Читать книгу The Complete Novels of Ernest Haycox - Ernest Haycox - Страница 14

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Times were indeed getting dangerous. James J. Lestrade had decided as much the night before and he was a great deal more convinced of the fact as he rode rapidly down the Snake River Road toward the Henry place. The day was blistering hot and the heat fog rose like a cloud of steam from the desert. Ordinarily he would have traveled at an easier gait, but the events of the past twenty-four hours pushed him along in spite of himself. In fact, Lestradc was thinking of his own skin and preparing to depart from the country as soon as he could.

His last shipment of beef stock had left his ranges practically bare and throughout the preceding month he had at intervals dropped men from his payroll, stored his ranch accessories, and with a great deal of secrecy stripped his house of its furnishings and sent them on to Portland. All this had been a matter of foresight, for he knew well enough that if the temper of the valley homesteaders ever came to a boil, his own safety would be a matter of doubts. Such work as lay before him could be done from a central office in Portland, while hired agents of his dummy corporation executed the unpleasant details in the region. At some future date—a year or two removed—he knew that most of the settlers would be gone from the scene, discouraged and bankrupt, and he might come back to supervise his holdings. Until that day he was well content to live a town life.

So thinking, he approached the Henry ranch, both pleased and displeased with the result of the last week's accomplishment. Being a careful man, he had struck away from Powder by a trail across the desert that had not touched the Snake River Road until it came within a half mile of his destination. Even so, he did not entirely miss the traffic flowing unevenly along the road. In the short space of the half mile he passed two horsemen and a wagon well loaded with homesteaders.

The very looks of them were disturbing and their curt greetings were more so. The members of the wagon stopped him and began a sharp catechism of the project's affairs which he staved off with the genial assurance that he was in a great deal of a hurry and would be back in town to meet them before noon. Up until that moment he had not been unduly oppressed by the weather, but as he entered the Henry home lot a profuse sweat began to appear on his chubby face.

As usual, Gracie was stirring about in the open, with the judge nowhere in sight. Lestrade slid from the saddle.

"You look as handsome as a picture, Gracie," he said, essaying to twist the compliment into something more personal.

His fat hand went out to rest on her shoulder, a move that the girl instantly checked by stepping aside. Whatever trust Gracie might have had in Lestrade, it was sadly dissipated now. His demeanor toward her in the intervening week had savored of the unpleasant. Without actually affording her the least discourtesy, he had filled her with repugnance. Now, under the pitiless sun, his face reminded her of an oily ball. He swabbed the moisture from his jowls and puckered his lips into remonstrance.

"Gracie, seems like you don't care much about me anymore. Why, I'm the best friend your father's got."

"I am glad to hear it," the girl said without warmth. "If you want to see Dad, you'll find him in the office."

"There's a lot of things said about me," he proceeded, studying her with his shrewd eyes, "which oughtn't to be listened to by folks like you. These settlers are a grumbling lot. No matter how much a man might do, they'd complain. A grumbling lot."

"I never believe in gossip and I never repeat it," she said. The sight of Lestrade's horse moved her to sympathy. Going over, she led the animal to the shade. "But I am able to judge people fairly well by myself. I find that you can usually tell a man's character by the way he treats his horse."

The shot went home. Lestrade's pink cheeks deepened in color. "Don't let woman's sentiment trouble you so much," he advised a little sharply. "A horse is a horse—nothing more."

"Many men think so," she replied. "I don't."

He let that pass, coming closer to her. "Gracie, I'm here to make an offer. It's plumb unfortunate about the way all our plans went haywire. I'd do 'most anything in my power to right them. But with all that money gone I'm afraid we're busted. It'll mean a loss for most folks and I guess your dad's pretty well tied up like the rest. Now, Gracie, I'd be humbly proud to take that load off him. He's old and he can't fight up the hill like maybe he once could. I've got some money and it'd certainly please me to help."

"Can't you help the rest of the settlers?"

