The Desert Fiddler

by Hamby, William H

Bob hesitated for a moment. Imogene had gone to the other note counter, and was trying idly not to be aware of the conversation. It would be utterly too cruel to disappoint her now. It went against the grain, but Rogeen swallowed his resentment and distaste.

  "All right," he nodded brightly. "I've got one loan already for you." He drew the papers from his pocket. "It is six cents on 150 bales of cotton now in the yards. Here are the compress receipts."

  "Whom is this for?" Her eyes looked at him challengingly; her lips shaped the words accusingly.

  "To Miss Chandler and her father." Bob felt himself idiotically blushing.

  Mrs. Barnett's face took on the frozen look of a thousand generations of damning disapprobation.

  "No! Not one cent to that woman. Uncle and I don't care to encourage that sort."

  For a moment Bob stood looking straight into the frigid face of Mrs. Barnett. It was the first time in his life he would have willingly sacrificed his personal pride for money. He would have done almost anything to get that money for Imogene Chandler. But it was useless to try to persuade the widow that she was wrong. Back of her own narrowness was Reedy Jenkins. This was Reedy's move; he was using the widow's vanity and personal greed for his own ends; and his ends were the destruction of Rogeen and the capitulation of Miss Chandler.

  Mrs. Barnett's eyes met his defiantly, but her mouth quivered a little nervously. A doubt flashed through his mind. Was she authorized to do this? Surely she would not dare take such authority without her uncle's consent. He might telephone, anyway, then a more direct resolution followed swiftly. He turned away from Mrs. Barnett and went to the cashier's window.

  "Did Jim Crill deposit $25,000 here subject to my check?" he asked.

  "He did," replied the cashier.

  "Are there any strings to it?"

  "None," responded the cashier promptly.

  Without so much as glancing toward the widow, who had watched this move with a venomous suspicion, Bob went to Miss Chandler by the desk and took the papers from his pocket, and laid them before her.

  "Indorse the compress receipts over to Mr. Crill."

  Then he wrote two checks—one to the bank for $3,123 to pay off all the claims against the Chandler cotton and one to Imogene for $1,377.

  "You don't know, Mr. Rogeen," she started to say in a low, tense voice as she took the check, "how much——"

  "I don't need to," he smilingly interrupted her gratitude, "for it isn't my money. I'll see you at lunch; and then take you back home in my car." He lifted his hat and turned back to the counter where Mrs. Barnett stood loftily, disdainfully, yet furiously angry.

  "Well," said Bob, casually, "I've made one loan, anyway."

  "It will be your last." Mrs. Barnett clutched her hands vindictively. "You'll be discharged as quick as I get to Uncle Jim."

  Bob really expected he would, but not for three jobs would he have recalled that loan and the light of relief in Imogene Chandler's eyes.

  CHAPTER XVI

  Mrs. Barnett went direct from the bank to Reedy Jenkins' office. As she climbed the outside stairway she was so angry she forgot to watch to see that her skirts did not lift above her shoe tops. As she entered the door her head was held as high and stiff as though she had been insulted by a disobedient cook. White showed around her mouth and the base of her nose, and her nostrils were dilated.

  "Why, Mrs. Barnett!" Reedy arose with an oratorical gesture. "What a pleasant surprise. Have a chair."

  She took the chair he placed for her without a word and her right hand clutched the wrist of the left. She was breathing audibly.

  "Did you see Rogeen?" Jenkins suggested suavely.

  "Yes." The tone indicated that total annihilation should be the end of that unworthy creature. But her revenge, like Reedy's expectations, was in the future. She hated to confess this. She breathed hard twice. "And I'll show him whose word counts."

  "You don't mean," Reedy swiped his left hand roughly at the wisp of hair on his forehead, "that he disregarded your wishes?"

  "He certainly did." Indignation was getting the better of her voice. "The low-lived—the contemptible—common person. And he insulted me with that—that creature."

