Kitabı oku: «Frank Merriwell's Backers: or, The Pride of His Friends», sayfa 10
CHAPTER XXI.
SEEN FROM THE WINDOW
Never before had there been such a bargain between such a man and such a woman. It was the strangest compact on record. And no wonder Mrs. Arlington had closed the doors that her daughter and her maid should not hear! Had June known all she must have turned with loathing and horror from the woman.
Had D. Roscoe Arlington known he must have been shocked and heart-torn beyond measure. Had he known he must have wondered if this woman had matured from the sweet country girl who once declared with blushes and hanging head that love in a cottage with him was all the happiness she asked. Had he known he might have remembered the soft moonlight night in June when beneath the fragrant lilacs they plighted their troth, and surely his gold-hardened heart would have melted with anguish over the frightful change.
In truth, Mrs. Arlington had become deranged, as it were, on one point. Her son was her idol. She had petted, and flattered, and spoiled him. She had sent him off to school at Fardale with the conviction that he was certain to rise superior to all other boys there. And from him she had come to learn that he had not risen, but had been imposed upon, defeated, baffled, and held down by another lad who was the recognized leader in the school. Into the ears of his astonished and angry mother Chester Arlington had poured his tale of woe, and it had filled her soul with intense hatred for this other boy by the name of Merriwell who had dared think himself better than her Chester. She had gone to Fardale to set things about as they should be, and had failed. That seemed to fill her with such bitterness that she was quite robbed of sober judgment and reason.
When Mrs. Arlington learned that the mining syndicate had claims to the mines belonging to Frank and Dick Merriwell, she was aroused. When she came to understand that the taking of those mines by the syndicate would leave the Merriwell brothers almost penniless and would be the signal for Dick Merriwell to leave Fardale, she determined that the thing should be brought about at any cost of money, or time, or trouble to herself.
And it was in pursuit of this determination that the wife of D. Roscoe Arlington had come to Arizona and placed herself face to face with a ruffian like Cimarron Bill, with whom she now struck a bargain that was most astounding.
Was the woman in her right mind?
It made little difference to Bill if she were sane or not, as long as he obtained possession of that money. But when he asked for it in advance she smiled upon him coldly, almost scornfully.
"You were paid money by the syndicate, and you pledged them to accomplish a task at which you failed. This time there will be no money forthcoming until the work is done."
In return the man smiled back at her, and he said:
"That settles it! I'm not a fool. When the work is done I may find myself on the run for Mexico, with the law reaching for me. In such a case I'll have no time to collect. Cash in advance is my motto. You'll bargain with me, or you'll fail, in everything. You cannot get another man to fill my boots in the whole country. And if you were to throw me down and give the job over into the hands of another gent, I'd speak one word to him that would be enough."
"What do you mean?" she asked, wondering and angry. "What word?"
"The word 'stop,'" said Bill. "When Cimarron Bill says 'stop,' you can bet they stop. They know what it means if they don't. If you don't think so, count the notches on my guns."
"You mean that you would turn against me?"
"Not exactly, madam; I mean that I have no idea of letting any other gent get my job. I do this piece of work – or no one does it. I rather admire the sand of this Merriwell, though I'd slit his throat, just the same, for the price. If there was no object in being against him, I'd surely be for him; and it seems that you ought to know better than to put Cimarron Bill in the ranks of the enemy."
"It's a threat!" cried the woman.
"Not so; it's a business statement, begging your pardon, madam. I don't propose that any gent shall jump my claim."
"How can I be sure you'll not play me false? How can I know you'll not take the money and do nothing?"
"The syndicate paid me in advance, as you know. I did my best to earn the money. It was not my fault that I failed. In this case, if you pay the sum I have named, I swear to you I'll know no rest until I have succeeded. If I cannot succeed in one way, I will in another."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I'll capture or kill Frank Merriwell himself."
"If you could do that!" said the woman, with great eagerness. "He is the great stumbling-block."
"That's right. With him out of the way, taking the mine would be easy."
"Is there no way this can be done before you try to seize the mine?"
"He keeps pretty close to it. If he could be caught by himself. I have had my hands upon him twice, and he has slipped me both times. Next time he will not!"
"Next time – "
"An accident will happen to him," assured Bill, with deadly meaning. "That will be the simplest method."
"You are right!" she said, in a whisper. "If that could happen – "
"Would you pay the money?"
"I would. Understand, I make no bargain with you for such a thing, but that mine must be torn from him somehow. I have with me some money."
Cimarron Bill understood her well, and he nodded.
"Madam," he said, "give me a little time and I'll find a way to see to it."
At this moment there was a commotion in the street, the sound of fighting dogs, shouts of men, and the clatter of horses' hoofs.
