Suspense By Adelaide Wilson All night her wild fears peopled With visions dread the lonely gloom; In fancy heard she cries of death. Ring through the quiet of the room. "Ah, God," she prayed then, "could I know, Or if with red of dawn my love "But this long agony of waiting, Yet came a dread thought as she prayed; By Harry T. Fee TEVE was a deputy under Bill Dawson, the sheriff, and Steve and the sheriff were inseperable. The affection, however, seemed to be all on Steve's side. The companionship as far as the sheriff was concerned, was a matter of utility. The town, like all mining towns, was given on occasions to wildness, and the sheriff no doubt realized that Steve's companionship might have a quieting influence in time of trouble. For Steve had long been known in that section of the country as a brave man and a dead shot. A peculiarity about Steve's shooting, which perhaps made it still more famous, was that he used only his left hand, and his reputation for hitting the mark was widespread. Steve walked with a slight limp, and it had been rumored that he received the bullet that caused the limp during a scrimmage in which the sheriff's life was in danger. This was mentioned as another reason for the friendship between the two. But the knowing ones shook their heads, and said, "No siree, the reason is, the sheriff needs Steve in his business." It was also known that in the earlier and wilder days, Steve had been a horsethief. No one had ever told him this, and no proofs were ever obtained in foundation of the belief. But the belief was in existence just the same, and it was said that he was the greatest one that ever worked on California soil. However, Steve was a peaceable citizen now, and no one would attribute to the mild manner and low voice anything but a gentle disposition. At present he was exercising this gentle disposition for the purpose of placing his friend, the sheriff, in office for the second term. One night in the midst of the campaign he followed the sheriff into "McCarty's," where a crowd had collected in front of the bar, listening to a short, dark man who was tapping a piece of paper which he held in his hand and talking excitedly. As the sheriff came in he turned and, pointing to him, said: "There he is now. He dassen't deny it. He ain't square, and there's the proof." He advanced to the sheriff, and, holding the piece of paper before him, asked: "Ain't that there your writin', Bill Dawson ?" Steve, looking over the sheriff's shoulder, saw that the note was dated a short time before the last election, and easily divined its purpose now as he hurriedly read: "If I am elected, I promise to give a place under me as deputy sheriff to Jim Haskins. (Signed) "WILLIAM DAWSON." Steve knew the writing and the signature to be the sheriff's, and that quick action was necessary. He reached over, deftly took the little note from the excited talker, and, holding it over the barroom lamp, watched it slowly burn to ashes. Then turning to the surprised and excited man, and looking him over, coolly, he said: "Yu tell these gen'l'men here yu' lied 'bout this 'ere note." The short man stammered for a moment, and finally said: "I-I-might a ben mis-mistaken." "That's enough," answered Steve; "now everybody come an' have a drink with the nex' sheriff." Campaigning is hard work in mining districts, and Steve was in the thick of it. He worked harder than the sheriff himself, soothing discontent here and influencing opposition votes there. He was enjoying himself. Possessed of a cool nature, the excitement was exhilarating without being annoying. Rumors rarely troubled Steve, and with direct facts he had a direct way of dealing that instantly disposed of them and dismissed them from his thought. One day he heard openly what he had for some time suspected. Mexican Joe, who had a great deal of influence with the Spanish and Mexican residents of the district, was working strenuously against Dawson. Steve knew that money had been paid for this, and that the opposition was at the bottom of it. A few nights later, on the outskirts of the town, under the light of a full moon, Steve met the Mexican. "Hello, Joe," he said. "Fine night for a talk, an' I'm a-goin to talk to yu', Joe. I understan' yu' tryin' 'to do up Bill with the greasers. Now, I'm a-goin' to say yu' got to stop it an' work for Bill Dawson. Coz 'bout twelve years ago yu' stole some horses, an' I seen yu', an' if this 'ere community knew 'bout it, yu' wouldn't be strugglin' 'gainst Bill, but 'gainst a rope. Yu' understan'." "I nevar sto' no horse, Steve." "Yu' stole three bay ponies an' a gray mare from Ole Fitzsimmons, 'cross the creek, an' I can perduce the man yu' sold 'em to, an' now yu' let up on Bill or I'll fix yu'." Steve told no one of this meeting, nor of many other "turns" he made for the sheriff's benefit, but no doubt his work in Bill's behalf was of value. For Dawson was elected sheriff by a handsome majority, and the situation seemed satisfactory to Steve for a time. But about six weeks after the election Steve began to hear rumors of a change among the deputies of the sheriff's office, and his name was coupled frequently with the change. Rumors ordinarily bothered Steve not at all, but these finally became so numerous, that in his direct manner of dealing with things, he determined to ask the sheriff and know the truth. Even the truth would hardly surprise or shock Steve, for his nature was not the kind that could be easily shocked. So one day when the sheriff was alone in his office Steve questioned him. "Ben hearin' rumors lately, Bill. 