A cold sweat broke out all over him as he stood down by the gate, torn between hatred for one woman and love for another: Rachel and Minda Carter. He could not spare one without sparing the other; lying to one of them meant lying for the other. But there was no alternative. The memory of the look in Viola's eyes as she shrank away from Lapelle, the thought of the cruel shock she must have suffered, the picture of her as she came down the path to kill--no, there could be no alternative!

And so, as he leaned rigidly against the gate, sick at heart but clear of head, waiting for Rachel Carter, he came to think that, after all, a duel with Barry Lapelle might prove to be the easiest and n.o.blest way out of his difficulties.

CHAPTER XXI

THE AFFAIR AT HAWK'S CABIN

It wanted half an hour of daybreak when a slow-riding, silent group of men came to a halt and dismounted in the narrow lane some distance from the ramshackle abode of Martin Hawk, squatting unseen among the trees that lined the steep bank of the Wabash. A three hours' ride through dark, muddy roads lay behind them. There were a dozen men in all,--and one woman, at whose side rode the hunter, Stain. They had stopped at the latter's cabin on the way down, and she had conversed apart with him through a window. Then they rode off, leaving him to follow.

There were no lights, and no man spoke above a whisper. The work of tethering the horses progressed swiftly but with infinite caution.

Eyes made sharp by long hours of darkness served their owners well in this stealthy enterprise.

The half-hour pa.s.sed and the night began to lift. Vague unusual objects slowly took shape, like gloomy spectres emerging from impenetrable fastnesses. Blackness gave way to a faint drab pall; then the cold, unearthly grey of the still remote dawn came stealing across the fields.

At last it was light enough to see, and the advance upon the cabin began. Silently through the dense, shadowy wood crept the sheriff and his men,--followed by the tall woman in black and a lank, bearded man whose rifle-stock bore seven tiny but significant notches,--sinister epitaphs for as many by-gone men.

A dog barked,--the first alarm. Then another, and still a third joined in a fierce outcry against the invaders. Suddenly the door of the hut was thrown open and a half-dressed man stooped in the low aperture, peering out across the dawn-shrouded clearing. The three c.o.o.n-dogs, slinking out of the shadows, crowded up to the door, their snarling muzzles pointed toward the encircling trees.

Two men stepped out of the underbrush and advanced. Even in the dim, uncertain light, Martin Hawk could see that they carried rifles.

His eyes were like those of the bird whose name he bore. They swept the clearing in a flash. As if by magic, men appeared to right of him, to left of him, in front of him. He counted them. Seven,--no, there was another,--eight. And he knew there were more of them, back of the house, cutting off retreat to the river.

"Don't move, Martin," called out a voice.

"What do you want?" demanded Hawk, in a sharp, querulous voice.

"I am the sheriff. Got a warrant for your arrest. No use makin' a fight for it, Hawk. You are completely surrounded. You can't get away."

"I ain't done nothin' to be arrested fer," cried the man in the doorway. "I'm an honest man,--I hain't ever done--"

"Well, that's not for me to decide," interrupted the sheriff, now not more than a dozen feet away. "I've got a warrant charging you with sheep-stealing and so on, and that's all there is to it. I'm not the judge and jury. You come along quiet now and no foolishness."

"Who says I stole sheep?"

"Step outside here and I'll read the affidavit to you. And say, if you don't want your dogs ma.s.sacreed, you'd better call 'em off."

Martin Hawk looked over his shoulder into the dark interior of the hut, spoke to some one under his breath, and then began cursing his dogs.

"I might have knowed you'd git me into trouble, you lop-eared, sheep-killin' whelps!" he whined. "I'd ought to shot the hull pack of ye when you was pups. Git out'n my sight! There's yer sheep-stealers, sheriff,--them ornery, white-livered, blood-suckin'--"

"I don't know anything about that, Martin," snapped the sheriff.

"All I know is, you got to come along with me,--peaceable or otherwise,--and I guess if you're half as smart as I think you are, you won't come otherwise. Here! Don't go back in that house, Hawk."

"Well, I got to tell my daughter--"

"We'll tell her. There's another man or two in there. Just tell 'em to step outside,--and leave their weapons behind 'em."

"There ain't a livin' soul in thar, 'cept my daughter,--so he'p me G.o.d, sheriff," cried Hawk, his teeth beginning to chatter. The sheriff was close enough to see the look of terror and desperation in his eyes.

"No use lyin', Hawk. You've got a man named Suggs stayin' with you.

He ain't accused of anything, so he needn't be afraid to come out.

Same applies to your daughter Moll. But I don't want anybody in there to take a shot at us the minute we turn our backs. Shake 'em out, Hawk."

"I tell ye there ain't n.o.body here but me an' Moll,--an' she's sick.

She can't come out. An'--an' you can't go in,--not unless you got a warrant to search my house. That's what the law sez,--an' you know it. I'll go along with you peaceable,--an' stand my trial fer sheep-stealin' like a man. Lemme get my hat an' coat, an' I'll come--"

"I guess there's something queer about all this," interrupted the sheriff. The man beside him had just whispered something in his ear. "We'll take a look inside that cabin, law or no law, Hawk.

Move up, boys!" he called out to the scattered men. "Keep your eyes skinned. If you ketch sight of a rifle ball comin' to'ards you,--dodge. And you, Martin, step outside here, where you won't be in the way. I'm going in there."

Martin Hawk looked wildly about him. On all sides were men with rifles. There was no escape. His craven heart failed him, his knees gave way beneath him and an instant later he was grovelling in the mud at the sheriff's feet.

"I didn't do it! I didn't do it! I swear to G.o.d I didn't. It was her. She done it,--Moll done it!" he squealed in abject terror.

He was grabbed by strong hands and jerked to his feet. While others held him, the sheriff and several of the men rushed into the cabin.

Off at the edge of the clearing stood Rachel Carter and Isaac Stain, watching the scene at the door.

"One look will be enough," the woman had said tersely. "Twenty years will not have changed Simon Braley much. I will know him at sight."

"You got to be sure, Mrs. Gwyn," muttered the hunter. "Ef you got the slightest doubt, say so."

"I will, Isaac."

"And ef you say it's him, fer sure an' no mistake, I'll foller him to the end of the world but what I git him."

"If it is Simon Braley he will make a break for cover. He is not like that whimpering coward over yonder. And the sheriff will make no attempt to bring him down. There is no complaint against him.

No one knows that he is Simon Braley."

"Well, I'll be on his heels," was the grim promise of Isaac Stain, thinking of the sister who had been slain by Braley's Indians down on the River White.

One of the men rushed out of the cabin. He was vastly excited.

"Don't let go of him," he shouted to the men who were holding Martin. "There's h.e.l.l to pay in there. Where is Mrs. Gwyn?"

"I never done it!" wailed Martin, livid with terror. "I swear to G.o.d--"

"Shut up!"

"She's over there, Sam,--with Ike Stain."

Ignoring the question that followed him, the man called Sam hurried up to the couple at the edge of the bush.

"Better clear out, Mrs. Gwyn," he said soberly. "I mean, don't stay around. Something in there you oughtn't to see."

"What is it?" she inquired sharply.