soon as you have mastered my handwriting, and counted the words."
The operator was practically speechless when he reached the end of his
enumeration, but after making a note on the pad, he was sufficiently
recovered to remark--
"Say, stranger, you'll have to dig up a pretty big wad to pay for this.
We don't give credit in a Western Union office."
"I shouldn't think of asking credit from a downtrodden monopoly," said
Stranleigh, pulling out his pocket book, and liquidating his debt. "You
ought to be happy if you get a percentage."
"Worse luck, I don't."
"Well, I think you're entitled to one. I've given a fee this morning and
received no particular equivalent for it. Do you, being a useful man,
object to accepting a five-dollar bill?"
"Not on your life!" assented the operator with great earnestness.
Stranleigh passed it over.
"I'm expecting a reply. At what time shall I call for it?"
"You don't need to call, Mr. Stranleigh. When it comes, I'll lock up the
office, and find you if you're anywhere in town."
"I'm stopping over at the tavern."
"All right; you'll get it."
"Thanks. Good morning."
"See you later," said the now thoroughly-awakened operator, and
Stranleigh proceeded to the railway station. He took the next train to
the nearest town east, and there did some more telegraphing, but this
time the message was in cypher, and it was addressed to his agent in New
York. Translated, it read--
"Send me at once by express, registered and insured, twenty thousand
dollars in currency, made up of five dollar, ten dollar, and hundred
dollar bills."
The address was fully written out in plain English. He found there was
time for a satisfactory lunch before the west-bound train arrived, and
he partook of it in the chief hotel, whose accommodation was much
superior to that of the Bleachers tavern.
On his return to headquarters, he called in at the telegraph office. The
young man in charge, at once recognising him, announced--
"Nothing doing. The moment anything comes I'll take it over to the
tavern. Say, is there anything secret about that telegram you sent?"
"No; why do you ask?"
"Well, Mr. Ricketts, a lawyer here, came in about ten minutes ago, and
described you, and wanted to know if you had sent a telegram."
"What did you say to him?"
"I said nobody had sent a telegram, and that I knew nothing of you. He
seemed powerful anxious, and offered me a dollar to let him know if you
telegraphed anything. I went over to the tavern to tell you about it,
but they said you hadn't been in since breakfast."
"I suppose you haven't many chances of picking up an extra dollar in
Bleachers?"
"No; I haven't. Ricketts is always mighty curious about anyone who
arrives here, but I never knew him offer a cent for information before."
"I'm very much obliged to you. You go right over to Ricketts' office and
pick up his dollar, but don't say _I_ gave you the advice. By the way,
wouldn't you be breaking the rules of the Western Telegraph Company if
you divulged the purport of any message that passed through your hands?"
A look of trouble, almost of fear, came over the young man's face.
"If a telegram is secret," he said, "the sender usually writes it in
cypher."
"Quite so, but even in that case wouldn't you be punished if it became
known that you had shown Mr. Ricketts a private despatch entrusted to
your care?"
"Certainly," admitted the telegraphist, exhibiting more and more
uneasiness, "but I have not shown your telegram to anybody, and what I
told you was entirely in confidence."
"Oh, you need have no fear of my rounding on you. I am merely
endeavouring to put you in possession of that dollar without getting
your neck in a noose. Don't you see that you are placing yourself
entirely at Mr. Ricketts' mercy?"
"But you," protested the frightened young man, "advised me to do so."
"Undoubtedly. I want you to get that dollar, but not to place yourself
in jeopardy. From what I saw of Ricketts this morning, I should not like
to be in his power, yet his dollar is just as good as any other man's
dollar, and I want you to detach it from him with safety, and profit to
yourself. Let me have another telegraph blank."
Stranleigh wrote rapidly--
"Pinkerton Detective Agency, Chicago.
"I want to be put into communication with Stanley Armstrong,
who left Chicago on foot ten days ago, for the West, and I
am willing to pay one hundred dollars for the job.
"EDMUND STRANLEIGH.
"White's Hotel, Bleachers."
"There," said Stranleigh, passing over the sheet to the operator, "you
show that to our inquisitive friend Ricketts, but don't send it over the
line."
Stranleigh slept that night at White's Hotel, and shortly after
breakfast next morning the telegraph clerk came across with a very
satisfactory telegram from New York. The sender could not positively
predict the finding of Armstrong, but anticipated no difficulty in the
task.
