CHAPTER I_The finding of Jasper Holt

THE FINDING

_JASPER HOLT_

Grace Livingston Hill

_GROSSET & DUNLAP * PUBLISHERS_

_NEW YORK_

PRINTED IN THE U. S. A.

THE FINDING OF JASPER HOLT

CHAPTER I

Slowly the train rumbled out of the station, gathering speed with

every moment, and leaving behind the friendly faces on the platform.

The girl who had just entered the car looked about her in dismay at

the rough looking crowd by whom she was surrounded. It was the last

long stretch of her journey now, out on the plains and across the

desert, and the porter of the sleeper had refused to let her enter

the Pullman coach without a Pullman ticket. Of course it would be

all right when the conductor came, but--suppose her brother-in-law

had forgotten to telegraph for the reservation and she should have to

spend the night in this car?

She slipped into the only vacant seat and sat anxiously awaiting the

coming of the conductor, who was not anywhere in sight.

For the most part the people about her were rough, stolid looking

men, with hard brown faces. Here and there a woman was huddled

wearily into a corner of the seat trying to sleep. They were

commonplace folk, nearly all of them, and their very ordinariness

brought her some measure of assurance, yet she shuddered at the

thought of spending her night huddled into a seat, like the other

women, with all those men about, free to gaze on her as she slept.

She glanced across the aisle where the seat was turned over and two

men faced each other, an old man and a young one. The old man sat

just across from her, his coarse stubbly face turned boldly toward

her. He had crafty little eyes that intruded with their merest

glance, windows out of which Coarseness, Hate, Cruelty and Fear alike

might look; a sensual loose-hung mouth, and a whole repulsive

atmosphere of cunning that made his face seem utterly evil.

Insensibly she shrank farther away and looked hurriedly about to see

if perchance there might not after all be another vacant seat where

she could be entirely out of his range. Then her eyes suddenly met

the eyes of his companion who faced her, the young man in the

turned-over seat, and she wondered how she could have failed to

notice him at once. There was something about his face--perhaps it

was the splendid gray eyes that were looking at her so keenly and

respectfully, or was it the firm chin and almost stern set of the

beautiful lines of lip and brow--that gave her confidence in him at

once. For there was a strength and beauty in his face such as one

seldom sees blended in a man, which marked him at once as being

different from others. There was nothing weak nor womanish about

him, in spite of the perfect modelling of his features and the clear

coloring of his skin. The fine golden-brown hair that rippled back

from his forehead like a halo gave the impression of curling out of

perverseness rather than from the owner's wish.

He was tall and lean and wiry, yet giving the idea of great strength

and fine training. If it had not been for an abnormal gravity and

the sternness about his mouth she would have judged him to be a mere

boy, yet there was an air of maturity about him that puzzled her.

But his gray eyes met hers kindly, understandingly, as if he knew

exactly what she was thinking--all her anxiety--and would let her

know that she was safe, that he would see that she was safe! It was

with an almost startled feeling that she met his eyes a second time

as if to be sure she had not been mistaken, and then settled back

into her seat, somehow comforted, assured; as if he had spoken to her

and told her not to fear. It was really as if something had looked

out of their two souls and acknowledged a sort of mute introduction.

And yet he had not been obtrusive, and almost immediately his eyes

had been withdrawn from her face as if he would not intrude. He was

looking now at the dreadful old man, rebuking him for his interest in

her it would seem, rebuking most effectually yet without a word, for

the old man wriggled around uneasily in his seat and turned his eyes

away to look out of the window, the hate in his face getting the

uppermost as he cast a furtive, fearsome glance at the younger man

and then turned back to the window.

They were a curious pair; the younger man had the air of being the

keeper of the older one. The girl wondered how they came to be

travelling together, they seemed so absolutely alien to each other.

It was obvious that the young man had some power over the other, and

this fact gave the girl comfort.

To these two men the entrance of the lovely girl into the monotony of

the journey was a refreshment. Even the old man, Scathlin, whose low

type of life received only fleshly impressions, and who had grown up

from his tainted babyhood without honor for any woman, felt the

fineness of her nature, the rareness of her modest beauty as she came

near.

To Jasper Holt she was the sudden startling revelation of some pure

dream of his childhood, the reality of which he had come to doubt.

His knowledge of the world told him that probably she was frail and

human and selfish like all the rest if one came to know her, but for

the sake of what she seemed to be he was glad of the vision, and

would protect her at all costs because she was a woman and ought to

have been perfect. That was his attitude toward the world of women

at that time.

