West Wind Drift Part 33

"Once more I agree with you. But that is what you will be doing, just the same. If you think that Manuel Crust is going to play second fiddle to you, Mr. Landover, you'll suddenly wake up to find yourself mistaken.

You know what Crust is advocating, don't you? Well, I guess there's nothing more to be said on the subject."

"We will drop it, then," said Landover curtly. "I merely want you to understand that Crust had no hand in last night's affair. I can vouch for that."

"Can you vouch for each and every member of his gang?"

"I know nothing about his gang, as you call it. If I am not mistaken, this fellow Mendez is one of your pet supporters. He may be double-crossing you."

"We'll see. For the present, your friend Crust is safe. As long as he lives within the law, he is all right. We're going to have law and order here, Mr. Landover. I want you to understand that. The best evidence that most of us want law and order is the incredible manner in which these people have curbed their natural instincts."

"No one wants law and order more than I," said Landover.

"And I suppose Manuel Crust is of the same mind, eh?"

"So far as I know, he is," replied the other firmly.

Percival looked at him in blank astonishment. "Well, I'm d.a.m.ned!" he said, after a moment. "Do you really believe that?"

"It does not follow that he is an advocate of lawlessness and disorder because he happens to be opposed to some of your pet schemes, does it, Mr. Percival?" inquired Landover ironically.

"One of my pet schemes happens to conflict seriously with Manuel's pet scheme, if that will strengthen your argument any, Mr. Landover."

"I don't believe Crust ever had any such thought," said the other flatly.

"We're not getting anywhere by arguing the point," said Percival. He turned to walk away.

"Just a moment," called out Landover, after the younger man had taken a few steps. "See here, Percival, I don't want you to misunderstand me. If there is anything in this talk about Crust,--you know what I mean,--and if it should come to the point where stern measures are required, I will be with you, heart and soul. You know that, don't you?"

Percival studied the banker's face for a moment. "I've never doubted it for an instant, Landover. We may yet shake hands and be friends in spite of ourselves."

Landover turned on his heel and walked away, and Percival, with a shrug of his shoulders, set about making preparations to safe-guard Sancho Mendez when he was brought in from the wood. He posted a number of reliable, cool-headed men around the "meetinghouse," many of them being armed. Arrangements were made for barricading the door and the few windows. The prisoner was to be confined in the building, a long, low structure, and there he was to tell his story and stand trial. There was to be no delay in the matter of a trial.

"You will sit as judge, Mike," said the "boss," addressing Malone.

"There will not be any legal technicalities, old man, and there won't be any appeal,--so all you've got to do is to act like a judge and not like a lawyer. We've got to do this thing in the regular way. Try to forget that you have practiced in the New York City courts. Remember that there is such a thing as justice and pay absolutely no attention to what you are in the habit of calling the law. The law is a beautiful thing if you don't take it too seriously. Ninety-nine out of every hundred judges in the courts of the U. S. A. sit through a trial worrying their heads off trying to remember the law so that they can keep out of the record things that might make them look like jacka.s.ses when the case is carried up to a higher court,--and while they are thinking so hard about the law they forget all about the poor little trifle called justice. I guess you know that as well as I do, so there's no use talking about it."

"I guess I do," said Michael Malone. "I live on technicalities when I'm in New York. If it were not for technicalities, I'd starve to death.

And, my G.o.d, man, if we had to stop and think about justice every time we go into court, we'd be a disgrace to the profession."

Percival, Peter Snipe, Flattner and several others strode out from the meeting-house and swept the long line of huts with serious, apprehensive eyes. They had expected to find the people congregated at some nearby point, ready to swoop down upon the prisoner the instant he appeared with his captors at the edge of the wood. To their amazement and relief, the people had taken Percival's command literally. They had retired to their huts, and but few of them were to be seen, even on their doorsteps.

