The Trail to Yesterday
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She shuddered at the recollection, held her hands over her eyes for an instant to keep from looking at the expression of amazement in his eyes, and while she stood thus she heard a movement, and withdrew her hands from her eyes to see him standing beside her, so close that his body touched hers, his eyes ablaze with curiosity and interest and repressed anxiety. She cringed and cried with pain as he seized her arm and twisted her forcibly around so that she faced him.
“Stop this fooling and tell me what has happened!” he said, with short, incisive accents. “Who did you find shot? Who has been murdered?”
Oh, it was admirable acting, she told herself as she tore herself away from him and stood back a little, her eyes flashing with scorn and horror. “You don’t know, of course,” she flared. “You shot him – shot him in the back and sent me on to find him. You gloried in the thought of me finding him dead. But he isn’t dead, thank God, and will live, if I can get a doctor, to accuse you!” She pointed a finger at him, but he ignored it and took a step toward her, his eyes cold and boring into hers.
“Who?” he demanded. “Who?”
“Ben Doubler. Oh!” she cried, in an excess of rage and horror, “to think that I should have to tell you!”
But if he heard her last words he paid no attention to them, for he was suddenly at his pony’s side, buckling the cinches tighter. She watched him, fascinated at the repressed energy of his movements, and became so interested that she started when he suddenly looked up at her.
“He isn’t dead, then,” he said rapidly, sharply, the words coming with short, metallic snaps. “You were going to Lazette for a doctor. I’m glad I happened along – glad I saw you. I’ll be able to make better time than you.”
“Where are you going?” she demanded, scarcely having heard his words, though aware that he was preparing to leave. She took a step forward and seized his pony’s bridle rein, her eyes blazing with wrath over the thought that he should attempt to deceive her with so bald a ruse.
“For the doctor,” he said shortly. “This is no time for melodramatics, ma’am, if Doubler is badly hurt. Will you please let go of that bridle?”
“Do you think,” she demanded, her cheeks aflame, her hair, loosened from the long ride, straggling over her temples and giving her a singularly disheveled appearance, “that I am going to let you go for the doctor? You!”
“This isn’t a case where your feelings should be considered, ma’am,” he said. “If Ben Doubler has been hurt like you think he has I’m going to get the doctor mighty sudden, whether you think I ought to or not!”
“You won’t!” she declared, stamping a; foot furiously. “You shot him and now you want to disarm suspicion by going after the doctor for him. But you won’t! I won’t let you!”
“You’ll have to,” he said rapidly. “The doctor isn’t at Lazette; he is over on Carrizo Creek, taking care of Dave Moreland’s wife, who is down bad. I saw Dave yesterday, and he was telling me about her; that the doctor is to stay there until she is out of danger. You don’t know where Moreland’s place is. Be sensible, now,” he said gruffly. “I’ll talk to you later about you suspecting me.”
“You shan’t go,” she protested; “I am going myself. I will find Moreland’s place. I can’t let you go – it would be horrible!”
For answer he swung quickly down from the saddle, seized her by the waist, disengaged her hands from the bridle rein, and picking her up bodily carried her, struggling and fighting and striking blindly at his face, to the side of the trail. When he set her down he pinned her arms to her sides. He did not speak, and she was entirely helpless in his grasp, but when he released his grasp of her arms and tried to leave her she seized the collar of his vest. With a grim laugh he slipped out of the garment, leaving it dangling from her hand.
“Keep it for me, ma’am,” he said with a cold chuckle. “But get back to Doubler’s cabin and see what you can do for him. You’ll be able to do a lot. I’ll be back with the doctor before sundown.”
In an instant he was at his pony’s side, mounting with the animal at a run, and in a brief space had vanished around a turn in the trail, leaving a cloud of dust to mark the spot where Sheila had seen him disappear.