Nevertheless as he looked again at the pure profile turned now toward

her window, and studied the sweet outline of the firm little chin,

pleasant lips, the gentle contour of cheek and lash and brow, the

luminous eyes that were glowing for the moment at the stain of sunset

beginning to trickle through the gloomy gray of the sky, he could not

but feel that here was something different. It was something for

which he had been hoping all his life--searching for, but never

finding. Something it was good just to know existed; something whose

existence would make even a stranger better and braver and purer.

She was slight, small, exquisitely fashioned; dressed in some simple,

clinging, dark blue material of form so suitable as to make one fail

to notice just what it was. Sheer white rolled-back collar and cuffs

set out the white throat and the small gloved hands; the close, dark

blue hat with its graceful tilt and simple garnishing seemed just the

loveliest setting for the beautiful face framed in its soft dark

hair. Her face was wonderfully pure, free from self-consciousness

and pride; yet she looked as if she knew her own mind and could stand

like a rock for a principle. There was also a determined little

uplift to her chin that showed a spirit of her own, and a fleeting

dimple that promised a merry appreciation of humor if one knew her

well enough; but the whole dainty person was good to look upon and

Holt kept the vision within his consciousness while he covered

Scathlin with his gaze.

He loathed his task of watching Scathlin, and somehow the sight of

the pure-faced girl had made it even more distasteful. For almost

two weeks now he had been at it, day and night. He had not let

Scathlin out of his sight for one moment since he had found him in

Pittsburgh two days after the theft of his wallet containing valuable

papers, land grants, water rights and other documents relating to his

silver mines and other property.

Holt had suspected the old man at once when the wallet was missing,

partly because Scathlin had been seen twice in conversation with the

man Harrington who was Holt's sworn enemy and who was doing all he

could to ruin his prospects and dispute his rights to the water power

which made the working of his mines possible; and partly because

Scathlin had been dismissed summarily from Holt's employ but a few

days previous to the disappearance of the property.

He had trailed Scathlin to Pittsburgh where he found him mounted on a

high stool in the station restaurant eating a comfortable breakfast.

The old rascal turned white under his tan and stubble, and dropped

his knife and fork loudly on the marble of the counter at the

appearance of his former employer; but the cunning in his face had

come at once to the front, and he welcomed Holt as if it were the

pleasantest thing in the world to have him appear just at that lonely

moment and eat breakfast with him.

It was Holt's way not to settle the matter right then and there by

turning the old man over to the police on suspicion, but to attach

himself to Scathlin and find out exactly where those papers were, and

who were the man's employers in the theft. He was wary enough to

know that Scathlin might have already got rid of the wallet, and he

wished if possible to find out what he had done with the papers and

get Scathlin into his power until he could make him produce them or

tell their whereabouts.

Harrington was superintendent of large mine interests in Hawk Valley,

located near Holt's veins of silver, and owned by an Eastern

syndicate. Holt knew that capital and cunning might do a great deal

to cripple his interests if they once got him in their power.

Therefore he had shadowed Scathlin day and night all these days. On

pretence of wanting company for a pleasure trip he had gone wherever

Scathlin professed to be going, giving him no opportunity to even

telegraph to any of the other conspirators for money or instructions;

eating with him, sleeping with him,--at least pretending to

sleep--sticking to him every minute and watching him every waking

second.

It had not been a pleasant task. Scathlin was a foul-mouthed,

foul-souled companion for any man to tie to, and his personal habits

were anything but attractive. Time and again Holt had almost turned

from his task with disgust, resolved to let his rights and all go

rather than be tied to the creature another hour. Yet he had stuck

to him; and now, after these many days of cunning and craftiness, of

trickeries too numerous to mention, of attempted escape on Scathlin's

part; after taking side trips to funerals of Scathlin's relatives who

never had existed, except in imagination; visits to business men who

were supposed to be hounding Scathlin to his death and yet who were

never found,--after all this they were on their way back to Hawk

Valley! Scathlin had come to the end of his money and his wits, and

had been compelled to accept the escort and financial aid of Holt

back to the place from which he had started, because he did not dare

to do anything else. This he did both on his own account and for the

sake of his employers, who would not hesitate to leave him in the

lurch to save themselves, and who had warned him above all things not

to let Holt suspect his mission with those papers to the Eastern

syndicate. Besides, there was always the hope that he might yet

escape and make his way back in time to present those papers to the

man whom Harrington had said would pay him a big reward for bringing

them. Harrington and his men could not have done it without

suspicion, but the plan was that Scathlin should profess to have

found something valuable to the syndicate and be willing to sell it

at a good price.

It was no wonder that Scathlin's eyes had a hunted look, and his bad

old face under its stubbly growth was almost pitifully desperate as

he looked at the fresh face of the sweet young girl, and for the

moment forgot his misery, gloating over her beauty, while Holt seemed

to be engaged with the sunset view. But Holt caught the gleam in his

victim's eye and his heart burned hotly within him. He could have

crushed the creature then and there for the insolence of his gaze.

