A MIDNIGHT FIGHT
“I’ve met one square man, and that’s Mr. Hale,” Ben said with emphasis,
after he had told her about his trouble.
“Then, you don’t think Mundon’s square?”
Ben stopped and faced her. “What have you heard?” he asked.
“They say that he was in with the smugglers and led you to discover
their opium so that you’d get the reward,--and then he’d cheat you out
of it.”
“What nonsense! How could he?”
“O, I don’t know,--somehow.”
“I suppose Mr. Hodges and his wife started that. What more did they
say?” He stooped and picked up a smooth bit of driftwood which he flung
far out into the water. “I don’t care that for their opinion!”
“They say that you’ll never get your money back; that Mr. Fish is the
meanest man in town; that he won’t give you any show at all, and won’t
let you take another cent out of the Works.”
“Then, they’ve heard about it already?” he asked. She nodded. “Quick
work! And that it serves me right. I dare say that’s another thing they
say?”
The girl’s face flushed. “Yes, they did. Mrs. Hodges was the worst. She
said that Mundon was a sharper and that you were a greeny.”
“Well, it isn’t over yet.”
They walked on for a few moments in silence. Although Ben spoke up
stoutly, he was very despondent.
“Tell you what I wish you’d do, Beth?” he suddenly said. “I’m going to
watch to-night at the Works; and if you should hear me blow a whistle,
do you blow Hodges’ as loud as you can. Three times, you know. Does he
still keep one at the house?”
“Yes. Ever since he had that trouble about the land it has hung behind
the kitchen door. I can easily take it up to my room.”
“All right. Your house is so near that you’d be sure to hear me. The
gates are nailed up, but I can’t help feeling a little nervous. Keep
what I’ve told you to yourself.”
“Do you think you will lose it all, Ben?”
“I can’t tell. I’m going to make a fight for it.”
“You’re awfully worried. I can tell by your face.”
“Well, what if I am? Most men are--most of the time. It’s life.” Beth
sighed. “We’re rushed along, just as if we were on a river, and all we
can do is to do the best we can. If we do that, it’s enough.”
He stopped and ground the heel of his shoe in the damp sand. “I heard a
man describe it oddly once. He likened life to a dog-pit. He called it
an ‘arena,’ but he meant a dog-pit. And he said a man had to take hold
with a bulldog’s grip to succeed. I thought it was horrible then, but
somehow it comes back to me now.”
“I never saw you in fighting mood before.”
“Haven’t I had enough to make me so? To have that rich old miser take
what belongs to me! It’s mine, and he knows it, and so does everybody
else! And if he sneaks through this hole he’s found in the lease and
takes my gold, he’s just as much a thief as if he’d broken into my
house and stolen what didn’t belong to him! I don’t care if the law
does back him up,--it’s dishonest trickery!”
“Maybe you won’t be a millionaire, after all.” The girl’s face wore
a blank expression. Then she suddenly brightened. “But millionaires
always go through this sort of thing, don’t they? Mr. Palmer landed in
San Francisco with only fifty cents in his pocket and chopped wood to
earn his dinner. I’ve heard him tell about it lots of times. I think
he’d rather talk about it than anything else in the world. Perhaps,”
she glanced at Ben, “you’re too well dressed, Ben, to turn out a
millionaire. Perhaps you ought to go barefooted, or, at least, wear
ragged shoes first.”
Her companion smiled. “Girls are always thinking of appearances,”
he said. “But I think you had better give up the hope of my being a
millionaire; that’s a fairy tale. If I make a few thousand out of
this,--provided I can beat this old devil-fish,--I’ll be satisfied.”
“I’d set my heart on a million,” she replied; “but if you’re satisfied,
I ought to be. You think girls are funny to be always thinking of
looks. How can we help it? We’re never really _in_ anything; we have
to stand one side and see the boys do things.”
“Fighting, for instance,” Ben remarked.
They had retraced their steps, and were again at the entrance of the
Works. Mundon still sat on the fence, thoughtfully gazing at the nailed
gates. The mule was wistfully looking at them, too, with an injured
air; as indeed was quite fitting in a tenant who had been evicted.
“Good-night,” said Ben. “Don’t forget.”
“I won’t,” Beth replied. Then she added in an undertone, “Don’t tell
him,”--she indicated Mundon,--“that I’m going to listen.” She turned
quickly away, before Ben had time to reply.
Through the long hours of the night, as Ben sat in the shadow of
a wall across the street from the Works, he had plenty of time
for reflection. Although he had indignantly refused to believe the
imputation against Mundon’s honesty, still it kept persistently
recurring to him.
“Can it be possible that he was in with that smuggling gang, and that
fear of personal safety made him use me as a catspaw to inform on
them?” he asked himself, but dismissed this as being highly improbable.
Mundon’s surprise when the opium was discovered had been too genuine to
be doubted.
Besides, had he been a party to the smuggling, by exposing it he
would have put an end to the business in the future, as far as he was
concerned. The Custom House authorities had held a theory that he had
been one of the ring, from the fact that no one came to remove the
opium. As an offset to this Mundon maintained that one or more of the
Government employees must have been in with the smugglers and warned
them. It was a block-puzzle, the pieces of which Ben placed in many
different positions as the night wore on.
How long that night seemed to him! His brain was too excited to permit
sleep to trouble him, and his position harassed him.
About two o’clock in the morning he saw a figure stealing along in the
shadow of the building. The moon was shining and Ben could see that
the man stopped and looked around, as if to make sure that he was not
observed.
“He’s going to climb up and drop through that hole in the roof!” Ben
said to himself. “That’s the way he got in before. I’ve got the burglar
at last!”
The figure paused as if to listen, and then cautiously climbed up the
rough side of the building and disappeared through the hole in the roof.
Ben decided to go around the building and enter through the opening
on the water side. He was obliged to climb the high bulkhead which
ran out into the bay, and then he swiftly ran along the beach. Peering
within, he saw the man stooping over the “jigger” and searching for its
contents by the aid of a bull’s-eye lantern. He was of slight physique,
and there was something about the figure that was strangely familiar.
Just then the man raised his head in a listening attitude, and Ben
recognized him.
“Syd!” he exclaimed. “I always knew he was a mean sneak, but I never
thought he’d be a thief!”
Ben sprang toward him and grasped his arm. “That’s mine! You are
stealing my gold!” he cried.
The other tried to shake off his accuser. “Let go!” he screamed.
But Ben did not relax his hold. “Not till you give me what you’ve
stolen!”
“I won’t! I’ve as much right to what I find as you have,” Syd doggedly
replied; “and I’m goin’ to keep what I’ve got. Let go, I say!”
For answer Ben flung himself upon him.
They were about equally matched and both fought desperately. A misstep
on the ground sent them sprawling among the broken bricks and rubbish.
Ben was uppermost, and soon would have vanquished his adversary, when
something flashed before his eyes and he felt the thrust of a knife in
his breast.
With his remaining strength he blew a blast on his police-whistle, and
then a faintness overpowered him and he knew nothing more.