  "Well, of all the gall!" Reedy was quite as indignant as Mrs. Barnett, for very different if more substantial reasons. He had seen more and more that a fight with Rogeen was ahead, a fight to the finish; and the further he went the larger that fight looked. The easiest way to smash a man, Reedy had found, was to deprive him of money. A man can't carry out many schemes unless he can get hold of money. Jenkins had kept a close eye on Jim Crill, and had grown continually more uneasy lest the old chap become too favourably impressed with Rogeen. He had early sensed the old man's weak spot—one of them—Crill hated to be pestered. That was the vulnerable side at which Evelyn Barnett, the niece, could jab. And Reedy had planned all her attacks. This last move of Crill's—hiring Rogeen to lend money for him, had alarmed Reedy more than anything that had happened. For it would give Rogeen a big influence on the Mexican side. Most of the ranchers needed to borrow money, and it would put the man on whose word the loans would be made in mighty high favour. To offset this, Reedy had engineered an attack by Mrs. Barnett on the old gentleman's leisure. She had worried him and nagged him with the argument that he ought not to bother with a lot of business details, but should turn them over to her. She would see to the little things for him. He had reluctantly granted some sort of consent to this, a consent which Evelyn had construed meant blanket authority.

  "He flatly refused," Mrs. Barnett was still thinking blisteringly of Bob Rogeen, "to obey my wishes in the matter. I told him plainly," she bit her lips again, "that neither Uncle nor I would consent to money being furnished women like that."

  "I should say not." Reedy agreed with unctuous righteousness in his plump face. "And to think of that scalawag, making a loan right in your face, after you had vetoed it."

  "He'll never make another." Mrs. Barnett's lips would have almost bit a thread in two. "Just wait until I get to Uncle Jim!"

  "I'll drive you up," said Reedy. He reached to the top of the desk for his hat.

  "Of course," remarked Reedy on the way, "your uncle is very generous to want to help these fellows across the line that are broke. But they are riff-raff. He will lose every dollar of it. I know them. Good Lord! haven't I befriended them, and helped them fifty ways? And do they appreciate it? Well, I should say not!"

  "The more you do for people the less they appreciate it," said Mrs. Barnett still in a bitter mood.

  "Some people," corrected Reedy. "There are a few, a very few, who never forget a favour."

  "Yes, that is true," assented the widow, and began to relent in her mind, seeing how kind was Mr. Jenkins.

  "I'm very sorry," continued Reedy, frowning, "that your uncle has taken up this fellow. I've been looking up Rogeen's past—and he is no good, absolutely no good. Been a drifter all his life. Never had a hundred dollars of his own.

  "By the way," Reedy suddenly remembered a coincidence in regard to that undertaker's receipt, "where was it your husband lost the sale of that mine?"

  "At Blindon, Colorado."

  "By George!" Reedy released the wheel with the right hand and slapped his leg. "I thought so. Do you know who that young man with the fiddle was who ruined your fortune?"

  "No." Evelyn Barnett came around sharply.

  "Bob Rogeen—that fellow who insulted you this morning."

  "No? Not really?" Angry incredulity.

  Reedy nodded. "As I told you, I've been looking up his past. And I got the story straight."

  "The vile scoundrel!" Mrs. Barnett said, bitterly. "And to think Uncle would trust him with his money."

  "We must stop it," said Reedy. "It isn't right that your uncle should be fleeced by this rascal."

  "He shan't be!" declared Mrs. Barnett, gritting her teeth.

  "There are too many really worthy investments," added Reedy.

  "I'll see that this is the last mone
y that man gets," Mrs. Barnett asseverated.

  "Your uncle is a little bull headed, isn't he?" suggested Reedy, cautiously. "Better be careful how you approach him."

  "Oh, I'll manage him, never fear," she said positively.

  Jenkins set Mrs. Barnett down at the entrance to the bungalow court. He preferred that Jim Crill should not see him with her. It might lead him to think Reedy was trying to influence her.

  As Mrs. Barnett stalked up the steps, Jim Crill was sitting on the porch in his shirt sleeves, smoking.

  "How are you feeling, dear?" she asked, solicitously.

  "Ain't feelin'," Crill grunted—"I'm comfortable."

  Evelyn sank into a chair, held her hands, and sighed.

  "Oh, dear, it is so lonely since poor Tom Barnett died."

  Uncle Jim puffed on—he had some faint knowledge of the poor deceased Tom.

  "Do you know, Uncle Jim, I made a discovery to-day. The man who kept my poor husband from making a fortune was that person."

  "What person?" growled the old chap looking straight ahead.

  "That Rogeen person you are trusting your money to."

