The days that followed the convention were like a dream to Danvers when he remembered them afterwards. He had scarcely picked up the old life at Fort Benton—looked over his cattle and gone over his neglected correspondence, when a telegram from the old doctor recalled him to Helena.
Arthur Latimer's tragedy had come, and Danvers, unfamiliar with death, knew no words of consolation for the father bereft of his firstborn. A numbness mercifully comes during those first hours, which makes it possible to move about and go through strange, meaningless ceremonies with a calm that surprises those who have not known the searing touch of the death angel.
A few days later he and the doctor were back at Fort Benton again, and life moved on as before. Only there was always the memory of Latimer's drawn face that no laddie's voice would lighten, no little hand caress.
The doctor hoped that the political campaign would occupy his thoughts for the present, but when the election went against Latimer he shook his head.
"Read this letter," he said to Danvers one evening. "It came to-day, and I should have sent for you if I hadn't felt so certain you would drop in. You're the one to go."
It was a letter from Winifred, and Danvers felt a peculiar sensation of satisfaction in seeing her handwriting, as if it gave him an added bond to their friendship.
But he forgot Winifred in his anxiety over the message her letter conveyed.
"I wish that you or Mr. Danvers could come to Helena," she wrote. "Judge Latimer is so changed since little Arthur's death that we sometimes fear for his reason. Since the election has gone against him there is no direct interest to take his attention and he has sunk into a deep melancholy. You could rouse him as no one else could. Please come—one or both of you."
"I wish that you or Mr. Danvers could come to Helena," she wrote. "Judge Latimer is so changed since little Arthur's death that we sometimes fear for his reason. Since the election has gone against him there is no direct interest to take his attention and he has sunk into a deep melancholy. You could rouse him as no one else could. Please come—one or both of you."
Danvers read no further, but looked up to catch the doctor's eye. He nodded. "All right, doctor. I'll go to-night."
His heart was drawn still more closely to the stricken man. He longed to bring back to that sad face the smile that he remembered on theFar West, when Latimer's buoyancy had been like wine to his lonely heart. He felt confident that the friendship of one man for another could reach the heart of his friend, now closing against all human sympathy.
It was noon before Danvers reached Helena and made his way to Judge Latimer's residence. He was startled by the absence of life, the silence and drawn shades. Turning, he saw Miss Blair entering her own gate.
"I'm so glad you've come!" cried the girl, with unaffected pleasure, as he hastened towards her. "But didn't you know that the Latimers had gone to the hotel for the winter?"
Danvers had not known.
"Come in and have lunch with Charlie and me," she urged; "it will be ready in just a minute. Charlie will be here soon and will want to congratulate you on your majority."
"But Arthur—I feel I must get to him."
"Come in and telephone. He has opened offices down town and you may find him there. Icall up Eva every morning, but Judge Latimer is out a great deal."
While she was speaking Danvers had followed her into the house. It was a homelike room; a canary's trill greeted them, and a glimpse of old-fashioned plants in the bay-window wakened memories of English homes. How different it was from his rooms at Fort Benton!
Winifred smiled brightly as she made him at home, and excused herself for a moment.
"And how is Judge Latimer?" questioned Danvers, as she reappeared from the dining-room with a big apron, which she fastened about her waist in a most businesslike manner.
"He needs cheering—needs loving! With the old routine of office suddenly lacking, and little Arthur gone, the man is lost—aimless. There seems to be nothing worth while—nothing to keep him with us! And there are other troubles—I don't understand them myself, but you will know how to help him. I'm so glad you have come!" she repeated, with a warmth that made his heart beat faster. What would it be like to find such a welcome for his own sake—and every night when he came home!
"Did you 'phone the office?" The words recalled him.
"Yes. He is down in the valley; the clerk didn't know when he would return."
"We won't wait for Charlie. He's often late, and I know you are anxious to find the judge."
After a few minutes' absence Winifred announced that luncheon was ready. As Philip held the curtains for her to precede him to the dining-room he looked longingly at the sweet-scented blossoms in the window.
"I have seen nothing more delightful in years," he explained. "I am old-fashioned enough not to care for palms or rubber plants."
"Another bond of friendship," smiled Winifred, lightly. "Shall I make the salad dressing, or would you prefer to mix it yourself?" she asked, after she had persuaded him to take the head of the table.
"I make a dressing that is the despair of my friends," she continued. "So I make them shut their eyes when I mix it, else my one accomplishment would be mine no longer."
Philip promised, with a smile, to "play fair." He delighted in the housewifely nonsense, and ate the salad, though he hated olive oil. "Salads are a woman's folly," he had once said. But he did not repeat it.
"How do you like it?" Her mood suited the visitor. The light conversation took his mind from the more serious purpose of his visit, and Winifred's accent implied accepted friendship. He needed this relaxation.
"I never cared for salads, before," he replied truthfully.
"Why did you eat it?"
"I ate it, and I liked it because you made it for me. I am not used to being waited upon, and I rather like the experience."
"You poor man!" Winifred sympathized without reflection. "It must be horrid not to have anyone to do things for you. I should think—I mean——" she colored as she met Philip's eyes, "I mean—Charlie says that I have spoiled him completely."
The advent of Blair relieved the girl from her condition of fragmentary speech, and they talked of the Latimers and the political outlook for the coming winter.
Danvers took his leave with a feeling of regret at parting from unexpectedly congenial friends. How little he had known of Blair—the good fellow. How cheery and unaffected Winifred was! The years were bridged which had separated him from his kind, and as he walked down the street he felt a glow of kindness toward all the world.
