ROCKY SPRINGS HEARS THE NEWS
The news which greeted early morning ears in Rocky Springs was of a
quality calculated to upset the entire affairs of the day, and bring
a perfect surfeit of grist to O'Brien's insatiable mill. It even
jeopardized the all-important church affairs. No one was inclined to
work at all, let alone voluntarily work.
Then, too, there were the difficulties of gathering together a quorum
of the Church Construction Committee, and Mrs. John Day, full of
righteous indignation and outraged pride, as president, felt and
declared that it was a scandal that the degraded doings of a parcel of
low-down whisky-runners should be allowed to interfere with the noble
cause which the hearts of the valley were set upon. But, being a woman
of considerable energy, she by no means yielded to circumstances.
However, her difficulties were considerable. The percolation of the
news of the police failure had reduced the male population to the
condition of a joyful desire to celebrate in contraband drink. The
female population became obsessed with a love of their own doorsteps,
whence they could greet each other and exchange loud-voiced opinions
with their neighbors, while their household "chores" awaited their
later convenience. The children, too, were robbed of their delight in
more familiar mischief, and turned their inventive faculties toward
something newer and more in keeping with prevailing conditions and
sentiments. Thus, a new game was swiftly arranged, and some brighter
soul among them christened it the D. I. F. game. The initials were
popularly believed to represent "Done is Fyles," but the enlightened
among the boys understood that they stood for "Damn Idjut Fyles," an
interpretation quite in keeping with the general opinion of the people
of the valley.
Certainly the atmosphere of the village that morning must have been
intolerable to Inspector Fyles, had he permitted himself to dwell upon
the indications, the derisive glances, the quiet laugh of men as he
chanced to pass. But public opinion and feeling were things he had
long since schooled himself to ignore. He was concerned with his
superiors, and his superiors only. At all times they were more than
sufficient to trouble with, and his whole anxiety was turned in their
direction now, in view of his terrible failure of the night before.
Thus he was forced to witness the signs about him, and content himself
with the knowledge that he had been bluffed, while he cast about in
his troubled mind for a means of appeasing his superior's official
wrath.
The church committee was to assemble at Mrs. John Day's house at ten
o'clock, and the hour passed without a shadow of a quorum being
formed. Kate Seton, the honorary secretary, was the only member,
besides the president, who put in an appearance at the appointed hour.
So Mrs. Day thrust on her bonnet, and, with every artificial flower in
its crown shaking with indignation, set out to "round-up" the members.
O'Brien was impossible. His trade was too overwhelming to be left in
the hands of a mere bartender, but there was less excuse for Billy
Unguin and Allan Dy, who were merely drinkers in the place. She
possessed herself of their persons and marched them off, and gathered
up two or three women friends of hers on the way home. Thus, by eleven
o'clock, she had the door of her parlor closed upon a more or less
efficient quorum.
Then she sat her bulk down with a sigh of enforced content. Her florid
face was beaded with perspiration as a result of her efforts.
She turned autocratically to her secretary.
"We'll dispense with the reading of the minutes of the last meeting,"
she declared half-defiantly. "We'll take 'em as read and passed. This
liquor business is driving us all to perdition, as well as wasting our
time, which is more important in Rocky Springs. I've never seen the
like of this place." She glared directly at the two men. "And the
men--well, say, I s'pose they are men, these fellows who stand around
decorating that villain O'Brien's saloon. If it was a christening,
they'd drink; if it was a wedding, they'd drink; if it was a funeral,
they'd drink; if they were going to stand before their Maker right
away, they'd call for rye first."
After which few opening remarks, given with all the scornful dignity
of one who knows she holds the leading position among her sex in the
village, she proceeded with the work in hand with a capacity for
detail that quite worried the absent minds of the only two male
members of the committee present.
Such was the general yearning for a termination of the meeting, so
that its members might once more return to the gossip outside, that
Mrs. John Day was permitted to carry all her plans in her scheme of
salvation before her, with little or no discussion. And, in
consequence, her good nature quickly reasserted itself, and she became
more and more inclined to look leniently upon the defects of the
majority of her committee.
