WHILE I blinked at Zebulon Kingsley through the gloom I remembered what
“Cricket” Welch had once said to me, in one of those sessions where I
lapped up information as greedily as a kitten laps milk. He had a flow
of language, “Cricket” had, and I wish I could remember his words more
accurately. But it was something like this:
“Why should any crook bring on brain-fag by thinking up new ones when
the old ones, with gears smoothed by twenty-five centuries of steady
operation, work so much better? As long ago as old Solomon was figuring
on Temple estimates with the architects, and had quite a reputation in
the country round about, a little chap dropped into a village outside of
Babylon and gave out that he was The Old Boy’s son by Wife 411, and was
interested in King Solomon’s mines along with his dad. Then he unloaded
a gold brick on to a village sucker, first making the sucker believe
that the latter was a buttonhole relation of the Solomon family.”
I was running that speech over in my mind while I looked at the judge, a
little uncertain what to say to him under the circumstances.
“And yet, the fraud did not seem to be barefaced while they were at work
on me,” lamented the old gentleman. “One of them, the one who came to
town first, was the son of one of my old schoolmates who went West when
he was young and has been settled there ever since. Young Blake was East
on business and dropped into Levant to look the old town over; his
father told him to make himself known to me, so that he could carry back
news of the folks his father used to know here.”
And in my book of notes I had set down the detail of just such a scheme
as that!
“They always have a skirmisher ahead of the main push,” I blurted. “He
finds out about somebody who settled West--and then along comes the
son.”
“What’s that?” demanded Kingsley. “What do you know about it?”
“Then, after the son is well settled, along comes one of father’s
partners, East, to sell stock, and he has a sample of the clean-up--a
big hunk of gold--and it’s always a real ingot, too.”
“It _was_ real,” insisted the judge, passionately. “I went to the city
and had it tested by a jeweler who is a friend of mine. They offered me
a chance to make money on account of my old friendship. It did not seem
like a gold-brick game. I could not believe it was. I did not dare to
believe it was. I needed money so badly!”
“But it was, sir.”
“I mortgaged, I borrowed, I pawned! They offered me a chance to make
money because I was a prominent man and could help them sell their
stock. They wanted me to be sure that the proposition was a good
one--that the gold was honest. They took my last five thousand dollars!
My God! I bought a gold brick! I bought it like other fools have
bought.”
“They always put new trimmings on the old game, Judge Kingsley, and make
it look attractive.”
He looked at me strangely and did not answer.
“I suppose they worked it as usual,” I went on, feeling just a bit proud
of my knowledge. I reflected that he might be more thankful for his
volunteer if I showed him that I was no greenhorn. His mouth had been
running away with him in his wild eagerness to unload the sorrows from
his soul. All at once he was showing symptoms of stiffening a bit, as if
he wondered why he had opened his heart to such a one as Ross Sidney.
I needed all his confidence--the flow was lessening--and so I “shot the
well,” as the oil fellows say.
“After they had given you all kinds of nice entertainment in the city,
you started for home and opened your package on the train and found a
lead junk and a letter advising you to go home and keep still and never
believe strangers again.”
“That letter--that insult!” he gasped.
“They told you they were starting straight for Europe, and they--”
“So that is what you were in the city for, eh? A blackleg--one of them!
Your brazen cheek--your flashy clothes--”
“No, Judge Kingsley, I never tried to sell gold bricks. But it came my
way to find out a lot about those fellows who do sell them.”
“Yes, you flashy cheat!” he snarled. “You are like that other one!
Waistcoats like chromos! Tricked out with gewgaws--airs of a peacock!”
That last word sent a thrill through me, put an idea into my head.
“Was he a big man, Judge Kingsley? Was his name Pratt?”
“No.”
“But he brought the gold! He claimed to be the partner. He had a smear
like grease across his cheek--a scar. He--”
“You seem to know your confederates very well, sir.”
“Judge Kingsley, you listen to me! I have never seen those men face to
face, but I have heard of them. I have heard of their tricks. I know how
they operate. I know a good many of their lurking-places. I have made it
my business to know!” I noted that he was still suspicious, and I put my
face close to his and lied with all the fervor that was in me. I needed
his confidence, I say. “I did work as a detective until the dirty mess
of crooks made me sick of the job. I can help you in this thing! Depend
on me! I’m going to help!”
“I have about given up belief in everything!”
