Kitabı oku: «Wunpost», sayfa 12

CHAPTER XXIII
THE RETURN OF THE BLOW-HARD

Nothing was seen of John C. Calhoun for nearly a week and then, late one evening, he stepped in on Judson Eells in his office at the Blackwater Bank.

“Why–why, Mr. Calhoun!” he gasped, “we–we all thought you were dead!”

“Yes,” returned Calhoun, whose arm was in a sling, “I thought so myself for a while. What’s the good word from Mr. Lynch?”

Eells dropped back in his chair and stared at him fixedly.

“Why–we haven’t been able to locate him. But you, Mr. Calhoun–we’ve been looking for you everywhere. Your riding mule came back with his saddle all bloody and a bullet wound across his hip and the Campbells were terribly distressed. We’ve had search-parties out everywhere but no one could find you and at last you were given up for dead.”

“Yes, I saw some of those search-parties,” answered Wunpost grimly, “but I noticed that they all packed Winchesters. What’s the idee in trying to kill me?”

“Why, we aren’t trying to kill you!” burst out Judson Eells vehemently. “Quite the contrary, we’ve been trying to find you. But perhaps you can tell us about poor Mr. Lynch–he has disappeared completely.”

“What about them Apaches?” inquired Wunpost pointedly, and Judson Eells went white.

“Why–what Apaches?” he faltered at last and Wunpost regarded him sternly.

“All right,” he said, “I don’t know nothing if you don’t. But I reckon they turned the trick. That Manuel Apache was a bad one.” He reached back into his hip-pocket and drew out a coiled-up scalp-lock. “There’s his hair,” he stated, and smiled.

“What? Did you kill him?” cried Eells, starting up from his chair, but Wunpost only shrugged enigmatically.

“I ain’t talking,” he said. “Done too much of that already. What I’ve come to say is that I’ve buried all my money and I’m not going back to that mine. So you can call off your bad-men and your murdering Apache Indians, because there’s no use following me now. Thinking about taking a little trip for my health.”

He paused expectantly but Judson Eells was too shocked to make any proper response. His world was tumbling about him, all his plans had come to naught–and Lynch was gone. He longed to question further, to seek out some clew, but he dared not, for his hands were not clean. He had hired this Apache whose grisly scalp-lock now lay before him, and the others who had been with Lynch; and if it ever became known─He shuddered and let his lip drop.

“This is horrible!” he burst out hoarsely, “but why should they kill Lynch?”

“And why should they kill me?” added Wunpost. “You’ve got a nerve,” he went on, “bringing those devils into the country–don’t you know they’re as treacherous as a rattlesnake? No, you’ve been going too far; and it’s a question with me whether I won’t report the whole business to the sheriff. But what’s the use of making trouble? All I want is that contract–and this time I reckon I’ll get it.”

He nodded confidently but Judson Eells’ proud lip went up and instantly he became the bold financier.

“No,” he said, “you’ll never get it, Mr Calhoun–not until you take me to the Sockdolager Mine.”

“Nothing doing,” replied Wunpost “not for you or any other man. I stay away from that mine, from now on. Why should I give up a half–ain’t I got thirty thousand dollars, hid out up here under a stone? Live and let live, sez I, and if you’ll call off your bad-men I’ll agree not to talk to the sheriff.”

“You can talk all you wish!” snapped out Eells with rising courage, “I’m not afraid of your threats. And neither am I afraid of anything you can do to test the validity of that contract. It will hold, absolutely, in any court in the land; but if you will take me to your mine and turn it over in good faith, I will agree to cancel the contract.”

“Oh! You don’t want nothing!” hooted Wunpost sarcastically, “but I’ll tell you what I will do–I’ll give you thirty thousand dollars, cash.”

“No! I’ve told you my terms, and there’s no use coming back to me–it’s the Sockdolager Mine or nothing.”

“Suit yourself,” returned Wunpost, “but I’m just beginning to wonder whether I’m shooting it out with the right men. What’s the use of fighting murderers, and playing tag with Apache Indians, when the man that sends ’em out is sitting tight? In fact, why don’t I come in here and get you?”

“Because you’re wrong!” answered Eells without giving back an inch, “you’re trying to evade the law. And any man that breaks the law is a coward at heart, because he knows that all society is against him.”

