THE WORKING OF THE PUBLIC MIND
The month following Will's departure from the village saw stirring
times for the citizens of Barnriff.
The exploding of Dan McLagan's bombshell in their midst was only the
beginning; a mere herald of what was to follow. Excitement after
excitement ran riot, until the public mind was dazed, and the only
thing that remained clear to it was that crime and fortune were racing
neck and neck for possession of their community.
The facts were simple enough in themselves, but the complexity of
their possibilities was a difficult problem which troubled Barnriff
not a little.
In the first instance McLagan's alarm set everybody agog. Then a
systematic wave of cattle-stealing set in throughout the district. Nor
were these depredations of an extensive nature. Cattle disappeared in
small bunches of from ten to forty head, but the persistence with
which the thefts occurred soon set the aggregate mounting up to a
large figure.
The "AZ's" lost two more bunches of cattle within a week. The
"[diamond] P's" followed up with their quota of forty head, which set
"old man" Blundell raving through the district like a mad bull. Then
came a raid on the "U--U's." Sandy McIntosh cursed the rustlers in the
broadest Scotch, and set out to scour the country with his boys.
Another ranch to suffer was the "crook-bar," but they, like the
"TT's," couldn't tell the extent of their losses definitely, and
estimated them at close on to thirty head of three-year-old beeves.
The village seethed, furious with indignation. For years Barnriff had
been clear of this sort of thing, and, as a consequence, the place had
been left to bask in the sun of commercial prosperity consequent upon
the thriving condition of the surrounding ranches. Now, that
prosperity was threatened. If the ranches suffered Barnriff must
suffer with them. Men spoke of a vigilance committee. But they spoke
of it without any real enthusiasm. The truth was they were afraid of
inaugurating an affair of that sort. There was scarcely a man in the
place but had at some time in his life felt the despotic tyranny of a
vigilance committee. Though they felt that such an organization was
the only way to cope with the prevailing trouble they cordially
dreaded it.
Then, in the midst of all this to-do, came the news of Will's rich
strike in the hills. He had discovered a "placer" which was yielding a
profit of fabulous dimensions. Of how rich his strike really was no
one seemed to possess any very definite information. In the calm light
of day men spoke of a handsome living wage, but, as the day wore on,
and Silas Rocket's whiskey did its work, Will's possible wealth
generally ended in wild visions of millions of dollars.
Under this inspiring news the commercial mind of Barnriff was stirred;
it was lifted out of the despondency into which the news of the
cattle-stealing had plunged it. It cleaned off its rust and began to
oil its joints and look to its tools. With the first news it,
metaphorically, "reared up." Then Will came into town with a bag of
dust and nuggets, and the optical demonstration set lips smacking and
eyes gleaming with envy and covetousness. They asked "Where?" But Will
shook his head with a cunning leer. Let them go and seek it as he had
to do, he said. And forthwith his advice was acted upon by no less
than a dozen men, who promptly abandoned profitable billets for the
pursuit of the elusive yellow ore.
Two weeks later Will again visited the village. This time he staggered
the folks by taking his wife to Abe Horsley's store, and spending two
hundred dollars in dry-goods and draperies for her. He flashed a "wad"
of bills that dazzled the lay-preacher's eyes, and talked of buying a
ranch and building himself a mansion on it.
Nor did he visit the saloon. He was sober, and looked the picture of
health and cheerfulness. He talked freely of his strike and its
possibilities. He swaggered and patronized his less fortunate fellow
townsmen, until he had them all by the ears and set them tumbling over
each other to get out after the gold.
He was followed and watched. Men shadowed his every movement in the
hope of discovering his mine, but he was too clever for them. They
kept his trail to the hills, but there he quickly lost them. He never
took the same route twice, and, on one occasion, traveled for three
days and nights, due north, before entering the foot-hills. He was as
elusive as the very gold his pursuers sought.
One by one the would-be prospectors returned disappointed to the
village, and again took up their various works, forced to the sorry
consolation of listening to the tales of Will's wealth, and watching
him occasionally run in to the village and scatter his money broadcast
amongst the storekeepers.
Of all Barnriff Peter Blunt seemed the least disturbed. He went calmly
on with his work, smiling gently whenever spoken to on the subject.
And his reply was invariably the same.
"I'm not handling 'placer,'" he told Doc Crombie one day, when that
strenuous person was endeavoring to "pump" him on the subject. "I
allow 'placers' are easy, and make a big show. But my 'meat' is high
grade ore that's going to work for years. His strike don't interest me
a heap, except it proves there's gold in plenty around these parts."
Nor could he be drawn into further discussion in the matter.
Yet his interest was far greater than he admitted. He was puzzled,
too. He could not quite make out how he had missed the signs of
alluvial deposit. Both scientifically and practically he was a master
of his hobby, in spite of local opinion. Yet he had missed this rich
haul under his very nose. That was his interest as a gold miner. But
there was another side to it, which occupied his thoughts even more.
And it was an interest based on his knowledge of Will Henderson,
and--various other things.