“Give me your hand, sir, and promise me you’ll offer a good front to the
world. Nobody must guess that you’re in difficulties. As for the noises
my uncle is making, he has never said anything definite; he is merely
making threats. Everybody knows about his grudge and folks don’t take
much stock in him. If you keep a stiff upper lip nobody will guess.”
“But they all will _know_ on the fifteenth of April.”
“If we can grab in ten thousand dollars before then--”
“Do you stand there, young man, and tell me you have the crazy idea that
you can pull any of my money back from those scoundrels?”
“Yes, and more with it,” I returned, much more bold in my tone than I
was in my heart. But when I knew that I had the “Peacock” Pratt gang
identified--and probably had located Jeff Dawlin’s brother as the man
who planted the fraud, posing as the son, his usual rôle, certain wild
hopes and dizzy schemes went to whirling in my head.
“We ought to have three thousand in cash in a short time to--”
“A client--a widow is pressing me for money. It amounts to about that
sum,” he said, dolefully.
“Does she suspect--”
“No, no!” he snapped, irritably. “She is going to be married again, the
fool, and wants to hand it to her new husband.” He showed a flicker of
pride in the midst of his troubles. “There is nobody calling Zebulon
Kingsley a thief as yet, except himself and your uncle. _I_ know that I
am and _he_ suspects,” he added, bitterly.
“Then the woman must have her money, sir. We must keep everybody from
even suspecting for a time.”
I took both his hands in mine. He did need comfort and sympathy, even
such as I could offer him.
“I’m square with you, Judge Kingsley. I know how to find those men. I’ll
go after them. And I know you’ll do your part to help me. I only ask you
to buck up! Let nobody suspect!”
“I ought to doubt every man in the world after what I have been through!
I ought to doubt _you!_ Why are you doing all this for me, sir?” he
demanded, and then I was glad it was dark there under the tree. I must
have revealed confusion aplenty. “I have never shown you any favors,
young man. It has been the other way. I never liked your breed.”
“I know that, Judge Kingsley, but--” I could not go any further at the
moment.
“Well?”
“You see,” I gulped, “when I was a little shaver you gave me a quarter
and I bought a catechism and studied it and--I guess--I’m quite sure--it
made a better boy, and--”
It wasn’t convincing, that talk wasn’t! He caught me up sharply:
“The truth isn’t in you, young Sidney!”
“You told me that once before. And it has been my ambition to show you
that you were wrong.”
“Bah! I know human nature too well to believe any such rot.”
“But you always stood up in Sunday-school, sir, and told us about
Christian charity and meekness and forgiveness. You believe in all that,
don’t you?”
“I have no confidence in you--not now!”
“Not when I’m trying to prove to you that I’m one of those practical
Christians?”
“Do not insult me with any more of that balderdash, sir!”
I had just as much of nasty temper as he had, and mine began to flare up
in me. I knew that my motives were all right, though I did not dare to
reveal them to him--and my innocence made me the more angry.
“You would have made a big hit with the good Samaritan when he came
along and offered his help after you had fallen among thieves,” I
snapped. “I reckon you have never practised any of the charity you have
preached. I have never preached, but I am practising! You don’t seem to
recognize your own religion when you see it acted out instead of being
merely printed in a book!”
“You’re a renegade, convicting yourself out of your own mouth!”
Oh, what was the use! I walked off a little way. Then I turned on him.
“I have my own reasons for wanting to help you, Judge Kingsley, no
matter what you believe about me. But if you feel as you talk, you can
go to blazes just as soon as you like. I’m not going to try to round up
all the revolvers, ropes, and razors in this town. That rope you have
there seems to be a good strong one. Go as far as you like! And I’ll
keep on in _my_ way and will turn the money over to your estate--to your
wife and your daughter. You are not the first coward who has knocked
out the last prop and sluiced all the mess on to his women folks! Go
on! I’ll be furnishing your wife bread and butter while you’re having
insomnia in hell!”
Then I went back to the tavern.
I knew well enough that Zebulon Kingsley would not kill himself that
night. In the first place, he was too mad. He came behind me, chattering
his teeth like an angry squirrel. Then, again, I had stirred his
curiosity, even if I had not given him any special hope. And my threat
about handling his money after he had gone was enough to keep Zebulon
Kingsley hanging around on top of the earth for a time. I knew his
nature mighty well. I would have taken those means with him at first,
but I had been hoping that he would accept me on a friendlier basis
where I might coddle my hopes; and here was I handling him by the scruff
of the neck!
