XXV
Bob always stayed at the Monterosa Hotel when in town; a circumstancethat had sent Oldham to the Buena Vista. Although it wanted but a fewhours until train time, he drifted around to his customary stoppingplace, resolved to enjoy a quiet smoke by the great plate-glass windowsbefore which the ever-varying theatre crowds stream by from Main Streetcars. He had been thus settled for some time, when he heard his namepronounced by the man occupying the next chair.
"Bob Orde!" he cried; "but this is luck!"
Bob looked around to see an elderly, gray-haired, slender man, of keen,intelligent face, pure white hair and moustache, in whom he recognizedMr. Frank Taylor, a lifelong friend of his father's and one of the bestlawyers his native state had produced. He sprang to his feet to graspthe older man's hand. The unexpected meeting was especially grateful,for Bob had been long enough without direct reminders of his old home tobe hungry for them. Ever since he could remember, the erect, militaryform of Frank Taylor had been one of the landmarks of memory, like thesword that had belonged to Georgie Cathcart's father, or like thekindly, homely, gray figure of Mr. Kincaid in his rickety, two-wheeledcart--the man who had given Bob his first firearm.
After first greetings and inquiries, the two men sank back to finishtheir smoke together.
"It's good to see you again," observed Bob, "but I'm sorry your businessbrings you out here at this time of year. This is our dry season, youknow. Everything is brown. I like it myself, as do most Californians,but an Easterner has to get used to it. After the rains, though, thecountry is wonderful."
"This isn't my first trip," said Taylor. "I was out here for some monthsaway back in--I think it was '79. I remember we went in to Santa Barbaraon a steamer that fired a gun by way of greeting! Strangely enough, thesame business brings me here now."
"You are out here on father's account?" hazarded Bob, to whom the year1879 now began to have its significance.
"Exactly. Didn't you get your father's letter telling of my coming?"
"I've been from headquarters three days," Bob explained.
"I see. Well, he sent you this message: 'Tell Bob to go ahead. I cantake care of myself.'"
"Bully for dad!" cried Bob, greatly heartened.
"He told me he did not want to advise you, but that in the old days whena fight was on, the spectators were supposed to do their own dodging."
"I'd about come to that conclusion," said Bob, "but it surely does megood to feel that father's behind me in it."
"My trip in '79--or whenever it was--was exactly on this same muss-up."Mr. Taylor went on: "Your father owned this timber land then, and wantedto borrow money on it. At the time a rascally partner was trying to ruinhim; and, in order to prevent his getting this money, which would savehim, this partner instigated investigations and succeeded temporarily inclouding the title. Naturally the banks declined to lend money ondoubtful titles; which was all this partner wanted.[A] Perhaps you knowall this?"
Bob shook his head. "I was a little too young to know anything ofbusiness."
"Your father sent me out to straighten things. The whole matter wasinvolved in endless red tape, obscured in every ingenious way possible.Although there proved to be nothing to the affair, to prove that facttook time, and time was what your father's partner was after. As amatter of fact, he failed; but that was not the result ofmiscalculation. Now I strongly suspect that your friend Baker, or hislawyers, have dug up a lot of this old evidence on the records and aregoing to use it to annoy us. There is nothing more in it how than therewas at the beginning, but it's colourable enough to start a noisy suiton, and that's all these fellows are after."
"But if it was decided once, how can they bring it up again?" Bobobjected.
"It was never brought to court. When the delay had been gained--orrather, when I unravelled the whole matter--it was dropped."
"I see," said Bob. "Then the titles are all right?"
"Every bit of that tract is as good as gold," said Taylor impressively."Your father bought only from men who had taken up land with their ownmoney. He paid as high as fifteen or sixteen hundred dollars for claimswhere by straight 'colonizing' he could have had them for three or fourhundred."
"I'm glad to hear that," said Bob. "But are you sure you can handlethis?"
"As for a suit, they can never win this in the world," said Taylor. "Butthat isn't the question. What they want is a chance for big headlines."
"Well, can you head them off?"
"I'm going to try, after I look over the situation. If I can't head itoff completely, I'll at least be in a position to reply publicly atonce. It took me three months to dig this thing out, but it won't takeme half an hour to get it in the papers."
"I should think they'd know that."
"I don't think their lawyer really knows about it. As I say, it took methree months to dig it all out. My notion is that while they have noidea they can win the case, they believe that we did actually colonizethe lands. In other words, they think they have it on us straightenough. The results of my investigations will surprise them. I'll keepthe thing out of court if I can; but in any case we're ready. It will bea trial in the newspapers."
"Well," said Bob, "you want to get acquainted then. Western newspapersare not like those in the East. They certainly jump in with both feet onany cause that enlists them one way or another. It is a case of noquarter to the enemy, in headlines, subheads, down to the date--readingmatter, of course. They have a powerful influence, too, for they arevery widely read."
"Can they be bought?" asked Taylor shrewdly.
