And A Knot Tightened





A day of shattered hopes is a desolate thing, but the night of such

a day is desolate indeed. In all his life Poleon Doret had never

sunk to such depths of despondency, for his optimistic philosophy

and his buoyant faith in the goodness of life forbade it. Therefore,

when darkness came it blotted out what little brightness and light

and hope were left to him after Necia's stormy interview with the

Lieutenant. The arrival of the freight steamer afforded him some

distraction, but there was only a small consignment for the store,

and that was quickly disposed of; so, leaving the other citizens of

Flambeau to wrangle over their private merchandise, he went back to

his solitary vigil, which finally became so unbearable that he

sought to escape his thoughts, or at least to drown them for a

while, amid the lights and life and laughter of Stark's saloon.

Being but a child by nature, his means of distraction were primal

and elementary, and he began to gamble, as usual with hard luck, for

the cards had ever been unkind to him. He did not think of winnings

or losings, however--he merely craved the occupation; and it was

this that induced him to sit at a game in which Runnion played,

although ordinarily he would not have tolerated even tacitly such a

truce to his dislikes. As it was, he crouched in a corner, his hat

pulled down over his brow, his swarthy face a darker hue beneath the

shadow, losing steadily, only now and then showing a flash of white

teeth as he saw his money go. What mattered loss to him? He had no

more need of money now than Necia had of his love. He would spend

the dollars he had eked and scraped and saved for her as she had

spent the treasures of his heart, and now that the one had brought

him no return he wished to be rid of the other, for he was shortly

to go again in search of his "New Country," where no man needs gold

half so much as a clean heart. It would be a long journey, far to

the West and North--a journey that none of his kind had ever fared

back from, and he wished to go light, as all good adventurers go.



Runnion annoyed him with his volubility, for the news of his good-

fortune had fired the man with a reckless disregard for money, and

he turned to gaming as the one natural recourse of his ilk. As the

irony of fate would have it, he won what the Canadian lost, together

with the stakes of various others who played for a time with him and

then gave up, wagging their heads or swearing softly at the cards.



It was shortly after midnight that Stark came into the place. Poleon

was not too absorbed in his own fortunes to fail to notice the

extraordinary ferocity and exhilaration of the saloon-keeper, nor

that his face was keener, his nostrils thinner, his walk more

nervous, and his voice more cutting than usual when he spoke to

Runnion.



"Come here."



"I'll be with you when I finish this hand," said the player, over

his shoulder.



"Come here!" Stark snapped his command, and Runnion threw down his

cards.



"I'm right in the middle of a winning streak. You'll break my luck,

Ben."



But the other only frowned impatiently, and, drawing the reluctant

gambler aside, began to talk rapidly to him, almost within ear-shot

of Poleon, who watched them, idly wondering what Stark had to say

that could make Runnion start and act so queerly. Well, it was their

affair. They made a bad pair to draw to. He knew that Runnion was

the saloon-keeper's lieutenant and obeyed implicitly his senior's

commands. He could distinguish nothing they said, nor was he at all

curious until a knot of noisy men crowded up to the bar, and,

forcing the two back nearer to the table where he sat, his sharp

ears caught these words from Runnion's lips:



"Not with me! She'd never go with me!" and Stark's reply:



"She'll go where I send her, and with anybody I tell her to."



The Frenchman lost what followed, for a newly dealt hand required

study. He scanned his cards, and tossed them face up before the

dealer; then he overheard Runnion say:



"It's the only one in camp. He might sell it if you offered him

enough." At this Stark called one of the men at the bar aside, and

the three began to dicker.



"Not a cent less," the third man announced, loudly. "There ain't

another Peterborough in town."



It was Poleon's deal now, and when he had finished both Stark and

Runnion had disappeared, also the man they had accosted, which

pleased the Canadian, for now that Runnion was eliminated from the

game he might win a little. A steady, unvarying run of bad hands is

uninteresting, and does not occupy one's mind as well as an

occasional change of luck.



Outside Runnion was saying again to Stark:



"She won't go with me, Ben; she don't like me. You see, I made love

to her, and she got mad and wanted me killed."



"She'll never know who you are until it's too late to turn back,"

said the other, "and you are the only man I can trust to take her

through. I can trust you--you owe me too much to be crooked."



"Oh, I'll act square with you! But look here, what's all this about,

anyhow? Why do you want that girl? You said you didn't care for her

that way; you told me so yourself. Been having a change of heart, or

is it your second childhood?" He laughed disagreeably.



