When Bill was once more alone he meandered slowly to the Nevada desk and
leaned against it, looking abstractedly toward the veranda. Outside, the
moon was shining in long shafts of silver light through the branches of
the tall cedars. Beyond the lake lay, itself a moon of silver on the
floor of the valley. He could hear the hoot of a hundred billy owls.
Unthinkingly he went to the door and stood there, sniffing at the
fragrance of the pines. Then he went back to the desk again.
As Mrs. Jones had closed the dining-room door behind her, he had seen
that she was crying. Her tears had acted like a knife on his obstinacy.
If there was one method of bringing Bill to a realization of his
shortcomings, it was the knowledge that he had brought his wife to
tears. No matter what the occasion, through the years of his many
omissions, he had never failed to awaken to a sense of duty at the
slightest hint of a sob on her part. And now remorse was gnawing heavily
at his heart. He knew that she was sorely tried by his laziness. He knew
that ever since she had come from the city she had longed for some of
the luxuries which she had tasted for the first and only time in those
few brief days when Thomas had given her a bit of every woman's
paradise. And as he looked out he wondered in his slow, but none the
less logical, way what it mattered, after all, if the place did go, just
so long as mother was happy. To be sure, the place was worth much more
than Hammond was willing to pay them. But it was enough for their humble
needs. From the door beyond he could hear the sound of her sobs. He went
half-way across the room. "Yes," he reasoned with himself, "after all,
the property is hers. I gave her my part of it to do as she pleased
with." And a sudden resolve to do her will possessed him.
But as he reached the middle of the lobby he heard some one on tiptoe
behind him. He turned to see Marvin, crouched down by the desk, so that
any one coming from up-stairs could not see him.
"'Sh!" Bill put up a warning hand. "Blodgett's outside there some
place."
"He's snoring in his buggy," Marvin whispered back, with a half-smile.
"Bill," he added, quickly, "I've been outside and I've heard every word
they've been saying to you. I haven't time to tell you all I want to
just now. Promise me again that you won't sign that deed until you've
talked further with me about it."
[Illustration: "PROMISE ME YOU WON'T SIGN THE DEED." ... BILL HESITATED]
Bill hesitated. "Well, mother wants to awful bad," he answered, slowly.
From the dining-room voices could be heard. "Ye'd better get out," said
Bill.
"Not until you promise," persisted Marvin.
Bill wavered an instant. He wanted mother to be happy, and yet, another
day did not make so much difference--especially when Marvin was in
danger. The door in back of him swung open. Leaning quickly down to
Marvin, as the latter crept toward the outer door, he whispered: "All
right. I promise."
Mrs. Jones walked into the room with a swagger, half of indignation,
half of sorrow. She was still wiping the tears from her eyes. The deed
and the pen were in her hand.
Bill went to her, placing an affectionate hand on her bare arm. "Mother,
ain't you cold?" He could not resist another tilt at her unusual
costume.
"No." She stamped her foot at him, withdrawing her arm from his hand.
"I'm hot all over at you, insulting me before those gentlemen." Hurrying
to the California desk, she buried her head on her crossed arms and
began to cry. "Makin' fun of me," she sobbed, "because I try to look
presentable for once in my life."
Following her to the desk, Bill patted her gently on the back. "It's
gettin' late, mother," he coaxed. "You're tired and you've been working
hard. You're all tuckered out. Now you go up-stairs and put on some
clothes and go to bed."
Mrs. Jones shook him from her and went to the other desk, where she
stood facing him, her face red and swollen from her tears. "Oh!" she
wrung her hands as she looked at him with blazing eyes. "You ought to be
ashamed of yourself with the gentlemen here to buy the place and you
around the office drinking liquor."
"No, I ain't." Bill answered her outburst mildly, backing away from her
lest she should discover the flask in his back pocket.
He was too late. Her eye, accustomed to just such investigations, had
detected the lines of the flask as it protruded from his back pocket.
Taking hold of him, she put her hand in his pocket and produced the
flask, holding it, half empty, to the light.
"That belongs to Mr. Harper," was Bill's ready excuse, given in the
monotone which invariably masked a world of guilt. Seeing the doubt in
his wife's eye, he added, "You can go up-stairs and ask him, if you
don't believe it."
Mrs. Jones did not reply to his last remark. Instead of which she went
back to the California desk, where she set down the flask, taking up the
deed and holding it out to him. "Now, Bill," she said, in a coaxing
voice, "I want you to put your name to this paper." She smiled kindly
upon him for the first time in many hours.
Bill wavered before her smile. It was difficult for him to withstand it,
especially as he knew how sorely he had tried her. But a promise was a
promise with Bill, and his one pride was that he had kept intact through
all the years of his digressions this one principle--he never broke his
word. He had told Marvin he would not sign the deed without consulting
him further, so he turned his eyes from his wife's face and answered, in
a low voice, "I can't, mother."
"What's the reason you can't?" Mrs. Jones planted herself in front of
him, determined that he should not evade her this time.
"Because I promised my lawyer I wouldn't," he answered, his head turned
away from her.
Mrs. Jones took him by the arm and swung him into line with her gaze.
