A LITTLE TROUBLE
Rimrock came back to Gunsight in charge of a deputy sheriff and with
the angry glow still in his eyes. The inquest was over and he was held
for murder, but he refused to retain a lawyer.
"I don't want one," he said when his friends urged it on him. "I wish
every lawyer was dead."
He sat in gloomy silence as the Gunsight justice of the peace went
through the formalities of a preliminary examination and then, while
they waited for the next train to Geronimo, he and the deputy dropped
in on Mary Fortune.
"Good morning," he said, flushing up as she looked at him, "can you
spare me a few minutes of your time?"
"Why, certainly," she answered, and he spoke to the deputy, who waited
outside the door.
"I've had a little trouble," went on Rimrock grimly as he sat down
where he could speak into her transmitter, "and I want you to help me
out. Mr. Hicks over here is guarding the mine and I've sent four more
boys out to help, but there's a whole lot of business coming up. Can
you hold down the job of Secretary?"
Mary Fortune thought a moment, then nodded her head and waited to hear
what he would say.
"All right," he said, "I'll telegraph East and have the appointment
O.K.'d. Then there's another matter. We're going to lay that railroad
across the desert as they never laid one before--six months will see it
done--but even that don't suit us. We're going to lay out our millsite
and have everything ready the day that railroad is done. Then we're
going to erect the mill and install the machinery and go to throwing
dirt. Eight months at the least and we'll have a producing property
shipping trainloads of ore every day. Well, what I was going to
say--there's a man named Jepson, a mining engineer, coming out to
superintend that work and I want you to give him all the assistance you
can and help boost the thing along. That's all--I'll send you a check
and the papers--you can address me at the County Jail."
He rose hastily and started for the door, then looked back with
questioning eyes.
"Very well," she said and he dropped his head and slouched heavily out
the door.
Mary Fortune sat alone, staring absently after him. What a
contradictory man he was. And yet, how well he understood. He knew
without telling that she would not take his hand so he kept it behind
his back; but he knew at the same time that she would attend to his
business while his address was the County Jail. And no plea for
sympathy, no word of explanation; just business, and then he was gone.
His life was at stake, and yet he spoke of nothing but the mine. "A
little trouble!" And he had killed a man. Was he a savage or a
superman?
The mail the next day brought a note from him, written with a lead
pencil on a piece of torn paper. It had the jail smell about it, a
rank, caged-animal odor that she learned to recognize later, but there
was no mention of any jail. He enclosed a check and a power of
attorney, with directions for buying some land--and then there came a
telegram from New York.
M. R. Fortune,
Gunsight, Arizona.
Wire from Henry Jones intimating trouble Tecolote claims. Your
appointment agreeable. Spare no expense safeguard claims. Jepson
superintendent arrives Friday. Wire particulars.
W. H. Stoddard.
One look at that signature and the Wall Street address and Mary Fortune
saw with sudden clearness what had been mystery and moonshine for
months. W. H. Stoddard was Whitney H. Stoddard, the man who controlled
the Transcontinental Railroad. His name alone in connection with the
Tecolote would send its stock up a thousand per cent. And what a
stroke of business that was--to make a feeder for his railroad while he
built up a great property for himself. Now at last she understood the
inexplicable reticence with which Rimrock had veiled his associate's
name and her heart almost stopped as she thought how close she had come
to parting with her Tecolote stock. Those two thousand shares, if she
held on to them to the end, might bring her in thousands of dollars!
Her brain cleared like a flash and she remembered Rimrock's
instructions concerning land for the Company's office. The wire could
wait--and Whitney H. Stoddard--the first thing to do was to get an
option, for even telegraph operators have been known to talk. She
slipped out quietly and a half hour afterward the papers were drawn up
and signed, and the whole vacant block across the street from the hotel
was tied up for the Tecolote Mining Company. And then the great news
broke.
It is a penal offense, punishable by heavy fine and imprisonment, for a
telegraph operator to disclose the secrets of his files; but within ten
minutes the whole street knew. The values on property went up in
meteor flights as reckless speculators sought to buy in on the ground
floor. All the land along the railroad, instead of being raw desert,
became suddenly warehouse sites; the vacant lots along the main street
were snatched up for potential stores and saloons, and all the drab
flats where the Mexican burros wandered became transformed to choice
residence properties. It had come at last, that time prophesied by
Rimrock when Gunsight would be transformed by his hand, but the prophet
was not there to see. After all his labors, and his patient endurance
of ridicule and unbelief, when the miracle happened Rimrock Jones the
magician was immured in the County Jail.
But it made a difference. Even Mary Fortune came to think of him with
more kindness in her heart. The Geronimo papers suddenly blossomed out
with accounts of the Gunsight boom; and Rimrock Jones, though held for
murder, was heralded as a mining king. The story was recalled of his
discovery of the Gunsight and of his subsequent loss of the same; and
the fight for the Old Juan, with the death of McBain, was rewritten to
fit the times. Then the grading crew came with their mules and
scrapers, and car-loads of ties and rails. Great construction trains
congested all the sidings as they dumped off tools and supplies. A
track-laying machine followed close behind them, and the race for the
Tecolotes was on. What a pity it was that poor Rimrock Jones was not
there to see the dirt fly!
And there were other changes. From a plain office drudge, Mary
Fortune, the typist, suddenly found herself the second in command.
