CHAPTER XV
WOLVES OF THE RANGE
Lambert left his horse at the saloon hitching-rack while he went to thestore. Business was brisk in that place, also, requiring a wait of halfan hour before his turn came. In a short time thereafter he completedhis purchases, tied his package to his saddle, and was ready to go home.
The sound of revelry was going forward again in the saloon, themechanical banjo plugging away on its tiresome tune. There was a gaphere and there at the rack where horses had been taken away, but most ofthem seemed to be anchored there for the night, standing dejectedly withdrooping heads.
The tinkle of Alta's guitar sounded through the open window of the hotelparlor as he passed, indicating that Taterleg was still in that harbor.It would be selfish to call him, making the most as he was of a clearfield. Lambert smiled as he recalled the three-cornered rivalry forAlta's bony hand.
There was a lemon-rind slice of new moon low in the southwest, giving adusky light, the huddling sage clumps at the roadside blotches ofdeepest shadow. Lambert ruminated on the trouble that had been laid outfor him that night as he rode away from town, going slowly, in no hurryto put walls between him and the soft, pleasant night.
He was confronted by the disadvantage of an unsought notoriety, orreputation, or whatever his local fame might be called. A man with afighting name must live up to it, however distasteful the strife andturmoil, or move beyond the circle of his fame. Move he would not, couldnot, although it seemed a foolish thing, on reflection, to hang on therein the lure of Grace Kerr's dark eyes.
What could a man reasonably expect of a girl with such people as SimHargus as her daily associates? Surely she had been schooled in theirwarped view of justice, as her act that day proved. No matter for Omahaand its refinements, she must be a savage under the skin. But gentle orsavage, he had a tender regard for her, a feeling of romantic sympathythat had been groping out to find her as a plant in a pit strains towardthe light. Now, in the sunshine of her presence, would it flourish andgrow green, or wither in its mistaken worship and die?
Vesta had warned him, not knowing anything of the peculiar circumstanceswhich brought him to that place, or of his discovery, which seemed arevelation of fate, the conjunction of events shaped before his entryupon the stage, indeed. She had warned him, but in the face of things asthey had taken place, what would it avail a man to turn his back on thearrangements of destiny? As it was written, so it must be lived. It wasnot in his hand or his heart to change it.
Turning these things in his mind, flavoring the bitter in the prospectwith the sweet of romance, he was drawn out of his wanderings by thesudden starting of his horse. It was not a shying start, but astiffening of attitude, a leap out of laxity into alertness, with alifting of the head, a fixing of the ears as if on some object ahead,of which it was at once curious and afraid.
Lambert was all tension in a breath. Ahead a little way the roadbranched at the point of the hill leading to the Philbrook house. Hisroad lay to the right of the jutting plowshare of hill which seemedshaped for the mere purpose of splitting the highway. The other branchled to Kerr's ranch, and beyond. The horse was plainly scentingsomething in this latter branch of the road, still hidden by the busheswhich grew as tall there as the head of a man on horseback.
As the horse trotted on, Lambert made out something lying in the roadwhich looked, at that distance, like the body of a man. Closer approachproved this to be the case, indeed. Whether the man was alive or dead,it was impossible to determine from the saddle, but he lay in a huddledheap as if he had been thrown from a horse, his hat in the road somefeet beyond.
Whetstone would not approach nearer than ten or twelve feet. There hestood, swelling his sides with long-drawn breaths, snorting hiswarning, it seemed, expressing his suspicion in the best manner that hecould command. Lambert spoke to him, but could not quiet his fear. Hecould feel the sensitive creature tremble under him, and took it ascertain that the man must be dead.
Dismounting, he led the horse and bent over the man in the road. Hecould see the fellow's shoulder move as he breathed, and straightened upwith a creeping of apprehension that this might be a trap to draw himinto just such a situation as he found himself that moment. Thenervousness of his horse rather increased than quieted, also, addingcolor to his fear.
His foot was in the stirrup when a quick rush sounded behind him. He sawthe man on the ground spring to his feet, and quick on the consciousnessof that fact there came a blow that stretched him as stiff as a deadman.
Lambert came to himself with a half-drowned sense of suffocation. Waterwas falling on his head, pouring over his face, and there was theconfused sound of human voices around him. As he cleared he realizedthat somebody was standing over him, pouring water on his head. Hestruggled to get from under the drowning stream. A man laughed, shookhim, cursed him vilely close to his ear.
