And Shorty said nothing when Lawler veered from the Circle L trail and headed eastward, toward Hamlin’s cabin. And he waited with much patience outside the cabin while Lawler went in, to stay an unconscionably long time.
Ruth was alone. And her eyes were glowing with happiness when she saw Lawler.
“Oh, I know!” she said when Lawler essayed to break the news to her. “On his way to town, Blackburn rode over and told me. All of your men were in town—didn’t you know that?”
“Ruth,” said Lawler; “I will be elected. Won’t you come to the capital with me—to be the first lady of the state?”
She looked straight at him, her face paling.
“Wait, Kane,” she said, gently. “I—I can’t, just now. Oh, Kane, don’t you see that the higher you go the harder it is for me. I can’t have people say—what they might say—what your enemies would be sure to say! Father is all right now. But I can’t depend upon him. We will wait, Kane—until we are sure.”
Shorty rode with Lawler after they left the Hamlin cabin. And the gravity of Lawler’s expression was noted by the giant, and duly commented upon the following morning, in Blackburn’s presence.
“The boss’s trail is sure hard to anticipate,” said Shorty. “There’s the state goin’ loco over him—nominatin’ him for governor, an’ folks in Willets makin’ more fuss over him than they did over the President—the time he stopped for two minutes in town. Well, you’d think a man would be sort of fussed up himself, over that kind of a deal. But what does the boss do? He rides home with me, sayin’ nothin’ pretty regular—with a face on him as long as the moral law—an’ then some. I ain’t got no rope on him—an’ that’s a fact. But he’s all wool an’ a yard wide—ain’t he, Blackburn?”
CHAPTER XXXVI
A MAN MEDITATES VENGEANCE
It had always been lonely at the Hamlin cabin, and it grew more lonely after Kane Lawler left the Circle L. For the barrier between Ruth and the happiness she had a right to expect seemed to grow higher and more impassable daily.
After receiving official notification of his nomination, Lawler had gone away on a speaking tour of the state, and Ruth had seen little of him. He came home once, for a few days, just before the election, and had renewed his pleas to Ruth. But the girl, rigidly adhering to her determination not to permit the shadow of her father’s reputation to embarrass him, had firmly refused to consent. And after the election, when he had gone to the capital to take the office to which he had been chosen by a record vote, she watched him ride away with a consciousness that the world had grown to gigantic proportions and that Lawler was going to its extreme farther limits, leaving behind him a gulf of space, endless and desolate.
Dorgan, the country prosecutor, had been defeated for re-election by a man named Carney—who was known to be friendly to Singleton. Moreton had also been defeated—by “Slim” McCray, who hailed from a little town called Keegles, southeast from Willets. It was rumored—after the election—that Slim McCray had been friendly to Antrim, though no one advanced any evidence in support of the rumor.
McCray—because Willets was the county seat—came to the office that had formerly been Moreton’s, immediately following his election. He was slender, tall, and unprepossessing, and instantly created a bad impression.
This news came to Ruth through her father, for she had not visited town since she had gone there to help Mrs. Lawler care for her son. She felt that she did not dare to leave the cabin. For one night, after her father had acted strangely, he got up suddenly and went out of the door. And after a while, growing suspicious, she blew out the light and stepped softly outside, to see him, at a little distance from the house, talking with Singleton.
That incident had occurred shortly after Lawler had departed for the capital to assume his duties as governor. She suspected her father had talked with Singleton since, though she had never seen them together from that time until now.
Lawler had been gone a month. She had heard through various mediums—mostly from cowboys from nearby ranches who occasionally passed the cabin—that Lawler was “making good”—in the vernacular of the cowpuncher; and “makin’ them all set up an’ take notice.” Those terms, of course, would seem to indicate that Lawler was a good governor and that he was attracting attention by the quality of his administration.
