CHAPTER XX
AND RIDES AGAIN--IN VAIN
Rosalind's reflections as she rode toward the Bar B convinced her thatthere had been much truth in Corrigan's arraignment of Trevison. Out ofher own knowledge of him, and from his own admission to her on the daythey had ridden to Blakeley's the first time, she adduced evidence of hispredilection for fighting, of his utter disregard for acceptedauthority--when that authority disagreed with his conception of justice;of his lawlessness when his desires were in question. His impetuosity wasnotorious, for it had earned him the sobriquet "Firebrand," which he couldnot have acquired except through the exhibition of those traits that shehad enumerated.
She was disappointed and spiritless when she reached the ranchhouse, andvery tired, physically. Agatha's questions irritated her, and she atesparingly of the food set before her, eager to be alone. In the isolationof 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 toogreat a man to descend to such despicable methods. She dropped off tosleep.
When she awoke the sun had gone down, and her room was cheerless in thesemi-dusk. She got up, washed, combed her hair, and much refreshed, wentdownstairs and ate heartily, Agatha watching her narrowly.
"You are distraught, my dear," ventured her relative. "I don't think thiscountry agrees with you. Has anything happened?"
The girl answered evasively, whereat Agatha compressed her lips.
"Don't you think that a trip East--"
"I shall not go home this summer!" declared Rosalind, vehemently. Andnoting the flash in the girl's eyes, belligerent and defiant; her swellingbreast, the warning brilliance of her eyes, misty with pent-up emotion,Agatha wisely subsided and the meal was finished in a strained silence.
Later, Rosalind went out, alone, upon the porch where, huddled in a bigrocker, she gazed gloomily at the lights of Manti, dim and distant.Something of the turmoil and the tumult of the town in its young strengthand vigor, assailed her, contrasting sharply with the solemn peace of herown surroundings. Life had been a very materialistic problem to her,heretofore. She had lived it according to her environment, a mereonlooker, detached from the scheme of things. Something of the meaning oflife trickled into her consciousness as she sat there watching theflickering lights of the town--something of the meaning of it all--thestruggle of these new residents twanged a hidden chord of sympathy andunderstanding in her. She was able to visualize them as she sat there.Faces flashed before her--strong, stern, eager; the owner of each a-thrillwith his ambition, going forward in the march of progress with definiteaim, planning, plotting, scheming--some of them winning, others losing,but all obsessed with a feverish desire of success. The railroad, thetown, the ranches, the new dam, the people--all were elements of aconflict, waged ceaselessly. She sat erect, her blood tingling. Blows werebeing struck, taken.
"Oh," she cried, sharply; "it's a game! It's the spirit of the nation--tofight, to press onward, to win!" And in that moment she was seized with athrobbing sympathy for Trevison, and filled with a yearning that he mightwin, in spite of Corrigan, Hester Harvey, and all the others--even herfather. For he was a courageous player of this "game." In him was typifiedthe spirit of the nation.
* * * * *
Rosalind might have added something to her thoughts had she known of thepassions that filled Trevison when, while she sat on the porch of the BarB ranchhouse, he mounted Nigger and sent him scurrying through the mellowmoonlight toward Manti. He was playing the "game," with justice as hisgoal. The girl had caught something of the spirit of it all, but she hadneglected to grasp the all-important element of the relations between men,without which laws, rules, and customs become farcical and ridiculous. Hewas determined to have justice. He knew well that Judge Graney's missionto Washington would result in failure unless the deed to his propertycould be recovered, or the original record disclosed. Even then, with aweak and dishonest judge on the bench the issue might be muddled by a massof legal technicalities. The court order permitting Braman to operate amine on his property goaded him to fury.
He stopped at Hanrahan's saloon, finding Lefingwell there and talking withhim for a few minutes. Lefingwell's docile attitude disgusted him--he saidhe had talked the matter over with a number of the other owners, and theyhad expressed themselves as being in favor of awaiting the result of hisappeal. He left Lefingwell, not trusting himself to argue the question ofthe man's attitude, and went down to the station, where he found atelegram awaiting him. It was from Judge Graney:
Coming home. Case sent back to Circuit Court for hearing. Depend on you to get evidence.
