DR. BILL INVESTIGATES
All that had been feared by the two men in the box had come to pass.
It had come with a swiftness, a sureness incomparable. It had come
with a mercilessness which those who knew him regarded as only to be
expected in a man of Pap Shaunbaum's record.
Accustomed to an atmosphere very little removed from the lawless, the
panic and pandemonium that reigned in the dark was hardly to have been
expected on the part of the frequenters of the Elysian Fields. But it
was the sudden blacking out of the scene which had wrought on the
nerves. It was the doubt, the fear of where the next shots might come,
which sent men and women, shrieking and shouting, stampeding for the
doors which led to the hotel.
Never had the dance hall at the Elysian Fields so quickly cleared of
its revelers. The crush was terrible. Women fell and were trampled
under foot. It was only their men who managed to save them from
serious disaster. Fortunately the light in the hotel beyond the doors
became a beacon, and, in minutes only, the human tide, bedraggled and
bruised, poured out from the darkness of disaster to the glad light
which helped to restore confidence and a burning curiosity.
But curiosity had to remain unsatisfied for that night at least. The
doors were slammed in the faces of those who sought to return, and the
locks were turned, and the bolts were shot upon them. The excited
crowd was left to melt away as it chose, or stimulate its shaking
nerves at the various bars open to it.
Meanwhile John Kars and Bill Brudenell fumbled their way to the floor
below. The uncertainty, the possible danger, concerned them in nowise.
Alec was in the shooting. They might yet be in time to save him. This
thought sent them plunging through the darkness regardless of
everything but their objective.
As they reached the floor they heard the sharp tones of Pap echoing
through the darkened hall.
"Fasten every darn door," he cried. "Don't let any of those guys get
back in. Guess the p'lice'll be along right away. Turn up the lights."
The promptness with which his orders were obeyed displayed something of
the man. It displayed something more to the two hurrying men. It
suggested to both their minds that the whole thing had been prepared
for. Perhaps even the employees of this man were concerned in their
chief's plot.
As the full light blazed out again it revealed the bartenders still
behind the bar. It showed two men at the main doors, and another at
each of the other entrances. Furthermore, it revealed the drop curtain
lowered on the stage, and the orchestra men peering questioningly, and
not without fearful glances, over the rail which barred them from the
polished dance floor.
Besides these things Pap Shaunbaum was hurrying across the hall. His
mask-like face displayed no sign of emotion. Not even concern. He was
approaching two huddled figures lying amidst a lurid splash of their
own blood. They were barely a yard from each other, and their position
was directly beneath the floor of the box which the "onlookers" had
occupied.
The three men converged at the same moment. It was the sight of John
Kars and Dr. Bill that brought the first sign of emotion to Pap's face.
"Say, this is hell!" he cried. Then, as the doctor knelt beside the
body of Alec Mowbray, the back of whose head, with its tangled mass of
blood-soaked hair, was a great gaping cavity: "He's out. That pore
darn kid's out--sure. Say, I wouldn't have had it happen for ten
thousand dollars."
"No."
It was Kars who replied. Dr. Bill was examining the body of the man
whose clothing was stained with the auriferous soil of his claim.
Two guns were lying on the floor beside the bodies. Pap moved as
though to pick one up. Kars' hand fell on his outstretched arm.
"Don't touch those," he said. "Guess they're for the police."
Pap straightened up on the instant. His dark eyes shot a swift glance
into the face of the man he had for years desired to come into closer
contact with. It was hardly a friendly look. It was questioning, too.
"They'll be around right away. I 'phoned 'em."
Kars nodded.
"Good."
Bill looked up.
"Out. Right out. Both of them. Guess we best wait for the police."
"Can't they be removed?" Pap's eyes were on the doctor.
Kars took it upon himself to reply.
"Not till the p'lice get around."
But Pap would not accept the dictation.
"That so, Doc?" he inquired, ignoring Kars.
"That's so," said Bill, with an almost stern brevity. Then, in a
moment, the Jew's face flushed under his dark skin.
"The darn suckers!" he cried. "This'll cost me thousands of dollars.
It'll drive trade into the Gridiron fer weeks. If I'd been wise to
that bum being soused he'd have gone out, if he broke his lousy neck."
