BACK IN A LITTLE GLADE BORDERING THE Bitterroot Trail to the interior squatted a long low log cabin. There were two rooms in each end, separated by a shed between. The same dirt roof covered the whole building. Trickling down the glade ran a clear cold stream of spring water. Back of the cabin in the dense timber were horse corrals, and rising abruptly behind these was a sheer wall of rock, possibly fifty feet high. Below the cabin, toward Lewiston, two mountains came close together, forming a rocky gap through which the Bitterroot Trail passed, affording the cabin, or shebang, perfect protection against encroachment from the outside.
In the kitchen this early morning a flaxen haired girl of eighteen was preparing breakfast, singing as she worked. Her father, John Lee, was sitting by the door smoking his pipe. His beard had the appearance of having been frosted at the ends, shading to a muddy brown at the roots. His nose, rising abruptly at the bridge, was long, prominent, and rosy. His eyes, a deep blue, resembled those of his daughter.
"Stop it, Ah say, Dixie, will yuh? Ah'm so blasted pestered with yoah yappin' that Ah'm 'near crazy!"
"What's the matter, John?" She always called him John. "I feel like singing this morning--everything is so beautiful."
"Funny to me," he grunted. "Most always yeah mopin'. What's got into yuh this mawnin'? Hish, they's someone comin' up the trail. Most likely it's Cleveland."
Dixie slammed the oven door and nervously wiped her hands on her apron. If she ever hated anyone, it was Cleveland and Plummer. What would either of them be doing here this morning? She heard the horses' hooves scraping across the rocks in the brook below, and she knew without looking that there was more than one.
"No tantrums!" John warned.
Knocking the ashes from his pipe, he unwound his lanky form and ambled out to meet the horsemen. Their greetings were curt and to the point.
"Mawnin', Cleveland!" John hailed from the yard.
"Hello, Lee! Plummer got here yet?" Cleveland got down from his horse. He brushed the grime from his corduroy trousers that were tucked in his boot tops.
Dixie watching from the window, could see from Cleveland's manner that he was unusually ill-tempered and ugly this morning. She dreaded his visits, and not without cause, for he was always trying to make love to her. He was old enough to be her father. She shuddered. She also noticed the squat little man riding with Cleveland as he dismounted. His rough unshaven face and sandy hair gave him the appearance of a very able counterpart of Cleveland in skullduggery. Her father relieved them of their horses as he spoke.
"Bettah go in an' wash up foah breakfast."
How she hated to have to face these uncouth men. Yet she was forced to do so on account of her father.
"Why, hello, Dixie!" Cleveland greeted as he came inside. "Fresh an' plump as a peach this morning."
"Hello, Cleveland," she answered civilly, but with an effort.
"Come on now, gal, is that any way to treat an old friend?"
"That's the way I'm going to treat you--if you don't mind."
"But I am mindin', you little wisp. You're gettin' kittenish." He sidled up to her just as she picked up the coffee pot. Confidently he slipped an arm around her waist.
The act was as repulsive as the feel of a snake. She wriggled loose, and in doing so pressed the boiling coffee pot against his hand. It brought instant action.
"Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!" he exploded vehemently. "You little devil! You hell-cat! I believe you done that on purpose!"
The pudgy man, looking on, grinned, showing a row of white teeth through the deep tan. "Playin' with fire, Cleve?" he chuckled.
"Keep out of this, Jake, damn you, before I poke you on the nose!"
Ignoring the two, Dixie stepped to the door and called, "John! Breakfast's set!" Then turning back to the others she said, "Pitch in."
She always felt depressed when these men were about, and as soon as opportunity afforded she always retreated into some secluded glen until they had gone. Her favorite retreat was an old miner's cabin up Rilda's Canyon a mile. Rilda's Canyon was a small tributary to the main canyon. She often went there alone, and it had become a sort of sanctuary to her. For that reason she had carried a few things from the shebang to make the place more habitable.
Her rendezvous was accessible from two trails, one along the cliff back of the corrals, and the other through the dense timber on the other side of the little canyon. This morning she took the timber trail. It had been used so little that the underbrush completely covered it, and one with less knowledge of the country would have been completely lost.
Except for the constant murmur of the song in the tops of the tall pines, there was solitude. This morning she felt it more than usual. There was something in the voice of Cleveland when he asked if Plummer had come that disturbed her. She instinctively knew that some devilment was afoot when the two owners of the shebang were to meet just at this time, for it was only a few days ago that Plummer was to have started for Florence, and he couldn't possibly have made the trip so soon.