Trevison crumpled the paper and shoved it savagely into a pocket. He stoodfor a long time on the station platform, in the dark, glowering at thelights of the town, then started abruptly and made his way into thegambling room of the _Plaza_, where he somberly watched the players. Therattle of chips, the whir of the wheel, the monotonous drone of the farodealer, the hum of voices, some eager, some tense, others exultant orgrumbling, the incessant jostling, irritated him. He went out the frontdoor, stepped down into the street, and walked eastward. Passing an openspace between two buildings he became aware of the figure of a woman, andhe wheeled as she stepped forward and grasped his arm. He recognized herand tried to pass on, but she clung to him.
"Trev!" she said, appealingly; "I want to talk with you. It's veryimportant--really. Just a minute, Trev. Won't you talk _that_ long! Cometo my room--where--"
"Talk fast," he admonished, holding her off,"--and talk here."
She struggled with him, trying to come closer, twisting so that her bodystruck his, and the contact brought a grim laugh out of him. He seized herby the shoulders and held her at arm's length. "Talk from there--it'ssafer. Now, if you've anything important--"
"O Trev--please--" She laughed, almost sobbing, but forced the tears backwhen she saw derision blazing in his eyes.
"I told you it was all over!" He pushed her away and started off, but hehad taken only two steps when she was at his side again.
"I saw you from my window, Trev. I--I knew it was you--I couldn't mistakeyou, anywhere. I followed you--saw you go into the _Plaza_. I came to warnyou. Corrigan has planned to goad you into doing some rash thing so thathe will have an excuse to jail or kill you!"
"Where did you hear that?"
"I--I just heard it. I was in the bank today, and I overheard him talkingto a man--some officer, I think. Be careful, Trev--very careful, won'tyou?"
"Careful as I can," he laughed, lowly. "Thank you." He started on again,and she grasped his arm. "Trev," she pleaded.
"What's the use, Hester?" he said; "it can't be."
"Well, God bless you, anyway, dear," she said chokingly.
He passed on, leaving her in the shadows of the buildings, and walked farout on the plains. Making a circuit to avoid meeting the woman again, heskirted the back yards, stumbling over tin cans and debris in hisprogress. When he got to the shed where he had hitched Nigger he mountedand rode down the railroad tracks toward the cut, where an hour later hewas joined by Clay Levins, who came toward him, riding slowly andcautiously.
* * * * *
Patrick Carson had wooed sleep unsuccessfully. For hours he lay on his cotin the tent, staring out through the flap at the stars. A vague unrest hadseized him. He heard the hilarious din of Manti steadily decrease involume until only intermittent noises reached his ears. But even whencomparative peace came he was still wide awake.
"I'll be gettin' the willies av I lay here much longer widout slape," heconfided to his pillow. "Mebbe a turn down the track wid me dujeen wud dothe thrick." He got up, lighted his pipe and strode off into thesemi-gloom of the railroad track. He went aimlessly, paying littleattention to objects around him. He passed the tents wherein the laborerslay--and smiled as heavy snores smote his ears. "They slape a heap harderthan they worruk, bedad!" he observed, grinning. "Nothin'
c'ud trouble aginney's conscience, annyway," he scoffed. "But, accordin' to that theymust be a heap on me own!" Which observation sent his thoughts toCorrigan. "Begob, there's a man! A domned rogue, if iver they was one!"
He passed the tents, smoking thoughtfully. He paused when he came to thesmall buildings scattered about at quite a distance from the tents, thenleft the tracks and made his way through the deep alkali dust towardthem.
"Whativer wud Corrigan be askin' about the dynamite for? 'How much do yekape av it?' he was askin'. As if it was anny av his business!"
He stopped puffing at his pipe and stood rigid, watching with bulgingeyes, for he saw the door of the dynamite shed move outward severalinches, 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 acold sweat broke out on him and his knees doubled weakly. For any man whowould visit the dynamite shed around midnight, in this stealthy manner,must be in a desperate frame of mind, and Carson's virile imagination drewlurid pictures of a gun duel in which a stray shot penetrated the wall ofthe shed. He shivered at the roar of the explosion that followed; he evendrew a gruesome picture of stretchers and mangled flesh that brought agroan out of him.
