The Delafield Affair Part 4

"It would be good for the company to have you at its head; your reputation would be an a.s.set," Baxter objected persuasively.

"By the way, Dell, did you foreclose on a man named Melgares, Jose Maria Melgares, a month or two ago?"

"Melgares? Yes; and I was especially easy on him; let him have three months' extra time. But I had to come down on him finally. Why?"

"He's here in Golden now, and he's been roaring about it. He came down here from the Mogollons, where it's likely he'd been doing some horse-stealing. And I guess he's been lifting chickens and things out of people's back-yards since he's been here."

"Next thing he'll be getting arrested," Baxter chuckled, "and I'll have to defend him--for nothing. These greasers all seem to think I'm a heaven-sent protector for 'em all, no matter what they do. So long, Aleck; I'll see you again before I leave town."

Baxter lounged down the street, greeting one acquaintance after another with a jovial laugh, a hearty handshake, or a slap on the shoulder, his round, red face aglow with good fellowship. But his gray eyes were cold and preoccupied. At the court-house door he stopped to talk with Dan Tillinghurst, the sheriff, and Little Jack Wilder, his deputy.

"Say, Jack," said the sheriff, as the Congressman went on up the street, "what sort o' h.e.l.l do you-all reckon Dell Baxter's cookin' up now? He's too jolly not to have somethin' on hand. The louder he laughs the more sulphur you can bet he's got in his pockets."

"Be careful, Dan," warned Jack, "or that nomination for sheriff will miss fire."

"Don't you worry about that--Dell an' me's all right; you-all just worry about the fellow that's made his eyes look like a dead fish's. Dell's sure got somethin' on his mind."

There was something on Baxter's mind. He was still wondering why Alexander Bancroft had insisted so strongly upon the importance of young Conrad's opposition, which the Congressman did not believe was of much consequence. He chuckled and his left lid drooped lower as he finally decided: "I reckon he wants me to pull some chestnut or other out of the fire for him. I'll just let him think I'm taking it all in. I'd like to know what it is, though, for if I don't keep a good hold on Aleck he's likely to get heady and try to step into my shoes."

CHAPTER V

CHASTIs.e.m.e.nT CONDIGN

Dan Tillinghurst and Little Jack Wilder sat under the big cottonwood in front of the court-house, commenting upon things in general, and, presently, more particularly upon Curtis Conrad and his mare, Brown Betty, when they espied him talking with the landlord in front of the hotel across the stream. The town of Golden lay in a gulch among the foot-hills. It had been a thriving silver camp in the older days.

Discovered in the heyday of the pale metal, it had yielded so richly that the men flocking thither, in sheer, exultant contempt of the value of its yellow brother, had named the camp "Golden Gulch." The mines had been in the bottom of the gulch, and near them, along the banks of the stream, had been built all the houses of the mining days. The earliest roads had run along each side of the water, and these were still the main streets of the town. Facing one another across the two streets and the bed of the creek were all the public buildings and business houses, the two hotels, some of the best residences, and many of the poorer ones. The Mexican quarter, called "Doby Town" by the Americans, straggled along these thoroughfares and up the hillsides just beyond the heart of the town. Down their entire length cottonwoods of notable girth and majesty spread their branches.

One of the largest and finest of these trees shaded the court-house corner where the Sheriff and his deputy were sprawling their legs and waiting for something to happen. The Sheriff was burly and broad-shouldered, although his legs had not quite been able to keep pace with the growing ma.s.siveness of his torso. The occasions were rare when his blue eyes were not twinkling with good humor, while his mouth beneath its absurd little moustache curved in a smile as habitual as his cheerful kindliness and universal optimism. Little Jack Wilder, who owed his descriptive t.i.tle to his six feet three of height, was slender and lithe. He wasted neither words in talk nor bullets in pistol fights, and he had the reputation of being one of the best shots in the Southwest, as good even as Emerson Mead, over at Las Plumas in the adjoining county.

Curtis Conrad walked across the bridge that spanned the stream, Brown Betty at his heels, and met their "h.e.l.lo, Curt!" with "h.e.l.lo! Anything new?"

"Yes," said Wilder, "anyway, there's likely to be."

"What sort?"

"That's what we'd like to know," said Tillinghurst. "Jack's been sashaying around Doby Town for the last two days with his eye on a Mexican horse thief, waitin' for him to do something he can be arrested for; and the darn' fool won't do a thing! He just sits around respectable and behaves himself. Jack's gettin' all out of patience with him."

Little Jack growled a corroborative oath, and took a chew of tobacco.

"Well, if you know he's a horse thief, why don't you arrest him?" asked Conrad.

"We know it all right," said Jack; "but he ain't lifted no critters yet in this county. He's been doin' some chicken-thieving and that sort o'

thing around town the last week, but we ain't goin' to arrest him for that."

Wilder shut his jaws with a determined snap, while Tillinghurst went on to explain in answer to Conrad's look of surprise: "If we arrest him for that he'd be taken before a justice of the peace; and you-all know what kind of a mess Diego Vigil would make of it. He'd likely fine the man whose chicken-coop had been raided because he didn't have more stuff in his back-yard to be stolen, and he'd discharge Jose Maria Melgares with a warning not to wake people up o' nights by letting the chickens squawk!"

The Sheriff's smile broadened and ran down his throat in a chuckle.

