by Bret Harte
CHAPTER IV.
When Philip Demorest left the stagecoach at the cross-roads he turnedinto the only wayside house, the blacksmith's shop, and, declaring hisintention of walking over to Hymettus, asked permission to leave hishand-bag and wraps until they could be sent after him. The blacksmithwas surprised that this "likely mannered," distinguished-looking "cityman" should WALK eight miles when he could ride, and tried to dissuadehim, offering his own buggy. But he was still more surprised whenDemorest, laying aside his duster, took off his coat, and, slinging iton his arm, prepared to set forth with the good-humored assurance thathe would do the distance in a couple of hours and get in in time forsupper. "I wouldn't be too sure of that," said the blacksmith grimly,"or even of getting a room. They're a stuck-up lot over there, and theyain't goin' to hump themselves over a chap who comes traipsin' alongthe road like any tramp, with nary baggage." But Demorest laughinglyaccepted the risk, and taking his stout stick in one hand, pressed agold coin into the blacksmith's palm, which was, however, declinedwith such reddening promptness that Demorest as promptly reddened andapologized. The habits of European travel had been still strong on him,and he felt a slight patriotic thrill as he said, with a grave smile,"Thank you, then; and thank you still more for reminding me that I amamong my own 'people,'" and stepped lightly out into the road.
The air was still deliciously cool, but warmer currents from the heatedpines began to alternate with the wind from the summit. He found himselfsometimes walking through a stratum of hot air which seemed to exhalefrom the wood itself, while his head and breast were swept by themountain breeze. He felt the old intoxication of the balmy-scentedair again, and the five years of care and hopelessness laid upon hisshoulders since he had last breathed its fragrance slipped from themlike a burden. There had been but little change here; perhaps the roadwas wider and the dust lay thicker, but the great pines still mountedin serried ranks on the slopes as before, with no gaps in their unendingfiles. Here was the spot where the stagecoach had passed them thateventful morning when they were coming out of their camp-life into theworld of civilization; a little further back, the spot where Jack Hamlinhad forced upon him that grim memento of the attempted robbery oftheir cabin, which he had kept ever since. He half smiled again at thesuperstitious interest that had made him keep it, with the intention ofsome day returning to bury it, with all recollections of the deed, underthe site of the old cabin. As he went on in the vivifying influence ofthe air and scene, new life seemed to course through his veins; his stepseemed to grow as elastic as in the old days of their bitter but hopefulstruggle for fortune, when he had gayly returned from his weekly trampto Boomville laden with the scant provision procured by their scantearnings and dying credit. Those were the days when HER living imagestill inspired his heart with faith and hope; when everything was yetpossible to youth and love, and before the irony of fate had givenhim fortune with one hand only to withdraw HER with the other. Itwas strange and cruel that coming back from his quest of rest andforgetfulness he should find only these youthful and sanguine dreamsrevive with his reviving vigor. He walked on more hurriedly as if toescape them, and was glad to be diverted by one or two carryalls andchar-a-bancs filled with gayly dressed pleasure parties--evidentlyvisitors to Hymettus--which passed him on the road. Here were the firstsigns of change. He recalled the train of pack-mules of the old days,the file of pole-and-basket carrying Chinese, the squaw with the papoosestrapped to her shoulder, or the wandering and foot-sore prospector, whowere the only wayfarers he used to meet. He contrasted their halts andfriendly greetings with the insolent curiosity or undisguised contemptof the carriage folk, and smiled as he thought of the warning of theblacksmith. But this did not long divert him; he found himself againreturning to his previous thought. Indeed, the face of a young girl inone of the carriages had quite startled him with its resemblance to anold memory of his lost love as he saw her,--her frail, pale eleganceencompassed in laces as she leaned back in her drive through FifthAvenue, with eyes that lit up and became transfigured only as hepassed. He tried to think of his useless quest in search of her lastresting-place abroad; how he had been baffled by the opposition of hersurviving relations, already incensed by the thought that her declinehad been the effect of her hopeless passion. He tried to recall the fewfrigid lines that reconveyed to him the last letter he had sent her,with the announcement of her death and the hope that "his persecutions"would now cease. A wild idea had sometimes come to him out of the veryinsufficiency of his knowledge of this climax, but he had always putit aside as a precursor of that madness which might end his ceaselessthought. And now it was returning to him, here, thousands of miles awayfrom where she was peacefully sleeping, and even filling him with thevigor of youthful hope.
The brief mountain twilight was giving way now to the radiance of therising moon. He endeavored to fix his thoughts upon his partners whowere to meet him at Hymettus after these long years of separation.
Hymettus! He recalled now the odd coincidence that he had mischievouslyused as a gag to his questioning fellow traveler; but now he had reallycome from a villa near Athens to find his old house thus classicallyrechristened after it, and thought of it with a gravity he had not feltbefore. He wondered who had named it. There was no suggestion of thesoft, sensuous elegance of the land he had left in those great heroicsof nature before him. Those enormous trees were no woods for fauns ordryads; they had their own godlike majesty of bulk and height, and as heat last climbed the summit and saw the dark-helmeted head of Black Spurbefore him, and beyond it the pallid, spiritual cloud of the Sierras, hedid not think of Olympus. Yet for a moment he was startled, as he turnedto the right, by the Doric-columned facade of a temple painted by themoonbeams and framed in an opening of the dark woods before him. Itwas not until he had reached it that he saw that it was the new woodenpost-office of Heavy Tree Hill.
