss Benham.”</p> +<p>He ushered her into the bank. Like the other +buildings, the bank was of frame construction. Its +only resemblance to a bank was in the huge safe that +stood in the rear of the room, and a heavy wire netting +behind which ran a counter. Some chairs and a desk +were behind the counter, and at the desk sat a man +of probably forty, who got up at the entrance of his +visitors and approached them, grinning and holding +out a hand to Corrigan.</p> +<p>“So you’re here at last, Jeff,” he said. “I saw +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +the car on the switch this morning. The show will +open pretty soon now, eh?” He looked inquiringly +at Rosalind, and Corrigan presented her. She heard +the man’s name, “Mr. Crofton Braman,” softly +spoken by her escort, and she acknowledged the introduction +formally and walked to the door, where she +stood looking out into the street.</p> +<p>Braman repelled her—she did not know why. A +certain crafty gleam of his eyes, perhaps, strangely +blended with a bold intentness as he had looked at her; +a too effusive manner; a smoothly ingratiating smile—these +evidences of character somehow made her link +him with schemes and plots.</p> +<p>She did not reflect long over Braman. Across the +street she saw the rider of the black horse standing +beside the animal at a hitching rail in front of the +store that Corrigan had passed without entering. +Viewed from this distance, the rider’s face was more +distinct, and she saw that he was good-looking—quite +as good-looking as Corrigan, though of a different type. +Standing, he did not seem to be so tall as Corrigan, +nor was he quite so bulky. But he was lithe and powerful, +and in his movements, as he unhitched the black +horse, threw the reins over its head and patted its neck, +was an ease and grace that made Rosalind’s eyes sparkle +with admiration.</p> +<p>The rider seemed to be in no hurry to mount his +horse. The girl was certain that twice as he patted +the animal’s neck he stole glances at her, and a stain +appeared in her cheeks, for she remembered the car +window. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span></p> +<p>And then she heard a voice greet the rider. A man +came out of the door of one of the saloons, glanced +at the rider and raised his voice, joyously:</p> +<p>“Well, if it ain’t ol’ ‘Brand’! Where in hell you +been keepin’ yourself? I ain’t seen you for a week!”</p> +<p>Friendship was speaking here, and the girl’s heart +leaped in sympathy. She watched with a smile as the +other man reached the rider’s side and wrung his hand +warmly. Such effusiveness would have been thought +hypocritical in the East; humanness was always +frowned upon. But what pleased the girl most was +this evidence that the rider was well liked. Additional +evidence on this point collected quickly. It came from +several doors, in the shapes of other men who had +heard the first man’s shout, and presently the rider +was surrounded by many friends.</p> +<p>The girl was deeply interested. She forgot Braman, +Corrigan—forgot that she was standing in the doorway +of the bank. She was seeing humanity stripped of +conventionalities; these people were not governed by +the intimidating regard for public opinion that so effectively +stifled warm impulses among the persons she +knew.</p> +<p>She heard another man call to him, and she found +herself saying: “‘Brand’! What an odd name!” But +it seemed to fit him; he was of a type that one sees +rarely—clean, big, athletic, virile, magnetic. His personality +dominated the group; upon him interest centered +heavily. Nor did his popularity appear to destroy +his poise or make him self-conscious. The girl watched +closely for signs of that. Had he shown the slightest +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +trace of self-worship she would have lost interest in +him. He appeared to be a trifle embarrassed, and that +made him doubly attractive to her. He bantered gayly +with the men, and several times his replies to some +quip convulsed the others.</p> +<p>And then while she dreamily watched him, she heard +several voices insist that he “show Nigger off.” He +demurred, and when they again insisted, he spoke lowly +to them, and she felt their concentrated gaze upon her. +She knew that he had declined to “show Nigger off” +because of her presence. “Nigger,” she guessed, was +his horse. She secretly hoped he would overcome his +prejudice, for she loved the big black, and was certain +that any performance he participated in would be well +worth seeing. So, in order to influence the rider she +turned her back, pretending not to be interested. But +when she heard exclamations of satisfaction from the +group of men she wheeled again, to see that the rider +had mounted and was sitting in the saddle, grinning +at a man who had produced a harmonica and was rubbing +it on a sleeve of his shirt, preparatory to placing +it to his lips.</p> +<p>The rider had gone too far now to back out, and +Rosalind watched him in frank curiosity. And in the +next instant, when the strains of the harmonica smote +the still morning air, Nigger began to prance.</p> +<p>What followed reminded the girl of a scene in the +ring of a circus. The horse, proud, dignified, began +to pace slowly to the time of the accompanying music, +executing difficult steps that must have tried the patience +of both animal and trainer during the teaching period; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span> +the rider, lithe, alert, proud also, smiling his pleasure.</p> +<p>Rosalind stood there long, watching. It was a +clever exhibition, and she found herself wondering +about the rider. Had he always lived in the West?</p> +<p>The animal performed a dozen feats of the circus +arena, and the girl was so deeply interested in him that +she did not observe Corrigan when he emerged from +the bank, stepped down into the street and stood watching +the rider. She noticed him though, when the black, +forced to her side of the street through the necessity +of executing a turn, passed close to the easterner. And +then, with something of a shock, she saw Corrigan +smiling derisively. At the sound of applause from the +group on the opposite side of the street, Corrigan’s +derision became a sneer. Miss Benham felt resentment; +a slight color stained her cheeks. For she could +not understand why Corrigan should show displeasure +over this clean and clever amusement. She was looking +full at Corrigan when he turned and caught her gaze. +The light in his eyes was positively venomous.</p> +<p>“It is a rather dramatic bid for your interest, isn’t +it, Miss Benham?” he said.</p> +<p>His voice came during a lull that followed the +applause. It reached Rosalind, full and resonant. It +carried to the rider of the black horse, and glancing sidelong +at him, Rosalind saw his face whiten under the +deep tan upon it. It carried, too, to the other side +of the street, and the girl saw faces grow suddenly +tense; noted the stiffening of bodies. The flat, ominous +silence that followed was unreal and oppressive. Out +of it came the rider’s voice as he urged the black to a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span> +point within three or four paces of Corrigan and sat +in the saddle, looking at him. And now for the first +time Rosalind had a clear, full view of the rider’s face +and a quiver of trepidation ran over her. For the lean +jaws were corded, the mouth was firm and set—she +knew his teeth were clenched; it was the face of a +man who would not be trifled with. His chin was +shoved forward slightly; somehow it helped to express +the cold humor that shone in his narrowed, steady eyes. +His voice, when he spoke to Corrigan, had a metallic +quality that rang ominously in the silence that had +continued:</p> +<p>“Back up your play or take it back,” he said slowly.</p> +<p>Corrigan had not changed his position. He stared +fixedly at the rider; his only sign of emotion over the +latter’s words was a quickening of the eyes. He idly +tapped with his fingers on the sleeve of his khaki shirt, +where the arm passed under them to fold over the +other. His voice easily matched the rider’s in its quality +of quietness:</p> +<p>“My conversation was private. You are interfering +without cause.”</p> +<p>Watching the rider, filled with a sudden, breathless +premonition of impending tragedy, Rosalind saw his +eyes glitter with the imminence of physical action. Distressed, +stirred by an impulse to avert what threatened, +she took a step forward, speaking rapidly to Corrigan:</p> +<p>“Mr. Corrigan, this is positively silly! You know +you were hardly discreet!”</p> +<p>Corrigan smiled coldly, and the girl knew that it +was not a question of right or wrong between the two +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +men, but a conflict of spirit. She did not know that +hatred had been born here; that instinctively each knew +the other for a foe, and that this present clash was to +be merely one battle of the war that would be waged +between them if both survived.</p> +<p>Not for an instant did Corrigan’s eyes wander from +those of the rider. He saw from them that he might +expect no further words. None came. The rider’s +right hand fell to the butt of the pistol that swung +low on his right hip. Simultaneously, Corrigan’s hand +dropped to his hip pocket.</p> +<p>Rosalind saw the black horse lunge forward as though +propelled by a sudden spring. A dust cloud rose from +his hoofs, and Corrigan was lost in it. When the +dust swirled away, Corrigan was disclosed to the girl’s +view, doubled queerly on the ground, face down. The +black horse had struck him with its shoulder—he +seemed to be badly hurt.</p> +<p>For a moment the girl stood, swaying, looking around +appealingly, startled wonder, dismay and horror in her +eyes. It had happened so quickly that she was stunned. +She had but one conscious emotion—thankfulness that +neither man had used his pistol.</p> +<p>No one moved. The girl thought some of them +might have come to Corrigan’s assistance. She did +not know that the ethics forbade interference, that a +fight was between the fighters until one acknowledged +defeat.</p> +<p>Corrigan’s face was in the dust; he had not moved. +The black horse stood, quietly now, several feet distant, +and presently the rider dismounted, walked to Corrigan +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +and turned him over. He worked the fallen man’s +arms and legs, and moved his neck, then knelt and +listened at his chest. He got up and smiled mirthlessly +at the girl.</p> +<p>“He’s just knocked out, Miss Benham. It’s nothing +serious. Nigger—”</p> +<p>“You coward!” she interrupted, her voice thick with +passion.</p> +<p>His lips whitened, but he smiled faintly.</p> +<p>“Nigger—” he began again.</p> +<p>“Coward! Coward!” she repeated, standing rigid +before him, her hands clenched, her lips stiff with scorn.</p> +<p>He smiled resignedly and turned away. She stood +watching him, hating him, hurling mental anathemas +after him, until she saw him pass through the doorway +of the bank. Then she turned to see Corrigan just +getting up.</p> +<p>Not a man in the group across the street had moved. +They, too, had watched Trevison go into the bank, and +now their glances shifted to the girl and Corrigan. +Their sympathies, she saw plainly, were with Trevison; +several of them smiled as the easterner got to his feet.</p> +<p>Corrigan was pale and breathless, but he smiled at +her and held her off when she essayed to help him +brush the dust from his clothing. He did that himself, +and mopped his face with a handkerchief.</p> +<p>“It wasn’t fair,” whispered the girl, sympathetically. +“I almost wish that you had killed him!” she added, +vindictively.</p> +<p>“My, what a fire-eater!” he said with a broad smile. +She thought he looked handsomer with the dust upon +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span> +him, than he had ever seemed when polished and +immaculate.</p> +<p>“Are you badly hurt?” she asked, with a concern +that made him look quickly at her.</p> +<p>He laughed and patted her arm lightly. “Not a bit +hurt,” he said. “Come, those men are staring.”</p> +<p>He escorted her to the step of the private car, and +lingered a moment there to make his apology for his +part in the trouble. He told her frankly, that he was +to blame, knowing that Trevison’s action in riding him +down would more than outweigh any resentment she +might feel over his mistake in bringing about the clash +in her presence.</p> +<p>She graciously forgave him, and a little later she +entered the car alone; he telling her that he would be +in presently, after he returned from the station where +he intended to send a telegram. She gave him a smile, +standing on the platform of the car, dazzling, eloquent +with promise. It made his heart leap with exultation, +and as he went his way toward the station he voiced a +sentiment:</p> +<p>“Entirely worth being ridden down for.”</p> +<p>But his jaws set savagely as he approached the station. +He did not go into the station, but around the +outside wall of it, passing between it and another building +and coming at last to the front of the bank building. +He had noted that the black horse was still +standing in front of the bank building, and that the +group of men had dispersed. The street was deserted.</p> +<p>Corrigan’s movements became quick and sinister. +He drew a heavy revolver out of a hip pocket, shoved +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span> +its butt partly up his sleeve and concealed the cylinder +and barrel in the palm of his hand. Then he stepped +into the door of the bank. He saw Trevison standing +at one of the grated windows of the wire netting, talking +with Braman. Corrigan had taken several steps +into the room before Trevison heard him, and then +Trevison turned, to find himself looking into the gaping +muzzle of Corrigan’s pistol.</p> +<p>“You didn’t run,” said the latter. “Thought it was +all over, I suppose. Well, it isn’t.” He was grinning +coldly, and was now deliberate and unexcited, though +two crimson spots glowed in his cheeks, betraying the +presence of passion.</p> +<p>“Don’t reach for that gun!” he warned Trevison. +“I’ll blow a hole through you if you wriggle a finger!” +Watching Trevison, he spoke to Braman: “You got a +back room here?”</p> +<p>The banker stepped around the end of the counter +and opened a door behind the wire netting. “Right +here,” he directed.</p> +<p>Corrigan indicated the door with a jerking movement +of the head. “Move!” he said shortly, to Trevison. +The latter’s lips parted in a cold, amused grin, and he +hesitated slightly, yielding presently.</p> +<p>An instant later the three were standing in the middle +of a large room, empty except for a cot upon which +Braman slept, some clothing hanging on the walls, a +bench and a chair. Corrigan ordered the banker to +clear the room. When that had been done, Corrigan +spoke again to the banker:</p> +<p>“Get his gun.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span></p> +<p>A snapping alertness of the eyes indicated that Trevison +knew what was coming. That was the reason he +had been so quiescent this far; it was why he made no +objection when Braman passed his hands over his clothing +in search of other weapons, after his pistol had +been lifted from its holster by the banker.</p> +<p>“Now get out of here and lock the doors!” ordered +Corrigan. “And let nobody come in!”</p> +<p>Braman retired, grinning expectantly.</p> +<p>Then Corrigan backed away until he came to the +wall. Reaching far up, he hung his revolver on a +nail.</p> +<p>“Now,” he said to Trevison, his voice throaty from +passion; “take off your damned foolish trappings. I’m +going to knock hell out of you!”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='III_BEATING_A_GOOD_MAN' id='III_BEATING_A_GOOD_MAN'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +<h3>BEATING A GOOD MAN</h3> +</div> + +<p>Trevison had not moved. He had watched the +movements of the other closely, noting his huge +bulk, his lithe motions, the play of his muscles as he +backed across the room to dispose of the pistol. At +Corrigan’s words though, Trevison’s eyes glowed with +a sudden fire, his teeth gleamed, his straight lips parting +in a derisive smile. The other’s manner toward +him had twanged the chord of animosity that had been +between them since the first exchange of glances, and +he was as eager as Corrigan for the clash that must +now come. He had known that the first conflict had +been an unfinished thing. He laughed in sheer delight, +though that delight was tempered with savage determination.</p> +<p>“Save your boasts,” he taunted.</p> +<p>Corrigan sneered. “You won’t look so damned +attractive when you leave this room.” He took off +his hat and tossed it into a corner, then turned to Trevison +with an ugly grin.</p> +<p>“Ready?” he said.</p> +<p>“Quite.” Trevison had not accepted Corrigan’s +suggestion about taking off his “damned foolish trappings,” +and he still wore them—cartridge belt, leather +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span> +chaps, spurs. But now he followed Corrigan’s lead and +threw his hat from him. Then he crouched and faced +Corrigan.</p> +<p>They circled cautiously, Trevison’s spurs jingling +musically. Then Trevison went in swiftly, jabbing with +his left, throwing off Corrigan’s vicious counter with +the elbow, and ripping his right upward. The fist met +Corrigan’s arm as the latter blocked, and the shock +forced both men back a step. Corrigan grinned with +malicious interest and crowded forward.</p> +<p>“That’s good,” he said; “you’re not a novice. I +hope you’re not a quitter. I’ve quite a bit to hand you +for riding me down.”</p> +<p>Trevison grinned derisively, but made no answer. +He knew he must save his wind for this man. Corrigan +was strong, clever; his forearm, which had blocked +Trevison’s uppercut, had seemed like a bar of steel.</p> +<p>Trevison went in again with the grim purpose of +discovering just how strong his antagonist was. Corrigan +evaded a stiff left jab intended for his chin, and +his own right cross missed as Trevison ducked into a +clinch. With arms locked they strained, legs braced, +their lungs heaving as they wrestled, doggedly.</p> +<p>Corrigan stood like a post, not giving an inch. Vainly +Trevison writhed, seeking a position which would +betray a weakened muscle, but though he exerted every +ounce of his own mighty strength Corrigan held him +even. They broke at last, mutually, and Corrigan +must have felt the leathery quality of Trevison’s muscles, +for his face was set in serious lines. His eyes +glittered malignantly as he caught a confident smile +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +on Trevison’s lips, and he bored in silently, swinging +both hands.</p> +<p>Trevison had been the cool boxer, carefully trying +out his opponent. He had felt little emotion save that +of self-protection. At the beginning of the fight he +would have apologized to Corrigan—with reservations. +Now he was stirred with the lust of battle. +Corrigan’s malignance had struck a responsive passion +in him, and the sodden impact of fist on flesh, the matching +of strength against strength, the strain of iron +muscles, the contact of their bodies, the sting and +burn of blows, had aroused the latent savage in him. +He was still cool, however, but it was the crafty coolness +of the trained fighter, and as Corrigan crowded +him he whipped in ripping blows that sent the big man’s +head back. Corrigan paid little heed to the blows; he +shook them off, grunting. Blood was trickling thinly +from his lips; he spat bestially over Trevison’s shoulder +in a clinch, and tried to sweep the latter from his +feet.</p> +<p>The agility of the cow-puncher saved him, and he +went dancing out of harm’s way, his spurs jingling. +Corrigan was after him with a rush. A heavy blow +caught Trevison on the right side of the neck just below +the ear and sent him, tottering, against the wall of the +building, from which he rebounded like a rubber ball, +smothering Corrigan with an avalanche of deadening +straight-arm punches that brought a glassy stare into +Corrigan’s eyes. The big man’s head wabbled, and +Trevison crowded in, intent on ending the fight quickly, +but Corrigan covered instinctively, and when Trevison +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span> +in his eagerness missed a blow, the big man clinched +with him and hung on doggedly until his befoggled +brain could clear. For a few minutes they rocked +around the room, their heels thudding on the bare +boards of the floor, creating sounds that filtered through +the enclosing walls and smote the silence of the outside +world with resonant rumblings. Mercilessly, Trevison +hammered at the heavy head that sought a haven on +his shoulder. Corrigan had been stunned and wanted +no more long range work. He tried to lock his big +arms around the other’s waist in an attempt to wrestle, +realizing that in that sort of a contest lay his only +hope of victory, but Trevison, agile, alert to his danger, +slipped elusively from the grasping hands and +thudded uppercuts to the other’s mouth and jaws that +landed with sickening force. But none of the blows +landed on a vital spot, and Corrigan hung grimly on.</p> +<p>At last, lashing viciously, wriggling, squirming, +swinging around in a wide circle to get out of Corrigan’s +clutches, Trevison broke the clinch and stood off, +breathing heavily, summoning his reserve strength for +a finishing blow. Corrigan had been fearfully punished +during the last few minutes, but he was gradually +recovering from his dizziness, and he grinned hideously +at Trevison through his smashed lips. He surged forward, +reminding Trevison of a wounded bear, but +Trevison retreated warily as he measured the distance +from which he would drive the blow that would end +it</p> +<p>He was still retreating, describing a wide circle. He +swung around toward the door through which Braman +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span> +had gone—his back was toward it. He did not see +the door open slightly as he passed; he had not seen +Braman’s face in the slight crevice that had been +between door and jamb all along. Nor did he see the +banker jab at his legs with the handle of a broom. +But he felt the handle hit his legs. It tripped him, +forcing him to lose his balance. As he fell he saw +Corrigan’s eyes brighten, and he twisted sideways to +escape a heavy blow that Corrigan aimed at him. He +only partially evaded it—it struck him glancingly, a +little to the left of the chin, stunning him, and he fell +awkwardly, his left arm doubling under him. The +agonizing pain that shot through the arm as he crumpled +to the floor told him that it had been broken at +the wrist. A queer stupor came upon him, during +which he neither felt nor saw. Dimly, he sensed that +Corrigan was striking at him; with a sort of vague +half-consciousness he felt that the blows were landing. +But they did not hurt, and he laughed at Corrigan’s +futile efforts. The only feeling he had was a blind +rage against Braman, for he was certain that it had +been the banker who had tripped him. Then he saw +the broom on the floor and the crevice in the doorway. +He got to his feet some way, Corrigan hanging to +him, raining blows upon him, and he laughed aloud as, +his vision clearing a little, he saw Corrigan’s mouth, +weak, open, drooling blood, and remembered that when +Braman had tripped him Corrigan had hardly been in +shape to do much effective hitting. He tottered away +from Corrigan, taunting him, though afterwards he +could not remember what his words were. Also, he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span> +heard Corrigan cursing him, though he could never +remember <i>his</i> words, either. He tried to swing his +left arm as Corrigan came within range of it, but +found he could not lift it, and so ducked the savage +blow that Corrigan aimed at him and slipped sideways, +bringing his right into play. Several times as they +circled he uppercut Corrigan with the right, he retreating, +side-stepping; Corrigan following him doggedly, +slashing venomously at him, hitting him occasionally. +Corrigan could not hurt him, and he could not resist +laughing at Corrigan’s face—it was so hideously +repulsive.</p> +<p>A man came out of the front door of Hanrahan’s +saloon across the street from the bank building, and +stood in the street for a moment, looking about him. +Had Miss Benham seen the man she would have recognized +him as the one who had previously come out +of the saloon to greet the rider with: “Well, if it ain’t +ol’ ‘Brand’!” He saw the black horse standing in +front of the bank building, but Trevison was nowhere +in sight. The man mumbled: “I don’t want him to git +away without me seein’ him,” and crossed the street to +the bank window and peered inside. He saw Braman +peering through a half-open door at the rear of the +banking room, and he heard sounds—queer, jarring +sounds that made the glass window in front of him +rattle and quiver.</p> +<p>He dove around to the side of the building and +looked in a window. He stood for a moment, watching +with bulging eyes, half drew a pistol, thought better +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +of the notion and replaced it, and then darted back to +the saloon from which he had emerged, croaking +hoarsely: “Fight! fight!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>Trevison had not had the agility to evade one of +Corrigan’s heavy blows. It had caught him as he had +tried to duck, striking fairly on the point of the jaw, +and he was badly dazed. But he still grinned mockingly +at his enemy as the latter followed him, tensed, +eager, snarling. He evaded other blows that would +have finished him—through instinct, it seemed to Corrigan; +and though there was little strength left in +him he kept working his right fist through Corrigan’s +guard and into his face, pecking away at it until it +seemed to be cut to ribbons.</p> +<p>Voices came from somewhere in the banking room, +voices raised in altercation. Neither of the two men, +raging around the rear room, heard them—they had +become insensate savages oblivious of their surroundings, +drunken with passion, with the blood-mania gripping +their brains.</p> +<p>Trevison had brought the last ounce of his remaining +strength into play and had landed a crushing blow +on Corrigan’s chin. The big man was wabbling crazily +about in the general direction of Trevison, swinging his +arms wildly, Trevison evading him, snapping home +blows that landed smackingly without doing much damage. +They served merely to keep Corrigan in the +semi-comatose state in which Trevison’s last hard blow +had left him. And that last blow had sapped Trevison’s +strength; his spirit alone had survived the drunken +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span> +orgy of rage and hatred. As the tumult around him +increased—the tramp of many feet, scuffling; harsh, +discordant voices, curses, yells of protest, threats—not +a sound of which he heard, so intent was he with +his work of battering his adversary, he ceased to retreat +from Corrigan, and as the latter shuffled toward him he +stiffened and drove his right fist into the big man’s +face. Corrigan cursed and grunted, but lunged forward +again. They swung at the same instant—Trevison’s +right just grazing Corrigan’s jaw; Corrigan’s +blow, full and sweeping, thudding against Trevison’s +left ear. Trevison’s head rolled, his chin sagged to his +chest, and his knees doubled like hinges. Corrigan +smirked malevolently and drove forward again. But +he was too eager, and his blows missed the reeling target +that, with arms hanging wearily at his sides, still +instinctively kept to his feet, the taunting smile, now +becoming bitterly contemptuous, still on his face. It +meant that though exhausted, his arm broken, he felt +only scorn for Corrigan’s prowess as a fighter.</p> +<p>Fighting off the weariness he lunged forward again, +swinging the now deadened right arm at the blur Corrigan +made in front of him. Something collided with +him—a human form—and thinking it was Corrigan, +clinching with him, he grasped it. The momentum of +the object, and his own weakness, carried him back +and down, and with the object in his grasp he fell, +underneath, to the floor. He saw a face close to his—Braman’s—and +remembering that the banker had +tripped him, he began to work his right fist into the +other’s face. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span></p> +<p>He would have finished Braman. He did not know +that the man who had greeted him as “ol’ ‘Brand’” +had smashed the banker in the forehead with the butt +of a pistol when the banker had tried to bar his progress +at the doorway; he was not aware that the force of +the blow had hurled Braman against him, and that the +latter, half unconscious, was not defending himself. +He would not have cared had he known these things, +for he was fighting blindly, doggedly, recklessly—fighting +two men, he thought. And though he sensed +that there could be but one end to such a struggle, he +hammered away with ferocious malignance, and in +the abandon of his passion in this extremity he was +recklessly swinging his broken left arm, driving it at +Braman, groaning each time the fist landed.</p> +<p>He felt hands grasping him, and he fought them +off, smashing weakly at faces that appeared around +him as he was dragged to his feet. He heard a voice +say: “His arm’s bruk,” and the voice seemed to clear +the atmosphere. He paused, holding back a blow, and +the dancing blur of faces assumed a proper aspect and +he saw the man who had hit the banker.</p> +<p>“Hello Mullarky!” he grinned, reeling drunkenly +in the arms of his friends. “Come to see the picnic? +Where’s my—”</p> +<p>He saw Corrigan leaning against a wall of the room +and lurched toward him. A dozen hands held him +back—the room was full of men; and as his brain +cleared he recognized some of them. He heard threats, +mutterings, against Corrigan, and he laughed, bidding +the men to hold their peace, that it was a “fair fight.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +Corrigan was unmoved by the threats—as he was +unmoved by Trevison’s words. He leaned against the +wall, weak, his arms hanging at his sides, his face macerated, +grinning contemptuously. And then, despite his +objections, Trevison was dragged away by Mullarky +and the others, leaving Braman stretched out on the +floor, and Corrigan, his knees sagging, his chin almost +on his chest, standing near the wall. Trevison turned +as he was forced out of the door, and grinned tauntingly +at his tired enemy. Corrigan spat at him.</p> +<p>Half an hour later, his damaged arm bandaged, and +some marks of the battle removed, Trevison was in +the banking room. He had forbidden any of his friends +to accompany him, but Mullarky and several others +stood outside the door and watched him.</p> +<p>A bandage around his head, Braman leaned on the +counter behind the wire netting, pale, shaking. In a +chair at the desk sat Corrigan, glowering at Trevison. +The big man’s face had been attended to, but it was +swollen frightfully, and his smashed lips were in a +horrible pout. Trevison grinned at him, but it was to +the banker that he spoke.</p> +<p>“I want my gun, Braman,” he said, shortly.</p> +<p>The banker took it out of a drawer and silently +shoved it across the counter and through a little opening +in the wire netting. The banker watched, fearingly, +as Trevison shoved the weapon into its holster. Corrigan +stolidly followed his movements.</p> +<p>The gun in its holster, Trevison leaned toward the +banker. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span></p> +<p>“I always knew you weren’t straight, Braman. But +we won’t quarrel about that now. I just want you to +know that when this arm of mine is right again, we’ll +try to square things between us. Broom handles will +be barred that day.”</p> +<p>Braman was silent and uneasy as he watched Trevison +reach into a pocket and withdraw a leather bill-book. +From this he took a paper and tossed it in +through the opening of the wire netting.</p> +<p>“Cash it,” he directed. “It’s about the matter we +were discussing when we were interrupted by our bloodthirsty +friend, there.”</p> +<p>He looked at Corrigan while Braman examined the +paper, his eyes alight with the mocking, unfearing +gleam that had been in them during the fight. Corrigan +scowled and Trevison grinned at him—the indomitable, +mirthless grin of the reckless fighting man; and +Corrigan filled his lungs slowly, watching him with +half-closed eyes. It was as though both knew that +a distant day would bring another clash between them.</p> +<p>Braman fingered the paper uncertainly, and looked +at Corrigan.</p> +<p>“I suppose this is all regular?” he said. “You +ought to know something about it—it’s a check from +the railroad company for the right-of-way through Mr. +Trevison’s land.”</p> +<p>Corrigan’s eyes brightened as he examined the check. +They filled with a hard, sinister light.</p> +<p>“No,” he said; “it isn’t regular.” He took the +check from Braman and deliberately tore it into small +pieces, scattering them on the floor at his feet. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span> +smiled vindictively, settling back into his chair. +“‘Brand’ Trevison, eh?” he said. “Well, Mr. Trevison, +the railroad company isn’t ready to close with you.”</p> +<p>Trevison had watched the destruction of the check +without the quiver of an eyelash. A faint, ironic smile +curved the corners of his mouth as Corrigan concluded.</p> +<p>“I see,” he said quietly. “You were not man +enough to beat me a little while ago—even with the +help of Braman’s broom. You’re going to take it out +on me through the railroad; you’re going to sneak and +scheme. Well, you’re in good company—anything +that you don’t know about skinning people Braman will +tell you. But I’m letting you know this: The railroad +company’s option on my land expired last night, and +it won’t be renewed. If it’s fight you’re looking for, +I’ll do my best to accommodate you.”</p> +<p>Corrigan grunted, and idly drummed with the fingers +of one hand on the top of the desk, watching Trevison +steadily. The latter opened his lips to speak, changed +his mind, grinned and went out. Corrigan and Braman +watched him as he stopped for a moment outside +to talk with his friends, and their gaze followed him +until he mounted Nigger and rode out of town. Then +the banker looked at Corrigan, his brows wrinkling.</p> +<p>“You know your business, Jeff,” he said; “but +you’ve picked a tough man in Trevison.”</p> +<p>Corrigan did not answer. He was glowering at the +pieces of the check that lay on the floor at his feet.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='IV_THE_LONG_ARM_OF_POWER' id='IV_THE_LONG_ARM_OF_POWER'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<h3>THE LONG ARM OF POWER</h3> +</div> + +<p>Presently Corrigan lit a cigar, biting the end +off carefully, to keep it from coming in contact +with his bruised lips. When the cigar was going well, +he looked at Braman.</p> +<p>“What is Trevison?”</p> +<p>Pale, still dizzy from the effects of the blow on the +head, Braman, who was leaning heavily on the counter, +smiled wryly:</p> +<p>“He’s a holy terror—you ought to know that. He’s +a reckless, don’t-give-a-damn fool who has forgotten +there’s such a thing as consequences. ‘Firebrand’ +Trevison, they call him. And he lives up to what that +means. The folks in this section of the country swear +by him.”</p> +<p>Corrigan made a gesture of impatience. “I mean—what +does he do? Of course I know he owns some +land here. But how much land does he own?”</p> +<p>“You saw the figure on the check, didn’t you? He +owns five thousand acres.”</p> +<p>“How long has he been here?”</p> +<p>“You’ve got me. More than ten years, I guess, +from what I can gather.”</p> +<p>“What was he before he came here?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span></p> +<p>“I couldn’t even surmise that—he don’t talk about +his past. From the way he waded into you, I should +judge he was a prize fighter before becoming a cow-puncher.”</p> +<p>Corrigan glared at the banker. “Yes; it’s damned +funny,” he said. “How did he get his land?”</p> +<p>“Proved on a quarter-section. Bought the rest of +it—and bought it mighty cheap.” Braman’s eyes +brightened. “Figure on attacking <i>his</i> title?”</p> +<p>Corrigan grunted. “I notice he asked you for cash. +You’re not his banker, evidently.”</p> +<p>“He banks in Las Vegas, I guess.”</p> +<p>“What about his cattle?”</p> +<p>“He shipped three thousand head last season.”</p> +<p>“How big is his outfit?”</p> +<p>“He’s got about twenty men. They’re all hard cases—like +him, and they’d shoot themselves for him.”</p> +<p>Corrigan got up and walked to the window, from +where he looked out at Manti. The town looked like +an army camp. Lumber, merchandise, supplies of +every description, littered the street in mounds and scattered +heaps, awaiting the erection of tent-house and +building. But there was none of that activity that +might have been expected from the quantity of material +on hand; it seemed that the owners were waiting, +delaying in anticipation of some force that would give +them encouragement. They were reluctant to risk their +money in erecting buildings on the strength of mere +rumor. But they had come, hoping.</p> +<p>Corrigan grinned at Braman. “They’re afraid to +take a chance,” he said, meaning Manti’s citizens. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span></p> +<p>“Don’t blame them. I’ve spread the stuff around—as +you told me. That’s all they’ve heard. They’re +here on a forlorn hope. The boom they are looking +for, seems, from present conditions, to be lurking somewhere +in the future, shadowed by an indefiniteness that +to them is vaguely connected with somebody’s promise +of a dam, agricultural activity to follow, and factories. +They haven’t been able to trace the rumors, but they’re +here, and they’ll make things hum if they get a chance.”</p> +<p>“Sure,” grinned Corrigan. “A boom town is always +a graft for first arrivals. That is, boom towns <i>have</i> +been. But Manti—” He paused.</p> +<p>“Yes, different,” chuckled the banker. “It must +have cost a wad to shove that water grant through.”</p> +<p>“Benham kicked on the price—it was enough.”</p> +<p>“That maximum rate clause is a pippin. You can +soak them the limit right from the jump.”</p> +<p>“And scare them out,” scoffed Corrigan. “That +isn’t the game. Get them here, first. Then—”</p> +<p>The banker licked his lips. “How does old Benham +take it?”</p> +<p>“Mr. Benham is enthusiastic because everything will +be done in a perfectly legitimate way—he thinks.”</p> +<p>“And the courts?”</p> +<p>“Judge Lindman, of the District Court now in Dry +Bottom, is going to establish himself here. Benham +pulled that string.”</p> +<p>“Good!” said Braman. “When is Lindman coming?”</p> +<p>Corrigan’s smile was crooked; it told eloquently of +conscious power over the man he had named. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span></p> +<p>“He’ll come whenever I give the word. Benham’s +got something on him.”</p> +<p>“You always were a clever son-of-a-gun!” laughed +the banker, admiringly.</p> +<p>Ignoring the compliment, Corrigan walked into the +rear room, where he gazed frowningly at his reflection +in a small glass affixed to the wall. Re-entering +the banking room he said:</p> +<p>“I’m in no condition to face Miss Benham. Go +down to the car and tell her that I shall be very busy +here all day, and that I won’t be able to see her until +late tonight.”</p> +<p>Miss Benham’s name was on the tip of the banker’s +tongue, but, glancing at Corrigan’s face, he decided that +it was no time for that particular brand of levity. He +grabbed his hat and stepped out of the front door.</p> +<p>Left alone, Corrigan paced slowly back and forth in +the room, his brows furrowed thoughtfully. Trevison +had become an important figure in his mind. Corrigan +had not hinted to Braman, to Trevison, or to Miss +Benham, of the actual situation—nor would he. But +during his first visit to town that morning he had stood +in one of the front windows of a saloon across the +street. He had not been getting acquainted, as he had +told Miss Benham, for the saloon had been the first +place that he had entered, and after getting a drink +at the bar he had sauntered to the window. From there +he had seen “Brand” Trevison ride into town, and +because Trevison made an impressive figure he had +watched him, instinctively aware that in the rider of the +black horse was a quality of manhood that one meets +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span> +rarely. Trevison’s appearance had caused him a throb +of disquieting envy.</p> +<p>He had noticed Trevison’s start upon getting his +first glimpse of the private car on the siding. He had +followed Trevison’s movements carefully, and with +increased disquiet. For, instead of dismounting and +going into a saloon or a store, Trevison had urged +the black on, past the private car, which he had examined +leisurely and intently. The clear morning air +made objects at a distance very distinct, and as Trevison +had ridden past the car, Corrigan had seen a flutter at +one of the windows; had caught a fleeting glimpse of +Rosalind Benham’s face. He had seen Trevison ride +away, to return for a second view of the car a few +minutes later. At breakfast, Corrigan had not failed +to note Miss Benham’s lingering glances at the black +horse, and again, in the bank, with her standing at +the door, he had noticed her interest in the black horse +and its rider. His quickly-aroused jealousy and hatred +had driven him to the folly of impulsive action, a +method which, until now, he had carefully evaded. +Yes, he had found “Brand” Trevison a worthy antagonist—Braman +had him appraised correctly.</p> +<p>Corrigan’s smile was bitter as he again walked into +the rear room and surveyed his reflection in the glass. +Disgusted, he turned to one of the windows and looked +out. From where he stood he could see straight down +the railroad tracks to the cut, down the wall of which, +some hours before, Trevison had ridden the black +horse. The dinky engine, with its train of flat-cars, was +steaming toward him. As he watched, engine and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +cars struck the switch and ran onto the siding, where +they came to a stop. Corrigan frowned and looked at +his watch. It lacked fully three hours to quitting time, +and the cars were empty, save for the laborers draped +on them, their tools piled in heaps. While Corrigan +watched, the laborers descended from the cars and +swarmed toward their quarters—a row of tent-houses +near the siding. A big man—Corrigan knew him +later as Patrick Carson—swung down from the engine-cab +and lumbered toward the little frame station house, +in a window of which the telegrapher could be seen, +idly scanning a week-old newspaper. Carson spoke +shortly to the telegrapher, at which the latter motioned +toward the bank building and the private car. Then +Carson came toward the bank building. An instant +later, Carson came in the front door and met Corrigan +at the wire netting.</p> +<p>“Hullo,” said the Irishman, without preliminaries; +“the agent was tellin’ me I’d find a mon named Corrigan +here. You’re in charge, eh?” he added at Corrigan’s +affirmative. “Well, bedad, somebody’s got to +be in charge from now on. The Willie-boy engineer +from who I’ve been takin’ me orders has sneaked away +to Dry Bottom for a couple av days, shovin’ the raysponsibility +on me—an’ I ain’t feelin’ up to it. I’m a +daisy construction boss, if I do say it meself, but I ain’t +enough of a fightin’ mon to buck the business end av a +six-shooter.”</p> +<p>“What’s up?”</p> +<p>“Mebbe you’d know—he said you’d be sure to. +I’ve been parleyin’ wid a fello’ named ‘Firebrand’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span> +Trevison, an’ I’m that soaked wid perspiration that me +boots is full av it, after me thryin’ to urge him to be +dacently careful wid his gun!”</p> +<p>“What happened?” asked Corrigan, darkly.</p> +<p>“This mon Trevison came down through the cut this +mornin’, goin’ to town. He was pleasant as a mon +who’s had a raise in wages, an’ he was joshin’ wid us. +A while ago he comes back from town, an’ he’s that +cold an’ polite that he’d freeze ye while he’s takin’ +his hat off to ye. One av his arms is busted, an’ he’s +got a welt or two on his face. But outside av that he’s +all right. He rides down into the cut where we’re all +workin’ fit to kill ourselves. He halts his big black +horse about forty or fifty feet away from the ol’ rattle-box +that runs the steam shovel, an’ he grins like a tiger +at me an’ says:</p> +<p>“‘Carson, I’m wantin’ you to pull your min off. I +can’t permit anny railroad min on the Diamond K +property. You’re a friend av mine, an’ all that, but +you’ll have to pull your freight. You’ve got tin minutes.’</p> +<p>“‘I’ve got me orders to do this work,’ I says—begging +his pardon.</p> +<p>“‘Here’s your orders to stop doin’ it!’ he comes +back. An’ I was inspectin’ the muzzle av his six-shooter.</p> +<p>“‘Ye wudn’t shoot a mon for doin’ his duthy?’ I +says.</p> +<p>“‘Thry me,’ he says. ‘You’re trespassers. The +railroad company didn’t come through wid the coin +for the right-of-way. Your mon, Corrigan, has got an +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span> +idee that he’s goin’ to bluff me. I’m callin’ his bluff. +You’ve got tin minutes to get out av here. At the +end av that time I begin to shoot. I’ve got six cattridges +in the gun, an’ fifty more in the belt around +me middle. An’ I seldom miss whin I shoot. It’s up +to you whether I start a cemetery here or not,’ he says, +cold an’ ca’mlike.</p> +<p>“The ginneys knowed somethin’ was up, an’ they +crowded around. I thought Trevison was thryin’ to +run a bluff on <i>me</i>, an’ I give orders for the ginneys to +go back to their work.</p> +<p>“Trevison didn’t say another word, but at the end +av the tin minutes he grins that tiger grin av his an’ +busts the safety valve on the rattle-box wid a shot +from his pistol. He smashes the water-gauge wid +another, an’ jammed one shot in the ol’ rattle-box’s +entrails, an’ she starts to blow off steam——shriekin’ +like a soul in hell. The ginneys throwed down their +tools an’ started to climb up the walls of the cut like +a gang av monkeys, Trevison watchin’ thim with a +grin as cold as a barrow ful ov icicles. Murph’, the +engineer av the dinky, an’ his fireman, ducks for the +engine-cab, l’avin’ me standin’ there to face the music. +Trevison yells at the engineer av the rattle-box, an’ +he disappears like a rat into a hole. Thin Trevison +swings his gun on me, an’ I c’u’d feel me knees knockin’ +together. ‘Carson,’ he says, ‘I hate like blazes to do +it, but you’re the boss here, an’ these min will do what +you tell thim to do. Tell thim to get to hell out of +here an’ not come back, or I’ll down you, sure as me +name’s Trevison!’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span></p> +<p>“I’m old enough to know from lookin’ at a mon +whether he manes business or not, an’ Trevison wasn’t +foolin’. So I got the bhoys away, an’ here we are. If +you’re in charge, it’s up to you to smooth things out. +Though from the looks av your mug ‘Firebrand’s’ +been maulin’ you some, too!”</p> +<p>Corrigan’s answer was a cold glare. “You quit +without a fight, eh?” he taunted; “you let one man +bluff half a hundred of you!”</p> +<p>Carson’s eyes brightened. “My recollection is that +‘Firebrand’ is still holdin’ the forrt. Whin I got me +last look at him he was sittin’ on the top av the cut, +like he was intendin’ to stay there indefinite. If ye +think he’s bluffin’, mebbe it’d be quite an idee for you +to go out there yourself, an’ call it. I’d be willin’ to +give ye me moral support.”</p> +<p>“I’ll call him when I get ready.” Corrigan went to +the desk and sat in the chair, ignoring Carson, who +watched him narrowly. Presently he turned and spoke +to the man:</p> +<p>“Put your men at work trueing up the roadbed on +the next section back, until further orders.”</p> +<p>“An’ let ‘Firebrand’ hold the forrt?”</p> +<p>“Do as you’re told!”</p> +<p>Carson went out to his men. Near the station platform +he turned and looked back at the bank building, +grinning. “There’s two bulldogs comin’ to grips in +this deal or I’m a domn poor prophet!” he said.</p> +<p>When Braman returned from his errand he found +Corrigan staring out of the window. The banker +announced that Miss Benham had received Corrigan’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span> +message with considerable equanimity, and was rewarded +for his levity with a frown.</p> +<p>“What’s Carson and his gang doing in town?” he +queried.</p> +<p>Corrigan told him, briefly. The banker whistled +in astonishment, and his face grew long. “I told you +he is a tough one!” he reminded.</p> +<p>Corrigan got to his feet. “Yes—he’s a tough +one,” he admitted. “I’m forced to alter my plans a +little—that’s all. But I’ll get him. Hunt up something +to eat,” he directed; “I’m hungry. I’m going +to the station for a few minutes.”</p> +<p>He went out, and the banker watched him until he +vanished around the corner of a building. Then Braman +shook his head. “Jeff’s resourceful,” he said. +“But Trevison—” His face grew solemn. “What +a damned fool I was to trip him with that broom!” +He drew a pistol from a pocket and examined it +intently, then returned it to the pocket and sat, staring +with unseeing eyes beyond the station at the two +lines of steel that ran out upon the plains and stopped +in the deep cut on the crest of which he could see a man +on a black horse.</p> +<p>Down at the station Corrigan was leaning on a +rough wooden counter, writing on a yellow paper pad. +When he had finished he shoved the paper over to +the telegrapher, who had been waiting:</p> +<div class='blockquot'> +<p><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>J. Chalfant Benham</span>, B— Building, New York.</p> +<p>Unexpected opposition developed. Trevison. Give Lindman +removal order immediately. Communicate with me at +Dry Bottom tomorrow morning. <span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Corrigan</span>.</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span></div> +<p>Corrigan watched the operator send the message +and then he returned to the bank building, where he +found Braman setting out a meager lunch in the rear +room. The two men talked as they ate, mostly about +Trevison, and the banker’s face did not lose its worried +expression. Later they smoked and talked and watched +while the afternoon sun grew mellow; while the somber +twilight descended over the world and darkness +came and obliterated the hill on which sat the rider of +the black horse.</p> +<p>Shortly after dark Corrigan sent the banker on +another errand, this time to a boarding-house at the +edge of town. Braman returned shortly, announcing: +“He’ll be ready.” Then, just before midnight Corrigan +climbed into the cab of the engine which had brought +the private car, and which was waiting, steam up, several +hundred feet down the track from the car.</p> +<p>“All right!” said Corrigan briskly, to the engineer, +as he climbed in and a flare from the fire-box suffused +his face; “pull out. But don’t make any fuss +about it—I don’t want those people in the car to +know.” And shortly afterwards the locomotive glided +silently away into the darkness toward that town in +which a judge of the United States Court had, a few +hours before, received orders which had caused him +to remark, bitterly: “So does the past shape the +future.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='V_A_TELEGRAM_AND_A_GIRL' id='V_A_TELEGRAM_AND_A_GIRL'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +<h3>A TELEGRAM AND A GIRL</h3> +</div> + +<p>Banker Braman went to bed on the cot in the +back room shortly after Corrigan departed from +Manti. He stretched himself out with a sigh, +oppressed with the conviction that he had done a bad +day’s work in antagonizing Trevison. The Diamond +K owner would repay him, he knew. But he knew, too, +that he need have no fear that Trevison would sneak +about it. Therefore he did not expect to feel Trevison +at his throat during the night. That was some satisfaction.</p> +<p>He dropped to sleep, thinking of Trevison. He +awoke about dawn to a loud hammering on the rear +door, and he scrambled out of bed and opened the +door upon the telegraph agent. That gentleman gazed +at him with grim reproof.</p> +<p>“Holy Moses!” he said; “you’re a hell of a tight +sleeper! I’ve been pounding on this door for an age!” +He shoved a sheet of paper under Braman’s nose. +“Here’s a telegram for you.”</p> +<p>Braman took the telegram, scanning it, while the +agent talked on, ramblingly. A sickly smile came over +Braman’s face when he finished reading, and then he +listened to the agent: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span></p> +<p>“I got a wire a little after midnight, asking me +if that man, Corrigan, was still in Manti. The engineer +told me he was taking Corrigan back to Dry +Bottom at midnight, and so I knew he wasn’t here, and +I clicked back ‘No.’ It was from J. C. He must have +connected with Corrigan at Dry Bottom. That guy +Trevison must have old Benham’s goat, eh?”</p> +<p>Braman re-read the telegram; it was directed to him:</p> +<div class='blockquot'> +<p>Send my daughter to Trevison with cash in amount of check +destroyed by Corrigan yesterday. Instruct her to say mistake +made. No offense intended. Hustle. <span style='font-variant: small-caps'>J. C. Benham.</span></p> +</div> +<p>Braman slipped his clothes on and ran down the +track to the private car. He had known J. C. Benham +several years and was aware that when he issued an +order he wanted it obeyed, literally. The negro autocrat +of the private car met him at the platform and +grinned amply at the banker’s request.</p> +<p>“Miss Benham done tol’ me she am not to be disturbed +till eight o’clock,” he objected. But the telegram +in Braman’s hands had instant effect upon the +black custodian of the car, and shortly afterward Miss +Benham was looking at the banker and his telegram in +sleepy-eyed astonishment, the door of her compartment +open only far enough to permit her to stick her +head out.</p> +<p>Braman was forced to do much explaining, and concluded +by reading the telegram to her. She drew everything +out of him except the story of the fight.</p> +<p>“Well,” she said in the end, “I suppose I shall have +to go. So his name is ‘Brand’ Trevison. And he won’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span> +permit the men to work. Why did Mr. Corrigan +destroy the check?”</p> +<p>Braman evaded, but the girl thought she knew. +Corrigan had yielded to an impulse of obstinacy provoked +by Trevison’s assault on him. It was not good +business—it was almost childish; but it was human +to feel that way. She felt a slight disappointment in +Corrigan, though; the action did not quite accord with +her previous estimate of him. She did not know what +to think of Trevison. But of course any man who +would deliberately and brutally ride another man down, +would naturally not hesitate to adopt other lawless +means of defending himself.</p> +<p>She told Braman to have the money ready for her +in an hour, and at the end of that time with her morocco +handbag bulging, she emerged from the front door of +the bank and climbed the steps of the private car, +which had been pulled down to a point in front of +the station by the dinky engine, with Murphy presiding +at the throttle.</p> +<p>Carson was standing on the platform when Miss +Benham climbed to it, and he grinned and greeted her +with:</p> +<p>“If ye have no objections, ma’am, I’ll be ridin’ down +to the cut with ye. Me name’s Patrick Carson, ma’am.”</p> +<p>“I have no objection whatever,” said the lady, graciously. +“I presume you are connected with the railroad?”</p> +<p>“An’ wid the ginneys that’s buildin’ it, ma’am,” he +supplemented. “I’m the construction boss av this section, +an’ I’m the mon that had the unhappy experience +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +av lookin’ into the business end av ‘Firebrand’s’ six-shooter +yisterday.”</p> +<p>“‘Firebrand’s’?” she said, with a puzzled look at +him.</p> +<p>“Thot mon, Trevison, ma’am; that’s what they call +him. An’ he fits it bedad—beggin’ your pardon.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” she said; “then you know him.” And she +felt a sudden interest in Carson.</p> +<p>“Enough to be certain he ain’t to be monkeyed with, +ma’am.”</p> +<p>She seemed to ignore this. “Please tell the engineer +to go ahead,” she told him. “And then come into the +car—I want to talk with you.”</p> +<p>A little later, with the car clicking slowly over the +rail-joints toward the cut, Carson diffidently followed +the negro attendant into a luxurious compartment, in +which, seated in a big leather-covered chair, was Miss +Benham. She motioned Carson to another chair, and +in the conversation that followed Miss Benham received +a comprehensive estimate of Trevison from Carson’s +viewpoint. It seemed unsatisfying to her—Carson’s +commendation did not appear to coincide with Trevison’s +performances.</p> +<p>“Have you heard what happened in Manti yesterday?” +she questioned. “This man, Trevison, jumped +his horse against Mr. Corrigan and knocked him +down.”</p> +<p>“I heard av it,” grinned Carson. “But I didn’t see +it. Nor did I see the daisy scrap that tuk place right +after.”</p> +<p>“Fight?” she exclaimed. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span></p> +<p>Carson reddened. “Sure, ye haven’t heard av it, an’ +I’m blabbin’ like a kid.”</p> +<p>“Tell me about it.” Her eyes were aglow with +interest.</p> +<p>“There’s devilish little to tell—beggin’ your pardon, +ma’am. But thim that was in at the finish is +waggin’ their tongues about it bein’ a dandy shindy. +Judgin’ from the talk, nobuddy got licked—it was a +fair dhraw. But I sh’ud judge, lookin’ at Corrigan’s +face, that it was a darlin’ av a scrap.”</p> +<p>She was silent, gazing contemplatively out of the +car window. Corrigan had returned, after escorting +her to the car, to engage in a fight with Trevison. That +was what had occupied him; that was why he had gone +away without seeing her. Well, Trevison had given +him plenty of provocation.</p> +<p>“Trevison’s horse knockin’ Corrigan down was what +started it, they’ve been tellin’ me,” said Carson. “But +thim that know Trevison’s black knows that Trevison +wasn’t to blame.”</p> +<p>“Not to blame?” she asked; “why not?”