Lucy Bancroft bade a smiling good-bye to her father at the door of the First National Bank, and crossed the street to a store on the corner opposite. Lingering in the doorway for her turn to be waited upon, she watched him with admiring eyes. “What a handsome man daddy is,” she was thinking; “I like a man to be tall and straight and broad-shouldered; and I’m glad he’s always so well groomed; I’d love him just as much if he wasn’t, but I couldn’t be quite so proud of him.”
Another man was coming up the street toward her father, and Lucy smiled as her eyes fell upon him. “There’s Congressman Baxter,” her thought ran on. “How slouchy and dumpy he seems beside daddy! They say he’s one of the smartest men in the Territory; but I’m sure daddy is just as smart as he is, and he’s certainly a great dealhandsomer and nicer looking. And he’s just as nice as he looks, too, my dear daddy!”
Bancroft appeared the man of substance and of consequence, confident alike in himself and in the regard of the community, as he stood in the door of his bank and met the Congressman with friendly greeting. “Glad to see you, Baxter! Come in! I want to have a talk with you.”
Dellmey Baxter shook hands cordially, pleasure at the meeting fairly radiating from his round, sunburned face, even his cold gray eyes borrowing warmth from his gratified and shining countenance. One of these eyes was set at an angle slightly oblique, its peculiarity made more prominent by the loose hanging of the upper lid from the outer corner. The expression of cunning thus given to the upper part of his face was curiously at variance with his jovial look and manner.
In Bancroft’s private office Baxter’s first question was if the other had yet visited the mine at the base of Mangan’s Peak, concerning which they had had correspondence.
“Yes; I was there this week. The man who owns it hasn’tsabeenough about mines to know what a good proposition he’s got. He’ll sell cheap for cash, for he needs themoney. I think it’s a first-class investment, and we’d better snap it up. Shall we make it half and half?”
“I don’t know about going in as a partner, Aleck. I’m getting too much tied up in all kinds of enterprises, and I don’t want to have more on my hands than I can attend to. But if it’s a good thing I’d like to help you get hold of it; I know you’d hustle its development and make all there is in it tell for the reputation of New Mexico. I’ve got too many other things on hand to go in as a partner, but if you haven’t the ready cash to buy it yourself I’ll advance you what you need and take a mortgage on the property.”
In the persuasive tones of Bancroft’s reply there was no hint of the reluctance and disappointment he inwardly felt at this prospect of having to increase his indebtedness to Baxter, concerning which he already felt some anxiety.
“That hardly seems fair, Dell. You gave me the hint about the mine, and you ought to make more than that out of it. I’m satisfied it’s an almighty good proposition and can be made to pay for itself and for the money needed in initial development inside the first year.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” Baxter responded heartily. “I’m glad to let the chance come your way, because you’ve got moresabeand more hustle than any other man I know, and you’ll do something worth while with it. Think about it, and we’ll talk it over again before I go back. I’m down here now mainly for politics. You know Silverside County as well as any man in it—how do things look?”
“Well, it’s always a close county, you know. But you’ll probably get the delegates to the convention, and I reckon you’ll stand as good a chance on election day as Johnny Martinez.”
The other chuckled. “Well, I rather guess! Why, he’s got no money to put into the fight!”
“No; but there are the Castletons.”
“I heard that their superintendent at Socorro Springs ranch—what’s his name?—Conrad?—had come out strong in his favor. What do they care about it? Neither one of ’em spends two weeks out of the year in the Territory.”
“Oh, if they really have any interest in it I suppose it’s that everlasting ‘cousin’ business of the Mexicans. You know NedCastleton married a first cousin of Johnny’s, although she’s half American.”
Baxter looked thoughtful. “If he’s got the Castleton money back of him,” he began doubtfully, but broke off with an opposing idea: “I’ve heard that the wives of the two brothers fight each other to the limit on every proposition that comes along, and I reckon if Turner’s wife found out that Ned’s wife wanted Martinez boosted into Congress she’d see to it that Turner blocked the game if he could.”
“If Ned Castleton should back up Martinez with a bagful or two of his loose cash it would make mighty hard sledding for us,” observed Bancroft.
Baxter pursed his lips and whistled softly. “I reckon it would!” he said, with an air of taking the other into his innermost counsels. Then he broke out warmly: “That was damn good of you, Aleck, to come out for me as squarely as you did in the AlbuquerqueLeaderthe other day! It’s a good thing for me, all over the Territory, to have people know that Alexander Bancroft is supporting me. They’ve got confidence in you, Aleck. I appreciate it, I tell you, and I won’t forget it, either.”
Baxter had already served two terms in Congress, and some members of his party thought he should be willing to stand aside and give some one else the prize. This made him anxious about the outcome of the approaching convention, and set him to interrogating the banker regarding the intentions of this, that, and the other man of local consequence. At last he came back to the subject of the Castletons.
“Do you really think, Aleck, that Ned Castleton’s money is behind Martinez? If it is, that would explain Conrad’s attitude.”
Bancroft saw that the Congressman was worried by the possibility of such effective opposition. On the instant an idea was projected into his mind, born of his own secret anxiety and his knowledge of Baxter’s reputation. It came so suddenly and so vividly that it took him unawares, sending a telltale light into his eyes and across his usually impassive countenance. His lids were quickly lowered, but Baxter had already seen the revealing flash and was wondering what it might mean. The banker hesitated for a moment, his thoughts confused by the force of the bolt which had shot into his mind.
“Of course I don’t know anything aboutit,” he went on cautiously, the other watching him for signs of self-betrayal, “but it looks to me as if Conrad might be acting as Ned Castleton’s agent, so that Ned won’t have to be mixed up in it. That would take away the chance of Mrs. Turner’s trying to make her husband block the game. And Conrad is violently opposed to you. He handles you without gloves, and is doing all he can against your nomination. He says he’ll bolt you if you get it, and that if the other side puts up Martinez he’ll jump in and fight for him with both feet and his spurs on.”
The smile faded from Baxter’s face, and his left eyelid drooped lower than usual—a sign that his mind was busy with some knotty problem. But he was not considering the pros and cons of the Castleton money. He was wondering why that sudden purpose had flashed in Bancroft’s eyes, why he had shown that momentary discomposure, and why he was now dwelling so much more strongly on the fact of Conrad’s opposition. He drew his chair nearer and in confidential tones began to inquire about the young cattleman: “Has Conrad got much influence?”
“Yes; a good deal. He’s a bright, energetic fellow, and he’s made lots of friends.”
“Know anything about him, Aleck?”
“Not much. Ned Castleton ran across him in San Francisco, I believe, where he was agent for one of the big cattle ranches in southern California. He’s been their superintendent at Socorro Springs for two years, and he’s put the ranch in better shape and made it pay better, in spite of the drought, than anybody else they’ve had since their father died.”