And now the buildings of the new settlement began to faintly appear. Butthe obscurity of the shadow and the equally disturbing unreality of themoonlight confused him in his attempts to recognize the old landmarks.A broad and well-kept winding road had taken the place of the oldsteep, but direct trail to his cabin. He had walked for some moments inuncertainty, when a sudden sweep of the road brought the full crestof the hill above and before him, crowned with a tiara of lights,overtopping a long base of flashing windows. That was all that was leftof Heavy Tree Hill. The old foreground of buckeye and odorous ceanothuswas gone. Even the great grove of pines behind it had vanished.
There was already a stir of life in the road, and he could see figuresmoving slowly along a kind of sterile, formal terrace spread with a fewdreary marble vases and plaster statues which had replaced the naturalslope and the great quartz buttresses of outcrop that supported it.Presently he entered a gate, and soon found himself in the carriagedrive leading to the hotel veranda. A number of fair promenaders werefacing the keen mountain night wind in wraps and furs. Demorest hadreplaced his coat, but his boots were red with dust, and as he ascendedthe steps he could see that he was eyed with some superciliousness bythe guests and with considerable suspicion by the servants. One of thelatter was approaching him with an insolent smile when a figure dartedfrom the vestibule, and, brushing the waiter aside, seized Demorest'stwo hands in his and held him at arm's length.
"Demorest, old man!"
"Stacy, old chap!"
"But where's your team? I've had all the spare hostlers and hall-boyslistening for you at the gate. And where's Barker? When he found you'dgiven the dead-cut to the railroad--HIS railroad, you know--he lopedover to Boomville after you."
Demorest briefly explained that he had walked by the old road andprobably missed him. But by this time the waiters, crushed by thespectacle of this travel-worn stranger's affectionate reception bythe great financial magnate, were wildly applying their brushes andhandkerchiefs to his trousers and boots until Stacy again swept themaway.
"Get off, all of you! Now, Phil, you come with me. The house is full,but I've made the manager give you a la
dy's drawing-room suite. When youtelegraphed you'd meet us HERE there was no chance to get anything else.It's really Mrs. Van Loo's family suite; but they were sent for to go toMarysville yesterday, and so we'll run you in for the night."
"But"--protested Demorest.
"Nonsense!" said Stacy, dragging him away. "We'll pay for it; and Ireckon the old lady won't object to taking her share of the damageeither, or she isn't Van Loo's mother. Come."
Demorest felt himself hurried forward by the energetic Stacy, precededby the obsequious manager, through a corridor to a handsomely furnishedsuite, into whose bathroom Stacy incontinently thrust him.
"There! Wash up; and by the time you're ready Barker ought to be back,and we'll have supper. It's waiting for us in the other room."
"But how about Barker, the dear boy?" persisted Demorest, holding openthe door. "Tell me, is he well and happy?"
"About as well as we all are," said Stacy quickly, yet with a certaindry significance. "Never mind now; wait until you see him."
The door closed. When Demorest had finished washing, and wiped away thelast red stain of the mountain road, he found Stacy seated by the windowof the larger sitting-room. In the centre a table was spread for supper.A bright fire of hickory logs burnt on a marble hearth between twolarge windows that gave upon the distant outline of Black Spur. As Stacyturned towards him, by the light of the shaded lamp and flickering fire,Demorest had a good look at the face of his old friend and partner. Itwas as keen and energetic as ever, with perhaps an even more hawk-likeactivity visible in the eye and nostril; but it was more thoughtful andreticent in the lines of the mouth under the closely clipped beard andmustache, and when he looked up, at first there were two deep lines orfurrows across his low broad forehead. Demorest fancied, too, thatthere was a little of the old fighting look in his eye, but it softenedquickly as his friend approached, and he burst out with his curt buthonest single-syllabled laugh. "Ha! You look a little less like a rovingApache than you did when you came. I really thought the waiters weregoing to chuck you. And you ARE tanned! Darned if you don't look likethe profile stamped on a Continental penny! But here's luck and awelcome back, old man!"
Demorest passed his arm around the neck of his seated partner, andgrasping his upraised hand said, looking down with a smile, "And nowabout Barker."
"Oh, Parker, d--n him! He's the same unshakable, unchangeable,ungrow-upable Barker! With the devil's own luck, too! Waltzing intorisks and waltzing out of 'em. With fads enough to put him in the insaneasylum if people did not prefer to keep him out of it to help'em. Always believing in everybody, until they actually believe inthemselves, and shake him! And he's got a wife that's making a fool ofherself, and I shouldn't wonder in time--of him!"
Demorest pressed his hand over his partner's mouth. "Come, Jim! You knowyou never really liked that marriage, simply because you thought thatold man Carter made a good thing of it. And you never seem to have takeninto consideration the happiness Barker got out of it, for he DID lovethe girl. And he still is happy, is he not?" he added quickly, as Stacyuttered a grunt.
