PAROLE
"Mornin', Denver," said Bunker Hill, "here's a letter that come for
you--I forgot to send it down."
He fumbled in his pocket and Denver's heart stood still, but it was only
his check from the smelter. He slipped it into his shirt without even
glancing at the big total and looked up at Bunker expectantly.
"Well?" he prompted and Old Bunk twisted in the saddle before he began
to talk.
"How much did you get for your shipment?" he inquired but Denver
shrugged impatiently.
"What do I give a damn?" he demanded. "What's up? What you got on your
mind?"
"Big stuff," replied Bunker, "but I want you to listen to me--they's no
use running off at the head."
"Who's running off at the head? Go on and shoot your wad. Is it
something about my mine?"
"Yes--and mine," answered Bunker. "I don't know whether you know it, but
your property apexes the Lost Burro. And another thing, silver has gone
up. But Pinal is just as dead as it was a year ago. The whole camp is
waiting on you."
"Well, what do you want me to do? Get a parole and give Murray my mine?"
"No, just get a parole--and then we'll get you a pardon. I'll tell you,
Denver, the Dutchman has begun to talk and it seems he saw your fight.
He's told several people that you never pulled your gun, just struck out
at the crowd with your fists. And if hints and winks count for anything
with him he knows who it was that killed Meacham. He says he was hit
from behind. I've tried everything, Denver, to make that Dutchman talk
or put something down on paper; but he's scared so bad of Murray, and
mebbe of his gun-men, that he won't say a word, unless he's drunk. Now
here's the proposition--old Murray has had you railroaded, and he's sure
going to squeeze you until you let go of that claim. Why not sell out
for a good price, if he'll make the Professor talk and help get you a
pardon from the Governor? You know the Governor, he'll pardon most
anybody, but you've got to give him some excuse. Well, the Professor has
got the evidence to get you out to-morrow--if Murray will just tell him
to talk."
"What d'ye call a good price?" inquired Denver suspiciously. "Did Murray
put you up to this?"
"No!" snapped Bunker, "but he named ten thousand dollars as the most he
could possibly give. He owns the Colonel Dodge's interest in the Lost
Burro Mining Company now."
"Your pardner, eh?" sneered Denver. "Well, where would I get off if I
took this friendly tip? I'd lose my mine, that's worth a million, at
least; and get ten thousand dollars and a parole. A paroled man can't
locate a claim--nor an ex-convict, neither. The Silver Treasure is the
last claim that I'll ever get; and I'm going to hold onto it, by grab!"
"You're crazy," declared Bunker, "didn't I say we'd get you a pardon?
Well, a pardon restores you to citizenship--you can locate all the
claims you want."
"Yes, sure; _if_ I'm pardoned! But I know that danged Dutchman--he
wouldn't turn a hand to get me out of the Pen' if you'd give him a
hundred thousand dollars. He's got it in for me, for not buying his
claim when I took the Silver Treasure from you; and more'n that, he's
afraid of me, because if I ever get out----"
"Oh, don't be a dammed fool all the rest of your life," burst out Bunker
Hill impatiently. "If you'd quiet down a little and quit fighting your
head, maybe your friends would be able to help you. I might as well tell
you that I've been to the Governor and told him the facts of the case;
and he's practically promised, if the Professor will come through, to
give you a full pardon with citizenship. Now be reasonable, Denver, and
quit trying to whip the world, and we'll get you out of this jack-pot.
Give old Murray your mine--you can never law it away from him--and take
your ten thousand dollars; then move to another camp and make a fresh
start where there's nobody working against you. Of course I'm Murray's
pardner--he put one over on me--but at the same time I reckon I'm your
friend. Now there's the proposition and you can take it or leave it--I
ain't going to bother you again."
"Nope, it don't look good to me," answered Denver promptly, "there's too
many ifs and ands. And I'll stay here till I rot before Bible-Back
Murray will ever get that mine from _me_. He hired that bunch of
gun-men to jump my claim twice when he had no title to the mine, and
then he hired Chatwourth and Slogger Meacham to get me in the door and
kill me. They made a slight mistake and got the wrong man, then sent me
to the Pen' for murder. That's the kind of a dastard you've got for a
pardner but you can tell him I'll never give up. I'll fight till I die,
and if I ever get out----"
"Yes, there you go again," burst out Bunker Hill bitterly, "you ain't
got the brain of a mule. If I wasn't to blame for loaning you that gun
and leaving you out of my sight, I'd pass up your case for good. But I
didn't have no better sense than to slip you my old six-shooter, and now
Mrs. Hill can't hardly git over it so I'll give you another try. My
daughter, Drusilla, is coming home next week and she hasn't even heard
about this trouble. Now--are you going to stay here and meet her as a
convict, or will you come and meet her like a gentleman. This ain't my
doin's--I'd see you in hell, first--but Mrs. Hill says when you get out
on parole we'll be glad to receive you as our guest."
Denver stopped and considered, smiling and frowning by turns, but at
last he shook his head mournfully.
"No," he muttered, "what will she care for a poor ex-con? No, I'm down
and out," he went on to Bunker, "and she'll hear about it, anyhow. It's
too late now to pretend I'm a gentleman--my number has burned in like a
brand. All these other prisoners know me and they'll turn me up
anywhere; if I go to the China Coast one of 'em would show up, sooner or
later, and bawl me out for a convict. No, I'm ruined as a gentleman, and
old Murray did it; but by God, if I live, I'll teach him to regret
it--and he won't make a dollar out of me. That claim is tied up till
John D. Rockefeller himself couldn't get it away from me now; and it'll
lay right there until I serve out my sentence or get a free pardon from
the Governor. I won't agree to anything and----"
He stopped abruptly and looked away, after which he reached out his
hand.
"Well, much obliged, Bunk," he said, trying to smile, "I'm sorry I can't
accommodate you. Just thank Mrs. Hill for what she has done and--and
tell her I'll never forget it."
He went back to his work and old Bunk watched him wonderingly, after
which he rode solemnly away. Then the road-making dragged on--clearing
away brush, blasting out rock, filling in, grading up, making the
crown--but now the road-boss was absent minded and oblivious and his
pride in the job was gone. He let the men lag and leave rough ends, and
every few moments his eyes would stray away and look down the canyon for
the stage. And as the automobiles came up he scanned the passengers
hungrily--until at last he saw Drusilla. There was the fluttering of a
veil, the flash of startled eyes, a quick belated wave, and she was
gone. Denver stood in the road, staring after her blankly, and then he
threw down his pick.
"Send me back to the Pen'" he said to the guard, "I'm going to apply for
parole."