Dot Huntington found San Francisco to exceed her wildest imaginings of what a great city really was. Born of the desert and having been an intimate part of that desert all her life and, until the establishment of Geerusalem, knowing nothing of those centers where men forgathered and schemed and battled and died in a fury of commercial competition, she had always pictured a metropolis as similar to an ant hill for life and activity; but she had never thought it so spectacular, so dynamic in potentialities, so gigantic a thing as that architectural pile which greeted her eyes on that memorable morning when she and her father crossed the seven miles of green bay from Oakland, toward the picturesque horizon of buildings rising step on step, miles long and wide, tier on tier, up the steep slopes of hills that hid their crests in a low-lying, fleecy bank of fog.
And Market Street, Mississippian in its aspect, flowing full with its surging, irresistible stream of pedestrians and traffic, appalled her. The chaotic blockade of street cars at the Ferry terminal, the deafening thunder and shriekings of the busy Embarcadero, the mad confusion of it all, bewildered her—and bewildered Lemuel still more.
It was during the period when the Golden West Hotel was to the country people of California what the Congress, in Chicago, is to the political world of the nation—the one and only caravansary. Accordingly, Lemuel set his blind course for the Golden West Hotel. He did this after making a number of inquiries on how to reach his destination, regarding with considerable suspicion each one of his informants, for he had heard about the suaveness of confidence and bunko men and their artful way of misdirecting their victims to dens of iniquity, abounding in trapdoors and subterranean dungeons and murderous gangsters, and he felt that he was just a trifle too smart to fall a prey to the sly brotherhood.
“Them slick fellers’s got to git up purty early in the mornin’ to beat yore dad, Dot,” he grinned proudly, as they started off in a taxi. “I ain’t up on city ways, but I’m kinder foxy myself. That’s what comes of knockin’ around with Lennox, the minin’ engineer, an’ the rest of them Geerusalem sports, like I’ve done.”
But with all Lemuel’s belief in his own sagacity, when it was a matter of pitting his wits against the other fellow’s, he failed to notice that, ever since their arrival at the Ferry terminal, he and Dot had been the object of intense secret interest on the part of a man who, once his sharp eyes rested on them as they came in sight with the rest of the passengers, trailed them about until they entered the taxi.
He was a broad-shouldered, powerful individual, perhaps in the late thirties, with a red, coarse face and expressionless blue eyes. His clothes were cut along flashy lines, his shoes of glittering patent leather, his hat worn jauntily. But his very appearance, particularly when he walked, somehow impressed one that he was more at home in the hills than in the city. As Dot and her father began their slow progress up Market Street the stranger sprang into another taxi and instructed the driver to follow the first.
Arriving at the hotel, Lemuel and his daughter registered and were shown to a cheerful little suite overlooking the street. They sat down in the parlor and stared at each other.
“My!” exclaimed Dot breathlessly. “Isn’t this just—just wonderful?”
“Geerusalem ain’t got nuthin’ on this burg, has it? Sounds like ol’ hell broke loose—an’ I’m not cussin’ when I say that, Dot,” chuckled Lemuel.
Her eyes kindled, and she rose from her chair and went over and threw her arms around his neck. “It’s such a glorious adventure. I—I only wish poor mother was with us. Don’t you, daddy?”
He didn’t answer for some seconds, then he said in a strained voice: “That’s the one thing that spoils it all for us, honey—her not bein’ here. All her life, she looked for’ard to this hour, when me an’ her’d bring you to Frisco to go to school. Thank God, the hour’s come—anyway!”
During the next two days they devoted themselves almost entirely to getting acquainted with the vicinity of the hotel. Then they began taking short tours of investigation, growing bolder and bolder until they were finally promenading the miles of streets which form the downtown business section, even venturing a trip to the Cliff House where they spent hours gazing in speechless amazement across the Pacific—the first ocean they had ever seen.
Having become thus partially inured to metropolitan conditions, they found time to think of other matters. Naturally enough, it was Lemuel’s desire to get his daughter an outfit; the best that money could buy would be none too good, he told himself. That daughter, like any woman, was not averse to being prettily clothed, so they started window shopping, staring at the gorgeous displays along lower Grant Avenue, trying to decide on what would be not alone stylish, but attractive and worth the money as well.
