CHAPTER XXII
THE VIGILANCE COMMITTEE
Silas Rocket's saloon was more than usually desirable just now. Therewas so much news of an exciting nature going about. Of course, fertileinvention was brought to bear in its purveyance, but that only made itthe more exciting.
On the morning that brought Jim Thorpe into Barnriff many of the menof the village were partaking of a general hash up of the overnightdish of news, to which was added the delectable condiment of Jim'ssudden advent in their midst. From the windows of the saloon hismovements were closely watched, as, also, were they from many of thevillage houses. Speculation was rife. Curious eyes and bitter thoughtswere in full play, while his meeting with Eve Henderson wassufficiently significant to the scandalous minds of the more virtuouswomen and the coarser men.
The saloon rang with a discordant blending of curses aimed at the headof the unconscious visitor, and ribald jests at the expense of theabsent gold discoverer.
For the moment Anthony Smallbones had the floor. It was a position henever failed to enjoy. He loved publicity. And, in his secret mind, hefirmly believed that, but for the presence of Doc Crombie in thevillage, he would undoubtedly have held place and power, and have beendictating the destiny of the village. Thus it was that, just now, aconsiderable measure of his spleen was aimed at the absent doctor.
"It's clear as day. That's sure. Doc Crombie's hangin' back," he wassaying, in his curiously mean, high-pitched voice. "It ain't for me tosay he ain't got grit. No, folks. But it's easy to guess for why hehangs back." He blinked truculently into the faces gathered about him,mutely daring anybody else to state that reason. But few cared todiscuss the redoubtable doctor, so he was permitted to continue."Doc's a sight too friendly disposed toward sech a skunk as JimThorpe. We've clear enough proof that feller is a cattle-rustler.We've the evidence of our eyes, sure. There's the cattle; ther's hisbrand--and--running with his own stock, hidden away up in thefoot-hills. Do we need more? Psha! No. At least no one with anysavvee. I've see fellers strung up on less evidence than that, an'I've bin on the----"
"Rope?" inquired Gay, sarcastically.
"Not the rope, mister. Not the rope, but the committee as condemned'em," retorted Smallbones, angrily.
"Wuss!" exclaimed the baker with profound contempt.
"Eh?" snarled the little man with an evil upward glance at the other.
"Jest this," cried Wilkes with heat. "The feller that hangs his fellerman on slim evidence is a lousy, yaller skunk. Say he'd orter hev hisbelly tarred, an' a sky-rocket turned loose in his vitals. I sez righthere the evidence against Jim ain't 'nuff to condemn a gopher. It'spositive ridiculous. Wot needs provin' is, who set that brand onMcLagan's cattle? That's the question I'm astin'."
"Psha! You make me sick!" cried Smallbones, his ferret-eyes dancingwith rage. "Put your question. An' when you put it, who's got to getbusy answerin'? I tell you it's up to Jim Thorpe to prove he didn'tbrand 'em. If he can't do that satisfact'ry, then he's got to swing."
But he had a divided audience. Gay shook his head, and two othersaudibly disagreed with his methods. But, in spite of this, the weightof opinion against Jim might easily have been carried had not thecarpenter suddenly swept the last chance clear from under Smallbones'feet.
"Wal," cried the furious Jake, with such swift heat that even thosewho knew him best were staggered, "I'd sooner call a cattle-rustlerfriend than claim friendship, with such a low-down bum as AnthonySmallbones. Say, you scrap-iron niggler," he cried, advancingthreateningly upon his victim. "I'll tell you something that ain'tlikely leaked in that sieve head o' yours. Cattle-rustlers is mostlymen. Mebbe they're low-down, murderin' pirates, but they're men--as usfolks understands men. They ain't allus skunkin' behind Bible trac's'cos they're scairt to git out in the open. They're allus ready to putup a gamble, with their lives for the pot. An' when they gits it Iguess they're sure ready to take their med'cine wi'out squealin'.Which needs grit an' nerve. Two things I don't guess AnthonySmallbones has ever heerd tell of outside a dime fiction. No, sir, Iguess you got a foul, psalm-singin' tongue, but you ain't got no grit.Say," he added witheringly, "I'd hate to see such a miser'blespectacle as you goin' to a man's death. I'd git sick feelin' sore Ibelonged to the human race. Nope, you couldn't never be a man. Say,you ain't even a--louse."
