The Spoilers of the Valley.

by Robert Watson.

CHAPTER I

The Man Hunt

Up on the hill, high above the twinkling lights of the busy little ranching town of Vernock, at the open dining-room window of a pretty, leafy-bowered, six-roomed bungalow, a girl, just blossoming into womanhood, stood in her night robes and dressing gown, braiding her dark hair. She was slight of form, but health glowed from her expressive face.

She was dreamily contemplating the beauties of the night.

Below her, stretching like a fan, was the Valley upon which was built the merry, happy-go-lucky, scattered little town she loved. Everywhere around were the eternal, undulating hills, enclosing the Valley in a world by itself. The night had just lately closed in. The sky was clear and presented a wall and a dome of almost inky blue. Away due south, right over the peak of a hill, on the wall of blue hung a great star, bright and scintillating like a floating soap bubble, while a handspan straight above that again a thin, crescent moon lay coldly on its back sending up a reflection of its own streaky, ghostly light from the distant lake which was no more than visible through a rift in the hills.

As the girl drank in the delights of the peaceful panorama spreading away right from her very feet, she was aroused sharply from her meditation. She heard, or fancied she heard, a distant shot, followed by the sound of excited voices and the barking of dogs. She went to the door, threw it open fearlessly and peered down the hill; but all was silent again save for this barking which travelled farther and farther away all the time, being caught up and carried along in a desultory fashion by the dogs of all the neighbouring houses and ranches.

She stood for a moment, looking about her, then, shivering slightly with the cold, she threw a kiss to the Valley, closed the door again and turned slowly toward her bedroom.

Her fingers were upon the lamp to turn down the light, when three short peremptory raps at the back door caused her to start nervously.

She took up the lamp and tiptoed into the kitchen.

"Who's there?" she called.

The rapping was repeated; this time with a much greater insistence.

"Quick,--quick! For G.o.d's sake let me in!" came a hoa.r.s.e, m.u.f.fled voice which sounded strangely tired.

The girl set the lamp on the kitchen table and went cautiously forward to the door.

"Who's there?" she repeated, her hand on the door fastenings.

"Let me in!" came the voice in desperation. "If you have a heart, please open."

"I cannot until I know who you are. I am a girl. I am alone."

A groan escaped the man on the outside, and the anguish of it struck into the bosom of Eileen Pederstone. Once more the voice came pleadingly:--

"And I am a man! I am hunted,--I need help."

The girl shot back the bolt, threw wide the door and stood back with bated breath.

A masculine figure, panting and dishevelled, staggered in, blinking in the lamplight.

Eileen slowly pushed the door shut, keeping her frightened eyes upon the incomer who tottered weakly to the wall and leaned against it for support.

Dirty from head to heel, he was dressed only in a pair of ragged trousers and a torn, mud-stained shirt. His stockingless feet were partly hidden in a pair of broken boots. Several days' growth of beard made it hard to guess him young or old. But his blue eyes, despite their tired and bloodshot appearance, betrayed, as they gazed in wonder at the girl, many characteristics of a youthfulness not yet really past.

While the two stood thus, the far-away sound of voices floated up the hill from below.

The fugitive's eyes roved like those of a hunted animal. He braced himself as if ashamed of his momentary show of fear. He tried hard to smile, but the smile was a dismal failure.

"Sorry," he panted, "but--but----" His voice sounded harsh and hoa.r.s.e from exposure. "Is there anywhere--any place where you could hide me till they pa.s.s. They were only--only a little behind me.

Guess--I--shouldn't--shouldn't have got you mixed up in this. They are coming this way. They want to take me back--but I can't--I won't go back there. Ah!"

He clung with his fingers against the wall to prevent him from collapsing.

In a moment, anxious and all alert, Eileen searched the kitchen for a place of safe hiding. She thought of the cupboards, the clothes-closets in her own bedroom, even her bed of spotless linen; but none of these afforded security. At last, her ready eyes found what her nimble mind was seeking.

"Quick--here!" she cried, turning to the huge box in the corner which she used for holding the short firewood for her stove. "Help me unload this wood. The box is good and big. You can get inside; I'll pile the wood on top of you. They'll never guess."

The girl, although slight in appearance, set to with a vigour and an agility that carried a swift contagion. The man was by her side at once. He gave a little crackle of a laugh in his throat, and shot a glance of admiration at her. In sixty seconds more, the box was emptied of its contents. The man clambered inside and crouched in the bottom of it.

It was only then that the girl noticed his very great physical weakness.

"Oh, what shall I do?" she cried in sudden alarm. "I can't leave you this way. You have been hurt. There is blood on your shirt. The cowards!--they've shot you."

"Never mind me--hurry! It is nothing at all--only a scratch! Quick!"

he gasped.

"Wait a moment then!" she whispered.

The man raised himself on his elbow and watched her as she ran to the tap in the pantry and filled a tumbler to the brim with water.

Greedy hands clutched the gla.s.s from her, and the contents were swallowed in great gulps. The man sighed like a tired child. He smiled slightly, showing teeth of delightful regularity.

"Water's great--isn't it?" he said childishly.

And as Eileen looked into his eyes she saw that they were young eyes; eyes filled with tears, and eyes that were ever so blue.

"Quick! They're pretty nearly here."

Eileen commenced cautiously to pile the wood on top of him.

"Don't mind me!" he whispered huskily. "Tumble it in. I'm--I'm only a runaway convict."

She worked fast and furiously, and had just turned away from the innocent-looking, well-piled box of split wood in the corner, when she heard the excited voices of hurrying men at her front door.

They tapped sharply.

She took the lamp from the kitchen table, carried it with her to the door, shot the bolt back again and threw the door wide open.

Three men stepped into the semi-circle of light. All were tall and of agile build.

"Poor boy!" was Eileen's first thought. "What chance has he against these?"

One of the men carried a rifle. She knew him. Everybody in Vernock knew him. She had known him ever since his coming to the Valley five years before.

She had marked with childlike wonder--as others had done--his meteoric progress in wealth and power. He was a man, disliked by some, feared by many, and obeyed by all; a land-owner; a cattle breeder; a grain dealer; a giant in body as well as will; and--the new Mayor of Vernock.