THE TRUST
It was a blazing afternoon of the "stewing" type. The flies in the
store kept up a sickening hum, and tortured suffering humanity--in the
form of the solitary Minky--with their persistent efforts to alight on
his perspiring face and bare arms. The storekeeper, with excellent
forethought, had showered sticky papers, spread with molasses and
mucilage, broadcast about the shelves, to ensnare the unwary pests.
But though hundreds were lured to their death by sirupy drowning, the
attacking host remained undiminished, and the death-traps only
succeeded in adding disgusting odors to the already laden atmosphere.
Fortunately, noses on Suffering Creek were not over-sensitive, and the
fly, with all his native unpleasantness, was a small matter in the
scheme of the frontiersman's life, and, like all other obstructions,
was brushed aside physically as well as mentally.
The afternoon quiet had set in. The noon rush had passed, nor would
the re-awakening of the camp occur until evening. Ordinarily the quiet
of the long afternoon would have been pleasant enough to the
hard-working storekeeper. For surely there is something approaching
delight in the leisure moments of a day's hard and prosperous work.
But just now Minky had little ease of mind. And these long hours, when
the camp was practically deserted, had become a sort of nightmare to
him. The gold-dust stored in the dim recesses of his cellars haunted
him. The outlaw, James, was a constant dread. For he felt that his
store held a bait which might well be irresistible to that individual.
Experienced as he was in the ways of frontier life, the advent of the
strangers of the night before had started a train of alarm which
threatened quickly to grow into panic.
He was pondering this matter when Sunny Oak, accompanied by the
careless Toby Jenks, lounged into the store. With a quick, almost
furtive eye the storekeeper glanced up to ascertain the identity of
the newcomers. And, when he recognized them, such was the hold his
alarm had upon him, that his first thought was as to their fitness to
help in case of his own emergency. But his fleeting hope received a
prompt negative. Sunny was useless, he decided. And Toby--well, Toby
was so far an unknown quantity in all things except his power of
spending on drink the money he had never earned.
"Ain't out on your claim?" he greeted the remittance man casually.
"Too blamed hot," Toby retorted, winking heavily.
Then he mopped his face and ordered two whiskies.
"That stuff won't cool you down any," observed Minky, passing behind
his counter.
"No," Toby admitted doubtfully. Then with a bright look of intelligence.
"But it'll buck a feller so it don't seem so bad--the heat, I mean."
His afterthought set Sunny grinning.
Minky set out two glasses and passed the bottle. The men helped
themselves, and with a simultaneous "How!" gulped their drinks down
thirstily.
Minky re-corked the bottle and wiped a few drops of water from the
counter.
"So Zip's around," he said, as the glasses were returned to the
counter. And instantly Sunny's face became unusually serious.
"Say," he cried, with a hard look in his good-natured eyes. "D'you
ever feel real mad about things? So mad, I mean, you want to get right
out an' hurt somebody or somethin'? So mad, folks is likely to git
busy an' string you up with a rawhide? I'm sure mostly dead easy as a
man, but I feel that away jest about now. I've sed to myself I'd do
best settin' my head in your wash-trough. I've said it more'n oncet in
the last half-hour. But I don't guess it's any sort o' use. So--so,
I'll cut out the wash-trough."
"You most generally do," said Toby pleasantly.
"You ain't comic--'cep' when you're feedin'," retorted Sunny, nettled.
Then he turned to Minky, just as the doorway of the store was darkened
by the advent of Sandy Joyce. But he glanced back in the newcomer's
direction and nodded. Then he went on immediately with his talk.
"Say, have you seen him?" he demanded of anybody. "I'm talkin' o'
Zip," he added, for Sandy's enlightenment. "He found James. Located
his ranch, an'--an' nigh got hammered to death for his pains. Gee!"
"We see him," said Minky, after an awed pause. "But he never said a
word. He jest set Bill's mare back in the barn, an' bo't bacon, and
hit off to hum."
