SETTING THE TRAP
Notwithstanding the exhaustion occasioned by his journey Riles was
early about. The hotel bed was strange to him, and the noises that
floated up from the bar-room interrupted his slumbers. At least, he
told himself it was the noises, but the fact is a great new thought
had been sown in his brain, and had started the cells whirling in
dizzy speculation. The unexpected meeting with Gardiner, the latter's
evident prosperity, and his frank contempt for men who made their
living by labour, had left a deep impression upon Riles. He had no
idea by what means Gardiner proposed that they should possess
themselves of Harris's money, and he felt some doubt about any such
attempt being rewarded with success. Nevertheless, Gardiner seemed to
think the matter a simple one enough, and Gardiner's good clothes and
good cigars were evidence of his ability to carry his plans into
effect.
The streets had not yet assumed their morning activity when Riles
emerged from the hotel, but the unclouded Alberta sunshine was
bathing every atom of out-of-doors in a warmth and brilliance that
might have found, and in very truth did find, a keen response in the
inanimate objects of its affection. The jubilant laugh of running
mountain water rippled through the quiet air, fragrant with the
perfume of balm-of-Gilead and balsam; to the eastward the sunshine
poured into broad valleys of undulating, sweeping plain, and in the
west the great mountains, clad in their eternal robes of white,
loomed silent and impressive in their majesty. Even Riles stopped to
look at them, and they stirred in him an emotion that was not
altogether profane--a faint, undefined consciousness of the puniness
of man and the might of his Creator. No one can live for long in the
presence of the mountains without that consciousness, and it is a
great day for the mountain-dweller when he learns to distinguish
between the puniness of man, the animal, and the infinity of man, the
thinking soul. Riles breakfasted as soon as the dining-room was
opened, eating his meal hurriedly, as he always did, albeit the
French-fried potatoes, to which he was unaccustomed, could be poised
on his knife only with considerable effort. Then he sat down in an
arm-chair on the shady side of the hotel to wait for Gardiner. He had
suddenly lost his interest in the free lands which had been the
purpose of his journey.
His wait was longer than he had expected, and he broke it several
times by strolls about the little town. In size it was much the same
as Plainville, but that was the chief point of resemblance. True, it
had its typical stores, selling everything from silks to coal oil;
its blacksmiths' shops, ringing with the hammer of the busy smith on
ploughshare or horseshoe; its implement agencies, with rows of
gaudily-painted wagons, mowers, and binders obstructing the
thoroughfare, and the hempen smell of new binder twine floating from
the hot recess of their iron-covered storehouses; a couple of banks,
occupying the best corners, and barber shops and pool-rooms in
apparent excess of the needs of the population. All these he might
have found in Plainville, but there were here in addition
half-a-dozen real estate offices, with a score or more curbstone
dealers, locaters, commission-splitters, and go-betweens, and the
number and size of the livery stables gave some clue to the amount of
prospecting going on from this base of supplies. The streets were
lined with traffic. Riles estimated that in two hours as many teams
passed him as might be seen in Plainville in a week; long rows of
box-cars were unloading on the side tracks; farmers' effects and
household goods of every description were piled in great heaps about
the railway yards; while horses, cattle, pigs, and poultry
contributed to the dust and din of the settlers' operations. Great
wagons of lumber were being loaded at the lumber yards, and an
unbroken procession of wagons and farm machinery of every description
was wending its way slowly into the distance where lay hope of home
or fortune for the new settler.
It was almost noon when Gardiner appeared on the scene. "You don't
hurt you'self in the mornin's," was Riles' greeting.
"Don't need to," he answered cheerily. "Besides, I'd a long session
after I left you last night. No, no particulars at present. I told
you you had spoiled your hands for that kind of work. How d'ye like
this air? Isn't that something worth breathing?"
"Good enough," said Riles, "but I didn't come out here for air."
"No, you came for land. I'm surprised you're not out bouncing over
the prairie in a buckboard long before this."
Riles shot a quick glance at Gardiner. But he was puffing a cigar and
drinking in the warm sunshine with obvious satisfaction.
"So I might o' been, but I thought we kind o' made a date last night,
didn't we?"
"Did we? Oh yes; now I remember. But I thought perhaps you'd feel
different about it in the morning. A man generally does. I won't hold
you to anything you said last night, Riles."
