Part 14

“Because they are worried. My actions--those strangers--”

“I know, sir. They told me. But when you go away this time you’ll be going in my company and that may help with them.”

He gave me a look which hinted that he was not at all sure about that.

“We have been in one business deal; it’s easy to say we’re in another,” I suggested, choosing to overlook his manner.

But my feelings got away from me when he began to protest and argue and ask questions about why and where and when. The balky old mule! And I was giving him my soul and service free!

I pounded my knuckles on the heaped money. “We are going to leave this town on the night train, Judge Kingsley. That gives you time enough to settle with the widow and tell your folks something and get them calmed down.”

“Don’t you dare to browbeat me, young man!”

“Yes, and you’ll have time to think the thing over for yourself, sir, before I call for you with a hitch just before train-time! There will be no arguments then. I shall expect you to be all ready with your bag in hand. Go light on luggage. We shall go a long way and we shall go in a hurry.”

I left him and went about a few final affairs of my own, and when I finished I was squared with everybody in Levant. Before handing that money to the judge I had paid my personal debts--I felt that I was entitled to that much!

That evening Dodovah Vose loaned me a hitch and a driver and clapped me on the shoulder with great zest and pride.

“When the judge picked you for a partner he picked the right one,” he declared. “You make a team which will bring this old town up on its feet. The judge needs you, son. He has been going behind.”

And then once more he tried to pump me regarding this latest venture, for I had purposely dropped a word to him that the judge and I were off on a big deal. I knew that a seed planted in Dodovah Vose would bring forth fruit of the sort the judge and I needed.

“You can just hint to folks, if you feel like it, Mr. Vose, that Judge Kingsley and I have seen a way to help this town very much.” That was true. “Incidentally, the judge will make a great deal of money out of certain things where his capital has been tied up.”

“I’ve always said he knew his business as a financier. Some of the old tom-cats in this town have been prowling and meraouwing because he has been tied up lately by mortgages; but you’ve got to bait with money to catch money! Don’t fret, son. I’ll hand ’em out something now to warm their ear-wax.”

“Oh, he knows how to make money for himself and for other folks!”

“Am I too late to slip in a few hundred on this deal?” asked Mr. Vose, anxiously.

It was promptly on my tongue, of course, to put him aside as gently as possible. But I knew that he had been wondering why I had not let him in on the thing before, for truly he had been my best friend in that town. I had no good excuse to give him. I needed his friendship and his loyal good word even more then than in the past, for suspicion was darkly brooding in Levant. I hated to leave behind with him the impression that I would do everything for Zebulon Kingsley, who had been my foe, and would not turn even a little leak of prosperity into an old friend’s porringer.

While I was struggling with my thoughts--feeling like a scoundrel reaching for his brother’s wallet--a strange notion came to me. It fitted in with that comfortable craziness of mine. If I accepted his money, would I not be pledging my very soul to do and to dare? My devotion to Celene Kingsley I had set at one side as my true and sacred motive. I was mighty sure that I was not at all enthusiastic in regard to her father. However, if I took Dodovah Vose’s hard-earned money from his hands--and taking it meant a pledge that he was to benefit from a sure thing--had I not another sacred and even more compelling motive? Truly I had, for my man’s honor was concerned as well as my love for a girl!

“What have you handy?” I asked.

“Five hundred,” he said. “I ask no questions. I want no promises. I know you’ll do your best for me, son. I hate to bother you--but profits come slow in a country tavern, and I’d like to do a little extra repairing this spring.”

He was on his way to his rusty old safe while he talked.

So I took his money and went away from him with the warmth of his palm on mine.

The grinding of the wagon-wheels on the grit in front of Judge Kingsley’s house brought Celene to the door, and when I did not climb down from the wagon she called to me.

“Will you not come into the house?” she pleaded. I had not intended to do so. In spite of my longing to see her and to have her parting smile go along with me on that amazing journey I was undertaking, I had made up my mind to duck judiciously a meeting-up with the women folks of my traveling partner. But I had no will to disobey when she called to me. I found the judge with his overcoat on and his bag in his hand. Evidently he had thought the matter over! But he did not look like a bridegroom starting on a honeymoon trip, and he scowled at me with as much ferocity as if we were two tom-cats tied by the tails over a clothes-line.