"Lord love you, no. I ain't responsible for them. It's no fault of mine the project is about to go bust. But I can help your dad if—"

"We want no help that others won't get," she said flatly. "We will all share alike."

"Well, I admire that spunk. But think of the old man, Gracie. Just let me take that load from him. Now, I'm not a young man, but I can give you plenty of fine clothes and I can guarantee you a good home—"

He never finished his oblique proposal of marriage. Gracie had been watching him as he spoke. He was an uncomfortably hot and physically unfit specimen as he stood there in the sun, and suddenly she burst into laughter.

"Mr. Lestrade are you asking me to be your wife? Oh, I must tell this to Dad!"

He dropped his attempt at sentiment. One big arm swept out and caught her by the wrist, closing around it until she flung up her head in pain.

"Stop that, you little fool!" he cried. "I'll not have anybody laughing at Jim Lestrade! You think you're so high and mighty, eh? Say, I'll bust you and your old man and leave you out on the road, paupers! You be nice to me, girl."

"Let go of my arm!" Her free hand lashed out and struck Lestrade squarely across the mouth.

The man dropped his arm like a shot and rubbed his lips. A slaty hardness came to his eyes.

"You'll suffer for that, girl."

The screen door of the house creaked, and when Lestrade raised his face he saw Judge Henry standing on the steps, a shotgun leveled on him. The judge was in carpet slippers, a figure shaken as if by palsy and with features the color of putty.

"Mr. Lestrade, I saw you take hold of my daughter. You lay your dirty hands on her again, and I shall kill you. I thought you were a gentleman—but now, get out of my yard!"

Lestrade made an attempt to compose himself. "I was telling Gracie," he offered, "that the valley folks are getting pretty well steamed up. I can't guarantee your safety, Judge. Better collect your things and come off with me. I'm bound for the city—"

"Then you're leaving us all to take the loss?" Gracie demanded. "Do you admit you're dishonest? If you had a clear constience, you'd not be afraid to face them."

"Afraid?" Lestrade blustered. "I ain't afraid. But I've got business in town. As for them homesteaders, they can cry over spilt milk as long as they want. It's no concern of mine. Better get yourself and your daughter fixed up and come along."

For all his vanity and puffiness, the judge was sound at heart. "I stay right here," he said. "I've done right as I saw it to be done. If they want to see me I'll be here on this porch. Gracie you come here. Mr. Lestrade, I bid you good day. You've caused us all trouble. I don't say you're not honest, but I can have nothing more to do with a man who is not a gentleman. Get out of my yard!"

Lestrade swept them both with a long, ugly glare.

"Then stay here and rot," he said, and went to his horse.

He got into the saddle, sawed at the reins and galloped away. Going back down the Snake River Road, he fought to regain composure.

I'm better off without a wife and a doddering father-in-law, he told himself. If they're so blessed stiff-necked they can suffer for it.

A mile from Powder, he left the road and cut across the open ground to enter the town on the far side. He meant to slip quietly through the back door of his office, pick up his papers and his bag and just as quietly leave again. The Orange Ball Limited passed the Junction within the hour, and on that train he aimed to make his departure from the troublous valley.

As he skirted the back of the buddings, he heard a rumbling of men's voices in such proportion that the first flash of alarm ran through him. And when he passed across the rear of a small alley he was astonished to see the size of the crowd milling through the streets. For a moment he debated whether or not it would be best to abandon his trip to the office and go straight to the Junction. But he had come this far and a small portion of pride forbade his scuttling away without his personal effects. So he reached the back of his place and stepped in. What he saw brought a distinct shock.

Confronting him was the man he cared least about seeing at that time—W. W. Offut. The cattleman's face was extremely sober. He came to the point without waste of words.

"You'll please accompany me to the courthouse, Jim."

"What for?" Lestrade said, prepared to argue. "I've got a lot of business on the ranch. Let's wait—"

"Come along," Offut said.

