Jackson Gregory

“ For the water ran a scant ten feet westward and sank into a great fissure in the rock.
“We’ll eat first,” said Watson when the two men had drunk. “The moon’ll be up pretty quick. Then I’ll show you something—what the Devil’s Pocket country looks like.”
The day had died slowly. It did not grow dark, for with the rising evening breeze the full moon climbed up through a tangle of fir-tops and barren peaks, its strong white light driving all but the most valiant stars from the sky. Watson knocked the dead ashes out of his pipe and got to his feet. ”

“ With an effort of will he drew his eyes away from her and turned them out across the lake. He had come to find a man, the man who had killed his partner; and instead, this was what he had found. This Naiad of a creature who was no shy backwoods lass, tongue-tied and blushing, but who looked at him with clear, amused eyes.
Was Johnny Watson wrong about this Devil’s Pocket, after all? He had said that few men ever came into it; that they never came back; that they never lived here. Then how came this sparkling, radiant woodland maid here? Where had she come from now in her light canoe? ”

“ All day they drove steadily into the mountains. For ahead of them was the thing which had called to them across the miles of wilderness, which, since the world was young, had drawn men into hardship, exile and often enough to death—soft, yellow, crumbling gold! And it was almost eight, and dark in the narrow pass, when Watson called out and Farley pushed by the horses to his side and looked on the site for their camp—“the last camp this side the strike.” ”

“ Everywhere underfoot was a thick mat of pine-needles, upon which a man’s foot would leave no sign. But the natural pass in which he had camped led straight on and into a cañon upon the other side of the little ridge; and where the soil had sifted down from the cañon sides to lie here and there among the rocks strewing the bottom of the ravine was the imprint of the heavy boots again. Only infrequently stopping to assure himself that he was not going wrong, he made what haste he could back toward the lake. ”

“ Instead, he said after a moment:
“And being his pardner, you are going to try to square things for him; to be judge and jury and hangman; to kill the man who killed him? Well, every man is his own court out here, where we are so far beyond the law. And when a man is dead it is up to his pardner. That is the way you feel about it?”
“Yes,” Dalton laughed mirthlessly. “We are beyond the law here—we are not beyond the reach of justice. Justice—or revenge? It is hard to see one for the other, sometimes! You want to kill me, then?”
“There is no use talking that way, Dalton,” Farley frowned. ”

“ Dalton laughed unpleasantly. “Don’t you know, young man, that this country, every foot of it, has been gone over and over during the last twenty years, and nothing ever found? Prospecting!” He strode by Farley towards the cabin, muttering, “So they come right under our nose and prospect!”
As he went, Farley’s eager eyes saw the hunting-knife which swung unscabbarded from his belt—a knife more than usually broad-bladed; and his heart sank. Little as he liked the looks of this man, he had prayed that he prove to be innocent of Johnny Watson’s blood. ”

“ Rising straight up through the clear air above the cliffs at his side was a thin wisp of smoke, such as climbs upward from a little camp-fire. His heart beat quickly at sight of it. It was back from the cliffs maybe a quarter of a mile, he judged. There must be a sort of tableland up there. There he would find the man he had followed. He saw that the tracks had come to the lake here ahead of him; that they continued northward along the shore. But again he left them, again to make a short cut, and began working his way up along the cliff-side. ”

“ Young Dick Farley stared curiously into his partner’s face, wondering. And since the ways of the cities of the earth were not forgotten by him, the ways of men, where judges and courts and written laws were not, were new to him—he shivered slightly.
For two years he and the man who was speaking quietly of the murderous killing of men, and the killing of men in retribution, had lived together in that close fraternity for which the West has coined the word “pardnership” from a colder word; and never had he heard old Johnny Watson talk as he did tonight. ”

