Langford Lays Off The Mask

: The Trail To Yesterday

The sun was still an hour above the horizon when Sheila rode up to the

corral gates. While removing the saddle and bridle from her pony she noted

with satisfaction that the horse which her father had been accustomed to

ride was inside the corral. Therefore her father was somewhere about.



Hanging the saddle and bridle from a rail of the corral fence, she went

into the house to find that Langford was not there. Duncan's sister curtly

informed her that she had seen him a few minutes before down at the

stables. Sheila went into the office, which was a lean-to addition to the

ranchhouse, and seating herself at her father's desk picked up a six

month's old copy of a magazine and tried to read.



Finding that she could not concentrate her thoughts, she dropped the

magazine into her lap and leaned back with a sigh. From where she sat she

had a good view of the stables, and fifteen minutes later, while she still

watched, she saw Langford come out of one of the stable doors and walk

toward the house. She felt absolutely no emotion whatever over his coming;

there was only a mild curiosity in her mind as to the manner in which he

would take the news of her intended departure from the Double R. She

observed, with a sort of detached interest, that he looked twice at her

saddle and bridle as he passed them, and so of course he surmised that she

had come in from her ride. For a moment she lost sight of him behind some

buildings, and then he opened the door of the office and entered.



He stopped on the threshold for an instant and looked at her, evidently

expecting her to offer her usual greeting. He frowned slightly when it did

not come, and then smiled.



"Hello!" he said cordially. "You are back, I see. And tired," he added,

noting her position. He walked over and laid a hand on her forehead and

she involuntarily shrank from his touch, shuddering, for the hand which he

had placed on her forehead was the right one--the hand with which he had

signed the agreement with Dakota--Doubler's death warrant.



"Don't, please," she said.



"Cross, too?" he said jocularly.



"Just tired," she lied listlessly, and with an air of great indifference.



He looked critically at her for an instant, then smiled again and dragged

a chair over near a window and looked out, apparently little concerned

over her manner. But she noted that he glanced furtively at her several

times, and that he seemed greatly satisfied over something. She wondered

if he had seen Dakota; if he knew that the latter had already attempted to

carry out the agreement to "Persuade Doubler to leave the county."



"Ride far?" he questioned, turning and facing her, his voice casual.



"Not very far."



"The river trail?"



Sheila nodded, and saw a sudden interest flash into his eyes.



"Which way?" he asked quickly.



"Down," she returned. She had not lied, for she had ridden "down," and

though she had also ridden up the river she preferred to let him guess a

little, for she resented the curiosity in his voice and was determined to

broach the subject which she had in mind in her own time and after the

manner that suited her best.



He had not been interested in her for a long time, had not appeared to

care where she spent her time. Why should he betray interest now? She saw

a mysterious smile on his face and knew before he spoke that his apparent

interest in her was not genuine--that he was merely curious.



"Then you haven't heard the news?" he said softly. He was looking out of

the window now, and she could not see his face.



She took up the magazine and turned several pages, pretending to read, but

in reality waiting for him to continue. When he made no effort to do so

her own curiosity got the better of her.



"What news?" she questioned, without looking at him.



"About Doubler," he said. "He is dead."



Her surprise was genuine, and her hands trembled as the leaves of the

magazine fluttered and closed. Had the nester died since she had left his

cabin? A moment's thought convinced her that this could not be the

explanation, for assuredly she would have seen anyone who had arrived at

Doubler's cabin; she had scanned the surrounding country before and after

leaving the vicinity of the crossing and had seen no signs of anyone.

Besides, Langford's news seemed to have abided with him a long time--it

seemed to her that he had known it for hours. She could not tell why she

felt this, but she was certain that he had not received word

recently--within an hour or two at any rate--unless he had seen Dakota.



This seemed to be the secret of his knowledge, and the more she considered

the latter's excitement during her meeting with him on the trail, the more

fully she became convinced that Langford had talked to him. The latter's

anxiety to relieve her of the task of riding to Lazette for the doctor had

been spurious; he had merely wanted to be the first to carry the news of

Doubler's death to Langford, and after leaving her he had undoubtedly

taken a roundabout trail for the Double R. Possibly by this time he had

settled with Langford and was on his way out of the country.



"Dead?" she said, turning to Langford. "Who----" In her momentary

excitement she had come very near to asking him who had brought him the

news. She hesitated, for she saw a glint of surprise and suspicion in his

eyes.



"My dear girl, did I say that he had been 'killed'?"



His smile was without humor. Evidently he had expected that she had been

about to ask who had killed the nester.