For a long time Sheila stood beside the trail, looking at the spot where he had disappeared, holding his vest with an unconscious grasp. Looking down she saw it and with an exclamation of rage threw it from her, watching it fall into the sand. But after an instant she went over and took it up, recovering, at the same time, a black leather pocket memoranda which had slipped out of it. She put the memoranda back into one of the pockets, handling both the book and the vest gingerly, for she felt an aversion to touching them. She conquered this feeling long enough to tuck the vest into the slicker behind the saddle, and then she mounted and sent her pony up the trail toward Doubler’s cabin.
She found Doubler where she had left him, and he was still unconscious. The water pail was empty and she went down to the river and refilled it, returning to the cabin and again bathing and bandaging Doubler’s wound, and placing a fresh cloth on his forehead.
For a time she sat watching the injured man, revolving the incident of her discovery of him in her mind, going over and over again the gruesome details. She did not dwell long on the latter, for she could not prevent her mind reviewing Dakota’s words and actions – his satanic cleverness in pretending to be on the verge of taking her into his confidence, his prediction that she would understand when this “business” was over. She did not need to wait, she understood now!
Finding the silence in the cabin irksome, she rose, placed Doubler’s head in a more comfortable position, and went outside into the bright sunshine of the afternoon. She took a turn around the corral, abstractedly watched the awkward antics of several yearlings which were penned in a corner, and then returned to the cabin door, where she sat on the edge of the step.
Near the side of the cabin door, leaning against the wall, she saw a rifle. She started, not remembering to have seen it there before, but presently she found courage to take it up gingerly, turning it over and over in her hands.
Some initials had been carved on the stock and she examined them, making them out finally as “B. D.” – Doubler’s. Examining the weapon she found an empty shell in the chamber, and she nearly dropped the rifle when the thought struck her that perhaps Doubler had been shot with it. She set it down quickly, shuddering, and for diversion walked to her pony, examining the injured leg and rubbing it, the pony nickering gratefully. Returning to the cabin she sat for a long time on the step, but she did not again take up the rifle. Several times while she sat on the step she heard Doubler moan, and once she got up and went to him, again bathing his wound, but returning instantly to the door step, for she could not bear the silence of the interior.
Suddenly remembering Dakota’s vest and the black leather memoranda which had dropped from one of the pockets, she got up again and went to the bench where she had laid the garment, taking out the book and regarding it with some curiosity.
There was nothing on the cover to suggest what might be the nature of its contents – time had worn away any printing that might have been on it. She hesitated, debating the propriety of an examination, but her curiosity got the better of her and with a sharp glance at Doubler she turned her back and opened the book.
Almost the first object that caught her gaze was a piece of paper, detached from the leaves, with some writing on it. The writing seemed unimportant, but as she turned it, intending to replace it between the leaves of the book, she saw her father’s name, and she read, holding her breath with dread, for fresh in her mind was Duncan’s charge that her father had entered into an agreement with Dakota for the murder of Doubler. She read the words several times, standing beside the bench and swaying back and forth, a sudden weakness gripping her.
“One month from to-day” – ran the words – “I promise to pay to Dakota the sum of six thousand dollars in consideration of his rights and interest in the Star brand, provided that within one month from date he persuades Ben Doubler to leave Union County.”
Signed: “David Dowd Langford.”
There it was – conclusive, damning evidence of her father’s guilt – and of Dakota’s!
How cleverly that last clause covered the evil intent of the document! Sheila read it again and again with dry eyes. Her horror and grief were too great for tears. She felt that the discovery of the paper removed the last lingering doubt, and though she had been partially prepared for proof, she had not been prepared to have it thrust so quickly and convincingly before her.
How long she sat on the door step she did not know, or care, for at a stroke she had lost all interest in everything in the country. Even its people interested her only to the point of loathing – they were murderers, even her father. Time represented to her nothing now except a dreary space which, if she endured, would bring the moment in which she could leave. For within the last few minutes she seemed to have been robbed of all the things which had made existence here endurable and she was determined to end it all. When she finally got up and looked about her she saw that the sun had traveled quite a distance down the sky. A sorrowful smile reached her face as she watched it. It was going away, and before it could complete another circle she would go too – back to the East from where she had come, where there were at least some friends who could be depended upon to commit no atrocious crimes.