Stranleigh paid his bill at the hotel, ordered out his horse, and
trotted off towards the ranch. He saw no more of Ricketts, who, if on
any trail, was following the wrong one.
Dusk had fallen as he was about to emerge into the clearing which in
daylight would have afforded him a sight of Armstrong's house. Suddenly
and stealthily he was surrounded by six armed men, and the voice of Jim
Dean broke the stillness.
"Good evening, Mr. Stranleigh. I must ask you to get down from your
horse."
"Willingly," replied the rider. "I confess I have had enough equestrian
exercise for one day."
"We have supper ready for you at the bunk house."
"Why at the bunk house? I am perfectly satisfied with the fare that Mr.
Armstrong's family provides."
"We'd like a little conversation with you, and the conversation must
take place in private."
"In that case, Mr. Dean, you could hardly find a better spot than this."
"We're a kindly set of chaps, and couldn't think of keeping a hungry man
out here."
"But I'm not very hungry. I took a pocketful of sandwiches with me from
the tavern."
"Nevertheless, you are coming with us, either peaceably, or by force,
whichever you choose."
"Oh, quite willingly, of course. I should be ungrateful if I gave you
any unnecessary trouble, while accepting your hospitality. I may add
that I am unarmed, so if you keep your guns in readiness you need fear
no reprisal on my part."
"That's all right," responded Jim. "We're not easily scared, but are
prepared to protect ourselves should you try any funny business."
"Is Peter going to take my horse to the farm?"
"Sure; your horse will be put in its old quarters, and will be well
taken care of."
"Then I should be glad if Peter would oblige me by telling Miss
Armstrong that I have arrived safely, and will give her an account of my
journey when next I have the pleasure of meeting her."
[Illustration: "'I may add that I am unarmed, so if you keep your guns
in readiness you need fear no reprisal on my part.'"]
"I'm afraid Peter can't carry any messages; indeed, it's not at all
necessary. I've told Miss Armstrong that your horse will be brought
back, and that I saw you off on the east-bound train, which is quite
true. You've brought back the horse, and you did go east on the train.
Miss Armstrong thinks you have become tired of waiting for her father,
and that you've gone either to Chicago or New York."
"Am I to regard myself as your prisoner, then?"
"Prisoner is an ugly word, and we are not entitled to call ourselves
gaolers, but if you wouldn't mind looking on it in that way, it's all
the same to us."
"Well, truthful Jim, I'm your man in every sense of the word. Let us
begin our amicable journey. I yearn for the bunk house."
"You will keep silent? No shouting or calling for help? There's no help
to be had anyhow, and a noise would merely alarm the women."
"I recognise the necessity for silence, and I shall make no outcry.
Indeed, my whole future conduct while with you will be governed by the
strictest secrecy. When I get tired of the bunk house I shall merely
cut all your throats while you are asleep, and will do it in the
quietest and gentlest manner."
Jim laughed.
"I guess we can take care of our throats, but I'm much obliged for the
suggestion, which may come in handy if you get funny, as I said before."
They reached the bunk house by a circuitous route. A fine fire of logs
was blazing on the ample hearth, for even in summer a fire was good to
look at when night came on, at that elevation.
When Stranleigh sat down to supper, he regretted more than ever the
civilised fare of the farm house. The menu was rough, but plentiful, and
they all sat together at the long table. A meal was a serious event, and
they partook of it in silence. It was evident that the men were going to
adopt full precautions, for while they supped one of them sat by the
door, a rifle over his knees. He came in for the second course, and
another took his place. After the table was cleared, they all sat round
the big fire, and smoked.
Remembering that the best tobacco in the world came from the south-east
of their country, the aroma of the weed they had chosen was not as
grateful to Stranleigh's nostrils as might have been expected, so partly
for good fellowship, and partly for his own protection, he presented
each with a fine Havana cigar, such as would be welcomed in a London
club, where pipes are not permitted. The men amiably accepted this
contribution, but each put the cigar in his pocket against a future
occasion, and went on with his pipe. Cheap as was the tobacco they were
using, it was naturally scarce among men who had received no money for
some months.
"I don't wish to appear unduly inquisitive," began their guest, "but now
that we have all night before us, would you mind telling me why I am
thus taken charge of by strangers on whom I have no claim?"