He could have crushed him like vermin and felt no sin. All the man

in him roused to resent the evil look.

"Scathlin!" His tone was cutting with command and the old man turned

cringing and met the steely glance of his captor, then impatient and

trembling with anger began to look again out of the window; again the

crimson wrath surged up his leathery neck and suffused his coarse

features.

The girl, half aware of what had been going on, turned and took it

all in, a frightened color flickering up into her cheeks. Her eyes,

growing large with vague horror, met Holt's steely gaze, saw it

change and soften reassuringly, as if he were holding at bay a

loathsome blood-hound and wished her to understand she need not fear.

The girl, with one fleeting look of gratitude toward the young man,

turned back again to her window as if nothing had happened. In fact

no onlooker would have suspected that anything at all had happened,

and yet really a little drama had been enacted and all the actors

understood it as thoroughly as if it had been spoken. But one word

only had been audible, and the girl wasn't sure she had heard that

aright.

The dusk dropped down and the train sped on over the plains.

And now the sunset stains grew deeper and blended into gold and

crimson and lifted the gray into clear opal spaces of luminous

beauty, spreading the panoply of color far along the horizon of the

plain. It was a thing to make one look in awe, to hush evil thoughts

and bring a holiness to hearts. Something of its calm and strength

crept into the girl's expression as she watched it, and once she half

turned to see if Holt was watching too. But Holt was sitting facing

the other way and could see only the fading trails of glory in the

sky as it sped away from his gaze, though he had caught the

reflection of wonder from her face, and averted his own eyes as if

from too holy a sight. Those who knew Holt, or thought they knew

him, would have laughed loud and long at such an idea of him, but it

was true. The girl felt it as she turned safely back to her sunset.

Scathlin was not enjoying the view. He was looking furtively on

every side to see if there could be by any chance a good place where

he might risk throwing out that cursed wallet and hope ever to find

it again. If only there would be a station--or he could risk

dropping it out of the window near some water tank or something. But

the plain slid by, a level monotony, broken only by the rose and

emerald and gold of the setting sun. Scathlin grew more and more

desperate. It was growing dark, and he dared not throw the wallet

where he could not find it again, or where someone else might find

it--and yet! They were nearing Hawk Valley. The morning would bring

them within the ranging of Holt's men--that band of trained and

devoted outlaws who were as relentless in their justice as they were

careless of their lives. No mercy was to be expected from their

hands if once he fell among them. He shivered as a tall shaft of a

bare tree, dead and stark, stood in the distance against the clear

gold of the sunset line. It was on such a tree he had seen a cattle

thief hang, ghastly against the sky, as he rode by once just at

nightfall. It might easily be his fate before another sunset. If he

could not get away in the night all chance of escape before they

reached Hawk Valley was gone, for well he knew Jasper Holt's men were

set at intervals along the way, sentinels ready to head him off. And

what treatment could he expect from either Jasper Holt or his men

with that incriminating wallet in his pocket? He had been a fool to

take up with Harrington's offer. Money or no money, it wasn't worth

the risk. He was getting to be an old man and not so ready to face

death as when his blood was hot and his hand steady. He had not even

any weapons of defence, thanks to his grim captor who had disarmed

him while he slept, the first night of their journey together. There

had never been any open recognition of the fact between them, save

that one glance as Scathlin put his hand to the pocket where it had

been and was not. He had charged with his eyes in one look of

helpless fury, and Holt's clear gray eyes had met his unflinchingly

in acknowledgment. That had been all, but Scathlin knew then that

there was nothing for him but to evade Holt and get away if possible.

He would stand no chance in an open conflict, and his captor was

untiringly vigilant. He glanced again at the stern face opposite

him, wondering what would be the fate to which he was surely, swiftly

hastening. States prison? Or would they take the law into their own

hands? He knew what that might mean only too well, and again the

desperate look passed over his face with Hate and Murder looking

dimly from his eyes. How he would like to spring at that slim brown

throat opposite him and throttle the life from the young fellow.

Only a kid,--a mere kid,--and yet he had withstood many, and had

power to crush Scathlin in spite of all his boasted cunning. The

look of a serpent crept into the little gleaming eyes of the old man

as he noticed the quick glance his companion cast at the girl across

the aisle; and his own eyes followed filled with hate. Yes, he would

like to drive his fat, hairy fingers into the white throat of the

girl before the eyes of her gallant defender if only he had Holt

helpless! But instead, here was he, helpless himself! And he must

find a way to escape before morning, or else get rid of that wallet

in some safe way. Surely, surely Holt would be off his guard

sometimes for a little space. He had scarcely slept a wink for four

days; how could he endure it much longer?

