By Right of Purchase

CHAPTER IX
FARMERS IN COUNCIL

Nearly three weeks had slipped by since Leland met the outlaws, and his horses were missing still, when he sat in council at Prospect with a few of his scattered neighbours one bitter night. The big room was as bare and comfortless as it had been in his bachelor days, though there were cases at the railroad station whose contents would have transformed it, had he troubled to haul them in. Leland was somewhat grim of face, for the past few weeks had not been pleasant ones to him.

The breach between him and his wife was still as wide as ever, and he felt it the more keenly because, since the night of their frankness, she had shown no sign of anger. Instead, she had treated him with a civility that was hard to bear, and had professed herself content with all the arrangements at Prospect as they were. Leland was too proud a man to make advances which he felt would be repelled, and decided bitterly that, since nothing he could do would please her, the comforts she did not seem to care about might stay where they were until they rotted. Her own rooms, at least, were furnished and fitted luxuriously, in so far as he had been able to contrive it, and, since she spent most of her time in them, the one in which his mother had lived was good enough for him. Still, all this reacted upon his temper, and, on the night when he had his neighbours there, he was feeling the strain.

There were four of them, men who toiled early and late, and had a stake in the country, and they were all aware that others would probably be influenced by what they did. They listened to him gravely, sitting about the crackling stove with a box of cigars on the little table in front of them. There was nothing to drink, however, since, for several reasons, including the enactments of the legislature, strong green tea is the beverage most usually to be met with on the prairies, and of that they had just had their fill at supper. There was silence until one of them turned to the rest with a twinkle in his eyes.

"I'm with Charley Leland in most of what he says," he said. "The law's necessary, as you find out when you have lived, as I have, in a country where there isn't any. Still, after all, the enforcing of it is the business of the legislature, and the most they do for us is to worry us for statistics and fine us for not ploughing unnecessary fire-guards. Then there are two or three of us on this prairie who aren't fond of tea, and, as things are, we generally know where to get a little Monongahela or Bourbon when we want it. I guess it would give a kind of tone to this soirée if we had some of it now."

There was approving laughter until another man spoke.

"That's quite right, just as far as it goes," he said. "Give me a chance of a square kick at the Scott Act, and I'll kick – like a mule. In the meanwhile, there it is, and you have to figure if breaking it is worth while. When you begin making exceptions, it's quite hard to stop. Now, I don't want to go round with a pistol strapped on to me, and, while we stand by the law, it isn't necessary. So long as I know that the crops I raise are mine and nobody can take them from me, I can do without my whisky. That's why I'm with Charley Leland in this thing, and you have to remember it's quite a big one."

"It is," said a third speaker. "Here we are, a few scattered farmers with stables and granaries that will burn, and horses that can be run across the frontier. Behind us stand Sergeant Grier and his four troopers, while, if we back up Leland, we have a tolerably extensive organisation against us, and the men who belong to it aren't going to stick at anything. If we are willing to live and let live, what do we stand to lose? A horse borrowed now and then, an odd steer killed, perhaps, an unbranded beast or two missing. Well, I guess it might work out cheaper than the other thing."

There was silence for a moment or two, and then a young man looked up languidly. He had come out four or five years before from Montreal.

"There is hard sense in all we have heard, but I think Leland's point of view is nearest the Academic one," he said. "Every honest man has a duty to the State, and it is certainly going to cost him more than he gains if he won't discharge it. There are probably more honest men than rogues everywhere, and yet one usually sees the rogues uppermost, for this reason: the honest man won't worry so long as they don't rob him, and his neighbour can't make a fight alone. Nobody is anxious to face the first blow for the benefit of the rest, and so the rogue gets bolder, until he becomes intolerable. Then the honest man stirs himself, and the rogues go down, though it causes ever so much more trouble than it would have done if the thing had been undertaken earlier. I'll give you an example. Begbie hung a man in British Columbia, the first one who wanted it, and there was order at once. Coleman and his vigilantes, who were scarcely quick enough, had to hang them by the dozen in California. Now we come to the question: How bad have things got to be before you think it worth while to do anything?"

