by Rex Beach
“‘How you goin’ to get him down?’ says I.
“‘I’ll shoot him in the lower jaw,’ says the Britisher, ‘ so he cawn’t bite the dogs. It ’ll give ’em cawnfidence.’
“He takes aim at Mr. Bear’s chin and misses it three times runnin’, he’s that excited.
“‘Settle down, H’Anglish,’ says I. ‘He ‘ain’t got no double chins. How many shells left in your gun?’
“When he looks he finds there’s only one more, for he hadn’t stopped to fill the magazine, so I cautions him.
“‘You’re shootin’ too low. Raise her.’
“He raised her all right, and caught Mr. Bruin in the snout. What followed thereafter was most too quick to notice, for the poor bear let out a bawl, dropped off his limb into the midst of them ragin’, tur’ble, seventy-pun hounds, an’ hugged ’em to death, one after another, like he was doin’ a system of health exercises. He took ’em to his boosum as if he’d just got back off a long trip, then, droppin’ the last one, he made at that younger son an’ put a gold fillin’ in his leg. Yes, sir; most chewed it off. H’Anglish let out a Siberian-wolf holler hisself, an’ I had to step in with the hatchet and kill the brute though I was most dead from laughin’.
“That’s how it is with me an’ Glenister,” the old man concluded. “When he gets tired experimental’ with this new law game of hisn, I’ll step in an’ do business on a common-sense basis.”
“You talk as if you wouldn’t get fair play,” said Helen.
“We won’t,” said he, with conviction. “I look on all lawyers with suspicion, even to old bald-face—your uncle, askin’ your pardon an’ gettin’ it, bein’ as I’m a friend an’ he ain’t no real relation of yours, anyhow. No, sir; they’re all crooked.”
Dextry held the Western distrust of the legal profession—comprehensive, unreasoning, deep.
“Is the old man all the kin you’ve got?” he questioned, when she refused to discuss the matter.
“He is—in a way. I have a brother, or I hope I have, somewhere. He ran away when we were both little tads and I haven’t seen him since. I heard about him, indirectly, at Skagway—three years ago—during the big rush to the Klondike, but he has never been home. When father died, I went to live with Uncle Arthur—some day, perhaps, I’ll find my brother. He’s cruel to hide from me this way, for there are only we two left and I’ve loved him always.”
She spoke sadly and her mood blended well with the gloom of her companion, so they stared silently out over the heaving green waters.
“It’s a good thing me an’ the kid had a little piece of money ahead,” Dextry resumed later, reverting to the thought that lay uppermost in his mind, “‘cause we’d be up against it right if we hadn’t. The boy couldn’t have amused himself none with these court proceedings, because they come high. I call ’em luxuries, like brandied peaches an’ silk undershirts.
“I don’t trust these Jim Crow banks no more than I do lawyers, neither. No, sirree! I bought a iron safe an’ hauled it out to the mine. She weighs eighteen hundred, and we keep our money locked up there. We’ve got a feller named Johnson watchin’ it now. Steal it? Well, hardly. They can’t bust her open without a stick of ‘giant’ which would rouse everybody in five miles, an’ they can’t lug her off bodily—she’s too heavy. No; it’s safer there than any place I know of. There ain’t no abscondin’ cashiers an’ all that. Tomorrer I’m goin’ back to live on the claim an’ watch this receiver man till the thing’s settled.”
When the girl arose to go, he accompanied her up through the deep sand of the lane-like street to the main, muddy thoroughfare of the camp. As yet, the planked and gravelled pavements, which later threaded the town, were unknown, and the incessant traffic had worn the road into a quagmire of chocolate-colored slush, almost axle-deep, with which the store fronts, show-windows, and awnings were plentifully shot and spattered from passing teams. Whenever a wagon approached, pedestrians fled to the shelter of neighboring doorways, watching a chance to dodge out again. When vehicles passed from the comparative solidity of the main street out into the morasses that constituted the rest of the town, they adventured perilously, their horses plunging, snorting, terrified, amid an atmosphere of profanity. Discouraged animals were down constantly, and no foot-passenger, even with rubber boots, ventured off the planks that led from house to house.