“But where’d he come from before Castleton got him?”
“I don’t know, except in a general way. I guess he’s mostly run along with the cattle business in Colorado and California and New Mexico.”
“You really think his opposition to me down here is important?”
“There’s no doubt about it, Dell,” Bancroft rejoined, his manner becoming more earnest and his tones more persuasive as he went on. “Curt Conrad is a fighter from the word ‘go,’ and he seems to have started out with the intention of doing you up. He’ll sure do you a lot of damage if you can’t find some way of making him change his mind. He’s popular,—the sort that everybody likes, you know,—and he’s always enthusiastic andcocksure, so that he has a good deal of influence of his own, whether or not he’s acting for Ned Castleton. And as people generally believe he is it amounts to the same thing.”
“We must get at him some way,” said Baxter earnestly, his cold eyes watchful of his companion’s manner and expression. “Hasn’t he done something that would give us a hold on him?”
“No, there’s nothing in that lead. I’ve tried argument, and you might as well talk to a cyclone.”
“How about money?”
Bancroft shook his head decisively. “That would be the worst mistake you could make. He wouldn’t touch it and he’d roar about it everywhere. The fact is, Dell, we’ll have to get rid of his opposition some way. I’ve done everything I can, and now I’ll have to put it up to you.”
“Well, I’ll think it over,” said Baxter, rising and looking at his watch. “I’ll see you again about that mine business, while I’m here, and I want to talk with you about apaisanoranch, up above Socorro, there’s a chance of our getting. I think we’ll be able to get our development company goingin less than a year. When it’s organized, Aleck, I want you to be president of it.”
“I don’t know about that,” Bancroft replied slowly, an uneasy recollection of some of Lucy’s freely expressed ideas coming into his mind. “I may prefer to stay in the background, as a silent partner, as our arrangement is now.”
“It would be good for the company to have you at its head; your reputation would be an asset,” Baxter objected persuasively.
“By the way, Dell, did you foreclose on a man named Melgares, José Maria Melgares, a month or two ago?”
“Melgares? Yes; and I was especially easy on him; let him have three months’ extra time. But I had to come down on him finally. Why?”
“He’s here in Golden now, and he’s been roaring about it. He came down here from the Mogollons, where it’s likely he’d been doing some horse-stealing. And I guess he’s been lifting chickens and things out of people’s back-yards since he’s been here.”
“Next thing he’ll be getting arrested,” Baxter chuckled, “and I’ll have to defend him—for nothing. These greasers all seem to think I’m a heaven-sent protector for ’emall, no matter what they do. So long, Aleck; I’ll see you again before I leave town.”
Baxter lounged down the street, greeting one acquaintance after another with a jovial laugh, a hearty handshake, or a slap on the shoulder, his round, red face aglow with good fellowship. But his gray eyes were cold and preoccupied. At the court-house door he stopped to talk with Dan Tillinghurst, the sheriff, and Little Jack Wilder, his deputy.
“Say, Jack,” said the sheriff, as the Congressman went on up the street, “what sort o’ hell do you-all reckon Dell Baxter’s cookin’ up now? He’s too jolly not to have somethin’ on hand. The louder he laughs the more sulphur you can bet he’s got in his pockets.”
“Be careful, Dan,” warned Jack, “or that nomination for sheriff will miss fire.”
“Don’t you worry about that—Dell an’ me’s all right; you-all just worry about the fellow that’s made his eyes look like a dead fish’s. Dell’s sure got somethin’ on his mind.”
There was something on Baxter’s mind. He was still wondering why Alexander Bancroft had insisted so strongly upon the importance of young Conrad’s opposition, which the Congressman did not believe was of muchconsequence. He chuckled and his left lid drooped lower as he finally decided: “I reckon he wants me to pull some chestnut or other out of the fire for him. I’ll just let him think I’m taking it all in. I’d like to know what it is, though, for if I don’t keep a good hold on Aleck he’s likely to get heady and try to step into my shoes.”
Dan Tillinghurst and Little Jack Wilder sat under the big cottonwood in front of the court-house, commenting upon things in general, and, presently, more particularly upon Curtis Conrad and his mare, Brown Betty, when they espied him talking with the landlord in front of the hotel across the stream. The town of Golden lay in a gulch among the foot-hills. It had been a thriving silver camp in the older days. Discovered in the heyday of the pale metal, it had yielded so richly that the men flocking thither, in sheer, exultant contempt of the value of its yellow brother, had named the camp “Golden Gulch.” The mines had been in the bottom of the gulch, and near them, along the banks of the stream, had been built all the houses of the mining days. The earliest roads had run along each side of the water, and these were still the main streets of the town. Facing one another acrossthe two streets and the bed of the creek were all the public buildings and business houses, the two hotels, some of the best residences, and many of the poorer ones. The Mexican quarter, called “Doby Town” by the Americans, straggled along these thoroughfares and up the hillsides just beyond the heart of the town. Down their entire length cottonwoods of notable girth and majesty spread their branches.
One of the largest and finest of these trees shaded the court-house corner where the Sheriff and his deputy were sprawling their legs and waiting for something to happen. The Sheriff was burly and broad-shouldered, although his legs had not quite been able to keep pace with the growing massiveness of his torso. The occasions were rare when his blue eyes were not twinkling with good humor, while his mouth beneath its absurd little moustache curved in a smile as habitual as his cheerful kindliness and universal optimism. Little Jack Wilder, who owed his descriptive title to his six feet three of height, was slender and lithe. He wasted neither words in talk nor bullets in pistol fights, and he had the reputation of being one of the best shots in the Southwest, as good even asEmerson Mead, over at Las Plumas in the adjoining county.
Curtis Conrad walked across the bridge that spanned the stream, Brown Betty at his heels, and met their “Hello, Curt!” with “Hello! Anything new?”
“Yes,” said Wilder, “anyway, there’s likely to be.”
“What sort?”
“That’s what we’d like to know,” said Tillinghurst. “Jack’s been sashaying around Doby Town for the last two days with his eye on a Mexican horse thief, waitin’ for him to do something he can be arrested for; and the darn’ fool won’t do a thing! He just sits around respectable and behaves himself. Jack’s gettin’ all out of patience with him.”
Little Jack growled a corroborative oath, and took a chew of tobacco.
“Well, if you know he’s a horse thief, why don’t you arrest him?” asked Conrad.
“We know it all right,” said Jack; “but he ain’t lifted no critters yet in this county. He’s been doin’ some chicken-thieving and that sort o’ thing around town the last week, but we ain’t goin’ to arrest him for that.”
