The Story of the Foss River Ranch Read online

  In less than half an hour from the time of his capture the buckboard drew up beside some bush. Horrocks knew it was a bluff. He could hear the rustle of the leaves as they fluttered in the gentle night air. Then he was unceremoniously hustled to the ground, and, equally unceremoniously, urged forward until his feet trod upon the stubbly, breaking undergrowth. Next he was brought to a stand and swung round, face about, his bonds were removed, and four powerful hands gripped his arms. By these he was drawn backwards until he bumped against a tree-trunk. His hands were then again made fast, but this time his arms embraced the tree behind him. In this manner he was securely trussed.

  Now from behind—his captors were well behind him—a hand reached over, and, by a swift movement, removed the bandage from before his eyes. Then, before he had time to turn his head, he heard a scrambling through the bush, and, a moment later, the sound of the creaking buckboard rapidly receding. He was left alone; and, after one swift, comprehensive survey, to his surprise, he found himself facing the wire-spreading muskeg, at the very spot where he had given up further pursuit of the cattle whose "spur" he had traced down to the brink of the viscid mire.

  His astonishment rendered him oblivious to all else. He merely gazed out across that deceptive flat and wondered. Why—why had this thing been done, and what strange freak had induced the "hustler" to conceive such a form of imprisonment for his captive? Horrocks struggled with his confusion, but he failed to fathom the mystery, and never was a man's confusion worse confounded than was his.

  Presently he bethought him of his bonds, and he cautiously tried them. They were quite unyielding, and, at each turn of his arms, they caused him considerable pain. The Breeds had done their work well, and he realized that he must wait the raider's pleasure. He was certain of one thing, however, which brought him a slight amount of comfort. He had been brought here for a definite purpose. Moreover, he did not believe that he was to be left here alone for long. So, with resignation induced by necessity, he possessed himself of what patience he best could summon.

  How long that solitary vigil lasted Horrocks had no idea. Time, in that predicament, was to him of little account. He merely wondered and waited. He considered himself more than fortunate that his captors had seen fit to remove the bandage from his eyes. In spite of his painful captivity he felt less helpless from the fact that he could see what might be about him.

  From a general survey his attention soon became riveted upon the muskeg spread out before him, and, before long, his thoughts turned to the secret path which he knew, at some point near by, bridged the silent horror. All about him was lit by the starry splendor of the sky. The scent of the redolent grass of the great keg hung heavily upon the air and smelt sweet in his nostrils. He could see the ghostly outline of the distant peaks of the mountains, he could hear the haunting cries of nightfowl and coyote; but these things failed to interest him. Familiarity with the prairie made them, to him, commonplace. The path—the secret of the great keg. That was the absorbing thought which occupied his waiting moments. He felt that its discovery would more than compensate for any blunders he had made. He strained his keen eyes as he gazed at the tall waving grass of the mire, as though to tear from the bosom of the awful swamp the secret it so jealously guarded. He slowly surveyed its dark surface, almost inch by inch, in the hopes of discovering the smallest indication or difference which might lead to the desired end.

  There was nothing in what he saw to guide him, nothing which offered the least suggestion of a path. In the darkness the tall waving grass took a nondescript hue which reached unbroken for miles around. Occasionally the greensward seemed to ripple in the breeze, like water swayed by a soft summer zephyr, but beyond this the outlook was uniform—darkly mysterious—inscrutable.

  His arms cramped under the pressure of the restraining bonds and he moved uneasily. Now and again the rustling of the leaves overhead caused him to listen keenly. Gradually his fancy became slightly distorted, and, as time passed, the sounds which had struck so familiarly upon his ears, and which had hitherto passed unheeded, began to get upon his nerves.

  By-and-by he found himself listening eagerly for the monotonous repetition of the prairie scavenger's dismal howl, and as the cries recurred they seemed to grow in power and become more plaintively horrible. Now, too, the sighing of the breeze drew more keen attention from the imprisoned man, and fancy magnified it into the sound of many approaching feet. These matters were the effect of solitude. At such times nerves play curious pranks.

