The Keystone
When Senator Blair learned of Judge Latimer's death he thought himself
its prime cause and suffered as only a man can who is not wholly
heartless. How poorly he had rewarded the friendship which had relieved
him in his need at Fort Macleod! All his passion for Mrs. Latimer had
died in that fearful moment when he looked on the curiously passive
husband in the doorway; remorse bit like acid into the depths of his
heart. The meaning glances and the interrupted conversations that met
him everywhere the morning after the judge's death drove him to
solitude. He even avoided his sister, Danvers and the doctor; but most
of all he shunned the Honorable Mr. Moore. He had had enough of
temptation! He would not allow himself again to be approached!
His belief that in the sight of God he was a murderer made Blair
collapse during the day. He was confined to his room; and it was then
that he told the Fort Benton physician all that was haunting him, hour
by hour. Blair did not attempt to palliate his sin, and although the
doctor had known much and suspected more, he could hardly find it in his
heart to forgive either Winifred's brother or the woman who had led him
on. The only ray of mercy he felt was that matters were not so bad as he
had feared between these old friends of his; but in his bitterness at
Arthur's death, he would not give Blair the consolation of knowing that
it was only a question of a short time, at best, when the judge's weak
heart must have failed. Let him suffer! Arthur had! For the first time
the lenient doctor did not want to relieve pain. Neither he nor Blair
knew of what had taken place between Eva and her husband after Charlie
had left their rooms.
The doctor's bitterness, however, was as nothing to the inward storm
which shook Danvers when Eva, in the height of her hysterical remorse
and fear of exposure, told him the sorry tale of her first flutterings
around the arc-light of Mr. Burroughs' ambition; of her consent to aid
Mr. Moore in his efforts to influence uncertain legislators to vote for
Burroughs, and that gentleman's acceptance thereof; of the clandestine
meetings in her apartments with the Honorable William, and of the more
open but far less harmless friendship with Senator Blair, pursued until
she was singed with the flame of her own kindling and nearly consumed by
its fires. And lastly, her husband's reproaches; her miserable evasions
and the hurt that she had deliberately given him. When she told her
silent listener of that last half hour Danvers held himself forcibly in
his fear of doing the woman bodily harm. That she should have done this
cruel thing! Her indiscretions had been bad enough, but they had been
prompted by an ambition second only to Mr. Burroughs'. But to turn the
knife wantonly in Arthur's heart of gold!... How nearly his friend had
gone from him, believing that he was false!... And now he was dead!...
dead!
Philip's agony broke its restraint, and Mrs. Latimer never forgot his
scathing denunciation.
"You killed Arthur," he concluded, white to the lips, "as surely as if
you used a stiletto! So that was what Arthur meant." For a few moments
Danvers could not speak as the recollection of that look of love and
trust came surging back. "No one must ever know the truth," he went on,
huskily. "Let it be buried with poor Arthur. There will be more or less
gossip; but we will stand by you for the judge's sake--and for Miss
Blair's as well. She, of all persons, must know nothing of what you have
told me."
Mrs. Latimer's sobs only roused his wrath at all the misery she had
wrought. He knew her tears were for herself, not for her husband. As he
turned to leave the room she caught at his hand.
"I did not mean----" she began in weak defense. "You are too hard," she
protested, feeling him recoil.
"Hard!" Philip laughed harshly in his pain. "You did not expect me to
condole with you on the outcome of your folly? All that I can say is,
may God forgive you!" and he was gone.
So resolutely did Latimer's friends ignore all previous conditions that
the ready tongue of rumor was silenced immediately. Surely if Senator
Danvers and the doctor from Fort Benton, as well as Miss Blair, were
ever at Mrs. Latimer's side, there could have been no breath of wrong in
her sudden cultivation of Senator Blair.
Only three persons--Danvers, the doctor and Moore--knew of the hidden
octopus of Burroughs' insatiable vindictiveness, whose tentacles, first
fastening on Eva, had finally crushed Latimer. Moore knew, if the others
did not, that Blair was doomed if he once again came within its radius.
Then for the others! But he made no immediate move, and decorously gave
regard to the proprieties, both for himself and as a substitute for Mr.
Burroughs. His chief was almost as hysterical as Eva herself over the
judge's untimely death, for he thought his prospects endangered thereby.
His panic made him hasten to leave Helena for a few days.
Moore had tried to secure some other man to change to Burroughs, someone
who did not hold himself as high as Blair had done on the night of the
club dinner; but he had finally been obliged to report his non-success.
