The Charles Alden Seltzer Megapack

by Charles Alden Seltzer

  Toban had evidently intended to hitch his pony to the corral fence, for it was toward it that he was directing the animal, when he caught sight of Betty on the porch and rode up beside her.

  “What’s up?” he inquired, leaning over in the saddle and peering closely at her; “you look flustered. Where’s Marston?”

  “Gone,” she told him.

  He straightened. “Gone where?” he demanded.

  “Away—forever,” she said weakly. “He heard you were after him for—for killing that man Sharp—and he left.”

  Toban cursed. “So he got wind of it, did he? The Taggarts must have gassed about it. Marston told you, did he? Why didn’t you keep him here? He didn’t kill Sharp!”

  “I know it,” she said; “he told me he didn’t, and I believed him. He said you had a warrant for his arrest; that you were coming for him, and I was afraid that if you met him out on the range somewhere there would be shooting. I knew if I could keep him here until you came you would be able to fix it up some way—to prove his innocence. I was so glad, when I ran upstairs to get some money for him and looked out of the window. For you were coming. But he wouldn’t stay.”

  Toban dismounted and stood in front of her, his eyes probing into hers. “I’ve got evidence that he didn’t kill Sharp,” he said; “I saw the whole deal. But I reckon,” he added, a subtle gleam in his eyes, “that it’s just as well that he’s gone—he was a heap of trouble while he was here, anyway, wasn’t he?”

  “No,” she said quickly, defiantly; “he—” She broke off and looked at him with wide eyes. “Oh,” she said with a quavering laugh; “you are poking fun at me. You liked him, too; you told me you did!”

  “I reckon I like him,” said Toban, his lips grimming; “I like him well enough not to let him pull his freight on account of the Taggarts. Why, damn it!” he added explosively; “I was his father’s friend, an’ I ain’t seein’ him lose everything he’s got here when he’s innocent. Which way did he go?”

  There was a wild hope in her eyes; she was breathing fast. “Oh,” she said; “are you going after him? He went to the Arrow—first. He told me he was going to kill the Taggarts. Then he is going to get out of the Territory. Oh, Toban, catch him—please! I—”

  Toban laughed. “I ain’t been blind, girl,” he said; “the talks I’ve had with you in old Marston’s office have wised me up to how things stand between you an’ him. I’ll ketch him, don’t worry about that. That black horse of his is some horse, but he ain’t got nothin’ on my old dust-thrower, an’ I reckon that in fifteen miles—”

  He was climbing into the saddle while talking, and at his last word he gave the spurs to his horse, a strong, clean-limbed bay, and was away in a cloud of dust.

  Betty watched him, her hands clasped over her breast, her body rigid and tense, her eyes straining, until she saw him vanish around the bend in the trail; and then for a long time she stood on the porch, scanning the distant horizon, in the hope that she might again see Toban and be assured that nothing had happened to him. And when at last she saw a speck moving swiftly along a distant rise, she murmured a prayer and went into the house.

  When she closed the kitchen door and stood against it, looking around the room, she was afflicted with a depressing sense of loss, and she realized fully how Calumet had grown into her life, and what it would mean to her if she lost him. He had been mean, cruel, and vicious, but he had awakened at last to a sense of his shortcomings; he was like a boy who had had no training, who had grown wild and ungovernable, but who, before it had become too late, had awakened to the futility, the absurdity, the falseness of it all, and was determined to begin anew. And she felt—as she had felt all along—even when she had seen him at his worst—that she must mother him, must help him to build up a new structure of self, must lift him, must give him what the world had so far denied him—his chance. And she sat at the table and leaned her head in her arms and prayed that Toban might overtake him before he reached the Arrow. For she did not want him to come back to her with the stain of their blood on his hands.

  She was startled while sitting at the table, for she heard a sound from the sitting-room, and she got up to investigate. But it was only Bob, who, hearing the sounds made by Toban and herself, had come to investigate. She urged him to return to his room and to bed, and kissed him when he started up the stairs, so warmly that he looked at her in surprise.

