The End of the Trail Read online

  It was four o’clock in the afternoon when he finally reached the little white house on Bannock Street where Sam lived. It was in the middle of a whole row of little white houses all squeezed up together. Building them that way didn’t make sense to Pat. There were whole vacant blocks on either side of the row of houses, and it looked to him like it would have been smart to spread them out a little. But he reckoned city folks liked to have neighbors close enough so the women could talk out through the side windows to each other. Anyone who lived in a city was sort of queer anyway, to Pat’s way of thinking.

  He had his arms full of paper-wrapped bundles from the stores, and he shifted them cautiously under his left arm to knock on the door.

  It opened almost immediately, and there was Kitty Sloan looking out at him doubtfully. She let out a squeal of delight and flung her arms around his neck when she recognized him. She had on a pretty house dress and her hair was fixed up nicer than Pat had ever seen it in Powder Valley, but she didn’t look happy.

  When she got through hugging him and asking about Sally, and why didn’t he bring her along, and how long was Pat going to stay, and why didn’t he write them he was coming so Sam could have arranged to be there, she drew him inside the little house and showed him around proudly.

  Pat had to admit it was fixed up nice. There were pretty rugs on the floor and the furniture was all new and shiny, and there was running water in the neat little kitchen, but it gave him a sort of closed-in and oppressed feeling when compared to the rambling spaciousness of the ranch houses at home. It was all cut up into little rooms hardly big enough for a man to stretch in; with two bedrooms on one side, in one of which the baby was sleeping.

  Pat peered down at Sam’s rosy-cheeked infant and dutifully said how good he looked, and he sure had grown a lot, and he grinned and nodded enthusiastically when Kitty proudly told how he already had learned to say, “Pa-pa go by,” when Sam left in the mornings for work, and then they went back into the cramped little sitting room and tried to find something to talk about.

  There was a big, decorative wooden clock on the mantel that ticked loudly. Kitty sat curled up on the sofa across from it, and she kept watching the clock. It was four-thirty when Pat first noticed the way she looked at it. He glanced from her face to the clock and asked casually, “When will Sam be home?”

  A look of fear or of despair swept across her face. She dismissed it instantly and laughed and said, “I never know, Pat. They don’t close up the office until ’five, but when he’s out on the route like today he’s likely to drop in any time. You haven’t told me yet,” she went on quickly, “why you made this hurried trip to Denver.”

  “Business … sort of,” Pat muttered. “Fellow wanted to see me on a kind of deal.”

  “What kind of deal?” Kitty persisted.

  Pat Stevens squirmed uneasily. Kitty was just like his wife. He supposed they were all the same. They didn’t understand how a man felt obliged to get out and do certain things sometimes. They thought because a man was settled down making a good living that he should be content to stay settled down forever. He didn’t intend to tell his wife the real truth about his contemplated trip to Sanctuary Flat, and he didn’t want to tell Kitty because then if it should turn out that Sam could get a leave of absence to accompany him like he hoped, she’d be angry at him for leading her husband away into danger.

  “It’s a sort of secret,” he told her. “Chance to pick up a good hunk of money. If Sam wasn’t tied down with the Pony Express job I’d sure let him in on it.”

  She said, “Yes. He’s tied down to that job. And we’re tied down here in the city forever I guess.” Her voice was so dreary and hopeless that Pat shot a quick look of alarm at her. She was looking at the clock again as though she hated it—as though each minute inexorably ticked off was like a sharp blow to her.

  Pat looked away quickly and cleared his throat. “He’s doin’ good on the job, huh?”

  “Yes. He’s doing very well, I guess. He got a raise in salary last week.” Her voice was apathetic, as though getting a raise wasn’t anything to be happy about.

  “That’s mighty fine,” Pat told her heartily. “I always knew ol’ Sam had good stuff in him. All he needed was th’ chance to show it. He’s gettin’ to be mighty important with the Pony Express, I reckon. Private office with his name on the door an’ ever’thing.”

  Kitty Sloan said, “Yes,” again. “He’s mighty proud of making good. He’s talking about building a house for the baby and me. He wants us to have everything … to be a big success for our sakes.”

