The World's Great Snare Read online

  “‘Pears to me, young lady, you’re taking things kinder easy. The chaps down yonder are about fixed agin yer. They allow as it was you as shot Jim. They’ve most made up their minds about that.”

  “It’s a lie,” she cried. “That little hound, Skein, shot him. Jim told me so himself.”

  He shrugged his shoulders, and spat upon the floor.

  “May be so,” he answered. “You see there warn’t no witnesses, and it just happens as how the chaps has got it into their heads as you done it. They’re dead set on that—mighty dead set on it. There’s nine on us ‘lected to see this thing through, and out of that nine I reckon I’m the only one as ain’t set that way.”

  She remained silent. He moved a step nearer to her, and continued. There was no lamp or candle in the shanty, but the moonlight was flooding in through the open casement, and fell in a long, level line across the floor. To her it revealed the gross bestiality of the man, with his fierce animal nature all afire. To him it showed a woman more beautiful than any he had ever seen in his life, more delicately lovely than ever in the faint white light.

  “I reckon you’re in about as snug a hole as ever a gel walked into,” he continued. “First of all, you ain’t got no right here at all. It’s agin the law, and if there warn’t anything else to answer for, I reckon we should be packing you and that d—d Englishman off to-morrow. But after breaking our rules by coming here at all, you must go and make a further mess of it by getting mixed up with this ‘ere shooting business. It don’t come sorter natural to line up a female, but it’s what the chaps are talking of, and they mean business.”

  She raised her head proudly, and her eyes flashed fire.

  “Then let them do it,” she said. “Why have you come here now to tell me all about it, and try to scare me?”

  “Because I want to help you, and I reckon I’m about the only one as can. I’m kinder thinking, too, that you and me ain’t altogether strangers either,” he continued, looking at her fixedly. “Ain’t I seen you at Josi’s—Josi’s, back of Seventh Avenue, yer know?”

  She held out both her hands in front of her face with a gesture of horror.

  “No! no!” she cried. “That is all over. For pity’s sake don’t say that you saw me there. Don’t remind me of it. It is like a bad dream.”

  He spat upon the floor and looked at her curiously.

  “You’re an odd sort,” he continued. “I seen you there all the same; you ain’t exactly the cut of a gel as a man sees and forgets. I ain’t forgot yer, yer see. Yer was a cut above me then, for I was dead stone broke, and hadn’t got a dollar, but I guess we’re on level terms now. Anyway, I’m reckoning on being a friend to you. Here’s my proposal. I’ll stop the chaps doing anything to yer for coming here agin rules, and I’ll get yer out of that darned shooting business. If they feels set on hanging, we’ll hang Skein. I reckon he deserves it anyway.”

  “And—what for?” she gasped.

  “Ay, what for?” he repeated, with a sudden light flashing across his coarse face. “You’ll come right along with me. That’s what I’ll do it for—yerself. I guess I don’t far off run these diggin’s, and as soon as you’re inside my store, there ain’t no one going to lay a finger upon yer. As for that d—d Englishman of yours, I’ll let daylight into him if he so much as whines. If he takes it like a man he can stop on, and I shan’t interfere with him. Now then. Speak up! Are you ready to come along? I guess you’d better be.”

  He took a quick step forward and stood over her, so close that his hot breath seemed to burn her cheek. She sprang backwards, just escaping from his grasp, and stood rigid against the wall, her face white, and her dark eyes afire.

  “Don’t you touch me!” she cried. “Don’t come near me! Oh, how dare you, how dare you!”

  Dan Cooper thrust his great hands loosely through his belt, and laughed out loud.

  “Ha! ha! ha! Myra, my gel, you’ve just got to climb down from that style of talking. How dare I? Come, I like that. You’ve been living with one man, ain’t yer?—picked him up at Josi’s, I’ll be bound. What’s the difference between living wi’ him and coining to live along wi’ me? I’ll lay odds I can show a hundred dollars for every one he’s got, and when this blooming claim’s worked up we’ll get back to ‘Frisco and have a high old time. I’m making a pile, my gel, making it fast, and we’ll spend it together by-and-by. I shan’t chuck you over, don’t you fear. I’ll make a lady of you. Come, no darned nonsense!”