He called at the hotel, thinking Latimer might have returned, but Mrs. Latimer pettishly denied any knowledge of his whereabouts. He often went for long walks, she said, and seldom returned until late. "Won't you stay until he returns?" she invited, but Danvers pleaded business.
Twice during the afternoon Danvers ran up to the judge's office, but failed to find him until evening. Seeing a light in the inner office, he opened the door and entered.
The judge did not look up. He sat with his back to the door, and gazed intently at a revolver, while his hand played idly with the trigger.
Danvers stepped forward and silently reached for the weapon.
"No, no, Arthur! Not that!"
"Phil! You?" Latimer sprang from his chair. "Why—why——"
Danvers was shocked at the haggard face.
"I ran up from Fort Benton, Arthur, just to see you. I've been looking for you all the afternoon." He gently pushed the trembling man back into his chair.
"Why—why did you stop me? It would have been over—now—if——"
"Life is not so bad as that, old friend."
"Isn't it?" bitterly. "If you——"
"I can understand—I know. But you must promise me that you will not attempt this—again." Danvers spoke firmly, feeling that he could never leave his friend if he were not given a pledge.
The broken man looked into the kind eyes opposite. "You think me a coward, don't you? I promise."
"No," refuted Danvers, warmly. "You are worn out, mentally and physically; that is all. Take a run to the coast with me for a month or two——"
Latimer began to laugh, mirthlessly. "I couldn't take a run to Fort Benton, Phil. I haven't a dollar—not a dollar. I'm a ruined man!"
"Arthur!"
Latimer took a paper-knife and checked off his sentence. His voice was impersonal.
"You made a mistake, Phil, when you interrupted me. No, do not speak," he raised his hand. "I was in possession of what sanity I've had since Arthur——" He did not complete the sentence. "I've deliberately decided that a quick shot was the only solution of my problem. Boy gone; home gone; my dearest ambition frustrated; hopelessly in debt——"
"I can help you in that."
"And disbarment proceedings about to be instituted," finished Latimer.
"What!" ejaculated Danvers. "Who will institute them? On what grounds?"
"Burroughs. He has trumped up some infamous charge. I got a hint of it only this morning—a straight tip."
"He shall not do it! I shall have something to say to him—to the papers. He would not like to have them get hold of Moore's interviews with you and me on the matter of that Supreme Court decision. I——"
"Papers!" Latimer threw out his hands with a helpless gesture. "Burroughsownsevery paper in the State!"
"Well, then, I have another card to play. You leave this matter to me. You are not going under, and you are not going to—die—not yet! Bob will drop the disbarment proceedings, I promise you; and if he is not amenable to reason—why—he does not own the Associated Press!" grimly.
"N-no. But I'm broke—ruined."
"What do you think a friend is for, Arthur?" said Danvers, reproachfully. "If I had had any idea that financial matters were troubling you, I would have fixed you out in short order!"
"I can't accept favors."
"Favors!" slightingly, to cover his feeling. "I shall be a Shylock—never you fear!" Then a hand, heavy with love, fell on Latimer's shoulder. "What is mine is yours, Arthur."
Within a week, not only were the judge's difficulties relieved, but the proposed disbarment proceedings were dropped.
"I had means," said Danvers, sternly, when pressed for details by the grateful judge, and none but Burroughs ever knew of the threatened exposure.
Before Danvers returned to Fort Benton, he had the pleasure of seeing Judge Latimer off for the East on legal work and knew that his low mental condition was replaced by a more healthy one. Mrs. Latimer he avoided. The gratitude of Winifred Blair came as a surprise, and strengthened their sympathy in this common cause. He called to say good-bye, but found her not at home, and he left Helena with a distinct feeling of disappointment.
The state election in November gave Danvers a handsome majority, and it was as the senator from Chouteau County that, early in the new year, he attended the governor's reception to the legislators. He came in late, and after paying his respects to the governor and his wife, wandered rather helplessly toward the hall, seeing many whom he knew, but finding little pleasure in their casual greetings.
Mr. and Mrs. Burroughs, as well as the Hon. William Moore, had come from Butte to attend the brilliant society function. Other acquaintances who now lived at the capital were among the guests whom Danvers recognized. His sister he seldom saw, and the lack of any common interest between them made it possible to meet her husband in only the most formal way.
Presently he saw Winifred Blair at the salad table, who, chancing to look up from her task, smiled invitingly.
"May I not serve you with salad?" she asked, as he approached.
"If you will make the dressing," recalling their lunch of the late summer.
"It is already dressed," laughed the girl.
"Then you will let me get you some punch; come with me for it."
She was perishing of thirst (by her own statement), and Danvers finding some one to take her place for a time, discovered a quiet corner of the library past which swept the tide of callers. Hither he enticed Miss Blair, and soon brought the refreshing drink. She sank on the window couch.
"How nice to be looked after," she said, gratefully. "I believe that you knew I was tired of the silly things one must say to men whom one never expects—or wants—to meet again."
"Never say silly things to me or I shall think I am in the category."
"Very well, I will not. I've always had to beto other people what they wanted me to be—what they expected. Somehow, with you—I am myself."
"You could not pay me a higher compliment."
For some minutes they chatted of the coming assembly and then wandered to the discussion of a book which denied love to be the greatest thing in the world. By that instinct which prompts men and women to talk of this one subject they enlarged on the topic, impersonally at first, as if it were a matter of the price of cattle.
"Then you do believe in the great passion?"
"Certainly; don't you?"
"I used to think that I did—years ago. But one sees the counterfeit so often."
"There could be no counterfeit unless the real existed."
"You are right. The real is so rare, then, that one despairs of knowing it." The subject grew more personal. "But we all want the genuine."