No plan of action formed in her mind; she could not think lucidly with the knowledge that her father was convicted of complicity in an attempted murder.
Would she be able to face her father again? To bid him good-bye? She thought not. It would be better for both if she departed without him being aware of her going. He would not care, she told herself bitterly; lately he had withheld from her all those little evidences of affection to which she had grown accustomed, and it would not be hard for him, he would not miss her, perhaps would even be glad of her absence, for then he could continue his murderous schemes without fear of her “meddling” with them.
There was a fascination in the paper on which was written the signed agreement. She read it carefully again, and then concealed it in her bodice, pinning it there so that it would not become lost. Then she rose and went into the cabin, placing the memoranda on a shelf where Dakota would be sure to find it when he returned with the doctor. She did not care to read anything contained in it.
Marveling at her coolness, she went outside again and resumed her seat on the door step. It was not such a blow to her, after all, and there arose in her mind as she sat on the step a wonder, as to how her father would act were she to confront him with evidence of his guilt. Perhaps she would not show him the paper, but she finally became convinced that she must talk to him, must learn from him in some manner his connection with the attempted murder of Doubler. Then, after receiving from him some sign which would convince her, she would take her belongings and depart for the East, leaving him to his own devices.
Looking up at the sun, she saw that it still had quite a distance to travel before it reached the mountains. Stealing into the cabin, she once more fixed the bandages on the wounded man. Then she went out, mounted her pony, and rode through the shallow water of the crossing toward the Double R ranch.
CHAPTER XIV
LANGFORD LAYS OFF THE MASK
The sun was still an hour above the horizon when Sheila rode up to the corral gates. While removing the saddle and bridle from her pony she noted with satisfaction that the horse which her father had been accustomed to ride was inside the corral. Therefore her father was somewhere about.
Hanging the saddle and bridle from a rail of the corral fence, she went into the house to find that Langford was not there. Duncan’s sister curtly informed her that she had seen him a few minutes before down at the stables. Sheila went into the office, which was a lean-to addition to the ranchhouse, and seating herself at her father’s desk picked up a six month’s old copy of a magazine and tried to read.
Finding that she could not concentrate her thoughts, she dropped the magazine into her lap and leaned back with a sigh. From where she sat she had a good view of the stables, and fifteen minutes later, while she still watched, she saw Langford come out of one of the stable doors and walk toward the house. She felt absolutely no emotion whatever over his coming; there was only a mild curiosity in her mind as to the manner in which he would take the news of her intended departure from the Double R. She observed, with a sort of detached interest, that he looked twice at her saddle and bridle as he passed them, and so of course he surmised that she had come in from her ride. For a moment she lost sight of him behind some buildings, and then he opened the door of the office and entered.
He stopped on the threshold for an instant and looked at her, evidently expecting her to offer her usual greeting. He frowned slightly when it did not come, and then smiled.
“Hello!” he said cordially. “You are back, I see. And tired,” he added, noting her position. He walked over and laid a hand on her forehead and she involuntarily shrank from his touch, shuddering, for the hand which he had placed on her forehead was the right one – the hand with which he had signed the agreement with Dakota – Doubler’s death warrant.
“Don’t, please,” she said.
“Cross, too?” he said jocularly.
“Just tired,” she lied listlessly, and with an air of great indifference.
He looked critically at her for an instant, then smiled again and dragged a chair over near a window and looked out, apparently little concerned over her manner. But she noted that he glanced furtively at her several times, and that he seemed greatly satisfied over something. She wondered if he had seen Dakota; if he knew that the latter had already attempted to carry out the agreement to “Persuade Doubler to leave the county.”
“Ride far?” he questioned, turning and facing her, his voice casual.
“Not very far.”
“The river trail?”
Sheila nodded, and saw a sudden interest flash into his eyes.
“Which way?” he asked quickly.
“Down,” she returned. She had not lied, for she had ridden “down,” and though she had also ridden up the river she preferred to let him guess a little, for she resented the curiosity in his voice and was determined to broach the subject which she had in mind in her own time and after the manner that suited her best.