Riles could not recall that he had said anything that committed him
in any way, but Gardiner's tone implied that plainly enough.
"I ain't changed my mind," he said, "but I don't know's I said
anything bindin', did I? I thought we was goin' t' drive out t' your
place t'-day an' talk things over."
"Well, I just didn't want you to lose any time over me if you thought
things wouldn't work out," said Gardiner. "It takes more nerve, you
know, than hoeing potatoes. But you're welcome to the hospitality of
the ranch, in any case. I came in on horseback, so we'll get a team
at one of the stables and drive out."
In a short time they were on their way. The road skirted the river,
threading its way through the narrow belt of cotton-woods and
evergreens that found footing in the moist soil of the valley. Here
and there, through an opening in the trees, or across a broad wedge
of prairie, could be seen the mountains, now bathed in a faint
purple, silently receding before them. A soft breeze, neither hot nor
cold, but moist and fresh from the great table-lands of snow, pressed
gently about the travellers, but their thoughts were of neither the
scenery nor the weather.
"It's all right, Riles," Gardiner was saying. "If you're prepared to
stay with the deal we can pull it through--no doubt about that. That
is, if Harris will sell his farm and come out here with the cash in
his jeans. If he won't do that, you better get busy on your homestead
proposition right away."
"He'll do it all right, if he sees somethin' worth while. But
Harris's no spring chicken, an' you'll have t' show him somethin' t'
his likin' before he loosens up."
"I don't care whether he loosens up or not," said Gardiner. "All I
care is that he brings the money, and brings it in bills. No cheques,
mind you. Get him out here with the cash on him, and I'll do the
loosening up, if it comes to that."
Riles was somewhat alarmed at the sinister turn of the conversation.
He had no compunction about getting the better of his old neighbour,
the man who had entrusted him with the discharge of their joint
mission, but he had considerable respect for the force, if not the
principle, of the law.
"You don't mean that you'd do anythin'--anythin' that wasn't right?"
he said. "I wouldn't want t' get mixed up in no scrape, y' know."
"You mean that you think more of your skin than you do of Harris's
coin. Well, there's no accounting for tastes. But as for doing
anything wrong--you ought to know me better than that. It will all be
clean and above board, and no violence if it can be helped, but if
Harris is unfortunate nobody's to blame for that. Of course, if
you're afraid to take a sportsman's chance for a half of forty
thousand dollars, call the deal off. I've got lots of other fish to
fry."
"You don't understand," said Riles. "I ain't a'scared, but I don't
want t' do nothin' that'll get us into trouble. Harris is an old
neighbour o' mine, an'--"
"I understand perfectly. You wouldn't mind a piece of Harris's money
served on a platter and wrapped in tissue paper, but you want
somebody else to take the chances. Now, there won't be any chances to
speak of, but what there are you take your share. If that's a bargain
it's a bargain, and if it isn't we'll talk about the weather. What
d'you say?"
"It's a bargain," said Riles, "provided your plan'll work out."
"It's got to work out. It's like going up in a balloon--if it doesn't
work out it's all off with the engineer. You got to take the chance,
Hiram, and then make good on the chance."
Riles chewed vigorously at his tobacco. "Explain how you're goin' to
pull it off," he said, "an' then I'll tell you yes or no."
"Not on your life," said Gardiner. "I don't show my hand until I know
who's sitting across."
There was silence for half a mile, while Riles turned the matter over
in his mind. He was naturally a coward, but he was equally a
money-grabber, and it was one instinct against the other. Avarice won
it, and at length he extended his hand to Gardiner. "I'm in on
anythin' you're in on," he said.
"That sounds like it," said Gardiner, with enthusiasm. "Now the whole
thing's simple as A B C, and not half as dangerous as running a
traction engine or breaking a broncho. It all rests on getting him
out here with the money, and that's where you come in. I don't mind
telling you if it wasn't for the help you can give there I'd handle
the job myself, and save dividing the proceeds."
"Yes, that's the point, all right," said Riles, somewhat dubiously.
"How're we goin' t' get him out here with all that money?"
"Think, Riles," said Gardiner, puffing complacently at a fresh cigar.
"Think hard."
Riles wrinkled his forehead and spat copiously at the front hub, but
the inspiration would not come. "I give it up," he said at last.
