THE ENEMY'S SPAWN
The curtain to the booth was flung back.
"I've the train tickets; come along to the hotel----" exclaimed the
man who quickly entered. But the words died in his mouth at sight of
Weir sitting in the place he had vacated.
He was over average height, of strong fleshy build, with a small
blonde mustache on his upper lip. Under his eyes little pouches had
already begun to form; his mouth was full and sensual; but he still
retained an air of liveliness, of carelessness and agility, that might
at first sight seem the spontaneity of youth. He wore a brown suit, a
gray flannel shirt and Stetson hat--the common apparel of the
country.
"Who the devil are you? And what are you butting in here for?" he
exclaimed, with a vicious spark showing in his pale blue eyes. At the
same time he clapped a hand on Weir's shoulder, closing it in a hard
grasp.
Instantly Weir struck the hand off with his fist.
"Keep your dirty flippers to yourself," he said, rising.
The blood faded from the other's countenance, leaving it white with
rage.
"Get out of this booth, or I'll throw you out."
It was Weir's turn to act. Like a flash he caught Sorenson's elbow,
jerked him forward, spun him about and dropped him upon the chair.
"Sit there, you cradle-robber, until I'm through with you," he
commanded. "And if you don't want everybody in this restaurant to know
about your business with this girl, you'll lower your voice when you
talk."
Sorenson shot an uneasy glance towards the curtain and his wrath
became not less furious but better controlled. Clearly public
attention was the last thing he desired in this affair. He leaned
back, staring at Steele Weir insolently, and produced a cigarette, at
which he began to puff.
"Mary, get ready. We'll be going in a minute," said he.
"No, you'll not, Sorenson. I've taken a hand in your game. This girl
says you're going to marry her, is that right?" The other rolled his
eyes upward and began to whistle a jig tune softly. "Well, this is the
plan she and I've made. She'll remain at the hotel to-night--as will
you and I--and to-morrow we'll drive to another county seat in my car
and you'll secure a licence there. Then you'll go to a minister's,
where I'll act as a witness, and the ceremony will be performed.
Afterwards the pair of you can proceed to Los Angeles, or elsewhere as
you please, on your wedding journey."
"You're quite a little planner, aren't you?" the other jeered.
"That's the arrangement if you agree."
"I don't agree."
Mary Johnson, in whose eyes a light of hope had dawned during Weir's
low-toned statement, began nervously to bite her lip.
"Won't you do it, Ed?" she asked, timidly.
"We'll do as I planned, or nothing," he stated. Then with sudden spite
he continued, "You're responsible for this mixup. What did you let
this fellow in here for while I was gone? Didn't you have sense
enough to keep your mouth shut?"
Steele halted him by a gesture.
"Don't begin abusing her; you're not married to her yet. I overheard
your talk and guessed the low-lived, scoundrelly trick you proposed to
play on her."
"You damned eavesdropper----"
"Sure, eavesdropper is right," Weir interrupted, coolly. "So I just
stepped in here from my booth next door to discuss the situation with
her; you can't mislead an innocent girl like her with the intention of
shaking her when you get her into a city, not if I know about it and
am around. If you sincerely intend to marry her, and will do so
to-morrow in my presence, then I'll withdraw. Afterwards I mean, of
course."
Sorenson arose.
"Come, Mary. Stand aside, you!"
"She doesn't go with you," the engineer stated.
For a moment the men's eyes locked, those of one full of blue fire and
hatred, those of the other quiet as pieces of flint.
"And she shall keep with me while I telephone to your father that you
brought her here under promise of marriage, a girl of sixteen, without
her own parents' consent, and now refuse to marry her," Steele added.
A sneer twisted the other man's mouth.
"My father happens to be in the east, where he's been for a month," he
mocked. "If he were here, he wouldn't believe you; he'd know you were
a liar. He knows I'm engaged to marry----" Bite off the words as he
tried, they had escaped.
"Ah, that's the way of it!" Weir remarked with a silky smoothness.
"You expect to marry some other girl--and have no intention whatever
of marrying Mary here."
"To hell with you and your opinions!"
"First, you coax her to Bowenville by a promise, then you persuade her
by more promises to go to Los Angeles," the engineer proceeded
steadily, "and there you would betray and abandon her to a life on the
streets, like the yellow cur you are."
Sorenson snapped his fingers and moved round to the girl's side.
"Pay no attention to him," he addressed her. "He's only a crazy
fool."
But she drew back against the wall, staring at him with a strained,
searching regard.
"Will you marry me to-morrow as he asks?" she questioned anxiously.
"No. I explained the reason why once. Come on; let's get away from
him. Then I'll make everything clear and satisfactory to you."
For a moment she stood wavering, picking at her handkerchief, her face
pale and unhappy, questioning his countenance. Finally she turned to
look at Steele Weir, standing silently by.
"You never said you were engaged to another girl; you told me I was
the only one you loved," she muttered in a choked voice. "But I see
now you won't marry me. You wish me to go with you--but not to marry.
I'm going away--away anywhere. By myself! Where I'll never see any
one!" Burying her face in her hands, she shook with sobs.
