THE CAMPAIGN OPENS
The summit of a hill, however insignificant its altitude, is always an
inspiring vantage point from which to survey the surrounding world.
There is a briskness of atmosphere on a hilltop which is inspiriting to
the most jaded of faculties; there is a sparkling vitality in the breath
of the morning air which must ever make life a joy and the world seem an
inexpressible delight in which it is the acme of happiness to dwell.
The exigencies of prairie life demand the habit of early rising, and
more often does the tiny human atom, which claims for its home the vast
tracts of natural pasture, gaze upon the sloth of the orb of day than
does that glorious sphere smile down upon a sleeping world.
Far as the eye can reach stretch the mighty wastes of waving grass--the
undulating plains of ravishing verdure. What breadth of thought must
thus be inspired in one who gazes out across the boundless expanse at
the glories of a perfect sunrise? How insignificant becomes the petty
affairs of man when gazing upon the majesty of God's handiwork. How
utterly inconceivable becomes the association of evil with such
transcendently beautiful creation? Surely no evil was intended to lurk
in the shadow of so much simple splendor.
And yet does the ghastly specter of crime haunt the perfect plains, the
majestic valleys, the noiseless, inspiring pine woods, the glistening,
snow-capped hills. And so it must remain as long as the battle of life
continues undecided--so long as the struggle for existence endures.
The Hon. Bunning-Ford rose while yet the daylight was struggling to
overcome the shades of night. He stood upon the tiny veranda which
fronted his minute house, smoking his early morning cigarette. He was
waiting for his coffee--that stimulating beverage which few who have
lived in the wilds of the West can do without--and idly luxuriating in
the wondrous charm of scene which was spread out before him. "Lord" Bill
was not a man of great poetic mind, but he appreciated his adopted
country--"God's country," as he was wont to call it--as can only those
who have lived in it. The prairie had become part of his very existence,
and he loved to contemplate the varying lights and colors which moved
athwart the fresh spring-clad plains as the sun rose above the eastern
horizon.
The air was chill, but withal invigorating, as he watched the steely
blue of the daylit sky slowly give place to the rosy tint of sunrise.
Slowly at first--then faster--great waves of golden light seemed to leap
from the top of one green rising ground to another; the gray white of
the snowy western mountains passed from one dead shade to another,
until, at last, they gleamed like alabaster from afar with a diamond
brilliancy almost painful to the eye. Thus the sun rose like some mighty
caldron of fire mounting into the cloudless azure of a perfect sky,
showering unctuous rays of light and heat upon the chilled life that was
of its own creating.
Bill was still lost in thought, gazing out upon the perfect scene from
the vantage point of the hill upon which his "shack" stood, when round
the corner of the house came a half-breed, bearing a large tin pannikin
of steaming coffee. He took the pannikin from the man and propped
himself against a post which helped to support the roof of the veranda.
"Are the boys out yet?" he asked the waiting Breed, and nodding towards
the corrals, which reposed at the foot of the hill and were overlooked
by the house.
"I guess," the fellow replied laconically. Then, as an afterthought,
"They're getting breakfast, anyhow."
"Say, when they've finished their grub you can tell 'em to turn to and
lime out the sheds. I'm going in to the settlement to-day. If I'm not
back to-night let them go right on with the job to-morrow."
The man signified his understanding of the instructions with a grunt.
This cook of "Lord" Bill's was not a man of words. His vocation had
induced an irascibility of temper which took the form of silence. His
was an incipient misanthropy.
Bill returned the empty pannikin and strolled down towards the corrals
and sheds. The great barn lay well away from where the cattle
congregated. This ranch was very different from that of the Allandales
of Foss River. It was some miles away from the settlement. Its
surroundings were far more open. Timber backed the house, it is true,
but in front was the broad expanse of the open plains. It was an
excellent position, and, governed by a thrifty hand, would undoubtedly
have thrived and ultimately vied with the more elaborate establishment
over which Jacky held sway. As it was, however, Bill cared little for
prosperity and money-making, and though he did not neglect his property
he did not attempt to extend its present limits.