"Wake up, little feller, somebody's a-cuttin' your fence!" said another,taking hold of him from the other side.
"Don't hurt him, boys," admonished a third voice, which he knew forBerry Kerr's--"this is the young man who has come to the Bad Lands witha mission. He's going to teach people to take off their hats tobarbed-wire fences. I wouldn't have him hurt for a keg of nails."
He came near Lambert now, put a hand on his shoulder, and asked him witha gentle kindness how he felt.
Lambert did not answer him, for he had no words adequate to describe hisfeelings at that moment to a friend, much less an enemy whose intentionswere unknown. He sat, fallen forward, in a limp and miserable heap,drenched with water, clusters of fire gathering and breaking likeshowers of a rocket before his eyes. His head throbbed and ached inmaddening pain. This was so great that it seemed to submerge everyfaculty save that of hearing, to paralyze him so entirely that he couldnot lift a hand. That blow had all but killed him.
"Let him alone--he'll be all right in a minute," said Kerr's voice,sounding close to his ear as if he stooped to examine him.
One was standing behind Lambert, knees against his back to prevent hisentire collapse. The others drew off a little way. There followed thesound of horses, as if they prepared to ride. It seemed as if the greatpain in Lambert's head attended the return of consciousness, as itattends the return of circulation. It soon began to grow easier,settling down to a throb with each heartbeat, as if all his life forcesrushed to that spot and clamored against his skull to be released. Hestiffened, and sat straight.
"I guess you can stick on your horse now," said the man behind him.
The fellow left him at that. Lambert could see the heads and shouldersof men, the heads of horses, against the sky, as if they were below theriver bank. He felt for his gun. No surprise was in store for him there;it was gone.
He was unable to mount when they brought his horse. He attempted it, inconfusion of senses that made it seem the struggle of somebody whom hewatched and wanted to help, but could not. They lifted him, tied hisfeet under the horse, his hands to the saddle-horn. In this fashion theystarted away with him, one riding ahead, one on either hand. He believedthat one or more came following, but of this he was not sure.
He knew it would be useless to make inquiry of their intentions. Thatwould bring down on him derision, after their savage way. Stolidly as anIndian he rode among them to what end he could not imagine; but at theworst, he believed they would not go beyond some further torture of himto give him an initiation into what he must expect unless he acceptedtheir decree that he quit the country forthwith.
As his senses cleared Lambert recognized the men beside him as SimHargus and the half-Indian, Tom. Behind him he believed Nick Hargusrode, making it a family party. In such hands, with such preliminaryusage, it began to look very grave for him.
When they saw there was no danger of his collapse, they began toincrease their pace. Bound as he was, every step of the horse wasincreased torture to Lambert. He appealed to Sim Hargus to release hishands.
"You can tie them behind me if you're afraid," he suggested.
Hargus cursed him, refusing to ease his situation. Kerr turned onhearing this outburst and inquired what it meant. Hargus repeated theprisoner's request with obscene embellishment. They made no secret ofeach other's identity, speaking familiarly, as if in the presence of onewho would make no future charges. Kerr found the request reasonable, andordered Hargus to tie Lambert's hands at his back.
"I guess you might as well take your last ride comfortable, kid," Harguscommented, as he shifted the bonds.
They proceeded at a trot, keeping it up for two hours or more. Lambertknew it was about ten o'clock when he stopped to investigate the man inthe road. There was a feel in the air now that told him it was far pastthe turn of night. He knew about where they were in relation to theranch by this time, for a man who lives in the open places develops hissense of direction until it serves him as a mole's in its undergroundtunneling.
There was no talking among his conductors, no sound but the tramp of thehorses in unceasing trot, the scraping of the bushes on the stirrups asthey passed. Lambert's legs were drawn close to his horse's belly, hisfeet not in the stirrups, and tied so tightly that he rode in painfulrigidity. The brush caught the loose stirrups and flung them againstWhetstone's sides, treatment that he resented with all the indignationof a genuine range horse. The twisting and jumping made Lambert'ssituation doubly uncomfortable. He longed for the end of the journey, nomatter what awaited him at its conclusion.
For some time Lambert had noticed a glow as of a fire directly ahead ofthem. It grew and sank as if being fed irregularly, or as if smoke blewbefore it from time to time. Presently they rounded the base of a hilland came suddenly upon the fire, burning in a gulch, as it seemed,covering a large area, sending up a vast volume of smoke.
