THE "ONLOOKERS" AGAIN
The prompt action of John Kars looked as if it would achieve the
desired result. His plan had been without any depth of subtlety. It
was characteristic of the man, in whom energy and action served him in
all crises. Alec had to be saved. The boy was standing at the brink
of a pit of moral destruction. He must be dragged back. But physical
force would be useless, for, in that direction, there was little if any
advantage on the side of the man who designed to save him. Kars had
won through the opportunities that were his. And he sat pondering his
success, and dreaming of the sweet gray eyes which had inspired his
effort, when Alec reached his apartment in fulfilment of his promise.
It was a happy interview. It was far happier than Alec could have
believed possible, in view of his passionate regret at abandoning
Leaping Horse, and the woman, whose tremendous attractions had caught
his unsophisticated heart in her silken toils, for something
approaching a year. But then Kars was using all the strength of a
powerful, infectious personality in his effort.
He listened to the boy's story of his love and regret with sympathy and
apparent understanding. He encouraged him wherever he sought
encouragement. He had a pleasantry of happy expression wherever it was
needed. In a word he played to the last degree upon a nature as weak
as it was simply honest.
The net result was the final departure of Alec in almost buoyant mood
at the prospects opening out before him, and bearing in his pocket the
signed agreement, whereby, at the price of absolute secrecy, and a
year's supreme effort, he was to achieve everything he needed to lay at
the feet of a woman he believed to be the most perfect creature on
God's beautiful earth.
Kars watched him go not without some misgivings, and his fears were
tritely expressed to Bill Brudenell, who joined him a few minutes later.
"There's only one thing to unfix the things I've stuck together," he
said. "It's the--woman."
And Bill's agreement added to his fears of the moment.
"Sure. But you haven't figgered on--Pap."
"Pap?"
Bill nodded.
"There's fourteen days. Pap's crazy mad about Maude and the boy. The
boy won't figger to quit things for fourteen days. If I'm wise he'll
boost all he needs into them. Well--there's Pap."
Bill was looking on with both eyes wide open, as was his way. He had
put into a few words all he saw. And Kars beheld in perfect nakedness
the dangers to his plans.
"We must get busy," was all he said, but there was a look of doubt in
his usually confident eyes.
Maude lived in an elaborate house farther down the main street, and
Alec Mowbray was on his way thither. He had kept from Kars the fact
that his midday meal was to be taken with the woman who had now frankly
abandoned herself to an absorbing passion for the handsome youth from
the wilderness "inside."
It was no unusual episode in the career of a woman of her class. On
the contrary, it was perhaps the commonest exhibition of her peculiar
disposition. Hundreds of such women, thousands, have flung aside
everything they have schemed and striven for, and finally achieved as
the price of all a woman holds sacred, for the sake of a sudden,
unbridled passion she is powerless to control. Perhaps "Chesapeake"
Maude understood her risks in a city of lawlessness, and in flinging
aside the protection of such a man as Pap Shaunbaum. Perhaps she did
not. But those who looked on, and they were a whole people of a city,
waited breathless and pulsating for the ensuing acts of what they
regarded as a human _comedy_.
Alec, his slim, powerful young body clad in the orthodox garb of this
northern city, swung along down the slush-laden street, his thoughts
busy preparing his argument for the persuading of the woman who had
become the sun and centre of his life. He knew his difficulties, he
knew his own regrets. But the advantages both to her, and to him,
which Kars had cleverly pointed out, outweighed both. His mind was set
on persuading her. Nor did he question for a moment that for her, as
for him, the bond between them was an enduring love that would always
be theirs, and would adapt itself to their mutual advantage. The
northern wilderness was deeply bred in him.
His way took him past Adler's Hotel, and, in a lucid moment, he
remembered that Murray was stopping there. An impulse made him pause
and look at his watch. It yet wanted half an hour to his appointment.
Yes, he would see if Murray were in. He must tell him of his purpose
to leave the city a while. It would be necessary to send word to his
mother, too.
Murray was in. He was just contemplating food when he received Alec's
message. He sent down word for him to come up to his room, and waited.
Murray McTavish was very much the same man of methodical business here
in Leaping Horse as the Fort knew him. The attractions of the city
left him quite untouched. His method of life seemed to undergo no
variation. A single purpose dominated him at all times. But that
purpose, whatever it might be, was his own.
His room was by no means extravagant, such as was the room Alec
occupied at the Gridiron. Adler's Hotel boasted nothing of the
extravagance of either of the two leading hotels. But it was ample for
Murray's requirements. The usual bedroom furnishing was augmented by a
capacious writing desk, which was more or less usual throughout the
hotel.
He was at his desk now, and his bulk filled the armchair to the limits
of its capacity. He pushed aside the work he had been engaged upon,
turned away from the desk, and awaited the arrival of his visitor.
