CHAPTER XLI
TERROR
Toward five o'clock, her bread being baked, Faith put in the oven a pancontaining two young mallards and a blue grouse, all overlaid withstrips of bacon. She made her vegetables ready and set the table. Nowand then she glanced from the window expectantly, but saw nothing ofAngus. When dusk came she lighted the lamps.
Finally she ate her own supper alone, slightly annoyed. Angus hadpromised to be back in time. Something must have detained him. She puthis meal in the warming oven, sat down and tried to read. But somehowthe book failed to interest. She had recourse to the banjo, but thatlittle sister of the lonesome failed of charm. The wind rose until itwas blowing a gale. Once she went to the door and looked out. Thedarkness seemed intense.
Ten o'clock came. What on earth was keeping Angus? She began to worry,which she told herself was absurd. Resolutely she sat down and picked upa book. She would not allow herself to be stampeded by nerves. She madeup her mind to sit on that couch before the fire until her husbandreturned.
She found it hard to keep this resolution. She craved movement. Shewanted a drink, an apple, a different book--anything, to get up and movearound. But she resisted these assaults on her will.
Her thoughts reverted to the foolery of the preceding night. She hadpretended to be a cave woman with her man. Now she was alone. Whathappened to those ancient women whose men went out never to return? Howlong did they feed the fire o' nights, and listen alone to the noises ofthe dark? The fancy proved more attractive than the book. She leanedback comfortably, enjoying the play of her imagination, constructing thelife story of an unknown sister in the dawn of the world and presently,in proof that there was nothing seriously wrong with her nerves, shefell asleep before the fire.
She woke with a start. There were footsteps in the house. Angus, then,had come back. She smiled, contented. She would scold him--in fun. Butas she listened the footsteps seemed to differ from his firm, lighttread. The handle of the door turned and a man who was not Angus stoodframed in the opening--a man who wore a handkerchief across his face,whose eyes, invisible beneath the shadow of a broad hatbrim, peered ather through holes cut in the fabric.
Though a horrible, sinking feeling of nervousness assailed her, she didnot cry out. She regarded the intruder in silence. As he came into theroom she stared at him--at his leather chaps, at the gun in its holster,at his hands, taking in every little detail. He spoke.
"Don't be scared," he said in deep tones which she judged wereunnatural. "You won't be hurt."
"I'm not afraid," she replied, and was surprised to find her voice quitesteady. "What do you want?"
"I want those deeds."
He could mean only the deeds Turkey had given her. Then he must be anemissary of Braden. Obviously it was not Braden himself. But how couldhe know who had the deeds?
"Now, listen," the masked man added as she did not reply: "I know youhave them. I know they are here in this house. You'll save trouble byhanding them over."
"I'll do nothing of the sort," Faith told him; "and you had better gobefore my husband comes home."
The masked man laughed. "Your husband won't be home for a while. If youwon't give them to me I'll find them myself."
"Very well," Faith replied. "But don't break anything, please."
"You've got nerve, all right," the man conceded. As he spoke another mansimilarly masked entered, standing by the door. The first turned to himand they held a whispered conversation. "Well, we'll look for 'em," thefirst man announced. "If you're sensible you'll just sit quiet."
Faith sat quietly while they took a leisurely survey of the room. Herwriting desk in the corner was their first objective point. Suddenly itcame to her that their manner of procedure was too leisurely. They didnot fear interruption. She remembered the first man's words when she hadspoken of her husband. Was his continued absence in some way due tothem? She felt a sickening apprehension, a feeling of desertion, ofhelplessness.
She began to study the intruders, to find if she could note something bywhich to identify them. There was nothing recognizable about the first.The second was a big man. His face was quite invisible. A riding slickerconcealed most of his figure. She had not heard his voice. And yet shefound something elusively familiar in his presence.
From her bedroom she heard the sounds of drawers pulled out and closedand the slam of a trunk lid. She would have been amused at thehopelessness of their search but for her growing anxiety for herhusband. Even if he did come, they were armed and he was not. The searchprogressed from one room to another, and as it did so it became moreimpatient. At last they gave it up, and the first man advanced to her.
