The One-Way Trail: A story of the cattle country

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER XXV

  THE TRAIL OF THE RUSTLERS

  The blackness of night begins to stir. Ahead and above roll vagueshadows, darkening, threatening, in the immensity of their wave-likeshapes. Away behind the stars shine pitifully, for a dim gray light inthe east heralds the coming of day. Slowly the shadows change fromblack to a faint gray, and their rolling becomes more pronounced. Now,with each passing moment, the eastern light grows, and the darkness ofthe west responds; now, too, the shadows show themselves for what theyare. They stir and seethe like the churning of water nearly boiling,under the rising zephyrs of mountain air. They are the dense morningmists, a hazy curtain shutting out the mountain splendor beyond.

  In less than half an hour a wonderful metamorphosis. A tinted fringeof cloud appears on the mists high up, and gives the impression of abeam of sunlight amidst the shadows. But no sun has broken the easternsky-line, nor will it for another half-hour. Yet the light increases,and the swirling mists become a rosy cloudland, deep, ruddy, andexquisitely beautiful. The living fog rolls up, lifting, lifting, andevery moment the picture grows in beauty and in its wonders ofchanging colors.

  Eastward the horizon lights a glowing yellow, shot with featherydashes of ruddy orange; yellow to green, and then the gray of the highstarlit vault. But the stars are dimming, whimpering under their lossof power. Their archenemy of day is approaching, and they must shrinkaway and hide till the fiery path of the monarch of the universecools, and they are left again to their own.

  Doc Crombie was riding at the head of his men when the sun cleared thehorizon. He was staring ahead at the still hazy foot-hills, thehiding-place of the criminal he sought. The light of battle was in hiskeen, quick, luminous eyes. His face was set and stern. There was nomercy in the set of his jaws, in the drawn shaggy brows. He was out torid the country, his country, of a scourge, a pestilence neither henor his fellow townsmen would tolerate.

  The rest of the vigilantes rode behind him, no less stern-faced thantheir leader. With fresh horses they had traveled long and hard thatnight. The journey had been chilly, and the trail rough. Their temperswere at a low ebb, and the condition only added to their determinationto hang the man as soon as he was in their power.

  Doc drew rein suddenly and called Smallbones to his side. The trail,which had now faded into something little better than a cattle track,was leading into the mouth of a narrow valley, bordered on either sideby towering, forest-clad hills. He pointed ahead.

  "That blamed kid said we'd keep right on down this cuttin' to thethird hill on the left," he said. "It's nigh four miles. Then we'dfind a clump of scrub with two lone pines standin' separate. Here we'dget a track of cattle marked plenty. Then we'd follow that for nightwo miles, and we'd drop into the rustlers' hollow."

  "Sure. Don't sound a heap o' trouble," said Smallbones, cheerfully.

  "Say, I'm not figgerin' the trouble. But we've traveled slow. We won'tmake it for an hour an' more, an' we're well past sun-up now. It waswaitin' for the boys to git in. I sort o' wish I'd brought that kidalong."

  They were moving on again at a rapid canter, and Smallbones was ridingat his side. The little man, like the rest, was armed liberally. Butwhereas the others were, for the most part, content with two guns, hehad four. It would not be for lack of desire on his part if somebodydid not die before noon.

  "We couldn't help startin' late," grumbled the little man. "An' as ferthat kid, I'd sure 'a' kep' him with us. Who's to say he ain't handedus a fool game? He's a crank, anyways, an' orter be looked after byState. He guessed he see the rustlers at work, but didn't rec'nize'em. I said right then he was bluffin'. D'you think he wouldn't knowJim Thorpe?"

  "Barkin' that yet, eh!" retorted Doc, sharply. "Say, boy," he went onwith a great contempt, "you're dirty. Jim Thorpe ain't the man we'reafter. Leastways I won't believe it till we git him red-handed. Iwouldn't be out to-night if I thought it was Jim Thorpe. We left himback ther' in the village. He's been out two days chasin' forrustlers. See here, you're mean on him 'bout this thing, becausethings are queer his way. An' you ain't got savvee to see that it's'cos things is queer his way is just the reason he ain't the dogonerustler we're chasin'. You need to think a sight more. Mebbe it hurtssome, but it's a heap good."

  Smallbones shot a swift, sidelong glance at the doctor, in which therewas little enough friendliness. He probably had no friendliness foranybody.

  "I'll hand you a noo buggy to a three-year-old driver he's our man,"he snapped.

  "Done," grinned the sporting doctor promptly. And Smallbones was theleast bit sorry he had laid so generous odds.

