the homestead rested upon the southern slope of a wood-crowned hill, which was merely one of a swarm of hills of lesser or greater magnitude. westward, away in the distance, the silver sheen of the main mountain range still continued to reflect the rainbow tints of a radiant sunset.
it was a homestead to associate with hands less than 'prentice. there was neither imagination nor very definite purpose in its planning. it rather gave the impression of the driving of sheer necessity than the enthusiasm of effort toward the achievement of a heartily conceived purpose. furthermore, it bore evident signs of a desire to escape as far as possible the burdens of the life it represented.
the squalid two-roomed house was sunk into the backing to the sloping hill. its front and sides were of green logs and a mud plaster. its roof was of a primitive thatch, held secure from winter storms by sapling logs lashed fast across it. the central doorway was filled by a rough-boarded door, and the apertures left for added light were covered with thin cotton material. they were left wide open in summer, and in winter only served to shut out the worst of the driven snows and most of the daylight.
the adjacent barn was of far greater extent, but of considerably less degree. still, it was sufficiently weather-proof, which was all that could be reasonably hoped for by the toughened creatures, who found shelter beneath its crazy roof. higher up the slope stood a couple of corrals of sorts. their position was at the southern extremity of the woodland crown, their placing probably inspired by the adjacency of the material required for their construction.
below the house stretched a sloping patch of growing wheat, perhaps about thirty acres in extent. this was the real business of the homestead, and, in spite of the crazy fencing of barbed wire about it, it looked to be richly flourishing.
for all the general ineffectiveness of the place, however, it was not without significance. for it gave that human touch which at once breaks up the overpowering sensation which never fails to depress in the silent heart of nature's immensity. it spoke of courage, too. the reckless courage of early youth, plunging for the first time into independence. furthermore, it suggested something of the first great sacrifice which the hot tide of love, surging through youthful veins, is prepared to make for the object of its passionate regard. in any case it symbolized the irresistible progress of man's effort when pitted against the passive resistance of nature's most fiercely rugged frontiers.
a wonderful harmonious peace reigned over the scene which was bathed in the light of a drooping sun. it was the chastened pastoral peace, than which there is no more perfect in the world. cattle were grazing their way homeward; the cows bearing their burden of laden udders to yield it for the benefit and prosperity of the community; the steers lingering at the banks of the murmuring mountain stream, or standing knee-deep in its waters, their sleek sides sheathed in rolls of fat, only waiting to yield up their humble lives as their contribution to the insatiable demands of the dominant race.
two or three horses stood adjacent to the doorway of the humble barn, patiently flickering their long, unkempt tails in a vain effort to ward off the attacks of swarming flies. a few chickens moved about drowsily, just outside the hutch which had been contrived for their nightly shelter. while stretched upon the dusty earth, side by side, lay two great rough-coated dogs slumbering their hours of watch and ward away in the shade, with the indifference of creatures whose vain hopes of battle have been all too long deferred.
all of a sudden there came a partial awakening.
out of the west, down the slope of a neighboring hill came a figure on horseback. it was moving at a rapid gallop. the horses at the barn turned about and raised their heads watchfully. they whinnied at the approach. the two dogs were on their feet startled into alertness, vain hope rising once more in their fierce hearts. the hens cackled fussily at the prospect of their deferred evening meal. the last of the cattle ambled heavily from the water's edge. it was rather like the obscure movement of a mainspring, setting into motion even the remotest wheel of a mechanism.
effie galloped up to the house. nothing of the gentle waking her coming had inspired attracted her observation. her handsome eyes were preoccupied, and their gaze wandered back over the way she had come, searching the distance with the minutest care. finally she dismounted and off-saddled, turning her pony loose to follow the promptings of its own particular requirements. then she set about releasing the carcase of the deer upon her saddle, and bore it away to a lean-to shed at the side of the house. emerging therefrom she picked up her saddle and bridle and took them into the house. then she took up her stand within the doorway and, once more, narrowly searched the surrounding hills with eyes as eager and doubtful as they were beautiful.
the calm of evening had settled once more upon the place. the peace of it all was superlative. it was peace to which effie was something more than averse. she dreaded it. for all her two years of life in the meagre home her husband had provided her with, it required all her courage and fortitude to endure it. the hills haunted and oppressed her, and her only hope lay in the active prosecution of her work.
she breathed a profound sigh. there was relief in the expression of her face. the drooping corners of her mouth and the tight compression of her well-formed lips told their own story of her emotions. she had passed through an anxious time, and only now was she beginning to feel reassured.
yes. all was well, she believed. she had lost her pursuers, thanks to the staunchness of her pony, and her knowledge of the country about her. with another sigh, but this time one of weariness, she left her doorway and moved over to the barn. there was still the dreary round of "chores" to which her life seemed dedicated.
