The Twins of Suffering Creek

No longer able to remain in her room, she had come out to breathe air which she vainly hoped was less contaminated with the crimes of the man whose home she had elected to share. But inside or out it made no difference. The haunting was not of the place. It was in her mind; it had enveloped her whole consciousness.

But through it all there was one longing, one yearning for all that she had lost, all she had wantonly thrown away. Suffering Creek, with its poverty-stricken home on the dumps, suggested paradise to her now. She yearned as only a mother can yearn for the warm caresses of her children. She longed for the honest love of the little man whom, in the days of her arrogant womanhood, she had so mercilessly despised. All his patient kindliness came back to her now. All his tremendous, if misdirected, effort on her behalf, his never-failing loyalty and courage, were things which to her, in her misery, were the most blessed of all blessings. She wanted home–home. And in that one bitter cry of her heart was expressed the awakening of her real womanhood.

But it had come too late–too late. There was no home now for her but the home of this man. There was no husband for her, only the illicit love of this man. Her children–she could only obtain them by a theft. And as this last thought came to her she remembered who it was who must commit the theft.

The thought brought a fresh terror. How would he accomplish his end? Had not Scipio tacitly refused to yield up her children? Then how–how? She shivered. She knew the means James would readily, probably only too gladly, adopt. Her husband, the little harmless man who had always loved her, would be swept aside like anyone else who stood in the way. James would shoot him down as he had shot Conroy down; even, she fancied, he would shoot him down for the wanton amusement of destroying his life.

Oh no, no! It was too horrible. He was her husband, the first man she had ever cared for. She thought of all they had been to each other. Her mind sped swiftly over past scenes which had so long been forgotten. She remembered his gentleness, his kindly thought for her, his self-effacement where her personal comforts were in question, his devotion both to herself and her children. Every detail of their disastrous married life sped swiftly before her straining mental vision, leaving the man standing out something greater than a hero to her yearning heart. And she had flung it all away in a moment of passion. She had blinded herself in the arrogance of her woman’s vanity. Gone, gone. And now she was the mistress of a common assassin.

So she lashed herself with the torture of repentance and regret as the darkness fell. She did not stir from her post. The damp of the mist was unnoticed, the chill of the air. She was waiting for that return which was to claim her to an earthly hell, than which she could conceive no greater–waiting like the condemned prisoner, numb, helpless, fearful lest the end should come unobserved.

The ranch wardens waited, too. The man cursed his charge with all the hatred of an evil nature, as the damp penetrated to his mean bones. The dog, too, grew restless, but where his master was, there was his place. He had long since learned that–to his cost.

The night crept on, and there was no change in the position, except that the man sought the sheltering doorway of one of the barns, and covered his damp shirt with a jacket. But the woman did not move. She was beyond all conception of time. She was beyond any thought of personal comfort or fatigue. All she knew was that she must wait–wait for the coming of her now hated lover, that at least she might snatch her child from his contaminating arms. And after that–well, after that–She had no power to think of the afterwards.

The moon rose amidst the obscurity of the fog. It mounted, and at last reached a height where its silvery light could no longer be denied by the low-lying mists. But its reign was brief. Its cold splendor rapidly began to shrink before the pink dawn, and in less than two hours it was but a dim white circle set in the azure of the new-born day.

Still the woman remained at her post, her dark eyes straining with her vigil. She was drenched to the skin with the night-mists, but the chill of her body was nothing to the chill of her heart. The spy was still at his post in the barn doorway, but he was slumbering, as was his canine servitor, lying curled up at his feet. The sun rose, the mists cleared. And now the warming of day stirred the cattle in the corrals.

Suddenly the waiting woman started. Her attention had never once relaxed. She moved out with stiffened joints, and, shading her eyes with her hand, stared into the gleaming sunlight. Her ears had caught the distant thud of horses’ hoofs, and now her eyes confirmed. Away down the valley she could see the dim outline of a number of horsemen riding towards the ranch.

Her heart began to thump in her bosom, and her limbs quaked under her. What could she do? What must she do? Every thought, every idea that her long vigil had suggested was swept from her mind. A blank helplessness held her in its grip. She could only wait for what was to come.

The pounding of hoofs grew louder, the figures grew bigger. They were riding out of the sun, and her eyes were almost blinded as she looked for that which she trembled to behold. She could not be certain of anything yet, except that the return of her lover was at hand.

