Dot Huntington found San Francisco to exceed her wildest imaginings
of what a great city really was. Born of the desert and having been
an intimate part of that desert all her life and, until the
establishment of Geerusalem, knowing nothing of those centers where
men forgathered and schemed and battled and died in a fury of
commercial competition, she had always pictured a metropolis as
similar to an ant hill for life and activity; but she had never
thought it so spectacular, so dynamic in potentialities, so gigantic
a thing as that architectural pile which greeted her eyes on that
memorable morning when she and her father crossed the seven miles of
green bay from Oakland, toward the picturesque horizon of buildings
rising step on step, miles long and wide, tier on tier, up the steep
slopes of hills that hid their crests in a low-lying, fleecy bank of
fog.
And Market Street, Mississippian in its aspect, flowing full with
its surging, irresistible stream of pedestrians and traffic,
appalled her. The chaotic blockade of street cars at the Ferry
terminal, the deafening thunder and shriekings of the busy
Embarcadero, the mad confusion of it all, bewildered her—and
bewildered Lemuel still more.
It was during the period when the Golden West Hotel was to the
country people of California what the Congress, in Chicago, is to
the political world of the nation—the one and only caravansary.
Accordingly, Lemuel set his blind course for the Golden West Hotel.
He did this after making a number of inquiries on how to reach his
destination, regarding with considerable suspicion each one of his
informants, for he had heard about the suaveness of confidence and
bunko men and their artful way of misdirecting their victims to dens
of iniquity, abounding in trapdoors and subterranean dungeons and
murderous gangsters, and he felt that he was just a trifle too smart
to fall a prey to the sly brotherhood.
“Them slick fellers’s got to git up purty early in the mornin’ to
beat yore dad, Dot,” he grinned proudly, as they started off in a
taxi. “I ain’t up on city ways, but I’m kinder foxy myself. That’s
what comes of knockin’ around with Lennox, the minin’ engineer, an’
the rest of them Geerusalem sports, like I’ve done.”
But with all Lemuel’s belief in his own sagacity, when it was a
matter of pitting his wits against the other fellow’s, he failed to
notice that, ever since their arrival at the Ferry terminal, he and
Dot had been the object of intense secret interest on the part of a
man who, once his sharp eyes rested on them as they came in sight
with the rest of the passengers, trailed them about until they
entered the taxi.
He was a broad-shouldered, powerful individual, perhaps in the late
thirties, with a red, coarse face and expressionless blue eyes. His
clothes were cut along flashy lines, his shoes of glittering patent
leather, his hat worn jauntily. But his very appearance,
particularly when he walked, somehow impressed one that he was more
at home in the hills than in the city. As Dot and her father began
their slow progress up Market Street the stranger sprang into
another taxi and instructed the driver to follow the first.
Arriving at the hotel, Lemuel and his daughter registered and were
shown to a cheerful little suite overlooking the street. They sat
down in the parlor and stared at each other.
“My!” exclaimed Dot breathlessly. “Isn’t this just—just wonderful?”
“Geerusalem ain’t got nuthin’ on this burg, has it? Sounds like ol’
hell broke loose—an’ I’m not cussin’ when I say that, Dot,” chuckled
Lemuel.
Her eyes kindled, and she rose from her chair and went over and
threw her arms around his neck. “It’s such a glorious adventure. I—I
only wish poor mother was with us. Don’t you, daddy?”
He didn’t answer for some seconds, then he said in a strained voice:
“That’s the one thing that spoils it all for us, honey—her not bein’
here. All her life, she looked for’ard to this hour, when me an’
her’d bring you to Frisco to go to school. Thank God, the hour’s
come—anyway!”
During the next two days they devoted themselves almost entirely to
getting acquainted with the vicinity of the hotel. Then they began
taking short tours of investigation, growing bolder and bolder until
they were finally promenading the miles of streets which form the
downtown business section, even venturing a trip to the Cliff House
where they spent hours gazing in speechless amazement across the
Pacific—the first ocean they had ever seen.
Having become thus partially inured to metropolitan conditions, they
found time to think of other matters. Naturally enough, it was
Lemuel’s desire to get his daughter an outfit; the best that money
could buy would be none too good, he told himself. That daughter,
like any woman, was not averse to being prettily clothed, so they
started window shopping, staring at the gorgeous displays along
lower Grant Avenue, trying to decide on what would be not alone
stylish, but attractive and worth the money as well.
