“All right, Haughton,” he said; “I’ll carry your message back to my friends at Willets. I’ll also carry it to Lafe Renwick, of the News, here in the capital. We’ll make it all plain enough, so that your position won’t be misunderstood. The railroad company is not even a resident corporation, and yet you, as governor, refuse to act in the interests of the state cattle owners, against it—merely to force it to play fair. This will all make interesting conversation—and more interesting reading. My visit here has proved very interesting, and instructive. Good-day, sir.”
He strode out, leaving Haughton to glare after him. Ten minutes later he was in the editorial office of the News, detailing his conversation with Hatfield and the governor to a keen-eyed man of thirty-five, named Metcalf, who watched him intently as he spoke. At the conclusion of the visit the keen-eyed man grinned.
“You’ve started something, Lawler,” he said. “We’ve heard something of this, but we’ve been waiting to see just how general it was. You’ll understand, now, why I was so eager to have you run last fall. You’ll not escape so easily next time!”
Late that night Lawler got off the train at Willets; and a few minutes later he was talking with Caldwell and the others in the Willets Hotel.
“It’s a frame-up, men,” he told them. “Hatfield and the governor both subscribe to the same sentiments, which are to the effect that this is a free country—meaning that if you don’t care to accept what the buyers offer you can drive your cattle out of the state or let them starve to death on the open range.”
The big hanging-lamp swinging from the ceiling of the lounging-room flickered a dull light into the faces of the men, revealing lines that had not been in them some hours before. Somehow, it had seemed to them, Lawler would straighten things out for them; they had faith in Lawler; they had trusted in his energy and in his mental keenness. And when they had sent him to the capital they had thought that the governor would not dare to refuse his request. He was too great a man to be trifled with.
It was plain to them, now, that the invisible power which they had challenged was a gigantic thing—for it had not been impressed by their champion.
Their faces betrayed their disappointment; in their downcast eyes and in their furtive glances at one another—and at Lawler—one might have read evidence of doubt and uncertainty. They might fight the powerful forces opposed to them—and there was no doubt that futile rage against the power surged in the veins of every man in the group about Lawler. But there seemed to be no way to fight; there seemed to be nothing tangible upon which to build a hope, and no way to attack the secret, subtle force which had so arrogantly thwarted them.
There was an uneasy light in Caldwell’s eyes when he finally looked up at Lawler. He frowned, reddened, and spoke haltingly, as though ashamed:
“Lawler, I reckon they’ve got us foul. It’s late—today’s the twenty-eighth of October. Not anticipatin’ this deal, we delayed the round-up too long. It’s a month’s drive to Red Rock, over the worst trail in the country. We all know that. If we’d happen to run into a storm on the Tom Long trail we wouldn’t get no cattle to Red Rock at all. An’ if we winter them on the open range there wouldn’t be a sound hoof left by spring, for we’ve got no feed put by. It’s too certain, men; an’ a bad year would bust me wide open. I reckon I’ll sell my stock to Gary Warden. I hate it like poison, but I reckon it’s the only thing we can do.”
The others nodded, plainly having determined to follow Caldwell’s example. But they kept their eyes lowered, not looking at Lawler, for they felt that this surrender was not relished by him. Caldwell almost jumped with astonishment when he felt Lawler’s hands on his shoulders; and he looked hard at the other, wondering, vastly relieved when Lawler laughed.
“I reckon I don’t blame you,” said Lawler. “It’s a mighty blue outlook. Winter is close, and they’ve got things pretty well blocked. They figured on the late round-up, I reckon. Sell to Warden and wind the thing up—that’s the easiest way.”
Caldwell grasped Lawler’s hand and shook it vigorously.
“I thought you’d show right disappointed over us givin’ in, after what you tried to do, Lawler. You’re sure a square man.” He laughed. “You’ll be the first to sell to Warden, though,” he added, with a faint attempt at humor; “for I seen Blackburn an’ some more of your outfit trailin’ about a thousand head in tonight. They’ve got them bedded down about a mile from town. I reckon you’ll be runnin’ them into the company corral in the mornin’.”
