THE ARM OF POWER
Lawler stayed long enough at the Circle L to speak a word with his
mother. His sister Mary had gone to bed when he stepped into the front
door of the ranchhouse, to be greeted by Mrs. Lawler, who had heard him
cross the porch, recognized his step and had come to meet him.
He smiled at her, but there was a stiffness about his lips, and a cold,
whimsical light in his eyes, that told her much.
She drew a deep breath, and smiled faintly.
"You have disagreed with Gary Warden," she said. "He will not keep
Lefingwell's agreement."
"Said he never heard of any agreement," said Lawler. "I rode in to tell
the boys to hold the herd here until I got back from the capital. I'm
going to see the railroad commissioner--about cars. Simmons says there
isn't a car in the state. If we can't get cars, we'll drive to Red
Rock." He took her face in his hands and patted her cheeks gently.
"Blackburn will probably bed the trail herd down on the Rabbit Ear. I'm
joining him there, and then I'm going to the capital in the morning."
Mrs. Lawler was standing on the porch when he mounted Red King; she was
still standing there when Lawler looked back after he had ridden half a
mile.
Lawler found Blackburn and the herd on the Rabbit Ear, as he had
anticipated. The Rabbit Ear was an insignificant creek that intersected
the Wolf at a distance of about fifteen miles from the Circle L; and the
outfit had selected for a camp a section of plain that ran to the
water's edge. It was a spot that had been used before by the men of the
outfit, and when Lawler rode up the men were stretched out in their
blankets around a small fire.
Blackburn grinned wickedly when informed of Gary Warden's refusal to
keep Lefingwell's agreement.
"Didn't I hit him right," he sneered. "I aim to be able to tell a coyote
first pop, whether he's sneakin' in the sagebrush or settin' in a
office. They ain't no difference. No cars, eh? Bah! If you say the word,
me an' the boys'll hit the breeze to town an' run Warden and Simmons
out!
"You're wastin' your time, goin' to see Morgan Hatfield, the
commissioner. Don't I know him? He tin-horned over at Laskar for two or
three years before he got into politics; an' now he's tin-hornin' the
cattle owners of the state. He'll grin that chessie-cat grin of his an'
tell you he can't do nothin'. An' he'll do it! Bah! This country is
goin' plumb to hell. Any country will, when there's too much law hangin'
around loose!"
He scowled and looked hard at Lawler. "We'll hold 'em at Willets, all
right an' regular, until you give us the word to hit the Tom Long trail.
But while you're gone I'm gettin' ready to travel--for there won't be
any cars, Lawler, an' don't you forget it!"
Lawler said nothing in reply to Blackburn's vitriolic speech. So
unperturbed did he seem that Blackburn remarked to one of the men--after
Lawler wrapped himself in a blanket and stretched out near the
fire--that, "the more Lawler's got on his mind the less he talks."
Long before dawn Lawler saddled up and departed. When Blackburn awoke
and rubbed his eyes, he cast an eloquent glance at the spot where Lawler
had lain, grinned crookedly and remarked to the world at large: "Anyway,
we're backin' his play to the limit--an' don't you forget it!"
Lawler left Red King at the stable from which, the day before, Gary
Warden had ridden on his way to the Hamlin cabin; and when the
west-bound train steamed in he got aboard, waving a hand to the friends
who, the day before in the Willets Hotel had selected him as their
spokesman.
It was afternoon when Lawler stepped from the train in the capital. He
strode across the paved floor of the train shed, through a wide iron
gate and into a barber-shop that adjoined the waiting-room.
There he gave himself to the care of a barber who addressed him as Mr.
Lawler in a voice of respect.
"I've shaved you before, Mr. Lawler," said the man. "I think it was when
you was down here last year, to the convention. I heard the speech you
made that time, nominating York Falkner for governor. Too bad you didn't
run yourself. You'd have made it, saving the state from the tree-toad
which is hanging to it now."
