At one moment it appeared that Landor had given
his command into the hands of the citizens, at another
that he had flatly refused to follow them into danger,
that he had threatened and hung back by turns, and
had, in short, made himself the laughing-stock of
civilians and enlisted men, by what Brewster called
" his timid subterfuges."
Yet somehow " timid subterfuges " seemed hardly
the words to fit with the hard, unswerving eye and the
deep-lined face of the accused. It struck the court so.
There were other things that struck the court, notably
that Brewster had criticised his captain to civilians and
to enlisted men. The Judge Advocate frowned. The
frown settled to a permanency when Brewster sought
out that honorable personage to complain, unofficially,
that his case was being neglected. It was about upon
a par with an accusation of bribery against a supreme
judge in civil life, and naturally did not do the plain-
156 THE HERITAGE OF UNREST
tiff much good when the Judge Advocate rose, terrible
in his indignation, to repeat the complaint officially to
the assembled court at the next sitting. The court
was resentful. It listened and weighed for six days,
and then it acquitted Landor on every charge and
specification " most honorably," to make it more
strong, and afterward went over, in a body, to his
quarters, to congratulate him. The rest of the post
Landor was in the dining room, and Felipa stood in
the sitting room receiving the praises of her husband
with much tact. If he were the hero of the hour, she
was the heroine. The officers from far posts carried
their admiration to extravagance, bewitched by the
sphinx-riddle written somehow on her fair face, and
which is the most potent and bewildering charm a
woman can possess. When they went away, they sent
her boxes of fresh tomatoes and celery and lemons,
from points along the railroad, which was a highly
acceptable and altogether delicate attention in the day
The garrison gave a hop in her honor and Lander's.
It was quite an affair, as many as five and thirty souls
being present, and it was written up in the Army and
Navy afterward. The correspondent went into many
adjectives over Mrs. Landor, and her fame spread
through the land.
Brewster stood in his own window, quite alone, and
watched them all crowding down to Landor's quarters.
The beauty of the Triumph of Virtue did not appeal to
THE HERITAGE OF UNREST 157
him. He was very uneasy. Countercharges were looming
on his view. To be sure, he had not lied, not absolutely
and in so many words, but his citizen witnesses had not
been so adroit or so careful. It would not have taken
much to make out a very fair case of conduct unbecom-
ing an officer and a gentleman. Practical working texts,
anent looking before leaping, and being sure you are
right ere going ahead, occurred to him with new force.
His morality at the moment was worthy the law and
the prophets. He was Experience in person, and as
such would have been an invaluable teacher, if there
had been any seeking instruction. But there was
none. They were all with Landor, drinking his wine
and helping success succeed, than which one may find
less pleasant occupations.
Yet there came a rap at his door directly. It was
the McLane's striker, bearing a note from Miss McLane.
Brewster knew what was in it before he opened it.
But he went back to the window and read it by the
fading light. When he looked up it was to see Miss
McLane and Ellton going up the walk together, return-
ing from Lander's house.
And at another window Felipa also stood looking
out into the dusk. There had been a shower in the
afternoon, and the clouds it had left behind were like a
soft moss of fire floating in the sky. A bright golden
light struck slantwise from the sunset. They had all
gone away to dine and to dress for the hop ; Landor
had walked down to the post trader's for the mail, and
she was left alone.
158 THE HERITAGE OP UNKEST
She watched the figure of a man coming down the
line. Because of the dazzling, low light behind him,
the outline was blurred in a shimmer. At first she
thought without any interest in it, one way or another,
that he was a soldier, then she could see that he was in
citizen's clothes and wore a sombrero and top boots.
Even with that, until he was almost in front of the
house, she did not realize that it was Cairness, though
she knew well enough that he was in the post, and had
been one of Landor's most valuable witnesses. He had
remained to hear the findings, but she had kept close
to the house and had not seen him before. He was a
government scout, a cow-boy, a prospector, reputed a
squaw-man, anything vagrant and unsettled, and so the
most he might do was to turn his head as he passed by,
and looking up at the windows, bow gravely to the
woman standing dark against the firelight within.
The blaze of glory had gone suddenly from the
clouds, leaving them lifeless gray, when she turned her
eyes back to them ; and the outlook across the parade
ground was very bare. She went and stood by the fire,
leaning her arm on the mantel-shelf and setting her
Three weeks later she left the post and the West.
