They of the High Trails Read online

  Nevertheless, when, thereafter, anybody from the fort asked for bay Nellie, he gave out that she was engaged, and the very first time the major asked for the mare Kelley not only brusquely said, "She's in use," but hung up the receiver in the midst of the major's explanation.

  The town gossips were all busy with the delightful report that Mrs. Harford had again been seen driving with the major, whose reputation for gallantry, monstrously exaggerated by the reek of the saloons, made even a single hour of his company a dash of pitch to the best of women. Kelley speculated on just how long it would take Harford to learn of these hints against his wife. Some of his blunt followers were quite capable of telling him in so many words that the major was doing him wrong, and when they did an explosion would certainly take place.

  One day a couple of Harford's horses, standing before the stable, became frightened and ran away up the street. Kelley, leaping upon one of the fleetest broncos in the stalls, went careering in pursuit just as Anita came down the walk. He was a fine figure of a man even when slouching about the barn, but mounted he was magnificent. It was the first time he had ridden since the loss of his own outfit, and the feel of a vigorous steed beneath his thighs, the noise of pounding feet, the rush of air, filled his heart with mingled exultation and regret. He was the centaur again.

  Anita watched him pass and disappear with a feeling of surprise as well as of admiration. She was skilled in reading the character of men on horseback, and peculiarly sensitive to such an exhibition of grace and power. Her hostler was transformed into something new and wholly admirable, and she gladly took the trouble to watch for his return, as she could not witness the roping and the skilful subduing of the outlaws.

  The picture he made as he tore along, swinging his rope, had displaced that of the dirty, indifferent hostler, and Anita thereafter looked upon him with respect, notwithstanding his presumptuous warning, which still lay heavy in her ears.

  She still resented his interference, but she resented it less now that she knew him better. She began to wonder about him. Who was he? Why was he the hostler? Naturally, being wise in certain ways of men, she inferred that strong drink had "set him afoot"; but when she hesitantly approached her husband on this point, his reply was brusque: "I don't know anything about Kelley, and don't want to know. So long as he does his work his family vault is safe."

  Still desiring to be informed, she turned to her servants, with no better results; they knew very little about Tall Ed, "but we like him," they were free to say.

  This newly discovered mystery in the life of her hostler accomplished what his warning had failed to do; it caused her to neglect her correspondence with the major. His letter lay in a hollow willow-tree on the river road unread for nearly a week. And when, one afternoon, she finally rode by to claim it, her interest was strangely dulled. The spice of the adventure was gone.

  As she was about to deliver her pony to Kelley that night he handed her an envelope, and, with penetrating glance, said: "I found this on the river road to-day. I wouldn't write any more such—if I was you; it ain't nice and it ain't safe."

  It was her own letter, the one she had but just written and deposited in the tree. She chilled and stiffened under the keen edge of Kelley's contemptuous pity, then burned hot with illogical rage.

  "What right—? You spied on me. It's a shame!"

  "So it is!" he agreed, quietly; "but I don't want any killing done—unless I do it myself."

  "You are a thief," she accused.

  "All right," he answered, dispassionately. "Spy—keeper—big brother—dog—anything goes—only I don't intend to let you slide to hell without a protest. You're nothing but a kid—a baby. You don't know what you're going into. I'm an old stager; I know a whole lot that I wish I didn't know. I've known women who said they didn't care—lots of 'em—but they did; they all cared. They all knew they'd lost out. There's only one end to the trail you're starting in on, and it ain't a pretty one. Harf married you in good faith, and even if he is gettin' old and slow-footed and skinny, he's your husband and entitled to a square deal."

  Blinded by her tears, and weak with passionate resentment of his tone, she could scarcely clamber down from the carriage. As soon as her feet touched the ground she started away. Kelley retained her by the force of his hand upon her wrist.

  "Wait a moment," he said, huskily. "You're mad now and you want to murder me, but think it all over and you'll see I'm your friend."

