Читать книгу A Son of his Father - Harold Bell Wright - Страница 5

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From the Old Pueblo Club, Max Drayton went straight to the Stockmen and Miners National Bank, of which he was a director. Three different men tried to stop him for a word, but with a short: “Sorry—have an appointment now—see you later,” he hurried on.

Chester Solway, the president of the bank and Drayton’s lifelong friend and business associate, greeted his old comrade with: “Hello Max—you seem to have something on your mind.”

“I have.”

When they were in the president’s private office Drayton added abruptly: “Big Boy is tallying the Las Rosas cattle.”

“What! The deuce he is! What do you guess it means?”

The other shook his head: “I can’t get at it. I just saw him at the club. He sure seems to be worried about something. I thought may be you would know.”

Chester Solway’s face, usually so cheerful, was grave. “It’s all news to me, Max.”

“He still banks with us, don’t he?”

“Sure.”

“You haven’t had any hint of his being in financial trouble of any sort?”

“Not a thing—and we’d be pretty likely to catch a whisper of it—even if for any reason he didn’t come to us.”

“That’s what makes me wonder.”

“So far as his business with us goes, everything is fine and dandy, and I don’t think he does anything anywhere else—unless—” Solway hesitated.

“Look here, Chet,” said Drayton, “you and I stood mighty close to John Morgan, and we both knew Molly from the time she was a kid. It’s up to us to stand by their boy, whatever his trouble is. Let’s talk straight. We’re not a couple of pin-headed he-gossips.”

“I know, Max, I was just thinking—Big Boy has been staging some pretty wild parties in town the last few months.”

“Sure, we all know that. But just because a young horse pitches a little of a frosty morning when the saddle is cold, we don’t rate him as a rank outlaw.”

Solway smiled: “Just keep your shirt on, now, and let’s figure a little. I suppose you know where the youngster has been doing most of his gambling.”

“I can guess.”

“Yes, it’s at that hole in the wall run by ‘One Lung Willie’—as smooth a snake as ever sold a pill to a hop head.”

“Well?”

“Well, as you know, Jake Zobetser also favors us with his bank account.”

“You’re not saying that Zobetser is backing ‘One Lung’”?

“No, but I am saying that all the signs point to the fact that Zobetser owns the hole in the wall, and that our slick friend, Willie, is merely hired by Jake to run the place for him.”

“Well, by Ned! Is there anything that old devil, Zobetser, won’t go into. I can’t figure yet, Chet, why some of us didn’t shoot the crooked son of a gun before he ever got himself fastened into the town and state like he has.”

“There’s another little thing you don’t want to forget either, Max,” continued Solway, “and that’s the old trouble between Jake Zobetser and John Morgan.”

“And so you think that may be Big Boy has got himself tangled up with Zobetser?”

“I don’t know, but I do know that Jake has never let up a minute on what he tried to do away back in John Morgan’s day—add Las Rosas to his Black Canyon property. You remember how the two ranches join. And I can easily understand why, if the boy has been fool enough to fall into Zobetser’s clutches, he might not like to come to us.”

Drayton nodded thoughtfully. “We’ve got to stand by him, Chet, just the same—whether he wants us to or not.”

“Of course we’ll stand by him,” echoed Solway heartily. “We couldn’t do anything else for John and Molly’s boy. But I don’t see how we can help him unless he’ll let us—always supposing he needs help.”

“He’ll likely be in here sometime this afternoon,” said Max. “Suppose you watch out for him and have a little friendly talk. You know—not asking too many questions, but just to let him see that we’re here if he needs us.”

“I sure will, Max. By the way, did you know that young Gray is visiting at Las Rosas?”

“Charlie Gray, from Philadelphia—is he here?”

“Came about two weeks ago. I have a long letter from his father. The boy, it seems, is a little under the weather, sort of run down, I gathered, and needs a rest. They’re mighty fine people, Max. Gray mentioned you in his letter—sent his regards and said how much he used to enjoy his vacations with John, and recalled that famous lion hunt we four had together up in the Bear Valley, you remember?”

