The "Wild West" Collection. William MacLeod Raine
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admitted to himself that his only chance was to refute Stelton's damaging inference. But how?
The cowmen were beginning to talk in low tones among themselves and there was not much time. Suddenly an idea came. With a difficult effort he controlled his nervous trepidation.
"Men," he said, "Stelton did not pursue his questions far enough."
"What d'yuh mean by that?" asked Bissell, glaring at him savagely.
"I mean that he did not ask me what Caldwell actually did with the money I gave him. He made you believe that Smithy used it for the rustlers with my consent. That is a blamed lie!"
"What did he do with it?" cried Billy Speaker.
"Ask Stelton," shouted Bud, suddenly leaping out of his chair and pointing an accusing finger at the foreman. "He seems to know so much about everything, ask him!"
The foreman, dazed by the unexpected attack, turned a surprised and harrowed countenance toward the men as he scrambled to his feet. He cast quick, fearful glances in Larkin's direction, as though attempting to discover how much of certain matters that young man actually knew.
"Ask him!" repeated Bud emphatically. "There's a fine man to listen to, coming here with a larkum story that he can't follow up."
"Come on, Stelton, loosen yore jaw," suggested Billy Speaker. "What did this here Caldwell do with the money?"
Stelton, his face black with a cloud of rage and disappointment, glared from one to another of the men, who were eagerly awaiting his replies. Larkin, watching him closely, saw again those quick, furtive flicks of the eye in his direction, and the belief grew upon him that Stelton was suspicious and afraid of something as yet undreamed of by the rest. Larkin determined to remember the fact.
"I don't know what he done with the money," growled the foreman at last, admitting his defeat.
"Why did you give Caldwell five hundred in the first place, Larkin?" asked Bissell suddenly.
"That is a matter between himself and me only," answered Bud freezingly, while at the same time he sat in fear and trembling that Stelton would leap before the cowmen at this new cue and retail all the conversation of that night at the corral.
But for some reason the foreman let the opportunity pass and Bud wondered to himself what this sudden silence might mean.
He knew perfectly well that no gentle motive was responsible for the fellow's attitude, and wrote the occurrence down on the tablets of his memory for further consideration at a later date.
After this there was little left to be done. Stelton's testimony had failed in its chief purpose, to compass the death of Larkin, but it had not left him clear of the mark of suspicion and he himself had little idea of absolute acquittal. Under the guard of his sharpshooting cow-puncher he was led back to his room in the ranch house to await the final judgment.
In an hour it was delivered to him, and in all the history of the range wars between the sheep and cattle men there is recorded no stranger sentence. In a land where men were either guilty or innocent, and, therefore, dead or alive, it stands alone.
It was decided by the cowmen that, as a warning and example to other sheep owners, Bud Larkin should be tied to a tree and quirted, the maximum of the punishment being set at thirty blows and the sentence to be carried out at dawn.
CHAPTER XV
COWLAND TOPSY-TURVY
To Bud Larkin enough had already happened to make him as philosophical as Socrates. Epictetus remarks that our chief happiness should consist in knowing that we are entirely indifferent to calamity; that disgrace is nothing if our consciences are right and that death, far from being a calamity is, in fact, a release.
But the world only boasts of a few great minds capable of believing these theories, and Larkin's was not one of them. He was distinctly and completely depressed at the prospect ahead of him.
It was about ten o'clock at night and he sat in the chair beside his table, upon which a candle was burning, running over the pages of an ancient magazine.
The knowledge of what the cowmen had decided to do with him had been brought by a committee of three of the men just before the supper hour and since that time Larkin had been fuming and growling with rage.
There seems to be something particularly shameful in a whipping that makes it the most dreaded of punishments. It was particularly so at the time in which this story is laid, for echoes of '65 were still to be heard reverberating from one end of the land to the other. In the West whippings were of rare occurrence, if not unknown, except in penitentiaries, where they had entirely too great a vogue.
Larkin's place of captivity was now changed. Some enterprising cowboy, at Bissell's orders, had fashioned iron bars and these were fixed vertically across the one window. The long-unused lock of the door had been fitted with a key and other bars fastened across the doorway horizontally so that should Larkin force the lock he would still meet opposition.
Since Juliet's unpleasant episode with her father Bud had seen her just once--immediately afterward. Then, frankly and sincerely, she had told him what had happened and why, and Larkin, touched to the heart, had pleaded with her for the greatest happiness of his life.
The realization of their need for each other was the natural outcome of the position of each, and the fact that, whatever happened, Juliet found herself forced to espouse Bud's cause.
In that interview with her father she had come squarely to the parting of the ways, and had chosen the road that meant life and happiness to her. The law that human intellects will seek their own intellectual level, providing the person is sound in principle, had worked out in her case, and, once she had made her decision, she clung to it with all the steadfastness of a strong and passionate nature.
It was Bissell's discovery of a new and intimate relation between his daughter and the sheepman that had resulted in the latter's close confinement, and from the time that this occurred the two had seen nothing of each other except an occasional glimpse at a distance when Bud was taken out for a little exercise.
To-night, therefore, as Larkin sat contemplating the scene to be enacted at dawn, his sense of shame increased a hundredfold, for he knew that, as long as she lived, Julie could not forget the occurrence.
It should not be thought that all this while he had not formulated plans of escape. Many had come to him, but had been quickly dismissed as impracticable. Day and night one of the Bar T cowboys watched him. And even though he had been able to effect escape from his room, he knew that without a horse he was utterly helpless on the broad, level stretches of prairie. And to take a horse from the Bar T corral would lay him open to that greatest of all range crimes--horse-stealing.
To-night his guards had been doubled. One paced up and down outside his window and the other sat in the dining-room on which his door opened.
Now, at ten o'clock the entire Bar T outfit was asleep. Since placing the bunk-house at the disposal of the cowmen from other ranches, the punchers slept on the ground--rolled in their blankets as they always did when overtaken by night on the open range.
At ten-thirty Bud put out his candle, undressed, and went to bed. But he could not sleep. His mind reverted to Hard-winter Sims and the sheep camp by the Badwater. He wondered whether the men from Montana had arrived there yet, and, most intensely of all, he wondered whether Ah Sin had got safely through with his message.
He calculated that the Chinaman must have arrived three days before unless unexpectedly delayed, and he chafed at the apparent lack of effort made on his behalf. The only explanation that offered itself was--that Sims, taking advantage of the events happening at the Bar T, had seized the opportunity to hurry the gathering sheep north across the range. If such was the case, Larkin resigned himself to his fate, since he had given Sims full power to do as he thought best.
At about midnight he was dimly conscious of a scuffling sound outside his window, and, getting softly out of bed, went to the opening. In a few minutes the head of a man rose gradually above the window-sill close to the house, and a moment later