“ When the day is so filled with good things, how can it seem so empty? When I am so happy, how can I be, all of a sudden, so sad? When I am laughing, why do I want to cry——?”
He told her, too, of his own life; of the schools he had gone to; of his work in cities of the East; of the command to go West for his health as her father had done; of the fever of gold. But he said no word of his partner—he could not speak of that, yet. Nor did he mention the Cup of Gold, saying merely that he had pushed into these mountains, into her valley, prospecting. ”

“ He turned his back upon the cabin and went, walking rapidly, down to the quiet shore of the lake.
Until now he had scarcely more than glanced at Johnny Watson’s map. The Cup of Gold had seemed the small thing which gold is always when come the great, vital issues of life. But now it was different; now he could see a reason in going on over Johnny’s trail, in finding the hillside that was “rotten with gold.” This was something which must be done before he looked into Dalton’s eyes again—for the last time. ”

“ Farley replied, “until tomorrow.”
Dalton inclined his head gravely.
“Thank you. Now, if you will listen to my story. Won’t you sit down?” Farley dropped to the chair at his side. “I had trouble in Richmond, where our home was. I killed a man. Why, doesn’t matter to you. Unfortunately for me, I killed that man in the presence of another who saw the thing done. That other man was your pardner. He hated me as cordially as I hated him. In any court in the world he would have sworn that it was cold-blooded murder, and his word would have hanged me. ”

“ If there should be any fresh tracks leading into the Devil’s Pocket, that would settle it. And not ten minutes later, having followed the stony trail until it dipped a little into a bit of soft soil in a hollow, he found the tracks—fresh tracks made by two shod horses.
Then he went back to last night’s camp, made himself a small pack of bacon and coffee and flour; and taking no useless thing, no blanket even to interfere with the free swing of his body, he turned east and struck out swiftly. ”

“ Before he climbed down the way Watson had gone, Dick Farley again turned his eyes along the trail which was to lead him tomorrow to the Cup of Gold. His wandering fancies built a golden dream future. Then he turned back and climbed slowly down to the trail.
The fire was dying upon the little rocky ledge where he had built it an hour ago. Beyond the camp-fire, where he had flung his blanket at the base of the cliff, Johnny Watson was already lying. Farley swept up his own blanket from the ground and, stepping around the fire, flung it down close to Watson’s. ”

“ If the trail he was following led on to the lake, to Dalton’s cabin, the thing was clear enough.
Down the long slope of the mountainside from the clearing, into the rocky bed of the ravine, the only logical way for a man to follow, and out into a miniature valley below, he continued without looking for the tracks which he knew the hard, broken ground would not show had he looked. ”

“ Where a good many men have been—and not many come back.”
They climbed from the trail along a spine of rock to a black spire, rising clear of the scanty brush. To the very top of the sloping rock they worked their cautious way until their two gaunt bodies stood outlined against the sky. Here they found footing, and here Watson stood with arm flung out, pointing. Dick Farley was not unused to the thousand moods of the mountain places, and yet as his eyes ran along the pointing arm, and beyond it eagerly, he muttered his startled admiration. ”

“ The canoe, its slender nose thrust into the pebbles and white sand, held there, swaying gently. Before Farley could move, the girl was out, standing in the shallow water, her left hand steadying the boat while her right reached out to help him.
“If you feel strong enough, it’s only a little way, and you will rest better.”
Ashamed of his weakness in the face of her confident young strength, he got to his feet. Already it was a harder thing for him to stand than it had been ten minutes ago. His right shoulder, side and arm were utterly useless. ”

“ But in the end, leaning upon her, her arm tight about him, he got into the water and to the strip of sand. Looking anxiously for some sort of camp, he saw ahead only a thick grove of pine and fir like the one they had passed, and the sheer cliffs beyond.
“I think,” she was saying to him, “that if you rest again you will only be the stiffer, sorer for it. Can you manage to walk a little further?” ”

“ The younger man looked up quickly from the crackling camp-fire, his eyes searching his partner’s grave face for an explanation of the strangely dull note in his voice.
“No, Johnny. I never killed a man. Why?”
Johnny Watson made no answer for a little as he drew thoughtfully upon his pipe. ”