"I'm not dead sure he was soused," said Kars.
The cold tone of his voice again brought Pap's eyes to his face.
"What d'you guess?" he demanded roughly.
"He wasn't a miner, and he wasn't soused. I guess he was a 'gunman.'"
"What d'you mean?"
"Just what I said. I'd been watching him a while from the box above
us. I've seen enough to figger this thing's for the p'lice. We're
going to put this thing through for what it's worth, and my bank roll's
going to talk plenty."
Bill had risen from his knees. He was standing beyond the two bodies.
His shrewd eyes were steadily regarding Pap, who, in turn, was gazing
squarely into the cold eyes of John Kars.
Just for a moment it looked as though he were about to fling back hot
words at the unquestioned challenge in them. But the light suddenly
died out of his eyes. His thin lips compressed, and he shrugged his
shoulders.
"Guess that's up to you," he said, and moved away towards the bar.
Kars gazed down at the dead form of Alec Mowbray. All the coldness had
gone out of his eyes. It had been replaced with a world of pity, for
which no words of his could have found expression. The spectacle was
terrible, and the sight of it filled him with an emotion which no sight
of death had ever before stirred. He was thinking of the widowed
mother. He was thinking of the girl whose gray eyes had taught him so
much. He was wondering how he must carry the news to these two living
souls, and fling them once more to the depths of despair such as they
had endured through the murder of a husband and father.
He was aroused from his grievous meditations by a sharp hammering on
the main doors. It was the police. Kars turned at once.
"Open that door!" he said sharply to the waiter standing beside it.
The man hesitated and looked at Pap. Kars would not be denied.
"Open that door," he ordered again, and moved towards it.
The man obeyed on the instant.
It was two days before the investigation into the tragedy at the
Elysian Fields released Dr. Bill. Being on the spot, and being one of
the most skilful medical men in Leaping Horse, the Mounted Police had
claimed him, a more than willing helper.
In two issues the Leaping Horse _Courier_ had dared greatly,
castigating the morality of the city, and the Elysian Fields in
particular, under "scare" headlines. For two days the public found no
other topic of conversation, and the "shooting" looked like serving
them indefinitely. They had been waiting for this thing to happen.
They had been given all they desired to the full. A hundred witnesses
placed themselves at the disposal of the Mounted Police, and at least
seventy-five per cent of them were more than willing to incriminate Pap
Shaunbaum if opportunity served.
Nor was John Kars idle during that time. His attorneys saw a good deal
of him, and, as a result, a campaign to track down the instigator of
this shooting was inaugurated. And that instigator was, without a
shadow of doubt,--Pap Shaunbaum.
Kars saw nothing of Bill during those two days of his preoccupation.
But the second morning provided him with food for serious reflection.
It was a brief note which reached him at noon. It was an urgent demand
that he should take no definite action through his legal advisers,
should take no action at all, in fact, until he, Bill, had seen him,
and conveyed to him the results of the investigation. He would
endeavor to see him that night.
Kars studied the position carefully. But he committed himself to no
change of plans. He simply left the position as it stood for the
moment, and reserved judgment.
It was late at night when Bill made his appearance. Kars was waiting
in his apartment with what patience he could. He had spent a busy day
on his own mining affairs, which usually had the effect of wearying
him. For the last two or three years the commercial aspect of his
mining interests came very nearly boring him. It was only the sheer
necessity of the thing which drove him to the offices of the various
corporations he controlled.
But the sight of his friend banished every other consideration from his
mind. The shooting of Alec Mowbray dominated him, just as, for the
present, it dominated the little world of Leaping Horse.
He thrust a deep chair forward in eager welcome, and looked on with
grave, searching eyes while the doctor flung himself into it with a
deep, unaffected sigh of weariness.
"Guess I haven't had a minute, John," he said. "Those police fellers
are drivers. Say, we always reckon they're a bright crowd. You need
to see 'em at work to get a right notion. They've got most things beat
before they start."
"This one?"
Kars settled himself in a chair opposite his visitor. His manner was
that of a man prepared to listen rather than talk. He stretched his
long legs comfortably.
"I said 'most.' No-o, not this one. That's the trouble. That's why I
wrote you. The police are asking a question. And they've got to find
an answer. Who fired the shots that shut out that boy's lights?"
