The One-Way Trail: A story of the cattle country

CHAPTER XXXIV
THE TRUTH

The moment Peter Blunt left the saloon, a lurking figure stole out from the shadow of one of the side walls, where it had been standing close under a window, listening to all that passed within the building. It followed on a few yards behind the preoccupied man with a stealthy but clumsy gait. Peter heard nothing and saw nothing. His mind and heart were too full to care in the least for anything that was going on about him now.

So it was that Elia, for it was he, laboriously followed him up until he saw the man’s burly figure disappear into his hut. Then he turned away with something of relief, and hobbled in the direction of his own house. He had been anxious lest Peter should be on his way to carry the news to Eve. He had very definite reasons for wishing to give her the news himself. He felt that Peter was too convinced of Jim’s innocence, judging by his defense of him in the saloon, to be a safe person to carry Eve the news. He was thinking of his own safety, and his distorted mind was at work gauging Peter from his own standpoint. He felt he must avoid Peter for the present. Peter was too shrewd. Peter might–yes, he must certainly avoid him until after–dawn. Then it would not matter.

Sick in body as well as in mind after the evening’s events, the low, cruel cunning which possessed him was still hard at work scheming to fulfil both his vicious desires and to hedge himself round in safety.

This was the first time he had been near home since he had returned from the bluff. He had painfully followed Jim into the village and shadowed him down to the saloon. He was in an extremity of terror the whole time, from the moment he realized Jim’s intention to notify the villagers of what had happened until the end of the trial, when he heard the sentence passed. Then, curiously enough, his terror only abated the slightest degree.

But he was very sick, nearly dropping with fatigue and bodily suffering. Something was wrong in his chest, and the pain of it was excruciating. There were moments when the shooting pains in his poor curved spine set him almost shrieking. Will’s blows had done their work on his weakly frame, and it felt to him to be all broken up.

When he reached his sister’s gate, he stood for some moments leaning on it gasping for breath. His strength was well-nigh expended, leaving him faint and dizzy. Slowly his breathing eased, and he glanced at the windows. The lamps were still burning inside. Evidently Eve was waiting for something. Had she heard? He wondered. Was she now waiting for the verdict? Perhaps she was only waiting for his own return.

And while he considered a flash of the devil, that was always busy within him, stirred once more. He had come to tell her of it all. And the thought pleased him. For the moment he forgot something of his bodily sufferings in the joy of the thought of the pain he was about to inflict upon her. He groped his hand in his jacket pocket. Yes, they were all there, the knife and the handkerchief that had so puzzled the doctor and those others.

He stealthily opened the gate and walked up the path. At the door he stood listening. Some one was stirring within. Hark! That sounded like Eve sobbing. Now she was speaking. Was she speaking to herself–or to some one else? He listened acutely. He could only hear the murmur of her voice. There was no other sound within.

Suddenly he drew back from the door. He heard her footsteps approaching. Wondering what she was going to do he withdrew out of sight. The door opened, and Eve stood leaning against the casing. He could only see her outline against the lamplight behind her, for her face was lost in the shadow. It seemed to him that she was staring out at the saloon. Maybe she was waiting till the lights were put out, and so she would know the trial was over. Maybe, even, she was contemplating going down there in search of the news she was so fearfully awaiting. These suggestions occurred to Elia, for he had a tremendously shrewd knowledge of his sister, as he had of most people with whom he came into contact.

It occurred to him now that it was time he showed himself. The grinding pains in his body would no longer be denied. He must get inside and rest.

“Sis,” he called in a low voice. “Ho, sis!”

The woman started as the boy hobbled out into the light.

“Elia!” she cried. And the next moment she would have clasped him in her arms, and hugged him to her bosom. But he drew back. He feared her embraces. Nor was he in the mood to submit to them.

“Don’t be a fule, sis. I’m tired–dog tired. I’m sick, too. I believe somethin’s broken inside me.”

He pushed her on one side and hurried into the room.

“Come in an’ shut that gol-durned door,” he cried, without turning, as he made his way to the rocking-chair. He dropped into it, his face contorting hideously with the awful pain the process caused him.

But the spasm passed after a few moments, and when he looked up Eve was standing before him. He eyed her silently for some time. He was wondering just how much she knew.

There was little doubt in his mind that she knew a great deal. Horror and suffering were so deeply lined upon her young face, and in her beautiful eyes was such a wild, hunted look, that there was very little doubt in his mind that she knew what most of the village knew by this time. But she didn’t know all he knew, not by a lot. And she wasn’t going to know it all. Only some of it. She was suffering. So was he–in a different way. He would help her to suffer more yet. It was good to see other folks suffering.

“Who’s bin here, sis?” he demanded.

“Only Annie. But, Elia, tell me you–you didn’t meet Will?”