I caught a glimpse of Celene through the sitting-room window when I
passed the house. The light was behind her and her hair was like an
angel’s halo. Ah! there was the inspiration which was keeping me on
the lunatic’s job I had picked out for myself! As for that old hornbeam
father, I was in a state of fury which prompted me to go back, use his
ears for handles, and kick him around his premises until he promised
to behave himself--and give me his daughter when my task was finished.
Well, at least I had reached one interesting stage in my development--I
was acting as guardian of the high and mighty Zebulon Kingsley and was
rather despising my ward!
That evening I sat till late and went through my notebook and studied
the affiliations, the methods, the lurking-places and all other
information I had recorded in regard to one “Peacock” Pratt and his
associates.
It seemed to me that I had a pretty good start on the thing, even though
the future was, as Jodrey Vose used to say of dock water, in a “nebulous
and gummy condition.”
But I went to bed, nevertheless, in a considerably exalted state of
mind. With every day that passed I was getting farther into the affairs
of the Kingsley family--and getting into those affairs--
I dreamed of Celene that night, but that was not a matter for special
record; I dreamed of her every night.
In the morning I put on a business suit I had bought “off the pile” in
Mechanicsville. I had wanted to show Levant that I had more than one
suit of clothes. I reckoned that I would feel more sane and solid in
that suit. And I did feel that way when I went down to breakfast. If
ever a man had business ahead of him I was that one!
But that sane and normal feeling did not sit well on my conscience. I
found myself brooding and getting depressed. I wondered why I had felt
so exalted and optimistic the night before. How could I have made such
confident promises to Kingsley?
While I sawed at that prosaic hunk o’ ham the notion of chasing up
those knaves and getting my clutch on that stolen money--or any other
money--seemed just a hopeless dream. It was surely a crazy idea; I
sat there and looked down into my plate and so decided. For all of a
quarter-hour I mulled and gloomed there, wondering what had happened to
make me so dull and disheartened and doped. I woke up to what the
matter was--woke all of a sudden. It was that blamed ready-made suit of
clothes!
I was simply plain Ross Sidney! I was right down on the plane of all
the men around me. I looked like a tank-town commercial drummer and felt
like one. I had no more imagination or horizon than a grocery clerk. All
the fantastic spirit of adventure had gone out of me. Perhaps it may
be thought that mere clothes cannot do all that to a man! Well, wear
overalls to the next grand ball! I’m no psychologist and I have never
read Carlyle’s essay on clothes, though I am told he describes about
what I have felt. I’m merely saying this: when I realized what was the
matter with me and felt certain that I needed to be comfortably crazy in
order to keep up my dip--why, do you suppose I would ever have tried to
bark in front of that show if I had been dressed in a sack-suit?
Yes, comfortably crazy!
I rushed, up-stairs and shifted to my knight-errant regalia. Then I went
to my job on the run. I reckoned that I was going to be in a devil of a
hurry for a while!
I galloped down to the wood-lot, my plug-hat riding tilted back like
the funnel of a racing steamer. Those choppers were hearty and happy and
were hustling for that bonus; if a few laggards needed pep I injected
it. I made estimates, got every hitch in Levant which would cart wood
and drag timber and started the cut for the railroad.
The freight-trains picked up the gondola cars as they were ready.
I rushed to the cities and arranged for deliveries, pulled down first
payments in good season to settle wages for a week, as agreed with
Henshaw Hook, and shuttled back and forth until all the cut was cleaned
up on the lot. Gad! how I was counting days! I did not waste any time on
Judge Kingsley. I realized that the more I kept away from him, the more
I kept him guessing!
I grabbed my first opportunity to take a day off the job and run down
to the big city; I made that jump from one of the towns where I was
handling the last deliveries--for I could not make final collections
until the railroad completed its haul, and so I had a little time to
spare.
There was another barker at the door of Dawlin’s place, and I noted with
gratification that he was a rather seedy chap. The blonde looked acutely
surprised and showed apprehension when I walked right in past her.
Plainly, her man had been making some promises as to what he would do to
me if I ever showed up again.
And the first glance Dawlin gave me when he looked up from his gazara
envelopes showed that he was quite ready to keep his promises.
I beckoned him to his office and walked in there and waited for him.
He came on the jump. He was at me almost before I had time to place my
plug-hat out of the way of possible damage.
When Mr. Dawlin would close a gazara game right at a moment when suckers
were shoving money at him, it was proof that he was specially interested
in something else which was almighty important. His language when he
burst in on me made it plain that his interest in me was not flattering,
though it was intense.