"I don't care for paste diamonds myself, no matter how well they imitate."
"You have had opportunity to discriminate?" tentatively.
"I—think so," Winifred replied, reflectively, as if he had asked whether she liked cucumbers, and his face clouded, for no reason. "Vicarious experience," she added, mischievously.
"Oh!"
"I have admired men; liked a few immensely," she admitted, frankly. "But the mysterious glow which comes—it has never enveloped me," she ended abruptly. "Since we are getting so personal, how about yourself?"
"I——" he hesitated.
"You needn't finish!" Winifred nodded, laughing. "Other men swear by the little god that they have never loved—never—until——" Once more Winifred found her facile tongue had led her into difficulties.
"Other men lie—I do not; yet you evidently do not believe me."
"Yes, I do! That is what I so like about you. People believe you, trust you, know where you are to be found."
"I know no other way," replied the Senator. "It is no merit. I simply find it awkward and inconvenient to prevaricate."
"You are to be congratulated," murmured the girl, ransacking her memory for another man who could say as much.
An eddy of the flowing stream of guests brought Mrs. Burroughs towards them. Mrs. Latimer, too, came into the deep window space, the ladies talking animatedly.
"Am I not right, Winnie?" appealed Mrs. Latimer, after the felicitations of the day had been exchanged. "I say that a woman has never hada love affair worthy of the name who hasn't had a lover called 'Jack.' Jack—the care-free; Jack—the debonair; Jack—the dare-devil! It's all in the name, Jack."
"Alas!" moaned Winifred, entering into the gay spirit of the moment. "Alack, woe is me! That I must confess my poverty before woman"—she glanced at Danvers—"and man! I've had lovers of many names—Henry and Jim and—and—Bi——" she seemed out of names—"and of many hues—Brown and Green and Black; but never a Jack for me!"
"If you haven't had an adorer by that name," laughed Mrs. Latimer, "it's because no man in the state answers to the name of Jack!" They all joined in the merriment, to Winifred's confusion.
"'Thou, too, Brutus!'" she quoted reproachfully. "What will Senator Danvers think of me, with such a reputation as you give."
"Suppose I have my name changed," suggested Danvers.
"Philip suits you very well," Miss Blair answered, sedately. "You intimated a few minutes ago that you were rather inexperienced," she went on daringly. "If this winter you will try for such a reputation as Mrs. Latimer gave me, I'll agree to meet you on the field of battle." As she concluded the doctor came up and the jokewas explained to him. He turned to the Senator.
"You'retoo old to have your name changed, or to affect the tender passion, Phil. Leave that to younger men—to me! I'll have my name changed to Jack, right away; and as for loving, I have always loved thee!" bowing to Winifred.
A chorus of shrieks greeted the doctor's declaration.
"No," insisted Philip, when his voice could be heard, "I am going to enter the lists, inexperienced as I am."
The challenge in his eyes was good to see, but Winifred could not meet them. Delighted at the sight, the doctor changed the subject, and soon the group broke up.
As Danvers greeted others, he noticed Eva Latimer in earnest conversation with Mr. William Moore. He bowed in passing, but their lowered voices paused only long enough for the conventional greeting.
After making the round of the parlors, Danvers found the doctor and soon afterward they returned to their hotel.
The next morning Judge Latimer was surprised to find his wife taking a sudden interest in politics.
"Why is there so much opposition to Mr. Burroughs for United States senator?" she inquired.
"Several reasons," he answered, evasively, thinking she would not be interested to pursue the subject.
"But he will be elected."
"That remains to be seen."
"He has thirty pledged out of the whole ninety-four, and several——"
"How do you know? Where did you get your information?" Latimer spoke sharply.
"Mr. Moore—nobody talked of anything else,it seems to me," amended Mrs. Latimer, with what carelessness she could assume. "Since the legislators have been arriving I have heard nothing discussed so much as Mr. Burroughs' chances of winning the election."
"That comes of living in a hotel," said the judge, bitterly. "Burroughs' headquarters are on this floor, too, confound it! I wish we had not given up our home."
"I don't," cried Eva. "Politics are lots of fun! I had no idea how much until this winter. It's so exciting!"
She did not tell her husband that the Honorable William Moore had been at considerable pains to interest her in the coming struggle, even prolonging his frequent calls unduly, in giving her an insight (so far as he thought necessary) into the workings of practical politics as expounded and promulgated by Mr. Burroughs and himself. So delicately had he broached what had been in his mind since the night of Eva's dinner party that before she was aware she had promised that she would do what she could to forward Burroughs' cause with recalcitrant members. The political manager had assured her that his patron, in his gratitude, would make the reward for her services magnificently great.
Mrs. Latimer had not been cajoled into this without some scruples, for she well knew whather husband would think. She remembered, too, certain interviews of her own with Burroughs, which she would have liked to forget; but it was many years ago that he had made love to her, and she succeeded in allaying the troublesome reproaches of conscience by the justification of the urgent need of retrieving their fortunes. If Arthur could be made minister to some foreign capital (her ambition had vaulted to Berlin) he need never suspect her share in its offer.
Mr. Moore had told her that only a rich man could afford to be at the head of one of the larger legations, and had most thoughtfully placed certain mining shares in her name, whose value had already increased gratifyingly. When Arthur should ask her how he could accept such a position, she would triumphantly produce the fortune made from these shares, and explain that she had judiciously invested the small patrimony from her father's estate. It all seemed easy to the ambitious woman. Only a little effort to interest certain men—could anything be easier?
