CHAPTER VIII
SPECTRES OF THE PAST
Restless was the night that followed for Alexander Bancroft; his sleepwas troubled by many a dream in which one friend after another movedswiftly on to violent death. With the coming of dawn he arose to lookout from the eastern windows of his room. The sky was a dome of rosylight and below lay the vast plain, dim but colorful, its gray-greenmottled with vague bands and patches of opalescent lights and shadowsand dotted with little islands of vivid green. His eyes clung to thesedarker spots, which he knew to be thickets of mesquite; piercing theirshade his inner vision showed him the still body of his friend. So realwas the mental picture that he turned pale about the lips and abruptlyleft the window.
If anything had happened, he kept reassuring himself, it had been atDellmey Baxter's instigation. He himself had had nothing to do with it.If Baxter had decided that his affairs would go more smoothly withConrad out of the way, why should he, Alexander Bancroft, troublehimself further? And if--anything had happened--again he felt theloosening of mental strain and his spirits rose in exultation at theprospect of freedom and safety. Life was more attractive than ever withthat menacing figure no longer threatening him with disclosure,disgrace, and death. He could go on with his plans for the accumulationof fortune and the enjoyment of life. He could still hold Lucy's loveand honor, travel with her, marry again, work his way to a commandingplace in the world of business. The future opened before him as easy andinviting as the stairs down which he went to breakfast.
Lucy ran to meet him with a good-morning kiss and a rose for hisbuttonhole. "It's the prettiest I could find in my conservatory," shesmiled at him; "but it isn't half nice enough for my daddy dear. Youdon't look well this morning, daddy," she went on anxiously. "Isanything the matter?"
His hand slipped caressingly down over her curls and drew her to hisbreast in a quick embrace, instinct with the native impulse of theanimal to protect its offspring. "She shall never know," was thethought in his mind.
"Daddy! What a bear hug that was!" she laughed, "like those you used togive me when I was a little girl. It didn't feel as if you were ill."
"I'm not," he answered lightly, kissing her pink cheek. "I guess Ismoked too much yesterday, and so didn't sleep very well. Yes; Ipromise; I'll be more careful to-day."
At breakfast his eyes dwelt much upon Louise Dent's face, gentle andpleasant. He had always liked her, and since her coming on this visitshe had seemed very attractive. He knew she had strength and poise ofcharacter and a nature refined and cheerful. These qualities in her,with a certain genial, unobtrusive companionableness, had long ago wonhis warm friendship. But was there not in her steady gray eyes a hint ofpassionate depths he had never thought of before? It stirred him sodeeply that for a little while, as they lingered over the breakfasttable, he forgot the other facts of life, noting the faint rose flush inher cheeks, the graceful turn of her wrists, and the soft whiteness ofher throat as she threw back her head and laughed. And Lucy loved her sodevotedly! If she were willing to marry him their household wouldsurely be harmonious and happy.
Lucy fluttered beside him to the gate, her arm in his, as she chatteredto him of the funny things her Chinese cook had been saying and doing.She lingered there, her eyes following his figure, until he turned, halfa block away, to wave his hat in response to her farewell handkerchief.
By the time he reached the foot of the hill Bancroft's mind was oncemore engrossed with the need of knowing whether or not he was at lastsecure from ignominious exposure. He no longer disguised from himselfthe fact that news of Conrad's death would be most welcome. He lookedeagerly up and down the main streets; there was no sign of excitement.Had nothing happened, then? But it was still early; moreover, news ofthe affair might not reach the town for a day or two. The sound ofhorses' feet coming at a swift trot down the street on the other side ofthe stream made his heart beat quickly. He lingered at the door of hisbank until the horseman came into view under the big cottonwoods at thenext corner. It was Red Jack from the Socorro Springs ranch. At once hisheart leaped to certainty. He turned to enter the bank, but stopped andlooked back, undecidedly. Red Jack had not dismounted, but had drawnrein in front of the court-house at the next corner, and was sittingthere quietly, looking up and down the road as if expecting somebody. Heled a saddled horse. Perhaps he was to take a physician back with him.But he seemed in no haste, and in his manner there was neitherexcitement nor anxiety. Bancroft could wait no longer to learn what hadhappened. With hands in pockets he sauntered down the street.