"This is what comes from your putting an oar in," said Sorenson,
lifting his fist in a burst of fury to strike Weir.
The latter at once smote him across the mouth with open palm at the
vile epithet that followed. Sorenson staggered, then lunged forward,
tugging at something in his hip-pocket, while the table and dishes
went over in a crash.
Before he could draw the weapon Steele's fingers shot forth and seized
his wrist; his other hand closed about Sorenson's throat in an iron
grasp. Slowly under that powerful grip the younger man's struggles
ceased, his eyes dilated, his knees yielded and gave way. The revolver
was wrenched from his numbed hold. His eyeballs seemed afire; his
breast heaved in violent spasms for the denied breath; and his heart
appeared about to burst.
"You miserable skunk!" Weir said, barely moving his mouth. "I ought to
choke the life out of you." Then he released his hold. "I'll keep this
gun--and use it if you ever try to pull another on me! Now, make
tracks. Remember, too, to pay your bill as you go out."
When Sorenson had straightened his coat, giving Weir a malignant look
during the process, he departed. His air of disdainful insolence had
quite evaporated, but that he considered the action between them only
begun was plain, though he spoke not a word. Weir, however, heard him
give a quieting explanation to the waiter hovering outside, who had
been drawn by the crash of dishes.
"Thought a fight was going on," the aproned dispenser of food said to
Steele when he and the girl emerged.
"Just an accident. Nothing broken, I imagine," was the response.
"You couldn't break those dishes with a hammer; they're made for rough
work."
"If there's any damage, this may cover it." And Steele tossed the
fellow a dollar.
Outside the restaurant he slipped his hand inside Mary Johnson's arm
and led her along the street. With him he had brought the old strapped
grip.
"Where you taking me?" she asked, in a worried quaver.
"Home, Mary."
"Oh, I'm afraid to go home."
"Are you afraid of your own father and mother? They're the ones to
trust first of all."
"But when father--mother is dead--sees the telescope, he'll want to
know where I've been. He doesn't know I have it. I told him I might
stay with a girl at San Mateo over night, and then sneaked it out."
"The best thing is to tell him all about this occurrence."
"Oh, I can't."
"Then I shall. Leave that part to me."
And though her heart was filled with fresh alarms and fears at the
prospect, there seemed nothing else to do. She longed to flee, to hide
in some dark hole, to cover her shame from her father and the world,
but in the hands of this determined man she felt herself powerless.
What he willed, she dumbly did.
Terry Creek flowed out of the mountains four miles north of San Mateo,
an insignificant stream entering the Burntwood halfway down to
Bowenville. The Johnson ranch house was a mile up the canyon, where
the rocky walls expanded into a grassy park of no great area. They
reached the girl's home about half-past nine that night.
For two hours Weir remained talking with the father, describing the
affair at Bowenville, fending off his first bitter anger at the girl
and gradually persuading him to see that Mary had been deceived, lured
away on hollow promises and was guiltless of all except failing to
take him into her confidence. At last peace was made. Mary wept for a
time, and was patted on the head by her rough, bearded father, who
exclaimed, "There, there, don't cry. You're safe back again; we'll
just forget it."
Outside of the house, however, where he had accompanied Weir to his
car, he said with an oath:
"But I'll not forget Ed Sorenson, if I go to hell for it. My little
girl!"
"She's half a child yet, that's the worse of his offense," Steele
replied, savagely.
"Mary said you choked him."
"Some. Not enough."
"I'll not forget him--or you, Mr. Weir."
Steele mounted into his machine. He thoughtfully studied the rancher's
bearded, weather-tanned face, illuminated by the moonlight.
"At present I'd say nothing about this matter to any one. Later on you
may be able to use it in squaring accounts," the engineer advised.
"I hope so," was the answer, with a bitter note. "But talking would
only hurt Mary, not Ed Sorenson. Whatever the Sorensons do is all
right, you know, because they're rich. The daughter of a poor man like
me would get all the black end of the gossip; and I can't lift a
finger, that's what grinds me, unless I go out and shoot him, then
hang for it. For the bank's got a mortgage on my little bunch of
stock, and on my ranch here, and Sorenson, of course, is the bank.
Gordon and Vorse and a few others are in it too, but he's the bull of
the herd. If I opened my mouth about his son, I'd be kicked off of
Terry Creek, lock, stock and barrel. That's the way Sorenson keeps all
of us poor devils, white and Mexican, eating out of his hand. I've
just been poor since I came here a boy; the gang in San Mateo won't
let anybody but themselves have a chance. And I reckon old man
Sorenson wouldn't care much if his boy had ruined my girl. Cuss him a
little, maybe; that would be all. But I won't forget the whelp. Some
day my chance will come to play even." "Sure; if one just keeps quiet
and waits," Steele agreed. "Well, I must hit the trail. If you want
work any time, come over to the dam; we can always use a man with a
team." Johnson nodded. "After haying is done, maybe. And remember, I'm
much obliged to you for looking after my little girl. I won't forget
that, either." He reached up diffidently and shook hands with the
engineer. Weir's grip was sympathetic and sincere.