The milch cows were slowly mouching from the corrals as he neared the
sheds. A diminutive herder was urging them along with shrill, piping
shrieks--vicious but ineffective. Far more to the purpose were the
efforts to a well-trained, bob-tailed sheep dog who was awaking echoes
on the brisk morning air with the full-toned note of his bark.
"Lord" Bill found one or two hands quietly enjoying their
after-breakfast smoke, but the majority had not as yet left the kitchen.
Outside the barn two men were busily soft-soaping their saddles and
bridles, whilst a third, seated on an upturned box, was wiping out his
revolver with a coal-oil rag. Bill passed them by with a nod and
greeting, and went into the stable. The horses were feeding, but as yet
the stalls had not been cleaned out. He returned and gave some
instructions to one of the men. Then he walked slowly back to the house.
Usually he would have stayed down there to see the work of the day
carried out; now, however, he was preoccupied. On this particular
morning he took but little interest in the place; he knew only too well
how soon it must pass from his possession.
Half-way up the hill he paused and turned his sleepy eyes towards the
south. At a considerable distance a vehicle was approaching at a
spanking pace. It was a buckboard, one of those sturdy conveyances built
especially for light prairie transport. As yet it was not sufficiently
near for him to distinguish its occupant, but the speed and cut of the
horses seemed familiar to him. He continued on towards the house, and
seated himself leisurely on the veranda, and, rolling himself another
cigarette, calmly watched the on-coming conveyance.
It was the habit of this man never to be prodigal in the display of
energy. He usually sat when there was no need for standing; he always
considered speech to be golden, but silence, to his way of thinking, was
priceless. And like most men of such opinion he cultivated thought and
observation.
He propped his back against the veranda post, and, taking a deep
inhalation from his cigarette, gazed long and earnestly, with
half-closed eyes, down the winding southern trail.
His curiosity, if such a feeling might have been attributed to him, was
soon set at rest, for, as the horses raced up the hill towards him, he
had no difficulty in recognizing the bulky proportions of his visitor.
Seeing the driver of the buckboard making for the house, two of the
"hands" had hastened up the hill to take the horses. Lablache, for it
was the fleshy money-lender, slid, as agilely as his great bulk would
permit him, from the vehicle, and the two men took charge of the horses.
Bill was not altogether cordial. It was not his way to be so to anybody
but his friends.
"How are you?" he said with a nod, but without rising from his recumbent
attitude. "Goin' to stay long?"
His latter question sounded churlish, but Lablache understood his
meaning. It was of the horses the rancher was thinking.
"An hour, maybe," replied Lablache, breathing heavily as a result of his
climb out of the buckboard.
"Right Take 'em away, boys. Remove the harness and give 'em a good rub
down. Don't water or feed 'em till they're cool. They're spanking
'plugs,' Lablache," he added, as he watched the horses being led down to
the barn. "Come inside. Had breakfast?" rising and knocking the dust
from the seat of his moleskin trousers.
"Yes, I had breakfast before daylight, thanks," Lablache said, glancing
quickly down at the empty corrals, where his horses were about to
undergo a rubbing down. "I came out to have a business chat with you.
Shall we go in-doors?"
"Most certainly."
There was an expressive curtness in the two words. Bill permitted
himself a brief survey of the great man's back as the latter turned
towards the front door. And although his half-closed lids hid the
expression of his eyes, the pursing of the lips and the fluctuating
muscles of his jaw spoke of unpleasant thoughts passing through his
mind. A business talk with Lablache, under the circumstances, could not
afford the rancher much pleasure. He followed the money-lender into the
sitting-room.
The apartment was very bare, mannish, and scarcely the acme of neatness.
A desk, a deck chair, a bench and a couple of old-fashioned windsor
chairs; a small table, on which breakfast things were set, an old
saddle, a rack of guns and rifles, a few trophies of the chase in the
shape of skins and antelope heads comprised the furniture and
decorations of the room. And too, in that slightly uncouth collection,
something of the character of the proprietor was revealed.
