AN ACCOMMODATING SHERIFF.
Turning his head at hearing the door open Aleck sees one whom he knows,
and a cold chill passes over him as he recognizes the face of the
Colorado colonel.
Bob Rocket steps into the library and closes the door behind him. This
action of course attracts the attention of all concerned, and the
Western sheriff finds himself the cynosure of inquiring eyes.
John’s hand is stayed in the very act of handing the check to his
father--the smile remains on Dorothy’s face, and as for the old
speculator, he looks with displeasure upon the interloper.
“I beg your pardon, gentlemen, ladies,” says the other in his bass
voice, speaking very slowly and methodically, “but a stern sense of
duty compels me to break in upon your family party.”
“Duty, Colonel Rocket!” exclaims the speculator, turning red with
rising wrath.
“That was what I said, sir. Duty with me must always rise even above
the courtesy a guest owes to his host. You were kind enough to invite
me to your house to-night, Mr. Cereal, and it served my purpose to
accept. I have passed a pleasant evening. I thank you for it. But, sir,
that shall not stand in the way of my fulfilling the mission which
brought me to Chicago.”
“Indeed!”
“And has even taken me to this house.”
“Rocket, have you been too often at the sideboard?” asks the great
operator, frowning.
“You see yourself, sir, that I am not under the influence of liquor.
My hand is as steady as a die. I am sorry for you, Mr. Cereal--doubly
sorry for this charming young lady----”
“Hang it, Rocket, why mince matters? What the devil _do_ you want here?”
“I’m coming to it gradually, sir. Don’t want the shock to be too
severe. In the first place you don’t know, because I failed to tell
you, that at present I am a sheriff out at Denver.”
“A sheriff!” repeats Dorothy uneasily.
“Denver, eh?” says John, arching his eyebrows.
“I have been sent to Chicago on the track of a shrewd young scoundrel
who has absconded with over fifty thousand dollars in funds.”
“My God!” groans the old operator, for the striking similarity in the
sums causes him to have a sudden horrible suspicion, which he endeavors
to tear loose and cast away.
Aleck darts a quick glance at John, and is surprised to see that the
young man simply flushes a little under the meaning words of the
sheriff.
“The company that was so neatly robbed has offered me five thousand
dollars for the capture of the thief, and double that if I save the
funds. I am here in the interest of the great Hecla Mining Company.”
At this John changes his tactics--silence, contemptuous silence, he
maintains no longer, but utters an angry exclamation.
“You say the Hecla, of Denver?” he demands.
“Those were my words, young man. It has been kept dark until this
chase could be brought to a successful termination. I had hoped to lay
low until receiving an answer to a message I sent, but circumstances
combine to force my hand. Mr. Cereal, my dear sir, it pains me to do
this thing, but duty leaves me no choice. You cannot cash that check,
sir.”
“Why not?” demands John quietly.
“Because the money it covers is the property of the Hecla Mining
Company.”
“Granted it was once, but is so no longer,” continues this remarkable
young man, and Sheriff Bob secretly confesses that he never before ran
across so collected a customer.
“O John!” cries Dorothy, taking his words for open confession and
defiance.
“My son, explain this thing,” says the operator, again resting his
weight on the table.
“My dear father, be calm. You do not see me at all excited. I am
entirely innocent of this charge, and can afford to laugh at it as a
good joke. I assure you solemnly, there is nothing to fear,” the young
man says, disturbed by the visible agitation of those who are near and
dear to him.
As for Rocket, he merely humps his shoulders, and keeps both hands
behind him under the spiked tails of his dress coat. His manner is in a
measure contemptuous, for he believes in his case, and that the young
man simply plays such a bold game as would be natural to one who had
succeeded in making a clever haul of fifty thousand.
Turning upon the sheriff, John asks:
“Will you answer a few questions, sir?”
“Oh, yes! provided I can do so in the line of professional duty,”
drawls the deep bass.
“Thank you, sir. Tell me first of all the name of the defaulter.”
“Cheerfully--John Cereal, known in Denver as John Phœnix.”
Again the two near by utter moans of grief, but John, who has more at
stake than anyone else--John, who is thus boldly accused of a terrible
crime--simply smiles and nods.