But by the end of the fourth day it became quite apparent to them
both that choosing a young lady’s first wardrobe destined to give
her the required distinction demanded by so select an institution as
Longwell’s Seminary was clearly not a job for the uninitiated. They
repaired to their little parlor to study over the problem. Lemuel
was smoking his after-dinner cigar and frowning at his new tight
shoes.
“I have it, daddy!” burst out Dot suddenly, breaking a long silence.
“Telegraph to Mrs. Liggs and ask her to come. You can pay her fare
and expenses. You remember, she used to live in San José and she
knows all about what is proper and tasty in dress. She can get
somebody to take care of the store for a few days. I’m sure she’ll
come.”
But Lemuel shook his head severely. “We don’t want Mrs. Liggs
pickin’ out yore things, Dot, an’ that settles it,” he said shortly.
“Why not? She’s in the dry-goods business and knows all about
clothes.”
“She’s old-fashioned, that’s why, an’ she wouldn’t talk to me when I
seen her——”
“She is not old-fashioned, daddy, and you know it,” cried Dot
spiritedly. “Didn’t she make me that pretty pink dress last summer,
and everybody admired it? You said yourself it was nicer than
anything you’d seen on me. I know that if we try to buy a wardrobe
ourselves, they’ll—— Well, we’ll have to take what they tell us is
the latest style, because we don’t know any better. Can’t you see
that you’ll save money and everything by having Mrs. Liggs come?
Please send for her, daddy!”
They discussed the matter for upward of an hour, and because her
father’s objections were weak and unconvincing, Dot argued all the
more strenuously in an effort to have her way. Nor was Lemuel so
greatly opposed to her plan as he pretended to be. He firmly
believed that Mrs. Liggs was the very person who could discriminate
between what was modish and what was not in a young lady’s apparel,
and that, furthermore, she would not hesitate to close up her store
for a week and board the first train north if she knew that Dot
required her services in a matter of such moment.
What he was endeavoring to do was make up his mind whether he should
tell his daughter how he had captured Billy Gee, confess his
perfidy, and send for Mrs. Liggs, or object flatly to her and,
thereby, throw himself on the tender mercies of some clerk trained
in the subtle art of selling goods; for he realized only too well,
that were their little old friend to come, she would lose no time in
telling Dot about the sensational capture of the bandit, and how he,
Lemuel, had been lionized by the population of Geerusalem. Under
other circumstances he would have rather welcomed this, but to have
his daughter learn how treacherously he had acted, was something he
dreaded. He felt that she would not be able to understand his object
back of the act. Again, Mrs. Liggs’ unaccountable treatment of him
that morning when he rode into Geerusalem rankled considerably. Of
course, he told himself, there was always the possibility that she
had not recognized him, for her eyes were not as keen now as he had
once known them to be.
So, after finding himself being slowly convinced by Dot almost
against his will that they were absolutely dependent on Mrs. Liggs
to solve the wardrobe problem for them, he finally yielded to his
half-formed notion to tell his daughter everything—except the fact
that Billy Gee had threatened his life; for he would not awaken
unnecessary fears in her lest she might refuse to attend school.
He cleared his throat presently and said: “I’m goin’ to tell you
somepn, Dot—because I’d ruther you heard it from me than an
outsider—an’ I want you to forgive me for carin’ more for yore
future than for yore opinion of yore old dad.” He paused and glanced
anxiously at her. “I ketched Billy Gee as he was leavin’ the barn
that night, an’—an’ I c’llected the ten thousand dollars reeward.”
She had been sitting on the arm of his chair, smoothing his thin,
gray hair, idly. Now she started suddenly, and a hard gasp escaped
her. Rising from her seat, she came around in front of him and stood
looking sharply down into his face.
“You turned him over—over to Sheriff Warburton?” she asked hoarsely.
“I did, Dot—to git the money to give you an edjucation. I had to lie
to you, much as it hurt. But—but he got away. He jumped off the
train an’ they ain’t bin able to find hide or hair of him,” he
added, grinning expectantly at her.
“He got away! He got away—again—from Sheriff Warburton!”