His wife was hanging to his arm and she was white, even to her lips.

“Mr. Sidney, I must know what this mysterious business is.”

“I’m sure the judge will tell you what is necessary.”

“He will tell me nothing. I have endured much in the past, Zebulon! I have not asked to know much about your affairs,” she went on, trying to get a square look into his eyes. “This time I _must_ know!”

“I have told you!” From his tone it was hard to tell what his emotions were. The words sounded as if somebody were talking into a tin spout a long way off.

“You have told me nothing except that you are going! You do not say where. You have not told me when you are coming back.”

“We don’t exactly know, Mrs. Kingsley. But I assure you that the trip is very necessary,” I put in.

“I must tell you that mother is not well,” said Celene, wistfully. “I’m sure everything is all right, but we must know where you are going so that we may be in touch with you.”

“We can keep you posted--when we know where we are,” I said; but I did not sound very convincing, I fear. God knows, I wanted to put my arms around her and comfort her and tell her that I was madly trying to save her, her home, her mother, and her father from disgrace and ruin. I guess no man has ever figured out beyond doubt whether it’s better to tell the woman everything or to hide trouble as long as possible. When women are proud they never forget the disgrace, whether it is revealed outside or if it’s merely kept secret in the household. And in Zebulon Kingsley’s case I was proposing to keep the effect of the disgrace as well as all knowledge of it away from those women.

I knew how he felt in the matter! He had chosen revolvers and ropes rather than face them. I was determined to be just as resolute as he--until a show-down was inevitable.

It would be a sorry triumph, a half job, if they were obliged to live out their lives knowing that the master of the household had lived for years in the shadow of prison; it meant the wrecking of all their pride and ideals--no more joy in home or life itself in the case of such women as they. I understood!

The big dock was ticking off minutes rapidly. Our time was short. I shuffled my feet, impatiently wishing that Judge Kingsley would hurry up. His woe-begone, frozen face was making the thing worse every minute he stayed there.

“There is mystery here,” insisted his wife. “There should be no mystery about business that’s honest!”

“You surely can tell us something to comfort us before you go,” urged Celene, coming dose to me, pleading with her eyes.

But I knew I must stay away from the edges of explanation in her presence; once I got started, I’d be sure to tumble into a mess. I looked over her head.

“We must hurry, Judge!” I warned.

“I know that my husband would never go into any business that isn’t honest,” declared Mrs. Kingsley, beginning to show temper. She faced me and her eyes glittered. “But he is growing old, and his judgment may not be what it was. There are always men trying to lead others into trouble.”

“That’s so,” I admitted.

“Forgive mother if she says anything harsh! But we are in such a state of mind!”

Well, so was I!

“I have mortgaged the home over my head,” cried Mrs. Kingsley. “I have given the money to my husband willingly--but I will not allow thieves to waste it!”

It was about time for me to assert myself a little. The judge was merely working his mouth like a dying fish, and it was plain that he could be no help.

“I don’t blame your mother,” I told the girl. I took her hands in mine, glad I could carry away the memory of her touch. “Some of those men who have been hanging around the judge are not good men, but I was born in this town and you know me! I’m helping your father in an important matter. I swear I’m telling the truth. And I’ll bring him back safe and sound.”

I left her before I should be tempted to kiss her right before their eyes, and I took the judge’s bag in one hand and boosted him along with a clutch on his arm.

“We simply must catch that train!” I urged.

It was a sad scene for a few moments. I was obliged fairly to tussle with that woman for the possession of the old man. But I ran him out and left the mother sobbing in the daughter’s arms, and they were in the doorway when I helped the judge into the wagon.

“Brace up!” I whispered. “Give ’em just a word or two.”

“I’m all right,” he quavered. “It’s only business! It must be attended to. There’s nothing to fret about!”