But by the end of the fourth day it became quite apparent to them both that choosing a young lady’s first wardrobe destined to give her the required distinction demanded by so select an institution as Longwell’s Seminary was clearly not a job for the uninitiated. They repaired to their little parlor to study over the problem. Lemuel was smoking his after-dinner cigar and frowning at his new tight shoes.
“I have it, daddy!” burst out Dot suddenly, breaking a long silence. “Telegraph to Mrs. Liggs and ask her to come. You can pay her fare and expenses. You remember, she used to live in San José and she knows all about what is proper and tasty in dress. She can get somebody to take care of the store for a few days. I’m sure she’ll come.”
But Lemuel shook his head severely. “We don’t want Mrs. Liggs pickin’ out yore things, Dot, an’ that settles it,” he said shortly.
“Why not? She’s in the dry-goods business and knows all about clothes.”
“She’s old-fashioned, that’s why, an’ she wouldn’t talk to me when I seen her——”
“She is not old-fashioned, daddy, and you know it,” cried Dot spiritedly. “Didn’t she make me that pretty pink dress last summer, and everybody admired it? You said yourself it was nicer than anything you’d seen on me. I know that if we try to buy a wardrobe ourselves, they’ll—— Well, we’ll have to take what they tell us is the latest style, because we don’t know any better. Can’t you see that you’ll save money and everything by having Mrs. Liggs come? Please send for her, daddy!”
They discussed the matter for upward of an hour, and because her father’s objections were weak and unconvincing, Dot argued all the more strenuously in an effort to have her way. Nor was Lemuel so greatly opposed to her plan as he pretended to be. He firmly believed that Mrs. Liggs was the very person who could discriminate between what was modish and what was not in a young lady’s apparel, and that, furthermore, she would not hesitate to close up her store for a week and board the first train north if she knew that Dot required her services in a matter of such moment.
What he was endeavoring to do was make up his mind whether he should tell his daughter how he had captured Billy Gee, confess his perfidy, and send for Mrs. Liggs, or object flatly to her and, thereby, throw himself on the tender mercies of some clerk trained in the subtle art of selling goods; for he realized only too well, that were their little old friend to come, she would lose no time in telling Dot about the sensational capture of the bandit, and how he, Lemuel, had been lionized by the population of Geerusalem. Under other circumstances he would have rather welcomed this, but to have his daughter learn how treacherously he had acted, was something he dreaded. He felt that she would not be able to understand his object back of the act. Again, Mrs. Liggs’ unaccountable treatment of him that morning when he rode into Geerusalem rankled considerably. Of course, he told himself, there was always the possibility that she had not recognized him, for her eyes were not as keen now as he had once known them to be.
So, after finding himself being slowly convinced by Dot almost against his will that they were absolutely dependent on Mrs. Liggs to solve the wardrobe problem for them, he finally yielded to his half-formed notion to tell his daughter everything—except the fact that Billy Gee had threatened his life; for he would not awaken unnecessary fears in her lest she might refuse to attend school.
He cleared his throat presently and said: “I’m goin’ to tell you somepn, Dot—because I’d ruther you heard it from me than an outsider—an’ I want you to forgive me for carin’ more for yore future than for yore opinion of yore old dad.” He paused and glanced anxiously at her. “I ketched Billy Gee as he was leavin’ the barn that night, an’—an’ I c’llected the ten thousand dollars reeward.”
She had been sitting on the arm of his chair, smoothing his thin, gray hair, idly. Now she started suddenly, and a hard gasp escaped her. Rising from her seat, she came around in front of him and stood looking sharply down into his face.
“You turned him over—over to Sheriff Warburton?” she asked hoarsely.
“I did, Dot—to git the money to give you an edjucation. I had to lie to you, much as it hurt. But—but he got away. He jumped off the train an’ they ain’t bin able to find hide or hair of him,” he added, grinning expectantly at her.
“He got away! He got away—again—from Sheriff Warburton!”
