VIGILANTES
On the morning after the episode in the Northern, Glenister awoke under
a weight of discouragement and desolation. The past twenty-four hours
with their manifold experiences seemed distant and unreal. At breakfast
he was ashamed to tell Dextry of the gambling debauch, for he had dealt
treacherously with the old man in risking half of the mine, even though
they had agreed that either might do as he chose with his interest,
regardless of the other. It all seemed like a nightmare, those tense
moments when he lay above the receiver’s office and felt his belief in
the one woman slipping away, the frenzied thirst which Cherry Malotte
had checked, the senseless, unreasoning lust for play that possessed him
later. This lapse was the last stand of his old, untamed instincts. The
embers of revolt in him were dead. He felt that he would never again
lose mastery of himself, that his passions would never best him
hereafter.
Dextry spoke. “We had a meeting of the ‘Strangles’ last night.” He
always spoke of the Vigilantes in that way, because of his early Western
training.
“What was done?”
“They decided to act quick and do any odd jobs of lynchin’,
claim-jumpin’, or such as needs doin’. There’s a lot of law sharps and
storekeepers in the bunch who figure McNamara’s gang will wipe them off
the map next.”
“It was bound to come to this.”
“They talked of ejectin’ the receiver’s men and puttin’ all us fellers
back on our mines.”
“Good. How many can we count on to help us?”
“About sixty. We’ve kept the number down, and only taken men with so
much property that they’ll have to keep their mouths shut.”
“I wish we might engineer some kind of an encounter with the court crowd
and create such an uproar that it would reach Washington. Everything
else has failed, and our last chance seems to be for the government to
step in; that is, unless Bill Wheaton can do something with the
California courts.”
“I don’t count on him. McNamara don’t care for California courts no
more’n he would for a boy with a pea-shooter--he’s got too much pull at
headquarters. If the ‘Stranglers’ don’t do no good, we’d better go in
an’ clean out the bunch like we was killin’ snakes. If that fails, I’m
goin’ out to the States an’ be a doctor.”
“A doctor? What for?”
“I read somewhere that in the United States every year there is forty
million gallons of whiskey used for medical purposes.”
Glenister laughed. “Speaking of whiskey, Dex--I notice that you’ve been
drinking pretty hard of late--that is, hard for you.”
The old man shook his head. “You’re mistaken. It ain’t hard for me.”
“Well, hard or easy, you’d better cut it out.”
It was some time later that one of the detectives employed by the
Swedes met Glenister on Front Street, and by an almost imperceptible
sign signified his desire to speak with him. When they were alone he
said:
“You’re being shadowed.”
“I’ve known that for a long time.”
“The district-attorney has put on some new men. I’ve fixed the woman who
rooms next to him, and through her I’ve got a line on some of them, but
I haven’t spotted them all. They’re bad ones--‘up-river’ men
mostly--remnants of Soapy Smith’s Skagway gang. They won’t stop at
anything.”
“Thank you--I’ll keep my eyes open.”
A few nights after, Glenister had reason to recall the words of the
sleuth and to realize that the game was growing close and desperate. To
reach his cabin, which sat on the outskirts of the town, he ordinarily
followed one of the plank walks which wound through the confusion of
tents, warehouses, and cottages lying back of the two principal streets
along the water front. This part of the city was not laid out in
rectangular blocks, for in the early rush the first-comers had seized
whatever pieces of ground they found vacant and erected thereon some
kind of buildings to make good their titles. There resulted a formless
jumble of huts, cabins, and sheds, penetrated by no cross streets and
quite unlighted. At night, one leaving the illuminated portion of the
town found this darkness intensified.
Glenister knew his course so well that he could have walked it
blindfolded. Nearing a corner of the warehouse this evening he
remembered that the planking at this point was torn up, so, to avoid the
mud, he leaped lightly across. Simultaneously with his jump he detected
a movement in the shadows that banked the wall at his elbow and saw the
flaming spurt of a revolver-shot. The man had crouched behind the
building and was so close that it seemed impossible to miss. Glenister
fell heavily upon his side and the thought flashed over him, “McNamara’s
thugs have shot me.”
