The Trail to Yesterday

“Why, no, I reckon I don’t mind, ma’am, seein’ that it’s you. ‘Takin’ a shine’ to you means that he’s some stuck on you – likes you, that is. An’ I reckon you can’t blame him much for doin’ that.”

Sheila did not answer, though a sudden flood of red to her face made the use of mere words entirely unnecessary so far as Doubler was concerned, for he smiled wisely.

Sheila fled down the trail toward the crossing without a parting word to Doubler, leaving him standing at the door squinting with amusement at her. But on the morrow she had returned, determined to discover something of Dakota, to learn something of his history since coming into the country, or at the least to see if she could not induce Doubler to disclose his real name.

She was unsuccessful. Dakota had never taken Doubler into his confidence, and the information that she succeeded in worming from the nester was not more than he had already volunteered, or than Duncan had given her that day when they were seated on the edge of the butte overlooking the river.

She was convinced that Doubler had told her all he knew, and she wondered at the custom which permitted friendship on the basis of such meager knowledge.

She quickly grew to like Doubler. He showed a fatherly interest in her and always greeted her with a smile when during her rides she came to his cabin, or when she met him, as she did frequently, on the open range. His manner toward her was always cordial, and he seemed not to have a care. One morning, however, she rode up to the door of the cabin and Doubler’s face was serious. He stood quietly in the doorway, watching her as she sat on her pony, not offering to assist her down as he usually did, and she knew instantly that something had happened to disturb his peace of mind. He did not invite her into the cabin.

“Ma’am,” he said, and Sheila detected regret in his voice, “I’m a heap sorry, but of course you won’t be comin’ here any more.”

“I don’t see why!” returned Sheila in surprise. “I like to come here. But, of course, if you don’t want me – ”

“It ain’t that,” he interrupted quickly. “I thought you knowed. But you don’t, of course, or you wouldn’t have come just now. Your dad an’ Duncan was over to see me yesterday.”

“I didn’t know that,” returned Sheila. “But I can’t see why a visit from father should – ”

“He’s wantin’ me to pull my freight out of the country,” said Doubler “An’ of course I ain’t doin’ it. Therefore I’m severin’ diplomatic relations with your family.”

“I don’t see why – ” began Sheila, puzzled to understand why a mere visit on her father’s part should have the result Doubler had announced.

“Of course you don’t,” Doubler told her. “You’re a woman an’ don’t understand such things. But in this country when a little owner has got some land which a big owner wants – an’ can’t buy – there’s likely to be trouble. I ain’t proved on my land yet, an’ if your dad can run me off he’ll be pretty apt to grab it somehow or other. But he ain’t runnin’ me off an’ so there’s a heap of trouble comin’. An’ of course while there’s trouble you won’t be comin’ here any more after this. Likely your dad wouldn’t have it. I’m sorry, too. I like you a lot.”

“I don’t see why father should want your land,” Sheila told him gravely, much disturbed at this unexpected development. “There is plenty of land here.” She swept a hand toward the plains.

“There ain’t enough for some people,” grimly laughed Doubler. “Some people is hawgs – askin’ your pardon, ma’am. I wasn’t expectin’ your father to be like that, after seein’ you. I was hopin’ that we’d be able to get along. I’ve had some trouble with Duncan – not very long ago. Once I had to speak pretty plain to him. I expect he’s been fillin’ your dad up.”

“I’ll see father about it.” Sheila’s face was red with a pained embarrassment. “I am sure that father will not make any trouble for you – he isn’t that kind of man.”

“He’s that kind of a man, sure enough,” said Doubler gravely. “I reckon I’ve got him sized up right. He ain’t in no way like you, ma’am. If you hadn’t told me I reckon I wouldn’t have knowed he is your father.”

“He is my stepfather,” admitted Sheila.

“I knowed it!” declared Doubler. “I’m too old to be fooled by what I see in a man’s face – or in a woman’s face either. Don’t you go to say anything about this business to him. He’s bound to try to run me off. He done said so. I don’t know when I ever heard a man talk any meaner than he did. Said that if I didn’t sell he’d make things mighty unpleasant for me. An’ so I reckon there’s goin’ to be some fun.”

Sheila did not remain long at Doubler’s cabin, for her mind was in a riot of rage and resentment against her father for his attitude toward Doubler, and she cut short her ride in the hope of being able to have a talk with him before he left the ranchhouse. But when she returned she was told by Duncan’s sister that Langford had departed some hours before – alone. He had not mentioned his destination.

Ben Doubler had omitted an important detail from his story of Langford’s visit to his cabin, for he had not cared to frighten Sheila unnecessarily. But as Langford rode toward Doubler’s cabin this morning his thoughts persisted in dwelling on Doubler’s final words to him, spoken as he and Duncan had turned their horses to leave the nester’s cabin the day before:

“If it’s goin’ to be war, Langford, it ain’t goin’ to be no pussy-kitten affair. I’m warnin’ you to stay away from the Two Forks. If I ketch you or any of your men nosin’ around there I’m goin’ to bore you some rapid.”