“Yeh. An’ plumb disappeared. I bin watchin’ the papers. Poor Bob was so bruck up over losin’ him, he quit the sheriff job.”
She stared intently at him a moment, then threw back her head and laughed aloud—a silvery, daring laugh.
“I’m glad! Oh, I’m so glad!” she cried, a catch in her throat.
Lemuel was gazing narrowly at her, missing nothing; and he noticed the warm flush come and go in her cheeks. He had never seen such a brilliant light in her eyes before. He marveled vaguely.
“Well, I ain’t glad, that’s sure,” he said at last, with a hollow chuckle, but the significance of his words was lost on her.
“Tell me all about it, daddy. And you got all that money for—for capturing him? And he’s free? I’ll forgive you, then.”
Whereupon, he began an apologetic confession, relating how he had suspected that she knew the hiding place of the bandit, how he had spied on her, followed her from the house and seen her mount the steps into the hayloft, on that memorable night; how he had surprised Billy Gee and delivered him over to Warburton; how he had returned home by way of the field and climbed into bed.
Dot listened in silence, her eyes averted, an odd sympathy in her face; but she fairly gloated over the paper which Lemuel had carefully preserved, giving the stirring particulars of the outlaw’s subsequent escape.
“You’ll notice it says that the twenty thousand dollars he stole from the paymaster is missin’,” said Lemuel pointedly. Her obvious interest in Billy Gee disturbed him. “Ain’t it funny how it’s got lost? What d’ye reckon could ’a’ happened to it, eh, Dot?”
She glanced up from her reading and found him studying her strangely. She thought there was deep suspicion in his look. Or was it craftiness, greed?
The recollection of that wild outburst of his in the kitchen, back home, flashed into her mind. Much as she despised herself for the feeling of distrust that kindled in her breast, she decided she couldn’t be sure of him, that he was not to be relied on. Regardless of the fact that he now had money, might he still not be tempted—particularly since no one had the remotest inkling of the whereabouts of the bandit’s loot—to keep it, if she confided in him that Billy Gee had left it for her and that she was only waiting an opportunity to return it to its rightful owners? It was a frightful thought, she knew—a base, horrible thought for a daughter to entertain toward a father so self-sacrificing and loving as he was—but try as she would she could not rid herself of it.
“It is funny, isn’t it? Don’t you suppose, though, that they’ll make a search for it?” she asked, her innocence well assumed. There was a curious interest back of the last question, but he failed to notice it, watching as he was for some sign of nervousness or apprehension in her face.
“They already started. A young feller named Sangerly—his old man’s manager of the road—he’s bin on the job sence the day we left. He’s got a coupla high-class deetectives along. ’Cordin’ to what he was tellin’ me he aims to make it poorty hot for somebody.” He said this significantly.
She laughed. “You don’t mean that he suspects who has the money? That’s——”
“He’s got it figgered out that Billy Gee had it with him when he come to our place—an’ he’s dead right, let me tell you. When I deelivered that—the cuss to Bob Warburton that mornin’, he didn’t have no more’n five dollars on him. I know, ’cos I seen Bob search him. Sangerly says he cached the twenty thousand on the ranch.” He paused and added in low, confidential tones: “Say, Dot, you don’t happen to know about it, do you? You seen his saddlebags, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” she replied evenly. “He had his saddlebags with him, and when I asked him what they contained, he said simply that he always carried his mother’s picture and some keepsakes along with him. He may have left them in the barn—forgotten them. I really couldn’t say. Did you look?”
“No, goldarn it! I wisht now I’d hunted around for ’em. I reckon Sangerly’ll find them. But, anyhow I’m glad you ain’t goin’ to git mixed up in this mess, hon. It’d be turrible! The paper’d print yore name, an’ mebby yore pitcher’d git in, an’—jest think what a disgrace it’d be! Like as not, you’d git chucked out o’ school. Folks’d talk awful, you bein’ c’nnected up with a train robber. An’ no matter what you’d say wouldn’t do no good. People’d turn up their nose an’ say, ‘She’s no better’n he is.’” He glanced at his watch and got to his feet. “All right, we’ll send for Agatha. What’ll we tell her?”
