THE JUSTICE OF GIDEON
[Illustration: “_Alicia, I couldn’t think nothin’ that was agin--you_”]
THE JUSTICE
OF GIDEON
BY
ELEANOR GATES
AUTHOR OF “THE PLOW-WOMAN,” “THE BIOGRAPHY
OF A PRAIRIE GIRL,” ETC.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
THE MACAULAY COMPANY
1910
COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY
THE MACAULAY COMPANY
_To
Frank and Grace_
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE JUSTICE OF GIDEON 9
DOC 42
THE BOOMERANG 77
BUENAS NOCHES 108
LITTLE WATCHER 122
MISSY AND I 133
THE GENEVIEVE EPIDEMIC 153
AGATHA’S ESCORT 185
A YELLOW MAN AND A WHITE 218
YEE WING, POWDER-MAN 239
THE SEARCH FOR THE SPRING 259
THE SILVER BELL OF LOS MORALES 283
THE REVENGE OF MANUELITA 319
THE JUSTICE OF GIDEON
THE JUSTICE OF GIDEON
The place of Justice in the little town of Manzanita was a low,
square, cloth-and-papered room, bare save for the Judge’s unpainted
pine desk and armchair; the two other chairs, wooden-seated and worn,
that stood just in front of the desk, and were reserved at trials
for the constable and his prisoner; the four long benches directly
behind these; and the squat, round-barreled stove which, though it was
midsummer in the little Northern California town, still held its place
in the centre of the room, its four legs spraddled out as if it were
determined to defy removal from its shallow sawdust box. There was but
one spot of brightness in the whole dingy place. Back of the Judge’s
desk, draped against the fly-specked wall in careful folds, gleamed the
red, white and blue of the Flag.
The colours brought the Judge into sharp relief. The courtroom being
deserted, his coat was off, and hung near by him on a nail under his
black, slouch hat; and he was seated on the small of his back, his
long legs crossed and stretched out into the unrailed prisoner’s dock,
his elbows planted upon the arms of his chair, and his hands pressed
against his temples, so that they shielded his eyes. About him were
his books, calf-bound and heavy. They stood in front of him, to his
right hand and to his left, in columns of six; in other columns they
weighted the strip of matting under his feet, and flanked his chair at
either side. One was open before him. It was set upon the middle button
of his vest, and had for a rear support the front edge of the desk.
He was deep in the study of it. Across its pages at intervals rolled
a white cloud from his pipe-rolled like the smoke of his own silent
battle for the Truth--and went floating upward to be dissolved and lost
amid the dust-heavy cobwebs of the ceiling.
He lifted his eyes, presently; someone was approaching the front door.
The rickety sidewalk leading up to the courtroom from the general
merchandise store down the street acted as an unofficial herald to him;
for one section of it, as unfixed as a raft, banged to the tread of all
oncomers, and a couple of loose boards still closer at hand creaked
and flapped when they were stepped upon. The footfall now nearing was
light. The Judge laid down his pipe, rose hastily, straightening out
six feet of stalwart length, and reached for his coat.
The next moment the round, ruffled top of a white parasol curtained
the small square of glass in the door. Then the parasol folded, a slim
hand turned the knob and a girl stood on the threshold--a bareheaded,
brown-haired girl in a white muslin dress.
“Oh, Alicia,” said the Judge, giving a last settling jerk to his coat.
A wave of colour swept up from the sunburned lower half of his face and
reddened his forehead.
“I’d like to speak to you a minute, Gid,” said the girl timidly. “I’m
sorry if I’m breaking in on your work.”
“You ain’t a-breakin’ in on my work,” he protested. “Not a bit of it.”
She closed the door behind her and crossed the floor quickly. She was
slender, and the wide girdle of black satin that she wore emphasised
her slenderness.
The Judge, smiling bashfully, bowed across his desk with mock ceremony.
“Take the prisoner’s chair,” he said.
She sat down, but with no answering smile. Her manner was somewhat
nervous and her grey eyes were full of concern.
He took his seat behind the desk and leaned toward her. His eyes were
grey like her own, and set in a young face so grave, and so lined by
thought and care--as well as by long-continued exposure to wind and
sun--that, at first glance, he seemed much older than he was. “I don’t
have my little talk with Mrs. Luce an’ Jim till ’leven o’clock,” he
explained. “An’ so I’m--I’m glad you dropped in.”
Her cheeks grew pink all at once. “I see you been getting some new
books.” She nodded toward the column on his right hand.
“Yas; four or five of these come this last week.”
“They cost, too, don’t they? And if you run for district attorney,
that’ll take money.”
He was still leaning forward. And now his look suddenly became all
eagerness. “Alicia, I got a secret! An’ I been just a-waitin’ t’ tell
it to you. I been promised the nomination.”
“You have! Oh, Gid, I’m so glad!”
“Thank y’, Alicia. That’s the reason I been studyin’ harder’n ever
lately. I’m savin’ up my money, too. I got five hunderd a’ready. These
days I almost hate to put out a cent on books.”
“You’ve done enough for others,” she said earnestly. “It’s time you
spent your money on yourself.”
“When I’m district attorney I’m a-goin’ to buy a piece of property up
at the county seat an’ have a home of my own.” He paused, watching her
wistfully. “An’ if things turn out as I look to see ’em,” he went on in
a low voice, “I’m a-goin’ to marry. I’ll be thirty my next birthday. If
I wait any longer I s’pose folks’ll begin t’ call me a’ ole bach.”
The colour in her cheeks deepened. “I think you ought to marry,” she
agreed. But she looked down, and picked at the ruffles of her parasol.
“I’ve thought about it a good deal. So far, though--wal, you know how
it’s been” (this very gently). “There was that boy.”
“Oh, Gid!” Now she lifted her face. Her eyes were swimming; her lips
were trembling. “Gid,--it’s about Homer that I’ve come.”
He sat back, and was silent for a long moment, watching her keenly. “I
see,” he said finally, his own face very grave. He spoke aloud and yet
as if to himself. “Yas--I think I understand--how it is.” He drew a
long breath.
