HIS BACK TO THE WALL
"Phew!"
Hendrie threw off the long cloth mask he had been wearing. It dropped
into the wastepaper basket beside the desk. Angus Moraine followed his
example.
In the center of the room, sitting on a high-legged armchair, his arms
still bound, Austin Leyburn silently watched his captors' movements.
They were in the library at Deep Willows.
Long before their arrival Leyburn had become aware of his captors'
identity. The identity of the third man, who was no longer with them,
puzzled him--was still puzzling him. The journey to Deep Willows had
been made with the passing of scarcely a single word. Once the captive
attempted to break the silence, but a swift threat had left him no
alternative.
Leyburn was no physical coward. But he knew men; and his understanding
of them left him convinced that Leo, as he preferred to think of him,
was utterly reckless when goaded as he had been goaded by the total
loss of his crop. Therefore he waited, watchful and alert, ready to
fight the moment any reasonable opportunity offered, or to submit,
according to circumstances.
The millionaire's manner had lost something of its severity. For the
moment he felt he was back in the old fighting days when lawlessness
had no terrors for his impulsive heart. It felt good to have his wits
pitted against his old associate with all law and order thrust into the
background. Besides, he knew that something far more precious than his
own life was dependent upon the result of this night's work.
He switched on additional light and then moved over to the desk,
against which he propped himself.
"Hot. Hot as hell, under those things, Tug, my boy," he said, while
Angus unostentatiously seated himself in a chair somewhat behind the
prisoner. "Still, I guess they were necessary. I wouldn't have had your
man recognize us. You didn't matter. He did. You are only one. Say,
he's a smart lad--your chauffeur. If he hadn't been you'd both likely
have been on the way to glory now, traveling on a barbed wire. You were
moving some. Still, I had to risk all that. I needed you out in the
open, with no one around, and I hadn't time to worry out a better plan.
You see, I wanted you--without any halo. Guess I'll have to hand your
boy a wad--later. He did me a right good turn saving your neck."
Leyburn smarted under the jibing manner. He strove to twist himself
into a position of ease, which his bound arms made almost impossible.
He wanted to answer. He wanted to fling back some stinging retort, but
prudence kept him silent.
Hendrie watched his endeavor to ease his position, and signed to Angus.
"Better loose him," he said, as he might have spoken of some dog. "He's
harmless--anyway."
Angus obeyed. And Leyburn could no longer keep silence.
"Maybe he didn't do you so good a turn as you think," he cried, his
voice husky with rage. "But you'll pay him all right. You'll pay me,
too, for this night's work. It was like you--a highway robber."
Angus looked from one to the other. There was some meaning in Leyburn's
words he could not quite follow.
But the millionaire seemed undisturbed by them.
"Yes," Hendrie said, reaching round to the cabinet behind him and
taking a cigar.
He bit the end off, and Angus noted the vicious clip of his sharp,
white teeth. He lit the cigar deliberately, and eyed his prisoner
through the smoke.
"Yes," he said again, "later I'll be ready to pay most anything. Just
now it's you who're going to pay. Guess you ought to understand that.
You've known me with my back to the wall before. I'm dangerous with my
back to the wall. You likely know that. You paid before--guess you're
going to pay now."
Leyburn stirred. The cold ease of this man's manner troubled him. This
reference to his doings in the past--before another--had an ominous
flavor. Policy kept him silent, though he was longing to shout another
furious defiance at him.
"I'm generally ready to take my chances 'bout things," Hendrie went on,
"but," he added with a contemptuous movement of the hand, "this isn't
as big a chance as no doubt you figure it is. It don't amount to a heap
taking forcible possession of a low-down labor man who's set the boys
on to firing a million-dollar crop. Also incited them to murder a lot
of harmless niggers."
Leyburn's eyes grew hot, but he answered in a tone that matched the
other's for contempt.
"That wouldn't go in a court of law," he said. "You've got to prove it.
You'd find yourself up against a proposition doing it. The strikers
fired that crop because they were drunk." He laughed; but his mirth was
little better than a snarl.