Between them they worded the telegram, Dot writing it; and presently he left the room with it, bound for the hotel office.
Once alone, the girl began again to ponder on what she should do with the fortune she had wrapped in her mother’s old silk shawl. Ever since their arrival in San Francisco, her interest in other things had, for the time being, surmounted the responsibility and concern she felt as the unwilling custodian of this large sum of stolen money. Her father’s words now recalled the question to her in a most vivid way.
It had all seemed so easy on the train—merely the inconvenience of going to the police station, sheriff’s office, or postmaster, turning the loot over to one of the three, with the information that it represented what Billy Gee had stolen from the paymaster of the Mohave & Southwestern Railroad, and that she wished it returned to the company.
Here and now, however, amidst all this great city’s mad rush and confusion, she shrank from taking this step. After due reflection, it struck her that in all probability she would be closely questioned, and the fearful notion grew on her that there was more than a likelihood that she would be arrested as an accomplice; she had heard of just such things having been done. And, even as her father had said, there was the notoriety she was of a certainty to receive in the newspapers. Yes, everybody would believe she was a friend of this man whose name stood for lawlessness. They might believe she was—— She shivered at the thought. What, then, must she do to save the romantic situation for herself?
Racking her brains, she sat down and finally hit on another solution. She would wait until Mrs. Liggs arrived. She would confide in this dear little old lady, who had been like a mother to her, tell her everything, and ask her advice. Mrs. Liggs would understand and help her.
Shortly afterward, Lemuel returned with the proposal that they attend a theater, and finish the night with a sight-seeing trip through Chinatown.
“I bin hearin’ them Geerusalem sports braggin’ around about some new-fangled game called chop sueys, that the chinks play, an’ I’m goin’ to take a whirl at it ’fore I go back, even if I lose,” he said, as he entered his room.
They were in the midst of their dressing, when the hall doorbell rang. Lemuel answered it and fell back with a gasp of amazement when he recognized the smiling face of his visitor.
“Dick Lennox! Why, you ol’ son of a gun! What’re you doin’? When, in heck, did you git in?” he exploded, grasping the other by the hand and drawing him into the room.
“This afternoon. Awfully glad to see you, Lem. I’ve been on your trail ever since you left.”
Lemuel eyed him sharply. “How’s that? Anythin’ gone wrong?”
“Not a thing in the world that I know. Just a matter of urgent business,” said Lennox.
He removed his nobby overcoat as he spoke, and arranged his tie with fastidious care, smiling genially at the other the while.
He was a tall, wiry chap of twenty-eight, the stamp of college days still on him, rather prepossessing of features, with shrewd blue eyes, and blond hair slicked back. Lemuel noticed that he had changed his corduroys and half-boots of Geerusalem vogue for a snappy gray suit.
“Say, Lem, I’m about the luckiest cuss you ever heard of,” he cried, throwing himself in a chair and lighting a cigarette. “I combed the camp, as the detectives say, but couldn’t get a line where you’d gone. Then I butted into the guy that drove you to Mirage. He thought you’d come to Frisco—overheard you talking, I guess. But Frisco is some bigger than Geerusalem, and I was euchred. I was just figuring I’d have to give up and wait till you returned, when I just happened to remember you once mentioned the Golden West Hotel as the place you’d stop at if you ever hit the city. I took a chance, and here you are. Can you beat it?”
“I’d call it clever work, myself,” laughed Lemuel.
“Clever? Why, you old rascal, nothing is clever alongside of what you did the other night—bringing in Billy Gee, single-handed! Honest, I never thought it was in you, Lem. The camp is still excited over it.”
Lemuel crossed his legs with dignity and hooked his thumbs in his armpits.
“I don’t guess there was as much to it as they think,” he said, blowing a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. “Of course, a man was akcherly takin’ his life in his hands every minute, so to speak, but you got to c’nsider I growed up fightin’ just sech hard-boiled eggs. It’s all in knowin’ how to handle ’em.”
“Oh, certainly! Experience is a great teacher,” conceded Lennox seriously and coughed into his handkerchief to hide a grin.
