The Story of the Foss River Ranch: A Tale of the Northwest

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER VIII

  TOLD IN BAD MAN'S HOLLOW

  Jacky held her treasure fast. The choking grip of the running noosequieted Golden Eagle into perfect docility. Bunning-Ford was off hishorse in a moment. Approaching the primitive dwelling he forced open thecrazy door. It was a patchwork affair and swung back on a pair of hingeswhich lamented loudly as the accumulation of rust were disturbed. Theinterior was essentially suggestive of the half-breed, and his guess atits purpose had been a shrewd one. Part storehouse for forage, partbedroom, and part stable, it presented a squalid appearance. The portiondevoted to stable-room was far in the back; the curious apparatus whichconstituted the bed was placed under the window.

  The man propped the door open, and then went to relieve the girl fromthe strain of holding her captive. Seizing the lariat he gripped ittightly and proceeded to pass slowly, hand over hand, towards thebeautiful, wild-eyed chestnut. Golden Eagle seemed to understand, for,presently, the tension of the rope relaxed. For a moment the animallooked fearfully around and snorted, then, as "Lord" Bill determinedlyattempted to lead him, he threw himself backward. His rebellion lastedbut for an instant, for, presently, drooping his proud head as though intoken of submission, he followed his captor quietly into the stablewhich had always been his.

  The girl dismounted, and, shortly after, "Lord" Bill rejoined her.

  "Well?" she asked, her questioning eyes turned in the direction of thecave.

  "He's snug enough," Bill replied quietly, glancing at his watch. Helooked up at the chilly sky, then he seated himself on the edge of aboulder which reposed beside the entrance to the stable. "We've just gottwo hours and a half before dark," he added slowly. "That means an hourin which to talk." Then he quietly prepared to roll a cigarette. "Now,Jacky, let's have your yarn first; after that you shall hear mine."

  He leisurely proceeded to pick over the tobacco before rolling it in thepaper. He was usually particular about his smoke. He centered hisattention upon the matter now, purposely, so as to give his companion achance to tell her story freely. He anticipated that what she had totell would affect her nearly. But his surmise of the direction in whichshe would be affected proved totally incorrect. Her first words told himthis.

  She hesitated only for the fraction of a second, then she plunged intoher story with a directness which was always hers.

  "This is Bad Man's Hollow--he--he was my half-brother."

  So the stories of the gossips were not true. Bill gave a comprehensivenod, but offered no comment. Her statement appeared to him to need none.It explained itself; she was speaking of Peter Retief.

  "Mother was a widow when she married father--widow with one son. Motherwas a half-breed."

  An impressive silence ensued. For a moment a black shadow swept acrossthe valley. It was a dense flight of geese winging their way back to thenorth, as the warm sun melted the snow and furnished them withwell-watered feeding-grounds. The frogs were chirruping loudly down atthe edge of the stream which trickled its way ever southwards. She wenton.

  "Mother and Peter settled at Foss River at different times. They neverhit it off. No one knew that there was any relationship between them upat the camp. Mother lived in her own shack. Peter located himselfelsewhere. Guess it's only five years since I learned these things.Peter was fifteen years older than I. I take it they made him 'bad' fromthe start. Poor Peter!--still, he was my half-brother."

  She conveyed a world of explanation in her last sentence. There was atender, far-away look in her great, sorrowful eyes as she told her jerkystory. "Lord" Bill allowed himself a side-long glance in her direction,then he turned his eyes towards the south end of the valley andsomething very like a sigh escaped him. She had struck a sympatheticchord in his heart. He longed to comfort her.