The boy chuckled without any visible sign. Even the pain of his body could not rob him of his cruel love of inflicting pain. He ignored her question for the moment.

“Annie?” he responded. “Did she tell you, sis? Did she tell you your Will was dead? Eh?” He leaned forward, his eyes sparkling. “I’m glad–real glad. He was sure bad, an’ no use to you. She told you?”

But suddenly the poor woman buried her face in her hands, as though to shut out the hideous thoughts his words brought back to her.

“Yes, yes,” she cried, “I know he’s dead, and they’re trying Jim for it. Oh, God, it’s awful! They say he did it. But he didn’t, I know he didn’t. He only said he’d do it if Will had killed you. He didn’t kill you, so Jim didn’t do it. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. And I sent him out there to the bluff. And if they hang him it’s my doing. Oh, Jim, Jim!” She fell to moaning and rocking herself as she stood. “But they mustn’t kill him. They won’t. Will they? Say they won’t, Elia. Oh, Jim, Jim! I want you so badly. I–I–”

“You’re sweet on him, sis?” Elia said, with a gleam of fiendish satisfaction in his wonderful eyes.

“I sent him,” reiterated the woman, ignoring his question, and lost in her own misery. “Oh, Jim, Jim!”

For a time at least the boy had quite forgotten his bodily sufferings. His enjoyment was monstrous, unholy.

“Say, sis,” he went on, “the trial’s over. I’ve just come from there.”

Eve looked up, startled. Every nerve in her body was quivering with a sudden tension.

“Yes, yes?” she cried.

“Yes, it’s sure over,” the boy added, prolonging his sister’s agony.

“Well? They–they acquitted him?” There was something absolutely imploring in her manner. It might well have moved a heart of stone.

But Elia’s heart, if he possessed such an organ, bore the brand of the fiend. He nodded first. Then, as he saw the joy leap to his sister’s eyes he shook his head vigorously, and the result pleased him.

“He’s got to die,” he said.

The woman suddenly reeled, and fell on her knees at the table, with her face buried on her outstretched arms. Elia watched her for some moments. He felt that here was some recompense for what he had gone through.

“You was kind o’ sweet on him, sis,” he said presently. “That’s why I tried to help him some. I kind o’ like him, too. I feel sort o’ queer Jim’s goin’ to get hanged–hanged, sis, at dawn.” He paused, but beyond the racking sobs that shook the woman’s frame she made no movement. “I sure feel queer about it, tho’. Y’see he came right up when Will had nigh kicked the life out o’ me, an’ he hit Will a smash that knocked him cold. Gee, it was a smash! Jim hurt Will bad, an’ it was for me. Say, that’s why I feel queer they’re goin’ to–hang him at dawn. Somehow, it don’t seem good stretchin’ Jim’s neck. I don’t seem to feel I’d like to see Jim hurted. Must be because he hurted Will fer me. Will ’ud ’a’ killed me, sure, but fer Jim.”

His words had become a sort of soliloquy. He had forgotten his sister for the moment. But now, as she looked up, he remembered.

“You tried to–to save him?” she demanded. “You told them what Will was doing? You told them how–how it all happened?”

The boy shook his head, and again his eyes lit with malice.

“I ain’t been inside the saloon. I–I was scared. Y’see Will wasn’t killed by the blow Jim give him. Guess that on’y jest knocked him out. Y’see he was killed with Jim’s knife–after. Y’see Jim’s a fule. After he’d hit him he fixed his face up with his han’k’chiefs, an’ after he was good an’ dead he went fer to leave his knife stickin’ in his chest. That’s wher’ I helped him some. I took that knife out–an’ them rags. Here they are, right here.”

He suddenly produced the blood-stained knife and the handkerchiefs, and held them out toward her. But the woman shrank away from them.

“I guessed if I took ’em right away no one ’ud know how he come by his death, an’ who did it. Y’see Jim had helped me some.”

But Eve was not heeding the explanation.

“Then he did–kill him?” Her question was a low, horrified whisper.

“Ye–es.”

“After he had–struck him senseless?”

“Ye–yes.”

“I don’t believe it. You are lying to me, Elia.” The woman’s voice was strident, even harsh.

Elia understood. It was her desire to convince herself of Jim’s innocence that set her accusing him. It was not that she really disbelieved. Had it been otherwise he would have been afraid. As it was he gloated over her suffering instead.

“Yes, he’s a fule, an’ he’s sure got to hang,” he said mildly. “Guess it’ll be dawn come half an hour. Then they’re goin’ to take him right out ther’ wher’ he killed your Will–an’ hang him. Smallbones is goin’ out to find the tree. Say, sis, Smallbones is goin’ to get busy pullin’ the rope. I wish it wa’n’t Jim, sure I do. I’d sooner it was Peter, on’y he’s goin’ to give me that gold. Guess it wouldn’t matter if–”

“They shan’t hang him! I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it. I don’t believe you. Oh, God, this is awful! Elia, say it isn’t so; say you are only–”

“Don’t be a fule, sis,” the boy cried, brutally. “Guess if you can’t b’lieve me go an’ ast Peter. He’s in his hut. He helped defend Jim, an’ said a heap o’ fule things ’bout gettin’ the law on Doc. Ast him if you don’t b’lieve me.”