There was no smile in his eyes now, nor, which was more unusual, was
there any smile upon his gross features. His whole pose was
contemplative, and his dark, burning eyes shone deeply.
But it was a different man who greeted the youth as the door was thrust
open. The smiling face was beaming welcome, and Murray gripped the
outstretched hand with a cordiality that was not intended to be
mistaken.
"Sit right down, boy," he said. "You're around in time to eat with me.
But I'll chase up a cocktail."
But Alec stayed him.
"I just can't stay, Murray," he said hastily. "And I'm not needing a
cocktail just now. I was passing, and I thought I'd hand you the thing
I got in my mind, and get you to pass word on to my mother and Jessie."
He took the proffered chair facing the window. Murray had resumed his
seat at the desk, which left him in the shadow.
"Why, just anything you say," Murray returned heartily. "The plans?"
The contrast between them left the trader overwhelmed. Alec, so tall,
so clean-cut and athletic of build. His handsome face so classically
molded. His fair hair the sort that any woman might rave over.
Murray, insignificant, except in bulk. But for his curious dark eyes
he must inevitably have been passed over without a second thought.
Alec drew up his long legs in a movement that suggested unease.
"Why, I can't tell you a thing worth hearing," he said, remembering his
bond. "It's just I'm quitting Leaping Horse in two weeks. I'm
quitting it a year, maybe." Then he added with a smile of greater
confidence, "I've hit a big play. Maybe it's going to hand me a pile.
Guess I'm looking for a big pile." Then he added with a cordial, happy
laugh, "Same as you."
Murray's smile deepened if anything.
"Why, boy, that's great," he exclaimed. "That's the greatest news
ever. Guess you couldn't have handed me anything I like better. As
for your mother, she'll be jumping. She wasn't easy to fix, letting
you get around here. You're going to make good. I'll hand her that
right away. I'm quitting. I'm getting back to the Fort in a few days.
That's bully news. Say, you're quitting in two weeks?"
"Yep. Two weeks."
Alec felt at ease again. He further appreciated Murray in that he did
not press any inquisition.
They talked on for a few minutes on the messages Alec wished to convey
to his mother, and finally the boy rose to go.
It was then that Murray changed from his attitude of delight to one of
deep gravity, which did not succeed in entirely obliterating his smile.
"I was going to look you up if you hadn't happened along," he said
seriously. "I was talking to Wiseman last night. You know Wiseman, of
the Low Grade Hills Mine, out West? He's pretty tough. Josh Wiseman's
a feller I haven't a heap of use for, but he's worth a big roll, and
he's in with all the 'smarts' of Elysian Fields. Say, don't jump, or
get hot at what I'm going to say. I just want to put you wise."
"Get right ahead," Alec said easily. He felt that his new relations
with Murray left him free to listen to anything he had to say.
"Why, it's about Pap," Murray went on, deliberately. "And your news
about quitting's made me glad. Wiseman was half soused, but he made a
point of rounding me up. He wanted to hand me a notion he'd got in his
half-baked head. He said two 'gun-men' had come into the city, and
they'd come from 'Frisco because Pap had sent for them. He saw them
yesterday and recognized them both. Josh hails from 'Frisco, you see.
He handed his yarn to me to hand on to you. Get me? I don't know how
much there is to it. I can't figger if you need to worry any. But
Josh is a wise guy, as well as tough. Anyway, I'm glad you're
quitting."
He held out a hand in warm cordiality, and Alec wrung it without a
shadow of concern. He laughed.
"Why say, that's fine," he cried, his eyes shining recklessly. "If it
wasn't for that darn pile I'd stop right around here. If Pap gets
busy, why, there's going to be some play. I don't give a whoop for all
the Paps in creation. Nor for his 'gunmen' either."
He was gone, and Murray was standing at his window gazing upon
surroundings of squalid shacks, the tattered fringe of the main street.
But he was not looking at these things. His thought was upon others
that had nothing to do with the mire of civilization in which he stood.
But he gave no sign, except that all his smile was swallowed up by the
fierce fires burning deep down in his dark eyes.
The dance hall revel at the Elysian Fields was in full swing. The
garish brilliancy of the scene was in fierce contrast with the night
which strove to hide the meanness prevailing beyond Pap Shaunbaum's
painted portals. The filthy street, the depth of slush, melting under
a driving rain, which was at times a partial sleet. The bleak, biting
wind, and the heavy pall of racing clouds. Then the huddled figures
moving to and fro. Nor were they by any means all seeking the
pleasures their money could buy. The "down-and-outs" shuffled through
the uncharitable city day and night, in rain, or sunshine, or snow.