"Now see here, Bill," she snapped, "I've been working my fingers to the
bone and I'm entitled to a rest and you sha'n't stop my having it. Mr.
Thomas is going to take Millie and me to the city to live. If you sign
that you can come with us. If you don't you've got to look out for
yourself for a while."
Bill had not paid much heed to Hammond's threat delivered a few minutes
back. But now something in his wife's tone brought it, recurrent, to his
mind. He wondered if, after all, there was some truth behind it.
Pausing to gather his points together, Bill nodded toward the stairs.
"Mother, that fellow, Hammond, said he'd throw me out. Do you want me to
get out? Is that what you mean?"
It was not what Mrs. Jones had meant at all. But the events of the day
had strained her nerves to breaking-point. Since daylight Thomas and
Hammond had been after her to force Bill to do as she wished him to. To
their suggestions that she teach him a lesson by leaving him for a while
she had turned a deaf ear. But now they came surging back and, in answer
to her call for a method of persuasion, clamored for recognition. Before
she had time to stifle them they had their way. "I mean just that,
Bill." There was silence as she thrust the words from her mouth. Bill
stood still, gazing steadily at her.
She lowered her lids.
Then he came closer and looked up under her eyes, in the hope that he
would find a relenting gleam there. But she turned away from him.
"All right, mother--I'll go."
Without another word he turned and walked toward the door. Mrs. Jones
took a quick step forward, then paused. "Where'll you go?" she asked,
half in surprise, half in defiance, for she had not believed that he
would accept her challenge.
"Oh, 'most anywhere," he said, gaily, forcing a whistle, though his lips
quivered. "I'll be all right, mother."
His wife stepped forward again, extending a staying hand, but her
resentment had her in its grip. Her hand fell back to her side.
"Well," she called out to him as suddenly she turned from him and
hurried up the stairs, "I mean every word I've said! It's one thing or
the other! Either you make up your mind to sign this," and she tapped
the paper in her hand, "or I'm through with you!" Without a backward
glance--fearing, perhaps, that she might weaken--she disappeared along
the upper hallway.
Bill took his hand from the door and came slowly back into the room. He
strolled to the California desk, pushed back his old hat, and stood
there with his hands in his pockets, thoughtfully. Of a sudden his
absent eyes lighted on the flask resting on the desk, where Mrs. Jones
had put it down. Bill stroked his stubbled chin and gazed at the flask.
It seemed to suggest an idea to him. Satisfying himself that there was
no one around at the moment, he strolled to the door, poked his head
out, and gave a peculiar whistle; then he walked back to the desk and
leaned against it, waiting.
In a few minutes Zeb's unkempt visage silently framed itself in the
softly opened door. Lightnin' jerked his head as a sign to enter.
Stealthily, with many a wary glance to right and left, his disreputable
partner of the past eased himself across the lobby and stood before
Bill, childlike, trustful inquiry in his eyes.
"What's the idee, Lightnin'?" he rumbled, puffing at the frayed remains
of a cigar.
With a gesture of calm triumph Bill pointed to the flask on the desk.
"I said I had it, Zeb," he remarked, in the tone one uses when
confronting and confounding a skeptic with ocular proof, "an' there it
is!"
"Why, so it be!" said Zeb, reaching out for the prize.
But Lightnin' stopped him. "Hold on a minute, partner. The evidence
ain't to be absorbed just yet. In fact, brother, we better keep it
intact for future use, 'cause you're goin' on a long journey, Zeb. You
an' me is goin' to hit the trail again, old-timer!"
"Gosh! You mean it, Lightnin'?" Zeb showed almost human delight and
anticipation. "But for why? You had a row with your old woman?"
"Nope," Bill replied. "Can't call it that, exactly. You needn't worry
them brains o' yours about why we're goin', Zeb. It's just that I got a
notion to teach some people 'round here a lesson, an'--an' maybe I can
bring poor mother to her senses," he added, gently.
"When we goin'?" Zeb questioned, his eyes on the flask.
"Right away--this here minute, in fact," said Bill.
Zeb looked at him dazedly. "Just as we is? Where 're we hittin' fer?"
"I ain't telling that just yet," said Bill, slowly. "Where we are goin'
is a secret."
"Oh," Zeb answered, with a nod of wisdom. "I--see. You ain't tellin' 'em
you be goin'--not even your old woman, eh?"
"Them brains o' yours is pickin' up a bit, ain't they, Zeb?" Bill
commented, with encouraging approval. "Well, you hit it, all right!
Nope, we ain't tellin' nobody. We're goin' to kinder disappear
completely for a pretty good space. Mother ain't to be able to locate me
a-tall. There's some others as 'll likely find out, but I ain't worryin'
about them--they want to get rid o' me, an' they ain't likely to exhaust
themselves any tryin' to find me. I got a object, Zeb. It ain't none o'
your business what that object is--by which I merely mean to say,
old-timer, that you wouldn't have no particular interest in it. Come
on--let's get out now, afore they begins to gather 'round me again!"
Picking up the flask and sliding it into his coat pocket, Lightnin'
walked away toward the door. Nodding wisely, Zeb followed, eyes
hopefully on the pleasant bulge in his old partner's coat.