</p> +<p>“For the simple rayson thot in a case like thot the +mon has no control over the baste, ma’am. ‘Firebrand’ +told me only yisterday mornin’ thot there was no +holdin’ the black whin somebuddy tried to shoot wid +him on his back.”</p> +<p>The girl remembered how Trevison had tried to +speak to her immediately after the upsetting of Corrigan, +and she knew now, that he had wanted to explain +his action. Reviewing the incident in the light of Carson’s +explanation, she felt that Corrigan was quite as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span> +much at fault as Trevison. Somehow, that knowledge +was vaguely satisfying.</p> +<p>She did not succeed in questioning Carson further +about Trevison, though there were many points over +which she felt a disturbing curiosity, for Agatha came +in presently, and after nodding stiffly to Carson, seated +herself and gazed aloofly out of a window.</p> +<p>Carson, ill at ease in Agatha’s presence, soon +invented an excuse to go out upon the platform, leaving +Rosalind to explain his presence in the car.</p> +<p>“What on earth could you have to say to a section +boss—or he to you?” demanded Agatha. “You are +becoming very—er—indiscreet, Rosalind.”</p> +<p>The girl smiled. It was a smile that would have +betrayed the girl had Agatha possessed the physiognomist’s +faculty of analyzation, for in it was much +relief and renewed faith. For the rider of the black +horse was not the brutal creature she had thought him.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>When the private car came to a stop, Rosalind looked +out of the window to see the steep wall of the cut +towering above her. Aunt Agatha still sat near, and +when Rosalind got up Agatha rose also, registering +an objection:</p> +<p>“I think your father might have arranged to have +some <i>man</i> meet this outlaw. It is not, in my opinion, +a proper errand for a girl. But if you are determined +to go, I presume I shall have to follow.”</p> +<p>“It won’t be necessary,” said Rosalind. But Agatha +set her lips tightly. And when the girl reached the platform +Agatha was close behind her. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span></p> +<p>But both halted on the platform as they were about +to descend the steps. They heard Carson’s voice, loud +and argumentative:</p> +<p>“There’s a lady aboored, I tell ye! If ye shoot, +you’re a lot of damned rapscallions, an’ I’ll come up +there an’ bate the head off ye!”</p> +<p>“Stow your gab an’ produce the lady!” answered a +voice. It came from above, and Rosalind stepped down +to the floor of the cut and looked upward. On the +crest of the southern wall were a dozen men—cowboys—armed +with rifles, peering down at the car. +They shifted their gaze to her when she stepped into +view, and one of them laughed.</p> +<p>“Correct, boys,” he said; “it’s a lady.” There was +a short silence; Rosalind saw the men gather close—they +were talking, but she could not hear their voices. +Then the man who had spoken first stepped to the edge +of the cut and called: “What do you want?”</p> +<p>The girl answered: “I want to speak with Mr. +Trevison.”</p> +<p>“Sorry, ma’am,” came back the voice; “but Trevison +ain’t here—he’s at the Diamond K.”</p> +<p>Rosalind reached a decision quickly. “Aunty,” she +said; “I am going to the Diamond K.”</p> +<p>“I forbid you!” said Agatha sternly. “I would +not trust you an instant with those outlaws!”</p> +<p>“Nonsense,” smiled Rosalind. “I am coming up,” +she called to the man on the crest; “do you mind?”</p> +<p>The man laughed. “I reckon not, ma’am.”</p> +<p>Rosalind smiled at Carson, who was watching her +admiringly, and to the smile he answered, pointing eastward +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span> +to where the slope of the hill melted into the +plains: “You’ll have to go thot way, ma’am.” He +laughed. “You’re perfectly safe wid thim min, ma’am—they’re +Trevison’s—an’ Trevison wud shoot the +last mon av thim if they’d harm a hair av your pretty +head. Go along, ma’am, an’ God bless ye! Ye’ll be +savin’ a heap av throuble for me an’ me ginneys, an’ +the railroad company.” He looked with bland derision +at Agatha who gave him a glance of scornful reproof +as she followed after her charge.</p> +<p>The girl was panting when she reached the crest of +the cut. Agatha was a little white, possibly more from +apprehension than from indignation, though that emotion +had its influence; but their reception could not +have been more formal had it taken place in an eastern +drawing-room. For every hat was off, and each man +was trying his best to conceal his interest. And when +men have not seen a woman for a long time, the appearance +of a pretty one makes it rather hard to maintain +polite poise. But they succeeded, which spoke well +for their manliness. If they exchanged surreptitious +winks over the appearance of Agatha, they are to be +excused, for that lady’s demeanor was one of frigid +haughtiness, which is never quite impressive to those +who live close to nature.</p> +<p>In an exchange of words, brief and pointed, Rosalind +learned that it was three miles to the Diamond K +ranchhouse, and that Trevison had given orders not +to be disturbed unless the railroad company attempted +to continue work at the cut. Could she borrow one of +their horses, and a guide? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span></p> +<p>“You bet!” emphatically returned the spokesman +who, she learned later, was Trevison’s foreman. She +should have the gentlest “cayuse” in the “bunch,” +and the foreman would do the guiding, himself. At +which word Agatha, noting the foreman’s enthusiasm, +glared coldly at him.</p> +<p>But here Agatha was balked by the insurmountable +wall of convention. She had ridden horses, to be sure, +in her younger days; but when the foreman, at Rosalind’s +request, offered her a pony, she sniffed scornfully +and marched down the slope toward the private +car, saying that if Rosalind was <i>determined</i> to persist +she might persist without <i>her</i> assistance. For there +was no side-saddle in the riding equipment of the outfit. +And Rosalind, quite aware of the prudishness +exhibited by her chaperon, and not unmindful of the +mirth that the men were trying their best to keep concealed, +rode on with the foreman, with something +resembling thankfulness for the temporary freedom +tugging at her heart.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>Trevison had camped all night on the crest of the +cut. It was only at dawn that Barkwell, the foreman +who had escorted Rosalind, had appeared at the cut +on his way to town, and discovered him, and then the +foreman’s plans were changed and he was dispatched +to the Diamond K for reinforcements. Trevison had +ridden back to the Diamond K to care for his arm, +which had pained him frightfully during the night, and +at ten o’clock in the morning he was stretched out, +fully dressed and wide awake on the bed in his room +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span> +in the ranchhouse, frowningly reviewing the events of +the day before.</p> +<p>He was in no good humor, and when he heard +Barkwell hallooing from the yard near the house, he +got up and looked out of a window, a scowl on his +face.</p> +<p>Rosalind was not in the best of spirits, herself, for +during the ride to the ranchhouse she had been sending +subtly-questioning shafts at the foreman—questions +that mostly concerned Trevison—and they had +all fell, blunted and impotent, from the armor of Barkwell’s +reticence. But a glance at Trevison’s face, ludicrous +in its expression of stunned amazement, brought +a broad smile to her own. She saw his lips form her +name, and then she waited demurely until she saw +him coming out of the ranchhouse door toward her.</p> +<p>He had quite recovered from his surprise, she noted; +his manner was that of the day before, when she had +seen him riding the black horse. When she saw him +coming lightly toward her, she at first had eyes for +nothing but his perfect figure, feeling the strength that +his close-fitting clothing revealed so unmistakably, and +an unaccountable blush glowed in her cheeks. And +then she observed that his left arm was in a sling, and +a flash of wondering concern swept over her—also +unaccountable. And then he was at her stirrup, smiling +up at her broadly and cordially.</p> +<p>“Welcome to the Diamond K, Miss Benham,” he +said. “Won’t you get off your horse?”</p> +<p>“Thank you; I came on business and must return +immediately. There has been a misunderstanding, my +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span> +father says. He wired me, directing me to apologize, +for him, for Mr. Corrigan’s actions of yesterday. Perhaps +Mr. Corrigan over-stepped his authority—I have +no means of knowing.” She passed the morocco bag +over to him, and he took it, looking at it in some perplexity. +“You will find cash in there to the amount +named by the check that Mr. Corrigan destroyed. I +hope,” she added, smiling at him, “that there will be +no more trouble.”</p> +<p>“The payment of this money for the right-of-way +removes the provocation for trouble,” he laughed. +“Barkwell,” he directed, turning to the foreman; “you +may go back to the outfit.” He looked after the foreman +as the latter rode away, turning presently to +Rosalind. “If you will wait a few minutes, until I +stow this money in a safe place, I’ll ride back to the +cut with you and pull the boys off.”</p> +<p>She had wondered much over the rifles in the hands +of his men at the cut. “Would your men have used +their guns?” she asked.</p> +<p>He had turned to go to the house, and he wheeled +quickly, astonished. “Certainly!” he said; “why +not?”</p> +<p>“That would be lawlessness, would it not?” It +made her shiver slightly to hear him so frankly confess +to murderous designs.</p> +<p>“It was not my quarrel,” he said, looking at her +narrowly, his brows contracted. “Law is all right +where everybody accepts it as a governor to their +actions. I accept it when it deals fairly with me—when +it’s just. Certain rights are mine, and I’ll fight +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span> +for them. This situation was brought on by Corrigan’s +obstinacy. We had a fight, and it peeved him because +I wouldn’t permit him to hammer my head off. He +destroyed the check, and as the company’s option +expired yesterday it was unlawful for the company to +trespass on my land.”</p> +<p>“Well,” she smiled, affected by his vehemence; “we +shall have peace now, presumably. And—” she reddened +again “—I want to ask your pardon on my own +account, for speaking to you as I did yesterday. I +thought you brutal—the way you rode your horse +over Mr. Corrigan. Mr. Carson assured me that the +horse was to blame.”</p> +<p>“I am indebted to Carson,” he laughed, bowing. +Rosalind watched him go into the house, and then +turned and inspected her surroundings. The house was +big, roomy, with a massive hip roof. A paved gallery +stretched the entire length of the front—she would +have liked to rest for a few minutes in the heavy rocker +that stood in its cool shadows. No woman lived here, +she was certain, because there was a lack of evidence +of woman’s handiwork—no filmy curtains at the windows—merely +shades; no cushion was on the chair—which, +by the way, looked lonesome—but perhaps that +was merely her imagination. Much dust had gathered +on the gallery floor and on the sash of the windows—a +woman would have had things looking differently. +And so she divined that Trevison was not married. +It surprised her to discover that that thought had been +in her mind, and she turned to continue her inspection, +filled with wonder that it had been there. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span></p> +<p>She got an impression of breadth and spaciousness +out of her survey of the buildings and the surrounding +country. The buildings were in good condition; everything +looked substantial and homelike and her contemplation +of it aroused in her a yearning for a house +and land in this section of the country, it was so peaceful +and dignified in comparison with the life she knew.</p> +<p>She watched Trevison when he emerged from the +house, and smiled when he returned the empty handbag. +He went to a small building near a fenced enclosure—the +corral, she learned afterward—and came +out carrying a saddle, which he hung on the fence +while he captured the black horse, which she had +already observed. The animal evaded capture, playfully, +but in the end it trotted mincingly to Trevison +and permitted him to throw the bridle on. Then, +shortly afterward he mounted the black and together +they rode back toward the cut.</p> +<p>As they rode the girl’s curiosity for the man who +rode beside her grew acute. She was aware—she +had been aware all along—that he was far different +from the other men of Manti—there was about him +an atmosphere of refinement and quiet confidence that +mingled admirably with his magnificent physical force, +tempering it, suggesting reserve power, hinting of excellent +mental capacity. She determined to know something +about him. And so she began subtly:</p> +<p>“In a section of country so large as this it seems +that our American measure of length—a mile—should +be stretched to something that would more adequately +express size. Don’t you think so?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span></p> +<p>He looked quickly at her. “That is an odd +thought,” he laughed, “but it inevitably attacks the +person who views the yawning distances here for the +first time. Why not use the English mile if the American +doesn’t satisfy?”</p> +<p>“There is a measure that exceeds that, isn’t there? +Wasn’t there a Persian measure somewhat longer, +fathered by Herodotus or another of the ancients? I +am sure there was—or is—but I have forgotten?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said, “—a parasang.” He looked narrowly +at her and saw her eyes brighten.</p> +<p>She had made progress; she felt much satisfaction.</p> +<p>“You are not a native,” she said.</p> +<p>“How do you know?”</p> +<p>“Cowboys do not commonly measure their distances +with parasangs,” she laughed.</p> +<p>“Nor do ordinary women try to shake off ennui by +coming West in private cars,” he drawled.</p> +<p>She started and looking quickly at him. “How did +you know that was what happened to me?” she demanded.</p> +<p>“Because you’re too spirited and vigorous to spend +your life dawdling in society. You yearn for action, +for the broad, free life of the open. You’re in love +with this country right now.”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes,” she said, astonished; “but how do you +know?”</p> +<p>“You might have sent a man here in your place—Braman, +for instance; he could be trusted. You came +yourself, eager for adventure—you came on a borrowed +horse. When you were looking at the country +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span> +from the horse in front of my house, I saw you +sigh.”</p> +<p>“Well,” she said, with flushed face and glowing +eyes; “I <i>have</i> decided to live out here—for a time, +at least. So you were watching me?”</p> +<p>“Just a glance,” he defended, grinning; “I couldn’t +help it. Please forgive me.”</p> +<p>“I suppose I’ll have to,” she laughed, delighted, +reveling in this freedom of speech, in his directness. +His manner touched a spark somewhere in her, she +felt strangely elated, exhilarated. When she reflected +that this was only their second meeting and that she +had not been conventionally introduced to him, she +was amazed. Had a stranger of her set talked to her +so familiarly she would have resented it. Out here it +seemed to be perfectly natural.</p> +<p>“How do you know I borrowed a horse to come +here?” she asked.</p> +<p>“That’s easy,” he grinned; “there’s the Diamond K +brand on his hip.”</p> +<p>“Oh.”</p> +<p>They rode on a little distance in silence, and then +she remembered that she was still curious about him. +His frankness had affected her; she did not think it +impertinent to betray curiosity.</p> +<p>“How long have you lived out here?” she asked.</p> +<p>“About ten years.”</p> +<p>“You weren’t born here, of course—you have +admitted that. Then where did you come from?”</p> +<p>“This is a large country,” he returned, unsmilingly.</p> +<p>It was a reproof, certainly—Rosalind could go no +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span> +farther in that direction. But her words had brought +a mystery into existence, thus sharpening her interest +in him. She was conscious, though, of a slight pique—what +possible reason could he have for evasion? He +had not the appearance of a fugitive from justice.</p> +<p>“So you’re going to live out here?” he said, after +an interval. “Where?”</p> +<p>“I heard father speak of buying Blakeley’s place. +Do you know where it is?”</p> +<p>“It adjoins mine.” There was a leaping note in +his voice, which she did not fail to catch. “Do you +see that dark line over there?” He pointed eastward—a +mile perhaps. “That’s a gully; it divides +my land from Blakeley’s. Blakeley told me a month +ago that he was dickering with an eastern man. If +you are thinking of looking the place over, and want +a trustworthy escort I should be pleased to recommend—myself.” +And he grinned widely at her.</p> +<p>“I shall consider your offer—and I thank you for +it,” she returned. “I feel positive that father will buy +a ranch here, for he has much faith in the future of +Manti—he is obsessed with it.”</p> +<p>He looked sharply at her. “Then your father is +going to have a hand in the development of Manti? +I heard a rumor to the effect that some eastern company +was interested, had, in fact, secured the water +rights for an enormous section.”</p> +<p>She remembered what Corrigan had told her, and +blushingly dissembled:</p> +<p>“I put no faith in rumor—do you? Mr. Corrigan +is the head of the company which is to develop +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +Manti. But of course <i>that</i> is an eastern company, +isn’t it?”</p> +<p>He nodded, and she smiled at a thought that came +to her. “How far is it to Blakeley’s ranchhouse?” +she asked.</p> +<p>“About two parasangs,” he answered gravely.</p> +<p>“Well,” she said, mimicking him; “I could <i>never</i> +walk there, could I? If I go, I shall have to borrow a +horse—or buy one. Could you recommend a horse +that would be as trustworthy as the escort you have +promised me?”</p> +<p>“We shall go to Blakeley’s tomorrow,” he told her. +“I shall bring you a trustworthy horse at ten o’clock +in the morning.”</p> +<p>They were approaching the cut, and she nodded an +acceptance. An instant later he was talking to his +men, and she sat near him, watching them as they +raced over the plains toward the Diamond K ranchhouse. +One man remained; he was without a mount, +and he grinned with embarrassment when Rosalind’s +gaze rested on him.</p> +<p>“Oh,” she said; “you are waiting for your horse! +How stupid of me!” She dismounted and turned the +animal over to him. When she looked around, Trevison +had also dismounted and was coming toward her, +leading the black, the reins looped through his arm. +Rosalind flushed, and thought of Agatha, but offered +no objection.</p> +<p>It was a long walk down the slope of the hill and +around its base to the private car, but they made it +still longer by walking slowly and taking the most +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span> +roundabout way. Three persons saw them coming—Agatha, +standing rigid on the platform; the negro +attendant, standing behind Agatha in the doorway, +his eyes wide with interest; and Carson, seated on a +boulder a little distance down the cut, grinning broadly.</p> +<p>“Bedad,” he rumbled; “the bhoy’s made a hit wid +her, or I’m a sinner! But didn’t I know he wud? +The two bulldogs is goin’ to have it now, sure as I’m +a foot high!”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='VI_A_JUDICIAL_PUPPET' id='VI_A_JUDICIAL_PUPPET'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<h3>A JUDICIAL PUPPET</h3> +</div> + +<p>Bowling along over the new tracks toward +Manti in a special car secured at Dry Bottom by +Corrigan, one compartment of which was packed closely +with books, papers, ledger records, legal documents, +blanks, and even office furniture, Judge Lindman +watched the landscape unfold with mingled feelings +of trepidation, reluctance, and impotent regret. The +Judge’s face was not a strong one—had it been he +would not have been seated in the special car, talking +with Corrigan. He was just under sixty-five years, +and their weight seemed to rest heavily upon him. +His eyes were slightly bleary, and had a look of weariness, +as though he had endured much and was utterly +tired. His mouth was flaccid, the lips pouting when +he compressed his jaws, giving his face the sullen, indecisive +look of the brooder lacking the mental and physical +courage of independent action and initiative. The +Judge could be led; Corrigan was leading him now, +and the Judge was reluctant, but his courage had oozed, +back in Dry Bottom, when Corrigan had mentioned a +culpable action which the Judge had regretted many +times.</p> +<p>Some legal records of the county were on the table +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +between the two men. The Judge had objected when +Corrigan had secured them from the compartment +where the others were piled.</p> +<p>“It isn’t regular, Mr. Corrigan,” he had said; “no +one except a legally authorized person has the right to +look over those books.”</p> +<p>“We’ll say that I am legally authorized, then,” +grinned Corrigan. The look in his eyes was one of +amused contempt. “It isn’t the only irregular thing +you have done, Lindman.”</p> +<p>The Judge subsided, but back in his eyes was a +slumbering hatred for this man, who was forcing him +to complicity in another crime. He regretted that +other crime; why should this man deliberately remind +him of it?</p> +<p>After looking over the records, Corrigan outlined a +scheme of action that made the Judge’s face blanch.</p> +<p>“I won’t be a party to any such scurrilous undertaking!” +he declared when, he could trust his voice; +“I—I won’t permit it!”</p> +<p>Corrigan stretched his legs out under the table, +shoved his hands into his trousers’ pockets and laughed.</p> +<p>“Why the high moral attitude, Judge? It doesn’t +become you. Refuse if you like. When we get to +Manti I shall wire Benham. It’s likely he’ll feel pretty +sore. He’s got his heart set on this. And I have +no doubt that after he gets my wire he’ll jump the +next train for Washington, and—”</p> +<p>The Judge exclaimed with weak incoherence, and a +few minutes later he was bending over the records +with Corrigan—the latter making sundry copies on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +a pad of paper, which he placed in a pocket when the +work was completed.</p> +<p>At noon the special car was in Manti. Corrigan, the +Judge, and Braman, carried the Judge’s effects and +stored them in the rear room of the bank building. +“I’ll build you a courthouse, tomorrow,” he promised +the Judge; “big enough for you and a number of +deputies. You’ll need deputies, you know.” He grinned +as the Judge shrank. Then, leaving the Judge in the +room with his books and papers, Corrigan drew Braman +outside.</p> +<p>“I got hell from Benham for destroying Trevison’s +check—he wired me to attend to my other deals and +let him run the railroad—the damned old fool! You +must have taken the cash to Trevison—I see the gang’s +working again.”</p> +<p>“The cash went,” said the banker, watching Corrigan +covertly, “but I didn’t take it. J. C. wired +explicit orders for his daughter to act.”</p> +<p>Corrigan cursed viciously, his face dark with wrath +as he turned to look at the private car, on the switch. +The banker watched him with secret, vindictive enjoyment. +Miss Benham had judged Braman correctly—he +was cold, crafty, selfish, and wholly devoid of sympathy. +He was for Braman, first and last—and in +the interim.</p> +<p>“Miss Benham went to the cut—so I hear,” he +went on, smoothly. “Trevison wasn’t there. Miss +Benham went to the Diamond K.” His eyes gleamed +as Corrigan’s hands clenched. “Trevison rode back to +the car with her—which she had ordered taken to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span> +cut,” went on the banker. “And this morning about +ten o’clock Trevison came here with a led horse. He +and Miss Benham rode away together. I heard her +tell her aunt they were going to Blakeley’s ranch—it’s +about eight miles from here.”</p> +<p>Corrigan’s face went white. “I’ll kill him for that!” +he said.</p> +<p>“Jealous, eh?” laughed the banker. “So, that’s +the reason—”</p> +<p>Corrigan turned and struck bitterly. The banker’s +jaws clacked sharply—otherwise he fell silently, striking +his head against the edge of the step and rolling, +face down, into the dust.</p> +<p>When he recovered and sat up, Corrigan had gone. +The banker gazed foolishly around at a world that +was still reeling—felt his jaw carefully, wonder and +astonishment in his eyes.</p> +<p>“What do you know about that?” he asked of the +surrounding silence. “I’ve kidded him about women +before, and he never got sore. He must be in love!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>Riding through a saccaton basin, the green-brown +tips so high that they caught at their stirrups as they +rode slowly along; a white, smiling sky above them and +Blakeley’s still three miles away, Miss Benham and +Trevison were chatting gayly at the instant the banker +had received Corrigan’s blow.</p> +<p>Miss Benham had spent the night thinking of Trevison, +and she had spent much of her time during the +present ride stealing glances at him. She had discovered +something about him that had eluded her the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span> +day before—an impulsive boyishness. It was hidden +behind the manhood of him, so that the casual observer +would not be likely to see it; men would have failed +to see it, because she was certain that with men he +would not let it be seen. But she knew the recklessness +that shone in his eyes, the energy that slumbered +in them ready to be applied any moment in response +to any whim that might seize him, were traits that +had not yet yielded to the stern governors of manhood—nor +would they yield in many years to come—they +were the fountains of virility that would keep him +young. She felt the irresistible appeal of him, responsive +to the youth that flourished in her own heart—and +Corrigan, older, more ponderous, less addicted +to impulse, grew distant in her thoughts and vision. +The day before yesterday her sympathies had been +with Corrigan—she had thought. But as she rode +she knew that they were threatening to desert him. +For this man of heroic mold who rode beside her was +disquietingly captivating in the bold recklessness of his +youth.</p> +<p>They climbed the far slope of the basin and halted +their horses on the crest. Before them stretched a +plain so big and vast and inviting that it made the +girl gasp with delight.</p> +<p>“Oh,” she said, awed; “isn’t it wonderful?”</p> +<p>“I knew you’d like it.”</p> +<p>“The East has nothing like this,” she said, with a +broad sweep of the hand.</p> +<p>“No,” he said.</p> +<p>She turned on him triumphantly. “There!” she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +declared; “you have committed yourself. You are +from the East!”</p> +<p>“Well,” he said; “I’ve never denied it.”</p> +<p>Something vague and subtle had drawn them together +during the ride, bridging the hiatus of strangeness, +making them feel that they had been acquainted +long. It did not seem impertinent to her that she +should ask the question that she now put to him—she +felt that her interest in him permitted it:</p> +<p>“You are an easterner, and yet you have been out +here for about ten years. Your house is big and substantial, +but I should judge that it has no comforts, +no conveniences. You live there alone, except for +some men, and you have male servants—if you have +any. Why should you bury yourself here? You are +educated, you are young. There are great opportunities +for you in the East!”</p> +<p>She paused, for she saw a cynical expression in his +eyes.</p> +<p>“Well?” she said, impatiently, for she had been +very much in earnest.</p> +<p>“I suppose I’ve got to tell you,” he said, soberly. +“I don’t know what has come over me—you seem +to have me under a spell. I’ve never spoken about it +before. I don’t know why I should now. But you’ve +got to know, I presume.”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“On your head rest the blame,” he said, his grin +still cynical; “and upon mine the consequences. It +isn’t a pretty story to tell; it’s only virtue is its brevity. +I was fired out of college for fighting. The fellows +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span> +I licked deserved what they got—and I deserved +what I got for breaking rules. I’ve always broken +rules. I may have broken laws—most of us have. +My father is wealthy. The last time I saw him he +said I was incorrigible and a dunce. I admit the former, +but I’m going to make him take the other back. +I told him so. He replied that he was from Missouri. +He gave me an opportunity to make good by cutting off +my allowance. There was a girl. When my allowance +was cut off she made me feel cold as an Eskimo. +Told me straight that she had never liked me in the +way she’d led me to believe she did, and that she +was engaged to a <i>real</i> man. She made the mistake of +telling me his name, and it happened to be one of the +fellows I’d had trouble with at college. The girl lost +her temper and told me things he’d said about me. I +left New York that night, but before I hopped on +the train I stopped in to see my rival and gave him the +bulliest trimming that I had ever given anybody. I +came out here and took up a quarter-section of land. +I bought more—after a while. I own five thousand +acres, and about a thousand acres of it is the best coal +land in the United States. I wouldn’t sell it for love +or money, for when your father gets his railroad running, +I’m going to cash in on ten of the leanest and +hardest and lonesomest years that any man ever put in. +I’m going back some day. But I won’t stay. I’ve lived +in this country so long that it’s got into my heart and +soul. It’s a golden paradise.”</p> +<p>She did not share his enthusiasm—her thoughts +were selfishly personal, though they included him. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span></p> +<p>“And the girl!” she said. “When you go back, +would you—”</p> +<p>“Never!” he scoffed, vehemently. “That would +convince me that I am the dunce my father said I was!”</p> +<p>The girl turned her head and smiled. And a little +later, when they were riding on again, she murmured +softly:</p> +<p>“Ten years of lonesomeness and bitterness to save +his pride! I wonder if Hester Keyes knows what she +has missed?”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='VII_TWO_LETTERS_GO_EAST' id='VII_TWO_LETTERS_GO_EAST'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<h3>TWO LETTERS GO EAST</h3> +</div> + +<p>After Agatha retired that night Rosalind sat for +a long time writing at a little desk in the private +car. She was tingling with excitement over a discovery +she had made, and was yearning for a confidante. Since +it had not been her habit to confide in Agatha, she did +the next best thing, which was to indite a letter to her +chum, Ruth Gresham. In one place she wrote:</p> +<p>“Do you remember Hester Keyes’ love affair of +ten years ago? You certainly must remember it! If +you cannot, permit me to brush the dust of forgetfulness +away. You cannot forget the night you met William +Kinkaid? Of course you cannot forget that, for +when you are Mrs. Kinkaid—But there! I won’t +poke fun at you. But I think every married person +needs to treasure every shred of romance against inevitable +hum-drum days. Isn’t that a sad sentiment? But +I want to get ahead with my reminder.”</p> +<p>There followed much detail, having to do with Hester +Keyes’ party, to which neither Rosalind nor Ruth +Gresham had been invited, for reasons which Rosalind +presently made obvious. She continued:</p> +<p>“Of course, custom does not permit girls of fourteen +to figure prominently at ‘coming-out’ parties, but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span> +after one is there and is relegated to a stair-landing, +one may use one’s eyes without restriction. Do you +remember my pointing out Hester Keyes’ ‘fellow’? +But of course you didn’t pay much attention to him +after Billy Kinkaid sailed into your vision! But I +envied Hester Keyes her eighteen years—and Trevison +Brandon! He had the blackest eyes and hair! +And he simply adored Hester! It made me feel positively +savage when I heard shortly afterward that +she had thrown him over—after his father cut him +off—to take up with that fellow Harvey—I never +could remember his first name. And she married Harvey—and +regretted it, until Harvey died.</p> +<p>“Ruth, Trevison Brandon is out here. He calls +himself ‘Brand’ Trevison. I met him two days ago, +and I did not recognize him, he has changed so much. +He puzzled me quite a little; but not even when I heard +his name did I connect him with the man I had seen +at Hester’s party. Ten years is <i>such</i> a long time, isn’t +it? And I never did have much of a memory for +names. But today he went with me to a certain ranch—Blakeley’s—which, +by the way, <i>father is going to +buy</i>—and on the way we became very much +acquainted, and he told me about his love affair. I +placed him instantly, then, and why I didn’t keel over +was, I suppose, because of the curious big saddles they +have out here, with enormous wooden <i>stirrups</i> on them. +I can hear you exclaim over that plural, but there are +no side-saddles. That is how it came that I was +unchaperoned—Agatha won’t take liberties with them, +the saddles. Thank Heaven!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span></p> +<p>There followed much more, with only one further +reference to Trevison:</p> +<p>“He must be nearly thirty now, but he doesn’t look +it, he’s so boyish. I gather, though, that he is regarded +as a <i>man</i> out here, where, I understand, manhood is +measured by something besides mere appearances. He +owns acres and acres of land—some of it has coal on +it; and he is sure to be enormously wealthy, some day. +But I am twenty-four, myself.”</p> +<p>The startling irrelevance of this sentence at first +surprised Ruth Gresham, and then caused her eyes to +brighten understandingly, as she read the letter a few +days later. She remarked, musingly:</p> +<p>“The inevitable hum-drum days, eh? And yet most +people long for them.”</p> +<p>Another letter was written when the one to Ruth +was completed. It was to J. Chalfant Benham.</p> +<div class='blockquot'> +<p>“<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Dear Daddy</span>:</p> +<p>“The West is a golden paradise. I could live here +many, many years. I visited Mr. Blakeley today. He +calls his ranch the Bar B. We wouldn’t have to change +the brand, would we? Trevison says the ranch is worth +all Blakeley asks for it. Mr. Blakeley says we can take +possession immediately, so I have decided to stay here. +Mrs. Blakeley has invited me, and I am going to have +my things taken over tomorrow. Since the Blakeley’s +are anxious to sell out and return South, don’t you +think you had better conclude the deal at once?</p> +<div class='ra'> +<p style=' margin-right:4em;'>“Lovingly,</p> +<p>“<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Rosalind</span>.”</p> +</div> + +</div> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='VIII_THE_CHAOS_OF_CREATION' id='VIII_THE_CHAOS_OF_CREATION'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<h3>THE CHAOS OF CREATION</h3> +</div> + +<p>The West saw many “boom” towns. They followed +in the wake of “gold strikes;” they grew, +mushroom-like, overnight—garish husks of squalor, +palpitating, hardy, a-tingle with extravagant hopes. A +few, it is true, lived to become substantial cities buzzing +with the American spirit, panting, fighting for progress +with an energy that shamed the Old World, lethargic +in its smug and self-sufficient superiority. But +many towns died in their gangling youth, tragic monuments +to hopes; but monuments also to effort, and to +the pioneer courage and the dreams of an empire-building +people.</p> +<p>Manti was destined to live. It was a boom town +with material reasons for substantial growth. Behind +it were the resources of a railroad company which +would anticipate the development of a section of country +bigger than a dozen Old-world states, and men +with brains keen enough to realize the commercial possibilities +it held. It had Corrigan for an advance agent—big, +confident, magnetic, energetic, suave, smooth.</p> +<p>Manti had awaited his coming; he was the magic +force, the fulfillment of the rumored promise. He had +stayed away for three weeks, following his departure +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +on the special car after bringing Judge Lindman, and +when he stepped off the car again at the end of that +time Manti was “humming,” as he had predicted. During +the three weeks of his absence, the switch at Manti +had never been unoccupied. Trains had been coming in +regularly bearing merchandise, men, tools, machines, +supplies. Engineers had arrived; the basin near Manti, +choked by a narrow gorge at its westerly end (where +the dam was to be built) was dotted with tents, wagons, +digging implements, a miscellany of material whose +hauling had worn a rutted trail over the plains and +on the slope of the basin, continually active with wagon-train +and pack horse, and articulate with sweating, +cursing drivers.</p> +<p>“She’s a pippin!” gleefully confided a sleek-looking +individual who might have been mistaken for a western +“parson” had it not been for a certain sophisticated +cynicism that was prominent about him, and which +imparted a distasteful taint of his profession. “Give +me a year of this and I’ll open a joint in Frisco! I +cleaned out a brace of bull-whackers in the <i>Plaza</i> last +night—their first pay. Afterward I stung a couple of +cattlemen for a hundred each. Look at her hum!”</p> +<p>Notwithstanding that it was midday, Manti was +teeming with life and action. Since the day that Miss +Benham had viewed the town from the window of the +private car, Manti had added more than a hundred +buildings to its total. They were not attractive; they +were ludicrous in their pitiful masquerade of substantial +types. Here and there a three-story structure reared +aloft, sheathed with galvanized iron, a garish aristocrat +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +seemingly conscious of its superiority, brazen, in +its bid for attention; more modest buildings seemed +dwarfed, humiliated, squatting sullenly and enviously. +There were hotels, rooming-houses, boarding-houses, +stores, dwellings, saloons—and others which for many +reasons need not be mentioned. But they were pulsating +with life, electric, eager, expectant. Taking +advantage of the scarcity of buildings, an enterprising +citizen had erected tents in rows on the street line, +for whose shelter he charged enormously—and did +a capacity business.</p> +<p>“A hundred came in on the last train,” complained +the over-worked station agent. “God knows what +they all expect to do here!”</p> +<p>Corrigan had kept his promise to build Judge Lindman +a courthouse. It was a flat-roofed structure, one +story high, wedged between a saloon and Braman’s +bank building. A sign in the front window of Braman’s +bank announced that Jefferson Corrigan, agent +of the Land & Improvement Company, of New York, +had office space within, but on the morning of the day +following his return to Manti, Corrigan was seated at +one side of a flat-top desk in the courthouse, talking +with Judge Lindman, who sat at the other side.</p> +<p>“Got them all transcribed?” asked Corrigan.</p> +<p>The Judge drew a thin ledger from his desk and +passed it over to Corrigan. As Corrigan turned the +pages and his face lighted, the Judge’s grew correspondingly +troubled.</p> +<p>“All right,” exulted Corrigan. “This purports to +be an accurate and true record of all the land transactions +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span> +in this section from the special grant to the +Midland Company, down to date. It shows no intermediate +owners from the Midland Company to the +present claimants. As a document arraigning carelessness +on the part of land buyers it cannot be excelled. +There isn’t a present owner that has a legal leg to +stand on!”</p> +<p>“There is only one weak point in your case,” said +the Judge, and his eyes gleamed with satisfaction, which +he concealed by bowing his head. “It is that since +these records show no sale of its property by the Midland +Company, the Midland Company can come forward +and re-establish its title.”</p> +<p>Corrigan laughed and flipped a legal-looking paper +in front of the Judge. The latter opened it and read, +showing eagerness. He laid it down after reading, +his hands trembling.</p> +<p>“It shows that the Midland Company—James Marchmont, president—transferred +to Jefferson Corrigan, on a date prior to these other transactions, one-hundred +thousand acres of land here—the Midland +Company’s entire holdings. Why, man, it is forgery!”</p> +<p>“No,” said Corrigan quietly. “James Marchmont +is alive. He signed his name right where it is. He’ll +confirm it, too, for he happens to be in something of +the fix that you are in. Therefore, there being no +records of any sales on your books—as revised, of +course—” he laughed; “Jeff Corrigan is the legal possessor +of one-hundred thousand acres of land right in +the heart of what is going to be the boom section of +the West!” He chuckled, lit a cigar, leaned back +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +in his chair and looked at the Judge. “All you have +to do now is to enter that transaction on your records.”</p> +<p>“You don’t expect the present owners to yield their +titles without a fight, do you?” asked the Judge. He +spoke breathlessly.</p> +<p>Corrigan grunted. “Sure; they’ll fight. But they’ll +lose. I’ve got them. I’ve got the power—the courts—the +law, behind me. I’ve got them, and I’ll squeeze +them. It means a mint of money, man. It will make +you. It’s the biggest thing that any man ever attempted +to pull off in this country!”</p> +<p>“Yes, it’s big,” groaned the Judge; “it’s stupendous! +It’s frightful! Why, man, if anything goes +wrong, it would mean—” He paused and shivered.</p> +<p>Corrigan smiled contemptuously. “Where’s the +original record?” he asked.</p> +<p>“I destroyed it,” said the Judge. He did not look +at Corrigan. “How?” demanded the latter.</p> +<p>“Burned it.”</p> +<p>“Good.” Corrigan rubbed his palms together. “It’s +too soon to start anything. Things are booming, and +some of these owners will be trying to sell. Hold +them off—don’t record anything. Give them any +excuse that comes to your mind. Have you heard from +Washington?”</p> +<p>“The establishment of the court here has been confirmed.”</p> +<p>“Quick work,” laughed Corrigan. He got up, murmuring +something about having to take care of some +leases. When he turned, it was to start and stand +rigid, his jaws set, his face pale. A man stood in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +open doorway—a man of about fifty apparently, furtive-eyed, +slightly shabby, though with an atmosphere +about him that hinted of past dignity of carriage.</p> +<p>“Jim Marchmont!” said Corrigan. He stepped +forward, threateningly, his face dark with wrath. Without +speaking another word he seized the newcomer +by the coat collar, snapping his head back savagely, +and dragged him back of a wooden partition. Concealed +there from any of the curious in the street, he +jammed Marchmont against the wall of the building, +held him there with one hand and stuck a huge fist into +his face.</p> +<p>“What in hell are you doing here?” he demanded. +“Come clean, or I’ll tear you apart!”</p> +<p>The other laughed, but there was no mirth in it, +and his thin lips were curved queerly, and were stiff +and white. “Don’t get excited, Jeff,” he said; “it +won’t be healthy.” And Corrigan felt something hard +and cold against his shirt front. He knew it was a +pistol and he released his hold and stepped back.</p> +<p>“Speaking of coming clean,” said Marchmont. +“You crossed me. You told me you were going to +sell the Midland land to two big ranch-owners. I find +that you’re going to cut it up into lots and make big +money—loads of it. You handed me a measly thousand. +You stand to make millions. I want my divvy.”</p> +<p>“You’ve got your nerve,” scoffed Corrigan. “You +got your bit when you sold the Midland before. You’re +a self-convicted crook, and if you make a peep out +here I’ll send you over the road for a thousand years!”</p> +<p>“Another thousand now,” said Marchmont: “and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span> +ten more when you commence to cash in. Otherwise, +a thousand years or not, I’ll start yapping here and +queer your game.”</p> +<p>Corrigan’s lips were in an ugly pout. For an instant +it seemed he was going to defy his visitor. Then without +a word to him he stepped around the partition, +walked out the door and entered the bank. A few +minutes later he passed a bundle of greenbacks to +Marchmont and escorted him to the front door, where +he stood, watching, his face unpleasant, until Marchmont +vanished into one of the saloons.</p> +<p>“That settles <i>you</i>, you damned fool!” he said.</p> +<p>He stepped down into the street and went into the +bank. Braman fawned on him, smirking insincerely. +Corrigan had not apologized for striking the blow, +had never mentioned it, continuing his former attitude +toward the banker as though nothing had happened. +But Braman had not forgiven him. Corrigan wasted +no words:</p> +<p>“Who’s the best gun-man in this section?”</p> +<p>Braman studied a minute. “Clay Levins,” he said, +finally.</p> +<p>“Can you find him?”</p> +<p>“Why, he’s in town today; I saw him not more than +fifteen minutes ago, going into the <i>Elk</i>!”</p> +<p>“Find him and bring him here—by the back way,” +directed Corrigan.</p> +<p>Braman went out, wondering. A few minutes later +he returned, coming in at the front door, smiling with +triumph. Shortly afterward Corrigan was opening the +rear door on a tall, slender man of thirty-five, with a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span> +thin face, a mouth that drooped at the corners, and +alert, furtive eyes. He wore a heavy pistol at his +right hip, low, the bottom of the holster tied to the +leather chaps, and as Corrigan closed the door he +noted that the man’s right hand lingered close to the +butt of the weapon.</p> +<p>“That’s all right,” said Corrigan; “you’re perfectly +safe here.”</p> +<p>He talked in low tones to the man, so that Braman +could not hear. Levins departed shortly afterwards, +grinning crookedly, tucking a piece of paper into a +pocket, upon which Corrigan had transcribed something +that had been written on the cuff of his shirt sleeve. +Corrigan went to his desk and busied himself with some +papers. Over in the courthouse, Judge Lindman took +from a drawer in his desk a thin ledger—a duplicate +of the one he had shown Corrigan—and going to the +rear of the room opened the door of an iron safe and +stuck the ledger out of sight under a mass of legal +papers.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>When Marchmont left Corrigan he went straight to +the <i>Plaza</i>, where he ordered a lunch and ate heartily. +After finishing his meal he emerged from the saloon +and stood near one of the front windows. One of the +hundred dollar bills that Corrigan had given him he +had “broke” in the <i>Plaza</i>, getting bills of small denomination +in change, and in his right trousers’ pocket was +a roll that bulked comfortably in his hand. The feel +of it made him tingle with satisfaction, as, except for +the other thousand that Corrigan had given him some +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +months ago, it was the only money he had had for a +long time. He knew he should take the next train out +of Manti; that he had done a hazardous thing in baiting +Corrigan, but he was lonesome and yearned for +the touch and voice of the crowds that thronged in +and out of the saloons and the stores, and presently he +joined them, wandering from saloon to saloon, drinking +occasionally, his content and satisfaction increasing +in proportion to the quantity of liquor he drank.</p> +<p>And then, at about three o’clock, in the barroom of +the <i>Plaza</i>, he heard a discordant voice at his elbow. +He saw men crowding, jostling one another to get +away from the spot where he stood—crouching, pale +of face, their eyes on him. It made him feel that he +was the center of interest, and he wheeled, staggering +a little—for he had drunk much more than he had +intended—to see what had happened. He saw Clay +Levins standing close to him, his thin lips in a cruel +curve, his eyes narrowed and glittering, his body in a +suggestive crouch. The silence that had suddenly +descended smote Marchmont’s ears like a momentary +deafness, and he looked foolishly around him, uncertain, +puzzled. Levins’ voice shocked him, sobered him, +whitened his face:</p> +<p>“Fork over that coin you lifted from me in the <i>Elk</i>, +you light-fingered hound!” said Levins.</p> +<p>Marchmont divined the truth now. He made his +second mistake of the day. He allowed a flash of rage +to trick him into reaching for his pistol. He got it +into his hand and almost out of the pocket before +Levins’ first bullet struck him, and before he could +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span> +draw it entirely out the second savage bark of the gun +in Levins’ hand shattered the stillness of the room. +Soundlessly, his face wreathed in a grin of hideous +satire, Marchmont sank to the floor and stretched +out on his back.</p> +<p>Before his body was still, Levins had drawn out the +bills that had reposed in his victim’s pocket. Crumpling +them in his hand he walked to the bar and tossed them +to the barkeeper.</p> +<p>“Look at ’em,” he directed. “I’m provin’ they’re +mine. Good thing I got the numbers on ’em.” While +the crowd jostled and crushed about him he read the +numbers from the paper Corrigan had given him, grinning +coldly as the barkeeper confirmed them. A deputy +sheriff elbowed his way through the press to Levins’ +side, and the gun-man spoke to him, lightly: “I reckon +everybody saw him reach for his gun when I told him +to fork the coin over,” he said, indicating his victim. +“So you ain’t got nothin’ on me. But if you’re figgerin’ +that the coin ain’t mine, why I reckon a guy named +Corrigan will back up my play.”</p> +<p>The deputy took him at his word. They found Corrigan +at his desk in the bank building.</p> +<p>“Sure,” he said when the deputy had told his story; +“I paid Levins the money this morning. Is it necessary +for you to know what for? No? Well, it seems +that the pickpocket got just what he deserved.” He +offered the deputy a cigar, and the latter went out, +satisfied.</p> +<p>Later, Corrigan looked appraisingly at Levins, who +still graced the office. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span></p> +<p>“That was rather an easy job,” he said. “Marchmont +was slow with a gun. With a faster man—a +man, say—” he appeared to meditate “—like Trevison, +for instance. You’d have to be pretty careful—”</p> +<p>“Trevison’s my friend,” grinned Levins coldly as +he got to his feet. “There’s nothin’ doin’ there—understand? +Get it out of your brain-box, for if anything +happens to ‘Firebrand,’ I’ll perforate you sure +as hell!”</p> +<p>He stalked out of the office, leaving Corrigan looking +after him, frowningly.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='IX_STRAIGHT_TALK' id='IX_STRAIGHT_TALK'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<h3>STRAIGHT TALK</h3> +</div> + +<p>Ten years of lonesomeness, of separation from all +the things he held dear, with nothing for his soul +to feed upon except the bitterness he got from a contemplation +of the past; with nothing but his pride and +his determination to keep him from becoming what he +had seen many men in this country become—dissolute +irresponsibles, drifting like ships without rudders—had +brought into Trevison’s heart a great longing. He +was like a man who for a long time has been deprived +of the solace of good tobacco, and—to use a simile +that he himself manufactured—he yearned to capture +someone from the East, sit beside him and fill his lungs, +his brain, his heart, his soul, with the breath, the aroma, +the spirit of the land of his youth. The appearance of +Miss Benham at Manti had thrilled him. For ten years +he had seen no eastern woman, and at sight of her +the old hunger of the soul became acute in him, aroused +in him a passionate worship that made his blood run +riot. It was the call of sex to sex, made doubly stirring +by the girl’s beauty, her breeziness, her virile, +alluring womanhood—by the appeal she made to the +love of the good and the true in his character. His +affection for Hester Keyes, he had long known, had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span> +been merely the vanity-tickling regard of the callow +youth—the sex attraction of adolescence, the “puppy” +love that smites all youth alike. For Rosalind Benham a +deeper note had been struck. Its force rocked him, +intoxicated him; his head rang with the music it made.</p> +<p>During the three weeks of her stay at Blakeley’s +they had been much together. Rosalind had accepted +his companionship as a matter of course. He had told +her many things about his past, and was telling her +many more things, as they sat today on an isolated +excrescence of sand and rock and bunch grass surrounded +by a sea of sage. From where they sat they +could see Manti—Manti, alive, athrob, its newly-come +hundreds busy as ants with their different pursuits.</p> +<p>The intoxication of the girl’s presence had never +been so great as it was today. A dozen times, drunken +with the nearness of her, with the delicate odor from +her hair, as a stray wisp fluttered into his face, he had +come very near to catching her in his arms. But he +had grimly mastered the feeling, telling himself that +he was not a savage, and that such an action would be +suicidal to his hopes. It cost him an effort, though, to +restrain himself, as his flushed face, his burning eyes +and his labored breath, told.</p> +<p>His broken wrist had healed. His hatred of Corrigan +had been kept alive by a recollection of the fight, +by a memory of the big man’s quickness to take advantage +of the banker’s foul trick, and by the passion for +revenge that had seized him, that held him in a burning +clutch. Jealousy of the big man he would not have +admitted; but something swelled his chest when he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span> +thought of Corrigan coming West in the same car with +the girl—a vague, gnawing something that made his +teeth clench and his facial muscles cord.</p> +<p>Rosalind had not told him that she had recognized +him, that during the ten years of his exile he had been +her ideal, but she could close her eyes at this minute +and imagine herself on the stair-landing at Hester +Keyes’ party, could feel the identical wave of thrilling +admiration that had passed over her when her gaze +had first rested on him. Yes, it had survived, that girlhood +passion, but she had grown much older and experienced, +and she could not let him see what she felt. +But her curiosity was keener than ever; in no other +man of her acquaintance had she felt this intense +interest.</p> +<p>“I remember you telling me the other day that your +men would have used their rifles, had the railroad company +attempted to set men to work in the cut. I presume +you must have given them orders to shoot. I +can’t understand you. You were raised in the East, +your parents are wealthy; it is presumed they gave you +advantages—in fact, you told me they had sent you +to college. You must have learned respect for the law +while there. And yet you would have had your men +resist forcibly.”</p> +<p>“I told you before that I respected the law—so +long as the law is just and the fellow I’m fighting is +governed by it. But I refuse to fight under a rule +that binds one of my hands, while my opponent sails +into me with both hands free. I’ve never been a believer +in the doctrine of ‘turn the other cheek.’ We are made +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span> +with a capacity for feeling, and it boils, unrestrained, +in me. I never could play the hypocrite; I couldn’t +say ‘no’ when I thought ‘yes’ and make anybody believe +it. I couldn’t lie and evade and side-step, even to +keep from getting licked. I always told the truth and +expressed my feelings in language as straight, simple, +and direct as I could. It wasn’t always the discreet +way. Perhaps it wasn’t always the wise way. I won’t +argue that. But it was the only way I knew. It caused +me a lot of trouble—I was always in trouble. My +record in college would make a prize fighter turn green +with envy. I’m not proud of what I’ve made of my +life. But I haven’t changed. I do what my heart +prompts me to do, and I say what I think, regardless +of consequences.”</p> +<p>“That would be a very good method—if everybody +followed it,” said the girl. “Unfortunately, it invites +enmity. Subtlety will take you farther in the world.” +She was smitten with an impulse, unwise, unconventional. +But the conventions! The East seemed effete +and far. Besides, she spoke lightly:</p> +<p>“Let us be perfectly frank, then. I think that perhaps +you take yourself too seriously. Life is a tragedy +to the tragic, a joke to the humorous, a drab canvas +to the unimaginative. It all depends upon what temperament +one sees it through. I dare say that I see +you differently than you see yourself. ’O wad some +power the giftie gi’e us to see oursel’s as ithers see us’,” +she quoted, and laughed at the queer look in his eyes, +for his admiration for her had leaped like a living +thing at her bubbling spirits, and he was, figuratively, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +forced to place his heel upon it. “I confess it seems +to me that you take a too tragic view of things,” she +went on. “You are like D’Artagnan, always eager to +fly at somebody’s throat. Possibly, you don’t give other +people credit for unselfish motives; you are too suspicious; +and what you call plain talk may seem impertinence +to others—don’t you think? In any event, +people don’t like to hear the truth told about themselves—especially +by a big, earnest, sober-faced man who +seems to speak with conviction, and, perhaps, authority. +I think you look for trouble, instead of trying to +evade it. I think, too,” she said, looking straight at +him, “that you face the world in a too physical fashion; +that you place too much dependence upon brawn and +fire. That, following your own method of speaking +your mind, is what I think of you. I tremble to imagine +what you think of me for speaking so plainly.”