Two Men of Sandy Bar Part 14

Re-enter STARBOTTLE, MISS MARY, and d.u.c.h.eSS.

Col. Starbottle (impressively). Permit me, Mr. Alexander Morton, as the friend of my--er--princ.i.p.al to declare that we have received--honorable--honorable--satisfaction. Allow me, sir, to grasp the hand, the--er--cherished hand of a gentleman who, demn me! has fulfilled all his duties to--er--society and gentlemen. And allow me to add, sir, should any invidious criticism of the present--er--settlement be uttered in my presence, I shall hold that critic responsible, sir--er--personally responsible!

Miss Mary (sweeping truculently and aggressively up to JOHN OAKHURST).

And permit ME to add, sir, that, if you can see your way clearly out of this wretched muddle, it's more than I can. This arrangement may be according to the Californian code of morality, but it doesn't accord with my Eastern ideas of right and wrong. If this foolish, wretched creature chooses to abandon all claim upon you, chooses to run away from you,--why, I suppose, as a GENTLEMAN, according to your laws of honor, you are absolved. Good-night, Mr. Alexander Morton. (Goes to door C., and exit, pushing out STARBOTTLE, the d.u.c.h.eSS, and child. MR. OAKHURST sinks into chair at desk, burying his face in his hands. Re-enter slowly and embarra.s.sedly, MISS MARY: looks toward OAKHURST, and comes slowly down stage.)

Miss Mary (aside). I was too hard on him. I was not so hard on Sandy when I thought that he--he--was the father of her child. And he's my own flesh and blood, too; and--he's crying. (Aloud.) Mr. Morton.

Oakhurst (slowly lifting his head). Yes; Miss Mary.

Miss Mary. I spoke hastily just then. I--I--thought--you see--I--(angrily and pa.s.sionately) I mean this. I'm a stranger. I don't understand your Californian ways, and I don't want to. But I believe you've done what you thought was right, according to a MAN'S idea of right; and--there's my hand. Take it, take it; for it's a novelty, Mr.

Morton: it's the hand of an honest girl!

Oakhurst (hesitates, then rises, sinks on one knee, and raises MISS MARY'S fingers to his lips). G.o.d bless you, miss! G.o.d bless you!

Miss Mary (retreating to centre door). Good-night, good-night (slowly),--cousin--Alexander. [Exit. Dark stage.

Oakhurst (rising swiftly). No, no: it is false! Ah! She's gone. Another moment, and I would have told her all. Pshaw! courage, man! It is only six days more, and you are free, and this year's shame and agony forever ended.

Enter JACKSON.

Jackson. As you ordered, sir, the night watchman has been relieved, and has just gone.

Oakhurst. Very good, sir; and you?

Jackson. I relieved the porter, sir; and I shall bunk on two chairs in the counting-room. You'll find me handy if you want me, sir. Good-night, sir. [Exit C.

Oakhurst. I fear these rascals will not dare to make their second attempt to-night. A quiet scrimmage with them, enough to keep me awake or from thinking, would be a good fortune. No, no! no such luck for you to-night, John Oakhurst! You are playing a losing game.... Yet the robbery was a bold one. At eleven o'clock, while the bank was yet lighted, and Mr. Jackson and another clerk were at work here, three well-dressed men pick the lock of the counting-house door, enter, and turn the key on the clerks in this parlor, and carry away a box of doubloons not yet placed in the vaults by the porter; and all this done so cautiously that the clerks within knew nothing of it until notified of the open street door by the private watchman, and so boldly that the watchman, seeing them here, believed them clerks of the bank, and let them go unmolested. No: this was the coincidence of good luck, not of bold premeditation. There will be no second attempt. (Yawns.) If they don't come soon I shall fall asleep. Four nights without rest will tell on a man, unless he has some excitement to back him. (Nods.) Hallo! What was that? Oh! Jackson in the counting-room getting to bed. I'll look at that front door myself. (Takes revolver from desk and goes to door C., tries lock, comes down stage with revolver, examines it, and lays it down.)

Oakhurst (slowly and quietly.) The door is locked on the outside: that may have been an accident. The caps are taken from my pistol: THAT was not! Well, here is the vault, and here is John Oakhurst: to reach the one, they must pa.s.s the other.

