Читать книгу Stampede - Stewart Edward White - Страница 6

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Leslie Dayton said good-by to his uncle and clambered aboard the stage for San Jose. He had no regrets at leaving the excitements of San Francisco, for he was of the forward-looking type that peers always over the horizon. There true adventure ever dwells, though to the impartial observer it would seem that enough of that commodity could be picked up in any street or alley of the young city. Indeed Leslie had thought such to be the case and had plunged into the excitements of the place with an eager and reckless zest that completely submerged his first slight disappointment that he was not at once to go gold hunting in the placers. Braidwood laughed indulgently at this idea.

“You’re three years too late,” said he. “That’s all over—I mean the romance. Oh, there’s gold yet, but it’s down mostly to plain hard work. The fortunes are being made right here.”

The boy had snapped eagerly at the position offered him by the lawyer-politician as soon as he learned that it was to take him into what, to him, was also a dwelling place of romance—the ranch country of the old regime. To Conger’s surprise, and somewhat to his amusement, young Dayton proved to be not only quick of mental grasp, but deadly earnest in his efforts to prepare himself.

“You’re right,” he told Braidwood, “he’s quite a youngster. And he’s going to make quite a man—if he lives that long. I told him I wanted him to pull out right away, and he talked an arm off me, insisting he couldn’t possibly get ready inside a week. I gave in to save my ears.” Conger chuckled. “He’s going to let me know when he’s ready to go,” he added dryly.

“A week!” echoed Braidwood, aghast. “But that won’t do.”

“If you’re thinking of Yankee Sullivan,” said Jake Conger comfortably, “rest yore mind. I’ve spoke my word, and he’ll behave, and so will all that gang as long as they know the kid is gittin’ out soon. I wouldn’t answer if he was staying on. And I don’t reckon you need worry about his getting into no more trouble, either.”

“I wish I had your confidence.” Braidwood shook his head.

“He’s going to be too busy.”

“Busy! At what?”

“Gitting him a good ready.” The fat man dropped his chair to its four legs and leaned his elbows on the desk. “You know where he is now?”

“I’m getting afraid to guess where he is at any time.”

“Well, he’s at Judge McCain’s law library. That kid’s going to know more land law than I know myself before he gets through. I tried to tell him ’twa’n’t necessary, that all he had to do was report back what he saw and we’d tend to the law part of it, but he said, if it was all the same to me, he’d ruther know what he was doing.”

“Well!” ejaculated Braidwood, impressed. He ran his hand through his upstanding white hair, shook his head. “You surprise me! I never would have suspected him of anything like thoroughness—or interest, for that matter.”

“I’ll let you know when he gives me my orders.” And Jake chuckled again with vast relish.

Nevertheless the week had still two days to go when Jake was recalled from his favorite occupation of staring across the Bay by a knock at his door. So unusual a phenomenon was this that he removed his feet and slewed his chair about before answering.

“Come in!” he shouted.

The door opened and closed.

“Oh, it’s you!” said Jake Conger. He surveyed the visitor for some moments speculatively, with an approval that was completely cynical, somewhat reluctant, but still was approval. This was a compact, medium-sized young man, wiry rather than muscular. He was as dark of complexion as some Spaniards, with good-looking regular features of no peculiar distinction; characteristics he probably shared in general with a half hundred other youngsters in this community of young men. But even in Jake Conger’s eyes he stood out as both individual and arresting. This was due to two things, or rather to two different manifestations of the same thing. His eyes, and to a lesser degree the set of his mouth, expressed an outgoing eagerness: from his whole being emanated a vibrant vitality which reminded Jake Conger of nothing so much as his setter dog, Shot, awaiting his command to move forward. The young man had stopped just inside the door. He held his hat in his two hands and fixed his brilliant eyes on the lawyer, waiting for him to speak.

“Well?” said the latter after a moment.

“I’m all ready,” announced the boy. Beneath the studied evenness of his voice was a lilt of eagerness.

“Know what you’re to do, eh? And how to do it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“More’n I do,” said Conger dryly, but he said it to himself. “You got your maps of that country, and you copied out those records like I told you?”

“Yes, sir; all finished.”

“Well then, come here.” The fat man opened a drawer of his desk from which he drew a document ornamented with a red seal. He contemplated it a moment, then thrust it negligently across the desk. “Thar’s your commission,” said he. “Hold up your right hand. You do solemnly swear that you will”—he gabbled rapidly through a form of oath, the words tumbling and slurring—“s’ help you God?” he ended and looked up. Something in the boy’s eyes dragged him to his feet.

“So help me God,” repeated Leslie Dayton under his breath. “I do,” he said aloud. He took the paper almost reverently, looked at it a moment.

“That’s all,” said Jake, recovering himself and flopping down again into his chair. “When do you start?”

“Tomorrow.” The boy hesitated. “Don’t I wear a shield, or a star, or something like that?”

Conger suppressed a grin.

“No, son,” said he. “Them things go with sheriffs and marshals. That dockyment is your authority. Take care of it. Remember now,” he added with faint irony, “you’re a responsible officer of the United States gov’ment. Good-by and good luck.”

“Good-by, sir.” The young man shifted uneasily, finally blurted out: “I want to tell you, sir, how deeply I appreciate this chance and how grateful I am to you. I haven’t much experience, but I’m going to do the best I can to keep you from regretting your trust in me.”

Jake Conger, to his profound surprise and somewhat to his anger, felt his face flush.

“All right! All right!” he growled. “Good-by. Let me hear from you.”