“Not a hoof goes into the company corral, Caldwell,” smiled Lawler.
“No?” Caldwell’s amazement bulged his eyes. “What then? What you aimin’ to do with them?”
“They’re going to Red Rock, Caldwell,” declared Lawler, quietly. “The thousand Blackburn drove over, and the seven thousand the other boys are holding at the Circle L. I wouldn’t sell them to Warden if he offered fifty dollars a head.”
It was late when Caldwell and the others rode out of town, heading into the darkness toward their ranches to prepare their herds for the drive to the company corral at Willets. But before they left, Caldwell visited Warden’s office, in which, all evening, a light had glowed. Warden’s expression indicated he had expected the cattlemen to surrender.
With shamed face Caldwell carried to Warden the news of the surrender; speaking gruffly to Simmons, whom he found in the office with Warden.
“I reckon there’ll be cars—now?” he said.
Simmons smiled smoothly. “Them that contracted for cars last spring will probably get them,” he said. “I reckon the cause of all this mix-up was that the company wasn’t aimin’ to play no hit-an’-miss game.”
“There’ll be a day comin’ when the cattlemen in this country will jump on you guys with both feet!” threatened Caldwell. “It’s a mighty rotten deal, an’ you know it!”
“Is Lawler accepting my price, Caldwell?” interrupted Warden, quietly; “I saw a Circle L trail herd headed toward town this evening.”
“Hell!” declared Caldwell; “Lawler ain’t so weak-kneed as the rest of us critters. He just got through tellin’ me that he wouldn’t sell a hoof to you at fifty! He’s drivin’ to Red Rock—eight thousand head!”
When Caldwell went out, breathing fast, Warden smiled broadly at Simmons.
“Wire for cars tonight, Simmons,” he said. “But don’t get them to coming too fast. We’ll make them hold their cattle here, we’ll keep them guessing as to whether you were telling them the truth about cars. Cars and fools are plentiful, eh, Simmons?”
He got up, donned coat and hat and put out the light. At the foot of the stairs he parted from Simmons, walked down the street to the Wolf and entered.
He found Singleton in the barroom and drew him into a corner.
“He’s driving his cattle to Red Rock, Singleton. And he’s the only one. The others are selling to me. We’ve got him now, damn him! We’ve got him!” he said, his eyes glowing with malignant triumph.
CHAPTER X
THE SECOND OBSTACLE
Lawler went outside with Caldwell and the others—after Caldwell returned from his visit to Gary Warden—and, standing in the flickering glare of light from inside the hotel, he watched the men ride away.
There was a smile on his lips as he saw them fade into the yawning gulf of moonlit distance,—going in different directions toward their ranches—an ironic smile, softened by understanding and friendship.
For he bore the men no ill will because their decision had not agreed with his. He had not expected them to do as he was determined to do. And he had not asked them.
Had it not been for the agreement he had made with Jim Lefingwell the previous spring, Lawler might also have accepted Gary Warden’s price rather than face the hazards of the long drive to Red Rock.
Warden’s attitude, however, his arrogance, and the hostile dislike in his eyes, had aroused in Lawler a cold contempt for the man. Added to that was disgust over the knowledge that Warden, and not Ji
m Lefingwell, was a liar—that Warden had no respect for the sacredness of his word, given to Lefingwell. The man’s honor must be wrapped in a bond or a written contract.
The incident in the Hamlin cabin had contributed hatred to the other passions that contact with Warden had aroused in Lawler; but it had been his visit to Simmons and his talks with Hatfield and the governor that had aroused in him the fighting lust that gripped him now.
The ironic smile had faded when he reached the stable where he had left Red King. It had set in serious lines and his chin had taken on a pronounced thrust when he mounted the big horse and sent him southeastward into the glowing moonlight.
He brought Red King to a halt at a spot on the plains where the herd of Circle L cattle were being held for the night, with some cowboys riding monotonous circles around them.
Blackburn had seen him coming, and recognizing him, met him near the camp fire.
The range boss listened, his lips grimming, then silently nodded.