Wasn’t, eh?

“Lick up!” I told the driver. “Lay on the braid!”

We went rattling out of Levant behind a galloping horse and I liked the sensation of that haste. We were chasing ten thousand dollars and had less than twenty days for the job.

XVII--MONEY HAS LEGS

WE swapped not a word on the way to the railroad.

The judge seemed to be settled down into a sort of numb condition, and I was glad of it, for I did not feel like talking. He stood indifferently at one side when I bought tickets, and I was glad of that also. If I was to be purser and general manager of that expedition I did not want to have a joint debate every time I made a move.

My first tickets took us to a junction point. Then I bought to Chicago.

The judge went along silently, showing about as much interest as a mummy in me, or in the scenery or people. I suppose the old fellow was having a terrible struggle with his fears, his thoughts, and his recollection of the manner in which he had parted from his family. I sympathized with him and left him alone. Once in a while I got a side-glance from him which suggested that he had not abandoned his distrust of me. Perhaps he pondered that he was simply submitting to another form of self-destruction and was willing to let it go at that!

I’ll confess this: I was taking so much interest in the world about me that I was finding it hard to concentrate my thoughts on the business we had in hand. I had done no railroad-riding to speak of till then. It seemed as unreal as if I were headed for the moon instead of into the far vastness of my native land. When we went rolling through the smoky fringes of Chicago and I saw that there really was a Chicago, my emotion, as I remember it, was astonishment. But I had already found out that a greenhorn could get along pretty well by watching other folks and by asking questions.

So we crowded into the transfer-wagon on Polk Street and were quickly across the city to another railroad station, where I bought tickets for St. Paul. Before the train pulled out I raided a folder-stand and grabbed a sample of everything in the rack.

I went into those folders like a girl diving into the love scenes in a mush novel; I studied as diligently as if I were a prize pupil getting ready for a contest. I had my nose in those papers for hours, till I could close my eyes and see maps and repeat time-tables and names of cities backward.

So I wasn’t at a loss when we reached St. Paul. I trotted the judge right along to a window and bought tickets for Spokane. He was mumbling a monotone of growls in my ear while I counted out the money.

“Look here, young man,” he said, when we had left the window, “I am not going to be teamed any farther until you tell me exactly where you are going and what you are intending to do.”

It rather surprised me to hear him speak; I had sort of forgotten that he could talk.

“Do you pretend that you expect to get money, racing around like this?”

“I’m on the trail of it, Judge Kingsley--your money, you remember. I’m not doing this for my own amusement.”

“You seem to be; I’ve been watching you, sir. You are plainly relishing this junketing about. I go no farther.”

“How much money have you in your pocket?” I asked, mildly.

He looked alarmed. “I did not bring money! You took the money for expenses, you said. I depended on that. I have only a few dollars.”

“That’s good,” I told him. “So there’s no chance for argument here on this platform.” I waved the tickets under his nose. “I reckon you’ll have to stick right along with me, sir, wherever I go.”

That settled that rebellion!

When I started toward the train he followed. His face was white, his jaws were ridged, and he was furious--but his anger locked his lips. He did not bother me with questions. That night I hid my money inside my berth-pillow; by the way the judge looked at me I knew he would pick my pocket if he got a chance.

On we went across the prairies of the Dakotas--and the journey was not interesting. It was all dun and dull and brown and monotonous in that late March. When the sun shone it only showed up more of the raw country. Every little while we went plunging through a snow-squall which plastered the car windows and speckled the brown of the prairie.

Then the doldrums got me! All at once I found myself bluer than the old judge had been, even in his deepest despondency. This was a reckless escapade, not a sensible man’s project! I had bragged and blustered and made promises there in that little tin dipper of a Levant where the horizon was pinched in by Mitchell’s Mountain and Tumbledick Hill. I had got by with my bluff in the wood-lot game and had felt as if I were a big man!

But out there!

