Part 56 (1/2)

”There'll be something doing when they meet,” said Simpson. ”Let's follow him up and see the fun.”

As he walked away in the darkness the ranger began to fear--not for himself, but for Helen. The unreasoning ferocity with which the valley still pursued her was appalling. For the first time in his life he strongly desired money. He felt his weakness, his ignorance. In the face of the trial--which should mean complete vindication for the girl, but which might prove to be another hideous miscarriage of justice--he was of no more value than a child. Carmody had seemed friendly, but some evil influence had evidently changed his att.i.tude.

”What can I do?” the ranger asked himself, and was only able to answer, ”Nothing.”

From a sober-sided, capable boy, content to do a thing well, he had developed at thirty into a serious but singularly unambitious man.

Loving the outdoor life and being sufficiently resourceful to live alone in a wilderness cabin without becoming morbid, he had naturally drifted into the Forest Service. Without being slothful, he had been foolishly unaspiring, and he saw that now. ”I must bestir myself,” he said, sharply. ”I must wake up. I must climb. I must get somewhere.”

He took close grip on himself. ”Carmody must squeeze the truth out of these youngsters to-morrow, and I must help him do it. If Brinkley can't help, I must have somebody else.” And yet deep in his heart was the belief that the sight of Helen as she took the witness-chair would do more to clear her name than any lawyer could accomplish by craft or pa.s.sionate speech.

At the door of Carmody's office he came upon Kitsong and a group of his followers, waiting for him. Abe was in a most dangerous mood, and his hearers, also in liquor, were listening with approval to the description of what he intended to do to the ranger.

”You can't arrest a man without a warrant,” he was repeating. ”Hanscom's no sheriff--he's only a dirty deputy game-warden. I'll make him wish he was a goat before I get through with him.”

Although to advance meant war, Hanscom had no thought of retreating. He kept his way, and as the band of light which streamed from the saloon window fell on him one of the watchers called out, ”There's the ranger now.”

Kitsong turned, and with an oath of savage joy advanced upon the forester. ”You're the man I have been waiting for,” he began, with a menacing snarl.

”Well,” Hanscom retorted, ”here I am. What can I do for you?”

His quiet tone instantly infuriated the ruffian. Shaking his fist close to the ranger's nose, he shouted: ”I'll do for you, you loafer! What right had you to arrest them kids? What right had you to help them witnesses to the train? You're off your beat, and you'd better climb right back again.”

Righteous wrath flamed hot in the ranger's breast. ”You keep your fist out of my face or I'll smash your jaw,” he answered, and his voice was husky with pa.s.sion. ”Get out of my way!” he added, as Kitsong s.h.i.+fted ground, deliberately blocking his path.

”You can't bluff me!” roared the older man. ”I'm going to have you jugged for false arrest. You'll find you can't go round taking people to jail at your own sweet will.”

The battle song in the old man's voice aroused the street. His sympathizers pressed close. All their long-felt, half-hidden hatred of the ranger as a Federal officer flamed from their eyes, and Hanscom regretted the absence of his revolver.

Though lean and awkward, he was one of those deceptive men whose muscles are folded in broad, firm flakes like steel springs. A sense of danger thrilled his blood, but he did not show it--he could not afford to show it. Therefore he merely backed up against the wall of the building and with clenched hands awaited their onset.

Something in his silence and self-control daunted his furious opponents.

They hesitated.

”If you weren't a government officer,” bl.u.s.tered Abe, ”I'd waller ye--But I'll get ye! I'll put ye where that Dutchman and his--”

Hanscom's fist cras.h.i.+ng like a hammer against the rancher's jaw closed his teeth on the vile epithet which filled his mouth, and even as he reeled, stunned by this blow, the ranger's left arm flashed in another savage swing, and Abe, stunned by the swift attack, would have fallen into the gutter had not one of his gang caught and supported him.

”Kill him! Kill the dog!” shouted one of the others, and in his voice was the note of the murderer.

Eli Kitsong whipped out his revolver, but the hand of a friendly bystander clutched the weapon. ”None of that; the man is unarmed,” he said.

At this moment the door of the saloon opened and five or six men came rus.h.i.+ng, eager to see, quick to share in a fight. Believing them to be enemies, Hanscom with instant rush struck the first man a heavy blow, caught and wrenched his weapon from his fist, and so, armed and desperate, faced the circle of inflamed and excited men.

”Hands up now!” he called.

”Don't shoot, Hans!” shouted the man who had been disarmed. ”We're all friends.”

In the tense silence which followed, the sheriff, attracted by the noise, emerged from the coroner's door with a shout and hurled himself like an enormous ram into the crowd. Pus.h.i.+ng men this way and that, he reached the empty s.p.a.ce before the ranger's feet.

”What's the meaning of all this?” he demanded, with panting intensity.