The Forfeit

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER VI

  THE RAIDERS RAIDED

  It was the gap where the screen of bush broke off, leaving the barrenshoulder overlooking the valley. It was where the hard-beaten,converging cattle-paths hurled themselves over the brink to the widedepths below.

  The stillness that prevailed was unbroken by a single night sound.Even the insect life seemed wrapped in a deep hush of somnolence. Asyet the night scavengers had not emerged from their hidings to bay thesilvery radiance of a moonlit night. The deep hush beneath the myriadof eyes of night was as beautiful as it was treacherous, for it onlycloaked hot, stirring passions ready in a moment to break out intowarring chaos.

  Crouching low under the shelter of the screening bush three figureshuddled closely. They were peering across the wide gulf, searchingwith eyes that only half read what lay before them in the starlight.Their gaze rested upon one definite spot whose shadowy outline wasindicated by the outstretched arm of one of the party. It was a deepwoodland bluff, leaning, as it seemed, for support against the far wallof the valley's western slope.

  After some tense moments the straining eyes beheld the faintest glimmerof artificial light flickering in the depths of its silent heart. Sofaint was it, at the distance, that, for a while, doubt prevailed.Then conviction supervened as each of the watchers recorded hisobservation and a sigh of certitude made itself heard. The point oflight was held by all. It was dwelt upon. It was the verificationneeded to convey absolute faith in the woman's tale miraculous.

  Perhaps it was the light in some window of a secret abode. Perhaps itwas the steady flicker of an unscreened camp-fire. Perhaps, even, itwas the beam of some lantern carelessly set down and left alight.Whatever it was it was certainly of human agency, and human agency inthese regions had only one interpretation for the minds of those whowere watching from the high eastern wall of the valley.

  Presently a woman's voice spoke in the hush of suppressed excitement.Her tone was full of an eagerness that hurled her words swiftly uponthe still night air.

  "That's where I marked them down," she whispered. "There--just there.Right where that light's shining. Somewhere in the heart of thatbluff. There was a herd grazing out in front, with three mounted menguarding it. There's no mistake. It's a bee-line right across. Andthe men who fired up this way came out of those trees. It's steep downthese paths. They sort of zigzag their way, but it's a path any horsecan make without danger. It just needs care. Once in the valley it'sa stretch of sweet-grass without a bluff or a break of any sort.There's no slough either. It's just grass. One big flat ofsweet-grass."

  There was no reply from her companions. They were engrossed with theobject of their straining scrutiny. Presently the woman went on again.

  "This is where my work quits," she said. Then she withdrew her gazeand looked up at the dim outline of the big man nearest her. There wasjust a shade of eagerness in her manner now. "That's Lightfoot's camp,Mr. McFarlane," she assured. "I've done all that's needed. You see,I'm a woman, and I don't guess you need anything more from me. Shall Istop right here, or--get back to home?"

  Bob Whitstone was watching his wife closely as she addressed herself tothe rancher. He noted her tone, her evident anxiety now, and heunderstood. A curious repulsion surged through him. In the brief twoyears of his married life no such sensation had ever possessed him.But he recognized it. It was the breaking point. Effie no longer heldplace in his affections. He glanced up at McFarlane as his deep toneswhispered in the silence.

  "Yes, ma'am, get right back to home. There's no need for you to getmussed up with what's goin' to happen. It's man's work, not a woman's.Your husband's got my word. You'll find we aren't forgetful."

  Then he drew back under cover, and moved away to where, scattered alongthe path, well sheltered from view, a large party of dismountedhorsemen were awaiting his orders.

  Effie turned to her husband.

  "You're coming back with me, Bob?" she said, almost pleadingly. "It'sa long way to home."

  Bob's eyes gazed straight into hers. Even in the darkness Effie feltsomething of the coldness of his regard.

  "Are you scared?" he demanded.

  Effie shook her head.

  "There's nothing to be scared at. But you've nothing to do with--therest of it."

  "Haven't I?"

  "You're not going down there with them?"

