Oldham obeyed his principal's orders by joining Bob on the train back to
the city. He dropped down by the young man's side, produced a cigar
which he rolled between his lips, but did not light, and at once opened
up the subject of his negotiations.
"I wish to point out to you, with your permission," he began, "just
where you stand in this matter. In the confusion and haste of a busy
time you may not have cast up your accounts. First," he checked off the
point on his long, slender forefinger, "in injuring Mr. Baker in this
ill-advised fashion you are injuring your old-time employer and friend,
Mr. Welton, and this in two ways: you are jeopardizing his whole
business, and you are rendering practically certain his conviction on a
criminal charge. Mr. Welton is an old man, a simple man, and a kindly
man; this thing is likely to kill him." Oldham glanced keenly at the
young man's sombre face, and went on. "Second"--he folded back his
middle finger--"you are injuring your own father, also in two ways: you
are bringing his lawful property into danger, and you are giving his
political enemies the most effective sort of a weapon to swing in his
coming campaign. And do not flatter yourself they will not make the best
of it. It happens that your father has stood strongly with the
Conservation members in the late fight in Congress. This would be a
pretty scandal. Third," said Oldham, touching his ring finger, "you are
injuring yourself. You are throwing away an opportunity to get in on the
ground floor with the biggest man in the West; you are making for
yourself a powerful enemy; and you are indubitably preparing the way for
your removal from office--if removal from such an office can
conceivably mean anything to any one." He removed the cigar from his
mouth, gazed at the wetted end, waited a moment for the young man to
comment, then replaced it, and resumed. "And fourth," he remarked
closing his fist so that all fingers were concealed. There he stopped
until Bob was fairly compelled to start him on again.
"And fourth----" he suggested, therefore.
"Fourth," rapped out Oldham, briskly, "you injure George Pollock."
"George Pollock!" echoed Bob, trying vainly to throw a tone of ingenuous
surprise into his voice.
"Certainly; George Pollock," repeated Oldham. "I arrived in Sycamore
Flats at the moment when Pollock murdered Plant. I know positively that
you were an eye-witness to the deed. If you testify in one case, I shall
certainly call upon you to testify in the other. Furthermore," he turned
his gray eyes on Bob, and for the second time the young man was
permitted to see an implacable hostility, "although not on the scene
itself, I can myself testify, and will, that you held the murderer's
horse during the deed, and assisted Pollock to escape. Furthermore, I
can testify, and can bring a competent witness, that while supposed to
be estimating Government timber in the Basin, you were in communication
with Pollock."
"Saleratus Bill!" cried Bob, enlightened as to the trailer's recent
activities in the Basin.
"It will be easy to establish not only Pollock's guilt, but your own as
accessory. That will put you hard and fast behind the bars--where you
belong."
In this last speech Oldham made his one serious mistake of the
interview. So long as he had appealed to Bob's feelings for, and sense
of duty toward, other men, he had succeeded well in still further
confusing the young man's decision. But at the direct personal threat,
Bob's combative spirit flared. Suddenly his troubled mind was clarified,
as though Oldham's menace had acted as a chemical reagent to
precipitate all his doubts. Whatever the incidental hardships, right
must prevail. And, as always, in the uprooting of evil, some unlucky
innocent must suffer. It is the hardship of life, inevitable, not to be
blinked at if a man is to be a man, and do a man's part. He leaned
forward with so swift a movement that Oldham involuntarily dodged back.
"You tell your boss," said Bob, "that nothing on God's earth can keep me
out of court."
He threw away his half-smoked cigar and went back to the chair car. The
sight of Oldham was intolerable to him.
The words were said, and the decision made. In his heart he knew the
matter irrevocable. For a few moments he experienced a feeling of relief
and freedom, as when a swimmer first gets his head above the surf that
has tumbled him. These fine-spun matters of ethical balance had confused
and wearied his spirit. He had become bewildered among such varied
demands on his personal decision. It was a comfort to fall back on the
old straight rule of right conduct no matter what the consequences. The
essentials of the situation were not at all altered: Baker was guilty of
the rankest fraud; Welton was innocent of every evil intent and should
never be punished for what he had been unwillingly and doubtfully
persuaded to permit; Orde senior had acquired his lands quite according
to the customs and ideas of the time; George Pollock should have been
justified a thousand times over in sight of God and man. Those things
were to Bob's mind indisputable. To deprive the one man of a very small
portion of his fraudulently acquired property, it was apparently
necessary to punish three men who should not be punished. These men
were, furthermore, all dear to Bob personally. It did not seem right
that his decision should plunge them into undeserved penalties. But now
the situation was materially altered. Bob also stood in danger from his
action. He, too, must suffer with the others. All were in the same
boat. The menace to his own liberty justified his course. The innocent
must suffer with the guilty; but now the fact that he was one of those
who must so suffer, raised his decision from a choice to a necessity.
Whatever the consequences, the simplest, least perplexing, most
satisfying course was to follow the obvious right. The odium of
ingratitude, of lack of affection, of disloyalty, of self-reproach was
lifted from him by the very fact that he, too, was one of those who must
take consequences. In making the personal threat against the young man's
liberty, Oldham had, without knowing it, furnished to his soul the one
valid reason for going ahead, conscience-clear.
Though naturally Oldham could not follow out this psychology, he was
shrewd enough to understand that he had failed. This surprised him, for
he had entertained not the slightest doubt that the threat of the
penitentiary would bring Bob to terms.
On arriving in the city, Oldham took quarters at the Buena Vista and
sent for Saleratus Bill, whom he had summoned by wire as soon as he had
heard from that individual of Bob's intended visit to Fremont.
The spy arrived wearing a new broad, black hat, a celluloid collar, a
wrinkled suit of store clothes, and his same shrewd, evil leer. Oldham
did not appear, but requested that the visitor be shown into his room.
There, having closed the transom, he issued his instructions.
"I want you to pay attention, and not interrupt," said he. "Within a
month a case is coming up in which Orde, the Forest man, is to appear as
witness. He must not appear. I leave that all to you, but, of course, I
want no more than necessary violence. He must be detained until after
the trial, and for as long after that as I say. Understand?"
"Sure," said Saleratus Bill. "But when he comes back, he'll fix you just
the same."
"I'll see to that part of it. The case will never be reopened. Now, mind
you, no shooting----"
"There might be an accident," suggested Saleratus Bill, opening his red
eyes and staring straight at his principal.
"Accidents," said Oldham, speaking slowly and judicially, "are always
likely to happen. Sometimes they can't be helped." He paused to let
these words sink in.
Saleratus Bill wrinkled his eyes in an appreciative laugh. "Accidents is
of two kinds: lucky and unlucky," he remarked briefly, by way of
parenthesis.
"But, of course, it is distinctly understood," went on Oldham, as though
he had not heard, "that this is your own affair. You have nothing to
expect from me if you get into trouble. And if you mention my name,
you'll merely get jugged for attempted blackmail."
Saleratus Bill's eyes flared.
"Cut it," said he, with a rasp in his voice.
"Nevertheless, that is the case," repeated Oldham, unmoved.
The flame slowly died from Saleratus Bill's eyes.
"I'll want a little raise for that kind of a job," said he.
"Naturally," agreed Oldham.
They entered into discussion of ways and means.
In the meantime Bob had encountered an old friend.