The Rules of the Game

by Stewart Edward White

  XXXVI

  Ware disappeared rapidly up the dusty road, Bob and Amy standing side byside in silence, watching him go. When the lean, long figure of the oldmountaineer had quite disappeared, and the light, eddying dust, peculiarto the Sierra country, had died, Amy closed her eyes, raised her hand toher heart, and sank slowly to the bank of the little creek. Her vividcolour, which had for a moment returned under the influence of herstrong will and her indignation over her weakness, had again ebbed fromher cheeks.

  Bob, with an exclamation of alarm, dropped to her side and passed hisarm back of her shoulders. As she felt the presence of his support, shelet slip the last desperate holdings of physical command, and leanedback gratefully, breathing hard, her eyes still closed.

  After a moment she opened them long enough to smile palely at theanxious face of the young man.

  "It's all right," she said. "I'm all right. Don't be alarmed. Just letme rest a minute. I'll be all right."

  She closed her eyes again. Bob, watching, saw the colour graduallyflowing up under her skin, and was reassured.

  The girl lay against his arm limply. At first he was concerned merelywith the supporting of the slight burden; careful to hold her ascomfortably as possible. Then the warmth of her body penetrated to hisarm. A new emotion invaded him, feeble in the beginning, but gainingstrength from instant to instant. It mounted his breast as a tide wouldmount, until it had shortened his breath, set his heart to thumpingdully, choked his throat. He looked down at her with troubled eyes,following the curve of her upturned face, the long line of her throatexposed by the backward thrown position of her head, the swell of herbreast under the thin gown. The helplessness of the pose caught at Bob'sheart. For the first time Amy--the vivid, self-reliant, capable,laughing Amy--appealed to him as a being demanding protection, as awoman with a woman's instinctive craving for cherishing, as a delicious,soft, feminine creature, calling forth the tendernesses of a man'sheart. In the normal world of everyday association this side of her hadnever been revealed, never suspected; yet now, here, it rose up to throwinto insignificance all the other qualities of the girl he had known.Bob spared a swift thought of gratitude to the chance that had revealedto him this unguessed, intimate phase of womanhood.

  And then the insight with which the significant moment had endowed himleaped to the simple comprehension of another thought--that thisrevelation of intimacy, of the woman-appeal lying unguessed beneath thecomradeship of everyday life, was after all only a matter of chance. Ithad been revealed to him by the accident of a moment's faintness, bywhich the conscious will of the girl had been driven back from thedefences. In a short time it would be over. She would resume herordinary demeanour, her ordinary interest, her ordinary bright,cheerful, attractive, matter-of-fact, efficient self. Everything wouldbe as before. But--and here Bob's breath came quickest--in the greatgoodness of the world lay another possibility; that sometime, at thecall of some one person, for that one and no other, this inner beautifulsoul of the feminine appeal would come forth freely, consciously,willingly.

  Amy opened her eyes, sat up, shook herself slightly, and laughed.

  "I'm all right now," she told Bob, "and certainly very much ashamed."

  "Amy!" he stammered.

  She shot a swift look at him, and immediately arose to her feet.

  "We will have to testify at a coroner's inquest, I presume," said she,in the most matter-of-fact tones.

  "I suppose so," agreed Bob morosely. It is impossible to turn back allthe strongly set currents of life without at least a temporary turmoil.

  Amy glanced at him sideways, and smiled a faint, wise smile to herself.For in these matters, while men are more analytical after the fact,women are by nature more informed. She said nothing, but stooped to thecreek for a drink. When she had again straightened to her feet, Bob hadcome to himself. The purport of Amy's last speech had fully penetratedhis understanding, and one word of it--the word _testify_--had struckhim with an idea.

  "By Jove!" he cried, "that lets out Pollock!"

  "What?" said Amy.

  "This man Oldham was the only witness who could have convicted GeorgePollock of killing Plant."

  "What do you mean?" asked Amy, leaning forward interestedly. "Was hethere? How do you know about it?"

  A half-hour before Bob would have hesitated long before confiding hissecret to a fourth party; but now, for him, the world of relations hadshifted.

  "I'll tell you about it," said he, without hesitation; "but this isserious. You must never breathe even a word of it to any one!"

  "Certainly not!" cried Amy.

  "Oldham wasn't an actual witness of the killing; but I was, and he knewit. He could have made me testify by informing the prosecutingattorney."

  Bob sketched rapidly his share in the tragedy: how he had held Pollock'shorse, and been in a way an accessory to the deed. Amy listenedattentively to the recital of the facts, but before Bob had begun todraw his conclusions, she broke in swiftly.

  "So Oldham offered to let you off, if you would keep out of this ModocLand case," said she.

  Bob nodded.

  "That was it."

