Trail's End

  CHAPTER XXIV

  MADNESS OF THE WINDS

  Ascalon's temper was not improved by the close passing of the rain,which had refreshed but a small strip of that almost limitless land. Thesun came out as hot as before, the withering wind blew from thesouthwest plaguing and distorting the fancy of men. Everybody in townseemed sulky and surly, ready to snap at a word. The blight ofcontention and strife seemed to be its heritage, the seed of violenceand destruction to be sown in the drouth-cursed soil.

  The judgment of men warped in that ceaseless wind, untempered by greenof bough overhead or refreshing turf under foot. There was no justice intheir hearts, and no mercy. Morgan himself did not escape this infectionof ill humor that rose out of the hard-burned earth, streamed on the hotwind, struck into men's brains with the rays of the penetrating sun. Notconscious of it, certainly, any more than the rest of them in Ascalonwere aware of their red-eyed resentment of every other man's foot uponthe earth. Yet Morgan was drilled by the boring sun until his view uponlife was aslant. Resentment, a stranger to him in his normal state, grewin him, hard as a disintegrated stone; scorn for the ingratitude ofthese people for whom he had imperiled his life rose in his eyes like aflame.

  More than that, Morgan brooded a great deal on the defilement of bloodhe had suffered there, and the alienation, real or fancied, that it hadbrought of such friends as he valued in that town. By an avoidance nowunmistakably mutual, Morgan and Rhetta Thayer had not met since thenight of Peden's fall.

  One thing only kept Morgan there in the position that had becomethankless in the eyes of those who had urged it upon him in thebeginning. That was the threatened vengeance of Peden's friends. He wasgiving them time to come for their settlement; he felt that he could notafford to be placed in the light of one who had fled before a threat.But it seemed to him, on the evening of the second day after the rainstorm's passing, that he had waited long enough. The time had come forhim to go.

  There were a few cowboys in town that evening, and these as quiet asbuzzards on a fence as they sat along the sidewalk near the hotelsmoking their cigarettes. The wind had fallen, leaving a peace in theears like the cessation of a hateful turmoil. There was the promise of acool night in the unusual clearness of the stars. Morgan rode away intothe moonless night, leaving the town to take care of its own dignity andpeace.

  Morgan's thought was, as he rode away into the early night, to returnStilwell's horse, come back to Ascalon next day, resign his office andleave the country. Not that his faith in its resources, its futuregreatness and productivity when men should have learned how to subdueit, was broken or changed. His mind was of the same bent, butcircumstances had revised his plans. There was with him always, even inhis dreams, a white, horror-stricken face looking at him in the pain ofaccusation, repulsion, complete abhorrence, where he stood in that placeof blood.

  This was driving him away from the hopes he had warmed in his heart fora day. Without the sweet flower he had hoped to fend and enjoy, thatland would be a waste to him. He could not forget in going away, butdistance and time might exorcise the spirit that attended him, and dimaway the accusing pain of that terrified face.

  Ascalon's curse of blood had descended to him; it was no mitigation inher eyes that he had slain for her. But he had brought her security.Although he had paid the tremendous price, he had given her nights ofpeace.

  Even as this thought returned to him with its comfort, as it came alwayslike a cool breath to preserve his balance in the heat and turmoil ofhis regret and pain, Rhetta Thayer came riding up the dim road.

  Her presence on that road at night was a greater testimonial to herconfidence in the security he had brought to Ascalon and its bordersthan her tongue might have owned. She was riding unattended where, tendays ago, she would not have ventured with a guard. It gave Morgan athrill of comfort to know how completely she trusted in the security hehad given her.

  "Mr. Morgan!" she said, recognizing him with evident relief. Then,quickly, in lively concern. "Who's looking after things in towntonight?"

  "I left things to run themselves," he told her quietly, but withsomething in his voice that said things might go right or wrong for anyfurther concern he had of them.

  "Well," she said, after a little silence, "I don't suppose you're neededvery much."

  "That's what the business men are saying," he told her, sarcasm in hisdry tone.