"There are several reasons," replied Jim, who was always the spokesman
for the company, "and we are quite willing to mention them. You appear
to be a person of some intelligence----"
"Thanks," interjected Stranleigh.
Jim went on, unheeding the interruption--"and so perhaps you know that
we suspect you of being in cohoots with Ricketts."
"Does 'cohoots' mean co-partnership?"
"Something of that sort. You partly persuaded us that wasn't so, but I
followed you to make sure. Perhaps you remember that I caught you coming
out from Ricketts' office. You made for that office the moment you
reached Bleachers."
"Pardon me, but I went first to the hotel."
"Yes; and you enquired there where Ricketts hung out."
"Certainly; but that's in my favour. It showed that so far from being in
the employ of the lawyer, I didn't even know where he lived."
"It was a good bluff."
"It's very circumstantial evidence of my innocence. But for the sake of
argument, I will admit that I am in 'cohoots,' as you call it, with the
estimable Ricketts. What next?"
"The next thing is that you learnt from Miss Armstrong of our intention
to go into Bleachers and shoot up the town, including Ricketts."
"That is true."
"You didn't like the plan and said so."
"That also is correct."
"You said it should be stopped, not knowing the ways of this country."
"Certainly. Desirable as may be the shooting up of Bleachers, the odds
are too strongly against you."
"Oh, we'll chance that. But the next thing you do is to put your funny
clothes on, get out your horse, and ride directly to Mr. Ricketts. You
are an informer."
"An informer is always a despicable character, Mr. Dean. What's the next
item in the indictment?"
"Don't you think that's enough? Men have been hanged for less. An
informer is the most poisonous wretch in the world except a horse
thief."
"Then I am in danger of being hanged?"
"You sure are."
"Isn't there any way in which I can compound my felony?"
"Well, I don't quite know what confounding a felony is, but you're the
sleekest fellow I ever met, and if you think you can palaver us to let
you go, you've made the mistake of your life."
"I shouldn't think of attempting such a thing. I am merely endeavouring
to discover your state of mind. You're strong on muscle, Jim, and I
admire your build, but I'm beginning to doubt whether your brain equals
your frame. There was a time when your equipment would have been
victorious, but those days are long since past. Nowadays it's brain that
wins every time, and in every country. Physical force has had to give
way before it. Jimmy, my boy, you're out of date."
"Brain isn't going to help you any," said Dean, evidently annoyed by
these strictures on his mentality.
"Perhaps it won't, but if there was a corresponding brain in your head,
I'd appeal to it, and probably win. Are all your men here as stupid as
you, Jim?"
Jim rose up from his chair, a forbidding frown on his brow.
"Look here, stranger," he called out, "I've had enough of that line of
talk."
"Oh no, you haven't. Please sit down. This line of talk is only
beginning, and I say, Jim, lay aside that pipe, and smoke the Havana
cigar. It will put reason into your head if anything will."
Some of the company laughed, and Jim sat down, seeing that his opponent
failed to show any fear at his captors' threatening attitude. He tried
to change the course of the conversation into a less personal channel.
"You see, Mr. Stranleigh, we're short on tobacco, and I want to keep
this cigar until to-morrow. I can tell by the smell it's a good one."
"That's all right," said Stranleigh, "I have plenty more of them down at
the house, and when they are finished, I'll telegraph east for a fresh
supply. If you will let me know your favourite brand of tobacco, I'll
order a ton of it at the same time."
For a moment Jim's eyes twinkled, then they narrowed into their usual
caution.
"Was that what you meant by confusing a penalty? Well, stranger, it
doesn't go here. We ain't to be bought, even by a ton of tobacco."
"I hadn't thought of either buying or bribing you," said Stranleigh,
"therefore we will get back to our original subject, the difference
between brain and muscle. I see here on the table a pack of cards in a
deplorably greasy condition. If you were playing a game with an opponent
who was beating you, would you shoot him?"
"Yes," promptly replied Jim, "if I found he was cheating."
"Whereupon his friends would lynch you."
"A cheater hasn't any friends."