  There was something in his voice which caused her to look squarely up into his face, and the tenderness she saw there remained long in her memory.

  "You're too sweet and lovely to be the sport of a cheap skate like that. Don't throw yourself away on any man. Good-by and God bless ye."

  She walked away with bent head and tear-blinded eyes, her heart filled with weakness and pain. She was like a child justly punished, yet resenting it, and mingled with her resentment was a growing love and admiration for the man whose blunt words had bruised her soul in the hope of her redemption.

  * * *

  Kelley went back to his little office, gathered his small belongings together, and called up Harford on the 'phone. "I'll take that blue cayuse and that Denver-brand saddle, and call it square to date.... Yes, I'm leaving. I've got a call to a ranch over on the Perco. Sorry, but I reckon I've worked out my sentence.... All right. So long."

  Ten minutes later he was mounted and riding out of town. The air was crisp with autumn frost and the stars were blazing innumerably in the sky. A coyote had begun his evening song, and to the north rose the high, dark mass of the Book cliffs. Toward this wall he directed his way. He hurried like one fleeing from temptation, and so indeed he was.

  KELLY AS MARSHAL

  I

  Along about '96 Sulphur Springs had become several kinds of a bad town. From being a small liquoring-up place for cattlemen it had taken on successively the character of a land-office, a lumber-camp, and a coal-mine.

  As a cow town it had been hardly more than a hamlet. As a mining center it rose to the dignity of possessing (as Judge Pulfoot was accustomed to boast) nearly two thousand souls, not counting Mexicans and Navajos. It lay in the hot hollows between piñon-spotted hills, but within sight spread the grassy slopes of the secondary mountains over whose tops the snow-lined peaks of the Continental Divide loomed in stern majesty.

  The herders still carried Winchesters on their saddles and revolvers strung to their belts, and each of them strove to keep up cowboy traditions by unloading his weapon on the slightest provocation. The gamblers also sustained the conventions of their profession by killing one another now and again, and the average citizen regarded these activities with a certain approval, for they all denoted a "live town."

  "The boys need diversion," said the mayor, "and so long as they confine their celebrations to such hours as will not disturb the children and women—at least, the domestic kind of women—I won't complain."

  And really, it is gratifying to record that very few desirable citizens were shot. Sulphur continued to thrive, to glow in the annals of mountain chivalry, until by some chance old Tom Hornaby of Wire Grass was elected Senator. That victory marked the beginning of the decline of Sulphur.

  Hornaby was Pulfoot's candidate, and the judge took a paternal pride in him. He even went up to the capital to see him sworn in, and was there, unfortunately, when the humorous member from Lode alluded to Hornaby as "my esteemed colleague from 'Brimstone' Center, where even the judges tote guns and the children chew dynamite"—and what was still more disturbing, he was again in the capital when the news came of the shooting and robbing of a couple of coal-miners, the details of which filled the city papers with sarcastic allusions to "Tom Hornaby's live town on The Stinking Water."

  Hornaby, being a heavy owner of land in and about Sulphur, was very properly furious, and Judge Pulfoot—deeply grieved—was, indeed, on the instant, converted. A great light fell about him. He perceived his home town as it was—or at least he got a glimpse of it as
it appeared to the timid souls of civilized men. He cowered before Hornaby.

  "Tom, you're right," he sadly agreed. "The old town needs cleaning up. It sure is disgraceful."

  Hornaby buttered no parsnips. "You go right back," said he, "and kick out that bonehead marshal of yours and put a full-sized man into his place, a man that will cut that gun-play out and distribute a few of those plug-uglies over the landscape. What chance have I got in this Legislature as the 'Senator from Brimstone Center'? I'll never get shet of that fool tag whilst I'm up here."

  "You certainly have a right to be sore," the judge admitted. "But it ain't no boy's job, cleaning up our little burg. It's going to be good, stiff work. I don't know who to put into it."

  "I do."

  "Who?"

  "My foreman, Ed Kelley."

