CHAPTER XVII
Emerson Mead heard the story which Ellhorn and Tuttle told and lookedat the heap of yellow nuggets without enthusiasm. His face was gloomyand there was a sadness in his eyes that neither of his friends hadever seen there before. He demurred over their proposal that he shouldshare with them, saying that he would rather they should have it alland that he had no use for so much money. When they insisted and Tomsaid, with a little catch in his voice, "Emerson, we can't enjoy anyof it if you-all don't have your share," he replied, "Well, all right,boys. I reckon no man ever had better friends than you are."
Judge Harlin was still at the ranch, and while he and Nick and Tomwere excitedly weighing the nuggets, Mead slipped out to the corral,saddled a horse and galloped across the foothills. Tuttle watched himriding away with concern in his big, round face.
"Judge," he said, "what's the matter with Emerson? Is he sick?"
"I guess not. He didn't say anything about it."
"Did you bring him any bad news?"
"Not that I know of."
"Have them fellows over in Plumas been hatchin' out any moredeviltry?"
"N-no, I think not. Oh, yes, I did hear that Colonel Whittaker andDaniels and Halliday were going over to the White Sands to hunt forWill Whittaker's body. I told Emerson so. That's the only thing I knowof that would be likely to disturb him."
A quick glance of intelligence flashed between Tuttle's eyes andEllhorn's. Each was recalling Mead's promise to surrender if WillWhittaker's body could be produced. Tuttle stood silent, with hishands in his pockets, looking across the foothills to where Mead'sfigure was disappearing against the horizon. Then without a word hewalked to the corral, saddled a horse, and went off on the gallop inthe same direction.
He came upon his friend at Alamo Springs, ten miles away. This was thebest water hole on Mead's ranch, and, indeed, the best in all thatpart of the Fernandez mountains, and was the one which the FillmoreCompany particularly coveted. Its copious yield of water neverdiminished, and around the reservoir which Mead had constructed, halfa mile below the spring, a goodly grove of young cottonwoods, which hehad planted, made for the cattle a cool retreat from midday suns.
Tuttle found Mead standing beside the reservoir, flicking the waterwith his quirt, while the horse, with dropped bridle, waited meeklybeside him. Tom dismounted and stood by Mead's side, making someremark about the cattle that were grazing within sight.
"Tommy," Emerson said abruptly, "I've about decided that I'll give upthis fight, let the Fillmore folks have the damned place for what theywill give, and pull my freight."
Tom looked surprised at this unheralded proposition, but paid nofurther attention to it. Instead, he plunged at once into the subjectthat concerned him.
"Emerson, what's the matter with you?"
"Nothing," Mead replied, looking at the horizon.
"Emerson, you're lying, and you know it."
"Well, then, nothing that can be helped."
"How do you know it can't?"
Mead shrugged his shoulders and rested his hand upon his horse's neck.It straightway cuddled its head against his body and began nosing hispockets. Mead brought out a lump of sugar and made the beast nod itsage for the reward. Tom watched him helplessly, noting the hopeless,gloomy look on his face, and wondered what he ought to do or say. Hewished Nick had come along. Nick never was at a loss for words. Buthis great love came to his rescue and he blurted out:
"Have you tried to do anything?"
"It's no use. There's nothing to be done. It's something that can't behelped, and I'd better just get out."
"Can't I--can't Nick and me do anything?"
"No."
Tom Tuttle was discouraged by this answer, for he knew that it meantthat the trouble, whatever it was, must be beyond the help of riflesand revolvers. Still, he thought that it must have some connectionwith the Whittaker murder, and he guessed that Mead was in fear ofsomething--discovery, apprehension, the result of a trial--that hemeant to get rid of the whole thing by quietly leaving the country.Tom's brain required several minutes in which to reach thisconclusion, but only a second longer to decide that if this was whatEmerson wanted to do, it was the right thing and should have his help.
"Well," he said, "if you want to pull out on the quiet, Nick and mewill stand off the Republicans over at Plumas till you get out oftheir reach."
"Oh, I don't mean to run away." Mead picked up the bridle and with onehand on the pommel turned suddenly around. There was a half smileabout his mouth, which his sad eyes belied. Tom's idea of the case hadjust occurred to him. "Don't you worry about it, Tom. It has nothingto do with the Whittaker case, nor with the political fights in LasPlumas."
They remounted and cantered silently toward home. Tom was revolving inhis mind everything he knew about his friend, trying to find the keyto the present situation. After a long time he recalled theconversation he and Ellhorn had had, as they sat on the top of thecattle-pen fence at Las Plumas, concerning the possibility of Mead'sbeing in love.
"Golly! I can't ask him about that!" Tuttle thought, spurring hishorse to faster pace. "But I reckon I'll have to. I've got to find outwhat's the matter with him, and then Nick and me have got to help himout, if we can."
He rode close beside Mead and began: "Say, Emerson--" Then he coughedand blushed until his mustache looked a faded yellow against the deepcrimson of his face. He glanced helplessly around, vaguely wishingsome enemy might suddenly rise out of the hills whom it would benecessary to fight. But no living thing, save Emerson's own cattle,was in sight. So, having begun, he rushed boldly on:
"Say, Emerson, I don't want to be too curious about your affairs,but--this--this trouble you're in--has it--is it--anything about a--agirl?"