"As happy as a man can be who has his child here with a nurse while hiswife is gallivanting in San Francisco, and throwing her money--andLord knows what else--away at the bidding of a smooth-tongued, shadyoperator."
"Does HE complain of it?" asked Demorest.
"Not he; the fool trusts her!" said Stacy curtly.
Demorest laughed. "That is happiness! Come, Jim! don't let us begrudgehim that. But I've heard that his affairs have again prospered."
"He built this railroad and this hotel. The bank owns both now. Hedidn't care to keep money in them after they were a success; said hewasn't an engineer nor a hotel-keeper, and drew it out to find somethingnew. But here he comes," he added, as a horseman dashed into the drivebefore the hotel. "Question him yourself. You know you and he always getalong best without me."
In another moment Barker had burst into the room, and in his firsttempestuous greeting of Demorest the latter saw little change in hisyounger partner as he held him at arm's length to look at him. "Why,Barker boy, you haven't got a bit older since the day when--youremember--you went over to Boomville to cash your bonds, and then cameback and burst upon us like this to tell us you were a beggar."
"Yes," laughed Barker, "and all the while you fellows were holding fouraces up your sleeve in the shape of the big strike."
"And you, Georgy, old boy," returned Demorest, swinging Barker's twohands backwards and forwards, "were holding a royal flush up yours inthe shape of your engagement to Kitty."
The fresh color died out of Barker's cheek even while the frank laughwas still on his mouth. He turned his face for a moment towards thewindow, and a swift and almost involuntary glance passed between theothers. But he almost as quickly turned his glistening eyes back toDemorest again, and said eagerly, "Yes, dear Kitty! You shall see herand the baby to-morrow."
Then they fell upon the supper with the appetites of the Past, and forsome moments they all talked eagerly and even noisily together, all atthe same time, with even the spirits of the Past. They recalled everydetail of their old life; eagerly and impetuously recounted the oldstruggles, hopes, and disappointments, gave the strange importance ofschoolboys to unimportant events, and a mystic meaning to a shibbolethof their own; roared over old jokes with a delight they had never sincegiven to new; reawakened idiotic nicknames and bywords with intenseenjoyment; grew grave, anxious, and agonized over forgotten names,trifling dates, useless distances, ineffective records, and feeblechronicles of their domestic economy. It was the thoughtful andmelancholy Demorest who remembered the exact color and price paid fora certain shirt bought from a Greaser peddler amidst the envy of hiscompanions; it was the financial magnate, Stacy, who could inform themwhat were the exact days they had saleratus bread and when flapjacks;it was the thoughtless and mercurial Barker who recalled with unheard-ofaccuracy, amidst the applause of the others, the full name of theIndian squaw who assisted at their washing. Even then they were almostfeverishly loath to leave the subject, as if the Past, at least, wassecure to them still, and they were even doubtful of their own free andfull accord in the Present. Then they slipped rather reluctantlyinto their later experiences, but with scarcely the same freedom orspontaneity; and it was noticeable that these records were elicited fromBarker by Stacy or from Stacy by Barker for the information of Demorest,often with chaffing and only under good-humored protest. "Tell Demoresthow you broke the 'Copper Ring,'" from the admiring Barker, or, "TellDemorest how your d----d foolishness in buying up the right and plant ofthe Ditch Company got you control of the railroad," from the mischievousStacy, were challenges in point. Presently they left the table, and, tothe astonishment of the waiters who removed the cloth, common brier-woodpipes, thoughtfully provided by Barker in commemoration of the Past,were lit, and they ranged themselves in armchairs before the fire quiteunconsciously in their old attitudes. The two windows on either side ofthe hearth gave them the same view that the open door of the old cabinhad made familiar to them, the league-long valley below the shadowy bulkof the Black Spur rising in the distance, and, still more remote, thepallid snow-line that soared even beyond its crest.
As in the old time, they were for many moments silent; and then, as inthe old time, it was the irrepressible Barker who broke the silence."But Stacy does not tell you anything about his friend, the beautifulMrs. Horncastle. You know he's the guardian of one of the finest womenin California--a woman as noble and generous as she is handsome. Andthink of it! He's protecting her from her brute of a husband, andlooking after her property. Isn't it good and chivalrous of him?"
The irrepressible laughter of the two men brought only wonder andreproachful indignation into the widely opened eyes of Barker. HE wasperfectly sincere. He had been thinking of Stacy's admiration forMrs. Horncastle in his ride from Boomville, and, strange to say, yetcharacteristic of his nature, it was equally the natural outcome of hisinterview with her and the singular effect she had upon him. That he(Barker)
thoroughly sympathized with her only convinced him that Stacymust feel the same for her, and that, no doubt, she must respond to himequally. And how noble it was in his old partner, with his advantages ofposition in the world and his protecting relations to her, not to availhimself of this influence upon her generous nature. If he himself--amarried man and the husband of Kitty--was so conscious of her charm, howmuch greater it must be to the free and INEXPERIENCED Stacy.