</p> +<p>He laughed, his voice vibrating, and bold passion +gleamed in his eyes. He looked fairly at her, holding +her gaze, compelling it with the intensity of his own, +and she drew a deep, tremulous breath of understanding. +There followed a tense, breathless silence. And +then—</p> +<p>“You’ve brought it on yourself,” he said. “I love +you. You are going to marry me—someday. That’s +what I think of you!”</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_2' id='linki_2'></a> +<img src='images/illus-097.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 384px; height: 574px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 384px;'> +“YOU ARE GOING TO MARRY ME—SOME DAY. THAT’S WHAT I THINK OF YOU!”<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<p>She got to her feet, her cheeks flaming, confused, +half-frightened, though a fierce exultation surged within +her. She had half expected this, half dreaded it, and +now that it had burst upon her in such volcanic fashion +she realized that she had not been entirely prepared. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +She sought refuge in banter, facing him, her cheeks +flushed, her eyes dancing.</p> +<p>“‘Firebrand,’” she said. “The name fits you—Mr. +Carson was right. I warned you—if you remember—that +you placed too much dependence on brawn and +fire. You are making it very hard for me to see you +again.”</p> +<p>He had risen too, and stood before her, and he now +laughed frankly.</p> +<p>“I told you I couldn’t play the hypocrite. I have +said what I think. I want you. But that doesn’t mean +that I am going to carry you away to the mountains. +I’ve got it off my mind, and I promise not to mention +it again—until you wish it. But don’t forget that some +day you are going to love me.”</p> +<p>“How marvelous,” said she, tauntingly, though in +her confusion she could not meet his gaze, looking +downward. “How do you purpose to bring it about?”</p> +<p>“By loving you so strongly that you can’t help yourself.”</p> +<p>“With your confidence—” she began. But he interrupted, +laughing:</p> +<p>“We’re going to forget it, now,” he said. “I +promised to show you that <i>Pueblo</i>, and we’ll have just +about time enough to make it and back to the Bar B +before dark.”</p> +<p>And they rode away presently, chatting on indifferent +subjects. And, keeping his promise, he said not +another word about his declaration. But the girl, stealing +glances at him, wondered much—and reached no +decision. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span></p> +<p>When they reached the abandoned Indian village, +many of its houses still standing, he laughed. “That +would make a dandy fort.”</p> +<p>“Always thinking of fighting,” she mocked. But +her eyes flashed as she looked at him.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='X_THE_SPIRIT_OF_MANTI' id='X_THE_SPIRIT_OF_MANTI'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +<h3>THE SPIRIT OF MANTI</h3> +</div> + +<p>The Benham private car had clacked eastward +over the rails three weeks before, bearing with it +as a passenger only the negro autocrat. At the last moment, +discovering that she could not dissuade Rosalind +from her mad decision to stay at Blakeley’s ranch, +Agatha had accompanied her. The private car was now +returning, bearing the man who had poetically declared +to his fawning Board of Directors: “Our railroad is +the magic wand that will make the desert bloom like the +rose. We are embarked upon a project, gentlemen, so +big, so vast, that it makes even your president feel a +pulse of pride. This project is nothing more nor less +than the opening of a region of waste country which +an all-wise Creator has permitted to slumber for ages, +for no less purpose than to reserve it to the horny-handed +son of toil of our glorious country. It will +awaken to the clarion call of our wealth, our brains, +and our genius.” He then mentioned Corrigan and +the Midland grant—another reservation of Providence, +which a credulous and asinine Congress had +bestowed, in fee-simple, upon a certain suave gentleman, +named Marchmont—and disseminated such other +details as a servile board of directors need know; and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span> +then he concluded with a flowery peroration that left +his hearers smirking fatuously.</p> +<p>And today J. Chalfant Benham was come to look +upon the first fruits of his efforts.</p> +<p>As he stepped down from the private car he was +greeted by vociferous cheers from a jostling and enthusiastic +populace—for J. C. had very carefully wired +the time of his arrival and Corrigan had acted accordingly, +knowing J. C. well. J. C. was charmed—he +said so, later, in a speech from a flimsy, temporary +stand erected in the middle of the street in front of the +<i>Plaza</i>—and in saying so he merely told the truth. For, +next to money-making, adulation pleased him most. He +would have been an able man had he ignored the latter +passion. It seared his intellect as a pernicious habit +blasts the character. It sat on his shoulders—extravagantly +squared; it shone in his eyes—inviting inspection; +his lips, curved with smug complacence, betrayed +it as, sitting in Corrigan’s office after the conclusion +of the festivities, he smiled at the big man.</p> +<p>“Manti is a wonderful town—a <i>wonderful</i> town!” +he declared. “It may be said that success is lurking +just ahead. And much of the credit is due to your +efforts,” he added, generously.</p> +<p>Corrigan murmured a polite disclaimer, and plunged +into dry details. J. C. had a passion for dry details. +For many hours they sat in the office, their heads close +together. Braman was occasionally called in. Judge +Lindman was summoned after a time. J. C. shook the +Judge’s hand warmly and then resumed his chair, folding +his chubby hands over his corpulent stomach. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span></p> +<p>“Judge Lindman,” he said; “you thoroughly understand +our position in this Midland affair.”</p> +<p>The Judge glanced at Corrigan. “Thoroughly.”</p> +<p>“No doubt there will be some contests. But the +present claimants have no legal status. Mr. — (here +J. C. mentioned a name that made the Judge’s eyes +brighten) tells me there will be no hitch. There could +not be, of course. In the absence of any court record +of possible transfers, the title to the land, of course, +reverts to the Midland Company. As Mr. Corrigan +has explained to me, he is entirely within his rights, having +secured the title to the land from Mr. Marchmont, +representing the Midland. You have no record of any +transfers from the Midland to the present claimants +or their predecessors, have you? There is no such +record?”</p> +<p>The Judge saw Corrigan’s amused grin, and surmised +that J. C. was merely playing with him.</p> +<p>“No,” he said, with some bitterness.</p> +<p>“Then of course you are going to stand with Mr. +Corrigan against the present claimants?”</p> +<p>“I presume so.”</p> +<p>“H’m,” said J. C. “If there is any doubt about it, +perhaps I had better remind you—”</p> +<p>The Judge groaned in agony of spirit. “It won’t +be necessary to remind me.”</p> +<p>“So I thought. Well, gentlemen—” J. C. arose +“—that will be all for this evening.”</p> +<p>Thus he dismissed the Judge, who went to his cot +behind a partition in the courthouse, while Corrigan +and J. C. stepped outside and walked slowly toward +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +the private car. They lingered at the steps, and presently +J. C. called and a negro came out with two chairs. +J. C. and Corrigan draped themselves in the chairs +and smoked. Dusk was settling over Manti; lights +appeared in the windows of the buildings; a medley of +noises reached the ears of the two men. By day Manti +was lively enough, by night it was a maelstrom of +frenzied action. A hundred cow-ponies were hitched +to rails that skirted the street in front of store and +saloon; cowboys from ranches, distant and near, rollicked +from building to building, touching elbows with +men less picturesquely garbed; the strains of crude +music smote the flat, dead desert air; yells, shouts, +laughter filtered through the bedlam; an engine, attached +to a train of cars on the main track near the +private car, wheezed steam in preparation for its eastward +trip, soon to begin.</p> +<p>Benham had solemn thoughts, sitting there, watching.</p> +<p>“That crowd wouldn’t have much respect for law. +They’re living at such a pitch that they’d lose their +senses entirely if any sudden crisis should arise. I’d +feel my way carefully, Corrigan—if I were you.”</p> +<p>Corrigan laughed deeply. “Don’t lose any sleep over +it. There are fifty deputy marshals in that crowd—and +they’re heeled. The rear room in the bank building +is a young arsenal.”</p> +<p>Benham started. “How on earth—” he began.</p> +<p>“Law and order,” smiled Corrigan. “A telegram +did it. The territory wants a reputation for safety.”</p> +<p>“By the way,” said Benham, after a silence; “I <i>had</i> +to take that Trevison affair out of your hands. We +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +don’t want to antagonize the man. He will be valuable +to us—later.”</p> +<p>“How?”</p> +<p>“Carrington, the engineer I sent out here to look +over the country before we started work, did considerable +nosing around Trevison’s land while in the vicinity. +He told me there were unmistakable signs of coal of a +good quality and enormous quantity. We ought to be +able to drive a good bargain with Trevison one of +these days—if we handle him carefully.”</p> +<p>Corrigan frowned and grunted. “His land is included +in that of the Midland grant. He shall be +treated like the others. If that is your only objection—”</p> +<p>“It isn’t,” said Benham. “I have discovered that +‘Brand’ Trevison is really Trevison Brandon, the disgraced +son of Orrin Brandon, the millionaire.”</p> +<p>The darkness hid Corrigan’s ugly pout. “How did +you discover that?” he said, coolly, after a little.</p> +<p>“My daughter mentioned it in one of her letters to +me. I confirmed, by quizzing Brandon, senior. Brandon +is powerful and obstinate. If he should discover +what our game is he would fight us to the last ditch. +The whole thing would go to smash, perhaps.”</p> +<p>“You didn’t tell him about his son being out here?”</p> +<p>“Certainly not!”</p> +<p>“Good!”</p> +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> +<p>“That it’s my land; that I’m going to take it away +from Trevison, father or no father. I’m going to +break him. That’s what I mean!” Corrigan’s big +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +hands were clenched on the arms of his chair; his eyes +gleamed balefully in the semi-darkness. J. C. felt a +tremor of awed admiration for him. He laughed, nervously. +“Well,” he said, “if you think you can handle +it—”</p> +<p>They sat there for a long time, smoking in silence. +One thought dominated Corrigan’s mind: “Three +weeks, and exchanging confidences—damn him!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>A discordant note floated out of the medley of sound +in palpitating Manti, sailed over the ridiculous sky line +and smote the ears of the two on the platform. The +air rocked an instant later with a cheer, loud, pregnant +with enthusiasm. And then a mass of men, close-packed, +undulating, moved down the street toward the +private car.</p> +<p>Benham’s face whitened and he rose from his chair. +“Good God!” he said; “what’s happened?” He felt +Corrigan’s hand on his shoulder, forcing him back into +his chair.</p> +<p>“It can’t concern us,” said the big man; “wait; we’ll +know pretty soon. Something’s broke loose.”</p> +<p>The two men watched—Benham breathless, wide-eyed; +Corrigan with close-set lips and out-thrust chin. +The mass moved fast. It passed the <i>Plaza</i>, far up the +street, receiving additions each second as men burst +out of doors and dove to the fringe; and grew in +front as other men skittered into it, hanging to its edge +and adding to the confusion. But Corrigan noted that +the mass had a point, like a wedge, made by three men +who seemed to lead it. Something familiar in the stature +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span> +and carriage of one of the men struck Corrigan, +and he strained his eyes into the darkness the better +to see. He could be sure of the identity of the man, +presently, and he set his jaws tighter and continued +to watch, with bitter malignance in his gaze, for the +man was Trevison. There was no mistaking the broad +shoulders, the set of the head, the big, bold and confident +poise of the man. At the point of the wedge he +looked what he was—the leader; he dominated the +crowd; it became plain to Corrigan as the mass moved +closer that he was intent on something that had aroused +the enthusiasm of his followers, for there were shouts +of: “That’s the stuff! Give it to them! Run ’em out!”</p> +<p>For an instant as the crowd passed the <i>Elk</i> saloon, +its lights revealing faces in its glare, Corrigan thought +its destination was the private car, and his hand went +to his hip. It was withdrawn an instant later, though, +when the leader swerved and marched toward the train +on the main track. In the light also, Corrigan saw +something that gave him a hint of the significance of it +all. His laugh broke the tension of the moment.</p> +<p>“It’s Denver Ed and Poker Charley,” he said to +Benham. “It’s likely they’ve been caught cheating and +have been invited to make themselves scarce.” And he +laughed again, with slight contempt, at Benham’s sigh +of relief.</p> +<p>The mass surged around the rear coach of the train. +There was some laughter, mingled with jeers, and while +this was at its height a man broke from the mass and +walked rapidly toward Corrigan and Benham. It was +Braman. Corrigan questioned him. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span></p> +<p>“It’s two professional gamblers. They’ve been +fleecing Manti’s easy marks with great facility. Tonight +they had Clay Levins in the back room of the <i>Belmont</i>. +He had about a thousand dollars (the banker looked +at Corrigan and closed an eye), and they took it away +from him. It looked square, and Levins didn’t kick. +Couldn’t anyway—he’s lying in the back room of the +<i>Belmont</i> now, paralyzed. I think that somebody told +Levins’ wife about him shooting Marchmont yesterday, +and Mrs. Levins likely sent Trevison after hubby—knowing +hubby’s appetite for booze. Levins isn’t +giving the woman a square deal, so far as that is concerned,” +went on the banker; “she and the kids are in +want half the time, and I’ve heard that Trevison’s +helped them out on quite a good many occasions. Anyway, +Trevison appeared in town this afternoon, looking +for Levins. Before he found him he heard these +two beauties framing up on him. That’s the result—the +two beauties go out. The crowd was for stringing +them up, but Trevison wouldn’t have it.”</p> +<p>“Marchmont?” interrupted Benham. “It isn’t possible—”</p> +<p>“Why not?” grinned Corrigan. “Yes, sir, the former +president of the Midland Company was shot to +death yesterday for pocket-picking.”</p> +<p>“Lord!” said Benham.</p> +<p>“So Levins’ wife sent Trevison for hubby,” said +Corrigan, quietly. “She’s <i>that</i> thick with Trevison, is +she?”</p> +<p>“Get that out of your mind, Jeff,” returned the +banker, noting Corrigan’s tone. “Everybody that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span> +knows of the case will tell you that everything’s straight +there.”</p> +<p>“Well,” Corrigan laughed, “I’m glad to hear it.”</p> +<p>The train steamed away as they talked, and the crowd +began to break up and scatter toward the saloons. +Before that happened, however, there was a great jam +around Trevison; he was shaking hands right and left. +Voices shouted that he was “all there!” As he started +away he was forced to shove his way through the press +around him.</p> +<p>Benham had been watching closely this evidence of +Trevison’s popularity; he linked it with some words that +his daughter had written to him regarding the man, +and as a thought formed in his mind he spoke it.</p> +<p>“I’d reconsider about hooking up with that man +Trevison, Corrigan. He’s one of those fellows that +win popularity easily, and it won’t do you any good to +antagonize him.”</p> +<p>“That’s all right,” laughed Corrigan, coldly.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XI_FOR_THE__KIDDIES' id='XI_FOR_THE__KIDDIES'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<h3>FOR THE “KIDDIES”</h3> +</div> + +<p>Trevison dropped from Nigger at the dooryard +of Levins’ cabin, and looked with a grim smile at +Levins himself lying face downward across the saddle +on his own pony. He had carried Levins out of the +<i>Belmont</i> and had thrown him, as he would have thrown +a sack of meal, across the saddle, where he had lain +during the four-mile ride, except during two short intervals +in which Trevison had lifted him off and laid him +flat on the ground, to rest. Trevison had meditated, +not without a certain wry humor, upon the strength and +the protracted potency of Manti’s whiskey, for not once +during his home-coming had Levins shown the slightest +sign of returning consciousness. He was as slack +as a meal sack now, as Trevison lifted him from the +pony’s back and let him slip gently to the ground at his +feet. A few minutes later, Trevison was standing in +the doorway of the cabin, his burden over his shoulder, +the weak glare of light from within the cabin stabbing +the blackness of the night and revealing him to the +white-faced woman who had answered his summons.</p> +<p>Her astonishment had been of the mute, agonized +kind; her eyes, hollow, eloquent with unspoken misery +and resignation, would have told Trevison that this +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +was not the first time, had he not known from personal +observation. She stood watching, gulping, shame and +mortification bringing patches of color into her cheeks, +as Trevison carried Levins into a bedroom and laid +him down, removing his boots. She was standing near +the door when Trevison came out of the bedroom; she +was facing the blackness of the desert night—a blacker +future, unknowingly—and Trevison halted on the +threshold of the bedroom door and set his teeth in sympathy. +For the woman deserved better treatment. He +had known her for several years—since the time when +Levins, working for him, had brought her from a ranch +on the other side of the Divide, announcing their marriage. +It had been a different Levins, then, as it was a +different wife who stood at the door now. She had +faded; the inevitable metamorphosis wrought by neglect, +worry and want, had left its husks—a wan, tired-looking +woman of thirty who had only her hopes to +nourish her soul. There were children, too—if that +were any consolation. Trevison saw them as he glanced +around the cabin. They were in another bed; through +an archway he could see their chubby faces. His lungs +filled and his lips straightened.</p> +<p>But he grinned presently, in an effort to bring cheer +into the cabin, reaching into a pocket and bringing out +the money he had recovered for Levins.</p> +<p>“There are nearly a thousand dollars here. Two +tin-horn gamblers tried to take it from Clay, but I +headed them off. Tell Clay—”</p> +<p>Mrs. Levins’ face whitened; it was more money than +she had ever seen at one time. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span></p> +<p>“Clay’s?” she interrupted, perplexedly. “Why, +where—”</p> +<p>“I haven’t the slightest idea—but he had it, they +tried to take it away from him—it’s here now—it +belongs to you.” He shoved it into her hands and +stepped back, smiling at the stark wonder and joy in +her eyes. He saw the joy vanish—concern and haunting +worry came into her eyes.</p> +<p>“They told me that Clay shot—killed—a man yesterday. +Is it true?” She cast a fearing look at the +bed where the children lay.</p> +<p>“The damned fools!”</p> +<p>“Then it’s true!” She covered her face with her +hands, the money in them. Then she took the hands +away and looked at the money in them, loathingly. “Do +you think Clay—”</p> +<p>“No!” he said shortly, anticipating. “That couldn’t +be. For the man Clay killed had this money on him. +Clay accused him of picking his pocket. Clay gave +the bartender in the <i>Plaza</i> the number of each bill +before he saw them after taking the bills out of the +pickpocket’s clothing. So it can’t be as you feared.”</p> +<p>She murmured incoherently and pressed both hands +to her breast. He laughed and walked to the door.</p> +<p>“Well, you need it, you and the kiddies. I’m glad +to have been of some service to you. Tell Clay he +owes me something for cartage. If there is anything +I can do for you and Clay and the kiddies I’d be only +too glad.”</p> +<p>“Nothing—now,” said the woman, gratitude shining +from her eyes, mingling with a worried gleam. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span> +“Oh!” she added, passionately; “if Clay was only different! +Can’t you help him to be strong, Mr. Trevison? +Like you? Can’t you be with him more, to try +to keep him straight for the sake of the children?”</p> +<p>“Clay’s odd, lately,” Trevison frowned. “He seems +to have changed a lot. I’ll do what I can, of course.” +He stepped out of the door and then looked back, +calling: “I’ll put Clay’s pony away. Good night.” +And the darkness closed around him.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>Over at Blakeley’s ranch, J. C. Benham had just +finished an inspection of the interior and had sank into +the depths of a comfortable chair facing his daughter. +Blakeley and his wife had retired, the deal that +would place the ranch in possession of Benham having +been closed. J. C. gazed critically at his daughter.</p> +<p>“Like it here, eh?” he said. “Well, you look it.” +He shook a finger at her. “Agatha has been writing +to me rather often, lately,” he added. There followed +no answer and J. C. went on, narrowing his eyes at +the girl. “She tells me that this fellow who calls himself +‘Brand’ Trevison has proven himself a—shall we +say, persistent?—escort on your trips of inspection +around the ranch.”</p> +<p>Rosalind’s face slowly crimsoned.</p> +<p>“H’m,” said Benham.</p> +<p>“I thought Corrigan—” he began. The girl’s eyes +chilled.</p> +<p>“H’m,” said Benham, again.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XII_EXPOSED_TO_THE_SUNLIGHT' id='XII_EXPOSED_TO_THE_SUNLIGHT'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<h3>EXPOSED TO THE SUNLIGHT</h3> +</div> + +<p>It was a month before Trevison went to town, +again. Only once during that time did he see Rosalind +Benham, for the Blakeleys had vacated, and goods +and servants had arrived from the East and needed attention. +Rosalind presided at the Bar B ranchhouse, under +Agatha’s chaperonage, and she had invited Trevison +to visit her whenever the mood struck him. He had +been in the mood many times, but had found no opportunity, +for the various activities of range work claimed +his attention. After a critical survey of Manti and +vicinity, J. C. had climbed aboard his private car to +be whisked to New York, where he reported to his +Board of Directors that Manti would one day be one +of the greatest commercial centers of the West.</p> +<p>Vague rumors of a legal tangle involving the land +around Manti had reached Trevison’s ears, and this +morning he had jumped on Nigger, determined to run +the rumors down. He made a wide swing, following +the river, which took him miles from his own property +and into the enormous basin which one day the engineers +expected to convert into a mammoth lake from +which the thirst of many dry acres of land was to be +slaked; and halting Nigger near the mouth of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span> +gorge, watched the many laborers, directed by various +grades of bosses, at work building the foundation of +the dam. Later, he crossed the basin, followed the +well-beaten trail up the slope to the level, and shortly +he was in Hanrahan’s saloon across the street from +Braman’s bank, listening to the plaint of Jim Lefingwell, +the Circle Cross owner, whose ranch was east of +town. Lefingwell was big, florid, and afflicted with perturbation +that was almost painful. So exercised was he +that he was at times almost incoherent.</p> +<p>“She’s boomin’, ain’t she? Meanin’ this man’s town, +of course. An’ a man’s got a right to cash in on a +boom whenever he gits the chance. Well, I’d figgered +to cash in. I ain’t no hawg an’ I got savvy enough to +perceive without the aid of any damn fortune-teller +that cattle is done in this country—considered as the +main question. I’ve got a thousand acres of land—which +I paid for in spot cash to Dick Kessler about +eight years ago. If Dick was here he’d back me up in +that. But he ain’t here—the doggone fool went an’ +died about four years ago, leavin’ me unprotected. Well, +now, not digressin’ any, I gits the idea that I’m goin’ +to unload consid’able of my thousand acres on the sufferin’ +fools that’s yearnin’ to come into this country an’ +work their heads off raisin’ alfalfa an’ hawgs, an’ cabbages +an’ sons with Pick-a-dilly collars to be eddicated +East an’ come back home some day an’ lift the mortgage +from the old homestead—which job they always +falls down on—findin’ it more to their likin’ to mortgage +their souls to buy jew’l’ry for fast wimmin. Well, +not digressin’ any, I run a-foul of a guy last week which +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +was dead set on investin’ in ten acres of my land, +skirtin’ one of the irrigation ditches which they’re figgerin’ +on puttin’ in. The price I wanted was a heap +satisfyin’ to the guy. But he suggests that before he +forks over the coin we go down to the courthouse an’ +muss up the records to see if my title is clear. Well, +not digressin’ any, she ain’t! She ain’t even nowheres +clear a-tall—she ain’t even there! She’s wiped off, +slick an’ clean! There ain’t a damned line to show +that I ever bought my land from Dick Kessler, an’ there +ain’t nothin’ on no record to show that Dick Kessler +ever owned it! What in hell do you think of that?</p> +<p>“Now, not digressin’ any,” he went on as Trevison +essayed to speak; “that ain’t the worst of it. While +I was in there, talkin’ to Judge Lindman, this here big +guy that you fit with—Corrigan—comes in. I gathers +from the trend of his remarks that I never had a legal +title to my land—that it belongs to the guy which +bought it from the Midland Company—which is him. +Now what in hell do you think of that?”</p> +<p>“I knew Dick Kessler,” said Trevison, soberly. “He +was honest.”</p> +<p>“Square as a dollar!” violently affirmed Lefingwell.</p> +<p>“It’s too bad,” sympathized Trevison. “That +places you in a mighty bad fix. If there’s anything I +can do for you, why—”</p> +<p>“Mr. ‘Brand’ Trevison?” said a voice at Trevison’s +elbow. Trevison turned, to see a short, heavily built +man smiling mildly at him.</p> +<p>“I’m a deputy from Judge Lindman’s court,” announced +the man. “I’ve got a summons for you. Saw +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span> +you coming in here—saves me a trip to your place.” +He shoved a paper into Trevison’s hands, grinned, and +went out. For an instant Trevison stood, looking after +the man, wondering how, since the man was a stranger +to him, he had recognized him—and then he opened +the paper to discover that he was ordered to appear +before Judge Lindman the following day to show cause +why he should not be evicted from certain described +property held unlawfully by him. The name, Jefferson +Corrigan, appeared as plaintiff in the action.</p> +<p>Lefingwell was watching Trevison’s face closely, and +when he saw it whiten, he muttered, understandingly:</p> +<p>“You’ve got it, too, eh?”</p> +<p>“Yes.” Trevison shoved the paper into a pocket. +“Looks like you’re not going to be skinned alone, Lefingwell. +Well, so-long; I’ll see you later.”</p> +<p>He strode out, leaving Lefingwell slightly stunned +over his abrupt leave-taking. A minute later he was +in the squatty frame courthouse, towering above Judge +Lindman, who had been seated at his desk and who +had risen at his entrance.</p> +<p>Trevison shoved the summons under Lindman’s nose.</p> +<p>“I just got this,” he said. “What does it mean?”</p> +<p>“It is perfectly understandable,” the Judge smiled +with forced affability. “The plaintiff, Mr. Jefferson +Corrigan, is a claimant to the title of the land now +held by you.”</p> +<p>“Corrigan can have no claim on my land; I bought +it five years ago from old Buck Peters. He got it from +a man named Taylor. Corrigan is bluffing.”</p> +<p>The Judge coughed and dropped his gaze from the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +belligerent eyes of the young man. “That will be determined +in court,” he said. “The entire land transactions +in this county, covering a period of twenty-five +years, are recorded in that book.” And the Judge indicated +a ledger on his desk.</p> +<p>“I’ll take a look at it.” Trevison reached for the +ledger, seized it, the Judge protesting, half-heartedly, +though with the judicial dignity that had become habitual +from long service in his profession.</p> +<p>“This is a high-handed proceeding, young man. You +are in contempt of court!” The Judge tried, but could +not make his voice ring sincerely. It seemed to him +that this vigorous, clear-eyed young man could see the +guilt that he was trying to hide.</p> +<p>Trevison laughed grimly, holding the Judge off with +one hand while he searched the pages of the book, +leaning over the desk. He presently closed the book +with a bang and faced the Judge, breathing heavily, +his muscles rigid, his eyes cold and glittering.</p> +<p>“There’s trickery here!” He took the ledger up +and slammed it down on the desk again, his voice vibrating. +“Judge Lindman, this isn’t a true record—it is +not the original record! I saw the original record five +years ago, when I went personally to Dry Bottom +with Buck Peters to have my deed recorded! This +record is a fake—it has been substituted for the original! +I demand that you stay proceedings in this matter +until a search can be made for the original record!”</p> +<p>“This is the original record.” Again the Judge tried +to make his voice ring sincerely, and again he failed. +His one mistake had not hardened him and judicial dignity +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span> +could not help him to conceal his guilty knowledge. +He winced as he felt Trevison’s burning gaze on him, +and could not meet the young man’s eyes, boring like +metal points into his consciousness. Trevison sprang +forward and seized him by the shoulders.</p> +<p>“By God—you know it isn’t the original!”</p> +<p>The Judge succeeded in meeting Trevison’s eyes, +but his age, his vacillating will, his guilt, could not +combat the overpowering force and virility of this volcanic +youth, and his gaze shifted and fell.</p> +<p>He heard Trevison catch his breath—shrilling it +into his lungs in one great sob—and then he stood, +white and shaking, beside the desk, looking at Trevison +as the young man went out of the door—a laugh +on his lips, mirthless, bitter, portending trouble and +violence.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>Corrigan was sitting at his desk in the bank building +when Trevison entered the front door. The big man +seemed to have been expecting his visitor, for just +before the latter appeared at the door Corrigan took +a pistol from a pocket and laid it on the desk beside +him, placing a sheet of paper over it. He swung slowly +around and faced Trevison, cold interest in his gaze. +He nodded shortly as Trevison’s eyes met his.</p> +<p>In a dozen long strides Trevison was at his side. +The young man was pale, his lips were set, he was +breathing fast, his nostrils were dilated—he was at +that pitch of excitement in which a word, a look or a +movement brings on action, instantaneous, unrecking of +consequences. But he exercised repression that made +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +the atmosphere of the room tingle with tension of the +sort that precedes the clash of mighty forces—he +deliberately sat on one corner of Corrigan’s desk, one +leg dangling, the other resting on the floor, one hand +resting on the idle leg, his body bent, his shoulders +drooping a little forward. His voice was dry and +light—Patrick Carson would have said his grin was +tiger-like.</p> +<p>“So that’s the kind of a whelp you are!” he said.</p> +<p>Corrigan caught his breath; his hands clenched, his +face reddened darkly. He shot a quick glance at the +sheet of paper under which he had placed the pistol. +Trevison interpreted it, brushed the paper aside, disclosing +the weapon. His lips curled; he took the +pistol, “broke” it, tossed cartridges and weapon into +a corner of the desk and laughed lowly.</p> +<p>“So you were expecting me,” he said. “Well, I’m +here. You want my land, eh?”</p> +<p>“I want the land that I’m entitled to under the terms +of my purchase—the original Midland grant, consisting +of one-hundred thousand acres. It belongs to me, +and I mean to have it!”</p> +<p>“You’re a liar, Corrigan,” said the young man, holding +the other’s gaze coldly; “you’re a lying, sneaking +crook. You have no claim to the land, and you know +it!”</p> +<p>Corrigan smiled stiffly. “The record of the deal I +made with Jim Marchmont years before any of you +people usurped the property is in my pocket at this +minute. The court, here, will uphold it.”</p> +<p>Trevison narrowed his eyes at the big man and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span> +laughed, bitter humor in the sound. It was as though +he had laughed to keep his rage from leaping, naked +and murderous, into this discussion.</p> +<p>“It takes nerve, Corrigan, to do what you are +attempting; it does, by Heaven—sheer, brazen gall! +It’s been done, though, by little, pettifogging shysters, +by piking real-estate crooks—thousands of parcels of +property scattered all over the United States have been +filched in that manner. But a hundred-thousand acres! +It’s the biggest steal that ever has been attempted, to +my knowledge, short of a Government grab, and your +imagination does you credit. It’s easy to see what’s +been done. You’ve got a fake title from Marchmont, +antedating ours; you’ve got a crooked judge here, to +befuddle the thing with legal technicalities; you’ve got +the money, the power, the greed, and the cold-blooded +determination. But I don’t think you understand what +you’re up against—do you? Nearly every man who +owns this land that you want has worked hard for it. +It’s been bought with work, man—work and lonesomeness +and blood—and souls. And now you want to +sweep it all away with one stroke. You want to step +in here and reap the benefit; you want to send us out +of here, beggars.” His voice leaped from its repression; +it now betrayed the passion that was consuming +him; it came through his teeth: “You can’t hand me +that sort of a raw deal, Corrigan, and make me like +it. Understand that, right now. You’re bucking the +wrong man. You can drag the courts into it; you can +wriggle around a thousand legal corners, but damn you, +you can’t avert what’s bound to come if you don’t lay +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +off this deal, and that’s a fight!” He laughed, full-throated, +his voice vibrating from the strength of the +passion that blazed in his eyes. He revealed, for an +instant to Corrigan the wild, reckless untamed youth +that knew no law save his own impulses, and the big +man’s eyes widened with the revelation, though he gave +no other sign. He leaned back in his chair, smiling +coldly, idly flecking a bit of ash from his shirt where +it had fallen from his cigar.</p> +<p>“I am prepared for a fight. You’ll get plenty of +it before you’re through—if you don’t lie down and +be good.” There was malice in his look, complacent +consciousness of his power. More, there was an impulse +to reveal to this young man whom he intended +to ruin, at least one of the motives that was driving +him. He yielded to the impulse.</p> +<p>“I’m going to tell you something. I think I would +have let you out of this deal, if you hadn’t been so +fresh. But you made a grand-stand play before the +girl I am going to marry. You showed off your horse +to make a bid for her favor. You paraded before her +window in the car to attract her attention. I saw you. +You rode me down. You’ll get no mercy. I’m going +to break you. I’m going to send you back to your +father, Brandon, senior, in worse condition than when +you left, ten years ago.” He sneered as Trevison +started and stepped on the floor, rigid.</p> +<p>“How did you recognize me?” Curiosity had dulled +the young man’s passion; his tone was hoarse.</p> +<p>“How?” Corrigan laughed, mockingly. “Did you +think you could repose any confidence in a woman you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +have known only about a month? Did you think she +wouldn’t tell me—her promised husband? She has +told me—everything that she succeeded in getting out +of you. She is heart and soul with me in this deal. She +is ambitious. Do you think she would hesitate to sacrifice +a clod-hopper like you? She’s very clever, Trevison; +she’s deep, and more than a match for you in +wits. Fight, if you like, you’ll get no sympathy there.”</p> +<p>Trevison’s faith in Miss Benham had received a +shock; Corrigan’s words had not killed it, however.</p> +<p>“You’re a liar!” he said.</p> +<p>Corrigan flushed, but smiled icily. “How many people +know that you have coal on your land, Trevison?”</p> +<p>He saw Trevison’s hands clench, and he laughed in +grim amusement. It pleased him to see his enemy +writhe and squirm before him; the grimness came +because of a mental picture, in his mind at this minute, +of Trevison confiding in the girl. He looked up, +the smile freezing on his lips, for within a foot of his +chest was the muzzle of Trevison’s pistol. He saw +the trigger finger contracting; saw Trevison’s free hand +clenched, the muscles corded and knotted—he felt the +breathless, strained, unreal calm that precedes tragedy, +grim and swift. He slowly stiffened, but did not shrink +an inch. It took him seconds to raise his gaze to Trevison’s +face, and then he caught his breath quickly and +smiled with straight lips.</p> +<p>“No; you won’t do it, Trevison,” he said, slowly; +“you’re not that kind.” He deliberately swung around +in the chair and drew another cigar from a box on the +desk top, lit it and leaned back, again facing the pistol. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span></p> +<p>Trevison restored the pistol to the holster, brushing +a hand uncertainly over his eyes as though to clear his +mental vision, for the shock that had come with the +revelation of Miss Benham’s duplicity had made his +brain reel with a lust to kill. He laughed hollowly. +His voice came cold and hard:</p> +<p>“You’re right—it wouldn’t do. It would be plain +murder, and I’m not quite up to that. You know your +men, don’t you—you coyote’s whelp! You know I’ll +fight fair. You’ll do yours underhandedly. Get up! +There’s your gun! Load it! Let’s see if you’ve got +the nerve to face a gun, with one in your own hand!”</p> +<p>“I’ll do my fighting in my own way.” Corrigan’s +eyes kindled, but he did not move. Trevison made a +gesture of contempt, and wheeled, to go. As he turned +he caught a glimpse of a hand holding a pistol, as it +vanished into a narrow crevice between a jamb and +the door that led to the rear room. He drew his own +weapon with a single movement, and swung around to +Corrigan, his muscles tensed, his eyes alert and chill +with menace.</p> +<p>“I’ll bore you if you wink an eyelash!” he warned, +in a whisper.</p> +<p>He leaped, with the words, to the door, lunging +against it, sending it crashing back so that it smashed +against the wall, overbalancing some boxes that reposed +on a shelf and sending them clattering. He stood in +the opening, braced for another leap, tall, big, his muscles +swelling and rippling, recklessly eager. Against +the partition, which was still swaying, his arms outstretched, +a pistol in one hand, trying to crowd still +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span> +farther back to escape the searching glance of Trevison’s +eyes, was Braman.</p> +<p>He had overheard Trevison’s tense whisper to Corrigan. +The cold savagery in it had paralyzed him, and +he gasped as Trevison’s eyes found him, and the pistol +that he tried to raise dangled futilely from his nerveless +fingers. It thudded heavily upon the boards of +the floor an instant later, a shriek of fear mingling +with the sound as he went down in a heap from a vicious, +deadening blow from Trevison’s fist.</p> +<p>Trevison’s leap upon Braman had been swift; he was +back in the doorway instantly, looking at Corrigan, his +eyes ablaze with rage, wild, reckless, bitter. He +laughed—the sound of it brought a grayish pallor to +Corrigan’s face.</p> +<p>“That explains your nerve!” he taunted. “It’s a +frame-up. You sent the deputy after me—pointed me +out when I went into Hanrahan’s! That’s how he knew +me! You knew I’d come in here to have it out with +you, and you figured to have Braman shoot me when +my back was turned! Ha, ha!” He swung his pistol +on Corrigan; the big man gripped the arms of his chair +and sat rigid, staring, motionless. For an instant there +was no sound. And then Trevison laughed again.</p> +<p>“Bah!” he said; “I can’t use your methods! You’re +safe so long as you don’t move.” He laughed again +as he looked down at the banker. Reaching down, he +grasped the inert man by the scruff of the neck and +dragged him through the door, out into the banking +room, past Corrigan, who watched him wonderingly +and to the front, there he dropped him and turning, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span> +answered the question that he saw shining in Corrigan’s +eyes:</p> +<p>“I don’t work in the dark! We’ll take this case out +into the sunlight, so the whole town can have a look +at it!”</p> +<p>He stooped swiftly, grasped Braman around the +middle, swung him aloft and hurled him through the +window, into the street, the glass, shattered, clashing +and jangling around him. He turned to Corrigan, +laughing lowly:</p> +<p>“Get up. Manti will want to know. I’m going to +do the talking!”</p> +<p>He forced Corrigan to the front door, and stood +on the threshold behind him, silent, watching.</p> +<p>A hundred doorways were vomiting men. The crash +of glass had carried far, and visions of a bank robbery +filled many brains as their owners raced toward +the doorway where Trevison stood, the muzzle of his +pistol jammed firmly against Corrigan’s back.</p> +<p>The crowd gathered, in the manner peculiar to such +scenes, coming from all directions and converging at +one point, massing densely in front of the bank building, +surrounding the fallen banker, pushing, jostling, +straining, craning necks for better views, eager-voiced, +curious.</p> +<p>No one touched Braman. On the contrary, there +were many in the front fringe that braced their bodies +against the crush, shoving backward, crying that a +man was hurt and needed breathing space. They were +unheeded, and when the banker presently recovered consciousness +he was lifted to his feet and stood, pressed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span> +close to the building, swaying dizzily, pale, weak and +shaken.</p> +<p>Word had gone through the crowd that it was not +a robbery, for there were many there who knew Trevison; +they shouted greetings to him, and he answered +them, standing back of Corrigan, grim and somber.</p> +<p>Foremost in the crowd was Mullarky, who on +another day had seen a fight at this same spot. He had +taken a stand directly in front of the door of the bank, +and had been using his eyes and his wits rapidly since +his coming. And when two or three men from the +crowd edged forward and tried to push their way to +Corrigan, Mullarky drew a pistol, leaped to the door +landing beside Trevison and trained his weapon, on +them.</p> +<p>“Stand back, or I’ll plug you, sure as I’m a foot +high! There’s hell to pay here, an’ me friend gets a +square deal—whatever he’s done!”</p> +<p>“Right!” came other voices from various points in +the crowd; “a square deal—no interference!”</p> +<p>Judge Lindman came out into the street, urged by +curiosity. He had stepped down from the doorway of +the courthouse and had instantly been carried with the +crowd to a point directly in front of Corrigan and +Trevison, where he stood, bare-headed, pale, watching +silently. Corrigan saw him, and smiled faintly at him. +The easterner’s eye sought out several faces in the +crowd near him, and when he finally caught the gaze +of a certain individual who had been eyeing him inquiringly +for some moments, he slowly closed an eye and +moved his head slightly toward the rear of the building. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +Instantly the man whistled shrilly with his fingers, +as though to summon someone far down the street, +and slipping around the edge of the crowd made his +way around to the rear of the bank building, where he +was joined presently by other men, roughly garbed, who +carried pistols. One of them climbed in through a +window, opened the door, and the others—numbering +now twenty-five or thirty, dove into the room.</p> +<p>Out in front a silence had fallen. Trevison had lifted +a hand and the crowd strained its ears to hear.</p> +<p>“I’ve caught a crook!” declared Trevison, the frenzy +of fight still surging through his veins. “He’s not a +cheap crook—I give him credit for that. All he wants +to do is to steal the whole county. He’ll do it, too, +if we don’t head him off. I’ll tell you more about him +in a minute. There’s another of his stripe.” He +pointed to Braman, who cringed. “I threw him out +through the window, where the sunlight could shine +on him. He tried to shoot me in the back—the big +crook here, framed up on me. I want you all to +know what you’re up against. They’re after all the +land in this section; they’ve clouded every title. It’s +a raw, dirty deal. I see now, why they haven’t sold a +foot of the land they own here; why they’ve shoved the +cost of leases up until it’s ruination to pay them. They’re +land thieves, commercial pirates. They’re going to +euchre everybody out of—”</p> +<p>Trevison caught a gasp from the crowd—concerted, +sudden. He saw the mass sway in unison, stiffen, stand +rigid; and he turned his head quickly, to see the door +behind him, and the broken window through which he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span> +had thrown Braman—the break running the entire +width of the building—filled with men armed with +rifles.</p> +<p>He divined the situation, sensed his danger—the +danger that faced the crowd should one of its members +make a hostile movement.</p> +<p>“Steady there, boys!” he shouted. “Don’t start +anything. These men are here through prearrangement—it’s +another frame-up. Keep your guns out +of sight!” He turned, to see Corrigan grinning contemptuously +at him. He met the look with naked exultation +and triumph.</p> +<p>“Got your body-guard within call, eh?” he jeered. +“You need one. You’ve cut me short, all right; but +I’ve said enough to start a fire that will rage through +this part of the country until every damned thief is +burned out! You’ve selected the wrong man for a victim, +Corrigan.”</p> +<p>He stepped down into the street, sheathing his pistol. +He heard Corrigan’s voice, calling after him, +saying:</p> +<p>“Grand-stand play again!”</p> +<p>Trevison turned; the gaze of the two men met, held, +their hatred glowing bitter in their eyes; the gaze +broke, like two sharp blades rasping apart, and Corrigan +turned to his deputies, scowling; while Trevison +pushed his way through the crowd.</p> +<p>Five minutes later, while Corrigan was talking with +the deputies and Braman in the rear room of the bank +building, Trevison was standing in the courthouse talking +with Judge Lindman. The Judge stared out into +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +the street at some members of the crowd that still +lingered.</p> +<p>“This town will be a volcano of lawlessness if it +doesn’t get a square deal from you, Lindman,” said +Trevison. “You have seen what a mob looks like. +You’re the representative of justice here, and if we +don’t get justice we’ll come and hang you in spite of +a thousand deputies! Remember that!”</p> +<p>He stalked out, leaving behind him a white-faced, +trembling old man who was facing a crisis which made +the future look very black and dismal. He was wondering +if, after all, hanging wouldn’t be better than +the sunlight shining on a deed which each day he +regretted more than on the preceding day. And Trevison, +riding Nigger out of town, was estimating the probable +effect of his crowd-drawing action upon Judge +Lindman, and considering bitterly the perfidy of the +woman who had cleverly drawn him on, to betray him.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XIII_ANOTHER_LETTER' id='XIII_ANOTHER_LETTER'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<h3>ANOTHER LETTER</h3> +</div> + +<p>That afternoon, Corrigan rode to the Bar B. The +ranchhouse was of the better class, big, imposing, +well-kept, with a wide, roofed porch running across +the front and partly around both sides. It stood in a +grove of fir-balsam and cottonwood, on a slight eminence, +and could be seen for miles from the undulating +trail that led to Manti. Corrigan arrived shortly after +noon, to find Rosalind gone, for a ride, Agatha told +him, after she had greeted him at the edge of the +porch.</p> +<p>Agatha had not been pleased over Rosalind’s rides +with Trevison as a companion. She was loyal to her +brother, and she did not admire the bold recklessness +that shone so frankly and unmistakably in Trevison’s +eyes. Had she been Rosalind she would have preferred +the big, sleek, well-groomed man of affairs who had +called today. And because of her preference for Corrigan, +she sat long on the porch with him and told +him many things—things that darkened the big man’s +face. And when, as they were talking, Rosalind came, +Agatha discreetly retired, leaving the two alone.</p> +<p>For a time after the coming of Rosalind, Corrigan +sat in a big rocking chair, looking thoughtfully down +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span> +the Manti trail, listening to the girl talk of the country, +picturing her on a distant day—not too distant, +either, for he meant to press his suit—sitting beside +him on the porch of another house that he meant to +build when he had achieved his goal. These thoughts +thrilled him as they had never thrilled him until the +entrance of Trevison into his scheme of things. He +had been sure of her then. And now the knowledge +that he had a rival, filled him with a thousand emotions, +the most disturbing of which was jealousy. The rage +in him was deep and malignant as he coupled the mental +pictures of his imagination with the material record +of Rosalind’s movements with his rival, as related by +Agatha. It was not his way to procrastinate; he meant +to exert every force at his command, quickly, resistlessly, +to destroy Trevison, to blacken him and damn +him, in the eyes of the girl who sat beside him. But +he knew that in the girl’s presence he must be wise and +subtle.</p> +<p>“It’s a great country, isn’t it?” he said, his eyes +on the broad reaches of plain, green-brown in the shimmering +sunlight. “Look at it—almost as big as some +of the Old-world states! It’s a wonderful country. +I feel like a feudal baron, with the destinies of an +important principality in the clutch of my hand!”</p> +<p>“Yes; it must give one a feeling of great responsibility +to know that one has an important part in the +development of a section like this.”</p> +<p>He laughed, deep in his throat, at the awe in her +voice. “I ought to have seen its possibilities years ago—I +should have been out here, preparing for this. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span> +But when I bought the land I had no idea it would +one day be so valuable.”</p> +<p>“Bought it?”</p> +<p>“A hundred thousand acres of it. I got it very +cheap.” He told her about the Midland grant and his +purchase from Marchmont.</p> +<p>“I never heard of that before!” she told him.</p> +<p>“It wasn’t generally known. In fact, it was apparently +generally considered that the land had been sold +by the Midland Company to various people—in small +parcels. Unscrupulous agents engineered the sales, I +suppose. But the fact is that I made the purchase from +the Midland Company years ago—largely as a personal +favor to Jim Marchmont, who needed money +badly. And a great many of the ranch-owners around +here really have no title to their land, and will have +to give it up.”</p> +<p>She breathed deeply. “That will be a great disappointment +to them, now that there exists the probability +of a great advance in the value of the land.”</p> +<p>“That was the owners’ lookout. A purchaser should +see that his deed is clear before closing a deal.”</p> +<p>“What owners will be affected?” She spoke with a +slight breathlessness.</p> +<p>“Many.” He named some of them, leaving Trevison +to the last, and then watching her furtively out +of the corners of his eyes and noting, with straightened +lips, the quick gasp she gave. She said nothing; +she was thinking of the great light that had been in +Trevison’s eyes on the day he had told her of his +ten years of exile; she could remember his words, they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +had been vivid fixtures in her mind ever since: “I +own five thousand acres, and about a thousand acres of +it is the best coal land in the United States. I wouldn’t +sell it for love or money, for when your father gets +his railroad running, I’m going to cash in on ten of +the leanest and hardest and lonesomest years that any +man ever put in.”</p> +<p>How hard it would be for him to give it all up; +to acknowledge defeat, to feel those ten wasted years +behind him, empty, unproductive; full of shattered +hopes and dreams changed to nightmares! She sat, +white of face, gripping the arms of her chair, feeling a +great, throbbing sympathy for him.</p> +<p>“You will take it all?”</p> +<p>“He will still hold one hundred and sixty acres—the +quarter-section granted him by the government, +which he has undoubtedly proved on.”</p> +<p>“Why—” she began, and paused, for to go further +would be to inject her personal affairs into the conversation.</p> +<p>“Trevison is an evil in the country,” he went on, +speaking in a judicial manner, but watching her narrowly. +“It is men like him who retard civilization. He +opposes law and order—defies them. It is a shock, +I know, to learn that the title to property that you +have regarded as your own for years, is in jeopardy. +But still, a man can play the man and not yield to lawless +impulses.”</p> +<p>“What has happened?” She spoke breathlessly, +for something in Corrigan’s voice warned her.</p> +<p>“Very little—from Trevison’s viewpoint, I suppose,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span> +he laughed. “He came into my office this morning, +after being served with a summons from Judge +Lindman’s court in regard to the title of his land, and +tried to kill me. Failing in that, he knocked poor, inoffensive +little Braman down—who had interfered in +my behalf—and threw him bodily through the front +window of the building, glass and all. It’s lucky for +him that Braman wasn’t hurt. After that he tried to +incite a riot, which Judge Lindman nipped in the bud by +sending a number of deputies, armed with rifles, to the +scene. It was a wonderful exhibition of outlawry. I +was very sorry to have it happen, and any more such +outbreaks will result in Trevison’s being jailed—if not +worse.”</p> +<p>“My God!” she panted, in a whisper, and became +lost in deep thought.</p> +<p>They sat for a time, without speaking. She studied +the profile of the man and compared its reposeful +strength with that of the man who had ridden with +her many times since her coming to Blakeley’s. The +turbulent spirit of Trevison awed her now, frightened +her—she feared for his future. But she pitied him; +the sympathy that gripped her made icy shivers run +over her.</p> +<p>“From what I understand, Trevison has always +been a disturber,” resumed Corrigan. “He disgraced +himself at college, and afterwards—to such an extent +that his father cut him off. He hasn’t changed, apparently; +he is still doing the same old tricks. He had +some sort of a love affair before coming West, your +father told me. God help the girl who marries him!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span></p> +<p>The girl flushed at the last sentence; she replied to +the preceding one:</p> +<p>“Yes. Hester Keyes threw him over, after he broke +with his father.”</p> +<p>She did not see Corrigan’s eyes quicken, for she was +wondering if, after all, Hester Keyes had not acted +wisely in breaking with Trevison. Certainly, Hester had +been in a position to know him better than some of +those critics who had found fault with her for her +action—herself, for instance. She sighed, for the +memory of her ideal was dimming. A figure that represented +violence and bloodshed had come in its place.</p> +<p>“Hester Keyes,” said Corrigan, musingly. “Did +she marry a fellow named Harvey—afterwards? +Winslow Harvey, if I remember rightly. He died soon +after?”</p> +<p>“Yes—do you know her?”</p> +<p>“Slightly.” Corrigan laughed. “I knew her father. +Well, well. So Trevison worshiped there, did he? +Was he badly hurt—do you know?”</p> +<p>“I do not know.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said Corrigan, getting up, and speaking +lightly, as though dismissing the subject from his mind; +“I presume he was—and still is, for that matter. A +person never forgets the first love.” He smiled at her. +“Won’t you go with me for a short ride?”</p> +<p>The ride was taken, but a disturbing question lingered +in Rosalind’s mind throughout, and would not be solved. +Had Trevison forgotten Hester Keyes? Did he think +of her as—as—well, as she, herself, sometimes +thought of Trevison—as she thought of him now—with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +a haunting tenderness that made his faults recede, +as the shadows vanish before the sunshine?