Lestrade's hands shuffled the papers on his desk while his mind shuffled a number of other things. In the end he nodded with the best Gracie possible.

"All right. What's the trouble?"

"We're having a meeting," Offut said. He followed Lestrade into the street and turned toward the courthouse.

The street was crammed and they had not gone a dozen yards before the foremost of the homesteaders spied Lestrade and began to move toward him. At this, Offut pulled back his coat to display his revolver belt and waded serenely through the vanguard. Lestrade comprehended the meaning of this and he felt the blood drain from his face. He began to hear a running fire of comment, all of which he ignored or tossed aside with a brief, "All right, boys, I'll be out to talk this over in a minute."

Offut shoved him inside the courthouse and led him down to the swinging doors that cloaked the judge's chambers. When these swung back James J. Lestrade stopped dead in his tracks and trembled from head to foot.

It was a strange, grim scene. Ranked around the room were most of the big cattlemen of the country, the members of the dreaded committee, and a dozen of W. W. Offut's ranch hands. Seated on one of the benches he found Nig Chatto, a tight-lipped figure who shot him a stony, bitter glance. Beside him was one of his own men, the shifty-eyed Tracy. And beyond Tracy stood Lin Ballou, somewhat pale and with a bandanna wrapped around one wrist.

Lestrade's attention darted from one corner of the chamber to another, and then his interest settled on the clerk's desk. He saw a man stretched full length on the desk, partly covered by a blanket. Lestrade saw the man's wool socks point rigidly toward the ceiling and then he grew cold all over as he recognized the face of Beauty Chatto staring, sightless and indifferent, into space.

Offut was speaking in a slow, solemn manner. "Here he is, boys. I guess we'd better put him upstairs in the cell and keep a good guard. The men outside are in a pretty high state of mind."

"I move," said another, "that we send a messenger after the judge, the prosecuting attorney and the sheriff. They've got no call to be roaming wild with this case unsettled."

"A good idea," Offut approved. "I'll have a man out this very hour."

Then Lcstrade recovered from his speechlessness. He said angrily, "You've railroaded a lot of men in this country to suit your politics, but you'll not railroad me What's all this about?"

The crowd remained silent, waiting for Offut to speak. The cattleman explained it in a few words. "Lin Ballou's been the agent of this committee for several months, trying to run down the unknown parties interested in cattle rustling. He finally connected with the Chattos. Last night he went to bring them back and had a fight in which he killed Beauty. Nig, here, has confessed under promise of leniency. Your foreman, Tracy, volunteered a great deal of information under the same promise. All things told, Jim, you are in for a long, long term of penitentiary life. Sorry. Thought you were a good neighbor."

Tracy stood up and pointed his long finger. He was a man absolutely without loyalty. Having seen how the current of opinion flowed, he had deserted his chief to procure safety for himself. Now he had something else to say.

"I got one more word, folks. Last night when all this gunplay was going on I had myself hid on the main street near Dan Rounds'. It was Jim Lestrade killed Dan. I saw it with my own eyes."

"You're a liar!" Lestrade yelled. "You're an ex-convict and your word ain't worth a penny!"

All eyes were turned on Tracy. Lestrade saw his chance. He jerked out his gun and threw his body forward. W. W. Offut's great arm fell like an axe across Lestrade's elbow. There was an explosion. A harmless shot tipped up the courtroom floor. Lestrade struggled like a wild man, suddenly surrounded by half a dozen ranch hands.

The shot evoked a sudden answer from the street. The courthouse trembled under a deluge of feet and the swinging doors flew open to let in a stream of settlers. Lin Ballou, running forward, saw Hank Colqueen—patient, hard-working Colqueen—in the lead. The man had become by force of voice and of circumstances the leader of the infuriated mob. He stood on a bench and waved his arms wildly, bellowing out his threat. "There's Lestrade! Every word he told us was a lie! Where's that money Steele got away with? Why was all the delay and the fire up at Lake Esprit? Why was Chinamen brought in to take away our bread and butter? Lestrade's a skin-game slicker—a tinhorn gambler. He's sharing that embezzled money, believe me!"