And the gold which she had found after Moore's last call! When she had sent him word he told her that he had its duplicate; to use the money, since she had found it. The temptation was great. Arthur was always complaining of unpaid accounts. She settled certain debts with alight heart. He would never think to inquire about them.
So now she merely looked misunderstood as she continued: "It is nothing to us, of course, whether Mr. Burroughs is elected; but"—she hesitated, not knowing how best to proceed—"I'm sure a word from you would have great influence with the members."
Latimer was dumfounded. Then he began to laugh.
"You would make a first-class lobbyist!" he said lightly. "Have a care! A word from you would be worth ten of mine." Then, more seriously: "Don't talk too much of this, Eva. It is going to be a bad business before a senator is elected. Ugly rumors are heard already. I know of——" He changed his words. "Mr. Burroughs is not respected among men of integrity. Not even among men of low standards. His wealth is his only asset. Unscrupulous, defying investigation——" He pulled himself up. Never before had he expressed so definite a judgment on the millionaire.
But though he cautioned his wife, Latimer had no suspicion that it might be necessary. She had lived purely on the surface, showing no interest in anything but dress, society, herself. It did not occur to him that ambition might render hersomething more than a butterfly. In this respect Moore read the woman more accurately.
That week Helena was billed for Italian opera. The announcement ofIl Trovatoremade Danvers' heart leap with desire to hear it once more. He knew it was doubtful whether the company could sing, but it could not be wholly bad.
When he first heard the opera, during a boyish holiday in London, it was at the height of its popularity, and every evening of his vacation found him enthralled in the boxes. The isolation of the frontier had but made the old music more loved, and Philip decided to make up a box party of his friends. Miss Blair had told him that she had never heard it in its entirety. She should be the guest of honor. Judge and Mrs. Latimer, Blair, the doctor from Fort Benton and O'Dwyer should complete the party.
"The opera has been given for the last twenty years," said Senator Danvers to Miss Blair, as she expressed herself delighted to accept his invitation. "You could hardly get a corporal's guard to go across the street to hear it in New York, I fancy; but it was the first opera I ever heard, and I love the old airs."
The theater was filling fast as Danvers held the curtain aside for his guests to enter the box. The distractions of the opposing forces at the capitol were, for the time, dismissed, and he listened with amusement to Miss Blair as he assisted to remove her light opera cloak.
"I've never been in a theater box before," she confessed. "It makes one feel exclusive, doesn't it? And, oh, dear! dreadfully self-conscious. Suppose I fall out—over the railing? I'm sure I shall bring disgrace upon us!" She looked gaily at her host. "Suppose I should fall over?" she repeated, her eyes wide with pretense.
"Somebody would catch you," said matter-of-fact Eva.
"If you think that you are growing dizzy from looking over that fearful, two-foot precipice," said Danvers, adopting Winifred's tone, "I'm going to be the one to save you from a tragic death! I'll go around now, and get ready to be a hero!"
"Don't! A lady in an opera box is worth two in the orchestra seats," paraphrased Winifred, blithely. "I will not fall out."
As Danvers pulled her chair a little further from the low rail, Winifred noticed his face change.
"What is it?" she asked, in quick response.
Philip smiled a little sadly. "'My heart is on the ground,'" he answered, using an expressive Indian phrase. "I cannot be light and witty. I am cursed with seriousness."
"Your friends like you just as you are." Butin this frank avowal the senator found no consolation.
Danvers' enjoyment of the familiar opera was augmented by the appreciation shown on Winifred's earnest, mobile face. The company proved to be exceptionally good, the voices above the average, the acting intelligent andcon amore. The passionate intensity of the Italians soon enthused Miss Blair into forgetfulness of those around her. While her brother and O'Dwyer sat stoically, the doctor contentedly, and Mrs. Latimer indifferent in her secret musing, Arthur and Philip followed, with her, the fortunes ofLeonora. Not until the curtain fell on act three did she readily join in the chatter of her friends, and then only when Judge Latimer said to his wife: "You should have heard Phil sing 'Di quella pira' when we were at Fort Macleod. He reached that high note quite as easily as this Italian."
"Don't you believe him, Mrs. Latimer," besought Danvers. "Make allowance for his well-known partiality."
"Certainly," responded Eva, trying to make her tone indifferent. She never was quite sure of her voice when speaking directly to this man who ignored the past.
"Do you sing?" Winifred turned with a quick motion which was characteristic. "Do you, Senator Danvers?"
"I do not."
"But you did?"
"You bet he did!" blurted out O'Dwyer, ever ready to recite the good qualities of Danvers. Thereupon he told of the Christmas supper, Colonel Macleod's request, and the duet. "But they sang in English, so a Christian could understand—not this Dago lingo," he concluded. The Irishman's contempt for the soft Italian syllables was irresistible.
"Oh," sighed Winifred, after the laugh had died away, "I wish that I could have been at Fort Macleod that Christmas night!" she included Judge Latimer in her friendly glance.
"Mr. O'Dwyer did not tell you that he could sing!" chortled Latimer. But O'Dwyer begged to be spared, and after some good-natured raillery the judge acquiesced.
"Has that particular duet already been sung?" Winifred's eyes shone as she leaned toward her host. "If it has I shall insist upon its being repeated."
"You are so used to having people do as you ask that I believe you would," volunteered Eva.
"Of course I would. Everybody does as I wish."
"Perhaps that is because you do not ask impossible things," put in Senator Danvers. "But to relieve your anxiety, and to prevent yourrising and asking for something that might be refused, I hasten to assure you that the duet has not been sung. Mr. O'Dwyer forgot to say that it was theMisererethat we tried to sing for dear old Colonel Macleod. I'm afraid we did it pretty poorly."