Little Jack Wilder burst explosively into brief and profane speech that showed his opinion of Mexicans, and especially of Mexican justices of the peace, to be most contemptuous.

"Then why do you give them the office?" Curtis demanded. "Both parties do it, all over the Territory, though you all know that every time they get a chance they make justice look like a bobtailed horse. Up north last week one of 'em fined a man five dollars for committing murder and warned him not to do it again or he'd have to make it ten next time. You folks all knew what you might expect from Vigil when you gave him the place."

"Oh, well, Curt, you-all ain't run for office yet. When you do, you'll appreciate the fact that the greasers have got to be put where they'll do the most good. I'm willin' to give 'em that much, and I'm only too thankful old Vigil and his friends don't strike for the Sheriff's place."

Tillinghurst chuckled, while Wilder smiled grimly and profanely reckoned he wouldn't serve under Vigil or any other Mexican. "Mebbe that pock-marked Melgares has been up to some mischief by this time," he added. "I hain't set eyes on him for nigh two hours. Let's go down to the Blue Front, have a drink, and find out if anything's happened."

They went down the street together, Brown Betty following with the bridle over her neck. A block farther down stream, a good-looking Mexican came out of the First National Bank and pa.s.sed them. The Sheriff turned a second keen glance upon him. "That looks like Liberato Herrara," he said to his deputy in a hasty aside. Raising his voice he accosted the man in Spanish.

The Mexican turned and replied in precise English with grave courtesy, "Did the senor speak to me?"

"Yes; ain't you Liberato Herrara?"

"No, senor. My name is Jose Gonzalez."

The Sheriff apologized, and the other bowed politely, fell behind, and crossed to the other side of the stream. Conrad asked Tillinghurst if he did not believe Herrara guilty of the murder of which he had been acquitted several months before.

"Of course he was. And it's likely that ain't the only one either. I'm glad this man ain't him. If he was down here it would be on some business for Baxter, and it wouldn't do for me to find out too much about it."

Conrad snorted contemptuously, and Wilder said, "Dan, you're talkin' too d.a.m.n much."

"Oh, Curt's all right," replied the Sheriff, placidly. "He couldn't hate Baxter any more than he does if he tried, but he don't go back on his friends. This man Melgares," he went on, "that we're hopin' will make up his mind to do somethin' worth while, tells a queer yarn. He says he used to have a good ranch in the Rio Grande valley, between Socorro and Albuquerque, but he borrowed money on it from Baxter. Of course he couldn't pay, Dell foreclosed, and Melgares had to get out."

"Yes; I heard the other day about Baxter's operations up there," Conrad broke in hotly. "I understand he's got hold of a lot of land in just that way. It's a cursed, low-down, dirty piece of business."

"Oh, well, better men than Baxter have done the same sort of thing," the Sheriff responded. "From all I can find out about Melgares I reckon he was honest enough up to that time; but he's been goin' it pretty lively ever since. I think he's aimin' to work down to the border, where he can do the crisscross act."

Conrad turned with an exclamation of sudden remembrance. "By the way!

Bill Williams told me just now that Rutherford Jenkins is here, at his hotel. Have you seen him? Do you know what he's here for?"

"I haven't talked with him, but I reckon he's here on some deal for Johnny Martinez."

Curtis tied the mare to the hitching-post on the corner. "I've heard,"

he said cautiously, "that he has a venomous tongue and uses it recklessly. Do you know whether he's been doing any outrageous talking lately?"

"Well, I reckon n.o.body would believe anything Jenkins said, anyway. But I haven't heard anything. Have you, Jack?"

Some other men came along, and they all stopped to talk together. Curtis leaned against the mare and stroked her glossy neck. She poked her nose into his coat pocket and found a lump of sugar, which she ate with much dainty tossing of her head. It was some minutes before they entered the saloon.

The "Blue Front" was a two-roomed shanty on the edge of the Mexican quarter. Gambling games of various sorts occupied the back room; and there, too, political deals were arranged and votes bargained and paid for between the American politicians and the leaders of the Mexicans.

When Conrad and his friends came down the street a number of men were in the rear room, some talking and others busy at cards. At a table near a side window men of both races were engaged in a poker game. One of the players, a pock-marked Mexican with a defective eye, frequently glanced down the street. When he saw the Sheriff and his two companions approach, he rose and watched them. The others wanted to know what he was looking at, and he asked who was the man with the brown mare. A tall, dark American, with slightly stooping shoulders, looked up with interest as he heard them give Conrad's name, and joined the group at the window. Several of the men spoke with enthusiasm about Brown Betty, and one, who said he had once worked at Socorro Springs ranch, told them that Conrad thought more of her than of anything else he owned. When the men in front entered the saloon, the pock-marked Mexican cashed in his chips and slipped out through the rear door.

The sound of Conrad's voice in the bar-room caught the attention of the tall, dark American. An angry flush reddened his face, his beady eyes snapped, and the tip of his tongue licked his lips. Then something amusing seemed to occur to him, for his features relaxed into a smile and he glanced briskly around the room.

"See if you can find Melgares, will you?" he asked the Mexican with whom he had been talking. "Tell him I'll wait for him outside the back door."

He stepped out into the bright sunshine, smiling and rubbing his hands together. Back of the shanty was a high adobe wall surrounding the corral of the Mexican houses fronting on the next street. A wooden door in the wall opened cautiously, and the pock-marked face looked out.