</p> +<p>What Corrigan thought was expressed in a satisfied +chuckle, as later, he loped his horse toward Manti. +That night he wrote a letter and sent it East. It was +addressed to Mrs. Hester Harvey, and was subscribed: +“Your old friend, Jeff.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XIV_A_RUMBLE_OF_WAR' id='XIV_A_RUMBLE_OF_WAR'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<h3>A RUMBLE OF WAR</h3> +</div> + +<p>The train that carried Corrigan’s letter eastward +bore, among its few other passengers, a young +man with a jaw set like a steel trap, who leaned forward +in his seat, gripping the back of the seat in front +of him; an eager, smoldering light in his eyes, who rose +at each stop the train made and glared belligerently +and intolerantly at the coach ends, muttering guttural +anathemas at the necessity for delays. The spirit of +battle was personified in him; it sat on his squared +shoulders; it was in the thrust of his chin, stuck out as +though to receive blows, which his rippling muscles +would be eager to return. Two other passengers in +the coach watched him warily, and once, when he got +up and walked to the front of the coach, opening the +door and looking out, to let in the roar and whir and +the clatter, one of the passengers remarked to the +other: “That guy is in a temper where murder would +come easy to him.”</p> +<p>The train left Manti at nine o’clock in the evening. +At midnight it pulled up at the little frame station in +Dry Bottom and the young man leaped off and strode +rapidly away into the darkness of the desert town. A +little later, J. Blackstone Graney, attorney at law, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +former Judge of the United States District Court at +Dry Bottom, heard a loud hammering on the door of +his residence at the outskirts of town. He got up, with +a grunt of resentment for all heavy-fisted fools abroad +on midnight errands, and went downstairs to admit a +grim-faced stranger who looked positively bloodthirsty +to the Judge, under the nervous tension of his midnight +awakening.</p> +<p>“I’m ‘Brand’ Trevison, owner of the Diamond K +ranch, near Manti,” said the stranger, with blunt sharpness +that made the Judge blink. “I’ve a case on in the +Manti court at ten o’clock tomorrow—today,” he corrected. +“They are going to try to swindle me out of +my land, and I’ve got to have a lawyer—a real one. +I could have got half a dozen in Manti—such as +they are—but I want somebody who is wise in the +law, and with the sort of honor that money and power +can’t blast—I want you!”</p> +<p>Judge Graney looked sharply at his visitor, and +smiled. “You are evidently desperately harried. Sit +down and tell me about your case.” He waved to a +chair and Trevison dropped into it, sitting on its edge. +The Judge took another, and with the kerosene lamp +between them on a table, Trevison related what had +occurred during the previous morning in Manti. When +he concluded, the Judge’s face was serious.</p> +<p>“If what you say is true, it is a very awkward, not +to say suspicious, situation. Being the only lawyer in +Dry Bottom, until the coming of Judge Lindman, I +have had occasion many times to consult the record +you speak of, and if my memory serves me well, I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span> +have noted several times—quite casually, of course, +since I have never been directly concerned with the +records of the land in your vicinity—that several transfers +of title to the original Midland grant have been +recorded. Your deed would show, of course, the date +of your purchase from Buck Peters, and we shall, perhaps, +be able to determine the authenticity of the present +record in that manner. But if, as you believe, the +records have been tampered with, we are facing a long, +hard legal battle which may or may not result in an +ultimate victory for us—depending upon the power +behind the interests opposed to you.”</p> +<p>“I’ll fight them to the Supreme Court of the United +States!” declared Trevison. “I’ll fight them with +the law or without it!”</p> +<p>“I know it,” said Graney, with a shrewd glance at +the other’s grim face. “But be careful not to do anything +that will jeopardize your liberty. If those men +are what you think they are, they would be only +too glad to have you break some law that would give +them an excuse to jail you. You couldn’t do much fighting +then, you know.” He got up. “There’s a train +out of here in about an hour—we’ll take it.”</p> +<p>About six o’clock that morning the two men stepped +off the train at Manti. Graney went directly to a hotel, +to wash and breakfast, while Trevison, a little tired +and hollow-eyed from loss of sleep and excitement, and +with a two days’ growth of beard on his face, which +made him look worse than he actually felt, sought the +livery stable where he had left Nigger the night before, +mounted the animal and rode rapidly out of town +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +toward the Diamond K. He took a trail that led +through the cut where on another morning he had +startled the laborers by riding down the wall—Nigger +eating up the ground with long, sure, swift strides—passing +Pat Carson and his men at a point on the level +about a quarter of a mile beyond the cut. He waved a +hand to Carson as he flashed by, and something in +his manner caused Carson to remark to the engineer +of the dinky engine: “Somethin’s up wid Trevison +ag’in, Murph—he’s got a domned mean look in his +eye. I’m the onluckiest son-av-a-gun in the worruld, +Murph! First I miss seein’ this fire-eater bate the +face off the big ilephant, Corrigan, an’ yisterday I was +figgerin’ on goin’ to town—but didn’t; an’ I miss +seein’ that little whiffet of a Braman flyin’ through the +windy. Do ye’s know that there’s a feelin’ ag’in Corrigan +an’ the railroad in town, an’ thot this mon Trevison +is the fuse that wud bust the boom av discontint. +I’m beginnin’ to feel a little excited meself. Now what +do ye suppose that gang av min wid Winchesters was +doin’, comin’ from thot direction this mornin’?” He +pointed toward the trail that Trevison was riding. +“An’ that big stiff, Corrigan, wid thim!”</p> +<p>Trevison got the answer to this query the minute he +reached the Diamond K ranchhouse. His foreman +came running to him, pale, disgusted, his voice snapping +like a whip:</p> +<p>“They’ve busted your desk an’ rifled it. Twenty +guys who said they was deputies from the court in +Manti, an’ Corrigan. I was here alone, watchin’, as +you told me, but couldn’t move a finger—damn ’em!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span></p> +<p>Trevison dismounted and ran into the house. The +room that he used as an office was in a state of disorder. +Papers, books, littered the floor. It was evident +that a thorough search had been made—for something. +Trevison darted to the desk and ran a hand into +the pigeonhole in which he kept the deed which he +had come for. The hand came out, empty. He sprang +to the door of a small closet where, in a box that contained +some ammunition that he kept for the use of +his men, he had placed the money that Rosalind Benham +had brought to him. The money was not there. +He walked to the center of the room and stood for +an instant, surveying the mass of litter around him, +reeling, rage-drunken, murder in his heart. Barkwell, +the foreman, watching him, drew great, long breaths +of sympathy and excitement.</p> +<p>“Shall I get the boys an’ go after them damn +sneaks?” he questioned, his voice tremulous. “We’ll +clean ’em out—smoke ’em out of the county!” he +threatened. He started for the door.</p> +<p>“Wait!” Trevison had conquered the first surge +of passion; his grin was cold and bitter as he crossed +glances with his foreman. “Don’t do anything—yet. +I’m going to play the peace string out. If it doesn’t +work, why then—” He tapped his pistol holster significantly.</p> +<p>“You get a few of the boys and stay here with +them. It isn’t probable that they’ll try anything like +that again, because they’ve got what they wanted. But +if they happen to come again, hold them until I come. +I’m going to court.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span></p> +<p>Later, in Manti, he was sitting opposite Graney in +a room in the hotel to which the Judge had gone.</p> +<p>“H’m,” said the latter, compressing his lips; “that’s +sharp practice. They are not wasting any time.”</p> +<p>“Was it legal?”</p> +<p>“The law is elastic—some judges stretch it more +than others. A search-warrant and a writ of attachment +probably did the business in this case. What I +can’t understand is why Judge Lindman issued the writ +at all—if he did so. You are the defendant, and you +certainly would have brought the deed into court as +a means of proving your case.”</p> +<p>Trevison had mentioned the missing money, though +he did not think it important to explain where it had +come from. And Judge Graney did not ask him. But +when court opened at the appointed time, with a dignity +which was a mockery to Trevison, and Judge Graney +had explained that he had come to represent the defendant +in the action, he mildly inquired the reason for the +forcible entry into his client’s house, explaining also +that since the defendant was required to prove his case +it was optional with him whether or not the deed be +brought into court at all.</p> +<p>Corrigan had been on time; he had nodded curtly to +Trevison when he had entered to take the chair in +which he now sat, and had smiled when Trevison had +deliberately turned his back. He smiled when Judge +Graney asked the question—a faint, evanescent smirk. +But at Judge Lindman’s reply he sat staring stolidly, +his face an impenetrable mask:</p> +<p>“There was no mention of a deed in the writ of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span> +attachment issued by the court. Nor has the court any +knowledge of the existence of such a deed. The officers +of the court were commanded to proceed to the defendant’s +house, for the purpose of finding, if possible, and +delivering to this court the sum of twenty-seven hundred +dollars, which amount, representing the money +paid to the defendant by the railroad company for certain +grants and privileges, is to remain in possession of +the court until the title to the land in litigation has +been legally awarded.”</p> +<p>“But the court officers seized the defendant’s deed, +also,” objected Judge Graney.</p> +<p>Judge Lindman questioned a deputy who sat in the +rear of the room. The latter replied that he had seen +no deed. Yes, he admitted, in reply to a question of +Judge Graney’s, it might have been possible that Corrigan +had been alone in the office for a time.</p> +<p>Graney looked inquiringly at Corrigan. The latter +looked steadily back at him. “I saw no deed,” he said, +coolly. “In fact, it wouldn’t be <i>possible</i> for me to see +any deed, for Trevison has no title to the property he +speaks of.”</p> +<p>Judge Graney made a gesture of impotence to Trevison, +then spoke slowly to the court. “I am afraid that +without the deed it will be impossible for us to proceed. +I ask a continuance until a search can be made.”</p> +<p>Judge Lindman coughed. “I shall have to refuse +the request. The plaintiff is anxious to take possession of +his property, and as no reason has been shown why +he should not be permitted to do so, I hereby return +judgment in his favor. Court is dismissed.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span></p> +<p>“I give notice of appeal,” said Graney.</p> +<p>Outside a little later Judge Graney looked gravely +at Trevison. “There’s knavery here, my boy; there’s +some sort of influence behind Lindman. Let’s see some +of the other owners who are likely to be affected.”</p> +<p>This task took them two days, and resulted in the +discovery that no other owner had secured a deed to +his land. Lefingwell explained the omission.</p> +<p>“A sale is a sale,” he said; “or a sale <i>has</i> been a +sale until now. Land has changed hands out here +just the same as we’d trade a horse for a cow or a pipe +for a jack-knife. There was no questions asked. When +a man had a piece of land to sell, he sold it, got his +money an’ didn’t bother to give a receipt. Half the +damn fools in this country wouldn’t know a deed from +a marriage license, an’ they haven’t been needin’ one +or the other. For when a man has a wife she’s continually +remindin’ him of it, an’ he can’t forget it—he’s +got her. It’s the same with his land—he’s got it. +So far as I know there’s never been a deed issued for +my land—or any of the land in that Midland grant, +except Trevison’s.”</p> +<p>“It looks as though Corrigan had considered that +phase of the matter,” dryly observed Judge Graney. +“The case doesn’t look very hopeful. However, I +shall take it before the Circuit Court of Appeals, in +Santa Fe.”</p> +<p>He was gone a week, and returned, disgusted, but +determined.</p> +<p>“They denied our appeal; said they might have +considered it if we had some evidence to offer showing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span> +that we had some sort of a claim to the title. When +I told them of my conviction that the records had been +tampered with, they laughed at me.” The Judge’s +eyes gleamed indignantly. “Sometimes, I feel heartily +in sympathy with people who rail at the courts—their +attitude is often positively asinine.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps the long arm of power has reached to +Santa Fe?” suggested Trevison.</p> +<p>“It won’t reach to Washington,” declared the Judge, +decisively. “And if you say the word, I’ll go there and +see what I can do. It’s an outrage!”</p> +<p>“I was hoping you’d go—there’s no limit,” said +Trevison. “But as I see the situation, everything +depends upon the discovery of the original record. I’m +convinced that it is still in existence, and that Judge +Lindman knows where it is. I’m going to get it, or—”</p> +<p>“Easy, my friend,” cautioned the Judge. “I know +how you feel. But you can’t fight the law with lawlessness. +You lie quiet until you hear from me. That +is all there is to be done, anyway—win or lose.”</p> +<p>Trevison clenched his teeth. “I might feel that +way about it, if I had been as careless of my interests +as the other owners here, but I safeguarded my interests, +trusted them to the regularly recognized law out +here, and I’m going to fight for them! Why, good +God, man; I’ve worked ten years for that land! Do +you think I will see it go <i>without</i> a fight?” He +laughed, and the Judge shook his head at the sound.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XV_A_MUTUAL_BENEFIT_ASSOCIATION' id='XV_A_MUTUAL_BENEFIT_ASSOCIATION'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> +<h3>A MUTUAL BENEFIT ASSOCIATION</h3> +</div> + +<p>Unheeding the drama that was rapidly and +invisibly (except for the incident of Braman and +the window) working itself out in its midst, Manti +lunged forward on the path of progress, each day +growing larger, busier, more noisy and more important. +Perhaps Manti did not heed, because Manti was itself +a drama—the drama of creation. Each resident, each +newcomer, settled quickly and firmly into the place +that desire or ambition or greed urged him; put forth +whatever energy nature had endowed him with, and +pushed on toward the goal toward which the town +was striving—success; collectively winning, unrecking +of individual failure or tragedy—those things were +to be expected, and they fell into the limbo of forgotten +things, easily and unnoticed. Wrecks, disasters, were +certain. They came—turmoil engulfed them.</p> +<p>Which is to say that during the two weeks that had +elapsed since the departure of Judge Graney for Washington, +Manti had paid very little attention to “Brand” +Trevison while he haunted the telegraph station and +the post-office for news. He was pointed out, it is +true, as the man who had hurled banker Braman +through the window of his bank building; there was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +a hazy understanding that he was having some sort of +trouble with Corrigan over some land titles, but in the +main Manti buzzed along, busy with its visions and its +troubles, leaving Trevison with his.</p> +<p>The inaction, with the imminence of failure after +ten years of effort, had its effect on Trevison. It fretted +him; he looked years older; he looked worried and +harassed; he longed for a chance to come to grips in +an encounter that would ease the strain. Physical action +it must be, for his brain was a muddle of passion and +hatred in which clear thoughts, schemes, plans, plots, +were swallowed and lost. He wanted to come into +physical contact with the men and things that were +thwarting him; he wanted to feel the thud and jar of +blows; to catch the hot breath of open antagonism; he +yearned to feel the strain of muscles—this fighting in +the dark with courts and laws and lawyers, according +to rules and customs, filled him with a raging impotence +that hurt him. And then, at the end of two weeks came +a telegram from Judge Graney, saying merely: “Be +patient. It’s a long trail.”</p> +<p>Trevison got on Nigger and returned to the Diamond +K.</p> +<p>The six o’clock train arrived in Manti that evening +with many passengers, among whom was a woman +of twenty-eight at whom men turned to look the +second time. Her traveling suit spoke eloquently of +that personal quality which a language, seeking new +and expressive phrases describes as “class.” It fitted +her smoothly, tightly, revealing certain lines of her +graceful figure that made various citizens of Manti +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span> +gasp. “Looks like she’d been poured into it,” +remarked an interested lounger. She lingered on the +station platform until she saw her trunks safely deposited, +and then, drawing her skirts as though fearful of +contamination, she walked, self-possessed and cool, +through the doorway of the <i>Castle</i> hotel—Manti’s +aristocrat of hostelries.</p> +<p>Shortly afterwards she admitted Corrigan to her +room. She had changed from her traveling suit to a +gown of some soft, glossy material that accentuated the +lines revealed by the discarded habit. The worldly-wise +would have viewed the lady with a certain expressive +smile that might have meant much or nothing. And +the lady would have looked upon that smile as she +now looked at Corrigan, with a faint defiance that had +quite a little daring in it. But in the present case +there was an added expression—two, in fact—pleasure +and expectancy.</p> +<p>“Well—I’m here.” She bowed, mockingly, laughingly, +compressing her lips as she noted the quick fire +that flamed in her visitor’s eyes.</p> +<p>“That’s all over, Jeff; I won’t go back to it. If +that’s why—”</p> +<p>“That’s all right,” he said, smiling as he took the +chair she waved him to; “I’ve erased a page or two +from the past, myself. But I can’t help admiring you; +you certainly are looking fine! What have you been +doing to yourself?”</p> +<p>She draped herself in a chair where she could look +straight at him, and his compliment made her mouth +harden at the corners. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span></p> +<p>“Well,” she said; “in your letter you promised +you’d take me into your confidence. I’m ready.”</p> +<p>“It’s purely a business proposition. Each realizes +on his effort. You help me to get Rosalind Benham +through the simple process of fascinating Trevison; +I help you to get Trevison by getting Miss Benham. +It’s a sort of mutual benefit association, as it were.”</p> +<p>“What does Trevison look like, Jeff—tell me?” +The woman leaned forward in her chair, her eyes glowing.</p> +<p>“Oh, you women!” said Corrigan, with a gesture +of disgust. “He’s a handsome fool,” he added; “if +that’s what you want to know. But I haven’t any compliments +to hand him regarding his manners—he’s a +wild man!”</p> +<p>“I’d love to see him!” breathed the woman.</p> +<p>“Well, keep your hair on; you’ll see him soon +enough. But you’ve got to understand this: He’s on +my land, and he gets off without further fighting—if +you can hold him. That’s understood, eh? You win +him back and get him away from here. If you double-cross +me, he finds out what you are!” He flung the +words at her, roughly.</p> +<p>She spoke quietly, though color stained her cheeks. +“Not ‘are,’ Jeff—what I was. That would be bad +enough. But have no fear—I shall do as you ask. +For I want him—I have wanted him all the time—even +during the time I was chained to that little beast, +Harvey. I wouldn’t have been what I am—if—if—”</p> +<p>“Cut it out!” he advised brutally; “the man always +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span> +gets the blame, anyway—so it’s no novelty to hear +that sort of stuff. So you understand, eh? You choose +your own method—but get results—quick! I want +to get that damned fool away from here!” He got up +and paced back and forth in the room. “If he takes +Rosalind Benham away from me I’ll kill him! I’ll kill +him, anyway!”</p> +<p>“Has it gone very far between them?” The concern +in her voice brought a harsh laugh from Corrigan.</p> +<p>“Far enough, I guess. He’s been riding with her; +every day for three weeks, her aunt told me. He’s a +fiery, impetuous devil!”</p> +<p>“Don’t worry,” she consoled. “And now,” she +directed; “get out of here. I’ve been on the go for +days and days, and I want to sleep. I shall go out +to see Rosalind tomorrow—to surprise her, Jeff—to +surprise her. Ha, ha!”</p> +<p>“I’ll have a rig here for you at nine o’clock,” said +Corrigan. “Take your trunks—she won’t order you +away. Tell her that Trevison sent for you—don’t +mention my name; and stick to it! Well, pleasant +dreams,” he added as he went out.</p> +<p>As the door closed the woman stood looking at it, a +sneer curving her lips.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XVI_WHEREIN_A_WOMAN_LIES' id='XVI_WHEREIN_A_WOMAN_LIES'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +<h3>WHEREIN A WOMAN LIES</h3> +</div> + +<p>“Aren’t you going to welcome me, dearie?”</p> +<p>From the porch of the Bar B ranchhouse Rosalind +had watched the rapid approach of the buckboard, +and she now stood at the edge of the step leading to +the porch, not more than ten or fifteen feet distant from +the vehicle, shocked into dumb amazement.</p> +<p>“Why, yes—of course. That is—Why, what +on earth brought you out here?”</p> +<p>“A perfectly good train—as far as your awfully +crude town of Manti; and this—er—spring-legged +thing, the rest of the way,” laughed Hester Harvey. +She had stepped down, a trifle flushed, inwardly amused, +outwardly embarrassed—which was very good acting; +but looking very attractive and girlish in the simple +dress she had donned for the occasion—and for the +purpose of making a good impression. So attractive +was she that the contemplation of her brought a sinking +sensation to Rosalind that drooped her shoulders, +and caused her to look around, involuntarily, for something +to lean upon. For there flashed into her mind at +this instant the conviction that she had herself to blame +for this visitation—she had written to Ruth Gresham, +and Ruth very likely had disseminated the news, after +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span> +the manner of all secrets, and Hester had heard it. +And of course the attraction was “Brand” Trevison! A +new emotion surged through Rosalind at this thought, +an emotion so strong that it made her gasp—jealousy!</p> +<p>She got through the ordeal somehow—with an +appearance of pleasure—though it was hard for her +to play the hypocrite! But so soon as she decently +could, without cutting short the inevitable inconsequential +chatter which fills the first moments of renewed +friendships, she hurried Hester to a room and during +her absence sat immovable in her chair on the porch +staring stonily out at the plains.</p> +<p>It was not until half an hour later, when they were +sitting on the porch, that Hester delivered the stroke +that caused Rosalind’s hands to fall nervelessly into her +lap, her lips to quiver and her eyes to fill with a reflection +of a pain that gripped her hard, somewhere inside. +For Hester had devised her method, as suggested by +Corrigan.</p> +<p>“It may seem odd to you—if you know anything +of the manner of my breaking off with Trevison Brandon—but +he wrote me about a month ago, asking me +to come out here. I didn’t accept the invitation at +once—because I didn’t want him to be too sure, you +know, dearie. Men are always presuming and pursuing, +dearie.”</p> +<p>“Then you didn’t hear of Trevison’s whereabouts +from Ruth Gresham?”</p> +<p>“Why, no, dearie! He wrote directly to me.”</p> +<p>Rosalind hadn’t <i>that</i> to reproach herself with, at +any rate! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span></p> +<p>“Of course, I couldn’t go to his ranch—the Diamond +K, isn’t it?—so, noting from one of the newspapers +that you had come here, I decided to take advantage +of <i>your</i> hospitality. I’m just wild to see the dear +boy! Is his ranch far? For you know,” she added, +with a malicious look at the girl’s pale face; “I must +not keep him waiting, now that I am here.”</p> +<p>“You won’t find him prosperous.” It hurt Rosalind +to say that, but the hurt was slightly offset by a savage +resentment that gripped her when she thought of +how quickly Hester had thrown Trevison over when +she had discovered that he was penniless. And she +had a desperate hope that the dismal aspect of Trevison’s +future would appall Hester—as it would were +the woman still the mercenary creature she had been +ten years before. But Hester looked at her with grave +imperturbability.</p> +<p>“I heard something about his trouble. About some +land, isn’t it? I didn’t learn the particulars. Tell me +about it—won’t you, dearie?”</p> +<p>Rosalind’s story of Trevison’s difficulties did not +have the effect that she anticipated.</p> +<p>“The poor, dear boy!” said Hester—and she +seemed genuinely moved. Rosalind gulped hard over +the shattered ruins of this last hope and got up, fighting +against an inhospitable impulse to order Hester +away. She made some slight excuse and slipped to her +room, where she stayed long, elemental passions battling +riotously within her.</p> +<p>She realized now how completely she had yielded to +the spell that the magnetic and impetuous exile had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span> +woven about her; she knew now that had he pressed +her that day when he had told her of his love for her +she must have surrendered. She thought, darkly, of +his fiery manner that day, of his burning looks, his hot, +impulsive words, of his confidences. Hypocrisy all! +For while they had been together he must have been +thinking of sending for Hester! He had been trifling +with her! Faith in an ideal is a sacred thing, and shattered, +it lights the fires of hate and scorn, and the emotions +that seethed through Rosalind’s veins as in her +room she considered Trevison’s unworthiness, finally +developed into a furious vindictiveness. She wished +dire, frightful calamities upon him, and then, swiftly +reacting, her sympathetical womanliness forced the +dark passions back, and she threw herself on the bed, +sobbing, murmuring: “Forgive me!”</p> +<p>Later, when she had made herself presentable, she +went downstairs again, concealing her misery behind +a steady courtesy and a smile that sometimes was a +little forced and bitter, to entertain her guest. It was +a long, tiresome day, made almost unbearable by Hester’s +small talk. But she got through it. And when, +rather late in the afternoon, Hester inquired the way +to the Diamond K, announcing her intention of visiting +Trevison immediately, she gave no evidence of the +shocked surprise that seized her. She coolly helped +Hester prepare for the trip, and when she drove away +in the buckboard, stood on the ground at the edge of +the porch, watching as the buckboard and its occupant +faded into the shimmering haze of the plains.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XVII_JUSTICE_VS_LAW' id='XVII_JUSTICE_VS_LAW'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +<h3>JUSTICE VS. LAW</h3> +</div> + +<p>Impatience, intolerable and vicious, gripped +Trevison as he rode homeward after his haunting +vigil at Manti. The law seemed to him to be like +a house with many doors, around and through which +one could play hide and seek indefinitely, with no possibility +of finding one of the doors locked. Judge +Graney had warned him to be cautious, but as he rode +into the dusk of the plains the spirit of rebellion seized +him. Twice he halted Nigger and wheeled him, facing +Manti, already agleam and tumultuous, almost yielding +to his yearning to return and force his enemy to some +sort of physical action, but each time he urged the horse +on, for he could think of no definite plan. He was +half way to the Diamond K when he suddenly started +and sat rigid and erect in the saddle, drawing a deep +breath, his nerves tingling from excitement. He +laughed lowly, exultingly, as men laugh when under +the stress of adversity they devise sudden, bold plans +of action, and responding to the slight knee press Nigger +turned, reared, and then shot like a black bolt +across the plains at an angle that would not take him +anywhere near the Diamond K.</p> +<p>Half an hour later, in a darkness which equaled that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span> +of the night on which he had carried the limp and drink-saturated +Clay Levins to his wife, Trevison was dismounting +at the door of the gun-man’s cabin. A little +later, standing in the glare of lamplight that shone +through the open doorway, he was reassuring Mrs. +Levins and asking for her husband. Shortly afterward, +he was talking lowly to Levins as the latter +saddled his pony out at the stable.</p> +<p>“I’ll do it—for you,” Levins told him. And then +he chuckled. “It’ll seem like old times.”</p> +<p>“It’s Justice versus Law, tonight,” laughed Trevison; +“it’s a case of ‘the end justifying the means.’”</p> +<p>Manti never slept. At two o’clock in the morning +the lights in the gambling rooms of the <i>Belmont</i> and +the <i>Plaza</i> were still flickering streams out into the desert +night; weak strains of discord were being drummed +out of a piano in a dance hall; the shuffling of feet +smote the dead, flat silence of the night with an odd, +weird resonance. Here and there a light burned in +a dwelling or store, or shone through the wall of a tent-house. +But Manti’s one street was deserted—the only +peace that Manti ever knew, had descended.</p> +<p>Two men who had dismounted at the edge of town +had hitched their horses in the shadow of a wagon +shed in the rear of a store building, and were making +their way cautiously down the railroad tracks toward +the center of town. They kept in the shadows of the +buildings as much as possible—for space was valuable +now and many buildings nuzzled the railroad +tracks; but when once they were forced to pass through +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +a light from a window their faces were revealed in it +for an instant—set, grim and determined.</p> +<p>“We’ve got to move quickly,” said one of the men +as they neared the courthouse; “it will be daylight soon. +Damn a town that never sleeps!”</p> +<p>The other laughed lowly. “I’ve said the same thing, +often,” he whispered. “Easy now—here we are!”</p> +<p>They paused in the shadow of the building and whispered +together briefly. A sound reached their ears +as they stood. Peering around the corner nearest them +they saw the bulk of a man appear. He walked almost +to the corner of the building where they crouched, and +they held their breath, tensing their muscles. Just when +it seemed they must be discovered, the man wheeled, +walked away, and vanished into the darkness toward +the other side of the building. Presently he returned, +and repeated the maneuver. As he vanished the second +time, the larger man of the two in wait, whispered +to the other:</p> +<p>“He’s the sentry! Stand where you are—I’ll show +Corrigan—”</p> +<p>The words were cut short by the reappearance of the +sentry. He came close to the corner, and wheeled, to +return. A lithe black shape leaped like a huge cat, +and landed heavily on the sentry’s shoulders, bringing +a pained grunt from him. The grunt died in a gurgle +as iron fingers closed on his throat; he was jammed, +face down, into the dust and held there, smothering, +until his body slacked and his muscles ceased rippling. +Then a handkerchief was slipped around his mouth +and drawn tightly. He was rolled over, still unconscious, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span> +his hands tied behind him. Then he was borne +away into the darkness by the big man, who carried +him as though he were a child.</p> +<p>“Locked in a box-car,” whispered the big man, returning: +“They’ll get him; they’re half unloaded.”</p> +<p>Without further words they returned to the shadow +of the building.</p> +<p>Judge Lindman had not been able to sleep until long +after his usual hour for retiring. The noise, and certain +thoughts, troubled him. It was after midnight +when he finally sought his cot, and he was in a heavy +doze until shortly after two, when a breath of air, +chilled by its clean sweep over the plains, searched him +out and brought him up, sitting on the edge of the cot, +shivering.</p> +<p>The rear door of the courthouse was open. In front +of the iron safe at the rear of the room he saw a man, +faintly but unmistakably outlined in the cross light from +two windows. He was about to cry out when his throat +was seized from behind and he was borne back on the +cot resistlessly. Held thus, a voice which made him +strain his eyes in an effort to see the owner’s face, hissed +in his ear:</p> +<p>“I don’t want to kill you, but I’ll do it if you cry +out! I mean business! Do you promise not to betray +us?”</p> +<p>The Judge wagged his head weakly, and the grip +on his throat relaxed. He sat up, aware that the fingers +were ready to grip his throat again, for he could +feel the big shape lingering beside him. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span></p> +<p>“This is an outrage!” he gasped, shuddering. “I +know you—you are Trevison. I shall have you punished +for this.”</p> +<p>The other laughed lowly and vibrantly. “That’s +your affair—if you dare! You say a word about this +visit and I’ll feed your scoundrelly old carcass to the +coyotes! Justice is abroad tonight and it won’t be +balked. I’m after that original land record—and I’m +going to have it. You know where it is—you’ve got +it. Your face told me that the other day. You’re only +half-heartedly in this steal. Be a man—give me the +record—and I’ll stand by you until hell freezes over! +Quick! Is it in the safe?”</p> +<p>The Judge wavered in agonized indecision. But +thoughts of Corrigan’s wrath finally conquered.</p> +<p>“It—it isn’t in the safe,” he said. And then, aware +of his error because of the shrill breath the other drew, +he added, quaveringly: “There is no—the original +record is in my desk—you’ve seen it.”</p> +<p>“Bah!” The big shape backed away—two or +three feet, whispering back at the Judge. “Open your +mouth and you’re a dead man. I’ve got you covered!”</p> +<p>Cowering on his cot the Judge watched the big shape +join the other at the safe. How long it remained there, +he did not know. A step sounded in the silence that +reigned outside—a third shape loomed in the doorway.</p> +<p>“Judge Lindman!” called a voice.</p> +<p>“Y-es?” quavered the Judge, aware that the big +shape in the room was now close to him, menacing him.</p> +<p>“Your door’s open! Where’s Ed? There’s something +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +wrong! Get up and strike a light. There’ll be +hell to pay if Corrigan finds out we haven’t been watching +your stuff. Damn it! A man can’t steal time for +a drink without something happens. Jim and Bill +and me just went across the street, leaving Ed here. +They’re coming right—”</p> +<p>He had been entering the room while talking, fingering +in his pockets for a match. His voice died in a +quick gasp as Trevison struck with the butt of his +pistol. The man fell, silently.</p> +<p>Another voice sounded outside. Trevison crouched +at the doorway. A form darkened the opening. Trevison +struck, missed, a streak of fire split the night—the +newcomer had used his pistol. It went off again—the +flame-spurt shooting ceilingward, as Levins clinched +the man from the rear. A third man loomed in the +doorway; a fourth appeared, behind him. Trevison +swung at the head of the man nearest him, driving +him back upon the man behind, who cursed, plunging +into the room. The man whom Levins had seized was +shouting orders to the others. But these suddenly +ceased as Levins smashed him on the head with the +butt of a pistol. Two others remained. They were +stubborn and courageous. But it was miserable work, +in the dark—blows were misdirected, friend striking +friend; other blows went wild, grunts of rage and +impotent curses following. But Trevison and Levins +were intent on escaping—a victory would have been +hollow—for the thud and jar of their boots on the +bare floor had been heard; doors were slamming; from +across the street came the barking of a dog; men were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span> +shouting questions at one another; from the box-car +on the railroad tracks issued vociferous yells and curses. +Trevison slipped out through the door, panting. His +opponent had gone down, temporarily disabled from +sundry vicious blows from a fist that had worked like +a piston rod. A figure loomed at his side. “I got +mine!” it said, triumphantly; “we’d better slope.”</p> +<p>“Another five minutes and I’d have cracked it,” +breathed Levins as they ran. “What’s Corrigan havin’ +the place watched for?”</p> +<p>“You’ve got me. Afraid of the Judge, maybe. The +Judge hasn’t his whole soul in this deal; it looks to me +as though Corrigan is forcing him. But the Judge has +the original record, all right; and it’s in that safe, too! +God! If they’d only given us a minute or two longer!”</p> +<p>They fled down the track, running heavily, for the +work had been fast and the tension great, and when +they reached the horses and threw themselves into the +saddles, Manti was ablaze with light. As they raced +away in the darkness a grim smile wreathed Trevison’s +face. For though he had not succeeded in this +enterprise, he had at least struck a blow—and he had +corroborated his previous opinion concerning Judge +Lindman’s knowledge of the whereabouts of the original +record.</p> +<p>It was three o’clock and the dawn was just breaking +when Trevison rode into the Diamond K corral and +pulled the saddle from Nigger. Levins had gone +home.</p> +<p>Trevison was disappointed. It had been a bold +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span> +scheme, and well planned, and it would have succeeded +had it not been for the presence of the sentries. He +had not anticipated that. He laughed grimly, remembering +Judge Lindman’s fright. Would the Judge +reveal the identity of his early-morning visitor? Trevison +thought not, for if the original record were in the +safe, and if for any reason the Judge wished to conceal +its existence from Corrigan, a hint of the identity +of the early-morning visitors—especially of one—might +arouse Corrigan’s suspicions.</p> +<p>But what if Corrigan knew of the existence of the +original record? There was the presence of the guards +to indicate that he did. But there was Judge Lindman’s +half-heartedness to disprove that line of reasoning. +Also, Trevison was convinced that if Corrigan +knew of the existence of the record he would destroy +it; it would be dangerous, in the hands of an enemy. +But it would be an admirable weapon of self-protection +in the hands of a man who had been forced into wrong-doing—in +the hands of Judge Lindman, for instance. +Trevison opened the door that led to his office, thrilling +with a new hope. He lit a match, stepped across +the floor and touched the flame to the wick of the kerosene +lamp—for it was not yet light enough for him +to see plainly in the office—and stood for an instant +blinking in its glare. A second later he reeled back +against the edge of the desk, his hands gripping it, +dumb, amazed, physically sick with a fear that he had +suddenly gone insane. For in a big chair in a corner of +the room, sleepy-eyed, tired, but looking very becoming +in her simple dress with a light cloak over it, the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +collar turned up, so that it gave her an appearance of +attractive negligence, a smile of delighted welcome on +her face, was Hester Harvey.</p> +<p>She got up as he stood staring dumfoundedly at her +and moved toward him, with an air of artful supplication +that brought a gasp out of him—of sheer relief.</p> +<p>“Won’t you welcome me, Trev? I have come very +far, to see you.” She held out her hands and went +slowly toward him, mutely pleading, her eyes luminous +with love—which she did not pretend, for the boy +she had known had grown into the promise of his youth—big, +magnetic—a figure for any woman to love.</p> +<p>He had been looking at her intently, narrowly, searchingly. +He saw what she herself had not seen—the +natural changes that ten years had brought to her. He +saw other things—that she had not suspected—a certain +blasé sophistication; a too bold and artful expression +of the eyes—as though she knew their power +and the lure of them; the slightly hard curve in the +corners of her mouth; a second character lurking +around her—indefinite, vague, repelling—the subconscious +self, that no artifice can hide—the sin and the +shame of deeds unrepented. If there had been a time +when he had loved her, its potence could not leap the +lapse of years and overcome his repugnance for her +kind, and he looked at her coldly, barring her progress +with a hand, which caught her two and held them in +a grip that made her wince.</p> +<p>“What are you doing here? How did you get in? +When did you come?” He fired the questions at her +roughly, brutally. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span></p> +<p>“Why, Trev.” She gulped, her smile fading palely. +The conquest was not to be the easy one she had thought—though +she really wanted him—more than ever, +now that she saw she was in danger of losing him. +She explained, earnestly pleading with eyes that had +lost their power to charm him.</p> +<p>“I heard you were here—that you were in trouble. +I want to help you. I got here night before last—to +Manti. Rosalind Benham had written about you to +Ruth Gresham—a friend of hers in New York. Ruth +Gresham told me. I went directly from Manti to +Benham’s ranch. Then I came here—about dusk, last +night. There was a man here—your foreman, he +said. I explained, and he let me in. Trev—won’t you +welcome me?”</p> +<p>“It isn’t the first time I’ve been in trouble.” His +laugh was harsh; it made her cringe and cry:</p> +<p>“I’ve repented for that. I shouldn’t have done it; +I don’t know what was the matter with me. Harvey +had been telling me things about you—”</p> +<p>“You wouldn’t have believed him—” He laughed, +cynically. “There’s no use of haggling over <i>that</i>—it’s +buried, and I’ve placed a monument over it: ‘Here +lies a fool that believed in a woman.’ I don’t reproach +you—you couldn’t be blamed for not wanting to marry +an idiot like me. But I haven’t changed. I still have +my crazy ideas of honor and justice and square-dealing, +and my double-riveted faith in my ability to triumph +over all adversity. But women—Bah! you’re +all alike! You scheme, you plot, you play for place; +you are selfish, cold; you snivel and whine—There +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span> +is more of it, but I can’t think of any more. But—let’s +face this matter squarely. If you still like me, I’m +sorry for you, for I can’t say that the sight of you has +stirred any old passion in me. You shouldn’t have +come out here.”</p> +<p>“You’re terribly resentful, Trev. And I don’t +blame you a bit—I deserve it all. But don’t send +me away. Why, I—love you, Trev; I’ve loved you +all these years; I loved you when I sent you away—while +I was married to Harvey; and more afterwards—and +now, deeper than ever; and—”</p> +<p>He shook his head and looked at her steadily—cynicism, +bald derision in his gaze. “I’m sorry; but +it can’t be—you’re too late.”</p> +<p>He dropped her hands, and she felt of the fingers +where he had gripped them. She veiled the quick, +savage leap in her eyes by drooping the lids.</p> +<p>“You love Rosalind Benham,” she said, quietly, +looking at him with a mirthless smile. He started, and +her lips grew a trifle stiff. “You poor boy!”</p> +<p>“Why the pity?” he said grimly.</p> +<p>“Because she doesn’t care for you, Trev. She told +me yesterday that she was engaged to marry a man +named Corrigan. He is out here, she said. She +remarked that she had found you very amusing during +the three or four weeks of Corrigan’s absence, and +she seemed delighted because the court out here had +ruled that the land you thought was yours belongs to +the man who is to be her husband.”</p> +<p>He stiffened at this, for it corroborated Corrigan’s +words: “She is heart and soul with me in this deal, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +She is ambitious.” Trevison’s lips curled scornfully. +First, Hester Keyes had been ambitious, and now it +was Rosalind Benham. He fought off the bitter resentment +that filled him and raised his head, laughing, glossing +over the hurt with savage humor.</p> +<p>“Well, I’m doing some good in the world, after +all.”</p> +<p>“Trev,” Hester moved toward him again, “don’t +talk like that—it makes me shiver. I’ve been through +the fire, boy—we’ve both been through it. I wasted +myself on Harvey—you’ll do the same with Rosalind +Benham. Ten years, boy—think of it! I’ve loved +you for that long. Doesn’t that make you understand—”</p> +<p>“There’s nothing quite so dead as a love that a man +doesn’t want to revive,” he said shortly; “do you +understand that?”</p> +<p>She shuddered and paled, and a long silence came +between them. The cold dawn that was creeping over +the land stole into the office with them and found the +fires of affection turned to the ashes of unwelcome +memory. The woman seemed to realize at last, for +she gave a little shiver and looked up at Trevison with +a wan smile.</p> +<p>“I—I think I understand, Trev. Oh, I am <i>so</i> sorry! +But I am not going away. I am going to stay in Manti, +to be near you—if you want me. And you will want +me, some day.” She went close to him. “Won’t you +kiss me—once, Trev? For the sake of old times?”</p> +<p>“You’d better go,” he said gruffly, turning his head. +And then, as she opened the door and stood upon the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span> +threshold, he stepped after her, saying: “I’ll get your +horse.”</p> +<p>“There’s two of them,” she laughed tremulously. +“I came in a buckboard.”</p> +<p>“Two, then,” he said soberly as he followed her +out. “And say—” He turned, flushing. “You came +at dusk, last night. I’m afraid I haven’t been exactly +thoughtful. Wait—I’ll rustle up something to eat.”</p> +<p>“I—I couldn’t touch it, thank you. Trev—” She +started toward him impulsively, but he turned his back +grimly and went toward the corral.</p> +<p>Sunrise found Hester back at the Bar B. Jealous, +hurt eyes had watched from an upstairs window the +approach of the buckboard—had watched the Diamond +K trail the greater part of the night. For, knowing +of the absence of women at the Diamond K, Rosalind +had anticipated Hester’s return the previous +evening—for the distance that separated the two +ranches was not more than two miles. But the girl’s +vigil had been unrewarded until now. And when at +last she saw the buckboard coming, scorn and rage, +furious and deep, seized her. Ah, it was bold, brazen, +disgraceful!</p> +<p>But she forced herself to calmness as she went down +stairs to greet her guest—for there might have been +some excuse for the lapse of propriety—some accident—something, +anything.</p> +<p>“I expected you last night,” she said as she met +Hester at the door. “You were delayed I presume. +Has anything happened?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span></p> +<p>“Nothing, dearie.” Only the bold significance of +Hester’s smile hid its deliberate maliciousness. “Trev +was so glad to see me that he simply wouldn’t let me +go. And it was daylight before we realized it.”</p> +<p>The girl gasped. And now, looking at the woman, +she saw what Trevison had seen—staring back at her, +naked and repulsive. She shuddered, and her face +whitened.</p> +<p>“There are hotels at Manti, Mrs. Harvey,” she said +coldly.</p> +<p>“Oh, very well!” The woman did not change her +smile. “I shall be very glad to take advantage of your +kind invitation. For Trev tells me that presently there +will be much bitterness between your crowd and himself, +and I am certain that he wouldn’t want me to +stay here. If you will kindly have a man bring my +trunks—”</p> +<p>And so she rode toward Manti. Not until the varying +undulations of the land hid her from view of the +Bar B ranchhouse did she lose the malicious smile. +Then it faded, and furious sobs of disappointment shook +her.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XVIII_LAW_INVOKED_AND_DEFIED' id='XVIII_LAW_INVOKED_AND_DEFIED'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +<h3>LAW INVOKED AND DEFIED</h3> +</div> + +<p>As soon as the deputies had gone, two of them +nursing injured heads, and all exhibiting numerous +bruises, Judge Lindman rose and dressed. In the +ghostly light preceding the dawn he went to the safe, +his fingers trembling so that he made difficult work with +the combination. He got a record from out of the +safe, pulled out the bottom drawer, of a series filled +with legal documents and miscellaneous articles, laid +the record book on the floor and shoved the drawer +in over it. An hour later he was facing Corrigan, who +on getting a report of the incident from one of the deputies, +had hurried to get the Judge’s version. The Judge +had had time to regain his composure, though he was +still slightly pale and nervous.</p> +<p>The Judge lied glibly. He had seen no one in the +courthouse. His first knowledge that anyone had been +there had come when he had heard the voice of one, +of the deputies, calling to him. And then all he had +seen was a shadowy figure that had leaped and struck. +After that there had been some shooting. And then +the men had escaped.</p> +<p>“No one spoke?”</p> +<p>“Not a word,” said the Judge. “That is, of course, +no one but the man who called to me.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span></p> +<p>“Did they take anything?”</p> +<p>“What is there to take? There is nothing of value.”</p> +<p>“Gieger says one of them was working at the safe. +What’s in there?”</p> +<p>“Some books and papers and supplies—nothing +of value. That they tried to get into the safe would +seem to indicate that they thought there was money +there—Manti has many strangers who would not hesitate +at robbery.”</p> +<p>“They didn’t get into the safe, then?”</p> +<p>“I haven’t looked inside—nothing seems to be disturbed, +as it would were the men safe-blowers. In +their hurry to get away it would seem, if they had come +to get into the safe, they would have left something +behind—tools, or something of that character.”</p> +<p>“Let’s have a look at the safe. Open it!” Corrigan +seemed to be suspicious, and with a pulse of trepidation, +the Judge knelt and worked the combination. +When the door came open Corrigan dropped on his +knees in front of it and began to pull out the contents, +scattering them in his eagerness. He stood up after +a time, scowling, his face flushed. He turned on the +Judge, grasped him by the shoulders, his fingers gripping +so hard that the Judge winced.</p> +<p>“Look here, Lindman,” he said. “Those men +were not ordinary robbers. Experienced men would +know better than to crack a safe in a courthouse when +there’s a bank right next door. I’ve an idea that it +was some of Trevison’s work. You’ve done or said +something that’s given him the notion that you’ve got +the original record. Have you?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span></p> +<p>“I swear I have said nothing,” declared the Judge.</p> +<p>Corrigan looked at him steadily for a moment and +then released him. “You burned it, eh?”</p> +<p>The Judge nodded, and Corrigan compressed his +lips. “I suppose it’s all right, but I can’t help wishing +that I had been here to watch the ceremony of burning +that record. I’d feel a damn sight more secure. +But understand this: If you double-cross me in any +detail of this game, you’ll never go to the penitentiary +for what Benham knows about you—I’ll choke the +gizzard out of you!” He took a turn around the +room, stopping at last in front of the Judge.</p> +<p>“Now we’ll talk business. I want you to issue an +order permitting me to erect mining machinery on +Trevison’s land. We need coal here.”</p> +<p>“Graney gave notice of appeal,” protested the Judge.</p> +<p>“Which the Circuit Court denied.”</p> +<p>“He’ll go to Washington,” persisted the Judge, +gulping. “I can’t legally do it.”</p> +<p>Corrigan laughed. “Appoint a receiver to operate +the mine, pending the Supreme Court decision. Appoint +Braman. Graney has no case, anyway. There +is no record or deed.”</p> +<p>“There is no need of haste,” Lindman cautioned; +“you can’t get mining machinery here for some time +yet.”</p> +<p>Corrigan laughed, dragging the Judge to a window, +from which he pointed out some flat-cars standing on +a siding, loaded with lumber, machinery, corrugated +iron, shutes, cables, trucks, “T” rails, and other articles +that the Judge did not recognize. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span></p> +<p>The Judge exclaimed in astonishment. Corrigan +grunted.</p> +<p>“I ordered that stuff six weeks ago, in anticipation of +my victory in your court. You can see how I trusted +in your honesty and perspicacity. I’ll have it on the +ground tomorrow—some of it today. Of course I +want to proceed legally, and in order to do that I’ll +have to have the court order this morning. You do +whatever is necessary.”</p> +<p>At daylight he was in the laborers’ camp, skirting +the railroad at the edge of town, looking for Carson. +He found the big Irishman in one of the larger tent-houses, +talking with the cook, who was preparing breakfast +amid a smother of smoke and the strong mingled +odors of frying bacon and coffee. Corrigan went +only to the flap of the tent, motioning Carson outside.</p> +<p>Walking away from the tent toward some small +frame buildings down the track, Corrigan said:</p> +<p>“There are several carloads of material there,” +pointing to the flat-cars which he had shown to the +Judge. “I’ve hired a mining man to superintend the +erection of that stuff—it’s mining machinery and material +for buildings. I want you to place as many of +your men as you can spare at the disposal of the engineer; +his name’s Pickand, and you’ll find him at the +cars at eight o’clock. I’ll have some more laborers sent +over from the dam. Give him as many men as he +wants; go with him yourself, if he wants you.”</p> +<p>“What are ye goin’ to mine?”</p> +<p>“Coal.”</p> +<p>“Where?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span></p> +<p>“I’ve been looking over the land with Pickand; he +says we’ll sink a shaft at the base of the butte below +the mesa, where you are laying tracks now. We won’t +have to go far, Pickand says. There’s coal—thick +veins of it—running back into the wall of the butte.”</p> +<p>“All right, sir,” said Carson. But he scratched his +head in perplexity, eyeing Corrigan sidelong. “Ye +woudn’t be sayin’ that ye’ll be diggin’ for coal on the +railroad’s right av way, wud ye?”</p> +<p>“No!” snapped Corrigan.</p> +<p>“Thin it will be on Trevison’s land. Have ye bargained +wid him for it?”</p> +<p>“No! Look here, Carson. Mind your own business +and do as you’re told!”</p> +<p>“I’m elicted, I s’pose; but it’s a job I ain’t admirin’ +to do. If ye’ve got half the sinse I give ye credit for +havin’, ye’ll be lettin’ that mon Trevison alone—I’d +a lot sooner smoke a segar in that shed av dynamite +than to cross him!”</p> +<p>Corrigan smiled and turned to look in the direction +in which the Irishman was pointing. A small, flat-roofed +frame building, sheathed with corrugated iron, +met his view. Crude signs, large enough to be read +hundreds of feet distant, were affixed to the walls:</p> +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>“CAUTION. DYNAMITE.”</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>“Do you keep much of it there?”</p> +<p>“Enough for anny blastin’ we have to do. There’s +plenty—half a ton, mebbe.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span></p> +<p>“Who’s got the key?”</p> +<p>“Meself.”</p> +<p>Corrigan returned to town, breakfasted, mounted +a horse and rode out to the dam, where he gave orders +for some laborers to be sent to Carson. At nine o’clock +he was back in Manti talking with Pickand, and watching +the dinky engine as it pulled the loaded flat-cars +westward over the tracks. He left Pickand and went +to his office in the bank building, where he conferred +with some men regarding various buildings and +improvements in contemplation, and shortly after ten, +glancing out of a window, he saw a buckboard stop in +front of the <i>Castle</i> hotel. Corrigan waited a little, +then closed his desk and walked across the street. +Shortly he confronted Hester Harvey in her room. He +saw from her downcast manner that she had failed. His +face darkened.</p> +<p>“Wouldn’t work, eh? What did he say?”</p> +<p>The woman was hunched down in her chair, still +wearing the cloak that she had worn in Trevison’s office; +the collar still up, the front thrown open. Her hair +was disheveled; dark lines were under her eyes; she +glared at Corrigan in an abandon of savage dejection.</p> +<p>“He turned me down—cold.” Her laugh held +the bitterness of self-derision. “I’m through, there, +Jeff.”</p> +<p>“Hell!” cursed the man. She looked at him, her +lips curving with amused contempt.</p> +<p>“Oh, you’re all right—don’t worry. That’s all +you care about, isn’t it?” She laughed harshly at the +quickened light in his eyes. “You’d see me sacrifice +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +myself; you wouldn’t give me a word of sympathy. +That’s you! That’s the way of all men. Give, give, +give! That’s the masculine chorus—the hunting-song +of the human wolf-pack!”