His assailant leaped out from his hiding-place and ran down the walk,
the sound of his quick, soft footfalls thudding faintly out into the
silence. The young man felt no pain, however, so scrambled to his feet,
felt himself over with care, and then swore roundly. He was untouched;
the other had missed him cleanly. The report, coming while he was in the
act of leaping, had startled him so that he had lost his balance,
slipped upon the wet boards, and fallen. His assailant was lost in the
darkness before he could rise. Pursuit was out of the question, so he
continued homeward, considerably shaken, and related the incident to
Dextry.
“You think it was some of McNamara’s work, eh?” Dextry inquired when he
had finished.
“Of course. Didn’t the detective warn me to-day?”
Dextry shook his head. “It don’t seem like the game is that far along
yet. The time is coming when we’ll go to the mat with them people, but
they’ve got the aige on us now, so what could they gain by putting you
away? I don’t believe it’s them, but whoever it is, you’d better be
careful or you’ll be got.”
“Suppose we come home together after this,” Roy suggested, and they
arranged to do so, realizing that danger lurked in the dark corners and
that it was in some such lonely spot that the deed would be tried again.
They experienced no trouble for a time, though on nearing their cabin
one night the younger man fancied that he saw a shadow glide away from
its vicinity and out into the blackness of the tundra, as though some
one had stood at his very door waiting for him, then became frightened
at the two figures approaching. Dextry had not observed it, however, and
Glenister was not positive himself, but it served to give him the
uncanny feeling that some determined, unscrupulous force was bent on his
destruction. He determined to go nowhere unarmed.
A few evenings later he went home early and was busied in writing when
Dextry came in about ten o’clock. The old miner hung up his coat before
speaking, lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, then, amid mouthfuls of
smoke, began:
“I had my own toes over the edge to-night. I was mistook for you, which
compliment I don’t aim to have repeated.”
Glenister questioned him eagerly.
“We’re about the same height an’ these hats of ours are alike. Just as I
come by that lumber-pile down yonder, a man hopped out an throwed a
‘gat’ under my nose. He was quicker than light, and near blowed my skelp
into the next block before he saw who I was; then he dropped his weepon
and said:
“‘My mistake. Go on.’ I accepted his apology.”
“Could you see who he was?”
“Sure. Guess.”
“I can’t.”
“It was the Bronco Kid.”
“Lord!” ejaculated Glenister. “Do you think he’s after me?”
“He ain’t after nobody else, an’, take my word for it, it’s got nothin’
to do with McNamara nor that gamblin’ row. He’s too game for that.
There’s some other reason.”
This was the first mention Dextry had made of the night at the Northern.
“I don’t know why he should have it in for me--I never did him any
favors,” Glenister remarked, cynically.
“Well, you watch out, anyhow. I’d sooner face McNamara an’ all the
crooks he can hire than that gambler.”
During the next few days Roy undertook to meet the proprietor of the
Northern face to face, but the Kid had vanished completely from his
haunts. He was not in his gambling-hall at night nor on the street by
day. The young man was still looking for him on the evening of the dance
at the hotel, when he chanced to meet one of the Vigilantes, who
inquired of him:
“Aren’t you late for the meeting?”
“What meeting?”
After seeing that they were alone, the other stated:
“There’s an assembly to-night at eleven o’clock. Something important, I
think. I supposed, of course, you knew about it.”
“It’s strange I wasn’t notified,” said Roy. “It’s probably an oversight.
I’ll go along with you.”
Together they crossed the river to the less frequented part of town and
knocked at the door of a large, unlighted warehouse, flanked by a high
board fence. The building faced the street, but was enclosed on the
other three sides by this ten-foot wall, inside of which were stored
large quantities of coal and lumber. After some delay they were
admitted, and, passing down through the dim-lit, high-banked lanes of
merchandise, came to the rear room, where they were admitted again.
This compartment had been fitted up for the warm storage of perishable
goods during the cold weather, and, being without windows, made an ideal
place for clandestine gatherings.
Glenister was astonished to find every man of the organization present,
including Dextry, whom he supposed to have gone home an hour since.