Lambert had seen smoke in this direction many times while riding fence,but could not account for it then any more than he could now for alittle while as he stood facing its origin. Then he understood that thiswas a burning vein of lignite, such as he had seen traces of in thegorgeously colored soil in other parts of the Bad Lands where the fireshad died out and cooled long ago.
These fires are peculiar to the Bad Lands, and not uncommon there, owingtheir origin to forest or prairie blazes which spread to the exposedveins of coal. As these broad, deep deposits of lignite lie near thesurface, the fire can be seen through crevasses and fallen sections ofcrust. Sometimes they burn for years.
At the foot of the steep bank on which Lambert and his captors stood thecrust had caved, giving the fire air to hasten its ravages. The mass ofslow-moving fire glowed red and intense, covered in places by its ownashes, now sending up sudden clouds of smoke as an indraft of airlivened the combustion, now smoldering in sullen dullness, throwing offa heat that made the horses draw back.
Kerr drew aside on arriving at the fire, and sat his horse looking atit, the light on his face. Sim Hargus pointed to the glowing pit.
"That's our little private hell. What do you think of it, kid?" he said,with his grunting, insulting sneer.
The fire was visible only in front of them, in a jagged, irregular stripmarking the cave-in of the crust. It ranged from a yard to ten yardsacross, and appeared to extend on either hand a long distance. The bankon which Lambert's horse stood formed one shore of this fiery stream,which he estimated to be four yards or more across at that point. On theother side a recent settling of earth had exposed the coal, which wasburning brightly in a fringe of red flame. Whether the fire underlay theground beyond that point Lambert could not tell.
"Quite a sight by night, isn't it?" said Kerr. "It covers severalacres," he explained, as if answering the speculation that rose,irrelevantly in the face of his pain, humiliation and anxiety, inLambert's mind. What did it matter to him how much ground it covered, orwhen it began, or when it would die, when his own life was as uncertainthat minute as a match-flame in the wind.
Why had they brought him there to show him that burning coal-pit? Notout of any desire to display the natural wonders of the land. The answerwas in the fact itself. Only the diabolism of a savage mind couldcontrive or countenance such barbarity as they had come to submit himto.
"I lost several head of stock down below here a little way last winter,"said Kerr. "They crowded out over the fire in a blizzard and brokethrough. If a man was to ride in there through ignorance I doubt if he'dever be able to get out."
Kerr sat looking speculatively into the glowing pit below, the firelightred over him in strong contrast of gleam and shadow. Sim Hargus leanedto look Lambert in the face.
"You said I was to consider the two days I give you was up," said he.
"You understood it right," Lambert told him.
Hargus drew back his fist. Kerr interposed, speaking sharply.
"You'll not hit a man with his arms tied while I'm around, Sim," hesaid.
"Let him loose, then--put him down before me on his feet!"
"Leave the kid alone," said Kerr, in his even, provoking voice. "I thinkhe's the kind of a boy that will take friendly advice if you come up onthe right side of him."
"Don't be all night about it," said Nick Hargus from his place behindLambert, breaking silence in sullen voice.
Kerr rode up to Lambert and took hold of his reins, stroking oldWhetstone's neck as if he didn't harbor an unkind thought for either manor beast.
"It's this way, Duke," he said. "You're a stranger here; the customs ofthis country are not the customs you're familiar with, and it's foolish,very foolish, and maybe dangerous, for you to try to change thingsaround single-handed and alone. We've used you a little rougher than Iintended the boys to handle you, but you'll get over it in a littlewhile, and we're going to let you go this time.
"But we're going to turn you loose with the warning once more to clearout of this country in as straight a line as you can draw, startingright now, and keeping on till you're out of the state. You'll excuse usif we keep your gun; you can send me your address when you land, andI'll ship it to you. We'll have to start you off tied up, too, much as Ihate to do it. You'll find some way to get loose in a little while, Iguess, a man that's as resourceful and original as you."
Tom Hargus had not said a word since they left the river. Now he leanedover and peered into Lambert's face with an expression of excitedmalevolence, his eyes glittering in the firelight, his nostrils flaringas if he drew exhilaration with every breath. He betrayed more of theirintentions than Kerr had discovered in his words; so much, indeed, thatLambert's heart seemed to gush its blood and fall empty and cold.