“The town is talking about him, Gid,--talking awfully mean.”
Instantly he straightened in his chair and looked across at her, amazed
and troubled. “About Homer? W’y, what’s bein’ said?”
“It started after Mr. Carpenter’s last trip up from San Francisco.
And----”
“Carpenter, the fruit-buyer?”
“Yes. He handed over all the Manzanita shipping and paying to Homer,
you know.”
“Homer’s Business College trainin’ come in handy that time,” said the
Judge proudly.
“I hope he’ll never forget that he’s got you to thank for his
education,” she went on. “You’ve been more than a brother to him--ever
since he was in his baby-buggy and you were a little fellow. Mother
says so. Just because his father was dead.”
“His maw has allus been sickly,” reminded the Judge. “An’ I ain’t
missed the little I paid out for him. He’s a fine boy, that’s what he
is. There ain’t a finer or a handsomer or a stylisher boy in town. An’
he’s smart. Didn’t them Business College fellers hand him a medal for
fancy penmanship? So there’s a few people in this town that’s jealous
of him. Wal, who cares?”
She rose and stepped forward to the desk. “Gid,” she said, “I hate
to tell you. But I must. Oh, I knew you’d be the last person to hear
anything!”
“What can man, woman or child find to say agin Homer Scott?” he asked
huskily.
“Since Mr. Carpenter went Homer’s acted different. He hasn’t been
over to our house lately, or to see his other friends. He goes to the
Occidental Hotel of evenings--with Jim Luce and his crowd.”
“And----?” He was leaning forward once more.
“And folks say that--that he’s gambling.”
“Gamblin’.” He repeated it under his breath.
“After all you’ve done for him, he ought to think of what’ll please
you--not what’ll hurt.”
He propped his head between his hands and stared at the desk. But
presently he looked up at her again, confident and smiling. “Alicia,”
he said, “if there was a law in Manzanita agin gossip, half the town
would bust it so often they’d have to move, bag an’ baggage, an’ live
in yonder.” He gave a sidewise nod of the head. The rear door of the
courtroom was standing partly ajar. Through it could be seen several
small barred openings--the windows of the neighbouring jail.
“Now you know, an’ I know, that Homer Scott don’t gamble,” he said.
“Of course, there always is a lot of talk going around,” she admitted.
“But this worried me, Gid, because----” She hesitated.
“Because w’y?”
She faced him once more. “I wouldn’t say this to anybody else. But--Mr.
Carpenter left some money with Homer to pay for peaches. He left eight
hundred dollars. I’ve been afraid--you know what I mean, Gid. And--and
it would be so hard for Homer to pay Carpenter back.”
The Judge stood up impatiently. “If a man takes a glass of lemonade at
the Occidental, all the old hens in town think he’s a-goin’ to have the
d. t’s. If he plays a game of casino he’s gone to the bad.”
The colour left Alicia’s face. “I--I suppose you’ll think I’m a
gossip,” she said, and turned away.
“No,” he answered gently. He came around to her. “Alicia, I couldn’t
think nothin’ that was agin--you. Do you believe me?” Then, seeing
that fresh tears were welling to her eyes, “Don’t cry. Homer ain’t
guilty. I can tell you that. An’ what’s more, I’ll look out for him,
little woman. You depend on it.”
There was silence between them again. He watched her, his grey eyes
full of anxiety--even pain. She was brushing at her wet lashes, and
looking out through the front door.
“I--I must go now,” she said presently.
“Must y’? Wal, will you come again soon?” He followed her to the door.
“You come and see us, Gid. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.” He closed the door behind her, and as far as he could see
her watched her go. She crossed the street, picking her way through
the brick-red dust, ankle deep, to the railroad track that halved the
town. The bobbing parasol now hid, now disclosed, her small, dark head
and the girlish bow of wide ribbon at the nape of her neck. She passed
the town hall opposite, entered a street that ran at right angles to
the track, and disappeared from his sight beneath some low-branched
pepper-trees.
He did not leave the door at once, but looked out to where he had
last seen her. After a while, with a deep sigh, he returned slowly
to his desk, stumbled over a pile of books at his armchair, and sat
down. “She’s like a posy,” he half-whispered, “--like a posy, an’ him
gamblin’!”
A wrangle of voices sounded from without. Then the sidewalk began to
bang and creak to a double tread. The Judge took out his watch. It was
eleven. He assumed a judicial attitude. The next moment a man and a
woman paused at the front door, the one scolding into the face of the
other, gave the door a thump, each with an angry fist, and entered.
“Gid’ll settle things fair,” cried the woman. “A lawyer would just run
up a bill.”
“Wall, what’m I here for?” stormed the man. “I ain’t feared to let Gid
settle it.”
“Just the same, you didn’t come till I went after you.”
“Howdy, Mrs. Luce,” said the Judge quietly. “Howdy, Jim. Set down.”
“What I hate,” explained the woman, addressing the Judge, “is coming up
Main Street with a man I’ve divorced.” She spoke so forcibly that her
pendent earrings--large, pinkish pearls of glass--swung backward and
forward against her thin, wrinkled neck. “The whole town’ll be talking.
And I’m suffering enough as it is. My sister, she said to me when I got
engaged, ‘You marry him, and you’re hunting trouble,’ but I----”
The Judge held up a hand to enjoin silence. “Jim,” he said, “I’ll hear
your side of this fuss first. Mrs. Luce, accordin’ to the laws of all
civylised countries, you, bein’ as you’re a woman, you git the last
word.” He gave her a kindly smile.
Luce was short and thick-set, with a face as round and red as the full
moon seen through a dust-cloud. He shrugged his heavy shoulders in
disgust. “And my sister says to me when I married, ‘Jim, you can be
anything you want to be if you just git the right kind of a wife.’ Now
see what I am, Judge,--nothin’.”
“Some behind in your alimony, ain’t you, Jim?” inquired the Judge.