  There was a curious sharpness in the woman's whispering voice. Bob'scold regard remained unwavering.

  "I'm leaving nothing to chance. You've got to get your wages. I'mgoing to see you get them. Yes, I'm going--down there."

  A sudden fierce passion swept through the woman's heart. Hot words inretort surged to her lips. But they remained unuttered. A strongeffort of restraint checked them. She turned away coldly, her eyesfocussing once more upon the tiny point of light across the hollow.

  "Guess you must do as you think," she said, with a shrug. And sheremained with her back turned upon the man she was destined never toaddress again.

  Bob moved away and joined the rest of the Vigilantes. They werealready in the saddle. Dug McFarlane had given his final orders. In amoment Bob surveyed the scene in the dim light. Then he turned away tohis own horse and sprang into the saddle.

  McFarlane saw him and rode up.

  "You coming along?" he enquired curiously.

  "Sure."

  "Good boy." Then he drew a deep breath. "Maybe there'll be an emptysaddle or two before we've done. But I don't guess that'll need toworry us any. The man who 'passes in' to-night won't have any kickcomin'. It's better that way--with your duty done."

  "Yes."

  The simple monosyllable was strangely expressive, but Dug McFarlane hadno understanding of the thought that prompted it. It would have beendifficult indeed, even with understanding, to have probed the depths offeeling prompting it. But Whitstone was incapable of seeing thebroader aspect of anything pertaining to himself. He saw only as hisfeelings dictated, without logic or reason of any sort. He was of thatnature which leans for support upon prejudices absorbed in early youth.Principles inculcated through early environment and teaching. He wasincapable of testing or questioning their verity. Robbed of them hewas left floundering. And Effie, the woman whom he had married onlyout of hot, youthful human regard, had so robbed him.

  Effie drew back. She pressed herself close into the bush as thecavalcade sought the path at the edge of the valley. She watched theburly leader vanish over the brink. Then, one by one, twenty-fiveothers passed her in review, and were swallowed up by the depths below.She knew none of them personally, but she knew they were all ranchersand ranchmen of varying degree. She knew that each individual had atsome time suffered at the hands of the rustlers. That deep in eachheart was the craving for a vengeance which possessed small enoughthought of justice in it. These men were Vigilantes. They were socalled not from any desire to enforce law and order, but purely fortheir own self-defense, the defending of self-interests.

  They impressed her not from any justice of motive, but from themerciless purpose upon which they were bent.

  The last to pass over the brink was her husband, a slight figure,almost puny, amongst these hard prairie folk. Just for one weak momentshe was on the point of raising a protesting voice. Just for onemoment a womanly softening held her yielding. He was her husband, andmemories crowded. But almost as they were born they died. Their placewas once more taken by the recollection of the life she had been forcedto endure for the sake of her first youthful passion. Her hearthardened. No impulse had driven her to her present actions. They werethe result of a craving she was powerless to resist. Her husband mustgo his way. He must act as he saw fit. For herself she would notforego one tithe of the reward which she believed would help her tothat comfort in life for which her soul yearned.

  With the passing of the Vigilantes she moved clear of the bush. Shewould see this out. Home? She had no desire for her home. The nighthad no terrors for her
. Nothing had terror for her, except the failureof these men.

  She flung herself upon the ground and lay with wide eyes searching theremoteness of the valley beyond. Her impatience had developed intosomething almost feverish. She wanted a sign. She wanted assurance.But the world seemed so still, so entirely peaceful.

  The moments pursued for her a sluggish course. The jeweled sky was anadded regret. She desired light, light that she might witness thewhole drama she hoped--yes, hoped--would be played out down there inthe valley. A sort of dementia had taken possession of her. She hadno thought of the blood to be poured out at her bidding. She thoughtnothing of the strong lives to be given up in sacrifice for herwell-being. She thought only of herself, and all that the success ofthat night's affairs would mean to her.

  But the dragging minutes extending upward of half an hour wore herfever down. And slowly depression replaced her more tense emotions.It all seemed so long in happening that failure began to loom, and tobecome a certainty.