The president disposed of several lesser complaints against the
construction of the church to her own satisfaction. The list of them
was an accumulation of opinions sent in by people who felt that it was
due to the community, and themselves, particularly, that the elected
committee were sufficiently harrassed by pin pricks, lest it became
too high-handed and autocratic.
Mrs. Day's methods of dealing with these was characteristic of her
social rule in the village. She rose with a look of contemptuous
defiance upon her fiery features. It was Helen who had once declared
that Mrs. John always reminded her of one of those very red-combed
old hens who never failed to cluck themselves very nearly into an
apoplectic fit over a helpless worm, and demanded that all eyes should
watch her marvelous display of prowess in its slaughter. A slip of
paper had been thrust into her hands by the undisturbed honorary
secretary.
"I guess I'm not going to worry you folks with debating these fool
complaints sent in by some of the glory-seekers in this village," she
began with enthusiastic heat. "I've settled them all myself. I'll read
you the complaints and what I've done in each case. First, there's a
kick from Mrs. Morgan, upon the hill. She's no account anyway, and
hasn't given a bean toward the church--yet. Guess I'll have to see to
that later. She says she saw two of the boys working on log hauling,
sitting around in the shade of the church wall, after doing their
work, swilling whisky out of the neck of a bottle, and guessed it
wasn't decent. I've written her asking her to send two boys to do the
work in their place. Guess she hasn't replied. Katherine L. Sherman,
who guesses she's related to the real Shermans, and has had twins
twice in three years, writes: 'When are we goin' to arrange for a
christening font?' I handed her this. 'When folks needing it see their
way clear to unrolling their bank wads.' Then there's Mrs. Andy
Carlton, who's felt high-toned ever since she bought that second-hand
top buggy from Mary Porson. She guesses we need a bell. I told her
that if the people of Rocky Springs tried ringing their way to glory,
it would be liable to alarm folks there. Best way would be to try and
sneak in, and not shout they were coming. Then I heard from Mary
Porson, herself. She wants to know who's to keep the boys who're drunk
out of service, and wouldn't it be better to hold Meeting on Monday,
so's the boys could get over the Saturday night souse in comfort. I
told her she seemed to have a wrong idea of the folks of this village.
I guessed if any feller got around to Meeting with liquor under his
belt, there was liable to be a lynching right away. The boys wouldn't
stand for any ungentlemanly conduct at Meeting. Then there's Mrs.
Annerly-Jones. Having a hyphen to her name, she's all for white
surplices and organized singing. She figures to start up a full choir,
and sing the solos herself. I hinted that the choir racket wasn't to
be despised, but solo work was liable to cause ill-feeling in the
village by making folks think the singer was getting the start of them
in the chase for glory. And, anyway, the old harmonium wasn't a match
for her voice. Then there's a suggestion for cuspidors for each bench,
and I must say, right here, I'm in favor of them. I'm not one to
interfere with the disgusting ways of men. Men are just men, and can't
help it, anyway, and if they contract filthy habits, it's not for
woman to put 'em right. But she's got the right to refuse having her
skirts turned into floor swabs. I've fixed all these things right, so
we don't need to vote on 'em. But there's one little matter that needs
discussing right here and now, seeing that the folks are present
who've brought it up."
The president paused and glared at the two men through her big,
steel-rimmed glasses, and Billy Unguin and Allan Dy found themselves
uncomfortably interested in various parts of well-varnished
appointments of the lady's parlor.
Kate Seton eyed the two men with some amusement. She felt that the
recent discussion, which took place in the new church itself, was
liable to assume a different complexion here. Besides, she knew these
two men, and felt it was best to have the suggestion of felling the
old pine, as a ridge pole for the church, definitely negatived by the
present meeting.
Mrs. John Day was always a difficult woman, of very strong opinions.
Therefore it was not policy to suggest her course of action. So Kate
had merely warned her that the suggestion had been made.
"It's been said," Mrs. Day went on, with an aggressive look in her hot
eyes, "that the design of the building is all wrong. That the main
body is too long, and that the ridge pole of the roof will have to be
joined in several places. This means a great weakness that'll have to
be supported by central columns, which will obstruct the central
gangway and the general view. I'd like Mr. Unguin and Mr. Dy to
discuss the matter before the meeting."
