by Max Brand
There was another man who better filled the role of a prisoner. This was a huge fellow who tame behind Parks with his hands imprisoned in steel cuffs before him. He rode on a broad-hipped, powerful chunk of a horse, and all around him were clustered the rest of the posse. His name was flashed up to Themis by a dozen voices: “Bill McKenzie! It’s Bill McKenzie!”
But who Bill McKenzie might be remained a mystery to Themis. He waited until the procession had filed past, and then, filled with gloomy apprehension, he trailed in the rear toward the jail, where the procession ended.
Parks and the sheriff and Bill McKenzie and some of the posse had gone inside. But a score of men remained in the street. Around each a cluster of the townsfolk formed and heard the recital of the adventure. Themis joined one of these groups and heard the tale.
It was vigorously told. Nothing was left out of the long and arduous trail which the posse had followed, and how they had been led astray time and again by the deft maneuvers of Tom Parks. Yet they had clung indefatigably to the work, though half a dozen of their number had fallen behind on lamed or exhausted horses. The rest of the party had pushed ahead, hopeless, to be sure, but determined to do their best against this invincible phantom of the mountains.
And so, at the last, they had ridden into the clearing and seen the half- naked giant standing beside the wall of the cabin. That scene of the capture was painted with vivid, rough words, and then came the expose’ of Bill McKenzie as the real murderer of Dick Walker.
“But when we started on back,” said the narrator to his breathless audience, “we kept an eye on Tom Parks all the time. The sheriff wasn’t taking no chances, and you couldn’t blame him. He had half a dozen of us do nothing but keep around Tom all the time. But before we’d been with him long we began to see what sort of a gent he was.”
“And I’ll tell you, boys, that we sort of expected to find him a man-eater. What he turned out to be was white all the way through. No growling or snarling. He talked man and he acted man all the way. Never put up no complaints about the irons. Never done no sulking with his head down. He kept his chin up and looked us in the eye. That’s the sort of a gent he is. When a gent spoke to him, he spoke right up and answered back plumb cheerful. He didn’t make no secrets out of nothing. Inside of a couple of hours we got out the whole story.”
“Seems that when he was twelve years old he come across the mountains in a storm with his father and a burro. He got played out walking in the snow and the wind. His father picked him up and carried him down below timber line, and doing that he run himself to death, got pneumonia, and that night, getting delirious, he walked over the edge of the river and was drowned. That kid was left there. He tried to move on down the river, but a lion killed the burro. Then he had to stay there. And he stayed there till he growed up. Only man he seen was a brother of McKenzie that come along and beat the kid up and killed a couple of bears that he found and tamed. And Tom shot McKenzie and saved the last of the cubs. And that cub is the bear that’s been trailing him around ever since. But it sure threw a scare into Parks. He begun to figure that there weren’t any good men in the world except that father of his that had died. He figured it was better to live by himself, and he done it. That’s the short of his story. But wait till you get a chance to hear him tell it!”
“The sheriff believes every word, and he says that no white man in the valley will prosecute a case against Parks for stealing what he always paid for, anyway. I’ll tell you one thing - no friend of mine is going to prosecute any such case! This Parks is clean all the way through. I don’t ask no better man’s hand to shake and call friend.”
And such was the explosion of the tale of the “wild man of Turnbull Valley.” The Indian had turned into a white man. The reckless marauder had been revealed as a man who knew nothing of property rights.
“He even got Peter back,” said the narrator. “He took Hank Jeffries and the rest of us to the place where he’d left Peter. He’d covered their trail complete. Why, it would of made you open your eyes and blink to see the way that hoss acted. The rest of us scared him stiff. He run for Tom and crowded up agin’ him like he was asking Tom for help.”
“We all looked to Hank Jeffries to see what he’d do. Hank seen it was up to him to act sort of generous. He told Tom that he’d try to ride Peter, and if he couldn’t manage it, he’d give the hoss to Tom free and easy. And that’s what he done. He climbed into the saddle on old Peter, and he started to ride him. Didn’t look like there was going to be nothing to it. Peter was scared, right enough, but he answered the bridle like he was thinking the same thoughts with his rider. Tom begun to look sick. But pretty soon Hank made a wrong step. He got so plumb confident that the hoss was broke for him that he touched Peter up with the spurs!”