  "I don't know him."

  "Well, I do. He's only been with me a few months, but I've tried him and he's all right. He's been all over the West, knows the greasers and Injuns, and can take care of himself anywhere. The man don't live that can scare him. You notice his eyes! He's got a glare like the muzzle of a silver-plated double-barrel shotgun. He don't know what fear is. I've seen him in action, and I know."

  The judge was impressed. "Will the board accept him?"

  "They've got to accept him or go plumb to the devil down there. These articles and speeches have put us in wrong with the whole state. This wild West business has got to be cut out. It scares away capital. Now you get busy!"

  The judge went back resolved upon a change of administration. The constituent who held the office of marshal was brave enough, but he had grown elderly and inert. He was, in truth, a joke. The gamblers laughed at him and the cowboys "played horse" with him. The spirit of deviltry was stronger than it had ever been in the history of the county.

  "Something religious has got to be done," the judge argued to the city fathers, and, having presented Hornaby's message, demanded the installation of Kelley.

  The board listened attentively, but were unconvinced. "Who is this Kelley? He's nothing but a tramp, a mounted hobo. Who knows him?"

  "Hornaby knows him and wants him, and his order goes. Let's have him in and talk with him, anyhow."

  Kelley was called in. He showed up a tall, composed young fellow of thirty, with weather-worn face and steady gray eyes in which the pupils were unusually small and very dark blue. His expression was calm and his voice pleasant. He listened in amused silence while the judge told him what the program was. Then he said:

  "That's a whale of a job you've laid out for me; but Hornaby's boss. All is, if I start in on this, you fellows have got to see me through. It's a right stiff program and I need some insurance. 'Pears to me like there should be a little pot for Tall Ed at the end of this game—say, three dollars a day and a couple of hundred bones when everything is quiet."

  To this the judge agreed. "You go in and clean up. Run these gunmen down the valley. Cut out this amatoor wild West business—it's hurting us. Property is depreciating right along. We certainly can't stand any more of this brimstone business. Go to it! We'll see that you're properly reimbursed."

  "All right, Judge. But you understand if I go into this peacemaking war I draw no political lines. I am chief for the time being, and treat everybody alike—greasers, 'Paches, your friends, my friends, everybody."

  "That's all right. It's your deal," said the judge and the aldermen.

  II

  Tall Ed had drifted into Sulphur from the Southwest some six months before, and although fairly well known among the ranchers on the Wire Grass, was not a familiar figure in town. The news of his appointment was received with laughter by the loafers and with wonder by the quiet citizens, who coldly said:

  "He appears like a full-sized man, but size don't count. There's Clayt Mink, for instance, the worst little moth-eaten scrap in the state, and yet he'll kill at the drop of a hat. Sooner or later he's going to try out this new marshal same as he did the others."

  This seemed likely, for Mink owned and operated the biggest gambling-house in Sulphur, and was considered to be (as he was) a dangerous man. He already hated Kelley, who had once protected a drunken cattleman from being almost openly robbed in his saloon. Furthermore, he was a relentless political foe to Hornaby.

  He was indeed a mere scrap of a man, with nothing about him full-sized except his mustache. And yet, despite his unheroic physique, he was quick and remorseless in action. In Italy he would have carried a dagger. In England he would have been a light-weight rough-and-tumble fighter. In the violent West he was a gunman, menacing every citizen who crossed his inclination, and he took Kelley's appointment as a direct affront on the part of Hornaby and Pulfoot.

  "He'd better keep out of my way," he remarked to his friends, with a malignant sneer.

  Kelley was not deceived in his adversary. "He's a coward at heart, like all these hair-hung triggers," he said to Pulfoot. "I'm not hunting any trouble with him, but—" It was not necessary to finish his sentence; his voice and smile indicated his meaning.

  The town was comparatively quiet for the first month or two after Kelley took office. It seemed that the rough element was reflectively taking his measure, and Hornaby's herders, as they rode in and out of town, told stories of Tall Ed's rough and ready experiences, which helped to establish official confidence in him.