Thus challenged, Allan Dy sprang to his feet.
"It's just as you say, ma'm," he cried. "And I say right here that
ridge pole should be in one piece. It's bad. In a few years' time
we'll surely have to rebuild that roof."
He sat down with a jolt, and glared fiercely at his friend beside him.
Billy Unguin was on his feet in a moment.
"I want to say right here that my friend's been sorting mail so long
he's got nervous. Furthermore, I'd add he don't need to worry a thing.
It's my opinion the new church is an elegant proposition which
reflects credit upon Rocky Springs, and our charming president more
than anybody. And, if there's any liberties taken with the science of
architecture, the matter can be got over dead easy. If joining the
ridge pole means weakening the structure, then don't join it. That
don't beat us a little bit. With such a head as our president has for
the management of big affairs I'm sure she'll see a way out of the
trouble, 'specially when I draw her attention to the old pine, which
is tall enough to cut two ridge poles out of it for our church."
Like his friend, he sat down with a jolt. But he was smiling with
anticipated triumph. He felt that his long experience as a salesman of
dry goods had taught him how to reach the most vulnerable point in
feminine armor. When it came to winning over Mrs. John Day to his side
Allan Dy hadn't an earthly chance with him.
But his smile slowly disappeared when the honorary secretary promptly
rose to her feet.
Kate Seton turned and addressed herself to the president.
"I should like to put in a word of protest," she began, while Allan Dy
smiled and breathed his thankfulness that he was not to remain
unsupported.
Instantly Billy Unguin broke in.
"Miss Seton, as secretary, is only ex-officio," he cried.
Mrs. Day shot a withering glance at him.
"Miss Seton is _honorary_ secretary."
Allan Dy smiled more broadly as the president promptly nodded for Kate
to proceed.
"I wish to protest against the old pine being felled," she said, with
some warmth. "It means disaster to Rocky Springs. There is the old
legend. There is a curse on the felling of that tree."
Her announcement was greeted by a murmur of approval from the women
present, all except Mrs. Day. Dy beamed. But Kate was less pleased.
She knew her president. She would always listen to the men, but when
her own sex ventured on thinking for themselves she was liable to
become restive.
The president glanced round the room with a swift challenge shining
through her glasses, and her hard mouth closed tightly. Then she
turned sharply to the woman at her side.
"I'm--I'm--astonished, Kate," she cried, with difficulty suppressing
her inclination to domineer. "The matter is most simple. It is said
the best interests of the church are being jeopardized. There is the
obvious necessity of altering the design of the roof of our beautiful
building. You--whom I have always regarded as the essence of sanity,
and my chief support in the arduous work which has been flung upon my
shoulders, and which Mr. Unguin has been pleased to say I'm not
incapable of carrying out--you would sacrifice those interests for a
lot of old Indian fool talk. I never would have believed it. Never!
Say," she turned to the others, and her eyes challenged the rest of
the women, "This surely is a more serious matter than I thought. It
must be looked into. I'll look into it myself. If things are as Mr. Dy
says, and it's necessary, as Mr. Unguin points out, to cut down that
tree to fix our church right--why, it's going to be cut down. That's
all."
She paused dramatically, but not long enough for anybody to interrupt
her. Then, with a wave of her fat arm, which, to the women, became a
threat, and to the men appeared to be something like the gesticulation
of an animated sausage, she proceeded to terminate the debate.
"Those in favor of _my_ proposition will signify the same in the usual
manner," she cried, with an air that brooked no sort of denial.
Up went every right hand in the room except those of Kate and Allan
Dy. Then the "no's" were taken. After which the result was announced
with all the triumph of Mrs. Day's domineering personality.
"Carried," she cried.
Then she turned upon her secretary without the least sympathy or
kindliness in her manner.
"You'll enter that resolution in the minutes of the meeting," she
snapped.
* * * * *
Some half-hour later the quorum dissolved itself and trickled out of
the oppressive precincts of Mrs. John Day's highly polished parlor.
The trickling process only lasted until the front door was gained.
