The Trail Horde by Charles Alden Seltzer (i read book .TXT) 📖

that if the fever broke, marking the end of the delirium which had seized him, he would awaken normal mentally, though inevitably weak. But if the fever did not break there would be no hope for him.

Mrs. Lawler, Ruth, and Shorty were in the room with Lawler when he opened his eyes. For a long time the three stood, breathlessly watching as Lawler lay, staring in bewilderment at the ceiling, at the walls, and out of the windows, through which came a soft, subdued light.

Presently Lawler raised his head a trifle, saw them all, and smiled. The clear light of reason was in his eyes.

"Mother, Ruth, and Shorty," he said, weakly smiling. "I've known for a long time that you were here. But I couldn't let you know. Mother and Ruth—and Shorty," he repeated; and then, in a lower voice, that trailed off into a murmur as he closed his eyes and appeared to be falling asleep: "Good old Shorty!"

Ruth and Mrs. Lawler were clasped in each other's arms, joy unutterable in their eyes. It was some time before they turned, to look at Shorty.

The tawny giant was standing near the foot of the bed. His lips were quivering, his eyes were wet, his whole body seemed to be racked with emotion that he could not suppress. He was making an heroic effort, though—an effort that made the cords of his neck stand out lividly; that swelled his muscles into knotty bunches.

"Damn it!" he growled as he turned his head away from Ruth and Mrs. Lawler, so that they might not see what was reflected there; "there ain't no sense of him gettin' mush-headed about it!"

CHAPTER XXXV HAUNTING MEMORIES

It was many days before Lawler was strong enough to ride Red King to the Circle L; and many more days joined the regiments that have marched into the ages, before he forgot what he saw in Blackburn's eyes when one day, soon after his return to the Circle L, he listened to the range boss relate the story of the fight on the plains. Blackburn's cynical eyes had changed expression. They had become tragic, strained, as though the man was striving to blot out mental pictures that were detailed there—pictures that memory persisted in drawing.

He rode with Lawler to the scene of the fight, and showed him where the Circle L outfit had brought the rustlers to bay.

"After Shorty left," said Blackburn; "me insistin' on him goin', an' him blackguardin' me for sendin' him, there was a little time when nothin' happened. Then the day broke, an' everything seemed to happen at once.

"They rushed us, Lawler. There was more of 'em than there was of us, an' they circled around us, howlin' an' shootin' like Indians. They got us between 'em. But we fought 'em—Lawler, we fought 'em till there wasn't a man left standing. But there was too many of 'em. We planted twenty—afterward. But about that number got away. I was hit sort of hard, but I watched 'em scutterin' towards Kinney's cañon. They'd been gone some time when Caldwell's outfit—an' Shorty—come up. Caldwell's outfit lit out after 'em; but Caldwell's men had rode pretty hard gettin' to us, an' it wasn't no go. Sigmund's men, though; an' Lester's an' the rest of 'em, had took a gorge trail that cuts into the big basin from the south, away the other side of Kinney's cañon; an' they run plumb into the rustlers over at the edge of the basin on Sigmund's side.

"An' they brought back your cattle; though Slade an' twenty or thirty of his men got away, clean. I reckon you've heard about enough, an'—Well, Lawler, that's about all—exceptin' to tell you how the boys—an' I don't seem to want to go over that when I'm awake; I keep seein' it enough of nights."

But something of the deep emotion Blackburn felt was reflected in Lawler's eyes from the time he heard the story.

During the many days he had spent in the little hotel room recovering from his wound—and in the long interval of convalescence that followed—a small army of workmen had been engaged in rebuilding the Circle L ranchhouse, the bunkhouses, and the other structures. On the second day following his return to consciousness Lawler had called in a contractor and had made arrangements for reconstruction.

A temporary cabin—to be used afterward by Blackburn—had been erected near the site of the bunkhouses, and into this Lawler and his mother moved while the ranchhouse and the other buildings were being rebuilt. Blackburn was slowly engaging men to fill the depleted complement, and the work went on some way, though in it was none of that spirit which had marked the activities of the Circle L men in the old days.

In fact, the atmosphere that surrounded the Circle L seemed to be filled with a strange depression. There had come a cold grimness into Blackburn's face, a sullenness had appeared in the eyes of the three men who had survived the fight on the plains; they were moody, irritable, impatient. One of them, a slender, lithe man named Sloan, voiced to Blackburn one day a prediction.

"Antrim's dead, all O.K.," he said. "But Slade—who was always a damned sight worse than Antrim—is still a-kickin'. An' Slade ain't the man to let things go halfway. Them boys from the other outfits bested him, all right. But Slade will be back—you'll see. An' when he comes we'll be squarin' things with him—an' don't you forget it!"

It was after Lawler had been occupying the cabin for a month that Metcalf made his second visit. He rode down the slope of the valley on a horse he had hired at Willets, and came upon Lawler, who was standing at the corral gates, looking across the enclosure at the workmen who were bustling about the ranchhouse.

Metcalf regarded Lawler critically before he dismounted; and then he came forward, shook Lawler's hand and again looked him over.

