The One-Way Trail. Cullum Ridgwell
her. She is my whole world. She is more than that. God! How I love her!”
“I love her, too.”
Jim’s darkly brilliant eyes were on the younger man’s face. They compelled his gaze, and the two men looked long at each other, vainly trying to penetrate to that which lay behind. It was Will who turned away at last.
“I knew it,” he said, and there was no longer any pretense of cordiality in his tone.
“Well?”
“Well?”
It was a tense moment for both men; and tremendous in its possibilities. There was no shrinking in either now; no yielding. But, as it ever was, Jim took the lead after a few moments’ silence.
“And––does she love you?” he asked slowly.
His words were little above a whisper, but so tense was his feeling that his voice seemed to cut through the still air of the room. Will hesitated before replying. Perhaps he was reckoning up Jim’s chances as compared with his 22 own. Finally, he was reluctantly compelled to make an admission.
“I don’t know––yet.”
The other sighed audibly. Then he mechanically began to refill his pipe. He wanted to speak, but there seemed to be nothing adequate to say. Two men, virile, thrilling with the ripe, red blood of perfect manhood, friends, and––a woman stood between them.
“It’s no good,” Jim said, preparing to light his pipe. “The position is––impossible.”
“Yes.”
Now both pipes were smoking as under a forced draught.
“I’d give my life for her,” the elder muttered, almost unconsciously.
Will caught at his words.
“My life is hers,” he cried, almost defiantly.
They were no further on.
“Can you––suggest–––?”
Will shook his head. The snow on the distant peaks glistened like diamonds in the gorgeous sunlight, and his attention seemed riveted upon it.
“What pay are you making, Will?” Jim inquired presently.
“Eighty dollars a month––why?”
“Ten more than me.” Jim laughed harshly. “You’re the better match. You’re younger, too.”
“She’s got a wad of her own. A thousand dollars,” added Will.
His remark was unpleasing, and Jim’s eyes grew colder.
“That don’t cut any figure. That’s hers,” he said sharply.
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“But––it’s useful–––”
“To her––maybe.”
The flow of their talk dried up again. They could make no headway in clearing up their dilemma. To Jim each passing moment was making things harder; with each passing moment their friendship was straining under the pressure. Suddenly a thought flashed through his brain. It was a light of hope, where, before, all had been darkness.
“I haven’t asked her yet,” he said. “And you––you haven’t?”
“No.”
“Say, we’re sailing an uncharted sea, and––there’s a fog.”
It was a reluctant nod Jim received in reply.
“We’ll have to ask her,” he went on. “She can’t marry us both. Maybe she’ll marry neither.”
“That’s so.” Jim failed to observe Will’s smile of confidence. “Yes, we’ll both ask her. I’ve got to go through Barnriff on my way to the hills. I’ll call and see her. You can ride in this evening.”
Jim shook his head.
“Guess that’s an elegant plan––for you.”
Quick as a flash Will turned on him. His volcanic anger rose swiftly.
“What d’you mean?”
“Just what I say.” Jim’s response seemed to have less friendliness in it. Then he knocked his pipe out, and rose from his seat. “No, boy,” he said. “We’ll just play the game right here. We’ll take a chance for who goes to her first. If she wants neither of us––well, we’ll have played the game by each other, anyway. And 24 if she chooses either of us then the other must take his medicine like a man. Let’s––be sportsmen.”
“What’s your game?” There was no yielding in Will’s sharp question.
“Just this.”
Jim leaned forward, holding his empty pipe to point his words. There was a glow of excited interest in his eyes as he propounded his idea. With Will it was different. He sat frigidly listening. If through any generosity he lost Eve, he would never forgive himself––he would never forgive Jim. He must have her for his own. His love for her was a far greater thing, he told himself, than the colder Jim’s could ever be. He could not understand that Jim, in offering his plan, merely wanted to be fair, merely wanted to arrange things so that Eve should not come between them, that neither should be able to reproach the other for any advantage taken. He suspected trickery. Nor had he any right to such base suspicion. Jim’s idea was one to make their way easier. Eve would choose whom she pleased––if either of them. He could not, did not want to alter that. Whatever the result of her choice he was ready to accept it.
He pointed at the revolvers hanging on the wall.
“They shall decide who has first speak with her,” he said. “We’ll empty six at a mark, and the one who does the best shooting has––first go in.”
Will shrugged.
“I don’t like it.”
“It’s the best way. We’re a fair match. You’re reckoned the boss shot in the hills, and I don’t guess there’s any one on this ranch handier than I am. We’ve 25 both played with those two guns a heap. It’ll save bad blood between us. What say?”
Will shook his head.
“It’s bad. Still–––” He looked at the guns. He was thinking swiftly. He knew that he was a wonderful shot with a revolver. He was in constant practice, too. Jim was a good shot, but then his practice was very limited. Yes, the chances were all in his favor.
“Get busy then,” he said presently, with apparent reluctance.
He rose and moved toward the guns.
“Whose choice?” he demanded.
Nor did he observe the other’s smile as he received his reply.
“It’s yours.”
While Will chose his weapon with studied care, Jim picked up the soap box and fumbled through his pockets till he found a piece of chalk. With this he drew a bull’s-eye on the bottom of the box, and sketched two rough circles around it. Will had made his choice of weapons by the time the target was completed.
“Will it do?” Jim inquired, holding up the box for his inspection.
“It’s got to,” was the churlish reply.
Jim gave him a quick glance as he moved across the room and possessed himself of the remaining pistol. Then he examined its chambers and silently led the way out of the hut.
They left the ranch buildings and moved out upon the prairie. A spot was selected, and the box set down. Then Jim paced off sixty yards.
“Sixty,” he said, as he came to a halt.
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