But it seemed that more than a month had passed since Lawler had gone to the capital. The days dragged and the weeks seemed to be aeons long. And yet the dull monotony of the girl’s life was relieved by trips she made to the Circle L, to visit Lawler’s mother—and by the presence of Mary Lawler, who had come home for her vacation, during the summer, and during Lawler’s absence on his speaking tour.
Ruth had heard with satisfaction that the Circle L trail herd, attended by Blackburn, Shorty, and other Circle L men, had not been molested on the trip to Red Rock. Caldwell and the others had driven their cattle to Red Rock also—not one of them visiting Warden to arrange for cars. Lawler’s influence, and the spirit he had revealed in undertaking the long drive the previous season, had had its effect upon the other owners.
It seemed to Ruth that the fight between the Circle L men and the rustlers had made the latter cautious; and that even Warden had decided that discretion was necessary. At any rate, the surface of life in Willets and the surrounding country had become smooth, no matter what forces were at work in the depths. It appeared that the men who had fought Lawler in the past, were now careful to do nothing that would bring upon them a demonstration of his new power.
* * * *
Gary Warden, however, was not fearful of Lawler’s official power. In fact, he was openly contemptuous when Lawler’s name was mentioned in his presence. Face to face with Lawler, he was afflicted with an emotion that was akin to fear, though with it was mingled the passionate hatred he had always felt for the man.
While Lawler had been at the Circle L he had fought him secretly, with motives that arose from a determination to control the cattle industry. Warden had had behind him the secret power of the state government and the clandestine cooperation of the railroad company. His fight against Lawler had been in the nature of business, in which the advantage had been all on his side.
Now, however, intense personal feeling dominated Warden. Lawler had beaten him, so far, and the knowledge intensified his rage against his conqueror. The railroad company’s corral had yawned emptily during the entire fall season. Not a hoof had been shipped through Willets. All the cattlemen of the district had driven their stock to Red Rock. And Warden no longer smiled at the empty corral.
Looking out of one of his office windows this morning, Warden scowled. He remembered a day, a year or so ago, when he had stood in one of the windows of his office watching Della Wharton wave a handkerchief at Lawler. She had been riding out of town in a buckboard, with Aunt Hannah beside her, and Lawler had just come from the railroad station. That incident had spread the poison of jealousy in Warden’s veins; the recollection of it had caused him to doubt Della’s story of what had happened at the line cabin during the blizzard of the preceding winter; it had filled him with the maddening conviction that Lawler had deliberately tried to alienate Della’s affections—that Lawler, knowing Della to be vain and frivolous, had intentionally planned the girl’s visit to the line cabin.
He did not blame Della for what had happened. Upon Lawler was the blame for the affair; Lawler had planned it all, merely to be revenged upon him for his refusal to keep the agreement that had been made with Lefingwell.
Warden sneered as his thoughts went to that day in Jordan’s office when Lawler, a deadly threat in his eyes, had leaned close to him to warn him. Warden remembered the words—they had flamed in his consciousness since.
“But get this straight,” Lawler had said. “You’ve got to fight me! Understand? You’ll drag no woman into it. You went to Hamlin’s ranch the other day. God’s grace and a woman’s mercy permitted you to get away, alive. Just so sure as you molest a woman in the sect
ion, just so sure will I kill you, no matter who your friends are!”
Apparently, in Lawler’s code of morals, it was one thing to force one’s attentions upon a pretty woman, and another thing to steal the affections of a woman promised to another man.
But Warden’s passion permitted him to make no distinction. And his rage was based upon the premise that Lawler was guilty. Warden’s thoughts grew abysmal as he stood at the window; and considerations of business became unimportant in his mind as the Satanic impulse seized him. He stood for a long time at the window, and when he finally seized hat and coat and went down into the street he was muttering, savagely:
“God’s grace and a woman’s mercy. Bah! Damn you, Lawler; I’ll make you squirm!”
