The Story of the Foss River Ranch: A Tale of the Northwest

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER IX

  LABLACHE'S "COUP"

  Lablache was seated in a comfortable basket chair in his little backoffice. He preferred a basket chair--he knew its value. He had triedother chairs of a less yielding nature, but they were useless to supporthis weight; he had broken too many, and they were expensive--there isnothing more durable than a strong basket chair. Lablache appreciatedstrength combined with durability, especially when the initial outlaywas reduced to a minimum.

  His slippered feet were posted on the lower part of the self-feedingstove and he gazed down, deep in thought, at the lurid glow of the fireshining through the mica sides of the firebox.

  A clock was ticking away with that peculiar, vibrating aggressivenesswhich characterizes the cheap American "alarm." The bare wood of thedesk aggravated the sound, and, in the stillness of the little room, thenoise pounded exasperatingly on the ear-drums. From time to time heturned his great head, and his lashless eyes peered over at the paperdial of the clock. Once or twice he stirred with a suggestion ofimpatience. At times his heavy breathing became louder and shorter, andhe seemed about to give expression to some irritable thought.

  At last his bulk heaved and he removed his feet from the stove. Then heslowly raised himself from the depths of the yielding chair. Hisslippered feet shuffled over the floor as he moved towards the window.The blind was down, but he drew it aside and wiped the steam from theglass pane with his soft, fat hand. The night was black--he could seenothing of the outside world. It was nearly an hour since he had leftthe saloon where he had been playing poker with John Allandale. Heappeared to be waiting for some one, and he wanted to go to bed.

  Once more he returned to his complaining chair and lowered himself intoit. The minutes slipped by. Lablache did not want to smoke; he felt thathe must do something to soothe his impatience, so he chewed at thequicks of his finger-nails.

  Presently there came a tap at the window. The money-lender ponderouslyrose, and, cautiously opening the door, admitted the dark, unkempt formof Pedro Mancha. There was no greeting; neither spoke until Lablache hadagain secured the door. Then the money-lender turned his fishy eyes andmask-like face to the newcomer. He did not suggest that his visitorshould sit down. He merely looked with his cold, cruel eyes, and spoke.

  "Well?--been drinking."

  The latter part of his remark was an assertion. He knew the Mexicanwell. The fellow had an expressive countenance, unlike most of his race,and the least sign of drink was painfully apparent upon it. The man wasnot drunk but his wild eyes testified to his recent libations.

  "Guess you've hit it right thar," he retorted indifferently.

  It was noticeable that this man had adopted the high-pitched, keen toneand pronounced accent of the typical "South-Westerner." In truth he wasa border Mexican; a type of man closely allied to the "greaser." He wasa perfect scoundrel, who had doubtless departed from his native land forthe benefit of that fair but swarming hornet's nest.

  "It's a pity when you have business on hand you can't leave that 'stuff'alone."

  Lablache made no effort to conceal his contempt. He even allowed hismask-like face to emphasize his words.

  "You're almighty pertickler, mister. You ask for dirty work to be done,an' when that dirty work's done, gorl-darn-it you croak like aflannel-mouthed temperance lecturer. Guess I came hyar to talk straightbiz. Jest leave the temperance track, an' hit the main trail."

  Pedro's face was not pretty to look upon. The ring of white round thepupils of his eyes gave an impression of insanity or animal ferocity.The latter was his chief characteristic. His face was thin and scoredwith scars, mainly long and narrow. These, in a measure, testified tohis past. His mouth, half hidden beneath a straggling mustache, was hisworst feature. One can only liken it to a blubber-lipped gash, linedinside with two rows of yellow fangs, all in a more or less bad state ofdecay.

  The two men eyed one another steadily for a moment. Lablache could in noway terrorize this desperado. Like all his kind this man was ready tosell his services to any master, provided the forthcoming price of suchservices was sufficiently exorbitant. He was equally ready to play hisemployer up should any one else offer a higher price. But Lablache, whendealing with such men, took no chances. He rarely employed this sort ofman, preferring to do his own dirty work, but when he did, he knew itwas policy to be liberal. Pedro served him well as a rule, consequentlythe Mexican was enabled to ruffle it with the best in the settlement,whilst people wondered where he got his money from. Somehow they neverthought of Lablache being the source of this man's means; themoney-lender was not fond of parting.