  "I don't mean it that way," she hastened to amend. "You've done us agreat service--we'll never be able to pay you----"

  "There isn't any pay involved," he interposed, almost roughly. "That'swhat's worrying those nits around the square, they say they can't carrya marshal's pay with business going to the devil since the town'sclosed. Somebody ought to tell them. There never will be any bill."

  "You're too generous," she said, a little spontaneous warmth in hervoice.

  "Maybe I can live it down," he returned.

  "It's such a lovely cool night I couldn't stay in," she chatted on,still laboring to be natural and at ease, not deceiving him by herconstraint at all, "after such a hard day fussing with that old paper.We missed an issue the week--last week--we're getting out two in onethis time. Why haven't you been in? you seem to be in such a hurryalways."

  "I wanted to spare you what you can't see in the dark," he said, thevindictive spirit of Ascalon's insanity upon him.

  "What I can't see in the dark?" she repeated, as if perplexed.

  "My face."

  "You shouldn't say that," she chided, but not with the hearty sinceritythat a friend would like to hear. "Are you going back to town?"

  "I'll ride with you," he granted, feeling that for all her friendlyadvances the shadow of his taint lay between them.

  They were three miles or more from town, the road running as straight asa plumbline before them. A little way they jogged on slowly, nothingsaid. Rhetta was the first to speak.

  "What made you run away from me that day I wanted to speak to you, Mr.Morgan?"

  "Did you want to, or were you just--_did_ you want to speak to me thatday, Miss Thayer?" Morgan's heart began to labor, his forehead to sweat,so hard was the rebirth of hope.

  "And you turned right around and walked off!"

  "You can tell me now," he suggested, half choking on the commonplacewords, the tremor of his springing hope was so great.

  "I don't remember--oh, nothing in particular. But it looks so strangefor us--for you--to be dodging me--each other--that way, after we'd_started_ being friends before everybody."

  "Only for the sake of appearances," he said sadly. "I hoped--but you ranaway and hid for a week, you thought I was a monster."

  Foolish, perhaps, to cut down the little shoot of hope again, when agentle breath, a soft word, might have encouraged and supported it. Butit was out of his mouth, the fruit of his brooding days, in hisresentfulness of her injustice, her ingratitude for his sacrifice, ashe believed. He saw her turn from him, as if a revulsion of the oldfeeling swept her.

  "Don't judge me too harshly, Mr. Morgan," she appealed, still lookingaway.

  Morgan was melted by her gentle word; the severity of the moment wasdissolved in a breath.

  "If we could go on as we began," he suggested, almost pleading in hisgreat desire.

  "Why, aren't we?" she asked, succeeding well, as a woman always can insuch a situation, in giving it a discouraging artlessness.

  "You know how they're kicking and complaining all around the squarebecause I've shut up the town, ruined business, brought calamity totheir doors as they see it?"

  "Yes, I know."

  "They forget that they came to me with their hats in their hands andasked me to do it. Joe Lynch says the hot wind has dried their reason uplike these prairie springs. I believe he's right. But I didn't shut thetown up for them, I didn't go out there with my gun like a savage andshoot men down for them, Miss Thayer. If you knew how much you were----"

  "Don't--don't--Mr. Morgan, please!"

  "I think there's something in what Joe Lynch says about
the wind," hetold her, leaning toward her, hand on the horn of her saddle. "It warpsmen, it opens cracks in their minds like the shrunk lumber in the housesof Ascalon. I think sometimes it's getting its work in on me, when I'mlonesome and disappointed."

  "You ought to come in and talk with me and Riley sometimes."

  "I've often felt like going to them, whining around about the town beingkilled," he went on, pursuing his theme as if she had not spoken, "andtelling them they didn't figure in my calculations at the beginning norcome in for any of my consideration at the end--if this is the end.There was only one person in my thoughts, that one person was Ascalon,and all there was in it, and that was you. When I took the job that day,I took it for you."

  "Not for me alone!" she hastened to disclaim, as one putting off anunwelcome responsibility, unfriendly denial in her voice.

