The Trail to Yesterday Part 27

She looked at him now, unbelief in her eyes.

"Of course you would deny it," she said.

"Well," he said resignedly, "I reckon that's all. I can't say that I expected anything else. I've done some things in my life that I've regretted, but I've never told a lie when the truth would do as well.

There is no reason now why I should lie, and so I want you to know that I am telling the truth when I say that I didn't shoot Doubler. Won't you believe me?"

"No," she returned, unaffected by the earnestness in his voice. "You were at Doubler's cabin when I heard the shot--I met you on the trail. You killed that man, Blanca, over in Lazette, for nothing. You didn't need to kill him; you shot him in pure wantonness. But you killed Doubler for money. You would have killed my father had I not been there to prevent you. Perhaps you can't help killing people. You have my sympathy on that account, and I hope that in time you will do better--will reform. But I don't believe you."

"You forgot to mention one other crime," he reminded her in a low voice, not without a trace of sarcasm.

"I have not forgotten it. I will never forget it. But I forgive you, for in comparison to your other crimes your sin against me was trivial--though it was great enough."

Again his bitter laugh reached her ears. "I thought," he began, and then stopped short. "Well, I reckon it doesn't make much difference what I thought. I would have to tell you many things before you would understand, and even then I suppose you wouldn't believe me. So I am keeping quiet until--until the time comes. Maybe that won't be so long, and then you'll understand. I'll be seeing you again."

"I am leaving this country to-morrow," she informed him coldly.

She saw him start and experienced a sensation of vindictive satisfaction.

"Well," he said, with a queer note of regret in his voice, "that's too bad. But I reckon I'll be seeing you again anyway, if the sheriff doesn't get me."

"Do you think they will come for you to-night?" she asked, suddenly remembering that her father had told her that Duncan had gone to Lazette for the sheriff. "What will they do?"

"Nothing, I reckon. That is, they won't do anything except take me into custody. They can't do anything until Doubler dies."

"If he doesn't die?" she said. "What can they do then?"

"Usually it isn't considered a crime to shoot a man--if he doesn't die.

Likely they wouldn't do anything to me if Doubler gets well. They might want me to leave the country. But I don't reckon that I'm going to let them take me--whether Doubler dies or not. Once they've got a man it's pretty easy to prove him guilty--in this country. Usually they hang a man and consider the evidence afterward. I'm not letting them do that to me.

If I was guilty, I suppose I might look at it differently, but maybe not."

Sheila was silent; he became silent, too, and looked gravely at her.

"Well," he said presently, "I'll be going." He urged his pony forward, but when it had gone only a few steps he turned and looked back at her. "Do your best to keep Doubler alive," he said.

There was a note of the old mockery in his voice, and it lingered long in Sheila's ears after she had watched him vanish into the mysterious shadows that surrounded the trail. Stiffling a sigh of regret and pity, she spoke to her pony, and the animal shuffled down the long slope, forded the river, and so brought her to the door of Doubler's cabin.

The doctor was there; he was bending over Doubler at the instant Sheila entered the cabin, and he looked up at her with grave, questioning eyes.

"I am going to nurse him," she informed the doctor.

"That's good," he returned softly; "he needs lots of care--the care that a woman can give him."

Then he went off into a maze of medical terms and phrases that left her confused, but out of which she gathered the fact that the bullet had missed a vital spot, that Doubler was suffering more from shock than from real injury, and that the only danger--his const.i.tution being strong enough to withstand the shock--would be from blood poisoning. He had some fever, the doctor told Sheila, and he left a small vial on a shelf with instructions to administer a number of drops of its contents in a spoonful of water if Doubler became restless. The bandages were to be changed several times a day, and the wound bathed.

The doctor was glad that she had come, for he had a very sick patient in Mrs. Moreland, and he must return to her immediately. He would try to look in in a day or two. No, he said, in answer to her question, she could not leave Doubler to-morrow, even to go home--if she wanted the patient to get well.

