A normal census gave Big Pine a population of about one hundred and
twenty inhabitants, and the most normal thing which any census does
is to exaggerate. But within forty-eight hours after the tearing of
Mexicali Joe's coat pocket between nine and twelve hundred people,
variously estimated, poured into the settlement. Wood-choppers and
timber jacks and lone prospectors hurried down from the mountains;
storekeepers and ranchmen came up from far below Rocky Bend and Red
Oak; that strange medley of humanity which always rushes first in the
wake of gold news filled Big Pine to overflowing, men and even women;
all straining to one purpose back of which lay many motives. Spring was
verging on summer; nights were cold, but the air was dry; they found
rooms where they could, and when they could not they builded great
camp-fires and found what comfort they might in the edges of the pine
groves. Gallup doubled his prices and then doubled them again, and
still his house was full. There were half a dozen empty houses, ancient
disreputable shacks long in disuse; these found usurping tenants the
first day. There were some few who had had forethought and took the
time to bring tents. Almost in an hour a quiet, sleepy little mountain
town was metamorphosed into a noisy, clamorous and sleepless mining
camp.
Among the first to arrive was a young man named Deveril. Very tall and
good-looking and gay and slender he was, making himself look taller
by the boots he wore and the way he pinched his soft hat into a peak.
Babe Deveril he was called by those who knew him, saving one only, who
called him Baby Devil and jeered at him with a pair of mocking eyes.
Deveril had been in Big Pine before, though not for some years. Also he
had seen his share of mining camps through Arizona and New Mexico and
Nevada, and knew something of congested conditions and the hardships
which accompanied the short-sighted. Before his arrival was ten minutes
old, he had cast about him for a shelter. Already the Gallup House was
full, but not yet had the disused, tumbled-down shacks been thought of.
He found a dilapidated building which once, long ago, had been a log
cabin; it stood in the pines set well back from the place of Mexicali
Joe; it had a fireplace. Deveril preempted it coolly, neither knowing
nor caring who the owner might be; he brought his slim bed-roll here,
followed it up with frying-pan, bacon, and coffee-pot and considered
himself established. Further, being just now in funds and always
yielding to the more fastidious impulses at moments when fortune was
kind, he secured a serving-maid. Maria, the dusky daughter of Mexicali
Joe, consented gladly to come in and cook and make the bed and keep
things tidy. He gave her a couple of silver dollars and made her a bow
to bind the bargain, tossing in for fair measure a flashing smile which
left the half-breed girl thrilling and sighing. Thereafter, bending his
mind to the main issue, he sought to find out for himself how much of
fact underlay the glittering rumors which had been pouring forth from
Big Pine like rays from the sun.
This heterogeneous mass of humanity occupying Big Pine had broken up
into numerous small groups, after the fashion of men who are so prone
to break large units down into smaller ones. Cupidity, jealousy, and
suspicion flaunted their banners on all hands; men watched one another
like so many thieves. The old inhabitants went about bristling,
resenting the presence of these outsiders who were rushing in to
steal the golden secret. Among themselves they were divided into two
antagonistic factions; there was the Gallup crowd, including Gallup and
Sheriff Taggart and the men who did their bidding; and there were those
who had heard Barny McCuin's tale and who were out to block the game of
Gallup and Taggart, or know the reason why.
Babe Deveril, sauntering here and there, identified himself with
no group; it was his preference always to hunt singly. But he went
everywhere, his mind and ears and eyes co-ordinating in the work he
set them. He listened to rumors and sifted them and went on to newer
and always contradictory rumors. It was said that Mexicali Joe had
been killed, his body found in a ravine three miles from town; that
Gallup had spirited him off last night into the mountains; that Joe had
made his strike in the old and long-deserted mining camp of Timkin's
Bar; that his specimens had come from Lost Woman's Gulch; that Joe
had never stirred a mile from Big Pine in his latter prospecting, and
that, therefore, at any moment any one of the thousand gold seekers
might stumble upon his prospect hole. It was said that Joe's pay-dirt
would run twenty dollars to the ton, and while this was being advanced
as though by one who knew all about it, another man was saying that it
would run a thousand dollars. Deveril, when he had heard a score of
empty though colorful tales, turned at last to the Gallup House; Gallup
and Taggart knew all that was to be known, and, although they had the
trick of the shut mouth and steady eye, there was always the chance of
a sign to be read by the watchful.