  He put his arm round her waist and tried to draw her towards him. She could retreat no further, but she shook him off, and with her back against the wall she struck him across the face and spat at him. Her cheeks were perfectly colourless save for one vivid spot of scarlet on either side, but her eyes were blazing.

  “You beast!” she cried. “Let me go. Do you think that I would not sooner die than go with you? Let me alone, or I shall kill you! Bryan, help! help!”

  Her cry rang out through the open door and across the deep gorge, stirring strange echoes in the pine-woods opposite. Dan Cooper clapped his great, coarse hand over her mouth, and swore a great and venomous oath.

  “You wild cat!” he muttered. “You won’t listen to reason, eh? I guess I’ll make you. I’m going to take you with me when I leave this place, whether you like it or not. Leave loose, you little spitfire! Curse you, leave loose!”

  She had wrenched herself away, leaving a portion of her dress in his hand, and sprang towards the door, wild and disordered, yet with a certain fierce, grand dignity which was like fuel to the fire of Dan Cooper’s admiration. He barred the way with his great body, but he did not offer to touch her again for the moment.

  “You little fool!” he exclaimed, with a certain coarse good-humour. “You’ve got to come with me or be hung. I shan’t keep you for ever. Guess I’ll soon be tired of you, and you can go back to your Britisher then, if you want. What the hell are you making such a fuss about it for? One man’s as good as another, I guess. You didn’t go to Josi’s for nothing, I suppose!” he sneered.

  She crouched down before him. The sense of her utter physical impotence in the face of his burly strength filled her with a great shivering fear. Her fiery indignation was suddenly changed into a note of passionate entreaty.

  “Oh, you do not understand,” she cried. “There is no sin in my living with him, for I love him; but you—don’t let me think of it. Spare me! For God’s sake, spare me! I would sooner die here on the floor than go with you. If you force me to, I shall kill myself. I mean it. I shall kill myself with the first weapon I can find, and it will be you who will have driven me to it. Let them hang me if they want to. I’ll submit. I’ll stay here quietly. I won’t try to escape. Only don’t touch me! For the love of God don’t touch me!”

  He looked at her with a smile, curious and evil, stealing across his face. The passionate entreaty died out of her tone like a wail. She felt that it was useless. There was something in his face which chilled her to the very soul. She looked away from him, out of the empty casement, out upon that little framed picture of the night starred with golden fireflies upon a soft background of darkness. The pine-stumps stood straight and stark against the deep blue sky. There was no movement anywhere. Not even a blade of grass stirred, and the heavy pink and white blossoms of the flowering shrubs drooped their heads without a rustle. She looked out upon it with a sort of rapt wistfulness, with something of the infinite pathos with which a condemned prisoner looks for the last time upon the earth he leaves.

  Dan Cooper set his teeth tight, and stooping suddenly down, pinioned her from behind. She was powerless for the moment, and she knew it. She did not attempt to move.

  “Quit fooling,” he said, looking close into her eyes, and speaking with a tense savageness which made his voice sound like a hiss. “You can kill yourself when I’ve done with you, if you like. But to-night—”

  He broke off short in his speech. Myra leaned forward, holding her breath. Her whole being seemed arrested in
that one effort of listening. He too had turned towards the door, with a face as dark as the night itself. There had been some slight sound outside. It might have been an animal stealing out of the woods, or—

  The door was quietly thrown open. The Englishman’s huge form filled the space. A second shadow fell across the floor. It was Pete Morrison leaning through the window-frame.

  XVI. EASTWARDS

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  For a moment or two it was a curious and a silent tableau; Dan Cooper glanced from one to the other of the new-comers like a wild trapped animal. Then his hand stole down towards his belt.

  “Throw ‘em up!”

  The voice was soft and persuasive. It came from Pete Morrison, and it was accompanied by the dull flash of steel suddenly glancing out into the moonlight. Dan Cooper cowered back, and then sprang towards the door. He looked into the dark barrel of the Englishman’s revolver.

