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

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER XII

  LABLACHE FORCES THE FIGHT

  A month--just one month and the early spring has developed with almosttropical suddenness into a golden summer. The rapid passing of seasons,the abrupt break, the lightning change from one into another, is one ofthe many beauties of the climate of that fair land where there are nohalf measures in Nature's mode of dealing out from her varied store ofmoods. Spring chases Winter, hoary, bitter, cruel Winter, in the hoursof one night; and in turn Spring's delicate influence is overpoweredwith equal celerity by the more matured and unctuous ripeness of Summer.

  Foss River had now become a glorious picture of vivid coloring. Theclumps of pine woods no longer present their tattered purplishappearance, the garb in which grim Winter is wont to robe them. They arelighter, gayer, and bathed in the gleaming sunlight they are transformedfrom their somber forbidding aspect to that of radiant, welcome shade.The river is high, almost to flooding point. And the melting snow on thedistant mountain-tops has urged it into a sparkling torrent of icy coldwater rushing on at a pace which threatens to tear out its deterringbanks and shallow bed in its mad career.

  The most magical change which the first month of summer has brought isto be seen in the stock. Cattle, when first brought in from distantparts at the outset of the round-up, usually are thin, mean-looking, andhalf-starved. Two weeks of the delicious spring grass and the fat ontheir ribs and loins rolls and shakes as they move, growing almostvisibly under the succulent influence of the delicate vegetation.

  Few at Foss River appreciated the blessings of summer more fully thandid Jacky Allandale, and few worked harder than did she. Almostsingle-handed she grappled with the stupendous task of the management ofthe great ranch, and no "hand," however experienced, was more capable inthe most arduous tasks which that management involved. From the skillfulorganization down to the roping and branding of a wild two-year-oldsteer there was no one who understood the business of stock-raisingbetter than she. She loved it--it was the very essence of life to her.

  Silas, her uncle's foreman, was in the habit of summing her up in hisbrief but expressive way.

  "Missie Jacky?" he would exclaim, in tones of surprise, to any one whodared to express wonder at her masterly management. "Guess a cyclonedoes its biz mighty thorough, but I take it ef that gal 'ud been born ahurricane she'd 'ave dislodged mountains an' played baseball with theglaciers."

  But this year things were different with the mistress of the Foss RiverRanch. True she went about her work with that thorough appreciationwhich she always displayed, but the young face had last something of itshappy girlish delight--that _debonnaire_ cheerfulness which usuallycharacterized it. A shadow seemed to be hanging over her--a shadow,which, although it marred in no way her fresh young beauty, added adeepened pensiveness to her great somber eyes, and seemed to broaden thefringing black ring round the gray pupils. This year the girl had moreto grapple with than the mere management of the ranch.

  Her uncle needed all her care. And, too, the consciousness that theresult of all her work was insufficient to pay the exorbitant intereston mortgages which had been forced upon her uncle by the hated,designing Lablache took something of the zest from her labors. Then,besides this, there were thoughts of the compact sealed between herlover and herself in Bad Man's Hollow, and the knowledge of theintentions of the money-lender towards "Lord" Bill, all helped to renderher distrait. She knew all about the scene which had taken place atBill's ranch, and she knew that, for her lover at least, the crash hadcome. During that first month of the open season the girl had beensorely tried. There was no one but "Aunt" Margaret to whom she could gofor comfort or sympathy, and even she, with her wise councils andfar-seeing judgment, could not share in the secrets which weighed soheavily upon the girl.

  Jacky had not experienced, as might have been expected, very greatdifficulty in keeping her uncle fast to the grind-stone of duty.Whatever his faults and weaknesses, John Allandale was first of all arancher, and when once the winter breaks every rancher must work--ay,work like no negro slave ever worked. It was only in the evenings, whenbodily fatigue had weakened the purpose of ranching habit, and when thegirl, wearied with her day's work, relaxed her vigilance, that the oldman craved for the object of his passion and its degradingaccompaniment. Then he would nibble at the whisky bottle, having "earnedhis tonic," as he would say, until the potent spirit had warmed hiscourage and he would hurry off to the saloon for "half an hour'sflutter," which generally terminated in the small hours of the morning.