  By this time day was in its full early-morning glory, but they werepassing from the dazzling light of the plains into the more shelteredatmosphere of the valley. Everywhere the hills rose about them, oneither side and ahead. The gloomy woods on the vast slopes threw amarked shadow over the prospect. Ahead lay a wide vista of tremendousmountains, with their crowning, snow-bound peaks lost in a world ofgray, fleecy cloud. In the heart of one distant rift lay the steelybed of a glacier, hoary with age and immovable as the very bedrocks ofthe mountains themselves. It sloped away into the distance, and lostitself in the heart of a mighty canyon. Even to these men on theirtrail of death, living, as they did, so adjacent to these mysteriouswilds, the scene was not without its awe.

  The doctor was watching the hills to the left. The first one seemedendless, and he sought a break in it in every shadowed indentationupon its face. He was feeling more anxious than his own wordssuggested. He was a shrewd man who had understood the ring of truth inElia's story at once, but now, in face of this stupendous world, hewas wondering if he had been well advised in leaving the boy behind.He had only done so on the score of his crippled condition being anuisance to them. However, his doubt found no further expression now,and his keen eyes watched for the landmarks in a way that left himlittle chance of missing them.

  At last the first hill came to a distinct end, and the second rosehigher and more rough. Its face was torn and barren, and what timberthere was grew low down almost at its foot. The valley was narrowing,and the rich prairie grass was changing to a lank tangle of weedytufts. There was a suspicion of moisture, too, in the spongy tread.The sun further lost power here, between these narrowing crags, and,although summer was well advanced, the ground still bore the moisttraces of the mountain spring.

  The second hill was passed quickly. It was merely a split of theoriginal mountain, the result, no doubt, of a great volcanic upheavalin the early days of the world. And now, as they rode on, the thirdand last landmark before the two lone pines rapidly slipped awaybehind them.

  The leader bustled his horse. His nervous force was at a great tensionof impatience. He, like the rest of the merciless band, was yearningfor his goal.

  At last the two lone pines loomed up. The eyes of the men brightenedwith eagerness, and their leader felt certain of the faith he hadplaced in Elia's story. Now for the cattle tracks.

  As they came abreast of the low bush, the doctor scattered his men invarious directions to hunt for the trail. Nor did the matter takelong. In less than five minutes two of the ranch hands lit on thetracks simultaneously. A great broad track of hoof-marks deeplyindented in the soft ground stretched away up over the shoulder of thehill. So plain were they that the horsemen were able to follow them ata gallop.

  Away up the hillside they sped. The way was a sharp incline, butsmooth and wide, and free from obstruction. And in ten minutes theywere pausing to breathe their hard-blowing horses on the shoulder ofthe hill, with a wide view and a level track ahead of them.

  The doctor turned to order a careful redistribution. They were nearthe rustlers' hollow now, he believed, and it was his intention toleave nothing to chance. Each man received his instructions for themoment when the hollow should be reached, for Elia had given him fulldetails of its locality, and the possibilities of approach.

  He knew it to be a mere cup, with, apparently, no entrance or exit,except the way they were now approaching it. It had
appeared to Eliato be surrounded by towering hills, densely clad in forests of spruceand pine. He had described the corral as being on the left front fromthe entrance, and that a hut, backing into the flanking woods,occupied the distance on the right.

  The doctor's disposition, in consequence, was simple. The whole partywere to race at a gallop into the hollow. The eight leaders were toride straight for the hut, no matter what fire might be opposed tothem. The six men immediately in their rear were to open out and ridefor the encompassing fringe of woods, lest any of the rustlers shouldmake for escape that way. While the rest of the party were to ride forthe corral, and round up everything that looked like a saddle horse;this last with a view to preventing any chances of ultimate escape.

  These matters settled they continued their journey without loss oftime. For every man of them was sternly eager to come to clinches withtheir quarry. The excited interest was running high as they nearedtheir goal. Then all at once Smallbones suddenly threw the whole partyinto confusion by flinging his horse abruptly upon its haunches, andwildly pointing up the hillside on their immediate left.

  "Gee!" he cried, furiously. "Look at that. There! There! There hegoes!"

  But there was no need for his added explanation. Two hundred yardsaway to their left a horseman was racing headlong in a paralleldirection. It needed no imagination to tell them that he was a scoutcarrying the alarm to his comrades in the hollow beyond.

  But his course was a different one to that which might have beenexpected, for it showed no signs of converging with the track below,and was significant of an unsuspected, possibly secret entrance to thehiding-place.

  But the doctor was a man for emergency. Four of the men carriedrifles, and these he warned to be ready to fire on the fugitive whenhe gave the word.

  Then he led his men at a race down the track.

  * * * * *

  It was an inspiring spot for the imaginative.