Nearer, nearer they came. Nearer, nearer still. Then suddenly a sharp exclamation broke from the watcher. It was a cry which had in it a strange thrill. It might have been the gasp of the condemned man at the sound of the word “reprieve.” It might have been the cry of one momentarily relieved from years of suffering.

She could see them plainly. For now the figures were no longer silhouetted against the sun. They had changed their course as they neared the ranch, and the rising sun was well clear. She could even recognize them by their horses. She counted. There were ten of them. One was missing. Who? But her interest was only momentary. She recognized the leader, and after that nothing else concerned her.

She could not mistake him. He sat his dark brown horse differently to anybody else. He looked to be part of it. But there was no admiration in her eyes. And yet there was an expression in them that had not been in them since his departure. There was hope in her eyes, and something akin to joy in her whole attitude. James was riding empty-handed!

Hence her cry. But now she glanced swiftly at each horseman, to be sure that they, too, were empty-handed. Yes, each man was riding with the loose swinging arms of the prairie man. And with a sigh that contained in it every expression of an unbounded relief she turned and vanished into the house. For the time, at least, Vada was safe.

CHAPTER XXVIII
JAMES

James clattered into the empty sitting-room and stared about him. His dark face was flushed with excitement. The savage in him was stirred to its best mood, but it was still the savage. He grinned as he realized that the room was empty, and it was a grin of amusement. Some thought in his mind gave him satisfaction, in spite of the fact that there was no one to greet him.

The grin passed and left him serious. Even his excitement had abated. He had remembered Jessie’s scream at the scene she must have witnessed. He remembered that he had left her fainting. With another quick glance round he stood and called–

“Ho, you! Jess!”

There was no answer; and he called again, this time his handsome face darkening. He had seen her from a distance outside the house, so there was no doubt of her being about.

Still he received no answer.

An oath followed. But just as he was about to call again he heard the sound of a skirt beyond the inner door. Instantly he checked his impulse, and where before his swift-rising anger had shone in his eyes a smile now greeted Jessie as she opened the door and entered the room.

For a moment no verbal greeting passed between them. The man was taking in every detail of her face and figure, much as a connoisseur may note the points of some precious purchase he is about to make, or a glutton may contemplate a favorite dish. He saw nothing in her face of the effects of the strain through which she had passed. To him her eyes were the same wonderful, passionate depths that had first drawn his reckless manhood to flout every risk in hunting his quarry down. Her lips were the same rich, moist, enticing lips he had pressed to his in those past moments of passion. The rounded body was unchanged. Yes, she was very desirable.

But he was too sure of his ground to notice that there was no responsive admiration in the woman’s eyes. And perhaps it was as well. She was looking at him with eyes wide open to what he really was, and all the revolting of her nature was uppermost. She loathed him as she might some venomous reptile. She loathed him and feared him. His body might have been the body of an Apollo, his face the most perfect of God’s creations. She knew him now for the cold-blooded murderer he was, and so she loathed and feared him.

There were stains upon his cotton shirt-sleeves, upon the bosom of it showing between the fronts of his unbuttoned waistcoat. There were stains upon his white moleskin trousers.

“Blood,” she said, pointing. And something of her feelings must have been plain to any but his infatuated ears.

He laughed. It was a cruel laugh.

“Sure,” he cried. “It was a great scrap. We took nigh a hundred head of Sid Morton’s cattle and burnt him out.”

“And the blood?”

“Guess it must be his, or–Luke Tedby’s.” His face suddenly darkened. “That mutton-headed gambler over on Suffering Creek did him up. I had to carry him to shelter–after he got away.”

But Jessie paid little attention. She was following up her own thought.

“It isn’t–Conroy’s?”

James’ eyes grew cold.

“That seems to worry you some,” he cried coldly. Then he put the thing aside with a laugh. “You’ll get used to that sort of talk after you’ve been here awhile. Say, Jes–”

“I can never get used to–murder.”

The woman’s eyes were alight with a somber fire. She had no idea of whither her words and feelings were carrying her. All her best feelings were up in arms, and she, too, was touched now with the reckless spirit which drove these people. There was no hope for her future. There was no hope whithersoever she looked. And now that she had seen her children were still safe from the life she had flung herself into, she cared very little what happened to her.