  "For you, and only you," he told her, earnestly. "If you knew how muchyou were to me----"

  "Not for me alone--I was only one among all of them," she said, spurringher horse in the vehemence of her disclaimer, causing it to start awayfrom Morgan with quick bound. She checked it, waiting for him to draw upbeside her again. "I'd hate to think, Mr. Morgan--oh, you can't want mealone to take the responsibility for the killing of those men!"

  Morgan rode on in silence, head bent in humiliation, in the saddisappointment that fell on him like a blow.

  "If it could have been done, if I could have brought peace and safety tothe women of Ascalon without bloodshed, I'd have done it. I wanted totell you, I tried to tell you----"

  "Don't--don't tell me any more, Mr. Morgan--please!"

  She drew across the road, widening the space between them as she spoke.Perhaps this was due to the unconscious pressure on the rein followingher shrinking from his side, from the thought of his touch upon herhand, but it wounded Morgan's humiliated soul deeper than a thousandunkind words.

  "No, I'll never tell you," he said sadly, but with dignity that made therenunciation noble.

  Rhetta seemed touched. She drew near him again, reaching out her hand asif to ease his hurt.

  "It was different before--before _that night_! you were different, allof us, everything. I can't help it, ungrateful as I seem. You'll forgiveme, you'll understand. But you were _different_ to me before then."

  "Yes, I was different," Morgan returned, not without bitterness in hisslow, deep, gentle voice. "I never killed a man for--I never had killeda man; there was no curse of blood on my soul."

  "Why is it always necessary to kill in Ascalon?" she asked, wildly,rebelliously. "Why can't anything be done without that horrible ending!"

  "If I knew; if I had known," he answered her, sadly.

  "Forgive me, Mr. Morgan. You know how I feel about it all."

  "I know how you feel," he said, offering no word of forgiveness, as hehad spoken no word of reminder where a less generous soul might havespoken, nor raised a word of blame. If he had a thought that she musthave known when she urged him to the defense of the defenseless inAscalon, what the price of such guardianship must be, he kept it sealedin his heart.

  They rode on. The lights of Ascalon came up out of the night to meettheir eyes as they raised the last ridge. There Morgan stopped, soabruptly that she rode on a little way. When he came up to her where shewaited, he was holding out his hand.

  "Here is my badge--the city marshal's badge," he said. "If you can bearthe thought of touching it, or touch it without a thought, I wish youwould return it to Judge Thayer for me. I'm not needed in Ascalon anylonger, I'm quitting the job tonight. Good-bye."

  Morgan laid the badge in her hand as he spoke the last word, turned hishorse quickly, rode back upon their trail. Rhetta wheeled her horseabout, a protest on her lips, a sudden pang in her heart that clamoredto call him back. But no cry rose to summon him to her side, and Morgan,gloomy as the night around him, went on his way.

  But the lights of Ascalon were blurred as if she looked on them througha rain-drenched pane when Rhetta faced again to go her way alone, themarshal's badge clutched in her hand. Remorse was roiling in her breast;the corrosive poison of regret for too much said, depressed her generousheart.

  If he had known how to accomplish what he had wrought without blood, hehad said; if he had known. Neither had she known, but she had expectedit of him, she had set him to the task with an unreasonable condition.Blood was the price. Ascalon exacted blood, always blood.

  The curse of blood, he had said, was on his soul, his voice tremblingwith the deep, sad vibration that might have risen from a broken heart.Yes, there was madness in the wind, in the warping sun, in the hardearth that denied and mocked the dearest desires of men. It had struckher, this madness that hollowed out the heart of a man like a worm,leaving it an unfeeling shell.

  Rhetta had time for reflection when she reached home, and deeperreflection than had troubled the well of her remorse as she rode. Forthere in the light of her room she saw the bullet-mark on the dentedbadge, which never had come quite straight for all Morgan's pains tohammer out its battle scars. A little lead from the bullet still clungin the grooves of letters, unmistakable evidence of what had marred itsnickled front.