But in spite of his mental stress he lunged forward, boldly, though hisbreath wheezed from his lungs in great gasps. His body lagged, but hiswill was indomitable, once he quit looking at the pictures of hisimagination. He was at the door of the shed in a dozen strides.
The lock had been forced; the hasp was hanging, suspended from a twistedstaple. Carson had no pistol--it would have been useless, anyway.
Carson hesitated, vacillating between two courses. Should he return forhelp, or should he secrete himself somewhere and watch? The utterfoolhardiness of attempting the capture of the prowler single handedassailed him, and he decided on retreat. He took one step, and then stoodrigid in his tracks, for a voice filtered thinly through the doorway,hoarse, vibrant:
"Don't forget the fuses."
Carson's lips formed the word: "Trevison!"
Carson's breath came easier; his thoughts became more coherent, hisrecollection vivid; his sympathies leaped like living things. When histhoughts dwelt upon the scene at the butte during Trevison's visit whilethe mining machinery was being erected--the trap that Corrigan hadprepared for the man--a grim smile wreathed his face, for he stronglysuspected what was meant by Trevison's visit to the dynamite shed.
He slipped cautiously around a corner of the shed, making no sound in thedeep dust surrounding it, and stole back the way he had come, tingling.
"Begob, I'll slape now--a little while!"
As Carson vanished down the tracks a head was stuck out through thedoorway of the shed and turned so that its owner could scan hissurroundings.
"All clear," he whispered.
"Get going, then," said another voice, and two men, their faces muffledwith handkerchiefs, bearing something that bulked their pockets oddly,slipped out of the door and fled noiselessly, like gliding shadows, downthe track toward the cut.
* * * * *
Rosalind had been asleep in the rocker. A cool night breeze, laden withthe 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 hadsettled around her.
"Why, it must be nearly midnight!" she said. She got up, yawning, andstepped toward the door, wondering why Agatha had not called her. ButAgatha had retired, resenting the girl's manner.
Almost to the door, Rosalind detected movement in the ghostly semi-lightthat flooded the plains between the porch and the picturesque spot, morethan a mile away, on which Levins' cabin stood. She halted at the door andwatched, 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, butwhen 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 stoodat the animal's head, voicing her astonishment.
"Why, it's Chuck Levins! Why on earth are you riding around at this hourof the night?"
"Sissy's sick. Maw wants you to please come an' see what you can do--if itain't too much trouble."
"Trouble?" The girl laughed. "I should say not! Wait until I saddle myhorse!"
She ran to the porch and stole silently into the house, emerging with asmall medicine case, which she stuck into a pocket of her coat. Oncebefore she had had occasion to use her simple remedies on Sissy--anillness 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 agallop over the plains.
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 ofher remedies, brought results. At half past twelve Sissy was sleepingpeacefully, and Chuck had dozed off, fully dressed, no doubt ready tore-enact his manly and heroic role upon call.
It was not until Rosalind was ready to go that Mrs. Levins apologized forher husband's rudeness to his guest.
"Clay feels awfully bitter against Corrigan. It's because Corrigan isfighting Trevison--and Trevison is Clay's friend--they've been likebrothers. Trevison has done so much for us."
Rosalind glanced around the cabin. She had meant to ask Chuck why hisfather had not come on the midnight errand, but had forebore. "Mr. Levinsisn't here?"
"Clay went away about nine o'clock." The woman did not meet Rosalind'sdirect gaze; she flushed under it and looked downward, twisting herfingers in her apron. Rosalind had noted a strangeness in the woman'smanner when she had entered the cabin, but she had ascribed it to thechild's illness, and had thought nothing more of it. But now it burst uponher with added force, and when she looked up again Rosalind saw there wasan odd, strained light in her eyes--a fear, a dread--a sinister somethingthat she shrank from. Rosalind remembered the killing of Marchmont, andhad a quick divination of impending trouble.
"What is it, Mrs. Levins? What has happened?"
