The Trail to Yesterday

“Of course, my dear; why shouldn’t I? Assuredly you would not allow Dakota to go unpunished?”

“No,” said Sheila, “Doubler’s murderer should be punished.”

Two things were now fixed in her mind as certainties. Dakota had not been to see her father since she had left him on the river trail; he had not received his blood-money – would never receive it. Her father had no intention of living up to his agreement with Dakota and intended to allow him to be hanged. She thought of the signed agreement in her bodice. Langford had given it to Dakota, but she had little doubt that in case Dakota still had it in his possession and dared to produce it, Langford would deny having made it – would probably term it a forgery. It was harmless, too; who would be likely to intimate that the clause regarding Dakota inducing Doubler to leave the country meant that Langford had hired Dakota to kill the nester? Sheila sat silent, looking at Langford, wondering how it happened that he had been able to masquerade so long before her; why she had permitted herself to love a being so depraved, so entirely lacking in principle.

But a thrill of hope swept over her. Perhaps Doubler would not die? She had been considering the situation from the viewpoint of the nester’s death, but if Dakota had really been in earnest and had gone for a doctor, there was a chance that the tragedy which seemed so imminent would be turned into something less serious. Immediately her spirits rose and she was able to smile quietly at Langford when he continued:

“Dakota will be hung, of course; decency demands it. When Duncan came to me with the news I sent him instantly to Lazette to inform the sheriff of what had happened. Undoubtedly he will take Dakota into custody at once.”

“But not for murder,” said Sheila evenly, unable to keep a quiver of triumph out of her voice.

“Not?” said Langford, startled. “Why not?”

“Because,” returned Sheila, enjoying the sudden consternation that was revealed in her father’s face, and drawling her words a little to further confound him; “because Doubler isn’t dead.”

“Not dead!” Langford’s jaws sagged, and he sat looking at Sheila with wide, staring, vacuous eyes. “Not dead?” he repeated hoarsely. “Why, Duncan told me he had examined him, that he had been shot through the lungs and had bled to death before he left him! How do you know that he is not dead?” he suddenly demanded, leaning toward her, a wild hope in his eyes.

“I went to his cabin before noon,” said Sheila. “I found him lying in the doorway. He had been shot through the right side, near the shoulder, but not through the lung, and he was still alive. I dragged him into the cabin and did what I could for him. Then I started for the doctor.”

“For the doctor?” he said incredulously. “Then how does it happen that you are here? You couldn’t possibly ride to Lazette and return by this time!”

“I believe I said that I ‘started’ for the doctor,” said Sheila with a quiet smile. She was enjoying his excitement. “I met Dakota on the trail, and he went.”

Langford continued to stare at her; it seemed that he could not realize the truth. Then suddenly he was out of his chair and standing over her, his face bloated poisonously, his eyes ablaze with a malignant light.

“Damn you!” he shrieked. “This is what comes of your infernal meddling! What business had you to interfere? Why didn’t you let him die? I’ve a notion – ”

His hands clenched and unclenched before her eyes, and she sat with blanched face, certain that he was about to attack her – perhaps kill her. She did not seem to care much, however, and looked up into his face steadily and defiantly.

After a moment, however, he regained control of himself, leaving her side and pacing rapidly back and forth in the office, cursing bitterly.

Curiously, Sheila was not surprised at this outburst; she had rather expected it since she had become aware of his real character. Nor was she surprised to discover that he had dropped pretense altogether – he was bound to do that sooner or later. Her only surprise was at her own feelings. She did not experience the slightest concern over him – it was as though she were talking to a stranger. She was interested to the point of taking a grim enjoyment out of his confusion, but beyond that she was not interested in anything.

It made little difference to her what became of Langford, Dakota, Duncan – any of them, except Doubler. She intended to return to the nester’s cabin, to help the doctor make him comfortable – for he had been the only person in the country who had shown her any kindness; he was the only one who had not wronged her, and she was grateful to him.

Langford was standing over her again, his breath coming short and fast.

“Where did you see Dakota?” he questioned hoarsely. “Answer!” he added, when she did not speak immediately.

“On the river trail.”

“Before you found Doubler?”

“Before, yes – and after. I met him twice.”

She discerned his motive in asking these questions, but it made no difference to her and she answered truthfully. She did not intend to shield Dakota; the fact that Doubler had not been killed outright did not lessen the gravity of the offense in her eyes.

“Before you found Doubler!” Langford’s voice came with a vicious snap. “You met him coming from Doubler’s cabin, I suppose?”

“Yes,” she answered wearily, “I met him coming from there. I was on the trail – going there – and I heard the shot. I know Dakota killed him.”

Langford made an exclamation of satisfaction.