Landor's health was broken from the effects of the
poisonweed and the manifold troubles of the months
past. In lieu of sick leave, he was given a desirable
detail, and sent on to Washington, and for a year and
a half he saw his wife fitted into a woman's seemly
sphere. She was heralded as a beauty, and made much
THE HERITAGE OF UNREST 159
of as such, and the little vanities that had rarely shown
before came to the surface now. He was proud of her.
Sought after and admired, clothed in purple and scarlet
and fine linen, within the limits of a captain's pay,
a creature of ultra-civilization, tamed, she was a very
charming woman indeed. There seemed to be no hint
of the Apache left. He all but forgot it himself.
There was but one relapse in all the time, and it
chanced that he had no knowledge of that.
Yet, in the midst of her little triumph, Felipa fell ill,
failing without apparent cause, and then the uneasiness
that had only slept in Landor for eighteen months came
awake again. He did not believe when the doctors
told him that it was the lassitude of the moist, warm
springtime which was making the gray circles about
her eyes, the listlessness of her movements.
When she lay, one day, with her face, too white and
sharp, looking out from the tangle of hair upon the
pillow, he asked her almost abruptly if she had rather
go back to the West. He could not bring himself to
ask if she were longing to be near Cairness. He shrank
too much from her frank, unhesitating assent.
The face on the pillow lighted quickly, and she
put out her hand to him impulsively. " Could we go
back, Jack, even before the detail is up ? " she said.
And yet her life of late had surely been one that women
would have thought enviable most women.
He himself had never dreamed how it irked her until
now. It was many years since he had been in the
East, not, indeed, since Felipa had been a small child.
160 THE HERITAGE OF UNREST
Keeping his promise to Cabot, as he understood it, had
left him little for such pleasures as that. But he had
done his duty then ; he would do it again, and reap
once more what seemed to him the inevitable reward,
the reward which had been his all through his life,
sheer disappointment, in all he prized most, ashes
" I can throw up the detail," he said indifferently, " I
dare say I might as well. There is only half a year
more of it. Some one will be glad enough to take
" But you," said Felipa, wistfully, " you do not want
to go back ? "
For a moment he stood looking straight into her
eyes, yet neither read the other's thoughts. Then he
turned away with a baffled half laugh. " Why should
it matter to me ? " he asked.
CAIENESS rode at a walk round and round the crowd-
ing, snorting, restless herd of cattle that was gathered
together in the pocket of the foot-hills under the night
sky. There were five other cow-boys who also rode
round and round, but they were each several hundred
yards apart, and he was, to all intents, alone. Now and
then he quickened the gait of his bronco and headed off
some long-horned steer or heifer, that forced itself out
of the huddled, dark mass, making a break for freedom.
But for the most part he rode heavily, lopsided in his
saddle, resting both hands on the high pommel. He
had had time to unlearn the neat horsemanship of the
service, and to fall into the slouchy manner of the cow-
boy, skilful but unscientific. It was a pitchy night, in
spite of the stars, but in the distance, far off across the
velvety roll of the hills, there was a forest fire on
the top of a range of mountains. It glowed against the
sky and lighted the pocket and the prairie below, mak-
ing strange shadows among the cattle, or bringing into
shining relief here and there a pair of mighty horns.
A wind, dry and hot, blew down from the flames, and
made the herd uneasy.
Not far from where those flames were licking up into
the heavens, Cairness thought as he watched them, had
162 THE HERITAGE OF UNREST
been the Circle K Ranch. In among the herd, even
now, were Circle K cattle that had not yet been cut
out. Those six people of his own race had been all that
was left to him of his youth. To be sure, he had seen
little of them, but he had known that they were there,
ready to receive him in the name of the home they had
all left behind.
And since that gray dawn when he had picked his
way through the ashes and charred logs, and had bent
over the bodies of his friend and the dead mother and
the two children, he had been possessed by a loathing
that was almost physical repulsion for all Indians.