Lambert forgot his throbbing head and tortured feet, and hands gorgedwith blood to the strain of bursting below his tight-drawn bonds. Therealization of his hopeless situation rushed on him; he looked round himto seize even the most doubtful opening that might lead him out oftheir hands.
There was no chance. He could not wheel his horse without hand on rein,no matter how well the willing beast obeyed the pressure of his kneeswhile galloping in the open field.
He believed they intended to kill him and throw his body in the fire.Old Nick Hargus and his son had it in their power at last to takesatisfaction for the humiliation to which he had bent them. A thousandregrets for his simplicity in falling into their trap came prickling himwith their momentary torture, succeeded by wild gropings, franticseekings, for some plan to get away.
He had no thought of making an appeal to them, no consideration of asurrender of his manhood by giving his promise to leave the country ifthey would set him free. He was afraid, as any healthy human is afraidwhen he stands before a danger that he can neither defend against norassail. Sweat burst out on him; his heart labored and heaved in heavystrokes.
Whatever was passing in his mind, no trace of it was betrayed in hisbearing. He sat stiff and erect, the red glow of the intense fire on hisface. His hat-brim was pressed back as the wind had held it in his ride,the scar of Jim Wilder's knife a shadow adding to the grim strength ofhis lean face. His bound arms drew his shoulders back, giving him adefiant pose.
"Take him out there
and head him the right way, boys," Kerr directed.
Tom Hargus rode ahead, leading Whetstone by the reins. Kerr was notfollowing. At Lambert's last sight of him he was still looking into thefire, as if fascinated by the sight of it.
A hundred yards or less from the fire they stopped. Tom Hargus turnedWhetstone to face back the way they had come, threw the reins over thesaddle-horn, rode up so close Lambert could feel his breath in his face.
"You made me brush off a nigger's hat when you had the drop on me, andcarry a post five miles. That's the shoulder I carried it on!"
He drove his knife into Lambert's right shoulder with the words. Thesteel grated on bone.
"I brushed a nigger off under your gun one time," said old Nick Hargus,spurring up on the other side. "Now I'll brush you a little!"
Lambert felt the hot streak of a knife-blade in the thick muscle of hisback. Almost at the same moment his horse leaped forward so suddenlythat it wrenched every joint in his bound, stiff body, squealing inpain. He knew that one of them had plunged a knife in the animal'shaunch. There was loud laughter, the sudden rushing of hooves, yells,and curses as they came after him.
But no shots. For a moment Lambert hoped that they were to contentthemselves with the tortures already inflicted and let him go, to findhis way out to help or perish in his bonds, as it might fall. For amoment only, this hope. They came pressing after him, heading his horsedirectly toward the fire. He struggled to bring pressure to oldWhetstone's ribs in the signal that he had answered a thousand times,but he was bound so rigidly that his muscles only twitched on the bone.
Whetstone galloped on, mad in the pain of his wound, heading straighttoward the fire.
Lambert believed, as those who urged him on toward it believed, that nohorseman ever rode could jump that fiery gorge. On the brink of it hispursuers would stop, while he, powerless to check or turn his horse,would plunge over to perish in his bonds, smothered under his strugglingbeast, pierced by the transcendent agonies of fire.
This was the last thought that rose coherently out of the turmoil of hissenses as the firepit opened before his eyes. He heard his horse squealagain in the pain of another knife thrust to madden it to itsdestructive leap. Then a swirl of the confused senses as of releasedwaters, the lift of his horse as it sprang, the heat of the fire in hisface.
The healthy human mind recoils from death, and there is no agency amongthe destructive forces of nature which threatens with so much terror asfire. The senses disband in panic before it, reason flees, the voiceappeals in its distress with a note that vibrates horror. In the threatof death by fire, man descends to his primal levels; his tongue speaksagain the universal language, its note lending its horrified thrill tothe lowest thing that moves by the divine force of life.
As Lambert hung over the fire in that mighty leap, his soul recoiled.His strength rushed into one great cry, which still tore at his throatas his horse struck, racking him with a force that seemed to tear himjoint from joint.
The shock of this landing gathered his dispersed faculties. There wasfire around him, there was smoke in his nostrils, but he was alive. Hishorse was on its feet, struggling to scramble up the bank on which ithad landed, the earth breaking under its hinder hoofs, threatening toprecipitate it back into the fire that its tremendous leap had cleared.