Morgan's teeth closed with a slight click. The sinews of his chest and
arms tightened. Such insolence rightfully called for the chastisement of
cane or dog-whip, he thought, but that was impossible. He might
undertake to rebuke Boone openly but could hardly assume so high-handed
a course with Anne--or in her presence. He would nevertheless conduct
his own affairs in his own way; so, quietly and with no intimation that
he had been a witness to what he construed as an actual embrace, he
turned and went back to the stairhead.
From there his voice, raised in a conversational tone to reach his
father in the study, carried with equal clarity to the room below.
"Father," he called, "I'll see you in the morning. I have to run down to
the office for an hour or so now. I didn't quite finish looking over
those latest depositions in the Sweeney case."
After having served that notice of his coming, he strolled casually down
the stairs--to overhear nothing more incriminating than Anne's earnest
exhortation: "Promise me not to take any foolish chances tomorrow," and
Boone's laugh, deprecating the apprehension. Boone held only one hand
now.
But Morgan ground his teeth. The young cub had doubtless been trying to
capitalize his petty part in the petty political game, he reflected.
That was about the thing one might expect from a youth pitchforked into
polite society out of a vermin-infested log cabin, where the women
smoked pipes and dipped snuff! But his own bearing was outwardly
unruffled as he took down his hat from the old mahogany hall stand.
"Mr. Wellver," he suggested--(he always called Boone Mr. Wellver,
because that was his way of indicating his line of aloofness against
distasteful intimacy)--"could you come to the office this evening for a
while? There's a matter I'd like to talk about."
Boone repressed the flash of surprise which the request brought into his
eyes. He knew of no business at the office in which he and Morgan had
shared responsibility, and heretofore Morgan had rather resented his
participation in any work more responsible or dignified than that of an
office boy or clerk.
"Why, yes," he answered. "I was going home, but of course if it's
important, I'll be there."
"I regard it as important."
Boone caught the intimation of threat, but Anne, knowing little of
law-office procedure, recognized only what she resentfully considered a
peremptory and supercilious note.
Morgan nodded to Anne, and let himself out of the door, and less than an
hour later Boone entered the office building, deserted now save for the
night watchman, and for scattered suites, here and there, where window
lights told of belated clerks toiling over ledgers, or lawyers over
briefs.
As the young man from the mountains let himself in through the door that
bore the name of his employer's firm, the other man was standing with
his back turned and his eyes fixed on some trifle on his desk. The back
of a standing figure, no less than its front, may be eloquent of its
feelings, and had the shoulder blades of Colonel Wallifarro's gifted son
been those of a hairy caveman, instead of an impeccably tailored modern,
there would perhaps have been bristles standing erect along his spine.
Wellver saw that warning of ugly mood in the instant before Morgan
wheeled, and he wheeled with a military quickness and precision.
"I was a little bit puzzled," said the younger man, meeting the glaring
eyes with a coldly steady glance, "at your asking me to come here
tonight. I couldn't think of any work we'd been doing together."
"I won't leave you in perplexity long," the wrathful voice of the other
assured him. "I asked you to come because I couldn't well say what
needed to be said under my father's roof--while you were a guest there."
"I take it, then, that it's something uncomplimentary?"
"I mean to go further than that."
Boone nodded, but he came a step nearer, and the lids narrowed over his
eyes. "Whatever you might feel like saying to me, Mr. Wallifarro," he
announced evenly, "would be a thing I reckon I could answer in a like
spirit. But because I owe your father so much--that I've got to be
mighty guarded--I hope you won't push me too far."
"I haven't the right to say whom my father shall permit in his house,"
declared Morgan with, as yet, a certain remnant of restraint upon his
anger, "but I do assert plainly and categorically that I shan't remain
silent under the abuse of that hospitality."
"I'm afraid you're still leaving me in considerable perplexity. I
believe you promised not to do that long."
"I'd rather not go into details--and I think you know what I mean. I
came down the stairs there a short while ago. You were with Anne--and I
didn't like the picture I saw."
"What picture?"
"For God's sake, at least be honest!" retorted Morgan passionately.
"Whatever barbarities mountain men have, they are presumed to be
outspoken and direct of speech."
"We generally aim to be. I'm asking _you_ to be the same."
"Very well. I mean to marry Anne, who is my cousin--and whose social
equal I am. It doesn't please me to have you confuse my father's welcome
with the idea of free and easy liberty. Is that clear?"
Morgan was glaring up into Boone's eyes, since Boone stood several
inches the taller, and Boone's fingers ached to take him by the neck and
shake him as a terrier does a rat. The need of remembering whose son he
was became a trying obligation.