He looked at her steadily, an intolerant smile playing about the corners

of his mouth. "I am aware that you have been suspicious of me ever since

you heard that I had a quarrel with Doubler. But, thank God, my dear, I

have not that crime to answer for. Doubler, however, has been

killed--murdered."



Sheila repressed a desire to shudder, and turned from Langford so that he

would not be able to see the disgust that had come into her eyes over the

discovery that in addition to being a murderer her father was that most

despicable of all living things--a hypocrite! It required all of her

composure to be able to look at him again.



"Who killed him?" she asked evenly.



"Dakota, my dear."



"Dakota!" She pronounced the name abstractedly, for she was surprised at

the admission.



"How do you know that Dakota killed him?" she said, looking straight at

him. He changed color, though his manner was still smooth and his smile

bland.



"Duncan was fortunate enough to be in the vicinity when the deed was

committed," he told her. "And he saw Dakota shoot him in the back. With

his own rifle, too."



There was a quality in his voice which hinted at satisfaction; a peculiar

emphasis on the word "fortunate" which caused Sheila to wonder why he

should consider it fortunate that Duncan had seen the murder done, when it

would have been much better for the success of Dakota's and her father's

scheme if there had been no witness to it at all.



"However," continued Langford, with a sigh of resignation that caused

Sheila a shiver of repugnance and horror, "Doubler's death will not be a

very great loss to the country. Duncan tells me that he has long been

suspected of cattle stealing, and sooner or later he would have been

caught in the act. And as for Dakota," he laughed harshly, with a note of

suppressed triumph that filled her with an unaccountable resentment;

"Dakota is an evil in the country, too. Do you remember how he killed that

Mexican half-breed over in Lazette that day?--the day I came? Wanton

murder, I call it. Such a man is a danger and a menace, and I shall not be

sorry to see him hanged for killing Doubler."



"Then you will have Duncan charge Dakota with the murder?"



"Of course, my dear; why shouldn't I? Assuredly you would not allow Dakota

to go unpunished?"



"No," said Sheila, "Doubler's murderer should be punished."



Two things were now fixed in her mind as certainties. Dakota had not been

to see her father since she had left him on the river trail; he had not

received his blood-money--would never receive it. Her father had no

intention of living up to his agreement with Dakota and intended to allow



him to be hanged. She thought of the signed agreement in her bodice.

Langford had given it to Dakota, but she had little doubt that in case

Dakota still had it in his possession and dared to produce it, Langford

would deny having made it--would probably term it a forgery. It was

harmless, too; who would be likely to intimate that the clause regarding

Dakota inducing Doubler to leave the country meant that Langford had hired

Dakota to kill the nester? Sheila sat silent, looking at Langford,

wondering how it happened that he had been able to masquerade so long

before her; why she had permitted herself to love a being so depraved, so

entirely lacking in principle.



But a thrill of hope swept over her. Perhaps Doubler would not die? She

had been considering the situation from the viewpoint of the nester's

death, but if Dakota had really been in earnest and had gone for a doctor,

there was a chance that the tragedy which seemed so imminent would be

turned into something less serious. Immediately her spirits rose and she

was able to smile quietly at Langford when he continued:



"Dakota will be hung, of course; decency demands it. When Duncan came to

me with the news I sent him instantly to Lazette to inform the sheriff of

what had happened. Undoubtedly he will take Dakota into custody at once."



"But not for murder," said Sheila evenly, unable to keep a quiver of

triumph out of her voice.



"Not?" said Langford, startled. "Why not?"



"Because," returned Sheila, enjoying the sudden consternation that was

revealed in her father's face, and drawling her words a little to further

confound him; "because Doubler isn't dead."



"Not dead!" Langford's jaws sagged, and he sat looking at Sheila with

wide, staring, vacuous eyes. "Not dead?" he repeated hoarsely. "Why,

Duncan told me he had examined him, that he had been shot through the

lungs and had bled to death before he left him! How do you know that he is

not dead?" he suddenly demanded, leaning toward her, a wild hope in his

eyes.



"I went to his cabin before noon," said Sheila. "I found him lying in the

doorway. He had been shot through the right side, near the shoulder, but

not through the lung, and he was still alive. I dragged him into the cabin

and did what I could for him. Then I started for the doctor."



"For the doctor?" he said incredulously. "Then how does it happen that you

are here? You couldn't possibly ride to Lazette and return by this time!"



"I believe I said that I 'started' for the doctor," said Sheila with a

quiet smile. She was enjoying his excitement. "I met Dakota on the trail,

and he went."



Langford continued to stare at her; it seemed that he could not realize

the truth. Then suddenly he was out of his chair and standing over her,

his face bloated poisonously, his eyes ablaze with a malignant light.