To avoid a splashing team, Dextry pulled his companion close in against the entrance to the Northern saloon, standing before her protectingly.
Although it was late in the afternoon the Bronco Kid had just arisen and was now loafing preparatory to the active duties of his profession. He was speaking with the proprietor when Dextry and the girl sought shelter just without the open door, so he caught a fair though fleeting glimpse of her as she flashed a curious look inside. She had never been so close to a gambling-hall before, and would have liked to peer in more carefully had she dared, but her companion moved forward. At the first look the Bronco Kid had broken off in his speech and stared at her as though at an apparition. When she had vanished, he spoke to Reilly:
“Who’s that?”
Reilly shrugged his shoulders, then without further question the Kid turned back towards the empty theatre and out of the back door.
He moved nonchalantly till he was outside, then with the speed of a colt ran down the narrow planking between the buildings, turned parallel to the front street, leaped from board to board, splashed through puddles of water till he reached the next alley. Stamping the mud from his shoes and pulling down his sombrero, he sauntered out into the main thoroughfare.
Dextry and his companion had crossed to the other side and were approaching, so the gambler gained a fair view of them. He searched every inch of the girl’s face and figure, then, as she made to turn her eyes in his direction, he slouched away. He followed, however, at a distance, till he saw the man leave her, then on up to the big hotel he shadowed her. A half-hour later he was drinking in the Golden Gate bar-room with an acquaintance who ministered to the mechanical details behind the hotel counter.
“Who’s the girl I saw come in just now?” he inquired.
“I guess you mean the Judge’s niece.”
Both men spoke in the dead, restrained tones that go with their callings.
“What’s her name?”
“Chester, I think. Why? Look good to you, Kid?”
Although the other neither spoke nor made sign, the bartender construed his silence as acquiescence and continued, with a conscious glance at his own reflection while he adjusted his diamond scarf-pin: “Well, she can have me ! I’ve got it fixed to meet her.”
“Bah ! I guess not,” said the Kid, suddenly, with an inflection that startled the other from his preening. Then, as he went out, the man mused:
“Gee! Bronco’s got the worst eye in the camp! Makes me creep when he throws it on me with that muddy look. He acted like he was jealous”
At noon the next day, as he prepared to go to the claim, Dextry’s partner burst in upon him. Glenister was dishevelled, and his eyes shone with intense excitement.
“What d’ you think they’ve done now? ”he cried, as greeting.
“I dunno. What is it?”
“They’ve broken open the safe and taken our money.”
“What!”
The old man in turn was on his feet, the grudge which he had felt against Glenister in the past few days forgotten in this common misfortune.
“Yes, by Heaven, they’ve swiped our money—our tents, tools, teams, books, hose, and all of our personal property—everything! They threw Johnson off and took the whole works. I never heard of such a thing. I went out to the claim and they wouldn’t let me go near the workings. They’ve got every mine on Anvil Creek guarded the same way, and they aren’t going to let us come around even when they clean up. They told me so this morning.”
“But, look here,” demanded Dextry, sharply, “the money in that safe belongs to us. That’s money we brought in from the States. T
he court ’ain’t got no right to it. What kind of a damn law is that?”
“Oh, as to law, they don’t pay any attention to it any more,” said Glenister, bitterly. “I made a mistake in not killing the first man claim. I was a sucker, and now we’re up against a stiff game. The Swedes are in the same fix, too. This last order has left them groggy.”
“I don’t understand it yet,” said Dextry.
“Why, it’s this way. The Judge has issued what he calls an order enlarging the powers of the receiver, and it authorizes McNamara to take possession of everything on the claims—tents, tools, stores, and personal property of all kinds. It was issued last night without notice to our side, so Wheaton says, and they served it this morning early. I went out to see McNamara, and when I got there I found him in our private tent with the safe broken open.”
“‘What does this mean?’ I said. And then he showed me the new order.
“‘ I’m responsible to the court for every penny of this money,’ said he,’ and for every tool on the claim. In view of that I can’t allow you to go near the workings.’