It was evident that he had made an impression. He had shown them the dangers of toleration; and they were men who, while they did little rashly, believed in the greatness of their country. They looked at Leland, who turned to them with a little grim smile.

"They have gone quite far enough for me," he said. "I'm going to move now. The one thing I want to ask is, who is going to stand in with me?"

The man who had last spoken glanced at the rest. "I think you can count upon the four of us."

There was a murmur of concurrence, and Leland smiled. "As a matter of fact, I did so already, and asked Sergeant Grier to ride across and meet you to-night. He should be here any minute now. In the meanwhile I want to say that I've been riding up and down the country lately, and have reasons for supposing there's a big load of whisky to be run during the next few days."

As they talked over this news, there was a knocking at the outer door, and a grizzled man who wore what had once been a very smart cavalry uniform was shown into the room. He sat down and listened with grave attention to what Leland had to say. Then he looked up quietly.

"I have to thank you, gentlemen, and I'll swear you in," he said. "From what I can figure, it must be Ned Johnston's gang, and they're about the hardest of the crowd. I haven't much fault to find with Mr. Leland's programme except on a point or two."

They discussed it for an hour, and, when all was arranged, one of them laughed as he laid his hand on Leland's shoulder. "I guess you're doing the right thing," he said. "Still, in one way, it's a little curious that it's you."

"Why?"

"Well," said the other man drily, "if I had just been married to a woman like Mrs. Leland, I figure I mightn't have been so willing to put myself in the way of a bullet. I'd have let somebody else make the first move and stayed at home with her."

Leland's face grew a trifle hard, as he forced a laugh. "I scarcely think marriage has made any great change in me, or that it's likely to do so."

Then his guests drove away, but the man to whom he had spoken remembered the look in Leland's face.

"Now I wonder what Charley meant by that," he said, getting into his sleigh.

Leland in the meanwhile had flung himself down into a chair beside the stove, and was lying there moodily with an unlighted pipe in his hand, when his wife came in. It was evident that he did not notice her, and she had misgivings as she noticed the weariness in his attitude. After all, he was her husband, and he looked very lonely in the big bare room. She sat down beside him and touched his arm. "Your friends have gone?" she said.

The man looked up sharply, and she saw the little glow in his eyes, which, however, faded out of them again.

"Yes," he said. "I hope we did not disturb you."

"You were suspiciously quiet. What were you plotting together?"

"Nothing," said Leland. "That is, nothing you would probably care to hear about."

Carrie felt repulsed, though she would not show it. She had meant to be amiable, and she was a somewhat determined young woman, so she tried again.

"Isn't it a little lonely here?" she said. "Why did you not come up to me? I have scarcely seen you the last few days."

Leland's smile was not exactly reassuring. "I don't want to trouble you too often. Besides, I have been out in the frost since early morning, and feel a little tired and drowsy. One naturally doesn't care to appear to any more disadvantage than is necessary."

Carrie's lips and brows straightened portentously. "Were you afraid I might point it out to you, or do you wish to make it evident to everybody that you are purposely keeping out of my way?"

"I suppose I should have thought of that, but it's a thing that never occurred to me. Still, you asked me another question, and, though perhaps it's weak of me, I can't help giving you an answer."

He stopped a moment and pointed round the desolate room, while the girl realised its dreariness as she saw the dry white ears on the walls quiver in the icy draughts and heard the wailing of a bitter wind outside the birch-log walls.

"Do you suppose – this – is what I bargained for when I asked you to marry me? You took the trouble not long ago to point out very plainly what you thought of me, and I think you meant every word of it. It was rather a bitter draught, but perhaps your point of view was a natural one. I am not the kind of man you have been accustomed to. In fact, there are very few points on which I resemble your father or Jimmy."

"Ah," said Carrie, "that was not meant to be conciliatory. It rather emphasises the distinction you mention. Still, I think you had not finished."

"Not quite. When you are willing to take me as I am, without prejudice, and give me a chance of winning your liking, you will not find me backward. Until then, I have a little too much self-respect to support you in pretending to be the dutiful wife because you think it becoming. Your contempt was honest, anyway."