During his short stay at the Circle L the night before, Lawler had
changed from his cowboy rigging to a black suit of civilian cut, with
tight trousers that were stuffed into the tops of soft boots of dull
leather. The coat was long, after the fashion of the period, cut square
at the bottom, and the silk lapels matched the flowing tie that was
carelessly bowed at the collar of a shirt of some soft, white material.
He wore a black, felt hat; and out of consideration for the custom and
laws of the capital, he had shoved his six-shooter around so that it was
out of sight on his right hip. However, the cartridge-studded belt was
around his waist; he kept the black coat buttoned over it, hiding it.
He had been in the capital often, and had no difficulty in finding his
way to the capitol building. It was at the intersection of two wide
streets--a broad, spacious structure of white stone, standing in the
center of a well-kept grass plot. It was imposing, hinting of the
greatness of the state that had erected it, suggesting broadness of
vision and simple majesty.
The state was not at fault, Lawler reflected as he mounted the broad
stone stairs that led upward to the interior of the building; the state
was founded upon principles that were fundamentally just; and the wisdom
of the people, their resources, their lives, were back of it all. This
building was an expression of the desire of the people; it represented
them; it was the citadel of government from which came the laws to which
they bowed; it was the visible arm of power.
Lawler crossed the big rotunda, where the light was subdued; and walked
down a wide corridor, pausing before a door on which was the legend:
"State Railroad Commissioner." A few minutes later, after having given
his name to an attendant, he was standing in a big, well-lighted and
luxuriously furnished room--hat in hand, looking at a tall, slender man
who was seated in a swivel chair at a big, flat-top desk.
The man was older than Lawler, much older. The hair at his temples was
almost white, but heavy and coarse. An iron-gray wisp straggled over his
brow, where he had run a hand through it, apparently; his eyes were
gray, keen, with a light in them that hinted of a cold composure equal
to that which gleamed in Lawler's. The long, hooked nose, though, gave
the eyes an appearance of craftiness, and the slightly downward droop at
the corners of his mouth suggested cynicism.
He smiled, veiling an ironic flash in his eyes by drooping the lids, as
he spoke to his visitor.
"Hello, Lawler," he said, smiling faintly, "take a chair." He waved a
hand toward one, on the side of the desk opposite him. "It's been a long
time since you struck town, hasn't it--since the last state
convention--eh?"
There was a hint of laughter in his voice, a suggestion of mockery in
the unspoken inference that he remembered the defeat of Lawler's
candidate.
Lawler smiled. "Well, you did beat us, that's a fact, Hatfield. There's
no use denying that. But we took our medicine, Hatfield."
"You had to," grinned the other. "Whenever the people of a state----"
"Hatfield," interrupted Lawler, gravely, "it seems to me that the people
of this state are always taking medicine--political medicine. That's
what I have come to talk with you about."
Hatfield's smile faded. His eyes gleamed coldly.
"What's wrong, Lawler?"
"It's cars, Hatfield--or rather no cars," he added, grimly. "Usually, at
this season of the year, there will be a hundred or two empty cars on
the siding at Willets--with other hundreds on the way. This year the
siding is empty, and Jay Simmons says there are no cars to be had. He
tells me there isn't an empty car in the state. Caldwell, of the Star,
and Barthman, Littlefield, Corts, Sigmund, and Lester--who are ranch
owners near Willets--told me to come down here and ask you what can be
done. I'm asking you."
Hatfield eyed Lawler steadily as the latter talked; his gaze did not
waver as Lawler concluded. But a slight stain appeared in his cheeks,
which instantly receded, leaving them normal again. But that slight
flush betrayed Hatfield to Lawler; it told Lawler that Hatfield knew why
there were no cars. And Lawler's eyes chilled as his gaze met
Hatfield's.
"I've talked that matter over with the railroad people several times,"
said Hatfield, in an impersonal, snapping voice. "They tell me that you
cattle owners are to blame. You seem to think that it is the business of
the railroad company to guess how many cars you will want. You wait
until the round-up is over before you begin to think about cars, and
then you want them all in a bunch."