"Damn you!" he shrieked. "This is what comes of your infernal meddling!

What business had you to interfere? Why didn't you let him die? I've a

notion----"



His hands clenched and unclenched before her eyes, and she sat with

blanched face, certain that he was about to attack her--perhaps kill her.

She did not seem to care much, however, and looked up into his face

steadily and defiantly.



After a moment, however, he regained control of himself, leaving her side

and pacing rapidly back and forth in the office, cursing bitterly.



Curiously, Sheila was not surprised at this outburst; she had rather

expected it since she had become aware of his real character. Nor was she

surprised to discover that he had dropped pretense altogether--he was

bound to do that sooner or later. Her only surprise was at her own

feelings. She did not experience the slightest concern over him--it was as

though she were talking to a stranger. She was interested to the point of

taking a grim enjoyment out of his confusion, but beyond that she was not

interested in anything.



It made little difference to her what became of Langford, Dakota,

Duncan--any of them, except Doubler. She intended to return to the

nester's cabin, to help the doctor make him comfortable--for he had been

the only person in the country who had shown her any kindness; he was the

only one who had not wronged her, and she was grateful to him.



Langford was standing over her again, his breath coming short and fast.



"Where did you see Dakota?" he questioned hoarsely. "Answer!" he added,

when she did not speak immediately.



"On the river trail."



"Before you found Doubler?"



"Before, yes--and after. I met him twice."



She discerned his motive in asking these questions, but it made no

difference to her and she answered truthfully. She did not intend to

shield Dakota; the fact that Doubler had not been killed outright did not

lessen the gravity of the offense in her eyes.



"Before you found Doubler!" Langford's voice came with a vicious snap.

"You met him coming from Doubler's cabin, I suppose?"



"Yes," she answered wearily, "I met him coming from there. I was on the

trail--going there--and I heard the shot. I know Dakota killed him."



Langford made an exclamation of satisfaction.



"Well, it isn't so bad, after all. You'll have to be a witness against

Dakota. And very likely Doubler will die--probably is dead by this time;

will certainly be dead before the Lazette doctor can reach his cabin. No,

my dear," he added, smiling at Sheila, "it isn't so bad, after all."



Sheila rose. Her poignant anger against him was equaled only by her

disgust. He expected her to bear witness against Dakota; desired her to

participate in his scheme to fasten upon the latter the entire blame for

the commission of a crime in which he himself was the moving factor.



"I shall not bear witness against him," she told Langford coldly. "For I

am going away--back East--to-morrow. Don't imagine that I have been in

complete ignorance of what has been going on; that I have been unaware of

the part you have played in the shooting of Doubler. I have known for

quite a long while that you had decided to have Doubler murdered, and only

recently I learned that you hired Dakota to kill him. And this morning,

when I met Dakota on the river trail, he dropped this from a pocket of his

vest." She fumbled at her bodice and produced the signed agreement,

holding it out to him.



As she expected, he repudiated it, though his face paled a little as he

read it.



"This is a forgery, my dear," he said, in the old, smooth, even voice that

she had grown to despise.



"No," she returned calmly, "it is not a forgery. You forget that only a

minute ago you practically admitted it to be a true agreement by telling

me that I should have allowed Doubler to die. You are an accomplice in the

shooting of Doubler, and if I am compelled to testify in Dakota's trial I

shall tell everything I know."



She watched while he lighted a match, held it to the paper, smiling as the

licking flames consumed it. He was entirely composed now, and through the

gathering darkness of the interior of the office she saw a sneer come into

his face.



"I shall do all I can to assist you to discontinue the associations which

are so distasteful to you. You will start for the East immediately, I

presume?"



"To-morrow," she said. "In the afternoon. I shall have my trunks taken

over to Lazette in the morning."



"In the morning?" said Langford, puzzled. "Why not ride over with them, in

the afternoon, in the buckboard?"



"I shall ride my pony. The man can return him." She took a step toward the

door, but halted before reaching it, turning to look back at him.



"I don't think it is necessary for me to say good-by. But you have not

treated me badly in the past, and I thank you--for that--and wish you

well."



"Where are you going?"



Sheila had walked to the door and stood with one hand on the latch. He

came and stood beside her, a suppressed excitement in his manner, his eyes

gleaming brightly in the dusk which had suddenly fallen.



"I think I told you that before. Ben Doubler is alone, and he needs care.

I am going to him--to stay with him until the doctor arrives. He will die



if someone does not take care of him."



"You are determined to continue to meddle, are you?" he said, his voice

quivering with anger, his lips working strangely. "I am sick of your

damned interference. Sick of it, I tell you!" His voice lowered to a

harsh, throaty whisper. "You won't leave this office until to-morrow

afternoon! Do you hear? What business is it of yours if Doubler dies?"