Carrie rose with a little languid gesture. "I wonder how long this exceptionally pleasant state of affairs could be expected to continue?"

"Until you change your mind, or one of us is dead. If you get tired of it in the meanwhile, you can always go back to the Old Country for a few months or so."

"It is really a little difficult to understand what could have induced you to marry me."

Leland looked at her with a little grim smile. "I believe I gave you my reasons on another occasion. It would be rather more to the purpose to ask why you were content with them?"

The girl's cheeks burned, but she turned from him languidly. "You almost tempt me to tell you," she said. "Still, perhaps I have already let my candour carry me too far."

She went out of the big room quietly and naturally, but, when she reached her own apartment, she clenched her hands passionately. Though she was very angry, she had to realise that the man's attitude under the circumstances was by no means astonishing. She had also exactly what she had wished for, since it was clear that he would make no embarrassing advances now; and yet her courage almost failed her as she looked forward to an indefinite continuance of their present relations. He had said that, unless she made it, there could be no change until one of them was dead.

It was the next day, and she had seen nothing of Leland, when she met Gallwey, with whom she had become friendly.

The young man, she saw, was quite willing to constitute himself her devoted servant. At the same time, she felt the sincerity of his attachment for her husband, and drew from it a comfortable sense of security.

"Of course, you have heard the news?" he said. "I don't know if I'm presuming, or if it's kind to admit anything that might distress you, but it would be a relief to me if you could persuade Charley to be careful. I'm not quite sure he realises what he has undertaken."

Carrie had, of course, heard nothing, though she naturally refused to admit it. She also realised the irony of the fact that everybody except herself seemed attached to her husband. They were then standing in the big general room; but, after she had sat down and smilingly pointed the young man to a place near her, ten minutes of judiciously directed conversation left her with a tolerably clear notion of the state of affairs. She was also sensible of an illogical feeling of dismay and apprehension.

"But why does he do it?" she asked.

Gallwey looked thoughtful. "Well," he said, "somebody will have to take the thing up eventually, and, when there is anything unpleasant but necessary, Charley is usually there to do it. I almost fancy he can't help it. As they say in this country, that is the kind of man he is. Still, under the circumstances, I really think he ought to let the others take an equal risk, and it might be advisable for you to impress it upon him."

"You believe that what I said would have any influence?" asked Carrie, with a curious little smile.

"Of course!" and Gallwey gazed at her reproachfully. "Surely that ought to be evident."

"Well," said the girl, with a trace of languidness, "I have to thank you for warning me, and I will do what I can, though I am not very certain it will have any great effect on him."

Gallwey left her a few minutes later. Carrie, who was now very thoughtful, saw nothing of her husband that night or during most of the next day. He came in and asked for supper a little before dusk, and, when he had eaten it, carefully went over the lock and magazine action of a forty-four Marlin rifle. Then he put on his furs and girt himself with a bandolier. On reaching the outer door, he heard a swift patter of footsteps on the neighbouring stairs. As Carrie came up to him he stood still, with the blue rifle-barrel gleaming over his shoulder, looking like a giant in his shaggy coat. She was dressed, as he noticed, unusually prettily, and, although he set his lips, the little sparkle crept into his eyes. As it faded, the bronzed face, barely visible beneath the fur cap, became once more impassive.

The girl walked steadily up to him, and laid a hand upon his arm.

"You have given me a good deal, but I scarcely think I have asked you for anything yet. I want you to run no risk that isn't necessary to-night," she said.

Leland started, but again he put a constraint upon himself.

"So you know?" he said.

"Of course! Did you think, when everybody else knew, you could keep it from me? Still, that isn't what I asked you. I want you to be careful."

Leland looked at her, and though she saw the blood creep slowly into his face, his restraint was also evident.

"Did you say that because you believed it was the correct thing, madam?" he asked.

Carrie flushed, but the man, shaking her hand off his arm, laid his big mittened one upon her shoulder, and, holding her away from him, looked down on her gravely.

"You will try to forgive me that. It was a trifle brutal," he said, and his voice sank. "Still, to be quite honest, I could scarcely think that any risk I ran could cause you very much anxiety."

