The truth is, this little village, sixty miles from the railway, still retained in its dives and shanties the lingering miasma of the old-time free-range barbarism. It trailed a dark history on its legal side as well as on its openly violent side, for it had been one of the centres of the Rustler’s War, and one of the chief points of attack on the part of the cattle-barons. It was still a rendezvous for desperate and shameless characters—a place of derelicts, survivals of the days of deep drinking, furious riding, and ready gun-play.
True, its famous desperadoes were now either dead or distantly occupied; but the mantle of violence, the tradition of lawlessness, had fallen to the seedy old cow-punchers and to the raw and vulgar youths from the ill-conditioned homes of the middle West. The air of the reckless old-time range still clung rancidly in the low groggeries, as a deadly gas hangs about the lower levels of a mine. It was confessedly one of the worst communities in the State.
“Let’s run the sonovagun!” was the suggestion of several of Gregg’s friends.
The fact that the ranger was a commissioned officer of the law, and that the ram’s head had been found on the poacher’s pack, made very little difference to these irresponsible instigators to assault. It was wonderful how highly that loafing young rascal, Joe Gregg, was prized at the moment. “It’s an outrage that the son of a leading citizen should be held up in this way by one of the forestry Cossacks,” declared one of the merchants.
The discussion which took place over the bars of the town was at the riot-heat by nine o’clock, and soon after ten a crowd of howling, whooping bad boys, and disreputable ranch-hands was parading the walks, breathing out vile threats against the ranger.
Accustomed to men of this type, Cavanagh watched them come and go at Halsey’s bar with calculating eyes. “There will be no trouble for an hour or two, but meanwhile what is to be done? Higley is not to be found, and the town marshal is also ‘out of town.’” To Halsey he said: “I am acting, as you know, under both Federal and State authority, and I call upon you as a law-abiding citizen to aid me in holding these men prisoners. I shall camp right here till morning, or until the magistrate or the marshal relieves me of my culprits.”
Halsey was himself a sportsman—a genuine lover of hunting and a fairly consistent upholder of the game laws; but perceiving that the whole town had apparently lined up in opposition to the ranger, he lost courage. His consent was half-hearted, and he edged away toward the front window of his bar-room, nervously seeking to be neutral—“to carry water on both shoulders,” as the phrase goes.
The talk grew less jocular as the drinks took effect, and Neill Ballard, separating himself from the crowd, came forward, calling loudly: “Come out o’ there, Joe! Youse a hell of a sport! Come out and have a drink!”
His words conveyed less of battle than his tone. He was, in fact, urging a revolt, and Cavanagh knew it.
Gregg rose as if to comply. The ranger stopped him. “Keep your seat,” said he. And to Ballard he warningly remarked: “And you keep away from my prisoners.”
“Do you own this saloon?” retorted the fellow, truculently. “I reckon Halsey’s customers have some rights. What are you doing here, anyway? This is no jail.”
“Halsey has given me the privilege of holding my prisoners here till the justice is found. It isn’t my fault that the town is without judge or jail.” He was weakened by the knowledge that Halsey had only half-consented to aid justice; but his pride was roused, and he was determined upon carrying his arrest to its legitimate end. “I’m going to see that these men are punished if I have to carry them to Sulphur City,” he added.
“Smash the lights!” shouted some one at the back.
Here was the first real note of war, and Ross cried out sharply: “If a man lifts a hand toward the light I’ll cut it off!”
There was a stealthy movement in the crowd, and leaping upon the counter a reckless cub reached for the lamp.
Cavanagh’s revolver shattered the globe in the fellow’s very palm. “Get down from there!” he commanded.
The crowd surged back against the front door, several drawn weapons shining in their hands. Some of the faces were a-grin, others were thrust forward like the heads of snakes, their eyes glittering with hate.
