XXVI
The Colonel's "Defi"
Though it was only eight o'clock, Smith sent his card to MissRichlander's rooms at once and then had himself lifted to the mezzaninefloor to wait for her. She came in a few minutes, a strikingly beautifulfigure of a woman in the freshness of her morning gown, red-lipped,bright-eyed, and serenely conscious of her own resplendent gifts of faceand figure. Smith went quickly to meet her and drew her aside into themusic parlor. Already the need for caution was beginning to make itselffelt.
"I have come," he said briefly.
"You got my note?" she asked.
"A few minutes ago--just as I was leaving the breakfast-table."
"You will leave Brewster at once--while the way is still open?"
He shook his head, "I can't do that; in common justice to the men whohave trusted me, and who are now needing me more than ever, I must staythrough this one day, and possibly another."
"Mr. Kinzie will not be likely to lose any time," she prefiguredthoughtfully. "He has probably telegraphed to Lawrenceville beforethis." Then, with a glance over her shoulder to make sure that therewere no eavesdroppers: "Of course, you know that Mr. Stanton is at thebottom of all this prying and spying?"
"It is Stanton's business to put me out of the game, if he can. I'vetold you enough of the situation here so that you can understand why itis necessary for him to efface me. His time has grown very short now."
Again the statuesque beauty glanced over her shoulder.
"Lawrenceville is a long way off, and Sheriff Macauley is enough of apolitician--in an election year--to want to be reasonably certain beforehe incurs the expense of sending a deputy all the way out here, don'tyou think?" she inquired.
"Certainty? There isn't the slightest element of uncertainty in it.There are hundreds of people in Brewster who can identify me."
"But not one of these Brewsterites can identify you as John MontagueSmith, of Lawrenceville--the man who is wanted by Sheriff Macauley," sheput in quickly. Then she added: "My father foresaw that difficulty. AsI told you in my note, he sent me a letter by Mr. Kinzie's messenger.After telling me that he will be detained in the mountains several dayslonger, he refers to Mr. Kinzie's request and suggests----"
The fugitive was smiling grimly. "He suggests that you might help Mr.Kinzie out by telling him whether or not he has got hold of the rightJohn Smith?"
"Not quite that," she rejoined. "He merely suggests that I may be askedto identify you; in which case I am to be prudent, and--to quote himexactly--'not get mixed up in the affair in any way so that it wouldmake talk.'"
"I see," said Smith. And then: "You have a disagreeable duty ahead ofyou, and I'd relieve you of the necessity by running away, if I could.But that is impossible, as I have explained."
She was silent for a moment; then she said: "When I told you a few daysago that you were going to need my help, Montague, I didn't foreseeanything like this. Have you any means of finding out whether or not Mr.Kinzie has sent his wire to Lawrenceville?"
"Yes, I think I can do that much."
"Suppose you do it and then let me know. I shall breakfast with theStantons in a few minutes; and after nine o'clock ... if you couldcontrive to keep out of the way until I can get word to you; just sothey won't be able to bring us face to face with each other----"
Smith saw what she meant; saw, also, whereunto his wretched fate wasdragging him. It was the newest of all the reincarnations, the one whichhad begun with Jibbey's silent hand-clasp the night before, whichprompted him to say:
"If they should ask you about me, you must tell them the truth, Verda."
Her smile was mildly scornful.
"Is that what the plain-faced little ranch person would do?" she asked.
"I don't know; yes, I guess it is."
"Doesn't she care any more for you than that?"
Smith did not reply. He was standing where he could watch the comingsand goings of the elevators. Time was precious and he was chafing at thedelay, but Miss Richlander was not yet ready to let him go.
"Tell me honestly, Montague," she said; "is it anything more than a caseof propinquity with this Baldwin girl?--on your part, I mean."
"It isn't anything," he returned soberly. "Corona Baldwin will nevermarry any man who has so much to explain as I have."
"You didn't know this was her home, when you came out here?"
"No."
"But you had met her somewhere, before you came?"
"Once; yes. It was in Guthrieville, over a year ago. I had driven overto call on some people that I knew, and I met her there at a house whereshe was visiting."
"Does she remember that she had met you?"
"No, not yet." He was certain enough of this to answer withoutreservations.
"But you remembered her?"