Wilder shut his jaws with a determined snap, while Tillinghurst went on to explainin answer to Conrad’s look of surprise: “If we arrest him for that he’d be taken before a justice of the peace; and you-all know what kind of a mess Diego Vigil would make of it. He’d likely fine the man whose chicken-coop had been raided because he didn’t have more stuff in his back-yard to be stolen, and he’d discharge José Maria Melgares with a warning not to wake people up o’ nights by letting the chickens squawk!”
The Sheriff’s smile broadened and ran down his throat in a chuckle. Little Jack Wilder burst explosively into brief and profane speech that showed his opinion of Mexicans, and especially of Mexican justices of the peace, to be most contemptuous.
“Then why do you give them the office?” Curtis demanded. “Both parties do it, all over the Territory, though you all know that every time they get a chance they make justice look like a bobtailed horse. Up north last week one of ’em fined a man five dollars for committing murder and warned him not to do it again or he’d have to make it ten next time. You folks all knew what you might expect from Vigil when you gave him the place.”
“Oh, well, Curt, you-all ain’t run for officeyet. When you do, you’ll appreciate the fact that the greasers have got to be put where they’ll do the most good. I’m willin’ to give ’em that much, and I’m only too thankful old Vigil and his friends don’t strike for the Sheriff’s place.”
Tillinghurst chuckled, while Wilder smiled grimly and profanely reckoned he wouldn’t serve under Vigil or any other Mexican. “Mebbe that pock-marked Melgares has been up to some mischief by this time,” he added. “I hain’t set eyes on him for nigh two hours. Let’s go down to the Blue Front, have a drink, and find out if anything’s happened.”
They went down the street together, Brown Betty following with the bridle over her neck. A block farther down stream, a good-looking Mexican came out of the First National Bank and passed them. The Sheriff turned a second keen glance upon him. “That looks like Liberato Herrara,” he said to his deputy in a hasty aside. Raising his voice he accosted the man in Spanish.
The Mexican turned and replied in precise English with grave courtesy, “Did the señor speak to me?”
“Yes; ain’t you Liberato Herrara?”
“No, señor. My name is José Gonzalez.”
The Sheriff apologized, and the other bowed politely, fell behind, and crossed to the other side of the stream. Conrad asked Tillinghurst if he did not believe Herrara guilty of the murder of which he had been acquitted several months before.
“Of course he was. And it’s likely that ain’t the only one either. I’m glad this man ain’t him. If he was down here it would be on some business for Baxter, and it wouldn’t do for me to find out too much about it.”
Conrad snorted contemptuously, and Wilder said, “Dan, you’re talkin’ too damn much.”
“Oh, Curt’s all right,” replied the Sheriff, placidly. “He couldn’t hate Baxter any more than he does if he tried, but he don’t go back on his friends. This man Melgares,” he went on, “that we’re hopin’ will make up his mind to do somethin’ worth while, tells a queer yarn. He says he used to have a good ranch in the Rio Grande valley, between Socorro and Albuquerque, but he borrowed money on it from Baxter. Of course he couldn’t pay, Dell foreclosed, and Melgares had to get out.”
“Yes; I heard the other day about Baxter’s operations up there,” Conrad broke in hotly. “I understand he’s got hold of a lotof land in just that way. It’s a cursed, low-down, dirty piece of business.”
“Oh, well, better men than Baxter have done the same sort of thing,” the Sheriff responded. “From all I can find out about Melgares I reckon he was honest enough up to that time; but he’s been goin’ it pretty lively ever since. I think he’s aimin’ to work down to the border, where he can do the crisscross act.”
Conrad turned with an exclamation of sudden remembrance. “By the way! Bill Williams told me just now that Rutherford Jenkins is here, at his hotel. Have you seen him? Do you know what he’s here for?”
“I haven’t talked with him, but I reckon he’s here on some deal for Johnny Martinez.”
Curtis tied the mare to the hitching-post on the corner. “I’ve heard,” he said cautiously, “that he has a venomous tongue and uses it recklessly. Do you know whether he’s been doing any outrageous talking lately?”
“Well, I reckon nobody would believe anything Jenkins said, anyway. But I haven’t heard anything. Have you, Jack?”
Some other men came along, and they all stopped to talk together. Curtis leaned against the mare and stroked her glossyneck. She poked her nose into his coat pocket and found a lump of sugar, which she ate with much dainty tossing of her head. It was some minutes before they entered the saloon.
The “Blue Front” was a two-roomed shanty on the edge of the Mexican quarter. Gambling games of various sorts occupied the back room; and there, too, political deals were arranged and votes bargained and paid for between the American politicians and the leaders of the Mexicans. When Conrad and his friends came down the street a number of men were in the rear room, some talking and others busy at cards. At a table near a side window men of both races were engaged in a poker game. One of the players, a pock-marked Mexican with a defective eye, frequently glanced down the street. When he saw the Sheriff and his two companions approach, he rose and watched them. The others wanted to know what he was looking at, and he asked who was the man with the brown mare. A tall, dark American, with slightly stooping shoulders, looked up with interest as he heard them give Conrad’s name, and joined the group at the window. Several of the men spoke with enthusiasm aboutBrown Betty, and one, who said he had once worked at Socorro Springs ranch, told them that Conrad thought more of her than of anything else he owned. When the men in front entered the saloon, the pock-marked Mexican cashed in his chips and slipped out through the rear door.
The sound of Conrad’s voice in the bar-room caught the attention of the tall, dark American. An angry flush reddened his face, his beady eyes snapped, and the tip of his tongue licked his lips. Then something amusing seemed to occur to him, for his features relaxed into a smile and he glanced briskly around the room.
“See if you can find Melgares, will you?” he asked the Mexican with whom he had been talking. “Tell him I’ll wait for him outside the back door.”
He stepped out into the bright sunshine, smiling and rubbing his hands together. Back of the shanty was a high adobe wall surrounding the corral of the Mexican houses fronting on the next street. A wooden door in the wall opened cautiously, and the pock-marked face looked out.
“You sent for me, Señor Jenkins?” the Mexican asked.
“Yes. It’s all right. You needn’t be afraid. I want you to do something, Melgares.”
They stepped inside the corral and Melgares bolted the door. “You saw Conrad’s mare just now?” Jenkins began. “Fine creature, isn’t she?”
“Splendid, señor. The finest I have seen in a long time.”
“I’ll warrant it! I never saw a better myself. Looks like a good traveller, doesn’t she?”
“Si, señor.”
“And a stayer, too, I guess! It wouldn’t be hard to get to the Mexican border on her back, would it?”
Melgares grinned, then shook his head. “But my family—I could not take them with me.”
“Well—see here, Melgares. Here’s fifty dollars. If you’ll get away with Conrad’s mare you can have it for your trouble. It will take your family down there all right.”
“But you, señor,—where do you come in?” He looked suspiciously at Jenkins.
“Oh, never mind me. Conrad did me a bad turn a while ago, and I’m evening up the score. That’s all I want out of it.”
