THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN
It is an engineer's duty, when he is sent out to examine a mine, to
make a report on the property, regardless. The fact that the owner is
a liar and a thief does not necessarily invalidate his claims; and an
all-wise Providence has, on several occasions, allowed such creatures
to discover bonanzas. So the engineer hired a team and disappeared on
the horizon and L. W. went off buying cattle.
A month passed by in which the derelictions of Rimrock were capped by
the machinations of a rival cattle buyer, who beat L. W. out of a buy
that would have netted him up into the thousands. Disgusted with
everything, L. W. boarded the west-bound at Bowie Junction and flung
himself into a seat in the half-empty smoker without looking to the
right or left. He was mad--mad clear through--and the last of his
cigars was mashed to a pulp in his vest. He had just made this
discovery when another cigar was thrust under his nose and a familiar
voice said:
"Try one of mine!"
L. W. looked at the cigar, which was undoubtedly expensive, and then
glanced hastily across the aisle. There, smiling sociably, was Rimrock
Jones.
L. W. squinted his eyes. Yes, Rimrock Jones, in a large, black hat; a
checked suit, rather loud, and high boots. His legs were crossed and
with an air of elegant enjoyment he was smoking a similar cigar.
"Don't want it!" snarled L. W. and, rising up in a fury, he moved off
towards the far end of the car.
"Oh, all right," observed Rimrock, "I'll smoke it myself, then." And
L. W. grunted contemptuously.
They rode for some hours across a flat, joyless country without either
man making a move, but as the train neared Gunsight Rimrock rose up and
went forward to where L. W. sat.
"Well, what're you all bowed up about?" he enquired bluffly. "Has your
girl gone back on you, or what?"
"Go on away!" answered L. W. dangerously, "I don't want to talk to you,
you thief!"
"Oh, that's what's the matter with you--you're thinking about the
money, eh? Well, you always did hate to lose."
An insulting epithet burst from L. W.'s set lips, but Rimrock let it
pass.
"Oh, that's all right," he said. "Never mind my feelings. Say, how
much do you figure I owe you?"
"You don't owe me nothing!" cried L. W. half-rising. "You _stole_ from
me, you scoundrel--I can put you in the Pen for this!"
"Aw, you wouldn't do that," answered Rimrock easily. "I know you too
well for that."
"Say, you go away," panted L. W. in a frenzy, "or I'll throw you out of
this car."
"No you won't either," said Rimrock truculently. "You'll have to eat
some more beans before you can put _me_ on my back."
Rimrock squared his great shoulders and his eyes sparkled dangerously
as he faced L. W. in the aisle.
"Now listen!" he went on after a tense moment of silence, "what's the
use of making a row? I know I lied to you--I had to do it in order to
get the money. I just framed that on purpose so I could get back to
New York where a proposition like mine would be appreciated. I was a
bum, in Gunsight; but back in New York, where they think in millions,
they treated me like a king."
"I don't want to talk to you," rumbled L. W. moving off, "you lied once
too often, and I've _quit_ ye!"
"All right!" answered Rimrock, "that suits me, too. All I ask
is--what's the damage?"
"Thirty-seven hundred and fifty-five dollars," snapped back L. W.
venomously, "and I'd sell out for thirty-seven cents."
"You won't have to," said Rimrock with business directness and flashed
a great roll of bills.
"There's four thousand," he said, peeling off four bills, "you can keep
the change for _pilon_."
There was one thing about L. W., he was a poker player of renown and
accustomed to thinking quick. He took one look at that roll of bills
and waved the money away.
"Nope! Keep it!" he said. "I don't want your money--just let me in on
this deal."
"Huh!" grunted Rimrock, "for four thousand dollars? You must think
I've been played for a sucker. No, four hundred thousand dollars
wouldn't give you a look-in on the pot that I've opened this trip."
"W'y, you lucky fool!" exclaimed L. W. incredulously, his eyes still
glued to the roll. "What's the proposition, Rimmy? Say, you know me,
Rim!"
"Yeh! Sure I do!" answered Rimrock dryly, and L. W. turned from bronze
to a dull red. "I know the whole bunch of you, from the dog robber up,
and this time I play my own hand. I was a sucker once, but the only
friends I've got now are the ones that stayed with me when I was down."