Then came a rush which had neither dignity nor politeness in it.
The two men set off for the saloon without attempting to disguise
their purpose. The women hastily tripped off in the various directions
whither they knew their favorite gossips would be found. Even Kate
Seton failed to wait to exchange her usual few final words with the
president. Truth to tell, she was both disgusted and depressed, and
felt that somehow she had made a mess of things. She felt that she had
contrived to turn an unimportant matter into something of the first
magnitude. The question of felling the old pine had merely been one
of those subjects for bickering between Billy and Allan Dy, who had
never been known to agree on any subject, and now, through bringing
their dispute before the committee, she knew that she had changed it
into a question upon which the whole village would take sides. She
only trusted that superstition would prevail, and the aged landmark
would be left standing. She somehow felt doubtful, however, now that
Mrs. Day had taken sides against her, and she hurried off to avoid
further discussion.
Billy Unguin arrived at the saloon alone. Allan Dy's course was
diverted when he came within sight of his post office. As he reached
the main trail of the village, he saw Inspector Fyles and Sergeant
McBain riding down from the west, and the sight of them reminded him
of his mail. So, leaving his friend to continue his way to the saloon
alone, he went on to his little office, arriving in time to take down
a telegraphic message from Amberley, and hand it, with his mail, to
the police officer.
He rubbed his hands delightedly as he read the message over to himself
a second time before placing it in its envelope. It was from the
police headquarters, and its wording was full of significance in the
light of last night's events. Allan Dy was glad he had not gone on to
the saloon.
The message was desperately curt.
"Wagon returned to Fort Allerton empty. Report. Jason."
The postmaster had just placed the message with the officers' mail
when the two policemen entered. Fyles's expression was morose, and his
manner repellent. McBain was grim and silent.
"There's a goodish mail, Mr. Fyles," said Dy, without a trace of his
real feelings, as he held out the bulky packet of letters. "That
message has just come along over the wire." He pointed at the tinted
envelope enclosing the telegram.
While Fyles took his mail, McBain's keen eyes were at work upon the
letters spread out on the counter.
Fyles's silent manner induced the curious official to go a step
further.
"It's from headquarters--Superintendent Jason," he said, covertly
watching the policeman's face.
But the effect was not quite as satisfactory as he hoped. Fyles
smiled.
"Thanks. I was expecting it."
Then he turned away, and, followed by McBain, passed out of the
building.
Once outside, however, it was quite another matter. The officer tore
open the message and glanced at its contents. Then he passed it on to
McBain with a brief comment.
"They're wise," he said. "Guess the band's going to start
playing--right away."
McBain read the message. "We're up against it, sir," was his dry
comment.
"Up against it, man?" Fyles cried, with sudden heat. "I tell you
that's very nearly our sentence. We've failed--failed, do you
understand? And it's not our first failure. Do you need me to tell you
anything? We may just as well stand right here and cut off the badges
of our various ranks. That's what we may as well do," he added
bitterly. "There's no mercy in Jason, and devilish little reason."
But the Scot seemed to have very little sympathy for the other's
feelings. He seemed to care less for his rank than something else,
and, in his next words, the real man shone out.
"I don't care a curse for my rank, sir," he exclaimed. "We've been
bluffed and beaten like two babes in the game our lives are spent in
playing. That's what hurts me. Have you seen 'em, sir? All the way
along as we came down here just now. We passed five or six women at
the doors of their miserable shacks, and they smiled as they saw us.
We passed four men, and their greeting was maddening in its jeer. Even
the damned kids looked up and grinned like the apes they are. They've
bluffed and beaten us, and I--hate 'em all."
For some moments Stanley Fyles made no answer. He was gazing out down
the village trail, and his eyes were on a small group of people
standing some way off talking together. He had recognized them. They
were Kate and Helen Seton, and with them was young Bryant, the
ingenuous brother of Charlie. He guessed, as well he might, the
subject of their talk. His failure. Was not everybody talking of it?
And were not most of them, probably all of them, rejoicing? His
bitterness grew, and at last he turned on his subordinate.
"Bluffed, but not beaten," he said, with a fierce oath which did the
Scot's heart good. "We're not beaten," he reiterated, "if only Jason
will leave us alone, and trust us further. I've got to convince him.