"I didn't see him," Sandy admitted. "How was he?"
"Battered nigh to death, I said," cried Sunny, with startling
violence. "His eyes are blackened, an' his pore mean face is cut
about, an' bruised ter'ble. His clothes is torn nigh to rags, an'--"
"Was it the James outfit did it?" inquired Minky incredulously.
"They did that surely," cried Sunny vehemently. "You ain't seen Bill,
have you? He's that mad you can't git a word out o' him. I tell you
right here somethin's goin' to happen. Somethin's got to happen," he
added, with a fresh burst of rage. "That gang needs cleanin' out. They
need shootin' up like vermin, an'--"
"You're goin' to do it?" inquired Sandy sarcastically.
Sunny turned on him in a flash.
"I'll take my share in it," he cried, "an' it'll need to be a big
share to satisfy me," he added, with such evident sincerity and fiery
determination that his companions stared at him in wonder.
"Guess Sunny's had his rest broke," observed Toby, with a grin.
"I have that sure. An'--an' it makes me mad to git busy," the loafer
declared. "Have you seen that pore feller with his face all mussed?
Gee! Say, Zip wouldn't hurt a louse; he's that gentle-natured I'd say
if ther' was only a baulky mule between him an' starvation he'd hate
to live. He ain't no more savvee than a fool cat motherin' a china
dog, but he's got the grit o' ten men. He's hunted out James with no
more thought than he'd use firin' a cracker on the 4th o' July. He
goes after him to claim his right, as calm an' foolish as a sheep in a
butcherin' yard. An' I'd say right here ther' ain't one of us in this
store would have had the grit chasin' for his wife wher' Zip's bin
chasin'--"
"Not for a wife, sure," interjected Sandy.
Toby smothered a laugh, but became serious under Sunny's contemptuous
eye.
"That's like you, Sandy," he cried. "It's sure like you. But I tell
you Zip's a man, an' a great big man to the marrer of his small
backbone. His luck's rotten. Rotten every ways. He's stuck on his
wife, an' she's gone off with a tough like James. He works so he comes
nigh shamin' even me, who hates work, on a claim that couldn't show
the color o' gold on it, if ther' wa'an't nothin' to the earth but
gold. He's jest got two notions in his silly head. It's his kids an'
his wife. Mackinaw! It makes me sick. It does sure. Here's us fellers
without a care to our souls, while that pore sucker's jest strugglin'
an' strugglin' an' everythin's wrong with him--wrong as--oh, hell!"
For once Sandy forgot his malicious jibe at the loafer's expense. And
Toby, too, forgot his pleasantry. Sunny's outburst of feeling had
struck home, and each man stood staring thoughtfully at the mental
picture he had conjured for them. Each admitted to himself in his own
way the pity the other's words had stirred, but none of them had
anything to add at the moment.
Sunny glanced from one to the other. His look was half questioning and
wholly angry. He glanced across at the window and thrust his hands in
his ragged trousers pockets.
And presently as he began to tap the floor with his foot a fresh rush
of fiery anger was mounting to his head. He opened his lips as though
about to continue his tirade, but apparently changed his mind. And,
instead, he drew a dollar bill from his pocket, and flung it on the
counter.
"Three more drinks," he demanded roughly.
Minky in unfeigned surprise produced the glasses. Sandy leant over,
and, with face thrust forward, inspected the bill. Toby contented
himself with a low whistle of astonishment.
Sunny glared at them contemptuously.
"Yes," he said roughly, "I've earned it. I've worked for it, do you
understand? Wild Bill set me to look after Zip's kids, an' he's paid
me for it. But--but that money burns--burns like hell, an' I want to
be quit of it. Oh, I ain't bug on no sort o' charity racket, I'm jest
about as soft as my back teeth. But I'm mad--mad to git busy doin'
anythin' so we ken git Zip level with that low-down skunk, James. An'
if ther's fi' cents' worth o' grit in you, Mister Sandy Joyce, an' an
atom o' savvee in your fool brain, Toby, you'll take a hand in the
game."
Minky looked on in silent approval. Anything directed against James
was bound to meet with his approval just now. But Sandy cleared his
throat, and lounged with his back against the counter.
"An' wot, I'd ast, is goin' to hurt this tough?" he inquired, with a
dash of his usual sarcasm.
Sunny flew at his drink and gulped it down.
"How do I know?" he cried scornfully.
"Jest so."
Toby grinned.
"You're a bright one, Sunny. You're so bright, you dazzle my eyes," he
cried.
But Sunny was absorbed in a thought that was hazily hovering in the
back of his brain, and let the insult pass.
"How ken I tell jest wot we're goin' to do," he cried. "Wot we want to
do is to kind o' help that pore crittur Zip out first. Ther' he is wi'
two kids to see to, which is sure more than one man's work, an' at the
same time he's got to dig up that mudbank claim of his. He don't see
the thing's impossible, 'cos he's that big in mind he can't see small
things like that. But I ain't big that aways, an' I ken see. If he
goes on diggin' wot's his kids goin' to do, an' if he don't dig wot's
they goin' to do anyways. We'll hev to form a committee--"
"Sort o' trust," grinned Toby.
But Sunny passed over his levity and seized upon his suggestion.
"I 'lows your fool head's tho't somethin' wiser than it guessed," he
said. "That's just wot we need. Ther' should be a trust to see after
him. An' after it's got his kids fixed right--"
Sunny broke off as the tall figure of Wild Bill threw its shadow
across the window of the store. The next moment the man himself
entered the room.
He nodded silently, and was about to fling himself into one of the
chairs, when Toby, in jocular anticipation, threw Sunny's proposition
at him.
"Say, Sunny's woke up an' bin thinkin'," he cried. "I allow his brain
is shockin' wonderful. Guess he's got sick o' restin' an' reckons he
got a notion for makin' a trust lay-out."
"The Zip Trust," added Sandy, with a laugh, in which Toby joined
heartily.
"Yes. He guesses Zip needs lookin' after," declared the remittance man
in the midst of his mirth, glancing round for appreciation of the
joke.
But the encouragement he received fell short of his expectations, and
his laugh died out quite abruptly. There was no responsive smile on
Minky's face. Sunny was glowering sulkily; while Bill's fierce brows
were drawn together in an angry frown, and his gimlet eyes seemed to
bore their way into the speaker's face.
"Wal?" he demanded coldly.
"Wal, I think he's--"
But Bill cut him short in his coldest manner.
"Do you?" he observed icily. "Wal, I'd say you best think ag'in. An'
when you done thinkin' jest start right over ag'in. An' mebbe some day
you'll get wise--if you don't get took meanwhiles."
Bill flung himself into the chair and crossed his long legs.
"Sunny's on the right lay," he went on. "Ther' ain't many men on
Sufferin' Creek, but Zip's one of 'em. Say, Toby, would you ride out
to James' outfit to call him all you think of the feller whose stole
your wife?"
"Not by a sight," replied Toby seriously.
"Wal, Zip did. He's big," went on Bill in cold, harsh tones. Then he
paused in thought. But he went on almost immediately. "We got to help
him. I'm sure with Sunny." He turned on the loafer with a wintry
smile. "You best organize right away, an'--count me in."
Sunny's eyes glowed with triumph. He had feared the man's ridicule. He
had expected to see his lean shoulders go up in silent contempt. And
then, he knew, would have followed a storm of sarcasm and "jollying"
from Sandy and the others. With quick wit he seized his opportunity,
bent on using Bill's influence to its utmost. He turned on Minky with
a well calculated abruptness.
"You'll help this thing out--too?" he challenged him.
And he got his answer on the instant--
"I sure will--to any extent."
Sandy and Toby looked at the storekeeper in some doubt. Bill was
watching them with a curious intentness. And before Sunny could
challenge the two scoffers, his harsh voice filled the room again.
"I don't know we'll need any more," he said, abruptly turning his gaze
upon the open window, "otherwise we'd likely hev ast you two fellers.
Y'see, we'll need folks as ken do things--"
"Wot sort o' things?" demanded Sandy, with a sudden interest.
"Wal, that ain't easy to say right now, but--"
"I ain't much seein' to kids," cried Sandy, "but I ken do most
anythin' else."
A flicker of a smile crept into Bill's averted eyes, while Sunny
grinned broadly to see the way the man was now literally falling over
himself to follow the leadership of Wild Bill.
"Wal, it ain't no use in saying things yet, but if you're dead set on
joining this Zip Trust, I guess you can. But get this, what you're
called upon to do you'll need to do good an' hard, an'--without
argument."
Sandy nodded.
"I'm in," he cried, as though a great privilege had been bestowed upon
him.
And at once Toby became anxious.
"Guess you ain't no use for me, Bill?" he hazarded, almost diffidently.
Bill turned his steely eyes on him in cold contemplation. Minky had
joined in Sunny's grin at the other men's expense. Sandy, too, now
that he was accepted as an active member of the trust, was indulging
in a superior smile.
"I don't allow I have," Bill said slowly. "Y'see, you ain't much else
than a 'remittance' man, an' they ain't no sort o' trash anyway."
"But," protested Toby, "I can't help it if my folks hand me money?"
"Mebbe you can't." Bill was actually smiling. And this fact so far
influenced the other members of the trust that an audible titter went
round the room. Then the gambler suddenly sat forward, and the old
fierce gleam shone once more in his cold eyes. "Say," he cried
suddenly. "If a feller got the 'drop' on you with six bar'ls of a gun
well-loaded, an'--guessed you'd best squeal, wot 'ud you do?"
"Squeal," responded the puzzled Toby, with alacrity.
"You ken join the Trust. You sure got more savvee than I tho't."
Bill sat back grinning, while a roar of laughter concluded the
founding of the Zip Trust.
But like all ceremonials, the matter had to be prolonged and
surrounded with the frills of officialdom. Sunny called it organization,
and herein only copied people of greater degree and self-importance.
He plunged into his task with whole-hearted enthusiasm, and, with
every word he uttered, preened himself in the belief that he was
rapidly ascending in the opinion of Wild Bill, the only man on
Suffering Creek for whose opinion he cared a jot.
He explained to his comrades, with all the vanity of a man whose
inspiration has met with public approval, that in forming such a
combine as theirs, it would be necessary to allot certain work, which
he called "departments," to certain individuals. He assured his
fellow-members that such was always done in "way-up concerns." It
saved confusion, and ensured the work being adequately performed.
"Sort o' like a noo elected gover'ment," suggested Sandy sapiently.
"Wal, I won't say that," said Sunny. "Them fellers traipse around wi'
portyfolios hangin' to 'em. I don't guess we need them things. It's
too hot doin' stunts like that."
"Portfolios?" questioned Toby artlessly. "Wot's them for?"
"Oh, jest nuthin' o' consequence. Guess it's to make folks guess
they're doin' a heap o' work. No, what we need is to set each man his
work this aways. Now Bill here needs to be president sure. Y'see, we
must hev a 'pres.' Most everything needs a 'pres.' He's got to sit on
top, so if any one o' the members gits gay he ken hand 'em a daisy
wot'll send 'em squealin' an' huntin' their holes like gophers. Wal,
Bill needs to be our 'pres.' Then there's the 'general manager.' He's
the feller wot sets around an' blames most everybody fer everything
anyway, an' writes to the noospapers. He's got to have savvee, an' an
elegant way o' shiftin' the responsibility o' things on them as can't
git back at him. He's got to be a bright lad--"
"That's Sunny, sure," exclaimed Toby. "He's a dandy at gettin' out o'
things an' leaving others in. Say--"
"Here, half-a-tick," cried Joyce, with sudden inspiration. "Who's
goin' to be 'fightin' editor'?"