"You'll have t' plan it, an' I'll carry it out."
"That's what comes of hard work, Hiram; you lose all your
imagination. Right now you haven't any more imagination than a
cabbage. Now, I could suggest a dozen schemes to suit the purpose if
I had to, but one will do. Suppose this:
"These mountains up here are full of coal--more coal than can be
burnt in a million years. It's a bad road in, but once you get here
you'll see it lying in seams, ten, fifteen, twenty feet thick, and
stretching right through the rocks as far as you like to follow it.
That coal's going to make a bunch of millionaires some day, but not
until you can get at it with something bigger than a cayuse. But
railroads come fast in this country, and there's no saying how soon a
man might cash in if he invested just now."
"You ain't goin't' wait till a railroad comes, are you? We'll like
enough be dead by that time."
"Hiram, I told you you had no imagination, wait a moment. Now,
suppose that some strange eccentric chap owns one of these coal
limits. He lives up in the mountains, a kind of hermit, but we fall
in with him and offer him forty thousand dollars for his limit,
worth, say, half a million, or more if you feel like it. He says,
'All right, but mind I want the money in bills, and you'll have to
bring it out to me here.' Now can you think of anything?"
"Harris don't know nothin' about coal," protested Riles. "He wouldn't
bite at anythin' like that."
"Your faith has been neglected as well as your imagination. You've
got to paint it to him so's to get him interested. That's all. Our
business is to get Harris, with the money in his wallet, started up
into those mountains. It's mighty lonely up there, with timber
wolves, grizzly bears, precipices, snow-slides, and trails that lead
to nowhere, and if Harris is unfortunate--well, he's unfortunate."
The plan gradually penetrated Riles' slow-working mind. At first it
numbed him a little, and his face was a strange colour as he turned
to his companion, and said, in a low voice, "Ain't it risky? What if
the police catch on?"
"They won't. They're all right for cleaning up a rough-house, but
don't cut any figure in fine art work like we'll put over. I tell
you, Riles, it's absolutely safe. Of course, ordinary precautions
must be taken, same as you would with a vicious horse or any other
risk you might run. The main thing is to see that he has the money in
bills; anything else would be risky and lead to trouble. Then this
fellow that's supposed to own the mine must be kept in the
background. We--"
"But who _does_ own the mine?"
Gardiner made a gesture of exasperation. "You don't get me, Hiram.
Nobody owns the mine. That part of it's all a myth--a fairy tale
manufactured because we need it. But Harris mustn't find that
out--not, at any rate, until it's too late. Then if anything ever
does leak out, suspicion will be directed toward some mysterious
mine-owner, and the police will be wearing out shoe-leather hunting
the cracks in the foothills while you and I are taking in the sights
of Honolulu or South America. We'll quietly make an appointment for
Harris to meet the mine-owner somewhere up in the hills. We'll direct
him where to go, and leave it at that. Of course we won't go with
him; we'll have other business about that time."
Riles looked at Gardiner with frank admiration. It seemed so simple
now, and in his growing enthusiasm he felt that he would have little
difficulty in persuading Harris to raise all the cash possible and
bring it with him. And it seemed so safe. As Gardiner said, the
mountains were full of danger, and if something should happen to
Harris--well, he would be unfortunate; but lots of other people had
been unfortunate, too.
Gardiner turned his team down a side road, forded the river, climbed
a steep, slippery bank, and drew up beside a cluster of ranch
buildings sheltered with cotton-woods and spruces. The old, long
log-house, reminiscent of the days when the West was a land and a law
unto itself, might have stirred the heart of poet or artist; the
hard-beaten soil of the corral hinted still of the brave days of the
open range and cattle beyond the counting. As the team, in their
long, steady trot, swung up beside the stables, an alert young fellow
came quickly out and busied himself with the unhitching.
"Guess you ought to know our visitor, Jim, shouldn't you?" said
Gardiner. "Another Manitoban chasing the free land."
Travers at once recognized Riles and extended his hand. "Well, Mr.
Riles, we weren't looking for you here, although I suppose I
shouldn't be surprised, for there was some talk of your coming West
before I left Plainville. What do you think of it? And did you see
the mountains this morning? Worth the trip themselves, aren't they?"
