A WHIFF OF NEW ATMOSPHERE
Riles found the journey westward a tiresome affair. His was a soul
devoid of enthusiasm over Nature's wealth or magnitude, and the view
of the endless prairie excited in him no emotion other than a certain
vague covetousness. It was his first long rail journey in over twenty
years, but his thoughts were on the cost of travel rather than on the
wonderful strides which had been made in its comfort and convenience.
Riles indulged in no such luxuries as sleeping-car berths or meals
served in the diner, and two nights in a crowded day-coach, with such
hasty meals as could be bought for a quarter at wayside stations,
made the journey a somewhat exhausting one. Back in the observation
car, sleek commercial travellers, well groomed and well dressed and
enveloped in comfortable self-satisfaction, gravely discussed
politics, business or real estate, or exchanged the latest titbits of
wit accumulated in their travels. Riles probably could have bought
and paid for the worldly possessions of the whole group, and have
still a comfortable balance in the bank. But a sleeper berth cost the
price of two bushels of wheat, and even in a good year Riles' crop
seldom exceeded ten thousand bushels.
As fate would have it, Riles selected as the base of his homestead
operations the very foothill town to which Beulah Harris had come a
few weeks before. He sought out the cheapest hotel, and having thrown
his few belongings on the bed, betook himself to the bar-room, which
seemed the chief centre of activity, not only of the hotel itself,
but of the little town. Men were, lined three deep against the
capacious bar, shouting, swearing, and singing, and spending their
money with an abandon not to be found in millionaires. Riles was no
great student of human nature; he had a keener eye for a horse than a
fellow-man, but the motley crowd interested and, in a certain way,
amused him. Land-seekers, some in overalls and flannel shirts, some
in ready-mades with dirty celluloid collars and cheap, gaudy
ties--big, powerful men with the muscles and manners of the
horse--and others, lighter of frame, who apparently made an easier
and a better living by the employment of their brains; cowboys in
schaps and sun-burn and silk handkerchiefs; ranchers, stately English
and French stock, gentlemen still five thousand miles from the place
of their breeding; lumbermen and river-drivers, iron bodies set with
quick, combative intellects; guides, locaters, freighters, land
dealers, gamblers, sharks, and hangers-on wove back and forth plying
the shuttle from which the fabric of a new nation must be wrought.
Riles debated with himself whether the occasion justified the
expenditure of ten cents for a drink when a hand was placed on his
shoulder, and a voice said, "Have one with me, neighbour." He found
himself addressed by a man of about his own age, shorter and somewhat
lighter of frame and with a growing hint of corpulence. The stranger
wore a good pepper-and-salt suit, and the stone on his finger danced
like real diamond.
"Don't mind if I do, since y' mention it," said Riles, with an
attempted smile which his bad eye rendered futile. One of the
bartenders put something in his glass which cut all the way down, but
Riles speedily forgot it in a more exciting incident. The man in the
pepper-and-salt suit had laid half a dollar on the bar, _and no
change came back_. Riles congratulated himself on his own narrow
escape.
"You'll be looking for land?" inquired the stranger, when both were
breathing easily again.
"Well, maybe I am, and maybe I ain't," said Riles guardedly. He had
heard something of the ways of confidence men, and was determined not
to be taken for an easy mark.
"A man of some judgment, I see," said his new acquaintance, quite
unabashed. "Well, I don't blame you for keeping your own counsel. The
rush of people and money into the West has brought all kinds of
floaters in its train. Why"--with growing confidence--"the other
night--"
What happened the other night remained untold, for at that moment
came a clattering of horse's hoofs on the wooden walk at the door,
and a moment later a gaily arrayed cowboy rode right into the room,
his horse prancing and bodying from side to side to clear the crowd
away, then facing up to the bar as though it were his manger. Riles
expected trouble, and was surprised when the feat evoked a cheer from
the bystanders.
"That's Horseback George," said the man in the pepper-and-salt. "They
say he sleeps on his horse. Rides right into a bar as a matter of
course, and maybe shoots a few bottles off the shelves as a
demonstration before he goes out. But he always settles, and nobody
mind his little peculiarities."
Horseback George treated himself twice, proffering each glass to his
horse before touching it himself, and stroking with one hand the
animal's ears as he raised the liquor to his lips. Then he threw a
bill at the bar-tender and, with a wild whoop, slapped the horse's
legs with his hat, and dashed at a gallop out of the bar-room and
away down the trail.
The stranger was about to resume his conversation when a big fellow
near by shouted in a loud, raucous voice, "Come, pard, set 'er up.