  "I reckon we've done the right thing this time," wrote Pulfoot to Hornaby. "The boys all seem to realize we've got a man in office."

  This calm, this unnatural calm, was broken one night by Mink himself, who shot and all but killed the livery-stable keeper in a dispute over roulette. Knowing that his deed would bring the new marshal down upon him at once, the gambler immediately declared determined war.

  "The man who comes after me will need a wooden overcoat," he promulgated. "I won't stand being hounded. That hostler was pulling his gun on me. I got him first, that's all. It was a fair fight, and everybody knows it."

  The liveryman was, in fact, armed at the time, and the disposition of many citizens was to "let him learn his lesson." But Judge Pulfoot, fearing Hornaby's temper, ordered Kelley to get his man.

  "Tom wants that weasel disciplined," he said. "He's a damage to the community."

  Kelley received his orders with calmness. "Well, Judge," he said, after a little pause, "I'll get him, but I'd like to do it in my own way. To go after him just now gives him the inside position. He'll hear of me the minute I start and will be backed up into the corner somewhere with his gun all poised."

  "Are you afraid?"

  "You can call it that," the young marshal languidly replied. "I don't believe in taking fool chances. Mink is a dead shot, and probably wire-edged with whisky and expecting me. My plan is to wait until he's a little off his guard—then go in quick and pull him down."

  To this the judge gave reluctant consent. But when, a few hours later, he heard that Mink had disappeared he was indignant. "You get that devil or we'll let you out," he said, and showed a telegram from Hornaby protesting against this new outbreak of violence. "The old man's red-headed over it."

  "I know it," said Kelley. "I heard from him to that effect. If the hostler dies we won't see Mink no more. If he's in town I'll get him. Good night."

  III

  A few days later, as he was walking up the street, half a dozen men successively spoke to him, saying, "Mink's at home, loaded—and looking for you!" And each of them grinned as he said it, joyously anticipating trouble.

  Without a word, other than a careless, "That so?" Kelley passed on, and a thrill of excitement ran through the hearts of the loafers.

  It was about sunset of a dusty autumn afternoon, and the cowboys and miners (gathered in knots along the street), having eaten their suppers, were ready to be entertained. Upon seeing Kelley approach with easy stride they passed the joyous word along. Each spectator was afraid he might miss some part of the play.

  Kelley was fully aware that his official career and perhaps his life hung in the balance. To fail o
f arresting the desperado was to brand himself a bungler and to expose himself to the contempt of other sure-shot ruffians. However, having faced death many times in the desert and on the range, he advanced steadily, apparently undisturbed by the warnings he had received.

  Just before reaching Mink's saloon he stepped into Lemont's drug-store, a cheap little shop where candy and cigars and other miscellaneous goods were sold. The only person in the place was Rosa Lemont, a slim, little maid of about fifteen years of age.

  "Hello, Rosie," he said, quietly. "I want to slip out your back door." He smiled meaningly. "The street is a trifle crowded just now."

  With instant comprehension of his meaning she led the way. "Don't let them kill you," she whispered, with scared lips.

  "I'll try not to," he answered, lightly.

  Once in the alley, he swung his revolver to a handy spot on his thigh and entered the saloon abruptly from the rear.

  The back room, a rude dance-hall, was empty, but the door into the barroom was open, and he slipped through it like a shadow. Mink was not in sight, but the barkeeper stood rigidly on duty.

  "Hello, Jack!" called Kelley, as he casually approached the bar. "Where's the boss?"

  Before he had finished his question he detected his man reflected in the mirror behind the bar. The gambler imagined himself to be hidden behind the screen which separated the women's drinking-place from the main room, and did not know that Kelley had seen him in the glass. His revolver was in his hand and malignant purpose blazed in his eyes—and yet he hesitated. Lawless as he was, it appeared that he could not instantly bring himself to the point of shooting an officer in the back.