CHAPTER VI
I lay in my bunk and cast things up in my mind. The patch of moonlightfrom the window moved slowly across the floor. One of the men wassnoring, but with regularity, so he did not annoy me. The outsidesilence was softly musical with all the little voices that at Hooper'shad so disconcertingly lacked. There were crickets--I had forgottenabout them--and frogs, and a hoot owl, and various such matters, beneathwhose influence customarily my consciousness merged into sleep sosweetly that I never knew when I had lost them. But I was never widerawake than now, and never had I done more concentrated thinking.
For the moment, and for the moment, only, I was safe. Old Man Hooperthought he had put me out of the way. How long would he continue tothink so? How long before his men would bring true word of the mistakethat had been made? Perhaps the following day would inform him that JimStarr and not myself had been reached by his killer's bullet. Then, Ihad no doubt, a second attempt would be made on my life. Therefore,whatever I was going to do must be done quickly.
I had the choice of war or retreat. Would it do me any good to retreat?There was the Jew drummer who was killed in San Francisco; and otherswhose fates I have not detailed. But why should he particularly desiremy extinction? What had I done or what knowledge did I possess that hadnot been equally done and known by any chance visitor to the ranch? Iremembered the notes in my shirt pocket; and, at the risk of awakeningsome of my comrades, I lit a candle and studied them. They wereundoubtedly written by the same hand. To whom had the other beensmuggled? and by what means had it come into Old Man Hooper'spossession? The answer hit me so suddenly, and seemed intrinsically soabsurd, that I blew out the candle and lay again on my back to study it.
And the more I studied it, the less absurd it seemed, not by the lightof reason, but by the feeling of pure intuition. I knew it as sanely asI knew that the moon made that patch of light through the window. Theman to whom that other note had been surreptitiously conveyed by thesad-eyed, beautiful girl of the iron-barred chamber was dead; and he wasdead because Old Man Hooper had so willed. And the former owners of theother notes of the "Collection" concerning which the old man had spokenwere dead, too--dead for the same reason and by the same hidden hands.
Why? Because they knew about the girl? Unlikely. Without doubt Hooperhad, as in my case, himself made possible that knowledge. But Iremembered many things; and I knew that my flash of intuition, absurd asit might seem at first sight, was true. I recalled the swift, dartingonslaughts with the fly whackers, the fierce, vindictive slaughter ofthe frogs, his early-morning pursuit of the flock of migrating birds.Especially came clear to my recollection the words spoken at breakfast:
"Everything inside the walls is mine! Mine! Mine! Understand? I willnot tolerate anything that is not mine; that does not obey my will; thatdoes not come when I say come; go when I say go; and fall silent when Isay be still!"
My crime, the crime of these men from whose dead hands the girl'sappeals had been taken for the "Collection," was that of curiosity! Theold man would within his own domain reign supreme, in the mental as inthe physical world. The chance cowboy, genuinely desirous only of aresting place for the night, rode away unscathed; but he whom the oldman convicted of a prying spirit committed a lese-majesty that could notbe forgiven. And I had made many tracks during my night reconnaissance.
And the same flash of insight showed me that I would be followedwherever I went; and the thing that convinced my intuitions--not myreason--of this was the recollection of the old man stamping the remainsof the poor little bird into the mud by the willows. I saw again theinsane rage of his face; and I felt cold fingers touching my spine.
On this I went abruptly and unexpectedly to sleep, after the fashion ofyouth, and did not stir until Sing, the cook, routed us out before dawn.We were not to ride the range that day because of Jim Starr, but Singwas a person of fixed habits. I plunged my head into the face of thedawn with a new and light-hearted confidence. It was one of those clear,nile-green sunrises whose lucent depths go back a million miles or so;and my spirit followed on wings. Gone were at once my fine-spun theoriesand my forebodings of the night. Life was clean and clear and simple.Jim Starr had probably some personal enemy. Old Man Hooper wasundoubtedly a mean old lunatic, and dangerous; very likely he wouldattempt to do me harm, as he said, if I bothered him again, but as forfollowing me to the ends of the earth----
The girl was a different matter. She required thought. So, as I washungry and the day sparkling, I postponed her and went in to breakfast.
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