“But now, señor?”
“Yes; now’s your chance. He’s in the saloon, and the mare’s tied at the corner.”
“The Sheriff is in there, too. The risk is great.”
“Well, I’ll go in and keep them busy. I’ll raise excitement enough inside so that nobody will even look out of the windows. Get out there in five minutes, be quick about it, and ride off down the valley road.”
“Give me the money, señor. I’ll take the chance.”
Jenkins returned, and entered the bar-room with his former companion without attracting the attention of Conrad and his friends. The other spoke of the report about the Castleton money and mentioned Curtis Conrad’s name. Jenkins raised his voice in angry reply:
“Oh, damn Conrad! Martinez don’t want his help!”
Curtis heard the words and turned sharply around, his face flushing. Jenkins appeared not to see him, and went on:
“The Castletons are all right, but Conrad’s help would be a disgrace to any party. Martinez don’t want it!” His voice rang loud andshrill above the silence that had fallen suddenly upon the room.
Curtis’s face paled, even under its ruddy tan, and his eyes blazed. With head up he strode forward. “Jenkins,” he said, without raising his voice, although it shook with a warning tremor, “I advise you to be careful. You may have your opinion about me, as I have mine about you—and you know what that is. But don’t you say that again, nor anything else of the sort!”
Jenkins turned toward him with an ugly sneer. Recollection of former indignities at Conrad’s tongue and hands blazed up in his heart and carried him farther than he had meant to go. With an oath and a vile name he flung his glass in Conrad’s face. In an instant the young man’s arms were around his body. The others crowded in and tried to stop the quarrel.
“Let us alone!” shouted Curtis, pushing his way toward the back room. “Wilder, take his gun, will you? Get mine out of my pocket, too. This won’t be a gun play.”
Tillinghurst took Conrad’s pistol, and Wilder succeeded in getting Jenkins’s revolver, at the cost of a kick on the shin, whichhe repaid in kind. With Jenkins almost helpless in his grasp, Curtis struggled into the rear room. The others were all crowding after him. He turned back a face still pale and set with anger, although a twinkle of amusement was creeping into his eyes.
“Dan,” he called, “shut that door and keep out the crowd!”
Instantly there were cries of disapproval.
“Fair play!” “You’re bigger than him!” “We want to see it’s on the square!”
Curtis scowled. “If any of you think it won’t be on the square, just wait for me till I get through with him,” he shouted.
The Sheriff slammed the door, and set his bulk against it, saying with smiling cheerfulness: “Well, gentlemen, I reckon Mr. Jenkins won’t get any more than is comin’ to him, and as Sheriff I call on all of you to keep the peace and not interfere.”
Alone in the back room with his prisoner, Conrad dropped into a chair, dragged the other over his knees, face downward, then threw out one sinewy leg and caught under it Jenkins’s two unruly limbs. Still keeping a firm grip with his left arm, he raised his right hand.
“Now,” he said grimly, “you’re going toget the sort of spanking your mother didn’t give you enough of.”
One after another the resounding smacks came down, while Jenkins, his strength spent in futile struggle, could do nothing but writhe helplessly under the smarting blows. The sound of them penetrated to the front room. As the men there realized what was happening they broke into laughter so uproarious that it smote upon Jenkins’s ears and forced a hysterical shriek from between his gritted teeth. In Conrad’s heart it inspired compassion and he desisted.
“I guess that’ll do for this time,” he said, releasing his hold and standing the culprit on his feet. “I don’t want to have to hurt you, but let me tell you, you damned skunk,” and he seized Jenkins’s shoulders and gave him a vigorous shake, “if you ever dare talk about me again in that way, or tell another human being what you told me about Bancroft, I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.”
With a parting shake he let Jenkins fall back into the chair, sobbing aloud. Then he stalked to the door, not even doing his enemy the slight honor of going out backward.
As the shout which greeted Conrad’s entrance died away the Sheriff called out, “Now, gentlemen, you must all have one with me,” and every one lined up at the bar. A rollicking din of chaff and laughter filled the room, and no one except Little Jack Wilder noticed the entrance of a Mexican at the street door. He heard the step, turned quickly, and recognized the man who had told Tillinghurst that he was not Liberato Herrara. Glancing along the line of backs at the bar, the Mexican singled out Conrad and touched his arm.
“I beg your pardon, señor, but did you send some one to ride your mare?”
“To ride my mare? No; what do you mean?”
Before he could answer Wilder sprang forward demanding, “Is she gone?” and Conrad started for the door.
“A man has just ridden her away on therun,” the Mexican said excitedly, and every one in the room rushed for the street.
“She’s gone!” shouted Conrad.
“Did you see him? What was he like?” demanded the Sheriff.
“A pock-marked greaser with a bad eye?” yelled Wilder, towering threateningly above the bearer of the news.
Gonzalez threw back his head, folded his arms across his breast, and answered deliberately, “He was a Mexican, señor, he was pock-marked, and he was blind in one eye.”
“Melgares! He’s done it at last! Hooray!” shouted Wilder.
Far down the street, beyond the last cottonwood, against the gray, sun-flooded road, they could see a dark object, distorted by the heat haze, but still showing the form of a man on a galloping horse.
Tillinghurst’s smile became an eager grin as he started up the street on a run. “Everybody come that wants to,” he called over his shoulder. Wilder and Conrad were already half a block ahead of him, and several others quickly followed.
When they presently came pelting back, their horses at top speed, a crowd of men still stood on the sidewalk, where the BlueFront made a splash of brilliant color against the sombre grays and browns of the surrounding adobes. Wilder’s tall, thin figure was in the lead, bending forward in the saddle like a sapling in a gale, the wide, limp brim of his sombrero flapping in the wind. Conrad and Tillinghurst were pressing him close, and half a dozen others were pounding along behind these three, while a stout man, who rode awkwardly, trailed along in the rear.
The crowd at the Blue Front shouted encouragingly as they clattered past, and made bets on the chances of catching the fugitive. The Mexican, Gonzalez, watched Conrad closely as he sped by, and said carelessly to the man beside him, “Señor Conrad is a good rider, the best of them all. I hope he will get back his fine mare.”
The horsemen swept down the street past the last straggling houses, and out into the open plain. Fleeing down the road, perhaps two miles ahead of them, galloped the Mexican. Tillinghurst measured the distance with a careful eye, and said to Conrad, “He’s our meat. We can get him easy.” He glanced backward, chuckled, then turned in his saddle, and called loudly, “Come along there, Pendy! Don’t get discouraged!”
Another of the party turned his head and yelled, “You’re all right, Pendy! You’ll get there before Dan does!”
The stout man who brought up the rear had made sure of his gray slouch hat by tying it on with a red bandanna handkerchief. He was gripping his bridle with both hands and bouncing in his saddle like a bag of meal. “Don’t you worry about me!” he yelled back good-naturedly; “you can’t lose me if you try.”