Dot, attired for the street, joined them at this juncture, and Lemuel presented Lennox.
“You remember me tellin’ you about Dick Lennox, the minin’ engineer—the chap who introdooced me to Mr. Sangerly? This is him, Dot. He come all the way from Geerusalem to see—— You said somepn about business, Dick. What was it?”
“I believe that Miss Huntington is going out for the evening,” said Lennox, with a glance at Dot. “My errand can wait until to-morrow.”
“Wait—nuthin’, son—not after you come all the way from Soapweed Plains! We got time galore. Come on, what’s on yore mind?”
Lennox brought up a chair for the girl, seated himself and said briskly: “What do you hold your ranch at, Mr. Huntington?”
The other stared. “You mean, what’ll I sell fur?”
“Precisely—just as it stands.”
“Why—why, I don’t know as I ever figgered on a price, Dick. I’ve always looked on it as home, an’ a man gene’lly don’t——”
“I appreciate the way you feel—a place to hang your hat and go to when you can’t go anywhere else,” broke in Lennox genially. “But if you were offered a—well, a handsome price. You’ll agree with me that three hundred acres of it is worthless desert, while most of the remaining twenty is little better than pasture.”
“Just what do you c’nsider a handsome price?” asked Lemuel skeptically.
His visitor thoughtfully flicked the ash off his cigarette, into a tray.
“Say, seventy-five hundred dollars.”
“Seventy-five hundred!” burst out Lemuel. He opened his mouth to laugh but, observing the seriousness in the other’s face, the keenness with which the blue eyes were studying him, closed it again and rubbed his chin reflectively.
“You’ll admit that’s about double its value,” went on Lennox, in matter-of-fact tones. “To be perfectly frank, I have made inquiries, and find that you just might turn it for fifteen dollars an acre—providing you found the sort of person who would put up with the discomforts of the desert, some one looking for solitude and plenty of sun. So far as a man making a living there, why——”
“D’ye mean cash down? I don’t go much on this proposition of payments,” broke in the rancher.
“Cash—certainly. Furthermore, I’ve been authorized to give you a substantial sum to bind the bargain, our only stipulation being that the transfer be made as soon as possible.”
A short silence fell.
“May I inquire, Mr. Lennox, the reason for this flattering offer?” said Dot, speaking for the first time. “Perhaps I should not ask the question but I can’t help being curious——”
“You’re quite entitled to know, and I welcome the opportunity to explain, Miss Huntington,” the man replied affably. “You see, several of us have organized what we call the Geerusalem Amusement Company. Among a number of other prospective enterprises, we intend to establish a resort—a place of recreation a few miles out of camp, where people can come and enjoy themselves. We have had some choice places in view as a likely site—the Las Animas Ranch and the Cañon Spring Ranch, for instance—but we decided that your father’s was the logical one, since it was the nearest from town and correspondingly more available to the public.”
“That’s a poorty slick idea,” said Lemuel, with an approving nod at Dot. “The ranch sure is handy, an’—— Funny I hadn’t thought of that before.”
“This resort, Mr. Lennox, what would it be like? you certainly can’t mean a picnic ground or a place for outings,” probed Dot, unable to visualize anything of a particularly attractive nature about her desert home.
Lennox shook his head. “I’m afraid you didn’t quite catch my meaning. For one thing, we expect to erect a bathhouse. By sinking wells in the bed of the Mohave River, which passes through the property, we feel satisfied we will strike a large subterranean flow of water. We might even put in a concrete pool, if the amount of water warrants it. Anyhow, bathing facilities would be our big drawing card. Added to it, of course, would be a saloon, dance hall, gambling, doubtless a hotel, should business demand it. In a word, we are looking to construct a modern resort in the middle of the desert. It’ll cost a barrel of money, but we believe the venture a good one.”
Lemuel, in high spirits over the prospects of disposing of his land for a price that, even as Lennox had stated, was double its market value, rubbed his hands with ill-concealed gratification.
“Dick, as the feller says, nuthin’ ventured’ll git you nuthin’. Bein’ that you’ve bin out in the open with me—laid yore hand on the table, so to speak—I’ll jest call you. You give me seventy-five hundred fur them two quarter sections, an’ they’re yourn——”
“Just one moment, father!” interrupted Dot.
