It was with no very cheerful feelings that Jim Thorpe approached Barnriff once more. He had delayed his return as long as possible, not from any fear for himself, but for the sake of giving color to his final protestations to Doc Crombie, when they parted company at the Little Bluff River.

After resting his horse in the river woods for a full twenty-four hours--and, in that time, the tough beast had fully recovered from his journey--he then, with simple strategy, hunted up Will's tracks where the fugitive had left the river, and steadily trailed him to the northern hills. There he gave up further pursuit, having fully satisfied himself that the man's escape had been accomplished. So he turned his horse's head toward Barnriff, and prepared himself to face the trouble that he knew would be awaiting him.

It was a cheerless journey, hara.s.sed by thoughts and speculations that could be hardly considered illuminating. Curiously enough he had no thought of making a run for it to a district where he was still unknown. Why should he? There was not a guilty thought in his mind, unless it were the recollection of the trick he had played on the lynching party to save Will from the rope.

No, his set purpose was to return to Barnriff and fight the public feeling he knew there was against him, and to live it down. Besides, there was Eve. Who could tell, with such a husband as Will, when she might not need the help of a strong, willing arm? His love for her was stronger than his discretion, it was more powerful than any selfish consideration.

He had but one real friend in Barnriff that he knew of. There were several, he believed, who, at a crisis, would vote in his favor, but that was all. Peter Blunt he knew he could rely on to the last. And, somehow, this man, to his mind, was an even more powerful factor than Doc Crombie. It was not that Peter held any great appeal with the people, but somehow there was a reserve of mental strength in the man that lifted him far above his fellows, in his capacity to do in emergency. He felt that, with the great shadow of Peter standing by, he had little to fear from such jackals as Smallbones.

Yet the outlook was depressing enough as he drew near his destination.

He no longer had the possibility of clearing his name. That was past.

A hope abandoned with many others in his short life. All thought of establishing his innocence must be wiped out forever. He had enlisted himself in Eve's service for good or evil, and the only thing remaining to him was, by facing the yelping of the Barnriff pack, with a dogged, defiant front, to attempt to live down his disgrace. In this, to his simple mind, there was one great thing in his favor. The cattle stealing was at an end. There would be no further depredations.

And this alone would be of incalculable help to him. He knew the cattle world well enough to understand that the ethics of the case were not of paramount importance with these people. It was the loss of stock which rankled. It was the definite, material loss and injury to the commerce of the district.

But to a man of his honor and love of fair play the position was desperately hard. Fate was driving him at a pace that threatened to wreck in no uncertain manner. The downward path looked so easy--was so easy. Lately he had frequently found himself wondering why he didn't go with the tide and head straight for the vortex that he felt would be only too ready to engulf him. He had been so near it once. That moment was indelibly fixed on his memory. He doubted that but for Peter Blunt he would never have resisted the temptation. He knew himself, he was honest with himself. That day when he first discovered Will's treachery Peter had saved him.

Now everything seemed somehow different. His thoughts were frequently desperate enough, but, whereas a year ago he would have cried out against Heaven, against everything in Heaven or on earth, now he wanted to set his back to the wall and fight. He felt it in him to fight, let the odds be what they might. And he knew that he owed this new spirit to the big-hearted Peter, who had once shown him how wrong he was.

But though less acknowledged, there was another influence at work within him. Eve was there alone, far more alone than if she had never married Will. He only guessed what her feelings must be, for she was still in doubt as to Will's safety. Yes, he would at least have the privilege of carrying her the glad tidings.

He laughed bitterly. He could not help it. Yes, she would be the happier for his tidings, and with that he must be content. Now, no one would ever know. Her disgrace would be hidden, and she would be able to live on quietly in the village with her young brother until such time as she felt it safe to join her husband.

Try as he would to appreciate the comparative happiness he was conveying to the woman, he felt the sharp p.r.i.c.ks of the th.o.r.n.y burden he was bearing. He smiled in the growing darkness, and told himself that there was no disaster that brought happiness to any one but must be counted as a good work.

He could see the twinkling lights of the village less than half a mile ahead, and he glanced over them carefully. There was the saloon. Who could mistake it, with its flamboyant brilliance against the lesser twinkle of the smaller houses? His eyes searched for the lights of Eve's home. He could not see them. Possibly she was in her kitchen, that snug little room, where, up to a year ago, he had many a time taken tea with her. Yes, it would be about her supper-time. He looked back at the western sky to verify the hour. The last faint sheen of sunset was slipping away into the soft velvet of night.

He thought for a moment as to his best course. Should he wait until morning to bear his tidings to her? No, that would leave her unnecessary time for worry and anxiety. Best go to her to-night--at once.

He shook up his horse into a better gait. It were best to hurry. He did not want to be seen visiting her late in the evening. He knew the scandalous tongues of the village only too well.

In a few minutes he was nearing the saloon. He would pa.s.s within fifty yards of it. As he came abreast of it he turned his head curiously in its direction. There was a great din of voices coming from its frowzy interior, and he wondered. The men seemed to have begun their nightly orgie early. Then it occurred to him that perhaps Crombie's men had returned, and were out to make a night of it. He smiled to himself.

They would need a good deal of drink to wash out the taste of the bitter pill of Will's escape.