“Three months. But I’ll have the cash as soon as I ship my pear crop.
She says she can’t wait. What’s the matter with her?”
“My self-playing piano’s the matter with me,” retorted Mrs. Luce. “I
only paid forty down on it last spring. There’s one hundred and fifteen
due in ten days from now--or lose the piano. Jim can get me the money
if he wants to, Judge. He’s just sold his peaches.”
“I ain’t been paid for ’em,” declared Luce.
“That’s another,” said Mrs. Luce. “He got his peach money all right,
and spent it.”
“I didn’t!”
“You did!”
“I----”
Once more the Judge’s hand came up. “Jim,” he began, “far’s I’m
concerned, I’m pretty helpless in this case. All over this country the
law is plain as day on this point: The feller that’s sentenced to pay
alimony, and don’t pay, gits sold out or sent to the cooler.”
“I’m goin’ to Canada to live,” declared Luce hotly. “Here she’s got
plenty, an’ still the United States law allows her to hector me. W’y,
she owns a string of gold nuggets as long as your arm--her paw gave ’em
to her. Them nuggets is worth a lot. She don’t have to come to me.”
“My father dug that string up with his own hands,” said Mrs. Luce.
“It was the last thing he ever gave me. And”--with exasperating
finality--“it won’t be sold.”
“Wal, borrow on it,” suggested Luce wrathfully. “Judge, I can’t put my
pears on to the cars when they’re greener’n cucumbers. Ask Homer if
there’s a man in this hull Valley that’s shippin’ pears.”
Mrs. Luce smiled. “Jim’d lie and Homer’d swear to it,” she observed
with a knowing nod and a wink.
The Judge gave her a look of grave reproval. “Nobody’s ever caught
Homer Scott swearin’ to a lie,” he contradicted coldly.
The round face of Luce brightened, and he hastened to take advantage of
the Judge’s evident displeasure. “That’s the kind of wild talk she’s
allus gittin’ off,” he declared. “She don’t have nothin’ to do but
talk. Here I am, a hard-workin’ man, an’ have to support her. She don’t
even come down to the ranch an’ help pack fruit.”
Mrs. Luce gave a sniff. “I don’t associate with the prune-jammer
crowd,” she said. “Whenever I want a little spending money I wash
dishes at the Occidental.”
“The law,” informed the Judge, in his most official tone, but with a
twinkle in the grey eyes, “--the law don’t name just what kind of work
a divorced lady has to do.”
Luce rose, kicking his chair out of the way, and pointed a stubby
finger at a column of calf-bound books. “None of them laws,” he said,
“read to me as if they was made for men. No; they was made to please
the women--I guess I know! Wal, let her have ’em on me if she wants to.
I’ll go to jail. I don’t care.”
“She’d be makin’ the biggest mistake in the world if she put you in
jail,” said the Judge earnestly. “No man can raise money when he’s
killin’ time. An’ you’d bother me a lot if you was in yonder. The
prisoners allus interfere with my studyin’. Seems like they have
to be amused when they been in a few days, an’ it all comes on me.
The constable thinks he’s did his duty when he gits ’em locked up.
So off he goes, lookin’ after his saloon, or his cattle, or to set
salmon-lines.” Then he turned to Mrs. Luce with an admonishing shake of
the finger. “After this,” he counseled, “fix it so’s the pear crop an’
the piano-man come t’gether.”
At that, feeling herself twice rebuked, Mrs. Luce arose with some
spirit. “What’s that got to do with Jim’s scaring up my back alimony?”
she inquired defiantly. Then, stiff with resentment, she walked out.
When she was gone the Judge slid down in his chair until he was again
seated upon the small of his back, and from across the top of his desk
he fixed solemn eyes upon Luce. “Jim,” he said, “you cut out that
little bunch at the Occidental. Them fellers have forgot more about
poker than you ever learnt.”
The other’s face took on a deeper hue. He squirmed under the searching
glance. “They don’t git nothin’ away from me,” he declared.
“An’ cards,” went on the Judge evenly, “is a blamed poor excuse when a
man’s bein’ sued.”
“Oh, you’re dead right there, Gid.”
“Glad you see it. You don’t want t’ be responsible if any man drops his
money--especially if it’s a young man.”
When he was alone once more the Judge got up to pace the courtroom, his
hands clasped behind him, his chin on his breast. As he walked his lips
moved in silent debate, and he shook his head emphatically from time to
time. Presently, a distant gong clanged, announcing the noon hour. He
went to the rear door and stood on its threshold, looking away to the
north. Near at hand, bordering the town, were orchards heavy with their
fruitage. Beyond these showed brown foothills, round and oak-dotted;
still farther, a higher range, all misty blue. Its summit was Shasta,
rising against a serene sky, and wearing, despite the heat, an ermine
stole over her dark shoulders.
He watched the mountain, his hands at his temples to shield his
eyes, until a procession of low fruit-wagons passed through the back
street on its way to the near-by orchards. Then he clapped on his hat
resolutely, went out of the front door, slamming it behind him, and
strode away across the creaking, teetering sidewalk toward the long
shipping-shed down the street.
As he entered the building there were no wagons at the side door, but
six hatless, perspiring men in blue overalls were carrying boxes out of
the shed and into the refrigerator car on the siding, and the air was
sweet and heavy with the perfume of peaches. At the gangboard leading
into the car stood a young man, busily checking off the boxes as they
passed him. His coat was off, showing a freshly-laundered shirt with a
dainty figure, and a spotless vest of white duck. His trousers were as
carefully pressed as his vest, and he wore an imitation Panama hat with
a bright silk band, and tan half-shoes upon each of which flashed a
brass buckle.
“Hello, Gid!” he called out gaily as he caught sight of the Judge.
The Judge’s face broke into a slow, pleased smile. “Hello, Homer,” he
returned. “Say! give the boys a breathin’ spell, won’t y’? I want to
see you a minute.”