“Oh, if it’s that little, foolish, petty matter of the few dollars you
handed back to those yaps,” I broke in, after I had pushed him back with
a swoop of my arm--and, as I have stated, it was a hard arm--“here’s
your small change.”
In my wood business I had promptly changed checks into cash. I pulled
out before the lustful eyes of Mr. Dawlin a roll of bills big enough to
make a pillow for his Mormon Giant, and I carelessly flipped the edges
to show him they were yellowbacks.
“What did the little matter amount to?” I asked, airily.
“Six and twenty-two fifty--and I tossed ’em a five,” he said, trying
to make a quick shift from passion to pacification.
“And I guess the drinks are on me this time, Jeff,” I said, adding a
ten-dollar bill to the amount. “Go buy the kind you like.”
“But what in--”
“This tells all the story,” I said, tapping the roll and stuffing it
back.
“But your partners--leaving me in the lurch--not inviting me in for a
drag--”
“It had to be a lone play, Jeff--just had to be! But don’t think I have
all the money in the world cornered in my pocket, even if it looks like
it. And I’m not back here simply to give you a treat by letting you look
at it. I have located a bigger bundle--but it can’t be coopered by a
lone play.”
“Job for the gang, hey?” he asked, almost drooling.
“Well, for the right operators if they’re the real goods. But no
amateurs, you know!”
“Condemn it! I have told you about my brother. He’s one of the best in
the country! Has just pulled off a killing--not very big, but easy and
profitable.”
“Where?”
“Nothing doing on the where!” replied Mr. Dawlin, warily. “That’s all
done and the money counted. We always forget _where_ as soon as the
money is counted.” He fingered his nose. “Where is--” he started.
“Same tag,” I said, smartly. “You forget and I don’t remember. All is,
it’s there waiting. Can we all get together?”
“When?”
“To-day.”
“Blast it all! you ought to know that we can’t all get together
to-day--nor a week from to-day!” He showed some suspicion.
“Why should I know that?” I looked him in the eye. “When a job is done
East, why, you know yourself they all shoot West--clear to the--”
“You didn’t tell me the last job was done East,” I said, coolly.
“Well, it was. I can say that much. And they’re on their way
West--they’re going over the Rockies.”
“Then I guess I’ll declare them out on the job, Jeff. I’m in with some
of the other--”
“But that’s no way to use a friend like I’ve been to you! This thing
ought to be put up to Ike and ‘Peacock.’ You must remember that I
offered you a lay with them! I tried to use you right. You ought to show
some gratitude.”
He was fairly whining in his anxiety, but I was mighty careful about
showing any eagerness of my own. I scratched my ear and looked rather
doubtful and displayed indifference.
“Of course I can’t write to ’em--we never write, especially soon after
a job. But I have their bearings, Ross. I can put you right on to their
trail. They have a job on below the Potlatch country in Idaho. First
East and then West--get the idea? It’s something about land--this
operation. You’re bound to bump into ’em; there are not so many men
out there as there are here.”
“Still, it looks to me like a wild-goose chase,” I demurred, hoping to
be assured that it was no such thing.
“‘Peacock’ isn’t going to change his style! He’s too far away to be
obliged to bother--and he sure does like his togs! You can’t hide
‘Peacock’ Pratt if you surround him with a whole county. You’ll find him
easy, and my brother will be right on the wheel. Wait! If you don’t know
that country I’ll jot down directions and names for you--names of men to
ask. I’ll give you a word or two for a passport!” He grabbed paper and
pen and began to scribble. “What extra the trip costs will be added to
your lay. You’ll find them square if you get in with them,” he assured
me while he wrote. “You don’t have to discuss any lay for me. My brother
always sees to it that I get my pickings from any job I help him to.”
He fairly thrust the paper into my hands when he had finished. Really, I
was more grateful inside than I allowed to appear in my thanks. I could
hardly ask Mr. Dawlin to do more in setting me on the trail of the men
I was after. The humor of the thing certainly did appeal to me--and I
needed a little something for cheer just then.
Whether I would try to pick their pockets when I arrived up with them,
or knock them down with a dub, or what I would do I left to the future.
I had enough to think of just then--that wood business to wind up and
the matter of the future handling of Zebulon Kingsley to attend to--and
a crazy chase across the continent ahead of me!
I tucked the paper deep, slapped Mr. Dawlin on the back, and hustled for
up-country.