The in-rushing crowd roared approval. Colqueen swung like a dancing dervish. "But if you wait for the law to prove it you'll be old and busted. Let's give 'im a sample of valley justice! Pull him out—him and his whole damn crew!"

They kept surging inward, these settlers, forcing cattlemen and prisoners back until they were jammed against the wall. And still there were others clamoring to enter. Ballou and Offut jumped to the judge's rostrum at the same time. The cattleman raised his hand, speaking in a normal voice. The words were utterly lost, but the settlers saw him and something like quiet came into the room. This man was a symbol of honesty and justice.

"Wait a minute." he said. "Don't you boys do anything that'll be on your consciences afterwards. Nobody ever got anywhere by defeating the law. You are all men of good standing. You represent the future of this valley. Many times I have heard you folks speak harshly of the old days when everything ran wild. Well, you are right. Don't make that error yourselves. Remember, it's you men who will serve on the jury in this man's case or, if not, at least men of your own kind. Fair play! Give the man a chance in court."

"Did he give us a chance?" Colqueen roared. "It was all a passel of lies! Lies from beginning to end. If he was square he wouldn't be there cringing like a whipped dog nor he wouldn't have tried to get away. But we ain't got no proof of that in a court. He's guilty as Satan—but there's not enough evidence to put him where he belongs. You figure that to be justice?"

"Who said there wasn't evidence?" Offut demanded. "Maybe there's no evidence to hold him on the land deal, but we've got him caught on cattle thievery. This man was a confederate of the Chattos. There's not a judge who wouldn't put him in prison."

The more thoughtful members of the mob began to collect themselves. Ballou, scanning the upturned faces, saw reason coming back. But Colqueen and the younger hot-heads were still smarting under their troubles.

"Who says there's evidence enough?" Colqueen demanded.

Offut put a hand on Ballou's shoulder, at which the hubbub rose again and continued for several minutes.

Until then Lin had never quite realized the sentiment against him. It ran terribly strong. From several corners he was assailed by jeering, half-articulate malice which Colqueen managed to express in words.

"Him? Why, Lin's a cattle rustler himself. You ought to know that, seeing as you caught him. Take his word? Far as us homesteaders are concerned it don't make no difference how many cows are stolen. It's none of our concern. But damn it, we're going to get some satisfaction for losing all our money."

"No—no—no," Offut said, patiently repeating the words until he had command of their attention again.

Ballou's attention switched to another part of the room. The long, angular frame of his companion of the mesa, Bill, towered in the doorway and tried to wedge himself through the packed crowd. He motioned to Lin and nodded his head vigorously several times. Offut, meanwhile, had calmed the mob somewhat.

"You folks are impatient. Lin Ballou is as straight as a string. As honest as I am. I'll vouch for him, and if you know my reputation that must count for something. He has been my agent—the agent of the cattle committee. He had to make himself out a crook to catch other crooks. It is due to him that we've got the Chattos—one dead, one alive—and that we can put Lestrade in prison. You boys owe Lin an apology."

This was a poser. Coming from such a man as W. W. Offut it was not to be lightly challenged. Offut had never in his life been anything but square and they knew it. There and then the animus of the mob seemed to lose its strength, the members of it recollecting their better senses. Lin Ballou stepped down from the rostrum, caught hold of Bill's onward reaching arm and by sheer strength pulled him through the last rank of the crowd.

"Tell me in a hurry. What's the answer? How'd you get back so sudden?"

"I thought I'd better speed things," Bill whispered, "so I dropped off at Pinto and used the telegraph. Got an answer to the effect that we was authorized to just about write our own ticket. Now you get up there and spill it. It'll be happy news for somebody."