"Wouldn't it?" said Hendrie, removing his cigar and seriously
contemplating the perfect white ash at its tip. "Maybe you're right
though. Guess you know the limits you can go to. Still, you're apt to
be overconfident. Guess you were that way some time back. You remember.
You warned me you intended to 'smash' me. That was the word. It's a
good word to impress folks who're carried away by words. But it's too
showy for me. Besides, it's a fool trick to warn folks you're going to
hunt 'em. You need to do the smashing first and warn afterwards. That's
my way. In your case that warning was fatal. It left me time to get
busy. Oh, I got busy all right. Maybe you know I went East, just after.
I s'pose you kept track of me. I went East for two reasons. One to make
it so you couldn't hurt me through your labor machinery. The other
to--hunt you up."
He paused and their eyes met. A quick, furtive inquiry was in
Leyburn's. In Hendrie's there was simply a deadly cold light as he
nodded.
"Oh, yes," he went on. "I hunted you up all right. P'r'aps you don't
know it--but you ought to--my work is to study and watch the money
market. It is for me to find out who're moving, who're manipulating.
It's not always easy. So, to do it successfully, and to keep myself
just ahead of other folks, I have a bureau of secret information that
would be a credit to New York Tammany Hall. Do you follow me?"
Leyburn abruptly shifted his position.
"I don't," he denied, with unnecessary force.
Hendrie knocked his ash on to the Turkey carpet.
"I'll make it plainer. It will enlighten Angus, here, as well. When
_you're_ in conspiracy to play the stock market through labor strikes
which _you_ control, it's best not to threaten to smash one of the
biggest operators in the country. If you're sensible, and finish with
me as I want you to finish, these things don't matter. But if you're
foolish, and headstrong, there are a heap of things may happen. One of
them is the prisoners' dock for criminal conspiracy in your labor work.
Not only for you, but for the other 'heads' of your movement."
Leyburn suddenly burst into a laugh. It was forced. It was so evidently
forced that it drew a reluctant smile from the watchful Scot behind
him, and a contemptuous smiling response from Hendrie, himself.
"Funny, isn't it?" the millionaire observed calmly. "It would be
funnier still if your union members heard of it. Gee, they'd be tickled
to death."
But the humor suggested by Hendrie passed his prisoner by. His laugh
had died out, and his angry eyes snapped.
"You didn't bring me here to tell me this--this fool talk," he cried,
striving desperately for calmness.
Hendrie relit his cigar, which had gone out.
"No I didn't, Tug, my boy," he said, glancing over the flame of the
match at the man's furious face. "There are other things." He blew the
light out, and placed the dead match carefully in an ash tray. "Guess
you don't need me to preach sense to a man like you. Still, if I'd a
grievance against a man--and," he smiled, "I allow you have reason to
feel unfriendly toward me--I should just get right up on my hind legs
and hand him all I knew--dead straight. I wouldn't worry with a bum
organization of labor to do it. It's unwieldy, it's rarely effective.
You leave me free to get out of it, to protect myself. Say, you haven't
robbed me of a thing to-night. All you've done is to manure the soil,
and do me a service toward next year's crop, which I doubt, when the
time comes, if you'll be in a position to hurt."
He crossed over to the window and drew the curtains aside. The red glow
of the still burning crop was shining in every direction. The window
looked out upon a land of fire, with the house, an oasis in the center
of it, cut off by wide "fire breaks," which left it beyond all danger.
"Look," he cried. "It's a pretty sight. Fire in every direction. But,
from your point of view, wholly uneffective."
The curtains fell back in their place, and the millionaire returned to
the desk. Leyburn had not moved. Like an obstinate child he had refused
to look as invited, and Angus's grim face displayed his appreciation of
the manner in which Hendrie was, in his own phraseology, "putting him
through it."
"Then there's those niggers," the millionaire continued, as soon as he
had taken up his position at the desk again. "You told the boys to
shoot 'em up to-night." He shook his head sadly. "Quite ridiculous.
