Chapter 40
PRIMITIVE INSTINCTS
Shorty and a dozen Circle L men--among them Blackburn and the three others who had been wounded in the fight with the rustlers on the plains the previous spring--had been waiting long in a gully at a distance of a mile or more from the Hamlin cabin. Shortly after dark they had filed into the gully, having come directly from the Circle L.
Hours before, they had got off their horses to stretch their legs, and to wait. And now they had grown impatient. It was cold--even in the gulley where the low moaning, biting wind did not reach them--and they knew they could have no fire.
"Hell!" exclaimed one man, intolerantly; "I reckon she's a whizzer!"
"Looks a heap like it," agreed Shorty. "Seems, if Hamlin couldn't get him headed this way--like he said he would--he ought to let us know."
"You reckon Hamlin's runnin' straight, now?" inquired Blackburn.
"Straight as a die!" declared Shorty. "If you'd been trailin' him like me an' the boys has, you'd know it. Trouble is, that Singleton is holdin' off. A dozen times we've been close enough to ketch Singleton with the goods--if he'd do the brandin'. But he don't, an' Hamlin has to do it--with Singleton watchin'. We've framed up on him a dozen times. But he lets Hamlin run the iron on 'em. Hamlin eased that bunch into the gully just ahead, especial for tonight. I helped him drive 'em. An' Hamlin said that tonight he'd refuse to run the iron on 'em--makin' Singleton do it. An' then we'd ketch him doin' it. But I reckon Hamlin's slipped up somewheres."
"It ain't none comfortable here, with that wind whinin' that vicious," complained a cowboy. "An' no fire. Hamlin said ten o'clock, didn't he? It's past eleven."
"It's off, I reckon," said Shorty. "Let's fan it to Hamlin's shack an' say somethin' to him."
Instantly the outfit was on the move. With Shorty leading they swept out of the gully to the level and rode northward rapidly.
When they came in sight of the Hamlin cabin there was no light within, and the men sat for a time on their horses, waiting and listening. Then, when it seemed certain there was no one stirring, Shorty glanced at the horse corral.
Instantly he whispered to the other men:
"Somethin's wrong, boys. Hamlin's horse is gone, an' Ruth's pony!"
He dismounted and burst into the cabin, looking into the two bedrooms. He came out again, scratching his head in puzzlement.
"I don't seem to sabe this here thing, boys. I know Ruth Hamlin ain't in the habit of wanderin' off alone at this time of the night. An' Hamlin was tellin' me that he sure was goin' with Singleton. It's a heap mysterious, an' I've got a hunch things ain't just what they ought to be!"
He turned toward the plain that stretched toward Willets. Far out--a mere dot in his vision--he detected movement. He straightened, his face paled.
"Somebody's out there, headin' for town. I'm takin' a look--the boss would want me to, an' I ain't overlookin' anything that'll do him any good!"
He leaped upon his horse, and the entire company plunged into the soft moonlight that flooded the plains between the cabin and Willets.
* * * * *
The ivory-handled pistols were still on Lawler's desk when his secretary softly opened a door and entered. The secretary smiled slightly at sight of the weapons, but he said no word as he advanced to the desk and placed a telegram before Lawler.
He stood, waiting respectfully, as Lawler read the telegram. It was from Moreton:
"Governor Lawler: There's something mighty wrong going on in Willets. Slade and his gang struck town this morning. He was with Warden all day in the Wolf. Don't depend on the new sheriff."
Lawler got up, his face paling. He dismissed the secretary and then stood for several minutes looking down at the pistols on the desk. They offered a quick solution of the problem that confronted him.
At this minute he was conscious of one thing only--that Slade was in Willets. Slade, who had led the gang that had killed his men--Slade, whose face haunted Blackburn's dreams--the man the Circle L outfit held responsible for the massacre that day on the plains above the big valley.
Lurking in the metal cylinders of the two weapons on the desk was that death which Warden, Singleton, Slade, and the others deserved at his hands. He took up the pistols, nestling their sinister shapes in his palms, while his blood rioted with the terrible lust that now seized him--the old urge to do violence, the primal instinct to slay, to which he had yielded when Shorty told him of the things Blondy Antrim had done.
Another minute passed while he fondled the weapons. Twice he moved as though to buckle the cartridge belt around his waist--shoving aside the black coat he wore, which would have hidden them. But each time he changed his mind.
He knew that if he wore them he would use them. The driving intensity of his desire to kill Warden, Singleton, and Slade would overwhelm him if he should find they had harmed Ruth. The deadly passion that held him in a mighty clutch would take no account of his position, of his duty to the state, or of the oath he had taken to obey and administer the laws.
While he silently fought the lust that filled his heart the secretary came in. He started and then stood rigid, watching Lawler, seeming to divine something of the struggle that was going on before his eyes. He saw how Lawler's muscles had tensed, how his chin had gone forward with a vicious thrust--noted the awful indecision that had seized the man. As the secretary watched, he realized that Lawler was on the verge of surrendering to the passions he was fighting--for Lawler had again taken up the cartridge belt and was opening his coat to buckle the belt around him.
"_Governor._"
It was the secretary's voice. It was low, conveying the respect that the man always used in addressing Lawler. But the sound startled Lawler like the explosion of a bomb in the room. He flashed around, saw the secretary--looked steadily at him for one instant, and then dropped the belt to the desk, tossed the pistols into the drawer and smiled mirthlessly.
"Governor," said the secretary; "your train is ready."
The secretary stood within three yards of Lawler, and before he could turn to go out, Lawler had reached him. He seized both the man's hands, gripped them tightly, and said, hoarsely:
"Thank you, Williams."
Then he released the secretary's hands and plunged out through the door, while the secretary, smiling wisely, walked to the desk and picking up the cartridge belt, dropped it into the drawer with the pistols.