  "There's no use in reckoning up Peter's acts. You know 'em as well as Ido, Bill. He was slick--was Peter," she went on, with an inflection ofsatisfaction. She was returning to a lighter manner as she contemplatedthe cattle-thief's successes. "Cattle, mail-trains, mail-carts--nothingcame amiss to him. In his own line Peter was a Jo-dandy." Her faceflushed as she proceeded. The half-breed blood in her was stirred in allits passionate strength. "But he'd never have slipped the coyotesheriffs or the slick red-coats so long as he did without my help. Say,Bill," leaning forward eagerly and peering into his face with herbeautiful glowing eyes, "for three years I just--just lived! Poor Peter!Guess I'm reckoned kind of handy 'round a bunch of steers. There aren'tmany who can hustle me. You know that. All the boys on the round-up knowthat. And why? Because I learnt the business from Peter--and Petertaught me to shoot quick and straight. Those three years taught me adeal, and I take it those things didn't happen for nothing," with amoody introspective gaze. "Those years taught me how to look aftermyself--and my uncle. Say, Bill, what I'm telling you may sicken yousome. I can't help that. Peter was my brother and blood's thicker thanwater. I wasn't going to let him be hunted down by a lot of bloodthirstycoyotes who were no better than he. I wasn't going to let my mother'sflesh feed the crows from the end of a lariat. I helped Peter to steerclear of the law--lynch at that--and if he fell at last, a victim tothe sucking muck of the muskeg, it was God's judgment and notman's--that's good enough for me. I'd do it all again, I guess, if--ifPeter were alive."

  "Peter had some shooting on the account against him," said Bill, withoutraising his eyes from the contemplation of his cigarette. The girlsmiled. The smile hovered for a moment round her mouth and eyes, andthen passed, leaving her sweet, dark face bathed in the shadow ofregret. She understood the drift of his remark but in no way resentedit.

  "No, Bill, I steered clear of that. I'd have shot to save Peter, but itnever came to that. Whatever shooting Peter did was done on his--lonely.I jibbed at a frolic that meant--shooting. Peter never let me dirty myhands to that extent. Guess I just helped him and kept him posted. IfI'd had law, they'd have called me accessory after the fact."

  "Lord" Bill pondered. His lazy eyes were half-closed. He lookedindifferent but his thoughts were flowing fast. This girl's story hadgiven a fillup to a wild plan which had almost unconsciously found placein his active brain. Now he raised his eyes to her face and wasastonished at the setness of its expression. She reminded him of thosewomen in history whose deeds had, at various periods, shaken thefoundations of empires. There was a deep, smouldering fire in her eyes,for which only the native blood in her veins could account. Herbeautiful face was clouded beneath a somber shadow which is so oftenaccredited as a presage of tragedy. Surely her expression was one of agreat, passionate nature, of a soul capable of a wondrous love, or awondrous--hate. She had seated herself upon the ground with the carelessabandon of one used to such a resting-place. Her trim riding-boots weredisplayed from beneath the hem of her coarse dungaree habit. Her Stetsonhat was pushed back on her head, leaving the broad low forehead exposed.Her black waving hair streamed about her face, a perfect framing forthe Van Dyke coloring of her skin. She was very beautiful.

  The man shifted his position.

  "Tell me," he went on, gazing over towards where a flock of wild duckshad suddenly settled upon a reedy swamp, and were noisily revelling inthe water, "did your uncle know anything about this?"

  "Not a soul on God's earth knew. Did you ever suspect anything?"

  Bill shook his head.

  "Not a thing. I was as well posted on the subject of Peter as any one.Sometimes I thought it curious that old John's stock and my own werenever interfered with. But I had no suspicion of the truth. Peter'srelationship to your mother--did the Breeds in the settlement knowanything of it?"

  "No--I alone knew."

  "Ah!"

  The girl looked curiously into her companion's face. The tone of hisexclamation startled her. She wondered towards what end his questionswere leading. His face was inscrutable; she gained no inspiration fromit. There was a short pause. She wondered anxiously how her story hadaffected him in regard to herself. After all, she was only a woman--awoman of strong affections and deep feelings. Her hardiho
od, her mannishself-reliance, were but outer coverings, the result of the surroundingsof her daily life. She feared lest he should turn from her in utterloathing.