Quite impossible. You should have thought more--and hated less. Angus
has paid 'em off, and they're quitting right now, as fast as panic can
chase 'em. You see, there's no more work here now for black or white
for six months to come. All the hands are out of a job, whether they
like it or not. When they've starved till their bones are rattling
they'll come back to us on their hands and knees. You've done that.
It's the way you raise their wages. The way you better their lot.
Pshaw! you're like the rest of 'em, only you're worse, because you're
legally dishonest, too. So long as the papers are full of you, so long
as your workers cheer you to the echo, and you can sign orders giving
the world permission to go on moving around in space, so long as your
pocketbooks are fattened by the blind ignorance of those you represent,
what in hell do you care for the worker? I'm sick to death of you and
your rotten kind. To do good there must be honesty in you--and there's
none. You make the worker suffer weeks and weeks of misery and
hardship, goading him into the belief that he is all-powerful, for some
paltry betterment that does not begin to make up for what he has
suffered. You never let him rest and prosper. You drive him, year after
year, till, by the time he ends up his miserable life in poverty, he
can reckon a large proportion of it has been spent in wilful idleness
which has helped further to rob him of any adequate provision for his
wife and children. It makes me sick. As long as the world lasts labor
must be the under dog. You cannot lift labor if it cannot lift itself.
Brute force must remain subservient to brain. With your unclean human
hands you are striving to drive labor to a vain effort to overthrow one
of the greatest laws of all life."
For the moment Hendrie seemed to have lost himself in the interest of
his own subject, but he was abruptly brought back to the affairs in
hand by the smiling sarcasm of his prisoner.
"Quite a lecture," he cried. "Say, Leo----"
But he reckoned without the loyal Scot behind him.
"Quit your gas," cried Angus, in a threatening tone.
Leyburn turned with sudden ferocity. But before he could voice his
exasperation Hendrie broke in.
"Easy," he cried. "Don't raise your voice here. There's a sick woman
upstairs. A woman sick to death. And it's because of her you're here
now."
Leyburn looked quickly up into the big man's face. It had changed,
changed utterly. All the old calm had gone. Memory, memory inspired by
thoughts of the desperate straits of the woman he loved, had left the
millionaire's every nerve straining.
"Sick woman?" cried Leyburn. "What in hell have I to do with your sick
women folk?"
Hendrie's eyes had become bloodshot. The Scot watched him closely and
with some apprehension.
"I'll tell you," cried the millionaire, his jaws shutting tight on his
cigar. "The woman who's sick is--my wife."
Leyburn burst into a derisive laugh.
"Your wife?" he cried. "Your wife? What about Audie? What about the
woman you left to starve--to die out on the Yukon trail?" He glanced
round at Angus to witness the effect of his challenge. "His wife," he
said deliberately addressing the Scot. "He left her, deserted her with
her unborn child."
There are moments in life when a man is face to face with death without
being aware of it. This was such a moment. Hendrie's hand was on a
loaded revolver in his coat pocket, and a mad impulse urged him to
silence that virulent, taunting tongue then and there. Fortunately
Leyburn ceased speaking in time, and the impulse passed.
"We'll talk of that later," cried Hendrie, the blood still beating
madly at his temples, but his words almost calm. "Meanwhile it's about
_my wife_ you're here. Mrs. Hendrie is sick to death upstairs for want
of a surgeon's aid. The man who can save her is in Winnipeg. Your
strike on the railroad keeps him from getting here in time to save her.
Do you understand? You're here to save her by giving an order to your
union members, and those in authority over them, to permit a special
train to bring him here. That's what you're here for, and--by God,
you're going to give it."
The veins were standing out like ropes on his forehead as he uttered
his final threat. Leyburn understood. But he could not resist an
impulse to challenge him further.
"And if I refuse?" he demanded, with brows raised superciliously.
"But you won't," retorted Hendrie. "Oh, no, you won't, my friend." Then
in a moment his eyes blazed up with that curious insane light Angus
knew so well. A deep flush overspread his great face. "I told you my
back was to the wall," he cried. "I told you that. And you--you poor,
miserable fool, believed it was because of your pitiful attempt to
break me. I could laugh to think that you--you--Tug--the man I robbed
on the Yukon trail, could ever hope to beat me when it came to
measuring our strength. Never in your life. But, all unconsciously, you
have hurt me; yes, you have hurt me--and you're going to undo that
hurt." Slowly he withdrew his right hand from his coat pocket, and
continued, pointing his words with the shining revolver his hand was
gripping.
