The One-Way Trail Part 18

Jim shook his head.

"I'm getting back right away."

"Well, I won't press you," Peter went on, his mild eyes glancing swiftly at the door of the Mission Room, where the villagers were scrambling out with a great chattering and bustle. "Just bring your plug out of the crowd, Jim," he went on. "I'd like a word before you go." Without waiting for his friend's consent, he took the horse's bridle and led the animal on one side. And, oddly enough, his direction was toward the Mission Room door. Jim submitted without much patience.

"What is it?" he demanded, as they halted within three yards of the door. "Guess I haven't a heap of time. McLagan's busy breaking horses, and he told me to get right out after the--ceremony."

"Sure," nodded Peter, "I won't keep you long. I'd heard there was breaking on the 'AZ's.' That's just it. Now, I'm looking for a couple of plugs. One for saddle, and the other to carry a pack. You see, I've struck color in a curious place, and it promises good. But it's away off, near twenty miles in the foot-hills. It's an outcrop I've been tracing for quite a while, and if my calculations are right, the reef comes right along down here through Barnriff. You see, I've been working on those old Indian stories."

He paused, and his quick eyes saw that the crowd was lining the doorway waiting for Eve and her husband to come out. Jim was interested in his tale in spite of himself, yet fidgeting to get away.

"Well?" he demanded.

"Well, I need two horses to carry myself and camp outfit. And---- Say, here's Eve," he cried, his large hand suddenly gripping Jim's arm and detaining him. The ranchman shook him off and made to mount his horse.

But Peter had no idea of letting him go.

"Jim," he said in a tone for the man's ear alone, "you can't go yet.

You can't push a horse through the crowd till she's gone. Say, boy--you can't go. Here she is. Just look at her. Look at her sweet, smiling eyes. Jim, look. That gal's real happy--now. Jim, there ain't much happiness in this world. We're all chasing it. You and me, too--and we don't often find it. Say, boy, you don't grudge her her bit, do you? You'd rather see her happy, if it ain't with you, wouldn't you? Ah, look at those eyes. She's seen us, you and me.

That's me being such a lumbering feller. And she's coming over to us; Will, too." His grip on the man's arm tightened, and his voice dropped to a low whisper. "Jim, you can't go, now. You've got to speak to her.

You're a man, a real live man; get a grip on that--and don't forget."

Then he released his hold, and Eve and Will came up. Eve's radiant eyes smiled on him, but pa.s.sed at once to Jim. And she left Will's arm to move nearer to him. Peter's eyes were on the darkening brows of her husband, and the moment Eve's hand slipped from his arm, he gave the latter no choice but to speak to him. He began at once, and with all his resource held him talking, while Eve demanded Jim's congratulations.

"Jim," she said, "I haven't seen you since--since----"

"No, Eve." Then the man cleared his throat. It was parching, and he felt that words were impossible. What trick was this Peter had played on him? He longed to flee, yet in the face of all that crowd he could not. He knew he must smile, and with all the power of his body he set himself to the task.

"You see we've been up to our necks in work. I--I just s.n.a.t.c.hed the morning to see you--you married."

"And no congratulations? Oh, Jim! And I've always looked on you and Peter as--as my best friends."

Every word she uttered struck home through the worn armor of his restraint. He longed madly to seize this woman in his arms and tear her from the side of his rival. The madness of his love cried out to him, and sent the blood surging to his brain. But he fought--fought himself with almost demoniac fury, and won.

"Eve," he said, with an intensity that must have struck her had she not been so exalted by her own emotions, "I wish you the greatest happiness that ever fell to a woman's lot. I hope, from the bottom of my heart, this world'll give you everything you most wish for. And, further, you are right to reckon Peter and me your best friends. As a favor, I ask you that whenever our friendship can be of service to you you'll call upon it. Good-bye and--bless you."

He had his reward, if reward it could be called. Eve thrust out one white-gloved hand and seized his, squeezing it with a gentle pressure that set his blood throbbing through his veins afresh.

Then the agony pa.s.sed, and left him cold. The warm hand was withdrawn, and the girl turned back to her husband. Peter relinquished his ward.

The big man's end had been accomplished. As husband and wife walked away, and the crowd dispersed, he turned to Jim, who stood gazing straight in front of him. He looked into his face, and the smile in his eyes disappeared. The expression of Jim's face had changed, and where before storm had raged in every pulse, now there was a growing peace.

"Jim," he said gently, "about those horses----"

"Guess you won't need them now?"