Bill rose quickly and strode to the window, looking down into the street. A handsome Irish setter had been attacked by two mongrel dogs, and he was giving those dogs the surprise of their lives. He had one by the neck in a moment, and the mongrel was shaken like a rat. When the setter let go the mongrel took to his heels, howling with pain and terror. Then the setter turned on the other dog and a battle that was fierce enough for a few moments ensued, which ended again in the complete triumph of the setter.
Two young men had ridden into town behind the setter, and they had drawn up to witness the result of the fight. A crowd had quickly gathered, and the triumphant setter was loudly applauded.
At sight of one of the two horsemen Cimarron Bill burst forth with an exclamation of excitement.
"Look!" he said, pointing from the open window. "See – see that fellow on the dark horse!"
Mrs. Arlington was near the window.
"The one with the small mustache?" she asked.
"Yes, that's the one."
"I see him."
"Well, that's Frank Merriwell!" said Bill.
Cimarron Bill was right. Frank Merriwell and Bart Hodge had ridden into Holbrook, and with them had come Boxer, the dog. Boxer had been attacked by the mongrel curs, and he showed his mettle by quickly putting them to flight.
As Bill gazed down from that window the evil light in his eyes deepened.
"Remember our bargain!" he said in such a terrible voice that the woman at his side shuddered.
Then she saw him bring forth a revolver, and, knowing what he meant to do, she uttered a little scream and ran back into another part of the room, unwilling to witness the dark deed.
Quickly kneeling, Bill rested his elbow on the window-ledge and took aim, meaning to send a bullet through the heart of the rightful owner of the Queen Mystery Mine.
The commotion in the street and her mother's cry had brought June Arlington into that room. June saw the man with the revolver, and her eyes fell on the horseman below. She recognized Frank Merriwell, for all that he was bronzed and changed, and had a small mustache.
With a sudden scream, the girl flung herself on Bill and spoiled his aim, so that when the revolver spouted smoke the bullet flew wide of the mark intended.
Bill uttered a savage snarl, wheeling about.
"You wretch!" panted the girl, who was now pale as snow. "You murderer!"
The man was dazzled by her beauty. Immediately he moved back from the window, bowing low.
"Beg your pardon, miss," he said. "He sure is an enemy of mine, and out here we shoots on sight. But mebbe he is your friend, in which case I lets up and gives him another show."
In that moment of excitement he had fallen into the frontier manner of speaking.
She looked at him with unspeakable horror in her eyes.
"What are you doing here?" she panted. "You – you – murderer! Mother – this man – why is he here?"
But Mrs. Arlington, usually cold as ice and perfectly self-possessed, had quite lost her nerve. She sank into a chair, seeming on the verge of fainting, while she gave Bill a look that, ruffian though he was, he understood as an appeal to be left alone with June.
Nor was he loath about getting out of that room. His pistol had been discharged from the window, and, though the bullet had found no human target, men might come in haste to ask unpleasant questions.
"I begs your pardon, madam," he said, hurriedly picking up his hat. "I thinks I'll call again and finish this yere bit o' business. Just now I has another matter to attend to."
Then he hastened out.
June had flown to her mother.
"Tell me – tell me, mother, what it means!" she implored.
"My smelling-salts," faintly breathed the woman. "My heart, June! I – I'm afraid!"
Now, June knew well that the one great fear of her mother's life was sudden death from a heart trouble that came upon her at times, and so the girl hastened to bring out the bottle of salts and hold it beneath the pale lady's nose till she was somewhat recovered, though still resting limp on her chair and breathing heavily.
"What does it mean, mother?" asked the girl again. "I do not understand these strange things. I do not understand why such a wicked-looking man should be here in this room and about to shoot down in cold blood a young man in the street. He would have shot him from this very window had not I spoiled his aim."
Mrs. Arlington turned her eyes toward her daughter's face, but looked away quickly, still trembling.
"Did you know him at whom the man was about to shoot?" she weakly asked.
"Yes, I knew him, or I am much mistaken. It was Frank Merriwell. I saw him at the hotel in Fardale the day I returned to him those papers. You recollect, mother?"
"Yes, I remember it all too well, and it was the giving back to him of those papers that has made no end of trouble for us all. But for that foolish act of yours, June, he would not still be holding the mines that are rightfully the property of the C. M. A. of A."
"If those mines do not belong to him, how is it that he can hold them?"
"He has possession, and he holds it with armed men."
"But the law – "
"The law is slow, and, without those papers, it is not very sure. It is your folly, girl," declared the woman reproachfully, "that has made no end of trouble. It is your folly that brought Frank Merriwell near to his end a few moments ago, though you it was who saved him then."