From this the conversation drifted to other matters.
"I don't see Mr. Burroughs, Senator Danvers, although your sister and niece are in one of the opposite boxes," said Eva, sweeping the house with her glasses. "Nor Mr. Moore, nor Senator Hall—although his wife is here," she added.
"Politics are more exciting than Italian opera, I fancy," said Winifred.
"The politicians are pretty busy," confirmed the judge.
"Whom do you think I saw on the street to-day, Danvers?" asked Blair, suddenly. "McDevitt!" he announced, waiting for no speculations.
"No!"
The men were surprised, for McDevitt, the missionary-trader, had long since been forgotten.
"He says that he lives in Montana now, somewhere near the Canadian line."
Just then a messenger boy brought a telegram for Danvers, who excused himself to read and answer it. As he returned the opening bars ofLeonora'sflorid song sounded, and under cover of the music the doctor whispered to O'Dwyer: "You did better to-night in your whole-souled praise than when your elbow was sprained at Fort Macleod.Thisis the girl!"
"Betcher life she is! An' what's more, she's on!" The Irishman reverted to trooper slang in his ardor, and got a sharp nudge from the doctor in consequence.
The beautiful melodies followed in swift succession. Miss Blair gave a sigh of appreciation as theMiserere"Ah che la mort" was sung, and unconsciously put out her hand. The sleeve of her soft evening gown brushed Danvers' arm, and instantly his heart began to sing. Not so had he been stirred by Eva's conscious touch, years before. Eva had not struck the chord divine—this thrill revealed it.
"I want to live," breathed Winifred, "while there is such music and such love in the world. I don't care if it is old—the opera. Music and love never grow old."
As the duet ended, Winifred and Philip, each in the thrall of the divine song, looked deep into each other's eyes. Confused, startled, the spell was broken, and Winifred turned again to the stage.
When the Latimers were alone in their apartments the judge remarked on Danvers' generosity. "I never knew a man who so delighted in giving pleasure to other people. He sent tickets to a family of four to-night because he heard me speak of their love for music; and they'll never know their benefactor."
"You're always ready to sing the praises of Senator Danvers!" Mrs. Latimer stifled a yawn. "I really get tired of hearing his good qualities enumerated."
While Danvers and his friends were enjoying the opera Joseph Hall sat in a hotel office in Helena, watching the crowd and grumbling at the excitement and bustle of the politicians and hangers-on.
He was something of a power in the political affairs of the State, but to-night the swarming activity of the candidates for the appointive offices displeased him mightily. So did the well-organized methods of one man who wanted to go to Congress—Robert Burroughs. Hall did not belong to the party in power, although he had been elected from his county. As he saw Burroughs' friends hobnobbing with the country legislators he shut his eyes, cursing all men impartially. Like a thorn in the flesh the memory of Burroughs' trick and the resultant lawsuit pricked his anger into poisonous hate. Outwardly he showed noenmity, but revenge would be sweet. To be sure, he had won his suit and recovered his share of the proceeds from the sale of the mine, but the cause rankled, and had become a mania, not the less dangerous because it was nursed secretly.
In the jostling, good-natured throng of senators, representatives, boys who wanted to be pages, and girls who boldly or coyly tried to interest unintroduced men in their clerical abilities, Joe Hall saw no one with whom he cared to speak. Montana was not yet populous enough to make its leading men unknown to each other, especially the old-timers. As he rose to go he heard his name spoken, and turned to face a man whom he could not for the moment place.
"McDevitt!" he finally exclaimed.
"To command," was the fawning response. "May I speak to you for a moment?"
Hall hesitated; he thought that the man would hardly be seeking an office at the capital, and he motioned the Canadian to follow. They passed into a small room reserved for semi-private conversations.
"What shall it be?" he asked as they took seats at a small table.
"Lemonade." McDevitt had never drunk openly. Joe smiled grimly at the call-boy's amazement. Lemonade was not often called for at that hotel. Hall's own order was gin.
"Well?"
McDevitt was disconcerted. He had thought to receive a cordial greeting, forgetting that Joseph Hall had left the North West Mounted Police in disgrace, and might wish to ignore his past. He hesitated; then, seeing that there were to be no questionings, he began autobiographically:
"I've been living in Montana for some time. I run a little store. Say, look here," his voice changed to anxiety as he breathed his desire, "I'm here looking for a job. I'm no lobbyist, but I want a position at the capital."
"Oh, you do?"
"Yes. I thought maybe you could give me a good word. I know you're a leading light in Montana politics. I seen by the papers that you was State senator."
"Oh, you did?" Little encouragement could be gathered from the noncommittal responses. Hall's restless, drumming fingers and lowered gaze threw the suppliant out of countenance. McDevitt, in turn, grew silent and drank the last of his mild refreshment. Hall looked up, with shifty eyes.
"Can you pray?"
"Now?" gasped the startled ex-preacher.
Joe relaxed in spite of himself. "Well, not just now. This is not a church." The jingle ofglasses in the adjoining bar corroborated his statement. "When were you in Macleod last?" The question came suddenly, with intent to surprise truth.
"Oh, some little time ago," evaded McDevitt, deftly. Why tell that he had been caught smuggling whiskey, and after serving his sentence had left Canada?
Hall looked at him, thoughtfully, with a curious cunning in his eyes.
"Then you don't happen to know where Bob Burroughs' squaw is?"
"Pine Coulee? Why—she's—that is—perhaps I could find out? What do you want to know for?" The caution of a possible bargain appeared.
Hall did not answer immediately, but went back to McDevitt's request.