That was why he had left the stone cabin he had built
for himself in the White Mountains, forsaking it and
the Apaches who had been, in a way, his friends. But
he had done it, too, with the feeling that now he had
nowhere to lay his head ; that he was driven from pillar
to post, buffeted and chased ; that he was cursed with
the curse of the wanderer. If it had not been that he
had an indefinite theory of his own concerning the
Kirby massacre, as it was known throughout the coun-
try, and that he meant to, some day, in some way,
avenge it upon the whites who had abandoned them to
their fate, he would have killed himself. He had been
very near it once, and had sat on the edge of his bunk
in the cabin with a revolver in his hand, thinking it all
out for an entire evening, before deciding dispassionately
against it. He was not desperate, merely utterly care-
less of life, which is much worse. Desperation is at the
most the keen agony of torture at the stake ; but indif-
THE HERITAGE OF UNREST 163
ference toward all that is held by this world, or the
next, is dying in a gradual vacuum.
He believed that he had no ties now, that friend-
ships, the love of woman, and the kiss of children all
had missed him, and that his, thenceforth, must be but
vain regret. So far as he knew, Felipa had gone away
without ever having received his letter. The man he
had intrusted it to had been killed in the Aravaypa
Canon : that he was certain of ; and it never entered
his head that his papers might have fallen into other
hands, and the note have finally been delivered to her.
She was leading the sort of life that would most
quickly put him entirely out of her mind. He was
taking the Washington papers, and he knew. She had
gone away, not even sure that he had given her a
thought since the night in the Sierra Blanca when
Black River had roared through the stillness, and they
had been alone in all the wild world. What a weird,
mysterious, unearthly scene it had been, quite out-
side the probabilities of anything he had imagined or
contemplated for a single minute. He had never
regretted it, though. He believed in impulses, par-
ticularly his own.
Two steers, locking their horns, broke from the herd
and swaying an instant so, separated and started side
by side across the prairie. He settled in his saddle
and put his cow-pony to a run, without any prelimi-
nary gait, going in a wide circle to head them back.
Running across the ground, thick with coyote and dog
holes, was decidedly perilous ; men had their necks
164 THE HERITAGE OF UNREST
broken in that way every few days ; but it would not
have mattered to him especially to have ended so.
Wherefore he did not, but drove the steers back to the
herd safely. And then he returned to the monotonous
sentry work and continued thinking of himself.
What had he done with four and thirty years, put-
ting it at the very highest valuation ? He had sunk so
far below the standard of his youth that he would not
be fit for his old companions, even if he had wanted to
go back to them, which, except in certain fits of depres-
sion, he did not. His own mother cared very little
what became of him. At Christmas time she always
sent him a letter, which reached him much later, as a
rule, and he answered it. His brothers had forgotten
him. His sister, of whom he had been very fond once,
and for whom he had hoped a great deal, had married
well enough and gone to London ; but she, too, had
forgotten him long since.
So much for his past. As for his present. His only
friends were treacherous savages and some few settlers
and cow-boys. They would none of them miss him if
he were to be laid under a pile of stones with a board
cross at his head anywhere by the roadside, in the
plains or among the hills. Some of them were honest
men, some were desperadoes ; none were his equals, not
one understood the things that meant life to him. He
had no abode, not so much as the coyote over there on
the top of the little swell. He made his living in
divers and uncertain ways. Sometimes he sent pic-
tures to the East, studies of the things about him.
THE HERITAGE OF UNREST 165
They sold well. Sometimes he was a scout or a guide.
Sometimes he prospected and located claims with more
or less good luck. Sometimes he hired himself out as
a cow-boy at round-ups, as he was doing now. On the
whole, he was, from the financial standpoint, more of a
success than from any other.
Also he was in love with the wife of a man he liked
and respected and who trusted him. Yet in spite of
that, he had come near so near that it made him
cold to think about it to following in the way of
many frontiersmen and marrying a Mexican. It had
been when he had first learned that Felipa Landor had
gone East for two years ; and the Mexican had been
very young and very pretty, also very bad.
It was not a nice outlook. But he found it did not
grow any better for the thought that Felipa might
have forgotten all about him, though that would
unquestionably have been the best thing that could
have happened for all concerned, from the standpoint
of common sense. But there were two chances, of a
sort, that made it worth while worrying along. One
was that Felipa might some day, in the working out
of things, come into his life. The other was that he
could ferret out the truth of the Kirby massacre.