The perspiring half-dozen promptly collapsed upon empty boxes, blowing
in discomfort and wiping at their faces with sleeve or handkerchief.
The Judge nodded to them and followed Homer to one end of the shed,
where rough boards, nailed upright, formed a small office-room.
“Well?” said Homer inquiringly, when the door shut them in. His eyes
were blue and frank, and now they regarded the Judge with eager
confidence.
The elder man put a hand on the shoulder of the younger. “Boy,” he
began, “we been such pardners, you an’ me, that I know you’ll take what
I’m a-goin’ to say just the way I mean it.”
The confident look quickly faded. Homer fell back a step. “What’s
doing?” he asked. “A kick of some kind?”
“No-o-o,” answered the Judge; “advice.”
The other gave a short laugh. “That’s worse.”
“I been Justice of the Peace for so long, Homer, that the advice
business has come to be a habit.”
“Fire ahead.” The blue eyes were resentful.
“It don’t amount to much, what I’m a-goin’ to say,” proceeded the
Judge, “because I know blamed well that you ain’t doin’ what they say
you’re doin’.”
“‘They’ is usually a liar.”
“But sometimes, ‘Where there’s smoke there’s fire’--as the sayin’ goes.
In this case there’s just enough smoke to worry me.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry if I was you. What’s your gossip?”
The hand that was resting on the younger man’s shoulder dropped to the
Judge’s side. “Folks say you’re gamblin’.”
There was scarcely a noticeable paling of Homer’s face, but a sneer
curved his mouth. “Gambling!” he repeated. “I’ll bet you got that yarn
from a woman.”
“Yas,” admitted the Judge.
“If you’re going to believe every little bit of tittle-tattle that the
women tell you, you won’t have much time for your books.”
“Homer,” said the Judge sternly, “you’re pretty close to bein’ sassy to
the best friend you’ve got in the hull world, barrin’ your maw.”
“You’re finding fault with me. And I hate to be picked at. I’m not a
kid any more, to be followed and watched and whistled into the house at
sundown. I’m a man.”
“Wal, act like a man then.”
“I will if you’ll let me alone. Gambling! Wouldn’t it make you sick! As
if a nickel ante hurts anybody! I’ll let this town know that I earn my
money and I’ve got a right to do what I please with it.”
“Long as you don’t hurt your maw.”
“She’ll be ready to jump on me, I suppose, when I go home to-night.”
“Or as long as you don’t hurt--Alicia.”
“Alicia? Huh!”--sullenly--“she don’t care anything about me.”
“That’s where you’re mistaken, boy. She likes you, Homer, an’ you like
her--don’t you?” He lowered his head, searching the face of the other.
“Yes, of course. But she’s just like the rest of the women in this
town. They’re all backwoods, that’s what they are--backwoods. If they’d
ever been outside of Manzanita, and seen something, they wouldn’t be so
confounded narrow. They don’t want to have any fun themselves and they
don’t want anybody else to have any. I never saw such a place!”
The Judge sighed and turned to the door. “Mebbe it’d a-been better if
I hadn’t opened my mouth,” he said. “But--it seemed serious, kinda. So
long, Homer.” He went out, his hands in the outer pockets of his coat,
his head down.
That night, no light burned until a late hour on the unpainted desk in
the place of Justice. After supper, young Judge Gideon Carr strolled
down to the Occidental and sprinkled the ashes of his pipe upon the
only stretch of cement sidewalk in town. And ten o’clock found him
still there, tipped back against the wall beside the high swinging
doors that screened the barroom from passers-by in the street.
Shortly after ten, two figures approached the hotel from the direction
of the shipping-shed. One was short and thick-set; the other wore a
hat banded with bright silk. The street was illy lighted, and they
did not see the figure by the door until the thick-set man, who was
leading, was within arm’s length of it. Then the Judge moved, looking
up into the faces of the two. Luce gave him a swift glance and entered
the barroom. But Homer halted suddenly, called a nervous good-night
after his companion, turned away sharply, and hurried into the darkness
toward home.
The next evening found the Judge again tipped back in a chair beside
the barroom entrance. But the third evening he came to his station at a
late hour and, before sitting down, parted the swinging doors to stand
between them a moment, leisurely surveying the brightly-lighted room.
Each night afterward he returned--always at a different hour. Midnight
of the day the first refrigerator cars intended for the pear shipment
were shunted upon the siding at the shipping-shed he again came face to
face with Jim Luce at the Occidental. The rancher had been drinking,
and walked unsteadily, so the Judge stepped out of his way. But Luce
recognised him, and turned upon him with a curse.
“You been spyin’ on me,” charged Luce thickly. “Just as if I ain’t got
a right to spend my money like I want to! I say, you been spyin’ on me,
an’ you can’t deny it.” He wavered from side to side before the tall
figure of the Judge. “But you cut it out. You hear me? You cut it out.”
“What do I want to spy on you for?” inquired the Judge mildly. “You’re
full, Jim.”
“You’re mixin’ up in my business,” shrilled the other. “But I’ll pay
that alimony when I git good an’ ready.”
The swinging doors were opening now and men were coming out.
“Don’t stir up no fracas,” advised the Judge. “I’m Justice of the
Peace, mind y’--Peace. An’ I’m goin’ to see that it’s kept.”
The next moment the little crowd was treated to an exciting outcome of
the meeting. Luce staggered forward and struck. The Judge, avoiding the
blow, seized the rancher by the upturned collar of his coat, shook him
vigorously and led him away up the street, half a dozen of the curious
falling in behind. The general merchandise store was passed, and the
rickety sidewalk; then the Judge unlocked a door beyond the entrance of
the courtroom.
“Jim,” he said, “you been itchin’ for the lockup. And here you are!”
He pulled his prisoner after him into a dark room. Someone struck a
match, and the room was seen to contain a narrow bed, and a table upon
which were writing materials. The Judge tumbled Luce upon the bed
without ceremony. Then the crowd backed out, and the key was turned in
the lock once more.
“It’s all over, boys,” said the Judge from the sidewalk. “Good-night.”