  “Curse you both!” he cried hoarsely, raising his unwilling hands. “Let me go.”

  Bryan stood away from the doorway. “You may come out!” he said shortly.

  Dan Cooper bent his head, and stepped out into the moonlight. The two men still covered him with their revolvers.

  “Take off your belt!” the Englishman ordered. “I’ll be d—d if I do!”

  “Take off your belt!” Bryan repeated.

  He opened his mouth to refuse with an oath, but something in the Englishman’s face checked the words upon his lips. Silently he unbuckled it, and it slipped on to the ground. Bryan walked over to his partner and handed him his revolver. Then he turned and faced his antagonist.

  “Dan Cooper,” he said quietly, but with a curious light in his eyes, “you’re a blackguard, and I’m going to give you a good English thrashing! Come on!”

  He threw off his hat and coat, and rolled up the sleeves of his red shirt. His opponent followed his example after one quick, stealthy glance towards his belt, which, however, Pete had calmly appropriated. They stood face to face on the little plateau of turf in the bright moonlight; the Englishman calm and stolid, Dan Cooper pale and furious with anger. Then they fought.

  * * * * *

  It was all over in ten minutes. Dan Cooper lay on his side groaning heavily, and making no effort to rise. Bryan, after waiting for a moment, put on his coat, and walked on one side with his partner.

  “There’ll be the old Harry to pay in the morning, when this brute gets down yonder!” he remarked, jerking his head in the direction of the valley.

  Pete Morrison withdrew his pipe from his mouth, and spat. He had watched the fight with all the calm indifference of a casual spectator, having had no fear whatever as to the result.

  “You must git, and sharp!” he said. “I’ve been down amongst the chaps. Guess they’ll follow Dan like a flock of sheep. He runs the liquor, you see! You and the gel have got to be t’other side of yon ridge before morning.”

  He pointed with his pipe towards the plain. The Englishman knit his brows.

  “We can’t get away before morning,” he said. “I’ve got no supplies here—no mule! Just as we’re in luck, too!”

  “Ye’re wrong for once, pard!” Pete answered. “See yonder.”

  He drew him on one side. Behind a huge shrub two mules were tethered—one with a bundle strapped on to its back.

  “I fixed it all up this afternoon!” Pete continued, in answer to Bryan’s questioning glance. “It warn’t difficult to size things up then! There’s grub enough there to stand you out, if you’ve anything like luck!”

  Bryan took his partner by the hand.

  “You’re a good fellow, Pete,” he said heartily. “I suppose I must go, for the girl’s sake, but it’s rough! We’ve begun to pick gold up like dirt!”

  “You’ll lose nothing! Not a cent!” Pete answered. “I’ll take help on to-morrow, and you shall have your share, honest and straight. Take the gel and be off! See yonder!”

  He pointed to the far east. A faint white line was parting the clouds, forerunner of the dawn. Bryan hesitated no longer. He hurried into the shanty, where Myra was sitting with her face buried in her hands.

  “Get your things together quickly, Myra!” he said. “We’re off, you and I!”

  The colour leaped into her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled. She flew around, collecting her few belongings.

  “I feel real mean,” she said. “If it wasn’t for me, you could have stayed on and made your fortune!”

  “I’m sick of it!” he answered. “I’m ready to go, anyway! Besides, we’ve got the papers! I want to take them back to England. I’m homesick! Here, give me the bundle!”

  His own preparations were swiftly made. In a few minutes they were out and ready to start. He lifted Myra on to one of the mules, and took the leading rein of the other. Then he turned and held out his hand to his partner.

  “Pete, you and I have been good pards! Shake, old chap!”

  They grasped hands. Pete’s bony face was twitching. He held out a pencil and a piece of paper.

  “I want your fixings in England!” he said. “I shall send you an account of how your share goes! You’ll never have to work again, I reckon!”

  Bryan thought for a moment, and then scribbled an address. One more handshake and they were off.

