CHAPTER XXIII
BANISHING A SHADOW
Randerson could not adjust his principles to his purpose to do Masten todeath while working for Ruth, and so, in the morning following hismeeting with the Easterner on the trail leading to Chavis' shack, heannounced to the men of the outfit that he was going to quit. He told RedOwen to take charge until Ruth could see him.
Glum looks followed his announcement. They tried to dissuade him, forthey did not know his thoughts, and perhaps would not have given himcredit for them if they had.
"Don't the outfit suit you?" asked one gently. "If it don't, we'll try todo better!"
"Your conduct has been amazin' good--considerin'," grinned Randerson,light-hearted for the time; for this mark of affection was not lost uponhim.
"If there's anybody in the outfit that's disagreeable to you, why, saythe word an' we'll make him look mighty scarce!" declared another,glancing belligerently around him.
"Shucks, this outfit'll be a blamed funeral!" said Blair. "We'll begettin' to think that we don't grade up, nohow. First Vickers packs hislittle war-bag an' goes hittin' the breeze out; an' now you've got somefool notion that you ought to pull _your_ freight. If it's anythingbotherin' you, why, open your yap, an' we'll sure salivate that thing!"
"I ain't mentionin'," said Randerson. "But it ain't you boys. You'vesuited me mighty well. I'm sure disturbed in my mind over leavin' you."
"Then why leave at all?" said Owen, his face long.
But Randerson evaded this direct question. "An' you standin' in line formy job?" he said in pretended astonishment. "Why, I reckon you ought tobe the most tickled because I'm goin'!"
"Well, if it's a go, I reckon we'll have to stand for it," said Blair alittle later, as Randerson mounted his pony. Their parting words wereshort, but eloquent in the sentiment left unsaid.
"So long," Randerson told them as he rode away. And "so long" came thechorus behind him, not a man omitting the courtesy.
They stood in a group, watching him as he faded into the distance towardthe ranchhouse.
"Somethin' is botherin' him mighty bad," said Owen, frowning.
"He's made the outfit feel like a lost doggie," grumbled Blair. "Theblamed cuss is grievin' over somethin'." And they went disconsolately totheir work.
Randerson rode on his way. He felt a little relieved. No longer was hebound by his job; he was now a free agent and could do as he pleased. Andit would please him to settle his differences with Masten. He would "gogunnin' for him" with a vengeance.
It was about noon when he rode in to the ranchhouse. He did not turn hispony into the corral, but hitched it to one of the columns of the porch,for he intended to go on to the Diamond H as soon as he could get hisbelongings packed. If his old job was still open (he had heard that itwas) he would take it, or another in case the old one had been filled. Inany event, he would leave the Flying W.
Dejection was heavy in his heart when he crossed the porch to go to hisroom, for he had liked it here; it had been more like the home of hisideals than any he had yet seen. For his imagination and affection hadbeen at work, and in Aunt Martha he had seen a mother--such a mother ashe could have wished his own to be, had she lived. And Uncle Jepson! Thedirect-talking old gentleman had captivated him; between them wasrespect, understanding, and admiration that could hardly have been deeperbetween father and son.
But he felt reluctant to tell them of his decision to go, he wanted todelay it--if possible, he did not want to let them know at all, for hecould come here, sometimes, to see them, when Ruth had gone. And so hewas much pleased when, entering the house, he did not see them. But helooked for them, to be certain, going into all the rooms. And finallyfrom a kitchen window he saw them out in the cottonwood back of thehouse, walking arm in arm, away, deeper into the wood. He turned with agentle smile, and went upstairs to his room.
* * * * *
Shortly after Abe Catherson's departure from the cabin, Ruth came to thedoor and looked out. Her face was whiter than it had been when she hadreached the cabin, she was more composed, and her eyes were alight withmingled resignation and thankfulness. For Hagar had yielded her secret,and Ruth had realized how near she had come to linking her life with thatof the despicable creature who had preyed on her friend. The son of thisgreat waste of world loomed big in her thoughts as she stood in thedoorway; she saw now that those outward graces which had charmed her, inMasten, had been made to seem mockeries in contrast to the inwardcleanness and manliness of the man that she had condemned for merelydefending himself when attacked.