Carrie said nothing, for, with that steady gaze upon her, she could not pretend, even if her pride would have permitted her; and Leland smiled a trifle wistfully. His face was almost gentle now.

"Well," he said, "you needn't force yourself to say it would, if it hurts you, and I daresay it was kindness that prompted you to try. Still, you see, I should want a good deal, and anything you didn't mean wouldn't satisfy me. After all, it would make things easier for you if I didn't come back again."

The girl shivered. "You surely can't believe I would think of that?"

"No," and Leland made a little gesture, which was expressive of weariness; "it was your sense of fitness that turned you against me."

He let his hand fall from her shoulder. "After all, my dear, I am sorry for you."

"And yourself?"

"It is a little rough on me, but that can't be helped. Somehow or other I guess I can bear it."

Then he stooped, and, taking one of her hands, held it between both of his before he turned and flung open the door.

Carrie saw him for a moment, a tall, black figure silhouetted against the cold blue, and then he had vanished into the night.

CHAPTER X
HOMICIDE

An almost intolerable cold had descended upon the prairie when Leland reached the coulee where Sergeant Grier was mustering his forces late at night. They were not a very strong body, three troopers of the Northwest Police, all of them rather young, two prairie farmers, Leland, Gallwey, and the Sergeant, but the latter had decided that they would be enough, for the purpose. He was aware that, in an affair of this kind, a few men who understand exactly what they have to do, and can be relied on to set about it quietly and collectedly, are apt to prove more efficient than a larger body. The unnecessary man, he knew, is usually busy getting in his comrade's way. There was also another reason which Leland had pointed out. Since his acquaintances had undertaken the business, it was advisable that they should carry it out without exposing themselves unnecessarily to the outlaws' vengeance. There were several bands of the latter acting more or less in concert, and it would lessen the risks if there were only three or four men liable to them in place of several times as many.

The Sergeant quite concurred in this, and, when Leland rode up stiff with frost, quietly sent the men out to their stations. Just there, the beaten trail that led south to the frontier dipped into one of the winding ravines, traversing the country with many a loop and bend. A sluggish creek flowed through its bottom beneath the ice, and a growth of willows and birches that there found shelter from the winds straggled up its sides. Trees fringed the crest of the dip, too, and in places overflowed into the prairie in scattered spurs. The trail ran through their midst, and there was no doubt that, if the outlaws came at all, which was not certain, they would come that way, since there are disadvantages attached to leading loaded horses through a thick birch-bluff in the darkness.

A farmer and one of the troopers were sent back to where the trees ran farther out into the prairie, and they were to lie hidden there and cut off the retreat in case the rustlers endeavoured to head back the way they had come. The main body lined the trail in the thickest of the bluff, just below the crest of the ravine, and Leland and one young trooper proceeded to the foot of the declivity. It would be their business to stop anybody who might succeed in breaking through the rest of the ambuscade. Each of them knew precisely what was expected of him, and the only uncertainty was whether the rustlers were coming, and if so, how many there would be of them.

It was a suitable night for their purpose, neither too dark nor too light. The heavens were barred with drifting wreaths of cloud, between which every now and then a half-moon and an occasional star shone down. The birches wailed as they shook their frail twigs beneath a bitter wind. Leland was sensible of a distressing tingling in his numbed feet and hands. The young trooper beside him limped and stumbled, a shadowy, indistinct figure in his furs, stiff with cold. Their softly moccasined feet made no sound. Both of them wondered whether they could use their slung rifles, if the necessity arose.

It is possible, without feeling desperately cold, to face the frost of the Northwest in a prairie waggon when one is packed about with hay and wrapped in big fur robes, but there are times when the man who travels on horseback runs the risk of freezing, and, because horses might be wanted, farmers and police troopers had ridden instead of driving. Leland was capable of moving, but the young trooper was in a far worse state, and sighed with relief when at last they stopped beside the creek, where a dense growth of willows kept off the stinging wind.