  The Hon. Bunning-Ford had no such thoughts, however. Twenty-four hoursago her story might have startled him. But now it was different. His wasas wild and reckless a nature as her own. Law and order were matterswhich he regarded in the light of personal inclinations. He had seen toomuch of the early life on the prairie to be horrified by the part thiscourageous girl had taken in her blood-relative's interests. Under othercircumstances "Lord" Bill might well have developed into a "bad man"himself. As it was, his sympathies were always with those whose daringled them into ways of danger and risk of personal safety.

  "How far does this valley extend?" he asked abruptly, stepping over asthough to obtain a view of the southern extremity of the mysterioushollow.

  "Guess we reckoned it 300 miles. Dead straight into the heart of themountains, then out again sharply into the foot-hills thirty miles southof the border. It comes to an end in Montana."

  "And Peter disposed of his stock that way--all by himself?" he asked,returning to his seat upon the boulder.

  "All by himself," the girl repeated, again wondering at the drift of hisquestions. "My help only extended as far as this place. Peter used tofatten his stock right here and then run them down into Montana. Downthere no one knew where he came from, and so wonderfully is this placehidden that he was never traced. There is only one approach to it, andthat's across the keg. In winter that can be crossed anywhere, but nosane persons would trust themselves in the foothills at that time ofyear. For the rest it can only be crossed by the secret path. Thisvalley is a perfectly-hidden natural road for illicit traffic."

  "Wonderful." The man permitted a smile to spread over his thin, eagleface. "Peter's supposed to have made a pile of money."

  "Yes, I guess Peter sunk a pile of dollars. He hid his bills right herein the valley," Jacky replied, smiling back into the indolent facebefore her. Then her face became serious again. "The secret of itshiding-place died with him--it's buried deep down in the reeking keg."

  "And you're sure he died in the 'reeking keg'?" There was a sharpintonation in the question. The matter seemed to be of importance in thestory.

  Jacky half started at the eagerness with which the question was put. Shepaused for an instant before replying.

  "I believe he died there," she said at length, like one weighing herwords well, "but it was never clearly proved. Most people think that hesimply cleared out of the country. I picked up his hat close beside thepath, and the crust of the keg had been broken. Yes, I believe he diedin the muskeg. Had he lived I should have known."

  "But how comes it that Golden Eagle is still alive? Surely Peter wouldnever have crossed the keg on foot"

  The girl looked perplexed for a moment. But her conviction was plainlyevident.

  "No--he wouldn't have walked. Peter drank some."

  "I see."

  "Once I saved him from taking the wrong track at the point where thepath forks. He'd been drinking then. Yes," with a quiet assurance, "Ithink he died in the keg."

  Her companion seemed to have come to the end of his cross-examination.He suddenly rose from his seat. The chattering of the ducks in thedistance caused him to turn his head. Then he turned again to the girlbefore him. The indolence had gone from his eyes. His face was set, andthe firm pursing of his lips spoke of a determination arrived at. Hegazed down at the recumbent figure upon the ground. There was somethingin his gaze which made the girl lower her eyes and look far out down thevalley.

  "This brother of yours--he was tall and thin?"

  The girl nodded.

  "Am I right in my recollection of him when I say that he was possessedof a dark, dark face, lantern jaws, thin--and high, prominentcheek-bones?"

  "That's so."

  She faced him inquiringly as she answered his eager questions.

  "Ah!"

  He quickly turned again in the direction of the noisy water-fowl. Theirrollicking gambols sounded joyously on the brooding atmosphere of theplace. The wintry chill in the air was fast ousting the balmy breath ofspring. It was a warning of the lateness of the hour.

  "Now listen to me," he went on presently, turning again from thecontemplation of his weird surroundings. "I lost all that was left to mefrom the wreck of my little ranch this afternoon--no, not to Lablache,"as the girl was about to pronounce the hated name, "but," with a wintrysmile, "to another friend of yours, Pedro Mancha. I also discovered,this afternoon, the source of Lablache's phenomenal--luck. He hassystematically robbed both your uncle and myself--" He broke off with abitter laugh.