He was out at a temporary camp at one of his cuttings with Elia, who,
since his first sojourn with the prospector, now frequently joined him
in his work. They had just finished dinner, and Peter was smoking and
resting. Elia was perched like a bird on an upturned box, watching his
friend with cold, thoughtful eyes. Suddenly he blurted out an
irrelevant remark.
"Folks has quit chasin' Will Henderson," he said.
"Eh?"
Peter stared at him intently. He was becoming accustomed to the
curious twists of the lad's warped mind, but he wondered what he was
now driving at.
"He's too slim for 'em," Elia went on, gazing steadily into the fire.
"He's slim, an'--bad. But he ain't as bad as me."
Peter smiled at the naive confession.
"You're talking foolishly," he said, in a tone his smile belied.
"Maybe I am. Say, I could track Will."
"Well?"
"I'm goin' to. But I'll need your help. See here, Peter, I'll need to
get away from sis, an' if I get out without sayin', she'll set half
the village lookin' to find me. If I'm with you, she won't. See?"
Peter nodded.
"But why do you want to track him?"
"'Cause he's bad--an' ain't got no 'strike.' He's on some crook's
work. Maybe he's cattle duffin'. I mean to find out."
Peter's eyes grew cold and hard, and the boy watching him read what he
saw with a certainty that was almost uncanny.
"You've been thinking that always, too," he said. "You don't believe
in his strike, neither," he added triumphantly.
"I don't see why I shouldn't," replied Peter, guardedly.
"Yes, you do," the boy persisted. "It's because he's bad. Say, he's
makin' Eve bad takin' that money he sends her. An' she don't know
it."
"And supposing it's as you say--and you found out?"
"The boys 'ud hang him. And--and Eve would be quit of him."
"And you'd break her heart. She's your sister, and would sooner cut
off her right hand than hurt you."
Elia laughed silently. There was a fiendishness in his manner that was
absolutely repulsive.
"Guess you're wrong," he said decidedly. "It wouldn't break Eve's
heart worth a cent. She don't care a cuss for him, since--since that
night. Eve's a heap high-toned in her notions. He hit her. He nigh
killed her. She ain't one to fergit easy." He laughed again. "I ken
see clear through Eve. If Will was dead, in six months she'd marry
agin. D'ye know who? Jim Thorpe. She's jest a fool gal. She's allus
liked Jim a heap. That night's stickin' in her head. She ain't fergot
Jim--nor you. Say, d'you know what she's doin'? When Will sends her
money she sets it aside an' don't touch it. She don't buy things for
herself. She hates it. She lives on her sewin'. That's Eve. I tell you
she hates Will, same as I do, an' I'm--I'm glad."
Peter smiled incredulously. He didn't believe that the girl's love for
her husband was dead. Possibly her attitude deceived the lad, as well
it might. How could one of his years understand a matter of this sort?
But he thought long before he replied to the venomous tirade. He knew
he must stop the lad's intention. He felt that it was not for him to
hunt Will down, even--even if he were a cattle-thief.
"Look here, laddie," he said at last, "I promised you all the gold I
found in this place. I'm going to keep that promise, but you've got to
do something for me. See? Now I'm not going to say you can't track
Will if you've a notion to. But I do say this, if he's on the crook,
and you find it out, you'll promise only to tell me and no one else.
You leave Will to me. I'm not going to have you hanging your sister's
husband. You've got to promise me, laddie, or you don't see the color
of my gold. And don't you try to play me up, either, because I'll soon
know if you are. Are you going to have that gold?"
The boy's face was obstinately set. Yet Peter realized that his
cupidity was fighting with the viciousness of his twisted mind, and
had no doubt of the outcome. The thought of seeing Will hang was a
delirious joy to Elia. He saw the man he hated suffering, writhing in
agony at the end of a rope, and dying by inches. It was hard to give
it up. Yet the thought of Peter's gold--not the man himself, of whom,
in his strange fashion, he was fond--was very sweet. Gold! It appealed
to him, young as he was, as it might have appealed to a mind forty
years older; the mind of a man beaten by poverty and embittered by a
long life of hopeless struggle. Finally, as Peter expected, cupidity
won the day, but not without a hot verbal protest.
"You're a fool man some ways, Peter," the boy at last declared in a
snarling acquiescence. "What for d'you stop me? Gee, you've nothing to
help him for. Say, I'd watch him die, I'd spit at him. I'd--I'd----"
But his frenzy of evil joy made it impossible for him to find further
words. He broke off, and, a moment later, went on coldly: "All right,
I'll do as you say. Gee, but it makes me sick. Eh? No. I won't tell
other folk. Nor Eve--but--but you're goin' to give me that gold, an'
I'll be rich. Say, I'll be able to buy buggies, an' hosses, an'
ranches, an' things? I'll be able to have plenty folks workin' for me?
Gee! I'll make 'em work. I'll make 'em sick to death when I get that
gold."
Peter rose abruptly to return to work. The boy's diseased mind
nauseated him. His heart revolted with each fresh revelation of the
terrible degeneracy that possessed the lad.