“Who is he?” asked Curtis.
“Pendy? Oh, he’s a tenderfoot. Blew in from the East two or three weeks ago. Somethin’ wrong with his bellows—or likely to be, though you-all wouldn’t think it, considerin’ his fat. He’s grit clear through, though! Just look at the way he rides!”
Conrad glanced back, laughed, and replied, “Oh, it’ll be good for his liver!” Then he went on seriously, “Dan, do you think there’s any truth in the story that this man Melgares began horse-stealing because Dell Baxter did him out of his ranch?”
“Oh, I don’t know! Baxter got his ranch all right, but the greaser didn’t have to go to stealin’ horses on that account. Chickens are safer; andchilisdon’t even squawk. Ireckon likely he steals horses because he’d ruther.”
“Well, anyway, Dan, all I want out of this is to get Brown Betty back. I shall not make any complaint against him. So, if he gives up the mare, I’d rather you let him go.”
“Huh,” grunted the Sheriff, with an apprehensive glance at Wilder, a full length ahead. “For God’s sake, Curt, don’t let Jack hear you say that! He’d be so disgusted he’d turn tail and go straight back to Golden!”
The fugitive kept his distance well; it seemed to Conrad’s eye that he even gained a little. Now and again they could see him look back, and with spur and quirt urge the mare to a fresh burst of speed.
“Brown Betty’s a stayer,” said Curtis, bringing his horse beside Tillinghurst’s again, “and she’s fast. I don’t believe we’ll catch him unless something happens to her.”
The Sheriff turned a smiling face and said confidently, “If we get a little nearer I reckon somethin’s likely to happen tohim. Hello, Pendleton!” he exclaimed as the stout man came up on the other side. “That noble steed of yours is sure gettin’ a gait on him, ain’the? If you-all don’t wait for the rest of us there’ll be trouble, I’m tellin’ you!”
“Say, Sheriff,” called Pendleton between his gasps and grunts as he bounced up and down, “are you going to keep up this pace all day?”
Tillinghurst eyed him benignly. “As long as he does,” he said, nodding toward the fleeing spot of black down the road. “Say, Pendy,” he went on in a kindly tone, “it’s a pretty stiff gait for you-all, and unless you’re anxious to take your meals standin’ for the next month you’d better drop out and go back. It’s likely to be an all-day job.”
“Not much! You can’t lose me till the fun’s over!”
“Hooray for Pendy! He’s all right!” yelled a man behind, giving Pendleton’s horse a sharp cut across the flank with his whip. The beast jumped, and its rider lurched to one side, fell forward, and saved himself by grabbing the mane with both hands. The men shouted with merriment as Pendleton righted himself, turned a laughing face and shook his fist at the man who had played the joke on him. “Just wait till I get you where I want you, Jack Gaines,” he called, “andyou’ll be sorry you ever played tricks on a tenderfoot.”
The gulch spread out into a wide, shallow valley—a draw, they called it—and the waters of the stream disappeared, sucked up by the thirsty earth. The valley curved to the east, the road climbing over its rim and holding straight toward the south. The figure of Melgares, mounted on Brown Betty as on a pedestal, stood out boldly for a moment against the turquoise sky as he crossed the summit, then sank out of sight beyond the hill. The party galloped on, and as they crossed the ridge and saw him on the top of a smaller hill beyond, Conrad’s eye swept the distance lying between and he exclaimed, “We’ve gained on him!”
At the same moment Little Jack Wilder, who had been watching the road intently, shouted joyously, the first words he had spoken since leaving the town, “She’s cast a shoe! Now it’s a cinch!”
Tillinghurst turned his head and shouted, “Get your gun ready, Pendy! your chance is comin’.”
Jack Gaines, riding neck and neck with the Sheriff, looked back and yelled, “Comea-runnin’, Pendy! The greaser can’t wait for you all day!”
They were gaining rapidly on Melgares and, as they swept over the top of a little hill and saw him cross the next low rise, Conrad exclaimed, “She’s limping, damn him! If he hurts Brown Betty—”
“You won’t mind so much if we hurt him,” quietly put in the Sheriff, who was riding on his lee. Curtis spurred his horse to Wilder’s stirrup.
“Jack,” he said, “I don’t want the fellow hurt. If he’ll give up my mare I’m willing to let him go.”
Little Jack grunted contemptuously without replying.
“I want you to understand,” Conrad went on, “that if you take him I shall make no complaint against him, provided I get Betty unhurt.”
“You don’t have to make no complaint,” Jack growled; “I’ll do that myself.”
They gained steadily on the fugitive, and presently Curtis curved his hands about his mouth and called, “Betty! Betty B!” They could see the mare check her speed, and the faint sound of her whinny reached their ears. Conrad called again; and the mare wheeledin her tracks. The Mexican jerked her back, lashed her furiously, and set her forward again at a gallop. Curtis called again and again, and every time they could see Melgares using whip and spur to force her on. But presently the mare dropped tail and head, arched her back, and, stiff-legged, began to jump up and down.
Conrad laughed joyously and slapped his thigh. “Bully for Betty B! I never knew her to buck before.”
They urged on their horses and pounded down the hill toward the small circus Brown Betty was making of herself. She cavorted, shook herself, humped her back, jumped up and down, stood on her front feet and almost sat on her tail, and did everything that equine intelligence could devise to rid herself of the masterful hand on her bridle. But the Mexican kept his seat and his grip upon the rein. With spur and quirt and compelling voice he finally forced her into submission. As she quieted down they were facing the pursuing posse and Melgares had just turned the mare’s head in another desperate attempt at escape when Conrad’s voice rang out once more, and Brown Betty refused to move. She tossed her head, laid back her ears, and whinnied,but would not lift a hoof. The Mexican drew his revolver and shouted, “Stop!”
The horsemen, not more than a hundred yards distant, drew rein at the word—all except Pendleton, who came pounding and bouncing to the front, his horse still on the gallop. Gaines, just behind Tillinghurst and Wilder, called out laughingly, “Hooray for Pendy! Go on and get him, Pendy!”
Pendleton had been too much occupied with keeping his seat to try to stop his horse, and as it went on half a length in advance of the rest Gaines leaned forward and gave it a cut across the flank with his quirt. It leaped forward smartly and Pendleton, taken unawares again, bobbed down on its neck and grabbed for its mane. Melgares saw the horse start forward and instantly his revolver flashed. The bullet left a singed streak across the back of Pendleton’s coat, whistled on, and found refuge in Gaines’s side.
Wilder’s gun was out and cocked. He saw Pendleton lying on his horse’s neck, and heard Gaines cry out, “I’m hit!” as he fell forward across his pommel. “Stop that!” he called. “Fire again and you’re a dead man!”