"So you want a job? Why don't you go to Burroughs? He isn't in the Legislature, but he seems to be promising 'most everything to 'most everybody these days." Joe spoke bitterly, and light dawned on the not over acute McDevitt.
"H-m-m!Measking Bob Burroughs for anything! I see myself!"
"Or him giving it!" supplemented Hall, remembering the rivalry of the traders. Again he did deliberate thinking. If he should place McDevitt it would be a small but irritating way toannoy Burroughs. He was not above seeking even infinitesimal means of stinging, and this chance encounter might lead to something more to his set purpose. So he went on: "Get you a job, eh? Se-ve-ri-al others want sinecures." He grew facetious as his thought took shape. "I'm out of it this year, Mac. Still, I think I've influence enough to help an old friend if——" His look suggested an exchange of favors.
McDevitt was shrewd enough to wait. Joe mused an appreciable time, beating his tattoo on the table. "Yes," he finally said, "they've got to give the minority something, and I know one of the members who can get what I want. He's owing me a little favor—see? I needn't figure in the deal at all, and Burroughs will be mad as thunder." Again he thrummed, decisively this time. "If I get you on the pay-roll as chaplain at five per (or whatever the legislators pay for prayers which, if answered, would put 'em out of business), I'll expect you to find Pine Coulee and Burroughs' half-breed brat. He must be a chunk of a youngster now, if he's alive. And," impressively, "after that I'll expect you to keep your mouth shut—see?"
"Oh, the 'breed's alive, all right," threw out the ex-preacher in the expansion of his soul at the thought of a comfortable per diem. "The hour I sign the pay-roll I'll tell yeh several surprisin' things. I'd like to get even, too. And as for talking too much with my mouth, I reckon selling whiskey in the Whoop Up Country after the Police came in taught me the necessity of occasionally being a mute."
The rumors of vote-buying before the Legislature convened were forgotten in the facts of the days following. The first ballot for United States senator, as provided for by the Federal statutes, was cast in each branch of the Assembly separately on the second Tuesday after organization; and it was, as usual, scattered by honoring different men of State repute. The next day, and the next, the ballot was taken in joint session. The first test of each candidate's strength showed that Robert Burroughs had but thirty of the entire ninety-four. Thereafter began a systematized demoralization of the men of all parties who constituted the legislative assembly. Sumptuous headquarters were maintainedat the leading hotel by Mr. Burroughs, and the Honorable William Moore, past master in chicanery and rascality, extended a well-filled hand to all who entered the spider's parlor. Burroughs was seldom in evidence. In fact, he was not often in the city.
"My friends are working for me," he would explain, nonchalantly. "I have placed myself in their hands completely. It is not necessary for me to trouble about the minor details. They have urged me to allow my name to be used; but, really, it is immaterial to me—I have other interests to look after." Then, plaintively, "I am far from well."
This last statement was a self-evident fact. Years of crafty plotting had seamed Burroughs' face with lines that come from secret connivings—an offer here, a lure there; a sword of Damocles held low; an iron hand and a velvet glove—all these things made for age in heavy retribution. He complained of the heat, of the cold; of his breathing and of his digestion. A sense of suffocating fullness oppressed him as he climbed the steep incline of the streets of the capital. Yet he retained his pride in the English girl whom he had married, as he avowed, to vent malice on her brother. His family affection was the one redeeming sentiment of his life. When he was away from Butte not a day passed that he did not communicate with his wife, either by post or telegraph. He took pains that no newspapers speaking ill of him should gain admittance to his house—a superfluous task, since politics were of no interest to his home-loving wife.
William Moore sometimes looked meditatively at his old friend as he fumed over trifles. Invariably after such reflection he saw to it that his own private exchequer was bettered from the flow of gold streaming from the millionaire's store. It was well to be on the safe side, thought the ex-wolfer, sagely. Yet on the whole his arduous work as Burroughs' manager was conscientiously done. These men had worked together too long for Moore not to feel a personal pride in his work of debauching a Legislature.
Other candidates there were, too, who used illegal methods to obtain votes. Not that no reputable man was a candidate; not that honest, incorruptible men could not be found in the legislative halls of Montana; but Moore's extravagance in behalf of his chief shattered all precedents, defied integrity and exposure and eclipsed the good that would not be submerged. In fact, his prodigality defeated its purpose; when men found that they could get five thousand dollars for a vote as easily as one thousand, they held their decision in abeyance until the consideration was increased fourfold. This not once, nor twice; notby one man, but by the indefinite many, until it was current talk that certain men had received one, five, ten, even fifteen thousand dollars for their votes. Why should legislators talk of "their duty," or "the principle of the thing," when a lifetime of ordinary business methods and dealings would bring but little more than might be obtained by speaking a man's name in joint assembly? To listen to any group of men discussing the political situation one unacquainted with the law would never mistrust that bribery in legislatures was a state's prison offense.
So wary did members become that Burroughs, possessing small faith in the impeccability of his fellow men, grew peevish at the delay in securing the requisite majority, while those who held Montana's best interests at heart breasted the tidal wave of corruption with sinking hearts.
As in every contest of its kind, the full vote for Burroughs was not cast at any joint assembly until Moore knew he had the number required to elect. In this way no legislator was sure from day to day of the man sitting beside him; some one known to be pledged to another candidate, or professing himself under no obligations to any man, would swaggeringly or shamefacedly, as the case might be, announce as his name was called from the alphabetical list by the brazen-voiced reader in front of the speaker's desk that hischoice for a United States senator was Robert Burroughs.