"It's none of your business," said the gambler. "I want her, and

that's enough. All you have to do is to take her to St. Michael's

and keep her there till you hear from me. She thinks she is going to

the Mission, and you needn't tell her otherwise until you get her

aboard a steamer; then take her, no matter what kind of a fight she

puts up. You've got a light-rowing skiff, and you'd better keep

going till you're overtaken by a down-river boat. I want her as far

away from here as possible. There's going to be some hell in this

camp. Now, hike, and get yourself ready."



"All right! But I ain't the safest kind of a chaperon for a good-

looking girl."



Stark laid a cold hand on Runnion's shoulder, close up to his neck.



"Get that out of your mind. She belongs to me."



"You said just now--"



"Never mind what I said. She's mine, and you've got to promise to be

straight with her. I've trusted you before, and if you're not on the

level now, say so. It will save you a lot of trouble."



"Oh! All right!" exclaimed Runnion, testily. "Only it looks mighty

queer."



He melted into the darkness and Stark returned to his cabin, where

he paced back and forth impatiently, smiling evilly now and then,

consulting his watch at frequent intervals. A black look had begun

to settle on his face, but it vanished when Necia came, and he met

her with a smile.



"I was afraid you had weakened," he said. "Everything is ready and

waiting. I've got the only canoe in the place, a Peterborough, and

hired a good oarsman to put you through, instructing him to make as

fast time as he can, and to board the first steamer that overtakes

you. Too bad this freighter that just got in isn't going the other

way. However, there's liable to be another any hour, and if one

doesn't come along you'll find enough blankets and food in the

skiff, so you needn't go ashore. You'll be there before you know

it."



"You are very kind," said the girl. "I can't thank you enough." She

was clothed in her simple everyday dress, and looked again the sun-

colored half-breed girl with the wide, dark eyes and the twin braids

of crow-black hair.



"You didn't run into anybody, eh?"



She shook her head. Then he led her out into the darkness, and they

stumbled down to the river's-bank, descending to the gravelly

water's edge, where rows of clumsy hand-sawed boats and poling-

skiffs were chafing at their painters. The up-river steamer was just

clearing.



Stark's low whistle was answered a hundred yards below, and they

searched out a darker blot that proved to be a man's figure.



"Is everything ready?" he inquired, at which the shadow grunted

unintelligibly. So, holding Necia by the arm, Stark helped her back

to a seat in the stern.



"This man will take you through," he said. "You can trust him, all

right."



The oarsman clambered in and adjusted his sweeps, then Stark laid a

hand on the prow and shoved the light boat out into the current,

calling softly:



"Good-bye, and good-luck."



"Good-bye, Mr. Stark. Thank you ever so much," the girl replied, too

numb and worn out to say much, or to notice or care whither she was

bound or who was her boatman. She had been swept along too swiftly

to reason or fear for herself any more.



Half an hour later the scattered lights of the little camp winked

and twinkled for the last time. Turning, she set her face forward,

and, adjusting the cushions to her comfort, strained her tired eyes

towards the rising and falling shadow of her boatman. She seemed

borne along on a mystic river of gloom that hissed and gurgled about

her, invisible but all-pervading, irresistible, monstrous, only the

ceaseless, monotonous creak of the rowlocks breaking the silence.



Stark did not return to his cabin, but went back instead to his

saloon, where he saw Poleon Doret still sprawling with elbows on the

table, his hat pulled low above his sullen face. The owner of the

place passed behind the bar and poured himself a full glass of

whiskey, which he tossed off, then, without a look to right or left,

went out and down towards the barracks. A light behind the drawn

curtains of the officer's house told that his man was not abed, but

he waited a long moment after his summons before the door was

opened, during which he heard the occupant moving about and another

door close in the rear. When he was allowed entrance at last he

found the young man alone in a smoke-filled room with a bottle and

two empty glasses on the table.



For at the sound of his voice Gale had whispered to Burrell, "Keep

him out!" and the Lieutenant had decided to refuse his late visitor

admittance when he lighted on the expedient of concealing the trader

in the bedroom at the rear. It was only natural, he reasoned, that

Gale should dislike to face a man like Stark before he had regained

his composure.



"Go in there and wait till I see what he wants," he had said, and,

shutting the old man in, he had gone forth to admit Stark, resenting

his ill-timed intrusion and inquiring brusquely the cause of it.