“ Still Dalton had not come in. But the girl seemed in no way surprised, saying lightly that her father often was gone a day or so without warning, that perhaps he had found and was following the tracks of a bear.
“I am going for my mail,” she told him, laughing at his wonder. “Do you feel strong enough to come with me?”
“Mail?” he demanded incredulously.
“Yes! There may be a letter from Daddy. The post-office is over yonder, across the lake. If you think that you can walk down to the canoe, we can paddle over.” ”

“ For a moment he stood, his face sunk into his two brown hands. And then suddenly he whirled about, his head lifted, his arm dung out, shaken with a frenzy of rage.
“My pardner—you’ve murdered my pardner!” he shouted. “And I’m going to find you out! I’m going to kill you!”
Then he suddenly calmed as he realized that he was alone in the mountains, a week’s travel from the nearest mining-camp, alone with his dead partner. He moved back from the ledge and into the shadow, where he sat down upon a broken boulder. All at once a thing which he had forgotten swept back over him—the horses! ”

“ And he had little doubt that he would find them, and that they would carry him once more to the Dalton cabin.
And now came the slowest, the hardest of his work. To follow the trail left by two horses was comparatively simple. To track a man over these mountains, across hard ground and dry gully, was another matter.
It was certain that the man Dalton, or a possible other, had not gone back over the same trail. It was devious, turning aside for steep cañons which a horse could not climb but which a man could, full of many twists and turns. A man on foot would take a shorter way. ”

“ That thread of willows marks the only creek in the valley. It runs from a big spring like ours here, and the lake drinks it up. They call the lake ‘The Last Drink.’ We’ll walk fifteen minutes before we get to it. We hit the southeast shore just about where you see that little bay with the cliffs coming down close. There’s a trail along the base of them cliffs; we follow that worse’n six miles fu’ther. ”

“ I tracked you from one end of the trail to the other, to the cabin here. I think it’s pretty clear. So I came here to accuse you of his murder.”
It was the first time he had spoken so clearly. But the two men had understood each other without this putting a name to a deed.
“I don’t like that word, Farley,” Dalton cut in, his voice as expressionless as before, his form as still. “You call him Johnny? Well, men’s names change often enough out in this country for us not to quibble. ”

“ Dalton stirred in his chair. Farley’s body lost none of its rigid motionlessness, but his hand, the right one, dropped quickly to his hip. Dalton had reached for his pipe, filled it and lighted it with a coal which he picked up in his fingers. Farley’s hand remained upon the grip of his revolver.
“I’m sorry, mighty sorry,” Dalton went on, without looking up. And then, “Is there anything else you want to say?”
“I guess I’ve said about all. I came into this country with Johnny—my pardner. We were looking for gold. We were interfering with no man. Johnny is dead, murdered. ”

“ His pipe had gone out and he leaned forward, picking up a blazing bit of dry pine which he held to the blackened bowl. Dick Farley noticed that the bronzed, lined face was very calm, the eyes somewhat wider opened than usual, the fingers upon the fagot as steady as should be the fingers of a man without nerves.
“Johnny—” Farley was speaking at last, with an effort, keeping his tones as steady as his partner’s—“you are right when you say that there are some things which we can’t explain. But it’s up to us to explain what we can, isn’t it? ”

“ He told briefly where they would leave the creek in three or four hours, where they would find water for the noon camp, where more water and grass for the evening camp.
“Tonight—we ought to be there by six—we get over the ridge and into the Devil’s Pocket country. There’s just one way to get out of that country, Dick, and that’s the way we’re going in. If a man looks for a short cut, if he goes skallyhooting east or west, north or south of the place where our trail is going to cut into the basin there, he’s a goner. ”

“ If you leave this trail on the way back you’re going to run out of water first thing, and your horse is going to break his leg, if it ain’t his neck, the next thing; and then you die because you can’t pick up another waterhole. ”