Bunning-Ford was essentially careless of comfort. And surely he was
nothing if not a keen and ardent sportsman.
"Sit down." Bill indicated the chairs with a wave of the arm. Lablache
dubiously eyed the deck chair, then selected one of the unyielding
Windsor chairs as more safe for the burden of his precious body, tested
it, and sat down, emitting a gasp of breath like an escape of steam from
a safety-valve. The younger man propped himself on the corner of his
desk.
Lablache looked furtively into his companion's face. Then he turned his
eyes in the direction of the window. Bill said nothing, his face was
calm. He intended the money-lender to speak first. The latter seemed
indisposed to do so. His lashless eyes gazed steadily out at the prairie
beyond. "Lord" Bill's persistent silence at length forced the other into
speech. His words came slowly and were frequently punctuated with deep
breaths.
"Your ranch--everything you possess is held on first mortgage."
"Not all." Bunning-Ford's answer came swiftly. The abruptness of the
other's announcement nettled him. The tone of the words conveyed a
challenge which the younger man was not slow to accept.
Lablache shrugged his shoulders with deliberation until his fleshy jowl
creased against the woolen folds of his shirt front.
"It comes to the same thing," he said; "what I--what is not mortgaged is
held in bonds. The balance, practically all of it, you owe under
signature to Pedro Mancha. It is because of that--latest--debt I am
here."
"Ah!"
Bill rolled a fresh cigarette and lit it. He guessed something of what
was coming--but not all.
"Mancha will force you to meet your liabilities to him. Your interest is
shortly due to the Calford Loan Co. You cannot meet both."
Lablache gazed unblinkingly into the other's face. He was thoroughly
enjoying himself.
Bill was staring pensively at his cigarette. One leg swung pendulum
fashion beside the desk. His indebtedness troubled him not a jot. He was
trying to fathom the object of this prelude. Lablache, he knew, had not
come purposely to make these plain statements. He blew a cloud of smoke
down his nostrils with much appreciation. Then he heaved a sigh as
though his troubles were too great for him to bear.
"Right--dead right, first time."
The lazy eyes appeared to be staring into space. In reality they were
watching the doughy countenance before him. "What do you propose to do?"
Lablache asked, ignoring the other's flippant tone.
Bill shrugged.
"Debts of honor must be met first," he said quietly. "Mancha must be
paid in full. I shall take care of that. For the rest, I have no doubt
your business knowledge will prompt you as to what course the Calford
Loan Co. and yourself had best adopt."
Lablache was slightly taken aback at the cool indifference of this man.
He scarcely knew how to deal with him. He had driven out this morning
intending to coerce, or, at least, strike a hard bargain. But the object
of his attentions was, to say the least of it, difficult.
He moved uneasily and crossed his legs.
"There is only one course open to your creditors. It is a harsh method
and one which goes devilishly against the grain. But--"
"Pray don't apologize, Mr. Lablache," broke in the other, smiling
sardonically. "I am fully aware of the tender condition of your
feelings. I only trust that in this matter you will carry out
your--er--painful duty without worrying me with the detail of the
necessary routine. I shall settle Mancha's debt at once and then you are
welcome to the confounded lot."
Bill moved from his position and walked towards the door. The
significance of his action was well marked. Lablache, however, had no
intention of going yet. He moved heavily round upon his chair so as to
face his man.
"One moment--er--Ford. You are a trifle precipitate. I was going on to
say, when you interrupted me, that if you cared to meet me half-way I
have a proposition to make which might solve your difficulty. It is an
unusual one, I admit, but," with a meaning smile, "I rather fancy that
the Calford Loan Co. might be induced to see the advantage, _to them_,
of delaying action."
The object of this early morning visit was about to be made apparent.
Bill returned to his position at the desk and lit another cigarette. The
suave manner of his unwelcome guest was dangerous. He was prepared.
There was something almost feline in the attitude and the expression of
the young rancher as he waited for the money-lender to proceed. Perhaps
Lablache understood him. Perhaps his understanding warned him to adopt
his best manner. His usual method in dealing with his victims was hardly
the same as he was now using.
