THE RETURN OF THE BLOW-HARD
Nothing was seen of John C. Calhoun for nearly a week and then, late one
evening, he stepped in on Judson Eells in his office at the Blackwater
Bank.
"Why--why, Mr. Calhoun!" he gasped, "we--we all thought you were dead!"
"Yes," returned Calhoun, whose arm was in a sling, "I thought so myself
for a while. What's the good word from Mr. Lynch?"
Eells dropped back in his chair and stared at him fixedly.
"Why--we haven't been able to locate him. But you, Mr. Calhoun--we've
been looking for you everywhere. Your riding mule came back with his
saddle all bloody and a bullet wound across his hip and the Campbells
were terribly distressed. We've had search-parties out everywhere but no
one could find you and at last you were given up for dead."
"Yes, I saw some of those search-parties," answered Wunpost grimly, "but
I noticed that they all packed Winchesters. What's the idee in trying to
kill me?"
"Why, we aren't trying to kill you!" burst out Judson Eells vehemently.
"Quite the contrary, we've been trying to find you. But perhaps you can
tell us about poor Mr. Lynch--he has disappeared completely."
"What about them Apaches?" inquired Wunpost pointedly, and Judson Eells
went white.
"Why--what Apaches?" he faltered at last and Wunpost regarded him
sternly.
"All right," he said, "I don't know nothing if you don't. But I reckon
they turned the trick. That Manuel Apache was a bad one." He reached
back into his hip-pocket and drew out a coiled-up scalp-lock. "There's
his hair," he stated, and smiled.
"What? Did you kill him?" cried Eells, starting up from his chair, but
Wunpost only shrugged enigmatically.
"I ain't talking," he said. "Done too much of that already. What I've
come to say is that I've buried all my money and I'm not going back to
that mine. So you can call off your bad-men and your murdering Apache
Indians, because there's no use following me now. Thinking about taking
a little trip for my health."
He paused expectantly but Judson Eells was too shocked to make any
proper response. His world was tumbling about him, all his plans had
come to naught--and Lynch was gone. He longed to question further, to
seek out some clew, but he dared not, for his hands were not clean. He
had hired this Apache whose grisly scalp-lock now lay before him, and
the others who had been with Lynch; and if it ever became known----He
shuddered and let his lip drop.
"This is horrible!" he burst out hoarsely, "but why should they kill
Lynch?"
"And why should they kill _me_?" added Wunpost. "You've got a
nerve," he went on, "bringing those devils into the country--don't you
know they're as treacherous as a rattlesnake? No, you've been going too
far; and it's a question with me whether I won't report the whole
business to the sheriff. But what's the use of making trouble? All I
want is that contract--and this time I reckon I'll get it."
He nodded confidently but Judson Eells' proud lip went up and instantly
he became the bold financier.
"No," he said, "you'll never get it, Mr Calhoun--not until you take me
to the Sockdolager Mine."
"Nothing doing," replied Wunpost "not for you or any other man. I stay
away from that mine, from now on. Why should I give up a half--ain't I
got thirty thousand dollars, hid out up here under a stone? Live and let
live, sez I, and if you'll call off your bad-men I'll agree not to talk
to the sheriff."
"You can talk all you wish!" snapped out Eells with rising courage, "I'm
not afraid of your threats. And neither am I afraid of anything you can
do to test the validity of that contract. It will hold, absolutely, in
any court in the land; but if you will take me to your mine and turn it
over in good faith, I will agree to cancel the contract."
"Oh! You don't want nothing!" hooted Wunpost sarcastically, "but I'll
tell you what I will do--I'll give you thirty thousand dollars, cash."
"No! I've told you my terms, and there's no use coming back to me--it's
the Sockdolager Mine or nothing."
"Suit yourself," returned Wunpost, "but I'm just beginning to wonder
whether I'm shooting it out with the right men. What's the use of
fighting murderers, and playing tag with Apache Indians, when the man
that sends 'em out is sitting tight? In fact, why don't I come in here
and get _you_?"
"Because you're wrong!" answered Eells without giving back an inch,
"you're trying to evade the law. And any man that breaks the law is a
coward at heart, because he knows that all society is against him."
"Sounds good," admitted Wunpost, "and I'd almost believe it if
_you_ didn't show such a nerve But you know and I know that you
break the law every day--and some time, Mr. Banker, you're going to get
caught. No, you can guess again on why I don't shoot you--I just like to
see you wiggle. I just like to see a big fat slob like you, that's got
the whole world bluffed, twist around in his seat when a _man_
comes along and tells him what a dastard he is. And besides, I git a
laugh, every time I come back and you make me think of the Stinging
Lizard--and the road! But the biggest laugh I get is when you pull this
virtuous stuff, like the widow-robbing old screw you are, and then have
the nerve to tell me to my face that it's the Sockdolager Mine or
nothing. Well, it's nothing then, Mr. Penny-pincher; and if I ever get
the chance I'll make you squeal like a pig. And don't send no more
Apaches after _me_!"