Days went by, with no decisive vote; there was less good-fellowship, more caution; less talking, more secrecy; each member looking askance at his neighbor, wondering if he was or would be bought. Lobbies and halls of capitol, hotels, saloons and offices swarmed with men talking of Burroughs.
O'Dwyer, member from Chouteau County, took to walking in the middle of the streets to ward off Burroughs' emissaries—greatly to the amusement of his friends, in days when amusement was seldom indulged in by the small band of honest men in the Legislature. State Senator Danvers grew more grave as time went on. The onus of his party's opposition had fallen on him, for he was working for the governor's election as United States senator as against Burroughs, also a Republican. He felt more alone than at any time since he had lived in the Northwest, for the doctor was back at Fort Benton, and Judge Latimer away on professional matters.
Hall grew unctuous, and had many a sly wink with Chaplain McDevitt. Senator Blair was moody, restless and irritable, except in the hours which he spent with Mrs. Latimer. Winifred, in her anxiety, became a stranger to sleep, but shemade no complaint of her haunting fear. A reserve, unnatural to her, became apparent.
With Eva Latimer it was different. She was intoxicated with the excitement, and missed no noon hour when the senate marched in, two by two, to the representatives' chamber for the daily balloting. With a list of the members of both houses in hand, she sat watching the proceedings and checking off each name on the roll-call. Her absorption in the varying sum totals for Burroughs made her unconscious of the glances in her direction; and Moore, secluded in his retreat, knew nothing of her open interest in the capitol. Often Senator Blair was at her side at the convening of the Legislature, or provided her a seat near his own, and in the intervals of routine work they would chat in low tones. She often cast furtive eyes at Danvers, eyes that revealed so much that those who watched her smiled meaningly. But Danvers, absorbed in his arduous duties, saw nothing personal in her self-revealing glance; he resented only her carelessness in protecting her absent husband's interests.
The contest was not without its amusing features. A nervous representative shied violently at a piece of writing paper one night which had been left on his floor by a careless chambermaid; for the member rooming next him had the night before opened his innocent eyes on a thousand-dollarbill miraculously floating through the transom. If bills of such denomination materialized as cleverly as roses at a medium's seance, what might not develop at any moment? It was disquieting! Beds were feverishly ripped open instead of being slept in; mattresses were overhauled and pillows uncased; chiffoniers were turned upside down in hope that bills were tacked on the bottom; envelopes in unfamiliar handwriting were opened cautiously, with no witnesses; papers were signed making one legislator an Indian agent, another a doctor in a coal camp, another a lawyer in a large corporation—all positions contingent on Burroughs' election. The list of pledged men grew, yet still Moore's outlay did not buy the United States senatorship for Robert Burroughs.
"Yes, the whole number of ninety-four," confided Moore, patiently, as Burroughs asked for the hundredth time how many members were in the Assembly. They were sitting before a large desk in the inner room of Burroughs' suite, and the Assembly had been in session nearly six weeks.
"I surely have forty-five of 'em now?" anxiously.
"That's the way I've got it figured," soothingly.
"Good men? Men who would vote for me anyway?" Burroughs had lately developed anexasperating desire to believe that some man was his friend with no thought of reward. Mr. Moore, knowing the aspirant's record and reputation, thought that this portended senility.
"Yes—I suppose so. Thirty of 'em, anyway."
"And the others?"
"Oh, so-so," indifferently. What did it matter?
"How many are there who can't be approached?"
"It's pretty hard to tell who can and who can't," parried Moore, cautiously, and lighted a cigar. "I fancy the lantern business would experience a gigantic boom if one went hunting for an honest man in politics."
"In Montana," supplemented Burroughs, smiling at his pleasantry.
"In Montana," acquiesced the arch-briber, suavely.
"How many more must I get?" This was a question that any child could answer, but Burroughs had a nervous desire to talk which irritated his companion almost beyond endurance. The day had been a trying one, and Burroughs asked for repetitions of statements and figures unceasingly.
"Three or four, to make certain," answered Moore, with what urbanity he could command at the moment.
"How much have you paid out already?" Thechange in subject was not so unexpected as might appear. Like most millionaires, the magnate kept closer account of his expenditures than many a working man.
"I haven't the exact figures. Men often come in and ask for money to grease their gabbers with, and I give it to them without making a note of the item."
"I wouldn't believe you under oath—unless I chose," Burroughs said, equably.
Moore shrugged his shoulders. It was all a matter of a day's exigencies.
"Seems to me we've got a lot of bribe-brokers who are earning easy money," continued the candidate for Congress.
"That's no dream. But the saloons must be worked, and the men who are talking for you all the time seem to think it is worth cash money right along. They've cultivated the politician's faculty of making themselves indispensable."
"Oh, well, that's all right. I'll go to Congress if it costs me—no one knows what it costs to buy a Legislature, but I'm going to find out this winter." Burroughs looked thoughtfully at a slip of paper on the desk, then raised his eyes.
"Haven't got O'Dwyer, I see."
"No."
"What do you think he'll do?"
"I'm no mind reader."
"Can't get Danvers?"
"What are you thinking of? Of course we can't get him. He's the head of the opposition. We won't even try. I've had one experience with him in that Hall case. That's enough for me, and," defiantly, "I rather admire him." Burroughs lifted his eyebrows. "Besides——"
"How about Joe Hall?" Burroughs interrupted.
"Joe will be in this evening. First time I've been able to get him to promise to come here. He's sore yet, Bob."
"That's all right. Better be liberal with him. I always liked Joe well enough. But he's sold out so often in politics that he's a little risky, after all. Weren't you out with him last night?"
Moore laughed admiringly. So Burroughs knew of a drive to a roadhouse and a convivial night. His chief kept an omniscient eye on everybody with whom he was dealing.