Before answering, Stark entered and closed the door behind him.



"I've got some work for you, Lieutenant."



"I guess it can wait till morning," said Meade.



"No, it can't; it's got to be done to-night, right now! You

represent the law, or at least you've taken every occasion to so

declare yourself, and to mix in with little things that don't cut

much figure; so now I've come to you with something big. It's a

serious affair, and being as I'm a peaceful man I want to go by the

law." His eyes mocked the words he uttered. "You're mighty prompt

and determined when it comes to regulating such affairs. You seem to

carry the weight of this whole community on your shoulders, so I'm

here to give you some information."



Burrell ignored the taunt, and said, quietly: "It's a little late

for polite conversation. Come to the point."



"I've got a criminal for you."



"What kind?"



"Murderer."



"You've had a killing in your place, eh?"



"No, I've just made a discovery. I found it all out by accident,

too--pure accident. By Heaven! You can't tell me there isn't a

beneficent Providence overlooking our affairs. Why, this felon has

lived here among us all this time, and only for the merest chance I

never would have recognized him."



"Well, well! Go on!" snapped Burrell, impatiently.



"He's a friend of yours, and a highly respected party. He's a

glorious example to this whole river."



The officer started. Could it be? he wondered. Could knowledge of

this affair have reached this man? He was uncomfortably aware of

that presence in the back room, but he had to know the truth.



"Who is the man?"



"He's your friend. He's--" Stark paused, gloating over his enemy's

suspense.



"Go on." "He's everybody's friend. He's the shining mark of this

whole country. He's the benevolent renegade, Squaw-man Gale."



"John Gale?"



"Gaylord is his name, and I was a fool not to know it sooner."



"How did you discover this?" inquired Burrell, lamely. "What proof

have you?"



The disclosure had not affected the soldier as Stark expected, and

his anger began to lift itself.



"That's neither here nor there; the man's a murderer; he's wanted in

California, where I came from; he's been indicted, and there's a

price on his head. He's hidden for fifteen years, but he'll hang as

sure as I stand here."



Disclosures of a complex nature had so crowded on Burrell in the

last few hours that he saw himself the centre of a most unfortunate

and amazing tangle. Things were difficult enough as it was, but to

have this man appear and cry for justice--this man above all

others!--it was a complication quite unlocked for--a hideous

mockery. He must gain time for thought. One false step might ruin

all. He could not face this on the spur of the moment, so, shrugging

his shoulders with an air of polite scepticism, he assumed a tone of

good-natured raillery.



"Fifteen years? Murder? John Gale a murderer? Why, that's almost--

pardon me if I smile--I'm getting sleepy. What proof have you?"



"Proof!" blazed the gambler. "Proof! Ask Gaylord! Proof! Why, the

woman he murdered was my wife!"



It was Burrell's turn now to fall incoherent, and not only did his

speech forsake him, but his thoughts went madly veering off into a

wilderness where there was no trail, no light, no hope. What kind of

a coil was this? What frightful bones were these he bared? This man

was Bennett! This was Necia's father! This man he hated, this man

who was bad, whose name was a curse throughout the length and

breadth of the West, was the father of the girl he loved! His head

began to whirl, then the story of the trader came back to him, and

he remembered who and what the bearer of these later tidings was. He

raised a pair of eyes that had become furious and bloodshot, and

suddenly realized that the man before him, who persisted in saddling

upon Gale this heinous crime, was the slayer of Necia's mother; for

he did not doubt Gale's story for an instant. He found his fingers

writhing to feel the creature's throat.



"Proof!" Stark was growling. "How much proof do you need? I've

followed him for fifteen years. I've tracked him with men and dogs

through woods and deserts and mining-camps. I've slept on his trail

for five thousand miles, and now do you think I'm mistaken? He

killed my wife, I say, and robbed me of my little girl! That's her

in his house. That's her he calls Necia. She's my girl--MY GIRL, do

you understand?--and I'll have his life."



It was hate that animated him, and nothing more. He had no joy in

the finding of his offspring, no uplifted thought of justice. The

thirst for revenge, personal, violent, utter, was all that prompted

this man; but Burrell had no inkling yet of the father's well-shaped

plans, nor how far-reaching they were, and could barely stammer:



"So! You--you know?"