"Mother, you speak in riddles! How can that be? I gave him back what was his. And have you forgotten that it was his brother, Dick, who kept you from slipping beneath the car-wheels, where you must have been maimed or killed?"
At this Mrs. Arlington sat up, and something like anger took from her her great pallor.
"No," said she, "nor have I forgotten that it was Dick Merriwell who brought upon my son all his trouble at Fardale! Dick Merriwell has been his blight there! Dick Merriwell is his enemy. He has tried to set himself over my boy, and no one shall do that!"
June knew how useless it was to talk of this matter with her mother, who refused to listen to reason, and so she did not try to press it further; but she again asked who was the man who had tried to shoot from the window.
"He was a miner," said Mrs. Arlington.
"And what business had he here in this room?"
"That is nothing to you, girl. Forget that you saw him here."
"A thing easier said than done, mother. I saw his face and his eyes, and I know he is a wicked man and one to be greatly feared. Why should you have dealings with such a wretch?"
"You ask too many needless questions, June. Look out and tell me if you still see anything of – of – Frank Merriwell."
But when June looked from the window Frank Merriwell was not to be seen on the street, which had again resumed its usual aspect.
"I must have a spell of quiet to restore my nerves, June," said Mrs. Arlington, when the girl had told her. "Leave me. Call Jackson. I think I will lie down."
So the colored maid was called, and June lingered to make sure there was nothing she could do for her mother, who coldly bade her go.
In her own room June found herself filled with tempestuous thoughts and vain speculations. She was bewildered by it all, and there was much that she could not understand, for her mother had told her little or nothing of what had brought them to that Arizona town. She was wise enough to know full well that the lady had not come there in search of health, and surely it could not be pleasure she expected in such a place, which left but one thing to suppose – it was business. But what sort of business could she have there? and why should she meet and do business with a murderous wretch like the man who had tried to shoot Frank Merriwell from the open window?
Knowing there was little danger of interruption, June found pen, ink, and paper and sat herself down to write a letter. She thought at first that she would make it very brief, and she found it exceedingly hard to begin; but when she had begun it, it ran on and on until she had written many pages. Sometimes she laughed over it, and sometimes she blushed; once her chin quivered and tears seemed to fill her splendid eyes. When it was all finished she read it over, her cheeks glowing, and at the end she kissed the paper, at which the blush swept down to her very neck, and in great confusion she folded it all hastily and put it into an envelope, which she hurriedly sealed. Although she was not aware of it, she had spent nearly two hours over the letter. On the envelope she wrote a name and address, and then, finding her hat, she slipped out to mail it.
CHAPTER XXII.
A SENSATION IN TOWN
Frank's little "scout," as he called it, on which expedition he had driven the redskins from the wounded miner, had convinced him that Cimarron Bill and his gang had withdrawn from the vicinity of the Queen Mystery Mine.
So it came about that Merry and Bart Hodge started for Holbrook, bringing with them the gold Frank had found in the saddle-bags and belt of the dead miner.
Boxer would not be left behind. Since the death of his former master the dog kept close to Frank, for whom he seemed to have formed an affection quite as deep as that he had entertained for Benson Clark.
Frank and Bart came, dust covered and wearied, into Holbrook.
Boxer's engagement with the mongrel curs, who set upon him, was an incident to enliven their advent in town, and it demonstrated the mettle of the setter.
The shot that came from the window of the hotel was somewhat surprising; but, as the bullet failed to pass anywhere near either Bart or Merry, they did not fancy it was intended for them. Still Frank dropped a hand toward the pistol swinging at his hip, thinking the lead might be intended for Boxer.
A puff of smoke was dissolving before the open window, but Cimarron Bill had vanished, nor did he again appear there. Neither Frank nor Bart had seen him.
So they were not greatly alarmed, and they laughed over the manner in which Boxer had put his assailants to flight, merriment which was joined in by many of the spectators who had gathered to witness the fight.
"Good boy, Boxer!" said Merry. "You did that up slickly."
At which the setter turned toward Frank and showed his teeth in a grin, and something followed that caused several of the bystanders to gasp and stagger or stand dazed and astounded.
When Frank and Bart rode on two or three of those men hurried into Schlitzenheimer's saloon, where one of them banged the bar with his clenched fist, and shouted:
"By thunder! that's the first time I ever heard a dog talk! Was I dreaming?"
"None whatever, pard!" declared another, mopping sweat from his face. "I heard it plain enough. For the love of goodness, Fritz, give me a snifter of tanglefoot! I need something to brace my nerves after that!"
"Vot id vos you peen sayin'?" asked the fat Dutchman behind the bar. "Vot vos dot voolishness apoudt der talkings uf a tog?"