He walked away in one direction, and his late audience, moving slowly
back toward the Occidental, divided itself on the question as to
whether or not a Justice of the Peace had a right to make an arrest.
Dawn found Jim Luce asleep upon his prison-cot. But by six o’clock he
was well on his way toward his ranch; while by breakfast-time a check
in full for back alimony was dispatched to Mrs. Luce through the medium
of a small, barefooted boy who lived behind the jail.
At the middle of that same morning the Judge sat at his desk, combing
his hair with his fingers. His face was unwontedly pale, his eyes were
heavy from lack of sleep. But a calf-bound book was open before him,
and he was bent over it almost doggedly.
He straightened wearily as a woman entered--Mrs. Luce, her face
tear-marked, her mouth bent in a disconsolate half-moon. “W’y, what’s
the matter?” he asked with concern. “Ain’t Jim’s check good?”
She did not answer, but hurried forward to the desk. “I want a
warrant,” she cried. “I think it’s a shame and a disgrace that the
constable won’t arrest him without a warrant.”
“The constable must foller the law,” explained the Judge. “Set down,
Mrs. Luce. Who’s your warrant for?”
Her hands were clenched as if she had something hateful in their grasp.
“It’s for that nice, stylish dude you’re always bragging up,” she said
sarcastically. “He’s a thief, that’s what he is--a common, two-faced
thief!”
“Dude?” repeated the Judge, puzzled.
“Mr. Homer Scott.”
The Judge stared her in the face. “Hush!” he commanded sternly. “You
don’t know what you’re a-sayin’.”
“Oh, I don’t!” She laughed bitterly. “Well, you’ll change your mind.”
“You’re a-talkin’ strong talk, Mrs. Luce. What d’ you claim he’s stole?”
“My nuggets.”
“How did he come to have your nuggets? Set down.”
“I gave ’em to him for security. I borrowed a hundred and fifteen
dollars of his peach money that day I was in here with Jim. At first
I wanted him to give me the money and then dock Jim that much on his
pears. But he wouldn’t do that. He made me a straight loan and asked
for security. I took him my nuggets.”
“He didn’t ask for ’em?”
“No; it was my idea. The string was easy for him to keep in his safe.”
“You didn’t take no receipt for it, I suppose?”
“That’s where I made a big mistake. This morning, the second I got my
check, I wrote my name across it, went down to the shipping-shed and
handed it to Homer. He took it, remarked that I was ahead of time, and
went on with his writing. I noticed his hand shook something terrible.”
“Cigareets,” said the Judge sadly. “He learnt that in the city.”
“A guilty conscience, more likely. I says to him, ‘Well, Homer, are the
nuggets handy? I’ll take ’em if they are.’ He looked up almost like he
didn’t understand. ‘The nuggets?’ he says. ‘What nuggets?’ ‘Why, the
nuggets I handed you as security.’ ‘You didn’t give me any nuggets,’ he
says. ‘Yes, I did.’ ‘Why, you didn’t either!’ He was nice and friendly
all the time, Judge, but said I was mistaken. Well, I’m not mistaken.”
Her voice rose excitedly. “He’s been gambling with Jim; he’s short of
money; Carpenter, the fruit-man, is back in town, and Homer’s scared.”
The face of the Judge grew pallid, and fear came into the grey eyes.
He drew in a quick breath. “Mrs. Luce, you’re yellin’. Do you want
the hull town t’hear? Let’s settle this without a crowd. You say
Carpenter’s here?”
“Came in on the five-eight.” She looked across at the Judge defiantly.
“Mrs. Luce”--his voice was husky with pleading--“I think the boy’s
playin’ a joke on you.”
“Well, he didn’t act joky. And I want his safe opened.”
“If he was tryin’ to do you such a trick he wouldn’t leave the nuggets
in the safe.”
At that she burst into tears. “You’re against me!” she cried; “just
like the other day. You’ve got your favourites, and you don’t show
justice--not a bit of justice! When anybody does something wrong,
you’re always ready to protect ’em and make excuses, and keep ’em from
being punished, instead of getting the law on ’em. I tell you what this
town needs; it needs a new Judge!”
Now the blood mounted to his face. “That’s pretty rough on me,” he
said. “Wal, Mrs. Luce, I’ll be outen here just as soon as I can manage
it. Y’know”--with almost a twinkle in his eyes--“I’m aimin’ to be
District Attorney of Shasta County, Sooperior Judge, Rep’esentative
from this district, Gov’nor of Californy, Senator to Washington, an’
President of the United States.”
“You’ll be back driving stage if you treat other people like you’re
treating me.”
“Whenever a man makes a first mistake I like to encourage him,” he
explained. “I allus do what I can--an’ keep inside the law. Now,
please, Mrs. Luce, let me git this misunderstandin’ cleared up.
‘Gid’ll settle things fair,’ you said the other day. So you go home,
an’ don’t say a word to nobody. If any of the women folks ask you w’y
you been cryin’, tell ’em you been cuttin’ up onions.” He tried to
smile.
“No, sir!” She rose angrily. “I won’t go home, and I won’t lie to
shield Homer Scott. I’ll go up and down Main Street, and tell everybody
what he’s done, and how you’re acting about it. I’ll have my revenge,
anyhow. I’ll break off his match with Alicia Clay.”
Now the Judge rose, pressing down on the arms of his chair to lift
himself, and a queer trembling--almost a spasm--crossed his face.
“Alicia!” he said under his breath. “They’re engaged, then! An’ it’ll
hurt her!”
“She’d better be hurt a little now than have her heart broken later on.
It’s a mistake to let a sweet girl like that marry a crooked man.”
“Oh, Mrs. Luce, he ain’t a crooked man! Here--I want to be square t’
you, too. If you git him arrested without cause, you can be sued. Let’s
talk this over some more.” He took her arm gently.
She sat down, wiping at her cheeks.
“First of all,” he began, as he resumed his own seat, “did anybody see
you give Homer the nuggets?”