She went back into the cabin and sat beside Hagar, a queer sensation ofjoy possessing her, despite her pity for Hagar and her disgust forMasten, for she knew in this instant that she would never allow Randersonto quit the Flying W. Her joy was infectious; it brought a fugitive smileto the face of the nester's daughter, and as Ruth led her out upon theporch, her arms around her, Hagar looked at her worshipfully.
Out at the edge of the porch, Hagar shot a dreading glance around. Shestarted, and her eyes filled with anxiety as her gaze rested on thecorral. She seized Ruth's arm tightly.
"Dad's gone!" she said gulpingly.
"Well, perhaps it is all for the best, Hagar," consoled Ruth. "He willride for a while, and he will come back to forgive you."
But the girl's eyes grew wide with fear. "Oh, I'm afraid he'll dosomethin' terrible!" she faltered. "Before you came, he asked me if--ifit had been Randerson. I told him no, but he didn't seem satisfied, an'when I wouldn't tell him who it was, he went out, cursin' Rex. I'mafraid, Ruth--I'm afraid!" She glanced wildly around, and her gaze restedon the piece of paper that Catherson had left on the edge of the porch.In an instant she had pounced upon it.
"He's gone to kill Randerson!" she screamed shrilly. She did not seem tosee Ruth; the madness of hysterical fear was upon her; her eyes werebrilliant, wide and glaring. She was in her bare feet, but she dartedpast Ruth, disregarding the rocks and miscellaneous litter that stretchedbefore her, reached Ruth's pony and flung herself into the saddle, herlips moving soundlessly as she set the animal's head toward the path.
"You stay here!" she shouted to Ruth as the Flying W girl, stunned toinaction by the other's manner, watched her. "I'm goin' to ketch dad. Oh,durn him, the mis'able hot head!"
She hit the pony a vicious slap with a bare hand. It lunged, as the reinsloosened, reaching its best speed within a hundred yards, but urged toincreasing effort by voice and hand and heel, the girl leaning far overits mane, riding as she had never ridden before. But up at the Flying Wranchhouse, a tall, grim, bearded giant of a horseman was justdismounting, his pony trembling because of heart-breaking effort.
* * * * *
Randerson had not seen Ruth, of course. But he had wondered much over herwhereabouts when he had been looking through the house for Uncle Jepsonand Aunt Martha. And when he had seen them out in the cottonwoods, backof the house, he had supposed her to be with them. He was glad she wasnot here, to make these last moments embarrassing. He would not disturbher.
He found pencil and paper and wrote his resignation, sitting long overit, but making it brief. It read:
"I'm going, ma'am. I've left Red Owen in charge. I'm wishing you luck."
"There, that's settled," he said, rising. "But I was hopin' it would bedifferent. Dreams are silly things--when they don't come true. I'll besoured on girls, hereafter," he told himself, morosely.
He packed his war-bag. While engaged in this work he heard the sound ofhoofbeats, but he paid no attention, though he colored uncomfortably, forhe thought he had been wrong in thinking that Ruth had been in thecottonwood grove, and that she had been away and was just returning. Andwhen he heard a soft tread downstairs he was certain that it was she, andhe reddened again. He stopped his work and sat silent, then he caught thesound of footsteps on the stairs, for now he would have to face her. Whenhe saw t
he door of his room begin to swing slowly back, he got up, hisface grave, ready to deliver his resignation in person. And when the doorswung almost open, and he saw Abe Catherson standing in the opening, hisheavy pistol in hand, cocked, a finger on the trigger, he stiffened,standing silent, looking at the intruder.