"Does Anne--whose social equal you are--know--that you're going to marry
her?" he inquired, with a quiet which should have warned Morgan had he
just then been able to recognize warnings.
"Perhaps," was the curt rejoinder, and Boone laughed.
"No, Mr. Wallifarro," he said. "No--even that 'perhaps' is a lie. She
doesn't so much as suspect it. As for me, I know you are _not_ going to
marry her."
Morgan had turned and walked around behind his desk, and as Boone added
his paralyzing announcement, he threw open the drawer. "I aim to marry
her myself--when I've made good--if she'll have me."
Morgan halted, half bent over, and his eyes burned madly.
"You!" he exclaimed, with a boiling over of contemptuous rage. "You
damned baboon!"
The words had sent Wellver, like the force of uncoiled springs, vaulting
over the table, and his face had gone paste-white. Yet as he landed on
the far side he halted and drew himself rigidly straight, though to keep
his arms inactive at his sides he had to tense every sinew from wrist to
shoulder, until each fibre ached with the cramp of repression. He had
caught himself on the brink of murder lust, with the murder fog in his
eyes. He had caught himself and now he held himself with a desperate
sense of need, though he saw Morgan's fingers close over the stock of a
heavy revolver. He even smiled briefly as he noted that it was a gun
with an elegant pearl grip.
"If any other man of God's earth had fathered you," he said, each word
coming separately like the drippings from an icicle, "I'd prove that I
wasn't only a baboon but a gorilla--and I'd prove it by pulling the
snobbish head off of your damned, tailor-made shoulders. People don't
generally say things like that to me and go free."
Morgan too was pallid with anger, and in neither of them was any
tragedy-averting possibility of faltering courage. Wallifarro held the
pistol before him, and gave back a step--only one, and that one not in
retreat but in order that he might have a chance to speak before he was
forced to fire.
"I realize perfectly," he said, "that physically I'd be helpless in your
hands. I'm as much your inferior in brute strength as--as mentally and
socially--you are--mine. I don't want to take any advantage of you--it
seems that we have to fight.--I'm waiting for you to draw."
He paused there, breathing heavily, and Boone stood unmoving, his hands
still at his sides.
"I'm not armed," he said, and now he had recovered a less strained
composure. "Why should I come with a gun on me when a gentleman of high
social standing invites me to his office?"
"You're quibbling," Morgan burst out with a fresh access of fury.
"You've given me the right to demand satisfaction. You've got a pistol
in your desk there, haven't you?"
"Maybe so. Why do you ask? Isn't one gun enough for you when your man's
unarmed?"
"Great God," shouted the Colonel's son, "are you trying to goad me into
insanity? _You_ are going to need one sorely in a moment. I give you
fair warning. I'm tired of waiting. Will you arm yourself?"
Boone shook his head.
"I told you when I came in here why I wouldn't fight you. I can't fight
your father's son. You know as damned well as you know you're living
that no other man on earth could say the things you've said and go
unpunished--and you know just that damned well, too, why I'm holding my
hand."
As he paused, both were breathing as heavily as though their battle had
been violently physical instead of only verbal, and it was Boone who
spoke next.
"Put away that gun," he ordered curtly. "Unless you're still bent on
doing murder."
He stepped forward until his chest came in contact with the muzzle, his
own hands still unlifted.
"Get back!" barked Morgan, who stood with his back against the desk. "If
you crowd me I _will_ shoot."
There was a swift panther-like sweep of Boone's right arm and Morgan
felt fingers closing about his wrist. Then reason left him and he
pressed the trigger.
But no report started echoes in the empty building. Morgan felt only the
bone-crushing pressure that made his wrist ache as it was forced up, and
then he saw that the hand which had closed vice-like on it had one
finger thrust between the hammer and firing pin of his weapon.
The reaction left him dizzy, as he reflected that he had done all that
man could do toward homicide and had been halted only by his unarmed
adversary's quicker thought and action. Boone uncocked the firearm and
laid it on the table, under the other's hand.
"I guess you see now," said Morgan in a low voice, "that after this the
two of us can't stay in this office."
Boone nodded. "I know, too, that I've got to get out. You're his son,
but"--his voice leaped--"but I know that having held myself in this long
I can last a little longer. You're too sanctified for politics and dirty
work like that. But your father's in it--and until this election is over
I'm going to stay right with him--I'm going to do it because he's in
actual danger. After that I'll quit--I'm not afraid of cooling off too
much in the meantime, are you?"
"By God, NO!"