"Yes! She wears the evidence around her neck, and if that isn't

enough I can furnish more--evidence enough to smother you. My name

isn't Stark at all; I changed it years ago for certain reasons. I've

changed it more than once, but that's my privilege and my own

affair. Her name is Merridy Bennett."



"I don't suppose you know I'm going to marry her," said the

Kentuckian, irrelevantly.



"No," replied the other, "I wasn't aware of the fact."



"Well, I am. I'll be your son-in-law." He said this as if it were

the statement of an astonishing truth, whereat Stark grinned, a

mirthless, disquieting sort of grimace, and said:



"There's a lot of things for you and me to settle up first. For one

thing, I want those mines of hers."



"Why?"



"Well, I'm her father, and she's not of age."



"I'll think it over."



"I'll take them, anyway, as her next of kin."



Burrell did not follow up this statement, for its truth was

incontrovertible, and showed that the father's ill-will was too

tangible a thing to be concealed; so he continued:



"We'll adjust that after Gale is attended to; but, meanwhile, what

do you want me to do?"



"I want you to arrest the man who killed my wife. If you don't take

him the miners will. I've got a following in this camp, and I'll

raise a crowd in fifteen minutes--enough to hang this squaw-man, or

batter down your barracks to get him. But I don't want to do that; I

want to go by the law you've talked so much about; I want you to do

the trick."



At last Burrell saw the gambler's deviltry. He knew Stark's

reputation too well to think that he feared a meeting with Gale, for

the man had lived in hope of that these fifteen years, and had

shaped his life around such a meeting; but this indirect method--the

Kentuckian felt a flash of reluctant admiration for a man who could

mould a vengeance with such cruel hands, and, even though he came

from a land of feuds, where hate is a precious thing, the cunning

strength of this man's enmity dwarfed any he had ever known. Stark

had planned his settlement coldly and with deliberate malice;

moreover he was strong enough to stand aside and let another take

his place, and thus deny to Gale the final recourse of a hunted

beast, the desperate satisfaction that the trader craved. He tied

his enemy's hands and delivered him up with his thirst unsatisfied--

to whom? He thrust a weapon into the hand of his other enemy, and

bade this other enemy use it; worse than that, forced him to strike

the man he honored--the man he loved. Burrell never doubted that

Stark had carefully weighed the effect of this upon Necia, and had

reasoned that a girl like her could not understand a soldier's duty

if it meant the blood of a parent. If he refused to act, the gambler

could break him, while every effort he made to protect Gale would

but increase the other's satisfaction. There was no chance of the

trader's escape. Stark held him in his hand. His followers would do

his bidding. It was a desperate affair. Was it impossible, the

Lieutenant wondered, to move this man from his purpose?



"Have you thought of Necia? She loves Gale. What effect will this

have on her?"



"Damn her! She's more his brat than mine. I want John Gaylord!"



At this a vicious frenzy overtook Burrell, and he thought of the man

behind yonder door, whom he had forgotten until these words woke

something savage in him. Well! Why not? These two men had stalked

each other clear into the farthest places, driven by forces that

were older than the hills. Who was he to stand between such

passions? This was ordained, it was the course of nature, the clash

of elements, and this was a fair battle-ground, so why should he

undertake to stop a thing decreed?



The gambler's words rang in his ears--"I want John Gaylord"--and

before he knew what he was doing he had answered: "Very well. I'll

give him to you," and crossed quickly to the door of his bedroom and

flung it open. On the threshold he paused stock-still. The place was

empty; a draught sucked through the open window, flirting with the

curtain and telling the story of the trader's exit.



"If you're looking for your coat, it's here," he heard Stark say.

"Get into it, and we'll go for him."



The Lieutenant's mind was working fast enough now, in all

conscience, and he saw with clear and fateful eyes whither he was

being led, at which a sudden reckless disregard for consequences

seized him. He felt a blind fury at being pulled and hauled and

driven by this creature, and also an unreasoning anger at Gale's

defection. But it was the thought of Necia and the horrible net of

evil in which this man had ensnared them both that galled him most.

It was all a terrible tangle, in which the truth was hopelessly

hidden, and nothing but harm could come from attempting to unravel

it. There was but one solution, and that, though fundamental and

effective, was not to be expected from an officer of the law.

Nevertheless, he chose it, for Ben Stark was too potent a force for

evil to be at large, and needed extermination as truly as if he were

some dangerous beast. He determined to finish this thing here and

now.