It wasn't alone the roughness of these men that made her suspicious of them. In the past two months, three men at different times had been killed within a stone's throw of the house. It was getting on her nerves. Her father, she feared, knew or suspected what it was all about but he refused to enlighten her. He had promised that soon he would take her away and they would stake out a placer claim some place where they could live in peace. But for some unknown reason he had kept putting her off. She feared they had some hold on him. She wished he would leave before something happened to separate them. She shuddered at the thought. If he were to be killed she would be left at the mercy of Cleveland and Plummer. Death would be preferable.
Coming out on a rocky projection on the point of the mountain, she sat down to gaze on the little clearing carpeted with bright spring green. The colors always seemed more riotous and beautiful here than any other place. The little brown log hut was almost grown over with underbrush. In the clearing two does and a fawn, unsuspecting danger, gamboled about. One of them lifted her wet nose and sniffed the air.
There was a strange restlessness in Dixie Lee's heart this morning. She arose and started down the hill. The deer, hearing her, scampered for cover. She crossed the green to the cabin and went in. The bunk in the corner looked inviting, and her stack of dry wood by the old fireplace was still undisturbed. She had chinked up the place at odd times to keep the pack rats out. In one corner stood an old rickety table upon which she had placed a cover of calico, with a design of bright colored roses over it. Hanging over the bed was a tintype of her mother, the one prize she cherished.
As she gazed at the lovely face, her memory reverted to the time when she was a tiny tot back in the South. She fancied she could hear the baby songs her mother used to sing to her. She took the picture down and sat on the bed, holding it in her hands. The tears were very close to the surface this morning.
At last, replacing the picture, she picked up her birch fishing pole. There was good fishing on the little creek up a half mile farther. She had fished there many times. She walked slowly along the path, then stopped uncertainly. She was in an unsettled state of mind. Some foreboding of evil seemed to grip her. "I'm going back. I'm afraid John will get mixed up in some trouble." She replaced the fish basket and pole where she had found them, and took the corral trail back to the house.
Her room adjoined the big kitchen where the men were gathered. She could easily hear them talk without being discovered She felt that she must know what was going on. She saw Plummer's big black horse in the corral. It was still blowing, so she knew its rider had just arrived. Cautiously she edged around the wild raspberry bushes back of the house and entered her room by the back door. She could hear Cleveland's excited voice above the rest. She stood still to listen.
"Unless we do something," Cleveland was saying, "we'll be wiped out! That damned Yankee who calls himself Pokerface Bob is a bad Injun, and quick as greased lightnin' on the draw. He's teamed with Pat Ford, and there's hell to pay!"
"That Vigilante business again?" inquired the deep voice of a man she knew was Plummer.
"You guessed it, Cap. And when they organize the Vigilante it's our time to fight or move--and you know that!"
"I'm interested in this Yankee, Pokerface Bob. Tell me again just what happened," Plummer demanded.
"Well, after Hildebrandt was done for, Pat Ford raised a hell of a row and called all the good citizens together to organize against us. The meetin' didn't amount to much, but when I spoke my piece, Pokerface challenged me, and before I could get a bead on him he shoots my gun square out of my hand. And you know when a man beats Cleveland to the draw he ain't human, that's all."
"What then?"
"I knew something was due to happen quick, for Three Finger was charged with killing a kid called Patterson. I knew Three Finger was down at the shebang on Patoha Creek, so I sent Maxwell to warn him and the other boys. I thought the six of them would blow the Vigilantes to kingdom come, for I knew there couldn't be more than one or two who'd back Pokerface and Ford's play. I gave them orders to ambush and kill the skunks, but instead of that--well, there must've been a dozen men against them."
"Instead of that?"
"Instead of that only Three Finger and Badger got away. We lost something when Maxwell was cut down."
"Where's Three Finger now?"
"Goin' like hell. With his tail between his legs for safety, I guess."
"Cleveland, that's one guess you've missed on. Ten to one, Three Finger is closer to Pokerface Bob than his shadow. I know men, and Three Finger is not only one of the best shots that ever hit this territory, but he's foxy. They don't fool that boy!"
"Maybe yore right, Cap, but he sure did bungle that job!"
Dixie sank into a chair, almost overcome from the shock of realizing that they were mixed up with a band of outlaws; for sooner or later she knew that the law of retribution would overtake them. Cleveland was still speaking.
"What I propose, Cap, is that we gather our forces, go down there in the open, and take Ford and that damned Yankee Pokerface out and hang them to the nearest tree, and call ourselves the Vigilantes; for I tell you that as long as they stand on their pegs they'll raise particular hell!"
For a moment there was silence. Dixie knew that upon Plummer's word depended whether there was to be a guerrilla war with the forces in favor of law and order. She held her breath, with a prayer in her heart, awaiting his decision. Presently he spoke.
"Cleveland, you've got a peanut brain if you think I'm going to mix in an open public fight. I'm a gambler and I take chances, but I'm playing for higher stakes. Law and order are coming into this country one of these days, and when it does, Mister Plummer is going to be one of Lincoln's officers. Meantime, you fellows will do the active work in cleaning up all you can here, and the same cut will hold for all of us."