It was past midnight when Lawler reached the Circle L. He let himself into the house noiselessly, changed his clothes, donning the corduroy, the woolen shirt, and the spurred boots that he had worn before beginning his trip to the capital. Then, penning a note to his mother, informing her that he was going to Red Rock with his men, he went out and rode down into the valley, where the other men of the outfit were guarding the main herd, which had been held in the valley at his orders.
Long before dawn the big herd was on the move, heading northward, toward Willets, the twenty men of the outfit flanking them, heading them up the great slope that led out of the valley.
The progress of the herd was slow, for there was good grazing and the cattle moved reluctantly, requiring the continued efforts of the men to keep them moving at all. And yet when darkness came that night they had reached the Rabbit Ear—where two nights before Blackburn had held the first herd.
It was late in the afternoon of the second day when Lawler and his men came within sight of Willets. They drove the second herd to where Blackburn and his men were holding the first. Leaving Blackburn to make arrangements for camp, Lawler rode on into Willets. From a distance he saw that the company corral was well filled with cattle; and when he saw Lem Caldwell talking with some other men in front of the hotel, he knew the cattle in the corral bore Caldwell’s brand.
He waved a hand to Caldwell and the others as he rode past the hotel; but he kept on until he reached the station, where he dismounted, hitched Red King to a rail and crossed the railroad track.
A frame building, small, with a flat shedlike roof, stood near the corral fence—between the tracks and the big gates—and Lawler entered the open door, to find a portly, bald-headed man sitting at a rough, flat-top desk. The man was busy with a pencil and a pad of papers when Lawler entered, and he continued to labor with them, not seeming to notice his visitor.
Lawler halted just inside the door, to await the man’s leisure. And then he saw Gary Warden lounging in a chair in a far corner. Warden did not appear to see Lawler, either; he was facing the back of the chair, straddling it, his elbows crossed on the back, his chin resting on his arms, his gaze on the rough board floor.
Lawler noted, his lips straightening a little, that in the movements of the man at the desk was a deliberation that was almost extravagant. The man was writing, and the pencil in his hand seemed to lag. He studied long over what he wrote, pursing his lips and scratching his head. But not once did he look up at Lawler.
“Wrestling with a mighty problem, Jordan?” finally asked Lawler, his patience strained, his voice in a slow drawl.
The bald man started and glanced up. Instantly, he reddened and looked down again, leaving Lawler to wonder how it was that every official with whom he had conversed within the past few days had exhibited embarrassment.
“Excuse me, Lawler,” said Jordan; “I didn’t know you was here. I’ll be with you in a second—just as soon as I check up this tally. Caldwell drove in here not more’n two hours ago, an’ I ain’t got his tally straightened up yet.”
Lawler turned his back to Warden and gazed out through the open doorway. On the siding was a long string of empty box cars, plainly awaiting Caldwell’s cattle.
After a glance at the cars, Lawler wheeled and faced Warden, who was still gazing meditatively downward.
“I see that cars came quickly enough when you ordered them, Warden,” he said.
Warden raised his head slowly and gazed straight at Lawler, his eyes gleaming challengingly.
“Yes,” he said: “Simmons finally unearthed enough to take care of Caldwell’s cattle. There’ll be more, as soon as Simmons can find them. And he’ll have to find them pretty soon or his company will face a lawsuit. You see, Lawler, I ordered these cars months ago—got a written contract with the railroad company for them. They’ve got to take care of me.”
“I reckon you knew they’d take care of you, Warden. You were as certain of that as you were that they wouldn’t take care of any owner who wouldn’t sell to you.”
“What do you mean, Lawler?” demanded Warden, his face flushing.
“What I said, Warden. It takes gall to do what you and your friends are doing. But, given the power, any bunch of cheap crooks could do it. You understand that I’m not complimenting you any.”
It was apparent to Warden, as it was apparent to Jordan—who poised his pencil over the pad of papers and did not move a muscle—that Lawler’s wrath was struggling mightily within him. It was also apparent that Lawler’s was a cold wrath, held in check by a sanity that forbade surrender to it—a sanity that sternly governed him.