I've got to tell him all that's happened, and I've got to persuade him
to leave us here. We've got to go on. He can recommend my resignation,
he can do what he damn well pleases, so long as he leaves me here to
finish this work. I tell you, I've got to break up this gang of
hoodlums."
McBain's eyes glittered.
"That's how I feel, sir."
"Feel? We've just got to do it--or clear out of the country. Man,
I'd give a thousand dollars to know how they got possession of our
signals. Those shots, that bluffed us, were fired by some of the gang.
How did they learn it? It's been done by spying, but--say, get on back
to camp, and prepare the report of last night. Hold it up for me, and
I'll enclose a private letter to Mr. Jason. I'll be along later."
McBain nodded.
"You fix it, sir, so we don't get transferred back. We need another
chance badly. Maybe they won't bluff us next time."
He swung himself into the saddle and rode away, while Fyles, linking
his arm through the faithful Peter's reins, strolled leisurely on down
the track toward the group which included Kate Seton.
As he drew near they ceased talking, and watched his approach. Their
attitude was such that Fyles could not refrain from a half-bitter,
half-laughing comment as he came up.
"It doesn't take much guessing to locate the subject of your talk,
Miss Kate," he cried.
Kate's dark eyes had no smile in them as she replied to his challenge.
"How's that?" she inquired, while Bill and Helen watched his face.
Fyles shrugged.
"You stopped talking when you saw I was coming your way." He laughed.
"However, I guess it's only to be expected. The boys bluffed us all
right last night. It was a smartish trick. Still," he added
thoughtfully, "it's given us an elegant lever--when the time comes."
Kate made no answer. She was studying the man's face, and there was a
certain regret and even pity in the depths of her regard. Bill and
Helen had no such feelings for him. They were frankly rejoiced at his
failure.
Helen replied. "That's so, Mr. Fyles," she said, almost tartly, "but I
guess that lever needs to help them into your traps to do any real
good."
The officer's smile was quite good-humored, in spite of the sharpness
of the girl's reminder. What he really felt he was not likely to
display here.
"Sure," he said. "The spider weaves his web and it's not worth a cent
if the flies aren't foolish enough to make mistakes. The spider is a
student of winged insect nature, and he lays his plans accordingly.
The flies always come to him--in the end."
Bill laughed good-humoredly.
"That's dandy," he cried. "There's always fool flies around. But
sometimes that spider's web gets all mussed up and broken. I've broke
'em myself--rather than see the fool things caught."
Kate's eyes were turned on the great bulk of Charlie's brother. Even
Helen looked up with bright admiration for her lover.
Fyles's gaze was leveled directly into the innocent looking blue eyes
laughing into his.
"Yes, I dare say you and other folks have broken those things up,
often--but the spiders thrive and multiply. You see, when one net is
busted they--make another. They don't seem to starve ever, do they?
Ever seen a spider dead of starvation?"
"Can't say I have." Bill shook his great head. "But maybe they'd get a
bad time if they set their traps for any special flies--or fly."
Fyles raised his powerful shoulders coldly.
"Guess the spider business doesn't go far enough," he said, talking
directly at Big Brother Bill. "When I spoke of that lever just now,
maybe you didn't get my meaning quite clearly. That gang, who ran the
liquor in last night, put themselves further up against the law than
maybe they think. It was an armed attack on the police, which is
quite a different thing to just simple whisky-running. Get me? The
police are always glad when crooks do that. It pays them better--when
the time comes."
Bill had no reply. He suddenly experienced the chill of the cold steel
of police methods. A series of painful pictures rose up before his
mind's eye, which held his tongue silent. Helen quickly came to his
rescue.
"But who's to say who did it?" she demanded.
Fyles smiled down into her pretty face.
"Those who want to save their skins--when the time comes."
It was Helen's turn to realize something of the irresistible nature of
the work of the police. Somehow she felt that the defeat of the police
last night was but a shadowy success after all, for those concerned in
the whisky-running. Her thought flew at once to Charlie, and she
shuddered at the suggested possibilities in Fyles's words.