The italics were in Barker's thought; for in those matters he feltthat Stacy and even Demorest, occupied in other things, had not hisknowledge. There was no idea or consciousness of heroically sacrificinghimself or Mrs. Horncastle in this. I am afraid there was not even anidea of a superior morality in himself in giving up the possibilityof loving her. Ever since Stacy had first seen her he had fancied thatStacy liked her,--indeed, Kitty fancied it, too,--and it seemed almostprovidential now that he should know how to assist his old partner tohappiness. For it was inconceivable that Stacy should not be ableto rescue this woman from her shameful bonds, or that she should notconsent to it through his (Barker's) arguments and entreaties. To a"champion of dames" this seemed only right and proper. In his unfailingoptimism he translated Stacy's laugh as embarrassment and Demorest's asonly ignorance of the real question. But Demorest had noticed, if he hadnot, that Stacy's laugh was a little nervously prolonged for a man ofhis temperament, and that he had cast a very keen glance at Barker. Amessenger arriving with a telegram brought from Boomville called Stacymomentarily away, and Barker was not slow to take advantage of hisabsence.
"I wish, Phil," he said, hitching his chair closer to Demorest,"that you would think seriously of this matter, and try to persuadeStacy--who, I believe, is more interested in Mrs. Horncastle than hecares to show--to put a little of that determination in love that he hasshown in business. She's an awfully fine woman, and in every way suitedto him, and he is letting an absurd sense of pride and honor keep himfrom influencing her to get rid of her impossible husband. There's noreason," continued Barker in a burst of enthusiastic simplicity, "thatBECAUSE she has found some one she likes better, and who would treather better, that she should continue to stick to that beast whom allCalifornia would gladly see her divorced from. I never could understandthat kind of argument, could you?"
Demorest looked at his companion's glowing cheek and kindling eye witha smile. "A good deal depends upon the side from which you argue. But,frankly, Barker boy, though I think I know you in all your phases, I amnot prepared yet to accept you as a match-maker! However, I'll think itover, and find out something more of this from your goddess, who seemsto have bewitched you both. But what does Mistress Kitty say to youradmiration?"
Barker's face clouded, but instantly brightened. "Oh, they're the bestof friends; they're quite like us, you know, even to larks they havetogether." He stopped and colored at his slip. But Demorest, who hadnoticed his change of expression, was more concerned at the look of halfincredulity and half suspicion with which Stacy, who had re-enteredthe room in time to hear Barker's speech, was regarding his unconsciousyounger partner.
"I didn't know that Mrs. Horncastle and Mrs. Barker were such friends,"he said dryly as he sat down again. But his face presently became soabstracted that Demorest said gayly:--
"Well, Jim, I'm glad I'm not a Napoleon of Finance! I couldn't standit to have my privacy or my relaxation broken in upon at any moment, asyours was just now. What confounded somersault in stocks has put thatface on you?"
Stacy looked up quickly with his brief laugh. "I'm afraid you'd be nonethe wiser if I told you. That was a pony express messenger from NewYork. You remember how Barker, that night of the strike, when we weresitting together here, or very near here, proposed that we ought to havea password or a symbol to call us together in case of emergency, foreach other's help? Well, let us say I have two partners, one in Europeand one in New York. That was my password."
"And, I hope, no more serious than ours," added Demorest.
Stacy laughed his short laugh. Nevertheless, the conversation draggedagain. The feverish gayety of the early part of the evening was gone,and they seemed to be suffering from the reaction. They fell into theirold attitudes, looking from the firelight to the distant bulk of BlackSpur without a word. The occasional sound of the voices of promenaderson the veranda at last ceased; there was the noise of the shutting ofheavy doors below, and Barker rose.
"You'll excuse me, boys; but I must go and say good-night to littleSta, and see that he's all right. I haven't seen him since I got back.But"--to Demorest--"you'll see him to-morrow, when Kitty comes. It is asmuch as my life is worth to show him before she certifies him as beingpresentable." He paused, and then added: "Don't wait up, you fellows,for me; sometimes the little chap won't let me go. It's as if hethought, now Kitty's away, I was all he had. But I'll be up early in themorning and see you. I dare say you and Stacy have a heap to say to eachother on business, and you won't miss me. So I'll say good-night." Helaughed lightly, pressed the hands of his partners in his usual heartyfashion, and went out of the room, leaving the gloom a little deeperthan before. It was so unusual for Barker to be the first to leaveanybody or anything in trouble that they both noticed it. "But forthat," said Demorest, turning to Stacy as the door closed, "I should saythe dear fellow was absolutely unchanged. But he seemed a little anxiousto-night."
"I shouldn't wonder. He's got two women on his mind,--as if one was notenough."
"I don't understand. You say his wife is foolish, and this other"--
"Never mind that now," interrupted Stacy, getting up and putting downhis pipe. "Let's talk a little business. That other stuff will keep."
"By all means," said Demorest, with a smile, settling down into hischair a little wearily, however. "I forgot business. And I forgot, mydear Jim, to congratulate you. I've heard all about you, even in NewYork. You're the man who, according to everybody, now holds thefinances of the Pacific Slope in his hands. And," he added, leaningaffectionately towards his old partner, "I don't know any one betterequipped in honesty, straightforwardness, and courage for such aresponsibility than you."
"I only wish," said Stacy, looking thoughtfully at Demorest, "that Ididn't hold nearly a million of your money included in the finances ofthe Pacific Slope."
"Why," said the smiling Demorest, "as long as I am satisfied?"