But Scathlin's cogitations were cut short by the entrance of the

conductor at last and he turned to watch the girl as she spoke to him.

"I was to have had a section reserved for me," she was saying to the

conductor. "My brother-in-law, Mr. James Harrington of Hawk Valley,

arranged for it, and telegraphed me that it was all right. See, I

have the telegram. But the porter said I must come in here until I

saw you because I had no ticket for the Pullman."

She held out the yellow envelope and the conductor looked at it.

"Your brother's name is Harrington? You are going to Hawk Valley?"

He looked at her sharply. "Well, just wait a few minutes till I go

through the next car and then I'll see to it. It ought to be all

right."

He bustled on his way attending to his passengers and the girl sat

back again to wait.

At the name "Harrington" Scathlin had turned with a start and looked

toward the girl; but even in the act he caught the narrow gleam of

Holt's half-closed eyes, and, remembering, turned back again to his

window while his thoughts went pounding into new channels. He had

made a mistake, of course, to let Holt see that he had heard, so he

kept his eyes toward the window until it grew quite dark. But he had

a plan at last. In another minute he got upon his feet, yawning, and

declared his intention of getting a drink of water from the cooler at

the other end of the car.

"Good idea!" said Holt, rising and following his captive down the

aisle lazily.

Scathlin reached the cooler first and took his drink, while Holt

stood waiting for the cup and let Scathlin go back to his seat alone,

apparently not noticing him. Scathlin settled back in his seat with

one eye on Holt, and one eye on the girl.

Holt stood drinking in a leisurely way, apparently interested in

looking through the glass of the door into the next car though he was

fully aware that Scathlin was fumbling in the inner pocket of his

flannel shirt. He lingered, hoping that the old man would do

something which would make him more certain of what he already

believed to be true, and saw Scathlin finally, after repeated

fumbling under the shirt, draw forth a small dark object that, in the

one swift glimpse Holt had of it, looked like his own leather wallet

in search of which he had come this long hard journey. Anxious to

see what Scathlin's next move was to be, he remained quietly standing

and still apparently looking through the car door, though not a move

of Scathlin's was lost upon him. To his amazement he suddenly saw

Scathlin bend forward and pick up something from the car floor, then

lean toward the girl in the opposite seat and put the object in her

lap, at the same time speaking to her. Had the man picked up

something the girl had dropped or was he----? Preposterous! The

fellow wouldn't dare, with a strange girl. She was smiling and

looking down at the thing in her lap and seemed to be thanking him.

She had probably dropped her handkerchief or pocketbook and Scathlin

had picked it up. Holt sauntered leisurely back to his seat and

found Scathlin fumbling with his shoe lace. He studied him narrowly

and fancied that he detected a look of cunning satisfaction on the

stubbly old face, yet was puzzled to know what caused it. Had the

scoundrel dared to give those papers to the girl when he stood in

full view? It seemed incredible,--and yet? If he had, Holt's hands

were pretty well tied and he had two to watch instead of one. He

didn't like the idea of shadowing this beautiful young woman.

Just then the conductor returned and spoke to the girl.

"Well, your berth's reserved for you all right, but it was in the

name of Harrington. It's section seven in the next car. This your

baggage? Come this way and I'll show you."

The girl followed the conductor, with a half hesitating glance toward

Scathlin who was engaged with his shoe. Holt noticed she held her

hand bag clasped tightly as if she were afraid it might be taken from

her. When she was gone the night settled down unpleasantly about

them and Scathlin, apparently worn out, snored as he had not dared to

do for a week. But Holt sat up and studied his problem. He could

not afford to take any chances on sleep that night; moreover his

heart was in a tumult. This girl was coming to Hawk Valley, to visit

the Harringtons. She was a sister of Mrs. Harrington, the handsomest

woman, the best dressed woman, the most influential woman in all that

Valley. Would he ever see the girl? Sometimes, from afar

perhaps--and a bitter look swept over his face.

Scathlin slept on, with his coarse lower jaw down dropped, and all

his unpleasant features relaxed. He was no charming picture to look

upon. Holt noticed that there was no longer that furtive grasp of

one hand upon his breast which had been since their journey together

had begun. Scathlin's horny hands, with their grasping look of

cunning, were lying idly by his side, and Scathlin himself was

enjoying a well-earned rest, his heavily shod feet sprawled out under

Holt's seat.

The night droned on; the train sped on its way through the darkness,

and still Holt sat wide awake and thinking.

"I can't quite dope things out," he said to himself as he settled

back in a new position.