The laugh that followed ruined Smallbones' last chance of influencingthe public mind. He spluttered and shouted furiously, but no one wouldlisten. And, in the midst of his discomfiture, a diversion was createdby the entrance of a small man with a round, cheery face and bad feet.He was a freighter. He walked to the bar, called for a drink, andinquired where Mrs. Henderson lived. It was his inquiry that made himthe centre of interest at once.
"Mrs. Henderson?" said Silas, as he set the whiskey before hiscustomer. "Guess that's her shanty yonder." And he pointed through thewindow nearest him. "Freight?" he inquired casually, after the littleman had taken his bearings.
"Sure. Harmonium."
"Eh?"
Rocket's astonishment was reflected in all the faces now crowdinground.
"Yep." Then the freighter perceived the interest he had created, andpromptly became expansive. "From the AEolian Musical Corporation,Highfield, Californy. To order of William Henderson, shipped to wifeof same, Barnriff, Montana. Kind o' musical around these parts?"
"Wal, we're comin' on--comin' on nicely," observed Silas, winking athis friends gathered round.
Gay nodded, and proceeded to support him.
"Y'see, most of our leddies has got higher than 'cordions an' sechthings. Though I 'lows a concertina takes a beatin'. Still, educationhas got loose on Barnriff, an' I heerd tell as ther's some o' thefolks yearnin' fer piannys. I did hear one of our leadin' citizens,Mr. Anthony Smallbones, was about to finance a brass band layout."
"Ther' ain't nuthin' to beat a slap-up band," agreed the freighterpolitely. "But these yer harmoniums, they're kind o' cussed, some.Guess my ma had one some years back, but she traded it off fer a newcook-stove, with a line o' Chicago bacon thrown in. I won't say butshe had the best o' the deal, too. Y'see that ther' harmonium had itsdrawbacks. You never could gamble if it had a cold in the head or amortal pain in its vitals. It wus kind o' passionate in some of itskeys, and wep' an' sniveled like a spanked kid in others. Then itwould yep like a hound if you happened to push the wrong button, an'groan to beat the band if you didn't. Nope. They're cur'us things ifthey ain't treat right, an' I guess my ma hadn't got the knack o'pullin' them bolts right. Y'see she'd been trained hoein' kebbeges ona farm in her early years, an' I guess ther' ain't nothin' morecalc'lated to fix a woman queer fer the doin's o' perlite sassietythan hoein' kebbeges. Guess I'll get right on."
He paid for his drink, and, followed by the whole company, hobbled outto his wagon. He was a queer figure, but, at the moment, his defectswere forgotten in the interest created by his mission to Barnriff.
What prosperity the possession of a harmonium suggested to those menmight have been judged by the attitude they took up the moment theywere outside. They crowded round the wagon and gazed at thebaize-covered instrument, caged within its protecting crate. Theyreached out and felt it through the baize; they peeked in through thegaping covering, and a hushed awe prevailed, until, with a cheerywave of the hand, the teamster drove off in the direction of Eve'shouse.
Then the chorus of comment broke out.
"Gee!" exclaimed Wilkes. "A--a harmonium!" Then, overpowered by hisemotion, he remained silent.
"Psha! Makes me sick!" cried Smallbones. "My sister in Iowa has got afiddle; an' I know she plays five toons on it--I've heerd her. She'sgot a mouth organ, too, an' a musical-box--electric! One 'ud thinknobody had got nuthin' but Will Henderson." He strode back to the barin dudgeon, filled to the brim with malicious envy.
Others took quite a different tone.
"It's walnut," said Restless, his professional instincts fully alert.
"Yep," agreed Gay, "burr!"
"An' it's got pipes," cried Rust, impressively.
"I see 'em sure,stickin' up under its wrappin'."