"Because I am not. If you're satisfied, I'm a wretched idiot and notfit for my position. Now, look here, Phil. When you wrote me to sellout your shares in the Wheat Trust I was a little staggered. I knew yourgait, my boy, and I knew, too, that, while you didn't know enough totrust your own opinions or feeling, you knew too much to trust any one'sopinion that wasn't first-class. So I reckoned you had the straight tip;but I didn't see it. Now, I ought not to have been staggered if I wasfit for your confidence, or, if I was staggered, I ought to have hadenough confidence in myself not to mind you. See?"
"I admit your logic, old man," said Demorest, with an amused face, "butI don't see your premises. WHEN did I tell you to sell out?"
"Two days ago. You wrote just after you arrived."
"I have never written to you since I arrived. I only telegraphed to youto know where we should meet, and received your message to come here."
"You never wrote me from San Francisco?"
"Never."
Stacy looked concernedly at his friend. Was he in his right mind? He hadheard of cases where melancholy brooding on a fixed idea had affectedthe memory. He took from his pocket a letter-case, and selecting aletter handed it to Demorest without speaking.
Demorest glanced at it, turned it over, read its contents, and ina grave voice said, "There is something wrong here. It is like myhandwriting, but I never wrote the letter, nor has it been in my handbefore."
Stacy sprang to his side. "Then it's a forgery!"
"Wait a moment." Demorest, who, although very grave, was the morecollected of the two, went to a writing-desk, selected a sheet of paper,and took up a pen. "Now," he said, "dictate that letter to me."
/> Stacy began, Demorest's pen rapidly following him:--
"DEAR JIM,--On receipt of this get rid of my Wheat Trust shares atwhatever figure you can. From the way things pointed in New York"--
"Stop!" interrupted Demorest.
"Well?" said Stacy impatiently.
"Now, my dear Jim," said Demorest plaintively, "when did you ever knowme to write such a sentence as 'the way things pointed'?"
"Let me finish reading," said Stacy. This literary sensitiveness at sucha moment seemed little short of puerility to the man of business.
"From the way things pointed in New York," continued Stacy, "and fromprivate advices received, this seems to be the only prudent coursebefore the feathers begin to fly. Longing to see you again and the dearold stamping-ground at Heavy Tree. Love to Barker. Has the dear old boybeen at any fresh crank lately?
"Yours, PHIL DEMOREST."
The dictation and copy finished together. Demorest laid the freshlywritten sheet beside the letter Stacy had produced. They were very muchalike and yet quite distinct from each other. Only the signature seemedidentical.
"That's the invariable mistake with the forger," said Demorest; "healways forgets that signatures ought to be identical with the textrather than with each other."
But Stacy did not seem to hear this or require further proof. His facewas quite gray and his lips compressed until lost in his closely setbeard as he gazed fixedly out of the window. For the first time, reallyconcerned and touched, Demorest laid his hand gently on his shoulder.
"Tell me, Jim, how much does this mean to you apart from me? Don't thinkof me."
"I don't know yet," said Stacy slowly. "That's the trouble. And I won'tknow until I know who's at the bottom of it. Does anybody know of youraffairs with me?"
"No one."
"No confidential friend, eh?"
"None."
"No one who has access to your secrets? No--no--woman? Excuse me, Phil,"he said, as a peculiar look passed over Demorest's face, "but this isbusiness."
"No," he returned, with that gentleness that used to frighten themin the old days, "it's ignorance. You fellows always say 'Cherchez lafemme' when you can't say anything else. Come now," he went on morebrightly, "look at the letter. Here's a man, commercially educated,for he has used the usual business formulas, 'on receipt of this,' and'advices received,' which I won't merely say I don't use, but whichfew but commercial men use. Next, here's a man who uses slang, not onlyineptly, but artificially, to give the letter the easy, familiar turnit hasn't from beginning to end. I need only say, my dear Stacy, thatI don't write slang to you, but that nobody who understands slang everwrites it in that way. And then the knowledge of my opinion of Barker issuch as might be gained from the reading of my letters by a person whocouldn't comprehend my feelings. Now, let me play inquisitor for a fewmoments. Has anybody access to my letters to YOU?"
"No one. I keep them locked up in a cabinet. I only make memorandums ofyour instructions, which I give to my clerks, but never your letters."
"But your clerks sometimes see you make memorandums from them?"
"Yes, but none of them have the ability to do this sort of thing, northe opportunity of profiting by it."
"Has any woman--now this is not retaliation, my dear Jim, for I fancy Idetect a woman's cleverness and a woman's stupidity in this forgery--anyaccess to your secrets or my letters? A woman's villainy is alwayseffective for the moment, but always defective when probed."
The look of scorn which passed over Stacy's face was quite as distinctas Demorest's previous protest, as he said contemptuously, "I'm not sucha fool as to mix up petticoats with my business, whatever I do."
"Well, one thing more. I have told you that in my opinion the forger hasa commercial education or style, that he doesn't know me nor Barker, anddon't understand slang. Now, I have to add what must have occurredto you, Jim, that the forger is either a coward, or his object is notaltogether mercenary: for the same ability displayed in this letterwould on the signature alone--had it been on a check or draft--havedrawn from your bank twenty times the amount concerned. Now, what is theactual loss by this forgery?"
