The Story of the Foss River Ranch Page 21

  When the raider changed his direction, and turned off the trail on to the open prairie, the horrors of the prisoner's position were intensified a hundredfold. Alone, there was insufficient room for the suffering man in the limited space of the "carryall," but beside him sat, or rather crouched, a burly Breed, ready at a moment's notice to quash any attempt at escape on the part of the wretched money-lender.

  Thus he was borne along, mile after mile, southward towards his own ranch. Sometimes during that terrible ride Lablache found time to wonder what was the object of these people in thus kidnapping him. Surely if they only meant to carry off his cattle, such a task could have been done without bringing him along with them. It seemed to him that there could be only one interpretation put upon the matter, and, in spite of his present agonies, the great man shuddered as he thought.

  Courageous as he was, he endured a period of mental agony which took all the heart out of him. He understood the methods of the prairie so well that he feared the very worst. A tree—a lariat—and he saw, in fancy, a crowd of carrion swarming round his swinging body. He could conceive no other object, and his nerves became racked almost to breaking pitch.

  The real truth of the situation was beyond his wildest dreams. The significance of the fact that this second attack was made against him was lost upon the wretched man. He only seemed to realize with natural dread that Retief—the terror of the countryside—was in this, therefore the outcome must surely be the very worst.

  At length the horses drew up at Lablache's lonely ranch. His nearest neighbor was not within ten miles of him. With that love of power and self aggrandisement which always characterized him, the money-lender had purchased from the Government a vast tract of country, and retained every acre of it for his own stock. It might have stood him in good stead now had he let portions of his grazing, and so settled up the district. As it was, his ranch was characteristic of himself—isolated; and he knew that Retief could here work his will with little chance of interference.

  As Lablache was hoisted from the buckboard and set upon his feet, and the gag was removed from his mouth, the first thing he noticed was the absolute quiescence of the place. He wondered if his foreman and the hands were yet sleeping.

  He was not long left in doubt. Retief gave a few rapid orders to his men, and as he did so Lablache observed, for the first time, that the Breeds numbered at least half-a-dozen. He felt sure that not more than four besides their chief had traveled with them, and yet now the number had increased.

  The obvious conclusion was that the others were already here at the time of the arrival of the buckboard, doubtless with the purpose of carrying out Retief's plans.

  The Breeds moved off in various directions, and their chief and the money-lender were left alone. As soon as the others were out of earshot the raider approached his captive. His face seemed to have undergone some subtle change. The lofty air of command had been replaced by a look of bitter hatred and terrible cruelty.

  "Now, Lablache," he said coldly, "I guess you're goin' to see some fun. I ain't mostly hard on people. I like to do the thing han'some. Say I'll jest roll this bar'l 'long so as you ken set. An' see hyar, ef you're mighty quiet I'll loose them hands o' yours."

  Lablache deigned no reply, but the other was as good as his word.

  "Sulky, some, I guess," the half-breed went on. "Wal, I'm not goin' back on my word," he added as he rolled the barrel up to his prisoner and scotched it securely. "Thar, set."

  The money-lender didn't move.

  "Set!" This time the word conveyed a command and the other sat down on the barrel.

  "Guess I can't stand cantankerous cusses. Now, let's have a look at yer bracelets."

  He sat beside his captive and proceeded to loosen the rope which bound his wrists. Then he quietly drew his pistol and rested it on his knee. Lablache enjoyed his freedom, but wondered what was coming next.

  There was a moment of silence while the two men gazed at the corrals and buildings set out before them. Away to the right, on a rising ground, stood a magnificent house built of red pine lumber. Lablache had built this as a dwelling for himself. For the prairie it was palatial, and there was nothing in the country to equal it. This building alone had cost sixty thousand dollars. On a lower level there were the great barns. Four or five of these stood linked up by smaller buildings and quarters for the ranch hands. Then there was a stretch of low buildings which were the boxes built for the great man's thoroughbred stud horses. He was possessed of six such animals, and their aggregate cost ran into thousands of pounds, each one having been imported from England.