  Jim Crill bit his pipe stem to hide a dry grin. He had often heard the story of the bursted mine sale. He had some suspicions, knowing Barnett, of what the mine really was.

  "And, Uncle Jim, of course you won't keep him. Besides, he insulted me this morning."

  "How?" It was another grunt.

  Evelyn went into the painful details of her humiliation at the bank. "When she got through Uncle Jim turned sharply in his chair.

  "Did you do that?"

  "Do what?" gasped Evelyn.

  "Try to interfere with his loans?"

  "Why, why, yes." She was aghast at the tone, ready to shed protective tears. "Didn't you tell me—wasn't I to have charge of the little things?"

  "Oh, hell!" Uncle Jim burst out. "Little things, yes—about the house I meant. Not my business. Dry up that sobbing now—and don't monkey any more with my business."

  Uncle Jim got up and stalked off downtown.

  CHAPTER XVII

  Early one morning in March Bob picked Noah Ezekiel Foster up at a lunch counter where the hill billy was just finishing his fourth waffle.

  "Want you to go out and look at two or three leases with me," said Rogeen as they got into the small car.

  Bob had not lost his job with Crill over the Chandler loan. He was still lending the old gentleman's money and doing it without Mrs. Barnett's approval. But the widow had, he felt sure, done the moist, self-sacrificing, nagging stunt so persistently that her uncle had compromised by advancing much more money to Reedy Jenkins than safety justified. Crill had never mentioned the matter, but Bob knew Jenkins had got money from somewhere, and there certainly was no one else in the valley that would have lent it to him. For Reedy had managed to pick his cotton and gin it at the new gin on the Mexican side, where the bales were still stacked in the yards.

  "Why do you suppose," asked Bob as they drove south past the Mexican gin, "Jenkins has left his cotton over on this side all winter?" Bob had formulated his own suspicions but wanted to learn what Noah Ezekiel thought, for Noah picked up a lot of shrewd information.

  "Shucks," said Noah, "it's so plain that a way-farin' man though a cotton grower can see. He's kept it over there because he owes about three hundred thousand dollars on the American side, and as quick as he takes it across the line there'll be about as many fellows pullin' at every bale as there are ahold of them overall pants you see advertised."

  "But cotton is selling now; it was six cents yesterday," remarked Bob. "At that he ought to have enough to pay his debts."

  Noah Ezekiel snorted: "Reedy isn't livin' to pay his debts. He ain't hankerin' for receipts; what he wants is currency. His creditors on the American side are layin' low, because they can't do anything else. Reedy put one over on 'em when he built this gin. He can hold his cotton over here for high prices, and let them that he owes on the American side go somewhere and whistle in a rain barrel to keep from gettin' dry.

  "As my dad used to say, 'The children of this world can give the children of light four aces and still take the jack pot with a pair of deuces.'"

  Bob knew Noah was right. He had watched Jenkins pretty closely all winter. Reedy had endeavoured to convince all his creditors, and succeeded in convincing some, that he had not brought the cotton across the line because there was no market yet for it. "It is costing us nothing to leave it over there, so why bring it across and have to pay storage and also lose the interest on the $25,000 Mexican export duty which we must pay when it is removed?"

  "Noah," remarked Bob, as the little car bumped across the bridge over the irrigation ditch, "I'm taking you out to see a Chinaman's lease. He has three hundred acres ready to plant and wants to borrow money to raise the crop. If you like the field and I like the Chinaman, I'm going to make the loan."

  "Accordin' to my observation," remarked Noah, "a heathen Chinese has about all the virtues that a Christian ought to have, but ain't regularly got.

  "The other mornin' after I'd been to the Red Owl the night before, I felt like I needed a cup of coffee. I went round to a Chink that I'd never met but two or three times, and says, 'John, I'm broke, will you lend me a hundred dollars?'

  "That blasted Chink never batted an eye, never asked me if I owned any personal property subject to mortgage, nor if I could get three good men to go on my note. He just says, 'Surlee, Misty Foster,' and dived down in a greasy old drawer and began to count out greenbacks. 'Here,' I says, 'if you are that much of a Christian, I ain't an all-fired heathen myself. Give me a dime and keep the change.'"

  Bob smiled appreciatively. "I've seen things like that happen more than once. And it is not because they are simple and ignorant either."