“It was sure a fool move. Peter seemed to take that as orders for doing a cakewalk up the sky and kicking out a star or two. He raised Cain in seven languages, and inside of thirty seconds he pitched Hank on his head and come running over to Tom like a dog and shoved his head down against Tom’s chest.”
“Well, Hank got up staggering and raging. He wanted that hoss quick, so’s he could blow its fool head off, because he said it was a nacheral born man- killer. But there stood the hoss asking Tom for help, you might say. And there was Tom talking to Peter like Peter was a man. It was sure something to remember, that picture. Then the sheriff he ups and tells Hank that his hand has all been played out, and that he ain’t got a trick left for taking Peter. He’d give Peter to Tom by not being able to ride him, and the whole gang of us was there as witnesses to the bargain.”
“There wasn’t nothing for Hank to do but buckle under, no matter how he hated it, so Tom rode back right on his own hoss, and it was sure a circus to watch them two together. About the end of the second day the sheriff talked things over with us, and then he took a chance. He got hold of Tom and said if Tom would give his word not to try to escape, he’d let him ride with his hands free and do what he liked. And after Tom agreed, I’ll tell a man that we sure lived on the fat of the land. If we wanted fish, he’d sneak off and drop a hook into a pond, and it looked like the fish come running to get caught. If we hankered after venison, Tom would snoop off through the hills and come back in no time with a deer. It wasn’t no starvation party that we rode on, I’ll tell a man!”
There was more talk like this, but John Hampton Themis had heard enough to confirm his suspicion. When Gloria came back to the town, she would find the praises of the wild man on the lips of everyone. Not only would he no longer be dreaded, but every pretty girl in the town would have a wildly beating heart at the mere thought of meeting this handsome giant whom even the men were praising. And in that romantic atmosphere, how could Gloria be expected to keep her head about her?
Themis went on into the jail and found it all buzzing with excitement. The happy sheriff came up to shake hands with him.
“Well, Mr. Themis,” he said, “if the luck had been with you, your party might have done just what mine did. I give you credit for stirring up the valley for the hunt, at any rate. We profited by the lessons which you had taught us. And when you come right down to it, he never could have been caught if he hadn’t wanted us to take him!”
Themis brushed the praise away.
“He gets off scot-free, then?” he said.
The sheriff shook his head with a frown.
“I thought he would,” he said. “But that fellow whose dogs were killed by Parks insists on getting damages. He’s worked up a bill for a thousand dollars, nearly. Everybody else has agreed to withdraw their charges. But that gent won’t budge. If it wasn’t for him, Tom could walk free out of the jail. But where can a boy like him find a thousand dollars?”
The mind of Themis was never slow. Now it worked like lightning, reaching far ahead to the future.
“Suppose I sit down and write a check - I have my checkbook with me - do you think that would set Tom free?”
“Of course,” said the sheri
ff. “We know you, Mr. Themis. Your check is the same as gold. But would you do a fine thing like that?”
It was done in half a minute. The check was scrawled, torn from the book, and placed in the astonished sheriff’s hands.
“Now,” said Themis, “can you so arrange it that I may talk with Parks? Talk with him alone, I mean?”
CHAPTER XXXVI
IT WAS NO easy thing to manage, but eventually the crowd was cleared from the sheriff’s office, and Tom was brought in. He stood tall and silent in one corner, his quiet, keen eyes fixed upon the face of the millionaire.