But the cruel despot, to whom life and death were of no account whatsoever, was not likely to deal tenderly long with the woman he desired did she prove anything but amenable. Now her words stung him as they were meant to sting, and his mouth hardened.

“You’re talking foolish,” he cried in that coldly metallic way she had heard him use before. “Conroy got all he needed. Maybe he deserved more. Anyhow, ther’s only one man running this lay-out, and I’m surely that man. Say–” again he changed. This time it was a change back to something of the lover she knew, and at once he became even more hateful to her–“things missed fire at–the Creek. I didn’t get hands on your kids. I–”

“I’m glad.” Jessie could have shouted aloud her joy, but the man’s look of surprise brought caution, and she qualified her words. “No; we’d best leave them, after all,” she said. “You see, these men–”

She looked fearlessly into his face. She was acting as only a woman can act when the object of her affections is threatened.

And her lover warmed all unsuspiciously. It would have been better for her had she only realized her power over him. But she was not clever. She was not even brave.

James nodded.

“Sure,” he said; and with that monosyllable dismissed the subject from his mind for matters that gave him savage delight. “Say, we’ve had a good round-up,” he went on–“a dandy haul. But we’re going to do better–Oh yes, much better.” Then his smile died out. He had almost forgotten the woman in the contemplation of what he had in his mind. This man was wedded to his villainies. They came before all else. Jessie was his; he was sure of her. She was his possession, and he took her for granted now. The excitement of his trade had once again become paramount.

“Guess Sufferin’ Creek has gone plumb crazy,” he went on delightedly. “I’ve had boys around to keep me posted. They been spotting things. Old Minky has been sittin’ so tight I guessed I’d have to raid the store for his gold; an’ now they’ve opened out. That buzzy-headed old fool’s goin’ to send out a stage loaded down with dust. It starts Wednesday morning, an’ he guesses it’s to win through to Spawn City. Gee! An’ they’re shoutin’ about it. Say, Jess, they say it’s to carry sixty thousand dollars. Well, it won’t carry it far. That’s why I’m back here now. That’s why I quit worrying with your kids when Wild Bill did up Luke. We hustled home to change our plugs, an’ are hittin’ the trail again right away. Sixty thousand dollars! Gee! what a haul! Say, when I’ve taken that”–he moved a step nearer and dropped his voice–“we’re goin’ to clear out of this–you an’ me. Those guys out there ain’t never going to touch a cent. You leave that to me. We’ll hit for New Mexico, and to hell with the north country. Say, Jess, ain’t that fine? Fine?” he went on, with a laugh. “It’s fine as you are.”

She had no answer for him. And he went on quite heedlessly, lost in admiration of his own scheme, and joy at the prospect.

“We’ll settle down to an elegant little ranch, most respectable like. You can go to church. Ha, ha! Yes, you can go to church all reg’lar. You can make clothes fer the poor, an’ go to sociables an’ things. An’ meanwhiles I can slip across the border and gather up a few things–just to keep my hand in–”

“What time are we gettin’ out?”

James swung round with the alertness of a panther. One of the men was standing in the doorway, a burly ruffian whose face was turned to his leader, but whose cruel eyes were rudely fixed on the woman.

“In ha’f-an-hour,” cried James, with a swift return to his harsh command. “Tell the boys to vittle for three days an’ roll a blanket. We’ll need ’em fer sleep. An’, say,” he cried, with sudden threat, “don’t you git around here again till I call you. Get me?”

There was no mistaking his anger at the interruption. There was no mistaking his meaning. The man slunk away. But as James turned back to the woman his previous lightness had gone, and his ill-humor found savage expression.

“There’s someone else needing a lesson besides Conroy,” he snarled.

Jessie shivered.

“He didn’t mean harm,” she protested weakly.

“Harm? Harm? He was staring at you. You ain’t fer sech scum as him to stare at. I’ll have to teach him.”

The man was lashing himself to that merciless fury Jessie had once before witnessed, and now she foolishly strove to appease him. She laughed. It was a forced laugh, but it served her purpose, for the man’s brow cleared instantly, and his thoughts diverted to a full realization of her presence, and all she meant to him.