</p> +<p>“Don’t talk like that—it ain’t like you, kid. You +were always the gamest little dame I ever knew.” He +essayed to take the hand that was twisted in the folds +of her cloak, but she drew it away from him in a fury. +And the eagerness in his eyes betrayed the insincerity +of his attempt at consolation; she saw it—the +naked selfishness of his look—and sneered at him.</p> +<p>“You want the good news, eh? The good for you? +That’s all you care about. After you get it, I’ll get +the husks of your pity. Well, here it is. I’ve poisoned +them both—against each other. I told him she was +against him in this land business. And it hurt me to +see how gamely he took it, Jeff!” her voice broke, but +she choked back the sob and went on, hoarsely: “He +didn’t make a whimper. Not even when I told him +you were going to marry her—that you were engaged. +But there was a fire in those eyes of his that I would +give my soul to see there for me!”</p> +<p>“Yes—yes,” said the man, impatiently.</p> +<p>“Oh, you devil!” she railed at him. “I’ve made +him think it was a frame-up between you and her—to +get information out of him; I told him that she +had strung him along for a month or so—amusing +herself. And he believes it.”</p> +<p>“Good!”</p> +<p>“And I’ve made her believe that he sent for me,” +she went on, her voice leaping to cold savagery. “I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span> +stayed all night at his place, and I went back to the Bar +B in the morning—this morning—and made Rosalind +Benham think—Ha, ha! She ordered me away +from the house—the hussy! She’s through with him—any +fool could tell that. But it’s different with him, +Jeff. He won’t give her up; he isn’t that kind. He’ll +fight for her—and he’ll have her!”</p> +<p>The eager, pleased light died out of Corrigan’s face, +his lips set in an ugly pout. But he contrived to smile +as he got up.</p> +<p>“You’ve done well—so far. But don’t give him up. +Maybe he’ll change his mind. Stay here—I’ll stake +you to the limit.” He laid a roll of bills on a stand—she +did not look at them—and approached her in a +second endeavor to console her. But she waved him +away, saying: “Get out of here—I want to think!” +And he obeyed, looking back before he closed the door.</p> +<p>“Selfish?” he muttered, going down the street. +“Well, what of it? That’s a human weakness, isn’t +it? Get what you want, and to hell with other people!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>Trevison had gone to his room for a much-needed +rest. He had watched Hester Harvey go with no conscious +regret, but with a certain grim pity, which was +as futile as her visit. But, lying on the bed he fought +hard against the bitter scorn that raged in him over +the contemplation of Rosalind Benham’s duplicity. He +found it hard to believe that she had been duping him, +for during the weeks of his acquaintance with her he +had studied her much—with admiration-weighted +prejudice, of course, since she made a strong appeal +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span> +to him—and he had been certain, then, that she was +as free from guile as a child—excepting any girl’s +natural artifices by which she concealed certain emotions +that men had no business trying to read. He had +read some of them—his business or not—and he had +imagined he had seen what had fired his blood—a +reciprocal affection. He would not have declared himself, +otherwise.</p> +<p>He went to sleep, thinking of her. He awoke about +noon, to see Barkwell standing at his side, shaking him.</p> +<p>“Have you got any understandin’ with that railroad +gang that they’re to do any minin’ on the Diamond K +range?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Well, they’re gettin’ ready to do it. Over at the +butte near the railroad cut. I passed there a while ago +an’ quizzed the big guy—Corrigan—about a gang +workin’ there. He says they’re goin’ to mine coal. +I asked him if he had your permission an’ he said he +didn’t need it. I reckon they ain’t none shy on gall +where that guy come from!”</p> +<p>Trevison got out of bed and buckled on his cartridge +belt and pistol. “The boys are working the Willow +Creek range,” he said, sharply. “Get them, tell +them to load up with plenty of cartridges, and join me +at the butte.”</p> +<p>He heard Barkwell go leaping down the stairs, his +spurs striking the step edges, and a few minutes later, +riding Nigger out of the corral he saw the foreman +racing away in a dust cloud. He followed the bed of +the river, himself, going at a slow lope, for he wanted +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +time to think—to gain control of the rage that boiled +in his veins. He conquered it, and when he came in +sight of the butte he was cool and deliberate, though +on his face was that “mean” look that Carson had +once remarked about to his friend Murphy, partly hidden +by the “tiger” smile which, the Irishman had discovered, +preceded action, ruthless and swift.</p> +<p>The level below the butte was a-buzz with life and +energy. Scores of laborers were rushing about under +the direction of a tall, thin, bespectacled man who +seemed to be the moving spirit in all the activity. He +shouted orders to Carson—Trevison saw the big figure +of the Irishman dominating the laborers—who +repeated them, added to them; sending men scampering +hither and thither. Pausing at a little distance +down the level, Trevison watched the scene. At first +all seemed confusion, but presently he was able to +discern that method ruled. For he now observed that +the laborers were divided into “gangs.” Some were +unloading the flat-cars, others were “assembling” a +stationary engine near the wall of the butte. They had +a roof over it, already. Others were laying tracks that +intersected with the main line; still others were erecting +buildings along the level. They were on Trevison’s +land—there was no doubt of that. Moreover, +they were erecting their buildings and apparatus at the +point where Trevison himself had contemplated making +a start. He saw Corrigan seated on a box on one +of the flat-cars, smoking a cigar; another man, whom +Trevison recognized as Gieger—he would have been +willing to swear the man was one of those who had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span> +thwarted his plans in the courthouse—standing beside +him, a Winchester rifle resting in the hollow of his left +arm. Trevison urged Nigger along the level, down +the track, and halted near Corrigan and Gieger. He +knew that Corrigan had seen him, but it pleased the +other to pretend that he had not.</p> +<p>“This is your work, Corrigan—I take it?” said +Trevison, bluntly.</p> +<p>Corrigan turned slowly. He was a good actor, for +he succeeded in getting a fairly convincing counterfeit +of surprise into his face as his gaze fell on his enemy.</p> +<p>“You have taken it correctly, sir.” He smiled +blandly, though there was a snapping alertness in his +eyes that belied his apparent calmness. He turned to +Gieger, ignoring Trevison. “Organization is the +thing. Pickand is a genius at it,” he said.</p> +<p>Trevison’s eyes flamed with rage over this deliberate +insult. But in it he saw a cold design to make him lose +his temper. The knowledge brought a twisting smile to +his face.</p> +<p>“You have permission to begin this work, I suppose?”</p> +<p>Corrigan turned again, as though astonished at the +persistence of the other. “Certainly, sir. This work +is being done under a court order, issued this morning. +I applied for it yesterday. I am well within my legal +rights, the court having as you are aware, settled the +question of the title.”</p> +<p>“You know I have appealed the case?”</p> +<p>“I have not been informed that you have done so. +In any event such an appeal would not prevent me mining +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +the coal on the property, pending the hearing of +the case in the higher court. Judge Lindman has appointed +a receiver, who is bonded; and the work is to +proceed under his direction. I am here merely as an +onlooker.”</p> +<p>He looked fairly at Trevison, his eyes gleaming +with cold derision. The expression maddened the other +beyond endurance, and his eyes danced the chill glitter +of meditated violence, unrecking consequences.</p> +<p>“You’re a sneaking crook, Corrigan, and you know +it! You’re going too far! You’ve had Braman appointed +in order to escape the responsibility! You’re +hiding behind him like a coward! Come out into the +open and fight like a man!”</p> +<p>Corrigan’s face bloated poisonously, but he made +no hostile move. “I’ll kill you for that some day!” +he whispered. “Not now,” he laughed mirthlessly as +the other stiffened; “I can’t take the risk right now—I’ve +too much depending on me. But you’ve been +damned impertinent and troublesome, and when I get +you where I want you I’m going to serve you like this!” +And he took the cigar from his mouth, dropped it to +the floor of the car and ground it to pieces under his +heel. He looked up again, at Trevison, and their +gaze met, in each man’s eyes glowed the knowledge of +imminent action, ruthless and terrible.</p> +<p>Trevison broke the tension with a laugh that came +from between his teeth. “Why delay?” he mocked. +“I’ve been ready for the grinding process since the first +day.”</p> +<p>“Enough of this!” Corrigan turned to Gieger with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +a glance of cold intolerance. “This man is a nuisance,” +he said to the deputy. “Carry out the mandate of the +court and order him away. If he doesn’t go, kill him! +He is a trespasser, and has no right here!” And he +glared at Trevison.</p> +<p>“You’ve got to get out, mister,” said the deputy. +He tapped his rifle menacingly, betraying a quick accession +of rage that he caught, no doubt, from Corrigan. +Trevison smiled coldly, and backed Nigger a little. +For an instant he meditated resistance, and dropped +his right hand to the butt of his pistol. A shout distracted +his attention. It came from behind him—it +sounded like a warning, and he wheeled, to see Carson +running toward him, not more than ten feet distant, +waving his hands, a huge smile on his face.</p> +<p>“Domned if it ain’t Trevison!” he yelled as he +lunged forward and caught Trevison’s right hand in his +own, pulling the rider toward him. “I’ve been wantin’ +to spake a word wid ye for two weeks now—about thim +cows which me brother in Illinoy has been askin’ me +about, an’ divvil a chance have I had to see ye!” And +as he yanked Trevison’s shoulders downward with a +sudden pressure that there was no resisting, he whispered, +rapidly.</p> +<p>“Diputies—thirty av thim wid Winchesters—on +the other side av the flat-cars. It’s a thrap to do away +wid ye—I heard ’em cookin’ it!”</p> +<p>“An’ ye wudn’t be sellin’ ’em to me at twinty-five, +eh?” he said, aloud. “Go ’long wid ye—ye’re a +domned hold-up man, like all the rist av thim!” And +he slapped the black horse playfully in the ribs and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +laughed gleefully as the animal lunged at him, ears +laid back, mouth open.</p> +<p>His eyes cold, his lips hard and straight, Trevison +spurred the black again to the flat-car.</p> +<p>“The bars are down between us, Corrigan; it’s man +to man from now on. Law or no law, I give you +twenty-four hours to get your men and apparatus off +my land. After that I won’t be responsible for what +happens!” He heard a shout behind him, a clatter, +and he turned to see ten or twelve of his men racing +over the level toward him. At the same instant he +heard a sharp exclamation from Corrigan; heard Gieger +issue a sharp order, and a line of men raised their +heads above the flat-cars, rifles in their hands, which +they trained on the advancing cowboys.</p> +<p>Nigger leaped; his rider holding up one hand, the +palm toward his men, as a sign to halt, while he charged +into them. Trevison talked fast to them, while the +laborers, suspending work, watched, muttering; and +the rifles, resting on the flat-cars, grew steadier in their +owners’ hands. The silence grew deeper; the tension +was so great that when somewhere a man dropped a +shovel, it startled the watchers like a sudden bomb.</p> +<p>It was plain that Trevison’s men wanted to fight. It +was equally plain that Trevison was arguing to dissuade +them. And when, muttering, and casting belligerent +looks backward, they finally drew off, Trevison following, +there was a sigh of relief from the watchers, +while Corrigan’s face was black with disappointment.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XIX_A_WOMAN_RIDES_IN_VAIN' id='XIX_A_WOMAN_RIDES_IN_VAIN'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> +<h3>A WOMAN RIDES IN VAIN</h3> +</div> + +<p>Out of Rosalind Benham’s resentment against +Trevison for the Hester Harvey incident grew a +sudden dull apathy—which presently threatened to +become an aversion—for the West. Its crudeness, +the uncouthness of its people; the emptiness, the monotony, +began to oppress her. Noticing the waning of her +enthusiasm, Agatha began to inject energetic condemnations +of the country into her conversations with the +girl, and to hint broadly of the contrasting allurements +of the East.</p> +<p>But Rosalind was not yet ready to desert the Bar B. +She had been hurt, and her interest in the country had +dulled, but there were memories over which one might +meditate until—until one could be certain of some +things. This was hope, insistently demanding delay of +judgment. The girl could not forget the sincere ring +in Trevison’s voice when he had told her that he would +never go back to Hester Harvey. Arrayed against this +declaration was the cold fact of Hester’s visit, and +Hester’s statement that Trevison had sent for her. In +this jumble of contradiction hope found a fertile field.</p> +<p>If Corrigan had anticipated that the knowledge of +Hester’s visit to Trevison would have the effect of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +centering Rosalind’s interest on him, he had erred. +Corrigan was magnetic; the girl felt the lure of him. +In his presence she was continually conscious of his +masterfulness, with a dismayed fear that she would +yield to it. She knew this sensation was not love, for +it lacked the fire and the depth of the haunting, breathless +surge of passion that she had felt when she had +held Trevison off the day when he had declared his love +for her—that she felt whenever she thought of him. +But with Trevison lost to her—she did not know what +would happen, then. For the present her resentment +was sufficient to keep her mind occupied.</p> +<p>She had a dread of meeting Corrigan this morning. +Also, Agatha’s continued deprecatory speeches had +begun to annoy her, and at ten o’clock she ordered one +of the men to saddle her horse.</p> +<p>She rode southward, following a trail that brought +her to Levins’ cabin. The cabin was built of logs, +smoothly hewn and tightly joined, situated at the edge +of some timber in a picturesque spot at a point where a +shallow creek doubled in its sweep toward some broken +country west of Manti.</p> +<p>Rosalind had visited Mrs. Levins many times. The +warmth of her welcome on her first visit had resulted +in a quick intimacy which, with an immediate estimate +of certain needs by Rosalind, had brought her back in +the rôle of Lady Bountiful. “Chuck” and “Sissy” +Levins welcomed her vociferously as she splashed +across the river to the door of the cabin this morning.</p> +<p>“You’re clean spoilin’ them, Miss Rosalind!” declared +the mother, watching from the doorway; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span> +“they’ve got so they expect you to bring them a present +every time you come.”</p> +<p>Sundry pats and kisses sufficed to assuage the pangs +of disappointment suffered by the children, and shortly +afterward Rosalind was inside the cabin, talking with +Mrs. Levins, and watching Clay, who was painstakingly +mending a breach in his cartridge belt.</p> +<p>Rosalind had seen Clay once only, and that at a distance, +and she stole interested glances at him. There +was a certain attraction in Clay’s lean face, with its +cold, alert furtiveness, but it was an attraction that bred +chill instead of warmth, for his face revealed a wild, +reckless, intolerant spirit, remorseless, contemptuous of +law and order. Several times she caught him watching +her, and his narrowed, probing glances disconcerted +her. She cut her visit short because of his presence, +and when she rose to go he turned in his chair.</p> +<p>“You like this country, ma’am?”</p> +<p>“Well—yes. But it is much different, after the +East.”</p> +<p>“Some smoother there, eh? Folks are slicker?”</p> +<p>She eyed him appraisingly, for there was an undercurrent +of significance in his voice. She smiled. “Well—I +suppose so. You see, competition is keener in the +East, and it rather sharpens one’s wits, I presume.”</p> +<p>“H’m. I reckon you’re right. This railroad has +brought some <i>mighty</i> slick ones here. Mighty slick an’ +gally.” He looked at her truculently. “Corrigan’s +one of the slick ones. Friend of yours, eh?”</p> +<p>“Clay!” remonstrated his wife, sharply.</p> +<p>He turned on her roughly. “You keep out of this! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +I ain’t meanin’ nothin’ wrong. But I reckon when anyone’s +got a sneakin’ coyote for a friend an’ don’t know +it, it’s doin’ ’em a good turn to spit things right out, +frank an’ fair.</p> +<p>“This Corrigan ain’t on the level, ma’am. Do you +know what he’s doin’? He’s skinnin’ the folks in this +country out of about a hundred thousand acres of land. +He’s clouded every damn title. He’s got a fake bill +of sale to show that he bought the land years ago—which +he didn’t—an’ he’s got a little beast of a judge +here to back him up in his play. They’ve done away +with the original record of the land, an’ rigged up +another, which makes Corrigan’s title clear. It’s the +rankest robbery that any man ever tried to pull off, +an’ if he’s a friend of yourn you ought to cut him off +your visitin’ list!”</p> +<p>“How do you know that? Who told you?” asked +the girl, her face whitening, for the man’s vehemence +and evident earnestness were convincing.</p> +<p>“‘Brand’ Trevison told me. It hits him mighty +damned hard. He had a deed to his land. Corrigan +broke open his office an’ stole it. Trevison’s certain +sure his deed was on the record, for he went to Dry +Bottom with Buck Peters—the man he bought the +land from—an’ seen it wrote down on the record!” +He laughed harshly. “There’s goin’ to be hell to pay +here. Trevison won’t stand for it—though the other +gillies are advisin’ caution. Caution hell! I’m for +cleanin’ the scum out! Do you know what Corrigan +done, yesterday? He got thirty or so deputies—pluguglies +that he’s hired—an’ hid ’em behind some +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +flat-cars down on the level where they’re erectin’ some +minin’ machinery. He laid a trap for ‘Firebrand,’ +expectin’ him to come down there, rippin’ mad because +they was puttin’ the minin’ machinery up on his land, +wi’out his permission. They was goin’ to shoot him—Corrigan +put ’em up to it. That Carson fello’ +heard it an’ put ‘Firebrand’ wise. An’ the shootin’ +didn’t come off. But that’s only the beginnin’!”</p> +<p>“Did Trevison tell you to tell me this?” The girl +was stunned, amazed, incredulous. For her father was +concerned in this, and if he had any knowledge that +Corrigan was stealing land—if he <i>was</i> stealing it—he +was guilty as Corrigan. If he had no knowledge +of it, she might be able to prevent the steal by communicating +with him.</p> +<p>“Trevison tell me?” laughed Levins, scornfully; +“‘Firebrand’ ain’t no pussy-kitten fighter which depends +on women standin’ between him an’ trouble. I’m tellin’ +you on my own hook, so’s that big stiff Corrigan won’t +get swelled up, thinkin’ he’s got a chance to hitch up +with you in the matrimonial wagon. That guy’s got +murder in his heart, girl. Did you hear of me shootin’ +that sneak, Marchmont?” The girl had heard rumors +of the affair; she nodded, and Levins went on. “It +was Corrigan that hired me to do it—payin’ me a +thousand, cash.” His wife gasped, and he spoke gently +to her. “That’s all right, Ma; it wasn’t no cold-blooded +affair—Jim Marchmont knowed a sister of mine pretty +intimate, when he was out here years ago, an’ I settled +a debt that I thought I owed to her, that’s all. I ain’t +none sorry, neither—I knowed him soon as Corrigan +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span> +mentioned his name. But I hadn’t no time to call his +attention to things—I had to plug him, sudden. I’m +sorry I’ve said this, ma’am, now that it’s out,” he said +in a changed voice, noting the girl’s distress; “but I +felt you ought to know who you’re dealin’ with.”</p> +<p>Rosalind went out, swaying, her knees shaking. She +heard Levins’ wife reproving him; heard the man replying +gruffly. She felt that it <i>must</i> be so. She cared +nothing about Corrigan, beyond a certain regret, but +a wave of sickening fear swept over her at the growing +conviction that her father <i>must</i> know something of all +this. And if, as Levins said, Corrigan was attempting +to defraud these people, she felt that common justice +required that she head him off, if possible. By defeating +Corrigan’s aim she would, of course, be aiding Trevison, +and through him Hester Harvey, whom she had +grown to despise, but that hatred should not deter her. +She mounted her horse in a fever of anxiety and raced +it over the plains toward Manti, determined to find +Corrigan and force him to tell her the truth.</p> +<p>Half way to town she saw a rider coming, and she +slowed her own horse, taking the rider to be Corrigan, +coming to the Bar B. She saw her mistake when the +rider was within a hundred feet of her. She blushed, +then paled, and started to pass the rider without speaking, +for it was Trevison. She looked up when he +urged Nigger against her animal, blocking the trail, +frowning.</p> +<p>“Look here,” he said; “what’s wrong? Why do +you avoid me? I saw you on the Diamond K range +the other day, and when I started to ride toward you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span> +you whipped up your horse. You tried to pass me just +now. What have I done to deserve it?”</p> +<p>She could not tell him about Hester Harvey, of +course, and so she was silent, blushing a little. He took +her manner as an indication of guilt, and gritted his +teeth with the pain that the discovery caused him, for +he had been hoping, too—that his suspicions of her +were groundless.</p> +<p>“I do not care to discuss the matter with you.” She +looked fairly at him, her resentment flaming in her +eyes, fiercely indignant over his effrontery in addressing +her in that manner, after his affair with Hester Harvey. +She was going to help him, but that did not mean that +she was going to blind herself to his faults, or to accept +them mutely. His bold confidence in himself—which +she had once admired—repelled her now; she saw in +it the brazen egotism of the gross sensualist, seeking +new victims.</p> +<p>“I am in a hurry,” she said, stiffly; “you will pardon +me if I proceed.”</p> +<p>He jumped Nigger off the trail and watched with +gloomy, disappointed eyes, her rapid progress toward +Manti. Then he urged Nigger onward, toward Levins’ +cabin. “I’ll have to erect another monument to my +faith in women,” he muttered. And certain reckless, +grim thoughts that had rioted in his mind since the day +before, now assumed a definiteness that made his blood +leap with eagerness.</p> +<p>Later, when Rosalind sat opposite Corrigan at his +desk, she found it hard to believe Levins’ story. The +big man’s smooth plausibility made Levins’ recital seem +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +like the weird imaginings of a disordered mind, goaded +to desperation by opposition. And again, his magnetism, +his polite consideration for her feelings, his +ingenuous, smiling deference—so sharply contrasted +with Trevison’s direct bluntness—swayed her, and she +sat, perplexed, undecided, when he finished the explanation +she had coldly demanded of him.</p> +<p>“It is the invariable defense of these squatters,” he +added; “that they are being robbed. In this case they +have embellished their hackneyed tale somewhat by +dragging the court into it, and telling you that absurd +story about the shooting of Marchmont. Could you tell +me what possible interest I could have in wanting Marchmont +killed? Don’t you think, Miss Rosalind, that +Levins’ reference to his sister discloses the real reason +for the man’s action? Levins’ story that I paid him a +thousand dollars is a fabrication, pure and simple. I +paid Jim Marchmont a thousand dollars that morning, +which was the balance due him on our contract. The +transaction was witnessed by Judge Lindman. After +Marchmont was shot, Levins took the money from +him.”</p> +<p>“Why wasn’t Levins arrested?”</p> +<p>“It seems that public opinion was with Levins. A +great many people here knew of the ancient trouble +between them.” He passed from that, quickly. “The +tale of the robbery of Trevison’s office is childlike, for +the reason that Trevison had no deed. Judge Lindman +is an honored and respected official. And—” he +added as a last argument “—your father is the respected +head of a large and important railroad. Is it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +logical to suppose that he would lend his influence and +his good name to any such ridiculous scheme?”</p> +<p>She sighed, almost convinced. Corrigan went on, +earnestly:</p> +<p>“This man Trevison is a disturber—he has always +been that. He has no respect for the law or property. +He associates with the self-confessed murderer, Levins. +He is a riotous, reckless, egotistical fool who, because +the law stands in the way of his desires, wishes to +trample it under foot and allow mob rule to take its +place. Do you remember you mentioned that he once +loved a woman named Hester Keyes? Well, he has +brought Hester here—”</p> +<p>She got up, her chin at a scornful angle. “I do not +care to hear about his personal affairs.” She went out, +mounted her horse, and rode slowly out the Bar B trail. +From a window Corrigan watched her, and as she +vanished into the distance he turned back to his desk, +meditating darkly.</p> +<p>“Trevison put Levins up to that. He’s showing +yellow.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XX_AND_RIDES_AGAIN_IN_VAIN' id='XX_AND_RIDES_AGAIN_IN_VAIN'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> +<h3>AND RIDES AGAIN—IN VAIN</h3> +</div> + +<p>Rosalind’s reflections as she rode toward the +Bar B convinced her that there had been much +truth in Corrigan’s arraignment of Trevison. Out of +her own knowledge of him, and from his own admission +to her on the day they had ridden to Blakeley’s +the first time, she adduced evidence of his predilection +for fighting, of his utter disregard for accepted authority—when +that authority disagreed with his conception +of justice; of his lawlessness when his desires were +in question. His impetuosity was notorious, for it had +earned him the sobriquet “Firebrand,” which he could +not have acquired except through the exhibition of +those traits that she had enumerated.</p> +<p>She was disappointed and spiritless when she reached +the ranchhouse, and very tired, physically. Agatha’s +questions irritated her, and she ate sparingly of the +food set before her, eager to be alone. In the isolation +of her room she lay dumbly on the bed, and there the +absurdity of Levins’ story assailed her. It must be as +Corrigan had said—her father was too great a man +to descend to such despicable methods. She dropped +off to sleep.</p> +<p>When she awoke the sun had gone down, and her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +room was cheerless in the semi-dusk. She got up, +washed, combed her hair, and much refreshed, went +downstairs and ate heartily, Agatha watching her narrowly.</p> +<p>“You are distraught, my dear,” ventured her relative. +“I don’t think this country agrees with you. +Has anything happened?”</p> +<p>The girl answered evasively, whereat Agatha compressed +her lips.</p> +<p>“Don’t you think that a trip East—”</p> +<p>“I shall not go home this summer!” declared Rosalind, +vehemently. And noting the flash in the girl’s +eyes, belligerent and defiant; her swelling breast, the +warning brilliance of her eyes, misty with pent-up emotion, +Agatha wisely subsided and the meal was finished +in a strained silence.</p> +<p>Later, Rosalind went out, alone, upon the porch +where, huddled in a big rocker, she gazed gloomily at +the lights of Manti, dim and distant. Something of +the turmoil and the tumult of the town in its young +strength and vigor, assailed her, contrasting sharply +with the solemn peace of her own surroundings. Life +had been a very materialistic problem to her, heretofore. +She had lived it according to her environment, +a mere onlooker, detached from the scheme of things. +Something of the meaning of life trickled into her consciousness +as she sat there watching the flickering lights +of the town—something of the meaning of it all—the +struggle of these new residents twanged a hidden +chord of sympathy and understanding in her. She was +able to visualize them as she sat there. Faces flashed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span> +before her—strong, stern, eager; the owner of each +a-thrill with his ambition, going forward in the march +of progress with definite aim, planning, plotting, scheming—some +of them winning, others losing, but all +obsessed with a feverish desire of success. The railroad, +the town, the ranches, the new dam, the people—all +were elements of a conflict, waged ceaselessly. +She sat erect, her blood tingling. Blows were being +struck, taken.</p> +<p>“Oh,” she cried, sharply; “it’s a game! It’s the +spirit of the nation—to fight, to press onward, to +win!” And in that moment she was seized with a +throbbing sympathy for Trevison, and filled with a +yearning that he might win, in spite of Corrigan, Hester +Harvey, and all the others—even her father. For he +was a courageous player of this “game.” In him was +typified the spirit of the nation.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>Rosalind might have added something to her thoughts +had she known of the passions that filled Trevison +when, while she sat on the porch of the Bar B ranchhouse, +he mounted Nigger and sent him scurrying +through the mellow moonlight toward Manti. He was +playing the “game,” with justice as his goal. The +girl had caught something of the spirit of it all, but +she had neglected to grasp the all-important element +of the relations between men, without which laws, rules, +and customs become farcical and ridiculous. He was +determined to have justice. He knew well that Judge +Graney’s mission to Washington would result in failure +unless the deed to his property could be recovered, or +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span> +the original record disclosed. Even then, with a weak +and dishonest judge on the bench the issue might be +muddled by a mass of legal technicalities. The court +order permitting Braman to operate a mine on his property +goaded him to fury.</p> +<p>He stopped at Hanrahan’s saloon, finding Lefingwell +there and talking with him for a few minutes. +Lefingwell’s docile attitude disgusted him—he said he +had talked the matter over with a number of the other +owners, and they had expressed themselves as being in +favor of awaiting the result of his appeal. He left +Lefingwell, not trusting himself to argue the question +of the man’s attitude, and went down to the station, +where he found a telegram awaiting him. It was from +Judge Graney:</p> +<div class='blockquot'> +<p>Coming home. Case sent back to Circuit Court for hearing. +Depend on you to get evidence.</p> +</div> +<p>Trevison crumpled the paper and shoved it savagely +into a pocket. He stood for a long time on the station +platform, in the dark, glowering at the lights of the +town, then started abruptly and made his way into the +gambling room of the <i>Plaza</i>, where he somberly +watched the players. The rattle of chips, the whir of +the wheel, the monotonous drone of the faro dealer, +the hum of voices, some eager, some tense, others +exultant or grumbling, the incessant jostling, irritated +him. He went out the front door, stepped down into +the street, and walked eastward. Passing an open space +between two buildings he became aware of the figure +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span> +of a woman, and he wheeled as she stepped forward +and grasped his arm. He recognized her and tried +to pass on, but she clung to him.</p> +<p>“Trev!” she said, appealingly; “I want to talk +with you. It’s very important—really. Just a minute, +Trev. Won’t you talk <i>that</i> long! Come to my +room—where—”</p> +<p>“Talk fast,” he admonished, holding her off,“—and +talk here.”</p> +<p>She struggled with him, trying to come closer, twisting +so that her body struck his, and the contact brought +a grim laugh out of him. He seized her by the shoulders +and held her at arm’s length. “Talk from there—it’s +safer. Now, if you’ve anything important—”</p> +<p>“O Trev—please—” She laughed, almost sobbing, +but forced the tears back when she saw derision +blazing in his eyes.</p> +<p>“I told you it was all over!” He pushed her away +and started off, but he had taken only two steps when +she was at his side again.</p> +<p>“I saw you from my window, Trev. I—I knew it +was you—I couldn’t mistake you, anywhere. I followed +you—saw you go into the <i>Plaza</i>. I came to +warn you. Corrigan has planned to goad you into doing +some rash thing so that he will have an excuse to +jail or kill you!”</p> +<p>“Where did you hear that?”</p> +<p>“I—I just heard it. I was in the bank today, and +I overheard him talking to a man—some officer, I +think. Be careful, Trev—very careful, won’t you?”</p> +<p>“Careful as I can,” he laughed, lowly. “Thank +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span> +you.” He started on again, and she grasped his arm. +“Trev,” she pleaded.</p> +<p>“What’s the use, Hester?” he said; “it can’t be.”</p> +<p>“Well, God bless you, anyway, dear,” she said chokingly.</p> +<p>He passed on, leaving her in the shadows of the +buildings, and walked far out on the plains. Making +a circuit to avoid meeting the woman again, he skirted +the back yards, stumbling over tin cans and debris in +his progress. When he got to the shed where he had +hitched Nigger he mounted and rode down the railroad +tracks toward the cut, where an hour later he was +joined by Clay Levins, who came toward him, riding +slowly and cautiously.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>Patrick Carson had wooed sleep unsuccessfully. For +hours he lay on his cot in the tent, staring out through +the flap at the stars. A vague unrest had seized him. +He heard the hilarious din of Manti steadily decrease +in volume until only intermittent noises reached his +ears. But even when comparative peace came he was +still wide awake.</p> +<p>“I’ll be gettin’ the willies av I lay here much longer +widout slape,” he confided to his pillow. “Mebbe a +turn down the track wid me dujeen wud do the thrick.” +He got up, lighted his pipe and strode off into the +semi-gloom of the railroad track. He went aimlessly, +paying little attention to objects around him. He passed +the tents wherein the laborers lay—and smiled as +heavy snores smote his ears. “They slape a heap +harder than they worruk, bedad!” he observed, grinning. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span> +“Nothin’ c’ud trouble a ginney’s conscience, +annyway,” he scoffed. “But, accordin’ to that they +must be a heap on me own!” Which observation sent +his thoughts to Corrigan. “Begob, there’s a man! A +domned rogue, if iver they was one!”</p> +<p>He passed the tents, smoking thoughtfully. He +paused when he came to the small buildings scattered +about at quite a distance from the tents, then left the +tracks and made his way through the deep alkali dust +toward them.</p> +<p>“Whativer wud Corrigan be askin’ about the dynamite +for? ‘How much do ye kape av it?’ he was askin’. +As if it was anny av his business!”</p> +<p>He stopped puffing at his pipe and stood rigid, watching +with bulging eyes, for he saw the door of the dynamite +shed move outward several inches, as though someone +inside had shoved it. It closed again, slowly, and +Carson was convinced that he had been seen. He was +no coward, but a cold sweat broke out on him and his +knees doubled weakly. For any man who would visit +the dynamite shed around midnight, in this stealthy +manner, must be in a desperate frame of mind, and +Carson’s virile imagination drew lurid pictures of a +gun duel in which a stray shot penetrated the wall of +the shed. He shivered at the roar of the explosion that +followed; he even drew a gruesome picture of stretchers +and mangled flesh that brought a groan out of him.</p> +<p>But in spite of his mental stress he lunged forward, +boldly, though his breath wheezed from his lungs in +great gasps. His body lagged, but his will was indomitable, +once he quit looking at the pictures of his imagination. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span> +He was at the door of the shed in a dozen +strides.</p> +<p>The lock had been forced; the hasp was hanging, suspended +from a twisted staple. Carson had no pistol—it +would have been useless, anyway.</p> +<p>Carson hesitated, vacillating between two courses. +Should he return for help, or should he secrete himself +somewhere and watch? The utter foolhardiness of +attempting the capture of the prowler single handed +assailed him, and he decided on retreat. He took one +step, and then stood rigid in his tracks, for a voice +filtered thinly through the doorway, hoarse, vibrant:</p> +<p>“Don’t forget the fuses.”</p> +<p>Carson’s lips formed the word: “Trevison!”</p> +<p>Carson’s breath came easier; his thoughts became +more coherent, his recollection vivid; his sympathies +leaped like living things. When his thoughts dwelt +upon the scene at the butte during Trevison’s visit while +the mining machinery was being erected—the trap that +Corrigan had prepared for the man—a grim smile +wreathed his face, for he strongly suspected what was +meant by Trevison’s visit to the dynamite shed.</p> +<p>He slipped cautiously around a corner of the shed, +making no sound in the deep dust surrounding it, and +stole back the way he had come, tingling.</p> +<p>“Begob, I’ll slape now—a little while!”</p> +<p>As Carson vanished down the tracks a head was +stuck out through the doorway of the shed and turned +so that its owner could scan his surroundings.</p> +<p>“All clear,” he whispered.</p> +<p>“Get going, then,” said another voice, and two men, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span> +their faces muffled with handkerchiefs, bearing something +that bulked their pockets oddly, slipped out of +the door and fled noiselessly, like gliding shadows, +down the track toward the cut.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>Rosalind had been asleep in the rocker. A cool night +breeze, laden with the strong, pungent aroma of sage, +sent a shiver over her and she awoke, to see that the +lights of Manti had vanished. An eerie lonesomeness +had settled around her.</p> +<p>“Why, it must be nearly midnight!” she said. She +got up, yawning, and stepped toward the door, wondering +why Agatha had not called her. But Agatha +had retired, resenting the girl’s manner.</p> +<p>Almost to the door, Rosalind detected movement in +the ghostly semi-light that flooded the plains between +the porch and the picturesque spot, more than a mile +away, on which Levins’ cabin stood. She halted at the +door and watched, and when the moving object resolved +into a horse, loping swiftly, she strained her eyes toward +it. At first it seemed to have no rider, but when it +had approached to within a hundred yards of her, +she gasped, leaped off the porch and ran toward the +horse. An instant later she stood at the animal’s head, +voicing her astonishment.</p> +<p>“Why, it’s Chuck Levins! Why on earth are you +riding around at this hour of the night?”</p> +<p>“Sissy’s sick. Maw wants you to please come an’ +see what you can do—if it ain’t too much trouble.”</p> +<p>“Trouble?” The girl laughed. “I should say not! +Wait until I saddle my horse!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span></p> +<p>She ran to the porch and stole silently into the house, +emerging with a small medicine case, which she stuck +into a pocket of her coat. Once before she had had +occasion to use her simple remedies on Sissy—an illness +as simple as her remedies; but she could feel something +of Mrs. Levins’ concern for her offspring, and—and it +was an ideal night for a gallop over the plains.</p> +<p>It was almost midnight by the Levins’ clock when +she entered the cabin, and a quick diagnosis of her case +with an immediate application of one of her remedies, +brought results. At half past twelve Sissy was sleeping +peacefully, and Chuck had dozed off, fully dressed, +no doubt ready to re-enact his manly and heroic rôle +upon call.</p> +<p>It was not until Rosalind was ready to go that Mrs. +Levins apologized for her husband’s rudeness to his +guest.</p> +<p>“Clay feels awfully bitter against Corrigan. It’s +because Corrigan is fighting Trevison—and Trevison +is Clay’s friend—they’ve been like brothers. Trevison +has done so much for us.”</p> +<p>Rosalind glanced around the cabin. She had meant +to ask Chuck why his father had not come on the midnight +errand, but had forebore. “Mr. Levins isn’t +here?”</p> +<p>“Clay went away about nine o’clock.” The woman +did not meet Rosalind’s direct gaze; she flushed under +it and looked downward, twisting her fingers in her +apron. Rosalind had noted a strangeness in the woman’s +manner when she had entered the cabin, but she +had ascribed it to the child’s illness, and had thought +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span> +nothing more of it. But now it burst upon her with +added force, and when she looked up again Rosalind +saw there was an odd, strained light in her eyes—a +fear, a dread—a sinister something that she shrank +from. Rosalind remembered the killing of Marchmont, +and had a quick divination of impending trouble.</p> +<p>“What is it, Mrs. Levins? What has happened?”</p> +<p>The woman gulped hard, and clenched her hands. +Evidently, whatever her trouble, she had determined +to bear it alone, but was now wavering.</p> +<p>“Tell me, Mrs. Levins; perhaps I can help you?”</p> +<p>“You can!” The words burst sobbingly from the +woman. “Maybe you can prevent it. But, oh, Miss +Rosalind, I wasn’t to say anything—Clay told me not +to. But I’m so afraid! Clay’s so hot-headed, and +Trevison is so daring! I’m afraid they won’t stop at +anything!”</p> +<p>“But what is it?” demanded Rosalind, catching +something of the woman’s excitement.</p> +<p>“It’s about the machinery at the butte—the mining +machinery. My God, you’ll never say I told you—will +you? But they’re going to blow it up tonight—Clay +and Trevison; they’re going to dynamite it! I’m +afraid there will be murder done!”</p> +<p>“Why didn’t you tell me before?” The girl stood +rigid, white, breathless.</p> +<p>“Oh, I ought to,” moaned the woman. “But I was +afraid you’d tell—Corrigan—somebody—and—and +they’d get into trouble with the law!”</p> +<p>“I won’t tell—but I’ll stop it—if there’s time! +For your sake. Trevison is the one to blame.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span></p> +<p>She inquired about the location of the butte; the +shortest trail, and then ran out to her horse. Once in +the saddle she drew a deep breath and sent the animal +scampering into the flood of moonlight.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>Down toward the cut the two men ran, and when they +reached a gully at a distance of several hundred feet +from the dynamite shed they came upon their horses. +Mounting, they rode rapidly down the track toward the +butte where the mining machinery was being erected. +They had taken the handkerchiefs off while they ran, +and now Trevison laughed with the hearty abandon of +a boy whose mischievous prank has succeeded.</p> +<p>“That was easy. I thought I heard a noise, though, +when you backed against the door and shoved it open.”</p> +<p>“Nobody usually monkeys around a dynamite shed +at night,” returned Levins. “Whew! There’s enough +of that stuff there to blow Manti to Kingdom Come—wherever +that is.”</p> +<p>They rode boldly across the level at the base of the +butte, for they had reconnoitered after meeting on the +plains just outside of town, and knew Corrigan had +left no one on guard.</p> +<p>“It’s a cinch,” Levins declared as they dismounted +from their horses in the shelter of a shoulder of the +butte, about a hundred yards from where the corrugated +iron building, nearly complete, loomed somberly +on the level. “But if they’d ever get evidence that we +done it—”</p> +<p>Trevison laughed lowly, with a grim humor that +made Levins look sharply at him. “That abandoned +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span> +pueblo on the creek near your shack is built like a fortress, +Levins.”</p> +<p>“What in hell has this job got to do with that dobie +pile?” questioned the other.</p> +<p>“Plenty. Oh, you’re curious, now. But I’m going +to keep you guessing for a day or two.”</p> +<p>“You’ll go loco—give you time,” scoffed Levins.</p> +<p>“Somebody else will go crazy when this stuff lets +go,” laughed Trevison, tapping his pockets.</p> +<p>Levins snickered. They trailed the reins over the +heads of their horses, and walked swiftly toward the +corrugated iron building. Halting in the shadow of it, +they held a hurried conference, and then separated, +Trevison going toward the engine, already set up, with +its flimsy roof covering it, and working around it for a +few minutes, then darting from it to a small building +filled with tools and stores, and to a pile of machinery +and supplies stacked against the wall of the butte. +They worked rapidly, elusive as shadows in the deep +gloom of the wall of the butte, and when their work +was completed they met in the full glare of the moonlight +near the corrugated iron building and whispered +again.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>Lashing her horse over a strange trail, Rosalind +Benham came to a thicket of gnarled fir-balsam and +scrub oak that barred her way completely. She had +ridden hard and her horse breathed heavily during the +short time she spent looking about her. Her own +breath was coming sharply, sobbing in her throat, but +it was more from excitement than from the hazard +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span> +and labor of the ride, for she had paid little attention +to the trail, beyond giving the horse direction, trusting +to the animal’s wisdom, accepting the risks as a matter-of-course. +It was the imminence of violence that had +aroused her, the portent of a lawless deed that might +result in tragedy. She had told Mrs. Levins that she +was doing this thing for <i>her</i> sake, but she knew better. +She <i>did</i> consider the woman, but she realized that her +dominating passion was for the grim-faced young man +who, discouraged, driven to desperation by the force of +circumstances—just or not—was fighting for what he +considered were his rights—the accumulated results of +ten years of exile and work. She wanted to save him +from this deed, from the results of it, even though +there was nothing but condemnation in her heart for +him because of it.</p> +<p>“To the left of the thicket is a slope,” Mrs. Levins +had told her. She stopped only long enough to get her +bearings, and at her panting, “Go!” the horse leaped. +They were at the crest of the slope quickly, facing the +bottom, yawning, deep, dark. She shut her eyes as +the horse took it, leaning back to keep from falling +over the animal’s head, holding tightly to the pommel +of the saddle. They got down, someway, and when +she felt the level under them she lashed the horse again, +and urged him around a shoulder of the precipitous +wall that loomed above her, frowning and somber.</p> +<p>She heard a horse whinny as she flashed past the +shoulder, her own beast tearing over the level with +great catlike leaps, but she did not look back, straining +her eyes to peer into the darkness along the wall +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span> +of the butte for sight of the buildings and machinery.</p> +<p>She saw them soon after passing the shoulder, and +exclaimed her thanks sharply.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>“All set,” said one of the shadowy figures near the +corrugated iron building. A match flared, was applied +to a stick of punk in the hands of each man, and again +they separated, each running, applying the glowing +wand here and there.</p> +<p>Trevison’s work took him longest, and when he +leaped from the side of a mound of supplies Levins +was already running back toward the shoulder where +they had left their horses. They joined, then split +apart, their weapons leaping into their hands, for they +heard the rapid drumming of horse’s hoofs.</p> +<p>“They’re coming!” panted Trevison, his jaws setting +as he plunged on toward the shoulder of the butte. +“Run low and duck at the flash of their guns!” he +warned Levins.</p> +<p>A wide swoop brought the oncoming horse around +the shoulder of the butte into full view. As the moonlight +shone, momentarily, on the rider, Trevison cried +out, hoarsely:</p> +<p>“God, it’s a woman!”</p> +<p>He leaped, at the words, out of the shadow of the +butte into the moonlight of the level, straight into the +path of the running horse, which at sight of him slid, +reared and came to a halt, snorting and trembling. Trevison +had recognized the girl; he flung himself at the +horse, muttering: “Dynamite!” seized the beast by +the bridle, forced its head around despite the girl’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +objections and incoherent pleadings—some phrases of +which sank home, but were disregarded.</p> +<p>“Don’t!” she cried, fiercely, as he struck the animal +with his fist to accelerate its movements. She was still +crying to him, wildly, hysterically, as he got the animal’s +head around and slapped it sharply on the hip, +his pistol crashing at its heels.</p> +<p>The frightened animal clattered over the back trail, +Trevison running after it. He reached Nigger, flung +himself into the saddle, and raced after Levins, who +was already far down the level, following Rosalind’s +horse. At a turn in the butte he came upon them both, +their horses halted, the girl berating Levins, the man +laughing lowly at her.</p> +<p>“Don’t!” she cried to Trevison as he rode up. +“Please, Trevison—don’t let <i>that</i> happen! It’s criminal; +it’s outlawry!”</p> +<p>“Too late,” he said grimly, and rode close to her +to grasp the bridle of her horse. Standing thus, they +waited—an age, to the girl, in reality only a few +seconds. Then the deep, solemn silence of the night +was split by a hollow roar, which echoed and re-echoed +as though a thousand thunder storms had centered over +their heads. A vivid flash, extended, effulgent, lit the +sky, the earth rocked, the canyon walls towering above +them seemed to sway and reel drunkenly. The girl +covered her face with her hands. Another blast smote +the night, reverberating on the heels of the other; there +followed another and another, so quickly that they +blended; then another, with a distinct interval between. +Then a breathless, unreal calm, through which distant +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span> +echoes rumbled; then a dead silence, shattered at last +by a heavy, distant clatter, as though myriad big hailstones +were falling on a pavement. And then another +silence—the period of reeling calm after an earthquake.</p> +<p>“O God!” wailed the girl; “it is horrible!”</p> +<p>“You’ve got to get out of here—the whole of +Manti will be here in a few minutes! Come on!”</p> +<p>He urged Nigger farther down the canyon, and up +a rocky slope that brought them to the mesa. The +girl was trembling, her breath coming gaspingly. He +faced her as they came to a halt, pityingly, with a certain +dogged resignation in his eyes.</p> +<p>“What brought you here? Who told you we were +here?” he asked, gruffly.</p> +<p>“It doesn’t matter!” She faced him defiantly. “You +have outraged the laws of your country tonight! I +hope you are punished for it!”</p> +<p>He laughed, derisively. “Well, you’ve seen; you +know. Go and inform your friends. What I have done +I did after long deliberation in which I considered fully +the consequences to myself. Levins wasn’t concerned +in it, so you don’t need to mention his name. Your +ranch is in that direction, Miss Benham.” He pointed +southeastward, Nigger lunged, caught his stride in two +or three jumps, and fled toward the southwest. His +rider did not hear the girl’s voice; it was drowned in +clatter of hoofs as he and Levins rode.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XXI_ANOTHER_WOMAN_RIDES' id='XXI_ANOTHER_WOMAN_RIDES'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> +<h3>ANOTHER WOMAN RIDES</h3> +</div> + +<p>Trevison rode in to town the next morning. On +his way he went to the edge of the butte overlooking +the level, and looked down upon the wreck +and ruin he had caused. Masses of twisted steel and +iron met his gaze; the level was littered with debris, +which a gang of men under Carson was engaged in +clearing away; a great section of the butte had been +blasted out, earth, rocks, sand, had slid down upon +much of the wreckage, partly burying it. The utter +havoc of the scene brought a fugitive smile to his lips.</p> +<p>He saw Carson waving a hand to him, and he +answered the greeting, noting as he did so that Corrigan +stood at a little distance behind Carson, watching. +Trevison did not give him a second look, +wheeling Nigger and sending him toward Manti at a +slow lope. As he rode away, Corrigan called to Carson.</p> +<p>“Your friend didn’t seem to be much surprised.”</p> +<p>Carson turned, making a grimace while his back was +yet toward Corrigan, but grinning broadly when he +faced around.</p> +<p>“Didn’t he now? I wasn’t noticin’. But, begorra, +how c’ud he be surprised, whin the whole domned +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span> +country was rocked out av its bed be the blast! Wud +ye be expictin’ him to fall over in a faint on beholdin’ +the wreck?”</p> +<p>“Not he,” said Corrigan, coldly; “he’s got too +much nerve for that.”</p> +<p>“Ain’t he, now!” Carson looked guilelessly at the +other. “Wud ye be havin’ anny idee who done it?”</p> +<p>Corrigan’s eyes narrowed. “No,” he said shortly, +and turned away.</p> +<p>Trevison’s appearance in Manti created a stir. He +had achieved a double result by his deed, for besides +destroying the property and making it impossible for +Corrigan to resume work for a considerable time, he +had caused Manti’s interest to center upon him sharply, +having shocked into the town’s consciousness a conception +of the desperate battle that was being waged +at its doors. For Manti had viewed the devastated +butte early that morning, and had come away, seething +with curiosity to get a glimpse of the man whom everybody +secretly suspected of being the cause of it. Many +residents of the town had known Trevison before—in +half an hour after his arrival he was known to all. +Public opinion was heavily in his favor and many approving +comments were heard.</p> +<p>“I ain’t blamin’ him a heap,” said a man in the <i>Belmont</i>. +“If things is as you say they are, there ain’t +much more that a <i>man</i> could do!”</p> +<p>“The laws is made for the guys with the coin an’ +the pull,” said another, vindictively.</p> +<p>“An’ dynamite ain’t carin’ who’s usin’ it,” said another, +slyly. Both grinned. The universal sympathy +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span> +for the “under dog” oppressed by Justice perverted +or controlled, had here found expression.</p> +<p>It was so all over Manti. Admiring glances followed +Trevison; though he said no word concerning +the incident; nor could any man have said, judging +from the expression of his face, that he was elated. +He had business in Manti—he completed it, and when +he was ready to go he got on Nigger and loped out of +town.</p> +<p>“That man’s nerve is as cold as a naked Eskimo +at the North Pole,” commented an admirer. “If I’d +done a thing like that I’d be layin’ low to see if any +evidence would turn up against me.”</p> +<p>“I reckon there ain’t a heap of evidence,” laughed +his neighbor. “I expect everybody knows he done it, +but knowin’ an’ provin’ is two different things.”</p> +<p>A mile out of town Trevison met Corrigan. The +latter halted his horse when he saw Trevison and +waited for him to come up. The big man’s face wore +an ugly, significant grin.</p> +<p>“You did a complete job,” he said, eyeing the other +narrowly. “And there doesn’t seem to be any evidence. +But look out! When a thing like that happens there’s +always somebody around to see it, and if I can get evidence +against you I’ll send you up for it!”</p> +<p>He noted a slight quickening of Trevison’s eyes at +his mention of a witness, and a fierce exultation leaped +within him.</p> +<p>Trevison laughed, looking the other fairly between +the eyes. Rosalind Benham hadn’t informed on him. +However, the day was not yet gone. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span></p> +<p>“Get your evidence before you try to do any bluffing,” +he challenged. He spurred Nigger on, not looking +back at his enemy.</p> +<p>Corrigan rode to the laborers’ tents, where he talked +for a time with the cook. In the mess tent he stood +with his back to a rough, pine-topped table, his hands +on its edge. The table had not yet been cleared from +the morning meal, for the cook had been interested in +the explosion. He tried to talk of it with Corrigan, +but the latter adroitly directed the conversation otherwise. +The cook would have said they had a pleasant +talk. Corrigan seemed very companionable this morning. +He laughed a little; he listened attentively when +the cook talked. After a while Corrigan fumbled in +his pockets. Not finding a cigar, he looked eloquently +at the cook’s pipe, in the latter’s mouth, belching much +smoke.</p> +<p>“Not a single cigar,” he said. “I’m dying for a +taste of tobacco.”</p> +<p>The cook took his pipe from his mouth and wiped +the stem hastily on a sleeve. “If you don’t mind I’ve +been suckin’ on it,” he said, extending it.