"But _I_ helped you, Rim!" cried L. W. appealingly. "Didn't I lend you
money, time and again?"
"Yes, and here it is," replied Rimrock indifferently as he held out the
four yellow bills. "You loaned me money, but you treated me like
dirt--now take it or I'll ram it down your throat."
L. W. took the money and stood gnawing his cigar as the train slowed
down for Gunsight.
"Say, come over to the bank--I want to speak to you," he said as they
dropped off the train.
"Nope, can't stop," answered Rimrock curtly, "got to go and see my
friends."
He strode off down the street and L. W. followed after him, beckoning
feverishly to every one he met.
"Say, Rimrock's struck it rich!" he announced behind his hand and the
procession fell in behind.
Straight down the street Rimrock went to the Alamo where old Hassayamp
stood shading his eyes, and while the crowd gathered around them he
took Hassayamp's hand and shook it again and again.
"Here's the best man in town," he began with great feeling. "An
old-time Arizona sport. There never was a time, when I was down and
out, that my word wasn't good for the drinks."
And Hassayamp Hicks, divining some great piece of good fortune, invited
him in for one more.
"Here's to Rimrock Jones," he said to the crowd, "the livest boy in
this town."
They drank and then Rimrock drew out his roll and peeled off an
impressive yellow bill.
"Just take out what I owe you," he said to old Hassayamp, "and let the
boys drink up the rest."
With that he was gone and the crowd, scarce believing, stayed behind
and drank to his health. Not a word was said by Rimrock or his friends
as to the source of this sudden wealth. For once in his life Rimrock
Jones was reticent, but the roll of bills spoke for itself. He came
out of Woo Chong's restaurant with a broad grin on his face and looked
about for the next man he owed.
"You can talk all you want to," he observed to the onlookers, "but a
Chink is as white as they make 'em. And any man in this crowd," he
added impressively, "that ever loaned me a cent, all he has to do is to
step out and say so and he gets his money back--and then some."
The crowd surged about, but no one stepped forward. Strange stories
were in the air, resurrected from the past, of Rimrock and the way he
paid. When the Gunsight mine, after many difficulties, began to pay
back what it had cost, Rimrock had appeared on the street with a roll.
And then, as now, he had announced his willingness to pay any bill,
good or bad, that he owed. He stood there waiting, with the bills in
his hand, and he paid every man who applied. He even paid men who
slipped in meanly with stories of loans when he was drunk; but he noted
them well and from that day forward they received no favors from him.
"Ah, there's the very man I'm looking for," exclaimed Rimrock in
Spanish as he spied old Juan in the crowd and, striding forward, he
held out his hand and greeted him ceremoniously. Old Juan it was of
whom he had borrowed the gold ore that had coaxed the two thousand
dollars from L. W.--and he had never sent the picked rock back.
"How are you, Juan?" he enquired politely in the formula that all
Mexicans love. "And your wife, Rosita? Is she well also? Yes, thank
God, I am well, myself. Where is Rico now? He is a good boy,
truly--will you do one more thing for me, Juan?"
"Sí, Sí, Señor!" answered Juan deferentially; and Rimrock smiled as he
patted his shoulder.
"You are a good man, Juan," he said. "A good friend of mine--I will
remember it. Now get me an ore-sack--a strong one--like the one that
contained the picked gold."
"Un momento!" smiled Juan hurrying off towards the store and the
Mexicans began to swarm to and fro. Some reward, they knew, was to be
given to Juan to compensate him for the loss of his gold. His gold and
his labor and all the unpaid debt that was owing to him and his son and
the rest. The streets began to clatter with flying hoofs as they rode
off to summon el pueblo, and by the time Old Juan returned with his
sack all Mexican town was there.
"Muy bien," pronounced Rimrock as he inspected the ore-sack, "now come
with me, Amigo!"
Amigo Juan went, and all his friends after him, to see what El Patron
would do. Something generous and magnificent, they knew very well, for
El Patron was gentleman, muy caballero. He led the way to the bank,
still enquiring most solicitously about Juan's relations, his children,
his burros and so on; and Juan, sweating like a packed jack under the
stress of the excitement, answered courteously, as one should to El
Patron, and clung eagerly to his sack. The crowd entered the bank and
as L. W. came out Rimrock placed Juan's sack on the table.