"Not at first."
"I see," she nodded, and then, without warning: "What was the matterwith you last night--about dinner-time?"
"Why should you think there was anything the matter with me?"
"I was out driving with the Stantons. When I came back to the hotel Ifound Colonel Baldwin and another man--a lawyer, I think he was--waitingfor me. They said you were needing a friend who could go and talk to youand--'calm you down,' was the phrase the lawyer used. I was good-naturedenough to go with them, but when we reached your offices you had gone,and the ranch girl was there alone, waiting for her father."
"That was nonsense!" he commented; "their going after you as if I were amaniac or a drunken man, I mean."
This time Miss Richlander's smile was distinctly resentful. "I supposethe colonel's daughter answered the purpose better," she said. "Therewas an awkward little _contretemps_, and Miss Baldwin refused, ratherrudely, I thought, to tell her father where you had gone."
Smith broke away from the unwelcome subject abruptly, saying: "There issomething else you ought to know. Jibbey is here, at last."
"Here in the hotel?"
"Yes."
"Does he know you are here?"
"He does."
"Why didn't you tell me before? That will complicate things dreadfully.Tucker will talk and tell all he knows; he can't help it."
"This is one time when he will not talk. Perhaps he will tell you whywhen you see him."
Miss Richlander glanced at the face of the small watch pinned on hershoulder.
"You must not stay here any longer," she protested. "The Stantons maycome down any minute, now, and they mustn't find us together. I amstill forgiving enough to want to help you, but you must do your partand let me know what is going on."
Smith promised and took his dismissal with a mingled sense of relief andfresh embarrassment. In the new development which was threatening todrag him back once more into the primitive savageries, he would havebeen entirely willing to eliminate Verda Richlander as a factor, helpfulor otherwise. But there was good reason to fear that she might refuse tobe eliminated.
William Starbuck's new car was standing in front of Judge Warner's housein the southern suburb when Smith descended from the closed cab which hehad taken at the Hophra House side entrance. The clock in thecourt-house tower was striking the quarter of nine. The elevated mesaupon which the suburb was built commanded a broad view of the town andthe outlying ranch lands, and in the distance beyond the river theHillcrest cottonwoods outlined themselves against a background ofminiature buttes.
Smith's gaze took in the wide, sunlit prospect. He had paid anddismissed his cabman, and the thought came to him that in a few hoursthe wooded buttes, the bare plains, the mighty mountains, and thepictured city spreading map-like at his feet would probably exist forhim only as a memory. While he halted on the terrace, Starbuck came outof the house.
"The judge is at breakfast," the mine owner announced. "You're to go inand wait. What do you want me to do next?"
Smith glanced down regretfully at the shining varnish and resplendentmetal of the new automobile. "If your car wasn't so new," he began; butStarbuck cut him off.
"Call
the car a thousand years old and go on."
"All right. When I get through with the judge I shall want to go out tothe dam. Will you wait and take me?"
"Surest thing on earth,"--with prompt acquiescence. And then: "Is it asbad as you thought it was going to be, John?"
"It's about as bad as it can be," was the sober reply, and with thatSmith went in to wait for his interview with the Timanyoni'sbest-beloved jurist.
As we have seen, this was at nine o'clock, or a few minutes before thehour, and as Starbuck descended the stone steps to take his seat in thecar, David Kinzie, at his desk in the Brewster City National, was askingthe telephone "central" to give him the Timanyoni High Line offices.Martin, the bookkeeper, answered, and he took a message from the bankpresident that presently brought Colonel Dexter Baldwin to the privateroom in the bank known to nervous debtors as "the sweat-box".
"Sit down, Dexter," said the banker shortly; "sit down a minute while Ilook at my mail."
It was one of David Kinzie's small subtleties to make a man sit idlythus, on one pretext or another; it rarely failed to put the incomer ata disadvantage, and on the present occasion it worked like a charm.Baldwin had let his cigar go out and had chewed the end of it into apulp before Kinzie swung around in his chair and launched out abruptly.
"You and I have always been pretty good friends, Dexter," he began, "andI have called you down here this morning to prove to you that I am stillyour friend. Where is your man Smith?"
Baldwin shook his head. "I don't know," he answered. "I haven't seen himsince last evening."