“No.”
“Did you tell anybody before you took ’em down that he was goin’ to
hold ’em as security?”
“I didn’t want anybody to find out I was borrowing.”
“And you two was alone, I s’pose, when he took ’em and give you the
money?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s just your word against his?”
“You see? You don’t believe me!”
“I’m askin’ you a question.”
“Well, I suppose it is my word against his.”
“You told the constable about it?”
“Yes; and he pretty near laughed in my face. Never mind. I’ll take this
case to the county seat.”
“The law reads the same at the county seat as it does here, Mrs. Luce.
Say I give you a warrant. Bert serves it. Homer lands in jail. He says
he never seen the nuggets. You say he has ’em, but you can’t locate
’em. What could a jury do about it? So--take a night t’ think it over.”
She shook her head decidedly. “No.”
“An’ don’t forgit it’ll hurt his maw, too,” urged the Judge. “She ain’t
strong this summer--malaria, I reckon.”
“I don’t intend to give him a chance to skip on that down train.”
Once more the Judge rose and began to pace the floor, his hands clasped
behind him, his chin on his breast. One minute passed, and Mrs. Luce
sat quietly. But when another went by she settled her hat preparatory
to leaving and tucked some stray wisps of hair into place.
At that the Judge returned to his desk. There was no fear in the grey
eyes now, and his manner was resolute, even cheerful. “All right,” he
said almost briskly. “I’m a-goin’ to do what you ask. A-course, I’d
like to have the case rest easy for a few hours, so’s I could find out
one or two things on the q. t. But”--putting several articles to rights
on his desk--“that ain’t possible. I’ll have to ask you to write me out
a statement.”
“Got to have one, Judge?”
“Shore. Allus got to have a statement of ev’ry case. Would you mind
goin’ into the jail office to write it? There’s some private business
to attend to in here. It’s cool in the jail office, an’ you’ll have
the hull place to yourself. But be awful certain about one thing, Mrs.
Luce.”
“What’s that?” She looked a little startled.
He led the way out of the rear door of the courtroom and around to the
back entrance of the jail. “Don’t leave out nothin’,” he counseled.
“Take plenty of time to git the statement ready. I won’t break in on
you more’n I can help.”
“I’ve got some things on the line at home that ought to come in before
noon. They’ll fade.”
“Your nuggets is more important, though. Don’t you want everything
settled before that down train? Here--write at this table. I come in
here when I don’t want nobody to find me. Here’s pen an’ ink an’ paper.”
“I’ll use a pencil if you don’t mind.”
“No; statements allus got to be writ in ink. An’ make as nice a copy as
you can.”
He left her, closing the door softly behind him. Outside, he drew a key
from his pocket, noiselessly fitted it into the lock and turned it.
Then he re-entered the courtroom on a run, lifted one edge of the flag,
disclosing a telephone, rang the bell twice, listened, rang it again,
asked for his number in a low voice, and when the reply came began to
speak with decision: “Homer, this is Gid. Run up for a minute. Yas,
it’s important. I must see you. Can’t tell you over the ’phone. But
don’t you wait--come. All right.” Then he hung up, rang for a second
number--the constable’s--gave some quick directions and, having drawn
the flag into place over the telephone, sat down.
He waited, bowed over in his chair, with his elbows upon the arms of
it, and his head supported by his hands. But when the rickety sidewalk
gave warning of an oncomer he straightened, and smiled in welcome
as Homer entered the door. “Wal, here you are,” he said by way of
salutation.
Homer flung himself into a chair before the Judge’s desk, fanning
himself with his hat. His thin face was tense, like the face of a man
under a strain.
“Boy, this is what I want to say: Don’t josh Mrs. Luce.”
Homer crimsoned. His hat fell to his knee. “Mrs. Luce is crazy!” he
burst forth.
“She’s been tellin’ me how you hung on to her nuggets. Give ’em back to
her, boy. She’s got a bad tongue.”
“Her nuggets! What does she mean? She needs her brain examined.”
“You ain’t got ’em, Homer?”
“Of course I haven’t got ’em. I don’t believe she ever had any. Did you
ever see ’em?”
“No.”
“What on earth could I do with a string of nuggets?” His chest heaved
angrily.
“Good collateral,” said the Judge, “case a man needed money.”
“I don’t need money.” He said it sullenly, and shifted in his chair.
“Come to me when you do, boy.”
There was a long silence. The elder man sat, his grave look fixed
on the younger, who crossed and uncrossed his feet and wiped at his
forehead and neck with a folded silk handkerchief.
“How’s your work comin’?” inquired the Judge presently. He took up a
pen and began to write.
“Oh, pretty good.”
“I reckon Mister Fruit-Buyer is satisfied, hey? He couldn’t find a
better man than you for the place, anyhow.”
“Oh, he’s satisfied, I guess. But I don’t think I--I care to hang on to
the job.”
“No?” The Judge thrust a sheet of paper into a pocket. “How long’s
Carpenter stayin’ over this time?”
“Till the down train.”
“That so? Wal!” He paused a moment, examining the end of his pen. “Say,
you don’t wear your Business College medal no more.”
“I carry it in my pocket.”
“I see. Got it now? I like to take a peep at it ev’ry once in a while.”
The younger man reached into a vest pocket and drew forth a small
silver piece, shield-shaped and engraved. He handed it across the desk.
“It’s mighty pretty,” said the Judge, holding it up. He rose, still
looking at it. “Must ’a’ cost somethin’, too. Excuse me a minute.”
He went to the front door, looked out, opened it, disappeared for a
moment and then entered again.
His hands were deep in his trousers’ pockets now, and as he talked he
walked to and fro. “Homer,” he said, “you’re right about not hangin’
on to that fruit job. I think you oughta begin to plan on goin’ into
business for your own self. You’ll want t’ settle down soon an’ have a
little home. I’d like to help you out on it, ’cause I’ve got your good
at heart, boy. You could build right on that lot of your maw’s. It’s a
big lot. An’ then about a good, payin’ business for you--I’ve got two
or three ideas I’d like to propose. (Y’see, I’m in a gassy mood t’day.)
