the Drift Fence (1992)

by Grey, Zane

  "Wal, so Molly said thet!" he ejaculated, with a queer look on his face.

  And he fell into a profound reverie.

  "Hyar we air," announced Matty, spreading his hands. "An' Chet Jocelyn not in the outfit. Air we goin' to wait around, riskin' our necks, while he sparks a gurl?"

  "Sparks nuthin'. He'll have to hawg-tie Molly Dunn, if he wants her near him," replied Seth, snorting.

  Jim imagined he saw an opening. "Say, didn't you see Jocelyn grab Molly last night? If he hadn't she'd have run."

  "I seen him. An' I'll bet you-all a hundred thet he packs her up heah," replied Haverly.

  "Why, the man'd be out of his haid," said Matty. "It's bad enough to kidnap this heah Traft boy fer money. But to haul a Cibeque gurl up heah--for doubtful reasons! Seth, this Jocelyn ain't no Cibeque fellar nohow."

  "Matty, you'd needn't rag me," rejoined Seth, sullenly. "I cussed him fierce last night. An' I said 'No!' If he fetches her ---- ----; it'll be the wuss fer him!"

  "An' it'd be wuss fer us, don't you fergit thet."

  Sam Haverly spoke up, "Many, you ain't heerd aboot Jocelyn shootin' Andy Stoneham last night?"

  ". Andy! Fer Heaven's sake, thet good-natured clerk of Enoch's!" exclaimed Matty, aghast.

  "Hack swore Andy was informin' ag'in' us."

  They all looked puzzled, and Seth Haverly shook his blond head broodingly. The expression of thoughts, opinions, criticisms, animosities, by these woodsmen seemed equivalent to the amassing of evidence.

  "Fellows," broke in Jim, "Hack Jocelyn is too deep for you. He had the Diamond standing on its head. Even after I saw through him I had a job convincing some of them."

  "S'pose you give us a hunch aboot this deal," suggested Seth Haverly.

  "I will." declared Jim, "provided you agree to what I asked."

  Seth turned to Matty, who evidently was an important member of the outfit.

  "Traft says he'll advise his uncle to pay a ransom, providin' it's not out of all reason, an' thet Jocelyn don't git no share."

  "Strikes me hard," said Matty.

  "Jocelyn will raise hell. He wanted to name the amount of ransom an' write the letter to old Traft. But he's not heah an' we've shore no time to lose."

  Jim had a wild idea. "Haverly, would you trust me to get the ransom for you?"

  That rendered the eager group speechless. Before Haverly regained his voice the cook, who had gone outside to empty a pan, whistled low and sharp. They all jumped, and it certainly startled Jim. Then Seth strode out; to be followed by the others.

  "Jocelyn comin' down out of the woods--ridin' double," said the cook, pointing.

  "Fletch, if you ain't correct!" ejaculated Matty. To this Seth Haverly added a volley of curses.

  Jim's eyes roved and strained, at last to espy a horse coming under the pines carrying double. He stood stock-still, suddenly galvanized. How slowly the tired horse descended the slope! It was some moments before Jim made out Molly clearly. She was riding astride, behind Jocelyn's saddle, and appeared to sit there easily. Her dark head grew distinct--then her face--then her eyes. Jim wondered how he would ever have the courage to look into them. A long night ride through the wild forest with that vicious cowboy!

  Jocelyn had a gray, corded face--eyes like gimlets. He threw the bridle and, hands on hips, regarded the silent group. "Missed the trail an' was lost till daylight," he explained.

  Seth Haverly took a step out in front of his comrades. He was slow, guarded, but not afraid.

  "So, Jocelyn, you kidnapped Molly?" he queried harshly. "Nope. She come willin'."

  "What!"

  "She come willin'. Ask her yourself," returned Jocelyn, coolly.

  "Molly, is he tellin' me straight? Did you come up heah of your own accord?" demanded Haverly.

  "Yes, I did, Seth," replied Molly, calmly.

  Haverly stepped closer and peered up into Molly's face, as if to read not only confirmation of Molly's admission, but of suspicions of his own.

  Again he made that striking gesture with his hand, and, turning to Jim, baffled, eyes afire, he said, "Traft, will you take a look at Molly an' tell me if she's drunk, crazy, or--or--"

  He did not finish. There seemed to be eloquent manifestations about him that he had loved Molly Dunn.

  Jim dragged himself forward to obey, and there might have been a chain with iron balls attached to his legs. Yet something sustained him despite the icy clutch at his heart.