The woman gulped hard, and clenched her hands. Evidently, whatever hertrouble, she had determined to bear it alone, but was now wavering.
"Tell me, Mrs. Levins; perhaps I can help you?"
"You can!" The words burst sobbingly from the woman. "Maybe you canprevent it. But, oh, Miss Rosalind, I wasn't to say anything--Clay told menot to. But I'm so afraid! Clay's so hot-headed, and Trevison is sodaring! I'm afraid they won't stop at anything!"
"But what is it?" demanded Rosalind, catching something of the woman'sexcitement.
"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 uptonight--Clay and Trevison; they're going to dynamite it! I'm afraid therewill be murder done!"
"Why didn't you tell me before?" The girl stood rigid, white, breathless.
"Oh, I ought to," moaned the woman. "But I was afraid you'dtell--Corrigan--somebody--and--and they'd get into trouble with the law!"
"I won't tell--but I'll stop it--if there's time! For your sake. Trevisonis the one to blame."
She inquired about the location of the butte; the shortest trail, and thenran out to her horse. Once in the saddle she drew a deep breath and sentthe animal scampering into the flood of moonlight.
* * * * *
Down toward the cut the two men ran, and when they reached a gully at adistance of several hundred feet from the dynamite shed they came upontheir horses. Mounting, they rode rapidly down the track toward the buttewhere the mining machinery was being erected. They had taken thehandkerchiefs off while they ran, and now Trevison laughed with the heartyabandon of a boy whose mischievous prank has succeeded.
"That was easy. I thought I heard a noise, though, when you backed againstthe door and shoved it open."
"Nobody usually monkeys around a dynamite shed at night," returned Levins."Whew! There's enough of that stuff there to blow Manti to KingdomCome--wh
erever that is."
They rode boldly across the level at the base of the butte, for they hadreconnoitered after meeting on the plains just outside of town, and knewCorrigan had left no one on guard.
"It's a cinch," Levins declared as they dismounted from their horses inthe shelter of a shoulder of the butte, about a hundred yards from wherethe corrugated iron building, nearly complete, loomed somberly on thelevel. "But if they'd ever get evidence that we done it--"
Trevison laughed lowly, with a grim humor that made Levins look sharply athim. "That abandoned pueblo on the creek near your shack is built like afortress, Levins."
"What in hell has this job got to do with that dobie pile?" questioned theother.
"Plenty. Oh, you're curious, now. But I'm going to keep you guessing for aday or two."
"You'll go loco--give you time," scoffed Levins.
"Somebody else will go crazy when this stuff lets go," laughed Trevison,tapping his pockets.
Levins snickered. They trailed the reins over the heads of their horses,and walked swiftly toward the corrugated iron building. Halting in theshadow of it, they held a hurried conference, and then separated, Trevisongoing 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 smallbuilding filled with tools and stores, and to a pile of machinery andsupplies stacked against the wall of the butte. They worked rapidly,elusive as shadows in the deep gloom of the wall of the butte, and whentheir work was completed they met in the full glare of the moonlight nearthe corrugated iron building and whispered again.
* * * * *
Lashing her horse over a strange trail, Rosalind Benham came to a thicketof gnarled fir-balsam and scrub oak that barred her way completely. Shehad ridden hard and her horse breathed heavily during the short time shespent looking about her. Her own breath was coming sharply, sobbing in herthroat, but it was more from excitement than from the hazard and labor ofthe ride, for she had paid little attention to the trail, beyond givingthe horse direction, trusting to the animal's wisdom, accepting the risksas a matter-of-course. It was the imminence of violence that had arousedher, the portent of a lawless deed that might result in tragedy. She hadtold Mrs. Levins that she was doing this thing for _her_ sake, but sheknew better. She _did_ consider the woman, but she realized that herdominating passion was for the grim-faced young man who, discouraged,driven to desperation by the force of circumstances--just or not--wasfighting for what he considered were his rights--the accumulated resultsof 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 inher heart for him because of it.