'Cordin' to news floatin' 'round, yu' goin' to have a man in my place nex' term. Anything in it, Bill?" "Yes, Steve, its' true. You see, politics is politics and I'm in a tight pinch. Sheggerton did me a turn in the last campaign, and I've got to give him a place. I'm sorry, Steve, but it's got to be your place." Steve was silent for some moments, his eyes riveted on a flower in the carpet. When at length he did open his lips to speak, a tremor of deep emotion ran through his words. "Well, I don't mind losing the place, Bill. "Tain't that that bothers me. An' I don't know as does much good to say anything 'bout it, but take my medicine. I put a little document in the lamp over to "McCarty's" that might 'a' took the power a-firin' me out a your hand's, an' I worked a turn with the 'greasers' yu' didn't know much about, and some other little things. But I ain't a-crowin' none over them now. Yu' know it's somethin' besides all that that hurts, Bill Dawson. Yu' know I got 'nother name 'cept Steve, and 'nother name 'cept Stevenson, an' I calc'late yu' cud spell it without putting no kinks in yu'r brain, too. But I ain't a-goin to do no stringy work by yu' on that account. But yu' know, Bill Dawson, an' that's what hurts-that hurts." The sheriff's eyes were fixed on the carpet during all the time Steve was speaking and, now that he had finished, his glance did not change. The silence was painful. Steve stood motionless, as the minutes ticked off on the clock on the wall. Then turning with no word of farewell, he slowly, almost noiselessly, walked out of the door on which marked in black letters "Sheriff's Office." was It was the last time that Steve ever passed through the door of the sheriff's office. He was seen no more about the town or any of his old haunts. Rumors reached the town that he had gone back to his old ways-the business of appropriating honest men's horses. A trapper living across the basin said that he had passed him in the woods at dusk one day, and swore that it was Steve, and that he knew him. Certain it was that of late many horses were being missed in that part of the country, and many complaints reached the sheriff's office, apprising that official of the fact. The news itself or the complaints would scarcely have moved Bill Dawson. But some of the complaints covertly mentioned the fact that some of these fine days an election would take place. And Bill Dawson saw his duty plain when it lay in the direction of his cherished aim. Dawson was a brave man, but a selfish one. in the furtherance of his own ends, bravery was required, it was exercised, other If, wise you would never expect to find it in his make-up. In the present case he studied the matter thoroughly and came to the conclusion that it would be a fine thing politically to capture the chief of this band of horsethieves single-handed, or at least one of the band, who could be made to give information which would finally result in the capture of all. The more he thought of this as a political play and factor in his next election, the firmer it took root in his mind. At last one day he struck off out of the town on his familiar gray horse, telling no one of his destination and leaving behind no word as to the object of his departure. He crossed the basin the first day, and camped in the woods on its edge at night. The succeeding days found him plunging deeper into the woods, and he was riding along one day in the late afternoon, as he thought, doubly alert, when a familiar whizzing sound broke on his ears, and the next moment a rope pinioned his arms to his side, and he was deftly jerked from his horse to the ground. He was conscious of some one going through his pockets and removing his belt and revolvers, and a moment later he was sitting up in the brush, confronted by a stranger, who smiled at him and said: "The people of the State of California, to the Sheriff of the County ofGreeting. Guess I'll attach and safely keep your person, Mr. Sheriff, until we get jedgment on it, eh?” He had scarcely finished speaking when two other horsemen galloped up and dismounted, asking: "What yu' got, Bull ?" "Nothin', only the sheriff." "Anybody with him?" asked one of the horsemen. "No," said the one addressed as Bull; "traveling alone for his health." The others laughed and one of them remarked: "These 'ere woods ain't very good for the health. Gets rather damp after sundown. 'M 'fraid it'll affect the sheriff's throat." At this remark they all laughed loudly, and the sheriff was fully alive to the insinuation in the words. "Where's Steve?" asked Bull. for camp. Sun's gettin' low," answered one of the horsemen. One of the men led the horses and the other two walked with the sheriff between them. The sun had sunk behind the mountain tops ere they reached the camp. This was composed of a rude shack, apparently hastily thrown together for the use of the men; some blackened cooking utensils, and a log fire burning brightly in the open. Several horses were grazing about the camp, munching the moist grass. Some rough-looking men were busy about the place, when the noise of the new arrivals and the sight of a stranger being ushered into camp, between two of their comrades, arrested their attention. The personality of their guest soon became the object of interest. Laughter that possessed little mirth and remarks in which he failed to see the humor fell upon the sheriff's ears. He However, he expected the worst, and knew that what these men would receive at his