by Harold Titus
CHAPTER XVII
THE END OF THE VIGIL
Benny Lynch was at work in the face of the Sunset's lower tunnel. Heswung his singlejack swiftly, surely, regularly, and each time it struckthe drill, his breath whistled through his lips in the manner of mineworkers. His candle, its stick secure in a crack above him, lighted thesmall chamber and under its uncertain, inefficient rays, his face seemeddrawn and hard and old.
A fortnight ago, when he rode to the Circle A ranch to share with Bayardthe secret that harassed him his countenance had been merely sober,troubled; but now it gave evidence of a severe strain that had enduredlong enough to wear down his stolidity--the tension that would naturallycome to a man who is normally kind and gentle and who, by those samequalities, is driven to hunt a fellow human as he would plot to take thelife of a dangerous animal. Through those two weeks he had been waitingalone in the mining camp, working eight hours each day, doing hiscooking and housework methodically, regularly, telling himself that hehad settled down to the routine of industriously developing propertythat was rightfully his, when that occupation was only a ruse, a blind,when he was waiting there solely for the opportunity to kill! Hiswatching had not been patient; it was outwardly deliberate, true, butinwardly it kept him in a continual state of ferment; witness the linesabout his mouth, the pallor of his skin, the feverish, expectant look inhis eyes.
On a spike in the timbering hung an alarm clock ... and a gun belt,weighted with revolver and ammunition. At regular, frequent intervals,the blows of his jack were checked and he sat crouched there, headforward and a trifle to one side, as though he were listening. When nosound save the singing of his candle wick reached his ears, he went on,regularly, evenly, purposeful. Possibly the tension that showed abouthis mouth became more noticeable after each of these brief periods whenhe strained to catch sounds.
With a final blow Benny left off the rhythmic swing, wiped his foreheadwith a wrist, poured water from a small tin bucket into the hole onwhich he was at work and picked up his jack to resume the swinging. Heglanced at the clock.
"It's time," he said aloud, his voice reverberating hollowly in theplace.
He put down his hammer quickly and rose from his squatting position asthough he had neglected to perform some important duty. He took down thegun belt, slung it about his waist, and, making a reflector of hishollowed hand for the candle, started out along the tunnel, walkingswiftly, intent on a definite end. When he reached the point where thedarkness of the drift was dissipated by the white sunlight, heextinguished his feeble torch, jabbed the candlestick into thehanging-wall and reached for a pair of binoculars that, in their wornand battered case, hung from the timbering.
"This is 'n elegant day," he said aloud, as he walked out on to thedump, manipulating the focusing screw of the glass and lookingcautiously around at the pine clad mountains which stretched away toright, left and behind him.
Evidently his mind was not on his words or on the idea; he was merelykeeping up his game of pretense, while beneath the surface he was alert,expectant. Near the foot of the pile of waste rock was the log cabinwith its red, iron roof and protruding stove pipe. Far below him andrunning outward like a great tinted carpet spread Manzanita Valley.Close in to the base of the hills on which he stood a range of bald,flat-topped, miniature buttes made, from his eminence, a low welt in itscontour, but beyond that and except for an occasional island ofknee-high oak brush it seemed to be without mar or blemish. Here andthere patches of deeper color showed and the experienced eye knew thatthere the country swelled or was cut by washes, but, otherwise, it allseemed to be flat, unbroken.
On this immense stretch of country Benny trained the glass. His mannerwas intent, resolute. Each hour during daylight he had been making thatobservation for a fortnight; every time he had anticipated reward,action. Aided by the lenses he picked out the low buttes, saw a spotthat he knew was a grazing horse, a distant shimmering blotch of mellowwhite canopied by a golden aura that meant sheep, turned his body fromleft to right in swift, sweeping inspection.
And stopped all movement with a jerk, while an inarticulate exclamationcame from him.
For the first time his sight had encountered that for which he had beenseeking. He was motionless an instant, then lowered the glass to hischest-level and stared hard with naked eyes. He wet his lips with histongue and strained forward, used the glasses again, shifted hisfooting, looking about with a show of bright nervousness, and rubbed thelenses on his shirt briskly.
"He ain't even waitin' to take th' road," he said aloud. "He's in apowerful hurry!"
Once more the instrument picked out the moving dot under that vast domeof brilliant blue sky and, for a lengthy interval Benny held his aidedgaze upon it, watching it disappear and come into sight again, everholding toward him through wash and over swells, maintaining its steadycrawling. He moved further out on the dump to obtain a better view andleaned against the rusty ore car on its track that he might be steadier;for sight of that purposeful life down yonder had started ever so slighttremors through his stalwart limbs.