Evidently a discussion had been in progress, for a chairman was
presiding, and the boxes, kegs, and bales of goods had been shoved back
against the walls for seats. On these were ranged the threescore men of
the “Stranglers,” their serious faces lighted imperfectly by scattered
lanterns. A certain constraint seized them upon Glenister’s entrance;
the chairman was embarrassed. It was but momentary, however. Glenister
himself felt that tragedy was in the air, for it showed in the men’s
attitudes and spoke eloquently from their strained faces. He was about
to question the man next to him when the presiding officer continued:
“We will assemble here quietly with our arms at one o’clock. And let me
caution you again not to talk or do anything to scare the birds away.”
Glenister arose. “I came late, Mr. Chairman, so I missed hearing your
plan I gather that you’re out for business, however, and I want to be in
it. May I ask what is on foot?”
“Certainly. Things have reached such a pass that moderate means are
useless. We have decided to act, and act quickly. We have exhausted
every legal resource and now we’re going to stamp out this gang of
robbers in our own way. We will get together in an hour, divide into
three groups of twenty men, each with a leader, then go to the houses
of McNamara, Stillman, and Voorhees, take them prisoners, and--” He
waved his hand in a large gesture.
Glenister made no answer for a moment, while the crowd watched him
intently.
“You have discussed this fully?” he asked.
“We have. It has been voted on, and we’re unanimous.”
“My friends, when I stepped into this room just now I felt that I wasn’t
wanted. Why, I don’t know, because I have had more to do with organizing
this movement than any of you, and because I have suffered just as much
as the rest. I want to know if I was omitted from this meeting
intentionally.”
“This is an embarrassing position to put me in,” said the chairman,
gravely. “But I shall answer as spokesman for these men if they wish.”
“Yes. Go ahead,” said those around the room.
“We don’t question your loyalty, Mr. Glenister, but we didn’t ask you to
this meeting because we know your attitude--perhaps I’d better say
sentiment--regarding Judge Stillman’s niece--er--family. It has come to
us from various sources that you have been affected to the prejudice of
your own and your partner’s interest. Now, there isn’t going to be any
sentiment in the affairs of the Vigilantes. We are going to do justice,
and we thought the simplest way was to ignore you in this matter and
spare all discussion and hard feeling in every quarter.”
“It’s a lie!” shouted the young man, hoarsely. “A damned lie! You
wouldn’t let me in for fear I’d kick, eh? Well, you were right. I will
kick. You’ve hinted about my feelings for Miss Chester. Let me tell you
that she is engaged to marry McNamara, and that she’s nothing to me.
Now, then, let me tell you, further, that you won’t break into her house
and hang her uncle, even if he is a reprobate. No, sir! This isn’t the
time for violence of that sort--we’ll win without it. If we can’t, let’s
fight like men, and not hunt in a pack like wolves. If you want to do
something, put us back on our mines and help us hold them, but, for
God’s sake, don’t descend to assassination and the tactics of the
Mafia!”
“We knew you would make that kind of a talk,” said the speaker, while
the rest murmured grudgingly. One of them spoke up.
“We’ve talked this over in cold blood, Glenister, and it’s a question of
their lives or our liberty. The law don’t enter into it.”
“That’s right,” echoed another at his elbow. “We can’t seize the claims,
because McNamara’s got soldiers to back him up. They’d shoot us down.
You ought to be the last one to object.”
He saw that dispute was futile. Determination was stamped on their faces
too plainly for mistake, and his argument had no more effect on them
than had the pale rays of the lantern beside him, yet he continued:
“I don’t deny that McNamara deserves lynching, but Stillman doesn’t.
He’s a weak old man”--some one laughed derisively--“and there’s a woman
in the house. He’s all she has in the world to depend upon, and you
would have to kill her to get at him. If you _must_ follow this course,
take the others, but leave him alone.”