  Molly's face was wan. The big dark eyes gazed straight down into Jim's.

  He read in them love, hope, meaning.

  "Mawnin', Jim!" she said.

  "Good morning, Molly! How--are you?" he managed to get out.

  "I'm all right, Jim."

  "All--right?" he echoed. But he took little stock of her words. Jocelyn had acquired some control over her, probably lying to her about his authority in this kidnapping deal. Jim's whole inner being seemed to collapse with his sudden relief. Her eyes told him all he wanted to know.

  "Shore. Only awful sleepy, hungry, an' sore," she answered. "Did you come with Jocelyn willingly?"

  "Reckon so, Jim. But I didn't have a lot of choice," drawled Molly, and from behind Jocelyn's shoulder she gave him a deep warning look that certainly could not have been lost by the others.

  Jocelyn laughed sardonically. "My word goes a hell of a long way in this heah outfit."

  "You fetched her ag'in' my order," declared Seth Haverly.

  "Yes, I did. But I tell you she would come," snarled Jocelyn.

  "Tell that to the chipmunks," retorted Seth, contemptuously, and, turning to Molly: "Get down, gurl. You shore look fagged. Fletch will fix you somethin' to eat. An' I'll make a bed for you."

  He picked up an axe and strode off toward a clump of spruce. Molly slid down, and, limping to a seat under the extension, she asked for a drink of water. Matty hastened to get a dipperful from a bucket and proffered it, not without kindliness. Here was a girl of the Cibeque--their own kind--placed in a queer predicament by a comparative stranger.

  Jim's gaze had followed Molly devouringly. Happening then to shift it to Jocelyn, he was struck by that worthy's deep-set eyes, smouldering fire.

  Jim read intuitively that his very life was in peril, right at the moment. There did not appear to be any reason why Jocelyn could not and would not shoot him, as he had Andy Stoneham. It stilled Jim's emotion.

  Sitting down, back to a log, he studied the ground and tried to catch at whirling thoughts. And the first one he got hold of was that Molly's strength and composure were due to sacrifice. She was in possession of facts unknown to him or Haverly's outfit. Jim believed he could unravel the plot presently.

  Seth returned carrying a huge bundle of spruce boughs, which he carried into the back of the cabin, where a stall-like partition hid a corner.

  Evidently behind this he made a bed, for he came out to get a blanket.

  After which task he reappeared, to approach Molly.

  "You can sleep back there an' be out of the way," he said. Finally, Jocelyn dismounted, and, uncinching the wet horse, he threw saddle and blankets, unbuckled the bridle, and let him go. "I'll eat somethin'," he said, "an' then we'll talk."

  He went into the fireplace and sat on a box, where he could not see Molly. And when he bent ravenously to his meal Jim ventured to look at her. Deliberately she held up her left hand, and, slipping the ring round to the back of her finger, where the big diamond caught the sunlight, she gave Jim a smile that seemed reward for all his agony. Yet, on second thought, there seemed, beside love and loyalty, a sadness that might be renunciation.

  Seth Haverly saw Molly's look, also the ring, and if he did not put two and two together Jim missed his guess. Moreover, Seth did not react sullenly to this revelation.

  Presently Molly had satisfied her hunger and thirst, and she repaired out of sight behind or in the stall at the back of the cabin. Jocelyn, about finished with his meal, watched her go, and there seemed that of a lean wolf in his gaze. A moment
later he got up, and, giving his belt a hitch, he stalked out under the overhang of the roof, a strong figure, sure of himself and his resourcefulness. Among these men, anyway, he had no superior, and knew it.

  "What's on your mind, Seth?" he queried.

  "Shore there's a-plenty, Jocelyn, an' you're part of it," replied Haverly, gruffly.

  "Ahuh. Mister Traft's been talkin' to you. The man who gets your ear last has you on his side."

  "Wal, if I'm not loco you stuffed both my ears prutty full."

  "Come away from these crawfish of yours, an' we'll settle this deal pronto."

  "Nope, not no more. Sam an' the rest of my outfit air goin' to heah every word I say."

  Jocelyn rolled and lighted a cigarette. It struck Jim that he was prepared for most anything, and had little respect for the minds and abilities of these Cibeque riders. He leaned against the log post of the cabin and smoked, his hard eyes studying every one of them, and not missing Jim. Something Ring Locke had said to Jim seemed to be justified here. Jocelyn was one of the breed of far-riding cowboys, outlawed from many ranges, perhaps, and a dangerous man. He looked it now.