Melgares leaped from the mare’s back andran at full speed down the valley, away from the road. Brown Betty came trotting to Conrad’s side, whinnying joyfully. Pendleton sat upright, calling out, “Say, fellows, is there any blood on my back?” They told him no and as he climbed down from his saddle clumsily he grinned and said:
“Well, I can still die of consumption, then!”
Tillinghurst, Wilder, and several of the others were galloping after Melgares, who was running for his life down the valley toward a clump of cactus and juniper.
“Wing him, Jack!” called the Sheriff. “There’s a crack in the ground down there where he can hide and pick us off as he pleases.”
Little Jack brought his horse to a sudden stop, aimed low, and the Mexican reeled and fell, the blood gushing from a wound in the calf of his leg. He scrambled to his feet, and fired his second shot. The bullet nicked the brim of the Sheriff’s hat. There was another flash, and Wilder heard the bullet sing past his ear.
“Stop it, you damned greaser!” he yelled, “or I’ll let daylight through your head.” In quick succession he put two holes through theMexican’s sombrero. “The next one is for your other eye!” he called, and Melgares dropped his weapon.
Wilder leaped to the ground and ran toward him. He glanced at the group of horsemen, each with revolver drawn, and at Wilder coming with his gun at cock, then threw back his head with his own pistol at his temple. Little Jack grabbed his arm, but Melgares fought desperately. The others came running to Wilder’s assistance, and it was not until they had taken his revolver, put handcuffs upon him, and taken from his clothing another pistol, a knife, and a belt full of cartridges, that he gave up his struggles.
They put him on the horse that Conrad had ridden, with his feet tied under its belly. Tillinghurst and Wilder, revolvers in hand, rode on either side of him. Conrad, mounted on his own mare, and another were side by side with Jack Gaines laid across their laps. Two more went on at a gallop to bring out a doctor and a carriage for the wounded man. The rest rode slowly back through the hot sunlight and the high wind, guarding their captive and carrying his victim.
Golden prided itself upon being “the most American town in the Territory,” but for all its energy and progressiveness it had not developed an ordinary regard for its own safety. After the mines which had given it birth had been worked out, it became the depot of supplies for the widespread miles of cattle country in the plains below, the mining regions in the mountains above, and the ranches scattered along the streams within a radius of fifty miles. As its importance increased a railway sought it out, the honor of being the county seat came to it, and the ruthless Anglo-Saxon arrived in such numbers and so energetically that its few contented and improvident Mexicans, thrust to one side, sank into hopeless nonentity. When Lucy Bancroft first set upon it the pleased eyes of youthful interest and filial affection, it was a busy, prosperous place of several thousand souls.
But it still clung to the gulch wherein had been the beginning of its life and fortune. All the houses of its infancy had been built along the stream that sparkled down from the mountains, and there the town had tried to stay, regardless of the floods that occasionally swept down the canyon during the Summer rains. At first its growth had been up and down the creek; afterward cross streets had been extended far out on either side, especially where gradual hill slopes gave easy grades, and roads had also been made lengthwise along the hillsides and even on their crests, where now a goodly number of homes looked out over the plains and down upon the town-filled valley at their feet.
Newcomers gazed curiously at the high sidewalks, raised on posts above the level of the thoroughfares, asking why, if there was such possibility of flood, the people continued to live and do business along the bottom of the gulch. The residents thought the walled sidewalks rather a good joke, a humorous distinction, and laughed at the idea of danger.
Lucy Bancroft’s eyes grew wide and solemn as she listened to the tale Dan Tillinghurst told her of the first year he was in Golden, years before, when a mighty torrent roareddown the gulch, carried away most of the houses, and drowned a dozen souls. “But the very next day,” he added proudly, “the people began rebuildin’ their houses on the identical sites from which they had been swept.”
“Why didn’t they rebuild on higher ground?” Lucy asked. “And aren’t you afraid there will be another flood that will destroy all these houses and perhaps kill a great many people?”
“Oh, there’s no danger now,” he assured her confidently. “The climate’s changin’. There’s not nearly so much rain as there used to be. The creek is dry half the time nowadays, and in my first years here it never went dry at all. Just look at these flood-marks,” and he pointed out to her on the side of the brick building that housed her father’s bank the lines to which had risen the high waters of each Summer. She saw that those of recent years were all very low. “Yes,” he assured her, “the climate’s changin’, there’s no doubt of that. There won’t be any more floods.”
Between Lucy and the Sheriff a mutual admiration and good-fellowship had arisen, such as might exist between an elephant anda robin. The day after her arrival Tillinghurst had told Bancroft that his daughter was “the prettiest piece of dry goods that had ever come to Golden, and if he ever let her pull her freight he’d sure deserve nothin’ less than tarrin’ and featherin’ at the hands of an outraged community.”
Notwithstanding her confidence in the big Sheriff, Lucy did not like the idea of living in the gulch, and persuaded her father to build their home on the brow of themesaoverlooking the town from the west. She had no definite fear of the floods nor, after her first few weeks in the place, did she so much as think of danger from such a source. She liked the site on themesa, although it was new and raw and treeless, because it commanded a far-reaching view, to the mountains on the west and north and, in front, across the town and the valley to the wide gray level of the plains.
She sat on the veranda of her new home with Miss Louise Dent, telling her friend what pleasure she was taking in its arrangement and direction. “At first daddy didn’t want me to do it. He thought it would be too much care and responsibility for me, and that we’d better board. But I said if a girleighteen years old wasn’t old enough and big enough to begin to take care of her father she never would be, and so he gave up. And now! Well, you’ll see how he enjoys our home! He just beams with happiness every time he comes into the house. And I’m perfectly happy. Daddy is so good, and it’s such a pleasure to make things nice and comfortable for him!”
“I’m so glad,” Miss Dent replied, “that you are happy here with him. He has had so many years of lonely wandering. And I know that he has long been looking forward to the time when you and he could have a home together. Your father hasn’t had an easy life, dear. You could never guess all that he has been through. But he is a strong and determined man, and he’s finally won success—just as I always knew he would. That’s what I admire in him so much—that he never would give up.” She stopped, a faint flush mounting to her brow. Lucy threw both arms around her neck and kissed her.
“Of course, Dearie,” she exclaimed, “you must appreciate my father, for you’ve known him so long; but it makes me love you all the more to hear you say so—and oh, Dearie,I’m going to make such a beautiful home out of this place!” Lucy looked about, her girlish face glowing with proud and pleased proprietorship. “I know how new and barren it looks now, but just wait till I’ve been at work at it for a year!”