“‘Not go near the workings?’ said I. ‘ Do you mean you won’t let us see the clean-ups from our own mine? How do we know we’re getting a square deal if we don’t see the gold weighed?’
“‘ I’m an officer of the court and under bond,’ said he, and the smiling triumph in his eyes made me crazy.
“‘ You’re a lying thief,’ I said, looking at him square. ‘And you’re going too far. You played me for a fool once and made it stick, but it won’t work twice.’
“He looked injured and aggrieved and called in Voorhees, the marshal. I can’t grasp the thing at all; everybody seems to be against us, the Judge, the marshal, the prosecuting attorney—everybody. Yet they’ve done it all according to law, they claim, and have the soldiers to back them up.”
“It’s just as Mexico Mullins said,” Dextry stormed; “there’s a deal on of some kind. I’m goin’ up to the hotel an’ call on the Judge myself. I’ain’t never seen him nor this McNamara, either. I allus want to look a man straight in the eyes once, then I know what course to foller in my dealings.”
“You’ll find them both,” said Glenister, “for McNamara rode into town behind me.”
The old prospector proceeded to the Golden Gate Hotel and inquired for Judge Stillman’s room. A boy attempted to take his name, but he seized him by the scruff of the neck and sat him in his seat, proceeding unannounced to the suite to which he had been directed. Hearing voices, he knocked, and then, without awaiting a summons, walked in.
The room was fitted like an office, with desk, table, type-writer, and law-books. Other rooms opened from it on both sides. Two men were talking earnestly—one gray-haired, smooth-shaven, and clerical, the other tall, picturesque, and masterful. With his first glance the miner knew that before him were the two he had come to see, and that in reality he had to deal with but one, the big man who shot at him the level glances.
“We are engaged,” said the Judge, “very busily engaged, sir. Will you call again in half an hour?”
Dextry looked him over carefully from head to foot, then turned his back on him and regarded the other. Neither he nor McNamara spoke, but their eyes were busy and each instinctively knew that here was a foe.
“What do you want?” McNamara inquired, finally.
“I just dropped in to get acquainted. My name is Dextry—Joe Dextry—from everywhere west of the Missouri—an’ your name is McNamara, ain’t it? This here, I reckon, is your little French poodle—eh?” indicating Stillman.
“What do you mean?” said McNamara, while the Judge murmured indignantly.
“Just what I say. However, that ain’t what I want to talk about. I don’t take no stock in such truck as judges an’ lawyers an’ orders of court. They ain’t intended to be took serious. They’re all right for children an’ Easterners an’ non compos mentis people, I s’pose, but I’ve always been my own judge, jury, an’ hangman, an’ I aim to continue workin’ my legislatif, executif, an’ judicial duties to the end of the string. You look out! My pardner is young an’ seems to like the idee of lettin’ somebody else run his business, so I’m goin’ to give him rein and let him amuse himself for a while with your dinky little writs an’ receiverships. But don’t go too far—you can rob the Swedes, ’cause Swedes ain’t entitled to have no money, an’ some other crook would get it if you didn’t, but don’t play me an’ Glenister fer Scandinavians. It’s a mistake. We’re white men, an’ I’m apt to come romancin’ up here with one of these an’ bust you so you won’t hold together durin’ the ceremonies.”
With his last words he made the slightest shifting movement, only a lifting shrug of the shoulder, yet in his palm lay a six-shooter. He had slipped it from his trousers band with the ease of long practice and absolute surety. Judge Stillman gasped and backed against the desk, but McNamara idly swung his leg as he sat sidewise on the table. His only sign of interest was a quickening of the eyes, a fact of which Dextry made mental note.
“Yes,” said the miner, disregarding the alarm of the lawyer, “you can wear this court in your vest-pocket like a Waterbury, if you want to, but if you don’t let me alone, I’ll uncoil its main-spring. That’s all.”
He replaced his weapon and, turning, walked out the door.
