“Quoth Robin, ‘I dwell by dale and down
By thee I set right naught.’”
--_Guy of Gisborne._
“I perceive,” said the Judge, surveying the tempting viands, “that Mac
has thoughtfully cut your meat for you. You are provided with many
spoons, but neither knife nor fork. A wise and wholesome precaution,
I may remark. After your recent exploit we stand quite in awe of you.
Pray be seated. I will take a cup of coffee with you--if you will allow
me?
“It will not have escaped a man of your penetration that an obvious
course was open to me. But your gallantry had quite won my heart, and I
refrained from that obvious course, though strongly urged to it. Mac,
tell Mr. Bransford what your advice was.”
“I said: ‘Dead men tell no tales!’” replied Mac sturdily. “And I say it
again. Yon is a fearsome man.”
“You are a dangerous man yourself, Mac. Yet I trust you. And why?
Because,” said the Judge cooingly, “I am more dangerous still--leader
by right of the strongest. I admire you, Mr. Bransford; I needed such
a man as you seem to be. Moreover, singular as it may seem, I boggled
at cutting you off in cold blood. I have as good a heart as can be
made out of brains. You had not intentionally harmed me; I bore you no
grudge; it seemed a pity. I decided to give you a chance. I refused
this advice. If you but knew it, Mr. Bransford, you owe me a heavy debt
of gratitude. So we brought you across quite unostentatiously. That
brings us up to date.
“You see the logic of the situation, my dear fellow? Your silence must
be insured. Either you must throw in your lot with us, commit yourself
entirely and irrevocably to us, or suffer the consequences of--shall we
say, your indiscretion?”
The Judge sipped his coffee daintily. “It is distressing even to
mention the alternative; it is needless to lay undue emphasis upon it;
circumstances have already done that. You see for yourself that it must
be thus, and not otherwise.”
Jeff took a toothpick, pushed his chair back and crossed his legs
comfortably. “I must have time to consider the matter and look at it
from all sides,” he said meditatively. “But I can tell you now how it
strikes me at first blush. Do you believe in presentiments, Judge?”
The Judge shook his head. “I am singularly free from all superstition.”
“Now, I do,” said Jeff steadily, his face wearing as engaging an
expression as its damaged condition would permit. “And I have a very
strong presentiment that I shall see you hung, or perhaps I should say,
hanged.”
The Judge went off in another peal of laughter. Even the saturnine Mac
relaxed to a grim smile. The Judge pounded on the table. “But what
a droll dog it is!” he cried. “Positively, I like you better every
moment. Such high spirits! Such hardihood! Really, we need you, we must
have you. I cannot imagine any one better fitted to fill the place of
the departed brother whom you--as the instrument of an inscrutable and
all-wise Providence--have removed from our midst.”
At this disloyalty to the dead, Jeff’s gorge rose at the man;
treacherous, heartless, revolting. But he kept a tranquil, untroubled
face. The Judge went on: “Your resolution may change. You will suffer
from ennui. I may mention that, should you join us, the pecuniary
reward will be great. I am wealthy and powerful, and our little
organization--informal, but very select--shares my fortunes. They push
me up from below and I pull them up from above. I will add that we
seldom find it necessary to resort to such extreme measures as we did
in the Tillotson case. He was a very troublesome man; he has been a
thorn in my side for years.
“On the contrary, we conduct many open and perfectly-legitimate
enterprises, political, legal, financial. We are interested in mining
propositions; we have cattle ranches in Texas and Old Mexico; we handle
real estate. As side lines, we do a miscellaneous business--smuggle a
vast amount of opium and a few Chinamen, keep sanctuary for unhappy
fugitives, jump good mines and sell poor ones, furnish or remove
witnesses--Oh, many things! But, perhaps, our greatest activity is
simply to exert moral pressure in aid of our strictly-legitimate
enterprises.
“Tut, tut! I have been so charmed that I have overstayed my time. Think
this matter over carefully, my dear fellow. There is much to gain or to
lose. You shall have ample time for consideration. Mac and Borrowman
will get you anything you want, within the bounds of reason--clothes,
books, tobacco, such knickknacks. And, by the way, here are yesterday’s
papers. You may care to read the Tillotson case. The editorials, both
those that condemn him and those that defend, are particularly amusing.”
“Mac and Borrowman are to be my jailers?” said Jeff.
The Judge raised his hands in expostulation. “Jailers?” he repeated.
“What a harsh term! Let us say, companions. You might break out
of jail,” said the Judge, tapping Jeff’s breast with his strong
fingers, “but you will not get away from me. They will tell you their
instructions. I will attend to your hurts, now, and then I must go.”
“I would like clean clothes,” said Jeff, while the Judge dressed his
wounds skilfully. “A safety razor--they can keep it when I’m not using
it--the daily papers, cigars, tobacco--let me see, what else? Oh,
yes--I was trying to learn the typewriter. I’d like to try it again
when my finger gets better. For books, send in Shakspere’s works and
Carlyle’s ‘French Revolution,’ for the present.”
“You’re quite sure that’s all?” said the Judge, entertained and
delighted. “You must intend to take your time about making up your
mind.”
“My mind is entirely made up now. I would insure you against a watery
death,” said Jeff with utmost calmness, “for a dime!”
“We shall see, we shall see!” said the Judge skeptically. “Time works
many wonders. You will be ennuied! I prophesy it. Besides, I count upon
your gratitude. Good-night!”
“Good-night!”
* * * * *
So you “brought me unostentatiously across,” did you? You made a slip
that time. You talk well, Judge, but you talk too much. Across? Across
the Rio Grande. I am in Juarez. I had already guessed it, for I hear
the sounds of many whistling engines from far off, and but few from
near at hand. My prison is underground, since those whistles are the
only sounds that reach me, and they muffled and indistinct; coming by
the fireplace. That chimney goes through a house above, since they
keep up a fire. What to do?
Through the long hours he lay on his bed, sleepless. When he opened his
eyes, at intervals, it was always to find the guard’s face toward him,
watching him intently. They were taking no chances.
His vigorous brain was busy with the possibilities; contriving,
hopeless as the situation might seem, more than one scheme, feasible
only to desperation, and with terrible odds against success. These he
put by to be used only as a last recourse, and fell to his Sisyphean
task again with such concentration of all his powers upon the work
in hand as few men have ever dreadful need to attain--such focused
concentration that, had his mind been an actual searchlight, capable,
in its turning, to throw a shining circle upon actual, living,
moving men, in all places, far or near, in time past, present or to
come--where it paused, the places, men and events could not have been
more real, more clear, more brightly illumined. When this inner light
wearied and grew faint he turned it back till it pierced the thick
walls to another prison, dwelt on another prisoner there: a tall,
gray figure, whose face was turned away; ringed round with hate, with
ignominy, shame despair and death; not friendless. And the light rose
again, strong and unwavering, ranging the earth for what help was
there; so fell at last upon a plan, not after to be altered. A rough
plan only--the details to be worked out--to-morrow and to-morrow. So
thinking, utter exhaustion came upon him and he fell asleep.