"Well, what is this 'unusual' course?" asked Bill, in no very tolerant
tone. He wished it made quite plain that he cared nothing about the
"selling up" process to which he knew he must be subjected. Lablache
noted the haughty manner and resented it, but still he gave no outward
sign. He had a definite object to attain and he would not allow his
anger to interfere with his chances of success.
"Merely a pleasant little business arrangement which should meet all
parties' requirements," he said easily. "At present you are paying a ten
per cent, interest on a principal of thirty-five thousand dollars to the
Calford Loan Co. A debt of twenty thousand to me includes an amount of
interest which represents ten per cent, interest for ten years. Very
well, Your ranch should be yielding a greater profit than it is. With
your permission the Calford Trust Co. shall put in a competent manager,
whose salary shall be paid out of the profits. The balance of said
profits shall be handed Over to your creditors, less an annual income to
you of fifteen hundred dollars. Thus the principal of your debts, at a
careful computation, should be liquidated in seven years. In
consideration of thus shortening the period of the loans by three years
the Calford Trust Co. shall allow you a rebate of five per cent,
interest. Failing the profits in seven years amounting to the sums of
money required, the Calford Trust Co. and myself will forego the balance
due to us. Let me plainly assure you that this is no philanthropic
scheme but the result of practical calculation. The advantage to you is
obvious. An assured income during that period, and your ranch well and
ably managed and improved. Your property at the end of seven years will
return to you a vastly more valuable possession than it is at present.
And we, on our part, will recover our money and interest without the
unpleasant reflection that, in doing so, we have beggared you."
Lablache, usurer, scoundrel, smiled benignly at his companion as he
pronounced his concluding words. The Hon. Bunning-Ford looked, thought,
and looked again. He began to think that Lablache was meditating a more
rascally proceeding than he had given him credit for. His words were so
specious. His pie was so delicately crusted with such a tempting
exterior. What was the object of this magnanimous offer? He felt he must
know more.
"It sounds awfully well, but surely that is not all. What, in return, is
demanded of me?"
Lablache had carefully watched the effect of his words. He was wondering
whether the man he was dealing with was clever beyond the average, or a
fool. He was still balancing the point in his mind when Bill put the
question.
Lablache looked away, produced a snuff-box and drew up a large pinch of
snuff before answering. He blew his nose with trumpet-like vehemence on
a great red bandana.
"The only return asked of you is that you vacate the country for the
next two years," he said heavily. And in that rejoinder "Lord" Bill
understood the man's guile.
It was a sudden awakening, but it came to him as no sort of surprise. He
had long suspected, although he had never given serious credence to his
suspicions, the object the money-lender had in inveigling both himself
and "Poker" John into their present difficulties. Now he understood, and
a burning desire swept over him to shoot the man down where he sat. Then
a revulsion of feeling came to him and he saw the ludicrous side of the
situation. He gazed at Lablache, that obese mountain of blubber, and
tried to think of the beautiful, wild Jacky as the money-lender's wife.
The thing seemed so preposterous that he burst out into a mocking laugh.
Lablache, whose fishy eyes had never left the rancher's face, heard the
tone and slowly flushed with anger. For an instant he seemed about to
rise, then instead he leant forward.
"Well?" he asked, breathing his monosyllabic inquiry hissing upon the
air.
Bill emitted a thin cloud of smoke into the money-lender's face. His
eyes had suddenly become wide open and blazing with anger. He pointed to
the door.
"I'll see you damned first! Now--git!"
At the door Lablache turned. In his face was written all the fury of
hell.
"Mancha's debt is transferred to me. You will settle it without delay."
He had scarcely uttered the last word when there was a loud report, and
simultaneously the crash of a bullet in the casing of the door. Lablache
accepted his dismissal with precipitation and hastened to where his
horses were stationed, to the accompaniment of "Lord" Bill's mocking
laugh. He had no wish to test the rancher's marksmanship further.