  Pat nodded sagely. “Every man wants that for his wife an’ baby … if he’s worth his salt.”

  “I know. And that’s why I can’t tell him how I hate it here. How miserable I am.” Tears welled out of Kitty’s eyes and ran down her pretty face. “What am I going to do, Pat?”

  “You hate it livin’ here in th’ city?” he asked, dumfounded.

  “Of course I do,” she told him fiercely. “Look at this tiny little house. I feel stifled in it. Cramped up with neighbors on both sides of me. I’d a thousand times rather be back in the little Express way-station in Powder Valley. We were so happy there, Pat. Why did this have to happen to us? We don’t have any fun any more. We’re getting so we hate each other, cramped up in these rooms together. I dread to see him come home at night. We haven’t anything to do. We sit and look at each other. And then he goes out to the saloon and I sit here alone.” She was sobbing openly now.

  “So Sam’s started drinkin’, huh?” muttered Pat darkly. “I’ll give him a good talkin’ to. I’ll tell him …”

  “No,” Kitty cried out strongly. “I don’t blame him for going to the saloon. Why shouldn’t he? There’s nothing else to do at night. We don’t have any real friends like we had in Powder Valley.”

  “Why don’t you tell him how you feel about it?” Pat demanded.

  “I can’t. Don’t you see? He’s so proud of earning a good salary so we can have a nice house to live in. It would break his heart if he thought it was all for nothing … if he thought I didn’t like it and hated to live in the city. I can’t do that to him. He’s so proud of getting ahead, of becoming an important man.”

  Pat Stevens got up and began to pace the floor back and forth like a caged mountain lion. “It ain’t fair for you to go on foolin’ him,” he argued. “More’n anything else, Sam wants you tuh be happy. If you told him right out …”

  “No,” Kitty cried swiftly. “He’d really hate me then. We’re just caught in an awful rut, Pat. It’s no one’s fault. It’s just something that happened.” She was wringing her hands together in her lap and the tears continued to flow silently. “You don’t know how I’ve prayed he’d fail on the job. That he’d get fired. Anything to get us away from here back to Powder Valley. I wouldn’t care if he had to go to work as a ranch-hand.”

  “This here,” said Pat angrily, “is the damndest thing I ever did run up against. You don’t know how happy Sally an’ me have been about you an’ Sam. With you comin’ from the city an’ all, we all thought you sort of pined to get back. When you were in the Valley, Sam always worried about you livin’ ’way out there by yoreself. He figured you were lonesome for yore city friends.”

  “I know what he thought. He wouldn’t believe me when I told him the truth. He thought I was just being brave. That’s why I can’t tell him now. Don’t you see, Pat? But if only something would happen so he would have to give up his job …”

  Pat sat down heavily. It was past five o’clock now. Kitty glanced at the clock when he did, and she caught her underlip tightly between her teeth when she saw the time.

  Pat said, “Maybe I can fix it, Kitty.”

  “How?” She leaned toward him imploringly. “Can you?”

  “Knowin’ Sam the way I do, I reckon maybe I might. You see, Kitty, this here deal I come to Denver to see about is sort of dangerous. You know, like some of them trips Sam an’ Ezra an’ I used to go on before
Sam got hisself married to you. I reckon he’d be like an ol’ fire-hawse snortin’ to go if I was to tell him about it.”

  “Oh, Pat! If you only would! I could go back to Powder Valley then, couldn’t I? I could stay with Sally at the ranch while you and Sam were away. And if he makes some extra money on it, maybe he’d have enough with what we’ve saved to buy a little ranch there near you and Ezra.”

  “You’d like that, huh?”

  “It would be heaven, Pat. I want my baby to grow up out there where people are friendly and honest and real. But I don’t know whether you can persuade Sam. He’s dead set on staying here and making good with the Express company. I’m afraid he wouldn’t want to go back and settle down on a little ranch …”

  “What’re you lookin’ at the clock like that for?” demanded Pat.

  “I may as well tell you. He … Sam won’t be home for at least another hour. And when he does come home, he … well, he won’t be himself, Pat. He’s down at the corner saloon right now,” she confessed simply. “He stops there on his way home every afternoon.”