"You are mistaken, Hatfield. Along about the middle of the season every
prudent cattle owner arranges with a buyer or with the railroad company
for the necessary cars. In my case, I made arrangements with Jim
Lefingwell, the buyer at Willets, as long ago as last spring. But
Lefingwell isn't buyer any more, and Gary Warden, the present buyer,
refuses to recognize my agreement with Lefingwell."
"A written agreement?"
"Unfortunately not. Lefingwell's word was always good."
Hatfield's smile was very near a sneer. "If you neglect the rudiments of
business it seems to me that you have only yourselves to blame. In your
case, Lawler, it is rather astonishing. You have quite a reputation for
intelligence; you own one of the biggest ranches in the state; you are
wealthy; and last year you tried to tell the people of the state how to
run it. You even went so far as to make a speech in the convention,
naming the man you preferred for governor."
Lawler smiled, though his gaze was level.
"Don't be unpleasant, Hatfield. You understand I am not here as a
politician, but as a mere citizen petitioning you to act in this
railroad case. What I have done or said has no bearing on the matter at
all. The railroad company will not provide cars in which to ship our
stock East, and I am here to ask you to do something about it."
Hatfield appeared to meditate.
"Warden offered to buy your cattle, you say?"
Lawler nodded. But he had not mentioned to Hatfield that Warden had
offered to buy the cattle--Hatfield had either surmised that, or had
received information through other sources. Lawler suspected that the
railroad commissioner had been informed through the various mediums at
his command, and this was evidence of collusion.
"And Simmons says there are no cars," mused Hatfield. "Well, that seems
to leave you shippers in a bad predicament, doesn't it? Can't you drive
to some other point--where you can arrange to get cars?"
"Five hundred miles, to Red Rock, over the Tom Long trail--the worst
trail in the country."
"What price could you get at Red Rock?"
"The market price--about thirty dollars."
"And what did Warden offer?"
"Twenty-five."
"H'm. It seems to me, considering the inconvenience of driving over the
Tom Long trail, you'd be better off taking Warden's offer. It's
remarkable to what lengths you cattle owners will go for a few dollars."
"Five dollars a head on a herd of eight thousand amounts to forty
thousand dollars, Hatfield," Lawler reminded him.
"Hatfield, this isn't a question of dollars, it's a question of
principle. This situation is a result of a scheme to hold up the cattle
owners of the state. It's mighty plain. The railroad company refuses
cars to the cattle owners, but will supply them to buyers like Warden.
The buyers must have some assurance of getting cars, or they wouldn't
buy a single hoof. What we want is to force the railroad to supply
cattle owners with cars."
"Why not hold your stock over the winter?" suggested Hatfield, with a
faint, half-smile.
"Hatfield, you know that can't be done. There isn't a cattle owner in
the country who is prepared to winter his stock. Had we known this
situation was to develop we might have laid in some feed--though that is
an expensive method. Nothing has been done, for we expected to ship by
rail as usual. Almost every owner has a stock of feed on hand, but that
is for breeders, and for other stock that doesn't grade up. If we are
forced to winter our stock on the ranges half of them would die of
starvation and exposure before spring."
Hatfield narrowed his eyes and studied Lawler's face. He half pursed his
lips for a smile, but something in the grave, level eyes that looked
into his dissuaded him, and he frowned and cleared his throat.
"It looks mighty bad, for a fact," he said. "The buyers seem to have you
owners in something of a pocket. The worst of it is, that the thing is
general. I have complaints from all over the state. The railroad people
say there is nothing they can do. I've taken it up with them. The
explanation they offer is that during the summer they sent most of their
rolling stock East, to take care of an unprecedented demand there. For
some reason or other--which they don't attempt to explain--the cars
haven't been coming back as they should. It looks to me, Lawler, like
you owners are in for a bad winter."
"What about the law, Hatfield; can't we force them to supply cars?"
Hatfield's smile came out--it was sarcastic.
"The wise law-makers of the state, who gave the railroad company a
franchise, neglected to provide a punitive clause. There isn't a tooth
in the law--I've looked it over from one end to the other, and so has
the attorney-general. This office is helpless, Lawler. I would advise
you to accept the offer of your resident buyer. It may be that those
fellows have an agreement with the railroad company, but we haven't any
evidence, and without evidence we couldn't do anything, even if there
were teeth in the law."