“Yeh. An’ plumb disappeared. I bin watchin’ the papers. Poor Bob was
so bruck up over losin’ him, he quit the sheriff job.”
She stared intently at him a moment, then threw back her head and
laughed aloud—a silvery, daring laugh.
“I’m glad! Oh, I’m so glad!” she cried, a catch in her throat.
Lemuel was gazing narrowly at her, missing nothing; and he noticed
the warm flush come and go in her cheeks. He had never seen such a
brilliant light in her eyes before. He marveled vaguely.
“Well, I ain’t glad, that’s sure,” he said at last, with a hollow
chuckle, but the significance of his words was lost on her.
“Tell me all about it, daddy. And you got all that money for—for
capturing him? And he’s free? I’ll forgive you, then.”
Whereupon, he began an apologetic confession, relating how he had
suspected that she knew the hiding place of the bandit, how he had
spied on her, followed her from the house and seen her mount the
steps into the hayloft, on that memorable night; how he had
surprised Billy Gee and delivered him over to Warburton; how he had
returned home by way of the field and climbed into bed.
Dot listened in silence, her eyes averted, an odd sympathy in her
face; but she fairly gloated over the paper which Lemuel had
carefully preserved, giving the stirring particulars of the outlaw’s
subsequent escape.
“You’ll notice it says that the twenty thousand dollars he stole
from the paymaster is missin’,” said Lemuel pointedly. Her obvious
interest in Billy Gee disturbed him. “Ain’t it funny how it’s got
lost? What d’ye reckon could ’a’ happened to it, eh, Dot?”
She glanced up from her reading and found him studying her
strangely. She thought there was deep suspicion in his look. Or was
it craftiness, greed?
The recollection of that wild outburst of his in the kitchen, back
home, flashed into her mind. Much as she despised herself for the
feeling of distrust that kindled in her breast, she decided she
couldn’t be sure of him, that he was not to be relied on. Regardless
of the fact that he now had money, might he still not be
tempted—particularly since no one had the remotest inkling of the
whereabouts of the bandit’s loot—to keep it, if she confided in him
that Billy Gee had left it for her and that she was only waiting an
opportunity to return it to its rightful owners? It was a frightful
thought, she knew—a base, horrible thought for a daughter to
entertain toward a father so self-sacrificing and loving as he
was—but try as she would she could not rid herself of it.
“It is funny, isn’t it? Don’t you suppose, though, that they’ll make
a search for it?” she asked, her innocence well assumed. There was a
curious interest back of the last question, but he failed to notice
it, watching as he was for some sign of nervousness or apprehension
in her face.
“They already started. A young feller named Sangerly—his old man’s
manager of the road—he’s bin on the job sence the day we left. He’s
got a coupla high-class deetectives along. ’Cordin’ to what he was
tellin’ me he aims to make it poorty hot for somebody.” He said this
significantly.
She laughed. “You don’t mean that he suspects who has the money?
That’s——”
“He’s got it figgered out that Billy Gee had it with him when he
come to our place—an’ he’s dead right, let me tell you. When I
deelivered that—the cuss to Bob Warburton that mornin’, he didn’t
have no more’n five dollars on him. I know, ’cos I seen Bob search
him. Sangerly says he cached the twenty thousand on the ranch.” He
paused and added in low, confidential tones: “Say, Dot, you don’t
happen to know about it, do you? You seen his saddlebags, didn’t
you?”
“Yes,” she replied evenly. “He had his saddlebags with him, and when
I asked him what they contained, he said simply that he always
carried his mother’s picture and some keepsakes along with him. He
may have left them in the barn—forgotten them. I really couldn’t
say. Did you look?”
“No, goldarn it! I wisht now I’d hunted around for ’em. I reckon
Sangerly’ll find them. But, anyhow I’m glad you ain’t goin’ to git
mixed up in this mess, hon. It’d be turrible! The paper’d print yore
name, an’ mebby yore pitcher’d git in, an’—jest think what a
disgrace it’d be! Like as not, you’d git chucked out o’ school.
Folks’d talk awful, you bein’ c’nnected up with a train robber. An’
no matter what you’d say wouldn’t do no good. People’d turn up their
nose an’ say, ‘She’s no better’n he is.’” He glanced at his watch
and got to his feet. “All right, we’ll send for Agatha. What’ll we
tell her?”