“Sounds good,” admitted Wunpost, “and I’d almost believe it if you didn’t show such a nerve But you know and I know that you break the law every day–and some time, Mr. Banker, you’re going to get caught. No, you can guess again on why I don’t shoot you–I just like to see you wiggle. I just like to see a big fat slob like you, that’s got the whole world bluffed, twist around in his seat when a man comes along and tells him what a dastard he is. And besides, I git a laugh, every time I come back and you make me think of the Stinging Lizard–and the road! But the biggest laugh I get is when you pull this virtuous stuff, like the widow-robbing old screw you are, and then have the nerve to tell me to my face that it’s the Sockdolager Mine or nothing. Well, it’s nothing then, Mr. Penny-pincher; and if I ever get the chance I’ll make you squeal like a pig. And don’t send no more Apaches after me!”

He rose up and slapped the desk, then picked up the scalp-lock and strode majestically out the door. But Judson Eells was unimpressed, for he had seen them squirm before. He was a banker, and he knew all the signs. Nor did John C. Calhoun laugh as he rode off through the night, for his schemes had gone awry again. Every word that he had said was as true as Gospel and he could sit around and wait a life-time–but waiting was not his long suit. In Los Angeles he seemed to attract all the bar-flies in the city, who swarmed about and bummed him for the drinks; and no man could stand their company for more than a few days without getting thoroughly disgusted. And on the desert, every time he went out into the hills he was lucky to come back with his life. So what was he to do, while he was waiting around for this banker to find out he was whipped?

For Eells was whipped, he was foiled at every turn; and yet that muley-cow lip came up as stubbornly as ever and he tried to tell him, Wunpost, he was wrong. And that because he was wrong and a law-breaker at heart he was therefore a coward and doomed to lose. It was ludicrous, the way Eells stood up for his “rights,” when everyone knew he was a thief; and yet that purse-proud intolerance which is the hall-mark of his class made him think he was entirely right. He even had the nerve to preach little homilies about trying to evade the law. But that was it, his very self-sufficiency made him immune against anything but a club. He had got the idea into his George the Third head that the king can do no wrong–and he, of course was the king. If Wunpost made a threat, or concealed the location of a mine, that was wrong, it was against the law; but Eells himself had hired some assassins who had shot him, Wunpost, twice, and yet Eells was game to let it go before the sheriff–he could not believe he was wrong.

Wunpost cursed that pride of class which makes all capitalists so hard to head and put the whole matter from his mind. He had hoped to come back with that contract in his pocket, to show to the doubting Wilhelmina; but she had had enough of boasting and if he was ever to win her heart he must learn to feign a virtue which he lacked. That virtue was humility, the attribute of slaves and those who are not born to rule; but with her it was a virtue second only to that Scotch honesty which made upright Cole Campbell lean backwards. He was so straight he was crooked and cheated himself, so honest that he stood in his own light; and to carry out his principles he doomed his family to Jail Canyon for the rest of their natural lives. And yet Wilhelmina loved him and was always telling what he said and bragging of what he had done, when anyone could see that he was bull-headed as a mule and hadn’t one chance in ten thousand to win. But all the same they were good folks, you always knew where you would find them, and Wilhelmina was as pretty as a picture.

No rouge on those cheeks and yet they were as pink as the petals of a blushing rose, and her lips were as red as Los Angeles cherries and her eyes were as honest as the day. Nothing fly about her, she had not learned the tricks that the candy-girls and waitresses knew, and yet she was as wise as many a grown man and could think circles around him when it came to an argument. She could see right through his bluffing and put her finger on the spot which convinced even him that he was wrong, but if he refrained from opposing her she was as simple as a child and her only desire was to please. She was not self-seeking, all she wanted was his company and a chance to give expression to her thoughts; and when he would listen they got on well enough, it was only when he boasted that she rebelled. For she could not endure his masculine complacency and his assumption that success made him right, and when he had gone away she had told him to his face that he was a blow-hard and his money was tainted.

Wunpost mulled this over, too, as he rode on up Jail Canyon and when he sighted the house he took Manuel Apache’s scalp-lock and hid it inside his pack. After risking his life to bring his love this token he thought better of it and brought only himself. He would come back a friend, one who had seen trouble as they had but was not boasting of what he had done–and if anyone asked him what he had done to Lynch he would pass it off with some joke. So he talked too much, did he? All right, he would show them; he would close his trap and say nothing; and in a week Wilhelmina would be following him around everywhere, just begging to know about his arm. But no, he would tell her it was just a sad accident, which no one regretted more than he did; and rather than seem to boast he would say in a general way that it would never happen again. And that would be the truth, because from what Eells had said he was satisfied the Apaches had buried Lynch.