"Hello, Jack," he said indifferently to the waiting horseman. "You're intown early this morning."
"I sure hiked along from the ranch early enough," the cowboy replied."The boss hired a new man last night; and I had to come over thismorning after him."
Bancroft's eyes were on the cigar he was taking from his pocket, whichhe handed to the cowboy, saying idly, "Why, he intended last night tocarry the man behind him. Did he change his mind? The man was a Mexican,wasn't he?"
"Y-e-s; a measly coyote! The boss didn't bring him last night because hethought it would be too hard on Brown Betty to carry double. I wonder ifmebbe that ain't my man comin' down the street right now! I've doneforgot his name; do you happen to know it, Mr. Bancroft?"
"I think it's Jose Gonzalez. He came here from Dellmey Baxter, whorecommended him to me as a first-rate cowboy."
"Well, he'll have to be a peach if he strikes the boss's gait," Red Jackrejoined, motioning to the Mexican.
Bancroft walked back to his place of business with brows knitted andmouth drawn into grim lines. His mind was acting rapidly and ruthlessly.The sudden collapse of his house of cards, the knowledge that danger wasstill as imminent as ever, left him savage with desire for CurtisConrad's death, or, rather, for the delectable land that lay beyond it.Nobody but this young hothead with his insensate desire for revenge knewor cared anything about that old affair now. With him out of the waythere would be no danger from anybody or anything. Why wasn't the mansensible enough to take the money he was willing to pay, and besatisfied? Perhaps the receipt of another check or two would soften hispurpose; it was worth trying. And--there was still the Mexican! Baxterhad surely said something to him, and the fellow seemed to understandthat he, also--but he had said nothing about it, and whatever thecreature suspected was his own inference. Evidently the Mexican didsuspect something and had some purpose in his mind. With Conrad sointent upon his destruction had he not every right to protect himselfand his child? Of course he had, he told himself fiercely, and whatmeans he might use were his own affair.
At the door of the bank Rutherford Jenkins met him with a smilingsalutation: "Good-morning, Mr. Bancroft; this is lucky! I was waitingfor you here, but I've got so much to do that I'd begun to be afraid Iwouldn't be able to see you before I go back."
Bancroft greeted him pleasantly. "What do you mean, Jenkins," he wenton, "by deserting to Martinez? Hadn't you better think again about that?We need you on our side."
"That's exactly what I want to see you about," said Jenkins in aconfidential tone. "Can't you come over with me to Bill Williams's hotelfor a few minutes? I want to have a talk with you."
They went back together, Bancroft wondering if Jenkins, who was regardedas a desirable ally by both parties, notwithstanding his character, wasabout to make overtures to him for deserting the Martinez fold andcoming back to Baxter's. "Perhaps that spanking Curt gave him has sethim against the whole Martinez following," he thought. "Baxter will bemighty glad to get him back, and I'll do my best to cinch the bargain sohe can't crawl."
When they entered the hotel room Jenkins moved leisurely about, got outa bottle of whiskey, and hunted up some cigars, talking all the timeglibly about other matters and jumping inconsequently from one subjectto another. Bancroft made several attempts to bring the conversation tothe point, but each time Jenkins either blandly ignored or skilfullyevaded his leading. Finally Bancroft said, looking at his watch: "Well,Jenkins, I've got to be at the bank very s
oon, and if there's anythingparticular you want to say suppose we get down to business."
"Yes, yes, certainly," Jenkins replied unconcernedly. "That's what I'mcoming to right now." He gave Bancroft a cigar, lighted one himself,made some jokes as he bustled aimlessly around the room, and at last satdown on the foot of the bed, facing the banker, who occupied the onlychair in the little room. He ceased speaking, and Bancroft, looking upsuddenly, caught in his face an expression of expectant triumph. The tipof his tongue was darting over his lips, and his small dark eyes werefixed on his guest with a look of malicious satisfaction. InstantlyBancroft's nerves were alert with the sense of coming danger. He blewout a whiff of smoke and calmly returned the other's gaze. Their eyesmet thus, the one gloating, the other outwardly unmoved but inwardlyastart with sudden alarm. Then Jenkins began, in a blandly insinuatingtone:
"Before we come to that matter about Martinez, I want to ask you,Mr.--ah--Mr. Dela--ah, I beg your pardon, Mr. Bancroft--I thought Iwould ask you--you've poked about a good deal, out here in the West--andin out-of-the-way places, too--and I've been wondering--I thoughtI'd ask you--if you've ever run across a gentleman of the nameof--of--Dela--Dela--let me see--yes, Delafield--that's it--Sumner L.Delafield, of Boston. Do you remember whether or not you've ever methim?"