Between them they worded the telegram, Dot writing it; and presently
he left the room with it, bound for the hotel office.
Once alone, the girl began again to ponder on what she should do
with the fortune she had wrapped in her mother’s old silk shawl.
Ever since their arrival in San Francisco, her interest in other
things had, for the time being, surmounted the responsibility and
concern she felt as the unwilling custodian of this large sum of
stolen money. Her father’s words now recalled the question to her in
a most vivid way.
It had all seemed so easy on the train—merely the inconvenience of
going to the police station, sheriff’s office, or postmaster,
turning the loot over to one of the three, with the information that
it represented what Billy Gee had stolen from the paymaster of the
Mohave & Southwestern Railroad, and that she wished it returned to
the company.
Here and now, however, amidst all this great city’s mad rush and
confusion, she shrank from taking this step. After due reflection,
it struck her that in all probability she would be closely
questioned, and the fearful notion grew on her that there was more
than a likelihood that she would be arrested as an accomplice; she
had heard of just such things having been done. And, even as her
father had said, there was the notoriety she was of a certainty to
receive in the newspapers. Yes, everybody would believe she was a
friend of this man whose name stood for lawlessness. They might
believe she was—— She shivered at the thought. What, then, must she
do to save the romantic situation for herself?
Racking her brains, she sat down and finally hit on another
solution. She would wait until Mrs. Liggs arrived. She would confide
in this dear little old lady, who had been like a mother to her,
tell her everything, and ask her advice. Mrs. Liggs would understand
and help her.
Shortly afterward, Lemuel returned with the proposal that they
attend a theater, and finish the night with a sight-seeing trip
through Chinatown.
“I bin hearin’ them Geerusalem sports braggin’ around about some
new-fangled game called chop sueys, that the chinks play, an’ I’m
goin’ to take a whirl at it ’fore I go back, even if I lose,” he
said, as he entered his room.
They were in the midst of their dressing, when the hall doorbell
rang. Lemuel answered it and fell back with a gasp of amazement when
he recognized the smiling face of his visitor.
“Dick Lennox! Why, you ol’ son of a gun! What’re you doin’? When, in
heck, did you git in?” he exploded, grasping the other by the hand
and drawing him into the room.
“This afternoon. Awfully glad to see you, Lem. I’ve been on your
trail ever since you left.”
Lemuel eyed him sharply. “How’s that? Anythin’ gone wrong?”
“Not a thing in the world that I know. Just a matter of urgent
business,” said Lennox.
He removed his nobby overcoat as he spoke, and arranged his tie with
fastidious care, smiling genially at the other the while.
He was a tall, wiry chap of twenty-eight, the stamp of college days
still on him, rather prepossessing of features, with shrewd blue
eyes, and blond hair slicked back. Lemuel noticed that he had
changed his corduroys and half-boots of Geerusalem vogue for a
snappy gray suit.
“Say, Lem, I’m about the luckiest cuss you ever heard of,” he cried,
throwing himself in a chair and lighting a cigarette. “I combed the
camp, as the detectives say, but couldn’t get a line where you’d
gone. Then I butted into the guy that drove you to Mirage. He
thought you’d come to Frisco—overheard you talking, I guess. But
Frisco is some bigger than Geerusalem, and I was euchred. I was just
figuring I’d have to give up and wait till you returned, when I just
happened to remember you once mentioned the Golden West Hotel as the
place you’d stop at if you ever hit the city. I took a chance, and
here you are. Can you beat it?”
“I’d call it clever work, myself,” laughed Lemuel.
“Clever? Why, you old rascal, nothing is clever alongside of what
you did the other night—bringing in Billy Gee, single-handed!
Honest, I never thought it was in you, Lem. The camp is still
excited over it.”
Lemuel crossed his legs with dignity and hooked his thumbs in his
armpits.
“I don’t guess there was as much to it as they think,” he said,
blowing a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. “Of course, a man was
akcherly takin’ his life in his hands every minute, so to speak, but
you got to c’nsider I growed up fightin’ just sech hard-boiled eggs.
It’s all in knowin’ how to handle ’em.”
“Oh, certainly! Experience is a great teacher,” conceded Lennox
seriously and coughed into his handkerchief to hide a grin.