  "But it would have put you in the penitentiary," she pointed out.

  "Well, the case wasn't quite decided yet."

  She made her quaint gesture of the happily up-thrown hands.

  "Just what you said about Mr. Welton!" she cried. "Oh, I'm _glad_ youtold me this! I was trying so hard to think you were doing a high andnoble duty in ignoring the consequences to that poor old man. But Icould not. Now I see!"

  "What do you mean?" asked Bob curiously, as she paused.

  "You could do it because your act placed you in worse danger," she toldhim.

  "Too many for me," Bob disclaimed. "I simply wasn't going to be bluffedout by that gang!"

  "That was it," said Amy wisely. "I know you better than you do yourself.You don't suppose," she cried, as a new thought alarmed her, "thatOldham has told the prosecuting attorney that your evidence would bevaluable."

  Bob shook his head.

  "The trial is next week," he pointed out. "In case the prosecution hadintended calling me, I should have been summoned long since. There'sdust; they are coming. You'd better stay here."

  She agreed readily to this. After a moment a light wagon drove up. Onthe seat perched Welton and Ware. Bob climbed in behind.

  They drove rapidly down to the forks, stopped and hitched the team.

  "Ware's been telling me the whole situation, Bobby," said Welton. "Thatgang's getting pretty desperate! I've heard of this man Oldham aroundthis country for a long while, but I always understood he was interestedagainst the Power Company."

  "Bluff," said Bob briefly. "He's been in their employ from the first,but I never thought he'd go in for quite this kind of strong-arm work.He doesn't look it, do you think?"

  "I never laid eyes on him," replied Welton. "He's never been near themill, and I never happened to run across him anywhere else."

  By this time they had secured the team. Ware led the way to the treeunder which lay the body of the land agent. Welton surveyed theprostrate figure for some time in silence. Then turned to Bob, a curiousexpression on his face.

  "It wasn't an accident that I never met him," said he. "He saw to it.Don't you remember this man, Bobby?"

  "I saw him in Los Angeles some years ago."

  "Before that--in Michigan--many years ago."

  "His face has always seemed familiar to me," said Bob slowly. "I can'tplace it--yes--hold on!"

  A picture defined itself from the mists of his boyhood memories. It wasof an open field, with a fringe of beech woods in the distance. A singlehickory stood near its centre, and under this a group lounged, smokingpipes. A man, perched on a cracker box, held a blank book and pencil.Another stood by a board, a gun in his hand. The smell of black powderhung in the atmosphere. Little glass balls popped into the air, and weresnuffed out. He saw Oldham distinctly, looking younger and browner, butwith the same cynical mouth, the same cold
eyes, the same slantedeyeglasses. Even before his recollections reproduced the scorer'sdrawling voice calling the next contestant, his memory supplied thename.

  "It's Newmark!" he cried aloud.

  "Joe Newmark, your father's old partner! He hasn't changed much. Hedisappeared from Michigan when you were about eight years old; didn'the! Nobody ever knew how or why, but everybody had suspicions.... Well;let's get him in."

  They disposed the body in the wagon, and drove back up the road. At thelittle brook they stopped to let off Ware. It was agreed that all dangerto Bob was now past, and that the gun-man would do better to accompanyAmy back to headquarters. Of course, it would be necessary to work thewhole matter out at the coroner's inquest, but in view of thecircumstances, Ware's safety was assured.

  At the mill the necessary telephoning was done, the officials summoned,and everything put in order.

  "What I really started over to see you about," then said Bob to Welton,"is this matter of the Modoc Company." He went on to explain fully Amy'splan for checkmating Baker. "You see, if I get in my word first, Bakeris as much implicated as you are, and it won't do him any good to turnstate's evidence."

  "I don't see as that helps me," remarked Welton gloomily.

  "Baker might be willing to put himself in any position," said Bob; "butI doubt if he'll care to take the risk of criminal punishment. I thinkthis will head him off completely; but if it doesn't, every move hemakes to save his own skin saves yours too."

  "It may do some good," agreed Welton. "Try it."

  "I've already written Baker. But I didn't want you to think I wasstarting up the bloodhounds against you without some blame good reason."

  "I'd know that anyway, Bobby," said Welton kindly. He stared moodily atthe stovepipe. "This is getting too thick for an old-timer," he brokeout at last. "I'm just a plain, old-fashioned lumberman, and all I knowis to cut lumber. I pass this mess up. I wired your father he'd bettercome along out."

  "Is he coming?" asked Bob eagerly.

  "I just got a message over the 'phone from the telegraph office. He'llbe in White Oaks as fast as he can get there. Didn't I tell you?"

  "Wire him aboard train to go through to Fremont, and that we'll meet himthere," said Bob instantly. "It's getting about time to beard the lionin his den."