They only shook their heads, while several pushed by him even as he
spoke. “We’re going to distribute our favors equal,” said a man as he
left. They were actuated by what they called justice, and he could not
sway them. The life and welfare of the North were in their hands, as
they thought, and there was not one to hesitate. Glenister implored the
chairman, but the man answered him:
“It’s too late for further discussion, and let me remind you of your
promise. You’re bound by every obligation that exists for an honorable
man--”
“Oh, don’t think that I’ll give the snap away!” said the other; “but I
warn you again not to enter Stillman’s house.”
He followed out into the night to find that Dextry had disappeared,
evidently wishing to avoid argument. Roy had seen signs of unrest
beneath the prospector’s restraint during the past few days, and
indications of a fierce hunger to vent his spleen on the men who had
robbed him of his most sacred rights. He was of an intolerant,
vindictive nature that would go to any length for vengeance. Retribution
was part of his creed.
On his way home, the young man looked at his watch, to find that he had
but an hour to determine his course. Instinct prompted him to join his
friends and to even the score with the men who had injured him so
bitterly, for, measured by standards of the frontier, they were pirates
with their lives forfeit. Yet, he could not countenance this step. If
only the Vigilantes would be content with making an example--but he knew
they would not. The blood hunger of a mob is easy to whet and hard to
hold. McNamara would resist, as would Voorhees and the
district-attorney, then there would be bloodshed, riot, chaos. The
soldiers would be called out and martial law declared, the streets would
become skirmish-grounds. The Vigilantes would rout them without
question, for every citizen of the North would rally to their aid, and
such men could not be stopped. The Judge would go down with the rest of
the ring, and what would happen to--her?
He took down his Winchester, oiled and cleaned it, then buckled on a
belt of cartridges. Still he wrestled with himself. He felt that he was
being ground between his loyalty to the Vigilantes and his own
conscience. The girl was one of the gang, he reasoned--she had schemed
with them to betray him through his love, and she was pledged to the one
man in the world whom he hated with fanatical fury. Why should he think
of her in this hour? Six months back he would have looked with jealous
eyes upon the right to lead the Vigilantes, but this change that had
mastered him--what was it? Not cowardice, nor caution. No. Yet, being
intangible, it was none the less marked, as his friends had shown him an
hour since.
He slipped out into the night. The mob might do as it pleased elsewhere,
but no man should enter her house. He found a light shining from her
parlor window, and, noting the shade up a few inches, stole close.
Peering through, he discovered Struve and Helen talking. He slunk back
into the shadows and remained hidden for a considerable time after the
lawyer left, for the dancers were returning from the hotel and passed
close by. When the last group had chattered away down the street, he
returned to the front of the house and, mounting the steps, knocked
sharply. As Helen appeared at the door, he stepped inside and closed it
after him.
The girl’s hair lay upon her neck and shoulders in tumbled brown
masses, while her breast heaved tumultuously at the sudden, grim sight
of him. She stepped back against the wall, her wondrous, deep, gray eyes
wide and troubled, the blush of modesty struggling with the pallor of
dismay.
The picture pained him like a knife-thrust. This girl was for his
bitterest enemy--no hope of her was for him. He forgot for a moment that
she was false and plotting, then, recalling it, spoke as roughly as he
might and stated his errand. Then the old man had appeared on the stairs
above, speechless with fright at what he overheard. It was evident that
his nerves, so sorely strained by the events of the past week, were now
snapped utterly. A human soul naked and panic-stricken is no pleasant
sight, so Glenister dropped his eyes and addressed the girl again:
“Don’t take anything with you. Just dress and come with me.”
The creature on the stairs above stammered and stuttered, inquiringly:
“What outrage is this, Mr. Glenister?”
“The people of Nome are up in arms, and I’ve come to save you. Don’t
stop to argue.” He spoke impatiently.
“Is this some r-ruse to get me into your power?”
“Uncle Arthur!” exclaimed the girl, sharply. Her eyes met Glenister’s
and begged him to take no offence.
“I don’t understand this atrocity. They must be mad!” wailed the Judge.
“You run over to the jail, Mr. Glenister, and tell Voorhees to hurry
guards here to protect me. Helen, ’phone to the military post and give
the alarm. Tell them the soldiers must come at once.”