  Pat’s face became grim. “Which corner?” He got up and reached for his hat.

  Kitty Sloan told him. She got up and went to the door with him. “If you can just persuade him to give up his job and go with you, Pat,” she said wistfully.

  He hesitated on the doorstep. “It’s liable to be plenty dangerous,” he warned her.

  “I don’t care.” Her voice was shrill, close to hysteria. “Anything is better than going on like this.”

  “If I do, promise me you won’t tell Sally the truth if you go down to stay with her.”

  “What will I tell her?”

  “Anything but th’ truth,” Pat growled. “Tell her it’s Pony Express business. You got to promise, Kitty.”

  “I’ll do anything … if you’ll just get Sam away from Denver.”

  “You leave that tuh me.” Pat settled his hat firmly on his head and started toward the saloon where Kitty thought he would find Sam.

  There were only three men in the saloon at that hour of the afternoon. One of them was a short, dark, ugly-featured little man. He was leaning with both elbows on the bar, supporting his chin in cupped hands while he morosely watched the bartender pour another double shot of whisky into the glass in front of him.

  Pat Stevens went up beside him and reached for the glass before Sam got hold of it. He emptied the contents onto the sawdust covered floor and said angrily, “You’ve had enough, feller.”

  Sam whirled to face him, scowling darkly. “Why thuh hell d’yuh think … oh.” His jaw dropped slackly. “Pat! You ol’ polecat. Yo’re a sight fer sore eyes. What’re yuh doin’ in Denver?”

  Pat grinned and wrung his hand. “Time I was gettin’ here to straighten you out, looks like.”

  “Two more,” Sam said happily to the bartender. “An’ that’n my fren’ jest spilled is on thuh house.”

  “No more.” Pat shook his head. “And I didn’t spill that one, Sam. I poured it out intentional. I’m payin’ for it and you’re comin’ with me.” He threw a silver dollar on the bar and took Sam’s arm in a firm grip, pulled him toward the door.

  Sam’s face grew black with anger. “Looky here, Pat. I ain’t in no mood fer funnin’.”

  “You’re drunk,” Pat said harshly, dragging him through the swinging doors. “An’ a dadgummed fool to boot. Don’t you know Kitty’s sittin’ at home pining her heart out ’cause you’re not there?”

  “Lot you know aboot it,” muttered Sam. “Seems like I cain’t stand it tuh go home sober no more, Pat. I’d ruther be locked up in jail.”

  “Don’t you still love Kitty?” Pat demanded.

  “Shore I do. That’s thuh plumb hell of it, Pat. I love her so much that I dassn’t go home sober ’cause we’re liable tuh start fussin’ an’ I’ll fergit an’ tell her it’s all her blame that we’re stuck here an’ I’ve turned into Mister Sloan. Coolin’ my heels in a office all day instead of bein’ out on thuh range where I belong.”

  Pat stopped and planted both hands on his hips. “You’re blamin’ Kitty for that?” he asked incredulously.

  “Shore, it’s because of her. I reckon I shouldn’t ort to’ve married her in thuh fust place. Me, I ain’t no city man, Pat. You know I ain’t. But I gotta do what’s right fer Kitty an’ thuh baby. You know how she never did like it down in Powder Valley. Cain’t blame her none, thuh way she was raised. I gotta stay here an’ keep on earnin’ money so’s I kin build her a big, fine house an’ …”

  Pat interrupted him with a whoop of glee. He linked his arm in Sam’s and started hurrying him toward the little white house where Kitty was waiting for them.

  “You an’ Kitty had both ought to be hawsewhipped,” he snorted. “Keepin’ secrets from each other is the surest way I know to bust up a plumb good marriage. You’re resignin’ that damned job tomorrow,” he went on explosively. “An’ we’re taking Kitty back to Powder Valley where she can breathe clean air again, an’ then we’re teaming up with Ezra just like old times.”

  “But I’m tellin’ you, Kitty won’t …”

  “What you don’t know about yore own wife would fill a whole shelf of books,” Pat told him scathingly. “Hurry up ’fore she cries her eyes out.”