* * * * * *
a solitary horseman sat gazing out through a leafy barrier across the narrow valley of the little mountain stream. his eyes were fixed upon the dejected homestead on the slope of the hill beyond. he was be-chapped, and carried the usual complement of weapons at his waist. his horse was an unusually fine creature, and well up to the burden it was called upon to bear. nor was that burden a light one, for the man was both massive and muscular.
the watchful eyes were deep set in a mahogany-hued setting. it was a hard face, brutal, and the eyes were narrow and cruel.
for a long time he sat there regarding the homestead. he beheld the graceful form of the woman as she moved swiftly about her work. judging from his expression, which was by no means pleasant, two emotions were struggling for dominance. for some time doubt held chief place, but slowly it yielded to some more animal emotion. furthermore temptation was urging him, and more than once he lifted his reins, which became a sign of yielding.
but all these emotions finally passed. it was evident that some even stronger force was really governing him. for, with a sharp ejaculation that conveyed every feeling suggested by disappointment, he swung his horse about and galloped off in a southeasterly direction--toward orrville.
* * * * * *
it was past midnight. effie, flushed with an unusual excitement, was gazing up into her husband's face. she was listening almost breathlessly to the story he was telling her. the little living-room, more than half kitchen, was bathed in the yellow light of a small tin kerosene lamp. for the time at least her surroundings, the poverty and drudgery of her life, were forgotten in the absorbing feelings consuming her.
"i tell you, effie, i was scared--plumb scared when i saw what it was," bob whitstone ended up. "guess we've known long enough the whole blamed countryside is haunted by cattle rustlers, but--that's the first time i've seen 'em, and i guess it's the first time any one's seen 'em at work. say, i'm not yearning for the experience again."
but effie had no interest beyond his story. his feelings on the matter of his experience were of no concern whatever at the moment. there were other things in her mind, things of far greater import. she returned to the rocker chair, which was the luxury of their home, and sat down. there was one thing only in bob's story which mattered to her just now.
"ten thousand dollars," she murmured. "ten thousand! it's a--fortune."
bob moved across to a rough shelf nailed upon the wall and picked up a pipe.
"a bit limited," he observed contemptuously, as poured some tobacco dust into the bowl.
"i was thinking of--ourselves."
the man ceased his operation to gaze swiftly down upon the gently swaying figure in the chair.
"what d'you mean, effie?" he demanded sharply.
the girl's steady eyes were slowly raised in answer to the challenging tone. they met her husband's without a shadow of hesitation.
"it sounds like a fortune to me, who have not handled a dollar that i could spend without careful thought--for two years," she declared with warmth.
bob completed the filling of his pipe. he did not answer for a few moments, but occupied himself by lighting it with a reeking sulphur match.
"that's a pretty hard remark," he said at last, emitting heavy clouds of smoke between his words.
"is it? but--it's just plain facts."
"i s'pose it is."
the girl had permitted her gaze to wander. it passed from her husband's face to the deplorable surroundings which she had almost grown accustomed to, but which now stood out in her mind with an added sense of hopelessness. the lime-wash over the cracked and broken plaster which filled the gaps between the logs of the walls. the miserable furnishing, much of it of purely home manufacture, thrown up into hideous relief by the few tasteful knickknacks which had been wedding presents from her intimate friends and relatives in the east. the earthen floor, beaten hard and kept scrupulously swept by her own hands. the cook-stove in the corner, with its ill-set stovepipe passing out of a hole in the wall which had been crudely covered with tin to keep out the draughts in winter. the drooping ceiling of cotton material, which sagged in great billows under the thatch of the roof. it was all deplorable to a woman who had known the comfort of an almost luxurious girlhood. into her eyes crept a curious light. it was half resentful, half triumphant. it was wholly absorbed.
"suppose? there's no supposition," she cried bitterly. "i have had the experience of it all, the grind. maybe you don't know what it is to a woman, a girl, to find herself cut off suddenly from all the little luxuries she has always been used to. i don't mean extravagances. just the trifling refinements which count for so much in a young woman's life. the position is possible, so long as the hope remains of their return later, perhaps fourfold. but when that hope no longer exists--i guess there's nothing much else that's worth while."
the man continued to smoke on for some silent moments. then, as the girl, too, remained silent, he glanced at her out of the corners of his eyes.