"Most likely imitation," suggested Gay, with commercial wisdom. "Y'seethem things needs fakin' up to please the eye. If they please the eye,they ain't like to hit the ear-drums so bad. Wimmin is cur'us thataways."
"Mebbe," agreed Rust, bowing to the butcher's superior knowledge. "ButI guess it must 'a' cost a heap o' dollars. Say, Will must 'a' got itrich. I'd like to savvee wher'," he added, with a sigh, as theythoughtfully returned to the bar.
But nobody paid any attention to the blacksmith's regrets. They wereall too busy with their own. There was not a man amongst them but hadbeen duly impressed by the arrival of the harmonium. Gay, who wasprosperous, felt that a musical instrument was not altogether beyondhis means. In fact, then and there he got the idea of his wifelearning to play a couple of funeral hymns, so he'd be able to chargemore for interments, and, at the same time, make them more artistic.
Restless, too, was mildly envious. But being a carpenter, he got nofurther in his admiration of Will's wealth than the fact that he coulddecorate his home with burr walnut. He had always believed he had donewell for himself in possessing a second-hand mahogany bureau, and anash bedstead, but, after all, these were mere necessities, and theirglory faded before burr walnut.
Rust, being a mere blacksmith, considered the wood but little, whilethe pipes fairly dazzled him. Henderson with a pipe organ! That wasthe wonder. He had only the vaguest notion of the cost, but, somewherein the back of his head, he had a shadowy idea that such things raninto thousands of dollars.
A sort of depression crowded down the bar-room after the arrival ofthe harmonium. Nobody seemed inclined to drink, and talk was somehowimpossible. Nor was it until Smallbones suddenly started, andgleefully pointed at the window, and informed the company that JimThorpe and Eve had parted at last at the gate of her cabbage patch,and that he was coming across to the saloon, that the gloom vanished,and a rapidly rising excitement took its place. All eyes were at onceturned upon the window, and Smallbones again tasted the sweets ofpublic prominence.
"Say," he cried, "he's comin' right here. The nerve of it. I 'lowsit's up to us to get busy. I say he's a cattle-thief, an'----"
But Jake turned on him furiously.
"Shut your ugly face," he cried, "or--or I'll break it."
The baker's threat was effective. Smallbones relapsed into moodysilence, his beady eyes watching with the others the coming of thehorseman. As Jim drew near they backed from the window. But they lostnothing of his movements. They watched him hitch his horse to thetying-post. They watched him thoughtfully loosen his cinchas. They sawthat he had a roll of blankets at the cantle of his saddle, andsaddle-bags at its sides. They saw, also, that he was armed liberally.A pair of guns on his saddle, and one attached to the cartridge beltabout his hips. Each mind was speculating, and each mind was puzzledat the man's apparent unconcern.
A moment later the swing doors parted, and Jim strode in. His darkeyes flashed a swift glance about the dingy interior. He noted thefamiliar faces, and very evident attitudes of unconcern. He knew atonce that his coming had been witnessed, and that, in all probability,he had been well discussed. He was in no mood to mince matters, andintended to test the public feeling at once. With a cheery "Howdy,"which included everybody, he walked to the bar.
"Guess we'll all drink, Silas," he said cheerily, and laid afive-dollar bill on the counter.
But, for once in his life, the saloon-keeper felt it would benecessary to ask his customers what they would drink. This he did,while Jim turned to Jake and the butcher, who happened to be standingnearest to him.
"I've quit the 'AZ's,'" he said, with a light laugh. "Or p'r'aps I'dbest say McLagan's quit me. Say, I'm out on the war-path, chasingcattle-rustlers," he went on, with a smile. "That bunch of cattlecoming in with my brand on 'em has set my name stinking some with Mac,and I guess it's up to me to--disinfect it. Eh?"
His final ejaculation was made at Rocket. There were three glasses setout on the counter, and the saloon-keeper was handing him his change.
"Three drinks," that worthy was explaining. "The rest o' the boysdon't guess they're thirsty."