Kars' brows were raised. An incredulous look searched the other's face.
"Why, that 'gunman'--surely."
Bill shook his head. He had been probing a vest pocket. Now he
produced a small object, and handed it across to the other with a keen
demand.
"What's that?" His eyes were twinkling alertly.
Kars took the object and examined it closely under the electric light.
After a prolonged scrutiny he handed it back.
"The bullet of a 'thirty-two' automatic," he said.
"Sure. Dead right. The latest invention for toughs to hand out murder
with. The police don't figger there's six of them in Leaping Horse."
"I brought one with me this trip. They're quick an' handy. But--that?"
"That?" Bill held the bullet poised, gazing at it while he spoke. "I
dug that out of that boy's lung. There's another of 'em, I guess. The
police have that. They dug theirs out of the woodwork right behind
where young Alec was standing. It was that opened his head out. Those
two shots handed him his dose. And the other feller--why, the other
feller was _armed with a forty-five Colt_."
There was nothing dramatic in the manner of the statement. Bill spoke
with all his usual calm. He was merely stating the facts which had
been revealed at the investigation.
Kars' only outward sign was a stirring of his great body. The
significance had penetrated deeply. He realized the necessity of his
friend's note.
Bill went on.
"If we'd only seen it all," he regretted. "If we'd seen the shots
fired, we'd have been a deal wiser. I'm figgering if we hadn't quit
our seats we'd have been wise--much wiser. But we quit them, and it's
no use figgering that way. The police have been reconstructing.
They're reconstructing right now. There's a thing or two stands right
out," he went on reflectively. "And they're mostly illuminating.
First Alec was quicker with his gun than the other feller. He did that
'gunman' up like a streak of lightning. He didn't take a chance.
Where he learned his play I can't think. There was a dash of his
father in what he did. And he'd have got away with it if--it hadn't
been for the automatic from somewhere else. The 'gunman' drew on him
first. That's clear. A dozen folk saw it. He'd boosted Alec and his
dame in the dance, and stretched Maude on the floor. And he did it
because he meant to. It was clumsy--which I guess was meant, too. I
don't reckon it looked like anything but a dance hall scrap. That's
where we see Pap in it. The 'gunman' got his dose in the pit of his
bowels, and a hole in his heart, while his own shots went wide, and
spoiled some of the gold paint in the decorations. The police tracked
out both bullets that came from his gun. But the automatic?"
He drew a deep breath pregnant with regret.
"It came from a distant point," he went on, after a pause. "There's
folks reckon it came from one of the boxes opposite where we were
sitting. How it didn't get some of the crowd standing around keeps me
guessing. The feller at the end of that gun was an--artist. He was a
jewel at the game. And it wasn't Pap. That's as sure as death. Pap
was standing yarning to a crowd at the bar when all the shots were
fired. And the story's on the word of folks who hate him to death. We
can't locate a soul who saw any other gun pulled. I'd say Pap's got
Satan licked a mile.
"Say, John," he went on, after another pause, "it makes this thing look
like a sink without any bottom for the dollars you reckon to hand out
chasing it up. The boy's out. And Pap's tracks--why, they just don't
exist. That's all. It looks like we've got to stand for this play the
same as we have to stand for most things Pap and his gang fancy doing.
I'm beat to death, and--sore. Looks like we're sitting around like two
sucking kids, and we can't do a thing--not a thing."
"But there's talk of two 'gunmen.'" Kars was sitting up. His attitude
displayed the urgency of his thought. "The folks all got it. I've had
it all down the sidewalk."
His emotions were deeply stirred. They were displayed in the mounting
flush under his weather-stained cheeks. In the hot contentiousness of
his eyes. He was leaning forward with his feet tucked beneath his
chair.
"Sure you have. So have I. So have the police." Bill's reply came
after a moment's deliberation. "Josh Wiseman handed that out. Josh
reckons he's seen them, and recognized them. But Josh is a big souse.