"You're going to write that order out now--here, in this room. You're
going to write it so there can be no mistake. One of your men--one of
your lieutenants--the man you call Frank Smith is going to take it and
see that it is obeyed. He will also accompany the train. You'll write
it now--this moment, do you understand? Now--here--or I'll shoot you
down for the miserable cur you are."
Angus was sitting bolt up in his chair. His hard eyes were alight. He
knew the mood of his employer, and even he dreaded what might follow.
But Leyburn, too, had realized something of the insane passion driving
this man. Nor had he any desire to test it too far. However, he still
demurred. He knew that for the second time in his life this great Leo
had the best of him, and he must submit. But his submission should be
full of fight.
"This man. This Frank Smith," he said, looking squarely into the
millionaire's eyes. "Does he know what relation he is to you?"
"No. Do you?" Hendrie's reply bit through the silence.
Leyburn nodded. He was grinning savagely.
"Yes," he said. "I discovered it soon after I--discovered you."
Hendrie's eyes were blazing.
"Good," he said. "Then it'll help to embellish the story you'll have to
tell him--after he returns from Winnipeg."
"After?" Leyburn started.
Hendrie nodded. But his revolver was still tightly clutched in his hand.
"Perhaps I have a poor estimate of human nature," he said. "Anyway--of
yours. I've taken all the chances with you I intend to take. You are
going to stop right here--after you've written that order."
"But--if I write this order as you want it, you can't, you've no
right----"
"Right?" Hendrie laughed savagely. "Right?" he reiterated scornfully.
"We've done with all question of right just now. For the moment I'm the
top dog, and until you've complied with all my demands, you can put the
question of right out of your mind. There's the paper and ink," he went
on, moving away from the desk. "Make out that order--at once."
Leyburn made no attempt to comply. He sat there with his narrow eyes on
the man standing threateningly confronting him. He was
thinking--thinking rapidly. He was afraid, too. More afraid than he
would have admitted. Besides, if he were detained until Frank
returned--then what of Calford? What of the railroad strike? What of a
thousand and one demands awaiting his attention. It was impossible. He
broke into a cold sweat. Then his eyes wandered to the shining barrel
of that revolver. He noted the tremendous pressure of muscle in the
hand grasping it. There was a storm of passion lying behind that
pressure. He raised his eyes to the greenish gray of Hendrie's. To him
their expression was surely not sane.
"Write that order!"
The millionaire's revolver hand was slowly raised. Leyburn saw the
movement. At the same time he became aware that Angus was moving his
chair out of the direct line of fire. He was beaten, and he knew it.
"Hell take you!" he cried, rising from his seat. "Give me the paper!"
Hendrie pointed at the desk without a word. Leyburn followed the
indication. Then he walked over and seated himself in the millionaire's
chair.
For several minutes there was no sound in the room but the scratching
of the labor leader's pen. Angus looked on, watching his employer and
wondering. He was wondering what really would have happened had Leyburn
refused. Somehow he felt glad he had moved out of the line of fire.
Hendrie's eyes never left the figure bending over the desk.
At last Leyburn flung down the pen.
"There's the order," he cried, rising from the desk. "It's absolutely
right. No one will disobey it," he declared ostentatiously. "Now I
demand to be allowed to go free."
The millionaire picked up the paper, blotted it, and then carefully
read it over. He was satisfied. It seemed all he could desire. He
looked up and shook his head.
"You'll remain my--guest--till the surgeon arrives," he said.
Leyburn suddenly threw up his hands, and the movement was an expression
of panic.
"It will take a--week!" he cried desperately.
"You'll remain my--guest--until he comes." Hendrie's voice and manner
were utterly savage. "If he is too late to save her, my promise goes
if--I swing for it."