"Very little; for you've got a good price for your stocks, consideringthe depreciation in realizing suddenly on so large an amount. I told mybroker to sell slowly and in small quantities to avoid a panic. But thereal loss is the control of the stock."
"But the amount I had was not enough to affect that," said Demorest.
"No, but I was carrying a large amount myself, and together wecontrolled the market, and now I have unloaded, too."
"You sold out! and with your doubts?" said Demorest.
"That's just it," said Stacy, looking steadily at his companion's face,"because I HAD doubts, and it won't do for me to have them. I oughteither to have disobeyed your letter and kept your stock and my own, orhave done just what I did. I might have hedged on my own stock, butI don't believe in hedging. There is no middle course to a man in mybusiness if he wants to keep at the top. No great success, no greatpower, was ever created by it."
Demorest smiled. "Yet you accept the alternative also, which is ruin?"
"Precisely," said Stacy. "When you returned the other day you were boundto find me what I was or a beggar. But nothing between. However," headded, "this has nothing to do with the forgery, or," he smiled grimly,"everything to do with it. Hush! Barker is coming."
There was a quick step along the corridor approaching the room. Thenext moment the door flew open to the bounding step and laughing faceof Barker. Whatever of thoughtfulness or despondency he had carried fromthe room with him was completely gone. With his amazing buoyancy andpower of reaction he was there again in his usual frank, cheerfulsimplicity.
"I thought I'd come in and say goodnight," he began, with a laugh."I got Sta asleep after some high jinks we had together, and then Ireckoned it wasn't the square thing to leave just you two together, thefirst night you came. And I remembered I had some business to talk over,too, so I thought I'd chip in again and take a hand. It's only the shankof the evening yet," he continued gayly, "and we ought to sit up atleast long enough to see the old snow-line vanish, as we did in oldtimes. But I say," he added suddenly, as he glanced from the one to theother, "you've been having it pretty strong already. Why, you both lookas you did that night the backwater of the South Fork came into ourcabin. What's up?"
"Nothing," said Demorest hastily, as he caught a glance of Stacy'simpatient face. "Only all business is serious, Barker boy, though youdon't seem to feel it so."
"I reckon you're right there," said Barker, with a chuckle. "Peoplealways laugh, of course, when I talk business, so it might make it alittle livelier for you and more of a change if I chipped in now. Only Idon't know which you'll do. Hand me a pipe. Well," he continued, fillingthe pipe Demorest shoved towards him, "you see, I was in Sacramentoyesterday, and I went into Van Loo's branch office, as I heard he wasthere, and I wanted to find out something about Kitty's investments,which I don't think he's managing exactly right. He wasn't there,however, but as I was waiting I heard his clerks talk about a drop inthe Wheat Trust, and that there was a lot of it put upon the market.They seemed to think that something had happened, and it was going downstill further. Now I knew it was your pet scheme, and that Phil had alot of shares in it, too, so I just slipped out and went to a broker'sand told him to buy all he could of it. And, by Jove! I was a littletaken aback when I found what I was in for, for everybody seemed to haveunloaded, and I found I hadn't money enough to pay margins, but I knewthat Demorest was here, and I reckoned on his seeing me through." Hestopped and colored, but added hopefully, "I reckon I'm safe, anyway,for just as the thing was over those same clerks of Van Loo's camebounding into the office to buy up everything. And offered to take itoff my hands and pay the margins."
"And you?" said both men eagerly, and in a breath.
Barker stared at them, and reddened and paled by turns. "I held on," hestammered. "You see, boys"--
Both men had caught him by the
arms. "How much have you got?" they said,shaking him as if to precipitate the answer.
"It's a heap!" said Barker. "It's a ghastly lot now I think of it. I'mafraid I'm in for fifty thousand, if a cent."
To his infinite astonishment and delight he was alternately hugged andtossed backwards and forwards between the two men quite in the fashionof the old days. Breathless but laughing, he at length gasped out, "Whatdoes it all mean?"
"Tell him everything, Jim,--EVERYTHING," said Demorest quickly.
Stacy briefly related the story of the forgery, and then laid the letterand its copy before him. But Barker only read the forgery.
"How could YOU, Stacy--one of the three partners of Heavy Tree--bedeceived! Don't you see it's Phil's handwriting--but it isn't PHIL!"
"But have you any idea WHO it is?" said Stacy.
"Not me," said Barker, with widely opened eyes. "You see it must besomebody whom we are familiar with. I can't imagine such a scoundrel."
"How did YOU know that Demorest had stock?" asked Stacy.
"He told me in one of his letters and advised me to go into it. But justthen Kitty wanted money, I think, and I didn't go in."
"I remember it," struck in Demorest. "But surely it was no secret. Myname would be on the transfer books for any one to see."
"Not so," said Stacy quickly. "You were one of the originalshareholders; there was no transfer, and the books as well as the sharesof the company were in my hands."
"And your clerks?" added Demorest.
Stacy was silent. After a pause he asked, "Did anybody ever see thatletter, Barker?"
"No one but myself and Kitty."
"And would she be likely to talk of it?" continued Stacy.
"Of course not. Why should she? Whom could she talk to?" Yet he stoppedsuddenly, and then with his characteristic reaction added, with a laugh,"Why no, certainly not."