Dot, attired for the street, joined them at this juncture, and
Lemuel presented Lennox.
“You remember me tellin’ you about Dick Lennox, the minin’
engineer—the chap who introdooced me to Mr. Sangerly? This is him,
Dot. He come all the way from Geerusalem to see—— You said somepn
about business, Dick. What was it?”
“I believe that Miss Huntington is going out for the evening,” said
Lennox, with a glance at Dot. “My errand can wait until to-morrow.”
“Wait—nuthin’, son—not after you come all the way from Soapweed
Plains! We got time galore. Come on, what’s on yore mind?”
Lennox brought up a chair for the girl, seated himself and said
briskly: “What do you hold your ranch at, Mr. Huntington?”
The other stared. “You mean, what’ll I sell fur?”
“Precisely—just as it stands.”
“Why—why, I don’t know as I ever figgered on a price, Dick. I’ve
always looked on it as home, an’ a man gene’lly don’t——”
“I appreciate the way you feel—a place to hang your hat and go to
when you can’t go anywhere else,” broke in Lennox genially. “But if
you were offered a—well, a handsome price. You’ll agree with me that
three hundred acres of it is worthless desert, while most of the
remaining twenty is little better than pasture.”
“Just what do you c’nsider a handsome price?” asked Lemuel
skeptically.
His visitor thoughtfully flicked the ash off his cigarette, into a
tray.
“Say, seventy-five hundred dollars.”
“Seventy-five hundred!” burst out Lemuel. He opened his mouth to
laugh but, observing the seriousness in the other’s face, the
keenness with which the blue eyes were studying him, closed it again
and rubbed his chin reflectively.
“You’ll admit that’s about double its value,” went on Lennox, in
matter-of-fact tones. “To be perfectly frank, I have made inquiries,
and find that you just might turn it for fifteen dollars an
acre—providing you found the sort of person who would put up with
the discomforts of the desert, some one looking for solitude and
plenty of sun. So far as a man making a living there, why——”
“D’ye mean cash down? I don’t go much on this proposition of
payments,” broke in the rancher.
“Cash—certainly. Furthermore, I’ve been authorized to give you a
substantial sum to bind the bargain, our only stipulation being that
the transfer be made as soon as possible.”
A short silence fell.
“May I inquire, Mr. Lennox, the reason for this flattering offer?”
said Dot, speaking for the first time. “Perhaps I should not ask the
question but I can’t help being curious——”
“You’re quite entitled to know, and I welcome the opportunity to
explain, Miss Huntington,” the man replied affably. “You see,
several of us have organized what we call the Geerusalem Amusement
Company. Among a number of other prospective enterprises, we intend
to establish a resort—a place of recreation a few miles out of camp,
where people can come and enjoy themselves. We have had some choice
places in view as a likely site—the Las Animas Ranch and the Cañon
Spring Ranch, for instance—but we decided that your father’s was the
logical one, since it was the nearest from town and correspondingly
more available to the public.”
“That’s a poorty slick idea,” said Lemuel, with an approving nod at
Dot. “The ranch sure is handy, an’—— Funny I hadn’t thought of that
before.”
“This resort, Mr. Lennox, what would it be like? you certainly can’t
mean a picnic ground or a place for outings,” probed Dot, unable to
visualize anything of a particularly attractive nature about her
desert home.
Lennox shook his head. “I’m afraid you didn’t quite catch my
meaning. For one thing, we expect to erect a bathhouse. By sinking
wells in the bed of the Mohave River, which passes through the
property, we feel satisfied we will strike a large subterranean flow
of water. We might even put in a concrete pool, if the amount of
water warrants it. Anyhow, bathing facilities would be our big
drawing card. Added to it, of course, would be a saloon, dance hall,
gambling, doubtless a hotel, should business demand it. In a word,
we are looking to construct a modern resort in the middle of the
desert. It’ll cost a barrel of money, but we believe the venture a
good one.”
Lemuel, in high spirits over the prospects of disposing of his land
for a price that, even as Lennox had stated, was double its market
value, rubbed his hands with ill-concealed gratification.
“Dick, as the feller says, nuthin’ ventured’ll git you nuthin’.
Bein’ that you’ve bin out in the open with me—laid yore hand on the
table, so to speak—I’ll jest call you. You give me seventy-five
hundred fur them two quarter sections, an’ they’re yourn——”
“Just one moment, father!” interrupted Dot.