Who's drinkin with me?"
No one answered, and the big man looked about the crowd with a
deepening scowl.
"So you're not drinkin'?" he said. "Fill two glasses, pard, and set
'em right there." He turned his back to the bar, resting his elbows
on it, and surveyed the crowd contemptuously, meanwhile chewing a
mouthful of tobacco with a rapid, swinging motion of the jaw.
"Guess you fellows don't know who _I_ am," he said. "I--"
"No, and don't give a damn," said a lumberjack near by.
"Well, you will before you're through. You're goin' t' drink with me,
an' you'll drink with both hands on the glass. Come up an' take your
med'cine." As he spoke his hand rested on his hip-pocket.
The head bar-tender poked him in the ribs. "No gun play here," he
said. "You're not in Montana now."
"I guess I know where I am," he retorted. "An' what d'ye think I pack
a gun for? T' tell the time by? This (not printable) is goin' t'
drink with me, or I'll fix him so's you c'n see through him both
ways." With the word he whipped out a revolver and fired into the
floor at the lumber-jack's feet, while a considerable part of the
crowd scurried for the door.
"Put up your gun, you (equally unprintable)," shouted the
lumber-jack, throwing his hat on the floor, "and I'll crack your
slats quicker'n you can count 'em."
"It's all right, Pete," said the bar-tender, addressing the
lumber-jack. "You can lick him hands down, but that won't pay the
bills if you get in the road of a bullet. Now you," turning to the
other, "stow that artillery, an' stow it quick, or I'll call the
Mounted Police."
For answer the stranger took a handful of tobacco from his mouth, and
with a swing of his arm plastered it over the mirror behind the bar.
"That for the Mounted Police," he said. "Now there's goin' t' be some
drinkin' or some shootin', an' maybe a little o' both." He ploughed
the floor with another bullet, and the crowd again visibly thinned
away. Riles had backed into a corner; the man in the pepper-and-salt
suit had disappeared.
Having no weapon, the lumber-jack kept his distance, but if epithets
could kill his bullying provoker would have been carried out a
corpse. The man with the revolver, on the other hand, seemed taking
his time, playing with his victim, like a wild beast sure of his
prey.
Suddenly there was another stir about the door, and a young fellow in
scarlet tunic and yellow-striped riding-pants walked briskly in. His
lithe figure, his clean boyish face, his military alertness, were in
striking contrast to the ambling, carelessly-dressed crowd. He had
taken in the situation at a glance, and walked, neither faster nor
slower, direct to the desperado. The latter found himself confronted
by an unexpected dilemma. If he took his gun off the lumber-jack to
cover the policeman he knew perfectly well that the promised
slat-cracking process would begin immediately. If the policeman had
only stood at the door and ordered him to put up his gun, or
parleyed, or thought of his skin as a policeman should, he would have
had time to plan his campaign. But this boy in scarlet was a
revelation of something new in policemen. It was only eight steps
from the door to where the outlaw stood, and those eight steps at
parade pace occupied about three seconds. The gentleman from Montana
was quick enough with his gun, but not particularly nimble in
intellect, and he never faced a situation quite like this before.
What was this policeman going to do, anyway? Would he never stop and
deliver his ultimatum? He had not even drawn his gun!
By this time the policeman was beside him. He did not seize him, nor
shout at him, nor menace him in any way, yet somewhere in his manner
and bearing was a sense of irresistible power.
"Perhaps you don't know that it's against the law to flourish a
revolver in this country," he said. "Better let me keep it for you
until you are leaving town."
"Against the law!" said the ruffian, now recovering himself. "That's
a good one. Why, ever'thin' I've done for twenty years has been
against the law. I cracked up the law for chicken-grit years ago."
"Not the Canadian law," said the Mounted Policeman. "You'll only
offend against it once, and it won't be the law that gets cracked."
"Thas' so?" sneered the other. "Then what'll happen?"
"I'll arrest you."
"You? I could eat you in three bites. I can lick you with one hand."
"How many like me do you think you could lick?" asked the policeman,
with imperturbable composure.
The man from Montana had removed his eye from the lumber-jack, who
was now dancing about in menacing attitudes.
"Forget it, Pete," ordered the policeman. "Now, how many like me can
you lick?"
"About six," said the other, speaking with much deliberation.
"All right," said Sergeant Grey. "Then my chief would send seven.