She turned away.
"Well, all I can say is, I--I hate it all, and wish it was all over
and done with. Everybody's talking, everybody's gloating, and--and it
just makes me feel scared to death." Then she turned again to Bill.
"Let's go on," she cried, a little desperately. "We'll finish our
shopping, and--and get away from it all. It just makes me real ill."
She waved a farewell to Kate and moved away, and Bill, like some
faithful watchdog, followed at her heels. Fyles looked after them both
with serious, earnest eyes. Kate watched them smiling.
Presently Fyles turned back to her.
"Well?" he demanded.
Kate's eyes were slowly raised to his.
"Well?" she echoed. "So----"
She broke off. Her generous nature checked her in time. She had been
about to twit him with his defeat. She sympathized with his feelings
at the thought of his broken hopes.
"Better say it," said Fyles, with a smile, in which chagrin and
tenderness struggled for place. "You were going to say I have been
defeated, as you told me I should be defeated."
"I s'pose I was." Kate glanced quickly up into his face, but the
feeling she beheld there made her turn her eyes away so that they
followed Bill and Helen moving down the trail. "Women are usually
ungenerous to--an adversary." Then her whole manner changed to one of
kindly frankness. "Do you know my feelings are sort of mixed about
your--defeat----"
"Not defeat," put in Fyles. "Check."
Kate smiled.
"Well, then, 'check.' I am glad--delighted--since you direct all your
suspicions against Charlie. Then I am full of regret for you,
because--because I know the rigor of police discipline. In the eyes of
the authorities you have failed--twice. Oh, if you would only attack
this thing with an open mind, and not start prejudiced against
Charlie. I wish you had never listened to local gossip. If that were
so I could be on your side, and--and with true sportsmanship, wish you
well. Besides that, I might be able to tell you things. You see, I
learn many things in the village that others do not--hear."
Fyles was studying the woman's face closely as she spoke. And
something he beheld there robbed his defeat of a good deal of its
sting. Her words were the words of partisanship, and her partisanship
was for another as well as himself. Had this not been so, had her
partisanship been for him alone, he could well have abandoned himself
to an open mind, as she desired. As it was, she drove him to a dogged
pursuit of the man he was convinced was the real culprit.
"Don't let us reopen the old subject," he said, with a shade of
irritability. "I have evidence you know nothing of, and I should be
mad indeed if I changed my objective at your desire, for the sake of
the unsupported belief and regard you have for this man. Let us be
content to be adversaries, each working out our little campaign as we
think best. Don't waste regrets at my failures. I know the price I
have to pay for them--only too well. I know, and I tell you frankly,
but only you, that my career in the police may terminate in
consequence. That's all right. The prestige of the force cannot be
maintained by--failures. The prestige of the force is very dear to me.
If you have anything to tell me that may lead me in the direction of
the real culprit, then tell me. If not--why let us be friends
until--until my work has made that impossible. I--I want your
friendship very much."
Kate's eyes were turned from him. The deep light in them was very
soft.
"Do you?" she smiled. "Well--perhaps you have it, in spite of our
temporary antagonism. Oh, dear--it's all so absurd."
Fyles laughed.
"Isn't it? But, then, anything out of the ordinary is generally
absurd, until we get used to it. Somehow, it doesn't seem absurd that
I want your--friendship. At least, not to me."
Kate smiled up into his face.
"And yet it is--absurd."
The man's eyes suddenly became serious.
"Why?"
Kate shrugged.
"That's surely explained. We are--antagonists."
Again that look of impatience crossed the man's keen features. As he
offered no reply, Kate went on.
"About the armed attack on the police. You said it made all the
difference. What is the difference?"
"Anything between twelve months in the penitentiary and twenty
years--when the gang is landed."
"Twenty years!" The woman gave a slight gasp.
The man nodded.
"And do you know the logical consequence of it all?" he inquired.
"No." Kate's eyes were horrified.
"Why, when next we come into conflict there will be shooting if these
people are pressed. They will have to shoot to save themselves. Then
there may be murder added to their list of--delinquencies. These
things follow in sequence. It is the normal progress of those who put
themselves on the side of crime."