The Story of the Foss River Ranch Part 46

"Cheat!" he shouted.

He had seen the card at the bottom of the pack as the other had ceased to shuffle.

There was an instant's thrilling pause. Then Lablache's hand flew to his pocket. He had heard the click of a c.o.c.king revolver.

For the moment the rancher's old spirit rose superior to his senile debility.

"G.o.d in heaven! And this is how you've robbed me, you--you b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

"Poker" John's seared face was at that moment the face of a maniac. He literally hurled his fury at the money-lender, who was now standing confronting him.

"It is the last time, if--if I swing for it. Prairie law you need, and, h.e.l.l take you, you shall have it!"

He swung himself half round. Simultaneously two reports rang out. They seemed to meet in one deafening peal, which was exaggerated by the smallness of the room. Then all was silence.

Lablache stood unmoved, his yellow eyeb.a.l.l.s gleaming wickedly. For a second John Allandale swayed while his face a.s.sumed a ghastly hue. Then in deathly silence he slowly crumpled up, as it were. No sound pa.s.sed his lips and he sank in a heap upon the floor. His still smoking pistol dropped beside him from his nerveless fingers.

The rancher had intended to kill Lablache, but the subtle money-lender had been too quick. The lashless eyes watched the deathly fall of the old man. There was no expression in them but that of vengeful coldness.

He was accustomed to the unwritten laws of the prairie. He knew that he had saved his life by a hair's-breadth. His right hand was still in his coat pocket. He had fired through the cloth of the coat.

Some seconds pa.s.sed. Still Lablache did not move. There was no remorse in his heart--only annoyance. He was thinking with the coolness of a callous nerve. He was swiftly calculating the effect of the catastrophe as regarded himself. It was the worst thing that could have happened to him. Shooting was held lightly on the prairie, he knew, but--Then he slowly drew his pistol from his pocket and looked thoughtfully at it.

His caution warned him of something. He withdrew the empty cartridge case and cleaned out the barrel. Then he put a fresh cartridge in the chamber and returned the pistol to his pocket. He was very deliberate, and displayed no emotion. His asthmatical breathing, perhaps, might have been more p.r.o.nounced than usual. Then he gathered up the cards from floor and table, and wiped out the score upon the wall. He put the cards in his pocket. After that he stirred the body of his old companion with his foot. There was no sound from the prostrate rancher. Then the money-lender gently lowered himself to his knees and placed his hand over his victim's heart. It was still. John Allandale was dead.

It was now for the first time that Lablache gave any sign of emotion. It was not the emotion of sorrow--merely fear--susperst.i.tious fear. As he realized that the other was dead his head suddenly turned. It was an involuntary movement. And his fishy eyes gazed fearfully behind him. It was his first realization of guilt. The brand of Cain must inevitably carry with it a sense of horror to him who falls beneath its ban. He was a murderer--and he knew it.

Now his-movements became less deliberate. He felt that he must get away from that horrid sight. He rose swiftly, with a display of that agility which the unfortunate Horrocks had seen. He glanced about the room and took his bearings. He strode to the lamp and put it out. Then he groped his way to the window and took down his bandanna; stealthily, and with a certain horror, he felt his way in the darkness to the door. He opened it and pa.s.sed out.

CHAPTER XXVIII

SETTLING THE RECKONING

Jacky stood at the gate of the fifty-acre pasture. She had been standing there for some minutes. The night was quite dark; there was no moon. Her horse, n.i.g.g.e.r, was standing hitched to one of the fence posts a few yards away from her and inside the pasture. The girl was waiting for "Lord" Bill.

Not a sound broke the stillness of the night as she stood listening. A wonderful calmness was over all. From her position Jacky had seen the light shining through the window of the implement shed. Now the shed was quite dark--the window had been covered. She knew that her uncle and Lablache were there. She was growing impatient.

Every now and then she would turn her face from the contemplation of the blackness of the distant end of the field to the direction of the settlement, her ears straining to catch the sound of her dilatory lover's coming. The minutes pa.s.sed all too swiftly. And her impatience grew and found vent in irritable movements and sighs of vexation.

Suddenly her ears caught the sound of distant cries coming from the settlement. She turned in the direction. A lurid gleam was in the sky.

Then, as she watched, the glare grew brighter, and sparks shot up in a great wreathing cloud of smoke. The direction was unmistakable. She knew that Lablache's store had been fired.

"Good," she murmured, with a sigh of relief. "I guess Bill'll come right along now. I wish he'd come. They've been in that shack ten minutes or more. Why don't he come?"

The glare of the fire fascinated her, and her eyes remained glued in the direction of it. The reflection in the sky was widespread and she knew that the great building must be gutted, for there was no means of putting the fire out. Then her thoughts turned to Lablache, and she smiled as she thought of the surprise awaiting him. The sky in the distance grew brighter. She could only see the lurid reflection; a rising ground intervened between her and the settlement.

Suddenly against the very heart of the glare the figure of a horseman coming towards her was silhouetted as he rode over the rising ground.

One glance sufficed the girl. That tall, thin figure was unmistakable--her lover was hastening towards her. She turned to her horse and unhitched the reins from the fence post.

Presently Bill came up and dismounted. He led Golden Eagle through the gate. The greeting was an almost silent one between these two. Doubtless their thoughts carried them beyond mere greetings. They stood for a second.

"Shall we ride?" said Jacky, inclining her head in the direction of the shed.

"No, we will walk. How long have they been there?"

"A quarter of an hour, I guess."

"Come along, then."

They walked down the pasture leading their two horses.

"I see no light," said Bill, looking straight ahead of him.

"It is covered--the window, I mean. What are you going to do, Bill?"

The man laughed.

"Lots--but I shall be guided by circ.u.mstances. You must remain outside, Jacky; you can see to the horses."

"P'r'aps."

The man turned sharply.

"P'r'aps?"

"Yes, one never knows. I guess it's no use fixing things when--guided by circ.u.mstances."

They relapsed into silence and walked steadily on. Half the distance was covered when Jacky halted.

"Will Golden Eagle stand 'knee-haltering,' Bill?"

"Yes, why?"

"We'll 'knee-halter' 'em."

Bill stood irresolute.

"It'll be better, I guess," the girl pursued. "We'll be freer."

"All right," replied Bill. "But," after a pause, "I'd rather you didn't come further, little woman--there may be shooting--"

"That's so. I like shootin'. What's that?"

The girl had secured her horse, Bill was in the act of securing his.

Jacky raised her hand in an att.i.tude of attention and turned her face to windward. Bill stood erect and listened.

"Ah!--it's the boys. Baptiste said they would come."