CHAPTER XXXVII
THE TRAP
For more than a month—or from a few days following the night on which she had seen her father talking with Dave Singleton—Ruth Hamlin had been aware that her parent was acting strangely. There had been an interval—directly after that night when he had told her about his talk with Lawler, when Lawler had offered to help him to regain his place among men—that Hamlin had seemed to “go straight,” as he had promised. During that interval he had taken her into his confidence many times, to discuss with her the new prospects that the future seemed to offer, and to renew his assurances to her. It had seemed, then, that there was hope for him.
Of late, though, a change had come over him. He no longer confided in her; his eyes were beginning to take on again the expression of guilt she had seen in them in the old days; his glances at her were no longer direct, but furtive, as though he feared she might learn something of his actions should she meet his gaze.
In the old days Ruth had passively endured the shame that Hamlin’s crimes had brought upon her. They had been so unexpected that they had stunned her—they had been so miserably mean that she had not dared to take anyone into her confidence.
However, the days of passive endurance were over. Lawler knew, and Lawler had helped her father. And now, she was certain, her father had again fallen.
She steeled herself against pity for him, determined that she would not stand idly by and watch him betray Lawler. She did not know what she intended to do, or what she could do, to prevent the stealing of the Circle L cattle; but she determined to watch her father, hopeful that she might devise some way to prevent the thefts.
She had passed many sleepless nights, having become aware that her father was habitually absenting himself after nightfall, but she had never been able to catch him in the act of leaving the cabin at those times, though many nights she had purposely stayed awake.
Tonight she had gone to her room, to lie awake on the bed, fully dressed. She had left the oil-lamp burning, for Hamlin had been sitting at a table reading. She heard him get up after a while; saw the light flicker and go out; heard her father cross the floor and go to his room.
There was a fire in the kitchen stove, for the weather during the day had been cold, and she could hear the embers crackling for more than an hour after her father went to his room. After that there followed a brief time when she heard nothing.
She drew a blanket over her, and its welcome warmth brought on a drowsiness to which she almost yielded. She was sure, however, that she would not go to sleep, and she lay there, comfortably for, it seemed merely a few minutes. And then a sound assailed her ears and she started up, realizing that she had been asleep. For a chill had come into the air of the cabin, and she knew the fire had gone out.
She sat up, breathing fast, and ran to her father’s room. The bed had not been slept in; and she emerged from the room, her face pallid with resolution.
Running to the outside door she swung it open and looked out. Far out upon the clear, moonlit sweep of plain stretching toward Willets, she saw the shadowy figures of two horsemen.
Moving swiftly, she went to the corral, caught her pony, saddled it, threw on a bridle, mounted and rode after the two horsemen, urging the pony to its best efforts.
The speed at which the pony traveled did not equal the pace of the animals ahead of her, however, and she steadily lost ground, though the night was so clear that she did not lose sight of the figures in front of her until they reached the shadows of Willets’ buildings. She did lose them there, though, and when she rode down the dimly lighted street she could see no sign of them.
There was no one about, and she rode back and forth on the street, searching for Hamlin’s horse, which would give her a clue to Hamlin’s whereabouts. And at last, peering into a vacant space between two buildings she saw Hamlin’s horse, and another, hitched to a rail near an outside stairway.
She got off the pony, threw the reins over its head and ran around to the front of the building, into the light of some oil-lamps that stabbed the semi-gloom of the street.
The building was occupied by the Wolf Saloon. She knew that, and it was that knowledge that caused her to hesitate as she stood in front of it. But her father was in there, she was certain. She had recognized the horse that had been hitched close to her father’s as one that Singleton had ridden to the Hamlin cabin on several of his visits, and the cold determination that had seized her at last gave her courage to swing the front door of the saloon open. She hesitated on the threshold, white, shaking with dread, almost afraid, now that she had come this far, to face the terrible men she knew she would find inside. The ill-fame of the place was notorious.
But while she hesitated, she heard her father’s voice—a sound that drove her to instant action, for it was high-pitched, and carried a note of anger.