Mead's spurs instinctively touched his horse into a gallop as heanswered, "Yes."
"Miss Delarue?"
"Yes."
"Wouldn't her father let her have you?"
Mead pulled his sombrero over his eyes with a sudden jerk, as thethought drove into his brain that he had not asked for her. The ideaof asking Marguerite Delarue to marry him loomed before him as agigantic impossibility, a thing not even to be dreamed of. He set histeeth together as he put into words for the first time the thing thatwas making him heart-sick, and plunged his spurs into the horse'sflank with a thrust that sent it flying forward in a headlong run:
"She's going to marry Wellesly."
Tuttle lagged behind and thought about the situation. Sympathizethough he did with Mead's trouble, he could not help a little feelingof gratification that after all there was to be no wife to comebetween them and take Emerson away from him and Nick. Emerson wouldforget all about it in a little while and their lifelong friendshipwould go on and be just as it had always been. On the whole, he feltpleased, and at the same time ashamed that he was pleased, that MissDelarue was going to marry Wellesly.
"I don't think much of her judgment, though," he commented to himself,contemptuously. "Any girl that would take that scrub Wellesly when shemight have Emerson Mead--well, she can't amount to much! Bah!Emerson's better off without her!"
That evening, as the four men sat smoking under the cottonwoods, Meadsaid quietly:
"Judge, I'm goin' to pull my freight."
"What do you mean, Emerson?"
"I mean that this country will be better off without me and I'll bebetter off without it. I'm goin' to light out."
"Soon?"
"As soon as I can give away this ranch to the Fillmore outfit, oranybody that will have it. Nick, you and Tom better take it. I'll giveit to you for love and affection and one dollar, if you want to takethe fight along with it."
"Nothing would please me better," Nick replied, "than to clean up allyour old scores against the Fillmore outfit, but I reckon if we takeit we'll just run it for you until you-all come back."
"All right. I'll turn it over to you to-morrow. You can have all youcan make out of it and if I'm not back inside of five years you candivide it between you."
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"Everybody will say you are running away from the Whittaker case andthat you are afraid to face a trial," said Judge Harlin.
"They may say what they damn please," replied Mead.
Something like a smothered sob sounded from Tuttle's chair, and heexclaimed fiercely, "They'd better not say that to me!"
"There's no likelihood," said Judge Harlin, "that the grand jury willindict you, as things stand now, or that the case would amount to muchif they should. If you want to stay and face the music, Emerson, Idon't think you need to feel apprehensive about the result."
"Oh, I'm not afraid of the trial, if there should be one. But I don'tthink there'll be any. I'm not going to submit to arrest, trial, oranything else, until they can prove that Will Whittaker's dead, andthey can't do that. I told Wellesly that I would let them arrest mewhenever they can prove that Will Whittaker died with his boots on,and I'll stick to my word. I'll come back from anywhere this side ofhell for my trial whenever they can prove it, and you can tell 'em so,Judge. But I'm tired of this country and done with it, and I mean topull my freight to-morrow."
"If you want to start from Plumas you'd better ride over with me,"said Harlin, "and you'd better go prepared for trouble, for theRepublicans won't let you leave the country if they can help it."
"All right. They can have all the trouble they want."
"You bet they can! All they want, and a whole heap more than they'llwant when it comes!" exclaimed Nick.
"That's what's the matter! We'll see that they get it!" added Tom.
The next morning they stowed the gold nuggets under the seat of JudgeHarlin's buggy, in which rode Mead and Harlin, with rifles andrevolvers. Tuttle and Ellhorn rode on horseback, each with a revolverin his holster and a rifle slung beside him.
Tom Tuttle was much disturbed because he alone knew the secret reasonfor Emerson Mead's abrupt departure. He thought Nick ought to know it,too, but he could not persuade himself that it would be the squarething for him to tell it to Ellhorn. "Nick ought to know it," he saidto himself, "or he'll sure go doin' some fool thing, thinkin'Emerson's goin' away on account of the Whittaker business, but Ireckon Emerson don't want me to leak anything he told me yesterday.No, I sure reckon Emerson would say he didn't want me to go gabblin'that to anybody. But Nick, he's got to know it."
After a time he chanced to recall the gossip about Miss Delarue andWellesly, which Judge Harlin had told him, and decided that he wasrelieved from secrecy on that point. Still, he felt self-conscious andas if he were rubbing very near to Emerson's secret when he rodebeside Ellhorn and exclaimed:
"Say, Nick, did Judge Harlin tell you that Wellesly and FrenchyDelarue's daughter are going to be married next fall?"
"The hell they are! Say, he's in luck, a whole heap better than hedeserves!" Then a light broke over Nick's face, as he shot a glance atthe carriage behind them. He slapped his thigh and exclaimed:"Jerusalem! Tom, that's why Emerson is pullin' his freight!"
At the moment, Tom felt guilty, as if he had betrayed a confidence,and he merely said, "Maybe it is."
"I might have known Nick would see through it in a minute," he said tohimself afterward. "Well, I reckon it's all right. He knows now, andhe'd sure have heard that they are going to be married, anyway."
With Hoops of Steel Page 17