He suggested to Burroughs that he approach Senator Blair once more,
offering twenty thousand dollars. He felt sure that Charlie would take
less--now!
Just before Burroughs ordered a special train to hurry him away from the
prevailing gloom, the two conspirators had their final word on the
subject of Senator Blair.
"We've got to get this thing over," said Burroughs, savagely. "There's
too much talk. We'll be hung as high as Haman or sent to the pen for
twenty years if we don't get a move on. And there are but six days more
of the session. Give Charlie Blair his price--and be damned to him!"
"That's all right, Bob," retorted Moore, angrily. "I'll give him the
money if you say so. But I don't think the whole business of being a
United States senator is worth thirty thousand dollars. And if I do get
it to him (and the Lord knows how I can)--what then? He is sick in bed,
and who can tell when he can get to the capitol?"
"_Get_? We'll _take_ him, alive or dying! Thirty thousand! It's my
money, isn't it? You are nothing out of pocket. Get it to him while the
rest of his folks are at the--the funeral!" The word chilled them both.
Were they responsible for this death? "Get it to him! He'll keep it!
Montana'll be too hot for him from now on, let me tell you! He'll take
the money, vote for me, and skip--all in the same day. There's been too
much talk to be agreeable to a man who's never before been mixed up with
a woman--except that squaw!" Burroughs walked nervously back and forth,
then: "You wire me when you've given the money to him and I'll come
back. It'll all be clear sailing then."
This delay! As Burroughs reviewed the results of his schemes he felt
that he had been hardly used. Not so had fortune treated him in the
past. Most of all he bewailed the inclusion of a woman in the necessary
chicanery of diverting votes. Catch him again being over-persuaded by
Bill Moore's sophistry!
In truth Senator Blair had begun to think that he should have to take
Burroughs' money. How could he ever face his sister, his world again?
He made sure that he was not only called a murderer, but that he was
one. He might as well be other things. No appellation could be so
terrible as that first. He would take the thirty thousand dollars if it
should be forthcoming, vote and take the first train west the same day.
In the Orient he could lose his identity as a bribe-taker and a
murderer. The torture never relaxed during the days preceding the
judge's funeral.
Late on the afternoon of the day of the burial of the man whom he had so
nearly wronged the senator's attention was drawn to a low rustle near
the door opening from his room to the hall outside. Something white and
long was being cautiously pushed under the door. Charlie was alone, and
he weakly pulled himself to that mysterious package. The soft _feel_ of
it thrilled him like brandy. Burroughs had come to his terms! He could
get away! But he must previously acknowledge before all men that he had
been bought at a price. The odium.... A flirt of the devil's tail
brought a new thought to his fevered brain--fevered by remorse and the
effects of long-continued and unwonted alcoholic stimulants. Suppose
that he did not vote? Suppose that he kept this fortune (he counted it
over to assure himself of its reality), pleading his sickness until the
last day of the session, and go ... go.... The thought swung him to
uneasy sleep.
While he slept the doctor and the senator from Chouteau came into the
room as they returned from the cemetery. Blair had been too much
occupied in his dizzy thought to remember to hide his ill-gotten money,
and on the white counterpane lay those proofs of Burroughs' infamy.
"Thirty thousand dollars!" gasped the doctor, in undertones, counting
the large bills and sheafing them in one trembling hand. "What shall we
do?"
"Nothing," responded Danvers, very quietly. "When Charlie wakes I will
talk with him. I do not believe that he will keep that money or vote for
Burroughs."
"How fortunate that Winifred did not come in with us!" said the older
man. "You stay here, Phil, and I will keep her away for an hour. He will
not sleep long. He is too feverish." Danvers nodded acquiescence, and
the physician tiptoed away.
Before many minutes the sick man awoke. Danvers sat near the bed,
reading the evening paper. Blair looked around with the impersonal eyes
of the sick, then saw the pile of bank notes on the stand beside his
bed. He started and gave a furtive look at Philip. Their eyes met
squarely.
"You will send that money back, Charlie." The words were not so much
query as certainty. Blair, shamed, was long in replying.
"I can't afford to, Danvers," he said finally. "I'm not only a poor man,
but a ruined one as well. I may keep it and--get out of the State."
"And vote for Bob Burroughs?" The head of the opposition still kept his
calm acceptance of his discovery. Curiously enough it threshed the sick
senator, after a few words, into stubborn silence.