Bancroft did not blanch nor flinch. For so many years he had schooledhimself to such constant watchfulness and incessant self-control that animpassive countenance and manner had become a habit. Lucy, with heruncompromising moral decisions and her swift, unsparing condemnations,could come nearer to unnerving him than could any bolt from the bluelike this. He flicked the ash from his cigar, hesitating a moment as ifsearching his memory, but really wondering whether Jenkins knew anythingor was merely guessing and trying to draw him out. The latter seemedmuch the more likely.
"I can't say on the instant whether I ever met such a man or not. As yousay, I have gone about a good deal and, as my business most of the timehas been that of mining and trading in mines, it has often taken me intoout-of-the-way places, and I have met a great many people. At thismoment I don't recall the name."
"Don't you? I'm sorry, for I thought perhaps you could verify for me acurious story about the man that has just come to my knowledge. You knowI'm always picking up information about people--I find it comes in handynow and then. Well, if you've never met him, have you ever, in thecourse of your Western travels, run across a man--he was a mining man,too--a mining man named Hardy--John Mason Hardy? There's a curiousstory about him, too, or, rather, about a man who was associated withhim in a mining enterprise down in old Mexico. The other man's name wasSmith--a very serviceable name is Smith; sort of like a black derby hat;no distinguishing mark about it and easy to exchange by mistake if you'drather have some other man's."
Bancroft rose and looked at his watch. "If there's anything ofparticular interest or importance in this, Mr. Jenkins, I'll be veryglad to listen to it some other time; but I can't stay any longer thismorning. I ought to have been at my desk half an hour ago."
Jenkins sat still and waved him back with insistent politeness. "Onemoment more, Mr. Bancroft, if you please. I'm coming to the point rightaway. This story is of some consequence to me, and I'd like to know ifyou can verify it. Have another drink."
Bancroft swallowed the whiskey at a gulp and Jenkins noticed that hisfingers trembled as he took the glass. He was thinking, "I'd better stayand find out exactly how much he knows." Jenkins smiled under his handas he smoothed his straggling moustache and watched Bancroft wipe thesweat from his forehead.
"This man Smith," Jenkins continued, "John was his name, too--John Smithand John Mason Hardy were partners in a mining enterprise down inMexico. One of them died down there--died, you know, in a quiet, privatesort of way, and the one that came up to the States again was namedHardy, but it wasn't the same Hardy that had gone down there. You mightguess, if you wanted to, that Smith killed Hardy and took his name--"
He stopped and drew back suddenly, for Bancroft had sprung forward witha white, angry face and was shaking a trembling fist under his nose.
"Stop there, you liar!" he exclaimed in low, tense tones. "I didn't dothat. He died a natural death--of fever--and I took care of him and didmy best to save his life."
Jenkins recovered his self-possession first. "Oh; then you know allabout it!" he said dryly, with a malicious smile.
Bancroft sank back in his chair drawing his hand across his eyes andwondering why his self-control had so suddenly gone to pieces. He hadthought himself proof against any surprise, but this man's sudden blowand persistent baiting had screwed his nerve tension to the snappingpoint. But he told himself that it probably did not matter anyway, asJenkins evidently knew the whole story. With a desperate, defiant lookhe turned upon his tormentor.
"Well, what do you want?" he demanded sharply. "Why have you raked upthis old story?"
"Oh, I found it interesting," Jenkins responded in a leisurely way, "asan instance of the way things are done on the frontier and, as I toldyou at first, I thought you might be able to verify it. For I wasinclined not to believe it, especially as it was about one of the mostprominent and respected citizens of New Mexico. But since you'veconfessed its truth yourself--well, I've got to believe it now.It has been a very blind trail I've followed, crooked and wellhidden--wonderfully well hidden, Mr. Bancroft--and the number of namesyou've hoisted along its course has been bewildering. But I've managedto track you through 'em all, and to discover in Alexander Bancroft, theupright, honored, public-spirited citizen of New Mexico, the identicalperson of Sumner L. Delafield, the defaulting and absconding financierof Boston."
