The Twins of Suffering Creek Part 30

CHAPTER XV

THE TRUST AT WORK

Wild Bill's hut presented an unusually animated appearance. The customary oil-lamp was receiving the support of two vilely smelling yellow candles. The additional light thus obtained was hardly in proportion to the offensiveness of the added aroma. Still, the remoter corners of the place were further lit up, and the rough faces of the four occupants of the room were thrown into stronger relief.

But the animation of the scene was rather a matter of visual illusion than actuality. For Wild Bill, in his right of proprietorship, was lounging on his blanketed bunk, while Toby's inanimate form robbed him of the extreme foot of it. Sunny Oak was hugging to himself what comfort there was to be obtained from the broken chair, which usually supported Bill's wash bucket, set well within elbow-reach of the table on which the illuminations had been placed. Sandy Joyce with unusual humility--possibly the result of his encounter with Birdie--was crouching on an upturned cracker box.

There was a wonderful intentness, expectancy in every eye except Bill's. In Toby's there was triumphal antic.i.p.ation, in Sandy's a conscious a.s.surance. Bill had just come in from preparing his horses for their night journey, and, with an hour and more to spare, and the prospect of a long night before him, was anxious to take things as easy as possible.

Reaching his arms above his head he pushed his hands behind it for support, and opened the proceedings.

"You fellers been busy?" he inquired.

And promptly every mouth opened to give proud a.s.surance. But the gambler checked the impulse with grating sarcasm.

"I ain't got but one pair ears," he said, "so you'll each wait till you're ast questions. Bein' president o' this yer Trust I'll do most of the yappin'," he added grimly. "I'm goin' away to-night fer a couple o' days. That's why this meetin's called. An' the object of it is to fix things right for Zip, an' to 'range so he gits a chance to put 'em through. Now, I seen enough of him--an' others," with a swift, withering glance in Sunny's direction, "to know he's right up again a proposition that ain't no one man affair. Combination is the only bluff to fix them kids of his right. We've most of us got ideas, but like as not they ain't all we guess 'em to be. In some cases ther'

ain't a doubt of it. Without sayin' nothin' of anybody, I sure wouldn't trust Toby here to raise a crop of well-grown weeds--without help. An' Sandy, fer all he's a married man, don't seem to have prospered in his knowledge of kids. As for Sunny, well, the sight of him around a kid ain't wholesome. An' as fer me, guess I may know a deal about cookin' a jack-pot, but I'd hate to raise the bet about any other kind o' pot. Seein' things is that way with us we'll git to work systematic. Ther' ain't a gamble in life that ain't worked the better fer a system. So, before we get busy, I'll ast you, Sunny, to grab the grip under my bunk, an' you'll find in it, som'eres under the card decks, paper an' ink. You'll jest fix them right, an' take things down, so we don't make no sort o' mistake."

He waited until Sunny had procured the necessary writing materials and set them out on the table. Then he went on in his strong, autocratic fashion.

"Now," he said, fixing his eyes on Toby. "You'se fellers has had time to make inquiries, an' knowing you fer bright boys I don't guess you lost any time. The subject is the raisin' of kids. Mebbe Toby, you bein' the youngest member of this doggone Trust, an' a real smart lad, mebbe you'll open your face an' give us pointers."

By the time he finished speaking every eye was turned on the triumphantly grinning Toby.

"I sure will," he said, with a confidence surprising in a man who had been so bashful in his interview with Birdie. Just for a moment one of his great hands went up to his cheek, and he gently smoothed it, as though the recollection of the slap he had received in the process of gathering information was being used to inspire his memory. "Y'see,"

he began, "I got friends around Suffering Creek what knows all about kids. So--so I jest asted 'em, Mr. President."

He cleared his throat and stared up at the roof. He was evidently struggling hard with memory.

Bill lolled over and drew a closely written doc.u.ment from his pocket and began to peruse it. Sandy tapped the floor impatiently with one foot. He was annoyed that his evidence was not demanded first. Sunny sat with pen poised, waiting for the word to write.

Toby's eyes grew troubled.

"What they chiefly need," he murmured, his face becoming more and more intent, "what they--chiefly--need--is--" He was laboring hard. Then suddenly his face brightened into a foolish smile. "I got it," he cried triumphantly, "I got it. What kids need is beef bones an'

soap!"

In the deathly silence that followed his statement Toby looked for approving glances. But he looked in vain. Sunny had dropped his pen and made a blot on his paper. Sandy's annoyance had changed into malicious triumph. But the president of the Trust made no move. He merely let his small eyes emit a steely glance over the top of his paper, directed with stern disapproval on the hopeful "remittance"

man.

"An' what 'bug-house,'" he inquired, with biting sarcasm, "is your bright friends spendin' their vacation at?"

Toby flushed to the roots of his unkempt hair. The sudden death of his triumph was almost tragic. His face fell, and his heavy jaw dropped in pathetic astonishment. But it was not Bill's sarcasm alone that so bit into his bones, it was the jeering light he witnessed in Sandy's eyes, combined with the undisguised ridicule of Sunny's open grin. His blood began to rise; he felt it tingling in the great extremities of his long arms. The obvious retort of the witless was surging through his veins and driving him.

But the Trust president was talking, and the calm of coming storm was held for a moment. But it is doubtful if the object of his harangue grasped anything of his meaning, so great was his anger against his grinning comrades.

