CHAPTER XIII—SINISTER FOREBODINGS
Mrs. Agatha Liggs occupied a neat cozy four-room cottage in the residential section of San Francisco, known as Richmond District. A well-kept garden, colorful with blossoming plants, flanked and fronted it; and there was a Cherokee rose which spread its wild luxuriant arms across the length of the porch and festooned it thick with its pink, floppy flowers during the early spring. Six blocks away, across a field of lupins, the waves of the blue Pacific lapped a narrow stretch of beach under the shadow of crumbling shale cliffs. The Presidio fortifications loomed here and there along the heights, frowning, formidable piles of concrete out of which peeped the grim noses of long-range guns turned seaward, reminding one of dogs of war everlastingly on the alert for the first scent of danger.
It was a mile or more from the Longwell Seminary to Mrs. Liggs’ home, and on the way there, Billy Gee’s mother found time to finish telling Dot her story, which the maid had interrupted when she came to summon the girl before the preceptress. This had to do principally with the fact that the bandit, after his escape, had written her a letter which she had received the same day Lemuel’s telegram reached her. He told her where he was in hiding and, following a night of harrowing thought—fearful that he might risk a trip to Geerusalem to see her, and be captured—she had decided to dispose of her dry-goods store and move away from Soapweed Plains. Learning that Dot was to enter school in San Francisco, and having no definite plans as to where to establish her residence, she had chosen the metropolis, happy in the knowledge, she said, that she would be near her friend whom she would see often, besides feeling certain that her outlaw son could make his home with her, secure in the crowded confines of a great city, and abandon forever his lawless calling.
Selling her store, she had boarded a train and gone south with Tinnemaha Pete, and under the guidance of the old desert prospector, had found Billy Gee’s hiding place—a lonely desert cave, in a lonelier cañon of the Calico Range. But the outlaw was absent, and though they waited several days for him, until the provisions they had brought along were gone, he did not return. At last, filled with misgivings, she had come away at the instance of Tinnemaha Pete who, after accompanying her to the nearest settlement, went back to acquaint her son with her plans when he came. Arriving in the city, she had rented the cottage and written Billy Gee, giving her new address, and had received a long letter from him the day before.
“And it’s the blessedest letter I ever got from him, Dot,” she concluded, her old eyes swimming. “I think he’s—I think he’s quit the awful life. I’m praying God every, every night, to give him strength.”
Dot made no reply. Her arm stole around the other, and she gazed ahead, an odd light in her eyes.
The taxi drew up to the cottage, and they got out. Mrs. Liggs led the way along the narrow walk, pausing every few steps to point out to the girl the glories of the garden. As they were about to go in the house, Lex Sangerly’s machine arrived. He came bounding through the gate, shouting out a merry greeting to Mrs. Liggs.
“You should know better than try to sneak away from me, Mother Liggs,” he cried, as he halted before her, wringing her hands and laughing at her bewilderment. “That was a shameless way to treat a fellow—not even tell him you were selling out. I absolutely demand an apology—and a pumpkin pie. I followed you all the way from the seminary.”
“Goodness me, Lex, what in the world—— It was all so sudden, Lex, that I——” she began, with a tremulous pathetic smile. “You’ve got to forgive me. Sometimes things don’t go just right for folks, and they act without thinking. This is Mr. Sangerly, Dot. And you’ve heard me speak of Miss Huntington, Lex.”
“Indeed, yes,” he smiled pleasantly. “Mrs. Liggs has said some very flattering things about you, Miss Huntington. I am always delighted to meet a good friend of hers.”
Here Mrs. Liggs briefly explained to Dot that the Sangerlys had once been neighbors of hers in San José and gave a number of humorous instances to prove Lex’s shocking capacity for pumpkin pie. Laughing, they entered the cottage and, while the visitor waited in the parlor, the women went through the prosaic process of removing their street clothes and donning house dresses. A little later, Mrs. Liggs bustled off for the kitchen—for they must have a cup of her favorite tea, she merrily announced—and Dot joined Lex.