"I'm that cold I 'most can't hump myself," he said. "Seems to me I haven't got any feet on. I guess they're froze. Still, it's not quite so cruel as the night the corporal got one of his nipped. We were sleeping way back up Long Traverse trail in a pit in the snow, and were too played-out to waken when the fire got low. The frost had the corporal by the morning, but we'd most of twenty leagues to make, with two or three mighty cold camps on the way, and his moccasins opened up a wound. You couldn't have told he had a foot when I last saw him."

Leland said nothing. He was not inclined for conversation, and knew that instances of the kind were not uncommon. The wardens of the prairie probably know more about cold than anybody, except Arctic explorers, and they are expected to face it shelterless in the open for days together when occasion arises. They cannot always find a birch-bluff to camp in, and the snow is frequently too thin to throw up a bank between them and the wind. Only hard men continue in that service, and perhaps the prairie wolf alone knows what becomes of some of the unfit who try it.

The lad, however, seemed impelled to talk, and stamped up and down beating his mittened hands, with the swivel of his slung carbine jangling as he moved.

"One would 'most wonder why you folks took a hand in," he said. "I guess if I'd been a farmer, it's more than I'd have done myself. There seem to be a blame lot of the rustlers, and, so far as we can figure, they stand in together. The three or four of us can't be everywhere at once, and they might take a notion of getting even by playing the fire-bug when the grass is dry in harvest season. I'd plough my fire-guards twice as wide. It would be quite easy to burn up a ripening crop."

Leland was aware that there would, unfortunately, be no difficulty in doing this, but he was willing to take his chances, and did not answer the lad. Indeed, the probable loss of a crop appeared a comparatively small matter to him just then. He was sore and bitter, and a feud with the outlaws would have been almost a relief. He felt that Branscombe Denham had tricked him, but sincerely desired to stand well with his wife, in spite of her scornful attitude towards him. He did not blame her for that altogether, though her words still rankled, but he would not expose himself to her disdain again, and had decided that if things were to be different, the first advances must be made by her. In the meanwhile, it was singularly unpleasant to both of them, and that night he was in a very sensitive and somewhat dangerous mood as he stood shivering among the willows.

"I guess they should be here by now, if the fellow who told us was playing a straight game," said the lad. "The trouble is, they've a good many friends, and nobody can tell exactly who's standing in with them. It's kind of easier to pick up an odd case of whisky and say nothing than to give us the office and have a fire-stick shoved into your granary. I'm not counting too much on the Ontario man."

In the meanwhile, the others fretted at the cold, and wondered how long the outlaws meant to keep them waiting. Two of them, upon whom all the rest depended for the warning, were just then crouching, almost frozen, where the thinnest of the birches broke off abruptly, watching a group of vague, shadowy shapes moving in their direction across the white wilderness. Gallwey stood behind them. A bank of sombre cloud sailed across the moon, and left the watchers in almost utter darkness.

"I can make out four, and there are more behind," said the trooper. "It's a sure thing. Snow's deep, and, as we figured, they'll stick to the trail. Guess you'd better get back and tell the Sergeant."

Gallwey slipped away, and there was silence for several minutes while farmer and policeman crept a little further back amidst the trees. Then a soft patter of hoofs and an occasional rattle came up the bitter wind as a line of men and horses grew into shape. They came on boldly, the men growling to one another and at the beasts. With no outriders forward, they plunged into the shadow of the birches. There the sounds grew louder, and the thud of hoofs, hoarse voices, crackle of trodden twigs, and creaking and jolting of burdens on pack-saddles, rang startlingly distinct through the crisp air. The trooper counted at least a dozen horses, but he could not quite make out how many men, for they walked among the loaded beasts, and the trail was very dark.

They went on by, half-seen, dim shadows that jostled one another among the trees; and, when the voices and the trampling grew less distinct, the trooper moved out into the trail, with his carbine in his mittened hands. The trap was sprung, for, if one or two of the outlaws succeeded in breaking through, it was evident that they must, at least, leave their beasts behind. With the farmer close behind him he moved cautiously a little nearer his comrades and then stood still again.

It was, perhaps, five minutes later when Leland, who was pacing to and fro, stopped abruptly, and held up his hand as the young trooper materialised out of the gloom in front of him.