“You can laugh,” he said, his eyes darkening with sudden lustful passion. “But I can’t have folks–starin’ at you. Say, Jess, you don’t know, you can’t think, how I feel about you. You’re jest mine–mine.” His teeth clipped together with the force of his emotion. The brute in him urged him as madly in his desire as it did in his harsher tempers. “I just don’t care for nothing else but you. An’–I got you now. Here, you haven’t kissed me since I came back. I’d forgot, thinking of that sixty thousand of gold-dust. I’m off again in ha’f-an-hour–an’ I won’t be back for three days. Here–”

His arms were held out and he drew nearer. But now the woman drew back in unmistakable horror.

“Say,” he cried in a voice still passionate, yet half angry, “you don’t need to get away. Ther’s a wall back of you.” Then, as she still shrank back, and he saw the obvious terror in her eyes, his swift-changing mood lost its warmth of passion and left it only angry. “Ther’s three other walls an’ a door to this room, an’ I can easy shut the door.”

He reached out and caught her by one arm. He swung her to him as though she were a child. There was no escape. She struggled to free herself, but her strength was as the strength of a babe to his, and in a moment she was caught in his arms and hugged to his breast. She writhed to free herself, but her efforts made no impression. And, having possession of her, the man laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh. He looked down at her. Her head was thrown back to avoid him. His hot eyes grinned tantalizingly into her face.

“It’s no use,” he said. “You got to kiss me. You’re mine. No, no, don’t you bother to kick any. You can’t get away. Now, Jess, kiss me. Kiss me good–good an’ plenty.” His arms crushed her closer. “What, you won’t? You won’t kiss me? Ha, ha! Maybe that’s why you ran back into the house when I come along. Maybe that’s why you wouldn’t answer when I called. What’s come to you?”

He held her, waiting for a reply. But the woman was beyond speech in her horror and rage. She was no longer terrified. She was beside herself with fury and revolting. She hated the crushing arms about her–the arms of a murderer. That one word stood out in her mind, maddening her. She would not kiss him. She could not. She gasped and struggled. She wanted to shriek for help, but that, she knew, was useless.

“Let me go!” she cried, her voice hoarse with a fury equal to anything he was capable of.

But she only held her the tighter; he only grinned the more. He, too, was furious. He, too, meant to have his way. He was determined she should submit.

Submission, however, was the farthest from her thoughts. He bent his head forward. It came nearer to her up-thrown chin.

“Let me go! Let me go, you–you–murderer!”

It was out. She had no longer any power of restraint. And as the word hissed upon the air the man’s whole body seemed to suddenly stiffen. His arms tightened, and she felt her ribs bend under their terrific pressure.

“Murderer, eh?” she heard him cry, with an oath. “Murderer, eh? Now you shall kiss me. Kiss me, you wild-cat–kiss me!”

As he spoke one hand was lifted to the back of her head. He pressed it forward, and she was forced slowly, slowly, fighting every inch of the way to keep her face out of reach of his lips. His face drew nearer hers. She felt his hot breath upon her cheeks. She shut her eyes to keep the sight of his hated, terrifying eyes out, but ever his lips came nearer.

“What’s come over you, you little fool?” he cried fiercely. “What is it? Now, by hell! whatever it is, you shall–you shall kiss me.”

With a sudden exertion of his great strength he crushed her face to his, and the next instant flung her from him with a fierce cry of pain and rage.

“You–!” he shouted, as she fell in a heap against the wall.

The blood was streaming from his cheek where her strong teeth had bitten deep into the flesh. His hand went up to the mauled flesh, and murder glared out of his eyes as he contemplated her huddled figure lying motionless where he had flung her. And for one second it looked as though he intended to complete the work he had begun, and kill her where she lay, in the same manner in which he had treated the luckless Conroy.

He stared insanely at her for some moments. Then a change came over him, and he turned to the door.

“When I come back, my girl! When I come back!” he muttered threateningly.

At the door he paused and looked back. But his look was mercifully hidden from his victim by unconsciousness.

CHAPTER XXIX
THE GOLD-STAGE

Two days of excitement were quite sufficient to upset the nerves of Suffering Creek. The only excitement it was used to was the sudden discovery of an extra good find of gold. The camp understood that. It was like an inspiration to the creative worker. It stimulated the energies, it uplifted. Any other sort of excitement had a paralyzing effect. And thus the excitement of the present Sunday and Monday entirely upset the rest of the week’s work.

