The One-Way Trail. Cullum Ridgwell
some things,” he said. “Y’see it makes you wonder what the future feels like doing in the way of kicks. Things are going good about now, and––and I want ’em to keep on going good.”
McLagan laughed boisterously.
“You’ve sure jest got to play hard to-day, let the future worry fer itself. Well, so long. I’ll hand you the papers when you’ve selected the ground, boy. An’ don’t forget the black mare.”
He left the hut and Jim watched him stumping busily away across to the big barn where the saddle horses were kept. His eyes were smiling as he looked after him. He liked Dan McLagan. His volcanic temper; his immoderate manner of expression suggested an open enough disposition, and he liked men to be like that.
But his smile was at the thought that somehow he had managed to make his “boss” think that extreme caution 16 was one of his characteristics. Yes, it made him smile. If such had been the case many things in the past, many disasters might have been averted.
As a matter of fact he had been thinking of the woman he hoped to make his wife. He was wondering if he had a reasonable prospect of helping her to all the comfort in life she deserved. He took an ultra serious view of matrimonial responsibilities. Eve must have a good, ample home. She must have nothing to worry, none of little petty economies to study which make life so burdensome. Yes, they must start with that, and then, with luck, their stock would grow, he would buy more land, and finally she would be able to hold her place with the wives of all the richest ranchers in the district. That was what he wanted for her when they were married.
When they were married. Suddenly he laughed. He had not asked her yet. Still––– His eyes grew gloomy. His thoughts turned to another man, his cousin, Will Henderson. He knew that Will liked Eve Marsham. It was the one cloud upon his horizon. Will was younger than he by a good deal. He was handsome, too. Eve liked him. Yes, she liked him, he was sure. But somehow he did not associate marriage with Will. Well,––it was no good seeking trouble.
He pushed his thoughts aside and stood up. But the cloud upon his dark face was not so easily got rid of. How could it be? for Eve Marsham meant the whole world to him.
He moved toward the door, and as he looked out at the sunlit yards he started. A horseman had just come into view round the corner of one of the barns. But though 17 his smile was lacking when the man came up and drew rein at his door, there was no mistaking the kindly cordiality of his greeting as he held out his hand.
“Why, Will,” he cried, “I’m real glad you’ve come along.”
18
CHAPTER II
A SHOOTING MATCH
In silence the two men sat smoking. Will Henderson, half sitting, half lying on the stretcher-bed, gazed out through the doorway at the distant mountain peaks. His hands were clasped behind his head, and a sullen, preoccupied look was in his eyes. Jim Thorpe was sitting, frog-fashion, on an upturned soap-box, watching him. His eyes were a shade anxious, but full of good feeling.
Jim was nine years his cousin’s senior, and Will was twenty-four. They were really almost foster-brothers, for from the younger man’s earliest days he had lived with Jim, in the care of the latter’s widowed mother. He was an orphan, both his parents having died before he was two years old, and so it was that he had been adopted by Jim’s mother, the child’s only living relative. For years Jim had lavished on him an elder brother’s affection and care. And when his own mother died, and he was left to his own resources, it still made no difference. Will must share in everything. Will’s education must be completed adequately, for that was Jim’s nature. His duty and inclination lay straight ahead of him, and he carried both out to the end. Perhaps he did more. Perhaps he overindulged and spoiled the youngster of whom he was so fond. Anyway, as in many similar cases, Will accepted all as his right, and gave very little in return. He was selfish, passionate, and his temper was not always a nice one.
19
In appearance there was a striking resemblance between these two. Not in face, but in figure, in coloring, in general style. A back view of them was identical. In face they differed enormously. They were both extremely handsome, but of utterly different types. Jim was classically regular of feature, while Will possessed all the irregularity and brightness of his Hibernian ancestry. Both were dark; dark hair, dark eyes, dark eyebrows. In fact, so alike were they in general appearance that, in their New York days, they had been known by their intimates as the “twins.”
Just now there was something troubling. And that something seemed to be worrying Will Henderson even more than his cousin. At least, to judge by outward appearances. He showed it in his expression, which was somewhat savage. He showed it in his nervous, impatient movements, in the manner in which he smoked. Jim had seen it at once, and understood. And he, too, was troubled.
They had been silent some time, and eventually it was Jim who spoke.
“Come on, lad. Let’s have it out,” he said, decidedly.
His voice was full and strong, and kindly.
The other stirred, but did not reply.
“This is your busy time, Will,” Jim went on. “You didn’t come away from those hills yonder to pass the time of day with me. You came because something wouldn’t let you rest. I know you, boy; I know you. Something’s troubling that mind of yours in a way that makes it hard for you to speak, even now you’re here. Shall I try and begin it for you?”
20
There was infinite kindness in the man’s tone. There was a smile in his eyes that might well have drawn a responsive smile from even an angry child.
Will removed his pipe, but the responsive smile was not forthcoming.
“I’ll open out, Jim,” he said coldly.
The other waited. The smoke of their pipes rolled up on the still, warm air of the room, upsetting the calculations of a few mischievously busy mosquitoes. The sun shone in through the doorway. The ranch was quiet now. All the “hands” had departed to their work, and only the occasional lowing of a solitary milch cow in one of the corrals, and the trampling feet of the horses waiting to be “broken,” and the “yeps” of a few mouching dogs, afforded any sign of life outside in the ranch yards.
Jim began to grow restive.
“Well, boy: I’ve some ‘breaking’ to do. Maybe you’ll come along. You can talk as we go.”
He half rose, but Will sat up in a moment.
“Not yet, Jim,” he said, almost roughly. Then his tone changed in a way through which his mercurial disposition spoke. “Look here,” he went on, “whatever happens in the future, I’d like you to understand that all you’ve done for me in the past counts for something.”
“Then it’s real serious, lad?” Jim smiled back at him. But he failed to catch his eye. Then he, too, changed his manner, and there was a sudden coolness in it. “You needn’t recite,” he said. “Anything I’ve done has been a––a pleasure to me. Our ways have lain a bit apart for some months, but it makes no difference to my feelings, except to make me regret it. The fortunes of 21 war, eh? And a fair bit of grist is rolling into our separate mills. Honest grist. We’re good friends, lad––so let’s have it. It’s––it’s a woman?”
At the mention of the word, “woman,” Will seemed to utterly freeze up.
“Yes, it’s––a woman,” he said frigidly.
“Eve Marsham?”