Now, the first idea is like this----”
Five minutes passed; then five more, and still the Judge talked on.
Homer listened without raising his eyes.
At last the rattle of a board in the rickety sidewalk made the Judge
pause. Once more he went to the door and stepped outside.
When he came back into the courtroom he walked unsteadily, like one
suddenly seized with a sickness. He sat down, not at his desk, but in
the chair next to the younger man; then he reached out a trembling
hand. “Homer,” he said huskily, “forgive me for coming back to that
nugget business. It’s made me feel turrible, somehow. Boy, you know I’m
your friend, don’t you? Now, let’s have the hull truth about Mrs. Luce.
Homer”--he lifted a hand and pointed to the flag--“look at that an’
tell me: Have you got them nuggets?” His voice broke with its pleading.
Homer jerked away his hand and sprang to his feet. “Do you want me to
lie and say I stole her nuggets?” he demanded. “All right, I’ll lie!
I’ll----”
The Judge also rose. And now his voice was calm and cold. “I don’t like
lies,” he said. “And I think this matter has been drug out far enough.”
He reached into an outer coat pocket for the medal and handed it to the
other. Then he reached into the pocket a second time and drew forth--a
string of nuggets.
Homer’s face whitened to ghastliness, his jaw fell. He retreated,
knocking over his chair and backing into the Judge’s desk. There he
hung, panting.
“Oh, boy!” said the Judge.
The other strove to speak; but his voice would not come, and the hands
that clutched at the desk were shaking.
“I sent your medal to Carpenter,” explained the Judge. “An’ he sent the
string.”
“Then he’ll grab me. It’s embezzlement. I can’t pay him back. I’ll go
to jail!”
“Sh! I sent a check, too.”
“For how much? Oh, Gid!” The trembling hands were lifted to cover his
face.
“I don’t know how much, so I just left the check blank an’ sent word
you’d forgot the exact amount you owed. I--I reckon my bank’ll stand
for a’ overdraft.”
Now the white face was slowly uncovered again and the staring eyes were
fixed upon the Judge. “Carpenter came--I didn’t expect him--I told him
I was short--I asked him to take the nuggets to the Mint--it was the
only thing----”
“Never once thought of old Gid?” The Judge wiped at his eyes with the
back of a hand.
“Oh, you’re too good to me!” Now Homer broke down and fell to sobbing.
“Don’t do that.” The elder laid a kind hand on the shoulder of the
younger. “No; it’s a-goin’ to be all right, boy. Only I won’t spoil you
no more, you bet your life. I’ll come down turrible hard on you if ever
you do this kind of business again. You just quit your gamblin’, Homer.
If you don’t I’ll never let you marry Alicia.”
“She wouldn’t marry me, Gid.”
A knocking sounded from without, at the rear.
“What’s that?” Homer caught the Judge’s sleeve in a frightened grasp.
“It’s Mrs. Luce. I kept her in there, writin’, till I could git them
nuggets back. Now, you skip. Go home. Here’s your hat. Stay there till
I come. Now, don’t forgit.” He hurried the other to the front door,
opened it and shoved him on to the sidewalk. Then, with long strides,
he gained the rear yard.
“By Jingo!” he called out. “Is that door stickin’, Mrs. Luce? You’re a
shore enough prisoner! Wal, that’s a good one! Never mind. Come along.
Where’s that statement?”
Mrs. Luce handed him several sheets of foolscap. “I don’t think I’ve
left anything out,” she said. “Can you read my awful writing?”
When they were in the courtroom, in their former places, the Judge laid
the written sheets upon his desk, leaned back, looked at her a moment
silently, and then began to smile across at her.
“Say!” he said. “You shore can’t take a josh.”
“What d’ you mean?”
“What I said to you when you first come in. How many people did you say
you’d tole?”
“The constable and you.”
“That’s good. ’Cause if you’d tole anybody else I’d have to ask you to
go an’ untell ’em.”
Sudden hope came into her eyes. “Judge! You ain’t----”
“Yas,” said the Judge. He dropped a big hand into his coat pocket once
more. It came out, the nuggets dangling from it.
In an instant she was beside him and had seized the string. “Glory!”
she exclaimed.
“Now, I’m goin’ to ask a favour of you,” said the Judge. “It’s this:
Just forgit about the nuggets an’ Homer. Will you? The hull thing makes
you look silly an’ wouldn’t help the boy.”
“All right,” she promised. “My, but I’m happy!” She ran the nuggets
through her fingers, fondling and counting them.
The Judge watched her for a moment. Then his face suddenly brightened;
he smiled in his slow way. “I wouldn’t wonder if Homer thought you
tattled to Alicia about him playin’ cards with Jim at the Occidental.”
“Yes, I did,” she admitted a little shamefacedly.
“Wal, he’s got even with you.”
She moved away. “I’m glad he was only joking,” she said. Then from the
door: “I wonder when he and Alicia’ll marry. My, but they’ll make a
fine-looking couple, her so dark and him so light! Of course, I don’t
exactly favour these marriages where the groom and bride have been
acquainted with each other for so long. They get to know each other too
good. Give a woman something to find out, I say, so that she can live
with her husband two or three years, anyhow. Now, I met Jim one week
and was married the next, and it was four years before we was what you
might call fighting.”
“Oh, wait,” said the Judge. “There’s one thing more. In a case like
this, where a statement has been writ out, it’s the rule, in law, for
the statoress----”
“The statoress?”
“You’re the statoress in this case. Y’see, you writ the statement. It’s
the rule for her to make a second statement, appended to the end of the
first, sayin’ that the first ain’t so.”
“All right, Judge.”
“I’ll just write the second statement, an’ you can sign it.” He
scribbled a few lines hastily.
“Wish you’d wrote the first statement,” she said enviously, when she
had come back and was standing at the desk once more. “Can’t you go
fast!”