  Then there were the corrals with their great ten-foot walls, all built of the finest pine logs cut from the mountain forests. These corrals covered acres of ground and were capable of sheltering five thousand head of cattle without their capacity being taxed. It was an ideal place and represented a considerable fortune. Lablache noticed that the corrals were entirely empty. He longed to ask his captor for explanation, but would not give that swarthy individual the satisfaction of imparting unpleasant information.

  However, Retief did not intend to let the money-lender off lightly. The cruel expression of his face deepened as he followed the direction of Lablache's gaze.

  "Fine place, this," he said, with a comprehensive nod. "Cost a pile o' dollars, I take it."

  No answer.

  "You ain't got much stock. Guess the boys 'ave helped themselves liberal."

  Lablache turned his face towards his companion. He was fast being drawn.

  "Heard 'em gassin' about twenty thousand head some days back. Guess they've borrowed 'em," he went on indifferently.

  "You villain!" the exasperated prisoner hissed at last.

  If ever a look conveyed a lust for murder Lablache's lashless eyes expressed it.

  "Eh? What? Guess you ain't well." The icy tones mocked at the distraught captive.

  The money-lender checked his wrath and struggled to keep cool.

  "My cattle are on the range. You could never have driven off twenty thousand head. It would have been impossible without my hearing of it. It is more than one night's work."

  "That's so," replied the half-breed, smiling sardonically. "Say, your hands and foreman are shut up in their shack. They've bin taking things easy fur a day or two. Jest to give my boys a free hand. Guess we've been at work here these three days."

  The money-lender groaned inwardly. He understood the Breed's meaning only too well. At last his bottled-up rage broke out again.

  "Are you man or devil that you spirit away great herds like this. Across the keg, I know, but how—how? Twenty thousand! My God, you'll swing for this night's work," he went on impotently. "The whole countryside will be after you. I am not the man to sit down quietly under such handling. If I spend every cent I'm possessed of, you shall be hounded down until you dare not show your face on this side of the border."

  "Easy, boss," the Breed retorted imperturbably. "Ef you want to see that precious store o' yours again a civil tongue 'll help you best. I'm mostly a patient man—easy goin'-like. Now jest keep calm an' I'll let you see the fun. Now that's a neat shack o' yours," he went on, pointing to the money-lender's mansion. "Wonder ef I could put a dose o' lead into one o' the windows from here."

  Lablache began to think he was dealing with a madman. He remained silent, and the Breed leveled his pistol in the direction of the house and fired. A moment's silence followed the sharp report. Then Retief turned to his captive.

  "Guess I didn't hear any glass smash. Likely I missed it," and he chuckled fiendishly. Lablache sat gazing moodily at the building. Then the half-breed's voice roused him. "Hello, wot's that?" He was pointing at the house. "Why, some galoot's lightin' a bonfire! Say, that's dangerous Lablache. They might fire your place."

  But the other did not answer. His eyes were staring wide with horror. As if in answer to the pistol-shot a fire had been lit against the side of the house. It was no ordinary fire, either, but a great pile of hay. The flam
es shot up with terrible swiftness, licking up the side of the red pine house with lightning rapidity. Lablache understood. The house was to be demolished, and Retief had given the signal. He leapt up from his seat, forgetful of his bound feet, and made as though to seize the Breed by the throat. He got no further, however, for Retief gripped him by the shoulder, and, notwithstanding his great bulk, hurled him back on to the barrel, at the same time pressing the muzzle of his pistol into his face.

  "Set down, you scum," he thundered. "Another move like that an' I'll let the atmosphere into yer." Then with a Sudden return to his grim pastime, as the other remained quiet, "Say, red pine makes powerful fine kindlin'. I reckon they'll see that light at the settlement. You don't seem pleased, man. Ain't it a beaut. Look, they've started it the other side. Now the smoke stack's caught. Burn, burn, you beauty. Look, Lablache, a sixty thousand dollar fire, an' all yours. Ain't you proud to think that it's all yours?"

  Lablache was speechless with horror. Words failed to express his feelings. The Breed watched him as a tiger might contemplate its helpless prey. He understood something of the agony the great man was suffering. He wanted him to suffer—he meant him to suffer. But he had only just begun the torture he had so carefully prepared for his victim.