He's seeing things 'most all the time. He figgers the feller young
Alec shot up was one of them--by name Peter Hara, of 'Frisco. The
other, we haven't seen, he reckons is 'Hand-out' Lal. Another 'Frisco
bum. But the police have had the wires going, and they can't track
fellers of that name in 'Frisco, or anywhere else. Still, it's a trail
they're hanging to amongst others. And I guess they're not quitting it
till they figger Josh is right for the bughouse. No," he added with a
trouble that would no longer be denied, "the whole thing is, Pap's
clear. There's not a thing points his way. It's the result of a dance
hall brawl, and we--why, we've just got to hand on the whole pitiful
racket to two lone women at the Fort."
For moments the two men looked into each other's eyes. Then Kars
started up. He began to pace the soft carpet with uneven strides.
Suddenly he paused. His emotions seemed to be again under control.
"It seems that way," he said, "unless Murray starts out before us."
"Murray's quit," Bill shook his head. "He'd quit the city before this
thing happened. The morning of the same day. His whole outfit pulled
out with him. He doesn't know a thing of this."
"I didn't know he'd quit." Kars stood beside the centre table gazing
down at the other.
"The police looked him up. They wanted to hold up the news from the
boy's folks till they'd investigated. He'd been gone twenty-four
hours."
"I hadn't a notion," Kars declared blankly. "I figgered to run him
down at Adler's." Then in a moment his feelings overcame his
restraint. "Then it's up to--me," he cried desperately. "It's up to
me, and it--scares me to death. Say--that poor child. That poor
little gal." Again he was pacing the room. "It's fierce, Bill! Oh,
God, it's fierce!"
Bill's gravely sympathetic eyes watched the rapid movements of the man
as he paced restlessly up and down. He waited for that calmness which
he knew was sure to follow in due course. When he spoke his tones had
gathered a careful moderation.
"Sure it's fierce," he said. Then he added: "Murray drives hard on the
trail. This story isn't even going to hit against his heels. Say,
John, you best let me hand this story on. Y'see my calling makes it
more in my line. A doctor's not always healing. There's times when
he's got to open up wounds. But he knows how to open 'em."
"Not on your life, Bill!" Kars' denial came on the instant. "I'm not
shirking a thing. I just love that child to death. It's up to me.
Some day I'm hoping it's coming my way handing her some sort of
happiness. That being so I kind of feel she's got to get the other
side of things through me. God knows it's going to be tough for her,
poor little kid, but well, it's up to me to help her through."
There was something tremendously gentle in the man's outburst. He was
so big. There was so much force in his manner. And yet the infinite
tenderness of his regard for the girl was apparent in every shadow of
expression that escaped him.
Bill understood. But for once the position was reversed. The doctor's
kindly, twinkling eyes seemed to have absorbed all that which usually
looked out of the other's. They were calm, even hard. There was
bitter anger in them. His mellow philosophy had broken down before the
human feelings so deeply stirred. He had passed the lover's feelings
over for a reversion to the tragedy at the Elysian Fields. It was the
demoniac character of the detested Pap Shaunbaum. It was the hideous
uselessness of it all. It was the terrible viciousness of this leper
city which had brought the whole thing about.
But was it? His mind went further back. There was another tragedy,
equally wanton, equally ferocious. The father as well as the son, and
he marveled, and wondered at the purpose of Providence in permitting
such a cruel devastation of the lives of two helpless, simple women.
His sharp tones broke the silence.
"Yes," he exclaimed, "this thing needs to be hunted down, John. It
needs to be hunted down till the 'pound's' paid. Those two lone women
are my best friends. Guess they're something more to you. I can't see
daylight. I can't see where it's coming from, anyway. But some one's
got to get it. And we need a hand in passing it to him, whoever it is.
I feel just now there wouldn't be a thing in the world more comic to me
than to see Pap Shaunbaum kicking daylight with his vulture neck tied
up. And I'd ask no better of Providence than to make it so I could
laugh till my sides split. It's going to mean dollars an' dollars, and
time, and a big work. But if we don't do it, why, Pap gets away with
his play. We can't stand for that. My bank roll's open."
"It doesn't need to be." All the gentleness had passed from Kars'
eyes, from his whole manner. It had become abrupt again. "Guess money
can't repay those poor folks' losses. But it can do a deal to boost
justice along. It's my money that's going to talk. I'm going to wipe
out the score those lone women can never hope to. I'm going to pay it.
By God, I'm going to pay it!"