  In spite of his position, in spite of his anxiety of mind, the police-officer began to grow drowsy. The long night's vigil was telling, and nature rebelled, as she always will rebel when sleep is refused and bodily rest is unobtainable. A man may pace his bedroom for hours with the unmitigated pain of toothache. Even while the pain is almost unendurable his eyes will close and he will continue his peregrinations with tottering gait, awake, but with most of his faculties drowsily faltering. Horrocks found his head drooping forward, and, even against his will, his eyes would close. Time and again he pulled himself together, only the next instant to catch himself dozing off again.

  Suddenly, however, he was electrified into life. He was awake now, and all drowsiness had vanished. A sound—distant, rumbling, but distinct—had fallen upon his, for the moment, dulled ears. For awhile it likened to the far-off growl of thunder, blending with a steady rush of wind. But it was not passing. The sound remained and grew steadily louder. A minute passed—then another and then another. Horrocks stared in the direction, listening with almost painful intensity. As the rumbling grew, and the sound became more distinct, a light of intelligence crept into the prisoner's face. He heard and recognized.

  "Cattle!" he muttered, and in that pronouncement was an inflection of joy. "Cattle—and moving at a great pace."

  He was alert now, as alert as he had ever been in his life. Was he at last going to discover the coveted secret? Cattle traveling fast at this time of night, and in the vicinity of the great keg. What could it mean? To his mind there could only be one construction which he could reasonably put upon the circumstance. The cattle were being "hustled," and the hustler must be the half-breed Retief.

  Then, like a douche of cold water, followed the thought that he had been purposely made a prisoner at the edge of the muskeg. Surely he was not to be allowed to see the cattle pass over the mire and then be permitted to go free. Even Retief in his wildest moments of bravado could not meditate so reckless a proceeding. No, there was some subtle purpose underlying this new development—possibly the outcome was to be far more grim than he had supposed. He waited horrified, at his own thoughts, but fascinated in spite of himself.

  The sound grew rapidly and Horrocks's face remained turned in the direction from which it proceeded. He fancied, even in the uncertain light, that he could see the distant crowd of beasts silhouetted against the sky-line. His post of imprisonment was upon the outskirts of the bush, and he had a perfect and uninterrupted view of the prairie along the brink of the keg, both to the north and south.

  It was his fancy, however, which designed the silhouette, and he soon became aware that the herd was nearer than he had supposed. The noise had become a continuous roar as the driven beasts came on, and he saw them loom towards him a black patch on the dark background of the dimly-lit prairie. The bunch was large, but his straining eyes as yet could make no estimate of its numbers. He could see several herders, but these, too, were as yet beyond recognition.

  Yet another surprise was in store for the waiting man. So fixed had his attention been upon the on-coming cattle that he had not once removed his eyes from the direction of their approach. Now, however, a prolonged bellow to the right of him caused him to turn abruptly. To his utter astonishment he saw, not fifty yards from him, a solitary horseman leading a couple of steers by ropes affixed to their horns. He wondered how long this strange apparition had been there. The horse was calmly nibbling at the grass, and the man was quietly resting himself with elbows
propped upon the horn of his saddle. He, too, appeared to be gazing in the direction of the on-coming cattle. Horrocks tried hard to distinguish the man's appearance, but the light was too uncertain to give him more than the vaguest idea of his personality.

  The horse seemed to be black or very dark brown. And the general outline of the rider was that of a short slight man, with rather long hair which flowed from beneath the brim of his Stetson hat. The most curious distinguishable feature was his slightness. The horse was big and the man, was so small that, as he sat astride of his charger, he looked to be little more than a boy of fifteen or sixteen.