“Well, it isn’t so bad, after all. You’ll have to be a witness against Dakota. And very likely Doubler will die – probably is dead by this time; will certainly be dead before the Lazette doctor can reach his cabin. No, my dear,” he added, smiling at Sheila, “it isn’t so bad, after all.”

Sheila rose. Her poignant anger against him was equaled only by her disgust. He expected her to bear witness against Dakota; desired her to participate in his scheme to fasten upon the latter the entire blame for the commission of a crime in which he himself was the moving factor.

“I shall not bear witness against him,” she told Langford coldly. “For I am going away – back East – to-morrow. Don’t imagine that I have been in complete ignorance of what has been going on; that I have been unaware of the part you have played in the shooting of Doubler. I have known for quite a long while that you had decided to have Doubler murdered, and only recently I learned that you hired Dakota to kill him. And this morning, when I met Dakota on the river trail, he dropped this from a pocket of his vest.” She fumbled at her bodice and produced the signed agreement, holding it out to him.

As she expected, he repudiated it, though his face paled a little as he read it.

“This is a forgery, my dear,” he said, in the old, smooth, even voice that she had grown to despise.

“No,” she returned calmly, “it is not a forgery. You forget that only a minute ago you practically admitted it to be a true agreement by telling me that I should have allowed Doubler to die. You are an accomplice in the shooting of Doubler, and if I am compelled to testify in Dakota’s trial I shall tell everything I know.”

She watched while he lighted a match, held it to the paper, smiling as the licking flames consumed it. He was entirely composed now, and through the gathering darkness of the interior of the office she saw a sneer come into his face.

“I shall do all I can to assist you to discontinue the associations which are so distasteful to you. You will start for the East immediately, I presume?”

“To-morrow,” she said. “In the afternoon. I shall have my trunks taken over to Lazette in the morning.”

“In the morning?” said Langford, puzzled. “Why not ride over with them, in the afternoon, in the buckboard?”

“I shall ride my pony. The man can return him.” She took a step toward the door, but halted before reaching it, turning to look back at him.

“I don’t think it is necessary for me to say good-by. But you have not treated me badly in the past, and I thank you – for that – and wish you well.”

“Where are you going?”

Sheila had walked to the door and stood with one hand on the latch. He came and stood beside her, a suppressed excitement in his manner, his eyes gleaming brightly in the dusk which had suddenly fallen.

“I think I told you that before. Ben Doubler is alone, and he needs care. I am going to him – to stay with him until the doctor arrives. He will die if someone does not take care of him.”

“You are determined to continue to meddle, are you?” he said, his voice quivering with anger, his lips working strangely. “I am sick of your damned interference. Sick of it, I tell you!” His voice lowered to a harsh, throaty whisper. “You won’t leave this office until to-morrow afternoon! Do you hear? What business is it of yours if Doubler dies?”

Sheila did not answer, but pressed the door latch. His arm suddenly interposed, his fingers closing on her arm, gripping it so tightly that she cried out with pain. Then suddenly his fingers were boring into her shoulders; she was twisted, helpless in his brutal grasp, and flung bodily into the chair beside the desk, where she sat, sobbing breathlessly.

She did not cry out again, but sat motionless, her lips quivering, rubbing her shoulders where his iron fingers had sunk into the flesh, her soul filled with a revolting horror for his brutality.

For a moment there was no movement. Then, in the semi-darkness she saw him leave the door; watched him as he approached a shelf on which stood a kerosene lamp, lifted the chimney and applied a match to the wick. For an instant after replacing the chimney he stood full in the glare of light, his face contorted with rage, his eyes gleaming with venom.

“Now you know exactly where I stand, you – you huzzy!” he said, grinning satyrically as she winced under the insult. “I’m your father, damn you! Your father – do you hear? And I’ll not have you go back East to gab and gossip about me. You’ll stay here, and you’ll bear witness against Dakota, and you’ll keep quiet about me!” He was trembling horribly as he came close to her, and his breath was coughing in his throat shrilly.

“I won’t do anything of the kind!” Sheila got to her feet, and stood, rigid with anger, her eyes flaming defiance. “I am going to Doubler’s cabin this minute, and if you molest me again I shall go to the sheriff with my story!”

He seemed about to attack her again, and his hands were raised as though to grasp her throat, when there came a sound at the door, it swung open, and Dakota stepped in, closing the door behind him.

Dakota’s face was white – white as it had been that other day at the quicksand crossing when Sheila had looked up to see him sitting on his pony, watching her. There was an entire absence of excitement in his manner, though; no visible sign to tell that what he had seen on entering the cabin disturbed him in the least. Yet the whiteness of his face belied this apparent composure. It seemed to Sheila that his eyes betrayed the strong emotion that was gripping him.