But whereas he had only intended to force her belief by his challenge, Eve took him literally. She snatched at his words, and he suddenly became afraid. She picked up the knife and the rags, which before she had refused to touch, and grasped him by one wrist.

“Yes, yes, we’ll go over to Peter, and I’ll have the truth from him. I can’t trust you, Elia. You were there when Will was murdered; you’ve been down to the saloon, outside it. You must have seen the killing, and you’ve not said one word in his defense, not one word as to the reason of Will’s death. Jim did it in your defense, and you’re letting him hang without a word to help him. You shall tell Peter what you’ve told me, and maybe it isn’t too late to do something yet. Come along.”

But the boy tried to drag free. His guilty conscience made him fear Peter, and in a frenzy he struggled to release himself.

But Eve was no longer the gentle, indulgent woman he had always known. She was fighting for a life perhaps dearer to her than Elia’s. She saw a barely possible chance that through Elia she might yet save Jim. Will’s brutal attack upon a cripple had met with perhaps something more than its deserts, but these men were men, and maybe the extenuation of the provocation might at least save Jim the rope.

Elia quickly gave up the struggle. His bodily hurts had robbed him of what little physical strength he possessed at the best of times; and Eve, for all her slightness, was by no means a weak woman. She literally forced him to go, half dragging him, and never for a moment relaxing her hold upon him.

And so they came to Peter’s hut. She knocked loudly at the door, and called to him, fearing, because she saw no light, that the man had gone out again. But Peter was there, and his astonished voice answered her summons at once.

“Eve?” he cried, in something like consternation, for he was thinking of the news he must now give her. Then he appeared in the doorway.

“Quick, light a lamp,” the woman cried. “Elia has told me all about it. He says Jim is to die at–dawn.” She glanced involuntarily at the eastern horizon, and to her horror beheld the first pale reflection of morning light, hovering, an almost milky lightening, where all else was still jet black.

Peter had no words with which to answer her. He had dreaded seeing her, and now–she knew. He lit the lamp, and Eve dragged the unwilling boy in with her; and as she passed him over to Peter’s bed he fell back on it groaning.

“Peter,” she cried now, speaking with a rush, since dawn was so near. “Can’t something be done? Surely, surely, there is extenuation! He did it all to defend Elia. Will was killing him out there at the bluff. Look at him! Can’t you see his suffering? That’s why Jim killed him. Elia’s just told me so. He even took these things from–from the body after–thinking it might save Jim. He brought them to me just now; and he says he’s been down at the saloon, and never said a word to help Jim. He said he was frightened to go in. Did Jim tell them it was to save Elia? Oh, surely they can be made to understand it was not wilful–wilful murder! They can’t hang him. It’s–it’s–horrible!”

But as the astonished Peter listened to her words, words which told him a side of the story he had never even dreamed of before, his eyes drifted and fixed themselves on the now ghastly face of the boy. He compelled the terror-stricken eyes and held them with his own. And when Eve ceased speaking he answered her without turning. He was reading, reading through the insane mind of the boy, right down into his very soul. In the long days he had had Elia working with him he had studied him closely. And he had learned the twists and warps of his nature as no one else understood them.

“Jim said nothing at all!” Peter said slowly.

“Nothing? What do you mean? He–he must have told them of–of Elia?”

Suddenly Peter’s eyes shot in the direction of the door. A faint, distant sound reached them. It was a sound of bustle from the direction of the saloon. Eve heard too. They both understood.

“Oh, God!” she cried.

But Peter’s eyes were on Elia’s face once more. They were stern, and a curious light was in them.

“I seem to see it now,” he said slowly. “Jim denied his guilt because he was innocent. But he admitted that the knife which killed Will was his, although no knife was found. He spoke the truth the whole time. He would not stoop to a lie, because he was innocent. Eve, that man was shielding the real culprit. Do you know any one that Jim would be likely to give his life for? I do.” Suddenly he swung round on Elia, and, with an arm outstretched, and a great finger pointing, he cried, “Why did you kill Will Henderson?”

Inspiration had come. A great light of hope shone in his eyes. His demand was irresistible to the suffering, demented boy. Elia’s eyes gleamed with a sudden cruel frenzy. There was the light of madness in them, a vicious, furious madness in them. Hatred of Will surged through his fevered brain, a furious triumph at the thought of having paid Will for all his cruelties to him swept away any guilty fears as he blurted out his reply.