Now, will you come with me or wait for the seven? By the way," he
continued, "the lock-up is a sort of beastly place to stow a man,
especially when he's visiting the country for the first time. I think
I'll let you sleep here, on your promise to appear in court at ten
to-morrow morning. Let me help you to your room. But first, I'll have
to trouble you for your gun."
"What if I clear out through the night?"
"You won't--not very far." There was a metallic ring in the last
words that penetrated the shell of the man who had made a business of
breaking law for twenty years, and he finally handed over his
revolver.
"Search me if I know why I do it," he said, turning to the
bar-tender. "I could eat that kid in three bites."
"Yes," said the man behind. "But you couldn't digest the whole
British Empire, and that's what you've got to do if you start
nibbling on any part of it. Besides, he mightn't make as easy chewin'
as you think. You'd find him more brisket than sirloin when you get
your teeth into him. I've seen him throw an' handcuff a bigger man
than you right in this room, an' never turn a hair in doin' it. An'
take it from me, stranger, what he says about sendin' seven if the
job's too big for six is gospel, an' the quicker you get that in your
block the safer your hide'll be in Canada."
Sharp at ten the next morning the man who made a business of breaking
the law appeared before the magistrate, paid a fine of fifty dollars,
and surrendered his weapon to the King's officers for good. When he
returned to the hotel and demanded his bill for the night's lodging
he was surprised to learn he had none.
"Sergeant Grey settled for you," said the clerk with a faint smile.
"Said you were his guest last night."
It was the first time in a long experience that he had found that law
could be rigorous and yet absolutely just. It upset his whole crude
philosophy of his relation to society and the State, and stretched
before him the straight and easy road to citizenship.
To return to the scene of the night before. When the bar-room had
settled down to normal, and no one showed a disposition to do any
general buying, Riles betook himself to his room. He had just got
into bed when a knock came at the door.
"Who's there?" he demanded.
"Gen'l'man to see Mr. Riles," said the porter.
"Well, shoot 'im in. The door ain't locked," said Riles, in
considerable wonderment as to who his visitor might be.
The door opened, and a well-dressed man of average height, with
carefully combed hair and clean-shaven face, save for a light
moustache, stood revealed in the uncertain glow of the match with
which Riles was endeavouring to find his lamp. His visitor was a man
of twenty-eight or thirty years, with clear eyes and well-cut face,
and yet with some subtle quality in his expression that implied that
under his fair exterior lay a deep, cunning, and that he was a man
not to be trusted in matters where his own interests might be at
stake.
"Hello, Hiram," he said quietly. "You didn't figure on seeing me
here, did you?"
At first glance Riles did not recognize him, and he raised the oil
lamp to turn the light better on the stranger's face.
"Well, if it ain't Gardiner!" he exclaimed. "Where in Sam Hill did
you come from?"
"It's a big country, Hiram," he said with a touch of bitterness, "but
not big enough for a fellow to lose himself in." He sat down on the
side of the bed and lit a cigar, tendering another to Riles, and the
two men puffed in silence for a few minutes.
"Yes, I've hit a lot of trail since I saw you last," he continued,
"and when you're in the shadow of the Rockies you're a long piece
from Plainville. How's the old burg? Dead as ever?"
"About the same," said Riles. "You don't seem t' be wastin' no love
on it."
"Nothing to speak of," said the other, slowly flicking the ash from
his cigar. "Nothing to speak of. You know I got a raw deal there,
Hiram, and it ain't likely I'd get enthusiastic over it."
"Well, when a fellow gets up against the law an' has t' clear out,"
said Riles, with great candour, "that's his funeral. As for me, I
ain't got nothin' agen Plainville. You made a little money there
yourself, didn't you?"
The younger man leaned back and slowly puffed circles of fragrant
smoke at the ceiling, while Riles surveyed him from the head of the
bed. He had been a business man in Plainville, but had become
involved in a theft case, and had managed to escape from the town
simply because a fellow-man whom he had wronged did not trouble to
press the matter against him. Riles' acquaintance with him had not
been close; except in a business way they had moved in other circles,
and he was surprised and a little puzzled that Gardiner should find
him out on the first night of his presence in the New West.
Gardiner showed no disposition to reopen the conversation about
Plainville, so at last Riles asked, "How d'you know I was here?"
"Saw your scrawl on the register," he said, "and I've seen it too
often on wheat tickets to forget it. Thought I'd look you up. Maybe
can be of some service to you here. What are you chasing--more land?"
"Well, I won't say that, exactly, but I kind o' thought I'd come out
and look over some of this stuff the Gover'ment's givin' away, before
the furriners gets it all. Guess if there's any-thin' free goin' us
men that pioneered one province should get it on the next."