“Do I remember! Why didn’t the old man come out himself?”

Solway laughed. “Said he didn’t believe you and I could hunt like we used to.”

“Huh! It’s funny Big Boy didn’t mention Charlie being here. Do you know, Chet, I can’t get over the notion that Jack has never been the same since that trip to Philadelphia last year?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe you’re seeing things. How is he different?”

“Well, he is. And so Charlie Gray is visiting him—that’s fine. But he has had another guest at the ranch for some time, now, hasn’t he?”

“Yes—man by the name of Holdbrook. He’s from somewhere in the East, too. He has been with Big Boy several months now. I don’t know anything about him but it’s a cinch, from his looks, that he is not in Gray’s class—or in Morgan’s either for that matter.”

“I never even saw him,” said Drayton.

“I have, once or—By Jove, Max! he and Jake Zobetser were together here in the bank one day—as friendly as you and I. I remember wondering about it at the time.”

“Well,” said Drayton after a moment’s thought, “as you say, I don’t see that there’s anything we can do if Big Boy won’t let us, and it may all be nothing but smoke anyway. But you see him, just the same.”

“You don’t suppose—” the bank president hesitated and looked a little embarrassed.

“What?”

“I was going to say—perhaps some woman has got him on the run. Sometimes, you know, that can play the very deuce with a young fellow like Jack.”

“He never showed any unhealthy interest in the girls that I ever remember.”

“I know, but—well—he might have met some one in Philadelphia, see?”

Drayton shook his head. “I don’t believe it, Chet. If that was it, Big Boy would have brought her home with him, or else he’d be camping right there, yet.”

For two hours, Big Boy Morgan went about town, seeking some trace of his missing cowboy—Larry O’Shea. At Ronstadt’s, at Kitt’s, at the Tucson Hardware Company, and several other stores he inquired with no success. At the Modern Barber shop, the hotels, even down on Meyer Street, it was the same. Then, as Drayton had said he would likely do, the young ranchman dropped in at the bank. Chester Solway hailed him cheerily and Big Boy went to shake hands with the man who, for so many years, had been his father’s confidential friend and adviser.

They spoke generally of business conditions and ranching—of Charlie Gray and his visit to Las Rosas; but both men knew that they were only marking time. At last Solway, trying to speak casually, said: “Max Drayton tells me you are tallying cattle, Jack—how about it?”

The banker could see that it was this for which the young man had been waiting. And yet, curiously enough, Morgan seemed to resent the question and answered as he had answered Drayton—with an explanation which meant nothing at all. It was clear that he wanted to confide in his friend but for some reason hesitated and dodged the straightforward course.

Solway, on his part, was a little hurt but for the young man’s sake invited his confidence as he would not ordinarily have done. “Everything all right with you, is it, Jack? I don’t need to tell you, after the years your father and I were together, how glad I would be to do anything I possibly can for you.”

“I know that, Mr. Solway,” returned Big Boy with feeling, “and I appreciate it—but really there is nothing.”

“Glad to know it,” returned the banker heartily and with that, apparently, dismissed the matter. Then, as one who has a moment to spend in mere friendly talk he continued: “Everything quiet along the border now?”

“So far as I know. There are rumors of smuggling and gun-running—as there always are—but I never pay any attention.”

“Many soldiers stationed at Arivaca?”

“About what they always have. They’re patrolling the line. I never see much of them though. Jim Holdbrook spends a good deal of his time at the post.”

“Holdbrook is still with you, is he?”

“Yes.”

“He’s making quite a stay.”

“Quite a stay,” assented Morgan grimly.

“The Black Canyon outfit been making any trouble for you lately?”