Cleveland exploded. "So you aim to cut the bunch? Is that what you're drivin' at? If it is, one of us'll be wiped out right now!"
"Oh!" Dixie gasped in terror. Then she heard Plummer's voice again.
"Don't be a fool, Cleveland! Think what you could do, with me in some high position. Of course I wouldn't cut the bunch. Go ahead and start the fight on the lines that you suggest, only, for all of our sakes, don't bring me personally into it."
So this was what her father had got mixed up in. It was no wonder he kept putting her off about going away. And yet she could not believe it. John wasn't that kind of man. He would never stoop to murder and robbery. But John feared Plummer and Cleveland and hated them, even as she hated them. It must be true then. He had become so involved that he could not tear himself away.
There was a dull pain in her heart, and the more she thought the more bitter her hatred for Plummer became. He was a coward at heart, but he was the brains of the band. He would always play safe while such men as John Lee and the rest would take all the chances and do all the dirty work. If anyone was to hang it would be John Lee, Ebb Cleveland, or some other of Plummer's tools. Plummer would occupy some high position in the territory when it was finally formed, and what was to keep him from using his power to blot out all the band and take the profits of their wicked deeds?
Anger overcame her fear, indignation her natural weakness. John Lee could not take a stand with these murderers! She'd see that he didn't! Without thought of what she would do, she flung the door violently open and rushed into the room. The look of fiery anger in her face enhanced its natural beauty.
"So!" she challenged, "you are a bunch of thieves and murderers, are you? I might have known it!" she hissed at Plummer.
If Plummer was surprised at her sudden fury his calm cynical face didn't show it. Nor did he uncross his legs as he sat curling his black mustache. For a moment he observed her, then suddenly broke into a deep guttural laugh that started at the very pit of his stomach.
"Why, hello, Dixie! Why, doggone, if your tail feathers ain't blowing the wrong way!"
"I hate you!" she retorted. Then, ignoring him, she turned to the cowering John Lee, who was as much surprised at her sudden outbreak as the rest.
Cleveland sat motionless, toying with the button on his vest.
"John!" she said sharply, "this is where you are going to quit this gang! We've been duped--deceived into thinking this was a respectable roadhouse where we were to make honest money from the honest travelers who pass this way. Well, it's a death trap, and these fiends are murderers!"
John shook his head vaguely for a moment, trying to recover from the shock. A look of pain came into his face. "Ah didn't know, gal; honest Ah didn't have no idea."
Impulsively she threw her arms about him, crying, "Oh, John, I'm so glad! You must take me away at once!"
"Oh, I guess not, filly!" growled Plummer dangerously. "Old John Lee won't leave here until I give the word, and he can take his choice whether he goes to hell or whether I let him tag along with the rest of us. Then you can forget what has happened; I'll make you my wife and we'll settle down and no one will say we're not respectable."
"You brute! You fiend!" she stormed. "I hate you worse than a rattlesnake! I'd kill you--kill myself, before I would submit to that!" She was facing him defiantly, every muscle tense.
He observed her coolly. Finally he spoke. "I have never killed a woman, gal, but I scalped one in Portland once for making eyes at the captain of the boat we came from 'Frisco on. I shot the captain!"
His terrible confession, so coolly told, made her tremble. She felt as though her feet would give way under her.
In an instant John Lee roused; with a wild yell he sprang at Plummer. "I'll kill you foah that!" he yelled, flashing a knife.
Plummer, quick as a cat, caught his wrist. They overturned the table, tripped over the wood box and went to the floor. They were up again, Plummer still holding Lee's wrist. Bringing it down sharply over his knee, he broke the hold, and the knife fell to the floor. Lee staggered backward and rushed again. Plummer whipped out a gun and met him fairly with a blow on the head that dropped him like a beef. Dixie screamed and threw herself on the floor beside him.
"Sorry I had to do it, gal. But I'm boss of this gang. He'll come around all right. What the hell you fellows standing around here for? Get on those nags and ride! And you, gal, remember, neither of you leave this shebang until Plummer gives the word!" Turning, he followed Cleveland and the pudgy man from the room.
As soon as they rode away she got a basin of cold water and began dressing her father's wound, crying as she worked. Presently he groaned and opened his eyes.
"Oh, John!" she cried, "I was afraid you were dead! We'll go away from here, won't we?" She helped him to rise and take the chair beside the stove.
Sadly he shook lids head. "Foah yoah sake, child, we can't go now. He would kill me suah, and then yuh would be on his mercy."
"Oh, Daddy John!" she sobbed, as he put his clumsy arms about her. "What shall we do?"