The Rules of the Game

  XXXIII

  Oldham's cold rage carried him to the railroad and into his berth. Then,with the regular beat and throb of the carwheels over the sleepers,other considerations forced themselves upon him. Consequences demandedrecognition.

  The land agent had not for many years permitted himself to act onimpulse. Therefore this one lapse from habit alarmed him vaguely by themere fact that it was a lapse from habit. He distrusted himself in anunaccustomed environment of the emotions.

  But superinduced on this formless uneasiness were graver considerations.He could not but admit to himself that he had by his expressed orderplaced himself to some extent in Saleratus Bill's power. He did not fora moment doubt the gun-man's loyal intentions. As long as things wentwell he would do his best by his employer--if merely to gain the rewardpromised him only on fulfillment of his task. But it is not easy tocommit a murder undetected. And if detected, Oldham had no illusions asto Saleratus Bill. The gun-man, would promptly shelter himself behindhis principal.

  As the night went on, and Oldham found himself unable to sleep in theterrible heat, the situation visualized itself. Step by step he followedout the sequence of events as they might be, filling in the minutestdetails of discovery, exposure and ruin. Gradually, in the tippedbalance of after midnight, events as they might be became events as theysurely would be. Oldham began to see that he had made a fearful mistake.No compunction entered his mind that he had condemned a man to death;but a cold fear gripped him lest his share should be discovered, and heshould be called upon to face the consequences. Oldham enjoyed and couldplay only the game that was safe so far as physical and personalretribution went.

  So deeply did the guilty panic invade his soul that after a time hearose and dressed. The sleepy porter was just turning out from thesmoking compartment.

  "What's this next station?" Oldham demanded.

  "Mo-harvey," blinked the porter.

  "I get off there," stated Oldham briefly.

  The porter stared at him.

  "I done thought you went 'way through," he confessed. "I'se scairt Idone forgot you."

  "All right," said Oldham curtly, and handing him a tip. "Never mind thatconfounded brush; get my suit case."

  Ten seconds later he stood on the platform of the little station in thedesert while the tail lights of the train diminished slowly into thedistance.

  The desert lay all about him like a calmed sea on which were dimhalf-lights of sage brush or alkali flats. On a distant horizon sleptblack mountain ranges, stretched low under a brilliant sky that archedtriumphant. In it the stars flamed steadily like candles, after thestrange desert fashion. Although by day the heat would have scorched theboards on which he stood, now Oldham shivered in the searching of thecool insistent night wind that breathed across the great spaces.

  He turned to the lighted windows of the little station where a tousledoperator sat at a telegraph key. A couch in the corner had been recentlydeserted. The fact that the operator was still awake and on duty arguedwell for another train soon. Oldham proffered his question.

  "Los Angeles express due now. Half-hour late," replied the operatorwearily, without looking up.

  Oldham caught the train, which landed him in White Oaks about noon.There he hired a team, and drove the sixty miles to Sycamore Flats byeleven o'clock that night. The fear was growing in his heart, and he hadto lay on himself a strong retaining hand to keep from lashing hishorses beyond their endurance and strength. Sycamore Flats was, ofcourse, long since abed. In spite of his wild impatience Oldham retainedenough sense to know that it would not do to awaken any one for the solepurpose of inquiring as to the whereabouts of Saleratus Bill. That wouldtoo obviously connect him with the gun-man. Therefore he stabled hishorses, roused one of the girls at Auntie Belle's, and retired to thelittle box room assigned him.

  There nature asserted herself. The man had not slept for two nights; hehad travelled many miles on horseback, by train, and by buckboard; hehad experienced the most exhausting of emotions and experiences. He fellasleep, and he did not awaken until after sun-up.

  Promptly he began his inquiries. Saleratus Bill had passed through thenight before; he had ridden up the mill road.

  Oldham ate his breakfast, saddled one of the team horses, and followed.Ordinarily, he was little of a woodsman, but his anxiety sharpened hiswits and his eyes, so that a quarter mile from the summit he noticedwhere a shod horse had turned off from the road. After a moment'shesitation he turned his own animal to follow the trail. The horsetracks were evidently fresh, and Oldham surmised that it was hardlyprobable two horsemen had as yet that morning travelled the mill road.While he debated, young Elliott swung down the dusty way headed towardthe village. He greeted Oldham.

  "Is Orde back at headquarters yet?" the latter asked, on impulse.

  "Yes, he got back day before yesterday," the young ranger replied; "butyou won't find him there this morning. He walked over to the mill tosee Welton. You'd probably get him there."

  Oldham waited only until Elliott had rounded the next corner, thenspurred his horse up the mountain. The significance of the detour wasnow no longer in doubt, for he remembered well how and where the wagontrail from headquarters joined the mill road. Saleratus Bill would leavehis horse out of sight on the hog-back ridge, sneak forward afoot, andambush his man at the forks of the road.

  And now, in the clairvoyance of this guilty terror, Oldham saw asassured facts several further possibilities. Saleratus Bill was known tohave ridden up the mill road; he, Oldham, was known to have beeninquiring after both Saleratus Bill and Orde--in short, out of wildimprobabilities, which to his ordinary calm judgment would have meantnothing at all, he now wove a tissue of danger. He wished he had thoughtto ask Elliott how long ago Orde had started out from headquarters.

  The last pitch up the mountain was by necessity a fearful grade, for ithad to surmount as best it could the ledge at the crest of the plateau.Horsemen here were accustomed to pause every fifty feet or so to allowtheir mounts a gulp of air. Oldham plied lash and spur. He came out fromhis frenzy of panic to find his horse, completely blown, lying downunder him. The animal, already weary from its sixty-mile drive ofyesterday, was quite done. After a futile effort to make it rise, Oldhamrealized this fact. He pursued his journey afoot.

  Somewhat sobered and brought to his senses by this accident, Oldhamtrudged on as rapidly as his wind would allow. As he neared thecrossroads he slackened his pace, for he saw that no living creaturemoved on the headquarters fork of the road. As a matter of fact, at thatprecise instant both Bob and Ware were within forty yards of him,standing still waiting for Amy to collect her dogwood leaves. A singlesmall alder concealed them from the other road. If they had nothappened to have stopped, two seconds would have brought them into sightin either direction. Therefore, Oldham thought the road empty, andhimself came to a halt to catch his breath and mop his brow.

  As he replaced his hat, his eye caught a glimpse of a man crouching andgliding cautiously forward through the low concealment of the snowbush.His movements were quick, his head was craned forward, every muscle wastaut, his eyes fixed on some object invisible to Oldham with anintensity that evidently excluded from the field of his visioneverything but that toward which his lithe and snake-like advance wasbringing him. In his hand he carried the worn and shining Colts 45 thatwas always his inseparable companion.

  Oldham made a single step forward. At the same moment somewhere abovehim on the hill a woman screamed. The cry was instantly followed by tworevolver shots.