"you gave up a good deal for me--for this," he said in gentle protest. "but you did it with your eyes open--i mean, to the true facts of my position. say, effie, i didn't hold you up for this thing. i laid every card on the table. my father threatened us both, to our faces, if we persisted in marrying. well, i guess we persisted, and he--why, he just handed us what he promised--the dollars that bought us this--farm. that was all. it was the last cent he figured to pass our way. you know all that, and you never squealed--then. you knew what was in store. i mean--this." he flung out one arm in a comprehensive gesture. "you guessed you'd grit enough to face it--with me. we hoped to win out." then he smiled. "say, i guess i haven't given up a thing--for you, eh? i haven't quit the home of millionaire father where my year's pocket money was more than the income of seventy per cent. of other folks! i, too, did it for this--and you. won't you stick it for me?"
the man's appeal was spoken in low earnest tones his eyes were gentle. but the girl kept hers studiously turned from his direction, and it was impossible for him to read that which lay behind them.
again some silent moments passed. the girl was gently rocking herself. at last, however, she drew in her feet in a nervous, purposeful movement, and sat forward.
"bob," she exclaimed, and now there were earnestness and kindness in the eyes that gazed up at the man, "it's no use for us to talk this way," she cried. "i began it, and i ought to be sorry--real sorry. but i'm not. i wouldn't have acted that way under ordinary circumstances. but it's different now, and it was your own talk made me. you sneered at that ten thousand dollars, which seems to be a fortune to me. ten thousand dollars!" she breathed. "and we haven't ten dollars between us in this--house. bob, it makes me mad when i think of it. you don't care. you don't worry. all yon care for is to get away from it all--from me--and spend your time among the boys in orrville. you've been away ever since dinner to-day, and now it's past midnight. why? why, when there's a hundred and one things to do around this wretched shanty? no--you undertake this thing, and then--spend every moment you can steal--yes, that's the word--steal, hanging around ju penrose's saloon. i'm left to fix things right here--to do the work which you have undertaken. then you sneer when i see a fortune in that ten thousand dollars reward."
the girl's swift heat was not without effect. she had not intended to accuse in so straight a fashion. it was the result of long pent-up bitterness, which never needs more than a careless word to hurl into active expression. bob's mild expression of contempt looked to be about to cost him dear.
a moody look not untouched with some sort of fear had crept into the man's eyes. now he tried to smooth the threat of storm he saw looming. furthermore, an uncomfortable feeling of his own guilt was possessing him.
"but what if it can be called a fortune, effie?" he demanded swiftly. "it don't concern us. i don't guess it's liable to come our way."
"why not?"
the girl's challenge came short and sharp, and her beautiful eyes were turned upon him full of cold regard.
the man was startled. he was even shocked.
"how?" he demanded. "i don't get you."
the girl sprang from her chair in a movement of sup-pressed excitement. she came toward him, her eyes shining. a glorious ruddy tint shone through the tanning of her fair cheeks. she was good to look at, and bob felt the influence of her beauty at that moment just as he had felt it when, for her, he had first flung every worldly consideration to the four winds.
"will you listen, bob? will you listen to me while i tell you all that's been churning around in my head ever since you told me of that reward? you must. you shall. i have lived through a sort of purgatory in these hills for too long not to make my voice heard now--now when there's a chance of making our lives more tolerable. oh, i've had a day while you've been away. it's been a day such as in my craziest moments i've never even dreamed of. bob, i've discovered what they've all been trying to discover for years. i've found lightfoot's camp!"
"and then?"
the girl's enthusiasm left her husband caught in a wave of apprehension. he saw with a growing sense of horror the meaning of that sudden revolt. this was displayed in his manner. nor was effie unobservant of it. nor unresentful.
she shrugged her perfect shoulders with assumed unconcern.
"that reward--those ten thousand dollars are mine--ours--if i choose. and--i do choose."
there was no mistaking the firmness, the decision in her final words. they came deliberate and hard, and they roused the man to prompt and sharp denial.
"you--do--not."
he was no longer propped against the table. he was no longer gentle. he stood erect and angry, and their regard was eye to eye. but even so there was no disputing the woman's dominance of personality. the man's eyes, for all their anger, conveyed not a tithe of the other's decision. his whole attitude was subjective to the poise of the woman's beautiful head, her erect, sculptured shoulders. her measuring eyes were full of a fine revolt. there was nothing comparable between them--except their anger.
"who can stop me? you?"
the scornful challenge rang sharply through the little room. then a silence fraught with intense moment followed upon its heels.
the man nodded. his movement was followed by effie's mocking laugh.
perhaps bob realized the uselessness, the danger of retaining such an attitude. perhaps his peculiar nature was unequal to the continuous effort the position called for. in a moment he seemed to shrink before those straight gazing eyes, and the light of purpose behind them. when he finally spoke a curious, almost pleading tone blended with the genuine horror in his words.
