CHAPTER XVIII.

PARSON MILLER VISITS THE JUDGE.

While a number of miners and settlers, under the name of Vigilantes, were following Captain Dash and his Revolver Riders in the pursuit of Kent King and his outlaw band, an individual of peculiar appearance was riding slowly along a trail that led through the valley settlement, where Judge Hale and his train had found homes.

He was mounted on a mule, whom he had christened Goliath of Gath, and was dressed in a suit combining buckskin leggings, a miner’s red shirt, a black clerical-looking coat, and a coonskin cap. This individual was Parson Miller, the chaplain of the Hale train on its route westward, the one whom Buffalo Bill had gotten lost with, to prevent his marrying Mary Hale to Kent King.

Settling near the sutler establishment in Deep Creek City, as the dozen log cabins comprising the place were called, Parson Miller had looked after his own bodily comfort, and the spiritual welfare of the flock which he claimed as his special charge. He was now on his way to the hospitable home of Judge Hale. The judge, believing him harmless, always extended to him a welcome, though Mary was never glad to see him darken the doors of their cabin.

“My dear brother Hale, I have come over to see you upon important duty: the wolves are abroad among my flock, and bloodshed is stalking forth in our valley.”

This was his speech, as he dismounted from Goliath and picketed the mule.

“Come in, parson,” said Hale, “and we’ll have a chat in my room, for Mary is busy, as you hear, with her guitar, on the back porch.”

“It is of Mary I have come to speak, and moreover of one other, brother Hale; will we be wholly alone?” the parson inquired.

“Wholly so; is there any news?” asked the judge, feeling a dread of coming evil.

“None, other than that I have told you. Now let us talk to the point. Do you not know me?”

The parson’s manner suddenly changed. He dropped the singsong way in which he always spoke. Judge Hale looked him fairly in the face, and answered slowly:

“No, though you recall one to me long since dead.”

“Who is that one?”

“A clergyman who fell from grace, killed a friend, and was sentenced to prison for life.”

“His name?”

“I care not to speak of it,” said the judge, with a shudder.

“It matters not; I am that man.”

“You! impossible, and yet----” and Judge Hale turned the hue of a corpse.

“It is not impossible, Andrew Hale. We were boys together, and devoted friends; we married sisters, and became brothers-in-law; you became a famous lawyer, and I a minister, until I at last, as you expressed it, fell from grace, and, taking the life of a fellow being, was sent to prison for life. My wife having died, I left you in full control of my large property, and the guardian of my son, and for some years all went on well.

“You met with financial embarrassments just at the time I escaped from prison, and was reported killed by the guard as I reached the river. I was not touched by his bullet. A man in convict’s dress being found some time after, floating in the water, was said to be me, and so was buried. Believing me dead, you used the property of my son to squander in speculation, and, to escape his just anger, you fled with your child. Do you doubt my identity now, Andrew Hale?”

“You are certainly Mathew Kingsland,” said the judge, in a hoarse tone.

“I certainly am. And Kent King, the Gambler Guide, as men call him, is my son Kenton, and the first cousin of your daughter Mary.”

“The power he held over me, and which forced me to say Mary should be his wife, was because he held my secret,” groaned the judge.

“Well, the boy you know now in a different light, for he is the chief of the outlaw band known as the Nighthawks.”

“And he is free to do my poor child harm! God grant that these dashing Texans take him.”

“Oh, the boy can take care of himself! You will soon receive a call from him in some disguise or other, for he is determined to marry your daughter.”

“Heaven forbid! Why should he persecute her thus?”

“Simply because she is rich. He wishes to give up this wild life, and seek safety in another land, where he can live off of her money, as you did off of his,” answered the man, in a sneering tone.

“Marry rich! why, man, all I have in the world is in this cabin and this ranch.”

“Ah!”

“What! Do you doubt me?”

“I know to the contrary.”

“I say you are mistaken. Had I money, do you think I would have come to this wild land to live?” angrily asked the judge.

“Yes. Dread of punishment for your crime, and a fear that the world would learn of it, brought you here. Now you are believed only unfortunate. Were the truth made known, it would be shown that you squandered a fortune left to your keeping, Andrew Hale.”

“Alas! that I was ever tempted; but look at me now, a man at my years building up a new home, and penniless almost.”

“You need not so remain, Andrew Hale,” said the parson, in a meaning way.

“What do you mean, Mathew Kingsland? You have not come here and made yourself known to me without a purpose, I feel confident.”

“I mean that if you will give me your note for fifty thousand dollars, payable six months from date, and agree to a certain plan I have in view, I will tell you where you can place your hands upon a million of money.”

“What is your plan, sir?”

“That you marry Mary at once to my son.”

“You ask this when you know that I am aware of what he is?” indignantly said the judge.

“Oh, yes; you gave your consent before, when you knew that Kenton had served in the penitentiary. Don’t preach morality, Andrew Hale, for it does not set well on you,” sneered the parson.

“Man, tell me what you have come here for, and at once.”

“I need fifty thousand dollars that I may live on the interest it will bring. I am getting along in years, and I wish to provide again for my son, whose fortune you squandered. Therefore, I wish him to marry an heiress.”

“And I tell you that I am little more than a beggar.”

“Oh, no; a man died in the upper mines some days ago, and he made his confession to me, and left a will bequeathing a million dollars he had dug out of the ground to you and your daughter----”

“What?”

“True. I ask for only fifty thousand, and you will still have two hundred thousand, as he left you a quarter of a million, and Mary the balance.”

“Do you mean this, Mat Kingsland?” and Judge Hale was very much excited.

“I do.”

“Why was a man worth that sum working in the mines?”

“He was not; he had dug his gold out of California and gone East to find his relatives. Learning that they had come West, he sought them here in the mines, was taken ill and died as I told you. That man was Ned Hale, your oldest brother.”

Judge Hale could not speak for a while, but at last he said fervently:

“Thank God!”

“You had better thank me, for you cannot get it unless I deliver up the papers. I wish your note for the fifty thousand, and to see dear Kenton and Mary married before I turn the papers over to you.”

“If this fortune has been left me, I can get it without your aid.”

“Oh, no, for I have the papers, and the lawyers and the witnesses are all in my pay. Do you agree to the terms, Andrew?”

“I will give you one hundred thousand, if you will not hold Mary in the bargain.”

“She will have vast wealth and a devilish handsome husband.”

“She shall not marry him, and if you and your accursed son ever enter my house again, I will shoot you down as I would a mad dog. Now, begone, sir.”

“Judge Hale, be reasonable. You are mad to throw away this fortune,” urged Mathew Kingsland.

“You are acting only for self-interest, simply to get your reward out of it, and I will be happy in keeping it from you.”

“But dear Mary will be made unhappy by----”

“Dear Mary is happy as she is with my father, Mat Kingsland. I order you from this house, for I have heard all that was said, and know your baseness,” and Mary swept into the room as proud as a queen and defiant.

“Ah! you, then, know that your father stole----”

“Silence, sir! He invested funds in his keeping in speculations and lost thereby. It was, perhaps, a criminal act, but he is more than sorry for it. He has just refused a fortune rather than do wrong again, and I refuse it with him; go, sir, or I will call Daniel to put you out.”

Mary pointed toward the door.

“Girl, you and this old fool, your father, shall rue this act. I go, but I warn you that you will yet beg mercy of me.”

Mary laughed scornfully. The villain moved toward the door, and a moment after was riding away at a speed that Goliath of Gath had not been forced to for many a long day.