"Can you beat it?" cried Snipe. "By golly, boys, they've put it squarely up to us. It's the greatest exhibition of restraint and confidence I've ever known. This couldn't have happened at home. h.e.l.lo!"

The gaze of all was centred upon two persons who walked rapidly in the direction taken by Fitts and his party. No one spoke for a few seconds.

Flattner, after a quick look at Percival's set, scowling face, was the first to speak. To a certain degree, he understood the situation. It was out of pure consideration for his friend's feelings that he said:

"I'll go and head 'em off, A. A."

"Thanks, old chap,--but there's no sense in getting yourself disliked.

I'll do it. I'm in bad already,--and besides I'm the one who gave the order."

Near the end of the row of huts, he drew alongside of Ruth Clinton and Landover.

"The order was meant for every one, Miss Clinton," he said levelly. "Am I to understand that you have decided to ignore it?"

She stopped short and drew herself up haughtily. Their eyes met. There was defiance in hers. She did not speak. Landover confronted Percival, white with fury.

"I am capable of looking after Miss Clinton," he exclaimed. "Your beastly officiousness--"

"You will go back to your cabin at once, Miss Clinton," said Percival, ignoring Landover.

She did not move.

"Miss Clinton came out here at my suggestion," said Landover. "If you have any more bullying to do, confine yourself to me, Percival."

"I am not doing this because I enjoy it, Miss Clinton," went on the young man, still looking into her unwavering eyes. "I am sorry it is necessary to remind you that there are no privileged cla.s.ses here. You will have to obey orders the same as every one else."

"Very well," she said, suddenly lowering her eyes. "Take me back to the cabin, Mr. Landover. There is nothing more to say."

Percival stood aside. They walked past him without so much as a glance at his set, unsmiling face. Landover slipped an arm through hers. She did not resist when he drew her up close to his side. Percival saw him lean over and speak to her after they had gone a few paces. His lips were close to her ear, but though his voice was low and repressed, the words were distinctly audible to the young man.

"Ruth darling, I am sorry,--I can't tell you how sorry I am for having subjected you to this insult. G.o.d, if I could only help matters by resenting it, I--"

She broke in, her voice as clear as a bell.

"Oh, if I were only a man,--if I were only a man!"

They were well out of hearing before Percival looked despairingly up at the pink and grey sky and muttered with heartfelt earnestness:

"I wish to G.o.d you were. I'd like nothing better than to be soundly threshed by you."

CHAPTER IX.

Just before sunset that evening, Sancho Mendez was publicly hanged.

Confessing the crime, he was carried to the rude gibbet at the far edge of the wheat field and paid the price in full. He had been tried by a jury of twelve; and there was absolutely no question as to his guilt.

His companion, a lad named Dominic, callously betrayed by the older man, fled to the forest and it was not until the second day after the hanging that he was found by a party of man-hunters, half-starved and half-demented. He was hanged at sunrise on the following day.

Manuel Crust considered himself glorified. After a fashion, he posed as a martyr. Some sort of cunning, as insidious as it was unexpected, caused him to a.s.sume an air of humility. He went about shaking his head sorrowfully, as if cut to the quick by the unjust suspicions that had been heaped upon him by the ignorant, easily-persuaded populace.

Sentiment began to swing toward him. He and his so-called followers were vindicated. It was his gloomy, dejected contention that if Providence had not intervened he and his honest fellows undoubtedly would have been placed in the most direful position, so strong and so bitter was the prejudice that conspired against him. He was constantly thanking Providence. And presently other people undertook to thank Providence too. They began to regard Manuel as a much-abused man.

The burly "Portugee" haunted the cabin of Pedro the farmer. He was the most solicitous and the most active of all who strove to befriend and encourage the unhappy father, and no one was more devoted than he to the slowly-recovering girl. He carried flowers to Pedro's hut; he did many ch.o.r.es for Pedro's wife; he went out into the woods and killed the plumpest birds he could find and cooked them himself for Pedro's daughter.