  Horrocks's survey was cut short, however, for now the herd of cattle was tearing down upon him at a desperate racing pace. He saw the solitary rider gather up his lines and move his horse further away from the edge of the muskeg. Then the herd of cattle came along. They raced past the bluff where the officer was stationed, accompanied by four swarthy drivers, one of which was mounted upon a great chestnut horse whose magnificent stride and proportions fixed the captive's attention. He had heard of "Golden Eagle," and he had no doubt in his mind that this was he and the rider was the celebrated cattle-thief. The band and its drovers swept by, and Horrocks estimated that the cattle numbered many hundreds.

  After awhile he heard the sound of voices. Then the beasts were driven back again over their tracks, only at a more gentle pace. Several times the performance was gone through, and each time, as they passed him, Horrocks noticed that their pace was decreased, until by the sixth time they passed their gait had become a simple mouche, and they leisurely nipped up the grass as they went, with bovine unconcern. It was a masterly display of how cattle can be handled, and Horrocks forgot for a while his other troubles in his interest in the spectacle.

  After passing him for the sixth time the cattle came to a halt; and then the strangest part of this strange scene was enacted. The horseman with the led steers, whom, by this time, Horrocks had almost forgotten, came leisurely upon the field of action. No instructions were given. The whole thing was done in almost absolute silence. It seemed as if long practice had perfected the method of procedure.

  The horseman advanced to the brink of the muskeg, exactly opposite to the bluff where the captive was tied, and with him the two led steers. Horrocks held his breath—his excitement was intense. The swarthy drivers roused the tired cattle and headed them towards the captive steers. Horrocks saw the boyish rider urge his horse fearlessly on to the treacherous surface of the keg. The now docile and exhausted cattle followed leisurely. There was no undue bustle or haste. It was a veritable "follow my leader." Where it was good enough for the captive leaders to go it was good enough for the weary beasts to follow, and so, as the boy rider moved forward, the great herd followed in twos and threes. The four drivers remained until the end, and then, as the last steer set foot on the dreadful mire, they too joined in the silent procession.

  Horrocks exerted all his prairie instinct as he watched the course of that silent band. He was committing to memory, as far as he was capable, the direction of the path across the keg, for, when opportunity offered, he was determined to follow up his discovery and attempt the journey himself. He fancied in his own secret heart that Retief had at last overreached himself, and in thus giving away his secret he was paving the way to his own capture.

  It was not long before the cattle and their drivers passed out of sight, but Horrocks continued to watch, so that he should lose no chance detail of interest. At length, however, he found that his straining gaze was useless, and all further interest passed out of his lonely vigil.

  Now he busied himself with plans for his future movements, when he should once more be free. And in such thought the long night passed, and the time drew on towards dawn.

  The surprises of the night were not yet over, however, for just before the first streaks of daylight shot athwart the eastern sky he saw two horsemen returning across the muskeg. He quickly recognized them as being the raider himself and the boyish rider who had led the cattle across the mire. They came across at a good pace, and as they reached the bank the officer was disgusted to see the boy ride off in a direction away from the settlement, and the raider come straight towards the bluff. Horrocks was curious about the boy who seemed so conversant with the path across the mire, and was anxious to have obtained a clearer view of him.

  The raider drew his horse up within a few yards of the captive. Horrocks had a good view of the man's commanding, eagle face. In spite of himself he could not help but feel a strange admiration for this lawless Breed.

  There was something wonderfully fascinating and lofty in the hustler's direct, piercing gaze as, proudly disdainful, he looked down upon his discomfited prisoner.

  He seemed in no hurry to speak. A shadowy smile hovered about his face as he eyed the officer. Then he turned away and looked over to the eastern horizon. He turned back again and drawled out a greeting. It was not cordial but it was characteristic of him.

  "Wal?"

  Horrocks made no reply. The Breed laughed mockingly, and leant forward upon the horn of his saddle.

  "Guess you've satisfied your curiosity—some. Say, the boys didn't handle you too rough, I take it. I told 'em to go light."

  Horrocks was constrained to retort.

  "Not so rough as you'll be handled when you get the law about you."