During Lennox’s explanation of what the contemplated resort was to
be, she had sat with her eyes fixed on the carpet at her feet,
listening in silence. Now she rose and stood before the two men, her
face set and just a trifle pale.
“You’re not going to sell the place, father,” she continued, her
voice low but firm. “You’re not going to let them turn that clean
spot into a filthy hangout for the class of men and women who’ll
patronize it—where they’ll stagger around drunk and curse and gamble
and murder one another.”
Lemuel’s brows knit with impatience. “But can’t you see, hon, this
here’s big money. Dick knows it an’ he knows _I_ know it. We’ll
never git another chanct like it ag’in. An’ it’ll make us
independent, an’ we won’t ever have to go back there ’cept we want
to.”
“I really wouldn’t let my scruples stand in the way of this deal,
Miss Huntington,” advised Lennox suavely. “While what you say may be
perfectly true, in a sense, at the same time you have too much to
gain to allow mere sentiment to swerve you from what is clearly a
duty you owe to yourselves—disposing of the ranch for what is
actually a ridiculously high price.”
“Mere sentiment!” she echoed, her eyes flashing with an odd light.
“Of course, Mr. Lennox, you don’t understand. You don’t know the
reason I’m objecting. With you, it’s a cold business proposition.”
She turned to Lemuel, watching her now with obvious ill-humor.
“Father, would you always like to think that the drunkards and
outcasts of Geerusalem were merrymaking on the land where poor
mother worked and hoped and died? That they were cursing and dancing
and carousing within hearing of her grave? That their drunken feet
were stumbling over it, desecrating it, day and night, night and
day? Would you like to think that, for—for seventy-five hundred
dollars——” Her voice broke and she stood gazing at him beseechingly
through her tears.
For one instant, Lemuel stared aghast at her, then sudden pain
started in his eyes, twitched down his face to his lips, and set
them quivering. He swallowed hard, looked guiltily at one callous
hand, and bowed his head.
“My God, Dick, she’s right!” he said hoarsely. “I’d—I’d plumb
forgot. I’m—I’m sorry, but I reckon nobody’s got enough money to buy
that ranch—not fur a reesort, leastways. I sure—I sure forgot. Dot,
hon, you know I wouldn’t do sech an awful thing, don’t you?”
Some minutes later, Lennox walked out of the hotel and down the
street. At the corner, a man joined him—the same mysterious
individual who had followed Dot and her father from the Ferry
terminal on the morning they arrived in the city.
“I expect he fell heavy, eh?” laughed the fellow, falling into step
beside the other.
“No. He wouldn’t part with the place, Rankin,” said Lennox quietly.
“He wouldn’t! Not for seventy-five hundred! What in hell does the
old bum want for nothing? What was his reason?”
“Just didn’t care to sell, that was all.”
Rankin gave a nasty chuckle. “Wait till Jule hears about it. He’ll
make that old buzzard sweat blood, let me tell you! He’ll be glad to
sell—for nothing. Why, say, for all that coin, he ought to have
throwed in the skirt for good measure. Maybe, Jule could use her—as
his stenographer.”
Lennox stopped suddenly and confronted the other.
“What was that, Rankin?” he asked, peering hard at him.
“I said the Huntington kid might have to go to work for Jule as a
stenographer, before he’s through with her father,” was the surly
response.
“Miss Huntington does not enter into this thing. Do you understand
that?” said Lennox harshly.
They continued in silence down the street and came to a halt before
the Western Union telegraph office.
“I’m taking the morning train back to Geerusalem,” announced Rankin.
“Before I go, I want to say one thing, and that is—I didn’t know you
were interested in Dot Huntington or I wouldn’t have made the crack
I did.” He paused and added meaningly: “I don’t think Jule did
either, or he certainly wouldn’t have sent you to put through this
deal. It’ll be up to you to convince him why it fell through when it
shouldn’t have. You get me, don’t you?” With a curt nod, he turned
on his heel and walked away.
Lennox looked after him for a moment, then he entered the telegraph
office. As he prepared to send a wire to Jule Quintell he muttered
to himself: “I don’t blame them for refusing. She’s a wonderful
little girl.”