"You have those papers pretty well cached," he admitted. "Where arethey?"
"I thought you were going to find them."
"You can cut that out. Now you're going to tell us where they are."
"Am I?"
"That's what I said. Now see here; I'm going to give it to you straight:Your husband isn't going to come home till we turn him loose. He told usyou had those deeds. When you give 'em up you'll see him, and notbefore."
"My husband never told you anything of the sort," Faith said. "You'remerely bluffing."
"Bluffing or not, we're going to get what we came for. You're alone.There isn't a living soul in miles. We don't want to hurt you or yourhusband, but if you've got any sense you'll give up, and save troublefor everybody."
"What you want isn't here," Faith told him.
"Where are those deeds? Who has them?"
"I won't tell you."
"We know they are here. Riley hasn't got them, because we've gonethrough his office. And your husband hasn't got them, because we've gonethrough _him_. So you have them. You can't bluff us. No more nonsense,now!" He caught her wrist with one hand, while with the other he thrustthe muzzle of his gun in her face. "Hand them over," he snarledferociously, "or say your prayers!"
But in spite of the fact that the ring of steel almost touched herforehead Faith was not convinced. It was melodrama, tawdry, poor. Theman was a poor actor. She laughed in his face.
"Take care!" she said, "you are hurting my wrist."
For a moment the muzzle touched her forehead and the grip tightened.Then he flung her wrist aside.
"What the hell can you do with a woman, anyway?" he demanded in disgust.But his companion sprang forward. "You let her bluff you," he growledhoarsely, "but she won't bluff me!" He caught Faith by the throat."Where are they?" he demanded. "Talk quick, or I'll choke you!" Hisfingers compressed her throat till she gasped. The strong taint ofalcohol met her nostrils.
"No, damn it!" the first man cried, in protest; but his companion cursedhim, swinging Faith between them.
"You keep out of this!" he cried savagely. "I'll make her talk inside aminute!" And his grip shut down.
This time there was no bluff. Faith realized the primitive savagery ofthe hands that were laid on her. With the knowledge she fought wildly,like a cornered animal. For a moment the other man was forgotten. Angerand fear lent her strength. She caught at the handkerchief which hid herassailant's face, and as he loosed one hand to catch her wrist, shebroke away, tearing the cloth with her. She reeled back, gasping,disheveled, her dress torn at the throat, her hair bursting fromconfining pins falling on her shoulders.
"Blake!" she cried hoarsely. "Blake French!"
Stripped of his disguise, Blake French faced her, lowering,ferocious--but suddenly afraid.
"I wasn't going to hurt you," he said.
Her hands went to her throat.
"To hurt me? You liar! You utter brute! Is that what you will tell myhusband?"
Blake's face contorted. He took a step forward.
"You'll tell him, will you?"
"Of course I will!" Faith cried.
Blake French knew that her recognition was disastrous. The whole plan,including the blackmail of Braden, had depended upon recovering thedeeds without recognition. But now the matter of the deeds faded intonothingness. His innate brutali
ty had swept him away, carried him toofar. Apart from the law he knew the penalty that Angus Mackay wouldexact from the man who laid hands on his wife. But Angus was lyingroped, helpless, a mile away. He was afraid, desperate. There must besilence; at all costs, silence.
He advanced. Faith sprang back, putting the table between them. ButGarland suddenly interposed. Like Blake, he saw the collapse of theirplans, but he accepted the failure.
"No more of that!" he said. "Let her alone!"
Blake turned on him in fury.
"You damned fool!" he snarled. "We've got to fix her, and Mackay, too,now!"
"You're crazy!" Garland cried. "Do you want to hang?"
"And do you want Mackay to kill you?" Blake retorted. He sprang forward,caught the table and thrust it aside. But Garland caught his arm.
"Let her alone, I tell you!" he repeated. "Come on; it's all off. Let'sget out of here!"
Blake with a swift jerk ripped the concealing handkerchief fromGarland's face. "Let her take a look at you, too!" he cried and flinginghim aside drew his gun and turned on Faith.
