The Forfeit Part 9

"You don't hate me worse than I hate myself, Effie," he said with an exasperating lack of emotion. "Say, you feel like kicking me. You feel like treating me like a surly cur. Well, I guess you're welcome.

I don't guess there's a thing you can do that way can hurt me worse than you've done already." Then he smiled. And his smile was more maddening to the woman than his words. "Don't worry a thing. You're going to get your dollars if there's anything I can do to help you, and when you've got 'em--why, if the merciful G.o.d we've both been brought up to believe in is all we believe Him, I shan't be around to watch you dirtying your hands with them."

Then with a swift, alert movement he raised a warning hand.

"H's.h.!.+"

For some seconds they remained listening. Far away to the southeast a low murmuring note came over the low hills. The girl remained with eyes straining to pierce the starlit monotone. The man rose slowly from his seat. Finally he turned about and faced her, and his eyes smiled into hers.

"The hanging bee," he said.

CHAPTER VI

THE RAIDERS RAIDED

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

The stillness that prevailed was unbroken by a single night sound.

Even the insect life seemed wrapped in a deep hush of somnolence. As yet the night scavengers had not emerged from their hidings to bay the silvery radiance of a moonlit night. The deep hush beneath the myriad of eyes of night was as beautiful as it was treacherous, for it only cloaked hot, stirring pa.s.sions ready in a moment to break out into warring chaos.

Crouching low under the shelter of the screening bush three figures huddled closely. They were peering across the wide gulf, searching with eyes that only half read what lay before them in the starlight.

Their gaze rested upon one definite spot whose shadowy outline was indicated by the outstretched arm of one of the party. It was a deep woodland bluff, leaning, as it seemed, for support against the far wall of the valley's western slope.

After some tense moments the straining eyes beheld the faintest glimmer of artificial light flickering in the depths of its silent heart. So faint was it, at the distance, that, for a while, doubt prevailed.

Then conviction supervened as each of the watchers recorded his observation and a sigh of cert.i.tude made itself heard. The point of light was held by all. It was dwelt upon. It was the verification needed to convey absolute faith in the woman's tale miraculous.

Perhaps it was the light in some window of a secret abode. Perhaps it was the steady flicker of an unscreened camp-fire. Perhaps, even, it was the beam of some lantern carelessly set down and left alight.

Whatever it was it was certainly of human agency, and human agency in these regions had only one interpretation for the minds of those who were 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 upon the still night air.

"That's where I marked them down," she whispered. "There--just there.

Right where that light's s.h.i.+ning. Somewhere in the heart of that bluff. There was a herd grazing out in front, with three mounted men guarding it. There's no mistake. It's a bee-line right across. And the men who fired up this way came out of those trees. It's steep down these paths. They sort of zigzag their way, but it's a path any horse can make without danger. It just needs care. Once in the valley it's a stretch of sweet-gra.s.s without a bluff or a break of any sort.

There's no slough either. It's just gra.s.s. One big flat of sweet-gra.s.s."

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

"This is where my work quits," she said. Then she withdrew her gaze and looked up at the dim outline of the big man nearest her. There was just a shade of eagerness in her manner now. "That's Lightfoot's camp, Mr. McFarlane," she a.s.sured. "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 I stop right here, or--get back to home?"

Bob Whitstone was watching his wife closely as she addressed herself to the rancher. He noted her tone, her evident anxiety now, and he understood. A curious repulsion surged through him. In the brief two years of his married life no such sensation had ever possessed him.

But he recognized it. It was the breaking point. Effie no longer held place in his affections. He glanced up at McFarlane as his deep tones whispered in the silence.

"Yes, ma'am, get right back to home. There's no need for you to get mussed 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 along the path, well sheltered from view, a large party of dismounted hors.e.m.e.n were awaiting his orders.

Effie turned to her husband.

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

Bob's eyes gazed straight into hers. Even in the darkness Effie felt something 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--the rest 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's cold regard remained unwavering.

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

A sudden fierce pa.s.sion swept through the woman's heart. Hot words in retort surged to her lips. But they remained unuttered. A strong effort of restraint checked them. She turned away coldly, her eyes focussing once more upon the tiny point of light across the hollow.

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

Bob moved away and joined the rest of the Vigilantes. They were already in the saddle. Dug McFarlane had given his final orders. In a moment Bob surveyed the scene in the dim light. Then he turned away to his 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 empty saddle or two before we've done. But I don't guess that'll need to worry us any. The man who 'pa.s.ses in' to-night won't have any kick comin'. It's better that way--with your duty done."

"Yes."

The simple monosyllable was strangely expressive, but Dug McFarlane had no understanding of the thought that prompted it. It would have been difficult indeed, even with understanding, to have probed the depths of feeling prompting it. But Whitstone was incapable of seeing the broader aspect of anything pertaining to himself. He saw only as his feelings dictated, without logic or reason of any sort. He was of that nature which leans for support upon prejudices absorbed in early youth.

Principles inculcated through early environment and teaching. He was incapable of testing or questioning their verity. Robbed of them he was left floundering. And Effie, the woman whom he had married only out of hot, youthful human regard, had so robbed him.

Effie drew back. She pressed herself close into the bush as the cavalcade sought the path at the edge of the valley. She watched the burly leader vanish over the brink. Then, one by one, twenty-five others pa.s.sed her in review, and were swallowed up by the depths below.

She knew none of them personally, but she knew they were all ranchers and ranchmen of varying degree. She knew that each individual had at some time suffered at the hands of the rustlers. That deep in each heart was the craving for a vengeance which possessed small enough thought of justice in it. These men were Vigilantes. They were so called not from any desire to enforce law and order, but purely for their own self-defense, the defending of self-interests.

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

The last to pa.s.s over the brink was her husband, a slight figure, almost puny, amongst these hard prairie folk. Just for one weak moment she was on the point of raising a protesting voice. Just for one moment a womanly softening held her yielding. He was her husband, and memories crowded. But almost as they were born they died. Their place was once more taken by the recollection of the life she had been forced to endure for the sake of her first youthful pa.s.sion. Her heart hardened. No impulse had driven her to her present actions. They were the result of a craving she was powerless to resist. Her husband must go his way. He must act as he saw fit. For herself she would not forego one t.i.the of the reward which she believed would help her to that comfort in life for which her soul yearned.

With the pa.s.sing of the Vigilantes she moved clear of the bush. She would see this out. Home? She had no desire for her home. The night had no terrors for her. Nothing had terror for her, except the failure of these men.

She flung herself upon the ground and lay with wide eyes searching the remoteness of the valley beyond. Her impatience had developed into something almost feverish. She wanted a sign. She wanted a.s.surance.