During Lennox’s explanation of what the contemplated resort was to be, she had sat with her eyes fixed on the carpet at her feet, listening in silence. Now she rose and stood before the two men, her face set and just a trifle pale.
“You’re not going to sell the place, father,” she continued, her voice low but firm. “You’re not going to let them turn that clean spot into a filthy hangout for the class of men and women who’ll patronize it—where they’ll stagger around drunk and curse and gamble and murder one another.”
Lemuel’s brows knit with impatience. “But can’t you see, hon, this here’s big money. Dick knows it an’ he knows I know it. We’ll never git another chanct like it ag’in. An’ it’ll make us independent, an’ we won’t ever have to go back there ’cept we want to.”
“I really wouldn’t let my scruples stand in the way of this deal, Miss Huntington,” advised Lennox suavely. “While what you say may be perfectly true, in a sense, at the same time you have too much to gain to allow mere sentiment to swerve you from what is clearly a duty you owe to yourselves—disposing of the ranch for what is actually a ridiculously high price.”
“Mere sentiment!” she echoed, her eyes flashing with an odd light. “Of course, Mr. Lennox, you don’t understand. You don’t know the reason I’m objecting. With you, it’s a cold business proposition.” She turned to Lemuel, watching her now with obvious ill-humor. “Father, would you always like to think that the drunkards and outcasts of Geerusalem were merrymaking on the land where poor mother worked and hoped and died? That they were cursing and dancing and carousing within hearing of her grave? That their drunken feet were stumbling over it, desecrating it, day and night, night and day? Would you like to think that, for—for seventy-five hundred dollars——” Her voice broke and she stood gazing at him beseechingly through her tears.
For one instant, Lemuel stared aghast at her, then sudden pain started in his eyes, twitched down his face to his lips, and set them quivering. He swallowed hard, looked guiltily at one callous hand, and bowed his head.
“My God, Dick, she’s right!” he said hoarsely. “I’d—I’d plumb forgot. I’m—I’m sorry, but I reckon nobody’s got enough money to buy that ranch—not fur a reesort, leastways. I sure—I sure forgot. Dot, hon, you know I wouldn’t do sech an awful thing, don’t you?”
Some minutes later, Lennox walked out of the hotel and down the street. At the corner, a man joined him—the same mysterious individual who had followed Dot and her father from the Ferry terminal on the morning they arrived in the city.
“I expect he fell heavy, eh?” laughed the fellow, falling into step beside the other.
“No. He wouldn’t part with the place, Rankin,” said Lennox quietly.
“He wouldn’t! Not for seventy-five hundred! What in hell does the old bum want for nothing? What was his reason?”
“Just didn’t care to sell, that was all.”
Rankin gave a nasty chuckle. “Wait till Jule hears about it. He’ll make that old buzzard sweat blood, let me tell you! He’ll be glad to sell—for nothing. Why, say, for all that coin, he ought to have throwed in the skirt for good measure. Maybe, Jule could use her—as his stenographer.”
Lennox stopped suddenly and confronted the other.
“What was that, Rankin?” he asked, peering hard at him.
“I said the Huntington kid might have to go to work for Jule as a stenographer, before he’s through with her father,” was the surly response.
“Miss Huntington does not enter into this thing. Do you understand that?” said Lennox harshly.
They continued in silence down the street and came to a halt before the Western Union telegraph office.
“I’m taking the morning train back to Geerusalem,” announced Rankin. “Before I go, I want to say one thing, and that is—I didn’t know you were interested in Dot Huntington or I wouldn’t have made the crack I did.” He paused and added meaningly: “I don’t think Jule did either, or he certainly wouldn’t have sent you to put through this deal. It’ll be up to you to convince him why it fell through when it shouldn’t have. You get me, don’t you?” With a curt nod, he turned on his heel and walked away.
Lennox looked after him for a moment, then he entered the telegraph office. As he prepared to send a wire to Jule Quintell he muttered to himself: “I don’t blame them for refusing. She’s a wonderful little girl.”