  A little cup of perfect emerald green set within the darker border ofthe soft pinewoods. Above, the brilliant sky poured down a dazzlinglight through the funnel-like opening walled by an almost completecircle of hills. But the circle was not quite complete. There werethree distinct, but narrow rifts, and they opened out in three widelyopposite directions. The cup rim was almost equally divided intothree.

  In a spacious corral of raw timbers a number of cattle were movingrestlessly about, vainly searching for something with which to satisfytheir voracious morning appetites. Close beside the corral was a smallbranding forge, its fire smouldering dismally in the chill air. Roundabout this, strewn upon the trampled grass, lay a number of brandingirons, coiled ropes, and all the paraphernalia of a cattle-thief'strade, while beside the corral itself were three telltale saddlehorses, waiting ready for their riders on the first sound of alarm.

  Fifty yards away stood a log hut. It was solid and practical, andcomparatively capacious. A couple of yards away a trench fire wasburning cheerfully. And over it, on an iron hook-stanchion, wassuspended a prairie cooking "billy," from which a steaming aroma, mostappetizing at that hour of the morning, was issuing. Various campingutensils were scattered carelessly about, and a perfect atmosphere ofthe most innocent homeliness prevailed.

  On the sill of the hut door Will Henderson was seated smoking, withhis elbows planted on his knees, and his two hands supporting the bowlof his pipe. His eyes were as calmly contemplative as those of thestolen cattle in the corral.

  To judge by his expression, he had no thought of danger, and hisaffairs were prospering to his keenest satisfaction. His handsomeboyish face had lost all signs of dissipation. His eyes, if sullen,were clear, with the perfect health of his outdoor, mountain life. Norwas there anything of the vicious cattle-rustler about him. His wholeexpression suggested the hard-working youngster of the West, virile,strong, and bursting with the love of life.

  But here, again, appearances were all wrong. Will's mood at thatmoment was dissatisfied, suspicious. He was yearning for theflesh-pots of town, as exampled by the bad whiskey and poker in SilasRocket's saloon.

  Lying on the ground, close against the hut wall, two low-lookinghalf-breeds in gaudy shirts, and wearing their black hair long andunkempt, were filling in the time waiting for breakfast, shooting"crap dice." The only words spoken between them were the filthyepithets and slang they addressed to the dice as they threw them, andthe deep-throated curses as money passed between them.

  No, there was little enough to suggest the traffic in which these menwere engaged. Yet each knew well enough that the shadow of the ropewas hanging over him, and that, at any moment, he might have to face alife and death struggle, which would add the crime of murder to thelist of his transgressions.

  Will slowly removed his pipe from his mouth.

  "Say, ain't that grub ready?" he growled. "Hi, you, Pete, quit thosedice an' see to it. You're 'chores' to-day. We've got to make fortymiles with those damned steers before sun-up to-morrow."

  "Ho, you. Git a look at the grub yourself. Say----"

  He broke off listening. Then he dropped the dice he was preparing tothrow, and a look of alarm leaped to his eyes. "I tink I hear hoofs.Hush!"

  Will was on his feet in a second. The sullen light had vanished fromhis eyes and a startled look of apprehension replaced it.

  "Those plugs cinched up?" he demanded sharply. And mechanically hishand fell on the butt of one of the guns at his waist.

  "Sure," nodded the other half-breed.

  All three listened acutely. Yes, the sound of galloping was plain totheir trained hearing. The mountains carried a tremendous echo.

  Without further words all three men set off at a run for the corral.Will was the fleetest and reached his horse first. In a second he wasin the saddle and sat waiting, and listening for the next alarmingsound.

  "It's Ganly, sure," he muttered, turning one ear in the direction ofthe rapidly approaching sound.

  "Sounds like dogone 'get out,'" cried Pete, sharply. The shadow of therope was very near him at that moment.

  The other half-breed nodded.

  "Hist!" A sudden fear leaped into Will's eyes. "There's others," hecried. "Come on, and bad luck to the hindmost! Joe's safe. He can getclear by the south trail. They can't follow that way. I'm for thenortheast. You best follow. Gee!"

  His final exclamation burst from him at the echoing reports of severalrifles. And now the sound of galloping hoofs was very near. The menwaited no longer. Will set spurs into his horse, and the half-breeds,following him, raced for the northeast exit from the hollow.

  But they had waited just a second or two longer than was safe. For, asthey reached the forest path, and were vanishing beneath the shadowytrees, a fierce yell went up behind them. Pete, looking back over hisshoulder, hissed his alarm to his speeding comrades.

  "Ho, boy, it's Doc Crombie, an' a whole gang. An' dey see us, too,sure. But dey never catch us!"

  Spurs went into their horses' flanks and the race began. For the nooseof the rope was looming large and ominous before their terrifiedeyes.

  A quarter of a mile from the hollow they divided and went their waysin three different directions.