Sheila did not answer, but pressed the door latch. His arm suddenly

interposed, his fingers closing on her arm, gripping it so tightly that

she cried out with pain. Then suddenly his fingers were boring into her

shoulders; she was twisted, helpless in his brutal grasp, and flung bodily

into the chair beside the desk, where she sat, sobbing breathlessly.



She did not cry out again, but sat motionless, her lips quivering, rubbing

her shoulders where his iron fingers had sunk into the flesh, her soul

filled with a revolting horror for his brutality.



For a moment there was no movement. Then, in the semi-darkness she saw him

leave the door; watched him as he approached a shelf on which stood a

kerosene lamp, lifted the chimney and applied a match to the wick. For an

instant after replacing the chimney he stood full in the glare of light,

his face contorted with rage, his eyes gleaming with venom.



"Now you know exactly where I stand, you--you huzzy!" he said, grinning

satyrically as she winced under the insult. "I'm your father, damn you!

Your father--do you hear? And I'll not have you go back East to gab and

gossip about me. You'll stay here, and you'll bear witness against Dakota,

and you'll keep quiet about me!" He was trembling horribly as he came

close to her, and his breath was coughing in his throat shrilly.



"I won't do anything of the kind!" Sheila got to her feet, and stood,

rigid with anger, her eyes flaming defiance. "I am going to Doubler's

cabin this minute, and if you molest me again I shall go to the sheriff

with my story!"



He seemed about to attack her again, and his hands were raised as though

to grasp her throat, when there came a sound at the door, it swung open,

and Dakota stepped in, closing the door behind him.



Dakota's face was white--white as it had been that other day at the

quicksand crossing when Sheila had looked up to see him sitting on his

pony, watching her. There was an entire absence of excitement in his

manner, though; no visible sign to tell that what he had seen on entering

the cabin disturbed him in the least. Yet the whiteness of his face belied

this apparent composure. It seemed to Sheila that his eyes betrayed the

strong emotion that was gripping him.



She retreated to the chair beside the desk and sank into it. Langford had

wheeled and was now facing Dakota, a shallow smile on his face.



There was a smile on Dakota's face, too; a mysterious, cold, prepared grin

that fascinated Sheila as she watched him. The smile faded a little when

he spoke to Langford, his voice vibrating, as though he had been running.



"When you're fighting a woman, Langford, you ought to make sure there

isn't a man around!"



Mingling with Sheila's recognition of the obvious and admirable philosophy

of this statement was a realization that Dakota must have been riding

hard. There was much dust on his clothing, the scarf at his neck was thick

with it; it streaked his face, his voice was husky, his lips dry.



Langford did not answer him, stepping back against the desk and regarding

him with a mirthless, forced smile which, Sheila was certain, he had

assumed in order to conceal his fear of the man who stood before him.



"So you haven't got any thoughts just at this minute," said Dakota with

cold insinuation. "You are one of those men who can talk bravely enough to

women, but who can't think of anything exactly proper for a man to hear.

Well, you'll do your talking later." He looked at Sheila, ignoring

Langford completely.



"I expect you've been wondering, ma'am, why I'm here, when I ought to be

over at the Two Forks, trying to do something for Doubler. But the

doctor's there, taking care of him. The reason I've come is that I've

found this in Doublet's cabin." He drew out the memoranda which Sheila had

placed on the shelf in the cabin, holding it up so that she might see.



"You took my vest," he went on. "And I was looking for it. I found it all

right, but something was missing. You're the only one who has been to

Doubler's cabin since I left there, I expect, and it must have been you

who opened this book. It isn't in the same shape it was when you pulled it

off me when I was talking to you down there on the river trail--something

has been taken out of it, a paper. That's why I rode over here--to see if

you'd got it. Have you, ma'am?"



Sheila pointed mutely to the floor, where a bit of thin, crinkled ash was

all that remained of the signed agreement.



"Burned!" said Dakota sharply.



He caught Sheila's nod and questioned coldly:



"Who burned it?"



"My--Mr. Langford," returned Sheila.



"You found it and showed it to him, and he burned it," said Dakota slowly.

"Why?"



"Don't you see?" Sheila's eyes mocked Langford as she intercepted his

gaze, which had been fixed on Dakota. "It was evidence against him," she

concluded, indicating her father.



"I reckon I see." The smile was entirely gone out of Dakota's face now,

and as he turned to look at Langford there was an expression in his eyes

which chilled the latter.



"You've flunked on the agreement. You've burned it--won't recognize it,

eh? Well, I'm not any surprised."