  "You are right, I am particular. When I pay for work to be done I don'twant gassing over a bar. I know what you are when the whisky is in you."

  Lablache stood with his great back to the fire watching his man frombeneath his heavy lids. Bad as he was himself the presence of this manfilled him with loathing. Possibly deep down, somewhere in that organ hewas pleased to consider his heart, he had a faint glimmer of respect foran honest man. The Mexican laughed harshly.

  "Guess all you know of me, mister, wouldn't make a pile o' literature.But say, what's the game to-night?"

  Lablache was gnawing his fingers.

  "How much did you take from the Honorable?" he asked sharply.

  "You told me to lift his boodle. Time was short--he wouldn't play forlong."

  "I'm aware of that. How much?"

  Lablache's tone was abrupt and peremptory. Mancha was trying to estimatewhat he should be paid for his work.

  "See hyar, I guess we ain't struck no deal yet. What do you propose topay me?"

  The Mexican was sharp but he was no match for his employer. He fanciedhe saw a good deal over this night's work.

  "You played on paper, I know," said the money-lender, quietly. He wasquite unmoved by the other's display of cunning. It pleased him ratherthan otherwise. He knew he held all the cards in his hands--he generallydid in dealing with men of this stamp. "To you, the amounts he lost arenot worth the paper they are written on. You could never realize them.He couldn't meet 'em."

  Lablache leisurely took a pinch of snuff from his snuff-box. He coughedand sneezed voluminously. His indifferent coolness, his air ofpatronage, aggravated the Mexican while it alarmed him. The deal heanticipated began to assume lesser proportions.

  "Which means, I take it, you've a notion you'd like the feel of thosesame papers."

  Mancha had come to drive a bargain. He was aware that the I.O.U.'s heheld would take some time to realize on, in the proper quarter, but, atthe same time, he was quite aware of the fact that Bunning-Ford wouldultimately meet them.

  Lablache shrugged his shoulders with apparent indifference--he meant tohave them.

  "What do you want for the debts? I am prepared to buy--at a reasonablefigure."

  The Mexican propped himself comfortably upon the corner of the desk.

  "Say, guess we're talkin' biz, now. His 'lordship' is due to ante up thetrifle of seven thousand dollars--"

  The fellow was rummaging in an inside pocket for the slips of paper. Hiseyes never left his companion's face. The amount startled Lablache, buthe did not move a muscle.

  "You did your work well, Pedro," he said, allowing himself, for thefirst time in this conversation, to recognize that the Mexican had aname. He warmed towards a man who was capable of doing another down forsuch a sum in such a short space of time. "I'll treat you well. Twothousand spot cash, and you hand over the I.O.U.'s. What say? Is it ago?"

  "Be damned to you. Two thousand for a certain seven? Not me. Say, whatd'ye do with the skin when you eat a bananny? Sole your boots with it?Gee-whiz! You do fling your bills around."

  The Mexican laughed derisively as he jammed the papers back into hispocket. But he knew that he would have to sell at the other's price.

  Lablache moved heavily towards his desk. Selecting a book he opened itat a certain page.

  "You can keep them if you like. But you may as well understand yourposition. What's Bunning-
Ford worth? What's his ranch worth?"

  The other suggested a figure much below the real value.

  "It's worth more than that. Fifty thousand if it's worth a cent,"Lablache said expansively. "I don't want to do you, my friend, but asyou said we're talking business now. Here is his account with me, yousee," pointing to the entries. "I hold thirty-five thousand on firstmortgage and twenty thousand on bill of sale. In all fifty-fivethousand, and his interest twelve months in arrears. Now, you refuse topart with those papers at my price, and I'll sell him up. You will thenget not one cent of your money."

  The money-lender permitted himself to smile a grim, cold smile. He hadbeen careful to make no mention of Bunning-Ford's further assets. He hadquite forgotten to speak of a certain band of cattle which he knew hisintended victim to possess. It was a well-known thing that Lablache knewmore of the financial affairs of the people of the settlement than anyone else; doubtless the Mexican thought only of "Lord" Bill's ranch.Mancha shifted his position uneasily. But there was a cunning look onhis face as he retorted swiftly,--

  "You're a'mighty hasty to lay your hands on his reckoning. How's it thatyou're ready to part two thou' for 'em?"