  Conboy had regarded Morgan's warning to keep that matter under his hat,for he had learned the value of silence at the right time in his longexperience in that town. Nobody else knew of the city marshal's closeescape the night of his great fight. The discovery now came to RhettaThayer with a cold shudder, a constriction of the heart. She stared withnewly awakened eyes at the badge where it lay in her palm, her palecheeks cold, her lips apart, shocked by the sudden realization of hispast peril as no word could have expressed.

  Hot thoughts ran in thronging turmoil through her brain, thoughts beforerepressed and chilled in her abhorrence of that flood of blood. For herhe had gone into that lair of murderous, defiant men, for her he hadborne the crash of that ball just over his heart. For there he had wornthe badge--just over his honest heart. Perhaps because she had thoughthis terrible work had been unjustified, as the spiteful and vicioustold, she had recoiled from him, and the recollection of him standing ongrim guard among the sanguinary wreckage of that awful place. If he hadknown any other way, he had said; if he had known!

  Not for the mothers of Ascalon, of whom he had spoken tenderly; not forthe men who came cringing to beg their redemption from the terror andoppression of the lawless at his hand. Not for them. But for her. So hehad said not half an hour past.

  But he had said no word to remind her where reminder was needed, not anaccusation had he uttered where accusation was so much deserved, thatwould bring back to her the plain, hard fact that it was at her earnestappeal he had undertaken the regeneration of that place.

  On the other hand, he had spoken as if he had assumed the taskvoluntarily, to give her the security that she now enjoyed. She had senthim to this work, expecting him to escape the curse of blood that hadfallen. But she had not shown him the means. And when it fell on him,saddening his generous heart, she had fled like an ingrate from thesight of his stern face. Now he was gone, leaving her to theconsideration of these truths, which came rushing in like falsereserves, too late.

  She put out the light and sat by the open window, the scarred badgebetween her hands, warming it tenderly as if to console the hurt he hadsuffered, wondering if this were indeed the end. This evidence in herhand was like an absolution; it left him without a stain. Thejustification was there presented that removed her deep-seatedabhorrence of his deed. In defense of his own life he had struck themdown. His life; most precious and most dear. And he was gone.

  Was this, indeed, the end? For her romance that had lifted like a brightflower in an unexpected place for a little day, perhaps; for Ascalon,not the end. Something of unrest, as an impending storm, something ofthe night's insecurity, troubled her as she sat by the window and toldher this. The sense of peace that had made her nights sweet was gone; avague terror seemed growing in the silent dark.

  This feeling attended her when she went to bed, harassed her sl
eep likea fever, woke her at early dawn and drew her to the window, where sheleaned and listened, straining to define in the stillness the thing thatseemed to whisper a warning to her heart.

  There was nothing in the face of nature to account for this; not a cloudwas on the sky. The town, too, lay still in the mists of breakingmorning, its houses dim, its ways deserted. Alarm seemed unreasonable,but her heart quivered with it, and shrunk within her as from a chillingwind. There was no warder at the gate of Ascalon; the sentry was gone.

  Rhetta turned back to her bed, neither quieted of her indefinableuneasiness nor inclined to resume her troubled sleep. After a littlewhile she rose again, and dressed. Dread attended her, dread had broodedon her bosom while she slept uneasily, like a cat breathing its poisonedbreath into her face.

  Dawn had widened when she went to the window again, the mist that clungto the ground that morning in the unusual coolness was lifting. Ahorseman rode past the corner at the bank, stopped his horse in themiddle of the street, turned in his saddle and looked around the quietsquare.

  Other riders followed, slipping in like wolves from the range, seven oreight of them, their horses jaded as if they had been long upon theroad. Cowboys in with another herd to load, she thought. And with thethought the first horseman, who had remained this little while in themiddle of the street gazing around the town, rode up to the hitchingrack beside the bank and dismounted. Rhetta gasped, drawing back fromthe window, her heart jumping in sudden alarm.

  Seth Craddock!

  There could be no mistaking the man, slow-moving when he dismounted,tall and sinewy, watchful as a battered old eagle upon its crag. Withthese ruffians at his back, gathered from the sweepings of no knowinghow many outlawed camps, he had come in the vengeance that had gatheredlike a storm in his evil heart, to punish Ascalon and its marshal forhis downfall and disgrace.