CHAPTER IX
SLUICE ROBBERS
WE must have money,” said Glenister a few days later. “When McNamara jumped our safe he put us down and out. There’s no use fighting in this court any longer, for the Judge won’t let us work the ground ourselves, even if we give bond, and he won’t grant an appeal. He says his orders aren’t appealable. We ought to send Wheaton out to ‘Frisco and have him take the case to the higher courts. Maybe he can get a writ of supersedeas.”
“I don’t rec’nize the name, but if it’s as bad as it sounds it’s sure horrible. Ain’t there no cure for it?”
“It simply means that the upper court would take the case away from this one.”
“Well, let’s send him out quick. Every day means ten thousand dollars to us. It ’ll take him a month to make the round trip, so I s’pose he ought to leave tomorrow on the Roanoke.”
“Yes, but where’s the money to do it with? McNamara has ours. My God! What a mess we’re in! What fools we’ve been, Dex! There’s a conspiracy here. I’m beginning to see it now that it’s too late, This man is looting our country under color of law. and figures on gutting all the mines before we can throw him off. That’s his game. He’ll work them as hard and as long as he can, and Heaven only knows what will become of the money. He must have big men behind him in order to fix a United States judge this way. Maybe he has the ’Frisco courts corrupted, too.”
“If he has, I’m goin’ to kill him,” said Dextry. “I’ve worked like a dog all my life, and now that I’ve struck pay I don’t aim to lose it. If Bill Wheaton can’t win out accordin’ to law, I’m goin’ to proceed accordin’ to justice.”
During the past two days the partners had haunted the court-room where their lawyer, together with the counsel for the Scandinavians, had argued and pleaded, trying every possible professional and unprofessional artifice in search of relief from the arbitrary rulings of the court, while hourly they had become more strongly suspicious of some sinister plot—some hidden, powerful understanding back of the Judge and the entire mechanism of justice. They had fought with the fury of men who battle for life, and had grown to hate the lines of Stillman’s vacillating face, the bluster of the district-attorney, and the smirking confidence of the clerks, for it seemed that they all worked mechanically, like toys, at the dictates of Alec McNamara. At last, when they had ceased, beaten and exhausted, they were too confused with technical phrases to grasp anything except the fact that relief was denied them; that their claims were to be worked by the receiver; and, as a crowning defeat, they learned that the Judge would move his court to St. Michael’s and hear no cases until he returned, a month later.
Mea
nwhile, McNamara hired every idle man he could lay hand upon, and ripped the placers open with double shifts. Every day a stream of yellow dust poured into the bank and was locked in his vaults, while those mine-owners who attempted to witness the clean-ups were ejected from their claims. The politician had worked with incredible swiftness and system, and a fortnight after landing he had made good his boast to Struve, and was in charge of every good claim in the district, the owners were ousted, their appeals argued and denied, and the court gone for thirty days, leaving him a clear field for his operations. He felt a contempt for most of his victims, who were slow-witted Swedes, grasping neither the purport nor the magnitude of his operation, and as to those litigants who were discerning enough to see its enormity, he trusted to his organization to thwart them.
The two partners had come to feel that they were beating against a wall, and had also come squarely to face the proposition that they were without funds wherewith to continue their battle. It was maddening for them to think of the daily robbery that they suffered, for the Midas turned out many ounces of gold at every shift; and more maddening to realize the receiver’s shrewdness in crippling them by his theft of the gold in their safe. That had been his crowning stroke.
“We MUST get money quick,” said Glenister. “Do you think we can borrow?”
“Borrow?” sniffed Dextry. “Folks don’t lend money in Alaska.”
They relapsed into a moody silence.
“I met a feller this mornin’ that’s workin’ on the Midas,” the old man resumed. “He came in town fer a pair of gum boots, an’ he says they’ve run into awful rich ground—so rich that they have to clean up every morning when the night shift goes off ‘cause the riffles clog with gold.”
“Think of it!” Glenister growled. “If we had even a part of one of those clean-ups we could send Wheaton outside.”
In the midst of his bitterness a thought struck him. He made as though to speak, then closed his mouth; but his partner’s eyes were on him, filled with a suppressed but growing fire. Dextry lowered his voice cautiously: