MAINTAINING A REPUTATION
The abduction of Sassoon, which signalized de Spain's entry into the
stage-line management, created a sensation akin to the exploding of a
bomb under the range. The whole mountain country, which concentrates,
sensibly, on but one topic at a time, talked for a week of nothing
else. No such defiance of the traditions of the Morgan rule along the
reaches of the Spanish Sinks had been attempted in years--and it was
recalled more than once, when de Spain's feat was discussed at the
ranches, on the trails, and in the haunts of gunmen in Calabasas, that
no one of those who had ever braved the wrath of the Sink rulers had
lived indefinitely to boast of it.
Experienced men, therefore, in the high country--men of that class
who, wherever found, are old in the ways of the world, and not
promptly moved by new or youthful adventure--dismissed the incident
after hearing the details, with the comment or the conclusion that
there would hardly be for de Spain more than one additional chapter to
the story, and that this would be a short one. The most active
Morgans--Gale, Duke, and the easy-going Satterlee--were indeed wrought
to the keenest pitch of revengeful anger. No question of the right or
wrong of the arrest was discussed--justification was not considered.
It was an overwhelmingly insolent invasion--and worst of all, a
successful invasion, by one who had nothing but cool impudence, not
even a budding reputation to justify his assault on the lifelong
prestige of the Gap clan. Gale Morgan strode and rode the streets of
Sleepy Cat looking for de Spain, and storming.
De Spain himself, somewhat surprised at the storm he had kicked up,
heeded the counsel of Scott, and while the acute stage of the
resentment raged along the trail he ran down for a few days to
Medicine Bend to buy horses. Both Gale and Duke Morgan proclaimed, in
certain public places in Sleepy Cat, their intention of shooting de
Spain on sight; and as a climax to all the excitement of the week
following his capture, the slippery Sassoon broke jail and, after a
brief interval, appeared at large in Calabasas.
This feat of the Morgan satellite made a loud laugh at de Spain's
expense. It mitigated somewhat the humiliation of Sassoon's friends,
but it in no wise diminished their expressed resolve to punish de
Spain's invasion. Lefever, who as the mixer among the stage men, kept
close to the drift of public sentiment, decided after de Spain's
return to Sleepy Cat that the stage-line authorities had gained
nothing by Sassoon's capture.
"We ought to have thought of it before, Henry," he said frankly one
night in Jeffries's office, "but we didn't think."
"Meaning just what, John?" demanded de Spain without real interest.
"Meaning, that in this country you can't begin on a play like pulling
Sassoon out from under his friends' noses without keeping up the
pace--without a second and third act. You dragged Sassoon by his hair
out of the Gap; good. You surprised everybody; good. But you can't
very well stop at that, Henry. You have raised hopes, you have led
people to invest you with the faint glimmerings of a reputation. I
say, the glimmerings, because such a feat by itself doesn't insure a
permanent reputation, Henry. It is, so to say, merely a 'demand'
reputation--one that men reserve the right to recall at any moment.
And the worst of it is, if they ever do recall it, you are worse off
than when before they extended the brittle bauble to you."
"Jingo, John! For a stage blacksmith you are some spieler." De Spain
added an impatient, not to say contumelious exclamation concerning
the substance of Lefever's talk. "I didn't ask them for a reputation.
This man interfered with my guard--in fact, tried to cut his throat,
didn't he?"
"Would have done it if Frank had been an honest man."
"That is all there is to it, isn't it? If Sassoon or anybody else gets
in the way of the stages, I'll go after them again--that's all there
is to it, isn't it?"
Lefever tapped the second finger of one fat hand gently on the table.
"Practically; practically all, Henry, yes. You don't quite understand,
but you have the right idea. What I am trying to hammer into your
dense cocoanut is, that when a man has, gets, or is given a reputation
out in this country, he has got to live up to it."
"What do you want me to do--back a horse and shoot two guns at once up
and down Main Street, cowboy style?"
Lefever kept his patience without difficulty. "No, no. You'll
understand."
"Scott advised me to run down to Medicine Bend for a few days to let
the Morgans cool off."
"Right. That was the first step. The few days are a thing of the past.
I suppose you know," continued Lefever, in as well-modulated a tone
as he could assume to convey information that could not be regarded as
wholly cheerful, "that they expect to get you for this Sassoon job."
De Spain flushed. But the red anger lasted only a moment. "Who are
'they'?" he asked after a pause.
"Deaf Sandusky, Logan, of course, the Calabasas bunch, and the
Morgans."
De Spain regarded his companion unamiably. "What do they expect I'll
be doing while they are getting me?"
Lefever raised a hand deprecatingly. "Don't be overconfident, Henry;
that's your danger. I know you can take care of yourself. All I want
to do is to get the folks here acquainted with your ability, without
taking unnecessary chances. You see, people are not now asking
questions of one another; they are asking them of themselves. Who and
what is this newcomer--an accident or a genuine arrival? A common
squib or a real explosion? Don't get excited," he added, in an effort
to soothe de Spain's obvious irritation. "You have the idea, Henry.
It's time to show yourself."
"I can't very well do business here without showing myself," retorted
de Spain.
"But it is a thing to be managed," persisted Lefever. "Now,
suppose--since the topic is up--we 'show' in Main Street for a
while."
"Suppose we do," echoed de Spain ungraciously.
"That will crack the debut ice. We will call at Harry Tenison's hotel,
and then go to his new rooms--go right to society headquarters
first--that's my theory of doing it. If anybody has any shooting in
mind, Tenison's is a quiet and orderly place. And if a man declines to
eat anybody up at Tenison's, we put him down, Henry, as not ravenously
hungry."
"One man I would like to see is that sheriff, Druel, who let Sassoon
get out."
"Ready to interview him now?"
"I've got some telegrams to answer."
"Those will keep. The Morgans are in town. We'll start out and find
somebody."
It was wet and sloppy outside, but Lefever was indifferent to the
rain, and de Spain thought it would be undignified to complain of it.
When, followed by Lefever, he walked into the lobby of Tenison's hotel
a few moments later the office was empty. Nevertheless, the news of
the appearance of Sassoon's captor spread. The two sauntered into the
billiard-hall, which occupied a deep room adjoining the office and
opened with large plate-glass windows on Main Street. Every table was
in use. A fringe of spectators in the chairs, ostensibly watching the
pool games, turned their eyes toward de Spain--those that recognized
him distinguishing him by nods and whispers to others.
Among several groups of men standing before the long bar, one party of
four near the front end likewise engaged the interest of those keener
loafers who were capable of foreseeing situations. These men,
Satterlee Morgan, the cattleman; Bull Page, one of his cowboys;
Sheriff Druel, and Judge Druel, his brother, had been drinking
together. They did not see Lefever and his companion as the two came
in through the rear lobby door. But Lefever, on catching sight of
them, welcomed his opportunity. Walking directly forward, he laid his
hand on Satt Morgan's shoulder. As the cattleman turned, Lefever,
genially grasping his hand, introduced de Spain to each of the party
in turn. What followed in the brief interval between the meeting of
the six men and the sudden breaking up of the group a few moments
later was never clearly known, but a fairly conclusive theory of it
was afterward accepted by Sleepy Cat.
Morgan threw the brim of his weather-beaten hat back from his tanned
face. He wore a mustache and a chin whisker of that variety
designated in the mountains by the most opprobrious of epithets. But
his smile, which drew his cheeks into wrinkles all about his long,
round nose, was not unfriendly. He looked with open interest from his
frank but not overtrustworthy eyes at de Spain. "I heard," he said in
a good-natured, slightly nasal tone, "you made a sunrise call on us
one day last week."
"And I want to say," returned de Spain, equally amiable, "that if I
had had any idea you folks would take it so hard--I mean, as an
affront intended to any of you--I never would have gone into the Gap
after Sassoon. I just assumed--making a mistake as I now realize--that
my scrap would be with Sassoon, not with the Morgans."
Satt's face wrinkled into a humorous grin. "You sure kicked up some
alkali."
De Spain nodded candidly. "More than I intended to. And I say--without
any intention of impertinence to anybody else--Sassoon is a cur. I
supposed when I brought him in here after so much riding, that we had
sheriff enough to keep him." He looked at Druel with such composure
that the latter for a moment was nonplussed. Then he discharged a
volley of oaths, and demanded what de Spain meant. De Spain did not
move. He refused to see the angry sheriff. "That is where I made my
second mistake," he continued, speaking to Morgan and forcing his
tone just enough to be heard. Druel, with more hard words, began to
abuse the railroad for not paying taxes enough to build a decent jail.
De Spain took another tack. He eyed the sheriff calmly as the latter
continued to draw away and left de Spain standing somewhat apart from
the rest of the group. "Then it may be I am making another mistake,
Druel, in blaming you. It may not be your fault."
"The fault is, you're fresh," cried Druel, warming up as de Spain
appeared to cool. The line of tipplers backed away from the bar. De
Spain, stepping toward the sheriff, raised his hand in a friendly way.
"Druel, you're hurting yourself by your talk. Make me your deputy
again sometime," he concluded, "and I'll see that Sassoon stays where
he is put."
"I'll just do that," cried Druel, with a very strong word, and he
raised his hand in turn. "Next time you want him locked up, you can
take care of him yourself."
The sharp crack of a rifle cut off the words; a bullet tore like a
lightning-bolt across de Spain's neck, crashed through a mahogany
pilaster back of the bar, and embedded itself in the wall. The shot
had been aimed from the street for his head. The noisy room instantly
hushed. Spectators sat glued to their chairs. White-faced players
leaned motionless against the tables. De Spain alone had acted; all
that the bartenders could ever remember after the single rifle-shot
was seeing his hand go back as he whirled and shot instantly toward
the heavy report. He had whipped out his gun and fired sidewise
through the window at the sound.