“Hold on!” said Glenister. “There’s no use of doing that--the wires are
cut; and I won’t notify Voorhees--he can take care of himself. I came to
help you, and if you want to escape you’ll stop talking and hurry up.”
“I don’t know what to do,” said Stillman, torn by terror and indecision.
“You wouldn’t hurt an old man, would you? Wait! I’ll be down in a
minute.”
He scrambled up the stairs, tripping on his robe, seemingly forgetting
his niece till she called up to him, sharply:
“Stop, Uncle Arthur! You mustn’t _run away_.” She stood erect and
determined. “You wouldn’t do _that_, would you? This is our house. You
represent the law and the dignity of the government. You mustn’t fear a
mob of ruffians. We will stay here and meet them, of course.”
“Good Lord!” said Glenister. “That’s madness. These men aren’t ruffians;
they are the best citizens of Nome. You don’t realize that this is
Alaska and that they have sworn to wipe out McNamara’s gang. Come
along.”
“Thank you for your good intentions,” she said, “but we have done
nothing to run away from. We will get ready to meet these cowards. You
had better go or they will find you here.”
She moved up the stairs, and, taking the Judge by the arm, led him with
her. Of a sudden she had assumed control of the situation unfalteringly,
and both men felt the impossibility of thwarting her. Pausing at the
top, she turned and looked down.
“We are grateful for your efforts just the same. Good-night.”
“Oh, I’m not going,” said the young man. “If you stick I’ll do the
same.” He made the rounds of the first-floor rooms, locking doors and
windows. As a place of defence it was hopeless, and he saw that he would
have to make his stand up-stairs. When sufficient time had elapsed he
called up to Helen:
“May I come?”
“Yes,” she replied. So he ascended, to find Stillman in the hall, half
clothed and cowering, while by the light from the front chamber he saw
her finishing her toilet.
“Won’t you come with me--it’s our last chance?” She only shook her head.
“Well, then, put out the light. I’ll stand at that front window, and
when my eyes get used to the darkness I’ll be able to see them before
they reach the gate.”
She did as directed, taking her place beside him at the opening, while
the Judge crept in and sat upon the bed, his heavy breathing the only
sound in the room. The two young people stood so close beside each other
that the sweet scent of her person awoke in him an almost irresistible
longing. He forgot her treachery again, forgot that she was another’s,
forgot all save that he loved her truly and purely, with a love which
was like an agony to him. Her shoulder brushed his arm; he heard the
soft rustling of her garment at her breast as she breathed. Some one
passed in the street, and she laid a hand upon him fearfully. It was
very cold, very tiny, and very soft, but he made no move to take it. The
moments dragged along, still, tense, interminable. Occasionally she
leaned towards him, and he stooped to catch her whispered words. At such
times her breath beat warm against his cheek, and he closed his teeth
stubbornly. Out in the night a wolf-dog saddened the air, then came the
sound of others wrangling and snarling in a near-by corral. This is a
chickless land and no cock-crow breaks the midnight peace. The suspense
enhanced the Judge’s perturbation till his chattering teeth sounded like
castanets. Now and then he groaned.
The watchers had lost track of time when their strained eyes detected
dark blots materializing out of the shadows.
“There they come,” whispered Glenister, forcing her back from the
aperture; but she would not be denied, and returned to his side.
As the foremost figures reached the gate, Roy leaned forth and spoke,
not loudly, but in tones that sliced through the silence, sharp, clean,
and without warning.
“Halt! Don’t come inside the fence.” There was an instant’s confusion;
then, before the men beneath had time to answer or take action, he
continued: “This is Roy Glenister talking. I told you not to molest
these people and I warn you again. We’re ready for you.”
The leader spoke. “You’re a traitor, Glenister.”
He winced. “Perhaps I am. You betrayed me first, though; and, traitor or
not, you can’t come into this house.”
There was a murmur at this, and some one said:
“Miss Chester is safe. All we want is the Judge. We won’t hang him, not
if he’ll wear this suit we brought along. He needn’t be afraid. Tar is
good for the skin.”
“Oh, my God!” groaned the limb of the law.
Suddenly a man came running down the planked pavement and into the
group.