No longer was it a string of mere names and a smudge of color on paper to make a map! I was looking out, hour by hour, on the reality of the vastness of the great West. As to the men I was hunting for in that wide expanse--those fly-by-nighters, those human skip-bugs--would they not be dodging where impulse took them? Jeff Dawlin was a mere gambler--willing to take a chance on anything. Had he not taken a mere gambler’s chance on my finding those men? If I succeeded he would get his pay. If I did not succeed it was only _my_ failure--he had invested nothing--he had no interest in my affairs, except a gambler’s.

And what could I do to those men if I did find them? They were at home out there--as much at home as they were in the East. The farther out on those prairies I rolled, the farther away from all confidence in myself I seemed to be. Old Ariock Blake used to say that sometimes he felt as if he were “forty miles from water and a hundred miles from land.” I felt just as helplessly up in the air as that! I fairly wallowed in sloppy gloom.

To sit there in front of Zebulon Kingsley in my state of mind and courage and look on his gad-awful sourness of visage was too much for my nerves.

I went to get a drink of water and heard men laughing in the smoking-room. If there were men in the world who could laugh I wanted to be with them. So I went in. They were playing poker, and after a time one man had to leave the train and they asked me into the game.

I was desperate enough to grab at anything that would take my mind off my troubles, so I began to play poker. And when a man sits in to play poker with strangers it’s a mighty small slice of mind he has left to blotter worry with.

I was away from the judge a long time, and he came hunting me up and caught me at the pastime. Perhaps he feared that his two-legged bank had fallen off the train and he had been worrying; but when he saw me with cards in my hand and money spread out he had a lot more to worry about and his face showed it. He let out of him a sort of moan and went away.

“Your father?” asked one of the men, casually. “Sick?”

“Yes,” I said. “I mean he’s sick, but he’s not my father. He is a big Eastern capitalist I’m escorting West on business.”

“Put me next--I can offer him some great chances,” said another man.

“I’m afraid he is feeling too bad to talk business--and he is very notional in the matter of strangers. Don’t say anything to him; leave it to me.” I was obliged to say something about the judge and to block them from bothering him, if I could, for I knew he would not be contented with one inspection of me at my devilish and dangerous occupation. “Don’t pay any attention to his actions,” I advised. “He’s feeling mighty sick--a long ride makes him sort of seasick.”

I was glad I had planted something with the men, for the judge kept coming and sticking his head between the curtains and making strange noises. He went at me in good earnest when he had me at table in the dining-car.

“How dare you throw away my money on gamblers?”

“I haven’t done so, Judge Kingsley.”

“I saw you doing it in that dirty den of smoke and vice.”

“You saw me playing cards, I’ll admit. I had to do something to keep from going crazy.”

“Tossing away my money! Gambling my dollars--”

“Just a moment, sir! That money is a part of my profits and I consider it a common pot for both of us. I know how to play poker. I have added forty-five dollars to it.”

“Do you boast that you have been cheating at cards to help _me?_”

Confound him! he could sting a man with that tongue of his!

“A man can play poker without cheating. Just as a man can do business without cheating!”

I looked him in the eye and he shut up. I had found out that I could get along with him better when he didn’t talk. After the meal I went back to the game. I felt that every little helped, provided I could hold my own.

I couldn’t resist a quiet chuckle inside when I reflected that I was industriously playing cards for the benefit of Judge Zebulon Kingsley, Sunday-school superintendent of Levant.

I had learned long before how to watch out in a card game, and when I felt little scratches on the backs of the cards and observed that one of the players was doing the gouge act with a specially manicured finger-nail, I turned a few tricks of my own. I felt the full humor of the thing when I calmed my conscience with the thought that it was all for the sake of the judge. When he came to the curtains and glared at me I grinned at him.

I cleaned up one hundred and fifteen dollars, at any rate, before we rolled into Spokane--and I had at least five hundred dollars’ worth of respite from my bitter misgivings. When I showed that tainted money to the judge with some little pride and impelled by a spirit of devilishness I couldn’t control, I thought for a moment that he would bite me.