"Beef bones an' soap!" cried Bill harshly, at the unheeding man. "If they was a.s.ses bones we'd sure only need to open up your family mausoleum to git enough bones to raise a farm o' babbies on. I'd like to say right here, the feller wot don't know the natural use o' soap is a danger to the health an' sanitary fixin's o' this yer camp. Beef bones an' soap!" he went on, as though the very combination of the words was an offense to his gastronomical senses. "You pumpkin-faced idjut, you mush-headed tank o' wisdom, you masterpiece of under-done mule brain, how in sizzlin' torment you're figgerin' to ladle soap into the vitals of inoffendin' babbies, an' push beef bones through their innercent stummicks, 'ud par'lize the brains of every science society in this yer country to know, an' drive the whole world o'

physic dealers barkin' like a pack o' mangy coyotes wi' their bellies flappin' in a nor'-east blizzard. Gosh-dang it, you misfortunate offspring of Jonah parents, we're settin' out to raise kids. We ain't startin' a patent manure fact'ry, nor runnin' a Chinese hand laundry--"

But the president's picturesque flow was lost in a sudden commotion.

The calm was broken, and the storm burst. The weight of ridicule in his comrades' faces was too much for Toby, and he leapt from the foot of the bunk on which he was sitting. He projected himself with more force than cunning in the direction of the grinning loafer, bent on bodily hurt to his victim. But his leap fell short by reason of Sunny's agility. The latter s.n.a.t.c.hed up the oil-lamp and dodged behind the table, with the result that Toby's great body sent the candles flying, and itself fell amidst the legs of the upset table. He was on his feet in an instant, however, ready to continue with all his might his vengeful pursuit. But the heavy hand of Bill fell upon his coat collar with irresistible force, and, with a jerk, he was hurled across the room out of harm's way.

"Ther's more h.e.l.l to the back o' that if you come ag'in, Toby," the gambler cried, with cold threat. "An' as for you, Sunny," he went on, turning on the Trust secretary, "I'll set the boys to wash you clean in Minky's trough if you so much as smile ag'in till we're through.

Fix them candles, an' sit right down--the lot of you."

He stood for a moment eyeing the lurid face of Toby. Nor did he move until the burly remittance man had pulled himself together. He watched him settle himself again on the foot of the bunk, pa.s.sive but inwardly raging. Then, as the candles were once more replaced in the bottles and lit, he calmly picked up his doc.u.ment and returned to his couch.

The whole episode pa.s.sed in a few moments, and outward equanimity was quickly restored. Such was the hot, impulsive nature of these men.

The president lost no time in proceeding with the business in hand. He addressed his friends generally.

"I ain't goin' to say a word 'bout the elegant information gathered by our bright junior member," he said slowly. "You've all heard it, an' I guess that's sure all that's needed. Wher' he got it, is his funeral--or should be. Leastways, if it ain't satisfact'ry it shows laudable enterprise on his part--which is good for this yer Trust."

He paused and referred to his doc.u.ment. And in that moment, burning to further crush Toby, and add to his own glorification by reason of the superiority of his information, Sandy cleared his throat to speak.

This was to be the moment of his triumph. He meant to wipe out the memory of past failures in one sweep.

"I consulted a lady friend of mine--" he began. But Bill waved him to silence.

"You needn't worry nothin'," he said coldly. "I got it all wrote down here."

"How you got it?" cried Sandy. "I ain't said it."

Bill's eyes met the other's angry glance with that cold irony that was so much a part of his nature.

"Guess your leddy friend wrote it," he said. And, as he heard the words, the last of Toby's ill-humor vanished. His stupid face wreathed itself into a broad grin as he watched the blank look of disappointment spread itself over Sandy's face.

"Listen here, all of you," the president went on, quite undisturbed by the feelings he had stirred in the widower. "This is wot the leddy says. She's writ it all so ther' can't be no mistake."

Then he began to read from his doc.u.ment with careful distinctness.

"'Don't take no notice of what I told Toby Jenks an' Sandy Joyce. I jest fooled 'em proper. Toby's a nice boy, but he ain't got brains enough to kep himself warm on a summer day, so I didn't waste nothin'

on him, 'cep' time. As fer Sandy, he's sech a con-se-quenshul--' Have I got that word right, Sunny?" Bill inquired blandly of the secretary.

"You sure have," grinned Sunny, enjoying himself.

"'Sech a consequenshul fool of an idjut man,'" Bill read on, with a glance into Sandy's scarlet face, "'that I hadn't no time but to push him out of this dinin'-room.'"

"The miser'ble hash-slinger," exploded the exasperated Sandy, springing to his feet, his eyes blazing with impotent fury.

"Sit down," commanded the president. "This yere is a proper meetin' of the Zip Trust, an' don't call fer no langwidge ag'in a defenseless woman."

"Then she ain't no right to say things," cried the outraged man.

"She ain't. She's wrote 'em," retorted Bill, in a manner that left nothing more to be said. "'Consequenshul,' was the word," he went on, rolling it off his tongue as though he enjoyed its flavor, "an' I allow it must have took her thinking some to be so elegant. You'll set," he added, glancing up severely at the still standing man.

Sandy dropped back on his box, but he was anything but appeased. His dignity was hurt sorely. He, who understood women so well, to be treated like this. Then he tried to console himself with the opinion that after all Birdie was not exactly a woman, only a "pot-rustler."

But Bill was pushing the business forward. He wanted to get the matter in hand settled.