Lawler smiled and went out. As the door closed behind him Hatfield sank
back into his chair and chuckled gleefully.
"Swallowed it!" he said in an undertone; "swallowed it whole. And that's
the guy I was most afraid of!"
Lawler walked down the big corridor, across the rotunda, and into
another corridor to the door of the governor's office. As he passed
through the rotunda he was aware that several persons congregated there
watched him curiously; and he heard one of them say, guardedly:
"That's Kane Lawler, of Wolf River. He'd have been governor, right now,
if he'd said the word last fall. Biggest man in the state!"
There was truth in the man's words, though Lawler reddened when he heard
them. Three times in the days preceding the convention which had
nominated Perry Haughton, the present governor, delegations from
various sections of the state had visited Lawler at the Circle L,
endeavoring to prevail upon him to accept the nomination; and one day
the editor of the most important newspaper in the capital had journeyed
to the Circle L, to add his voice to the argument advanced by the
delegations.
But Lawler had refused, because previously to their visits he had given
his word to York Falkner. And he had championed Falkner's candidacy with
such energy and enthusiasm that in the end--on the day of the
convention--his name was better known than that of his candidate. And at
the last minute the convention was in danger of stampeding to him,
threatening to nominate him despite his protests. He had been forced to
tell them plainly that he would not serve, if nominated and elected,
because he had pledged his support to Falkner. And Falkner, at home in a
distant county while the convention was in session, remained silent,
refusing to answer the frantic requests that he withdraw in favor of
Lawler. That attitude had defeated Falkner, as his loyalty to his friend
had increased his popularity.
Now, pausing before the door of the governor's office, Lawler was aware
of the completeness of the sacrifice he had made for Falkner. His face
paled, his eyes glowed, and a thrill ran over him. At this moment--if he
had not made the sacrifice--he might have been sitting in the governor's
office, listening to Caldwell, or Sigmund, or others from his own
section,--perhaps from other sections of the state--advising them,
seeking to help them. For one thing, Morgan Hatfield would not have been
his railroad commissioner!
As it was, he was going to enter the governor's office as a mere
petitioner, not sure of his reception--for Perry Haughton had beaten
Falkner, and owed Lawler nothing. Indeed, after his election, Haughton
had referred sarcastically to Lawler.
When Lawler found himself in the presence of the governor he was in a
grimly humorous mood. For despite the sarcastic flings he had directed
at Lawler, the governor ponderously arose from a big chair at his desk
and advanced to meet him, a hand outstretched.
"Hello, Lawler!" he said; "glad to see you. Where have you been keeping
yourself?"
Lawler shook the governor's hand, not replying to the effusive greeting.
Lawler smiled, though, and perhaps the governor saw in the smile an
answer to his question. He led Lawler to a chair, and returned to his
own, where he sat, leaning back, watching his visitor with a speculative
gaze.
Perry Haughton was a big, florid man with sleek, smooth manners, a bland
smile and an engaging eye, which held a deep gleam of insincerity. The
governor posed as a genial, generous, broad-minded public official--and
it had been upon that reputation that he had been nominated and
elected--but the geniality had been adopted for political reasons. The
real man was an arrogant autocrat, lusting for power and wealth.
He disliked Lawler--feared him. Also, since the convention he had felt
vindictive toward Lawler, for Lawler had offended him by his tenacious
championship of Falkner. He had almost lost the nomination through
Lawler's efforts.
"Been in town long?" he queried.
"Just long enough to have a talk with Hatfield."
The governor smiled wanly. "Hatfield has been having his troubles,
Lawler. An unprecedented situation has developed in the state. The
railroad company seems to be unable to supply cars for cattle shipments.
We have investigated, and so far we have been unable to discover whether
the shortage is intentional or accidental. Whatever the cause, it is a
bad situation--very bad. We've got to take some action!"
"Whatever action you take ought to be immediate, Governor," said Lawler.