"A little thin and peaked; but otherwise all right, eh?" he smiled. "It's hard to kill you denizens of the sagebrush."

He followed Lawler into the shade of the cabin, remarked to Mrs. Lawler that her son would need someone to guard him—if he persisted in meeting outlaws of the Antrim type single-handed; and then turned to Lawler—after Mrs. Lawler had gone inside—and said lowly:

"Lord, man! you've got this state raving over you! Your fight against the ring is talked about in every corner of the country. And that scrap with Antrim, Selden, and Krell in the old Dickman cabin will go down in history—it will be a classic! What made you rush in on Antrim that way—giving him the first shot?"

Lawler smiled faintly. "Shucks, Metcalf, there was nothing to that. Shorty told me what had happened, and as I recollect, now, I was pretty much excited."

"Excited, eh?" said Metcalf, incredulously; "I don't believe it. What about your going in to Warden's office, offering to give him the first shot? Were you excited then?"

Lawler reddened, and Metcalf laughed triumphantly.

"Lawler," he said; "you're too damned modest—but modesty becomes you. I believe you know it. Anyway, this state is raving over you. You're going to be the next governor. You've got to run! This state needs a man like you—it needs you! You know it. Everybody knows it—and everybody wants you. That is, everybody except Haughton, Hatfield, Warden—and that bunch—including the railroad company. Why, look here, Lawler!" he went on, when Lawler did not answer; "the fight you made last fall against the railroad company was made, with variations, by all the courageous cattlemen in the state. If a strong man isn't elected this fall the same fight will have to be made again. Haughton is so rotten that people are beginning to hold their noses!

"The people of this state trust you, Lawler—they swear by you. You've got to run—there's no way out of it!" He looked keenly at Lawler. "Man, do you know what McGregor told me the day before he left the capital to come down here and look you over, to see how badly you were hurt? He said: 'Metcalf, if Lawler dies we lose the governorship next fall. He is the only man who can beat Haughton!'"

"Metcalf," smiled Lawler; "I'll tell you a secret—your argument has had no effect upon me. I decided this thing as far back as the day following the last election. I am going to run."

"Then we've got Haughton licked!" declared Metcalf, enthusiastically.

Metcalf stayed at the Circle L throughout the day, and in the evening Lawler rode with him to Willets, where he saw him aboard the west-bound train.

"I'm telling you something, Lawler," grinned the newspaperman as he gripped Lawler's hand just before the train started. "McGregor came to me yesterday. He told me he intended to come to see you, but he was afraid you'd refuse to run. He asked me if I had any influence with you, and I told him you'd do anything I suggested. Now, don't get excited, Lawler," he laughed as Lawler looked sharply at him. "I've proved it, haven't I? You've agreed to run! Lord, man, I'd hate to be an evil-doer and have you look at me like that!" He laughed again, exultantly. "What was it you said to Warden one day, when Warden refused to keep that agreement you made with Lefingwell? Oh, don't look at me that way—that conversation has been printed all over the state. I saw to that. How did I hear of it? Somebody must have talked, Lawler. It wasn't you. You remember what you told Warden? It was this:

"'I'm telling you this, though: A man's word in this country has got to be backed by his performances—and he's got to have memory enough to know when he gives his word!'

"You've given yours, Lawler; and you can't back out. McGregor will be waiting for me in the capital. And when I tell him that I have persuaded you to run, he'll fall on my neck and weep tears of joy. Then he'll hire a special train and run down here to fall on your neck!"

McGregor came the next day. And he took Lawler back to the capital with him. Lawler stayed in the capital for a week, and when he returned he went directly to the Circle L.

No word came from him, to Willets, during the summer. He did not appear in town; though Willets heard that the new Circle L ranchhouse had at last been completed, and that Lawler was living in it. Also, the Circle L outfit had been recruited to full strength; Blackburn was occupying the new cabin.

When Corwin—who was chairman of the county committee—sent out calls for the county primary election—which convention was also to choose delegates to the state convention, to be held later—Lawler did not appear. He sent a note to Corwin, asking to be excused.

"I reckon he ain't entirely over that wound," Corwin told an intimate friend. "We'll have to get along without him, this time." But there was a light in Corwin's eyes which told that he was not unaware of the significance of Lawler's trip to the capital with McGregor.

There came a day when Corwin and his brother-delegates got on a train at Willets and were taken to the capital. And there came another day when they returned. They brought a brass band with them; and Willets closed its doors and went out into the street—and crowded the station platform, where the band was playing, and where the returned delegates, frenzied with joy, were shrieking above the din: "Hurrah for Kane Lawler! Lawler—our next governor! Hip, hip—HOORRAY!"

"We swamped 'em!" howled a crimson-faced enthusiast; "there was nothin' to it! Unanimous after the first vote! HOORRAY!"

In his office, Gary Warden heard the shouting; saw the crowd, and listened to the cheers. He stood at one of the windows, balefully watching; sneering at the delegates who had returned, flushed with victory. Singleton, scowling, stood beside Warden.

They saw half a dozen men draw apart from the others.