Langford had partially recovered from the shock occasioned by Dakota's

unexpected appearance, and he shook his head in emphatic, brazen denial.



"There was no agreement between us, my friend," he said. "The paper I

burned was a forgery."



Dakota's lips hardened. "You called me your friend once before, Langford,"

he said coldly. "Don't do it again or I'll forget that you are Sheila's

father. I reckon she has told you about Doubler. That's why I came over

here to get the paper, for I knew that if you got hold of it you'd make

short work of it. I know something else." He took a step forward and tried

to hold Langford's gaze, his own eyes filled with a snapping menace. "I

know that you've sent Duncan to Lazette for the sheriff. The doctor told

me he'd met him,--Duncan--and the doctor says Duncan told him that you'd

said that I fixed Doubler. How do you know I did?"



"Duncan saw you," said Langford.



Dakota's lips curled. "Duncan tell you that?" he questioned.



At Langford's nod he laughed harshly. "So it's a plant, eh?" he said, with

a mirthless chuckle. "You are figuring to get two birds with one

stone--Doubler and me. You've already got Doubler, or think you have, and

now it's my turn. It does look pretty bad for me, for a fact, doesn't it?

You've burned the agreement you made with me, so that you could slip out

of your obligation. I reckon you think that after the sheriff gets me

you'll be able to take the Star without any trouble--like you expect to

take Doubler's land.



"You've got Duncan to swear that he saw me do for Doubler, and you've got

your daughter to testify that she saw me on the trail, coming from

Doubler's cabin right after she heard the shooting. It was a right clever

scheme, but it was my fault for letting you get anything on me--I ought to

have known that you'd try some dog's trick or other."



His voice was coming rapidly, sharply, and was burdened with a lashing

sarcasm. "Yes, it's a right clever scheme, Mister Langford, and it ought

to be successful. But there's one thing you've forgot. I've lived too long

in this country to let anyone tangle me up like you'd like to have me.

When a man gets double crossed in this country, he can't go to the law for

redress--he makes his own laws. I'm making mine. You've double crossed me,

and damn your hide, I'm going to send you over the divide in a hurry!"



One of his heavy revolvers leaped from its holster and showed for an

instant in his right hand. Sheila had been watching closely, forewarned by

Dakota's manner, and when she saw his right hand drop to the holster she

sprang upon him, catching the weapon by the muzzle.



Langford had covered his face with his hands, and stood beside the desk,

trembling, and Sheila cried aloud in protest when she saw Dakota draw the

weapon that swung at his other hip, holding her off with the hand which

she had seized. But when Dakota saw Langford's hands go to his face he

hesitated, smiling scornfully. He turned to Sheila, looking down at her

face close to his, his smile softening.



"I forgot," he said gently; "I forgot he is your father."



"It isn't that," she said. "He isn't my father, any more. But--" she

looked at Dakota pleadingly--"please don't shoot him. Go--leave the

country. You have plenty of time. You have enough to answer for. Please

go!"



For answer he grasped her by the shoulders, swinging her around so that

she faced him,--as he had forced her to face him that day on the river

trail--and there was a regretful, admiring gleam in his eyes.



"You told him--" he jerked a thumb toward Langford--"that you wouldn't

bear witness against me. I heard you. You're a true blue girl, and your

father's a fool or he wouldn't lose you, like he is going to lose you. If

I had you I would take mighty good care that you didn't get away from me.

You've given me some mighty good advice, and I would act on it if I was

guilty of shooting Doubler. But I didn't shoot him--your father and Duncan

have framed up on me. Doubler isn't dead yet, and so I'm not running away.

If Doubler had someone to nurse him, he might--" He hesitated and looked

at her with a strange smile. "You think I shot Doubler, too, don't you?

Well, there's a chance that if we can get Doubler revived he can tell who

did shoot him. Do you want to know the truth? I heard you say a while ago,

while I was standing at the window, looking in at your father giving a

demonstration of his love for you, that you intended going over to

Doubler's shack to nurse him. If you're still of the same mind, I'll take

you over there."



Sheila was at the door in an instant, but halted on the threshold to

listen to Dakota's parting word to Langford.



"Mister man," he said enigmatically, "there's just one thing that I want

to say to you. There's a day coming when you'll think thoughts--plenty of

them."



In a flash he had stepped outside the door and closed it after him.



A few minutes later, still standing beside the desk, Langford heard the

rapid beat of hoofs on the hard sand of the corral yard. Faint they

became, and their rhythmic beat faster, until they died away entirely. But

Dakota's words still lingered in Langford's mind, and it seemed to him

that they conveyed a prophecy.