</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t deprive you of it for the world.” Corrigan +shifted his position, looked down at the table and +smiled. “Luck, eh?” he said, picking up a black brier +that lay on the table behind him. “Got plenty of +tobacco?”</p> +<p>The cook dove for a box in a corner and returned +with a cloth sack, bulging. He watched while Corrigan +filled the pipe, and grinned while his guest was +lighting it. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span></p> +<p>“Carson’ll be ravin’ today for forgettin’ his pipe. +He must have left it layin’ on the table this mornin’—him +bein’ in such a rush to get down, to the explosion.”</p> +<p>“It’s Carson’s, eh?” Corrigan surveyed it with +casual interest. “Well,” after taking a few puffs “—I’ll +say for Carson that he knows how to take care of +it.”</p> +<p>He left shortly afterward, laying the pipe on the +table where he had found it. Five minutes later he was +in Judge Lindman’s presence, leaning over the desk +toward the other.</p> +<p>“I want you to issue a warrant for Patrick Carson. +I want him brought in here for examination. Charge +him with being an accessory before the fact, or anything +that seems to fit the case. But throw him into +the cooler—and keep him there until he talks. He +knows who broke into the dynamite shed, and therefore +he knows who did the dynamiting. He’s friendly +with Trevison, and if we can make him admit he saw +Trevison at the shed, we’ve got the goods. He warned +Trevison the other day, when I had the deputies lined +up at the butte, and I found his pipe this morning near +the door of the dynamite shed. We’ll make him talk, +damn him!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>Banker Braman had closed the door between the +front and rear rooms, pulled down the shades of the +windows, lighted the kerosene lamp, and by its wavering +flicker was surveying his reflection in the small mirror +affixed to one of the walls of the building. He was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span> +pleased, as the fatuous self-complacence of his look +indicated, and carefully, almost fastidiously dressed, +and he could not deny himself this last look into the +mirror, even though he was now five minutes late with +his appointment. The five minutes threatened to +become ten, for, in adjusting his tie-pin it slipped from +his fingers, struck the floor and vanished, as though an +evil fate had gobbled it.</p> +<p>He searched for it frenziedly, cursing lowly, but none +the less viciously. It was quite by accident that when +his patience was strained almost to the breaking point, +he struck his hand against a board that formed part +of the partition between his building and the courthouse +next door, and tore a huge chunk of skin from +the knuckles. He paid little attention to the injury, +however, for the agitating of the board disclosed the +glittering recreant, and he pounced upon it with the +precision of a hawk upon its prey, snarling triumphantly.</p> +<p>“I’ll nail that damned board up, some day!” he +threatened. But he knew he wouldn’t, for by lying on +the floor and pulling the board out a trifle, he could get +a clear view of the interior of the courthouse, and +could hear quite plainly, in spite of the presence of a +wooden box resting against the wall on the other side. +And some of the things that Braman had already heard +through the medium of the loose board were really +interesting, not to say instructive, to him.</p> +<p>He was ten minutes late in keeping his appointment. +He might have been even later without being in danger +of receiving the censure he deserved. For the lady +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span> +received him in a loose wrapper and gracefully disordered +hair, a glance at which made Braman gasp in +unfeigned admiration.</p> +<p>“What’s this?” he demanded with a pretense of +fatherly severity, which he imagined became him very +well in the presence of women. “Not ready yet, Mrs. +Harvey?”</p> +<p>The woman waved him to a chair with unsmiling +unconcern; dropped into another, crossed her legs and +leaned back in her chair, her hands folded across the +back of her head, her sleeves, wide and flaring, sliding +down below her elbows. She caught Braman’s burning +stare of interest in this revelation of negligence, +and smiled at him in faint derision.</p> +<p>“I’m tired, Croft. I’ve changed my mind about +going to the First Merchants’ Ball. I’d much rather +sit here and chin you—if you don’t mind.”</p> +<p>“Not a bit!” hastily acquiesced the banker. “In +fact, I like the idea of staying here much better. It is +more private, you know.” He grinned significantly, +but the woman’s smile of faint derision changed merely +to irony, which held steadily, making Braman’s cheeks +glow crimson.</p> +<p>“Well, then,” she laughed, exulting in her power +over him; “let’s get busy. What do you want to chin +about?”</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you after I’ve wet my whistle,” said the +banker, gayly. “I’m dry as a bone in the middle of +the Sahara desert!”</p> +<p>“I’ll take mine ‘straight,’” she laughed.</p> +<p>Braman rang a bell. A waiter with glasses and a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span> +bottle appeared, entered, was paid, and departed, grinning +without giving the banker any change from a ten +dollar bill.</p> +<p>The woman laughed immoderately at Braman’s wolfish +snarl.</p> +<p>“Be a sport, Croft. Don’t begrudge a poor waiter +a few honestly earned dollars!”</p> +<p>“And now, what has the loose-board telephone told +you?” she asked, two hours later when flushed of face +from frequent attacks on the bottle—Braman rather +more flushed than she—they relaxed in their chairs +after a tilt at poker in which the woman had been the +victor.</p> +<p>“You’re sure you don’t care for Trevison any more—that +you’re only taking his end of this because of +what he’s been to you in the past?” demanded the +banker, looking suspiciously at her.</p> +<p>“He told me he didn’t love me any more. I couldn’t +want him after that, could I?”</p> +<p>“I should think not.” Braman’s eyes glowed with +satisfaction. But he hesitated, yielding when she +smiled at him. “Damn it, I’d knife Corrigan for you!” +he vowed, recklessly.</p> +<p>“Save Trevison—that’s all I ask. Tell me what +you heard.”</p> +<p>“Corrigan suspects Trevison of blowing up the stuff +at the butte—as everybody does, of course. He’s +determined to get evidence against him. He found +Carson’s pipe at the door of the dynamite shed this +morning. Carson is a friend of Trevison’s. Corrigan +is going to have Judge Lindman issue a warrant +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span> +for the arrest of Carson—on some charge—and +they’re going to jail Carson until he talks.”</p> +<p>The woman cursed profanely, sharply. “That’s +Corrigan’s idea of a square deal. He promised me +that no harm should come to Trevison.” She got up +and walked back and forth in the room, Braman watching +her with passion lying naked in his eyes, his lips +loose and moist.</p> +<p>She stopped in front of him, finally. “Go home, +Croft—there’s a good boy. I want to think.”</p> +<p>“That’s cruelty to animals,” he laughed in a strained +voice. “But I’ll go,” he added at signs of displeasure +on her face. “Can I see you tomorrow night?”</p> +<p>“I’ll let you know.” She held the door open for him, +and permitted him to take her hand for an instant. +He squeezed it hotly, the woman making a grimace of +repugnance as she closed the door.</p> +<p>Swiftly she changed from her loose gown to a simple, +short-skirted affair, slipped on boots, a felt hat, +gloves. Leaving the light burning, she slipped out into +the hall and called to the waiter who had served her +and Braman. By rewarding him generously she procured +a horse, and a few minutes later she emerged +from the building by a rear door, mounting the animal +and sending it clattering out into the night.</p> +<p>Twice she lost her way and rode miles before she +recovered her sense of direction, and when she finally +pulled the beast to a halt at the edge of the Diamond K +ranchhouse gallery, midnight was not far away. The +ranchhouse was dark. She smothered a gasp of disappointment +as she crossed the gallery floor. She was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span> +about to hammer on the door when it swung open and +Trevison stepped out, peered closely at her and laughed +shortly.</p> +<p>“It’s you, eh?” he said. “I thought I told you—”</p> +<p>She winced at his tone, but it did not lessen her concern +for him.</p> +<p>“It isn’t that, Trev! And I don’t care how you treat +me—I deserve it! But I can’t see them punish you—for +what you did last night!” She felt him start, his +muscles stiffen.</p> +<p>“Something has turned up, then. You came to warn +me? What is it?”</p> +<p>“You were seen last night! They’re going to +arrest—”</p> +<p>“So she squealed, did she?” he interrupted. He +laughed lowly, bitterly, with a vibrant disappointment +that wrung the woman’s heart with sympathy. But her +brain quickly grasped the significance of his words, and +longing dulled her sense of honor. It was too good +an opportunity to miss. “Bah! I expected it. She +told me she would. I was a fool to dream otherwise!” +He turned on Hester and grasped her by the shoulders, +and her flesh deadened under his fingers.</p> +<p>“Did she tell Corrigan?”</p> +<p>“Yes.” The woman told the lie courageously, looking +straight into his eyes, though she shrank at the +fire that came into them as he released her and laughed.</p> +<p>“Where did you get your information?” His voice +was suddenly sullen and cold.</p> +<p>“From Braman.”</p> +<p>He started, and laughed in humorous derision. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span></p> +<p>“Braman and Corrigan are blood brothers in this deal. +You must have captivated the little sneak completely +to make him lose his head like that!”</p> +<p>“I did it for you, Trev—for you. Don’t you see? +Oh, I despise the little beast! But he dropped a hint +one day when I was in the bank, and I deliberately +snared him, hoping I might be able to gain information +that would benefit you. And I have, Trev!” she +added, trembling with a hope that his hasty judgment +might result to her advantage. And how near she +had come to mentioning Carson’s name! If Trevison +had waited for just another second before interrupting +her! Fortune had played favorably into her hands +tonight!</p> +<p>“For you, boy,” she said, slipping close to him, sinuously, +whispering, knowing the “she” he had mentioned +<i>must</i> be Rosalind Benham. “Old friends are +best, boy. At least they can be depended upon not to +betray one. Trev; let me help you! I can, and I will! +Why, I love you, Trev! And you need me, to help +you fight these people who are trying to ruin you!”</p> +<p>“You don’t understand.” Trevison’s voice was cold +and passionless. “It seems I can’t <i>make</i> you understand. +I’m grateful for what you have done for me +tonight—very grateful. But I can’t live a lie, woman. +I don’t love you!”</p> +<p>“But you love a woman who has delivered you into +the hands of your enemies,” she moaned.</p> +<p>“I can’t help it,” he declared hoarsely. “I don’t +deny it. I would love her if she sent me to the gallows, +and stood there, watching me die!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span></p> +<p>The woman bowed her head, and dropped her hands +listlessly to her sides. In this instant she was thinking +almost the same words that Rosalind Benham had murmured +on her ride to Blakeley’s, when she had discovered +Trevison’s identity: “I wonder if Hester Keyes +knows what she has missed.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XXII_A_MAN_ERRS_AND_PAYS' id='XXII_A_MAN_ERRS_AND_PAYS'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> +<h3>A MAN ERRS—AND PAYS</h3> +</div> + +<p>For a time Trevison stood on the gallery, watching +the woman as she faded into the darkness toward +Manti, and then he laughed mirthlessly and went into +the house, emerging with a rifle and saddle. A few minutes +later he rode Nigger out of the corral and headed +him southwestward. Shortly after midnight he was +at the door of Levins’ cabin. The latter grinned with +feline humor after they held a short conference.</p> +<p>“That’s right,” he said; “you don’t need any of +the boys to help you pull <i>that</i> off—they’d mebbe go +to actin’ foolish an’ give the whole snap away. Besides, +I’m a heap tickled to be let in on that sort of a jamboree!” +There followed an interval, during which +his grin faded. “So she peached on you, eh? She +told my woman she wouldn’t. That’s a woman, ain’t +it? How’s a man to tell about ’em?”</p> +<p>“That’s a secret of my own that I am not ready to +let you in on. Don’t tell your wife where you are going +<i>tonight</i>.”</p> +<p>“I ain’t reckonin’ to. I’ll be with you in a jiffy!” +He vanished into the cabin, reappeared, ran to the stable, +and rode out to meet Trevison. Together they +were swallowed up by the plains. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span></p> +<p>At eight o’clock in the morning Corrigan came out +of the dining-room of his hotel and stopped at the +cigar counter. He filled his case, lit one, and stood +for a moment with an elbow on the glass of the show +case, smoking thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“That was quite an accident you had at your mine. +Have you any idea who did it?” asked the clerk, watching +him furtively.</p> +<p>Corrigan glanced at the man, his lips curling.</p> +<p>“You might guess,” he said through his teeth.</p> +<p>“That fellow Trevison is a bad actor,” continued +the clerk. “And say,” he went on, confidentially; “not +that I want to make you feel bad, but the majority of +the people of this town are standing with him in this +deal. They think you are not giving the land-owners +a square deal. Not that I’m ‘knocking’ <i>you</i>,” the +clerk denied, flushing at the dark look Corrigan threw +him. “That’s merely what I hear. Personally, I’m +for you. This town needs men like you, and it can +get along without fellows like Trevison.”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” smiled Corrigan, disgusted with the +man, but feeling that it might be well to cultivate such +ingratiating interest. “Have a cigar.”</p> +<p>“I’ll go you. Yes, sir,” he added, when he had got +the weed going; “this town can get along without any +Trevisons. These sagebrush rummies out here give +me a pain. What this country needs is less brute force +and more brains!” He drew his shoulders erect as +though convinced that he was not lacking in the particular +virtue to which he had referred.</p> +<p>“You are right,” smiled Corrigan, mildly. “Brains +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span> +are all important. A hotel clerk must be well supplied. +I presume you see and hear a great many things that +other people miss seeing and hearing.” Corrigan +thought this thermometer of public opinion might have +other information.</p> +<p>“You’ve said it! We’ve got to keep our wits about +us. There’s very little escapes us.” He leered at Corrigan’s +profile. “That’s a swell Moll in number +eleven, ain’t it?”</p> +<p>“What do you know about her?” Corrigan’s face +was inexpressive.</p> +<p>“Oh say now!” The clerk guffawed close to Corrigan’s +ear without making the big man wink an eyelash. +“You don’t mean to tell me that you ain’t <i>on</i>! I saw +you steer to her room one night—the night she came +here. And once or twice, since. But of course us +hotel clerks don’t see anything! She is down on the +register as Mrs. Harvey. But say! You don’t see +any married women running around the country dressed +like her!”</p> +<p>“She may be a widow.”</p> +<p>“Well, yes, maybe she might. But she shows speed, +don’t she?” He whispered. “You’re a pretty good +friend of mine, now, and maybe if I’d give you a tip +you’d throw something in my way later on—eh?”</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“Oh, you might start a hotel here—or something. +And I’m thinking of blowing this joint. This town’s +booming, and it can stand a swell hotel in a few +months.”</p> +<p>“You’re on—if I build a hotel. Shoot!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span></p> +<p>The clerk leaned closer, whispering: “She receives +other men. You’re not the only one.”</p> +<p>“Who?”</p> +<p>The clerk laughed, and made a funnel of one hand. +“The banker across the street—Braman.”</p> +<p>Corrigan bit his cigar in two, and slowly spat that +which was left in his mouth into a cuspidor. He contrived +to smile, though it cost him an effort, and his +hands were clenched.</p> +<p>“How many times has he been here?”</p> +<p>“Oh, several.”</p> +<p>“When was he here last?”</p> +<p>“Last night.” The clerk laughed. “Looked half +stewed when he left. Kinda hectic, too. Him and her +must have had a tiff, for he left early. And after he’d +gone—right away after—she sent one of the waiters +out for a horse.”</p> +<p>“Which way did she go?”</p> +<p>“West—I watched her; she went the back way, +from here.”</p> +<p>Corrigan smiled and went out. The expression of +his face was such as to cause the clerk to mutter, +dazedly: “He didn’t seem to be a whole lot interested. +I guess I must have sized him up wrong.”</p> +<p>Corrigan stopped at his office in the bank, nodding +curtly to Braman. Shortly afterward he got up and +went to the courthouse. He had ordered Judge Lindman +to issue a warrant for Carson the previous morning, +and had intended to see that it was served. But a +press of other matters had occupied his attention until +late in the night. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span></p> +<p>He tried the front door of the courthouse, to find +it locked. The rear door was also locked. He tried +the windows—all were fastened securely. Thinking +the Judge still sleeping he went back to his office and +spent an hour going over some correspondence. At +the end of that time he visited the courthouse again. +Angered, he went around to the side and burst the +flimsy door in, standing in the opening, glowering, for +the Judge’s cot was empty, and the Judge nowhere to +be seen.</p> +<p>Corrigan stalked through the building, cursing. He +examined the cot, and discovered that it had been slept +in. The Judge must have risen early. Obviously, +there was nothing to do but to wait. Corrigan did that, +impatiently. For a long time he sat in the chair at +his desk, watching Braman, studying him, scowling, +rage in his heart. “If he’s up to any dirty work, +I’ll choke him until his tongue hangs out a yard!” was +a mental threat that he repeated many times. “But +he’s just mush-headed over the woman, I guess—he’s +that kind of a fool!”</p> +<p>At ten o’clock Corrigan jumped on his horse and +rode out to the butte where the laborers were working, +clearing away the debris from the explosion. No one +there had seen Judge Lindman. Corrigan rode back +to town, fuming with rage. Finding some of the deputies +he sent them out to search for the Judge. One +by one they came in and reported their failure. At +six-thirty, after the arrival of the evening train from +Dry Bottom, Corrigan was sitting at his desk, his face +black with wrath, reading for the third or fourth time +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span> +a letter that he had spread out on the desk before +him:</p> +<div class='blockquot'> +<p>“<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Mr. Jefferson Corrigan</span>:</p> +<p>“I feel it is necessary for me to take a short rest. +Recent excitement in Manti has left me very nervous +and unstrung. I shall be away from Manti for about +two weeks, I think. During my absence any pending +litigation must be postponed, of course.”</p> +</div> +<p>The letter was signed by Judge Lindman, and postmarked +“Dry Bottom.”</p> +<p>Corrigan got up after a while and stuffed the letter +into a pocket. He went out, and when he returned, +Braman had gone out also—to supper, Corrigan surmised. +When the banker came in an hour later, Corrigan +was still seated at his desk. The banker smiled +at him, and Corrigan motioned to him.</p> +<p>Corrigan’s voice was silky. “Where were you last +night, Braman?”</p> +<p>The banker’s face whitened; his thoughts became +confused, but instantly cleared when he observed from +the expression of the big man’s face that the question +was, apparently, a casual one. But he drew his breath +tremulously. One could never be sure of Corrigan.</p> +<p>“I spent the night here—in the back room.”</p> +<p>“Then you didn’t see the Judge last night—or hear +him?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>Corrigan drew the Judge’s letter from the pocket +and passed it over to Braman, watching his face steadily +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span> +as he read. He saw a quick stain appear in the +banker’s cheeks, and his own lips tightened.</p> +<p>The banker coughed before he spoke. “Wasn’t +that a rather abrupt leave-taking?”</p> +<p>“Yes—rather,” said Corrigan, dryly. “You didn’t +hear him walking about during the night?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“You’re rather a heavy sleeper, eh? There is only +a thin board partition between this building and the +courthouse.”</p> +<p>“He must have left after daylight. Of course, any +noise he might have made after that I wouldn’t have +noticed.”</p> +<p>“No, of course not,” said Corrigan, passionlessly. +“Well—he’s gone.” He seemed to have dismissed +the matter from his mind and Braman sighed with +relief. But he watched Corrigan narrowly during the +remainder of the time he stayed in the office, and when +he went out, Braman shook a vindictive fist at his +back.</p> +<p>“Worry, damn you!” he sneered. “I don’t know +what was in Judge Lindman’s mind, but I hope he +never comes back! That will help to repay you for +that knockdown!”</p> +<p>Corrigan went over to the <i>Castle</i> and ate supper. +He was preoccupied and deliberate, for he was trying +to weave a complete fabric out of the threads of Braman’s +visits to Hester Harvey; Hester’s ride westward, +and Judge Lindman’s abrupt departure. He had a feeling +that they were in some way connected.</p> +<p>At a little after seven he finished his meal, went +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span> +upstairs and knocked at the door of Hester Harvey’s +room. He stepped inside when she opened the door, +and stood, both hands in the pockets of his trousers, +looking at her with a smile of repressed malignance.</p> +<p>“Nice night for a ride, wasn’t it?” he said, his +lips parting a very little to allow the words to filter +through.</p> +<p>The woman flashed a quick, inquiring look at him, +saw the passion in his eyes, the gleam of malevolent +antagonism, and she set herself against it. For her +talk with Trevison last night had convinced her of the +futility of hope. She had gone out of his life as a +commonplace incident slips into the oblivion of yesteryear. +Worse—he had refused to recall it. It hurt +her, this knowledge—his rebuff. It had aroused cold, +wanton passions in her—she had become a woman +who did not care. She met Corrigan’s gaze with a +look of defiant mockery.</p> +<p>“Swell. I enjoyed every minute of it. Won’t you +sit down?”</p> +<p>He held himself back, grinning coldly, for the woman’s +look had goaded him to fury.</p> +<p>“No,” he said; “I’ll stand. I won’t be here a minute. +You saw Trevison last night, eh? You warned +him that I was going to have Carson arrested.” He +had hazarded this guess, for it had seemed to him that +it must be the solution to the mystery, and when he +caught the quick, triumphant light in the woman’s eyes +at his words he knew he had not erred.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said; “I saw him, and I told him—what +Braman told me.” She saw his eyes glitter and she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span> +laughed harshly. “That’s what you wanted to know, +isn’t it, Jeff—what Braman told me? Well, you +know it. I knew you couldn’t play square with me. +You thought you could dupe me—<i>again</i>, didn’t you? +Well, you didn’t, for I snared Braman and pumped +him dry. He’s kept me posted on your movements; +and his little board telephone—Ha, ha! that makes +you squirm, doesn’t it? But it was all wasted effort—Trevison +won’t have me—he’s through. And I’m +through. I’m not going to try any more. I’m going +back East, after I get rested. You fight it out with +Trevison. But I warn you, he’ll beat you—and I +wish he would! As for that beast, Braman, I wish—Ah, +let him go, Jeff,” she advised, noting the cold fury +in his eyes.</p> +<p>“That’s all right,” he said with a dry laugh. “You +and Braman have done well. It hasn’t done me any +harm, and so we’ll forget about it. What do you say +to having a drink—and a talk. As in old times, +eh?” He seemed suddenly to have conquered his +passion, but the queer twitching of his lips warned +the woman, and when he essayed to move toward her, +smiling pallidly, she darted to the far side of a stand +near the center of the room, pulled out a drawer, produced +a small revolver and leveled it at him, her eyes +wide and glittering with menace.</p> +<p>“Stay where you are, Jeff!” she ordered. “There’s +murder in your heart, and I know it. But I don’t intend +to be the victim. I’ll shoot if you come one step +nearer!”</p> +<p>He smirked at her, venomously. “All right,” he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +said. “You’re wise. But get out of town on the next +train.”</p> +<p>“I’ll go when I get ready—you can’t scare me. Let +me alone or I’ll go to Rosalind Benham and let her +in on the whole scheme.”</p> +<p>“Yes you will—not,” he laughed. “If I know anything +about you, you won’t do anything that would +give Miss Benham to Trevison.”</p> +<p>“That’s right; I’d rather see her married to you—that +would be the refinement of cruelty!”</p> +<p>He laughed sneeringly and stepped out of the door. +Waiting a short time, the woman heard his step in the +hall. Then she darted to the door, locked it, and leaned +against it, panting.</p> +<p>“I’ve done it now,” she murmured. “Braman—Well, +it serves him right!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>Corrigan stopped in the barroom and got a drink. +Then he walked to the front door and stood in it for +an instant, finally stepping down into the street. Across +the street in the banking room he saw a thin streak +of light gleaming through a crevice in the doorway +that led from the banking room to the rear. The +light told him that Braman was in the rear room. +Selecting a moment when the street in his vicinity was +deserted, Corrigan deliberately crossed, standing for +a moment in the shadow of the bank building, looking +around him. Then he slipped around the building and +tapped cautiously on the rear door. An instant later +he was standing inside the room, his back against the +door. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span> +Braman, arrayed as he had been the night before, +had opened the door. He had been just ready to +go when he heard Corrigan’s knock.</p> +<p>“Going out, Croft?” said Corrigan pleasantly, eyeing +the other intently. “All lit up, too! You’re getting +to be a gay dog, lately.”</p> +<p>There was nothing in Corrigan’s bantering words +to bring on that sudden qualm of sickening fear that +seized the banker. He knew it was his guilt that had +done it—guilt and perhaps a dread of Corrigan’s +rage if he <i>should</i> learn of his duplicity. But that word +“lately”! If it had been uttered with any sort of an +accent he might have been suspicious. But it had come +with the bantering ring of the others, with no hint +of special significance. And Braman was reassured.</p> +<p>“Yes, I’m going out.” He turned to the mirror on +the wall. “I’m getting rather stale, hanging around +here so much.”</p> +<p>“That’s right, Croft. Have a good time. How +much money is there in the safe?”</p> +<p>“Two or three thousand dollars.” The banker +turned from the glass. “Want some? Ha, ha!” he +laughed at the other’s short nod; “there are other gay +dogs, I guess! How much do you want?”</p> +<p>“All you’ve got?”</p> +<p>“All! Jehoshaphat! You must have a big deal on +tonight!”</p> +<p>“Yes, big,” said Corrigan evenly. “Get it.”</p> +<p>He followed the banker into the banking room, carefully +closing the door behind him, so that the light +from the rear room could not penetrate. “That’s all +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +right,” he reassured the banker as the latter noticed +the action; “this isn’t a public matter.”</p> +<p>He stuffed his pockets with the money the banker +gave him, and when the other tried to close the door +of the safe he interposed a restraining hand, laughing:</p> +<p>“Leave it open, Croft. It’s empty now, and a cracksman +trying to get into it would ruin a perfectly good +safe, for nothing.”</p> +<p>“That’s right.”</p> +<p>They went into the rear room again, Corrigan last, +closing the door behind him. Braman went again to +the glass, Corrigan standing silently behind him.</p> +<p>Standing before the glass, the banker was seized +with a repetition of the sickening fear that had +oppressed him at Corrigan’s words upon his entrance. +It seemed to him that there was a sinister significance +behind Corrigan’s present silence. A tension came +between them, portentous of evil. Braman shivered, +but the silence held. The banker tried to think of +something to say—his thoughts were rioting in chaos, +a dumb, paralyzing terror had seized him, his lips +stuck together, the facial muscles refusing their office. +He dropped his hands to his sides and stared into the +glass, noting the ghastly pallor that had come over +his face—the dull, whitish yellow of muddy marble. +He could not turn, his legs were quivering. He knew +it was conscience—only that. And yet Corrigan’s +ominous silence continued. And now he caught his +breath with a shuddering gasp, for he saw Corrigan’s +face reflected in the glass, looking over his shoulder—a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span> +mirthless smirk on it, the eyes cold, and dancing with +a merciless and cunning purpose. While he watched, +he saw Corrigan’s lips open:</p> +<p>“Where’s the board telephone, Braman?”</p> +<p>The banker wheeled, then. He tried to scream—the +sound died in a gasping gurgle as Corrigan leaped +and throttled him. Later, he fought to loosen the grip +of the iron fingers at his throat, twisting, squirming, +threshing about the room in his agony. The grip held, +tightened. When the banker was quite still Corrigan +put out the light, went into the banking room, where +he scattered the papers and books in the safe all around +the room. Then he twisted the lock off the door, using +an iron bar that he had noticed in a corner when he +had come in, and stepped out into the shadow of the +building.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XXIII_FIRST_PRINCIPLES' id='XXIII_FIRST_PRINCIPLES'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +<h3>FIRST PRINCIPLES</h3> +</div> + +<p>Judge Lindman shivered, though a merciless, +blighting sun beat down on the great stone ledge +that spread in front of the opening, smothering him +with heat waves that eddied in and out, and though the +interior of the low-ceilinged chamber pulsed with the +fetid heat sucked in from the plains generations before. +The adobe walls, gray-black in the subdued light, were +dry as powder and crumbling in spots, the stone floor +was exposed in many places; there was a strange, sickening +odor, as though the naked, perspiring bodies of +inhabitants in ages past had soaked the walls and floor +with the man-scent, and intervening years of disuse +had mingled their musty breath with it. But for the +presence of the serene-faced, steady-eyed young man who +leaned carelessly against the wall outside, whose shoulder +and profile he could see, the Judge might have +yielded completely to the overpowering conviction that +he was dreaming, and that his adventures of the past +twelve hours were horrors of his imagination. But he +knew from the young man’s presence at the door that +his experience had been real enough, and the knowledge +kept his brain out of the threatening chaos.</p> +<p>Some time during the night he had awakened on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span> +his cot in the rear room of the courthouse to hear a +cold, threatening voice warning him to silence. He had +recognized the voice, as he had recognized it once +before, under similar conditions. He had been gagged, +his hands tied behind him. Then he had been lifted, +carried outside, placed on the back of a horse, in front +of his captor, and borne away in the darkness. They +had ridden many miles before the horse came to a halt +and he was lifted down. Then he had been forced to +ascend a sharp slope; he could hear the horse clattering +up behind them. But he had not been able to see anything +in the darkness, though he felt he was walking +along the edge of a cliff. The walk had ended abruptly, +when his captor had forced him into his present quarters +with a gruff admonition to sleep. Sleep had come +hard, and he had done little of it, napping merely, sitting +on the stone floor, his back against the wall, most +of the time watching his captor. He had talked some, +asking questions which his captor ignored. Then a +period of oblivion had come, and he had awakened to +the sunshine. For an hour he had sat where he was, +looking out at his captor and blinking at the brilliant +sunshine. But he had asked no questions since awakening, +for he had become convinced of the meaning of +all this. But he was intensely curious, now.</p> +<p>“Where have you brought me?” he demanded of +his jailor.</p> +<p>“You’re awake, eh?” Trevison grinned as he +wheeled and looked in at his prisoner. “This,” he +waved a hand toward the ledge and its surroundings, +“is an Indian pueblo, long deserted. It makes an +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span> +admirable prison, Judge. It is also a sort of a fort. +There is only one vulnerable point—the slope we came +up last night. I’ll take you on a tour of examination, +if you like. And then you must return here, to stay +until you disclose the whereabouts of the original land +record.”</p> +<p>The Judge paled, partly from anger, partly from a +fear that gripped him.</p> +<p>“This is an outrage, Trevison! This is America!”</p> +<p>“Is it?” The young man smiled imperturbably. +“There have been times during the past few weeks +when I doubted it, very much. It <i>is</i> America, though, +but it is a part of America that the average American +sees little of—that he knows little of. As little, +let us say, as he knows of the weird application of its +laws—as applied by <i>some</i> judges.” He smiled as +Lindman winced. “I have given up hoping to secure +justice in the regular way, and so we are in the midst +of a reversion to first principles—which may lead +us to our goal.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> +<p>“That I <i>must</i> have the original record, Judge, I +mean to have it.”</p> +<p>“I deny—”</p> +<p>“Yes—of course. Deny, if you like. We shan’t +argue. Do you want to explore the place? There will +be plenty of time for talk.”</p> +<p>He stepped aside as the Judge came out, and grinned +broadly as he caught the Judge’s shrinking look at a +rifle he took up as he turned. It had been propped +against the wall at his side. He swung it to the hollow +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span> +of his left elbow. “Your knowledge of firearms convinces +you that you can’t run as fast as a rifle bullet, +doesn’t it, Judge?”</p> +<p>The Judge’s face indicated that he understood.</p> +<p>“Ever make the acquaintance of an Indian pueblo, +Judge?”</p> +<p>“No. I came West only a year ago, and I have kept +pretty close to my work.”</p> +<p>“Well, you’ll feel pretty intimate with this one by +the time you leave it—if you’re obstinate,” laughed +Trevison. He stood still and watched the Judge. The +latter was staring hard at his surroundings, perhaps +with something of the awed reverence that overtakes +the tourist when for the first time he views an ancient +ruin.</p> +<p>The pueblo seemed to be nothing more than a jumble +of adobe boxes piled in an indiscriminate heap on +a gigantic stone level surmounting the crest of a hill. +A sheer rock wall, perhaps a hundred feet in height, +descended to the surrounding slopes; the latter sweeping +down to join the plains. A dust, light, dry, and +feathery lay thickly on the adobe boxes on the surrounding +ledge on the slopes, like a gray ash sprinkled +from a giant sifter. Cactus and yucca dotted the slopes, +thorny, lancelike, repellent; lava, dull, hinting of volcanic +fire, filled crevices and depressions, and huge +blocks of stone, detached in the progress of disintegration, +were scattered about.</p> +<p>“It has taken ages for this to happen!” the Judge +heard himself murmuring.</p> +<p>Trevison laughed lowly. “So it has, Judge. Makes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span> +you think of your school days, doesn’t it? You hardly +remember it, though. You have a hazy sort of recollection +of a print of a pueblo in a geography, or in a +geological textbook, but at the time you were more interested +in Greek roots, the Alps, Louis Quinze, the heroes +of mythology, or something equally foreign, and you +forgot that your own country might hold something +of interest for you. But the history of these pueblo +towns must be pretty interesting, if one could get at +it. All that I have heard of it are some pretty weird +legends. There can be no doubt, I suppose, that the +people who inhabited these communal houses had laws +to govern them—and judges to apply the laws. And +I presume that then, as now, the judges were swayed +by powerful influences in—”</p> +<p>The Judge glared at his tormentor. The latter +laughed.</p> +<p>“It is reasonable to presume, too,” he went on, +“that in some cases the judges rendered some pretty +raw decisions. And carrying the supposition further, +we may believe that then, as now, the poor downtrodden +proletariat got rather hot under the collar. There +are always some hot-tempered fools among all classes +and races that do, you know. They simply can’t stand +the feel of the iron heel of the oppressor. Can you +picture a hot-tempered fool of that tribe abducting a +judge of the court of his people and carrying him away +to some uninhabited place, there to let him starve until +he decided to do the right thing?”</p> +<p>“Starve!” gasped the Judge.</p> +<p>“The chambers and tunnels connecting these communal +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span> +houses—they look like mud boxes, don’t they, +Judge? And there isn’t a soul in any of them—nor a +bite to eat! As I was about to remark, the chambers +and tunnels and the passages connecting these places +are pretty bare and cheerless—if we except scorpions, +horned toads, centipedes, tarantulas—and other +equally undesirable occupants. Not a pleasant place +to sojourn in until—How long can a man live without +eating, Judge? You know, of course, that the +Indians selected an elevated and isolated site, such as +this, because of its strategical advantages? This makes +an ideal fort. Nobody can get into it except by negotiating +the slope we came up last night. And a rifle +in the hands of a man with a yearning to use it would +make <i>that</i> approach pretty unsafe, wouldn’t it?”</p> +<p>“My God!” moaned the Judge; “you talk like a +man bereft of his senses!”</p> +<p>“Or like a man who is determined not to be robbed +of his rights,” added Trevison. “Well, come along. +We won’t dwell on such things if they depress you.”</p> +<p>He took the Judge’s arm and escorted him. They +circled the broad stone ledge. It ran in wide, irregular +sweeps in the general outline of a huge circle, surrounded +by the dust-covered slopes melting into the +plains, so vast that the eye ached in an effort to comprehend +them. Miles away they could see smoke +befouling the blue of the sky. The Judge knew the +smoke came from Manti, and he wondered if Corrigan +were wondering over his disappearance. He mentioned +that to Trevison, and the latter grinned faintly +at him. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span></p> +<p>“I forgot to mention that to you. It was all +arranged last night. Clay Levins went to Dry Bottom +on a night train. He took with him a letter, which +he was to mail at Dry Bottom, explaining your absence +to Corrigan. Needless to say, your signature was +forged. But I did so good a job that Corrigan will +not suspect. Corrigan will get the letter by tonight. +It says that you are going to take a long rest.”</p> +<p>The Judge gasped and looked quickly at Trevison. +The young man’s face was wreathed in a significant +grin.</p> +<p>“In the first analysis, this looks like a rather strange +proceeding,” said Trevison. “But if you get deeper +into it you see its logic. You know where the original +record is. I want it. I mean to have it. One life—a +dozen lives—won’t stop me. Oh, well, we won’t +talk about it if you’re going to shudder that way.”</p> +<p>He led the Judge up a flimsy, rotted ladder to a +flat roof, forcing him to look into a chamber where +vermin fled at their appearance. Then through numerous +passages, low, narrow, reeking with a musty odor +that nauseated the Judge; on narrow ledges where they +had to hug the walls to keep from falling, and then +into an open court with a stone floor, stained dark, in +the center a huge oblong block of stone, surmounting +a pyramid, appalling in its somber suggestiveness.</p> +<p>“The sacrificial altar,” said Trevison, grimly. +“These stains here, are—”</p> +<p>He stopped, for the Judge had turned his back.</p> +<p>Trevison led him away. He had to help him down +the ladder each time they descended, and when they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span> +reached the chamber from which they had started the +Judge was white and shaking.</p> +<p>Trevison pushed him inside and silently took a position +at the door. The Judge sank to the floor of the +chamber, groaning.</p> +<p>The hours dragged slowly. Trevison changed his +position twice. Once he went away, but returned in +a few minutes with a canteen, from which he drank, +deeply. The Judge had been without food or water +since the night before, and thirst tortured him. The +gurgle of the water as it came out of the canteen, maddened +him.</p> +<p>“I’d like a drink, Trevison.”</p> +<p>“Of course. Any man would.”</p> +<p>“May I have one?”</p> +<p>“The minute you tell me where that record is.”</p> +<p>The Judge subsided. A moment later Trevison’s +voice floated into the chamber, cold and resonant:</p> +<p>“I don’t think you’re in this thing for money, Judge. +Corrigan has some sort of a hold on you. What is it?”</p> +<p>The Judge did not answer.</p> +<p>The sun climbed to the zenith. It grew intensely hot +in the chamber. Twice during the afternoon the Judge +asked for water, and each time he received the answer +he had received before. He did not ask for food, for +he felt it would not be given him. At sundown his captor +entered the chamber and gave him a meager draught +from the canteen. Then he withdrew and stood on +the ledge in front of the door, looking out into the +darkening plains, and watching him, a conviction of the +futility of resisting him seized the Judge. He stood +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span> +framed in the opening of the chamber, the lines of his +bold, strong face prominent in the dusk, the rifle held +loosely in the crook of his left arm, the right hand +caressing the stock, his shoulders squared, his big, lithe, +muscular figure suggesting magnificent physical strength, +as the light in his eyes, the set of his head and the firm +lines of his mouth, brought a conviction of rare courage +and determination. The sight of him thrilled the +Judge; he made a picture that sent the Judge’s thoughts +skittering back to things primitive and heroic. In an +earlier day the Judge had dreamed of being like him, +and the knowledge that he had fallen far short of +realizing his ideal made him shiver with self-aversion. +He stifled a moan—or tried to and did not succeed, +for it reached Trevison’s ears and he turned quickly.</p> +<p>“Did you call, Judge?”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes!” whispered the Judge, hoarsely. “I +want—to tell you everything! I have longed to tell +you all along!”</p> +<p>An hour later they were sitting on the edge of the +ledge, their feet dangling, the abyss below them, the +desert stars twinkling coldly above them; around them +the indescribable solitude of a desert night filled with +mystery, its vague, haunting, whispering voice burdened +with its age-old secrets. Trevison had an arm around +the Judge’s shoulder. Their voices mingled—the +Judge’s low, quavering; Trevison’s full, deep, sympathetic.</p> +<p>After a while a rider appeared out of the starlit +haze of the plains below them. The Judge started. +Trevison laughed. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span></p> +<p>“It’s Clay Levins, Judge. I’ve been watching him +for half an hour. He’ll stay here with you while I +go after the record. Under the bottom drawer, eh?”</p> +<p>Levins hallooed to them. Trevison answered, and +he and the Judge walked forward to meet Levins at +the crest of the slope.</p> +<p>“Slicker’n a whistle!” declared Levins, answering +the question Trevison put to him. “I mailed the damn +letter an’ come back on the train that brought it to +him!” He grinned felinely at the Judge. “I reckon +you’re a heap dry an’ hungry by this time?”</p> +<p>“The Judge has feasted,” said Trevison. “I’m +going after the record. You’re to stay here with the +Judge until I return. Then the three of us will ride +to Las Vegas, where we will take a train to Santa Fe, +to turn the record over to the Circuit Court.”</p> +<p>“Sounds good!” gloated Levins. “But it’s too long +around. I’m for somethin’ more direct. Why not take +the Judge with you to Manti, get the record, takin’ a +bunch of your boys with you—an’ salivate that damned +Corrigan an’ his deputies!”</p> +<p>Trevison laughed softly. “I don’t want any violence +if I can avoid it. My land won’t run away while +we’re in Santa Fe. And the Judge doesn’t want to meet +Corrigan just now. I don’t know that I blame him.”</p> +<p>“Where’s the record?”</p> +<p>Trevison told him, and Levins grumbled. “Corrigan’ll +have his deputies guardin’ the courthouse, most +likely. If you run ag’in ’em, they’ll bore you, sure as +hell!”</p> +<p>“I’ll take care of myself—I promise you that!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span> +he laughed, and the Judge shuddered at the sound. He +vanished into the darkness of the ledge, returning presently +with Nigger, led him down the slope, called a +low “So-long” to the two watchers on the ledge, and +rode away into the haze of the plains.</p> +<p>Trevison rode fast, filled with a grim elation. He +pitied the Judge. An error—a momentary weakening +of moral courage—had plunged the jurist into +the clutches of Corrigan; he could hardly be held responsible +for what had transpired—he was a puppet in the +hands of an unscrupulous schemer, with a threat of +exposure hanging over him. No wonder he feared +Corrigan! Trevison’s thoughts grew bitter as they +dwelt upon the big man; the old longing to come into +violent physical contact with the other seized him, raged +within him, brought a harsh laugh to his lips as he rode. +But a greater passion than he felt for the Judge or +Corrigan tugged at him as he urged the big black over +the plains toward the twinkling lights of Manti—a +fierce exultation which centered around Rosalind Benham. +She had duped him, betrayed him to his enemy, +had played with him—but she had lost!</p> +<p>Yet the thought of his coming victory over her was +poignantly unsatisfying. He tried to picture her—did +picture her—receiving the news of Corrigan’s defeat, +and somehow it left him with a feeling of regret. The +vengeful delight that he should have felt was absent—he +felt sorry for her. He charged himself with being +a fool for yielding to so strange a sentiment, but it +lingered persistently. It fed his rage against Corrigan, +however, doubled it, for upon him lay the blame. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span></p> +<p>It was late when he reached the outskirts of Manti. +He halted Nigger in the shadow of a shed a hundred +yards or so down the track from the courthouse, dismounted +and made his way cautiously down the railroad +tracks. He was beyond the radius of the lights +from various windows that he passed, but he moved +stealthily, not knowing whether Corrigan had stationed +guards about the courthouse, as Levins had warned. +An instant after reaching a point opposite the courthouse +he congratulated himself on his discretion, for he +caught a glimmer of light at the edge of a window shade +in the courthouse, saw several indistinct figures congregated +at the side door, outside. He slipped behind +a tool shed at the side of the track, and crouching there, +watched and listened. A mumbling of voices reached +him, but he could distinguish no word. But it was +evident that the men outside were awaiting the reappearance +of one of their number who had gone into +the building.</p> +<p>Trevison watched, impatiently. Then presently the +side door opened, letting out a flood of light, which +bathed the figures of the waiting men. Trevison +scowled, for he recognized them as Corrigan’s deputies. +But he was not surprised, for he had half expected +them to be hanging around the building. Two figures +stepped down from the door as he watched, and he +knew them for Corrigan and Gieger. Corrigan’s voice +reached him.</p> +<p>“The lock on this door is broken. I had to kick it +in this morning. One of you stay inside, here. The +rest of you scatter and keep your eyes peeled. There’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span> +trickery afoot. Judge Lindman didn’t go to Dry Bottom—the +agent says he’s sure of that because he saw +every man that’s got aboard a train here within the +last twenty-four hours—and Judge Lindman wasn’t +among them! Levins was, though; he left on the one-thirty +this morning and got back on the six-o’clock, +tonight.” He vanished into the darkness beyond the +door, but called back: “I’ll be within call. Don’t +be afraid to shoot if you see anything suspicious!”</p> +<p>Trevison saw a man enter the building, and the +light was blotted out by the closing of the door. When +his eyes were again accustomed to the darkness he +observed that the men were standing close together—they +seemed to be holding a conference. Then the +group split up, three going toward the front of the +building; two remaining near the side door, and two +others walking around to the rear.</p> +<p>For an instant Trevison regretted that he had not +taken Levins’ advice about forming a posse of his +own men to take the courthouse by storm, and he +debated the thought of postponing action. But there +was no telling what might happen during an interval +of delay. In his rage over the discovery of the trick +that had been played on him Corrigan might tear the +interior of the building to pieces. He would be sure +to if he suspected the presence of the original record. +Trevison did not go for the help that would have been +very welcome. Instead, he spent some time twirling +the cylinder of his pistol.</p> +<p>He grew tired of crouching after a time and lay +flat on his stomach in the shadow of the tool shed, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +watching the men as they tramped back and forth, +around the building. He knew that sooner or later +there would be a minute or two of relaxation, and of +this he had determined to take advantage. But it was +not until sound in the town had perceptibly decreased +in volume that there was any sign of the men relaxing +their vigil. And then he noted them congregating +at the front of the building.</p> +<p>“Hell,” he heard one of them say; “what’s the +use of hittin’ that trail <i>all</i> night! Bill’s inside, an’ we +can see the door from here. I’m due for a smoke an’ +a palaver!” Matches flared up; the sounds of their +voices reached Trevison.</p> +<p>Trevison disappointedly relaxed. Then, filled with +a sudden decision, he slipped around the back of the +tool shed and stole toward the rear of the courthouse. +It projected beyond the rear of the bank building, +adjoining it, forming an L, into the shadow of which +Trevison slipped. He stood there for an instant, breathing +rapidly, undecided. The darkness in the shadow +was intense, and he was forced to feel his way along +the wall for fear of stumbling. He was leaning heavily +on his hands, trusting to them rather than to his +footing, when the wall seemed to give way under them +and he fell forward, striking on his hands and knees. +Fortunately, he had made no sound in falling, and he +remained in the kneeling position until he got an idea +of what had happened. He had fallen across the +threshold of a doorway. The door had been unfastened +and the pressure of his hands had forced it inward. +It was the rear door of the bank building. He looked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span> +inward, wondering at Braman’s carelessness—and +stared fixedly straight into a beam of light that shone +through a wedge-shaped crevice between two boards +in the partition that separated the buildings.</p> +<p>He got up silently, stepped stealthily into the room, +closing the door behind him. He tried to fasten it +and discovered that the lock was broken. For some +time he stood, wondering, and then, giving it up, he +made his way cautiously around the room, searching +for Braman’s cot. He found that, too, empty, and he +decided that some one had broken into the building +during Braman’s absence. Moving away from the cot, +he stumbled against something soft and yielding, and +his pistol flashed into his hand in sinister preparation, +for he knew from the feel of the soft object that it +was a body, and he suspected that it was Braman, stalking +him. He thought that until he remembered the +broken lock, on the door, and then the significance of +it burst upon him. Whoever had broken the lock had +fixed Braman. He knelt swiftly and ran his hands +over the prone form, drawing back at last with the low +ejaculation: “He’s a goner!” He had no time or +inclination to speculate over the manner of Braman’s +death, and made catlike progress toward the crevice in +the partition. Reaching it, he dropped on his hands +and knees and peered through. A wooden box on the +other side of the partition intervened, but above it he +could see the form of the deputy. The man was +stretched out in a chair, sideways to the crevice in the +wall, sleeping. A grin of huge satisfaction spread over +Trevison’s face. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span></p> +<p>His movements were very deliberate and cautious. +But in a quarter of an hour he had pulled the board +out until an opening was made in the partition, and +then propping the board back with a chair he reached +through and slowly shoved the box on the other side +back far enough to admit his body. Crawling through, +he rose on the other side, crossed the floor carefully, +kneeled at the drawer where Judge Lindman had concealed +the record, pulled it out and stuck it in the waistband +of his trousers, in front, his eyes glittering with +exultation. Then he began to back toward the opening +in the partition. At the instant he was preparing +to stoop to crawl back into the bank building, the deputy +in the chair yawned, stretched and opened his eyes, +staring stupidly at him. There was no mistaking the +dancing glitter in Trevison’s eyes, no possible misinterpretation +of his tense, throaty whisper: “One chirp +and you’re a dead one!” And the deputy stiffened in +the chair, dumb with astonishment and terror.</p> +<p>The deputy had not seen the opening in the partition, +for it was partly hidden from his view by the box +which Trevison had encountered in entering, and before +the man had an opportunity to look toward the place, +Trevison commanded him again, in a sharp, cold whisper:</p> +<p>“Get up and turn your back to me—quick! Any +noise and I’ll plug you! Move!”</p> +<p>The deputy obeyed. Then he received an order to +walk to the door without looking back. He readied +the door—halted.</p> +<p>“Now open it and get out!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span></p> +<p>The man did as bidden; diving headlong out into +the darkness, swinging the door shut behind him. His +yell to his companions mingled with the roar of Trevison’s +pistol as he shattered the kerosene lamp. The +bullet hit the neck of the glass bowl, a trifle below the +burner, the latter describing a parabola in the air and +falling into the ruin of the bowl. The chimney crashed, +the flame from the wick touched the oil and flared up +brilliantly.</p> +<p>Trevison was half way through the wall by the time +the oil ignited, and he grinned coldly at the sight. Haste +was important now. He slipped through the opening, +pulled the chair from between the board and wall, +letting the board snap back, and placing the chair +against it. He felt certain that the deputies would +think that in some manner he had run their barricade +and entered the building through the door.</p> +<p>He heard voices outside, a fusillade of shots, the +tinkle of breaking glass; against the pine boards at his +side came the wicked thud of bullets, the splintering of +wood as they tore through the partition and embedded +themselves in the outside wall. He ducked low and ran +to the rear door, swinging it open. Braman’s body +bothered him; he could not leave it there, knowing the +building would soon be in flames. He dragged the +body outside, to a point several feet distant from the +building, dropping it at last and standing erect for the +first time to fill his lungs and look about him. Looking +back as he ran down the tracks toward the shed where +he had left Nigger, he saw shadowy forms of men +running around the courthouse, which was now dully +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span> +illuminated, the light from within dancing fitfully +through the window shades. Flaming streaks rent the +night from various points—thinking him still in the +building the deputies were shooting through the windows. +Manti, rudely awakened, was pouring its population +through its doors in streams. Shouts, hoarse, +inquisitive, drifted to Trevison’s ears. Lights blazed +up, flickering from windows like giant fireflies. Doors +slammed, dogs were barking, men were running. Trevison +laughed vibrantly as he ran. But his lips closed +tightly when he saw two or three shadowy figures darting +toward him, coming from various directions—one +from across the street; another coming straight down +the railroad track, still another advancing from his +right. He bowed his head and essayed to pass the first +figure. It reached out a hand and grasped his shoulder, +arresting his flight.