"Gee, what a brain!" cried Sunny derisively. "Say, we ain't runnin' a
mornin' noos sheet. This is a trust. Sandy, my boy, you need
educatin'. A trust's a corporation of folks wot is so crooked, they
got to git together, an' pool their cash, so's to git enough dollars
to kep 'em out o' penitentiary. That's how they start. Later on, if
they kep clear o' the penitentiary, they start in to fake the market
till the Gover'ment butts in. Then they git gay, buy up a vote in
Congress, an' fake the laws so they're fixed right fer themselves.
After that some of them git religion, some of 'em give trick feeds to
their friends, some of 'em start in to hang jewels on stage females.
Some of 'em have been known to shoot theirselves or git divorced. It
ain't no sort o' matter wot they do, pervided they're civil to the
noospaper folk. That's a trust, Sandy, an' I don't say but what the
feller as tho't o' that name must o' bin a tarnation amusin' feller."
"Say, you orter bin in a cirkis," sneered Sandy, as the loafer
finished his disquisition.
"Wal, I'd say that's better'n a museum," retorted Sunny.
But Toby was impatient to hear how Sunny intended to dispose of him.
"Wher' do I figger in this lay-out?" he demanded.
"You?" Sunny's eyes twinkled. "Don't guess we'll need to give you hard
work. You best be boss o' the workin' staff."
"But ther' ain't no workin' staff," protested Toby.
"Jest so. That's why you'll be boss of it." Then Sunny turned to
Sandy.
"We'll need your experience as a married man, tho'," he said slyly.
"So you best be head o' the advisory board. You'll need to kep us wise
to the general principles of vittlin' a family of three, when the
woman's missin'. Then we'll need a treasurer." Sunny turned to Minky,
and his twinkling eyes asked the question.
"Sure," said Minky promptly, "I'll be treasurer. Seems to me I'll be
safer that ways."
"Good," cried Sunny, "that's all fixed." He turned to Bill. "Say,
pres," he went on, "I'd like to pass a vote o' thanks fer the way you
conducted this yer meetin', an' put it to the vote, that we accept the
treasurer's invitation to take wine. All in favor will--"
"Mine's rye," cried Sandy promptly.
"An' mine," added Toby.
"Rye for me," nodded Sunny at Minky's grinning face. "Bill--?"
But Bill shook his head.
"Too early for me," he said, "you fellers can git all you need into
you though. But see here, folks," he went on, with a quietness of
purpose that promptly reduced every eye to seriousness. "This ain't no
play game as Sunny may ha' made you think. It's a proposition that
needs to go thro', an'--I'm goin' to see it thro'. Zip's kids is our
first trouble. They ain't easy handlin'. They got to be bro't up
reg'lar, an' their stummicks ain't to be pizened with no wrong sort o'
vittles. Ther's such a heap o' things to kids o' that age it makes me
nigh sweat at the tho't. Howsum, Zip's down an' out, an' we got to see
him right someways. As 'pres' of this lay-out, I tell you right here,
every mother's son of us had best git out an' learn all we ken about
fixin' kids right. How to feed 'em, how to set their pretties on
right, how to clean 'em, how to--well, jest how to raise 'em. If any
o' you got leddy friends I'd say git busy askin' 'em. So--"
At that moment the sound of footsteps on the veranda came in through
the window, and Bill looked round. The next instant he spoke more
rapidly, and with greater authority.
"Git goin'," he cried, "an' we'll meet after supper."
There was no doubt of this man's rule. Without a word the men
filed out of the store, each one with his thoughts bent upon the
possibilities of acquiring the knowledge necessary.