The Trail Horde, Charles Alden Seltzer [read out loud books .txt] 📗

terror had seized her, she still watched, unable to withdraw her gaze, powerless to move or to open her lips.

She saw Lawler standing where he had halted when he had opened the door—one hand grasping the bar that he had lifted when he had drawn the door back; the other hanging at his side. She saw him dimly through the driving mist that was between them, but he loomed big, gigantic, as he stood there, motionless in the instant following the attack, watching Link.

Then the scene changed swiftly. Link was still on the floor when Givens leaped into the cabin. He held a heavy piece of cordwood in one hand, and as he entered the door he paused for an instant, plainly blinded by the light and the snow. His face was hideous with passion.

Until now, the lamp had been fluttering in the rush of wind. As Givens stood, trying to peer around him, the light spluttered and went out, plunging the cabin into a darkness but little relieved by the dull, red flames in the fireplace.

It was still light enough for the girl to see, however; and she gasped as she watched Link scramble to his feet and lunge toward the axe. Then the semi-darkness was rent by a flame streak that started from where Lawler stood, and the air of the cabin rocked with a deafening roar. She saw Link go down in a heap, and before she could draw a breath another lancelike flame darted from the point where Lawler stood. She saw Givens stagger; heard the heavy piece of cordwood thud to the floor; saw Givens plunge backward through the door to land in the big drift outside.

Then she huddled down into the bunk, covering her face with her hands, shuddering, cringing from the horror she had witnessed.

When she again opened her eyes the lamp had been lighted and the door closed. For a long time she did not move, dreading to peer from the bunk, lest she see a thing that would remind her of the tragedy.

But when, after a while, she found courage to look, she saw Lawler standing near the fireplace, looking down into the flames, his back to her.

The axe, she noted, shuddering, was standing on the floor near the woodpile; and there was no sign of Link or Givens.

For a long time she was silent, watching Lawler, a dread wonder filling her. And at last, when the continuing silence began to affect her with its horrible monotony, she said, quaveringly:

"Did—you—Are they dead?"

"Yes," said Lawler, gruffly; "I took them out back of the windbreak." He wheeled, to look straight at her, his gaze level and somber.

"I had to do it—there was no other way. I'm sorry you had to see it."

That was all. He did not speak to her again. For a long time she watched him, but he did not change position—standing there, tall, big, seeming to brood into the dancing flames that cast grotesque figures over the walls of the cabin.

CHAPTER XXI CHANCE—AND A MAN

Della must have slept, for when she again opened her eyes the light had been extinguished and a gray glow was coming through the north window.

Morning had come. She gathered the bedclothes around her and sat up, glancing around the cabin for Lawler. He must have gone out, for the heavy wooden bar had been removed from the door—it was standing in a corner. She suspected Lawler had gone out to care for the horses, and she hurriedly got out of the bunk, ran to the door and barred it, and began to dress.

A fire roared in the fireplace, and it was warm in the cabin. But she noted, with an interest that was almost calm, that the storm still raged as furiously as the night before. There was this difference. Last night the wind had been driven against the cabin in fitful blasts, for the most part; now to her ears there came a ceaseless, droning hum with no intervals of silence between—a steady, vicious, incessant rushing roar that made her fear the cabin walls could not long resist it.

When she thought of last night's tragedy it seemed almost remote to her—a thing that had happened long ago; an incident that time had robbed of its gruesomeness.

For she saw, now, that it had been inevitable—that Lawler had acted in self-defense. There had been no other way. She shuddered when she thought of the ghastly things that were lying under the windbreak; but her own comfort became instantly paramount, and she drew a chair close to the fire and enjoyed its welcome warmth while dressing.

After dressing she got up from the chair and walked over to the chuck-box, smiling as she noted the bulging sides; her eyes glowing with satisfaction when she lifted the lid and saw the well-filled interior. She paused before the shelf upon which reposed a supply of canned foods; and exclaimed with delight when she saw, affixed to the wall near the door, a piece of broken mirror. She spent some time looking into the glass, combing her hair with a fragment of comb she found on a shelf beside the mirror.

She had finished when she heard a knock on the door. She removed the bar, and when Lawler stepped in, closing the door instantly to keep out the rush of wind, she was standing in a corner, smiling demurely at him.

His face was grave, and he did not respond to her mood as he stood there, watching her.

"Well," she said, after a silence, during which his face did not change expression; "can't you say something complimentary?" She lifted her eyes challengingly, as though to invite his inspection.

He saw that the tragedy had not affected her as it would have affected some women—his mother and Ruth Hamlin, for example—though he veiled the reproof in his eyes with a smile. The vanity she exhibited, her self-interest, egotism disgusted him.

"You've found the mirror," he said. "Well, you look pretty well slicked up. What happened last night seems to have affected you very little."