He came upon Gallup himself standing in his doorway, looking out
thoughtfully upon the road jammed tight with restless men.
"Hello, Gallup," he said.
Gallup regarded him briefly; again his gaze flicked away.
"Don't remember me, eh?" queried Deveril lightly.
"No," said Gallup, curt in his preoccupation. "I don't."
"Must have something disturbing on your mind," suggested Deveril as
genially as though Gallup's attitude had been exactly opposite what it
was. "Haven't looked in on you for half a dozen years, but you ought
to remember." Gallup's eyes came back slowly, a frown in them, and
the other concluded: "Known as Deveril ... Babe Deveril, formerly of
Cherokee...."
Gallup showed a quick, unmistakable sign of interest and Deveril
laughed. But Gallup's frown darkened and there came a sudden
compression to his lips.
"I got you, Kid," he said sharply. "You said it: There is a thing or
two on my mind and I've got no time for gab. Just the same, take this
from me: A certain Bruce Standing has been sent word the town can get
along without him showing his face; and maybe, being his cousin, you'll
trail your luck along with him."
"So you and Bruce Standing are still playing the nice little parlor
game of slap-the-wrist, are you?" Deveril jeered at him. But, still
highly good-humored, he went on: "He's no cousin of mine, Gallup.
You've got the family tree all mussed up. What fault is it of mine
if a thousand years ago Bruce Standing and I had the same murdering
old pirate for ancestor? At that, Standing descended from him in the
straight line and I am somewhat less directly related."
Gallup snorted.
"None of Standing's breed is wanted in my place," he said emphatically.
Deveril, though his eyes twinkled, appeared to be musing.
"So you sent him word to stay away? Didn't you know that he'd come,
red-hot and raging, as soon as he got your message? Oh, well, you and
my crazy kinsman fight it out to your liking; it would be a great thing
for the community if you'd both do a clean job, cutting each other's
throats.... By the way, where does Taggart fit in? How does he work it
to be hand in glove with both of you at the same time?"
"You heard what I said just now?"
"I did. Say, Gallup, where's Mexicali Joe? I've got some business with
him."
Gallup, brooding, appeared not to have heard. Then, making no answer,
he turned and went back into his house and into the big main room,
where a crowd of men had foregathered. Deveril, his hat far back,
his dark eyes keen and bright, followed him, almost at his heels.
Gallup saw him out of the tail of his eye but for once gulped down
his first hot impulse; his hands were full as things were and there
were large stakes to play for, with nothing to be gained just now by a
rough-and-tumble fist fight with a man who was obviously highly capable
of taking care of himself. So he pretended to let Deveril's entrance go
unnoted and thereafter ignored him.
For the first time in many days there were no drinks being served in
Gallup's House. With so many strangers in town, one did not know how
many federal agents might be snooping about. And, again, this was no
time for the main issue to become befogged with side issues; Gallup
did not want any unnecessary ruction on his hands. Nevertheless some
of the men drank now and then, but from pocket flasks which they had
brought in with them; flasks which for the most part came originally
from Gallup's stock but which had been sold on the street by Gallup's
man Ricky. The room was thick with heavy tobacco smoke; most of the men
remained strangely quiet, watching Gallup or Barny McCuin, who glowered
in a corner, or the sheriff who came and went among them. Deveril spent
not more than ten minutes here; once more he returned to the street and
to his passing from knot to knot of men.
"I'll bet a hat Gallup was lying about that warning to my mad kinsman,"
he told himself thoughtfully. "I don't believe he's man enough to get
rough with Bruce Standing."
It was almost at the moment that Deveril came out of Gallup's place
that the first shock of genuine news burst along the crowded road;
Mexicali Joe had been located. He was in the stone jail, not five
hundred yards from the thickest of his seekers, and had been there
since last night, locked up by Taggart! The crowd split asunder as
cleanly as though some gigantic axe had cloven its way between the two
fragments; one group at full tilt ran to the jail, to prove to their
own senses that here at last was a word of truth; the other streamed
down to the Gallup House, seeking Taggart and an explanation. With the
latter went Babe Deveril, who meant to keep his eye on Taggart and
Gallup.