They sat opposite each other and, as they talked, the man admitted to himself that this girl, inhabitant of the desert though she was, surpassed in many respects the young women with whom he was acquainted in such cultured California centers as Pasadena and Burlingame. There was a native refinement about her, a charming grace of movement—little subtle characteristics of elegance—that caused him to marvel and to conclude that she must have inherited them from her mother, since her father certainly lacked them. But what particularly impressed him was the fresh, striking beauty of her, the spirit and frankness and deep strain of sympathy in her face, and that elusive something that marked her at a glance a daughter of the waste lands.
They talked on. Yes, he had heard she was attending Longwell Seminary, and she had been informed that his father was Western manager of the Mohave & Southwestern Railroad. They both liked Geerusalem. She told him a number of things about herself, chiefly how she loved to read and how greatly she wanted to write stories—gripping stories of adventure. He sat and listened to her and confidentially affirmed to himself that here was a girl who would have fitted into his life as perhaps no other would—not even his petite, brown-eyed fiancée, daughter of the steamship company’s president whose guest he was during his stay in San Francisco.
Doubtless it was this strong appeal which Dot’s personality had for him that made it quite impossible for him to explain his mission to her. He shied at opening the subject, and as for deliberately cross-examining her, he felt that it was out of the question. She was too obviously not the type of girl to have anything to do with an illegal act of any kind; of that he was assured. Rather, he believed, she was the sort who would have reported to Warburton at the time whatever suspicions she might have had regarding Billy Gee’s movements. However, he presently contrived to turn the conversation to the outlaw’s escape and he noted a new interest flash up in her eyes, as he did so. It puzzled him.
“Perhaps, I’m biased, Miss Huntington, because of my association with the M. & S., but nothing would make me happier than to hear that he was lodged in a San Quentin dungeon for life, or shot down by a posse,” he replied slowly, in answer to her questions as to his opinion of the outlaw’s exploits. “Rather brutal, isn’t it?”
“Altogether brutal, Mr. Sangerly,” she said frankly. “But then, I’m also biased. You see, I owe him considerable, in a way, and won’t allow myself to forget it.” She paused, meeting his eyes. “If my father had not captured him and gotten the reward, I wouldn’t be in San Francisco to-day, with the opportunity of an education before me—the chance of seeing something outside of Soapweed Plains and Geerusalem all my life. I am candid in telling you this. It’s true.” Her expression changed. “Sometimes the thought sickens me. It’s like blood money.”
He broke into a hearty laugh. “Nonsense, Miss Huntington! Why, if we were to stop and consider the history of the dollar—the grief, misery, degradation, filth that each almighty dollar has been the means of creating—we’d be too nauseated to look at it, to say nothing of buying our daily bread with it and dropping it in the collection plates!”
“There may be a lot in that, but in my case the evidence is right before me—staring me out of countenance. To me, it’s just like selling a soul. And because I feel that way about it, I know I’m deeply indebted to Billy Gee——”
“Bosh!” cried Lex. “He’s a law-breaker—a dangerous desperado. He robs men, seizes other men’s belongings, appropriates to himself what isn’t his, threatens men’s lives to do it. Miss Huntington, anybody who captures such an animal, who rids the world of such an animal, deserves far more than your father received from the M. & S.” He had spoken brusquely, animated by a conscientious detestation of crime and criminals in any form. She was watching him, studying him curiously. “The only regret I have,” he added, “is that he had to die. I would rather see such a man wearing out his soul in prison.”
“He’s dead, did you say? Why, father wrote me that Mr. Warburton was of the opinion that——” A faint smile hovered about her lips, a tantalizing smile.
“Bob Warburton is a person of foresight; usually he knows what he’s talking about. But in this case—— Why, if Billy Gee were alive, Miss Huntington, we would have heard from him long ago. He was one of those ugly customers who have a mania for seeing their names in print. Isn’t it significant that our trains have not been robbed—not even molested—since the day of his capture? Billy Gee was a bred-in-the-bone crook, Miss Huntington, the type that never reforms. He perished on the desert, and I’m saying that with all due respect to the opinion of our good friend, Warburton.”
Dot did not reply. Her mind went back to the night she had parted with Billy Gee in the dark hayloft, the moon shining through the hole under the eaves, showing him standing knee-deep in the loose hay, reflecting on the bloody bandage around his head. She heard his voice again, saying:
“You’re goin’ to hear from me, Miss Huntington—some time. An’—an’ I hope you’ll be proud, like you jest said.” It was the sound of his voice, the way he had spoken those words, that remained ever vivid in her memory. To-day, she had met the mother of Billy Gee!