Jim stiffened his back, and coldly glanced over the faces about him.He counted ten men, without including himself and Rocket. Of these,only two, Jake and Gay, had accepted his invitation. Suddenly his eyesrested on the triumphant face of Smallbones. Without a word he strodeacross the room, and his hand fell heavily on the man's quakingshoulder. In a moment he had dragged him to the centre of the room.
"Guess you'll do, Smallbones," he began, as he released the man's coatcollar. "No, don't move. You're going to stand right there and hand meout the story I see dodging behind those wicked eyes of yours. You'vegot it there, good and plenty, back of them, so get going, and--we'llall listen. Whatever I've got to say you'll get after."
Smallbones' eyes snapped fire. He was furious at the rough handling,and he longed more than ever to hurt this man.
"You're a strong man, an bein' strong, you're mighty free with yourhands," he snarled. "But you're up agin it. Up agin it bad, JimThorpe." His face lit with a grin of venom. "Say, you don't need nostory from me. You'll get it plenty from--everywhere! McLagan's quityou, because---- Wal, I'm a law-abidin' citizen, an' don't figger todrink with folks suspected of--cattle-rustlin'."
Smallbones' challenge held the whole room silent. Jake, watching andlistening, was astonished at the man's moral courage. But the chiefinterest was in the ex-ranch-foreman. What would he do?
The question was swiftly answered. Jim's head went up, and a lightlaugh prefaced his words.
"So I'm up against it?" he said calmly. Then he gazed contemptuouslyround on those who had rejected his hospitality. "So that's why allyou fellows refused to drink with me. Well, it's a nasty pill, andit's likely to hand me indigestion." Then he deliberately turned hisback on Smallbones and glanced at the counter. The drinks he hadbought were still there. He looked up with a frank smile into thefaces of the two men who were willing to drink with him. "Gentlemen,"he said, "it seems to me there are just two drinks between me and--therope. Will you honor a suspected man by clinking glasses with him?"
He raised his own glass to them, and Jake and Gay nearly fell overeach other in their frantic efforts to express their willingness, andtheir disapproval of Smallbones. They clumsily clinked their glasses,and drank to the last drop. Then, in silence, they set their glassesdown.
"Thanks, Jake. Thanks, Gay," said Jim, after a moment. Then he turnedto the saloon-keeper. "I'm sorry the order's so small," he said, witha laugh.
"You can make it one bigger," grinned Silas, and Promptly held out hishand.
The two men gripped.
"Thanks," murmured Jim. And at the same instant Smallbones' offensivevoice broke in.
"A real elegant scene," he sneered. "Most touchin'. Sort o' mothers'meetin'." But in a second his tone changed to a furious rasp. "Butdon't you mistake, Jim Thorpe; three drinks ain't buyin' you clear. Ifyou're the honest man you say, you'll hev to prove it. There's thecattle with your brand on 'em. Whose hand set it on? Who keeps thatbrand? Who runs his stock in hidin' up in the hills? Them's thequestions we're all astin', an' it's up to you to answer 'em right. Efyou don't, then----" he finished with a suggestive motion of hanging.
But Jim had had enough. A moment of blind fury seized upon him, and heswung round on his accuser. The heavy rawhide quirt hanging on hiswrist was raised aloft threateningly, and his eyes were the eyes of aman at the limit of endurance.
"Another word from you and I'll flay you alive with this quirt," hecried. "You've had your say, and now, I guess, I'll have mine. Youknow just as much as all the rest of the folk here; no more and noless. No more and no less than I do. When you or anybody else getsdefinite proof that I'm a cattle-thief you are at liberty to talk,but, until then, if I hear you, or of you, publicly charging me withcattle stealing, I'll smash you, if I swing for it. Get right out,now. Get right out, quick!"
Smallbones stood for a moment gla
ring at the threatening man. Histeeth were bared in a tigerish grin. He was the picture of ferocity,but, as Jim took a step toward him, his dark face white with passion,he dropped back and finally made for the door.
But the turn of fortune's wheel was still against Jim. ForSmallbones, the situation was saved by the advent of Doc Crombie. Thatredoubtable man pushed his way in through the swing doors and promptlyhailed him back.