She went on to speak of her plans, asking Miss Dent’s advice. In the back-yard the gaunt wings of a big windmill gave a touch of ultra modern picturesqueness and promised the fulfilment of the girl’s hope of a lawn and flowers, trees and shrubbery, in the near future. A little conservatory jutted from the southern side of the house, while a deep veranda ran halfway across the eastern front and around the other two sides. The neutral, gray-green color of the structure melted into the hue of the hills and the surroundingmesa, leaving its barren newness less aggressive.
As they talked Lucy now and then cast a lingering glance down the street that climbed the hill from the town below, and Miss Dent thought that sometimes a shade of disappointment dimmed the bright face for an instant. She was twenty years Lucy’s senior, although both looks and manner gave the lie to the fact. The loving friendship betweenthem was one of those unusual ties between a younger and an older woman which, when they do occur, are apt to be marked by an overflowing measure of enthusiasm and loyalty. Louise Dent had been the intimate friend of Lucy’s mother and, after her death, had given the bereaved girl such love and care and sympathy as had won her instant and ardent devotion, and the relationship thus established had grown stronger and closer as the years passed and Lucy matured into womanhood. The girl’s enthusiastic affection had enabled her to find in Louise Dent intimate friend, elder sister, and mother combined. This complicated feeling making it impossible for her to address the elder woman by either formal title or first name, she had soon settled upon “Dearie” as a substantive term expressing their relationship, and “Dearie” Miss Dent had been to her ever since, whether between themselves or among her own intimate friends.
As the shadows grew longer and the hot white sunlight became less vivid, Lucy seemed to grow restless. She rose and moved about the veranda, or ran down into the yard and back upon some trivial errand, each time stopping on the steps to send an inquiringeye down the street. Standing there, when the afternoon was far spent and the fierce westerly wind had ebbed into a gentle breeze, she pointed out to Louise the statuesque sapphire mass of Mangan’s Peak against the turquoise blue of the eastern sky, and told her of the drive thither and back she and her father had taken a fortnight before, and of their call at Socorro Springs ranch. “It’s an interesting place,” she went on; “such a huge ranch! Why, its grazing rights extend more than a hundred miles south, away across the Mexican border. Father knows the superintendent very well, and we’ll get him to drive us out there some day.” A higher color rose in her cheeks; she quickly turned away, drew her chair well back, and sat down. “There’s Mr. Conrad, the superintendent, coming up the hill now!” she exclaimed. “Daddy told me at luncheon that he was in town.”
Lucy bore her new role of hostess with a dignity so easy and gracious that it surprised Louise, and made Conrad think her more attractive than ever. Bancroft came a little later, and Curtis was urged to stay to dinner. Lucy showed him in her conservatory the collection of cactus plants she had begun tomake and listened with eager interest while he gave her information about the growth of the species she already had, and told her where she could find others less common. She was anxious to have his opinion whether it would be possible to make a hedge of mesquite to replace the wooden paling around the yard; he did not know, but offered to help her try the experiment.
They dined on the side veranda, where Lucy, with the help of a screen or two and some plants from her green-house, had contrived an out-of-doors dining-room. The high spirits of the two younger people dominated the conversation, as they jested and bantered, laughed, and crossed wits in little wordy sword-plays that called forth applause and encouragement from the others. Lucy sparkled and dimpled, and her color rose, while Curtis’s eyes darkened and flashed. Miss Dent, watching them, realized what an attractive young woman Lucy had grown to be, and how much she had blossomed out even in the few months since their last parting. “She will have plenty of admirers,” the older woman thought, with a little twinge at her heart. Still, she was very young, and it would be a long time yet before she would think ofmarriage. But—if she were to marry and leave her father—he would be very lonely—perhaps—and then she felt her cheeks grow warmer, and hastened to resume her part in the conversation.
Louise was pleased with Conrad’s face. It seemed full of character, with its broad brow, tanned cheeks, large nose, and well-set chin. She noted especially the strong, firm jaw and chin, saying to herself that they betokened a strength of will and constancy of purpose that foretold success in whatever he might undertake. He was amusing them with an account of the feud between the wives of the Castleton brothers.
“But don’t the men take up the quarrels of their wives,” Louise asked, “or allow any feeling to come between them?”
“Not in the least; nor does there seem to be any ill-feeling between the ladies. They are always good friends, and the men look upon the whole thing as a good joke. If Mrs. Turner, for instance, cooks up some new scheme for getting the better of Mrs. Ned, she tells her husband about it, he tells Ned, and they laugh over it and make bets about which will win.”
Lucy was interested in the Castleton ladies. Conrad said that Mrs. Turner Castleton was considered a great beauty, but that he liked Mrs. Ned, who was half Mexican, much the better and thought her the more interesting and charming. She asked if they ever visited the ranch. “Yes,” said Curtis; “Ned and his wife come up for a few days every Spring. This year they’ll be there after the round-up is over and the cattle shipped. Would you like to meet them? All right, we’ll arrange it. While they are there I’ll get up a barbecue and abaile, and ask some people. You and Miss Dent and your father must all come.”
The American in the Southwest, arrogant and contemptuous as the Anglo-Saxon always is when brought face to face with a difference in race, a difference in ideals, or a difference in speech, regards the Spanish language with frank disdain and ordinarily refuses to learn it. But where the Mexicans are present in large numbers, as in New Mexico, he adopts from the other’s language a good many words which soon supplant their English equivalents. An evening party of any sort, whether a public dance in the town hall, a select affair in the house of a prominentresident, or a gathering in the Mexican quarter, is always a “baile,” a thriftless, insignificant person of either race a “paisano,” while upon “coyote” the American has seized with ready tongue, applying it to any creature, human or other, for which he wishes to express supreme contempt.
Miss Dent had to havebaileexplained to her, and their talk drifted to the subject of the Mexican people. Bancroft told her the story of the bold theft of Conrad’s mare, the chase and capture of Melgares, and the wounding of Gaines. “It is thought that poor Jack cannot live,” he said in conclusion, “and the Mexican is held in jail to await the result. If he dies the fellow will be tried for murder.”
“I’ve heard a queer story about Melgares,” said Conrad, and went on to tell how the Mexican had lost his little ranch. Lucy listened attentively, with indignant eyes fixed on Curtis’s face.
“How shameful!” she broke out. “What a detestable way of getting money! The poor Mexicans! Just think of their being turned out of their homes in that way, with nothing to fall back on! I don’t wonder poor Melgares became a thief—but he ought to havegone to Santa Fe and stolen Mr. Baxter’s horses!”
Bancroft’s eyes were fixed on his plate. Had the others been watching him closely they would have seen no more than a flicker of his eyelids as his face took on a stony impassiveness. But they were looking at Lucy who, with head erect, face flushed, and eyes sparkling, made a pretty picture.