Abe's eyes still wore the frenzy that had been in them when he had beenspeaking with Ruth. If anything, the frenzy was intensified. His legswere trembling, the big finger on the trigger of his weapon wastwitching; his lips, almost hidden by the beard, were writhing. He waslike a man who had been seized by some terrible illness fighting it,resolved to conquer it through sheer effort. His voice stuck in histhroat, issuing spasmodically:
"I've got you, Randerson," he said, "where--I want you! I'm goin' to killyou, empty my gun in you! You mis'able whelp!" He took two steps into theroom and then halted, tearing at the collar of his shirt with his freehand, as though to aid his laboring lungs to get the air they demanded.
Randerson's face was white and set, now. He was facing death at the handsof a man whom he had befriended many times. He did not know Catherson'smotive in coming here, but he knew that the slightest insincere word; atone too light or too gruff, the most insignificant hostile movement,would bring about a quick pressure of the trigger of Catherson's pistol.Diplomacy would not answer; it must be a battle of the spirit; nakedcourage alone could save him, could keep that big finger on the triggerfrom movement until he could discover Catherson's motive in coming tokill him.
He had faced death many times, but never had he faced it at the hands ofa friend, with the strong drag of regard to keep his fingers from his ownweapons. Had Catherson been an enemy, he would have watched him withdifferent feelings; he would have taken a desperate chance of getting oneof his own pistols to work. But he could not kill Catherson, knowingthere was no reason for it.
He had no difficulty in getting genuine curiosity into his voice, and hekept it to just the pitch necessary to show his surprise over Catherson'sthreat and manner:
"What you reckonin' to kill me for, Abe?"
"For what you done to my Hagar!" The convulsive play of Catherson'sfeatures betrayed his nearness to action. His gun arm stiffened. He spokein great gasps, like a man in delirium. "I want you to know--what for.You come--sneakin'--around--givin' me--money--"
"Steady, there, Abe!"
Randerson's sharp, cold voice acted with the effect of a dash of water inCatherson's face. He started, his big hand trembling, for though he hadcome to kill, he unknowingly wanted to hear some word from Randerson'slips in proof of his innocence. Had Randerson flinched, he would havetaken that as a sign of guilt, as he now took the man's sternness as anindication of his innocence. He stepped forward until he was no more thana foot from Randerson, and searched his face with wild intentness. Andthen, suddenly, the weapon in his hand sank down, his legs wavered, heleaned against the wall while his chin dropped to his chest.
"You didn't do it, Rex, you couldn't do it!" he muttered hoarsely. "Noman who'd done a thing like that could look back at me like you looked.But I'm goin' to git--" He stopped, for there was a rapid patter of feeton the stairs, and a breathless voice, crying wildly:
"Dad! _Dad! Dad!_"
And while both men stood, their muscles tensed to leap into action inresponse to the voice, Hagar burst into the room, looked at them both;saw Catherson's drawn pistol, and then threw herself upon her father, hidher face on his breast and sobbed: "It wasn't Rex, dad; it was Masten!"
Catherson's excitement was over. The first terrible rage had expendeditself on Randerson, and after a violent start at Hagar's words he grewcold and deliberate. Also, the confession seemed to make his resentmentagainst his child less poignant, for he rested his hand on her head andspoke gently to her:
"It's all right, Hagar--it's all right. Your old dad ain't goin' to holdit ag'in you too hard. We all make mistakes. Why, I was just goin' tomake a mighty whopper myself, by killing Rex, here. You leave this tome." He pushed her toward Randerson. "You take her back to the shack,Rex. I reckon it won't take me long to do what I'm goin' to do. I'll beback afore dark, mebbe."
The girl clung to him for an instant. "Dad," she said. "What _are_ yougoin' to do?"
"If you was a good guesser--" said Catherson coldly. And then he grinnedfelinely at Randerson and went out. They could hear him going down thestairs. They followed presently, Hagar shrinking and shuddering underRanderson's arm on her shoulders, and from the porch they saw Catherson,on his pony, riding the trail that Ruth had taken on the day she had goneto see Chavis' shack.
Randerson got Hagar into the saddle, recognizing the pony and speakingabout it. When she told him that Ruth was at her cabin, his face lighted.He thought about the written resignation lying in his room, and hesmiled.
"I come mighty near not havin' to use it," he said to himself.