"Bring out new silver dollars, fresh from the mint," he said, "and fill
up this sack for Juan!"
"Santa Maria!" exclaimed Juan fervently as the cashier came staggering
forth with a sack, and Rimrock took the bag, containing a thousand
bulging dollars, and set it down before him. He broke the seal and as
the shining silver burst forth he spilled it in a huge windrow on the
table.
"Now fill up your ore-sack," he said to Juan, "and all you can stuff
into it is yours."
"For a gift?" faltered Juan, and as Rimrock nodded he buried his hands
in the coin. The dollars clanged and rattled as they spilled on the
table and a great silence came over the crowd. They gazed at Old Juan
as if he were an Aladdin, or All Baba in his treasure-cave. Old,
gray-bearded Juan who hauled wood for a living, or packed cargas on his
burros for El Patron! Yes, here he was with his fists full of dollars,
piling them faster and faster into his bag.
"Now shake the bag down," suggested El Patron, "and perhaps you can get
in some more."
"Some more?" panted Juan and quite mad with great riches he stuffed the
sack to the top.
"Very well," said Rimrock, "now take them home, and give part of the
money to Rosita. Then take what is left in this other bag and give a
fiesta to the boys who worked for me."
"Make way!" cried Juan and as the crowd parted before him he went
staggering down the street. A few shiny dollars heaped high on the
top, fell off and were picked up by his friends. They went off
together, Old Juan and his amigos, and L. W. came over to Rimrock.
"Now listen to me, Henry Jones," he began; but Rimrock waved him away.
"I don't need to," he said, "I know what you'll say--but Juan there has
been my friend."
"Well, you don't need to spoil him--to break his back with money--when
ten dollars will do just as well."
"Yes, I do!" said Rimrock, "didn't I borrow his picked rock? Well,
keep out then; I know my friends. He'll be drunk for a month and at
the end of his fiesta he won't have a dollar to his name, but as long
as he lives he can tell the other hombres about that big sack of money
he had."
Rimrock laid down one big bill, which paid for all the dollars, and
walked out of the bank on air. He was feeling rich--that wealthy
feeling that penny-pinchers never know--and all the world, except L. W.
Lockhart, seemed responsive to his smile. Men who had shunned him for
years now shook his hand and refused to take back what they had lent.
They even claimed they had forgotten all about it or had intended their
loans as stakes. With his pockets full of money it was suddenly
impossible for Rimrock to spend a dollar. In the Alamo Saloon, where
his friends were all gathered in a determined assault on the bar, his
popularity was so intense that the drinks fairly jumped at him and he
slipped out the back way to escape. There was one duty more--both a
duty and a pleasure--and he headed for the Gunsight Hotel.
The news of his success, whatever it was, had preceded him hours
before. Andrew McBain had hid out, the idle women were all a-twitter;
but Mary Roget Fortune was calm. She had heard the news from the very
first moment, when L. W. had dropped in on McBain; but the more she
heard of his riotous prodigality the more it left her cold. His return
to town reminded her painfully of that other time when he had come.
She had watched for him then, her knight from the desert, worn and
ragged but with his sack full of gold; but he had passed her by without
a word, and now she did not care.
She looked up sharply as he came at last, a huge form, half-blocking
the door; and Rimrock noticed the change. Perhaps his sudden
popularity had made him unduly sensitive--he felt instinctively that
she did not approve.
"Do you mind my cigar?" he asked, stopping awkwardly half way to her
desk; and he suddenly came to life as she answered:
"Why, yes. Since you ask me, I do."
That was straight enough and Rimrock cast his fifty-cent cigar like a
stogie out of the door. Then he came back towards her with his big
head thrust out and a searching look in his eyes. She had greeted him
politely, but it was not the manner of the girl he had expected to see.
Somehow, without knowing why, he had expected her to meet him with a
different look in her eyes. It had been there before, but now it was
absent--a look that he liked very much. In fact, he had remembered it
and thought, apropos of nothing, that it was a pity she was so deaf.
He looked again and smiled very slightly. But no, the look had fled.