He rose up and slapped the desk, then picked up the scalp-lock and
strode majestically out the door. But Judson Eells was unimpressed, for
he had seen them squirm before. He was a banker, and he knew all the
signs. Nor did John C. Calhoun laugh as he rode off through the night,
for his schemes had gone awry again. Every word that he had said was as
true as Gospel and he could sit around and wait a life-time--but waiting
was not his long suit. In Los Angeles he seemed to attract all the
bar-flies in the city, who swarmed about and bummed him for the drinks;
and no man could stand their company for more than a few days without
getting thoroughly disgusted. And on the desert, every time he went out
into the hills he was lucky to come back with his life. So what was he
to do, while he was waiting around for this banker to find out he was
whipped?
For Eells was whipped, he was foiled at every turn; and yet that
muley-cow lip came up as stubbornly as ever and he tried to tell him,
Wunpost, he was wrong. And that because he was wrong and a law-breaker
at heart he was therefore a coward and doomed to lose. It was ludicrous,
the way Eells stood up for his "rights," when everyone knew he was a
thief; and yet that purse-proud intolerance which is the hall-mark of
his class made him think he was entirely right. He even had the nerve to
preach little homilies about trying to evade the law. But that was it,
his very self-sufficiency made him immune against anything but a club.
He had got the idea into his George the Third head that the king can do
no wrong--and he, of course was the king. If Wunpost made a threat, or
concealed the location of a mine, that was wrong, it was against the
law; but Eells himself had hired some assassins who had shot him,
Wunpost, twice, and yet Eells was game to let it go before the
sheriff--he could not believe he was wrong.
Wunpost cursed that pride of class which makes all capitalists so hard
to head and put the whole matter from his mind. He had hoped to come
back with that contract in his pocket, to show to the doubting
Wilhelmina; but she had had enough of boasting and if he was ever to win
her heart he must learn to feign a virtue which he lacked. That virtue
was humility, the attribute of slaves and those who are not born to
rule; but with her it was a virtue second only to that Scotch honesty
which made upright Cole Campbell lean backwards. He was so straight he
was crooked and cheated himself, so honest that he stood in his own
light; and to carry out his principles he doomed his family to Jail
Canyon for the rest of their natural lives. And yet Wilhelmina loved him
and was always telling what he said and bragging of what he had done,
when anyone could see that he was bull-headed as a mule and hadn't one
chance in ten thousand to win. But all the same they were good folks,
you always knew where you would find them, and Wilhelmina was as pretty
as a picture.
No rouge on those cheeks and yet they were as pink as the petals of a
blushing rose, and her lips were as red as Los Angeles cherries and her
eyes were as honest as the day. Nothing fly about her, she had not
learned the tricks that the candy-girls and waitresses knew, and yet she
was as wise as many a grown man and could think circles around him when
it came to an argument. She could see right through his bluffing and put
her finger on the spot which convinced even him that he was wrong, but
if he refrained from opposing her she was as simple as a child and her
only desire was to please. She was not self-seeking, all she wanted was
his company and a chance to give expression to her thoughts; and when he
would listen they got on well enough, it was only when he boasted that
she rebelled. For she could not endure his masculine complacency and his
assumption that success made him right, and when he had gone away she
had told him to his face that he was a blow-hard and his money was
tainted.
Wunpost mulled this over, too, as he rode on up Jail Canyon and when he
sighted the house he took Manuel Apache's scalp-lock and hid it inside
his pack. After risking his life to bring his love this token he thought
better of it and brought only himself. He would come back a friend, one
who had seen trouble as they had but was not boasting of what he had
done--and if anyone asked him what he had done to Lynch he would pass it
off with some joke. So he talked too much, did he? All right, he would
show them; he would close his trap and say nothing; and in a week
Wilhelmina would be following him around everywhere, just begging to
know about his arm. But no, he would tell her it was just a sad
accident, which no one regretted more than he did; and rather than seem
to boast he would say in a general way that it would never happen again.
And that would be the truth, because from what Eells had said he was
satisfied the Apaches had buried Lynch.
But how, now, was he to approach this matter of the money which he was
determined to advance for the road? That would call for diplomacy and he
would have to stick around a while before Billy would listen to reason.
But once she was won over the whole family would be converted; for she
was the boss, after all. She wore the overalls at the Jail Canyon Ranch
and in spite of her pretty ways she had a will of her own that would not
be denied. And when she saw him come back, like a man from the dead--he
paused and blinked his eyes. But what would _he_ say--would he tell
her what had happened? No, there he was again, right back where he had
started from--the thing for him to do was to _keep still_. Say
nothing about Lynch and catching Apaches in bear-traps, just look happy
and listen to her talk.
It was morning and the sun had just touched the house which hung like
driftwood against the side of the hill. The mud of the cloudburst had
turned to hard pudding-stone, which resounded beneath his mule's feet.
The orchard was half buried, the garden in ruins, the corral still
smothered with muck; but as he rode up the new trail a streak of white
quit the house and came bounding down to meet him. It was Wilhelmina,
still dressed in women's clothes but quite forgetful of everything but
her joy; and when he dismounted she threw both arms about his neck, and
cried when he gave her a kiss.