“That’s because mine’s a fountain-pen,” he explained. “Here, sign right
on this line.”
“An’ say!” he added as she started away a second time, “lemme repeat
what I advised once before--don’t never give security, especially
collateral security, without you git a receipt, Mrs. Luce. The next
feller, mebbe, won’t be jokin’.”
“I won’t, Judge,” she promised.
When she was across the railroad track on her homeward way he went back
to his armchair, sat down, laid his arms upon his desk and his head
upon his arms.
Noon came and passed unnoticed. The down train snorted by, and he did
not look up. Then the long afternoon went slowly. He stayed where he
was, scarcely moving. Afternoon merged into twilight. Darkness crept
into the courtroom.
The banging of the unfixed section of the rickety sidewalk roused the
Judge at last. And as the loose boards nearer at hand flapped and
creaked under a light tread he sat up and got stiffly to his feet.
The knob of the front door turned and a slender figure in white
appeared in the doorway. Then, “Gid!” called an anxious voice--a girl’s
voice. “Gid! Are you there?”
“Yas,” answered the Judge. “I’m here. Is it--Alicia?”
“Gid!” she cried tremulously; “poor, poor Gid!”
He walked toward her slowly. “What you pore Giddin’ me for?” he asked.
“Mrs. Luce told me--about what Homer’s done.”
The Judge came short. “She did? Can’t that woman keep nothin’ to
herself? W’y”--pleadingly and reaching out a hand--“let me explain
before you--w’y, that boy, Alicia, he only----”
“Oh, it wasn’t a joke!” she interrupted. “Mrs. Luce thinks it was.
But I know. Oh, you dear old Gid, you’re trying to shield him. And he
doesn’t deserve it.”
“Now, Alicia, he didn’t----”
“He did--and right at a time when it could hurt your chance to be
district attorney.”
“District attorney?” repeated the Judge and laughed--a little sadly,
but bravely. “Aw, wal! I can wait t’ be district attorney.”
“You see! It’s so! It’s so! He’s taken your money to get himself out of
his trouble! The coward!”
“Alicia! You’re turnin’ on the boy! Please don’t let a little thing
like this come between you an’ Homer.”
“Between me and Homer!” she exclaimed in surprise. “What makes you say
that, Gid?”
“W’y, you come here that day an’ tole me about him gamblin’, an’ cried.”
She laid a white hand on his sleeve. “I knew this whole thing was
coming, Gid, and you’d be the one to suffer.”
“Me?” he questioned.
“Homer Scott! I never did like him, and I’ve hated to see you wasting
yourself on him. What does he care about you, or your ambitions, or
your dreams?”
He was silent for a moment--so silent that he seemed to be holding
his breath. Then he spoke gently: “There’s only one dream I got that
counts. An’--an’ I don’t dare t’ hope it might come true.”
Her face was lifted to his almost appealingly; his eyes eagerly
searched hers in the dimness. Presently he reached down and took the
hand that was hanging at her side and lifted it, pressing it against
his breast.
She smiled up at him. And, little by little, her other hand began to
creep its way to his shoulder. There it rested, and she whispered to
him softly: “Gid! Dear Gid!”
A smothered cry of great happiness answered her. The next moment he
dropped her hand and his arms went out, sweeping her slender figure to
him.
DOC
It was a long-distance call and the voice was a man’s, impatient,
peremptory and curiously unsteady: “Hello! Hello! Hello! I say! Is this
Doctor Hunter?”
“Yas, this is me,” answered the doctor, making an arc of his stalwart
length as he leaned down to the receiver on his table; “this is Hunter.”
“This is the Blue Top Mine--the Blue Top. Do you understand? We want
you up here.”
“The Blue Top!” repeated the doctor. And of a sudden his boyish face
grew eager. “All right. What kind of a case is it?”
“Never mind--come. Get a good horse.”
“But look a-here,” expostulated the doctor. “Is it surgical? I’d like
to know just what to bring.”
“Come prepared for anything. Can you hear me? This is Eastman.”
“Oh--Mr. Eastman.” The doctor fell back a little, then, still holding
the receiver to his ear with one hand, hastily smoothed at his hair
with the other--as if to make himself more presentable for his
conversation with the distant speaker. “I’ll start in fifteen minutes,”
he promised.
“Good-bye.” The line closed.
The doctor was in his shirt-sleeves. He reached one long arm out
for the coat hanging on the back of his office chair, the other for
his wide, soft hat. Then he caught up a canvas case that held both
medicines and instruments, and hurried out.
Half a block up the street was a low, flower-covered cottage that stood
among wide-spreading fig trees. There was a strip of clover lawn before
the little house. He halted when he reached it, and took off his hat.
“Oh, Miss Letty!” he called.
The fig trees formed a dense screen against the noon heat. Under one
was a girl, bareheaded and barearmed, with a half-filled basket of
the purple fruit at her feet. As the doctor spoke she turned and came
toward him swiftly across the clover. She was tall, nearly as tall as
he, and the great knot of crisp and dusky hair on her small head added
to her slender height. Her eyes were like her hair--dark and shining.
They made vivid contrast with the clear paleness of her cheek and
throat.
“You’re going out of town,” she said, with a glance at the canvas case.
“What do you think!” he answered, his face flushing with pleasure.
“They want me at Blue Top!”
She stopped. “The regular mine doctor left last week. They’ll have to
have somebody in his place. Maybe----” Her eyes questioned his.
“It was Eastman ’phoned me.” He said it proudly.
“The owner of the mine!”
“‘We want you up here’ is what he said. And ‘Come prepared for
anything.’ But a-course----” It was his turn to break off. His grey
eyes were anxious.
“They want you to stay!” she declared excitedly. “Won’t that be
splendid! Now you’ll be able to buy all the books you’ve been wanting.
You know, they give a good salary at Blue Top, and--and house rent
free.” A wave of colour swept her face then, tinting it a delicate rose.
He had come nearer her. “It’d mean more’n books to me,” he said in a
low voice.