  Presently the roof of the building crashed in, and, for the moment, the blaze leapt high. Then, soon, it began to die down. Retief seemed to tire of watching the dying blaze. He turned again to his prisoner.

  "Not 'nough, eh? Not 'nough. We can't stop here all night. Let's have the rest. The sight'll warm your heart." And he laughed at his own grim pleasantry. "The boys have cleared out your stud 'plugs.' And, I guess, yer barns are chocked full of yer wheel gearing and implements. Say, I guess we'll have 'em next."

  He turned from his silent captive without waiting for reply, and rapidly discharged the remaining five barrels of his pistol. For answer another five bonfires were lighted round the barns and corals. Almost instantly the whole place became a gorgeous blaze of light. The entire ranch, with the exception of one little shack was now burning as only pine wood can burn. It was a terrible, never-to-be-forgotten sight, and Lablache groaned audibly as he saw the pride of his wealth rapidly gutted. If ever a man suffered the money-lender suffered that night Retief showed a great understanding of his prisoner—far too great an understanding for a man who was supposed to be a stranger to Lablache—in the way he set about to torture his victim. No bodily pain could have equaled the mental agony to which the usurer was submitted. The sight of the demolishing of his beautiful ranch—probably the most beautiful in the country—was a cruelly exquisite torture to the money-loving man. That dread conflagration represented the loss to him of a fortune, for, with grasping pusillanimity, Lablache had refused to insure his property. Had Retief known this he could not have served his own purpose better. Possibly he did know, and possibly that was the inducement which prompted his action. Truly was the money-lender paying dearly for past misdeeds. With the theft of his cattle and the burning of his ranch his loss was terrible, and, in his moment of anguish, he dared not attempt to calculate the extent of the catastrophe.

  When the fire was at its height Retief again addressed his taunting language to the man beside him, and Lablache writhed under the lash of that scathing tongue.

  "I've heerd tell you wer' mighty proud of this place of yours. Spent piles o' bills on it. Nothin' like circulatin' cash, I guess. Say now, how long did it take you to fix them shacks up?"

  No answer. Lablache was beyond mere words.

  "A sight longer than it takes a bit of kindlin' to fetch 'em down, I take it," he went on placidly. "When d'ye think you'll start re-building? I wonder," thoughtfully, "why they don't fire that shed yonder," pointing to the only building left untouched. "Ah, I was forgettin', that's whar your hands are enjoyin' themselves. It's thoughtful o' the boys. I guess they're good lads. They don't cotton to killin' prairie hands. But they ain't so particular over useless lumps o' flesh, I guess," with a glance at the stricken man beside him.

  Lablache was gasping heavily. The mental strain was almost more than he could bear, and his crushed and hopeless attitude brought a satanic smile on the cruel face beside him.

  "You don't seem to fancy things much," Retief went on. "Guess you ain't enjoyin' yerself. Brace up, pard; you won't git another sight like this fur some time. Why, wot's ailing yer?" as the barrel on which they were seated moved and Lablache nearly rolled over backwards. "I hadn't a notion yer wouldn't enjoy yerself. Say, jest look right thar. Them barns," he added, pointing, towards the fire, "was built mighty solid. They're on'y jest cavin'."

  Lablache remained silent. Words, he felt, would be useless. In fact it is doubtful if he would have been equal to expression. His spirit was crushed and he feared the man beside him as he had never feared any human being before. Such was the nervous strain put upon him that the sense of his loss was rapidly absorbed in a dread for his own personal safety. The conflagration had lost its fascination for him, and at every move—every word—of his captor he dreaded the coming of his own end. It was a physical and mental collapse, and bordered closely on frenzied terror. It was no mental effort of his own that kept him from hurling himself upon the other and biting and tearing in a vain effort to rend the life out of him. The thought—the fever, desire, craving—was there, but the will, the personality, of the Breed held him spellbound, an inert mass of flesh incapable of physical effort—incapable almost of thought, but a prey to an overwhelming terror.

  The watching half-breed at length rose from his seat and shrugged his thin, stooping shoulders. He had had enough of his pastime, and time was getting on. He had other work to do before daylight. He put his hand to his mouth and imitated the cry of the coyote. An instant later answering cries came from various directions, and presently the Breeds gathered round their chief.