</p> +<p>“What’s up?”</p> +<p>“Let go, you damned fool!”</p> +<p>The man still clung to him. Trevison wrenched +himself free and struck, viciously. The man dropped +with a startled cry. Another figure was upon Trevison. +He wanted no more trouble at that minute.</p> +<p>“Hell to pay!” he panted as the second man loomed +close to him in the darkness; “Trevison’s in the courthouse!”</p> +<p>He heard the other gasp; saw him lunge forward. +He struck again, bitterly, and the man went to his +knees. He was up again instantly, as Trevison fled into +the darkness, crying resonantly:</p> +<p>“This way, boys—here he is!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span></p> +<p>“Corrigan!” breathed Trevison. He ducked as a +flame-spurt split the night; reaching a corner of the +shed where he had left his horse as a succession of +reports rattled behind him. Corrigan was firing at him. +He dared not use his own pistol, lest its flash reveal his +whereabouts, and he knew he would have no chance +against the odds that were against him. Nor was he +intent on murder. He flung himself into the saddle, +and for the first time since he had come into Trevison’s +possession Nigger knew the bite of spurs earnestly +applied. He snorted, leaped, and plunged forward, +the clatter of his hoofs bringing lancelike streaks of +fire out of the surrounding blackness. Behind him +Trevison heard Corrigan raging impotently, profanely. +There came another scattering volley. Trevison reeled, +caught himself, and then hung hard to the saddle-horn, +as Nigger fled into the night, running as a coyote runs +from the daylight.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XXIV_ANOTHER_WOMAN_LIES' id='XXIV_ANOTHER_WOMAN_LIES'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> +<h3>ANOTHER WOMAN LIES</h3> +</div> + +<p>Shortly before midnight Aunt Agatha Benham +laid her book down, took off her glasses, wiped +her eyes and yawned. She sat for a time stretched out +in her chair, her hands folded in her lap, meditatively +looking at the flicker of the kerosene lamp, thinking +of the conveniences she had given up in order to chaperon +a wilful girl who did not appreciate her services. +It was the selfishness of youth, she decided—nothing +less. But still Rosalind might understand what a sacrifice +her aunt was making for her. Thrilling with self-pity, +she got up, blew out the light and ascended the +stairs to her room. She plumped herself in a chair +at one of the front windows before beginning to +undress, that she might again feel the delicious thrill, +for that was the only consolation she got from a contemplation +of her sacrifice, Rosalind never offered her +a word of gratitude!</p> +<p>The thrill she anticipated was not the one she experienced—it +was a thrill of apprehension that seized her—for +a glowing midnight sky met her gaze as she +stared in the direction of Manti, vast, extensive. In +its center, directly over the town, was a fierce white +glare with off-shoots of licking, leaping tongues of +flame that reached skyward hungrily. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span></p> +<p>Agatha watched for one startled instant, and then +she was in Rosalind’s room, leaning over the bed, shaking +her. The girl got up, dressed in her night clothes, +and together they stood at one of the windows in the +girl’s room, watching.</p> +<p>The fierce white center of the fire seemed to expand.</p> +<p>“It’s a fire—in Manti!” said the girl. “See! +Another building has caught! Oh, I <i>do</i> hope they +can put it out!”</p> +<p>They stood long at the window. Once, when the +glow grew more brilliant, the girl exclaimed sharply, +but after a time the light began to fade, and she drew +a breath of relief.</p> +<p>“They have it under control,” she said.</p> +<p>“Well, come to bed,” advised Agatha.</p> +<p>“Wait!” said the girl. She pressed her face against +the window and peered intently into the darkness. Then +she threw up the sash, stuck her head out and listened. +She drew back, her face slowly whitening.</p> +<p>“Some one is coming, Aunty—and riding very +fast!”</p> +<p>A premonition of tragedy, associated with the fire, +had seized the girl at her first glimpse of the light, +though she had said nothing. The appearance of a +rider, approaching the house at breakneck speed had +added strength to her fears, and now, driven by the +urge of apprehension that had seized her she flitted out +of the room before Agatha could restrain her, and was +down in the sitting-room in an instant, applying a match +to the lamp. As the light flared up she heard the thunder +of hoofs just outside the door, and she ran to it, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span> +throwing it open. She shrank back, drawing her breath +gaspingly, for the rider had dismounted and stepped +toward her, into the dim light of the open doorway.</p> +<p>“You!” she said.</p> +<p>A low laugh was her answer, and Trevison stepped +over the threshold and closed the door behind him. +From the foot of the stairs Agatha saw him, and she +stood, nerveless and shaking with dread over the picture +he made.</p> +<p>He had been more than forty-eight hours without +sleep, the storm-center of action had left its impression +on him, and his face was gaunt and haggard, with +great, dark hollows under his eyes. The three or four +days’ growth of beard accentuated the bold lines of his +chin and jaw; his eyes were dancing with the fires of +passion; he held a Winchester rifle under his right +arm, the left, hanging limply at his side, was stained +darkly. He swayed as he stood looking at the girl, +and smiled with faint derision at the naked fear and +wonder that had leaped into her eyes. But the derision +was tinged with bitterness, for this girl with both hands +pressed over her breast, heaving with the mingled emotions +of modesty and dismay, was one of the chief factors +in the scheme to rob him. The knowledge hurt +him worse than the bullet which had passed through +his arm. She had been uppermost in his thoughts during +his reckless ride from Manti, and he would have +cheerfully given his land, his ten years of labor, for the +assurance that she was innocent. But he knew guilt +when he saw it, and proof of it had been in her avoidance +of him, in her ride to save Corrigan’s mining +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span> +machinery, in her subsequent telling of his presence +at the butte on the night of the dynamiting, in her +bitter declaration that he ought to be punished for it. +The case against her was strong. And yet on his ride +from Manti he had been irresistibly drawn toward the +Bar B ranchhouse. He had told himself as he rode +that the impulse to visit her this night was strong +within him because on his way to the pueblo he was +forced to pass the house, but he knew better—he had +lied to himself. He wanted to talk with her again; he +wanted to show her the land record, which proved her +fiance’s guilt; he wanted to watch her as she looked +at the record, to learn from her face—what he might +find there.</p> +<p>He stood the rifle against the wall near the door, +while the girl and her aunt watched him, breathlessly. +His voice was vibrant and hoarse, but well under control, +and he smiled with straight lips as he set the rifle +down and drew the record from his waistband.</p> +<p>“I’ve something to show you, Miss Benham. I +couldn’t pass the house without letting you know what +has happened.” He opened the book and stepped to +her side, swinging his left hand up, the index finger +indicating a page on which his name appeared.</p> +<p>“Look!” he said, sharply, and watched her face +closely. He saw her cheeks blanch, and set his lips +grimly.</p> +<p>“Why,” she said, after she had hurriedly scanned +the page; “it seems to prove your title! But this is a +court record, isn’t it?” She examined the gilt lettering +on the back of the volume, and looked up at him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span> +with wide, luminous eyes. “Where did you get that +book?”</p> +<p>“From the courthouse.”</p> +<p>“Why, I thought people weren’t permitted to take +court records—”</p> +<p>“I’ve taken this one,” he laughed.</p> +<p>She looked at the blood on his hand, shudderingly. +“Why,” she said; “there’s been violence! The fire, +the blood on your hand, the record, your ride here—What +does it mean?”</p> +<p>“It means that I’ve been denied my rights, and I’ve +taken them. Is there any crime in that? Look here!” +He took another step and stood looking down at her. +“I’m not saying anything about Corrigan. You know +what we think of each other, and we’ll fight it out, man +to man. But the fact that a woman is engaged to one +man doesn’t bar another man from the game. And +I’m in this game to the finish. And even if I don’t get +you I don’t want you to be mixed up in these schemes +and plots—you’re too good a girl for that!”</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” She stiffened, looking scornfully +at him, her chin held high, outraged innocence in +her manner. His cold grin of frank disbelief roused +her to furious indignation. What right had he to question +her integrity to make such speeches to her after his +disgraceful affair with Hester Harvey?</p> +<p>“I do not care to discuss the matter with you!” she +said, her lips stiff.</p> +<p>“Ha, ha!” The bitter derision in his laugh made +her blood riot with hatred. He walked toward the +door and took up the rifle, dimly remembering +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span> +she had used the same words to him once before, when +he had met her as she had been riding toward Manti. +Of course she wouldn’t discuss such a thing—he had +been a blind fool to think she would. But it proved her +guilt. Swinging the rifle under his arm, he opened the +door, turned when on the threshold and bowed to her.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry I troubled you, Miss Benham,” he said. +He essayed to turn, staggered, looked vacantly around +the room, his lips in a queerly cold half-smile, and then +without uttering a sound pitched forward, one shoulder +against the door jamb, and slid slowly to his knees, +where he rested, his head sinking limply to his chest. +He heard the girl cry out sharply and he raised his +head with an effort and smiled reassuringly at her, and +when he felt her hands on his arm, trying to lift him, +he laughed aloud in self-derision and got to his feet, +hanging to the door jamb.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry, Miss Benham,” he mumbled. “I lost +some blood, I suppose. Rotten luck, isn’t it. I +shouldn’t have stopped.” He turned to go, lurched forward +and would have fallen out of the door had not the +girl seized and steadied him.</p> +<p>He did not resist when she dragged him into the +room and closed the door, but he waved her away when +she tried to take his arm and lead him toward the +kitchen where, she insisted, she would prepare a stimulant +and food for him. He tottered after her, tall and +gaunt, his big, lithe figure strangely slack, his head +rocking, the room whirling around him. He had held +to the record and the rifle; the latter by the muzzle, +dragging it after him, the record under his arm. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span></p> +<p>But his marvelous constitution, a result of his clean +living and outdoor life, responded quickly to the stimulation +of food and hot drinks, and in half an hour +he got up, still a little weak, but with some color +in his cheeks, and shame-facedly thanked the girl. He +realized now, that he should not have come here; the +past few hours loomed in his thoughts like a wild nightmare +in which he had lost his sense of proportion, +yielding to the elemental passions that had been aroused +in his long, sleepless struggle, making him act upon +impulses that he would have frowned contemptuously +away in a normal frame of mind.</p> +<p>“I’ve been nearly crazy, I think,” he said to the +girl with a wan smile of self-accusation. “I want you +to forget what I said.”</p> +<p>“What happened at Manti?” she demanded, ignoring +his words.</p> +<p>He laughed at the recollection, tucking his rifle under +his arm, preparatory to leaving. “I went after the +record. I got it. There was a fight. But I got away.”</p> +<p>“But the fire!”</p> +<p>“I was forced to smash a lamp in the courthouse. +The wick fell into the oil, and I couldn’t delay to—”</p> +<p>“Was anybody hurt—besides you?”</p> +<p>“Braman’s dead.” The girl gasped and shrank from +him, and he saw that she believed he had killed the +banker, and he was about to deny the crime when +Agatha’s voice shrilled through the doorway:</p> +<p>“There are some men coming, Rosalind!” And +then, vindictively: “I presume they are desperadoes—too!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span></p> +<p>“Deputies!” said Trevison. The girl clasped her +hands over her breast in dismay, which changed to terror +when she saw Trevison stiffen and leap toward the +door. She was afraid for him, horrified over this second +lawless deed, dumb with doubt and indecision—and +she didn’t want them to catch him!</p> +<p>He opened the door, paused on the threshold and +smiled at her with straight, hard lips.</p> +<p>“Braman was—”</p> +<p>“Go!” she cried in a frenzy of anxiety; “go!”</p> +<p>He laughed mockingly, and looked at her intently. +“I suppose I will never understand women. You are +my enemy, and yet you give me food and drink and +are eager to have me escape your accomplice. Don’t +you know that this record will ruin him?”</p> +<p>“Go, go!” she panted.</p> +<p>“Well, you’re a puzzle!” he said. She saw him +leap into the saddle, and she ran to the lamp, blew out +the flame, and returned to the open door, in which +she stood for a long time, listening to rapid hoof beats +that gradually receded. Before they died out entirely +there came the sound of many others, growing in volume +and drawing nearer, and she beat her hands +together, murmuring:</p> +<p>“Run, Nigger—run, run, run!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>She closed the door as the hoof beats sounded in the +yard, locking it and retreating to the foot of the stairs, +where Agatha stood.</p> +<p>“What does it all mean?” asked the elder woman. +She was trembling. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span></p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t know,” whispered the girl, gulping +hard to keep her voice from breaking. “It’s something +about Trevison’s land. And I’m afraid, Aunty, +that there is something terribly wrong. Mr. Corrigan +says it belongs to him, and the court in Manti +has decided in his favor. But according to the record +in Trevison’s possession, <i>he</i> has a clear title to it.”</p> +<p>“There, there,” consoled Agatha; “your father +wouldn’t permit—”</p> +<p>“No, no!” said the girl, vehemently; “he wouldn’t. +But I can’t understand why Trevison fights so hard if—if +he is in the wrong!”</p> +<p>“He is a desperado, my dear; a wild, reckless spirit +who has no regard for law and order. Of course, if +these men are after him, you will tell them he was +here!”</p> +<p>“No!” said the girl, sharply; “I shan’t!”</p> +<p>“Perhaps you shouldn’t,” acquiesced Agatha. She +patted the girl’s shoulder. “Maybe it would be for the +best, dear—he may be in the right. And I think I +understand why you went riding with him so much, +dear. He may be wild and reckless, but he’s a man—every +inch of him!”</p> +<p>The girl squeezed her relative’s hand and went to +open the door, upon which had come a loud knock. +Corrigan stood framed in the opening. She could +see his face only dimly.</p> +<p>“There’s no occasion for alarm, Miss Benham,” he +said, and she felt that he could see her better than +she could see him, and thus must have discerned something +of her emotion. “I must apologize for this +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span> +noisy demonstration. I believe I’m a +little excited, though. Has Trevison passed here within the last +hour or so?”</p> +<p>“No,” she said, firmly.</p> +<p>He laughed shortly. “Well, we’ll get him. I’ve +split my men up—some have gone to his ranch, the +others have headed for Levins’ place.”</p> +<p>“What has happened?”</p> +<p>“Enough. Judge Lindman disappeared—the supposition +is that he was abducted. I placed some men +around the courthouse, to safeguard the records, and +Trevison broke in and set fire to the place. He also +robbed the safe in the bank, and killed Braman—choked +him to death. A most revolting murder. I’m +sorry I disturbed you—good night.”</p> +<p>The girl closed the door as he left it, and leaned +against it, weak and shaking. Corrigan’s voice had +a curious note in it. He had told her he was sorry +to have disturbed her, but the words had not rung +true—there had been too much satisfaction in them. +What was she to believe from this night’s events? One +thought leaped vividly above the others that rioted +in her mind: Trevison had again sinned against the +law, and this time his crime was murder! She shrank +away from the door and joined Agatha at the foot of +the stairs.</p> +<p>“Aunty,” she sobbed; “I want to go away. I want +to go back East, away from this lawlessness and confusion!”</p> +<p>“There, there, dear,” soothed Agatha. “I am sure +everything will come out all right. But Trevison <i>does</i> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span> +look to be the sort of a man who would abduct a judge, +doesn’t he? If I were a girl, and felt that he were in +love with me, I’d be mighty careful—”</p> +<p>“That he wouldn’t abduct you?” laughed the girl, +tremulously, cheered by the change in her relative’s +manner.</p> +<p>“No,” said Agatha, slyly. “I’d be mighty careful +that he <i>got</i> me!”</p> +<p>“Oh!” said the girl, and buried her face in her +aunt’s shoulder.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XXV_IN_THE_DARK' id='XXV_IN_THE_DARK'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2> +<h3>IN THE DARK</h3> +</div> + +<p>Trevison faced the darkness between him and +the pueblo with a wild hope pulsing through his +veins. Rosalind Benham had had an opportunity to +deliver him into the hands of his enemy and she had +not taken advantage of it. There was but one interpretation +that he might place upon her failure to aid +her accomplice. She declined to take an active part in +the scheme. She had been passive, content to watch +while Corrigan did the real work. Possibly she had +no conception of the enormity of the crime. She had +been eager to have Corrigan win, and influenced by +her affection and his arguments she had done what +she could without actually committing herself to the +robbery. It was a charitable explanation, and had many +flaws, but he clung to it persistently, nurturing it with +his hopes and his hunger for her, building it up until +it became a structure of logic firmly fixed and impregnable. +Women were easily influenced—that had been +his experience with them—he was forced to accept +it as a trait of the sex. So he absolved her, his hunger +for her in no way sated at the end.</p> +<p>His thoughts ran to Corrigan in a riot of rage that +pained him like a knife thrust; his lust for vengeance +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span> +was a savage, bitter-visaged demon that held him in +its clutch and made his temples pound with a yearning +to slay. And that, of course, would have to be +the end. For the enmity that lay between them was +not a thing to be settled by the law—it was a man to +man struggle that could be settled in only one way—by +the passions, naked, elemental, eternal. He saw it +coming; he leaped to meet it, eagerly.</p> +<p>Every stride the black horse made shortened by that +much the journey he had resolved upon, and Nigger +never ran as he was running now. The black seemed +to feel that he was on the last lap of a race that had +lasted for more than forty-eight hours, with short intervals +of rest between, and he did his best without faltering.</p> +<p>Order had come out of the chaos of plot and counterplot; +Trevison’s course was to be as direct as his hatred. +He would go to the pueblo, take Judge Lindman and +the record to Santa Fe, and then return to Manti for +a last meeting with Corrigan.</p> +<p>A late moon, rising from a cleft in some distant +mountains, bathed the plains with a silvery flood when +horse and rider reached a point within a mile of the +pueblo, and Nigger covered the remainder of the distance +at a pace that made the night air drum in Trevison’s +ears. The big black slowed as he came to a +section of broken country surrounding the ancient city, +but he got through it quickly and skirted the sand +slopes, taking the steep acclivity leading to the ledge +of the pueblo in a dozen catlike leaps and coming to +a halt in the shadow of an adobe house, heaving deeply, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span> +his rider flung himself out of the saddle and ran along +the ledge to the door of the chamber where he had +imprisoned Judge Lindman.</p> +<p>Trevison could see no sign of the Judge or Levins. +The ledge was bare, aglow, the openings of the communal +houses facing it loomed dark, like the doors of +tombs. A ghastly, unearthly silence greeted Trevison’s +call after the echoes died away; the upper tier of adobe +boxes seemed to nod in ghostly derision as his gaze +swept them. There was no sound, no movement, except +the regular cough of his own laboring lungs, and the +rustle of his clothing as his chest swelled and deflated +with the effort. He exclaimed impatiently and retraced +his steps, peering into recesses between the communal +houses, certain that the Judge and Levins had fallen +asleep in his absence. He turned at a corner and in +a dark angle almost stumbled over Levins. He was +lying on his stomach, his right arm under his head, his +face turned sideways. Trevison thought at first that +he was asleep and prodded him gently with the toe of +his boot. A groan smote his ears and he kneeled +quickly, turning Levins over. Something damp and +warm met his fingers as he seized the man by the +shoulder, and he drew the hand away quickly, exclaiming +sharply as he noted the stain on it.</p> +<p>His exclamation brought Levins’ eyes open, and he +stared upward, stupidly at first, then with a bright gaze +of comprehension. He struggled and sat up, swaying +from side to side.</p> +<p>“They got the Judge, ‘Brand’—they run him off, +with my cayuse!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span></p> +<p>“Who got him?”</p> +<p>“I ain’t reckonin’ to know. Some of Corrigan’s +scum, most likely—I didn’t see ’em close.”</p> +<p>“How long ago?”</p> +<p>“Not a hell of a while. Mebbe fifteen or twenty +minutes. I been missin’ a lot of time, I reckon. Can’t +have been long, though.”</p> +<p>“Which way did they go?”</p> +<p>“Off towards Manti. Two of ’em took him. The +rest is layin’ low somewhere, most likely. Watch out +they don’t get <i>you</i>! I ain’t seen ’em run off, yet!”</p> +<p>“How did it happen?”</p> +<p>“I ain’t +got it clear in my head, yet. Just happened, +I reckon. The Judge was settin’ +on the ledge just in +front of the dobie house you had him in. I was moseyin’ +along the edge, tryin’ to figger out what a light +in the sky off towards Manti meant. I couldn’t figger +it out—what in hell was it, anyway?”</p> +<p>“The courthouse burned—maybe the bank.”</p> +<p>Levins chuckled. “You got the record, then.”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“An’ I’ve lost the Judge! Ain’t I a box-head, +though!”</p> +<p>“That’s all right. Go ahead. What happened?”</p> +<p>“I was moseyin along the ledge. Just when I got +to the slope where we come up—passin’ it—I seen a +bunch of guys, on horses, coming out of the shadow +of an angle, down there. I hadn’t seen ’em before. I +knowed somethin’ was up an’ I turned, to light out +for shelter. An’ just then one of ’em burns me in the +back—with a rifle bullet. It couldn’t have been no six, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +from that distance. It took the starch out of me, an’ +I caved, I reckon, for a little while. When I woke up +the Judge was gone. The moon had just come up an’ +I seen him ridin’ away on my cayuse, between two other +guys. I reckon I must have gone off again, when you +shook me.” He laughed, weakly. “What gets <i>me</i>, +is where them other guys went, after the two sloped +with the Judge. If they’d have been hangin’ around +they’d sure have got <i>you</i>, comin’ up here, wouldn’t +they?”</p> +<p>Trevison’s answer was a hoarse exclamation. He +swung Levins up and bore him into one of the communal +houses, whose opening faced away from the +plains and the activity. Then he ran to where he had +left Nigger, leading the animal back into the zig-zag +passages, pulling his rifle out of the saddle holster and +stationing himself in the shadow of the house in which +he had taken Levins.</p> +<p>“They’ve come back, eh?” the wounded man’s voice +floated out to him.</p> +<p>“Yes—five or six of them. No—eight! They’ve +got sharp eyes, too!” he added stepping back as a rifle +bullet droned over his head, chipping a chunk of adobe +from the roof of the box in whose shelter he stood.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>Sullenly, Corrigan had returned to Manti with the +deputies that had accompanied him to the Bar B. He +had half expected to find Trevison at the ranchhouse, +for he had watched him when he had ridden away and +he seemed to have been headed in that direction. Jealousy +dwelt darkly in the big man’s heart, and he had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span> +found his reason for the suspicion there. He thought +he knew truth when he saw it, and he would have sworn +that truth shone from Rosalind Benham’s eyes when +she had told him that she had not seen Trevison pass +that way. He had not known that what he took for +the truth was the cleverest bit of acting the girl had +ever been called upon to do. He had decided that +Trevison had swung off the Bar B trail somewhere +between Manti and the ranchhouse, and he led his deputies +back to town, content to permit his men to continue +the search for Trevison, for he was convinced +that the latter’s visit to the courthouse had resulted +in disappointment, for he had faith in Judge Lindman’s +declaration that he had destroyed the record. He had +accused himself many times for his lack of caution in +not being present when the record had been destroyed, +but regrets had become impotent and futile.</p> +<p>Reaching Manti, he dispersed his deputies and +sought his bed in the <i>Castle</i>. He had not been in bed +more than an hour when an attendant of the hotel +called to him through the door that a man named Gieger +wanted to talk with him, below. He dressed and went +down to the street, to find Gieger and another deputy +sitting on their horses in front of the hotel with Judge +Lindman, drooping from his long vigil, between +them.</p> +<p>Corrigan grinned scornfully at the Judge.</p> +<p>“Clever, eh?” he sneered. He spoke softly, for the +dawn was not far away, and he knew that a voice +carries resonantly at that hour.</p> +<p>“I don’t understand you!” Judicial dignity sat +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span> +sadly on the Judge; he was tired and haggard, and his +voice was a weak treble. “If you mean—”</p> +<p>“I’ll show you what I mean.” Corrigan motioned +to the deputies. “Bring him along!” Leading the +way he took them through Manti’s back door across a +railroad spur to a shanty beside the track which the +engineer in charge of the dam occasionally occupied +when his duty compelled him to check up arriving material +and supplies. Because plans and other valuable +papers were sometimes left in the shed it was stoutly +built, covered with corrugated iron, and the windows +barred with iron, prison-like. Reaching the shed, Corrigan +unlocked the door, shoved the Judge inside, closed +the door on the Judge’s indignant protests, questioned +the deputies briefly, gave them orders and then re-entered +the shed, closing the door behind him.</p> +<p>He towered over the Judge, who had sunk weakly +to a bench. It was pitch dark in the shed, but Corrigan +had seen the Judge drop on the bench and knew +exactly where he was.</p> +<p>“I want the whole story—without any reservations,” +said Corrigan, hoarsely; “and I want it quick—as +fast as you can talk!”</p> +<p>The Judge got up, resenting the other’s tone. He +had also a half-formed resolution to assert his independence, +for he had received certain assurances from Trevison +with regard to his past which had impressed him—and +still impressed him.</p> +<p>“I refuse to be questioned by you, sir—especially +in this manner! I do not purpose to take further—”</p> +<p>The Judge felt Corrigan’s fingers at his throat, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span> +gasped with horror, throwing up his hands to ward +them off, failed, and heard Corrigan’s laugh as the +fingers gripped his throat and held.</p> +<p>When the Judge came to, it was with an excruciatingly +painful struggle that left him shrinking and nerveless, +lying in a corner, blinking at the light of a kerosene +lamp. Corrigan sat on the edge of a flat-topped +desk watching him with an ugly, appraising, speculative +grin. It was as though the man were mentally gambling +on his chances to recover from the throttling.</p> +<p>“Well,” he said when the Judge at last struggled +and sat up; “how do you like it? You’ll get more if +you don’t talk fast and straight! Who wrote that letter, +from Dry Bottom?”</p> +<p>Neither judicial dignity or resolutions of independence +could resist the threatened danger of further +violence that shone from Corrigan’s eyes, and the Judge +whispered gaspingly:</p> +<p>“Trevison.”</p> +<p>“I thought so! Now, be careful how you answer +this. What did Trevison want in the courthouse?”</p> +<p>“The original record of the land transfers.”</p> +<p>“Did he get it?” Corrigan’s voice was dangerously +even, and the Judge squirmed and coughed before he +spoke the hesitating word that was an admission of +his deception:</p> +<p>“I told him—where—it was.”</p> +<p>Paralyzed with fear, the Judge watched Corrigan +slip off the desk and approach him. He got to his +feet and raised his hands to shield his throat as the big +man stopped in front of him. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span></p> +<p>“Don’t, Corrigan—don’t, for God’s sake!”</p> +<p>“Bah!” said the big man. He struck, venomously. +An instant later he put out the light and stepped down +into the gray dawn, locking the door of the shanty +behind him and not looking back.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XXVI_THE_ASHES' id='XXVI_THE_ASHES'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> +<h3>THE ASHES</h3> +</div> + +<p>Rosalind Benham got up with the dawn and +looked out of a window toward Manti. She had +not slept. She stood at the window for some time and +then returned to the bed and sat on its edge, staring +thoughtfully downward. She could not get Trevison +out of her mind. It seemed to her that a crisis +had come and that it was imperative for her to reach +a decision—to pronounce judgment. She was trying +to do this calmly; she was trying to keep sentiment from +prejudicing her. She found it difficult when considering +Trevison, but when she arrayed Hester Harvey +against her longing for the man she found that her +scorn helped her to achieve a mental balance that permitted +her to think of him almost dispassionately. She +became a mere onlooker, with a calm, clear vision. In +this rôle she weighed him. His deeds, his manner, his +claims, she arrayed against Corrigan and his counter-claims +and ambitions, and was surprised to discover +that were she to be called upon to pass judgment on +the basis of this surface evidence she would have decided +in favor of Trevison. She had fought against that, +for it was a tacit admission that her father was in some +way connected with Corrigan’s scheme, but she admitted +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span> +it finally, with a pulse of repugnance, and when she +placed Levins’ story on the mental balance, with the +knowledge that she had seen the record which seemed +to prove the contention of fraud in the land transaction, +the evidence favored Trevison overwhelmingly.</p> +<p>She got up and began to dress, her lips set with determination. +Corrigan had held her off once with plausible +explanations, but she would not permit him to do +so again. She intended to place the matter before her +father. Justice must be done. Before she had half +finished dressing she heard a rustle and turned to see +Agatha standing in the doorway connecting their rooms.</p> +<p>“What is it, dear?”</p> +<p>“I can’t stand the suspense any longer, Aunty. There +is something very wrong about that land business. I +am going to telegraph to father about it.”</p> +<p>“I was going to ask you to do that, dear. It seems +to me that that young Trevison is too much in earnest +to be fighting for something that does not belong to +him. If ever there was honesty in a man’s face it was +in his face last night. I don’t believe for a minute +that your father is concerned in Corrigan’s schemes—if +there are schemes. But it won’t do any harm to +learn what your father thinks about it. My dear—” +she stepped to the girl and placed an arm around her +waist “—last night as I watched Trevison, he reminded +me of a—a very dear friend that I once knew. I +saw the wreck of my own romance, my dear. He was +just such a man as Trevison—reckless, impulsive, and +impetuous—dare-devil who would not tolerate injustice +or oppression. They wouldn’t let me have him, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span> +my dear, and I never would have another man. He +went away, joined the army, and was killed at the battle +of Kenesaw Mountain. I have kept his memory fresh +in my heart, and last night when I looked at Trevison +it seemed to me that he must be the reincarnation of +the only man I ever loved. There must be something +terribly wrong to make him act the way he does, my +dear. And he loves you.”</p> +<p>The girl bit her lips to repress the swelling emotions +which clamored in wild response to this sympathetic +understanding. She looked at Agatha, to see tears in +her eyes, and she wheeled impulsively and threw her +arms around the other’s neck.</p> +<p>“Oh, I know exactly how you feel, Aunty. But—” +she gulped “—he doesn’t love me.”</p> +<p>“I saw it in his eyes, my dear.” Agatha’s smile +was tender and reminiscent. “Don’t you worry. He +will find a way to let you know—as he will find a way +to beat Corrigan—if Corrigan is trying to defraud +him! He’s that kind, my dear!”</p> +<p>In spite of her aunt’s assurances the girl’s heart was +heavy as she began her ride to Manti. Trevison might +love her,—she had read that it was possible for a +man to love two women—but she could never return +his love, knowing of his affair with Hester. He should +have justice, however, if they were trying to defraud +him of his rights!</p> +<p>Long before she reached Manti she saw the train +from Dry Bottom, due at Manti at six o’clock, gliding +over the plains toward the town, and when she arrived +at the station its passengers had been swallowed by +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span> +Manti’s buildings and the station agent and an assistant +were dragging and bumping trunks and boxes over the +station platform.</p> +<p>The agent bowed deferentially to her and followed +her into the telegraph room, clicking her message over +the wires as soon as she had written it. When he had +finished he wheeled his chair and grinned at her.</p> +<p>“See the courthouse and the bank?”</p> +<p>She had—all that was left of them—black, charred +ruins with two iron safes, red from their baptism of +fire, standing among them. Also two other buildings, +one on each side of the two that had been destroyed, +scorched and warped, but otherwise undamaged.</p> +<p>“Come pretty near burning the whole town. It took +<i>some</i> work to confine <i>that</i> fire—coal oil. Trevison +did a clean job. Robbed the safe in the bank. Killed +Braman—guzzled him. An awful complete job, from +Trevison’s viewpoint. The town’s riled, and I wouldn’t +give a plugged cent for Trevison’s chances. He’s +sloped. Desperate character—I always thought he’d +rip things loose—give him time. It was him blowed +up Corrigan’s mine. I ain’t seen Corrigan since last +night, but I heard him and twenty or thirty deputies +are on Trevison’s trail. I hope they get him.” He +squinted at her. “There’s trouble brewing in this town, +Miss Benham. I wouldn’t advise you to stay here any +longer than is <i>absolutely</i> necessary. There’s two factions—looks +like. It’s about that land deal. Lefingwell +and some more of them think they’ve been given +a raw decision by the court and Corrigan. Excitement! +Oh, Lord! This town is fierce. I ain’t had any sleep +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span> +in—Your answer? I can’t tell. Mebbe right away. +Mebbe in an hour.”</p> +<p>Rosalind went out upon the platform. The agent’s +words had revived a horror that she had almost forgotten—that +she wanted to forget—the murder of +Braman.</p> +<p>She walked to the edge of the station platform, tortured +by thoughts in which she could find no excuse +for Trevison. Murderer and robber! A fugitive from +justice—the very justice he had been demanding! Her +thoughts made her weak and sick, and she stepped +down from the platform and walked up the track, +halting beside a shed and leaning against it. Across +the street from her was the <i>Castle</i> hotel. A man in +boots, corduroy trousers, and a flannel shirt and dirty +white apron, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, was washing +the front windows and spitting streams of tobacco +juice on the board walk. She shivered. A grocer next +to the hotel was adjusting a swinging shelf affixed to +the store-front, preparatory to piling his wares upon +it; a lean-faced man standing in a doorway in the building +adjoining the grocery was inspecting a six-shooter +that he had removed from the holster at his side. Rosalind +shivered again. Civilization and outlawry were +strangely mingled here. She would not have been surprised +to see the lean-faced man begin to shoot at the +others. Filled with sudden trepidation she took a step +away from the shed, intending to return to the station +and wait for her answer.</p> +<p>As she moved she heard a low moan. She started, +paling, and then stood stock still, trembling with dread, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span> +but determined not to run. The sound came again, +seeming to issue from the interior of the shed, and +she retraced her step and leaned again against the +wall of the building, listening.</p> +<p>There was no mistaking the sound—someone was +in trouble. But she wanted to be certain before calling +for help and she listened again to hear an unmistakable +pounding on the wall near her, and a voice, +calling frenziedly: “Help, help—for God’s sake!”</p> +<p>Her fears fled and she sprang to the door, finding +it locked. She rattled it, impotently, and then left it +and ran across the street to where the window-washer +stood. He wheeled and spat copiously, almost in her +face, as she rapidly told him her news, and then deliberately +dropped his brush and cloth into the dust and +mud at his feet and jumped after her, across the street.</p> +<p>“Who’s in here?” demanded the man, hammering +on the door.</p> +<p>“It’s I—Judge Lindman! Open the door! Hurry! +I’m smothering—and hurt!”</p> +<p>In what transpired within the next few minutes—and +indeed during the hours following—the girl felt +like an outsider. No one paid any attention to her; +she was shoved, jostled, buffeted, by the crowd that +gathered, swarming from all directions. But she was +intensely interested.</p> +<p>It seemed to her that every person in Manti gathered +in front of the shed—that all had heard of the +abduction of the Judge. Some one secured an iron +bar and battered the lock off the door; a half-dozen +men dragged the Judge out, and he stood in front of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span> +the building, swaying in the hands of his supporters, +his white hair disheveled, his lips blood-stained and +smashed, where Corrigan had hit him. The frenzy of +terror held him, and he looked wildly around at the tiers +of faces confronting him, the cords of his neck standing +out and writhing spasmodically. Twice he opened +his lips to speak, but each time his words died in a dry +gasp. At the third effort he shrieked:</p> +<p>“I—I want protection! Don’t let him touch me +again, men! He means to kill me! Don’t let him +touch me! I—I’ve been attacked—choked—knocked +insensible! I appeal to you as American citizens for +protection!”</p> +<p>It was fear, stark, naked, cringing, that the crowd +saw. Faces blanched, bodies stiffened; a concerted +breath, like a sigh, rose into the flat, desert air. Rosalind +clenched her hands and stood rigid, thrilling with +pity.</p> +<p>“Who done it?” A dozen voices asked the question.</p> +<p>“Corrigan!” The Judge screamed this, hysterically. +“He is a thief and a scoundrel, men! He has plundered +this county! He has prostituted your court. Your +judge, too! I admit it. But I ask your mercy, men! +I was forced into it! He threatened me! He falsified +the land records! He wanted me to destroy the original +record, but I didn’t—I told Trevison where it was—I +hid it! And because I wouldn’t help Corrigan to +rob you, he tried to kill me!”</p> +<p>A murmur, low, guttural, vindictive, rippled over +the crowd, which had now swelled to such proportions +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span> +that the street could not hold it. It fringed the railroad +track; men were packed against the buildings surrounding +the shed; they shoved, jostled and squirmed +in an effort to get closer to the Judge. The windows +of the <i>Castle</i> hotel were filled with faces, among which +Rosalind saw Hester Harvey’s, ashen, her eyes aglow.</p> +<p>The Judge’s words had stabbed Rosalind—each +like a separate knife-thrust; they had plunged her into +a mental vacuum in which her brain, atrophied, reeled, +paralyzed. She staggered—a man caught her, muttered +something about there being too much excitement +for a lady, and gruffly ordered others to clear the way +that he might lead her out of the jam. She resisted, +for she was determined to stay to hear the Judge to +the end, and the man grinned hugely at her; and to +escape the glances that she could feel were directed +at her she slipped through the crowd and sought the +front of the shed, leaning against it, weakly.</p> +<p>A silence had followed the murmur that had run +over the crowd. There was a breathless period, during +which every man seemed to be waiting for his neighbor +to take the initiative. They wanted a leader. And he +appeared, presently—a big, broad-shouldered man +forced his way through the crowd and halted in front +of the Judge.</p> +<p>“I reckon we’ll protect you, Judge. Just spit out +what you got to say. We’ll stand by you. Where’s +Trevison?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span></div> +<p>“He came to the courthouse last night to get the +record. I told him where it was. He forced me to go +with him to an Indian pueblo, and he kept me there +yesterday. He left me there last night with Clay +Levins, while he came here to get the record.”</p> +<p>“Do you reckon he got it?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know. But from the way Corrigan acted +last night—”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes; he got it!”</p> +<p>The words shifted the crowd’s gaze to Rosalind, +swiftly. The girl had hardly realized that she had +spoken. Her senses, paralyzed a minute before, had +received the electric shock of sympathy from a continued +study of the Judge’s face. She saw remorse on +it, regret, shame, and the birth of a resolution to make +whatever reparation that was within his power, at +whatever cost. It was a weak face, but it was not +vicious, and while she had been standing there she had +noted the lines of suffering. It was not until the +girl felt the gaze of many curious eyes on her that +she realized she had committed herself, and her cheeks +flamed. She set herself to face the stares; she must +go on now.</p> +<p>“It’s Benham’s girl!” she heard a man standing +near her whisper hoarsely, and she faced them, her +chin held high, a queer joy leaping in her heart. She +knew at this minute that her sympathies had been with +Trevison all along; that she had always suspected Corrigan, +but had fought against the suspicion because of +the thought that in some way her father might be +dragged into the affair. It had been a cowardly attitude, +and she was glad that she had shaken it off. As +her brain, under the spur of the sudden excitement, +resumed its function, her thoughts flitted to the agent’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span> +babble during the time she had been sending the telegram +to her father. She talked rapidly, her voice +carrying far:</p> +<p>“Trevison got the record last night. He stopped +at my ranch and showed it to me. I suppose he was +going to the pueblo, expecting to meet Levins and Lindman +there—”</p> +<p>“By God!” The big, broad-shouldered man standing +at Judge Lindman’s side interrupted her. He +turned and faced the crowd. “We’re damned fools, +boys—lettin’ this thing go on like we have! Corrigan’s +took his deputies out, trailin’ Trevison, chargin’ +him with murderin’ Braman, when his real purpose is +to get his claws on that record! Trevison’s been fightin’ +our fight for us, an’ we’ve stood around like a lot of +gillies, lettin’ him do it! It’s likely that a man who’d +cook up a deal like the Judge, here, says Corrigan has, +would cook up another, chargin’ Trevison with guzzlin’ +the banker. I’ve knowed Trevison a long time, boys, +an’ I don’t believe he’d <i>guzzle</i> anybody—he’s too +square a man for that!” He stood on his toes, raising +his clenched hands, and bringing them down with +a sweep of furious emphasis.</p> +<p>The crowd swayed restlessly. Rosalind saw it split +apart, men fighting to open a pathway for a woman. +There were shouts of: “Open up, there!” “Let the +lady through!” “Gangway!” “She’s got somethin’ +to say!” And the girl caught her breath sharply, for +she recognized the woman as Hester Harvey.</p> +<p>It was some time before Hester reached the broad-shouldered +man’s side. There was a stain in each of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span> +her cheeks, but outwardly, at least, she showed none +of the excitement that had seized the crowd; her movements +were deliberate and there was a resolute set to +her lips. She got through, finally, and halted beside +the big man, the crowd closing up behind her. She +was swallowed in it, lost to sight.</p> +<p>“Lift her up, Lefingwell!” suggested a man on the +outer fringe. “If she’s got anything to say, let us all +hear it!” The suggestion was caught up, insistently.</p> +<p>“If you ain’t got no objections, ma’am,” said the +big man. He stooped at her cold smile and swung her +to his shoulder. She spoke slowly and distinctly, though +there was a tremor in her voice:</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_3' id='linki_3'></a> +<img src='images/illus-283.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 384px; height: 574px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 384px;'> +“YOU MEN ARE BLIND. CORRIGAN IS A CROOK WHO WILL STOP AT NOTHING.”<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<p>“Trevison did not kill Braman—it was Corrigan. +Corrigan was in my room in the <i>Castle</i> last night just +after dark. When he left, I watched him from my window, +after putting out the light. He had threatened +to kill Braman. I watched him cross the street and go +around to the rear of the bank building. There was a +light in the rear room of the bank. After a while +Braman and Corrigan entered the banking room. The +light from the rear room shone on them for an instant +and I recognized them. They were at the safe. When +they went out they left the safe door open. After a +while the light went out and I saw Corrigan come from +around the rear of the building, recross the street and +come into the <i>Castle</i>. You men are blind. Corrigan +is a crook who will stop at nothing. If you let him +injure Trevison for a crime that Trevison did not commit +you deserve to be robbed!”</p> +<p>Lefingwell swung her down from his shoulder. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span></p> +<p>“I reckon that cinches it, boys!” he bellowed over +the heads of the men nearest him. “There ain’t nothin’ +plainer! If we stand for this we’re a bunch of cowardly +coyotes that ain’t fit to look Trevison in the face! +I’m goin’ to help him! Who’s comin’ along?”</p> +<p>A chorus of shouts drowned his last words; the +crowd was in motion, swift, with definite purpose. It +melted, streaming off in all directions, like the sweep +of water from a bursted dam. It broke at the doors +of the buildings; it sought the stables. Men bearing +rifles appeared in the street, mounting horses and congregating +in front of the <i>Belmont</i>, where Lefingwell +had gone. Other men, on the board sidewalk and in +the dust of the street, were running, shouting, gesticulating. +In an instant the town had become a bedlam +of portentous force; it was the first time in its history +that the people of Manti had looked with collective +vision, and the girl reeled against the iron wall of the +shed, appalled at the resistless power that had been +set in motion. On a night when she sat on the +porch of the Bar B ranchhouse she had looked toward +Manti, thrilled over a pretty mental fancy. She had +thought it all a game—wondrous, joyous, progressive. +She had neglected to associate justice with it then—the +inexorable rule of fairness under which every player +of the game must bow. She brought it into use now, +felt the spirit of it, saw the dire tragedy that its perversion +portended, groaned, and covered her face with her +hands.</p> +<p>She looked around after a while. She saw Judge +Lindman walking across the street toward the <i>Castle</i>, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span> +supported by two other men. A third followed; she +did not know him, but Corrigan would have recognized +him as the hotel clerk who had grown confidential upon +a certain day. The girl heard his voice as he followed +after the Judge and the others—raucous, vindictive:</p> +<p>“We need men like Trevison in this town. We can +get along without any Corrigans.”</p> +<p>She heard a voice behind her and she turned, swiftly, +to see Hester Harvey walking toward her. She would +have avoided the meeting, but she saw that Hester was +intent on speaking and she drew herself erect, bowing +to her with cold courtesy as the woman stopped within +a step of her and smiled.</p> +<p>“You look ready to flop into hysterics, dearie! Won’t +you come over to my room with me and have something +to brace you up? A cup of tea?” she added with a +laugh as Rosalind looked quickly at her. She did not +seem to notice the stiffening of the girl’s body, but +linked her arm within her own and began to walk across +the street. The girl was racked with emotion over the +excitement of the morning, the dread of impending +violence, and half frantic with anxiety over Trevison’s +safety. Hester’s offense against her seemed vague +and far, and very insignificant, relatively. She yearned +to exchange confidences with somebody—anybody, and +this woman, even though she were what she thought +her, had a capacity for feeling, for sympathy. And +she was very, very tired of it all.</p> +<p>“It was fierce, wasn’t it?” said Hester a few minutes +later in the privacy of her room, as she balanced her +cup and watched Rosalind as the girl ate, hungrily. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span> +“These sagebrush rough-necks out here will make Corrigan +hump himself to keep out of their way. But he +deserves it, the crook!”</p> +<p>The girl looked curiously at the other, trying hard +to reconcile the vindictiveness of these words and the +woman’s previous action in giving damaging testimony +against Corrigan, with the significant fact that Corrigan +had been in her room the night before, presumably +as a guest. Hester caught the look and laughed. “Yes, +dearie, he deserves it. How much do you know of +what has been going on here?”</p> +<p>“Very little, I am afraid.”</p> +<p>“Less than that, I suspect. I happen to know considerable, +and I am going to tell you about it. My trip +out here has been a sort of a wild-goose chase. I +thought I wanted Trevison, but I’ve discovered I’m not +badly hurt by his refusal to resume our old relations.”</p> +<p>The girl gasped and almost dropped her cup, setting +it down slowly afterward and staring at her hostess +with doubting, fearing, incredulous eyes.</p> +<p>“Yes, dearie,” laughed the other, with a trace of +embarrassment; “you can trust your ears on that statement. +To make certain, I’ll repeat it: I am not very +badly hurt by his refusal to resume our old relations. +Do you know what that means? It means that he +turned me down cold, dearie.”</p> +<p>“Do you mean—” began the girl, gripping the +table edge.</p> +<p>“I mean that I lied to you. The night I went over +to Trevison’s ranch he told me plainly that he didn’t +like me one teenie, weenie bit any more. He wouldn’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span> +kiss me, shake my hand, or welcome me in any way. +He told me he’d got over it, the same as he’d got over +his measles days—he’d outgrown it and was going to +throw himself at the feet of another goddess. Oh, +yes, he meant you!” she laughed, her voice a little too +high, perhaps, with an odd note of bitterness in it. +“Then, determined to blot my rival out, I lied about +you. I told him that you loved Corrigan and that you +were in the game to rob him of his land. Oh, I +blackened you, dearie! It hurt him, too. For when +a man like Trevison loves a woman—”</p> +<p>“How could you!” said the girl, shuddering.</p> +<p>“Please don’t get dramatic,” jeered the other. “The +rules that govern the love game are very elastic—for +some women. I played it strong, but there was no +chance for me from the beginning. Trevison thinks +you are Corrigan’s trump card in this game. It <i>is</i> a +game, isn’t it. But he loves you in spite of it all. He +told me he’d go to the gallows for you. Aren’t men +the sillies! But just the same, dearie, we women like +to hear them murmur those little heroic things, don’t +we? It was on the night I told him you’d told Corrigan +about the dynamiting.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” said the girl.</p> +<p>“That was my high card,” laughed the woman, +harshly. “He took it and derided me. I decided right +then that I wouldn’t play any more.”</p> +<p>“Then he didn’t send for you?”</p> +<p>“Corrigan did that, dearie.”</p> +<p>“You—you knew Corrigan before—before you +came here?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span></p> +<p>“You <i>can</i> guess intelligently, can’t you?”</p> +<p>“Corrigan planned it <i>all</i>?”</p> +<p>“All.” Hester watched as the girl bowed her head +and sobbed convulsively.</p> +<p>“What a brazen, crafty and unprincipled <i>thing</i> Trevison +must think me!”</p> +<p>Hester reached out a hand and laid it on the girl’s. +“I—there was a time when I would have done murder +to have him think of me as he thinks of you, dearie. +He isn’t for me, though, and I can’t spoil any woman’s +happiness. There’s little enough—but I’m not going +to philosophize. I was going away without telling you +this. I don’t know why I am telling it now. I always +was a little soft. But if you hadn’t spoken as you did +a while ago in that crowd—taking Trevison’s end—I—I +think you’d never have known. Somehow, it +seemed you deserved him, dearie. And I couldn’t bear +to—to think of him facing any more disappointment. +He—he took it so—”</p> +<p>The girl looked up, to see the woman’s eyes filling +with a luminous mist. A quick conception of what this +all meant to the woman thrilled the girl. She got up +and walked to the woman’s side. “I’m <i>so</i> sorry, Hester,” +she said as her arms stole around the other’s neck.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>She went out a little later, into the glaring, shimmering +sunlight of the morning, her cheeks red, her +eyes aglow, her heart racing wildly, to see an engine +and a luxurious private car just pulling from the main +track to a switch.</p> +<p>“Oh,” she whispered, joyously; “it’s father’s!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span></p> +<p>And she ran toward it, tingling with a new-found +hope.</p> +<p>In her room at the <i>Castle</i> sat a woman who was +finding the world very empty. It held nothing for her +except the sad consolation of repentance.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XXVII_THE_FIGHT' id='XXVII_THE_FIGHT'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> +<h3>THE FIGHT</h3> +</div> + +<p>“The boss is sure a she-wolf at playin’ a lone +hand,” growled Barkwell, shortly after dusk, to +Jud Weaver, the straw boss. “Seems he thinks his +friends is delicate ornaments which any use would bust +to smithereens. Here’s his outfit layin’ around, bitin’ +their finger nails with ongwee an’ pinin’ away to slivers +yearnin’ to get into the big meal-lee, an’ him racin’ an’ +tearin’ around the country fightin’ it out by his lonesome. +I call it rank selfishness!”</p> +<p>“He sure ought to have give us a chancst to claw the +hair outen that damned Corrigan feller!” complained +Weaver. “In some ways, though, I’m sorta glad the +damned mine was blew up. ‘Firebrand’ would have +sure got a-hold of her some day, an’ then we’d be clawin’ +at the bowels of the earth instid of galivantin’ around +on our cayuses like gentlemen. I reckon things is all +for the best.”</p> +<p>The two had come in from the river range ostensibly +to confer with Trevison regarding their work, but in +reality to satisfy their curiosity over Trevison’s movements. +There was a deep current of concern for him +under their accusations.</p> +<p>They had found the ranchhouse dark and deserted. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span> +But the office door was open and they had entered, +prepared supper, ate with a more than ordinary mingling +of conversation with their food, and not lighting +the lamps had gone out on the gallery for a smoke.