Bancroft looked Jenkins sullenly in the eye. "Well, now that you have itall, what are you going to do about it?"
"Pardon me, Mr. Bancroft," said Jenkins with exaggerated suavity, "ah,excuse me, I mean Mr. Delafield--that is for you to say."
The banker considered for a moment only. Evidently this man knew exactlywhat he was about and exactly what he wanted, so that it would be of nouse to beat around the bush. "Will you please say precisely what youmean?" was his answer.
"That is just what I have been doing, Mr. Delafield."
"Excuse me, Jenkins, but my name is Bancroft, not Delafield. I have alegal right to the name of Bancroft, given me by the legislature ofArizona. You will oblige me by addressing me in that way."
"Oh, yes; I know that; and a lot of trouble I had with this chase untilI found it out! But I thought you might like to hear yourself calledDelafield once more--sort of like meeting an old friend, you know. Won'tyou have another cigar, Mr. Bancroft? No? Well, then, let's have anotherdrink." He poured out two glasses of whiskey. Bancroft drank hiswithout demur, but Jenkins barely touched his glass to his lips.
"Well, now, Mr. Bancroft," Jenkins went on affably, smiling and rubbinghis hands together, "let's get down to the practical side of thisromantic story from real life. You are getting on so well here underyour present name, and you have a young daughter--" he saw his listenerwince at this, and then carefully repeated his words--"and you have sucha beautiful and charming young daughter, who, as the heiress of a fatherwho is making a fortune with clean hands and no cloud on his past, canbe taken about the world and can make a good marriage some of thesedays; considering all this, I take it for granted that you would preferto have this story buried too deep for resurrection. And it is for youto say whether it shall be buried or not."
Bancroft sat in silence for a full minute, glaring at the man opposite,his lips set in a livid line. Jenkins grew nervous in the dead stillnessof the room, and began to fidget. He cautiously rested his right hand onthe bed close by his pistol pocket, and kept his eyes on the banker,watchful for the first hostile movement. There was need of wariness,for Bancroft was debating with himself whether it would be better to goon to the dreary end of this business and leave the room with ablackmailer's noose around his neck, or to whip out his gun, put abullet through this man's brain, and another through his own.
But the fragranc
e of life rose sweet to his nostrils, and his innatevirility spurred him on to keep up the fight. Apparently he had broughtup against a stone wall, but he had fought too long and too desperatelyto be willing to confess himself beaten until he could struggle nolonger. He felt sure that money would keep Jenkins quiet, and after awhile he might find some other means of stopping the man's mouth forgood. The fellow was always in some dirty job or other, and before longdoubtless some hold on him would become possible. There was Conrad stillto be reckoned with--but that could wait, at least until this man wassilenced.
"Well," he said quietly, "what do you want? For God's sake, come to thepoint!"
Jenkins drew a breath of relief. "Well, Mr. Bancroft, I'm interestedthis year in the success of Johnny Martinez. It's a matter of the firstimportance to me for him to be elected. But I'm afraid he hasn't gotmuch chance if Silverside County and the rest of the South should goagainst him. Now, you've got more influence down here than anybody else,and you can swing it for him if you want to. That's what I want you todo."
Bancroft looked up in sudden dismay. He had not expected anything ofthis sort. "You know I'm committed to Baxter," he said.
"Oh, yes; I know. But that's nothing. In New Mexico it's not difficultto change your politics. Why, I thought of coming out for Baxter myselfat first; but I'm solid for Martinez now."