"Why should it?" she demanded, defiantly. "I don't intend to brood over two men that I did not know—two men who attempted to commit murder! Of course, it was an awful shock, and all that, but I am not going into hysterics over it. Besides, I didn't kill them."

Lawler abruptly turned away from her and walked to the fireplace. His face was pale and his eyes were glowing with contempt. She followed him as far as the table, her lips in a pout—and stood there watching him, her gaze mocking, defiant.

He finally turned and looked at her, his lips set in straight lines.

"Yes, I killed them, Miss Wharton," he said, evenly. "Do you know why?"

"Because they seemed determined to kill you—because they attacked you, I suppose," she returned.

"You are wrong, Miss Wharton. There was nothing personal in that killing. Those men were carrying out a principle of the unscrupulous system you defended in our talk last night. If there had been no system those men would not have attempted to cut my fence, I would not have captured them, and they would not have attempted to kill me. Do you see what I meant last night when I said the system was evil?"

She held his gaze unflinchingly. "Mr. Lawler," she said; "those men had no orders to kill you—they attempted that because you captured them, I suppose. And I did not, last night, attempt to defend Gary Warden's action in sending them here. In fact—if you remember—I came over here purposely to defeat them."

"But if there was no scheme to control cattle there would have been no incentive to cut my fence," he said, impatiently.

"Perhaps some other persons would have cut it," she answered; "criminals are everywhere. Please don't preach to me, Mr. Lawler," she added, pleadingly. "I—I think you ought to be glad that I came—aren't you?"

He smiled grimly. "Well, I am not going to turn you out into the storm."

Getting out some cooking utensils he began to prepare breakfast. She watched him for an instant, and then went to the north window, rubbed a hole through the frost and tried to look out. She could not see more than a few inches into the white blur that roared against the glass, and so she turned, sought a chair near the table, and resumed watching Lawler. And her eyes filled with a warm light as they followed his movements—noting that he seemed handsomer now than he had appeared when she had met him that day at the foot of the stairs. And she smiled at his back, exulting in the continued fury of the storm. For it meant that she would be alone with him for days—many, perhaps. And she told herself that she loved Lawler; that she had loved him since the day she had encountered him at the foot of the stairs leading to Warden's office. He was wealthy, handsome; and in her code of morals it was no crime to take advantage of every opportunity that chance presented. And chance—

Here Gary Warden's face flashed in her mental vision. And she smiled. For Warden had never thrilled her as this man had thrilled her. Warden was cold, coarse, gross. This man was vibrant with life, with energy—there was fire in him. And it had been Warden's scheming that had sent her to Lawler. She laughed and snuggled contentedly down in the chair.

CHAPTER XXII THE WHITE WASTE

Warden and Singleton had been in Willets on the day the storm broke. They had ridden into town early, and when they saw the low-flying clouds sweeping down from the north Singleton grinned maliciously, with a significance that Warden could not mistake.

"Warden, it's goin' to storm," he said.

Warden glanced at the other, understandingly.

"Looks a whole lot like it, Singleton. And we can be more comfortable at the Two Diamond than in town."

"Right," grinned Singleton. "An' we'd better hit the breeze right now, for she's comin' fast."

As they mounted their horses in front of the building that contained Warden's office, the latter looked sharply at Singleton.

"Givens and Link ought to be busy by now. You say your men reported that the Circle L men stocked Number One line camp yesterday?"

"She's stocked!" laughed Singleton; "Tulerosa an' Denver brought word. An' the herd was on the big level north of the camp. They'll head straight for that break because they'll hit it before they hit the basin. An' Givens an' Link will send 'em through, to hell—an' then some. An' them damn fools, Davies an' Harris, is layin' in the back room of the Wolf, paralyzed by that forty-rod that Big Jim Lafflin has been slippin' over the bar to 'em. They won't know they're alive until this time tomorrow, an' then they'll be so scared that they'll just keep right on hittin' the forty-rod for fair! I reckon we've got Lawler goin', now, the damn maverick!"

Warden and Singleton rode fast, but the storm caught them. Midway on the ten-mile stretch of plain between Willets and the Two Diamond they turned their backs to the white smother and sent their horses racing headlong away from the storm.

"She's a humdinger!" yelled Singleton to Warden as the wind shrieked and howled about them. "If Givens an' Link git them cattle started they'll drift clear into Mexico. Three thousand! I reckon that'll set the damn fool back some!"

The two men had only five miles to ride when the storm struck, and Singleton was experienced. And yet when they rode into the Two Diamond stable and dismounted, both men were breathless and tired; their legs and arms stiff with cold and their faces raw and blue from the bitter wind that had swirled around them.

"Another five miles of that an' we wouldn't be as active as we are now!" said Singleton, grimly. "She's got a worse bite than any wind I ever seen!"

Warden's hands were so cold he could not remove the saddle from his