But at night they resembled nothing so much as the hungry coyotes of
the open, seeking for that wherewith to fill their empty bellies. The
knowledge of these things only made the scenes of wanton luxury and
vice under the glare of light the more offensive.
It was the third night of Alec Mowbray's last two weeks in Leaping
Horse. How he had fared in his settlement of affairs with the woman
who had taken possession of his moral being was not much concern of any
one but himself. Neither Kars nor Bill Brudenell had heard of any
contemplated change in his plans. They had not heard from him at all.
Nor was this a matter for their great concern. Their concern was Pap
Shaunbaum and the passing of the days of waiting while their outfit was
being prepared at the camp ten miles distant from the city, for their
invasion of Bell River. They were watching out for the shadow of
possible disaster before the youth could be got away.
Kars had verified the last detail of the situation in so far as the
proprietor of the Elysian Fields was concerned. Nor was he left with
any illusions. Pap had no intention of sitting down under this
terrible public and private hurt a boy from the "inside" had inflicted
upon him. The stories abroad were lurid in detail. It was said that
the storm which had raged in the final scene between Pap and his
mistress, when she quit the shelter he had provided for her for good,
had been terrible indeed. It was said he had threatened her life in a
moment of passion. It was said she had dared him to his face. It was
also said that he, the great "gunman," Pap, had groveled at her feet
like any callow school-youth. These things were open gossip, and each
repetition of the tales in circulation gained in elaboration of detail,
till all sorts of wild extravagances were accepted as facts.
But Kars and Bill accepted these things at a calm valuation. The side
of the affair that they did not treat lightly was the certainty that
Pap would not sit down under the injury. They knew him. They knew his
record too well. Whatever jeopardy the woman stood in they were
certain of the danger to young Alec. Of this the stories going about
were precise and illuminating. Jack Beal, the managing director of the
Yukon Amalgam Corporation, and a great friend of John Kars, had spoken
with a certainty which carried deep conviction, coining from a man who
was one of the most important commercial magnates of the city.
"Pap'll kill him sure," he said, in a manner of absolute conviction.
"Maybe he won't hand him the dose himself. That's not his way these
days. But the boy'll get his physic, and his folks best get busy on
his epitaph right away."
The position was more than difficult. It was well-nigh impossible.
None knew better than Kars how little there was to be done. They could
wait and watch. That seemed to be about all. Warning would be
useless. It would be worse. The probable result of warning would be
to drive the hothead to some dire act of foolishness. Even to an open
challenge of the inscrutable Pap. Kars and Bill were agreed they dared
risk no such calamity. There were the police in Leaping Horse. But
the Mounted Police were equally powerless, until some breach was
actually committed.
The interim of waiting was long. To Kars, those remaining days before
he could get Alec away were perhaps the longest and most anxious of his
life. For all the sweet eyes of Jessie were urging him on behalf of
her foolish brother, he felt utterly helpless.
But neither he nor Bill remained idle. Their watch, their secret watch
over their charge, was prosecuted indefatigably. Every night saw them
onlookers of the scene on the dance-floor of the Elysian Fields. And
their vantage ground was the remote interior of one of the boxes.
Their purpose was simple. It was a certainty in their minds that Pap
would seek a public vengeance. Nor could he take it better than in his
own dance hall where Maude and Alec flouted him every night. Thus, if
their expectations were fulfilled, they would be on the spot to succor.
A watchful eye might even avert disaster.
It was the third night of their watch. Nor was their vigil without
interest beyond its object. Bill, who knew by sight every frequenter
of the place, spent his time searching for newcomers. But newcomers
were scarce at this season of the year. The arrivals had not yet begun
from Seattle, and the "inside" was already claiming those who belonged
to it. Kars devoted himself to a distant watch on Pap Shaunbaum.
However the man's vengeance was to come, he felt that he must discover
some sign in him of its imminence.
Pap was at his post amongst the crowd at the bar. His dark face hid
every emotion behind a perfect mask. He talked and smiled with his
customers, while his quick eyes kept sharp watch on the dancers. But
never once did he display any undue interest in the tall couple whose
very presence in his hall must have maddened him to a murderous pitch.
The clatter of the bar was lost under the joyous strains of the
orchestra. Its pleasant quality drew forth frequent applause from the
light-hearted crowd. Many were there who had no thought at all for
that which they regarded as a _comedy_. Others again, like the men in
the box, watched every move, every shade of expression which passed
across the face of the Jewish proprietor. None knew for certain. But
all guessed. And the guess of everybody was of a dénouement which
would serve the city with a topic of interest for at least a year.
"It's thinner to-night."
Bill spoke from the shadow of his curtain.
"The gang?" Kars did not withdraw his gaze.