That was all. The bartenders breathed and looked again. Men were
crowding like mad through the back doors. De Spain, at the cigar case,
looked intently into the rainy street, lighted from the corner by a
dingy lamp. The four men near him had not stirred, but, startled and
alert, the right hand of each covered the butt of a revolver. De Spain
moved first. While the pool players jammed the back doors to escape,
he spoke to, without looking at, the bartender. "What's the matter
with your curtains?" he demanded, sheathing his revolver and pointing
with an expletive to the big sheet of plate glass. "Is this the way
you build up business for the house?"
Those close enough to the window saw that the bare pane had been cut,
just above the middle, by two bullet-holes. Curious men examined both
fractures when de Spain and Lefever had left the saloon. The first
hole was the larger. It had been made by a high-powered rifle; the
second was from a bullet of a Colt's revolver; it was remarked as a
miracle of gun-play that the two were hardly an inch apart.
In the street a few minutes later, de Spain and Lefever encountered
Scott, who, with his back hunched up, his cheap black hat pulled well
down over his ears, his hands in his trousers pockets and his thin
coat collar modestly turned against the drizzling rain, was walking
across the parkway from the station.
"Sassoon is in town," exclaimed Lefever with certainty after he had
told the story. He waited for the Indian's opinion. Scott, looking
through the water dripping from the brim of his seasoned derby, gave
it in one word. "Was," he amended with a quiet smile.
"Let's make sure," insisted Lefever. "Supposing he might be in town
yet, Bob, where is he?"
Scott gazed up the street through the rain lighted by yellow lamps on
the obscure corners, and looked down the street toward the black
reaches of the river. "If he's here, you'll find him in one of two
places. Tenison's----"
"But we've just come from Tenison's," objected Lefever.
"I mean, across the street, up-stairs; or at Jim Kitchen's barn. If he
was hurried to get away," added Scott reflectively, "he would slip
up-stairs over there as the nearest place to hide; if he had time he
would make for the barn, where it would be easy to cache his rifle."
Lefever took the lapel of the scout's coat in his hand. "Then you,
Bob, go out and see if you can get the whole story. I'll take
the barn. Let Henry go over to Tenison's and wait at the head of
the stairs till we can get back there. It is just around the
corner--second floor--a dark hall running back, opposite the
double doors that open into an anteroom. Stay there, Henry, till we
come. It won't be long, and if we don't get track of him you may
spot your man yourself."
De Spain found no difficulty in locating the flight of marble stairs
that led to the gambling-rooms. It was the only lighted entrance
in the side street. No light shone at the head of the stairs, but a
doorway on the left opened into a dimly lighted anteroom and this, in
turn, through a large arch, opened on a large room brilliantly
lighted by chandeliers--one in the centre and one near each corner.
Around three sides of this room were placed the keno layouts,
roulette-wheels, faro-tables, and minor gambling devices. Off the
casino itself small card-rooms opened.
The big room was well filled for a wet night. The faro-tables were
busy, and at the central table at the farther end of the room--the
table designated as Tenison's, because, at the rare intervals in which
the proprietor dealt, he presided at this table--a group watched
silently a game in progress. De Spain took a place in shadow near one
side of the archway facing the street-door and at times looked within
for the loosely jointed frame, crooked neck, tousled forehead, and
malevolent face of the cattle thief. He could find in the many figures
scattered about the room none resembling the one he sought.
A man entering the place spoke to another coming out. De Spain
overheard the exchange. "Duke got rid of his steers yet?" asked the
first.
"Not yet."
"Slow game."
"The old man sold quite a bunch this time. The way he's playing now
he'll last twenty-four hours."
De Spain, following the newcomer, strolled into the room and,
beginning at one side, proceeded in leisurely fashion from wheel to
wheel and table to table inspecting the players. Few looked at him and
none paid any attention to his presence. At Tenison's table he saw in
the dealer's chair the large, white, smooth face, dark eyes, and
clerical expression of the proprietor, whose presence meant a real
game and explained the interest of the idlers crowded about one
player whom de Spain, without getting closer in among the onlookers
than he wanted to, could not see.
Tenison, as de Spain approached, happened to look wearily up; his face
showed the set lines of a protracted session. He neither spoke nor
nodded to the newcomer, but recognized him with a mere glance. Then,
though his eyes had rested for only an instant on the new face, he
spoke in an impassive tone across the intervening heads: "What
happened to your red tie, Henry?"
De Spain put up his hand to his neck, and looked down at a loose end
hanging from his soft cravat. It had been torn by the bullet meant for
his head. He tucked the end inside his collar. "A Calabasas man tried
to untie it a few minutes ago. He missed the knot."
Tenison did not hear the answer. He had reverted to his case. De Spain
moved on and, after making the round of the scattered tables, walked
again through the archway into the anteroom, only to meet, as she
stood hesitating and apparently about to enter the room, Nan Morgan.