There were three steps leading up to Gallup's side door through which
at last came Taggart, when the crowd clamored for him. He stood on the
top step, looking stolidly at the faces confronting him. He was a big
man, massive of physique, hard-eyed, strong-willed; he had been sheriff
for a dozen years and after long office as the chief representative
of the law bore in his look the stamp of that unquestioned authority
which is the unmistakable brand of the mountain sheriff. He had looked
straight into the eyes of many men in many moods and his own glance
never wavered. Never a great talker, he stood now a moment in silence,
tugging slowly at his heavy black mustache.
"Mexicali is my man right now," he said at last. "I got him in jail."
That was all. There was no belligerence in his tone; his look remained
untroubled. Babe Deveril, beginning to understand something of what
had happened and casting his own swift horoscope of the likely future,
wondered to what extent it was in the cards that Jim Taggart should
stand in his way. There was big game in the wind, or men like Gallup
and Taggart, who were always big-game men, would not be taking things
upon their shoulders thus. And to-day Jim Taggart was at his best; he
stood as solid and unmoved as a rock, with never a flick of the eyelid,
as he made his quiet announcement and awaited the breaking of any storm
which his words might evoke.
There was a short lull while men murmured among themselves, and yet,
digesting Taggart's statement, impressed by his manner, hesitated to
speak the thought which was forming in dozens of brains simultaneously.
Presently, however, a man at the far edge of the crowd shouted:
"What's he arrested for, Taggart? What did he do?"
Before the man had gotten his ten words out, the sheriff's keen eyes
found him where his lesser form was half hidden by the bigger men in
front of him.
"I hear you, Bill Cary," he said quietly. "And the only reason I'm
answering a regular none-of-your-business question is that all of
you other boys that have stampeded in here on a wild say-so will be
worrying your heads off until you know what's what. I pulled Joe on two
counts: First for disturbing the peace."
An uproar of laughter boomed out at that and even Jim Taggart smiled.
But he went on evenly:
"Of course that was a blind until I got the goods on the second count.
And I only got that a few minutes ago. This ain't any trial, exactly,
and still I guess it will save trouble if you know all about it. So
I'll let Cliff Shipton step up and testify."
Suddenly he stepped aside and a tall, hawk-faced man who had been
holding his place at Gallup's side, just behind Taggart's massive bulk,
stepped forward. Men craned their necks and crowded closer; nearly
all of them knew Cliff Shipton. He was a Gallup man and always had
been a Gallup man; for the last two years he had been in charge of a
profitless "gold-mine" which Gallup pretended to operate at the head
of the Lost Woman's Gulch; a property which, it was generally conceded
in and about Big Pine, was merely the proverbial hole in the ground
intended for sale to a fool.
"Last week, gents," said Shipton in his easy style, "we hit it rich out
at the Gallup Bonanza. Pocket or ledge, we're not saying which right
now. But we got the stuff. We been keeping it quiet until we got good
and ready to spring something. I had the choice specimens in a box in
my shack. That Mexican's been prowling around; I couldn't be sure until
I'd glimpsed the specimens, but I just looked 'em over. That's the
story; Mexicali, being half drunk and stupid generally, made his haul
out of my specimen box."
As the first slow murmur, gathering volume, began, Jim Taggart threw up
his hand and shouted:
"Now, men, go slow! I've seen a pack of gents before now get all het-up
because they was sore and disappointed. And I can read the eye-signs!
But pull off and think things over before you make a lot of howling
fools out of yourselves. If you want me any time.... Well, I'll be
right on hand!"
He stepped back swiftly, in through the open door, and it closed after
him.
For a little while the men remained uncertain. Jim Taggart represented
the law; further, he was no man at any time to trifle with. He had
offered them an explanation and the worst of it was that it might be
the truth. Discussions began on every hand; those who believed were in
the minority and lost voice as the other voices, becoming heated, grew
louder. Babe Deveril was turning away when a man caught at his sleeve.
"You know those men, Taggart and Gallup and the rest. What do you make
of it? What had we ought to do?"
Deveril shook the man off.
"Go slow until you know what you're doing," he admonished curtly. "Then
go like hell."
He skirted the crowd and went up to his cabin to be alone and do a bit
of thinking on his own part.