"Look pretty good, all right, Jim," said Riles, with an attempt at
affability, "but I reckon you wouldn't grow much wheat on 'em, an'
scenery's not very fillin'. How you makin' it go you'self?"
"Nothing but luck since I landed," said Jim. "Got a good homestead
and a good job right away. You must let me take you out to my farm
before you go back. How's everybody? Harrises well, I hope?"
"Guess they're well enough, but gettin' kind o' scattered for a
family group. Beulah lit out when you did--but I guess I can't give
you no information about that."
The smile did not depart from Travers' face, but if Riles had known
him as well as he should he would have seen the sudden smouldering
light in the eye. But the young man answered quietly, "I saw Beulah
the day I left Plainville, and I understood she was going West on a
visit. She isn't back yet?"
"Innocent, ain't chuh?" said Riles, in a manner intended to be
playful. "It's all right; I don't blame you. Beulah's a good girl, if
a bit high falutin, an' a few years' roughin' it on the homestead'll
take that out of her."
But Jim had dropped the harness and stood squarely facing Riles. The
smile still lingered on his lips, but even the heavy-witted farmer
saw that he had been playing with fire. Riles was much the larger man
of the two, but he was no one to court combat unless the odds were
overwhelmingly in his favour. He carried a scar across his eye as a
constant reminder of his folly in having once before invited trouble
from a younger man.
"What do you mean?" demanded Travers. "Put it in English."
But Gardiner interposed. "Don't be too sensitive, Jim," he said.
"Riles has forgotten his parlour manners, but he doesn't mean any
harm. You weren't insinuating anything, were you, Hiram?"
"Course not," said Riles, glad of an opportunity to get out of the
difficulty without a direct apology. "No offence intended, Jim.
Beulah's all right, an' you're all right, an' that's what I always
said."
Travers was not in the least deceived as to Riles' high-mindedness,
but he realized that the man was the guest of his employer, and he
decided not to press the point. Gardiner and Riles went to the house,
and Jim presently saddled his own horse and rode out on the prairie.
He had already lunched, and it was Gardiner's custom to cook for
himself when at home.
Inside, the two men were soon seated at a meal which Gardiner hastily
but deftly prepared. They ate from plates of white enamelled ware, on
a board table covered with oilcloth, but the food was appetizing, and
the manner of serving it much more to Riles' liking than that to
which he had been subjected for some days. The meat was fresh and
tasty; and the bread and butter were all that could be desired, and
the strong, hot tea, without milk but thick with sugar, completed a
meal that was in every way satisfactory. Riles' eyes, when not on his
plate, were busy taking in the surroundings. The log walls were hung
with mementoes, some of earlier days and some of other lands, and
throughout the big room was a strange mixture of elegance and
plainness. At one end were rows of shelves, with more books than
Riles had ever seen, and above stood a small piece of statuary worth
the price of many bushels of wheat.
Gardiner noted the interest of his guest, and smiled quietly to
himself. He supposed that Riles had the usual notions about the Far
West--a notion that here he was on the outer-most rim of the finer
civilization of even the Middle West. But he knew also that this
plain log building contained furnishings and decorations altogether
beyond anything that Riles had ever seen or heard of--things, indeed,
so far removed from the life of the hard-working farmer that they
might have come from another world than his own. When the meal was
finished Gardiner swept the soiled dishes into a big galvanized iron
tub, there to await attentions from Jim at a convenient season, and
invited Riles to look about the house.
They entered another room, immediately to the north of the large
apartment which served all general housekeeping purposes. The floor
was of plain boards, smooth with the riding-boots of many years, and
in the centre lay the skin of a great bear. An old-fashioned carved
table, of some size, and three leather chairs, were the principal
furniture. Two swords hung diagonally across the far wall, and above
them was an old flag, discoloured with sun and rain. Ancient firearms
decorated the walls, and odd pieces of strange clothing hung about in
profusion.
"This is His Nibs' drawing-room," said Gardiner. "This junk you see
about you has been gathered from the corners of the earth during the
last few centuries. In there"--indicating another room through a door
to the left--"is his bedroom--a regular museum of stuff running to no
end of money, if you went to buy it. He has a couple of pictures
worth more than a quarter-section of land, and that mat you see
through the door--a prayer-rug he calls it, though he don't use it
much for that--is worth over five hundred dollars."
