CONCLUSION
Smith drew thoughtfully at his cigar, and shifted himself more
comfortably into his chair. It was long since he had visited the West,
and he had found all the old magic in the still, scented darkness of
the prairie night. He gave a little sigh of content. When John, a year
before, had announced his intention of buying this ranch, and, as it
seemed to Smith, burying himself alive a thousand miles from anywhere,
he had disapproved. He had pointed out that John was not doing what
Fate expected of him. A miracle, in the shape of a six-figure wedding
present from Mrs. Oakley, who had never been known before, in the
memory of man, to give away a millionth of that sum, had happened to
him. Fate, argued Smith, plainly intended him to stay in New York and
spend his money in a civilized way.
John had had only one reply, but it was clinching.
"Betty likes the idea," he said, and Smith ceased to argue.
Now, as he sat smoking on the porch on the first night of his inaugural
visit to the ranch, a conviction was creeping over him that John had
chosen wisely.
A door opened behind him. Betty came out on to the porch, and dropped
into a chair close to where John's cigar glowed redly in the darkness.
They sat there without speaking. The stirring of unseen cattle in the
corral made a soothing accompaniment to thought.
"It is very pleasant for an old jail bird like myself," said Smith at
last, "to sit here at my ease. I wish all our absent friends could be
with us to-night. Or perhaps not quite all. Let us say, Comrade Parker
here, Comrades Brady and Maloney over there by you, and our old friend
Renshaw sharing the floor with B. Henderson Asher, Bat Jarvis, and the
cats. By the way, I was round at Broster Street before I left New York.
There is certainly an improvement. Millionaires now stop there instead
of going on to the Plaza. Are you asleep, John?"
"No."
"Excellent. I also saw Comrade Brady before I left. He has definitely
got on his match with Jimmy Garvin."
"Good. He'll win."
"The papers seem to think so. _Peaceful Moments_, however, I am
sorry to say, is silent on the subject. It was not like this in the
good old days. How is the paper going now, John? Are the receipts
satisfactory?"
"Pretty fair. Renshaw is rather a marvel in his way. He seems to have
roped in nearly all the old subscribers. They eat out of his hand."
Smith stretched himself.
"These," he said, "are the moments in life to which we look back with
that wistful pleasure. This peaceful scene, John, will remain with me
when I have forgotten that such a man as Spider Reilly ever existed.
These are the real Peaceful Moments."
He closed his eyes. The cigar dropped from his fingers. There was a
long silence.
"Mr. Smith," said Betty.
There was no answer.
"He's asleep," said John. "He had a long journey to-day."
Betty drew her chair closer. From somewhere out in the darkness, from
the direction of the men's quarters, came the soft tinkle of a guitar
and a voice droning a Mexican love-song.
Her hand stole out and found his. They began to talk in whispers.
THE END