Love and revenge are mighty stimulants.
As for the Kirby affair, there had been no hint of
treachery in the published or verbal accounts of it.
The ranch hands who had escaped had told a plain
enough tale of having fled at the approach of the Ind-
ians, vainly imploring the Kirbys to do the same. It
166 THE HERITAGE OF UNREST
seemed that the most they could be accused of was
cowardice. It had all been set forth in the papers
with much circumstance and detail. But Cairness
doubted. He remembered their dogged ugliness, and
that of the raw-boned Texan woman.
That very day the doubt had attained the propor-
tions of a certainty. The sight of a Circle K cow had
called up the subject of the massacre, and a cow-boy
had said, " Them are the property of Bill Lawton, I
Cairness asked who Bill Lawton might be, and was
told that he had been one of the Kirby men, " Big fel-
low with a big wife. If you was ever there, you'd
ought to remember her. She was a Venus and a Cleo-
patrer rolled into one, you bet." The cow-boy was not
devoid of lore for all his lowly station.
Cairness did remember, but he did not see fit to say
A half dozen cow-boys came riding over from the
camp of the outfit to relieve those on duty. Cairness
was worn out with close on eighteen hours in the sad-
dle, tearing and darting over the hills and ravines,
quick as the shadow from some buzzard high in the
sky, scrambling over rocks, cutting, wheeling, chasing
after fleet-footed, scrawny cattle. He went back to
camp, and without so much as washing the caked dust
and sweat from his face, rolled himself in a blanket
The round-up lasted several days longer, and then
the men were paid off, and went their way. The way
THE HERITAGE OF UNREST 167
of most was toward Tombstone, because the opportu-
nities for a spree were particularly fine there. Not
because of these, but because the little parson lived
there now, Cairness went also. Moreover, it was as
good a place as another to learn more about the massa-
cre. Cow-boys coming from other round-ups and get-
ting drunk might talk.
The famous mining town was two years old. It had
ceased to be a " wind city " or even a canvas one, and
was settling down to the dignity of adobe, or even
boards, having come to stay. But it was far too new,
too American, to have any of the picturesqueness of the
Mexican settlements of the country.
Cairness tied his cow-pony to a post in front of a low
calcimined adobe, and going across the patch of trodden
earth knocked at the door. The little parson's own high
voice called to him, and he went in.
The Reverend Taylor was tipped back in his chair
with his feet upon the table, reading the Tucson papers.
He sprang up and put out his hand in a delighted wel-
come, his small face turning into a very chart of smiling
seams and wrinkles.
But his left hand hung misshapen, and Cairness saw
that it did not bend at the wrist as he motioned to an
empty soda-pop bottle and a glass on the table beside a
saucer of fly-paper and water. "That's what I still
take, you see," he said, "but I'll serve you better;" and
he opened a drawer and brought out a big flask. " I
reckon you've got a thirst on you this hot weather."
He treated himself to a second bottle of the pop, and
168 THE HERITAGE OP UNREST
grew loquacious, as another man might have under the
influence of stronger drink ; and he talked so much
about himself and so little about his guest that Cair-
ness wondered. Presently the reason made itself mani-
fest. It was the egotism of the lover. The Reverend
Taylor was going to be married. He told Cairness
so with an expression of beatitude that answered to a
blush, and pointed to a photograph on his mantel-shelf.
" She ain't so pretty to look at," he confided, which was
undoubtedly true, " nor yet so young. But I ain't nei-
ther, 'sfar as that goes. She's amiable. That's the great
thing after all, for a wife. She's amiable."
Cairness congratulated him with all solemnity, and
asked if she were a widow. He was sure she must be,
for the gallantry of the "West in those days allowed no
woman to pass maturity unwed.
But she was, it appeared, a maiden lady, straight from
Virginia. The Reverend Taylor was the first man she
had ever loved. "It was right funny how it come
about," he confided, self absorbed still. " Her mother
keeps the res'rant acrost the street where I take my
meals (I used to have a Greaser woman, but I got
sick oifrijoles and gorditas and chili and all that stuff),
and after dinner every afternoon, she and me would put
two saucers of fly-paper on a table and we would set and
bet on which would catch the most flies before four
o'clock. You ain't no idea how interestin' it got to be.