At this question the young ranch man betrayed a quickened interest. “No,” he answered slowly, “I can’t say for sure that they have—more than usual. I’m satisfied that they’re picking up Las Rosas cattle here and there, just as they have been for years. That Indian Pete and the bunch he has would do anything but honest work. But I haven’t been able to fix anything on them. It’s pretty hard to prove a thing sometimes, you know. Located as they are, they have all the advantage.”

Solway nodded. “I know. Your father fought them for years.” Then with a look toward the front door, he added: “Speaking of Black Canyon—there’s your friend Zobetser now.”

A man of about Solway’s age was just entering the bank. Looking neither to the right nor left, he went to one of the desks and proceeded to write a check. With his huge, rounded shoulders, fat neck, and enormous head bent over the desk, and his thin legs that appeared inadequate to carry the bulk of his body, he looked not unlike some uncouth monster of a fairy tale.

Solway saw Big Boy Morgan’s face set in a way that reminded the banker of the young man’s father. And then as Zobetser started toward a teller’s window, Morgan, without a word, left Solway and went toward the door where he turned and stood with his back to the entrance, watching Zobetser and evidently waiting for the man to finish his business.

Zobetser crowded rudely in ahead of the waiting line, elbowed a young woman aside from the window, and threw his check down before the teller. The young man on the other side of the grating hesitated—he wanted to rebuke the discourtesy of this customer.

“Well, what’s the matter with you?” snarled Jake. “That’s good, I guess, ain’t it? Do I have to stand here all day waiting for my money, heh?”

The teller silently counted out the bills and, as Jake turned away, apologized to the young woman.

With his head down, Zobetser was shuffling toward the door when he found his way barred by some one who did not promptly step aside from his path—a courtesy which this creature of power commonly exacted as his right. With a growl he looked up.

The disturbance at the teller’s window, slight as it was, had been enough to fix the attention of everyone in the bank upon Zobetser. That Big Boy Morgan had deliberately put himself in the man’s way was clear, and there was that in the young ranchman’s manner which caused Solway and several others who knew both men to watch for the next move with breathless interest.

For a moment they stood face to face; then Zobetser stepped aside to pass on; but again he found Big Boy blocking his way. He could not now overlook the fact that Morgan’s action was intentional. A fawning smirk twisted his heavy features into the semblance of a smile, and his little pig-like eyes glittered with hate and apprehension as he said in his thick, heavy voice: “Oh, excuse me. I ask your pardon, please. I did not at the first see who it was. Well—well—so it is Big Boy himself. How do you do?” He put out a hand which Morgan pointedly ignored.

Again Jake moved aside to pass, and again Big Boy stepped in his way.

“Well—well—and so you have, I think, come to town for a little fun—heh, yes? Oh, you boys—you boys! Well, I too once was a boy, myself.” He shook his heavy head sadly and shrugged his rounded, massive shoulders. “But I tell you there was no funny times for boys like me—no—no. It is much easier for boys what have fathers to leave them big ranches and cattle and money. And how are you doing with your ranch, Las Rosas, heh? The range, it is good, yes? And the calves, they are plenty, heh?” And then, in spite of his evident fear, the man could not wholly suppress a note of sneering derision: “You should be doing very well, my young friend—Big Boy—very—very—well. You have some good cowboys at Las Rosas, heh?”

Morgan, who from the first had been silently watching his father’s old enemy as one might watch a particularly loathsome reptile, spoke: “Where is Larry O’Shea?”

Zobetser threw out his hands in a gesture of amazement. “What? You have lose your Irishman that you bring all the way from the East? Well—well—that is now too bad—what a pity. But how should I know where he is gone—heh?” He laughed. “Your Irishman, too, it may be, have gone for a little fun somewhere—like the boss—heh?”

He again started toward the door, and this time Big Boy permitted him to pass.

Chester Solway drew a long breath of relief. The few who understood the significance of the little scene looked at one another with knowing smiles. Big Boy Morgan stood for a moment gazing thoughtfully after Zobetser then, without a word to any one, walked down the long room to the side entrance and left the building.