Bancroft rose and began pacing the half-dozen steps to and fro that theroom afforded, seeking some loophole of escape from his obligations toBaxter. There were mortgages the Congressman could foreclose that wouldbalk some of the banker's most promising plans should he attemptpolitical treachery. He could, and undoubtedly would, reveal hisassociate's connection with the loan and mortgage operations in the RioGrande valley; and Bancroft winced as he thought of this coming toLucy's ears. And in that matter of Curtis Conrad and Jose Gonzalez--hadhe not put himself at Baxter's mercy? In this moment of supremenecessity the naked truth came before him; and he knew it to be truethat he was primarily responsible for any harm that might come to theyoung cattleman through Gonzalez. If he did not keep faith with Baxterthe Congressman would tell Curtis who it was that desired his death; andthen Conrad would know where to find Delafield. In short, he knew thatBaxter would stop at nothing to compel his loyalty or punish histreason. Having contemplated no course except that of fidelity in hisbusiness and political relations with Baxter, the closeness of theiralliance had heretofore given him little uneasiness; and now, in thiscrisis, he found himself wholly in the other's power. He flung himselfinto his chair, his face pallid and the perspiration standing in greatdrops on his forehead. His breath came hard and his voice was thick ashe asked:
"Is there no alternative?"
"Well, no; none that I can accept," Jenkins replied meditatively. "Yousee, it's a very important matter for me to be able to make this presentto Johnny. If he wins this fight there'll be something big in it for me.No; I'll have to insist upon this as the first condition."
Bancroft's lips moved soundlessly as he stared at the man sitting on theedge of the bed, nursing his knee and showing his white teeth in atriumphant smile. Then, suddenly, without a word of warning, the bankerleaped forward and seized his companion around the throat. Jenkins,taken entirely off his guard, succeeded only in grasping his assailant'scoat as they went down on the bed together in a noiseless scuffle.Bancroft's hands closed around his tormentor's throat, and a savage,elemental satisfaction thrilled in him and goaded him on. More and moretightly his fingers clutched as Jenkins struggled under his grip.Neither of them uttered a sound, and the silence of the room was brokenonly by the creaking of the bed or the occasional knocking of a footagainst the chair.
Bancroft's face was snarled like that of a wild beast as he watchedJenkins's visage grow livid and his struggles weaken. Of a sudden reasonreturned to him. If this man were to die under his hand there would begrewsome consequences--and he had enough to deal with already. He stoodup, trembling, and looked anxiously at the still form on the bed.
"You--you're not dead, Jenkins, are you?" he stammered awkwardly.
Jenkins stirred a little, opened his eyes, put his hand to his throat,and got up, looking warily at his assailant. "It's no thanks to you thatI'm not," he responded sullenly.
"I didn't mean to kill you--but you--you struck me too hard--it drove mewild--and for a minute I didn't know what I was doing." Jenkins scowled,rubbed his throat again, and drank a glass of whiskey. Bancroft helpedhimself likewise, following it with a copious draught of water. As theyfaced each other again Jenkins edged away suspiciously toward the door;but Bancroft went back at once to the unsettled question.
"It would ruin me, financially and in every other way, to go back onBaxter. You might just as well kill me outright as insist upon that."
"But I'm going to insist upon it," was Jenkins's sullen answer.
Bancroft made a despairing gesture. "But I tell you, Jenkins, thething's impossible! It would ruin me just as surely as for you to tellall you know. You'll have to be satisfied with something else."
Jenkins leaned against the bed and stared angrily at Bancroft. Physicalpain had made him obstinate and determined him to press his point, moreto return injury for injury than because he wanted that particularthing.
"I tell you now," Bancroft went on, "that I'd rather take the last wayout than try to go back on Baxter. It wouldn't be the healthiest thingin the world for you if I should kill myself shut up in this room withyou, would it?"
"Well, I'll waive that for the present," Jenkins replied unwillingly;"but, mind you, it's only for the present. We'll talk about it again,later in the season. For the present I want a good, big sum before youleave this room, and hereafter I've got to have a regular monthlypayment, a check on the first of every month when I don't come after thecash myself."
Bancroft considered for only a moment. His dilemma was clear: he musteither buy this haltered freedom from Jenkins or kill him in his tracks.This latter alternative was not to be considered; and doubtless beforelong it would be possible to turn the tables on the creature and escapefrom his clutches.
Jenkins folded away in his pocket-book a check and a roll of bills andsmiled as he looked at Bancroft's haggard face. "I hope, Mr. Dela--ah,pardon me,--Mr. Bancroft, that I have not kept you too long from youraffairs at the bank." As his eyes followed the banker's disappearingfigure with a gleam of satisfaction, he patted his breast pocket andwhispered:
"Now for the other score!"
The Delafield Affair Page 8