  Such was the state of affairs at the Foss River Ranch when Lablache putinto execution his threats against the Hon. Bunning-Ford. The settlementhad returned to its customary torpid serenity. The round-up was over,and all the "hands" had returned to the various ranches to which theybelonged. The little place had entered upon its period of placid sleep,which would last until the advent of the farmers to spend the proceedsof their garnered harvest. But this would be much later in the year, andin the meantime Foss River would sleep.

  The night before the sale of "Lord" Bill's ranch, he and Jacky went fora ride. They had thus ridden out on many evenings of late. Old John wastoo absorbed in his own affairs to bother himself at these eveningjourneyings, although, in his careless way, he noticed how frequent avisitor at the ranch Bill had lately become. Still, he made noobjection. If his niece saw fit to encourage these visits he would notinterfere. In his eyes the girl could do no wrong. It was his oneredeeming feature, his love for the motherless girl, and although hisway of showing it was more than open to criticism, it was true he lovedher with a deep, strong affection.

  Foss River was far too sleepy to bother about these comings and goings.Lablache, alone, of the sleepy hamlet, eyed the evening journeys withsuspicion. But even he was unable to fathom their object, and was forcedto set them down, his whole being consumed with jealousy the while, tolovers' wanderings. However, these nightly rides were taken withpurpose. After galloping across the prairie in various directions theyalways, as darkness crept on, terminated at a certain spot--the clump ofwillows and reeds at which the secret path across the great keg began.

  The sun was well down below the distant mountain peaks when Jacky andher lover reached the scrubby bush of willows and reeds upon the eveningbefore the day of the sale of Bill's ranch. As they drew up theirpanting horses, and dismounted, the evening twilight was deepening overthe vast expanse of the mire.

  The girl stood at the brink of the bottomless caldron of viscid muck andgazed out across the deadly plain. Bill stood still beside her, watchingher face with eager, hungry eyes.

  "Well?" he said at last, as his impatience forced itself to his lips.

  "Yes, Bill," the girl answered slowly, as one balancing her decisionwell before giving judgment, "the path has widened. The rain has keptoff long enough, and the sun has done his best for us. It is a goodomen. Follow me."

  She linked her arm through the reins of her horse's bridle, and leadingthe faithful animal, stepped fearlessly out on to the muskeg. As shetrod the rotten crust she took a zigzag direction from one side of thesecret path to the other. That which, in early spring, had scarcely beensix feet in width, would now have borne ten horsemen abreast. Presentlyshe turned back. "We need go no further, Bill; what is safe herecontinues safe across the keg. It will widen in places, but in no placewill the path grow narrower."

  "But tell me," said the man, anxious to assure himself that no detailwas forgotten, "what about the trail of our footprints?"

  The girl laughed. Then indenting the ground with her shapely boot untilthe moisture below oozed into the imprint, she looked up into the lazyface before her.

  "See--we wait for one minute, and you shall see the result."

  They waited in silence in the growing darkness. The night insects andmosquitoes buzzed around them. The man's attention was riveted upon theimpression made by the girl's foot. Slowly the water filled the print,then slowly, under the moist influence, the ground, sponge-like, roseagain, the water disappeared, and all si
gn of the footmark was gone.

  When again the ground had resumed its natural appearance the girl lookedup.

  "Are you satisfied, Bill? No man or beast who passes over this pathleaves a trail which lasts longer than a minute. Even the rank grass,however badly trodden down, rears itself again with amazing vitality. Iguess this place was created through the devil's agency and for thepurpose of devil's work."

  Bill gave one sweeping glance around. Then he turned, and the two madetheir way back to the edge of the sucking mire.

  "Yes, it'll do, dear. Now let us hasten home."

  They remounted their horses and were soon lost in the gathering darknessas they made their way over the brow of the rising ground, in thedirection of the settlement.

  The next day saw the possession of the Hon. Bunning-Ford's ranch passinto other hands. Punctually at noon, the sale began. And by fouro'clock the process, which robbed the rancher of everything that hepossessed in the world, was completed.