Thorpe looked up into the grizzled face with a half ironical smile, but without displeasure.

"Peter, you had me beat from the start."

But Peter shook his head.

"It's you who've won to-day, boy. Guess you've beat the devil in you to a hash. Yes; I need those horses, an' you can get 'em for me from McLagan."

CHAPTER XII

THE QUEST OF PETER BLUNT

The crisp air of summer early morning, so fragrant, so invigorating, eddied across the plains, wafting new life to the lungs, and increased vigor to jaded muscles. The sun was lifting above the horizon, bringing with it that expansion to the mind which only those whose lives are pa.s.sed in the open, and whose waking hours are such as Nature intended, may know.

The rustling gra.s.s, long, lean at the waving tops, but rich and succulent in its undergrowth, spoke of awakening life, obeying that law which man, in his superiority, sets aside to suit his own artificial pleasures. The sparkling morning haze shrouding the foot-hills was lifting, yielding a vision of natural beauty unsurpa.s.sed at any other time of the day. The earth was good--it was clean, wholesome, purified by the long restful hours of night, and ready to yield, as ever, those benefits to animal life which Nature so generously showers upon an ungrateful world.

Peter Blunt straightened up from his camp-fire which he had just set going. He stretched his great frame and drank in the nectar of the air in deep gulps. The impish figure of Elia sat on a box to windward of the fire, watching his companion with calm eyes. He was enjoying himself as he had rarely ever enjoyed himself. He was free from the trammels of his sister's loving, guiding hand--trammels which were ever irksome to him, and which, somewhere inside him, he despised as a bondage to which his s.e.x had no right to submit. He was with his friend Peter, helping him in his never-ending quest for gold. Hunting for gold. It sounded good in the boy's ears. Gold. Everybody dreamed of gold; everybody sought it--even his sister. But this--this was a new life.

There were Peter's tools, there was their camp, there was the work in process. There was his own little A tent, which Peter insisted that he should sleep in, while, for himself, he required only the starry sky as a roofing, and good thick blankets, to prevent the heat going out of his body while he slept. Yes; the boy was happy in his own curious way. He was living on "sow-belly" and "hardtack," and extras in the way of "canned truck," and none of the good things which his sister had ever made for him had tasted half so sweet as the rough cooking of this wholesome food by Peter. Something like happiness was his just now; but he regretted that it could only last until his sister returned to Barnriff. The boy's interest in the coming day's work now inspired his words.

"We go on with this sinking?" he inquired; and there was a boyish pride in the use of the plural.

Peter nodded. His eyes were watching the fire, to see that it played no trick on him.

"Yep, laddie," he said, in his kindly way. "We've got a bully prospect here. We'll see it through after we've had breakfast. Sleepy?"

Elia returned him an unsmiling negative. Smiling was apparently unnatural to him. The lack of it and the lack of expression in his eyes, except when stirred by terror, showed something of the warp of his mind.

"You aren't damp, or--or anything? There's a heap of dew around." The man was throwing strips of "sow-belly" into the pan, and the coffee water was already set upon the flaming wood.

"You needn't to worry 'bout them things for me, Peter," Elia declared peevishly. "Wimmin folks are like that, an' it sure makes me sick."

The other laughed good-naturedly as he took a couple of handfuls of the "hardtack" out of a sack.

"You'd be a man only they won't let you, eh? You've the grit, laddie, there's no denying."

The boy felt pleased. Peter understood him. He liked Peter, only sometimes he wished the man wasn't so big and strong. Why wasn't he hump-backed with a bent neck and a "game" leg? Why wasn't he afraid of things? Then he never remembered seeing Peter hurt anything, and he loved to hurt. He felt as if he'd like to thrust a burning brand on Peter's hand while he was cooking, and see if he was afraid of the hurt, the same as he would be. Then his mind came back to things of the moment. This gold prospecting interested him more than anything else.

"How far are we from Barnriff?" he asked abruptly.

"Twenty odd miles west. Why?"

"I was kind o' wonderin'. Seems we've been headin' clear thro' fer Barnriff since we started from way back there on the head waters. We sunk nine holes, hain't we? Say, if we keep right on we'll hit Barnriff on this line?"

"Sure." The man's blue eyes were watching the boy's face interestedly.

"You found the color o' gold, an' the ledge o' quartz in each o' them holes, ain't you?"

"Yep."

"Well, if we keep on, an' we find right along, we're goin' to find some around Barnriff."