"Of course, everybody knew that you had bought the shares atSacramento?"
"Yes. Why, you know I told you the Van Loo clerks came to me and wantedto take it off my hands."
"Yes, I remember; the Van Loo clerks; they knew it, of course," saidStacy with a grim smile. "Well, boys," he said, with sudden alacrity,"I'm going to turn in, for by sun-up to-morrow I must be on my way tocatch the first train at the Divide for 'Frisco. We'll hunt this thingdown together, for I reckon we're all concerned in it," he added,looking at the others, "and once more we're partners as in the oldtimes. Let us even say that I've given Barker's signal or password," headded, with a laugh, "and we'll stick together. Barker boy," he went on,grasping his younger partner's hand, "your instinct has saved us thistime; d----d if I don't sometimes think it better than any other man'ssabe; only," he dropped his voice slightly, "I wish you had it in otherthings than FINANCE. Phil, I've a word to say to you alone before I go.I may want you to follow me."
"But what can I do?" said Barker eagerly. "You're not going to leave meout."
"You've done quite enough for us, old man," said Stacy, laying his handon Barker's shoulder. "And it may be for US to do something for YOU.Trot off to bed now, like a good boy. I'll keep you posted when the timecomes."
Shoving the protesting and leave-taking Barker with paternal familiarityfrom the room, he closed the door and faced Demorest.
"He's the best fellow in the world," said Stacy quietly, "and has savedthe situation; but we mustn't trust too much to him for the present--noteven seem to."
"Nonsense, man!" said Demorest impatiently. "You're letting yourprejudices go too far. Do you mean to say that you suspect his wife."
"D--n his wife!" said Stacy almost savagely. "Leave her out of this.It's Van Loo that I suspect. It was Van Loo who I knew was behind it,who expected to profit by it, and now we have lost him."
"But how?" said Demorest, astonished.
"How?" repeated Stacy impatiently. "You know what Barker said? Van Loo,either through stupidity, fright, or the wish to get the lowest prices,was too late to buy up the market. If he had, we might have openlydeclared the forgery, and if it was known that he or his friends hadprofited by it, even if we could not have proven his actual complicity,we could at least have made it too hot for him in California. But," saidStacy, looking intently at his friend, "do you know how the case standsnow?"
"Well," said Demorest, a little uneasily under his friend's keen eyes,"we've lost that chance, but we've kept control of the stock."
"You think so? Well, let me tell you how the case stands and the pricewe pay for it," said Stacy deliberately, as he folded his arms and gazedat Demorest. "You and I, well known as old friends and former partners,for no apparent reason--for we cannot prove the forgery now--have thrownupon the market all our stock, with the usual effect of depreciating it.Another old friend and former partner has bought it in and sent up theprice. A common trick, a vulgar trick, but not a trick worthy of JamesStacy or Stacy's Bank!"
"But why not simply declare the forgery without making any specificcharge against Van Loo?"
"Do you imagine, Phil, that any man would believe it, and the story of aprovidentially appointed friend like Barker who saved us from loss?Why, all California, from Cape Mendocino to Los Angeles, would roarwith laughter over it! No! We must swallow it and the reputation of'jockeying' with the Wheat Trust, too. That Trust's as good as done for,for the present! Now you know why I didn't want poor Barker to know it,nor have much to do with our search for the forger."
"It would break the dear fellow's heart if he knew it," said Demorest.
"Well, it's to save him from having his heart broken further that Iintend to find out this forger," said Stacy grimly. "Good-night, Phil!I'll telegraph to you when I want you, and then COME!"
With another grip of the hand he left Demorest to his thoughts. In thefirst excitement of meeting his old partners, and in the later discoveryof the forgery, Demorest had been diverted from his old sorrow, and forthe time had forgotten it in sympathetic interest with the present.But, to his horror, when alone again, he found that interest growing asremote and vapid as the stories they had laughed over at the table, andeven the excitement of the forged letter and its consequences began tobe as unreal, as impotent, as shadowy, as the memory of the attemptedrobbery in the old cabin on that very spot. He was ashamed of thatselfishness which still made him cling to this past, so much his own,that he knew it debarred him from the human sympathy of his comrades.And even Barker, in whose courtship and marriage he had tried toresuscitate his youthful emotions and condone his selfish errors--eventhe suggestion of his unhappiness only touched him vaguely. He would nolonger be a slave to the Past, or the memory that had deluded him a fewhours ago. He walked to the window; alas, there was the same prospectthat had looked upon his dreams, had lent itself to his old visions.There was the eternal outline of the hills; there rose the steadfastpines; there was no change in THEM. It was this surrounding constancyof nature that had affected him. He turned away and entered the bedroom.Here he suddenly remembered that the mother of this vague enemy, VanLoo,--for his feeling towards him was still vague, as few men reallyhate the personality they don't know,--had only momentarily vacatedit, and to his distaste of his own intrusion was now added the profoundirony of his sleeping in the same bed lately occupied by the mother ofthe man who was suspected of having forged his name. He smiled faintlyand looked around the apartment. It was handsomely furnished, andalthough it still had much of the characterlessness of the hotel room,it was distinctly flavored by its last occupant, and still brightenedby that mysterious instinct of the sex which is inevitable. Where a manwould have simply left his forgotten slippers or collars there wasa glass of still unfaded flowers; the cold marble top of thedressing-table was littered with a few linen and silk toilet covers; andon the mantel-shelf was a sheaf of photographs. He walked towards themmechanically, glanced at them abstractedly, and then stopped suddenlywith a beating heart. Before him was the picture of his past, thephotograph of the one woman who had filled his life!