"Maybe I will and maybe I won't. I have the money, and Bob or Bill will
never dare to ask for it back. If you ever see me in the Assembly again
you'll know that I'm going to vote for Burroughs--curse him!"
"Let me have that money, Charlie," Danvers pleaded. "Think of your
sister. It will break her heart if you do this thing. And," he continued
huskily, for he suddenly found that he could not control his voice,
"hearts enough have been broken over this business of electing a United
States senator." He reached out his hand, persuasively, expectantly. "I
will see that it goes to the men who gave it to you."
But Senator Blair was obdurate; and when Philip left him he felt that
his long fight was to end in defeat, and that Robert Burroughs would be
elected by the high-priced vote of Winifred's brother. Senator Danvers
had kept in too close touch with the situation not to know that Moore
would never have paid such a sum to Senator Blair if he were not their
last hope for a majority of even one.
The next day of the Legislature Senator Blair was again reported not
present on account of sickness, and William Moore thought it best not to
show his full strength. The next, and the last day of the session, Blair
was still absent. Ballot after ballot was taken. One by one men
responded to the crack of Moore's whip and changed their votes to
Burroughs, while the spectators indulged in significant laughter. One by
one the several candidates withdrew their names as their former
adherents shamelessly went over the fast increasing list for Burroughs.
Still Senator Danvers held most of his men, and not until long after
nightfall did the ballots come within one of electing Burroughs. The
last man to change, amid hoots of derision, was Joseph Hall.
Mr. Burroughs and the Honorable William were both in the rear of the
House of Representatives, for the first time during the session.
"We must get Charlie Blair here!" hissed Burroughs, hearing Senator
Danvers make a motion for a ten minutes' recess. Senator Hall opposed
the motion. He did not know that Senator Blair's vote would elect
Burroughs, or he would not have tried to block Danvers' desire to speak
to some of the turncoats. But the motion prevailed and there was much
seeking of the various places where a man might refresh himself after
such arduous toil. "He _shall_ come," continued the candidate for
Congress, "if he dies in the next hour!" Moore, feeling sure of the men
he had already lined up, consented to be the one to bring the sick
senator from the hotel, only five minutes away.
In the meantime Senator Danvers was vainly trying to stem the tide. The
doctor reported that Senator Blair was in bed and apparently sleeping,
so Philip was comparatively easy. All that remained for him to do was to
see that no other man went over to the enemy; and it had been agreed
that the Legislature should adjourn at two o'clock that night.
Senator Blair, meanwhile, had made up his mind to get away that very
hour. No matter if he were too sick to stand, he would get up and dress,
get a carriage and go.... It was better than staying and going mad. The
hotel was practically empty, he knew, for everybody who could be at the
capitol was there to witness the closing hours of the Assembly. Word had
spread that Robert Burroughs would surely be elected before midnight.
The whole city and most of the State's inhabitants of voting age and sex
were crowded into the capitol. Charlie knew that Winifred was with Mrs.
Latimer across the hall. Hurriedly he dressed, trembling with fear and
physical weakness, packed a suit case, felt to see if the thirty
thousand dollars was safe, and cautiously opening the outer door, peeped
into the hall to see if the way was clear. But it was not. There stood
the Honorable William, in the very act of putting his hand on the
door-knob!
"No, you don't, my beauty!" snarled Moore, pushing the sick man back and
seeing in a glance what was planned. "You'll not leave Helena until
you've earned that thirty thousand! Don't you ever think it! You're
coming over to the capitol right now, with me, and vote for Bob! We need
you in the business! And, if you don't, by God I'll make you sorry for
it! It's come to a show down. This business has killed Judge Latimer and
it may as well kill you--you miserable, white-livered----" Moore's
language and voice were raised to the highest power.
"Charlie!" At the disturbance, Winifred came from Eva's rooms. "You
up--and out in the hall! What is the trouble? You surely are not going
to the capitol in your condition?"
Blair was past all words in his rage, and Moore explained with what
grace he might that it was imperative for Charlie to cast his vote.
Winifred insisted that she accompany them if her brother must go, and
Moore did not dare to delay long enough to argue the matter. Every
moment counted now.
In the cab Winifred, knowing nothing of the blood-money in her
brother's pocket, begged him not to vote for Mr. Burroughs. She had
heard the last of Moore's tirade. But he would not answer, and she felt
Moore's foot seeking Blair's to freshen his resolve. Though her tears
wet the hand she held, it did not return her caress.
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