"Hold on, Smallbones," he cried, "I've a word for you fellows. Howmany are there here?" He glanced round the bar swiftly, and finallyhis eyes rested on Jim Thorpe.
"Ah!" He paused, while he mentally estimated the prevailing feeling.Then he addressed himself to Silas behind the bar. "You'll help theboys to drinks," he said. Then, pointedly, "All of 'em." After that,he turned to Jim. "Jest in from the 'AZ's'?" he inquired casually.
"McLagan's quit me on account of those cattle," Jim admitted,frankly.
"Those wi' your brand on?"
"Sure."
Doc smiled. He could not well have failed to become the leader of thisvillage. Power was written in every line of his hard, shrewd face.
The moment the drinks had been served and heartily consumed, headdressed himself to the company generally. And, at his first words,Smallbones flashed a wicked look of triumph into the face of JimThorpe.
"It's this cattle-rustlin'," he said, coming to the point at once."It's got to quit, an' it's right up to us to see it does quit. Iain't come here like a politician, nor a sky-pilot to talk the rightsan' wrongs of things. It's not in my line ladlin' out psalms an'things. Ther's folks paid fer that sort o' hogwash. It's jest beendecided to run a gang o' vigilantes over this district, an' everyfeller called upon's expected to roll up prompt. I've been around an'located twelve of the boys from the ranges. I want eight more. With meit'll make twenty-one. Smallbones," he proceeded, turning on thehardware merchant with an authority that would not be denied, "you'llmake one. You two fellers, Jake, an' you, carpenter--that's three.You, Rust--that's four. Long Pete an' you, Sam Purdy, an' CrookWilson; you three ain't doin' a heap hangin' around this bumcanteen--that's seven." His eyes suddenly sought Jim's, and a coldcommand fell upon his victim even before his words came. "Guess, underthe circ's," he remarked pointedly, "you'd best make the eighth."
But Jim shook his head. A light of determination, as keen as thedoctor's own, shone in the smiling eyes that confronted the man ofauthority.
"Not for mine, Doc," he said deliberately. "Not on your life. Here, Idon't want any mistake," he hastened on, as he watched the anger leapinto the other's face, and beheld the sparkle of malice lighting thebeady eyes of Smallbones. "Just listen to me. If you'll take a lookaround you'll see a number of fellers, mostly good fellers, more thanhalf of 'em believing me to be the rustler they're all looking for.Well, for one thing you can't put me on a vigilance committee withfolks suspecting me. It isn't fair either way, to me or them. Then, inthe second place, I've got a say. I tell you, Doc, straight up anddown, as man to man, I don't hunt with hounds that are snapping at myshoulders in the run. I'm either a rustler or I'm not. I choose to sayI'm not. That being so I guess I'm the most interested in runningthese gophers, who are, to their holes. Well, that's what I'm going todo. But I'm going to do it in my own way, and not under any man'scommand. I've got a few dollars by me and so long as they last, and myhorse lasts out, I'm going to get busy. You're a man of intelligence,so I guess you'll see my point. Anyway, I hunt alone."
It was a lucky thing for Jim Thorpe that he was dealing with a reallystrong man, and a fearless one. One weak spot in the character of DocCrombie, one trifling pettiness, which could have taken umbrage at thedefiance of his authority, one atom of small-mindedness, whereby hecould have been influenced by the curious evidence against this man,and the yelping hounds of Barnriff would have been let loose, and setraging at his heels. As it was, Doc Crombie, whatever may have beenhis faults, was before all things a man.
He turned from Jim with a shrug.
"Plain speakin's good med'cine," he said, glancing coldly over hisshoulder. "You've spoke a heap plain. So will I. Hit your own trail,boy. But remember, this dogone rustler's got to be rounded up andfinished off as neat as a rawhide rope'll do it. If he ain'tfound--wal, we're goin' to clear Barnriff of this trouble anyways. Idon't guess you need a heap of extry-ordinary understandin' to get mymeaning. You're gettin' a big chanct--why, take it. Gay," he said,turning abruptly to the butcher, "I guess you'll make the tally of thecommittee. We start out to-night."
The One-Way Trail: A story of the cattle country Page 24