Ballou stepped back to the rostrum and faced the waiting crowd. "Let me have a word in this controversy. You folks had better forget Lestrade and let him take what the judge hands him. Which will sure be plenty. I know you folks are out a pile and I can just about tell you why. Lestrade never wanted to finish that irrigation scheme. If he knows as much about the land in this valley as I do—and I think he does—he wanted to get hold of it for himself."

"Heck of a lot of good he'll get from it," Colqueen muttered, for once losing his faith in the land.

"As far as farming goes, that's right," Lin agreed. "Yo boys who were at the dance that time will remember I bucked like a steer at the idea of water. Why? Because this country can't afford it. But there is something under all this sand and alkali that's worth forty thousand farms."

That caught the crowd's attention. Every last man craned his neck.

"You boys thought I was an awful fool frittering my time away, prospecting for gold. And I would have been a fool, sure enough, if gold was what I wanted. But it wasn't. Bill here—" he motioned to the lanky youth—"is a geologist. The best in this man's state. He's employed by the Alamance Mineral Corporation. Guess you know that name, don't you?"

Very few didn't. It ranked as the largest mining concern in the state. Even W. W. Offut turned his head when he heard the name, and watched Lin closely.

"Well, the sum and substance of it is," Lin went on, enjoying the suspense, "that Bill and I have been all over the valley floor, poking little holes in the ground. That's a sideline nobody knows anything about. As a result I can announce with a right smart amount of satisfaction that this valley is underlaid with what may be the richest bed of potash in America."

There was a sound as if a gust of wind had passed through the room. Hank Colqueen shook his head several times. W. W. Offut began to smile, a rare thing for him.

"Now potash," Lin proceeded, "is a mighty valuable thing. I'm no teacher, but I might say it's so valuable that most of it comes from Europe. Bill tells me to say that the Alamance Mineral Corporation is ready—if all tests are as good as those we have made—to stand back of a development of these beds to the fullest extent. That means we'll prosper. That's all I've got to say, except to point out that this is probably the reason Lestrade wanted to break all you folks and take the land himself."

"Lestrade and Judge Henry—" Colqueen started to break in with a last dying spark of rebellion.

"Judge Henry had nothing to do with it," Lin Ballou said. "Lestrade worked him. You ought to be able to figure that out."

A voice came from the rear of the crowd. Lin saw Judge Henry standing unsteadily in the doorway, one arm holding to his daughter. "Boys, boys, if you think I'm a crook, I'll turn over any profit I make to you. It ain't much, because I'm stuck as deep as the rest, but whatever comes from the Henry place is yours."

The crowd roared—not with resentment this time, but with approval. Those nearest the judge slapped him on the back. Hank Colqueen disappeared in the sea of bobbing faces, no more to be seen. Lin jumped from the rostrum and fought his way through the mass until he was beside Gracie. The girl seemed on the point of crying. Whether it was from happiness or sorrow Lin could not tell, until she looked up to him and smiled, lips trembling.

"Oh, Lin, I'm so glad folks know you're straight—as I've known so very, very long."

"What made you come here?" Lin demanded. "Into all this grief?"

In a few words she told him of Lestrade's visit. "After that," she said, "Dad saw settlers going toward Powder and he decided to face them immediately. You don't know what a strain it's been and how glad I am it's all over."

"I think," he said, growing red, "that I really ought to get a reward."

"What?"

"I think you should go home and bake me another apple pie."

"Oh," she said in a disappointed tone. "Is that all?"

"Well," Lin said, "that will be all until I get you in the kitchen where all these yahoos won't be looking."

And that night as the stars came out and the coyotes sent forth their quivering challenge, Powder settled again into its somnolence, with another chapter added to its brief but vivid history. Out in the bleak graveyard they buried Beauty Chatto and Dan Rounds, side by side, while the jail held three miserable, defeated men—Nig Chatto, James J. Lestrade, and Tracy the turn-coat. They were fit company for one another.

And over in Judge Henry's house, supper was past and the judge had the ranch to himself. Lin and Gracie had driven to that long deserted homestead of Lin's. It seemed Gracie wanted to take measurements for new curtains.