“McNamara’s gone, and so’s the marshal and the rest,” he panted. There
was a moment’s silence, and then the leader growled to his men, “Scatter
out and rush the house, boys.” He raised his voice to the man in the
window. “This is your work--you damned turncoat.” His followers melted
away to right and left, vaulted the fence, and dodged into the shelter
of the walls. The click, click of Glenister’s Winchester sounded through
the room while the sweat stood out on him. He wondered if he could do
this deed, if he could really fire on these people. He wondered if his
muscles would not wither and paralyze before they obeyed his command.
Helen crowded past him and, leaning half out of the opening, called
loudly, her voice ringing clear and true:
“Wait! Wait a moment. I have something to say. Mr. Glenister didn’t warn
them. They thought you were going to attack the mines and so they rode
out there before midnight. I am telling you the truth, really. They left
hours ago.” It was the first sign she had made, and they recognized her
to a man.
There were uncertain mutterings below till a new man raised his voice.
Both Roy and Helen recognized Dextry.
“Boys, we’ve overplayed. We don’t want _these_ people--McNamara’s our
meat. Old bald-face up yonder has to do what he’s told, and I’m ag’in’
this twenty-to-one midnight work. I’m goin’ home.” There were some
whisperings, then the original spokesman called for Judge Stillman. The
old man tottered to the window, a palsied, terror-stricken object. The
girl was glad he could not be seen from below.
“We won’t hurt you this time, Judge, but you’ve gone far enough. We’ll
give you another chance, then, if you don’t make good, we’ll stretch you
to a lamppost. Take this as a warning.”
“I--s-shall do my d-d-duty,” said the Judge.
The men disappeared into the darkness, and when they had gone Glenister
closed the window, pulled down the shades, and lighted a lamp. He knew
by how narrow a margin a tragedy had been averted. If he had fired on
these men his shot would have kindled a feud which would have consumed
every vestige of the court crowd and himself among them. He would have
fallen under a false banner, and his life would not have reached to the
next sunset. Perhaps it was forfeit now--he could not tell. The
Vigilantes would probably look upon his part as traitorous; and, at the
very least, he had cut himself off from their support, the only support
the Northland offered him. Henceforth he was a renegade, a pariah, hated
alike by both factions. He purposely avoided sight of Stillman and
turned his back when the Judge extended his hand with expressions of
gratitude. His work was done and he wished to leave this house. Helen
followed him down to the door and, as he opened it, laid her hand upon
his sleeve.
“Words are feeble things, and I can never make amends for all you’ve
done for us.”
“For _us_!” cried Roy, with a break in his voice. “Do you think I
sacrificed my honor, betrayed my friends, killed my last hope,
ostracized myself, for ‘_us_’? This is the last time I’ll trouble you.
Perhaps the last time I’ll see you. No matter what else you’ve done,
however, you’ve taught me a lesson, and I thank you for it. I have found
myself at last. I’m not an Eskimo any longer--I’m a man!”
“You’ve always been that,” she said. “I don’t understand as much about
this affair as I want to, and it seems to me that no one will explain
it. I’m very stupid, I guess; but won’t you come back to-morrow and tell
it to me?”
“No,” he said, roughly. “You’re not of my people. McNamara and his are
no friends of mine, and I’m no friend of theirs.” He was half down the
steps before she said, softly:
“Good-night, and God bless you--friend.”
She returned to the Judge, who was in a pitiable state, and for a long
time she labored to soothe him as though he were a child. She undertook
to question him about the things which lay uppermost in her mind and
which this night had half revealed, but he became fretful and irritated
at the mention of mines and mining. She sat beside his bed till he dozed
off, puzzling to discover what lay behind the hints she had heard, till
her brain and body matched in absolute weariness. The reflex of the
day’s excitement sapped her strength till she could barely creep to her
own couch, where she rolled and sighed--too tired to sleep at once. She
awoke finally, with one last nervous flicker, before complete oblivion
took her. A sentence was on her mind--it almost seemed as though she had
spoken it aloud:
“The handsomest woman in the North ... but Glenister ran away.”