"Jim, I shouldn't like to sit down to a game with you. You would shoot
first, and think afterwards, while I, being unarmed, should be at a
disadvantage. That, indeed, is just what you are doing now. If you
succeed in holding me here you will spoil my game. What I propose to do
is not to attack Ricketts with a gun, but to learn his style of play,
and beat him at it. Any confounded fool can shoot off a gun; there's no
credit in that. It's a coward's trick."
"You say we'll spoil your game. You may bet your life we will. You
daren't tell us what it is."
"Oh yes, I dare, because I have a trick that will quite delude you."
"I know you'll try to do that."
"Exactly. Well, my trick is to tell the truth. The situation is very
simple. That morning when from the pit mouth you warned me off the
premises, I found Miss Armstrong very much worried because she had
learned of your intention to shoot up the town, and could not persuade
you to abandon so foolish a project. It then became my duty to prevent
you doing what you proposed."
"Do you think you can?"
"Of course; I knew it was no use attempting to reason with you, so the
instant necessity was to get one man of common sense to counteract the
stupidity of the bunk house. That I set out to do. I rode to Bleachers,
called on Lawyer Ricketts, paid him five dollars down for whatever
knowledge he could give me concerning the whereabouts of Mr. Armstrong.
He could give me none that I did not already possess. He kept the five
dollars, though. You saw me go off in the train. I merely went to the
next town, to do some telegraphing that might be more or less secret
from Ricketts. A detective agency will find Mr. Armstrong, and hand him
two hundred dollars, asking him at the same time to make for home by
the earliest train. Then, unless I'm much mistaken, Mr. Armstrong will
see the idiocy of what you propose, and will prevent you from carrying
out your scheme."
Jim pondered over this announcement for some minutes. At last he broke
the silence.
"What you say may be true, but I don't believe a word of it. It's more
likely Ricketts is your boss, and you went in to report to him and tell
him what we intended to do. Then he'll see that Bleachers is prepared to
meet us."
"Yes; that would be a simple way of turning the trick. There are good
points about it, but it happens not to be my way, as you will learn in a
few days when Mr. Armstrong returns."
Again Jim meditated for a while, and finally rose, walked to the further
end of the room, and engaged for some minutes in earnest cogitation with
his fellows, carried on in tones so low that Stranleigh could not hear.
Resuming his seat, he spoke with deliberation--
"You want us to believe that you are a friend of Mr. Armstrong?"
"I don't care whether you believe it or not. I can hardly be a friend of
Stanley Armstrong, because I've never seen him."
"Well, we'll put your good intentions to the test. When Mr. Armstrong
gets here, he will have no money. Stony broke, that's what he is. Now,
unless we shoot 'em up in Bleachers when they try to sell his place,
Armstrong will lose it. We take it you are a rich man. Will you promise
to lend him enough money to hold this ranch, and run the mine?"
"No; I won't," said Stranleigh, with decision.
"All right. Then you stay here until you cough up that cash. Even if
Armstrong comes, he will never know you're here, because we shall tell
him that you've gone East. Nobody else knows where you are, so there
isn't any chance of a search being made."
"This is rank brigandage," remarked Stranleigh.
"I guess that's the right title, but a man who brags so much of his
brains as you do, ought to see that if we're ready to shoot up a town,
we won't stop at such a trifle as brigandage."
"That's so. And now, gentlemen, I'm tired after my long journey, and I
think we've talked a great deal to very little purpose, so if you'll
show me what bunk I am to occupy, I'll turn in."
"There are six unused bunks, Mr. Stranleigh, and you can take your
choice. There's nothing mean about us."
Stranleigh made his selection, and rough as the accommodation was, he
slept as soundly as ever he had done in his London palace, or his
luxurious yacht.
Although the Earl of Stranleigh was naturally an indolent man, the
enforced rest of the next few days grew very irksome. He had expected
the guard set over him to relax as time went on, but this was not the
case. The genial Jim saw to that, and it was soon evident to Stranleigh
that Dean ruled his company with an iron hand. Such casual examination
of the premises as he was able to make impressed him more and more with
the difficulty of escape. Had the structure been built of logs, there
might have been some hope, but the imperviousness of the thick stone
walls was evident to the most stupid examiner. The place was lit in
daytime by two slits, one at each gable, which were without panes, and
narrow, so that they might as much as possible keep out the rain. No man
could creep through, even if he could reach the height at which they
were placed. During the day the stout door, fit to encounter a battering
ram, was open, but a guard sat constantly at the sill, with a rifle
across his knees. At night it was strongly locked. Stranleigh was
handicapped by the fact that heretofore he had never been required to
think out any difficult problem for himself. He had merely to give the
order, and other people did his thinking for him, and when a plan was
formed, there were others to carry it out, being well paid for doing so.