  Bill stationed himself on the veranda and smoked incessantly while thesale proceeded. He was there to see how the things went, and, in fact,seemed to take an outsider's interest only. He experienced no morbidsentiment at the loss of his property--it is doubtful if he cared atall. Anyhow, his leisurely attitude and his appearance of good-naturedindifference caused many surprised remarks amongst the motley collectionof bidders who were present. In spite of these appearances, however, hedid take a very keen interest. A representative of Lablache's was thereto purchase stock, and Bill knew it, and his interest was centered onthis would-be purchaser.

  The stock was the last thing to come under the hammer. There were twentylots. Of these Lablache's representative purchasedfifteen--three-quarters of the stock of the entire ranch.

  Bill waited only for this, then, as the sale closed, he leisurely rolledand lit another cigarette and strolled to where a horse, which he hadborrowed from the Allandales stable, was tied, and rode slowly away.

  As he rode away he turned his head in the direction of the house uponthe hill. He was leaving for good and all the place which had so longclaimed him as master. He saw the small gathering of people stillhanging about the veranda, upon which the auctioneer still stood withhis clerk, busy over the sales. He noticed others passing hither andthither, as they prepared to depart with their purchases. But none ofthese things which he looked upon affected him in any mawkish,sentimental manner. It was all over. That little hill, with its woodedbackground and vast frontage of prairie, from which he had loved towatch the sun get up after its nightly sojourn, would know him no more.His indifference was unassumed. His was not the nature to regret pastfollies.

  He smiled softly as he turned his attention to the future which laybefore him, and his smile was not in keeping with the expression of abroken man.

  In these last days of waning prosperity Bunning-Ford had noticeablychanged. With loss of property he had lost much of that curious veneerof indolence, utter disregard of consequences, which had always beenhis. Not, that he had suddenly developed a violent activity orboisterous enthusiasm. Simply his interest in things and persons seemedto have received a fillip. There seemed to be an air of latent activityabout him; a setness of purpose which must have been patent to any onesufficiently interested to observe the young rancher closely. But FossRiver was too sleepy--indifferent--to worry itself about anybody, exceptthose in its ranks who were riding the high horse of success. Those whofell out by the wayside were far too numerous to have more than apassing thought devoted to them. So this subtle change in the man wasallowed to pass without comment by any except, perhaps, themoney-lender, Lablache, and the shrewd, kindly wife of thedoctor--people not much given to gossip.

  It was only since the discovery of Lablache's perfidy that "Lord" Billhad understood what living meant. His discovery in Smith's saloon hadroused in him a very human manhood. Since that time he had been seizedwith a mental activity, a craving for action he had never, in all hislazy life, before experienced. This sudden change had been aggravated byLablache's subsequent conduct, and the flame had been fanned by theright that Jacky had given him to protect her. The sensation was one ofabsorbing excitement, and the loss of property sat lightly upon him inconsequence. Money he had not--property he had not. But he had now whathe had never possessed before--he had an object.

  A lasting, implacable vengeance was his, from the contemplation of whichhe drew a satisfaction which no possession of property could have givenhim. Nature had, with incorrigible perversity, cut him out for a life ofease, whilst endowing him with a character capable of very great things.Now, in her waywardness she had aroused that character and overthrownthe hindering superficialty in which she had clothed it. And further tomark her freakish mood, these same capabilities which might easily,under other circumstances, have led him into the fore-front of life'sbattle, she directed, with inexorable cruelty, into an adverse course.He had been cheated, robbed, and his soul thirsted for revenge. Lablachehad robbed the uncle of the girl he loved, and, worse than all, thewretch had tried to oust him from the affections of the girl herself.Yes, he thirsted for revenge as might any traveler in a desert crave forwater. His eyes, no longer sleepy, gleamed as he thought. His long,square jaws seemed welded into one as he thought of his wrongs. His wasthe vengeance which, if necessary, would last his lifetime. At least,whilst Lablache lived no quarter would he give or accept.

  Something of this he was thinking as he took his farewell of the ranchon the hill, and struck out in the direction of the half-breed campsituated in a hollow some distance outside the settlement of FossRiver.