"no, no, effie, you can't--you daren't!" he cried passionately. "do you know what you're doing? do you know what that reward means to you--to us? look at your hands. they're clean, and soft, and white. say, girl, that's blood money, blood money that'll surely stain them with a crimson you'll never wash off 'em all your life. it's blood money. man's blood. human blood. just the same as runs through our veins. oh, say, girl, i've no sort of use for rustlers. they're crooks, and maybe murderers. guess they're everything you can think of, and a sight more. but they're men, and their blood's hot, warm blood the same as yours and mine. and you reckon to chaffer that blood for a price. you're going to sell it--for a price. you're going to do more. yes. you're going to wreck a woman's conscience for life for those filthy, blood-soaked dollars. the price? effie, things are mighty hard with us. maybe they're harder with you than me. but i just can't believe we've dropped so low we can sell the life blood of even a--murderer. i can't believe it. i just can't. that's all. tell 'em, effie. tell 'em all you know and have discovered if you will. tell 'em in the cause of justice. but barter your soul and conscience for filthy blood money--i--bah! it makes me turn sick to think that way."
but effie was in no mood to listen to the dictates of squeamish principles from a man who lacked the spirit and power--the will to raise her out of the mire of penury into which he had helped to plunge her. the hours of dreary, hopeless labor; the weeks and months of dismal and grinding poverty had sunk deeply into her soul. no price was too high to pay to escape these things. in a moment her reply was pouring forth in a passionate torrent.
"blood money?" she cried. "bob, you're crazier than i'd have thought. where's the difference? i mean between handin' these folks over to justice for justice sake, and taking the reward the folks who're most to benefit by it are ready to hand out to me? say, you can't talk that way, bob. you can't just do it. aren't the folks who carry out the justice in the land paid for it--from the biggest judge to the fellow who handles the levers of the electric chair? doesn't the country hand out thousands of dollars every year for the punishment of offenders, whether it's for the shedding of their life blood, or merely their heart's blood in the cruel horrors of a penitentiary? do you think i'm going to hand out my secret to a bunch of cattlemen for their benefit and profit, and reap no comfort from it for myself in the miserable life i'm condemned to endure? your scruples are just crazy. they're worse. they're selfish. you'd rather see me drudging all the best moments of my life away, so you can lounge around ju penrose's saloon spending dollars you've no right to, than risk your peace of mind on an honest--yes, honest--transaction that's going to give me a little of the comfort that you haven't the grit to help me to yourself."
the girl was carried away with the force of her own purpose and craving. every word she said was meant from the bottom of her soul. there was not a shadow of yielding. she had no illusions. for two years her heart had been hardening to its present condition, and she would not give up one tittle of the chance that now opened out before her hungry eyes.
bob was clay in her hands. he was clay in any hands sufficiently dominating. he knew from the moment he had delivered his appeal, and he had heard only the tones of her reply, that it was he who must yield or complete irrevocably the barrier which had been steadily growing up between them. just for a moment the weakly, obstinate thought had occurred of flinging everything to the winds and of denying her once more with all the force at his command. but the moment passed. it fled before the charm of her presence, and the memory of the loved which he was incapable of shutting out of his heart. he knew he was right, and she was utterly wrong. but he knew, equally well, from her words and attitude, that it was he who must give way, or----
he shook his head with a negative movement which effie was quick enough to realize meant yielding. she wanted him to yield. it would simplify all her purpose. she desired that he should participate in the transaction.
"you'll regret it, effie," he said, in his usual easy tones. "you'll regret it so you'll hate to think of this moment all the rest of your life. it's not you talking, my dear, it's just--the experience you've had to go through. can't you see? you've never been like this before. and it isn't you. say, i'd give my right hand it you'd quit the whole thing."
but the girl's resolution was unwavering.
"you--still refuse--to countenance it?" she demanded.
again bob shook his head. but now he moved away and struck a match to relight his pipe.
"no," he said. then he slowly puffed out great clouds of smoke. "no, my dear, if you're bent on it." then he moved to the cook-stove and supported one foot upon it.
"say--you guess i'm selfish. you guess i haven't acted as i ought to help push our boat along. you reckon i've become a sort of saloon-loafing bum. guess you sort of think i'm just about the limit. well, maybe i'm nothing to shriek about. however, i've told you all i feel. i've told you what you're going to feel--later. meanwhile it's up to me to help you all i know. tell me the whole thing, and i'll do the business for you. i'll see dug mcfarlane for you, and fix things. but it's on one condition."
"what is it?"
something of the coldness had passed from the girl's eyes. she was smiling because she had achieved her purpose.
"why--just this. that i don't touch one single dollar of the price you're to receive for those poor devils' blood. that's all."
just for a moment a dull flush surged up under the tan of the girl's cheeks, and her eyes sparkled ominously. then she returned to her rocker with great deliberation.
"you're crazy, bob," she said frigidly, but without any other display. "still--just sit around, and--i'll tell you it all."
and while the man listened to the story of his wife's adventures his mind went back to the scene in ju penrose's saloon, and the denial he had flung so heatedly at that philosophic cynic.