"No foolishness," declared the sweating individual, as whisky and glasses were placed on the bar. "I'll swear to it. The dog that came in with those young gents an' whipped two other dogs in short order sartin made an observation in good, clean United States, or I'm the biggest liar on two legs."
"Say, Benchy!" said the Dutchman scornfully, "I pelief you vos readiness to haf anoder attack py dose delerium triangles, ain'd id! Uf you vill undertook my advice, you vill off svear alretty soon und safe yourseluf from der snakes some droubles."
"This is my first drink to-day," asserted Benchy, as he poured with shaking hand; "and I'd not take this if I didn't need it a whole lot to steady my nerves arter hearin' a dog talk."
"It's on the level, Fritz," assured the man who had banged the bar with his fist. "I heard it myself. The young fellow with the mustache says to the dog arter the dog had licked t'other dogs, says he, 'Good boy, Boxer; you done that up slick.' Then the dog turns about and grins up at him and winks, and he opens his mouth, and I hope I may be struck dead where I stand this minute if he didn't answer and say, 'Oh, that was no trick at all, Frank; those low-bred curs haven't any sand.' I heard it, Fritz, and I'll swear to it with my last breath!"
"You vos craziness!" said the Dutchman. "Oh, you vos drying some jokes on me to play alretty."
But now several of the others asserted that they also had heard the dog speak, and that the animal had uttered the very words quoted by the man called Spikes.
"Id peen a put-up jobs!" shouted Schlitzenheimer angrily. "Uf vor a greadt vool you tookit me, you vos not so much uf a jackass as I look to peen! Id vos nod bossible a tog vor to speech, und I vill bate zwi t'ousan' tollar it on!"
"But I heard him!" declared Benchy.
"I'm another!" averred Spikes.
"We all heard him!" cried the others at the bar.
"You got vrom my blace uf pusiness out britty queek!" ordered the Dutchman, in a great rage. "I vill not had so many plame liars aroundt! Und dond you back come some more alretty undil you vos readiness apology to make vor me drying to vool!"
"Look here, Fritz," said Benchy, leaning on the bar, "I'll bet you ten dollars coin of the realm that the dog can talk! If I had been alone in hearing the beast, I might have thought myself fooled; but all these other gents heard him, and so there is no mistake. Do you take me?"
"Den tollars haf nod seen you in a month," declared Schlitzenheimer disdainfully. "Howeffer, uf you prings pack by you dot tog und he vill speech my saloon in, I vill gif you den tollars my own moneys out uf, and all der drink you can a whole veek vor. Now, you tookit my advice und shut upness or make goot britty queek."
"I'll do it!" cried Benchy, and he hastened forth.
Frank and Bart had proceeded directly to the bank, where their dust was weighed and taken on deposit. This done, they left and sought a square meal in the very hotel where Mrs. Arlington and June were stopping. Fortunately the presence of his guests, who paid extravagantly well, had caused the proprietor to have on hand an unusual stock of cooked food, and he was able to see that the young men from the mines were provided for in a manner that surprised and pleased them not a little.
Although he took good care to keep out of sight, Cimarron Bill knew Frank Merriwell was in the hotel. At the bar of the place Bill found a rough, bewhiskered fellow, whom he drew aside.
"Bob," said Bill, in a whisper, "are you ready to tackle a tough proposition?"
"For the needful, Bill," was the quiet answer of the man, who, in spite of his rough appearance, was known by his mild manner of speech as Gentle Bob. "What is it?"
"You know the young tenderfoot gent what I have been stacking up against – the one what I spoke to you about?"
"I reckon."
"Well, he is now eatin' in the dinin'-room."
"Sho!" said Bob, in placid surprise.
"Fact," assured Bill. "Him an' one of his pards is thar. They came inter town together a short time ago. Now, I could pick a quarrel with them, and I allows I could shoot 'em both; but it would be knowed agin' me that I had been tryin' to jump their claim, which sartin' would rouse feelin's. In your case, as you were nohow consarned in the raid on the mine, it would be different, an' I 'lows you might find a way o' doin' the job easy an' slick. You kin plead self-defense, an' I promise you there will be plenty o' money to defend ye."
"It's the money fer the job I'm a-thinkin' of first, Bill," said Bob.
"A good clean thousan' dollars if you shoots the young gent with the mustache," whispered Bill.
"Do you mean it?" asked Bob, looking at him hard. "Where does it come from?"
"That I allow is none of your business. You has my word that you gets it. And I opine the word o' Cimarron Bill is knowed to be good."
"As his bond," said Gentle Bob, taking out a brace of pistols and looking them over. "I takes the job, Bill; and there sartin will be a funeral in these parts to-morrer."