  She returned to the kitchen, sitting at the table and watching the clock. A half hour had elapsed since Toban’s departure when she heard the faint beat of hoofs in the distance, and with wildly beating heart got up and went out on the porch.

  For a moment she could not determine the direction from which the sounds came, but presently she saw a rider approaching from the direction of the river, and she stepped down from the porch and advanced to meet him. She feared at first that it was Toban returning alone, and she halted and stood with clenched hands, but as the rider came closer she saw it was not Toban but an entire stranger. She retreated to the porch and watched his approach.

  He was a cowboy and he rode up to the edge of the porch confidently, calling to her when he came close enough to make himself heard.

  “My name’s Miller,” he said, taking his hat off and showing her the face of a man of thirty—“Harvey Miller. Me an’ my side-kicker was drivin’ a bunch of Three Bar beeves to Lazette an’ we was fools enough to run afoul of that quicksand at Double Fork, about five miles down the crick. We’ve bogged down about forty head an’ I’ve come for help. You got any men around here?”

  “Oh,” she said; “how careless you were! Didn’t you know the quicksand was there?”

  “I ain’t been runnin’ this range a whole lot,” said the puncher uneasily; “but I reckon even then I ought to be able to nose out a quicksand. But I didn’t, an’ there’s forty beeves that’s goin’ to cow-heaven pretty soon if somethin’ ain’t done. If you’ve got any men around here which could give us a lift, we’d be pleased to thank you.”

  “Of course,” she said. “Wait!”

  She went into the house and to the stairs where she called to Dade and Malcolm, and presently, rubbing their eyes, the two came down. They were eager to assist the puncher in his trouble and without delay they caught up the two horses that Calumet had bought soon after his coming to the ranch, saddled and bridled them and rode out of the yard.

  The unfortunate puncher did not wait for them. When they had announced their intention of helping him, he had told them that he would ride on ahead to help his partner, leaving them to follow as soon as they could.

  “I reckon you know where it is,” was his parting word to them. “Double Fork. I reckon I’ll know it again when I see it,” he added, grimly joking.

  Betty watched Dade and Malcolm as they rode away. From the porch she could follow their movements until they traveled about a mile of the distance toward Double Fork. She saw them vanish into the wood, and when she could see them no longer she turned and went into the house.

  She went to the chair in which she had previously been sitting, resting her arms on the table, but she was too nervous, too excited, to sit and she presently got up and stood, looking anxiously at the face of the clock on a shelf in a corner.

  Toban had been gone a full hour, and she wondered if by this time he had overtaken Calumet, or whether Calumet was racing ahead of him on his way to execute vengeance upon the Taggarts. She was praying mutely that Toban might overtake him before this could happen when she heard a slight sound behind her and turned swiftly to see Neal Taggart standing in the doorway, grinning at her.

  The room darkened before her eyes as she swayed weakly and caught at the table to support herself, and when she finally regained control of herself she forced herself to stand erect. There was a great fear in her heart, but she fought it down and faced Taggart with some semblance of dignity and composure.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded; “what do you want?”

  Taggart’s face wore an
evil smile. Before answering her he fastened the door behind him, left it and went to the sitting-room door, peered quickly into the room and swung the door shut, barring it. Betty stood beside the table, watching him with a sort of fascination, a little color now in her face, though she lacked the power to speak or to interfere with Taggart’s movements.

  When he had barred the sitting-room door he came and stood beside the table, and there was a repulsive, insulting leer on his face as he looked down at her.

  “Do you know what I came here for?” he said.

  “No,” she answered.

  He reached out suddenly and grasped her hands, pulling her roughly over to him. She gave a startled cry and then stood silent before him, slender and white, a subdued little figure dwarfed by his huge bulk, seemingly helpless.

  “I’ll tell you,” he said, the strange hoarseness of deep passion in his voice. “Me an’ my dad are leavin’ the country tonight. We sold the Arrow today, an’ by this time tomorrow we’ll be among the missin’ in this section of the country. But there’s some things to be done before we pull our freight. You think you’ve been damned slick about the idol—you an’ that mule-kickin’ shorthorn, Calumet Marston! But we’ve fooled you,” he continued with a short, ugly laugh; “fooled you clean! Mebbe you know this, an’ mebbe you don’t. But I’m tellin’ you. We set Telza, the Toltec, an’ Sharp to get the diagram of the place where the idol is. They didn’t get it because the clearin’ ain’t dug up any. Telza knifed Sharp an’ he’s sloped, likely figgerin’ that this country ain’t healthy for him any more. You’ve got the diagram an’ I want it. I’m goin’ to get it if I have to kill you to get it! Understand!

  “You’ve got no chance,” he sneered, as she looked around the room furtively, hopelessly. “We framed up a murder charge on Calumet and we’ve been in the timber since dark waitin’ for the sheriff to come an’ get him. We saw him hit the breeze toward the Arrow, an’ we saw the sheriff go after him. Neither of them can be back here for hours yet, an’ when they do get back I’ll have done what I’ve set out to do.”

  He laughed again, harshly, triumphantly. “Dade an’ Malcolm bothered me a bit until I thought of sendin’ Harvey Miller here with that fairy tale about the forty beeves bogged down in Double Fork, but I reckon now—”

  She gasped, comprehending the trap he had set for her, and his grip on her hands tightened.

  “Dade an’ Malcolm can’t get back for an hour yet,” he gloated, “an’ by that time we’ll be miles away.” His voice changed from mockery to savage determination. “I want that diagram, an’ I want it right now, or I’ll tear you to pieces. Do you understand? I’ll beat you up so’s your own mother wouldn’t know you.” His grip tightened on her arms, they were twisted until she screamed with agony.

  In this extremity her thoughts went to Calumet; she remembered vividly what he had said about the idol when she had asked him why he did not get it and convert it into cash. “I ain’t so much stuck on monkeyin’ with them religious things,” he had said. And she was certain that if Calumet knew of her danger he would not have had her hesitate an instant in relinquishing the diagram to Taggart.

  The idol had brought him nothing but evil, anyway, and she was certain that Calumet would not mourn its loss, even if Taggart were to be the gainer by it, if its possession were to entail punishment, death, perhaps, to her.

  “Wait!” she cried as Taggart gave her arms an extra vicious twitch; “you may have it!”

  He released her with a greedy, satisfied grin and stood crouching and alert while she turned her back to him and fumbled in her bodice, where she had kept the diagram since the discovery of its former hiding place by Telza.

  She turned presently and gave him the paper, and he seized it eagerly and examined it, gloating over it.

  “That’s it,” he said; “that’s the clearing!”

  She was holding her arms, where he had squeezed them, her face flushed with rage at the indignity he had offered her. She stood rigid, defiant.

  “If that is all you came for, you may go,” she said; “go instantly!”

  He jammed the paper into his pocket and grinned at her.

  “It ain’t all,” he said. “I owe you somethin’ for the way you’ve treated me. I’m goin’ to pay it. You’ve been too much of a lady to talk to me, but you’ll live here with that—”

  He reached suddenly out and seized her hands again, attempting to throw an arm around her. She evaded the arm and wrenched herself free, slipping past him and darting to the other side of the table. He stood opposite her, his hands on the table as he leaned toward her, grinning at her, brutally and bestially, and pausing so as to prolong his enjoyment of her predicament.

  “I’ll get you, damn you!” he said; “I’ve got the time and you can’t get out.” He seized the kerosene lamp on the table and walking backward, placed it on a shelf at the side of the wall near the stove. Then with a chuckle of satisfaction and mockery he again went to the table seizing its edge in his hands and shoving it against her so that she was forced to retreat from its advance.

  She divined instantly that he intended to force her against one of the walls and thus corner her, and she opposed her strength to his, pushing with all her power against the table in an effort to retard its advance.

  It was to no purpose, for he was a strong man and his passions were aroused, and in spite of her brave struggle the table continued to move and she to retreat before it.

  “Oh!” she said, in a panic of fear and dread, her face flushed, her eyes wide and bright, her breath coming in great panting sobs; “Oh! you beast! You beast!”

  He did not answer. His eyes were burning with a wanton fire, they glowed with the fierce, fell purpose of animal desire; he breathed shrilly, rapidly, gaspingly, though the strength that he had been compelled to use to overmatch hers had not been great.

  She did not succeed in retarding the advance of the table, but she did succeed in directing its course a little, so that instead of backing her against the wall, as he no doubt intended to do, she brought up finally against the stove in the corner.

  There was a fire in the stove—she had kept it going to keep Calumet’s supper warm—and when she felt her body against it she reached around and secured a flat iron. The handle burned her hand, but she lifted it and hurled it with all her force at his head. He dodged, laughing derisively. She seized another and threw it, and this he dodged also. She was reaching for the teakettle when he shoved the table aside and lunged at her, and she dropped the kettle with a scream of horror and slipped around the stove to the wall near the sitting-room door, reaching the latter and trying frantically to unbar it.

  She heard Bob’s voice on the other side of the door; he was calling, “Betty! Betty!” in shrill, scared accents, and when Taggart leaped at her, seizing her by the shoulders as she worked with the fastenings of the door, she screamed to Bob to get the rifle from Malcolm’s room, directing him to go out the front way, go around to the kitchen and shoot Taggart through one of the windows.

  How long she struggled with Taggart there by the door she did not know. It might have been an hour or merely a minute. But she fought him, clawing at his face with her hands, biting him, kicking him. And she remembered that he was getting the better of her, that his breath was in her face and that he was dragging her toward the lamp on the shelf, evidently intending to extinguish it—that he had almost reached it, was, indeed, reaching a hand out to grasp it, when there came a flash from the window, the crash of breaking glass, and the roar of an exploding firearm.

  She also remembered thinking that Bob had taken a desperate chance in shooting at Taggart when she was so close to him, and she had a vivid recollection of Taggart releasing her and staggering back without uttering a sound. She caught a glimpse of his face as he sank to the floor; there was a gaping hole in his forehead and his eyes were set and staring with an expression of awful horror and astonishment. Then the kitchen darkened, she felt the floor rising to meet her, and
she knew no more.

  CHAPTER XXIII

  FOR THE ALTARS OF HIS TRIBE

  The first sound that Betty heard when consciousness began to return to her was a loud pounding at the kitchen door.

  She had fallen to the floor just beneath the shelf on which the lamp sat, and she raised herself on an elbow and looked around. At first she did not remember what had happened, and then she saw Taggart, lying face upward on the floor near her, the frightful hole in his forehead, and she shuddered as recollection in a sickening flood came to her. Bob, dear Bob, had not failed her.

  She got up, trembling a little, breathing a prayer of thankfulness, shrinking from the Thing that lay on the floor at her feet with its horror-stricken eyes staring straight up at the ceiling, making her way to the kitchen door, for the pounding had grown louder and more insistent, and she could hear a voice calling hoarsely to her.

  But it did not seem to be Bob’s voice; it was deeper and more resonant, and vibrated clearly, strongly, and with passion. It was strangely familiar, though, and she shook a little with a nameless anxiety and anticipation as she fumbled at the fastenings of the door and swung it open.

  It was not Bob, but Calumet, who stepped in. One of his heavy pistols was in his right hand; with the left he had helped her to swing the door open, and he stood, for the first brief instant following his entrance, his arms extended, gazing sharply at Taggart. Then, quickly, apparently satisfied that he need have no concern for his enemy, he turned to Betty, placed both hands on her shoulders—the heavy pistol in his right resting on her—she felt the warmth of the barrel as it touched the thin material of her dress and knew then that it had been he who had fired the shot that had been the undoing of her assailant—and holding her away from him a little peered searchingly at her.