“I thought so. You don’t know as much about this case as you supposed,
Mr. Rocket. I give you the benefit of the doubt, and believe your work
has been caused by a blunder, and not malice. In the first place, I
am John Cereal. In Denver I have always been known as John Atherton,
because that is my middle name. The Phœnix you speak of was my
confidential secretary, and I am amazed and grieved to learn that Jack
has gone to the bad. There are men in this city who know me--when the
morning comes I shall have little difficulty in proving, even to your
satisfaction, sir, that I am John Atherton, President and Manager of
the Hecla.”
At this Samson Cereal takes courage and raises his head again. He is
just in time to see the sheriff draw something out from his inner
pocket, which he holds up.
“Do you see that? Would you call it a good photograph of one John
Phœnix?” he asks.
“Not much. That is my counterfeit resemblance. I kept it in a drawer
of my desk, and I remember Jack’s was there too. See here, Mr. Rocket,
do you mean to tell me someone in the office sent you that picture and
said it was Phœnix, the defaulter?”
“That’s exactly what was done, sir,” replies the sheriff, not quite so
confident as he was, though keeping a sharp lookout for tricks. He has
a constitutional uneasiness about rogues who are playing big games.
“It was a miserable blunder, and inexcusable. They could not have
discovered it as yet, or a message would have been sent explaining
matters. Now, my dear colonel, let’s be reasonable in this matter.
To create a disturbance at this time in my father’s house would be
inexcusable--damnable, sir. I am anxious to avoid a scene. When the
guests are gone I will room with you where you will, and when morning
comes it will be my turn to prove my identity, after which an apology
must be in order from you, sir. I am not at all disturbed by your
accusation. In my other coat I have letters, various things to show you
who I am. Look at this ring with the monogram J. A. C. Then here is my
watch marked the same way.”
“The devil! this seems an odd thing, I declare, but I’m a martinet when
it comes to duty, and until you prove your innocence, nothing remains
for me but to believe you guilty. You understand it--this photograph is
my authority; if it proves false, I’ll willingly apologize. Until then
you must be--my prisoner.”
“Very good! We shall laugh at this joke in less than ten hours. Father,
send your message, and depend on me that it’s all right. Were it twice
the sum I could raise it in an hour after the banks open. Someone down
in Denver will have to pay the piper for this outrageous blunder. That
a picture of Phœnix! Why, hang it, we’re as much opposites as you and
I, Colonel Rocket, and in disposition too. I am quiet, sedate, while I
doubt if in all Denver, or the West, you could find a jollier fellow
than Happy Jack.”
Aleck Craig gives a cry.
“What was that name?” he demands hastily.
“We usually called Phœnix Happy Jack, on account of his rollicking
ways,” returns John.
“Wonderful!” murmurs the Canadian.
As for the colonel, his red face glows with a sudden zeal. His manner
reminds one of the setter quivering with excitement, upon scenting the
game close at hand.
“Craig, tell me, wasn’t that the name of the gay young dog who was with
you last night? When you related that adventure a while ago, I’m dead
certain you called him Happy Jack, and that he said he knew Phœnix?”
“Just so, colonel, and unless he’s flown you’ll find him at the Sherman
House.”
“Good Heavens! was ever a man so beset?”
“What now, Rocket?” asks John, smiling.
“Too much of a good thing. I feel like the poor devil who was undecided
which girl to marry, and who in his dilemma sung: 'How happy could I
be with either, were t’ other dear charmer away.’ I’ve got my hand on
one party, and the other is at the Sherman House. If I leave one I may
lose both, and a bird in the hand’s worth two in the bush.” John is the
coolest, most unconcerned man in the house. He actually laughs.
“Poor colonel!” he says.
“Perfectly heartless! Young man, what am I to do under these
distressing circumstances?”
“Oh! I’ll accompany you to the Sherman. Perhaps Jack will break
down and confess the truth when he sees me. We can get out without
attracting attention, I reckon.”
“Oh! brother John!”
A rap comes on the door, which Aleck opens.
“Beg pardon--is Colonel Bob Rocket in here?” asks the colored
door-keeper.
“On deck, parson. Has _it_ come?” demands that worthy.
“De messenger boy, sah.”
Rocket snatches the envelope and tears it open. Then he says something
under his breath.
“Mr. Cereal, this explains it--John Atherton, pardon my bothering you,
and kick this ass who signs himself 'Jim,’ when you see him again, for
sending me the wrong picture. Gentlemen--ladies--adieu. Duty calls me
from this realm of bliss--believe me, only that could tear Bob Rocket
away so near supper time. To the Sherman, then, and Happy Jack! Again I
say, _au revoir!_”