The Story of the Foss River Ranch Part 48

Then he turned back to Jacky, and the look on his face changed to one of sympathy and even love.

"Not you, missie--and the white man--no. The prairie is the land of the Breed and his forefathers--the Red Man. Guess the law of the prairie'll come best from such as he. You are one of us," he went on, surveying the girl's beautiful face in open admiration. "You've allus been mostly one of us--but I take it y'are too white. No, guess you ain't goin' ter muck yer pretty hands wi' the filthy blood of yonder," pointing to Lablache.

"These things is fur the likes o' us. Jest leave this skunk to us. Death is the sentence, and death he's goin' ter git--an' it'll be somethin'

ter remember by all who behold. An' the story shall go down to our children. This poor dead thing was our best frien'--an' he's dead--murdered. So, this is a matter for the Breed."

Then the half-breed turned away. Seeing the chalk upon the floor he stooped and picked it up.

"Let's have the formalities. It is but just--"

Bill suddenly interrupted. He was angry at the interference of Baptiste.

"Hold on!"

Baptiste swung round. The white man got no further. The Breed broke in upon him with animal ferocity.

"Who says hold on? Peace, white man, peace! This is for us. Dare to stop us, an'--"

Jacky sprang between her lover and the ferocious half-breed.

"Bill, leave well alone," she said. And she held up a warning finger.

She knew these men, of a race to which she, in part, belonged. As well baulk a tiger of its prey. She knew that if Bill interfered his life would pay the forfeit. The sanguinary l.u.s.t of these human devils once aroused, they cared little how it be satisfied.

Bill turned away with a shrug, and he was startled to see that he had been noiselessly surrounded by the rest of the half-breeds. Had Jacky's command needed support, it would have found it in this ominous movement.

Fate had decreed that the final act in the Foss River drama should come from another source than the avenging hands of those who had sealed their compact in Bad Man's Hollow.

Baptiste turned away from "Lord" Bill, and, at a sign from him, Lablache was brought round to the other side of the table--to where the dead rancher was lying. Baptiste handed him the chalk and then pointed to the wall, on which had been written the score of old John's last gamble.

"Write!" he said, turning back to his prisoner.

Lablache gazed fearfully around. He essayed to speak, but his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth.

"Write--while I tell you." The Breed still pointed to the wall.

Lablache held out the chalk.

"I kill John Allandale," dictated Baptiste.

Lablache wrote.

"Now, sign. So."

Lablache signed. Jacky and Bill stood looking on silent and wondering.

"Now," said Baptiste, with all the solemnity of a court official, "the execution shall take place. Lead him out!"

At this instant Jacky laid her hand upon the half-breed's arm.

"What--what is it?" she asked. And from her expression something of the stony calmness had gone, leaving in its place a look of wondering not untouched with horror.

"The Devil's Keg!"

CHAPTER XXIX

THE MAW OF THE MUSKEG

Down the sloping sh.o.r.e to the level of the great keg, the party of Breeds--and in their midst the doomed money-lender--made their way.

Jacky and "Lord" Bill, on their horses, brought up the rear.

The silent _cortege_ moved slowly on, out on to the oozing path across the mire. Lablache was now beyond human aid.

The right and wrong of their determination troubled the Breeds not one whit. But it was different with the two white people. What thoughts Bill had upon the matter he kept to himself. He certainly felt that he ought to interfere, but he knew how worse than useless his interference would be. Besides, the man should die. The law of Judge Lynch was the only law for such as he. Let that law take its course. Bill would have preferred the stout tree and a raw-hide lariat. But--and he shrugged his shoulders.

Jacky felt more deeply upon the subject. She saw the horror in all its truest lights, and yet she had flouted her lover's suggestion that she should not witness the end. Bad and all as Lablache was--cruel as was his nature, murderer though he be, surely no crime, however heinous, could deserve the fate to which he was going. She had remonstrated--urged Baptiste to forego his wanton cruelty, to deal out justice tempered with a mercy which should hurl the money-lender to oblivion without suffering--with scarce time to realize the happening.

Her efforts were unavailing. As well try to turn an ape from its mischief--a man-eater from its mania for human blood. The inherent love of cruelty had been too long fostered in these Breeds of Foss River.

Lablache had too long swayed their destinies with his ruthless hand of extortion. All the pent-up hatred, stored in the back cells of memory, was now let loose. For all these years in Foss River they had been forced to look to Lablache as the ruler of their destinies. Was he not the great--the wealthy man of the place? When he held up his finger they must work--and his wage was the wage of a dog. When money was scarce among them, would he not drive them starving from his great store? When their children and women were sick, would he not refuse them drugs--food--nourishment of any sort, unless the money was down? They had not even the privilege of men who owned land. There was no credit for the Breeds--outcasts. Baptiste and his fellows remembered all these things. Their time had come. They would pay Lablache--and their score of interest should be heavy.

On their way from the shed to the muskeg Lablache had seen the reflection of the fire at his store in the sky. Gautier had taken devilish satisfaction in telling the wretched man of what had been done--mouthing the details in the manner of one who finds joy in cruelty. He remembered past injuries, and reveled in the money-lender's agony.

After a toilsome journey the Breeds halted at the point where the path divided into three. Jacky and Bill sat on their horses and watched the scene. Then, slowly, something of Baptiste's intention was borne in upon them.

Jacky reached out and touched her lover's arm.

"Bill, what are they going to do?"

She asked the question. But the answer was already with her. Her companion remained silent. She did not repeat her question.

Then she heard Baptiste's raucous tones as he issued his commands.

"Loose his hands!"

Jacky watched Lablache's face in the dim starlight. It was ghastly. The whole figure of the man seemed to have shrunk. The wretched man stood free, and yet more surely a prisoner than any criminal in a condemned cell.

The uncertain light of the stars showed only the dark expanse of the mire upon all sides. In the distance, ahead, the mountains were vaguely outlined against the sky; behind and around, nothing but that awful death-trap. Jacky had lived all her life beside the muskeg, but never, until that moment, had she realized the awful terror of its presence.

Now Baptiste again commanded.

"Prepare for death."

It seemed to the listening girl that a devilish tone of exultation rang in his words. She roused herself from her fascinated attention. She was about to urge her horse forward. But a thin, powerful hand reached out and gripped her by the arm. It was "Lord" Bill. His hoa.r.s.e whisper sung in her ears.

"Your own words--Leave well alone."