Gardiner enjoyed the look of amazement that slowly spread over Riles'
face. "He's been stuffin' you," said Riles at length, thinking of his
own extravagance when he paid ninety cents a yard for a carpet for
their front room at home. "He's been stuffin' you sure. There ain't
no mats worth any money like that."
"It's gospel," said Gardiner. "Why, man, he has a set of chess worth
more than the best team on your farm, and that statue affair up
there--you simply couldn't buy it. The place is just bristling with
valuables of one kind and another."
But Riles appeared suddenly agitated. He seized Gardiner by the arm,
saying, "If this stuff's worth's much as you figure, why don't we
make a clean-up here, when the duke, or whatever he is, is away?
That'd be safer, wouldn't it?"
"No, it wouldn't. It'd be easy enough to get away with the stuff, but
how'd you turn it into money? The police would get you sure on a game
like that. Of course, if you should decide to go in for culture,
without the 'agri' ahead, you might like to have the prayer-mat for
your own knees. No, you can't put over anything like that. And now we
better be getting down to business."
Gardiner drew a couple of chairs up to the carved table, opened a
drawer, and produced writing materials. "We can't get a letter away
to Harris any too soon. Nothing like making hay while the sun shines,
you know, and if he gets out here before we put our plan up to him,
it would be natural enough for him to want to see the mine-owner
himself. So hitch yourself to that pen there, and let us see what
kind of a hand you are at fiction."
Riles would rather have done a day's work in the field than write a
letter, but Gardiner insisted it must be done by him. Much of the
afternoon was spent in the struggle, and Gardiner's fertile
imagination had to be appealed to at several critical points. But at
last the letter was completed. It ran as follows:
"John Harris esq
"planvil man
"sir i take up my pen to let you no that i am all well hoppin this
will find you the same well this is a grate contry their is sure a
big out ov doors well mr Harris i think i see somthing here a hole
lot better than 3 years on a homstead homsteads is all rite for men
that Hasunt got any mony but a man with sum mony can do better i
wisht i Had sold my plase before i left i could ov done well here
their is lots ov chantez to make big mony their is a man here owns a
cole mine he is what they call Xsentrik He is a Hermitt and lives in
the Hills His mine is wurth 500000$ but He dont no it He will take
80000$ for it and we can sell it rite away for perhaps 500000$ i
think we should take this up it is a grate chants if you will sell
your plase rite away and bring all the mony you can then i will sell
mine for the balluns be sure and bring all the mony you can if you
dont like the cole mine there is lots of other chantez they will make
you rich and bring the mony in bills not chex becaws He wont take
chex becaws He is Xsentrik their is a man here sais His frend in new
york would pay 500000$ for the cole mine if he was here and He is
sending Him word so Hurry and let us get holt ov it furst then we'll
sell it to Him and make a killing dont fale
"your obedyunt servunt
"HIRAM RILES."
Gardiner read the letter carefully, suppressing his amusement over
Riles' wrestlings with the language, and finally gave his approval.
"Now, you must make a copy of it," he said. "It's only business to
have a copy. That was a fine touch of yours about going back to sell
your own farm. I believe you have some imagination after all, if it
only had a chance to sprout."
Riles protested about the labour of making a copy, but Gardiner
insisted, and at last the work was completed. The sound of galloping
hoofs was heard outside, and a cowboy from a neighbouring ranch
called at the door to ask if there was anything wanted from town.
"Here's your chance to mail your letter," Gardiner called to Riles
with unnecessary loudness. "Mr. Riles dropped in here to write a
letter," he explained to the rider.
Having with much difficulty folded his epistle until it could be
crumpled into an envelope. Riles sealed, stamped, and addressed it,
and a moment later the dust was rising down the trail as the cowboy
bore the fatal missive to town. The die was cast; the match had been
set to the tinder, and the fire must now burn through to a finish,
let it scorch whom it would.
Gardiner took up the copy, folded it carefully, and put it in his
pocket-book. "Now, Mr. Riles," he said, "we're in for this thing, and
there's no backing out. At least you're in for it. You have sent a
letter, in your handwriting, such as it is, to Harris, and I have a
copy of it, in your handwriting, in my pocket. If this thing ever
gets out these letters will make good evidence."