“Because I hate him. Because he’s kicked me till I’m nigh dead. Because–I–I hate him.”

It was a tremendous moment, and fraught with such possibilities as a few minutes ago would have seemed impossible. There was a silence of horror in the room. The shock had left Eve staggered. Peter was calculating what seemed almost impossible chances. Elia–Elia was in the agonies of realizing what he had done, and battling with an overwhelming physical weakness.

The sounds of commotion at the saloon were more decided. There was the ominous galloping of horses, and the rattle of the wheels of a buckboard. Peter glanced at the window. The sky outside was lightening. Suddenly he shivered.

“You killed him. How? How?” His voice was tense and harsh, though he strove to soften it.

But Elia had turned sullen. A fierce resentment held him silent, resentment and fear.

And in that moment of waiting for his answer Peter heard again the movements of the cavalcade at the saloon. It seemed to be under way for–the bluff.

Now he leaned toward the boy, and his great honest brow was sweating with apprehension.

“Elia,” he said. “If I go and tell them they’ll hang you, too. Do you understand? I’m not going to bluff you. This is just fact. They’ll hang you if I tell them. And I’m going to tell them, sure, if you don’t do as I say. If you do as I say they won’t touch you. You’ve got to come along with me and tell them you killed Will, and just why. They’re men, those fellers, and they’ll be real sorry for you. You’ve got to tell the whole truth just as it happened, and I give you my word they won’t touch you. You’ll save Jim’s life. Jim who was always good to you. Jim who went out to the bluff to save you from Will. You needn’t to be scared,” as signs of fresh terror broke out upon the boy’s face, “you needn’t to be scared any. I’ll be there with you–”

“And so will I,” cried Eve, her eyes suddenly lighting with hope.

“Will you come, boy? You’ll save Jim, who never did you anything but good. Will you come?”

But there was no answer.

“Say, laddie,” Peter went on, his eyes straining with fear, “they’re moving now. Can you hear them? That’s the men who’re taking Jim out to kill him–and when they’ve killed him they’ll kill you, because I shall tell them ’bout you. Will you help us save Jim–Jim who was always good to you, or will you let them kill him–an’ then you? Hark, they’re crossing toward us now. Soon, and they’ll be gone, and then it’ll be too late. They’ll then have to come back for you, and–you won’t be able to get that gold I promised you.”

Eve sat breathlessly watching. Peter’s steady persistence was something to marvel at. She wanted to shriek out and seize the suffering cripple, and shake what little life there yet remained out of him. The suspense was dreadful. She looked for a sign of the lightening of that cloud of horror and suffering on the boy’s face. She looked for that sign of yielding they both hoped and prayed for.

But Peter went on, and it seemed to the woman he must win out.

“Come, speak up, laddie,” he said gently. “Play the man. They shan’t hurt you, I swear it. Ther’s all that gold waiting. You’ve seen it on the reef in the cutting, right here in Barnriff. It’s yours when you’ve done this thing, but you won’t be here to get it if you don’t. Will you come?”

“They won’t–won’t hang me?” the boy whispered, in dreadful fear.

The death party were quite near now. Peter heard them. He felt that they were nearly across the market-place. He glanced out of the window. Yes, there they were. Jim was sitting in the buckboard beside Doc Crombie. The rest of the crowd were in the saddle.

“I swear it, laddie,” he cried in a fear.

“An’–an’–you got that gold?” The boy’s face was suddenly contorted with fierce bodily pain.

“Yes, yes, and it’s yours when we come back.”

Another glance showed the hanging party on the outskirts of the village. They were passing slowly. Peter knew they would travel faster when the last house was passed. Eve saw them, too, and her hands writhed in silent agony as they clasped each other in her lap. She turned again to stare helplessly at Elia. She must leave him to Peter. Instinctively she knew that one word from her might spoil all.

“Wher’ are they now?” asked the boy, his ghastly face cold as marble after his seizure of pain.

“They’re gettin’ out of the village. We’ll be too late in a minute.”

Then of a sudden the boy cried out. His voice was shrill with a desperate fear, but there was a note of determination in it.

“I’ll tell ’em–I’ll tell ’em. Come on, I ken walk. But it’s only for Jim, an’–an’ I don’t want that gold.” And for the first time in her life Eve saw the boy’s eyes flood with tears, which promptly streamed down his ghastly cheeks.

Peter’s eyes glowed. There was just time, he believed. But he was thinking of the boy. At last–at last. It was for Jim Elia was doing it. For Jim, and not for the gold. He had delved and delved until at last he had struck the real color, where the soil had long been given up as barren.

“Come, laddie.” He stepped up to the boy with a great kindness, and, stretching out his herculean arms, he lifted him bodily from the bed. “You can’t walk, you’re too ill. I’ll jest carry you.”

And he bore him out of the house.