It is an appalling moment to a man of discernment when he looks into the faces of his fellows and hears only the laugh of the wolf, the hiss of the snake, the snarl of the tiger. At the moment Cavanagh despised with a measureless contempt the entire commonwealth and its long-established school of violence; but fixing his thought on his far-away chief, he lost all fear. His voice was perfectly calm as he said: “I am wearing the uniform of the Federal service, and the man that interferes with me will feel the vengeance of the Federal arm. You can get me, but I’ll get some of you at the same time, and the department will get the rest.”
The mob had not found its leader. It hesitated and blustered but did not strike, and eventually edged out of the door and disappeared; but the silence which followed its retreat was more alarming to the ranger than its presence. Some slyer mischief was in these minds. He feared that they were about to cut the electric-light wires, and so plunge him into darkness, and to prepare for that emergency he called upon the bartender (Halsey having vanished) for a lamp or a lantern.
The fellow sullenly set about this task, and Ross, turning to Gregg, said: “If you’ve any influence with this mob, you’d better use it to keep them out of mischief, for I’m on this job to the bitter end, and somebody’s going to be hurt.”
Gregg, who seemed quite detached from the action and rather delighted with it, replied: “I have no influence. They don’t care a hang about me; they have it in for you, that’s all.”
Edwards remained silent, with his hat drawn low over his eyes. It was evident that he was anxious to avoid being seen and quite willing to keep out of the conflict; but with no handcuffs and the back door of the saloon unguarded, Ross was aware that his guard must be incessant and alertly vigilant. “Where are the law-abiding citizens of the town?” he asked of Sifton, who remained in the saloon.
The dry little whisp of manhood had some spark of life in him, for he said: “In their beds, the cowardly hounds!”
“They must know that this gang of hobos is threatening me.”
“Certainly they do; but they don’t intend to endanger their precious hides. They would be well pleased to have you disabled.”
It was incredible! Low as his estimate of the Fork had been, Cavanagh could not believe that it would sit quietly by and see an officer of the State defeated in his duty. “Such a thing could not happen under the English flag,” he said, and at the moment his adopted country seemed a miserable makeshift. Only the thought of Redfield and the chief nerved him for the long vigil. “The chief will understand if it comes up to him,” he said.
Lize Wetherford came hurrying in, looking as though she had just risen from her bed. She was clothed in a long red robe, her grizzled hair was loose, her feet were bare, and she carried a huge old-fashioned revolver in her hand. Her mouth was stern.
Stopping abruptly as she caught sight of Ross standing in the middle of the floor unhurt, she exclaimed: “There you are! Are you all right?”
“As a trivet,” he replied.
She let her gun-hand relax. “What was the shooting?”
“A little bluff on my part.”
“Anybody hurt?”
“No.”
She was much relieved. “I was afraid they’d got you. I came as quick as I could. I was abed. That fool doctor threw a chill into me, and I’ve been going to roost early according to orders. I didn’t hear your gun, but Lee did, and she came to tell me. They’re hell-roaring down the street yet. Don’t let ’em get behind you. If I was any good I’d stay and help. Where’s Mike?” She addressed the tender at the bar.
“I don’t know. Gone home, I guess.”
“Sneaked, has he?”
“So far as I know the only law-upholding citizen in the place, barring
yourself, is Sifton,” said Ross, indicating the Englishman, who stood as if cold, pressing his hands together to hide their trembling.
Lize perceived the irony of this. “Two Britishers and two women! Well, by God, this is a fine old town! What you going to do—hold your men here all night?”
“I don’t see any other way. Halsey turned the place over to me—but—” He looked about him suspiciously.
“Bring ’em into my place. Lee has had new locks put on our doors; they’ll help some.”
“I don’t like to do that, Mrs. Wetherford,” he replied, with greater respect than he had ever shown her before. “They may attack me there.”
“All the better; I’ll be on hand to help—but they’re less likely to boil in on you through a locked door.”
“But your daughter? It will alarm her.”
“She’ll be in the other house, and, besides, she’d feel easier if you are in my place. She’s all wrought up by the attack on you.”
Ross turned to his prisoners. “Follow Mrs. Wetherford and—eyes front!”
“You needn’t worry about me,” said Joe, “I won’t run.”
“I don’t intend to give you a chance,” replied Ross.