Faith, facing him helpless, found herself looking into the eyes ofMurder. It was useless to run. She stood and waited, white to the lips,but looking him in the face. The gun rose. Garland, recovering, sprangat Blake. But at that instant the door went wide with the crash of ashattered catch, and into the room bounded Angus Mackay.
He was hatless, wet, plastered with mud. His eyes blazed in his swarthyface. At a glance they took in the disorder, the overturned table; Faithstanding at bay, Blake French with drawn gun, Garland suddenly arrestedin his spring. Then in grim, deadly silence he launched himself atBlake.
Faith saw the gun shift and swing. Its report in the confines of theroom was shattering. Garland struck Blake's arm as the weapon blazed asecond time; but Angus staggered and pitched forward at Blake's feet.
Forgetful of all else Faith sprang forward and knelt beside him, liftinghis head. Blood oozed horribly from his dark hair. She turned her face,white, anguished, to his slayer. Above her, Garland in panic cursedBlake.
"Now you've done it!" he said between oaths. "You've killed him."
"She--she'll tell!" Blake chattered with quivering lips. "We've gotto--" He raised his gun with twitching hand. Garland caught it. Hethrust his own weapon in Blake's face.
"If you try that I'll blow your head off!" he declared. With a quickwrench he twisted the weapon from Blake, and menacing him with his gunshoved him toward the door. "We've got to make a get-away. Get thehorses, quick!" At the door he hesitated. Returning he knelt besideFaith.
"Let me see a minute," he said. Her senses were too dulled to shrinkfrom him. Suddenly he drew a quick breath, almost a gasp of relief. "Heisn't dead."
"Not dead?" Faith cried.
"Not by a long ways. Just creased along the scalp. I guess I hit the gunjust in time, and I'm mighty near as glad as you are. He'll be allright. I just want to say, before I pull out, that I never meant to domore than scare you. Maybe you think I'm lying, and I don't blame you.But I'm not."
"I believe you," Faith said. In her sudden relief lesser things did notmatter. "I don't know what to do. Stay and help me, please."
"I guess you don't understand," he returned, shaking his head. "Thiswould mean about twenty years apiece for me and Blake if we're caught.And then"--he nodded at Angus--"when he comes around there won't be roomenough in this country for him and us."
"But I'll tell him you helped me--how you struck Blake's arm--andafterward!"
"You're one white girl," Garland said with emphasis, "but I'm in toodeep. You can tell him if you like, and you can tell him I'm pullingout. I never meant to do more than bluff you. Good-by."
He was gone. Faith got water, towels, and bathed Angus' head. Touchingthe wound with tender fingers she found that as Garland had said it wasapparently in the scalp merely. Presently Angus sighed, stirred,muttered and opened his eyes.
"Hello!" he said, and as recollection came to him he sat up suddenly,staring around. "Where are they?" he demanded.
"They are gone, dear. It's all right. Don't try to get up."
But he shook his head impatiently and rose to his feet.
"What happened? Blake French and Garland! What were they doing? What'sthe matter with your hair? Your dress is torn." A tremendous expletiveburst from him. "What are those marks on your throat?"
Her hand fluttered upward involuntarily. "Nothing. Never mind now.Please----"
"They laid hands on you!" he cried. "On _you_! And I wasn't here! Tellme. No, no, I'm all right. Tell me!"
She told him, seeing his face set and grow rigid. He groaned.
"They stretched a rope between two trees, and I rode into it. The fallalmost knocked me out, and they finished the job. They roped me up. Ittook me a long time to get loose." He held out his wrists, stripped ofskin to the raw flesh. "I was afraid of some devil's work, but----" Hebroke off, shaking his head, and put his hand to his left side. When heremoved it his finger tips were stained.
"Oh, you are hurt--twice!" Faith cried.
"I don't think this is much." He stripped himself to the waist. Thelamplight revealed a red furrow lying along his ribs, but though it bledfreely the skin was little more than broken. To Faith's pleading to liedown he shook his head. On his instructions she brought an old sheetwhich he ripped into a long bandage. "That was Blake's first shot," hesaid as he replaced his garments. "He'll have to do better shooting thanthat--next time."
"Next time?" she exclaimed.
He did not reply, but going into the hall came back with a rifle in onehand and his gun belt in the other.