  "Now I call that unfriendly. Guess them's gopher's words. But say, pard, the law ain't got me yet. Wot d'ye think of the road across the keg? Mighty fine trail that." He laughed as though enjoying a good joke.

  Horrocks felt that he must terminate this interview. The Breed had a most provoking way with him. His self-satisfaction annoyed his hearer.

  "How much longer do you intend to keep me here?" Horrocks exclaimed bitterly. "I suppose you mean murder; you'd better get on with it and stop gassing. Men of your kidney don't generally take so much time over that sort of business."

  Retief seemed quite unruffled.

  "Murder? Why, man, I didn't bring you here to murder you. Guess ef I'd a notion that way you'd 'a' been done neat long ago. No, I jest wanted to show you what you wanted to find out. Now I'm goin' to let you go, so you, an' that skunk Lablache'll be able to chin-wag over this night's doin's. That's wot I'm here fer right now."

  As he finished speaking the Breed circled Golden Eagle round behind the tree, and, bending low down from the saddle, he cut the rope which held the policeman's wrists. Horrocks, feeling himself freed, stepped quickly from the bush into the open, and faced about towards his liberator. As he did so he found himself looking up into the muzzle of Retief's revolver. He stood his ground unflinchingly.

  "Now, see hyar, pard," said Retief, quietly, "I've a mighty fine respect for you. You ain't the cuckoo that many o' yer mates is. You've got grit, anyway. But that ain't all you need. 'Savee's' a mighty fine thing—on occasions. Now you need 'Savee.' I'll jest give yer a piece of advice right hyar. You go straight off down to Lablache's ranch. You'll find him thar. An' pesky uncomfortable you'll find him. You ken set him free, also his ranch boys, an' when you've done that jest make tracks for Stormy Cloud an' don't draw rein till you git thar. Ef ever you see Retief on one trail, jest hit right off on to another. That's good sound sense right through fur you. Say, work on that, an' you ain't like to come to no harm. But I swear, right hyar, ef you an' me ever come to close quarters I'll perforate you—'less you git the drop on me. An' to do that'll keep you humpin'. So long, pard. It's jest gettin' daylight, ah' I don't calc'late to slouch around hyar when the sun's shinin'. Don't go fur to forget my advice. I don't charge nothin' fur it, but it's good, pard—real good, for all that. So long."

  He swung his horse round, and before Horrocks had time to collect himself, much less to speak, he was almost out of sight.

  Half dazed and still wondering at the strangeness of the desperate Breed's manner he mechanically began to walk slowly in the direction of the Foss River Settlement.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XXII - THE D
AY AFTER

  Morning broke over a disturbed and restless community at Foss River. The chief residents who were not immediately concerned in the arrest of Retief—only deeply interested, and therefore skeptical—had gone to bed over-night eager for the morning light to bring them news. Their broken slumbers ceased as daylight broadened into sunrise, and, without waiting for their morning coffee, the majority set out to gather the earliest crumbs of news obtainable. There were others, of course, who were not in the know, or, at least, had only heard vague rumors. These were less interested, and therefore failed to rise so early.

  Amongst the earliest abroad was Doctor Abbot. Aunt Margaret's interest was not sufficient to drag her from her downy couch thus early, but, with truly womanly logic, she saw no reason why the doctor should not glean for her the information she required. Therefore the doctor rose and shivered under the lightness of his summer apparel in the brisk morning air.

  The market-place, upon which the doctor's house looked, was almost deserted when he passed out of his door. He glanced quickly around for some one whom he might recognize. He saw that the door of "Lord" Bill's shack was open, but it was too far off for him to see whether that lazy individual was yet up. A neche was leisurely cleaning up round Lablache's store, whilst the local butcher was already busy swabbing out the little shed which did duty for his shop. As yet there was no other sign of life abroad, and Doctor Abbot prepared to walk across to the butcher for a gossip, and thus wait for some one else to come along.