  "You know," pursued Noah Ezekiel, "if I's Karniggy, I'd send a lot of 'em out as missionaries."

  They were at Ah Sing's ranch. The three-hundred-acre field was level as a table, broken deep, thoroughly disked, and listed ready to water. The Chinaman, without any money or the slightest assurance he could get any for his planting, had worked all winter preparing the fields.

  Ah Sing stood in front of his weed-and-pole shack waiting with that stoical anxiety which never betrays itself by hurry or nervousness. If the man of money came and saw fit to lend, "vellee well—if not, doee best I can."

  "You go out and take a look at the field," Bob directed Noah, "see if there is any marsh grass or alfalfa roots, and look over his water ditches while I talk to the Chinaman."

  "Good morning, Ah Sing," he said, extending his hand.

  "Good morning, Misty Rogee." The Chinaman smiled and gave the visitor a friendly handshake. He was of medium height, had a well-shaped head and dignified bearing, and eyes that met yours straight. He looked about forty, but one never knows the age of a Chinaman.

  "Nice farm, Ah Sing," Bob nodded approvingly at the well-plowed fields.

  "He do vellee well." The Chinaman was pleased.

  "And you have no money to make a crop?" Bob asked.

  "No money," Ah Sing said, stoically.

  "I heard last fall you had made a good deal of money raising cotton over here," suggested Bob.

  "Me make some," admitted Ah Sing. "Workee vellee hard many year—make maybe eighteen—twentee thousan'."

  "What became of it, Ah Sing? Don't gamble, do you?"

  The Chinaman shook his head emphatically, "Me no gamble. Gamble—nobody trust. Me pick cotton for Misty Jenkins."

  Bob was interested in that. He knew that after raising Jenkins' crop Ah Sing had taken the contract to pick it. Bob had heard other things but not from the Chinaman. "Didn't you make some money on that, too?"

  "No money."

  "Why not?" Bob spoke quickly. "Tell me about it, Ah Sing."

  The Chinaman sighed again and the long, long look came into his patient oriental eyes.

  "Ah work in America ever since leetle boy—so high. After while I save leetle money. Want go back Chi
na visit. I have cer-tificate. When I come back, say it's no good. Put me in jail. Don't know why. Stay long time. Send me back China. Then I come Mexico. Can't cross line; say damn Mexican Chinaman. I raise cotton—I raise lettuce—make leetle money. Maybee twent' thousan'.

  "Misty Jenkins say 'Ah Sing, want pick my cotton?' I say, 'Maybee.' He say, 'Give you ten dollar bale. You do all work—feed Chinamen.' I say, 'Vellee well.' Lots Chinaboys need work. I hire seven hund'—eight hund'—maybee thousan.' I feed 'em. I pick cotton. Pick eight thousan' bale. Take all my money feed 'em. I owe Chinaboys fifty thousan' dollar.

  "No pay. No see Misty Jenkins. No cross line. Misty Jenkins pay sometime maybee—maybee not." The old Chinaman shook his head fatalistically.

  "And you spent all you had earned and saved in forty years, and then went in debt fifty thousand to other Chinamen to pick that cotton, and he hasn't paid you a dollar?"

  "No pay yet; maybee some time," he replied, stoically.

  "What a damn shame!" Bob seldom swore, but he felt justified for this once. "Can't you collect it under the Mexican laws?"

  Ah Sing slowly, futilely, turned his hands palms outward.

  "Mexican say Misty Jenkins big man. Damn Chinaman no good no way."

  Noah Ezekiel came in from the field.

  "As my dad says," remarked the hill billy, "this Chink has held on to the handle of the plow without ever looking back. The field is O. K."

  "How much will you need, Ah Sing?" Bob turned to the Chinaman.

  "Maybee get along with thousan' dollars—fifteen hund' maybee."

  "All right," said Bob, "I'm going to let you have it. You can get the money three hundred at a time as you need it."

  Bob stood thinking for a moment.

  "Ah Sing," he said, decisively, "how would you like to have a partner? Suppose I go in with you; furnish the money and look after the buying and selling, tend to the business end; you raise the cotton. Me pay all the expenses, including wages, for you; and then divide the profits?"

  The Chinaman's face lost its stoic endurance and lighted with relief.

  "I likee him vellee much!" He put out his hand. "Me and you partners, heh?"