He muttered to himself, and again looked alertly about, right and leftand behind. His eye was brighter, harder. When he looked into thevalley again, sweeping its expanse to find the horseman who hadmomentarily disappeared, he stood with gaze fixed in quite anotherdirection and, when he had suppressed his breath an instant to makeabsolutely certain, he cried excitedly:
"In bunches! They're comin' in droves!"
He put down the binocular, took the six-gun from its holster, twirledthe cylinder briskly and caressed the trigger with an eager finger. Hismouth had become a tight, straight line and his brows were gatheredslightly, as in perplexity. He breathed audibly as he watched thoseindications of human life on the valley. He knew then the greatesttorment of suspense....
Ten minutes later, when the near dot had become easily discernible tothe naked eye, when the figure of horse and rider was in sharp detailthrough the glass, the ominous quality about the man gave way to frankmystification. He flung one leg over the corner of the ore car, and hisface ceased to reflect his great determination, became puzzled, halfalarmed.
"That's Bruce's stallion, if I ever seen him!" he thought, "An' he'sbeen run to th' last breath."
The horse went out of sight, entered the timber below Benny and theclicking of stones, the sounds of shod hoofs floundering over bare rocksgave evidence that he would be at the mine level in another fiveminutes. The man hitched his gun belt about, took one more anxious,puzzled look down into the valley where other figures moved, and walkeddown the trail toward the cabin slowly, watching through the pines forsight of the climbing animal.
A man came first, bent over that he might climb faster up the steeptrail. He was leading a horse that was drenched from ear to ankle,lathered about neck and shoulder and flank, who breathed in short, lowsobs, and stepped with the uneven awkwardness of utter fatigue. Bennystopped as he recognized Bayard and Abe and his right hand which hadrested lightly on the gun butt at his hip dropped to his thigh. He stoodstill, waiting for them to come nearer, wondering anxiously what thismight mean, for he knew that the owner of the sorrel stallion wouldnever have ridden him to that condition without cause.
Bayard looked up, saw the man waiting for him and halted betweenstrides, the one foot far advanced before the other. His face was whiteand he stared hard at the miner, studying him closely, dreading to askthe question that was at his lips. But after that momentary pause heblurted out,
"Is everything all right, Benny?"
And Lynch, shaken by Bruce's appearance, the manner of his arrival,countered:
"What's wrong? What is it?"--walking swiftly down the trail toward thenewcomer.
"Has anybody been here before me, to-day?"
"Nobody, Bruce. What is it?"--anxiously, feeling somehow that they wereboth in danger.
"Thank God for that!" Bayard muttered, some of the intensity going fromhim, and turned to loose the cinch. "We weren't too late, Abe, weweren't." He dragged the sa
ddle from the stallion's dripping back, flungit on the rocks behind him, pulled off the bridle and with hands thatwere not steady, stroked the lathered withers as the horse stood withhead hung and let the breath sob and wheeze down his long throat whilehis limbs trembled under his weight. "We've come from town in th' mostawful ride a horse ever made on this valley, Benny. Look at him! I hadto ask him, I had to ask him to do this, to run his heart out for me; Ihad to do it!"
He stood looking at his horse and for the moment seemed to be whollyabsorbed in contemplating the animal's condition; his voice had beenuncertain as he pleaded the vague necessity for such a run.
"What is it, Bruce? Why was you in such a hurry?" Lynch asked, takingthe cowman gently by the arm, turning him so that they confronted oneanother, an uneasy connection forming in his mind between his friend'sdramatic arrival and his own purpose at the mine.
"Ned Lytton an' his wife are comin' here to-day, Benny,"--bluntly. "Ihad to get here before them to stop you ... doin' what you've come herean' waited to do."
The other's hand dropped from Bruce's arm; in Benny's face the look offear, of doubt, gave way to a return of the strained, tense expressionwith its dogged determination. That was it! The woman, identified assuch through his glass, was Lytton's wife! He felt the nerves tighteningat the back of his neck.
"What do you mean by that ... to stop me?" he asked, spreading his feet,arms akimbo, a growing defiance about him.
"What I said, Benny. I've come to stop a killin' here to-day. I thankGod I was in time!"
His old assurance, his poise, which had been missing on his arrival, hadreturned and he stepped forward, reaching out a hand to rest on Benny'sshoulder, gripping through the flannel shirt with his long, stoutfingers.
"You told me your trouble with Lytton in confidence. I thought once thismornin' maybe I'd have to break that confidence. I thought when Istarted up this trail that I must be too late to do any good, but nowI'm here I know you'll understand, old timer, I know you'll understand!"
He shook Lynch gently with his hand and smiled, but no responsive lightcame from the miner's eyes in return; hostility was there, along withthe fever of waiting.
"No, I don't understand," he said, sharply. "I don't understand whyyou're throwin' in with that scum."
"Don't think that! It's not for him I'm doin' this. I wouldn't ask myAbe to run himself sick for _him_! It's for my own peace of mind an'yours, Benny."
"My mind'll be at peace when I've squared my dad's account with Lyttonan' not before!"--with a significant gesture toward his gun.
"But mine won't, an' neither will yours when you know that by comin' tome with your story you tied me hand an' foot! Hand an' foot, Benny,that's what! I've never been helpless before, but I am this time; ifLytton comes to any harm from you here to-day, his blood'll be on myhands. I know he's a snake, I know he knifed your daddy in th'back,"--growing more intense, talking faster, "But he's wrong, Benny,wrong in th' head. A man can't get so lowdown as he is an' not be wrong.
"Oh, I know him. I know him better than you or anybody else does! I'vebeen nursin' him for weeks. He's been at my ranch--"
"At your--"
"Yes, at my ranch. I took him there a month ago, Benny, to make a man ofhim for his wife, the sweetest woman that God ever made live to make usmen better. I've been groomin' him up for her, workin' with him, hatin'him, but doin' my best to make a man of him. Now, he's bringin' her hereby force because of me, an' she sent back for me ... asked me to helpher. She knows there's danger here. I didn't tell her why, but I toldher that much, told her never to let him come back. Now he's forcin' herto come with him an' she sent for me.
"Don't you see? I can't let you shoot him down! Can't you see that,Benny?"
He shook him again and leaned forward, face close to face.
"No, I don't see that it makes any difference," Lynch said slowly, ahard calm covering his roused emotions.
Bayard drew back a step and a quick flush swept into his cheeks.
"But I sent him here, Benny; knowin' you were waitin'. It's my fault ifhe--"
"You sent him?"
"Yes, I drove him out here! He might never have come back, if it hadn'tbeen for me. I ... Nobody else knows this, Benny; maybe nobody ever willbut you, but I've got to make you understand. He ... She ... His wife'sbeen in town a month. She come out here to throw herself away on thatrat, when she don't ... when she hates him.
"I can't tell you all of it, but yesterday he saw her for th' firsttime.
"He must have raised hell with her ... because of me, because I've knownshe was out here and didn't tell him. He took her away an' she ... sentfor me....
"Don't you see that I'm to blame? Hell, it's no use hidin' it; he tookher off to get her away from me! He's bringin' her here, th' nearestplace to a home he's got. If 't wasn't for me, he wouldn't have startedfor this place; he'd stayed there. Don't you see, Benny, that I'mdrivin' him into your hands. You may be justified in killin', but Iain't justified ... in helpin' you!"
"If it's that way ... between she an' you ... you'd ought to beglad....'
"Not that way!" Bayard exclaimed. "Not that, Benny! He's everythingyou've called him, but I can't foul him. I've got to be more'n squarewith him because he is ... her husband an' because she did ... send forme!"
For a moment the miner seemed to waver; a different look appeared in hiseyes, an appreciation for the absolute openness of this man before him,his great sense of fair play, his honesty, his sincerity. Then, heremembered that minutes had been consumed, that his game was drawing toa climax.
"I can't help it," he said, doggedly, drawing back, "We understand eachother now, Bruce, an' my advice to you is to clear out. Things'll happenright soon."
"What do you mean?" slowly, with incredulity.
"Don't you know they wasn't a mile behind you, on th' other side of themlow bluffs?"
Bayard half turned, sharply, as though he expected to find Ann andLytton directly behind him on the trail.
"God, no!" he answered in a hushed tone. "Rough country, that's why Ididn't see 'em."
"Well, that's them ... a man an' woman. They ought to be here anyminute."
Lynch's voice sank to a whisper on the last and he drew the gun from itsscabbard, peering down the trail, listening. On sight of the colt, aflicker came into Bayard's eyes, his jaw tightened, his shoulderssquared themselves.
"I'll go down an' meet him," the miner said quite calmly, though thecolor had gone even from his lips. "It's ..."
With a drive of his hand, Bayard's fingers fastened on the gun and thejerk he gave the weapon tore Lynch from his footing.
"You'll not, Benny!"--in a whisper, securing the gun, and flinging itinto the brush behind him, gripping the other man by his shirt front,"You won't, by God, if I have to choke you black in the face!"
Lynch drew back against the cabin wall, struggling to free himself.
"It's my fight, Bruce!" ... breathing in gasps, eyes wide, voicestrained almost to the point of sobbing.
"I'll let go when you promise me to go into your house an' sit there an'keep quiet until I finish my work ... or, until you're molested."
"Not after two years! Not after my dad...."
Tears stood in the miner's eyes and he struck out viciously with hisfists; then Bayard, thrusting his head forward, flung out his arms in aclinging, binding embrace and they went down on the trail, a tangle oflimbs. Benny was no match in such a combat and in a trice he was on hisface, arms held behind him and Bayard was lashing his wrists togetherwith his bridle reins.
"Stand up!" he said, sharply, when he had finished.
He picked up the revolver and, with a hand under one of the bound arms,helped Benny to his feet.
"I'll apologize later. I'll do anything. I came out here to prevent akillin', Benny, an' my work ain't done yet."
The miner cursed him in a strained voice and the come and go of hisbreath was swift and irregular. He trembled violently. All the broodinghe had experienced in the last months, all t
he strain of waiting he hadknown in the recent days, the conviction that his hour of accomplishmentwas at hand, and the sudden, overwhelming sense of physical helplessnessthat was now on him combined to render his anger that of a child. Heattempted to hold back, but Bayard jerked him forward and, half dragged,half carried, he entered the kitchen of the cabin he had helped build,which had been stolen from him and which was now to be his prison at themoment when he had planned to make his title to the property good bykilling....
Bayard, too, trembled, and his gray eyes glittered. He breathed throughhis lips and was conscious that his mouth was very dry. His movementswere feverish and he handled Lynch as though he were so much insensatematter.
Benny protested volubly, shouting and screaming and kicking, trying toresist with all his bodily force, but Bruce did not seem to hear him. Hehandled his captive with a peculiar abstraction in spite of the factthat they struggled constantly.
Bayard kicked a chair away from the table, forced Lynch into it andholding him fast with one arm, drew the dangling bridle reins throughthe spindles of the back and lashed the miner's bound wrists theresecurely.
"I can't help it, Benny," he said, hurriedly and earnestly, as hestraightened. "You and I ... we'll have this out afterwards.... Yourgun ... I'll leave it here,"--putting the weapon on top of a batteredcupboard that stood against the wall behind Benny.
"I'm goin' down to turn him back towards town, Benny.... I won't giveyou away; he won't know you're here, but I've got to do it myself. Ican't let you kill him to-day.... I can't, because I'm to blame for hiscomin' here!"
He was gone then, with a thudding of boots and a ringing of spurs as heran from the room, struck into the trail and went down among the pinesat a pace which threatened a nasty fall at every stride. And Benny, leftalone, whimpered aloud and tugged ineffectually at the knots which heldhim captive in his chair. After a short interval, he stopped thestruggling and strained forward to listen. No sound reached his earsexcept the low, sweet, throaty tweeting of quail as they ran swiftlyover the rocks, under a clump of brush and disappeared. The world wasvery quiet and peaceful ... only in the man's heart was storm....
Bayard ran on down the trail toward the edge of the timber where hemight look out on the valley and see those two riders he had followedand passed without seeing. He had no plan. He would tell Lytton to goback, would _make_ him go back, with nothing but his will and his nakedhands. He wanted to laugh as he ran, for his relief was great; there wasto be no killing that day, no blood was to be on his conscience, notragedy was to stand between him and the woman who had called for aid.
His pace became reckless, for the descent was steep and, when he emergedfrom the timber, his whole attention was centered on keeping himselfupright and overcoming his momentum. When he could stop, he lifted hiseyes to the country below him, searched quickly for the figures of Nedand his wife and swore in perplexity. He did not see sign of a movingcreature. He knew that there was no depression in that part of thevalley deep enough to hide them from him as he stood on that vantagepoint. Had Lynch been mistaken? Had he deceived him artfully?
He looked about bewildered, wholly at a loss to explain the situation.Then ran on, searching the trail for indication of passing horses. Theycould not have turned back and ridden from sight in the short time thathad elapsed since Benny saw them ... if he had seen them. Where couldthey go, but on to the mine?
The worn trail still led him down grade, though the pitch was not sosevere as it had been higher up; however, he did not realize thedistance he was from timber when he came upon fresh horse tracks. Theyhad ridden up to that point at a walk; they had stopped there, and whenthey went on they had swerved to the right and ridden for the hills withhorses at a gallop.
Bayard read the tell-tale signs in an instant, wheeled, looked up at theabrupt slopes above him and cried,
"He's gone around for some reason ... in a hurry.... To come into campfrom behind!"
And trembling at thought of what might be happening back there in thecabin, he started up the trail, running laboriously against the steeprise of the hill.