"The round-up is over and cattle must move. That is why I am here--to
ask you what can be done."
"I have taken the matter up with the attorney-general, Lawler. The law
is vague and indefinite. We can't proceed under it. However, we are
going to pass new laws at the next session of the legislature."
"That will be in January," said Lawler. "Half the cattle in the state
will starve before that time."
The governor flushed. "That's the best we can do, Lawler."
"Why not call a special session, Governor?"
Haughton laughed. "Do you keep yourself informed, Lawler?" he said, a
suspicion of mockery in his voice. "If you do, you will remember that
the legislature has just adjourned, after acting upon some important
matters."
"This matter is important enough to demand another session immediately!"
declared Lawler.
The governor cleared his throat and gazed steadily at Lawler, his eyes
gleaming with a vindictive light that he tried to make judicial.
"As a matter of fact, Lawler, this question of shipping cattle is not as
important as you might think--to the state at large, that is. If you
take all the packing out of the case you will find at the bottom that it
is merely a disagreement between cattle owners and cattle buyers. It
seems to me that it is not a matter for state interference. As I
understand, the cattle buyers have offered a certain price. The owners
ask another; and the owners want the state to force the buyers to pay
their price. I can't see that the state has any business to meddle with
the affair at all. The state can't become a clearing-house for the
cattle industry!"
"We are not asking the state to act in that capacity, Haughton. We want
the state to force the railroad company to provide cars."
"It can't be done, Lawler! There is no provision in the law under which
we can force the railroad company to provide cars."
Lawler laughed mirthlessly and got to his feet, crossing his arms over
his chest and looking down at the governor. For a time there was silence
in the big room, during which the governor changed color several times,
and drooped his eyes under Lawler's grimly humorous gaze. Then Lawler
spoke:
"All right, Haughton," he said; "I'll carry your message back to my
friends at Willets. I'll also carry it to Lafe Renwick, of the _News_,
here in the capital. We'll make it all plain enough, so that your
position won't be misunderstood. The railroad company is not even a
resident corporation, and yet you, as governor, refuse to act in the
interests of the state cattle owners, against it--merely to force it to
play fair. This will all make interesting conversation--and more
interesting reading. My visit here has proved very interesting, and
instructive. Good-day, sir."
He strode out, leaving Haughton to glare after him. Ten minutes later he
was in the editorial office of the _News_, detailing his conversation
with Hatfield and the governor to a keen-eyed man of thirty-five, named
Metcalf, who watched him intently as he spoke. At the conclusion of the
visit the keen-eyed man grinned.
"You've started something, Lawler," he said. "We've heard something of
this, but we've been waiting to see just how general it was. You'll
understand, now, why I was so eager to have you run last fall. You'll
not escape so easily next time!"
Late that night Lawler got off the train at Willets; and a few minutes
later he was talking with Caldwell and the others in the Willets Hotel.
"It's a frame-up, men," he told them. "Hatfield and the governor both
subscribe to the same sentiments, which are to the effect that this is a
free country--meaning that if you don't care to accept what the buyers
offer you can drive your cattle out of the state or let them starve to
death on the open range."
The big hanging-lamp swinging from the ceiling of the lounging-room
flickered a dull light into the faces of the men, revealing lines that
had not been in them some hours before. Somehow, it had seemed to them,
Lawler would straighten things out for them; they had faith in Lawler;
they had trusted in his energy and in his mental keenness. And when they
had sent him to the capital they had thought that the governor would not
dare to refuse his request. He was too great a man to be trifled with.
It was plain to them, now, that the invisible power which they had
challenged was a gigantic thing--for it had not been impressed by their
champion.
Their faces betrayed their disappointment; in their downcast eyes and in
their furtive glances at one another--and at Lawler--one might have read
evidence of doubt and uncertainty. They might fight the powerful forces
opposed to them--and there was no doubt that futile rage against the
power surged in the veins of every man in the group about Lawler. But
there seemed to be no way to fight; there seemed to be nothing tangible
upon which to build a hope, and no way to attack the secret, subtle
force which had so arrogantly thwarted them.