“Tom,” said the sheriff, laying his hand affectionately on the shoulder of his prisoner. “I’m mighty glad to tell you that we’ve brought you into town just to turn you loose and set you free again. I was afraid for a while that it wouldn’t come out just that way. But Mr. Themis, here - I guess you’ve met before,” - here the sheriff grinned, but Tom’s face retained its gravity - “Mr. Themis, as I was saying, has made out a check for a thousand dollars to pay off the only gent that’s going to press a charge against you. Well, Tom, I guess you don’t know much about what money means. But after you’ve worked for some of it you will. And you’ll see that a thousand iron men come slow when a gent tries to save ’em. It’s a pretty fine thing that Mr. Themis has done. I’m going to leave you in here to talk with him because he wants you to. Afterward, you can walk out of this jail just when you please. If you got no better place to go tonight, I got a bed in my house that ain’t working, and I’d sure be honored if you come and put up with us. My wife would make you plumb to home!”
It was quite a speech for the sheriff. Moreover, it was a speech which obviously came from the heart. And Themis watched with a keen curiosity to see what Tom would say.
“You are a kind man,” he said to the sheriff, “but tonight Jerry is wandering back in the hills. He is waiting for me. Peter and I must go to find him. But when I come to Turnbull again, I shall come to you first - to thank you again.”
It was neatly turned, Themis felt. The sheriff flushed with pleasure and goodwill and went whistling through the door. As soon as it was closed behind him, the man of the mountains faced Themis again. And the latter noted that no word of thanks had passed his lips.
The explanation came at once.
“You have paid me a thousand dollars,” said Tom Parks. “What am I to pay you, Mr. Themis?”
The latter started. He had not expected this quiet thrust. Plainly, the big man was nobody’s fool. And Themis flushed a little.
“You are exactly right,” he said. “Parks, I shall expect a return.”
“I shall make it if I can,” said Tom. “What is it that you wish?”
“To keep you from my daughter,” said Themis, with a sudden feeling that he must be nothing but utterly honest while he faced those shrewd, sharp eyes, so trained to the following of obscure trails on the mountain, and equally keen, perhaps, to look into the minds of men. “What I wish, Tom, is to keep you from my daughter.”
Tom Parks paused, and Themis saw that the big fellow was carefully restraining himself and waiting until his emotion should pass over.
Then he said as quietly as ever: “If you were to offer me money for Peter, I should laugh at you. If you were to offer me money for Jerry, I should laugh again. But when you offer me money to keep away from Gloria, to sit where she is sitting, to watch her, to see her and know that she is beautiful - if you offer me money in place of that, I cannot even laugh, Mr. Themis.”
“Tom Parks,” said the rich man, more and more amazed by the talk of the big man, “where did you gain an education? What books have you read?”
“Only two,” said Tom Parks.
“And what are they?”
“The Bible and the Morte dArthur.”
“That’s enough,” said the other. “I can’t tell you what a difference it makes to me to learn that you know those two books. But I shall go on developing my idea to you. You see that I am at least frank, Tom?”
The other nodded.
“Before you can understand me fully, or I you, we must come to an agreement. We agree, in short, that what we are both interested in is the greatest happiness for Gloria?”
“Yes.”
“Then let us slip out the rear of the jail where the crowd can’t see us and follow you. I want to take you to the house where we are staying.”
It was done. They went through the rear of the jail. Behind the houses they circled back through the dark of the night and entered the house which Themis had rented. There they went directly to the room of Gloria. And in that room Themis opened a closet door. The shadowy recess was filled with the glimmer of silks.
“If you stay in this part of the country,” said Themis, “do you know what you will make each month as a cowpuncher - I mean, what you will make in money?”
Tom Parks shook his head.
“Forty dollars,” said Themis. “And if you save it all, it makes six hundred dollars a year. Now look at these clothes. There’s hardly a dress here that cost less than fifty. Most of them cost more. And yet this is the simplest part of Gloria’s wardrobe. She brought this along to rough it in the mountains, as she expressed it. And here are the shoes, Tom. You see this whole rack of ’em?”
Tom Parks took out a dainty slipper. It was lost in the brown expanse of his palm, and he wondered with a faint exclamation at the delicate workmanship.