Edwards seemed to have lost in both courage and physical stature; he slouched along with shuffling step, his head bent and his face pale. Ross was now profoundly sorry for him, so utterly craven and broken was his look.
* * *
VIII
THE SECOND ATTACK
Lee was waiting on the porch of the hotel, tense with excitement, straining her ears and eyes to see what was taking place.
The night had started with a small sickle of moon, but this had dropped below the range, leaving the street dark, save where the lights from the windows of the all-night eating-houses and saloons lay out upon the walk, and, while she stood peering out, the sound of rancorous howling and shrill whooping came to her ears with such suggestion of ferocity that she shivered.
Every good and honorable trait seemed lost out of her neighbors. She saw the whole country but as a refuge for criminals, ungovernable youths, and unsexed women—a wilderness of those who had no regard for any code of morals which interfered with their own desires. Her memories of the past freshened as she listened. In such wise she had shuddered, as a child, while troops of celebrating cowboys rode up and down the streets. In such wise, too, the better (and more timid) element of the town had put out their lights and retired, leaving their drunken helots and the marshal to fight it out in vague tumult.
A few of the hotel guests had gone to bed, but the women were up, excited and nervous, starting at every fresh outburst of whooping, knowing that their sons or husbands were out in the street “to see the fun,” and that they might meet trouble.
At last Lee discerned her mother returning from Halsey’s, followed by three men. Withdrawing from the little porch whereon she had been standing, she reentered the house to meet her mother in the hall. “Where is Mr. Cavanagh?” she asked.
“Out in the dining-room. You see, Mike Halsey is no kind o’ use. He vamoosed and left Ross down there alone, with his two prisoners and the lights likely to be turned out on him. So I offered the caffy as a calaboose. They are sure in for a long and tedious night.”
Lee was alarmed at her mother’s appearance. “You must go to bed. You look ghastly.”
“I reckon I’d better lie down for a little while, but I can’t sleep. Ross may need me. There isn’t a man to help him but me, and that loafer Ballard is full of gall. He’s got it in for Ross, and will make trouble if he can.”
“What can we do?”
“Shoot!” replied Lize, with dry brevity. “I wouldn’t mind a chance to plug some of the sweet citizens of this town. I owe them one or two.”
With this sentence in her ears, Lee Virginia went to her bed, but not to slumber. Her utter inability either to control her mother’s action or to influence that of the mob added to her uneasiness.
The singing, shouting, trampling of the crowd went on, and once a group of men halted just outside her window, and she heard Neill Ballard noisily, drunkenly arguing as to the most effective method of taking the prisoners. His utterances, so profane and foul, came to her like echoes from out an inferno. The voices were all at the moment like the hissing of serpents, the snarling of tigers. How dared creatures of this vile type use words of contempt against Ross Cavanagh?
“Come on, boys!” urged Ballard, his voice filled with reckless determination. “Let’s run him.”
As they passed, the girl sprang up and went to her mother’s room to warn her of the threatened attack.
Lize was already awake and calmly loading a second revolver by the light of the electric bulb.
“What are you doing?” the girl asked, her blood chilling at sight of the weapon.
“Hell’s to pay out there, and I’m going to help pay it.” A jarring blow was heard. “Hear that! They’re breaking in—” She started to leave the room.
Lee stopped her. “Where are you going?”
“To help Ross. Here!” She thrust the handle of a smaller weapon into Lee’s hand. “Ed Wetherford’s girl ought to be able to take care of herself. Come on!”
With a most unheroic horror benumbing her limbs, Lee followed her mother through the hall. The sound of shouts and the trampling of feet could be heard, and she came out into the restaurant just in time to photograph upon her brain a scene whose significance was at once apparent. On a chair between his two prisoners, and confronting Ballard at the head of a crowd of frenzied villains, stood the ranger, a gleaming weapon in his hand, a look of resolution on his face.
What he had said, or what he intended to do, she did not learn, for her mother rushed at the invaders with the mad bravery of a she-bear. “Get out of here!” she snarled, thrusting her revolver into the very mouth of the leader.