  "My God!"

  The girl had sprung to her feet in her agitation. And a rageindescribable flamed into her face. The fury there expressed appalledhim, and he stood for a moment waiting for it to abate. What terribledepths had he delved into? The hidden fires of a passionate nature aremore easily kept under than checked in their blasting career when oncethe restraining will power is removed. For an instant it seemed that shemust choke. Then she hurled her feelings into one brief, hissingsentence.

  "Lablache--I hate him!"

  And the man realized that he must continue his story.

  "Yes, we lost our money not fairly, but by--cheating. I am ruined, andyour uncle--" Bill shrugged.

  "My uncle--God help him!"

  "I do not know the full extent of his losses, Jacky--except that theyhave probably trebled mine."

  "But I know to what extent the hound has robbed him," Jacky answered ina tone of such bitter hatred as to cause her companion to glanceuneasily at the passionate young face before him. "I know, only toowell. And right thoroughly has Lablache done his work. Say, Bill, do youknow that that skunk holds mortgages on our ranch for two hundredthousand dollars? And every bill of it is for poker. For twenty years,right through, he has steadily sucked the old man's blood. Slick? Say asix-year-old steer don't know more about a branding-iron than doesVerner Lablache about his business. For every dollar uncle's lost he'smade him sign a mortgage. Every bit of paper has the old man had toredeem in that way. What he's done lately--I mean uncle--I can't say.But Lablache held those mortgages nearly a year ago."

  "Whew--" "Lord" Bill whistled under his breath. "Gee-whittaker. It'sworse than I thought. 'Poker' John's losses during the last winter, tomy knowledge, must have amounted to nearly six figures--the devil!"

  "Ruin, ruin, ruin!"

  The girl for a moment allowed womanly feeling to overcome her, for, asher companion added his last item to the vast sum which she had quoted,she saw, in all its horrible nakedness, the truth of her uncle'sposition. Then she suddenly forced back the tears which had struggledinto her eyes, and, with indomitable courage, faced the catastrophe.

  "But can't we fight him--can't we give him--"

  "Law? I'm afraid not," Bill interrupted. "Once a mortgage is signed thedebt is no longer a gambling debt. Law is of no use to us, especiallyhere on the prairie. There is only one law which can save us. Lablachemust disgorge."

  "Yes--yes! For every dollar he has stolen let him pay ten."

  The passionate fire in her eyes burned more steadily now. It was thefire which is unquenchable--the fire of a lasting hate, vengeful,terrible. Then her tone dropped to a contemplative soliloquy.

  "But how?" she murmured, looking away towards the stream in the heart ofthe valley, as though in search of inspiration.

  Bunning-Ford smiled as he heard the half-whispered question. But hissmile was not pleasant to look upon. All the latent recklessness whichmight have made of him a good soldier or a great scoundrel was roused inhim. He was passing the boundary which divides the old Adam, which is inevery man, from the veneer of early training. He wasmutely--unconsciously--calling to his aid the savage instincts which thebest of men are not without. His face expressed something of what waspassing within his active brain, and the girl before him, as she turnedand watched the working features, usually so placid--indifferent, knewthat she
was to see a side of his character always suspected by her butnever before made apparent. His thoughts at last found vent in words ofalmost painful intensity.

  "How?" he said, repeating the question as though it had been addressedto himself. "He shall pay--pay! Everlastingly pay! So long as I havelife--and liberty, he shall pay!"

  Then as if anticipating a request for explanation he told her the meansby which Lablache had consistently cheated. The girl listened,speechless with amazement. She hung upon his every word. At theconclusion of his story she put an abrupt question.

  "And you gave no sign? He doesn't suspect that you know?"

  "He suspects nothing."

  "Good. You are real smart, Bill. Yes, shooting's no good. This is nocase for shooting. What do you propose? I see you mean business."