"Are you sure he is still in town?"
"I haven't any reason to think that he isn't."
"Hasn't run away, then?"
The Missouri colonel squared himself doggedly in the suppliant debtor'schair, which was the one Kinzie had placed for him. "What are youdriving at, Dave?" he demanded.
"We'll tackle your end of it, first," said the banker curtly. "Do youknow that you and your crowd have come to the bottom of the bag on thatdam proposition?"
"No, I don't."
"Well, you have. You've got just this one more day to live."
The Missourian fell back upon his native phrase.
"I reckon you'll have to show me, Dave."
"I will. Have you seen the weather report this morning?"
"No."
"I thought not. I've had a trained observer up in the eastern hills forthe past week. The river rose four feet last night, and there arepredictions out for more cloudbursts and thunderstorms in the headwaterregion. The snow is melting fast in the higher gulches, and you know aswell as I do that there is at least a strong probability that your damwon't hold the flood rise."
"I don't know it," asserted Baldwin stoutly. "But go on. You've got yourgun loaded: what are you aiming it at?"
"Just this: there is a chance that you'll lose the dam by natural causesbefore the concrete hardens; but if you don't, you're sure to lose itthe other way. I told you weeks ago that the other people were carryingtoo many big guns for you. I don't want to see you killed off, Dexter."
"I'm no quitter; you ought to know that, Dave," was the blunt rejoinder.
"I know; but there are times when it is simply foolhardy to hold on. Thecompromise proposition that I put up to you people a while back stillholds good. But to-day is the last day, Dexter. You must accept it now,if you are going to accept it at all."
"And if we still refuse?"
"You'll go smash, the whole kit of you. As I've said, this is the lastcall."
By this time Baldwin's cigar was a hopeless wreck.
"You've got something up your sleeve, Dave: what is it?" he inquired.
The banker pursed his lips and the bristling mustache assumed its mostaggressive angle.
"There are a number of things, but the one which concerns you most, justnow, is this: we've got Smith's record, at last. He is an outlaw, witha price on his head. We've dug out the whole story. He is a defaultingbank cashier, and before he ran away he tried to kill his president."
Baldwin was frowning heavily. "Who told you all this? Was it this MissRichlander over at the Hophra House?"
"No; it was her father. I sent one of my young men out to the Topaz tolook him up."
"And you have telegraphed to the chief of police, or the sheriff, orwhoever it is that wants Smith?"
"Not yet. I wanted to give you one more chance, Dexter. Business comesfirst. The Brewster City National is a bank, not a detective agency. Yougo and find Smith and fire him; tell him he is down and out; get rid ofhim, once for all. Then come back here and we'll fix up that compromisewith Stanton."
Baldwin found a match and tried to relight the dead cigar. But it waschewed past redemption.
"Let's get it plumb straight, Dave," he pleaded, in the quiet tone ofone who will leave no peace-keeping stone unturned. "You say you've gotJohn dead to rights. Smith is a mighty common name. I shouldn't wonderif there were half a million 'r so John Smiths--taking the countryover. How do you know you've got the right one?"
"His middle name is 'Montague'," snapped the banker, "and the man who iswanted called himself 'J. Montague Smith'. But we can identify himpositively. There is one person in Brewster who knew Smith before hecame here; namely, Mr. Richlander's daughter. She can tell us if he isthe right Smith, and she probably will if the police ask her to."
Baldwin may have had his own opinion about that, but if so, he kept itto himself and spoke feelingly of other things.
"Dave," he said, rising to stand over the square-built man in theswing-chair, "we've bumped the bumps over a good many miles of roughroad together since we first hit the Timanyoni years ago, and it's likepulling a sound tooth to have to tell you the plain truth. You've got amighty bad case of money-rot. The profit account has grown so big withyou that you can't see out over the top of it. You've horsed back andforth between Stanton's outfit and ours until you can't tell thedifference between your old friends and a bunch of low-down,conscienceless land-pirates. You pull your gun and go to shootingwhenever you get ready. We'll stay with you and try to hold up ourend--and John's. And you mark my words, Dave; you're the man that'sgoing to get left in this deal; the straddler always gets left." Andwith that he cut the interview short and went back to the High Lineoffices on the upper floor.
The Real Man Page 26