Everybody felt that the happenings of those days were merely the forerunners of something yet to come, of something even more startling. And the restlessness of uncertainty as to its nature kept the population hanging about the camp, fearful that, in their absence, things might occur, and they would miss participation in them.

The inhabitants of Suffering Creek were a virile race, strongly human, full of interest in passing events, and men of appetite for any slices of life that might come their way. So, having “cashed in” to the “limit” all the gold-dust they possessed, they felt they were entitled to spend a few days in watching events, and a few dollars in passing the time until such events, if any, should come within their range of vision.

What events were expected it is doubtful if the most inventive could have put into words. The general opinion expressed–out of Minky’s hearing, of course, but to the accompaniment of deep libations of his most execrable whisky–was that, personally, that astute trader was, for some unaccountable reason, rapidly qualifying for the “bug-house,” and that the only thing due from them was to display their loyalty to him by humoring him to the extent of discounting all the “dust” they could lay hands on, and wishing him well out of the trouble he seemed bent on laying up for himself. Meanwhile they would take a holiday on the proceeds of their traffic, and, out of sheer good-fellowship, stand by to help, or at least applaud, when the dénouement came.

Many of the shrewder men looked to Wild Bill to give a key to the situation. They knew him to be Minky’s closest friend. Besides that, he was a man intensely “wide” and far-seeing in matters pertaining to such a situation as at present existed.

But Wild Bill, in this case, was the blankest of blanks in the lottery of their draw for information. Whether this blankness was real or affected men could not make up their minds. The gambler was so unlike his usual self. The hard, rough, autocratic manner of the man seemed to have undergone a subtle change. He went about full of geniality and a lightness his fellow-citizens had never before observed in him. And, besides, he had suddenly become the only man in the place who seemed to lack interest in the doings of the James gang. Even beyond the bare facts of the outrage down by the river on Sunday morning, he could not be cajoled into discussing that individual or his doings.

No, his immediate interest apparently lay in his newly purchased half-claim. He spent the Monday afternoon there watching the unwilling Sandy sweating at his labors. And on the Tuesday he even passed him a helping hand. It did not occur to these men that Bill kept away to avoid their cross-questionings. It only seemed to them that his new toy had a greater fascination for him than those things which made for the welfare of the community; that his inexperienced eyes were blinded to the facts which were patent enough to them: namely, that he had bought the most worthless property in the district.

So they laughed, behind his back, and shrugged their great shoulders pityingly, and their pity was also touched with resentment that his interest in Suffering Creek could be so easily diverted. It was Joe Brand who handed them a most excellent laugh on the subject, though the laugh was rather at than with him.

He was talking to Van and White and several other men at one of the tables in the store. Whisky had brightened his eyes, which had been quietly smiling for some time as the talk of Bill went round. Then he suddenly bent forward and arrested the general attention.

“Say, boys,” he cried, “here’s a good one for you. What’s the diff’rence between Wild Bill and Minky?”

Van promptly guffawed.

“Gee!” he cried, “ther’ ain’t none. They’re sure both ‘bug.’”

A great laugh greeted the retort, but Joe shook his head.

“That sure ain’t the answer, but it’s real bright,” he admitted reluctantly, while Van preened himself.

“Guess they’re both that wise they don’t know if they’re comin’ down or goin’ up,” he went on, seeking to add to the score he felt he had made.

But Joe felt he was being robbed of the fruits of his effort, and promptly insisted upon his riddle.

“What’s the diff’rence between Wild Bill an’ Minky?” he asked again, this time with added emphasis.

He waited impatiently until one of the men shook his head, when he snatched at the opportunity of firing his quip.

“Why,” he cried, with a shout of delight, “Bill’s put his gold into a mudbank, an’ Minky’s jest yearnin’ to set his gold into any old bank,” and fell back laughing furiously.

But he had his merriment to himself. Van, feeling he had the company with him, sneered.

“Gee! that’s the worst ever,” he cried witheringly.

White spat out a chew of tobacco.

“I’d say you’re that bright you’d orter write comic Bible trac’s,” he declared.

But even in his failure as a humorist Joe Brand gave expression to the general opinion of the two men who, up till that time, had been accounted, to use a local expression, the “wisest guys west o’ Spawn City.”