And so Sheila watched him as he went out and saddled his horse and rode away down the river trail. Then with a sigh she returned to the cabin, closed the door, and took up her vigil beside the nester.

CHAPTER XVI

SHERIFF ALLEN TAKES A HAND

The sheriff's posse--three men whom he had deputized in Lazette and himself--had ridden hard over the twenty miles of rough trail from Lazette, for Duncan had a.s.sured Allen that he would have to get into action before Dakota could discover that there had been a witness to his deed, and therefore when they arrived at the edge of the clearing near Dakota's cabin at midnight, they were glad of an opportunity to dismount and stretch themselves.

There was no light in Dakota's cabin, no sign that the man the sheriff was after was anywhere about, and the latter consulted gravely with his men.

"This ain't going to be any picnic, boys," he said. "We've got to take our time and keep our eyes open. Dakota ain't no spring chicken, and if he don't want to come with us peaceable, he'll make things plumb lively."

A careful examination of the horses in the corral resulted in the discovery of one which had evidently been ridden hard and unsaddled but a few minutes before, for its flanks were in a lather and steam rose from its sides.

However, the discovery of the pony told the sheriff nothing beyond the fact that Dakota had ridden to the cabin from somewhere, some time before.

Whether he was asleep, or watching the posse from some vantage point within or outside of the cabin was not quite clear. Therefore Allen, the sheriff, a man of much experience, advised caution. After another careful reconnoiter, which settled beyond all reasonable doubt the fact that Dakota was not secreted in the timber in the vicinity of the cabin, Allen told his deputies to remain concealed on the edge of the clearing, while he proceeded boldly to the door of the cabin and knocked loudly. He and Dakota had always been very friendly.

At the sound of the knock, Dakota's voice came from within the cabin, burdened with mockery.

"Sorry, Allen," it said, "but I'm locked up for the night. Can't take any chances on leaving my door unbarred--can't tell who's prowling around. If you'd sent word, now, so I would have had time to dress decently, I might have let you in, seeing it's you. I'm sure some sorry."

"Sorry, too." Allen grinned at the door. "I told the boys you'd be watching. Well, it can't be helped, I reckon. Only, I'd like mighty well to see you. Coming out in the morning?"

"Maybe. Missed my beauty sleep already." His voice was dryly sarcastic.

"It's too bad you rode this far for nothing; can't even get a look at me.

But it's no time to visit a man, anyway. You and your boys flop outside.

We'll swap palaver in the morning. Good night."

"Good night."

Allen returned to the edge of the clearing, where he communicated to his men the result of the conference.

"He ain't allowing that he wants to be disturbed just now," he told them.

"And he's too d.a.m.ned polite to monkey with. We'll wait. Likely he'll change his mind over-night."

"Wait nothing," growled Duncan. "Bust the door in!"

Allen grinned mildly. "Good advice," he said quietly. "Me and my men will set here while you do the busting. Don't imagine that we'll be sore because you take the lead in such a little matter as that."

"If I was the sheriff----" began Duncan.

"Sure," interrupted Allen with a dry laugh; "if you was the sheriff.

There's a lot of things we'd do if we was somebody else. Maybe breaking down Dakota's door is one of them. But we don't want anyone killed if we can help it, and it's a dead sure thing that some one would cash in if we tried any monkey business with that door. If you're wanting to do something that amounts to something to help this game along, swap your cayuse for one of Dakota's and hit the breeze to the Double R for grub.

We'll be needing it by the time you get back."

Duncan had already ridden over sixty miles within the past twenty-four hours, and he made a grumbling rejoinder. But in the end he roped one of Dakota's horses, saddled it, and presently vanished in the darkness. Allen and his men built a fire near the edge of the clearing and rolled into their blankets.

At eight o'clock the following morning, Langford appeared on the river trail, leading a pack horse loaded with provisions and cooking utensils for the sheriff and his men. Duncan, Langford told Allen while they breakfasted, had sought his bunk, being tired from the day's activities.