At this juncture Mrs. Liggs entered the parlor to announce that luncheon was ready. They seated themselves at the table in the cool little dining room, and their hostess poured the tea and led the conversation, which ran the gamut from reminiscences of bygone days in San José to a series of interesting episodes in and around Geerusalem. But she steered carefully clear of any mention of lawlessness, being fearful of bringing the name of her bandit son into the discussion and hearing Lex’s criticism of him—the chum he believed dead.
“You men folks think us women don’t know anything about business,” she laughed gayly. “But there’s some of us do, Lex, and I’m one of them. Of course, you’ll say that when it comes to selling overalls and socks and cotton shirts I’m fine, but that I ain’t got any idea about big business—real big business. Now, won’t you?”
The talk had turned to a speculation of Geerusalem’s future, Lex taking issue with Mrs. Ligg’s statement that as a gold-producer it would surpass both the Nevada camps of Goldfield and Tonopah.
“No, I wouldn’t say that, Mother Liggs,” he replied. “Honestly, I believe you have keen foresight. I’d rather take your opinion than that of many mining engineers I know. But it really seems an exaggeration to say that——”
“I’m agreeing with you, Mother Liggs,” broke in Dot enthusiastically, and added in serious tones: “Geerusalem, Mr. Sangerly, is only in its infancy, as you know, and yet, look at its mines! They’re enormously rich, and new prospects are being uncovered right along. The only thing that’s keeping it back is the unscrupulous type of men that have control—rule it. Have you heard of the terrible power they wield—the awful acts they commit?”
Lex nodded, his mind going back to his encounter with Boss Quintell that evening before Mrs. Liggs’ dry-goods store, the scene in the street when Quintell’s henchmen rallied, surrounded him, glowering and menacing, at the sound of their master’s voice.
“I haven’t the slightest doubt but that Geerusalem has a flattering future,” he admitted presently. “As a matter of truth, it is so certain of being a permanent camp that the M. & S. is about to begin surveying for a spur track into it, from the Mirage station. That goes to prove the company’s confidence in it. And I may say, Miss Huntington, that your father’s ranch, from what I’m able to learn, is quite likely to be on the right of way.”
A glad cry broke from Dot. “Oh, won’t that be wonderful! Just imagine, Mother Liggs, sitting on the front porch, watching the trains go by!”
“In my opinion, it will increase the value of the property to an appreciable degree,” said Lex. “I’ve been wondering why your father hasn’t gone in for cattle raising——”
He ceased speaking. An audible little gasp had escaped Mrs. Liggs. He looked at her and saw that her pale-blue eyes were fixed on him, wide with excitement and dismay.
“Good heavens!” she burst out. “It just come to me who told me about that branch line, Lex. There’s a scheme on to stop it. They’re going to keep it out of Geerusalem if they got to kill and murder to do it.”
A short silence fell. Lex regarded her curiously a moment before he spoke.
“I think you must be mistaken, Mother Liggs,” he said finally. “I don’t think any one would oppose a spur into Geerusalem. It would help make the camp. Who do you mean by they?”
“Jule Quintell and his crowd. Listen! About a month ago, George Harrison—he’s Quintell’s private secretary—came into my store to buy something. I’ve known him ever since he arrived in camp; that’s about two years. He’d been drinking this afternoon. We got talking, and I asked him if there was anything new—sociablelike, you know. And he said they’d been tipped off that a railroad company was figuring on building a track into camp from the main line.
“I told him I thought it’d be just the thing we needed. He laughed—oh, so nasty!—and leaned over the counter and said: ‘Mrs. Liggs, railroads generally get their own way, but they won’t in this neck of the woods. We’re going to draw a line in the sand and tell them they’ll go that far and no further.’ ‘You sure ain’t going to stop them, Mr. Harrison?’ I asked. ‘We’re going to make them come to us. And if they try their strong-arm tactics we’ll give them all they’re looking for. If it’s a case of fight we’ll make Soapweed Plains look like a slaughterhouse.’ I seen that he’d been drinking considerable and I figured he might he bragging, and I never thought nothing more about it till just now when you mentioned the spur track.”