  Slowly they wound their way down into the valley. Before them, the dawn was lightening the sky, and as they travelled on towards the plain, the sun burst through the rosy bank of clouds, and shone in their faces. Far away behind, a mere speck upon the hillside, Pete stood up just where they had left him, and seeing them in the broad track of the sunlight, he waved his hand in farewell. And only a few yards away, Dan Cooper sat up on the turf, and turning an evil face towards them, shook his fist in the air, and swore a deep, profane oath. So they left the Valley of the Blue River, and entered upon the desert.

  XVII. THE NIGHT CRY

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  It was the afternoon of the fifth day, and they were almost in the middle of the great plain which lay between the Blue River diggings and the capital of the Western world. Already there were gathering symptoms of the swift twilight soon to settle down upon them. Bryan patted the tired mule which he was leading—there was but one now—and spoke to it encouragingly.

  “Just a bit further, Pete! Good old man! Stiff, Myra?” he added, looking up at her.

  “Guess I’ll walk a bit!” she answered, slipping off. “Pete’s got load enough without me. How much further are we going?”

  The Englishman did not answer for a moment. He stepped on to a hillock, and shading his eyes from the fierce glare of the setting sun, he gazed long and searchingly down the track by which they had come. Watching him closely, Myra was aware of a certain harassed anxiety in his jaded face. It was the return of an expression which she had once or twice surprised there during the long day’s travel. She stepped up to him and laid her hand upon his arm.

  “Why are you looking behind, Bryan?” she asked. “I wish you’d tell me. Is there anything fresh to fear? You’ve been sorter silent all day!”

  He hesitated. “It’s nothing!” he answered. “Maybe I didn’t sleep much last night—don’t think I did, anyway—and I felt tired this morning. We’ll push on as far as yonder ridge. I don’t seem to like camping in the midst of all these shrubs and things. Too much cover! Gee up, Pete!”

  They walked on side by side—the man abstracted, but whistling softly, and feigning indifference; the girl watchful. Presently she touched his arm.

  “Bryan!”

  “Yes?

  “It’s mean of you to treat me as though I were some silly chit of a city girl—real mean!”

  “Why, what’s amiss, Myra?”

  “You know quite well! You’ve been keeping something from me all day. Why have you been climbing every little hill we’ve passed on pretence of looking ahead, and then looked behind all the time? Why won’t you camp here amongst the brush like we have other nights? Tell me! Is—is any one following us?”

 
He looked down at her for a moment, and then nodded.

  “I’m afraid so, Myra! I don’t quite understand it, but I’m afraid there’s no doubt—that some one is on our track!”

  She took off her hat, and the evening breeze which was just beginning to steal across the plain swept through her coils of dark, loose hair, and cooled her heated face. Then she took hold of his arm.

  “Well, go on! Tell me!” she said brightly. “I’m not skeered! Tell me everything!”

  “There isn’t much to tell!” he said grimly. “You know Janette was gone when we woke this morning!”

  “Yes! She’d broken away, hadn’t she?”

  He drew a piece of rope from his pocket, and showed it to her. She took it in her fingers, and examined it.

  “Why, it’s cut!” she exclaimed.

  “That’s so!” he admitted. “It was cut during the night!”

  The colour rushed from her cheeks, but she recovered herself almost immediately. It was for her sake that he was here—that they stood in this danger. She would sooner die than add to his troubles by showing her fear.

  “Some one must have been quite close to us during the night!” she said, unconsciously dropping her voice. “Makes one feel kinder shivery, don’t it?”

  They were crossing a slight eminence, and as though with one accord, they both turned round and looked behind. So far as the eye could see, there was no moving object. They were out of sight of the mountains, and there was no longer any background to the dim blue horizon where plain and sky seemed to melt into one another. But dotted about all over the rough broken surface of the country were clumps of alder shrubs and straggling bushes. It was towards these that the Englishman looked long and earnestly.

  “Yes, some one must have been quite close to us,” he said slowly; “some one who didn’t mean us any particular good, either. You’re real plucky girl, Myra, and you may as well know now as to-morrow or the next day. Whoever it was, they helped themselves to our stores pretty freely. Quite half our things are gone—and we hadn’t much to spare. If my waking up hadn’t disturbed them, I don’t suppose that we should have had a thing left!”