They all fell back in astonishment and fear.
Ross leaped to her side. “Leave them to me!” he said. “I’ll clear the room.”
“Not on your life! This is my house. I have the right to smash the fools.” And she beat them over the heads with her pistol-barrel.
Recognizing that she was minded to kill, they retreated over the threshold, and Ross, drawing the door close behind them, turned to find Lee Virginia confronting Edwards, who had attempted to escape into the kitchen. The girl’s face was white, but the eye of her revolver stared straight and true into her prisoner’s face.
With a bound Ross seized him and flung him against the wall. “Get back there!” he shouted. “You must take your medicine with your boss.”
The old fellow hurriedly replaced his ragged hat, and, folding his arms, sank back into his chair with bowed head, while Lize turned upon Joe Gregg. “What the devil did you go into this kind of deal for? You knew what the game laws was, didn’t you? Your old dad is all for State regulation, and here you are breaking a State law. Why don’t you stand up for the code like a sport?”
Joe, who had been boasting of the smiles he had drawn from Lee, did not relish this tongue-lashing from her mother, but, assuming a careless air, he said, “I’m all out of smokes; get me a box, that’s a good old soul.”
Lize regarded him with the expression of one nonplussed. “You impudent little cub!” she exclaimed. “What you need is a booting!”
The ranger addressed himself to Lee. “I want to thank you for a very opportune intervention. I didn’t know you could handle a gun so neatly.”
She flushed with pleasure. “Oh yes, I can shoot. My father taught me when I was only six years old.”
As she spoke, Ross caught the man Edwards studying them with furtive glance, but, upon being observed, he resumed his crouching attitude, which concealed his face beneath the rim of his weather-worn hat. It was evident that he was afraid of being recognized. He had the slinking air of the convict, and his form, so despairing in its lax lines, appealed to Lee with even greater poignancy than his face. “I’m sorry,” she said to him, “but it was m
y duty to help Mr. Cavanagh.”
He glanced up with a quick sidewise slant. “That’s all right, miss; I should have had sense enough to keep out of this business.” He spoke with difficulty, and his voice was hoarse with emotion.
Lize turned to Lee. “The Doc said ‘no liquor,’ but I guess here’s where I draw one—I feel faint.”
Ross hurried to her side, while young Gregg tendered a handsome flask. “Here’s something.”
Lize put it away. “Not from you. Just reach under my desk, Ross; you’ll find some brandy there. That’s it,” she called, as he produced a bottle. Clutching it eagerly, she added: “They say it’s poison, but it’s my meat to-night.”
She was, in truth, very pale, and her hands were trembling in a weakness that went to her daughter’s heart. Lee admired her bravery, her manlike readiness of action, but her words, her manner (now that the stress of the battle was over), hurt and shamed her. Little remained of the woman in Lize, and the old sheep-herder eyed her with furtive curiosity.
“I was afraid you’d shoot,” Lize explained to Ross, “and I didn’t want you to muss up your hands on the dirty loafers. I had the right to kill; they were trespassers, and I’d ‘a’ done it, too.”
“I don’t think they intended to actually assault me,” he said, “but it’s a bit discouraging to find the town so indifferent over both the breaking of the laws and the doings of a drunken mob. I’m afraid the most of them are a long way from law-abiding people yet.”
Joe, who did not like the position in which he stood as respecting Lee, here made an offer of aid. “I don’t suppose my word is any good now, but if you’ll let me do it I’ll go out and round up Judge Higley. I think I know where he is.”
To this Lize objected. “You can’t do that, Ross; you better hold the fort right here till morning.”
Lee was rather sorry, too, for young Gregg, who bore his buffeting with the imperturbable face of the heroes of his class. He had gone into this enterprise with much the same spirit in which he had stolen gates and misplaced signs during his brief college career, and he was now disposed (in the presence of a pretty girl) to carry it out with undiminished impudence. “It only means a fine, anyway,” he assured himself.
Cavanaugh-Forest Ranger Page 11