He had not been interested in her for a long time, had not appeared to care where she spent her time. Why should he betray interest now? She saw a mysterious smile on his face and knew before he spoke that his apparent interest in her was not genuine – that he was merely curious.
“Then you haven’t heard the news?” he said softly. He was looking out of the window now, and she could not see his face.
She took up the magazine and turned several pages, pretending to read, but in reality waiting for him to continue. When he made no effort to do so her own curiosity got the better of her.
“What news?” she questioned, without looking at him.
“About Doubler,” he said. “He is dead.”
Her surprise was genuine, and her hands trembled as the leaves of the magazine fluttered and closed. Had the nester died since she had left his cabin? A moment’s thought convinced her that this could not be the explanation, for assuredly she would have seen anyone who had arrived at Doubler’s cabin; she had scanned the surrounding country before and after leaving the vicinity of the crossing and had seen no signs of anyone. Besides, Langford’s news seemed to have abided with him a long time – it seemed to her that he had known it for hours. She could not tell why she felt this, but she was certain that he had not received word recently – within an hour or two at any rate – unless he had seen Dakota.
This seemed to be the secret of his knowledge, and the more she considered the latter’s excitement during her meeting with him on the trail, the more fully she became convinced that Langford had talked to him. The latter’s anxiety to relieve her of the task of riding to Lazette for the doctor had been spurious; he had merely wanted to be the first to carry the news of Doubler’s death to Langford, and after leaving her he had undoubtedly taken a roundabout trail for the Double R. Possibly by this time he had settled with Langford and was on his way out of the country.
“Dead?” she said, turning to Langford. “Who – ” In her momentary excitement she had come very near to asking him who had brought him the news. She hesitated, for she saw a glint of surprise and suspicion in his eyes.
“My dear girl, did I say that he had been ‘killed’?”
His smile was without humor. Evidently he had expected that she had been about to ask who had killed the nester.
He looked at her steadily, an intolerant smile playing about the corners of his mouth. “I am aware that you have been suspicious of me ever since you heard that I had a quarrel with Doubler. But, thank God, my dear, I have not that crime to answer for. Doubler, however, has been killed – murdered.”
Sheila repressed a desire to shudder, and turned from Langford so that he would not be able to see the disgust that had come into her eyes over the discovery that in addition to being a murderer her father was that most despicable of all living things – a hypocrite! It required all of her composure to be able to look at him again.
“Who killed him?” she asked evenly.
“Dakota, my dear.”
“Dakota!” She pronounced the name abstractedly, for she was surprised at the admission.
“How do you know that Dakota killed him?” she said, looking straight at him. He changed color, though his manner was still smooth and his smile bland.
“Duncan was fortunate enough to be in the vicinity when the deed was committed,” he told her. “And he saw Dakota shoot him in the back. With his own rifle, too.”
There was a quality in his voice which hinted at satisfaction; a peculiar emphasis on the word “fortunate” which caused Sheila to wonder why he should consider it fortunate that Duncan had seen the murder done, when it would have been much better for the success of Dakota’s and her father’s scheme if there had been no witness to it at all.
“However,” continued Langford, with a sigh of resignation that caused Sheila a shiver of repugnance and horror, “Doubler’s death will not be a very great loss to the country. Duncan tells me that he has long been suspected of cattle stealing, and sooner or later he would have been caught in the act. And as for Dakota,” he laughed harshly, with a note of suppressed triumph that filled her with an unaccountable resentment; “Dakota is an evil in the country, too. Do you remember how he killed that Mexican half-breed over in Lazette that day? – the day I came? Wanton murder, I call it. Such a man is a danger and a menace, and I shall not be sorry to see him hanged for killing Doubler.”
“Then you will have Duncan charge Dakota with the murder?”
“Of course, my dear; why shouldn’t I? Assuredly you would not allow Dakota to go unpunished?”
“No,” said Sheila, “Doubler’s murderer should be punished.”