  The man was still smiling but his smile had suddenly changed to one ofkindly humor.

  "First of all Jacky," he said, taking a step towards her, "I can donothing without your help. I propose that you share this task with me.No, no, I don't mean in that way," as she commenced to assure him of herassistance. "What I mean is that--that I love you, dear. I want you togive me the right to protect--your uncle."

  He finished up with his hands stretched out towards her. Golden Eaglestirred in his stable, and the two heard him whinny as if in approval.Then as the girl made no answer Bill went on: "Jacky, I am a ruined man.I have nothing, but I love you better than life itself. We now have acommon purpose in life. Let us work together."

  His voice sank to a tender whisper. He loved this motherless girl whowas fighting the battle of life single-handed against overwhelmingodds, with all the strength of his nature. He had loved her ever sinceshe had reached woman's estate. In asking for a return of his affectionsnow he fully realized the cruelty of his course. He knew that thefuture--his future--was to be given up to the pursuit of a terriblerevenge. And he knew that, in linking herself with him, she wouldperforce be dragged into whatever wrong-doing his contemplated revengemight lead him. And yet he dared not pause. It all seemed so plain--sonatural--that they should journey through the crooked, paths of thefuture together. Was she not equally determined upon a terrible revenge?

  He waited in patience for his answer. Suddenly she looked up into hisface and gently placed her hands in his. Her answer came with simpledirectness.

  "Do you really, Bill? I am glad--yes, glad right through. I love you,too. Say, you're sure you don't think badly of me because--because I'mPeter's sister?"

  There was a smiling, half-tearful look in her eyes--those expressiveeyes which, but a moment before, had burnt with a vengeful fire--as sheasked the question. After all her nature was wondrously simple.

  "Why should I, dear?" he replied, bending and kissing the gauntletedhands which rested so lovingly in his. "My life has scarcely been aGarden of Eden before the Fall. And I don't suppose my future, evenshould I escape the laws of man, is likely to be most creditable. Yourpast is your own--I have no right nor wish to criticise. Henceforth weare united in a common cause. Our hand is turned against one whose powerin this part of the country is almost absolute. When we have wrested hisproperty from him, to the uttermost farthing, we will cry quits--"

  "And on the day that sees Lablache's downfall, Bill, I will become yourwife."

  There was a pause. Then Bill drew her towards him and they sealed thecompact with one long embrace. They were roused to the matters of themoment by another whinny from Golden Eagle, who was chafing at hisforced imprisonment.

  The two stood back from one another, hand in hand, and smiled as theylistened to the tuneful plaint. Then the man unfolded a wonderful planto this girl whom he loved. Her willing ears drank in the details likeone whose heart is set with a great purpose. They also talked of theirlove in their own practical way. There was little display of sentiment.They understood without that. Their future was not alluring, unlesssomething of the man's strange plan appealed to the wild nature of theprairie which, by association, has somehow become affiliated withtheirs. In that quiet, evening-lit valley these two people arranged toset aside the laws of man and deal out justice as they understood it. Aneye for an eye--a tooth for a tooth; fortune favoring, a cent, per cent,interest in each case. The laws of the prairie, in those days alwaysuncertain, were more often governed by human passions than the calmequity of unbiased jurymen. And who shall say that their idea of justicewas wrong? Two "wrongs," it has been said, do not make one "right." Butsurely it is not a human policy when smote upon one cheek to turn theother for a similar chastisement.

  "Then we leave Golden Eagle where he is," said Jacky, as she remountedher horse and they prepared to return home.

  "Yes. I will see to him," Bill replied, urging his horse into a cantertowards the winding ascent which was to take them home.

  The ducks frolicking in their watery playground chattered and flappedtheir heavy wings. The frogs in their reedy beds croaked and chirrupedwithout ceasing. And who shall say how much they had heard, or had seen,or knew of that compact sealed in Bad Man's Hollow?