The way we watched them flies was certainly intense.
Sometimes, I tell you, she'd get that excited she'd
scream when they couldn't make up their minds to
THE HERITAGE OF UNREST 169
light. Once her mother come runnin' in, thinkin' I
was tryin' to kiss her." He beamed upon Cairness,
and accepted congratulations charmingly, sipping his
soda-pop with quite a rakish little air. " What brought
you here ? " he remembered to ask, at length.
Cairness told him that he had been in the 3 C
round-up, and then went on to his point. " Taylor,
see here. I want to find out more about the Kirby
massacre. There is more to that than has appeared in
The minister nodded his head. "Yes, I reckon
there is," he agreed.
"You remember that woman," Cairness went on,
making and rolling adroitly a straw-paper cigarette,
" the one who was cook on the ranch for so long ?
She could tell us what it is, and I'll bet on it."
The Reverend Taylor nodded again. " Reckon she
could. But " he grabbed at a fly with one hand,
and caught and crushed it in his palm with much dex-
terity, " but she's lit out."
" So ? " said Cairness, with the appearance of stolid-
ity he invariably assumed to cover disappointment or
any sort of approach to emotion. " Where's she gone
Taylor shrugged his shoulders. " Quien sale f Can't
prove it by me. Just vamoosed. Fell in love with a
little terrier of a Greaser half her size, and cleaned
out. Lawton was in here a day or two ago, lookin'
for her and raisin' particular Cain with whiskey and
six-shooters bawlin' about her all over the place."
170 THE HERITAGE OF UNREST
" Is he here now ? "
He had gone back.
Cairness made another cigarette and considered.
" I think I'll hire to him," he said, after a while.
" Hire to him ! " exclaimed Taylor, " what for ? "
"For the fun of it, and 'found.' Can you give me
a recommendation ? "
The parson said that he could not. " Lawton ain't
any use for me. I guess it's because he remembers me,
that's why. He'll remember you, too."
"No," said Cairness, "he won't. I've met him since.
That was a long time ago, and I was smooth shaven."
Taylor smiled. Cairness's small, brown mustache,
curving up at the ends, was hardly a disguise.
*' There's a fellow here who could get you the job,
though," he suggested. " Fellow named Stone. News-
paper man, used to be in Tucson. He seems to have
some sort of pull with that Lawton fellow."
" I know him," Cairness said ; " he used to be round
San Carlos when I was an enlisted man. He won't
remember me, either. And you needn't necessarily
mention that I was with Landor in the San Tomaso
affair, or that I was a scout. He may know it, of
course. And again, he may not."
He got up and went to the window, which was iron-
barred, after the Mexican fashion, and stood, with his
hands run into his belt, looking down at a row of
struggling, scraggly geraniums in tin cans. They
were the most disheartening part of the whole dis-
heartening prospect, within or without.
THE HERITAGE OP UNREST 171
The Reverend Taylor got his hat. It was still a
silk one, but new, and without holes. They went over
to the false front board structure which was Stone's
office. It appeared from the newspaper man's greeting
that it was a case of the meeting of prominent citizens.
Taylor presented Cairness, with the elegant, rhetorical
flourishes he was capable of when he chose. " He is a
friend of mine," he added, " and anything that you can
do for him will be appreciated, you sabe ? " Stone
did understand, and Taylor left them alone together.
They opened upon non-committal topics: the weather,
which had been scorching and parched since April, and
would continue so, in all probability, until September ;
the consequent condition of the crops, which was a
figure of speech, for there were none, and never had
been, deserving of the name ; and then Cairness, hav-
ing plenty of time, brought it round to the troops. In
the tirade that followed he recognized a good many of
the sentiments, verbatim, of the articles in the Tucson
papers of the time of Lander's scout. But he half
shut his eyes and listened, pulling at the small, brown
mustache. Stone set him down, straightway, as an
ass, or English, which was much the same thing.
Cairness was still in his dust-grayed outfit, his hair
was below where his collar would have been had he
been wearing one, and his nose was on its way to at
least the twentieth new skin that summer. In all his
years of the frontier, he had never become too well
tanned to burn. His appearance was not altogether
reassuring, Stone thought. He was not only an ass, he