  It was too good to hope. Ten thousand dollars! The amount bulked inher mind. It grew greater and greater in its significance as delaythrust hope further and further from her thought. Again impatiencegrew, hot, angry impatience, and drove depression out. What were theydoing down there? Why did they not surround the bluff? There wereenough of them. Look! The light was still shining. It was the camp.Where that light shone the men lay in hiding. Well--it was simple. Toher mind there was no need for----

  The sound of a rifle shot split the air with significant abruptness.The sound banished the last of her half-angry causing. The moment hadcome. She raised herself up for no other reason than tense drawnsuspense.

  A second shot. Then a rattle of musketry which suggested generalconflict. She drew a deep breath. Far away in the distance it seemedshe heard a sharp cry. It was the final shriek of a human creature inthe agony of a mortal wound. Then followed the sound of hoarse voicesshouting.

  For some moments nothing in the scene changed. The speck of lightshone out twinkling and gleaming like some evil eye. For therest--there remained the deep twilight marked by the myriads of summerstars.

  But the cries of men, the trampling of speeding hoofs held her. Thebreathlessness of the whole thing was upon her now, making itimpossible to detach her regard from the main features.

  The rattle of rifles had become almost incessant. And a few momentslater a blaze of light shot up from the far side of the bluff. Itgrew, licking up the great, sun-dried, resinous pine wood withparalyzing rapidity. Another great sheet of flame soared upwardfurther away to the right. Then another to the south. A fire trap hadbeen set at the far side of the great bluff, and only the hither sideremained open to those seeking shelter within it.

  Effie's gaze was fascinated beyond her control. The Vigilantes hadplanned their coup deliberately and well. The air she was breathingbegan to reek with the pungent smell of burning. A light smoke hazebegan to flood the picture. Now she beheld moving figures in the luridglow which backed the scene. They were horsemen. But whether or notthey were the Vigilantes she could not be certain. They were racingacross the open, and the crack of their rifles mingled with thespluttering crackle of the conflagration beyond.

  Never for one moment did the woman withdraw her gaze. The spell of itall was almost painful. She knew that life and death were at gripsdown there in that cauldron of conflict. And though at momentsshudders passed through her body, they were neither shudders ofweakness nor womanish horror. Her only emotion was excitement, and hernerves were ready to respond in physical expression to every vision hereyes communicated to them.

  An hour passed thus. The bluff was a furnace, roaring, booming. Itlit the valley seemingly from end to end. The night shadows had beenswept aside, and the scene lay spread out before her eyes. She sawdismounted riders moving about. She beheld one group; a number of menhuddled together, held as though they were prisoners.

  At last firing altogether ceased and the straggling horsemen began toreassemble in the vicinity of the chief group. Then, as the ragingfire ate its way through to the hither side of the bluff, and turnedthe final barrier into a wall of fire, the whole party moved away downthe valley with obvious signs of haste.

  Effie gazed after them with widening eyes while the hot breath of theconflagration fanned her cheeks. She was wondering, speculating, andslowly the significance of their movements began to take hold of her.

  At first she had thought that the movement was inspired by theoverpowering heat of the forest fire. She had warned herself of thedanger. The grass down there. The flying sparks. But almost in thesame breath she realized that there was more, far more in thatmovement. The grass was far too green in the valley to form any realdanger and the bluff was sufficiently isolated. No, there was more init than the danger of fire.

  She shivered, although the night air now possessed something of thetemperature of a summer noon. All her excitement had passed. She hadeven forgotten for the time all that the doings of that night meant toher. She was thinking of the deliberate administration of justice asthese men understood it. It was crude, deadly, and full of a painfulhorror, and now, now, in saner moments, she beheld the dawn of emotionswhich had come all too late. Whither were those men riding? Whither?And then? Ah--she shuddered, and her shudder was full of realization.For well she knew that the men she had seen grouped were livingprisoners. Living prisoners. How long would they remain so? Whatwould be their end?