"Can't you hear something?" he said.

The trooper thought he could, but his ears were almost covered by the big fur cap, and whilst they stood listening the birches swayed and wailed before a bitter gust. It seemed to search them to the marrow, for the cold was keen as a knife. Then through the night there came a dull, thudding sound down from the ridge above, and the trooper flung his carbine forward.

"They're here, sure," he said. "It's even chances we don't get a whack at one of them."

They stood listening for a minute or two, intent and high-strung, and heard only the wailing of the wind, for the birches once more swayed about them. It was almost dark, for the moon was still behind a cloud. As he moved his mittened hands on the Marlin rifle, Leland forgot that he was stiff in every limb. Then a voice rang, harsh and commanding, out of the shadows above them.

"Stop right there," it said. "We have got you covered."

It was followed by the whip-like crack of a pistol-shot, there was the louder jarring ring of a carbine or a farmer's rifle, and a confused din broke out. Men shouted and scuffled in the gloom, loaded beasts blundered among the trees and the undergrowth, while through it all there rose the detached beat of hoofs.

"One or two of them lit out, anyway," said the trooper. "Guess they'd slash the pack lariat, and get into the saddle when they'd let the whisky go. That sounds like one of the boys after them. Chancing a gallop, too. They'll break their necks certain, if they ride that way through the bluff."

He stopped a minute, and just then a faint silvery radiance swept athwart the birches as the moon shone down. It sparkled on the dropping smear of snow-sheeted trail, and the lad ran forward a pace or two fumbling with his carbine.

"Look out, Mr. Leland!" he shouted. "There are two of them riding slap down on us."

Two indistinct objects swept out of the shadows, and a moment later resolved themselves into men and galloping horses. They were thundering headlong down the sharply falling trail, and Leland felt his nerves tingle as he watched them. He was in a particularly unpleasant temper that night, and the prospect of an encounter stirred the half-frozen blood in him. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw the trooper standing a few paces away from him, and then fixed his gaze up the trail ahead. The horsemen were coming on at a mad gallop, taking their chances of a stumble, and he could see the powdery snow whirl about them like dust. Then they saw him standing grimly still in the middle of the trail, for one shouted a warning to the other, and the trooper cried aloud:

"Hold on! Pull up before we plug you," he said.

There was no answer. The riders were hard and fearless men, probably wanted by Montana sheriffs for things they had done during the cattle war, and they showed no sign of drawing bridle. One of them howled shrilly as he whirled a whip about his shoulders, and for a moment Leland saw him sway in the saddle with the beast stretched out beneath him.

Then there was a flash, and a detonation he scarcely heard, a cloud of smoke that floated up the trail, and man and horse came thundering down on him. He felt the jar of the Marlin rifle on his shoulder as he aimed at the flying form of a horse. In another moment the outlaw was almost upon him. Then in savage recklessness he leapt forward instead of back, with a hand that sought the bridle and an arm the rider's leg. His fingers closed on something – bridle, or saddle, or stirrup – and he clung with a stiffened grasp, while his feet were torn from under him and a rifle flashed.

Exactly what happened after that he did not know, but he was hurled forward, still clutching at something, with feet that scraped the snowy ice of the creek; and then there was a heavy crash, and what he held was torn away from him. He felt himself driven into a bank of snow, and lay there for perhaps a minute wondering vaguely if the life had all been smashed out of him, and listening to a sound of scuffling and floundering close by. Next he essayed to draw one of his feet up, and, to his astonishment, found that he had no great difficulty in accomplishing it. That done, he raised himself shakily, and, scrambling to one of the birches, leaned against it, gasping a little. A few seconds earlier he had been almost certain that he would never stand up again.

In the meanwhile the moonlight had grown a trifle brighter, for he could see a horse that lay near the middle of the creek still moving convulsively. Nearby, wrapped in an old fur coat, was an object that did not move at all. The trooper, who now had no carbine, stood stooping a little as he looked down on it, and there was a curious significant stillness in his attitude, whilst as much as could be seen of his young face appeared a trifle colourless. It was a moment or two before he became aware that Leland was on his feet again.