But how, now, was he to approach this matter of the money which he was determined to advance for the road? That would call for diplomacy and he would have to stick around a while before Billy would listen to reason. But once she was won over the whole family would be converted; for she was the boss, after all. She wore the overalls at the Jail Canyon Ranch and in spite of her pretty ways she had a will of her own that would not be denied. And when she saw him come back, like a man from the dead–he paused and blinked his eyes. But what would he say–would he tell her what had happened? No, there he was again, right back where he had started from–the thing for him to do was to keep still. Say nothing about Lynch and catching Apaches in bear-traps, just look happy and listen to her talk.

It was morning and the sun had just touched the house which hung like driftwood against the side of the hill. The mud of the cloudburst had turned to hard pudding-stone, which resounded beneath his mule’s feet. The orchard was half buried, the garden in ruins, the corral still smothered with muck; but as he rode up the new trail a streak of white quit the house and came bounding down to meet him. It was Wilhelmina, still dressed in women’s clothes but quite forgetful of everything but her joy; and when he dismounted she threw both arms about his neck, and cried when he gave her a kiss.

CHAPTER XXIV
SOMETHING NEW

There are compensations for everything, even for being given up for dead, and as he was welcomed back to life by a sweet kiss from Wilhelmina, Wunpost was actually glad he had been shot. He was glad he was hungry, for now she would feed him; glad he was wounded, for she would be his nurse; and when Cole Campbell and his wife took him in and made much of him he lost his last bitterness against Lynch. In the first place, Lynch was dead, and not up on the ridge waiting to pot him for what money he had; and in the second place Lynch had shot right past his heart and yet had barely wounded him at all. But the sight of that crease across his breast and the punctured hole through his arm quite disarmed the Campbells and turned their former disapproval to a hovering admiration and solicitude.

If the hand of Divine Providence had loosed the waterspout down their canyon to punish him for his overweening pride, perhaps it had now saved him and turned the bullet aside to make him meet for repentance. It was something like that which lay in their minds as they installed him in their best front room, and when they found that his hardships had left him chastened and silent they even consented to accept payment for his horse-feed. If they did not, he declared, he would pack up forthwith and take his whole outfit to Blackwater; and the fact was the Campbells were so reduced by their misfortunes that they had run up a big bill at the store. Only occasional contributions from their miner sons in Nevada kept them from facing actual want, and Campbell was engaged in packing down his picked ore in order to make a small shipment. But if he figured his own time in he was not making day’s wages and the future held out no hope.

Without a road the Homestake Mine was worthless, for it could never be profitably worked; but Cole Campbell was like Eells in one respect at least, and that was he never knew when he was whipped. A guarded suggestion had come from Judson Eells that he might still be persuaded to buy his mine, but Campbell would not even name a price; and now the store-keeper had sent him notice that he had discounted his bill at the bank. That was a polite way of saying that Eells had bought in the account, which constituted a lien against the mine; and the Campbells were vaguely worried lest Eells should try his well-known tactics and suddenly deprive them of their treasure. For the Homestake Mine, in Cole Campbell’s eyes, was the greatest silver property in the West; and yet even in this emergency, which threatened daily to become desperate, he refused resolutely to accept tainted money. For not only was Wunpost’s money placed under the ban, but so much had been said of Judson Eells and his sharp practises that his money was also barred.

This much Wunpost gathered on the first day of his home-coming, when, still dazed by his welcome, he yet had the sense to look happy and say almost nothing. He sat back in an easy chair with Wilhelmina at his side and the Campbells hovering benevolently in the distance, and to all attempts to draw him out he responded with a cryptic smile.

“Oh, we were so worried!” exclaimed Wilhelmina, looking up at him anxiously, “because there was blood all over the saddle; and when the trailers got to Wild Rose they found your pack-mule, and Good Luck with the rope still fast about his neck. But they just couldn’t find you anywhere, and the tracks all disappeared; and when it became known that Mr. Lynch was missing–oh, do you think they killed him?”

“Search me,” shrugged Wunpost. “I was too busy getting out of there to do any worrying about Lynch. But I’ll tell you one thing, about those tracks disappearing–them Apaches must have smoothed ’em out, sure.”

“Yes, but why should they kill him? Weren’t they supposed to be working for him? That’s what Mr. Eells gave us to understand. But wasn’t it kind of him, when he heard you were missing, to send all those search-parties out? It must have cost him several hundred dollars. And it shows that even the men we like the least are capable of generous impulses. He told Father he wouldn’t have it happen for anything–I mean, for you to come to any harm. All he wanted, he said, was the mine.”