  Seth Haverly, after a pause, went on speaking: "I'm sore aboot your shootin' Andy Stoneham."

  "Thet's none of your bizness," snapped Jocelyn.

  "But it is. You're in my outfit now. We'll all be held part responsible for thet. I reckon it don't make a hell of a lot of difference--if we get away with this ransom deal. But your stealin' Molly Dunn from her home--thet'll let us out."

  "Haverly, I didn't steal her. You've got ears, man. You heered her say she came willin'."

  "Bah!"

  That nettled Jocelyn. He had lost grip here. "Haverly, you've no call to worry on account of Molly. She's goin' away with me to marry me."

  "She is!--an' you're leavin' us heah?"

  "Thet's your affair. I told you it'd be a good idea to light out fer another range or hole up till the thing blowed over." Haverly got up, red in the face.

  "It's none of my mix, if Molly means to marry you. But it looks damn queer to me. I know thet gurl. She wouldn't double-cross a Cibeque dog... You're playin' a prutty high hand. Jocelyn, an' I'm admittin' you're too smart fer this outfit."

  "Thanks. But it ain't so much of a compliment... You've no kick comin', if you get your stake out of it."

  "I wouldn't of had. But your murderin' Stoneham an' runnin' off with Molly--thet puts a bad complexion on the whole deal. I've a mind to back out of it."

  "You will like hell!" asserted Jocelyn. "You'll go through on this deal or you'll have me to square up with."

  The scarcely veiled threat had its solid effect upon Haverly. A break was imminent between them--a fact Jocelyn probably saw, but it would not come at once or openly.

  "Wal, we ain't got a lot of time to palaver," said Seth. "Curly Prentiss is on Traft's trail, you can bet. The West Forkers air goin' to give him a hunch. An' wurst, Slinger Dunn has got to be considered."

  "Dunn was beat so bad thet he'll be layin' up fer a week. Mister Traft played into our hands there."

  "Jocelyn, you cain't figger Slinger, an' thet's why I've my doubts aboot you. Shore as Gawd made little apples Slinger Dunn is on your trail right this minnit."

  Jocelyn looked up at the threatening clouds rolling from the south-west.

  "It'll rain tonight an' then we can't be trailed," he said, confidently.

  "Wal, thet'll only delay Slinger. He knows every hole in these hills, an' he's shore a hound on a scent."

  Suddenly Jocelyn took hold of Haverly and dragged him out of earshot of the listeners. There in plain sight under a pine they argued, with Haverly growing less and less protesting. Finally they reached some kind of an agreement and returned to the cabin.

  "Sam, we've made the best of a bad bargain," announced Seth. "The hitch was Molly. I jest don't care to be around if Slinger happens along. Wal, Jocelyn has agreed to take the gurl an' go to the haid of the draw up heah, an' stay hid in thet trapper's cabin at Turkey Spring. A rifle-shot will warn him to rustle... As fer the deal--we'll send Boyd to Flag pronto with the letter to old Traft. Boyd's got the fastest hoss, an' allowin' half a day to get the money he can make it in lessen two days. What you say?"

  "Suits me," said Sam, laconically.

  "Wal, it ain't so slick," added Matty. "Tomorrer is Sunday an' no bank is open. Suppose Boyd don't find old Traft at home?"

  Jocelyn waved this aside as if unworthy of consideration. "It's the letter thet'll fetch results. Blodgett or any of Traft's friends would dig up ten thousand."

  "Oh. will they?" queried Matty, dubiously. "I'll write the letter. It'll be short an' sweet. It'll say if thet money isn't heah with Boyd in twenty-four hours we'll kill Jim Traft an' hang his body over his drift fence!"

  Chapter TWENTY

  Jocelyn opened a saddle-bag, to take out a small packet, which be lay on the ground. Then, as if it was an afterthought, he lifted out a large flask, which he shook with satisfaction. Placing it back, he next removed a bottle half full of dark-red liquor. He drank from it. And then he slipped that in his hip pocket.

  Jim shared Seth Haverly's surprise at this act.

  "Reckon it ain't no time fer drinkin', onless your nerve's poor," he said caustically.

  The other wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  "You're a bright fellar, Seth," rejoined Jocelyn, rising with the packet.

  "But you ain't as bright as I am. My idea is to make Traft write this letter to his uncle."

  "Shucks! I thought of thaet long ago. An', fer thet matter, he offered to do it."

  "Who offered?"