"You don't learn anything, Riles, do you? You don't know anything
more about making money than you did twenty years ago."
"Well, maybe I don't, and maybe I do, but I can pay my way, an' I can
go back t' Plainville when I like, too."
"Don't get hot," said Gardiner, with unshaken composure. "I'm just
trying to put you wise to yourself. Don't make any difference to me
if you spend your whole life sod-busting; it's your life--spend it
any way you like. But it's only men who don't know any better that go
on to the land nowadays. It's a lot easier to make a living out of
farmers than out of farming."
"Well, p'r'aps so, but that's more in your line. I never--"
"That's just what I say--you never learn. Now look at me. I ain't
wearing my last suit, nor spending my last dollar, either, and I
haven't done what you'd call a day's work since I came West. There's
other things so much easier to do."
"Meanin'?--"
"Oh, lots of things. Remittance men, for instance. These woods are
full of them. Chaps that never could track straight in the old ruts,
and were sent out here where there aren't any ruts at all. They're
not a bad bunch; brought up like gentlemen, most of 'em; play the
piano and talk in three or four languages, and all that kind of
stuff, but they're simply dangerous with money. So when it comes to
hand, in the public interest they have to be separated from it."
"Sounds interestin'," said Riles.
"'Tis, too, especially when one of 'em don't take to the treatment
and lays for you with a gun. But my hair's all there. That's what
comes of wearing a tall hat."
"Tell me," said Riles, his face lit up with interest, "how d'ye do
it?"
"'Twouldn't do you any good," said Gardiner. "You've steered too many
plough-handles to be very nimble with your fingers. But there's often
other game to be picked up, if a man knows where to look for it."
"Well, I wisht I knew," Riles confessed. "Not anythin' crooked, y'
know, but something like--well, something like you're doin'. I've
worked hard for ev'ry nickel I ever made, an' I reckon if there's
easy money goin' I've a right t' get some of it."
"Now you're beginning to wake up. Though, mind you, some of it isn't
as easy as it looks. You've got to know your business, just like
farming or anything else. But you can generally land something to
live on, even if it ain't a big stake. Take me now, for instance. I
ain't doing anything that a preacher mightn't do. Happened to fall in
with a fellow owns a ranch up the river here. Cleaned him empty one
night at cards--stood him up for his last cent, and he kind o' took a
notion to me. Well, he's the son of a duke or an earl, or some such
thing, and not long ago the Governor goes and dies on him, leaving
him a few castles and bric-a-brac like that and some wagon-loads of
money. So he had to go home for the time being, and as he wanted
someone to run his ranch, who should he think of but me. Suppose he
thought if I happened to bet it at poker some night I wouldn't lose
it, and that's some consideration. He's got a thousand acres or so of
land up there, with a dozen cayuses on it, and he gives me
twenty-five pounds a month, with board and lodging and open credit at
the Trading Company, to see that it doesn't walk away in his absence.
Besides that, I hire a man to do the work, and charge his wages up in
the expenses. Got a good man, too--one of those fellows who don't
know any better than work for a living. By the way, perhaps you know
him--comes from Plainville part--Travers his name is?"
"Sure," said Riles. "He worked for Harris, until they had a row and
he lit out. It kind o' balled Harris up, too, although he'd never
admit it. If he'd Travers there it'd be easier for him t' get away
now."
"Where's Harris going?"
"He ain't goin'; he's comin'. Comin' out here in a few days after me.
I'm his kind o' advance guard, spyin' out the land."
"You don't say? Well, see and make him come through with the
expenses. If I was travelling for Jack Harris I wouldn't be sleeping
in a hen-coop like this. He's worth yards of money, ain't he?"
"Oh, some, I guess, but perhaps not so much more'n his neighbours."
"Nothing personal, Riles. You've got to get over that narrowness if
you're going to get into the bigger game I've been telling you about.
I don't care how much you're worth--how much is Harris bringing with
him?"
"Couple of hundred dollars, likely."
"I wouldn't show my hand for that. How much can he raise?"
"Well, supposin' he sold the old farm--"
"Now don't do any reckless supposing. Will he sell the farm?"
"Sure, he'll sell it if he sees something better."
"How much can he get for it?"
"Thirty or forty thousand dollars."
"That's more like a stake. Hiram, it's up to you and me to show him
something better--and to show it to him when he's alone...You're
tired to-night. Sleep it out, and we'll drive over to the ranch
to-morrow together. We ought to pick something better than a
homestead out of this."