Two things were now fixed in her mind as certainties. Dakota had not been to see her father since she had left him on the river trail; he had not received his blood-money – would never receive it. Her father had no intention of living up to his agreement with Dakota and intended to allow him to be hanged. She thought of the signed agreement in her bodice. Langford had given it to Dakota, but she had little doubt that in case Dakota still had it in his possession and dared to produce it, Langford would deny having made it – would probably term it a forgery. It was harmless, too; who would be likely to intimate that the clause regarding Dakota inducing Doubler to leave the country meant that Langford had hired Dakota to kill the nester? Sheila sat silent, looking at Langford, wondering how it happened that he had been able to masquerade so long before her; why she had permitted herself to love a being so depraved, so entirely lacking in principle.
But a thrill of hope swept over her. Perhaps Doubler would not die? She had been considering the situation from the viewpoint of the nester’s death, but if Dakota had really been in earnest and had gone for a doctor, there was a chance that the tragedy which seemed so imminent would be turned into something less serious. Immediately her spirits rose and she was able to smile quietly at Langford when he continued:
“Dakota will be hung, of course; decency demands it. When Duncan came to me with the news I sent him instantly to Lazette to inform the sheriff of what had happened. Undoubtedly he will take Dakota into custody at once.”
“But not for murder,” said Sheila evenly, unable to keep a quiver of triumph out of her voice.
“Not?” said Langford, startled. “Why not?”
“Because,” returned Sheila, enjoying the sudden consternation that was revealed in her father’s face, and drawling her words a little to further confound him; “because Doubler isn’t dead.”
“Not dead!” Langford’s jaws sagged, and he sat looking at Sheila with wide, staring, vacuous eyes. “Not dead?” he repeated hoarsely. “Why, Duncan told me he had examined him, that he had been shot through the lungs and had bled to death before he left him! How do you know that he is not dead?” he suddenly demanded, leaning toward her, a wild hope in his eyes.
“I went to his cabin before noon,” said Sheila. “I found him lying in the doorway. He had been shot through the right side, near the shoulder, but not through the lung, and he was still alive. I dragged him into the cabin and did what I could for him. Then I started for the doctor.”
“For the doctor?” he said incredulously. “Then how does it happen that you are here? You couldn’t possibly ride to Lazette and return by this time!”
“I believe I said that I ‘started’ for the doctor,” said Sheila with a quiet smile. She was enjoying his excitement. “I met Dakota on the trail, and he went.”
Langford continued to stare at her; it seemed that he could not realize the truth. Then suddenly he was out of his chair and standing over her, his face bloated poisonously, his eyes ablaze with a malignant light.
“Damn you!” he shrieked. “This is what comes of your infernal meddling! What business had you to interfere? Why didn’t you let him die? I’ve a notion – ”
His hands clenched and unclenched before her eyes, and she sat with blanched face, certain that he was about to attack her – perhaps kill her. She did not seem to care much, however, and looked up into his face steadily and defiantly.
After a moment, however, he regained control of himself, leaving her side and pacing rapidly back and forth in the office, cursing bitterly.
Curiously, Sheila was not surprised at this outburst; she had rather expected it since she had become aware of his real character. Nor was she surprised to discover that he had dropped pretense altogether – he was bound to do that sooner or later. Her only surprise was at her own feelings. She did not experience the slightest concern over him – it was as though she were talking to a stranger. She was interested to the point of taking a grim enjoyment out of his confusion, but beyond that she was not interested in anything.
It made little difference to her what became of Langford, Dakota, Duncan – any of them, except Doubler. She intended to return to the nester’s cabin, to help the doctor make him comfortable – for he had been the only person in the country who had shown her any kindness; he was the only one who had not wronged her, and she was grateful to him.
Langford was standing over her again, his breath coming short and fast.
“Where did you see Dakota?” he questioned hoarsely. “Answer!” he added, when she did not speak immediately.
“On the river trail.”
“Before you found Doubler?”
“Before, yes – and after. I met him twice.”
She discerned his motive in asking these questions, but it made no difference to her and she answered truthfully. She did not intend to shield Dakota; the fact that Doubler had not been killed outright did not lessen the gravity of the offense in her eyes.