There was an uneasy light in Caldwell's eyes when he finally looked up
at Lawler. He frowned, reddened, and spoke haltingly, as though ashamed:
"Lawler, I reckon they've got us foul. It's late--today's the
twenty-eighth of October. Not anticipatin' this deal, we delayed the
round-up too long. It's a month's drive to Red Rock, over the worst
trail in the country. We all know that. If we'd happen to run into a
storm on the Tom Long trail we wouldn't get no cattle to Red Rock at
all. An' if we winter them on the open range there wouldn't be a sound
hoof left by spring, for we've got no feed put by. It's too certain,
men; an' a bad year would bust me wide open. I reckon I'll sell my stock
to Gary Warden. I hate it like poison, but I reckon it's the only thing
we can do."
The others nodded, plainly having determined to follow Caldwell's
example. But they kept their eyes lowered, not looking at Lawler, for
they felt that this surrender was not relished by him. Caldwell almost
jumped with astonishment when he felt Lawler's hands on his shoulders;
and he looked hard at the other, wondering, vastly relieved when Lawler
laughed.
"I reckon I don't blame you," said Lawler. "It's a mighty blue outlook.
Winter is close, and they've got things pretty well blocked. They
figured on the late round-up, I reckon. Sell to Warden and wind the
thing up--that's the easiest way."
Caldwell grasped Lawler's hand and shook it vigorously.
"I thought you'd show right disappointed over us givin' in, after what
you tried to do, Lawler. You're sure a square man." He laughed. "You'll
be the first to sell to Warden, though," he added, with a faint attempt
at humor; "for I seen Blackburn an' some more of your outfit trailin'
about a thousand head in tonight. They've got them bedded down about a
mile from town. I reckon you'll be runnin' them into the company corral
in the mornin'."
"Not a hoof goes into the company corral, Caldwell," smiled Lawler.
"No?" Caldwell's amazement bulged his eyes. "What then? What you aimin'
to do with them?"
"They're going to Red Rock, Caldwell," declared Lawler, quietly. "The
thousand Blackburn drove over, and the seven thousand the other boys are
holding at the Circle L. I wouldn't sell them to Warden if he offered
fifty dollars a head."
It was late when Caldwell and the others rode out of town, heading into
the darkness toward their ranches to prepare their herds for the drive
to the company corral at Willets. But before they left, Caldwell visited
Warden's office, in which, all evening, a light had glowed. Warden's
expression indicated he had expected the cattlemen to surrender.
With shamed face Caldwell carried to Warden the news of the surrender;
speaking gruffly to Simmons, whom he found in the office with Warden.
"I reckon there'll be cars--now?" he said.
Simmons smiled smoothly. "Them that contracted for cars last spring will
probably get them," he said. "I reckon the cause of all this mix-up was
that the company wasn't aimin' to play no hit-an'-miss game."
"There'll be a day comin' when the cattlemen in this country will jump
on you guys with both feet!" threatened Caldwell. "It's a mighty rotten
deal, an' you know it!"
"Is Lawler accepting my price, Caldwell?" interrupted Warden, quietly;
"I saw a Circle L trail herd headed toward town this evening."
"Hell!" declared Caldwell; "Lawler ain't so weak-kneed as the rest of us
critters. He just got through tellin' me that he wouldn't sell a hoof
to you at fifty! He's drivin' to Red Rock--eight thousand head!"
When Caldwell went out, breathing fast, Warden smiled broadly at
Simmons.
"Wire for cars tonight, Simmons," he said. "But don't get them to coming
too fast. We'll make them hold their cattle here, we'll keep them
guessing as to whether you were telling them the truth about cars. Cars
and fools are plentiful, eh, Simmons?"
He got up, donned coat and hat and put out the light. At the foot of the
stairs he parted from Simmons, walked down the street to the Wolf and
entered.
He found Singleton in the barroom and drew him into a corner.
"He's driving his cattle to Red Rock, Singleton. And he's the only one.
The others are selling to me. We've got him now, damn him! We've got
him!" he said, his eyes glowing with malignant triumph.