Every day from Geronimo there came letters and telegrams from the
prisoner in the County Jail and his trenchant orders were put into
effect by the girl who had worked for McBain. Nothing more was said
about her mysterious past, nor the stigma such a past implies; the
women of the hotel now bowed to her hopefully and smiled if she raised
her eyes. Even Jepson, the superintendent, addressed her
respectfully--after stopping off at the County Jail--and all the
accounts of the Company, for whatever expense, now passed through her
competent hands.
She was competent, Jepson admitted it; yet somehow he did not like her.
It was his wife, perhaps, a proud, black-eyed little creature, who
first planted the prejudice in his breast; although of course no man
likes to take orders from a woman. To be sure, she gave no orders, but
she kept the books and that gave her a check on his work. But
Abercrombie Jepson was too busily occupied to brood much over this
incipient dislike, he had men by the hundred pouring out to the mine
and all the details of a great plant on his hands.
First out across the desert went the derricks of the well-borers, to
develop water for the concentrator and mill; and then diamond-drill men
with all their paraphernalia, to block out the richest ore; and after
them the millwrights and masons and carpenters, to lay foundations and
build the lighter parts of the plant; and, back and forth in a steady
stream, the long lines of teamsters, hauling freight from the end of
the railroad. It was an awe-inspiring spectacle, this invasion of the
desert, this sure preparation to open the treasure-house where the
Tecolotes had locked up their ore. But Rimrock was missing from it all!
There came a time when Mary Fortune acknowledged this to herself; and,
without knowing just why, she took the next train to Geronimo. The
summer had come on and the jail as she entered it was stifling with its
close, smelly heat. She sickened at the thought of him, caged up there
day and night, shut off even from light and air; and when the sheriff
let her in through the clanging outer gate she started back at sight of
the tanks. Within high walls of concrete a great, wrought-iron
cell-house rose up like a square box of steel and, pressed against the
bars, were obscene leering eyes staring out for a look at the woman.
"Oh, that's all right," said the sheriff kindly, "just step right down
this way. I regret very much I can't bring him outside, but he's in
for a capital offense."
He led the way down a resounding corridor, with narrow windows high up
near the roof; and there, staring out from a narrow cell, she saw
Rimrock Jones. His face was pale with the prison pallor and a tawny
growth covered his chin; but the eyes--they were still the eyes of
Rimrock, aggressive, searching and bold.
"A lady to see you," announced the sheriff and suddenly they were alone.
There had been some business, some important matter upon which she had
needed his advice, but as she saw him shut up like a common felon the
sudden tears came to her eyes.
"Kind of limited quarters," observed Rimrock, smiling wanly, "nothing
like that new hotel that we're building. Well, it won't be long now
till I'm out of this hole. Is there anything special you want?"
"Why, yes!" she said, getting control of herself, "can't--can't we get
you out on bail? I didn't know it was so awful inside here--I'm going
to engage the best lawyer in town!"
"No use," answered Rimrock, "I'm held for murder--and I don't want no
lawyer, anyhow."
The old stubborn tone had come back into his voice, but swift
compassion urged her on.
"But you certainly will have one when your case goes to trial! Mr.
Lockhart said he would hire one himself."
"Nope, don't want 'em," answered Rimrock. "They're a bunch of crooks.
I'll handle my case myself."
"Yourself? Why, you don't know the law----"
"That's why I'll win," broke in Rimrock impatiently. "I'm going to
pick out that jury myself."
"No, but the briefs and papers! And who will represent you in court?"
"Never mind," sulked Rimrock, "I'll take care of all that. But I won't
have a lawyer, if I swing for it!"
"Oh!" she gasped, but he gazed at her grimly without thinking about
anything but his case.
"All I want is justice," he went on doggedly. "I want a fair trial
before a jury of Arizona men. When I state my case I'll tell them the
truth and I don't want any lawyer butting in. And one thing more. I'm
going to ask you, Miss Fortune, to leave this case strictly alone. I
thank you just as much for your good intentions, but we don't look at
this matter the same. I quit the law when I lost title to the
Gunsight, and I'm going to play out my hand to the end. I claim
there's a law that's above all these lawyers--and judges and supreme
courts, too--and that's the will of the people. I may be mistaken, but
I'll gamble my life on it and if I lose--you can have the whole mine."
"I don't want the whole mine," she answered resentfully, "I want--I
want you to be free. Oh, I came to tell you about all we're
doing--about the construction and the mine work and all--but I just
can't say a word. Are you determined to plead your own case?"
"Why, certainly," he said. "Why shouldn't I do it? I don't consider
I've done anything wrong. I hope you don't think, just because I
killed McBain, that I'm suffering any regrets? Because I'm not, nor
nothing of the kind--I'm glad I killed him like I did. He had it
coming to him and, gimme a square jury, I'll make 'em say I did right."
"I guess I don't understand," she stammered at last, "but--but I'm glad
that it doesn't seem wrong. I can't understand how a man could do it;
but I'll help you, any way I can."
"All right," said Rimrock and looked at her strangely, "I'll tell you
what you can do. In the first place I want you to go back to Gunsight
and stay there until I come back. And in the second place--well, I
can't forget what I did--that day. I want you to say it's all right."
"It is all right," she answered quickly, "I guess that's what I came to
say. And will you forgive me, too, for letting you lie here and never
doing anything to help?"
"Oh, that's nothing," said Rimrock, "I don't mind it much. But say,
isn't there anything else?"
"No!" she said, but the hot blood mounted up and mantled her cheeks
with red.
"Come on," he beckoned. "Just to show you forgive me--it will help me
to win if you do."
She looked around, up and down the narrow corridor, and then laid her
cheek to the bars. Who would not do as much, out of Christian
kindness, for a man who had suffered so much?