“Yes,” nodded Wunpost, and she ran on unheeding as he drew down the corners of his mouth. But he could agree to that quite readily, for he knew from his own experience that all Eells wanted was the mine. It was only a question now of what move he would make next to bring about the consummation of that wish. For it was Eells’ next move, since, according to Wunpost’s reasoning, the magnate was already whipped. His plans for tracing Wunpost to the source of his wealth had ended in absolute disaster and the only other move he could possibly make would be along the line of compromise. Wunpost had told him flat that he would not go near his mine, no one else knew even its probable location; and yet, when he had gone to him and suggested some compromise, Eells had refused even to consider it. Therefore he must have other plans in view.

But all this was far away and almost academic to the lovelorn John C. Calhoun, and if Eells never approached him on the matter of the Sockdolager it would be soon enough for him. What he wanted was the privilege of helping Billy feed the chickens and throw down hay to his mules, and then to wander off up the trail to the tunnel that opened out on the sordid world below. There the restless money-grabbers were rushing to and fro in their fight for what treasures they knew, but one kiss from Wilhelmina meant more to him now than all the gold in the world. But her kisses, like gold, came when least expected and were denied when he had hoped for them most; and the spell he held over her seemed once more near to breaking, for on the third day he forgot himself and talked. No, it was not just talk–he boasted of his mine, and there for the first time they jarred.

“Well, I don’t care,” declared Wilhelmina, “if you have got a rich mine! That’s no reason for saying that Father’s is no good; because it is, if it only had a road.”

Now here, if ever, was the golden opportunity for remaining silent and looking intelligent; but Wunpost forgot his early resolve and gave way to an ill-timed jest.

“Yes,” he said, “that’s like the gag the Texas land-boomer pulled off when he woke up and found himself in hell. ‘If it only had a little more rain and good society─’”

“Now you hush up!” she cried, her lips beginning to tremble. “I guess we’ve got enough trouble, without your making fun of it─”

“No. I’m not making fun of you!” protested Wunpost stoutly. “Haven’t I offered to build you a road? Well, what’s the use of fiddling around, packing silver ore down on burros, when you know from the start it won’t pay? First thing you folks know Judson Eells will come down on you and grab the whole mine for nothing. Why not take some of my money that I’ve buried under a rock and put in that aerial tramway?”

“Because we don’t want to!” answered Wilhelmina tearfully; “my father wants a road. And I don’t think it’s very kind of you, after all we have suffered, to speak as if we were fools. If it wasn’t for that waterspout that washed away our road we’d be richer than you are, today!”

“Oh, I don’t know!” drawled Wunpost; “you don’t know how rich I am. I can take my mules and be back here in three days with ten thousand dollars worth of ore!”

“You cannot!” she contradicted, and Wunpost’s eyes began to bulge–he was not used to lovely woman and her ways.

“Well, I’ll just bet you I can,” he responded deliberately. “What’ll you bet that I can’t turn the trick?”

“I haven’t got anything to bet,” retorted Wilhelmina angrily, “but if I did have, and it was right, I’d bet every cent I had–you’re always making big brags!”

“Yes, so you say,” replied Wunpost evenly, “but I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll put up a mule-load of ore against another sweet kiss–like you give me when I first came in.”

Wilhelmina bowed her head and blushed painfully beneath her curls and then she turned away.

“I don’t sell kisses,” she said, and when he saw she was offended he put aside his arrogant ways.

“No, I know, kid,” he said, “you were just glad to see me–but why can’t you be glad all the time? Ain’t I the same man? Well, you ought to be glad then, if you see me coming back again.”

“But somebody might kill you!” she answered quickly, “and then I’d be to blame.”

“They’re scared to try it!” he boasted. “I’ve got ’em bluffed out. They ain’t a man left in the hills. And besides, I told Eells I wouldn’t go near the mine until he came through and sold me that contract. They’s nobody watching me now. And you can take the ore, if you should happen to win, and build your father a road.”

She straightened up and gazed at him with her honest brown eyes, and at last the look in them changed.

“Well, I don’t care,” she burst out recklessly, “and besides, you’re not going to win.”

“Yes I am,” he said, “and I want that kiss, too. Here, pup!” and he whistled to his dog.

“Oh, you can’t take Good Luck!” she objected quickly. “He’s my dog now, and I want him!”

She pouted and tossed her pretty head to one side, and Wunpost smiled at her tyranny. It was something new in their relations with each other and it struck him as quite piquant and charming.

“Well, all right,” he assented, and Billy hid her face; because treachery was new to her too.