"Old girl, please rustle me some grub--cold meat and bread--and put itin an old sugar sack."
"But Angus, what are you going to do?"
"To do? I am going after Blake French and Garland, of course."
"But you are hurt. You are not fit--"
"I am not hurt at all--to speak of. I have a long account to settle withBlake French and Garland--yes, and with the whole bunch of thoseFrenches and Braden as well--and now I am going to clean it up."
"But if I forgive--"
"Forgive!" he interrupted bitterly. "It doesn't matter to me what youforgive. You are a woman. But I am a man and you are my wife, and I cansee the marks of Blake French's fingers on your flesh. As surely as Godlives I will kill him, or he will kill me. About Garland I don'tknow--yet."
His will was set, hardened; his mood black, deadly. Immediately he setabout his simple preparations. He knew that Blake and Garland would notwait his coming. In all probability they would break for the hills,where he must be prepared to follow them. He had found Chief, who hadcome home of his own accord, waiting by the gate. A pack pony wouldhamper his movements. He shoved his food in a sack, rolled a singleblanket in a tarp, got out a heavy sweater and changed his boots forshoe-packs. Then he held out his arms to Faith. She clung to him.
"Don't go!" she pleaded. "If anything should happen--now--"
"I must go," he said. "If I didn't I should be less than a man. Nothingwill happen--to me. To-morrow--or it's to-day now, I guess--go to theranch and stay there till I get back."
He kissed her gently and put her from him. She followed him to the doorand saw him mount. He waved his hand and vanished in the blackness ofthe night.
Faith returned to the living-room and sank into a chair. She was shaken,bone-tired, sick at heart. A lifetime seemed to have passed since sheand Angus had sat there the night before, indulging in make-believeplaying at tragedy. Now tragedy had invaded their lives. It was like anevil dream.
How long she sat there she never knew. Nor did she know how she becameaware that she was not alone. She turned her head to see a figurestanding behind her. Her shaken nerves forced a cry from her lips.
It was the old Indian, Paul Sam. There was a rifle under his arm, andaround his middle was a belt from which in a beaded scabbard hung along, broad-bladed knife. He was hatless, and his long, gray hair hungin two braids in front of his shoulders.
>
"All right," he said. "You not be scared. Where him Angus?"
"He isn't here."
The old Indian's eyes roved around the room, resting on the signs ofdisorder. "Iktah mamook?" he queried.
"I don't understand."
"What you mamook? What you do?" He threw up his head, his nostrilstwitching like a dog's. "Smell um smoke," he said. "Somebody shoot. Yousee um Blake French?"
"He was here, but he has gone," Faith told him.
The old Indian's dark eyes peered at her, noting her agitation. "Me ol'man," he said. "Angus, him my tillikum. You him klootchman, him wife,all same my tillikum. Goo'-by."
Faith, left alone, knew she could not sleep. She dreaded the darkness,the lying waiting for slumber which would not come. She decided to staybefore the fire till daylight. Then she would go to the Mackay ranch.
The wind had ceased, and in the comparative stillness she heard a low,distant drumming which she recognized as the sound of horses' hoofs.They approached, halted, and she started up in apprehension. What wouldhappen next? Was everybody abroad that night? Footsteps tramped on theveranda; somebody knocked.
"Who is there?" she demanded.
"Me--Turkey."
She opened the door. There stood Turkey. Shadowy in the background wasRennie with the horses. She saw that Turkey was armed.
"What's the matter?" he asked. "You look sick. Where's Angus?"
She told him, finding relief in the confidence. Turkey might bring Angusback, or see that no harm befell him. As he listened a hard light cameinto Turkey's eyes.
"If Angus don't get Blake and Nick Garland, I will," he declared. "But Ididn't know they were here. I thought they were with the bunch that didup Braden."
"Did up Braden?"
Turkey nodded. "The French boys--I thought sure Blake was in it, but Iguess he couldn't have been--blew open Braden's safe and got away withthe whole works. Braden was shot. Dave and I are part of a posse raisedto round them up, and I wanted Angus. Braden, before he died, said thatGavin French is the man that shot father."
The Land of Strong Men Page 41