</p> +<p>“He ain’t done any sleepin’ to amount to much in +the last forty-eight hours, to my knowin’,” remarked +Barkwell; “unless he’s done his sleepin’ on the run—an’ +that ain’t in no ways a comfortable way. He’s +sure to be driftin’ in here, soon.”</p> +<p>“This here country’s goin’ to hell, certain!” declared +Weaver, after an hour of silence. “She’s gettin’ too +eastern an’ flighty. Railroads an’ dams an’ hotels with +bath tubs for every six or seven rooms, an’ resterawnts +with filleedegree palms an’ leather chairs an’ slick eats +is eatin’ the gizzard outen her. Railroads is all right +in their place—which is where folks ain’t got no +cayuses to fork an’ therefore has to hoof it—or—or +ride the damn railroad.”</p> +<p>“Correct!” agreed Barkwell; “she’s a-goin’ the +way Rome went—an Babylone—an’ Cincinnati—after +I left. She runs to a pussy-cafe aristocracy—<i>an’</i> +napkins.”</p> +<p>“She’ll be plumb ruined—follerin’ them foreign +styles. The Uhmerican people ain’t got no right to +adopt none of them new-fangled notions.” Weaver +stared glumly into the darkening plains.</p> +<p>They aired their discontent long. Directed at the +town it relieved the pressure of their resentment over +Trevison’s habit of depending upon himself. For, +secretly, both were interested admirers of Manti’s growing +importance. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span></p> +<p>Time was measured by their desires. Sometime before +midnight Barkwell got up, yawned and stretched.</p> +<p>“Sleep suits me. If ‘Firebrand’ ain’t reckonin’ on a +guardian, I ain’t surprisin’ him none. He’s mighty +close-mouthed about his doin’s, anyway.”</p> +<p>“You’re shoutin’. I ain’t never seen a man any +stingier about hidin’ away his doin’s. He just nacherly +hawgs all the trouble.”</p> +<p>Weaver got up and sauntered to the far end of the +gallery, leaning far out to look toward Manti. His +sharp exclamation brought Barkwell leaping to his side, +and they both watched in perplexity a faint glow in the +sky in the direction of the town. It died down as they +watched.</p> +<p>“Fire—looks like,” Weaver growled. “We’re +always too late to horn in on any excitement.”</p> +<p>“Uh, huh,” grunted Barkwell. He was staring +intently at the plains, faintly discernable in the starlight. +“There’s horses out there, Jud! Three or +four, an’ they’re comin’ like hell!”</p> +<p>They slipped off the gallery into the shadow of some +trees, both instinctively feeling of their holsters. Standing +thus they waited.</p> +<p>The faint beat of hoofs came unmistakably to them. +They grew louder, drumming over the hard sand of +the plains, and presently four dark figures loomed out +of the night and came plunging toward the gallery. +They came to a halt at the gallery edge, and were +about to dismount when Barkwell’s voice, cold and +truculent, issued from the shadow of the trees:</p> +<p>“What’s eatin’ you guys?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span></p> +<p>There was a short, pregnant silence, and then one +of the men laughed.</p> +<p>“Who are you?” He urged his horse forward. +But he was brought to a quick halt when Barkwell’s +voice came again:</p> +<p>“Talk from where you are!”</p> +<p>“That goes,” laughed the man. “Trevison here?”</p> +<p>“What you wantin’ of him?”</p> +<p>“Plenty. We’re deputies. Trevison burned the +courthouse and the bank tonight—and killed Braman. +We’re after him.”</p> +<p>“Well, he ain’t here.” Barkwell laughed. “Burned +the courthouse, did he? An’ the bank? An’ killed +Braman? Well, you got to admit that’s a pretty good +night’s work. An’ you’re wantin’ him!” Barkwell’s +voice leaped; he spoke in short, snappy, metallic sentences +that betrayed passion long restrained, breaking +his self-control. “You’re deputies, eh? Corrigan’s +whelps! Sneaks! Coyotes! Well, you slope—you +hear? When I count three, I down you! One! Two! +Three!”</p> +<p>His six-shooter stabbed the darkness at the last word. +And at his side Weaver’s pistol barked viciously. But +the deputies had started at the word “One,” and though +Barkwell, noting the scurrying of their horses, cut the +final words sharply, the four figures were vague and +shadowy when the first pistol shot smote the air. Not +a report floated back to the ears of the two men. They +watched, with grim pouts on their lips, until the men +vanished in the star haze of the plains. Then Barkwell +spoke, raucously: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span></p> +<p>“Well, we’ve broke in the game, Jud. We’re Simon-pure +outlaws—like our boss. I got one of them scum—I +seen him grab leather. We’ll all get in, now. +They’re after our boss, eh? Well, damn ’em, we’ll +show ’em! They’s eight of the boys on the south fork. +You get ’em, bring ’em here an’ get rifles. I’ll hit the +breeze to the basin an’ rustle the others!” He was +running at the last word, and presently two horses +raced out of the corral gates, clattered past the bunk-house +and were swallowed in the vast, black space.</p> +<p>Half an hour later the entire outfit—twenty men +besides Barkwell and Weaver—left the ranchhouse +and spread, fan-wise, over the plains west of Manti.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>They lost all sense of time. Several of them had +ridden to Manti, making a round of the places that +were still open, but had returned, with no word of +Trevison. Corrigan had claimed to have seen him. +But then, a man told his questioner, Corrigan claimed +Trevison had choked the banker to death. He could +believe both claims, or neither. So far as the man +himself was concerned, he was not going to commit +himself. But if Trevison had done the job, he’d done +it well. The seekers after information rode out of +Manti on the run. At some time after midnight the +entire outfit was grouped near Clay Levins’ house.</p> +<p>They held a short conference, and then Barkwell rode +forward and hammered on the door of the cabin.</p> +<p>“We’re wantin’ Clay, ma’am,” said Barkwell in +answer to the scared inquiry that filtered through the +closed door. “It’s the Diamond K outfit.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span></p> +<p>“What do you want him for?”</p> +<p>“We was thinkin’ that mebbe he’d know where ‘Firebrand’ +is. ‘Firebrand’ is sort of lost, I reckon.”</p> +<p>The door flew open and Mrs. Levins, like a pale +ghost, appeared in the opening. “Trevison and Clay +left here tonight. I didn’t look to see what time. Oh, +I hope nothing has happened to them!”</p> +<p>They quieted her fears and fled out into the plains +again, charging themselves with stupidity for not being +more diplomatic in dealing with Mrs. Levins. During +the early hours of the morning they rode again to the +Diamond K ranchhouse, thinking that perhaps Trevison +had slipped by them and returned. But Trevison +had not returned, and the outfit gathered in the timber +near the house in the faint light of the breaking dawn, +disgusted, their horses jaded.</p> +<p>“It’s mighty hard work tryin’ to be an outlaw in this +damned dude-ridden country,” wailed the disappointed +Weaver. “Outlaws usual have a den or a cave or a +mountain fastness, or somethin’, anyhow—accordin’ +to all the literchoor I’ve read on the subject. If ‘Firebrand’s’ +got one, he’s mighty bashful about mentionin’ +it.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Lord!” exclaimed Barkwell, weakly. “My +brains is sure ready for the mourners! Where’s ‘Firebrand’? +Why, where would you expect a man to be +that’d burned up a courthouse an’ a bank an’ salivated +a banker? He’d be hidin’ out, wouldn’t he, you mis’able +box-head! Would he come driftin’ back to the home +ranch, an’ come out when them damn deputies come +along, bowin’ an’ scrapin’ an’ sayin’: ‘I’m here, gentlemen—I’ve +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span> +been waitin’ for you to come an’ try +rope on me, so’s you’d be sure to get a good fit!’ Would +he? You’re mighty right he—wouldn’t! He’d be +populatin’ that old pueblo that he’s been tellin’ me for +years would make a good fort!” His horse leaped as +he drove the spurs in, cruelly, but at the distance of a +hundred yards he was not more than a few feet in +advance of the others—and they, disregarding the +rules of the game—were trying to pass him.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>“There ain’t a bit of sense of takin’ any risk,” +objected Levins from the security of the communal +chamber, as Trevison peered cautiously around a corner +of the adobe house. “It’d be just the luck of one +of them critters if they’d pot you.”</p> +<p>“I’m not thinking of offering myself as a target for +them,” the other laughed. “They’re still there,” he +added a minute later as he stepped into the chamber. +“Them shooting you as they did, without warning, +seems to indicate that they’ve orders to wipe us out, +if possible. They’re deputies. I bumped into Corrigan +right after I left the bank building, and I suppose +he has set them on us.”</p> +<p>“I reckon so. Seems it ain’t possible, though,” +Levins added, doubtfully. “They was here before you +come. Your Nigger horse ain’t takin’ no dust. I +reckon you didn’t stop anywheres?”</p> +<p>“At the Bar B.” Trevison made this admission +with some embarrassment.</p> +<p>But Levins did not reproach him—he merely +groaned, eloquently. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span></p> +<p>Trevison leaned against the opening of the chamber. +His muscles ached; he was in the grip of a mighty +weariness. Nature was protesting against the great +strain that he had placed upon her. But his jaws set +as he felt the flesh of his legs quivering; he grinned +the derisive grin of the fighter whose will and courage +outlast his physical strength. He felt a pulse of contempt +for himself, and mingling with it was a strange +elation—the thought that Rosalind Benham had +strengthened his failing body, had provided it with the +fuel necessary to keep it going for hours yet—as it +must. He did not trust himself to yield to his passions +as he stood there—that might have caused him to +grow reckless. He permitted the weariness of his +body to soothe his brain; over him stole a great calm. +He assured himself that he could throw it off any time.</p> +<p>But he had deceived himself. Nature had almost +reached the limit of effort, and the inevitable slow reaction +was taking place. The tired body could be forced +on for a while yet, obeying the lethargic impulses of an +equally tired brain, but the break would come. At this +moment he was oppressed with a sense of the unreality +of it all. The pueblo seemed like an ancient city of his +dreams; the adobe houses details of a weird phantasmagoria; +his adventures of the past forty-eight hours +a succession of wild imaginings which he now reviewed +with a sort of detached interest, as though he had +watched them from afar.</p> +<p>The moonlight shone on him; he heard Levins +exclaim sharply: “Your arm’s busted, ain’t it?”</p> +<p>He started, swayed, and caught himself, laughing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span> +lowly, guiltily, for he realized that he had almost fallen +asleep, standing. He held the arm up to the moonlight, +examining it, dropping it with a deprecatory word. He +settled against the wall near the opening again.</p> +<p>“Hell!” declared Levins, anxiously, “you’re all in!”</p> +<p>Trevison did not answer. He stole along the outside +wall of the adobe house and peered out into the +plains. The men were still where they had been when +the shot had been fired, and the sight of them brought +a cold grin to his face. He backed away from the +corner, dropped to his stomach and wriggled his way +back to the corner, shoving his rifle in front of him. +He aimed the weapon deliberately, and pulled the trigger. +At the flash a smothered cry floated up to him, +and he drew back, the thud of bullets against the adobe +walls accompanying him.</p> +<p>“That leaves seven, Levins,” he said grimly. “Looks +like my trip to Santa Fe is off, eh?” he laughed. “Well, +I’ve always had a yearning to be besieged, and I’ll make +it mighty interesting for those fellows. Do you think +you can cover that slope, so they can’t get up there +while I’m reconnoitering? It would be certain death +for me to stick my head around that corner again.”</p> +<p>At Levins’ emphatic affirmative he was helped to the +shelter of a recess, from where he had a view of the +slope, though himself protected by a corner of one of +the houses; placed a rifle in the wounded man’s hands, +and carrying his own, vanished into one of the dark +passages that weaved through the pueblo.</p> +<p>He went only a short distance. Emerging from an +opening in one of the adobe houses he saw a parapet +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span> +wall, sadly crumpled in spots, facing the plains, and +he dropped to his hands and knees and crept toward it, +secreting himself behind it and prodding the wall cautiously +with the barrel of his rifle until he found a joint +in the stone work where the adobe mud was rotted. +He poked the muzzle of the rifle through the crevice, +took careful aim, and had the satisfaction of hearing +a savage curse in the instant following the flash. He +threw himself flat immediately, listening to the spatter +and whine of the bullets of the volley that greeted his +shot. They kept it up long—but when there was a +momentary cessation he crept back to the entrance of +the adobe house, entered, followed another passage and +came out on the ledge farther along the side of the +pueblo. He halted in a dense shadow and looked +toward the spot where the men had been. They had +vanished.</p> +<p>There was nothing to do but to wait, and he sank +behind a huge block of stone in an angle of the ledge, +noting with satisfaction that he could see the slope +that he had set Levins to guard.</p> +<p>“I’m the boss of this fort if I don’t go to sleep,” +he told himself grimly as he stretched out. He lay +there, watching, while the moonlight faded, while a +gray streak in the east slowly widened, presaging the +dawn. Stretched flat, his aching muscles welcoming +the support of the cool stone of the ledge, he had to +fight off the drowsiness that assailed him.</p> +<p>An hour dragged by. He knew the deputies were +watching, no doubt having separated to conceal themselves +behind convenient boulders that dotted the plains +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span> +at the foot of the slope. Or perhaps while he had been +in the passages of the pueblo, changing his position, +some of them might have stolen to the numerous crags +and outcroppings of rock at the base of the pueblo. +They might now be massing for a rush up the slope. +But he doubted they would risk the latter move, for they +knew that he must be on the alert, and they had cause +to fear his rifle.</p> +<p>Once he rested his head on his extended right arm, +and the contact was so agreeable that he allowed it to +remain there—long. He caught himself in time; in +another second he would have been too late. He saw +the figure of a man on the slope a foot or two below +the crest. He was flat on his stomach, no doubt having +crept there during the minutes that Trevison had +been enjoying his rest, and at the instant Trevison saw +him he was raising his rifle, directing it at the recess +where Levins had been left, on guard.</p> +<p>Trevison was wide awake now, and his marksmanship +as deadly as ever. He waited until the man’s rifle +came to a level. Then his own weapon spat viciously. +The man rose to his knees, reeling. Another rifle +cracked—from the recess where Levins was concealed, +this time—and the man sank to the dust of the slope, +rolling over and over until he reached the bottom, +where he stretched out and lay prone. There was a +shout of rage from a section of rock-strewn level near +the foot of the slope, and Trevison’s lips curled with +satisfaction. The second shot had told him that a fear +he had entertained momentarily was unfounded—Levins +was apparently quite alive. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span></p> +<p>He raised himself cautiously, backed away from the +rock behind which he had been concealed, and wheeled, +intending to join Levins. A faint sound reached his +ears from the plains, and he faced around again, to see +a group of horsemen riding toward the pueblo. They +were coming fast, racing ahead of a dust cloud, and +were perhaps a quarter of a mile distant. But Trevison +knew them, and stepped boldly out to the edge +of the stone ledge waving his hat to them, laughing +full-throatedly, his voice vibrating a little as he spoke:</p> +<p>“Good old Barkwell!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>“That’s him!”</p> +<p>Barkwell pulled his horse to a sliding halt as he saw +the figure on the pueblo, outlined distinctly in the clear +white light of the dawn.</p> +<p>“He’s all right!” he declared to the others as they +followed his example and drew their beasts down. +“Them’s some of the scum that’s been after him,” he +added as several horsemen swept around the far side +of the pueblo. “It was them we heard shootin’.” The +outfit sat silent on their horses and watched the men +ride over the plains toward another group of horsemen +that the Diamond K men had observed some time +before riding toward the pueblo,</p> +<p>“Yep!” Barkwell said, now; “that other bunch is +deputies, too. It’s mighty plain. This bunch rounded +up ‘Firebrand’ an’ sent some one back for reinforcements.” +He swept the Diamond K outfit with a snarling +smile. “They’re goin’ to need ’em, too! I reckon +we’d better wait for them to play their hand. It’s about +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span> +a stand off in numbers. We don’t stand no slack, boys. +We’re outlawed already, from the ruckus of last night, +an’ if they start anything we’ve got to wipe ’em out! +You heard ’em shootin’ at the boss, an’ they ain’t no +pussy-kitten bunch! I’ll do the gassin’—if there’s any +to be done—an’ when I draw, you guys do your +damnedest!”</p> +<p>The outfit set itself to wait. Over on the edge of +the pueblo they could see Trevison. He was bending +over something, and when they saw him stoop and lift +the object, heaving it to his shoulder and walking away +with it, a sullen murmur ran over the outfit, and lips +grew stiff and white with rage.</p> +<p>“It’s Clay Levins, boys!” said Barkwell. “They’ve +plugged him! Do you reckon we’ve got to go back +to Levins’ shack an’ tell his wife that we let them +skunks get away after makin’ orphants of her kids?”</p> +<p>“I’m jumpin’!” shrieked Jud Weaver, his voice coming +chokingly with passion. “I ain’t waitin’ one damned +minute for any palaver! Either them deputies is wiped +out, or I am!” He dug the spurs into his horse, drawing +his six-shooter as the animal leaped.</p> +<p>Weaver’s horse led the outfit by only three or four +jumps, and they swept over the level like a devastating +cyclone, the spiral dust cloud that rose behind them +following them lazily, sucked along by the wind of +their passing.</p> +<p>The group of deputies had halted; they were sitting +tense and silent in their saddles when the Diamond K +outfit came up, slowing down as they drew nearer, and +halting within ten feet of the others, spreading out in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span> +a crude semi-circle, so that each man had an unobstructed +view of the deputies.</p> +<p>Barkwell had no chance to talk. Before he could +get his breath after pulling his horse down, Weaver, +his six-shooter in hand, its muzzle directed fairly at +Gieger, who was slightly in advance of his men, fumed +forth:</p> +<p>“What in hell do you-all mean by tryin’ to herd-ride +our boss? Talk fast, you eagle-beaked turkey +buzzard, or I salivates you rapid!”</p> +<p>The situation was one of intense delicacy. Gieger +might have averted the threatening clash with a judicious +use of soft, placating speech. But it pleased him +to bluster.</p> +<p>“We are deputies, acting under orders from the +court. We are after a murderer, and we mean to get +him!” he said, coldly.</p> +<p>“Deputies! Hell!” Barkwell’s voice rose, sharply +scornful and mocking. “Deputies! Crooks! Gun-fighters! +Pluguglies!” His eyes, bright, alert, gleaming +like a bird’s, were roving over the faces in the +group of deputies. “A damn fine bunch of guys to +represent the law! There’s Dakota Dick, there! Tinhorn, +rustler! There’s Red Classen! Stage robber! +An’ Pepper Ridgely, a plain, ornery thief! An’ Kid +Dorgan, a sneakin’ killer! An’ Buff Keller, an’ Andy +Watts, an’ Pig Mugley, an’—oh, hell! Deputies! +Law!——Ah—hah!”</p> +<p>One of the men had reached for his holster. +Weaver’s gun barked twice and the man pitched limply +forward to his horse’s neck. Other weapons flashed; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span> +the calm of the early morning was rent by the hoarse, +guttural cries of men in the grip of the blood-lust, the +sustained and venomous popping of pistols, the queer, +sodden impact of lead against flesh, the terror-snorts +of horses, and the grunts of men, falling heavily.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>A big man in khaki, loping his horse up the slope +of an arroyo half a mile distant, started at the sound +of the first shot and raced over the crest. He +pulled the horse to an abrupt halt as his gaze swept +the plains in front of him. He saw riderless horses +running frantically away from a smoking blot, he saw +the blot streaked with level, white smoke-spurts that +ballooned upward quickly; he heard the dull, flat reports +that followed the smoke-spurts.</p> +<p>It seemed to be over in an instant. The blot split +up, galloping horses and yelling men burst out of it. +The big man had reached the crest of the arroyo at the +critical second in which the balance of victory wavers +uncertainly. With thrusting chin, lips in a hideous pout, +and with sullen, blazing eyes, he watched the battle go +against him. Fifteen cowboys—he counted them, deliberately, +coldly, despite the rage-mania that had seized +him—were spurring after eight other men whom he +knew for his own. As he watched he saw two of these +tumble from their horses. And at a distance he saw +the loops of ropes swing out to enmesh four more—who +were thrown and dragged; he watched darkly as +the remaining two raised their hands above their heads. +Then his lips came out of their pout and were wreathed +in a bitter snarl. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span></p> +<p>“Licked!” he muttered. “Twelve put out of business. +But there’s thirty more—if the damn fools have +come in to town! That’s two to one!” He laughed, +wheeled his horse toward Manti, rode a few feet down +the slope of the arroyo, halted and sat motionless in +the saddle, looking back. He smiled with cold satisfaction. +“Lucky for me that cinch strap broke,” he +said.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>Trevison was placing Levins’ limp form across the +saddle on Nigger’s back when the faint morning breeze +bore to his ears the report of Weaver’s pistol. A rattling +volley followed the first report, and Trevison led +Nigger close to the edge of the ledge in time to observe +the battle as Corrigan had seen it. He hurried Nigger +down the slope, but he had to be careful with his burden. +Reaching the level he lifted Levins off, laid him +gently on the top of a huge flat rock, and then leaped +into the saddle and sent Nigger tearing over the plains +toward the scene of the battle.</p> +<p>It was over when he arrived. A dozen men were +lying in the tall grass. Some were groaning, writhing; +others were quiet and motionless. Four or five of +them were arrayed in chaps. His lips grimmed as his +gaze swept them. He dismounted and went to them, +one after another. He stooped long over one.</p> +<p>“They’ve got Weaver,” he heard a voice say. And +he started and looked around, and seeing no one near, +knew it was his own voice that he heard. It was dry +and light—as a man’s voice might be who has run +far and fast. He stood for a while, looking down at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span> +Weaver. His brain was reeling, as it had reeled over +on the ledge of the pueblo a few minutes before, when +he had discovered a certain thing. It was not a weakness; +it was a surge of reviving rage, an accession of +passion that made his head swim with its potency, made +his muscles swell with a strength that he had not known +for many hours. Never in his life had he felt more +like crying. His emotions seared his soul as a white-hot +iron sears the flesh; they burned into him, scorching +his pity and his impulses of mercy, withering them, +blighting them. He heard himself whining sibilantly, as +he had heard boys whine when fighting, with eagerness +and lust for blows. It was the insensate, raging fury of +the fight-madness that had gripped him, and he suddenly +yielded to it and raised his head, laughing harshly, +with panting, labored breath.</p> +<p>Barkwell rode up to him, speaking hoarsely: “We +come pretty near wipin’ ’em out, ‘Firebrand!’”</p> +<p>He looked up at his foreman, and the latter’s face +blanched. “God!” he said. He whispered to a cowboy +who had joined him: “The boss is pretty near loco—looks +like!”</p> +<p>“They’ve killed Weaver,” muttered Trevison. +“He’s here. They killed Clay, too—he’s down on a +rock near the slope.” He laughed, and tightened his +belt. The record book which he had carried in his +waistband all along interfered with this work, and he +drew it out, throwing it from him. “Clay was worth +a thousand of them!”</p> +<p>Barkwell got down and seized the book, watching +Trevison closely. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span></p> +<p>“Look here, Boss,” he said, as Trevison ran to his +horse and threw himself into the saddle; “you’re +bushed, mighty near—”</p> +<p>If Trevison heard his first words he had paid no +attention to them. He could not have heard the last +words, for Nigger had lunged forward, running with +great, long, catlike leaps in the direction of Manti.</p> +<p>“Good God!” yelled Barkwell to some of the men +who had ridden up; “the damn fool is goin’ to town! +They’ll salivate him, sure as hell! Some of you stay +here—two’s enough! The rest of you come along +with me!”</p> +<p>They were after Trevison within a few seconds, but +the black horse was far ahead, running without hitch +or stumble, as straight toward Manti as his willing +muscles and his loyal heart could take him.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>Corrigan had seen the black bolt that had rushed +toward him out of the spot where the blot had been. +He cursed hoarsely and drove the spurs deep into the +flanks of his horse, and the animal, squealing with pain +and fury, leaped down the side of the arroyo, crossed +the bottom in two or three bounds and stretched away +toward Manti.</p> +<p>A cold fear had seized the big man’s heart. It made +a sweat break out on his forehead, it caused his hand +to tremble as he flung it around to his hip in search of +his pistol. He tried to shake the feeling off, but it +clung insistently to him, making him catch his breath. +His horse was big, rangy, and strong, but he forced it +to such a pace during the first mile of the ride that he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span> +could feel its muscles quivering under the saddle skirts. +And he looked back at the end of the mile, to see the +black horse at about the same distance from him; possibly +the distance had been shortened. It seemed to +Corrigan that he had never seen a horse that traveled +as smoothly and evenly as the big black, or that ran +with as little effort. He began to loathe the black with +an intensity equaled only by that which he felt for his +rider.</p> +<p>He held his lead for another mile. Glancing back a +little later he noted with a quickening pulse that the +distance had been shortened by several hundred feet, +and that the black seemed to be traveling with as little +effort as ever. Also, for the first time, Corrigan noticed +the presence of other riders, behind Trevison. They +were topping a slight rise at the instant he glanced +back, and were at least a mile behind his pursuer.</p> +<p>At first, mingled with his fear, Corrigan had felt +a slight disgust for himself in yielding to his sudden +panic. He had never been in the habit of running. +He had been as proud of his courage as he had been +of his cleverness and his keenness in planning and plotting. +It had been his mental boast that in every crisis +his nerve was coldest. But now he nursed a vagrant, +furtive hope that waiting for him at Manti would be +some of those men whom he had hired at his own +expense to impersonate deputies. The presence of the +hope was as inexplicable as the fear that had set him +to running from Trevison. Two or three weeks ago +he would have faced both Trevison and his men and +brazened it out. But of late a growing dread of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span> +man had seized him. Never before had he met a man +who refused to be beaten, or who had fought him as +recklessly and relentlessly.</p> +<p>He jeered at himself as he rode, telling himself that +when Trevison got near enough he would stand and +have it out with him—for he knew that the fight had +narrowed down between them until it was as Trevison +had said, man to man—but as he rode his breath came +faster, his backward glances grew more frequent and +fearful, and the cold sweat on his forehead grew +clammy. Fear, naked and shameful, had seized him.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>Behind him, lean, gaunt, haggard; seeing nothing +but the big man ahead of him, feeling nothing but an +insane desire to maim or slay him, rode a man who in +forty-eight hours had been transformed from a frank, +guileless, plain-speaking human, to a rage-drunken savage—a +monomaniac who, as he leaned over Nigger’s +mane, whispered and whined and mewed, as his forebears, +in some tropical jungle, voiced their passions +when they set forth to slay those who had sought to +despoil them.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XXVIII_THE_DREGS' id='XXVIII_THE_DREGS'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> +<h3>THE DREGS</h3> +</div> + +<p>When the Benham private car came to a stop +on the switch, Rosalind swung up the steps and +upon the platform just as J. C., ruddy, smiling and +bland, opened the door. She was in his arms in an +instant, murmuring her joy. He stroked her hair, then +held her off for a good look at her, and inquired, +unctuously:</p> +<p>“What are you doing in town so early, my dear?”</p> +<p>“Oh!” She hid her face on his shoulder, reluctant +to tell him. But she knew he must be told, and so +she steeled herself, stepping back and looking at him, +her heart pounding madly.</p> +<p>“Father; these people have discovered that Corrigan +has been trying to cheat them!”</p> +<p>She would have gone on, but the sickly, ghastly pallor +of his face frightened her. She swayed and leaned +against the railing of the platform, a sinking, deadly +apprehension gnawing at her, for it seemed from the +expression of J. C.’s face that he had some knowledge +of Corrigan’s intentions. But J. C. had been through +too many crises to surrender at the first shot in this one. +Still he got a good grip on himself before he attempted +to answer, and then his voice was low and intoned with +casual surprise: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span></p> +<p>“Trying to cheat them? How, my dear?”</p> +<p>“By trying to take their land from them. You had +no knowledge of it, Father?”</p> +<p>“Who has been saying that?” he demanded, with a +fairly good pretense of righteous anger.</p> +<p>“Nobody. But I thought—I—Oh, thank God!”</p> +<p>“Well, well,” he bluffed with faint reproach; +“things are coming to a pretty pass when one’s own +daughter is the first to suspect him of wrong-doing.”</p> +<p>“I didn’t, Father. I was merely—I don’t know +what I <i>did</i> think! There has been so much excitement! +Everything is <i>so</i> upset! They have blown up the mining +machinery, burned the bank and the courthouse; +Judge Lindman was abducted and found; Braman was +killed—choked to death; the Vigilantes are—”</p> +<p>“Good God!” Benham interrupted her, staggering +back against the rear of the coach. “Who has +been at the bottom of all this lawlessness?”</p> +<p>“Trevison.”</p> +<p>He gasped, in spite of the fact that he had suspected +what her answer would be.</p> +<p>“Where is Corrigan? Where’s Trevison?” He +demanded, his hands shaking. “Answer me! Where +are they?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” the girl returned, dully. “They +say Trevison is hiding in a pueblo not far from the +Bar B. And that Corrigan left here early this morning, +with a number of deputies, to try to capture him. +And those men—” She indicated the horsemen gathered +in front of the <i>Belmont</i>, whom he had not seen, +“are organizing to go to Trevison’s rescue. They +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span> +have discovered that Corrigan murdered Braman, +though Corrigan accused Trevison.”</p> +<p>J. C. flattened himself against the rear wall of the +coach and looked with horror upon the armed riders. +There were forty or fifty of them now, and others were +joining the group. “Where’s Judge Lindman?” he +faltered. “Can’t this lawlessness be stopped?”</p> +<p>“It is only a few minutes ago that Judge Lindman +was dragged from a shed into which he had been forced +by Corrigan—after being beaten by him. He made +a public confession of his part in the attempted fraud, +and charged Corrigan with coercing him. Those men +are aroused, Father. I don’t know what the end will +be, but I am afraid—I’m afraid they’ll—”</p> +<p>“I shall give the engineer orders to pull my car out +of here!” J. C.’s face was chalky white.</p> +<p>“No, no!” cried the girl, sharply. “That would +make them think you were—Don’t <i>run</i>, Father!” +she begged, omitting the word which she dreaded to +think might become attached to him should he go away, +now that some of them had seen him. “We’ll stand +our ground, Father. If Corrigan has done those things +he deserves to be punished!” Her lips, white and +stiff, closed firmly.</p> +<p>“Yes, yes,” he said; “that’s right—we won’t run.” +But he drew her inside, despite her objections, and +from a window they watched the members of the Vigilantes +gathering, bristling with weapons, a sinister +and ominous arm of that law which is the dread and +horror of the evil-doer.</p> +<p>There came a movement, concerted, accompanied by +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span> +a low rumble as of waves breaking on a rocky shore. +It brought the girl out of her chair, through the door +and upon the car platform, where she stood, her hands +clasped over her breast, her breath coming gaspingly. +His knees knocking together, his face the ashen gray +of death, Benham stumbled after her. He did not +want to go; did not care to see this thing—what might +happen—what his terror told him <i>would</i> happen; but +he was forced out upon the platform by the sheer urge +of a morbid curiosity that there was no denying; it +had laid hold of his soul, and though he cringed and +shivered and tottered, he went out, standing close to +the iron rail, gripping it with hands that grew blueish-white +around the knuckles; watching with eyes that +bulged, his lips twitching over soundless words. For +he could not hold himself guiltless in this thing; it could +not have happened had he tempered his smug complacence +with thoughts of justice. He groaned, gibbering, +for he stood on the brink at this minute, looking down +at the lashing sea of retribution.</p> +<p>The girl paid no attention to him. She was watching +the men down the street. The concerted movement +had come from them. Nearly a hundred riders were +on the move. Lefingwell, huge, grim, led them down +the street toward the private car. For an instant the +girl felt a throb of terror, thinking that they might +have designs on the man who stood at the railing near +her, unable to move—for he had the same thought. +She murmured thankfully when they wheeled, and without +looking in her direction loped their horses toward +a wide, vacant space between some buildings, which led +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span> +out into the plains, and through which she had ridden +often when entering Manti. Watching the men, shuddering +at the ominous aspect they presented, she saw +a tremor run through them—as though they all formed +one body. They came to a sudden stop. She heard a +ripple of sound arise from them, amazement and anticipation. +And then, as though with preconcerted design, +though she had heard no word spoken, the group +divided, splitting asunder with a precision that deepened +the conviction of preconcertedness, ranging themselves +on each side of the open space, leaving it gaping +barrenly, unobstructed—a stretch of windrowed alkali +dust, deep, light and feathery.</p> +<p>Silence, like a stroke, fell over the town. The girl +saw people running toward the open space, but they +seemed to make no noise—they might have been dream +people. And then, noting that they all stared in one +direction, she looked over their heads. Not more than +four or five hundred feet from the open space, and +heading directly toward it, thundered a rider on a tall, +strong, rangy horse. The beast’s chest was foam-flecked, +the white lather that billowed around its muzzle +was stained darkly. But it came on with heart-breaking +effort, giving its rider its all. Behind the first rider +came a second, not more than fifty feet distant from +the other, on a black horse which ran with no effort, +seemingly, sliding along with great, smooth undulations, +his mighty muscles flowing like living things under +his glossy, somber coat.</p> +<p>The girl saw the man on his back leaning forward, +a snarling, terrible grin on his face. She saw the first +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span> +rider wheel when he reached the edge of the open +space near the waiting Vigilantes, bring his horse to a +sliding halt and face toward his pursuer. He clawed at +a hip pocket, drawing a pistol that flashed in the first +rays of the morning sun—it belched fire and smoke +in a continuous stream, seemingly straight at the rider +of the black horse. One—two—three—four—five—six +times! The girl counted. But the first man’s +hand wabbled, and the rider of the black horse came +on like a demon astride a black bolt, a laugh of bitter +derision on his lips. The black did not swerve. Straight +and true in his headlong flight he struck the other horse. +They went down in a smother of dust, the two horses +grunting, scrambling and kicking. The girl had seen +the rider of the black horse lunge forward at the instant +of impact; he had thrown himself at the other man +as she had seen football players launch themselves at +players of the opposition, and they had both reeled out +of their saddles to disappear in the smother of dust.</p> +<p>Men left the fringe of the living wall flanking the +open space and seized the two horses, leading them +away. The smother drifted, and the girl screamed at +sight of the two raging things that rolled and burrowed +in the deep dust of the street.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>They got up as she watched them, springing apart +hesitating for an awful instant to sob breath into their +lungs; then they rushed together, striking bitter, sledge-hammer +blows that sounded like the smashing of flat +rocks, falling from a great height, on the surface of +water. She shrieked once, wildly, beseeching someone +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span> +to stop them, but no man paid any attention to her cry. +They sat on their horses, silent, tense, grim, and she +settled into a coma of terror, an icy paralysis gripping +her. She heard her father muttering incoherently at +her side, droning and puling something over and over +in a wailing monotone—she caught it after a while; +he was calling upon his God—in an hour that could +not have been were it not for his own moral flaccidness.</p> +<p>The dust under the feet of the fighting men leveled +under their shifting, dragging feet; it bore the print +of their bodies where they had lain and rolled in it; +erupting volcanoes belched it heavily upward; it caught +and gripped their legs to the ankles, making their movements +slow and sodden. This condition favored the +larger man. He lashed out a heavy fist that caught +Trevison full and fair on the jaw, and the latter’s face +turned ashy white as he sank to his knees. Corrigan +stopped to catch his breath before he hurled himself +forward, and this respite, brief as it was, helped the +other to shake off the deadening effect of the blow. +He moved his head slightly as Corrigan swung at it, +and the blow missed, its force pulling the big man off +his feet, so that he tumbled headlong over his adversary. +He was up again in a flash though, for he was +fresher than his enemy. They clinched, and stood +straining, matching strength against strength, sheer, +without trickery, for the madness of murder was in the +heart of one and the desperation of fear in the soul of +the other, and they thought of nothing but to crush +and batter and pound.</p> +<p>Corrigan’s strength was slightly the greater, but it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span> +was offset by the other’s fury. In the clinch the big +man’s right hand came up, the heel of the palm shoved +with malignant ferocity against Trevison’s chin. Corrigan’s +left arm was around Trevison’s waist, squeezing +it like a vise, and the whole strength of Corrigan’s +right arm was exerted to force the other’s head back. +Trevison tried to slip his head sideways to escape the +hold, but the effort was fruitless. Changing his tactics, +his breath lagging in his throat from the terrible +pressure on it, Trevison worked his right hand into +the other’s stomach with the force and regularity of a +piston rod. The big man writhed under the punishment, +dropping his hand from Trevison’s chin to his +waist, swung him from his feet and threw him from +him as a man throws a bag of meal.</p> +<p>He was after him before he landed, but the other +writhed and wriggled in the air like a cat, and when the +big man reached for him, trying again to clinch, he +evaded the arm and landed a crushing blow on the +other’s chin that snapped his head back as though it +were swung from a hinge, and sent him reeling, to his +knees in the dust.</p> +<p>The watching girl saw the ring of men around the +fighters contract; she saw Trevison dive headlong at +the kneeling man; with fingers working in a fury of +impotence she swayed at the iron rail, leaning far over +it, her eyes strained, her breath bated, constricting her +lungs as though a steel band were around them. For +she seemed to feel that the end was near.</p> +<p>She saw them, locked in each other’s embrace, stagger +to their feet. Corrigan’s head was wabbling. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span> +was trying to hold the other to him that he might +escape the lashing blows that were driven at his head. +The girl saw his hold broken, and as he reeled, catching +another blow in the mouth, he swung toward her +and she saw that his lips were smashed, the blood from +them trickling down over his chin. There was a gleam +of wild, despairing terror in his eyes—revealing the +dawning consciousness of approaching defeat, complete +and terrible. She saw Trevison start another blow, +swinging his fist upward from his knee. It landed with +a sodden squish on the big man’s jaw. His eyes snapped +shut, and he dropped soundlessly, face down in the dust.</p> +<p>For a space Trevison stood, swaying drunkenly, looking +down at his beaten enemy. Then he drew himself +erect with a mighty effort and swept the crowd with a +glance, the fires of passion still leaping and smoldering +in his eyes. He seemed for the first time to see the +Vigilantes, to realize the significance of their presence, +and as he wheeled slowly his lips parted in a grin of +bitter satisfaction. He staggered around the form of +his fallen enemy, his legs bending at the knees, his +feet dragging in the dust. It seemed to the girl that +he was waiting for Corrigan to get up that he might +resume the fight, and she cried out protestingly. He +wheeled at the sound of her voice and faced her, rocking +back and forth on his heels and toes, and the glow +of dull astonishment in his eyes told her that he was +now for the first time aware of her presence. He +bowed to her, gravely, losing his balance in the effort, +reeling weakly to recover it.</p> +<p>And then a crush of men blotted him out—the ring +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319' name='page_319'></a>319</span> +of Vigilantes had closed around him. She saw Barkwell +lunging through the press to gain Trevison’s side; +she got a glimpse of him a minute later, near Trevison. +The street had become a sea of jostling, shoving +men and prancing horses. She wanted to get away—somewhere—to +shut this sight from her eyes. For +though one horror was over, another impended. She +knew it, but could not move. A voice boomed hoarsely, +commandingly, above the buzz of many others—it +was Lefingwell’s, and she cringed at the sound of it. +There was a concerted movement; the Vigilantes were +shoving the crowd back, clearing a space in the center. +In the cleared space two men were lifting Corrigan to +his feet. He was reeling in their grasp, his chin on his +chest, his face dust-covered, disfigured, streaked with +blood. He was conquered, his spirit broken, and her +heart ached with pity for him despite her horror for +his black deeds. The loop of a rope swung out as +she watched; it fell with a horrible swish over Corrigan’s +head and was drawn taut, swiftly, and a hoarse +roar of approval drowned her shriek.</p> +<p>She heard Trevison’s voice, muttering in protest, +but his words, like her shriek, were lost in the confusion +of sound. She saw him fling his arms wide, sending +Barkwell and another man reeling from him; he reached +for the pistol at his side and leveled it at the crowd. +Those nearest him shrank, their faces blank with fear +and astonishment. But the man with the rope stood +firm, as did Lefingwell, grim, his face darkening with +wrath.</p> +<p>“This is the law actin’ here, ‘Firebrand,’” he said, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320' name='page_320'></a>320</span> +his voice level. “You’ve done your bit, an’ you’re +due to step back an’ let justice take a hand. This here +skunk has outraged every damned rule of decency an’ +honor. He’s tried to steal all our land; he’s corrupted +our court, nearly guzzled Judge Lindman to death, +killed Braman—an’ Barkwell says the bunch of pluguglies +he hired to pose as deputies, has killed Clay +Levins an’ four or five of the Diamond K men. That’s +plenty. We’d admire to give in to you. We’ll do anything +else you say. But this has got to be done.”</p> +<p>While Lefingwell had been talking two of the Vigilantes +had slipped to the rear of Trevison. As Lefingwell +concluded they leaped. The arms of one man +went around Trevison’s neck; the other man lunged +low and pinned his arms to his sides, one hand grasping +the pistol and wrenching it from his hand. The crowd +closed again. The girl saw Corrigan lifted to the back +of a horse, and she shut her eyes and hung dizzily to +the railing, while tumult and confusion raged around +her.</p> +<p>She opened her eyes a little later, to see Barkwell +and another man leading Trevison into the front door +of the <i>Castle</i>. The street around the car was deserted, +save for two or three men who were watching her curiously. +She felt her father’s arms around her, and she +was led into the car, her knees shaking, her soul sick +with the horror of it all.</p> +<p>Half an hour later, as she sat at one of the windows, +staring stonily out in the shimmering sunlight of the +street, she saw some of the Vigilantes returning. She +shrank back from the window, shuddering.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XXIX_THE_CALM' id='XXIX_THE_CALM'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321' name='page_321'></a>321</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> +<h3>THE CALM</h3> +</div> + +<p>The day seemed to endure for an age. Rosalind +did not leave the car; she did not go near her +father, shut up alone in his apartment; she ate nothing, +ignoring the negro attendant when he told her +that lunch was served, huddled in a chair beside an +open window she decided a battle. She saw the forces +of reason and justice rout the hosts of hatred and +crime, and she got up finally, her face pallid, but resolute, +secure in the knowledge that she had decided +wisely. She pitied Corrigan. Had it been within her +power she would have prevented the tragedy. And +yet she could not blame these people. They were playing +the game honestly, and their patience had been +sadly strained by one player who had persisted in breaking +the rules. He had been swept away by his peers, +which was as fair a way as any law—any human law—could +deal with him. In her own East he would +have paid the same penalty. The method would have +been more refined, to be sure; there would have been +a long legal squabble, with its tedious delays, but in +the end Corrigan would have paid. There was a retributive +justice for all those who infracted the rules of +the game. It had found Corrigan. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322' name='page_322'></a>322</span></p> +<p>At three o’clock in the afternoon she washed her +face. The cool water refreshed her, and with reviving +spirits she combed her hair, brushed the dust from her +clothing, and looked into a mirror. There were dark +hollows under her eyes, a haunting, dreading expression +in them. For she could not help thinking about +what had happened there—down the street where the +Vigilantes had gone.</p> +<p>She dropped listlessly into another chair beside a +window, this time facing the station. She saw her +horse, hitched to the rail at the station platform, where +she had left it that morning. <i>That</i> seemed to have +been days ago! A period of aching calm had succeeded +the tumult of the morning. The street was soundless, +deserted. Those men who had played leading parts in +the tragedy were not now visible. She would have +deserted the town too, had it not been for her father. +The tragedy had unnerved him, and she must stay +with him until he recovered. She had asked the porter +about him, and the latter had reported that he seemed +to be asleep.</p> +<p>A breeze carried a whisper to her as she sat at the +window:</p> +<p>“Where’s ‘Firebrand’ now?” said a voice.</p> +<p>“Sleepin’. The clerk in the <i>Castle</i> says he’s makin’ +up for lost time.”</p> +<p>She did not bother to try to see the owners of the +voices; her gaze was on the plains, far and vast; and +the sky, clear, with a pearly shimmer that dazzled her. +She closed her eyes. She could not have told how long +she slept. She awoke to the light touch of the porter, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323' name='page_323'></a>323</span> +and she saw Trevison standing in the open doorway +of the car.</p> +<p>The dust of the battle had been removed. An admiring +barber had worked carefully over him; a doctor +had mended his arm. Except for a noticeable thinness +of the face, and a certain drawn expression of +the eyes, he was the same Trevison who had spoken +so frankly to her one day out on the plains when he +had taken her into his confidence. In the look that he +gave her now was the same frankness, clouded a little, +she thought, by some emotion—which she could +not fathom.</p> +<p>“I have come to apologize,” he said; “for various +unjust thoughts with which I have been obsessed.” +Before she could reply he had taken two or three swift +steps and was standing over her, and was speaking again, +his voice vibrant and regretful: “I ought to have +known better than to think—what I did—of you. I +have no excuses to make, except that I was insane with +a fear that my ten years of labor and lonesomeness were +to be wasted. I have just had a talk with Hester Harvey, +and she has shown me what a fool I have been. +She—”</p> +<p>Rosalind got up, laughing lowly, tremulously. “I +talked with Hester this morning. And I think—”</p> +<p>“She told you—” he began, his voice leaping.</p> +<p>“Many things.” She looked straight at him, her +eyes glowing, but they drooped under the heat of his. +“You don’t need to feel elated over it—there were +two of us.” She felt that the surge of joy that ran +over her would have shown in her face had it not been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324' name='page_324'></a>324</span> +for a sudden recollection of what the Vigilantes had +done that morning. That recollection paled her cheeks +and froze the smile on her lips.</p> +<p>He was watching her closely and saw her face harden. +A shadow passed over his own. He thought he could +see the hopelessness of staying longer. “A woman’s +love,” he said, gloomily, “is a wonderful thing. It +clings through trouble and tragedy—never faltering.” +She looked at him, startled, trying to solve the enigma +of this speech. He laughed, bitterly. “That’s what +makes a woman superior to mere man. Love exalts +her. It makes a savage of a man. I suppose it is +‘good-bye.’” He held out a hand to her and she took +it, holding it limply, looking at him in wonderment, her +heart heavy with regret. “I wish you luck and happiness,” +he said. “Corrigan is a man in spite of—of +many faults. You can redeem him; you—”</p> +<p>“<i>Is</i> a man!” Her hand tightened on his; he could +feel her tremble. “Why—why—I thought—Didn’t +they—”</p> +<p>“Didn’t they tell you? The fools!” He laughed +derisively. “They let him go. They knew I wouldn’t +want it. They did it for me. He went East on the +noon train—quite alive, I assure you. I am glad of +it—for your sake.”</p> +<p>“For my sake!” Her voice lifted in mingled joy +and derision, and both her hands were squeezing his +with a pressure that made his blood leap with a longing +to possess her. “For <i>my</i> sake!” she repeated, and the +emphasis made him gasp and stiffen. “For <i>your</i> sake—for +both of us, Trevison! Oh, what fools we were! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325' name='page_325'></a>325</span> +What fools all people are, not to trust and believe!”</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” He drew her toward him, +roughly, and held her hands in a grip that made her +wince. But she looked straight at him in spite of the +pain, her eyes brimming with a promise that he could +not mistake.</p> +<p>“Can’t you <i>see</i>?” she said to him, her voice quavering; +“<i>must </i> I tell you?”</p> +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.4em;'>ZANE GREY’S NOVELS</p> +</div> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.</p> +</div> + +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>THE MAN OF THE FOREST</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>THE DESERT OF WHEAT</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>THE U. P. TRAIL</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>WILDFIRE</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>THE BORDER LEGION</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>THE RAINBOW TRAIL</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>THE LONE STAR RANGER</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>DESERT GOLD</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>BETTY ZANE</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS</p> +<p>The life story of “Buffalo Bill” by his sister Helen Cody +Wetmore, with Foreword and conclusion by Zane Grey.</p> +<p>ZANE GREY’S BOOKS FOR BOYS</p> +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>KEN WARD IN THE JUNGLE</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>THE YOUNG LION HUNTER</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>THE YOUNG FORESTER</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>THE YOUNG PITCHER</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>THE SHORT STOP</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>THE RED-HEADED OUTFIELD AND OTHER BASEBALL STORIES</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em;'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Grossett & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</span></p> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.4em;'>EDGAR RICE BURROUGH’S NOVELS</p> +</div> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.</p> +</div> + +<p>TARZAN THE UNTAMED</p> +<p>Tells of Tarzan’s return to the life of the ape-man in +his search for vengeance on those who took from him his +wife and home.</p> +<p>JUNGLE TALES OF TARZAN</p> +<p>Records the many wonderful exploits by which Tarzan +proves his right to ape kingship.</p> +<p>A PRINCESS OF MARS</p> +<p>Forty-three million miles from the earth—a succession +of the weirdest and most astounding adventures in fiction. +John Carter, American, finds himself on the planet Mars, +battling for a beautiful woman, with the Green Men of +Mars, terrible creatures fifteen feet high, mounted on +horses like dragons.</p> +<p>THE GODS OF MARS</p> +<p>Continuing John Carter’s adventures on the Planet Mars, +in which he does battle against the ferocious “plant men,” +creatures whose mighty tails swished their victims to instant +death, and defies Issus, the terrible Goddess of Death, +whom all Mars worships and reveres.</p> +<p>THE WARLORD OF MARS</p> +<p>Old acquaintances, made in the two other stories, reappear, +Tars Tarkas, Tardos Mors and others. There is a +happy ending to the story in the union of the Warlord, +the title conferred upon John Carter, with Dejah Thoris.</p> +<p>THUVIA, MAID OF MARS</p> +<p>The fourth volume of the series. The story centers +around the adventures of Carthoris, the son of John Carter +and Thuvia, daughter of a Martian Emperor.</p> +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em;'>GROSSET & DUNLAP. <span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Publishers</span>, NEW YORK</p> +</div> + +<!-- generated by ppgen.rb version: 2.27 --> +<!-- timestamp: Sat Oct 18 05:15:04 -0400 2008 --> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's 'Firebrand' Trevison, by Charles Alden Seltzer + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 'FIREBRAND' TREVISON *** + +***** This file should be named 26951-h.htm or 26951-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/9/5/26951/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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