  There was a moment's silence as the two men eyed each other. It seemedas if each were endeavoring to fathom the other's thoughts. Then themoney-lender spoke, and his voice conveyed a concentration of hate thatbit upon the air with an incisiveness which startled his companion.

  "Because I intend to crush him as I would a rattlesnake. Because I wishto ruin him so that he will be left in my debt. So that I can hound himfrom this place by holding that debt over his head. It is worth twothousand to me to possess that power. Now, will you part?"

  This explanation appealed to the worst side of the Mexican's nature.This hatred was after his own heart. Lablache was aware that such wouldbe the case. That is why he made it. He was accustomed to play upon thefeelings of people with whom he dealt--as well as their pocket. PedroMancha grinned complacently. He thought he understood his employer.

  "Hand over the bills. Guess I'll part. The price is slim, but it's not abad deal."

  Lablache oozed over to the safe. He opened it, keeping one heavy eyeupon his companion. He took no chances--he trusted no one, especiallyPedro Mancha. Presently he returned with a roll of notes. It containedthe exact amount. The Mexican watched him hungrily as he counted out thegreen-backed bills. His lips moistened beneath his mustache--his eyeslooked wilder than ever. Lablache understood his customer thoroughly. Aloaded revolver was in his own coat pocket. It is probable that thebrown-faced desperado knew this.

  At last the money-lender held out the money. He held out both hands, oneto give and the other to receive. Pedro passed him the I.O.U.'s and tookthe bills. One swift glance assured Lablache that the coveted paperswere all there. Then he pointed to the door.

  "Our transaction is over. Go!"

  He had had enough of his companion. He had no hesitation in thusperemptorily dismissing him.

  "You're in a pesky hurry to get rid of me. See hyar, pard, you'd best becivil. Your dealin's ain't a sight cleaner than mine."

  "I'm waiting." Lablache's tone was coldly commanding. His lashless eyesgazed steadily into the other's face. Something the Mexican saw in themimpelled him towards the door. He moved backwards, keeping his faceturned towards the money-lender. At this moment Lablache was at hisbest. His was a dominating personality. There was no cowardice in hisnature--at least no physical cowardice. Doubtless, had it come to astruggle where agility was required, he would have fallen an easy preyto his lithe companion; but with him, somehow, it never did come to astruggle. He had a way with him that chilled any such thought that awould-be assailant might have. Will and unflinching courage are splendidassets. And, amongst others, this man possessed both.

  Mancha slunk back to the door, and, fumbling at the lock, opened it andpassed out. Lablache instantly whipped out a revolver, and, steppingheavily on one side, advanced to the door, paused and listened. He waswell under cover. The door was open. He was behind it. He knew betterthan to expose himself in the light for Mancha to make a target of himfrom without. Then he kicked the door to. Making a complete circuit ofthe walls of the office he came to the opposite side of the door, wherehe swiftly locked and bolted it. Then he drew an iron shutter across thelight panelling and secured it.

  "Good," he muttered, as, sucking in a heavy breath, he returned to thestove and turned his back to it. "It's as well to understand Mexicannature."

  Then he lounged into his basket chair and rubbed his fleshy handsreflectively. There was a triumphant look upon his repulsive features.

  "Quite right, friend Pedro, it's not a bad deal," he said to himself,blinking at the red light of the fire. "Not half bad. Seven thousanddollars for two thousand dollars, and every cent of it realizable." Heshook with inward mirth. "The Hon. William Bunning-Ford will now have todisgorge every stick of his estate. Good, good!"

  Then he relapsed into deep thought. Presently he roused himself from hisreverie and prepared for bed.

  "But I'll give him a chance. Yes, I'll give him a chance," he muttered,as, after undergoing the simple operation of removing his coat, hestretched himself upon his bed and drew the blankets about him. "Ifhe'll consent to renounce any claim, fancied or otherwise, he may haveto Joaquina Allandale's regard I'll refrain from selling him up. Yes,Verner Lablache will forego his money--for a time."

  The great bed shook as the monumental money-lender suppressed a chuckle.Then he turned over, and his stertorous inhalations soon suggested thatthe great man slept.

  Shylock, the Jew, determined on having his pound of flesh. But a womanoutwitted him.