She went inside, then, no longer thinking of herself; her heart a throb with concern, courage of a high order sustaining her. She pushed the outside door open, burst through the double-swing door that screened the barroom from the street, and stood in the front of the room blinking at the lights.
The room was full of men—she did not know how many. They made a great blur in front of her; and it seemed to her that all their faces were turned to her. She had a flashing view of a multitude of inquiring eyes; she noted the thick haze that hung over the room; her nostrils were assailed by mingled odors that were nauseating. The flashing glance showed her the long bar, a cluster of lights overhead; card tables; a low ceiling, and a stairway leading from the barroom to a platform.
All sound had ceased with her entrance. She saw her father standing near the center of the room.
He was standing alone, in sinister isolation. Singleton was facing him, about a dozen feet distant. A few feet from Singleton stood another man—dark of face, with cruel lips, and eyes that held a wanton light. A little farther away—close to the bar—stood Gary Warden.
Her father seemed to be the only man in the room who had not seen her. A terrible rage had gripped him; he seemed to have undergone a strange transformation since she had seen him last; that manhood which she had thought had departed from him appeared to have returned.
For he made a striking figure as he stood there. He was rigid, alert; he seemed to dominate every man that faced him, that stood within sound of his voice. He had been talking when Ruth entered; he was still talking, unaware of her presence.
His voice was pitched high, it carried a note of defiance; it was vibrant with passion. Fascinated by the change in him, Ruth stood motionless, listening.
“So that’s what you brought me here for?” he said, his voice shaking with rage. He was looking at Singleton and the man who stood near the latter. “You brought me here because you wanted to be sure there’d be enough of you to down me. Well, damn you—get goin!”
His voice rose to a screech of awful rage; and while it still resounded through the room he dropped his right hand and dragged at the pistol at his hip.
It was done so swiftly that Ruth could make no movement to interfere. And yet as swiftly as her father’s hand had dropped to the holster at his side, the dark-faced man who stood near Singleton anticipated the movement. His right hand moved like a streak of light. It went down
, then up again with the same motion. The air rocked with a crashing report, mingled with Ruth’s scream of terror. And Hamlin’s gun loosened in his hand, his knees doubled and he tumbled headlong, to fall face down at the feet of the dark-faced man who stood, sneering, some blue-white smoke curling upward in mocking laziness from the muzzle of his pistol.
Ruth had moved with the report of the pistol; she was at Hamlin’s side when he fell, grasping one of his arms; and she went down with him, to one knee, dazed from the suddenness of the thing; palzied with horror, the room reeling around her.
How long she knelt at her father’s side she did not know. It seemed only a second or two to her when she raised her head and looked around with dumb, agonized grief at the faces that seemed to fill the place. Then she heard Warden’s voice; he spoke to the dark-faced man who had killed her father, and his voice was vibrant with a mocking, Satanic satisfaction.
“You’ve wanted her, Slade—take her!”
The dark-faced man grinned at her, bestially. She leaped to her feet at the expression of his eyes, and started to run toward the door. But terror shackled her feet; it seemed that some power was dragging at her, holding her back from the door. She had not taken more than half a dozen steps when Slade was upon her.
His strength seemed to be prodigious, for despite her desperate resistance he lifted her from the floor, crushed her to him and started for the stairs. She screamed, begging the men in the room to help her. But through the haze she saw grinning faces turned to hers; heard loud laughter and coarse oaths. And then came oblivion.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
THE GOVERNOR’S GUNS
From his desk in the big, quiet room in the capitol building Lawler could look out upon a wide sweep of orderly landscape. There were trees—now stripped of their foliage—in serried array around the spacious grounds that surrounded the building; bushes arranged in attractive clusters; a low stone fence with massive posts that rose in simple dignity above white cement walks that curved gracefully toward the streets.
The Charles Alden Seltzer Megapack Page 110