He cast a hurried glance around the room as if he hal
f expected to seethe original start up before him, and then eagerly seized it and hurriedwith it to the light. Yes! yes! It was SHE,--she as she had lived in hisactual memory; she as she had lived in his dream. He saw her sweet eyes,but the frightened, innocent trouble had passed from them; there wasthe sensitive elegance of her graceful figure in evening dress; but thefigure was fuller and maturer. Could he be mistaken by some wonderfulresemblance acting upon his too willing brain? He turned the photographover. No; there on the other side, written in her own childlike hand,endeared and familiar to his recollection, was her own name, and thedate! It was surely she!
How did it come there? Did the Van Loos know her? It was taken inVenice; there was the address of the photographers. The Van Loos wereforeigners, he remembered; they had traveled; perhaps had met her therein 1858: that was the date in her handwriting; that was the date on thephotographer's address--1858. Suddenly he laid the photograph down, tookwith trembling fingers a letter-case from his pocket, opened it, andlaid his last letter to her, indorsed with the cruel announcement of herdeath, before him on the table. He passed his hand across his foreheadand opened the letter. It was dated 1856! The photograph must have beentaken two years AFTER her alleged death!
He examined it again eagerly, fixedly, tremblingly. A wild impulse tosummon Barker or Stacy on the spot was restrained with difficulty andonly when he remembered that they could not help him. Then he began tooscillate between a joy and a new fear, which now, for the first time,began to dawn upon him. If the news of her death had been a fiendishtrick of her relations, why had SHE never sought him? It was not illhealth, restraint, nor fear; there was nothing but happiness andthe strength of youth and beauty in that face and figure. HE had notdisappeared from the world; he was known of men; more, his memorablegood fortune must have reached her ears. Had he wasted all thesemiserable years to find himself abandoned, forgotten, perhaps evena dupe? For the first time the sting of jealousy entered his soul.Perhaps, unconsciously to himself, his strange and varying feelings thatafternoon had been the gathering climax of his mental condition; at allevents, in the sudden revulsion there was a shaking off of his apatheticthought; there was activity, even if it was the activity of pain. Herewas a mystery to be solved, a secret to be discovered, a past wrong tobe exposed, an enemy or, perhaps, even a faithless love to be punished.Perhaps he had even saved his reason at the expense of his love. Hequickly replaced the photograph on the mantel-shelf, returned the lettercarefully to his pocket-book,--no longer a souvenir of the past, but aproof of treachery,--and began to mechanically undress himself. He wasquite calm now, and went to bed with a strange sense of relief, andslept as he had not slept since he was a boy.
The whole hotel had sunk to rest by this time, and then began the usualslow, nightly invasion and investment of it by nature. For all its broadverandas and glaring terraces, its long ranges of windows and glitteringcrest of cupola and tower, it gradually succumbed to the more potentinfluences around it, and became their sport and playground. Themountain breezes from the distant summit swept down upon its flimsystructure, shook the great glass windows as with a strong hand, and sentthe balm of bay and spruce through every chink and cranny. In the greathall and corridors the carpets billowed with the intruding blast alongthe floors; there was the murmur of the pines in the passages, and thedamp odor of leaves in the dining-room. There was the cry of night birdsin the creaking cupola, and the swift rush of dark wings past bedroomwindows. Lissome shapes crept along the terraces between the stolidwooden statues, or, bolder, scampered the whole length of the greatveranda. In the lulling of the wind the breath of the woods waseverywhere; even the aroma of swelling sap--as if the ghastly stumpson the deforested slope behind the hotel were bleeding afresh in thedewless night--stung the eyes and nostrils of the sleepers.
It was, perhaps, from such cause as this that Barker was awakenedsuddenly by the voice of the boy from the crib beside him, crying,"Mamma! mamma!" Taking the child in his arms, he comforted him, sayingshe would come that morning, and showed him the faint dawn alreadyveiling with color the ghostly pallor of the Sierras. As they looked atit a great star shot forth from its brethren and fell. It did not fallperpendicularly, but seemed for some seconds to slip along the slopesof Black Spur, gleaming through the trees like a chariot of fire. Itpleased the child to say that it was the light of mamma's buggy thatwas fetching her home, and it pleased the father to encourage the boy'sfancy. And talking thus in confidential whispers they fell asleep oncemore, the father--himself a child in so many things--holding the smallerand frailer hand in his.
They did not know that on the other side of the Divide the wife andmother, scared, doubting, and desperate, by the side of her scared,doubting, and desperate accomplice, was flying down the slope on hernight-long road to ruin. Still less did they know that, with the earlysinging birds, a careless horseman, emerging from the trail as thedust-stained buggy dashed past him, glanced at it with a puzzled air,uttered a quiet whistle of surprise, and then, wheeling his horse, gaylycantered after it.