Langford had sneered then, and he sneered now as he rode toward the river, for he had no doubt that Doubler had uttered the threat in a spirit of bravado. Of course, he told himself as he rode, the man was forced to say something, but the idea of him being serious in the threat to shoot any one who came to the Two Forks was ridiculous.

All his life Langford had heard threats from the lips of his victims, and thus far they had remained only threats. He had determined to see Doubler this morning, for he had noticed that the nester had appeared ill at ease in the presence of Duncan, and he anticipated that alone he could force him to accept terms. When he reached the crossing at Two Forks he urged his pony through its waters, his face wearing a confident smile.

There was an open stretch of grass land between the crossing and Doubler’s cabin, and when Langford urged his pony up the sloping bank of the river he saw the nester standing near the door of the cabin, watching. Langford was about to force his pony to a faster pace, when he saw Doubler raise a rifle to his shoulder. Still, he continued to ride forward, but he pulled the pony up shortly when he saw the flame spurt from the muzzle of the rifle and heard the shrill hiss of the bullet as it passed dangerously near to him.

No words were needed, and neither man spoke any. Without stopping to give Doubler an opportunity to speak, Langford wheeled his pony, and with a white, scared face, bending low over the animal’s mane to escape any bullets which might follow the first, rapidly recrossed the river. Once on the crest of the hill on the opposite side he turned, and trembling with rage and fear, shook a clenched hand at Doubler. The latter’s reply was a strident laugh.

Langford returned to the ranchouse, riding slowly, though in his heart was a riot of rage and hatred against the nester. It was war, to be sure. But now that Doubler had shown in no unmistakable manner that he had not been trifling the day before, Langford was no longer in doubt as to the method he would have to employ in his attempt to gain possession of his land. Doubler, he felt, had made the choice.

The ride to the ranchhouse took long, but by the time Langford arrived there he had regained his composure, saying nothing to anyone concerning his adventure.

For three days he kept his own counsel, riding out alone, taciturn, giving much thought to the situation. Sheila had intended to speak to him regarding the trouble with Doubler, but his manner repulsed her and she kept silent, hoping that the mood would pass. However, the mood did not pass. Langford continued to ride out alone, maintaining a moody silence, sitting alone much with his own thoughts and allowing no one to break down the barrier of taciturnity which he had erected.

On the morning of the fifth day after his adventure with Doubler he was sitting on the ranchhouse gallery with Duncan, enjoying an after-breakfast cigar, when he said casually to the latter:

"I take it that folks in this country are mighty careless with their weapons."

Duncan grinned. "You might call it careless," he returned. "No doubt there are people – people who come out here from the East – who think that a man who carries a gun out here is careless with it. But I reckon that when a man draws a gun here he draws it with a pretty definite purpose."

"I have heard," continued Langford slowly, "that there are men in this country who do not hesitate to kill other people for money."

"Meaning that there are road agents and such?" questioned Duncan.

"Naturally, that particular kind would be included. I meant, however another kind – I believe they are called ‘bad men,’ are they not? Men who kill for hire?”

Duncan cast a furtive glance at Langford out of the corners of his eyes, but could draw no conclusions concerning the latter’s motive in asking the question from the expression of his face.

“Such men drift in occasionally,” he returned, convinced that Langford’s curiosity was merely casual – as Langford desired him to consider it. “Usually, though, they don’t stay long.”

“I suppose there are none of that breed around here – in Lazette, for instance. It struck me that Dakota was extraordinarily handy with a gun.”

He puffed long at his cigar and saw that, though Duncan did not answer, his face had grown suddenly dark with passion, as it always did when Dakota’s name was mentioned. Langford smiled subtly. “I suppose,” he said, “that Dakota might be called a bad man.”

Duncan’s eyes flashed with venom. “I reckon Dakota’s nothing but a damned sneak!” he said, not being able to conceal the bitterness in his voice.

Langford did not allow his smile to be seen; he had not forgotten the incident of the returning of Dakota’s horse by Duncan.

“He’s a dead shot, though,” he suggested.

“I’m allowing that,” grudgingly returned Duncan. “And,” he added, “it’s been hinted that all his shooting scrapes haven’t been on the level.”

“He is not straight, then?” said Langford, his eyes gleaming. “Not ‘square,’ as you say in this country?”

“I reckon there ain’t nothing square about him,” returned Duncan, glad of an opportunity to defame his enemy.

Again Langford did not allow Duncan to see his smile, and he deftly directed the current of the conversation into other channels.

He rode out again that day, taking the river trail and passing Dakota’s cabin, but Dakota himself was nowhere to be seen and at dusk Langford returned to the Double R. During the evening meal he enveloped himself with a silence which proved impenetrable. He retired early, to Duncan’s surprise, and the next morning, without announcing his plans to anyone, saddled his pony and rode away toward the river trail.

He took a circuitous route to reach it, riding slowly, with the air and manner of a man who is thinking deep thoughts, smiling much, though many times grimly.

“Dakota isn’t square,” he said once aloud during one of his grim smiles.

When he came to the quicksand crossing he halted and examined the earth in the vicinity, smiling more broadly at the marks and hoof prints in the hard sand near the water’s edge. Then he rode on.