Bob glanced at him.
"I was thinking of the Power Company," explained Taylor.
"Blessed if I know," confessed Bob; "but I think not. I disagree withthem on so many things that I'd like to think they are bought. But theyare more often against those apt to buy, than for them. They lambasteimpartially and with a certain Irish delight in doing the jobthoroughly. I must say they are not fair about it. They hit a man justas hard when he is down. What you want to do is to be better news thanBaker."
"I'll be all of that," promised Taylor, "if it comes to a newspapertrial."
Bob glanced at his watch and jumped to his feet with an exclamation ofdismay.
"I've five minutes to get to the station," he said. "Goodbye."
He rushed out of the hotel, caught a car, ran a block--and arrived intime to see the tail lights slipping away. He had to wait until themorning train, but that mattered little to him now. His wait and thejourney back to the mountains were considerably lightened by thispartial relief of the situation. At the first sign of trouble his fatherhad taken the field to fight out his own fights. That muchresponsibility was lifted from Bob's shoulders. He might have known!
Of the four dangerous elements of his problem one was thusunexpectedly, almost miraculously, relieved. Remained, however, poorWelton's implication in the bribery matter, and Pollock's danger. Bobcould not count in himself. If he could only relieve the others of theconsequences of his action, he could face his own trouble with a stoutheart.
At White Oaks he was forced to wait for the next stage. This put himtwenty-four hours behind, and he was inclined to curse his luck. Had heonly known it, no better fortune could have fallen him. The news camedown the line that the stage he would have taken had been held up by alone highwayman just at the top of Flour Gold grade. As the vehiclecarried only an assortment of perishable fruit and three Italianlabourers, for the dam, the profits from the transaction were notextraordinary. The sheriff and a posse at once set out in pursuit. Theirefforts at overtaking the highwayman were unavailing, for the trail soonran out over the rocky and brushy ledges, and the fugitive had beenclever enough to sprinkle some of his tracks liberally with red pepperto baffle the dogs. The sheriff made a hard push of it, however, and forone day held closely enough on the trail. Bob's journey to SycamoreFlats took place on this one day--during which Saleratus Bill was toobusy dodging his pursuers to resume a purpose which Bob's delay hadfrustrated.
&nb
sp; On arriving at Auntie Belle's, Bob resolved to push on up the mountainthat very night, instead of waiting as usual until the followingmorning. Accordingly, after supper, he saddled his horse, collected thecamp mail, and set himself in motion up the steep road.
Before he had passed Fern Falls, the twilight was falling. Hermitthrushes sang down through the cooling forest. From the side hill,exposed all the afternoon to the California summer sun, rose tepidodours of bear-clover and snowbush, which exhaled out into space, givingway to the wandering, faint perfumes of night. Bob took off his hat, andbreathed deep, greatly refreshed after the long, hot stage ride of theday. Darkness fell. In the forest the strengthening moonlight laid itswand upon familiar scenes to transform them. New aisles opened down thewoodlands, aisles at the end of which stood silvered, ghostly trees thusdistinguished by the moonbeams from their unnumbered brethren. The wholelandscape became ghostly, full of depths and shadows, mysteries andallurements, heights and spaces unknown to the more prosaic day.Landmarks were lost in the velvet dark; new features sprang intoprominence. Were it not for the wagon trail, Bob felt that in thisstrange, enchanted, unfamiliar land he might easily have become lost.His horse plodded mechanically on. One by one he passed the homelyroadside landmarks, exempt from the necromancies of the moon--the pileof old cedar posts, split heaven knows when, by heaven knows whom, andthriftlessly abandoned; the water trough, with the brook singing by; theS turn by the great boulders; the narrow defile of the Devil'sGrade--and then, still under the spell of the night, Bob surmounted theridge to look out over the pine-clad plateau slumbering dead-still underthe soft radiance of the moon.
He rode the remaining distance to headquarters at a brisker pace. As heapproached the little meadow, and the group of buildings dark andsilent, he raised joyously the wild hallo of the late-comer with mail.Immediately lights were struck. A moment later, by the glimmer of alantern, he was distributing the coveted papers, letters and magazinesto the half-dressed group that surrounded him. Amy summoned him to bringher share. He delivered it to the hand and arm extended from the lowwindow.
"You must be nearly dead," said Amy, "after that long stage ride--tocome right up the mountain."
"It's the finest sort of a night," said Bob. "I wouldn't have missed itfor anything. It's H-O-T, hot, down at the Flats. This ride just savedmy life."
This might have been truer than Bob had thought, for at almost thatvery moment Saleratus Bill, having successfully shaken off his pursuers,was making casual and guarded inquiries at Austin's saloon. When heheard that Orde had arrived at the Flats on the evening's stage, hemanifested some satisfaction. The next morning, however, thatsatisfaction vanished, for only then he learned that the young man mustbe already safe at headquarters.
[Footnote A: See "The Riverman."]
The Rules of the Game Page 83