(Takes off his coat, seizes poker from grate, and approaches safe.) Ha!

some one is moving in the old man's room. (Approaches door of room R.

as--

Enter noiselessly and cautiously from room L., PRITCHARD, SILKY, and SOAPY. PRITCHARD and his confederates approach OAKHURST from behind, carrying lariat, or slip-noose.

Oakhurst (listening at door R.) Good. At least I know from what quarter to expect the attack. Ah!

PRITCHARD throws slip-noose over OAKHURST from behind; OAKHURST puts his hand in his breast as the slip-noose is drawn across his bosom, pinioning one arm over his breast, and the other at his side. SILKY and SOAPY, directed by PRITCHARD, drag OAKHURST to chair facing front, and pinion his legs. PRITCHARD, C., regarding him.

Oakhurst (very coolly). You have left me my voice, I suppose, because it is useless.

Pritchard. That's so, pard. 'Twon't be no help to ye.

Oakhurst. Then you have killed Jackson.

Pritchard. Lord love ye, no! That ain't like us, pard! Jackson's tendin'

door for us, and kinder lookin' out gin'rally for the boys. Thar's nothin' mean about Jackson.

Soapy. No! Jackson's a squar man. Eh, Silky?

Silky. Ez white a man ez they is, pard!

Oakhurst (aside). The traitor! (Aloud.) Well!

Pritchard. Well, you want ter know our business. Call upon a business man in business hours. Our little game is this, Mr. Jack Morton Alexander Oakhurst. When we was here the other night, we was wantin'

a key to that theer lock (pointing to vault), and we sorter dropped in pa.s.sin' to get it.

Oakhurst. And suppose I refuse to give it up?

Pritchard. We were kalkilatin' on yer bein' even that impolite: wasn't we, boys?

Silky and Soapy. We was that.

Pritchard. And so we got Mr. Jackson to take an impression of it in wax.

Oh, he's a squar man--is Mr. Jackson!

Silky. Jackson is a white man, Soapy!

Soapy. They don't make no better men nor Jackson, Silky.

Pritchard. And we've got a duplicate key here. But we don't want any differences, pard: we only want a squar game. It seemed to us--some of your old pards as knew ye, Jack--that ye had a rather soft thing here, reformin'; and we thought ye was kinder throwin' off on the boys, not givin' 'em any hand in the game. But thar ain't anythin' mean about us.

Eh, boys?

Soapy. We is allers ready to chip in ekal in the game. Eh, Silky?

Silky. That's me, Soapy.

Pritchard. Ye see, the boys is free and open-handed, Jack. And so the proposition we wanter make to ye, Jack, is this. It's reg'lar on the squar. We reckon, takin' Mr. Jackson's word,--and thar ain't no man's word ez is better nor Jackson's,--that there's nigh on to two millions in that vault, not to speak of a little speshil deposit o' York's, ez we learn from that accommodatin' friend, Mr. Jackson. We propose to share it with ye, on ekil terms--us five--countin' Jackson, a square man. In course, we takes the risk o' packin' it away to-night comfortable. Ez your friends, Jack, we allow this yer little arrangement to be a deuced sight easier for you than playin' Sandy Morton on a riglar salary, with the chance o' the real Sandy poppin' in upon ye any night.

Oakkurst. It's a lie. Sandy is dead.

Pritchard. In course, in course; that is your little game! But we kalkilated, Jack, even on that, on yer bein' rambunktious and contrary; and so we went ter Red Gulch, and found Sandy. Ye know I take a kind o'

interest in Sandy: he's the second husband of my wife, the woman you run away with, pard. But thar's nothin' mean about me! eh, boys?

Silky. No! he's the forgivingest kind of a man, is Pritchard.

Soapy. That's so, Silky.

Pritchard. And, thinkin' ye might be dubious, we filled Sandy about full o' rye whiskey, and brought him along; and one of our pards is preambulatin' the streets with him, ready to bring him on call.

Oakhurst. It's a lie, Pritchard,--a cowardly lie!

Pritchard. Is it? Hush!

Sandy (without, singing),--