  "Say, bring up the 'plugs,' lads. The old boy's had his bellyfull. I guess we'll git on." Then he turned upon the broken money-lender and spoke while he re-charged the chambers of his pistol.

  "See hyar, Lablache, this night's work is on'y a beginning. So long as you live in Foss River Settlement so long will I hunt you out an' hustle yer stock. You talked of houndin' me, but I guess the shoe's on the other foot. I ain't finished by a sight, an' you'll hear from me agin'. I don't fancy yer life," he went on with a grin. "Et's too easy, I guess. Et's yer bills I'm after. Ye've got plenty an' to spare. But bills is all-fired awk'ud to handle when they pass thro' your dirty hands. So I'll wait till you've turned 'em into stock. Savee? I'm jest goin' right on now. Thar's a bunch o' yer steers waitin' to be taken off. Happen I'm goin' to see to 'em right away. One o' these lads'll jest set some bracelets on yer hands, and leave yer tucked up and comfortable so you can't do any harm, and you can set right thar an' wait till some 'un comes along an' looses yer. So long, pard, an' remember, Foss River's the hottest place outside o' hell fur you, jest now."

  Some of the half-breeds had brought up the horses whilst Retief was talking, and, as he finished speaking, the hustler vaulted on to the back of the great chestnut, Golden Eagle, and prepared to ride away. Whilst the others were getting into their saddles he took one look at the wretched captive whose hands had been again secured. There was a swift exchange of glances—malevolent and murderous on the part of the money-lender, and derisive on the part of the half-breed—then Retief swung his charger round, and, at the head of his men, galloped away out into the starry night.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XXI - HORROCKS LEARNS THE SECRET OF THE MUSKEG

  The rope which brought Horrocks to the ground came near to strangling him. He struggled wildly as he fell, and, as he struggled, the grip of the rope tightened. He felt that the blood was ready to burst from his temples and eyes. Then everything seemed to swim about him and he believed consciousness was leaving him. Everything was done in a moment and yet he seemed to be passing through an eternity of time.

  The lariat is a handy weapon, but to truly appreciate its merits one must be a
prairie man. The Breeds are prairie men. They understand fully the uses to which a "rope" may be put. For criminal purposes they appreciate its silent merits, and the dexterity with which they can use it makes its value equal to, and even surpass, the noisier and more tell-tale pistol.

  The next thing that the policeman knew was that he was stretched on his back upon the ground, disarmed, and with a great bandanna secured about his eyes and mouth, and his hands tied behind his back. Then a gruff voice bade him rise, and, as he silently obeyed, he was glad to feel that the gripping lariat was removed from his throat. Truly had the officer's pride gone before a fall. And his feelings were now of the deepest chagrin. He stood turning his head from side to side, blindly seeking to penetrate the bandage about his eyes. He knew where he was, of course, but he would have given half his year's salary for a sight of his assailants.

  He was not given long for his futile efforts. The same rough voice which had bade him rise now ordered him to walk, and he found himself forced forward by the aid of a heavy hand which gripped one of his arms. The feeling of a blindfold walk is not a happy one, and the officer experienced a strange sensation of falling as he was urged he knew not whither. After a few steps he was again halted, and then he felt himself seized from behind and lifted bodily into a conveyance.

  He quickly realized that he was in a buckboard. The slats which formed the body of it, as his feet lit upon them, told him this. Then two men jumped in after him and he found himself seated between them. And so he was driven off.

  In justice to Horrocks it must be said that he experienced no fear. True, his chagrin was very great. He saw only too plainly what want of discretion he had displayed in trusting to the Breed's story, but he felt that his previous association with the rascal warranted his credulity, and the outcome must be regarded as the fortune of war. He only wondered what strange experience this blindfold journey was to forerun. There was not the least doubt in his mind as to whose was the devising of this well-laid and well-carried-out plot. Retief, he knew, must be answerable for the plan, and the method displayed in its execution plainly showed him that every detail had been carefully thought out, and administered by only too willing hands. That there was more than ordinary purpose in this blindfold journey he felt assured, and he racked his brains to discover the desperado's object. He even found time to speculate as to how it had fared with his men, only here he was even more at a loss than in the case of his own ultimate fate.