“I’m not going to associate any longer with a scalawag. I’m not going to be bullyragged by a scoundrel!”

“However, when we’re roaming we’ve got to do as the roamers do,” I told him. Deep in me I was ashamed of the disrespect I was showing him by plaguing him in that fashion, but I felt an almost irresistible hankering to do it; he had so long lorded it in Levant. Furthermore, he did not seem to recognize in any manner my spirit of self-sacrifice; he had not shown to me one flash of wholehearted gratitude. I may have had a cloudy notion that he needed to have his spirit of Kingsley pride humbled before he would ever consider me as a likely son-in-law. My ideas then and the memories of my ideas now are not very clear, for I was not in any very calm and philosophic mood those days.

After a carriage had snatched us across Spokane and we were landed on the platform of a station from which trains for the Idaho country departed, he did buck in good earnest.

He was a man of plan and method; he had passed his life in routine. That rattle-brained gallop must have offended every instinct in him.

“I’ll not get on that train. I’ll go no farther. I’ll appeal to the police,” he raved. “Give me my share of that money and I’ll go home.”

“I have mixed it all together--gambling money and all! I would not have you traveling on gambling money, Judge.” My pertness added to his anger.

“I’ll have you arrested, so help me--”

“Hold on before you put the binding word to that oath, Judge Kingsley. If you dare to put me in the jug away out here away from home, I’ll yank you in as an embezzler of town money--and I’ve got an uncle who is first selectman of the town! A little telegraphing will do the trick. Now let’s both of us throw away our bombs. The fuses are sizzling! Climb aboard.”

He ground his teeth and climbed!

A fine sort of a brindled, cross-eyed hen was I setting to hatch my son-in-law hopes! But a mood of recklessness was sweeping me then.

I did not buy tickets; I paid cash fares to the conductor, naming a station I culled from the folder. I was not sure what the limits of the Potlatch country were; I proposed to drop in with somebody on the train, if I could manage it discreetly, and post myself by asking questions.

I saw no likely subjects in the car where we were riding--the passengers were mostly women--so I slicked up my silk hat, fixed it at a confident and compelling angle, and went out into the smoking-car.

As I have just said, the spirit of recklessness was flaming in me. I did not dare to let it die down. I lashed my courage and my craziness both together. I was bitterly afraid I might drop back into that paralyzing despondency I had felt back there on the Dakota prairies. That meant that I would become a useless quitter. Only by dint of holding myself in that desperate mood where I proposed to let chance have its way with me, and to grab in on anything that offered, would I have gone through so brazenly with the affair on which I soon found myself entering. It was merely another gamble, it seemed to me after I was in it. It was taking my mind off my more private affairs, even as the poker game had distracted my attention.

I marched through to the front of the smoking-car where the train-boy was arranging his little stock, bought a paper, and walked slowly back up the aisle with a glance to right and left at the faces of the men, hoping to get a rise from that “likely subject” I was hunting for.

One man returned my glance with interest.

After I sat down, well up in the car, I looked over the top of the newspaper and saw that the stranger’s interest in me continued. The chap had a broad face, liquor-mottled. After a while he unscrewed the top of a flask and sucked in a long drink. Then he worked his shoulders, jerked at the bottom of his waistcoat, wriggled his arms, and displayed other symptoms of a man who is trying to brace up and to pull himself together. At last he derricked himself out of his seat and swayed up the car aisle. He divided glances between my plug-hat and the frock-coat.

“Excuse me, but it’s the clothes,” said the stranger.

I nodded amiably.

“I wouldn’t butt in and speak to you if it wasn’t for the clothes.”

Once more I was having it impressed on me that a plug-hat and a frock-coat seemed to be good reliable openers in the jack-pot of chance. I reckoned I’d play the hand.

“You’re not a parson.”

“I’m far from it, sir.”

“The farthest from it I know is to be a lawyer. I spotted you for a lawyer. If you are one I want to talk with you.”

“I’m a lawyer. Sit down,” was my cheerful lie.

The stranger hauled out his flask. “Do you ever indulge?”

“No.”