“And after all,” Themis continued, as he opened a great wardrobe trunk filled with other articles of wearing apparel, “this, as I said before, is only a small section of Gloria’s clothes. And I wish you to remember, Tom, that a woman’s husband is expected to provide for her. Can you give her these things?”
Tom had grown pale.
Then he answered slowly: “When a man’s stomach is full,” he said, “and there is no work to do, the mountains are most beautiful. But even when his belly is flat and he is following a long trail, they are still beautiful.”
Themis wrinkled his brows - then nodded.
“I understand you,” he said. “She has been happy in one way when she had all these things. She will be happy in quite another way if she marries you. I shall admit even more. Gloria is not a girl who needs the finest silks. She could get on with much less. But there is a minimum of that to which a woman is accustomed, which she must have in order for her happiness to be possible. And even that minimum, I’m afraid, you cannot give her. Mind you, Tom, I am showing you these clothes simply to indicate other things. Clothes are a small part of a modern woman’s environment. But every other thing that costs money is dear to Gloria. She has never had to consider cost. She has formed a thousand tastes. Consider only music and the theater. They are not small things in her eyes. And there are her friends, Tom, just as dear to her as your Peter and Jerry are to you. If she came out here with you, she would lose all this. And remember, again, that we are both considering one thing first before all else - what will make for the greatest happiness of Gloria!”
The head of Tom lowered. He passed a hand across his forehead. And Themis saw that his face was corrugated with misery.
“And now,” he went on smoothly, “suppose we pass to my proposal in full. You see that I oppose you now. I wish to keep you from Gloria. She is an emotional girl, full of enthusiasm, easily swept off her feet. If you come near her now, it will be like bringing fire near dried stubble. You see that I am telling you even more than you knew about her. I oppose you now because I cannot tell what you will be after you’ve mixed with the men and tried to make a place for yourself. Mind you, I don’t demand that you make a fortune. All I ask is that you become capable of making a moderately good living. That will be enough. In fact, I have no right to make any demands. It is only because I see that you are fair minded that I advance any proposals for the welfare of Gloria.”
“Go on,” said Tom in a husky voice. “Finish what you have to say.”
“Very well. My suggestion is that you go into the East just as Glo
ria has come into the West. If you will do that, I shall be willing to furnish you with a letter of introduction to a friend of mine who will make a place for you in his business. In return, I ask that for a solid year you do not speak to Gloria or in any way attempt to communicate with her. I send you to the East. I furnish you with enough money to live decently and pay your railroad fare. You, in return, do your best to fit yourself to make a living. At the end of a year, perhaps Gloria will have changed. Perhaps not. Perhaps you will have found a place for yourself. Perhaps not. At any rate, we would both be taking a chance. Does that sound fair to you?”
“Perhaps,” said Tom, with the sweat pouring out on his forehead, “she would have forgotten me!”
“Perhaps,” said Themis honestly, “she would.”
Tom walked across the room, came back to the window, and stared into the black night.
“To leave Peter and Jerry -” he said.
“If she stayed here,” said Themis, “how much more would she be giving up!”
And his heart beat high with hope. There was sympathy, too, in the glance with which he watched the young fellow struggle with his conscience, for he saw that he was dealing with an honest man and a brave man, who did not flinch from the infliction of pain on himself. And Themis himself was honest as the day is long.
He did not press his point, but waited.
“And you,” said Tom suddenly, facing Themis, “are her father. You have a right to her.”
“Only to work for her happiness, Tom, my boy, just as you would do if you could.”
“To leave them both,” said Tom slowly. “It is very hard!”
“I can manage another thing for you,” said Themis, full of sympathy. “I can ship the horse East for you. As for Jerry, you will bid him good-bye for a year.”
“But you will send me the horse?” said Tom sadly.
“Yes.”
“Then - I accept.”
Themis drew a great breath and collapsed in a chair. He did not know before how great had been the strain under which he labored. He had gained a year! And a year in the life of a girl is an eternity! He would sweep her off to Europe. He would give her a whirl through Paris. He would surround her with fine young fellows of her own age, her own position. And if the year did not bring about results; he could say that he did not know human nature.