It was the icy rage that awes with its intensity; the deliberate bringing to the verge of deadly action the nerves and muscles that yearn for violent expression—and then holding them there, straining tensely, awaiting further provocation.
Both men knew what impended; both saw in the steady, unwavering gleam of Lawler’s eyes the threat, the promise of violence, should they elect to force it.
Jordan was chastened, nerveless. The pencil dropped from his fingers and he slacked in his chair, watching Lawler with open mouth.
Warden’s face had grown dead white. The hatred he bore for this man glared forth from his eyes, but the hatred was tempered by a fear that gripped him.
However, Warden was instinctively aware that Lawler would not force that trouble for which he plainly yearned; that he would not use the gun that swung from the leather at his hip unless he or Jordan provoked him to it.
And Warden wore no gun. He felt secure, as he sat for an interval after considering the situation, and yet he did not speak at once. Then, with the urge of his hatred driving him, he said, sneeringly:
“Cheap crooks, eh? Well, let me tell you something, Lawler. You can’t intimidate anybody. My business is perfectly legitimate. I am not violating any law. If I have the foresight to contract for cars in time to get them for shipment, that is my business. And if I offer you—or any man—a price, and it doesn’t suit you, you don’t have to accept it.”
He saw a glint of humor in Lawler’s eyes—a sign that the man’s passions were not to be permitted to break the leash in which he held them—and he grew bolder, his voice taking on a vindictive note.
“And I want to tell you another thing, Lawler. As long as I am resident buyer at Willets you’ll never ship a hoof through me. Understand that! You can drive to Red Rock and be damned! If you’d been halfway decent about this thing; if you hadn’t come swaggering into my office trying to dictate to me, and calling me a liar, I’d have kept Lefingwell’s agreement with you!”
“Then Lefingwell wasn’t the liar,” smiled Lawler; “you’re admitting it.”
Warden’s face grew poisonously malevolent. He laughed, hoarsely.
“Bah!” he jeered. “We’ll say I lied. What of it! I didn’t want to antagonize you, then. Only a fool is truthful at all times.” He laughed again, mockingly. “I’m truthful when I want to be.”
He saw the frank dis
gust in Lawler’s eyes, and the desire to drive it out, to make the man betray some sign of the perturbation that must be in him, drove Warden to an indiscretion.
“You’re a wise guy, Lawler,” he jeered. “A minute ago you hinted that this thing was being engineered by a bunch of cheap crooks. Call them what you like. They’re out to break you—understand? You suspect it, and I’m telling you. You went around last fall with a chip on your shoulder, making trouble far Haughton and his friends. And now they’re going to bust you wide open and scatter your remains all over the country. They’re going to fix you so that you’ll never shoot off your gab about conditions in the state again. Governor—hell! you’ll be a bum before that gang gets through with you!”
He paused, breathing rapidly, his face pale with passion; his eyes glowing with hatred, naked and bitter.
He heard Lawler’s short, mirthless laugh; he saw Lawler’s eyes narrow and gleam with a cold flame as he took a step forward and stood over him.
“Get up, Warden,” came Lawler’s voice, low and vibrant. “You’ll understand what I’m going to say a whole lot better if you’re on your feet, like a man.”
Warden got up, defiantly, and for an instant the two men stood looking into each other’s eyes, both understanding the enmity that was between them, and both seemingly exulting in it.
“I’m thanking you, Warden, for telling me. But I’ve known, since I talked with Simmons about the cars, just what it all meant. My talks with Hatfield and Governor Haughton convinced me beyond all reasonable doubt. I’m the man they are after, of course. But incidentally, they’re going to mulct every other cattle owner in the state. It’s a mighty big scheme—a stupendous robbery. The man who conceived it should have been a pirate—he has all the instincts of one.
“But get this straight. You’ve got to fight me. Understand? You’ll drag no woman into it. You went to the Hamlin ranch the other day. God’s grace and a woman’s mercy permitted you to get away, alive. Don’t let it happen again. Just as sure as you molest a woman in this section, just so sure will I kill you no matter who your friends are! Do you understand that, Warden?”
The Charles Alden Seltzer Megapack Page 95