Meade went to his bureau, took his revolver from the belt where he

had hung it, and came out into the other room. Stark, seeing the

weapon, exclaimed:



"You don't need that; he won't resist you."



"I've decided not to take him," said Burrell.



"Decided not to take him?" shouted the other. "Have you weakened?

Don't you intend to arrest that man?"



"No!" cried the soldier. "I've listened to your lies long enough;

now I'm going to stop them, once for all. You're too dangerous to

have around."



They faced each other silently a moment; then Stark spoke in a very

quiet voice, though his eyes were glittering:



"What's the meaning of this? Are you crazy?"



"Gale was here just before you came, and told me who killed your

wife. I know."



"You do?"



"I do."



"Well?"



"It's pretty late. This place is lonely. This is the simplest way."



The gambler fell to studying his antagonist, and when he did not

speak Burrell continued:



"Come, brace up! I'm giving you a chance."



But Stark shook his head.



"Don't be afraid," insisted the Lieutenant. "There are no witnesses.

If you get me, nobody will know, and your word is good. If not--it's

much simpler than the other." Then, when the gambler still made no

move, he insisted, "You wouldn't have me kill you like a

rattlesnake?"



"You couldn't," said the older man. "You're not that kind--and I'm

not the kind to be cheated, either. Listen! I've lived over forty

years, and I never took less than was coming to me. I won't begin

to-night."



"You'll get your share--"



"Bah! You don't know what I mean. I don't want you; it's him I'm

after, and when I'm done with him I'll take care of you; but I won't

run any risk right now. I won't take a chance on losing what I've

risked so much to gain, what I've lived these fifteen years to get.

You might put me away--there's the possibility--and I won't let you

or any other man--or woman either, not even my girl--cheat me out of

Gale. Put up your gun."



The soldier hesitated, then did as he was bidden, for this man knew

him better than he knew himself.



"I ought to treat you like a mad dog, but I can't do it while your

hands are up. I'm going to fight for John Gale, however, and you

can't take him."



"I'll have his carcass hung to my ridge-pole before daylight."



"No."



"I say yes!" Stark turned to go, but paused at the door. "And you

think you'll marry Necia, do you?"



"I know it."



"Like hell you will! Suppose you find her first."



"What do you mean? Wait--"



But his visitor was gone, leaving behind him a lover already sorely

vexed, and now harassed by a new and sudden apprehension. What venom

the man distilled! Could it be that he had sent Necia away? Burrell

scouted the idea. She wasn't the kind to go at Stark's mere behest;

and as for his forcing her, why, this was not an age of abductions!

He might aim to take her, but it would require some time to

establish his rights, and even then there were Gale and himself to

be reckoned with. Still, this was no time for idling, and he might

as well make certain, so the young man put on his coat hurriedly,

knowing there was work to do There was no telling what this night

would bring forth, but first he must warn his friend, after which

they would fight this thing together, not as soldier and civilian,

but as man and man, not for the law, but against it. He smiled as he

realized the situation. Well, he was through with the army, anyhow;

his path was strange and new from this time henceforth, and led him

away from all he had known, taking him among other peoples; but he

did not flinch, for it led to her. Behind him was that former life;

to-night he began anew.



Stark traced his way back to his cabin in a ten times fiercer mood

than he had come, reviling, cursing, hating; back past the dark

trading-post he went, pausing to shake his clenched fist and grind

out an oath between his teeth; past the door of his own saloon,

which was a-light, and whence came the sound of revelry, through the

scattered houses, where he went more by feel than by sight, up to

the door of his own shack. He fitted his key in the lock, but the

door swung open without his aid, at which he remembered that he had

only pulled it after him when he came away with Necia. He closed it

behind him now, and locked it, for he had some thinking to do; then

felt through his pockets for a match, and, striking it, bent over

his lamp to adjust the wick. It flared up steady and strong at last,

flooding the narrow place with its illumination; then he

straightened up and turned towards the bed to throw off his coat,

when suddenly every muscle of his body leaped with an uncontrollable

spasm, as if he had uncovered a deadly serpent coiled and ready to

spring. In spite of himself his lungs contracted as if with the grip

of giant hands, and his breath came forth in a startled cry.



John Gale was sitting at his table, barely an arm's-length away, his

gray-blue eyes fixed upon him, and the deep seams of his heavy face

set as if graven in stone. His huge, knotted hands were upon the

table, and between them lay a naked knife.





An Unwelcome Guest And Bud Never Guessed facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedinmail

Feedback