"Sure. There's just one guy I don't know. But he don't look like
cutting any ice. He's half soused anyhow, with four bottles of wine on
the table between him and his dame. When he's through I don't think
he'll know the Elysian Fields from a steam thresher. That blond dame
of his looks like rolling him for his 'poke' without a worry. He'll
hit the trail for his claim to-morrow without the color of a dime."
"Which is he?" Kars demanded, with a certain interest.
"Why, right there by that table under the balcony. See that dude with
the greased head, and the five dollar nosegay in his coat. There, that
one with Sadie Long and the 'Princess.' Get the Princess with the
cream bow and her hair trailing same as it did when she was a child
forty years ago. Next that outfit."
There was deep disgust in the doctor's tones, but there was something
like pity in his half-humorous eyes.
"He hasn't even cleaned himself," he went on. "Looks like he's just
quit the drift bottom of a hundred foot shaft, and come right in full
of pay dirt all over him. Get his outfit. If you ran his pants
through a sluice-box you'd get an elegant 'color.' Guess even Pap
won't stand for him if he gets his eyes around his way."
Kars offered no comment, but he was studying the half-drunken miner
closely.
At that moment the orchestra struck up again. It was a two step, and
for once Alec and the beautiful Maude failed to make an appearance.
"Where's the--kid?" said Kars sharply.
"Sitting around, I guess."
Bill craned carefully. Then he sat back.
"See him?" demanded Kars.
"Sure. They're together. A bottle of wine's keeping them busy."
A look of impatience flashed into the eyes of Kars. His rugged face
darkened.
"It's swinish!" he cried. "It's near getting my patience all out.
Wine. Wine and women. What devil threw his spell over the boy's
mother letting him quit her apron strings----"
"Murray, I guess," interjected Bill.
"Murray! Yes!"
Kars relapsed into silence again. Nor did either of them speak again
till the music ceased. A vaudeville turn followed. A disgustingly
clad, bewigged soubrette murdered a rag time ditty in a rasping
soprano, displaying enough gold in her teeth to "salt" a barren claim.
No one gave her heed. The lilt of the orchestra elicited a fragmentary
chorus from the audience. For the rest the people pursued the
prescribed purpose of these intervals in the dance.
Bill was regarding the stranger from the "inside."
"He's not getting noisy drunk," he said. "Seems dopey. Guess she'll
hustle him off in a while."
"You guess he's soused?"
Kars' question startled his companion.
"What d'you make it then?"
"He hasn't taken a drink since you pointed him out. Nor has his dame."
Both men continued to watch the mud-stained creature. Nor was he
particularly prepossessing, apart from his general uncleanness. His
shock of uncombed, dark hair grew low on his forehead. His dark eyes
were narrow. There was something artificial in his lounging attitude,
and the manner in which he was pawing the woman with him.
"You guess he's acting drunk?" There was concern in Bill's voice.
"Can't say for sure."
The orchestra had started a waltz, and the new dance seemed to claim
all the dancers. Alec and Maude were one of the first couples to
appear. But the onlookers were watching the stranger. He had roused
up, and was talking to his woman. A few moments later they emerged
from their table to join the dancers.
"Going to dance," Bill commented. "He sure looks soused."
The man was swaying about as he moved. Kars' searching gaze missed
nothing. The couple began to dance. And for all the man's
unsteadiness it was clear he was a good, if reckless, dancer. The
sober gait of the other dancers, however, seemed unsuited to his taste,
and he began to sweep through the crowd with long racing strides which
his woman could scarcely keep pace with.
Kars stood up.
"He'll get thrown out," said Bill. "Pap won't stand for that play.
He'll tear up the floor with his nailed boots."
The man had swept round the hall, and he and his partner were lost
under the balcony beneath the box in which the "onlookers" were sitting.
In a moment a cry came up from beneath them in a woman's voice.
Another second and a chorus of men's angry voices almost drowned the
music. The men in the orchestra were craning, and broad smiles lit
some of their faces. Other dancers had come to a halt. They, too,
were gazing with varying expressions of inquiry and curiosity, but none
with any display of alarm.
"He's boosted into some one," said Bill.
A babel of voices came up from below. They were deep with fierce
protest. The trouble was gaining in seriousness. Kars leaned out of
the box. He could see nothing of what was going on. He abruptly drew
back, and turned to his companion.
"Say----"
But his words remained unuttered. He was interrupted by a violent
shout from below.
"You son-of-a----!"
Bill's hand clutched at Kars' muscular arm.
"That's the kid! Quick! Come on!"
They started for the door of the box. But, even as the doctor gripped
and turned the handle, the sequel to such an epithet in a place like
Leaping Horse came. Two shots rang out. Then two more followed on the
instant.
In a moment every light in the place was put out and pandemonium
reigned.