“I’m glad you feel that way, Miss Bancroft,” Curtis exclaimed, his face alight with approval and admiration. “I think myself it’s about as despicable a way of getting money legally as man ever devised. Baxter knows when he loans the money that the poor wretches will never be able to pay back a cent of it. He wouldn’t loan it to them if he thought they could, for it’s their land he’s after. I’ve heard that he’s getting control in this way of a big tract in the Rio Grande valley and that he intends to form a company, advertise it through the East, and sell the land, which is really valuable, at big prices.”
“Well, I think it’s a shameful piece of business, and I’m surprised that Mr. Baxter is engaged in it!” said Lucy with decision.
“Before you condemn him so severely, daughter,” interposed Bancroft, his eyes stilllowered, “you should remember that the business of the loan mortgage companies has the full sanction of law and custom, and that many of the most reputable business men of the United States have engaged in it.”
“I can’t help it, daddy, if all the Congressmen and lawyers and business men, and preachers too, in the United States are engaged in it—that doesn’t make it right. Somehow it seems a different matter with these poor Mexicans, they are so helpless. Why, it’s almost like stealing their homes. I’m sorry, daddy, to speak so about Mr. Baxter, but that’s really the way I feel about it; I suppose he doesn’t realize what an injury he’s doing them. Oh, daddy,” and she leaned forward eagerly, her face flushing, “you and he are such good friends, maybe you could tell him what harm he’s doing and persuade him to give up that part of his business!”
Conrad smiled grimly. “It’s plain, Miss Bancroft,” he said, without waiting for her father to reply, “that you are not intimately acquainted with Dell Baxter. I’m sorry about this Melgares business, for I can’t help feeling a sort of responsibility. If the fellow is hung his family will be left destitute. Yes, he has a wife and four children,” hecontinued in answer to Miss Dent. “I had a talk with him about the affair, and he asked me to send for his family for him. He had money with which to pay their fares, though where he got it probably wouldn’t bear too close an inquiry.”
Lucy was looking at him eagerly, her face full of sympathy. “The poor things!” she exclaimed. “When they come you must let me know, Mr. Conrad.”
Bancroft abruptly changed the subject, and presently the talk drifted to a story that had just come out about the postmaster at Randall. “It’s a characteristic New Mexican tale,” said Curtis, turning to the ladies. “You’ll soon find out, Miss Bancroft, if you don’t know it already, that the cowboy song of ‘What was your name in the States?’ can often be applied in earnest.”
“Confound the fellow,” thought Bancroft irritably, “why is he always harping on that subject!”
“This is a particularly audacious case, though—don’t you think so, Aleck?” Curtis went on. “Here this man has been living for several years in Randall, a respected citizen, holding office, with influence in the community, when, behold, it is discovered that justbefore coming here he had skipped from some town in Missouri, where he was postmaster, with all the money in his office and another man’s wife. But his sin has finally found him out.”
“It always does,” observed Lucy coolly.
Louise Dent was conscious of a fluttering in her throat and realized that her heart was beating loudly. The moment’s pause that followed seemed to her so long that she rushed into speech, without thought of what she said: “I’m afraid it does.”
“Why do you say ‘afraid,’ Dearie?” asked Lucy, with surprise. “Isn’t it right that it should?”
Louise made brief and noncommittal reply and Bancroft hurriedly asked Curtis how the round-up was getting on.
“Well, we’ve got the thing started, and are ready to move the cattle on the north part of the range toward Pelham. We’ll begin shipping within two or three weeks. But something seems to have struck the cowboy market this year; I’ve been short of hands all the Spring.”
“Perhaps I can give you some help,” said Bancroft. “A Mexican from up North has been to me looking for work. He came theday you had the chase after Melgares and was in again to-day. He has worked for Baxter, and Dell says he is an expert cowboy and sure to give satisfaction.”
“He must be an unusual sort of greaser if he’s looking for work,” laughed Conrad. “If he’s that sort, I guess he’ll strike my gait.”
They found the Mexican sitting on the steps of the front veranda when they finished dinner.
“Why,” exclaimed Curtis with hearty interest, “he’s the same chap that told me my mare was stolen. I hope you can ride and throw a rope; I’m obliged to you already, and I’d like to do you a good turn. I’ll meet you down town presently, and if you know anything about the business I’ll take you behind me on my mare to the ranch to-night, and you can go to work in the morning.”
The moon had just risen, and its huge white disk seemed to be resting on the plain only a little way beyond the town. Its brilliant silvery light was already working weird transformations in the landscape.
“Oh, are you going to ride home to-night, through this wonderful moonlight!” Lucy exclaimed. “How I envy you!”
“Yes,” he answered, lowering his voice and speaking in a tone different from any she had before heard from his lips; “and it is indeed a wonderful ride! I don’t know anything more impressive than the landscape of this country under a marvellous moon, like that over there. I hope we can have a ride by moonlight together, some time, when the moon is full. Does Miss Dent ride?” His voice went back to its usual tone. “I know your father is a fine rider. Perhaps we can make up a party some night, when I don’t have to hurry home. I expect my brother here this Summer, to spend his vacation with me. You and Miss Dent will like him, I’m sure, for he’s a fine lad. I hope we can all have some pleasant excursions together.”
At the sound of his softened voice Lucy felt herself swept by sudden emotion, and hastily put her hands behind her lest he should see that they were trembling. And later that night, when she looked out from her window at the white moon floating in the violet sky, suddenly her nerves went a-quiver again and her eyes sought the far, dim plain as she softly whispered, “Under a marvellous moon, like that over there!”
The Mexican asked Bancroft how to reachthe place where Conrad was to meet him, and the banker walked to the gate and pointed out the streets he was to follow. As he finished Gonzalez bent a keen gaze upon him and asked, significantly, “Has the señor further instructions for me?”
Bancroft’s start and the shade of annoyance that crossed his face as he realized that it had been noticed were not lost upon the man, whose searching look was still on him. His equanimity had been well tried already that evening, and this sudden touch upon a half-formed and most secret desire startled him for an instant out of his usual self-control. Heretofore he had merely dallied with the thought that Conrad’s removal would mean his own safety, for the rest of his life. It had appeared to him merely as something the consequences of which would be desirable. His hand could not be concerned in it, he wished to know nothing about it—but if Baxter thought best—to further his own ends—why had the Mexican come to him with this impudent question?
“I’m not hiring you,” was his curt answer.
“Certainly not, señor,” the man answered calmly, his head erect, his arms folded, and one foot advanced. The trio on the verandanoted and laughed over his attitude. Lucy said he looked like a hero of melodrama taking the limelight. Miss Dent added that he was handsome enough for a matinee idol, and Conrad declared that there was no telling how many señoritas’ hearts he had already broken. Bancroft turned to go back to the house, but paused an instant, and the Mexican quickly went on in a softly insinuating voice: “But if the señor should wish to say anything particular? Don Dellmey thought it might be possible.”