Thus it happened that the means of escape were so obvious that a ten
year old boy might have discovered them.
Each evening passed very pleasantly, for Stranleigh was a good
story-teller, and had many interesting tales to relate. In spite of the
fact that his gaolers were unanimous in their opinion that Stranleigh
was a useless encumbrance upon earth, they began rather to like him.
One night Stranleigh asked Jim if anything had yet been heard of Mr.
Armstrong, and Dean, after hesitating a moment, replied that there was
so far no news of him or from him.
"I'm sorry for Armstrong," said Stranleigh, more as if talking to
himself than to anyone else. "Poor fellow, away from home all this time,
and yet compelled to support six stalwart loafers without commonsense
enough to do the obvious thing."
"What is the obvious thing?" asked Dean.
"Why, to work, of course. There's your mine; you've got plenty of
dynamite to go on with, and yet you lounge about here not earning enough
to keep yourselves in tobacco. If there is silver in that hole, you
could by this time have had enough out to buy the ranch and furnish your
own working capital. You say you are partners in the scheme, but you
seem to be merely a blunderheaded lot of hired men, determined not to do
any work."
Jim answered with acerbity--
"If you weren't a fool you'd know we'd gone already as far as hand work
can go. We need a steam engine and a crusher."
"A steam engine?" echoed Stranleigh. "What on earth would you have to
pay for coal, with railway haulage, and the cost of getting it out here
from the line? Why, right there, rushing past you, is all the power you
need. You've only to make a water-wheel, with a straight log, thrown
across the falls as axle, and there you are. Pioneers have done that
sort of thing since civilisation began, and here you don't need even to
build a dam."
Jim was about to make an angry retort when the company were scattered by
a roar and a heavy fall of soot on the log fire. The chimney was ablaze,
but that didn't matter in the least, as the house was fireproof. In a
short time the flames had died out, and the party gathered round the
fire once more.
"Well," said Jim, "go on with your pretty advice."
Stranleigh replied dreamily, gazing into the fire.
"Oh, well, I think my advice doesn't amount to much, as you hinted. It
is none of my affair. You are a most capable body of men, I have no
doubt, only the fact has been concealed from me up to date. I find I am
developing the vice of talking too much, so I'm going to turn in.
Good-night!"
But the fall of soot had suggested to Stranleigh a method of escape.
VII.--THE END OF THE CONTEST.
A wood fire is an evanescent thing, having none of the calm
determination of coal combustion. A wood fire requires constant
replenishing, and that in the bunk house did not receive this attention.
When the men, tired with doing nothing, overcome by the lassitude
enduring an empty day had caused, turned into sleep, the wood fire, left
to itself, crumbled into a heap of ashes. The guarding of Stranleigh
became more perfunctory as time passed. He proved to be a model
prisoner, and usually the sentinel at the door fell into peaceful
slumber as night wore on. On the particular evening Stranleigh chose for
his attempt, Jim Dean sat on the chair against the door. Jim's jaw
worked so much during the day, he talked so incessantly, emptying his
mind of all it contained, that he was naturally exhausted when his turn
for watching came. Each of the men slumbered more or less soundly at his
post, but the confident Jim outdid them all, so Stranleigh selected him
as the man destined to hold the empty bag.
It was two hours after midnight when his lordship slipped down from his
bunk. The fire had long since gone out, and the stone chimney was
reasonably cool. The climbing of that ample flue presented no difficulty
to an athletic young man who in his time had ascended the Matterhorn.
The inside of the chimney offered to the amateur sweep walls of rough
stone, which projected here and there, forming an effective, if unequal
ladder. He attained the top with such ease that he wondered he had
remained so long a prisoner. Descending the roof silently, he let
himself down to the top of the lean-to which acted as kitchen and supply
store, and dropped from that elevation lightly to the ground. It was a
night of clear moonlight, and Stranleigh smiled to think how nearly he
must represent the popular idea of the devil, covered as he was with
soot from head to foot.