"Well, yes. I thought that I'd jolly him up a little without any hint of trying to get his vote. I had half a mind to commit suicide this morning, but my head was so sore that I hated to shoot a hole in it."
Burroughs grinned. "Joe's always telling of what he's done. According to his talk he's developed the State from cattle to copper—from sheep to sapphires. A man who's always tellingwhat he's done isn't doing very much now. I'll bet he'll be the easiest in the bunch if you tackle him right."
"Don't be too sure. A man that's been everything from a Populist to a justice of the peace is likely to be hard to convince. Queer how McDevitt turned up this winter," Moore went on, after a drink. "Chaplain of the House, too!"
"I don't much like that!"
"Oh, we must throw something overboard to the sharks," said Moore, carelessly. "A member asked me to see that McDevitt got the job, and I thought it an easy way to get the member—see? Quite a number of the old Whoop Up crowd here this winter."
"Yes. Got Blair yet?"
"No. He'll be the toughest nut of all. He's hard up, but he's a pretty decent sort of man these days, and his sister has considerable influence over him. Besides, he feels in duty bound to stick to Danvers—the old story of Danvers saving his sister's life, you know."
"I suppose so," admitted Burroughs. "Get a woman after him."
"I have. Mrs. Latimer is interesting him in your behalf. But the idiot has lost his head over her, instead of taking her advice and voting for you."
"He's a fool!" snarled Burroughs, remembering Eva's dismissal of himself. "I thought the time would come when she'd be anxious to get my help—in some way! But get Blair—get him!" he repeated. "He'll do to take along as a political exhibit. I've never forgiven him for squealing in the matter of that whiskey in the Whoop Up Country. Fix it so his change of face will smirch Eva Latimer. That'll hurt her virtuous and law-upholding husband more than anything I can do to get even with that decisionin reHall. Offer him—anything in reason. He's probably banking on a big haul. Give it to him, and I'll see that his sister knows that he was bought like a steer in open market. Her scorn will be like hell for him. I can see that Danvers is gone on her. She'll send him flying if her brother gets bit—mark my words. Or, rather, Danvers would hardly want to marry her—the sister of a bribe-taker!"
"I hate to touch Charlie, or to offer him more than any of the others," objected Moore. "I'll try to get you elected without him. I will if I can, and in the meantime I don't give a hang if Mrs. Latimer's reputation is scorched."
"I know why you don't want to touch Blair. That sister of his is what you're after. Look out for Danvers if you undertake to stick your brand onher! But my interests must come first—remember. And as for Eva——" Bill let no smile indicate his mental amusement.
Mr. Burroughs had not been gone long before Senator Hall looked into the hospitably open door of the outer room.
"You here, Bill?"
"Yes. Walk right in." Moore stepped forward and stood aside for Hall to precede him to the inner room, closing and locking the door. "We'll not be interrupted here. I've been wanting to see you for six weeks—never made it until last night."
After a little talk of the weather and of the political outlook, Moore thought best to approach his subject boldly.
"How are you feeling towards Burroughs, Joe?"
"Just like a kitten—a soft, purry kitten." Hall was heartily metaphorical, as he opened his pocket knife mechanically. "If you want to feel my claws, just ask me to vote for that damn thief! You'll think that I live in four different atmospheres. You and Bob Burroughs may be able to buy the rest of the Legislature, but you can't buy me—so don't ask my price!" Senator Hall had thought long on what he should say when solicited by the Honorable William, and he had his bluster volubly perfect. "Any man but Burroughs maygo to Congress, but he never shall!" He continued to pare his nails.
Moore was not at all deceived. He had heard men talk before, and he detected the false ring of Hall's words. Herein Joe miscalculated. He thought to deceive a man steeped in conspiracy and deceit. Nevertheless, Moore was politic, and made no haste.
"Why not forget bygones, Joe? You would have done the same thing yourself in your deal with Burroughs if you had had the first chance at those Easterners."
"Would I?" snorted Hall.
"Isn't there any inducement that we can offer you to support Burroughs?"
"None whatever. My constituents would hang me in effigy if I voted for him. I was on the stump last fall and went on record."
"Your constituents! The voters! What are they? Cattle driven into a chute! They don't know the true inwardness of State politics. There aren't six men who do."
"Politics must be purified," Hall announced, solemnly.
"That's so," acquiesced Moore. "Every politician I know, nearly, is so desirous of being purified that he steps right up here, as though this was the disinfecting vat! Our legislators seem to think that Burroughs is the Chief Purifier, andthat I am the one who cares for the shorn lambs!"
"Well, I can't change now."
"You're mighty conscientious. If you had been as much so at Fort Macleod you probably wouldn't have been run out of the police for——"
"I'm as conscientious as most office-holders," Hall interrupted. Something in the twist given the words inspired Moore with renewed courage to press his point. After he had talked earnestly for several moments, his guest interrupted: "Where is Bob to-night? You said last night that he would be here."
"He's instructing the conscientious legislator."
Hall laughed, and it was not long before he allowed himself to say:
"Of course, if there's any money going, I want to get my share. I'd do as much for Burroughs' money as anybody."
After a guarantee of good faith had passed from a safe to his pocket he left. "What do I care whether Bob Burroughs goes to Congress or goes to hell?" he muttered delightedly, as he felt the roll of bills in his pocket. "I've got a pricker coming that will sting his rhinoceros hide! This money ain't half what's coming to me from that mining deal; take it all in all, I'll even up with him before the session closes. Just you wait, Joe," he apostrophized, as he entered the elevator; "just you wait until the time comes!"