"To the left of the thicket is a slope," Mrs. Levins had told her. Shestopped 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 thebottom, yawning, deep, dark. She shut her eyes as the horse took it,leaning back to keep from falling over the animal's head, holding tightlyto the pommel of the saddle. They got down, someway, and when she felt thelevel under them she lashed the horse again, and urged him around ashoulder of the precipitous wall that loomed above her, frowning andsomber.
She heard a horse whinny as she flashed past the shoulder, her own beasttearing over the level with great catlike leaps, but she did not lookback, straining her eyes to peer into the darkness along the wall of thebutte for sight of the buildings and machinery.
She saw them soon after passing the shoulder, and exclaimed her thankssharply.
* * * * *
"All set," said one of the shadowy figures near the corrugated ironbuilding. A match flared, was applied to a stick of punk in the hands ofeach man, and again they separated, each running, applying the glowingwand here and there.
Trevison's work took him longest, and when he leaped from the side of amound of supplies Levins was already running back toward the shoulderwhere they had left their horses. They joined, then split apart, theirweapons leaping into their hands, for they heard the rapid drumming ofhorse's hoofs.
"They're coming!" panted Trevison, his jaws setting as he plunged ontoward the shoulder of the butte. "Run low and duck at the flash of theirguns!" he warned Levins.
A wide swoop brought the oncoming horse around the shoulder of the butteinto full view. As the moonlight shone, momentarily, on the rider,Trevison cried out, hoarsely:
"God, it's a woman!"
He leaped, at the words, out of the shadow of the butte into the moonlightof the level, straight into the path of the running horse, which at sightof him slid, reared and came to a halt, snorting and trembling. Trevisonhad recognized the girl; he flung himself at the horse, muttering:"Dynamite!" seized the beast by the bridle, forced its head around despitethe girl's objections and incoherent pleadings--some phrases of which sankhome, but were disregarded.
"Don't!" she cried, fiercely, as he struck the animal with his fist toaccelerate its movements. She was still crying to him, wildly,hysterically, as he got the animal's head around and slapped it sharply onthe hip, his pistol crashing at its heels.
The frightened animal clattered over the back trail, Trevison runningafter it. He reached Nigger, flung himself into the saddle, and racedafter Levins, who was already far down the level, following Rosalind'shorse. At a turn in the butte he came upon them both, their horses halted,the girl berating Levins, the man laughing lowly at her.
"Don't!" she cried to Trevison as he rode up. "Please, Trevison--don't let_that_ happen! It's criminal; it's outlawry!"
"Too late," he said grimly, and rode close to her to grasp the bridle ofher horse. Standing thus, they waited--an age, to the girl, in realityonly a few seconds. Then the deep, solemn silence of the night was splitby a hollow roar, which echoed and re-echoed as though a thousand thunderstorms had centered over their heads. A vivid flash, extended, effulgent,lit the sky, the earth rocked, the canyon walls towering above them seemedto 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; thenanother, with a distinct interval between. Then a breathless, unreal calm,through which distant echoes rumbled; then a dead silence, shattered atlast by a heavy, distant clatter, as though myriad big hailstones werefalling on a pavement. And then another silence--the period of reelingcalm after an earthquake.
"O God!" wailed the girl; "it is horrible!"
"You've got to get out of here--the whole of Manti will be here in a fewminutes! Come on!"
He urged Nigger farther down the canyon, and up a rocky slope that broughtthem to the mesa. The girl was trembling, her breath coming gaspingly. Hefaced her as they came to a halt, pityingly, with a certain doggedresignation in his eyes.
"What brought you here? Who told you we were here?" he asked, gruffly.
"It doesn't matter!" She faced him defiantly. "You have outraged the lawsof your country tonight! I hope you are punished for it!"
He laughed, derisively. "Well, you've seen; you know. Go and inform yourfriends. What I have done I did after long deliberation in which Iconsidered fully the consequences to myself. Levins wasn't concerned init, so you don't need to mention his name. Your ranch is in thatdirection, Miss Benham." He pointed southeastward, Nigger lunged, caughthis stride in two or three jumps, and fled toward the southwest. His riderdid not hear the girl's voice; it was drowned in clatter of hoofs as heand Levins rode.
'Firebrand' Trevison Page 20