Lex lit a cigarette and gave her a smile. “I think you’ll find he was doing that very thing, Mother Liggs—bragging. Admitting that this fellow Quintell is a power in Geerusalem and that his word is law—why, if he so much as voiced an objection to so important a factor to the camp’s progress, as a railroad, his most trusted followers would turn against him. Men nowadays appreciate the value of transportation facilities. They may buck the railroad companies on every issue and all that sort of thing, but they can’t get along without trains and they know it. Quintell wouldn’t dare put a single, solitary obstacle in the way of a spur track. On the contrary, he’ll peel off his coat and help us.”
“Don’t you be too sure about that,” said Mrs. Liggs, with a warning shake of her head. “You don’t know him, Lex. Old Nick ain’t any trickier than he is, and when it comes to being real dirty and cruel and murderous, he’s worse than the devil and all his fiends. He just plays with men—like a cat does with a mouse. Any man that crosses him is as good as gone. If Quintell can’t crush him to the wall, ruin him, run him out of camp, he has his throat cut; the buzzards finish him. And it’s all done quietly. There’s no proof or nothing. And all the time it’s getting stronger and stronger, the Quintell machine is working day and night, growing bolder, reaching out here and there and grabbing mining property, deliberately stealing it. I’ve heard that a lot of good men have been forced to join the gangsters, ’cos they’re afraid if they don’t stand in, they’ll lose their mines—if they don’t turn up missing themselves, some morning.”
Lex gave a short laugh. “I remember you warned me that evening I met him in front of your store,” he said easily; “and I’m going to repeat what I told you. It’s this: He’ll meet the wrong man—at the right time, Mother Liggs. But tell me, his power lies in the slum element of the camp only, doesn’t it?”
“You see that!” she cried triumphantly. “You ain’t got the least idea how he works, how cunning he is. No, it doesn’t! There’s mining engineers, brokers, and assayers—influential rascals—in his clique. They’re the brains of the gang. The slum element, as you call it, are just the tools and they do what they’re told—all the claim-jumping and fighting and killing. Quintell, as anybody’ll tell you, is the boss. They control the constable and the courts, and no matter what one of the gang does, he ain’t even arrested. I tell you, Lex, he’s dangerous, as deadly as sin. He’s always put me in mind of a big, horrible, poisonous spider that gets fat killing little bugs and eating them.”
“Well, there’s one satisfaction, Mother Liggs,” he replied, as he reached over and patted her hand: “The career of a bad man is usually short. He’s like a mosquito—he stings one time too many. There was Billy Gee, for example. Never was there a more contemptible scoundrel ever lived than that miserable renegade——”
“Pardon me for interrupting you, Mr. Sangerly, but are you in the mood for a surprise?”
It was Dot who spoke. While Mrs. Liggs and Lex were talking she had quietly left the table and gone into the bedroom. She stood now just inside the door, her face sightly flushed, her eyes shining with an odd light. In her hand, she held the loot of the M. & S., wrapped in her mother’s old silk shawl. Mrs. Liggs, her snowy head resting on her hand, gazed listlessly into her plate.
“A surprise is always in order, Miss Huntington,” laughed Lex. “Providing, of course, it is a pleasant one.”
“I’m going to leave you to judge whether this one is or not,” said Dot.
She went over to his side of the table, cleared away the dishes, and placed the neatly-bound sheaf of bills before him.
A dramatic silence fell. He looked, then stared in blank astonishment at the green and yellow pile for a long moment. Dot was watching him with dancing eyes. As for Mrs. Liggs, her face was a study in stark bewilderment.
“What—what’s this? You can’t really mean—is it possible, Miss Huntington, that——” stammered Lex, and stopped.
“Dot, darling!” burst like a sob from Mrs. Liggs’ parted lips.
“Yes, Mr. Sangerly, those are the actual bills—the exact amount—that your company lost, twenty thousand dollars,” said Dot in clear, ringing tones. “I am returning it to you for Billy Gee. I have one request to make, and that is that you exonerate my father from the ridiculous charge your detectives have placed against him. If there has been an accomplice in this matter it is I.” She paused, then resumed with a smile: “I’ll relate the facts to you and let you decide for yourself. First, however, in order that you may not labor under a misapprehension—Billy Gee is alive.”