Certainly, for the time being, the mighty had fallen, and their associates, in the persons of Sunny Oak, Toby Jenks and Sandy Joyce, had to stand by listening to remarks against their fellow Trust members which, though distinctly offensive, they yet, in justice, had to admit were perfectly warranted on the face of things. Even Scipio, mild little man as he was, had to endure considerable chaff, which worried and annoyed him, as to the way in which he had succeeded in bluffing so shrewd a “guy” as Wild Bill into purchasing half his claim.

But these things were only sidelights on the feelings of the moment. Expectancy was at fever-heat, and each and every man was wondering what was about to happen. For though their belief in Bill and Minky had received a jolt, long months of experience had sown in them an appreciation that took a power of uprooting.

The Monday and Tuesday passed without development of any sort. There were several conferences between the members of the Trust, but these were really only meetings at which the lesser members received more minute instructions for the carrying out of their duties on the Wednesday. No information otherwise was forthcoming for them from either Minky or the president, and all attempt to extort any was promptly nipped in the bud by the latter without the least compunction or courtesy.

Sandy resented this attitude. Sunny complained of the lack of confidence. But Toby sat back immensely enjoying the chagrin of his two friends, and cordially swore that both Minky and Bill knew a large-meshed sieve when they saw one.

Tuesday night was a memorable one on Suffering Creek. Never had there been such a gathering in Minky’s store; and his heart must have been rejoiced to see the manner in which so many of the dollars he had expended in the purchase of gold-dust came fluttering back to their nest in his till. The camp appeared to have made up its mind to an orgy of the finest brand. Drink flowed and overflowed. The store that night fairly swam in whisky. The flood set in the moment supper was finished, and from that time until two o’clock in the morning the lusty storekeeper never had a moment’s rest.

Men drank themselves drunk, and drank themselves sober again. There was no poker or faro. No one wanted to gamble. There was sufficient gamble in their minds on the subject of to-morrow’s stage to satisfy them for the moment. Would it get through? That was the question. And the general opinion was an emphatic denial.

How could it? Had not scouts been sent out inquiring of outlying settlers as to the prospect of a clear road? Had not information come in that James was abroad, had been seen in a dozen different places in the district? Had not the belief become general that the Spawn City trail was being carefully watched, and even patrolled, by this common enemy? Everybody knew that these things were so. The whole of this stage business was simply flying in the face of Providence.

And amidst all the comment and talk Minky served the requirements of his customers, wrapped in sphinx-like reserve. His geniality never failed him. He had a pleasant word for everybody. And at every gibe, at every warning, he beamed and nodded, but otherwise could not be drawn into controversy. One remark, and one only, had he for all and sundry who chose him as a butt for their pleasantries.

“Wal,” he declared easily, “if I ladled out good United States currency, to feed that bum tough James an’ his crew o’ hawks, seems to me its findin’ its way home right smart.”

It was quite true. He stood to win in every direction. Sooner or later every cent of money he had paid out in the purchase of gold would find its way back to him, and go to help swell the fortune which was the effort of his life. These men had not the commercial instinct of Minky. And, furthermore, his meeting at night with the gambler, and its resulting compact, was still a secret.

The popular laugh was for the moment against him, but he continued to smile. And he knew that his smile would last the longer. He would still be smiling when even the ghost of their laugh had been laid to rest.

Sore heads were no deterrent next morning. Pillows were deserted at an early hour. And those who had found it convenient to pass the brief remainder of the night in their heavy, clay-soiled boots had the advantage of breakfasting at the first hot rush of Birdie’s ministrations. And Birdie, with the understanding of her kind, had bestowed special attention upon the quantity and quality of the coffee, leaving the solid side of the meal almost unconsidered. It was her duty to sooth parching throats, and she knew her duty.

It was a glorious morning. The sun rose radiant in a cloudless sky. The air was still, so still. But the mountain chill began to give way from the first moment that the great arc of daylight lifted its dazzling crown above the horizon. The quiet of the morning was perfect. It almost seemed as if Nature itself had hushed to an expectant silence. The woe of the night-prowling coyote at the sight of the dawn found no voice. The frogs upon the creek had not yet begun their morning song. Even the camp dogs, whose ceaseless “yap” made hideous all their waking hours, for some subtle reason moved about in quest of their morning meal as though their success depended upon the stealth of their movements.