Had he but known it, the occasion was a meeting of the townsmen to decide his fate. Had he but known it, Peter Blunt was there watching his interests and ready to fight with both brains and muscle on his behalf. But then, had he known it, it might have altered the whole complexion of the events which happened in Barnriff that night.

He did not know it, so he rode straight on to Eve's house. Nor did it occur to him as strange, at that hour in the evening, that he did not encounter a single soul on his way.

Arrived at her gate he dismounted and off-saddled. He would not need his horse again that night, so he turned the animal loose to graze at its leisure. It would find its way to the water when it wanted to, and when he had seen Eve he would carry his saddle back to Peter's hut, where he was going to sleep.

Just for a moment he paused before opening the gate. The house was still in darkness. He had half a mind to go round the back and see if there were lights in the kitchen. But it seemed like spying to him, and so he refrained.

But somehow the place suggested that there was no one within, and eventually he started up the path with a feeling of keen disappointment. At the door he paused and felt for the latch.

Then, just as his hand came into contact with it, and he was about to lift it, he started, and, motionless, stood listening.

What was that? He thought he heard a peculiar moaning beyond the door. No, he was mistaken. There was no sound now. At least---- Ah, there it was again. He pressed one ear against the door and immediately started back. He had not been mistaken.

He no longer hesitated, but, lifting the latch noisily, pressed against the door. It was fast. And now the moaning suddenly became louder. Without a thought, without a scruple, he promptly thrust his toe against the foot of the door and pressed heavily. Then, lifting the latch, he threw all the weight of his powerful shoulder against the lock. The door gave before him, nearly precipitating him headlong into the room.

He managed to save himself and stepped hurriedly within. Then he again stood listening. The room was quite dark, but now he had no difficulty in placing the moaning. It came from just across the room beside Eve's stove.

"Eve," he called softly. "Eve!" But as no answer came a great fear gripped his heart. Was this a repet.i.tion of---- No, Will was away out in the mountains.

Now the moaning was louder, and there was a distinct rustling whence the sound came. He fumbled a match from his pocket and struck it. One glance toward the stove set him rushing across to the parlor lamp.

He lit the lamp and hurried back to the chair beside the stove. He needed but one glance to realize Eve's condition, and his heart was filled with a great rage. Who? Who had done this thing? was the question that ran through his mind as he set to work to undo the cruel bonds that held her to her chair.

It was the work of a few moments to remove the gag that was nearly choking her. Then the knots about her wrists and feet were swiftly undone. Released at last, Eve sank back in a semi-fainting condition, and Jim looked on helplessly. And in those moments he made up his mind that some one was going to pay dearly for this.

Then it occurred to him that no time must be lost, so he hurried into the kitchen and came back with a dipper of drinking water. He held it to the girl's lips, and after she had drunk he soaked his handkerchief in what remained, and bathed her forehead and temples with a wonderful tenderness and silent sympathy.

But suddenly Eve opened her eyes. And at once he saw that her weakness had pa.s.sed. The horror of recollection was alive once more within her, and her terrified eyes sought his. When she saw who he was she sprang to her feet with a great cry.

"Jim!" she cried. And, staggering in her weakness, she would have fallen.

He caught her just in time, and gently returned her to her seat. But with a great effort she overcame her faintness.

"For G.o.d's sake, save him!" she cried wildly. "Oh, Jim, he's gone to kill him! Save him for me! Only save him!"

The position was difficult. Jim's heart bled for the distraught woman.

But he realized that he must calm her at once, or she would break out into shrieking hysterics.

"Be calm, Eve," he said almost roughly. "How can I understand when you talk like that? Don't let's have any foolishness. Now quietly. Who's gone to kill--who?"

His manner had its effect. Eve choked back her rising emotion with an effort, and her eyes lost some of their straining.

"It's Will," she said, with a sort of deliberate measuring of her words. "He's gone to kill Elia. Out there, back at the bluff. It's for setting the men after him. And--then, and then he's coming back----"

Jim was staggered. He looked at the woman wondering if she had suddenly lost her senses.

"And I came back to tell you he'd got clear away. By Heaven! And he did this?" He indicated the bonds he had just removed, and his eyes darkened with sudden fury.

The woman nodded. She was holding herself with all her might.

"Yes, but--that's nothing." Suddenly she let herself go. All the old terror surged uppermost again. "But don't wait! Jim, save him for my sake! Save him for me! Oh, my poor, helpless brother! Jim--Jim, you are the only one I can look to. Oh, save him! He's all I have--all I have."

It was a dreadful moment for the man. The woman he loved half dead with terror and the cruel handling dealt her by her husband. Now she was appealing to him as the only man in the world she could appeal to.

His love rushed to his head and came near to driving him to the one thing in the world he knew he must not do. He longed to crush her in his strong arms, and proclaim his right to protect her against the world. He loved her so that he wanted to defy everybody, all the world, that he might claim her for his own. But she was not his. And he almost spoke the words aloud to convince himself and drive back the demon surging through his blood.

"Where did you say he was?" he demanded, almost savagely in his tremendous self-repression.

"At the bluff, out back. Hurry, hurry, for--G.o.d's sake!"

That was better. The less personal appeal helped him to calm himself.

"How long's he been gone?" he asked, turning his eyes from her terror-stricken face to help himself regain his own control.

"About a quarter of an hour, or even a half," she cried.