  "Traft heah. But he made it providin' I didn't ask fer too much ransom, an' thet you wasn't to hev no share."

  "Oh! The hell you say!" returned Jocelyn, with a dark glance at Jim. Then he opened the packet and laid writing-paper, pen, and ink on the woodpile. "Fetch a box."

  One of the party procured a box from inside. "Now, Mister Jim Traft, I reckon you'll put one of your accomplishments to good use," declared Jocelyn.

  As Jim rose from his seat Seth Haverly made that singular gesture.

  "Wait," he said, in lower tone. "Jocelyn, I'll agree aboot sendin' fer the money. But I'm daid set ag'in' your doublecrossin' old Traft."

  "Talk low, you ---- ---- ----!" rejoined Jocelyn, swiftly. "She might be awake an' heah you... Git it off your chest quick."

  Haverly had paled so that his thin amber beard stood out in contrast. He knelt on one knee and whispered huskily, "I weaken on two points of your deal."

  "An' what's them?"

  "Layin' the blame on Slinger Dunn, fer one--"

  "Too late. I've already fixed thet in West Fork. Never mind your otherpoint."

  Jim had heard enough to divine Jocelyn's diabolical plot. Whether that ransom was paid or not, he realized Jocelyn meant to decorate the drift fence with his dead body, like a scarecrow hung up in a cornfield. There was one instant when it seemed Jim's whole internal machinery would fail.

  Then he rallied in desperate spirit. Right then and there he would have snatched a gun from one of these men, had he been close enough. He nursed the inspiration. If he could kill Jocelyn, that at least would save Molly. Slowly his muscles set to the terrible determination.

  "You already fixed the blame--on Slinger!" ejaculated Haverly.

  "Shore did. An' nobody but you fellars can prove he didn't shoot thet store clerk."

  "Jocelyn, you're orful smart, but you cain't work miracles," said Haverly.

  "Let's don't argue. I've no time to tell you how I put the job up on Dunn. But it's done. If he has started on our trail, he'll never be able to clear himself. Thet's all."

  "Gawd-Almighty!" gasped Haverly.

  At this juncture Jim, whose eyes kept continually travelling back to the corner of the cabin, made the startling discovery that Molly was peeping round the corner of the stall. This added to Jim's uneasy sense of premonition and made him more restless than ever. He tried to move round where he c
ould warn Molly to be careful.

  "Somebody tie up this fellar," ordered Jocelyn, who apparently could see in all directions at once. "He's snookin' around. Reckon he'd like to get back there with my lady love."

  But nobody lifted hand or foot to comply with his order. Snatching up a lasso, he made at Jim, and swung the loose loops viciously, cracking on Jim's hip. It was just possible for Jim to resist leaping at Jocelyn, who, he knew, would shoot him upon the slightest excuse.

  "Turn round an' lean ag'in the post," he commanded. "An' put your hands behind you." With that he proceeded to bind Jim's hands and feet, and tied the last in intricate knots. "It ain't my rope, an' it'll have to be cut." Then he kicked Jim's feet from under him, letting him down. It so happened that Jim slid round in falling, and there he sat, back to the post, helpless and so devoured by wrath that he felt he was sweating blood.

  Whereupon Jocelyn drew his bottle from his hip pocket and took a drink.

  "To celebrate the day, Mister Traft," he said. "An' when I drink the rest of this I'll set the bottle on your head an' treat you to some real shootin'."

  Repairing to the box, he sat down again before the writing materials.

  "Hell! I was goin' to make him write the letter, an' now I've tied him up... Wal, I'll write it myself."

  And he did, labouring over the task like a schoolboy. Then he read it over with evident satisfaction.

  Seth Haverly held out a lean hand. "I'm askin' to see what you writ."

  Imperturbably Jocelyn sealed the letter. "Reckon you couldn't read it, if I let you," said Jocelyn.

  "You're demandin' more'n we agreed on," shouted Haverly, beside himself with rage.

  "I shore am. Ten thousand wouldn't begin to do me. You're a fool, Haverly. Old Traft will pay to save his nevvy's precious life."

  "Yes, an' he'll pay all in vain," snarled Haverly, white to the lips.

  Jocelyn gave little heed to him, and, turning to Flick, he presented the letter. "Ride like hell, now. An' get this in Traft's hands today, or Blodgett's. An' if they ain't handy go to Tobin at the bank. Any one of them will pile out the greenbacks. An' you ride back, pronto."

  "I ain't stuck on the job," declared Flick, brusquely, rising to his feet.