  6

  Sally Stevens was overjoyed when Pat showed up at the Lazy Mare ranch a couple of days later with Sam and Kitty and Sam, Jr. They arrived late in the afternoon, and Sally bustled around happily, putting an extra cot in the spare room for the baby to sleep on, and asking Kitty a thousand excited questions about Denver, and what the women were wearing, and so on, without ever asking the one question that was uppermost in her mind.

  She didn’t know why they had returned so unexpectedly with Pat, and she refrained from asking because she was afraid the answer might be bad news. They had brought a lot of things with them, more as if they planned a long stay rather than just a short visit, and Sally had an uneasy prescience that Sam had lost his job with the Pony Express. She hoped he hadn’t, because she had thought it was wonderful when he got the job and was able to move Kitty to the city; and she thought it would be just too terrible if Sam had proved himself a failure on his first big chance to make good.

  But she had to admit to herself that Sam and Kitty both seemed mighty happy to be back in Powder Valley, and she restrained her curiosity and didn’t ask any embarrassing questions while she busied herself getting a big supper ready.

  Immediately upon their arrival, Pat dispatched his twelve-year-old son Dock to Ezra’s ranch to bring the big, one-eyed man over for a reunion, and the two of them returned to the Lazy Mare just in time to sit down to a table overloaded with Sally’s good cooking.

  After they had finished supper, when the two women had the dishes cleared away and all five of them were gathered in the long living room in comfortable chairs, Pat addressed Ezra with a sly twinkle in his eyes:

  “I’ve been waitin’ for Sally to get back in where she could hear this because I know she’s just bustin’ wide open with curiosity to know what Sam an’ Kitty are doing back here.”

  “I am not, Pat Stevens.” Sally sat primly erect with her hands folded in her lap. “Goodness knows, I’m always glad to have them come for a visit and stay as long as they can. They don’t need any better reason than that.”

  “I’m doin’ plenty of wonderin’,” Ezra rumbled in a disgusted voice, glaring at Sam with his one eye. “Thought I’d fixed ever’thing up fer yuh so’s you could go along with thuh job awright after I he’ped you git thuh route straightened out an’ started runnin’. You jest couldn’t cut thuh mustard, huh? Got fired I betcha, an’ come runnin’ back home with yore tail ’tween yore laigs.”

  “He did not get fired,” put in Kitty quickly. “He’s got the Laramie route running so smoothly that they don’t need a good man like Sam on it any more.” She glanced across at Pat for him to go on with the story they had fixed up to tell Sally so she wouldn’t worry about the trip Pat had pl
anned for the three men.

  “That’s right.” Pat nodded expansively. “The Pony Express figures Sam’s too good a man to keep him settin’ in a city office doing nothing much. They’re sendin’ him out to make a pack trip over the Divide to the Western Slope to explore out a route from Denver down into Grand Junction.”

  “There ain’t no road across them mountains a-tall now,” Ezra ejaculated. “Not sence the old stage road went out twenty-five or thutty years ago.”

  “That’s right,” Pat agreed. “The last stage coach went over that road thirty-two years ago. Started out from Denver, that is, but never did reach Grand Junction. We got a newspaper clippin’ about that from the Denver paper … Sam figgerin’ he might run onto some trace of the coach or passengers up there in the mountains while he’s blazin’ out a new trail.”

  “It’s an amazing story,” Kitty told Sally with sparkling eyes. “The coach left Fairplay on schedule one morning and was never heard of again. It was late in the fall and there was a terrible blizzard and when searching parties went out they discovered that the road up to the pass was blocked by a terrible landslide. They decided the coach must have been caught under the slide.”

  “Funniest part of the whole thing,” Pat put in, “was the way the other end of the road out of Sanctuary Flat went out just about the same time. If they had gone over the pass ahead of the landslide, like as not they’d been stuck right there on the Flat till the summer thaw and starved to death. That’s what happened to the man runnin’ the way-station on the Flat. Both ends of the road went out at the same time an’ left him stranded there until a party skied in over the mountains next spring an’ found him dead.”