hands, he must expect in return from them. The tables were turned. had made a foolish play and lost, and he resolved to take his medicine like a man. Steve had not yet arrived and it was some time later when his horse came galloping into camp. The light from the fire did not immediately disclose the stranger. As Steve came nearer, however, he noticed the curious looks of the men, and coming nearer, he asked: "What yu' got, boys?" Before they had time to reply his face. flushed, and then settled into a deathly palor as he recognized the sheriff. The men noticed the paleness and attributed it to anger at the treatment Steve had received at the hands of the sheriff, which this meeting recalled. Fearing that in his anger Steve would do something rash, Bull spoke: "Yu' shore gettin' even this time, Steve, but don't get excited and do nothin' queer jest at present. Yu' can have the las' pull at the rope at the hangin' bee termorrer." Steve's only reply was: "Hello, Bill." And the sheriff answered: "Hello, Steve." The rough men of the mountains are quick to act, and it took little time and less formality to decide that the sheriff was to be hanged at sunrise in the morn "Cross the creek. We better strike ing. As a special compliment to Steve, he was to have the overseeing of all the arrangements. Steve accepted the compliment, and said the first arrangement he would make would be the guarding of the prisoner during the night, and "he reckoned he would appoint himself to this honorable duty, as he kind a liked the sheriff's company-reminded him of ol' times," he said. The other members of the band laughed at this, and in their hearts they saw only justice in allowing Steve all the opportunity to enjoy the situation of changed circumstances, and glory in the turned tables. But when the others were quietly sleeping, Steve threw off the mask, and turned tables and changed circumstances seemed anything but a source of joy to him. A great trouble was manifest in his looks and actions. He sat by the flickering light of the fire, pale and restless. Once he murmured to himself: "Thought I was hot when I saw him, huh. Guess I'm a white-livered cuss anyway. Thought I was hot, huh. Scairt, that's what it was. Scairt. San' run out. Ain't square, neither." He never spoke to his prisoner, but cast furtive and restless glances at him as the night wore on. Once he took a dirty piece of paper from his shirt and began to write. Again he left his prisoner alone and went off into the darkness. In a short time he returned and the sheriff felt him busy with the ropes which bound him. Then Steve, touching him on the shoulder, and speaking softly in his ear, led him out of the circling light of the fire off into the blackness of the mountain night. The next morning when Jeff Coates awoke he discovered a note tied to the horn of a saddle near the fire: "Boys, I hate to go back on yu'. But I got to do it. My old mother's face keeps comin' up in front of me, and, boys, I can't go back on her. I hedn't ought to treet yu' this way, an' I know 'taint square. But I keep seein' that face alookin' at me, an' I jest nachally can't stand it. I reckon this will explane everything to yu' what yu' don' know before. Bill Dawson, the sheriff, is my own brother. He allays was a han'som' boy, an' Mother hate to see his good looks spoiled with a rope. By the time yu' reed this Bill will be safe the other side the basin. I reckon yu' won't have much use fer me afterwards, so I'll say goodby, boys. "STEVE." As Jeff Coates finished reading, he glanced up. The men were staring wildeyed at one another. Bull Thurston was the first to speak. "His own brother. If I was Steve I'd be 'shamed to own him." "Yes, but 'tain't so much that as his mother," replied Shorty Sheggs; "yu' ken see that by the writin'. An' I guess they ain't many of the boys of this gang goin' to blame Steve under the circumstances." A murmur of approval followed Shorty's remarks. "Well, what we goin' to do now?" asked Bud Jones. "Do now? I reckon we goin' to cinch up them saddles quick 's lightnin', an' go after this 'ere Steve, an' tell him how they ain't no hard feelin's." The speaker was Jeff Coates, and his tone was half defiant and half-pleading, as though he challenged his hearers to do otherwise, yet begged them to ratify his remarks. There was no need for Jeff's anxiety. The early sunlight was just breaking over the tops of the pines and stealing among the canyons and gorges of the mountainside as the little band of horsemen moved down the brush-covered trail. Vapors rose from the ravines, and grass in the little valleys glistened with dew. Far off to the west rose the mountaintops, grim and menacing in the purple haze. A crystal stream, tumbling down the mountainside, fell bubbling into a small creek, and crossed the horsemen's path. The men noticed none of these things, but rode on in silence-the champing now and then of the bits in the horses' mouths alone breaking the stillness of the woods. They had ridden thus for probably a mile and a quarter, when they came to a little valley, a level space of green, deep and unsurveyed, in the virgin wilderness. They had traversed this but a few yards, when at a sight before. them they checked their horses and dismounted as one man. And here in this beautiful spot, with the morning sunlight shimmering in the green solitude, with the fresh breath of the earth, and scent of the pines filling the air, they found Steve, their comradedead-with the instrument of death clasped in the fingers of the left hand. |