The Spoilers (14 page)

The invaders ransacked thoroughly, while a dozen times the hearts of Cherry Malotte and her two companions stopped, then lunged onward, as McNamara or Voorhees approached, then passed the stove. At last Voorhees lifted the lid and peered into its dark interior. At the same instant the girl cried out, sharply, flinging herself from her position, while the marshal jerked his head back in time to see her dash upon Dextry.

“Don't! Don't!” She cried her appeal to the old man. “Keep cool. You'll be sorry, Dex—they're almost through.”

The officer had not seen any movement on Dextry's part, but doubtless her quick eye had detected signs of violence. McNamara emerged, glowering, from the back room at that moment.

“Let them hunt,” the girl was saying, while Dextry stared dazedly over her head. “They won't find anything. Keep cool and don't act rash.”

Voorhees's duties sat uncomfortably upon him at the best, and, looking at the smouldering eyes of the two men, he became averse to further search in a powdery household whose members itched to shoot him in the back.

“It isn't here,” he reported; but the politician only scowled, then spoke for the first time directly to the partners:

“I've got warrants for both of you and I'm tempted to take you in, but I won't. I'm not through yet—not by any means. I'll get you—get you both.” He turned out of the door, followed by the marshal, who called off his guards, and the group filed back along the walk.

“Say, you're a jewel, Cherry. You've saved us twice. You caught Voorhees just in time. My heart hit my palate when he looked into that stove, but the next instant I wanted to laugh at Dextry's expression.”

Impulsively Glenister laid his hands upon her shoulders. At his look and touch her throat swelled, her bosom heaved, and the silken lids fluttered until she seemed choked by a very flood of sweet womanliness. She blushed like a little maid and laughed a timid, broken laugh; then pulling herself together, the merry, careless tone came into her voice and her cheeks grew cool and clear.

“You wouldn't trust me at first, eh? Some day you'll find that your old friends are the best, after all.”

And as she left them she added, mockingly:

“Say, you're a pair of ‘shine' desperadoes. You need a governess.”

A
RAW, gray day with a driving drizzle from seaward and a leaden rack of clouds drifting low matched the sullen, fitful mood of Glenister.

During the last month he had chafed and fretted like an animal in leash for word of Wheaton, This uncertainty, this impotent waiting with folded hands, was maddening to one of his spirit. He could apply himself to no fixed duty, for the sense of his wrong preyed on him fiercely, and he found himself haunting the vicinity of the Midas, gazing at it from afar, grasping hungrily for such scraps of news as chanced to reach him. McNamara allowed access to none but his minions, so the partners knew but vaguely of what happened on their property, even though, under fiction of law, it was being worked for their protection.

No steps regarding a speedy hearing of the case were allowed, and the collusion between Judge Stillman and the receiver had become so generally recognized that there were uneasy mutterings and threats in many quarters. Yet, although the politician had by now virtually absorbed all the richest properties in the district and worked them through his hirelings, the people of Nome as a whole did not grasp the full turpitude of the scheme nor the system's perfect working.

Strange to say, Dextry, the fire-eater, had assumed an Oriental patience quite foreign to his peppery disposition, and spent much of his time in the hills prospecting.

On this day, as the clouds broke, about noon, close down on the angry horizon a drift of smoke appeared, shortly resolving itself into a steamer. She lay to in the offing, and through his glasses Glenister saw that it was the
Roanoke.
As the hours passed and no boat put off, he tried to hire a crew, but the longshoremen spat wisely and shook their heads as they watched the surf.

“There's the devil of an undertow settin' along this beach,” they told him, “and the water's too cold to drownd in comfortable.” So he laid firm hands upon his impatience.

Every day meant many dollars to the watcher, and yet it seemed that nature was resolute in thwarting him, for that night the wind freshened and daylight saw the ship hugging the lee of Sledge Island, miles to the westward, while the surf, white as boiling milk, boomed and thundered against the shore.

Word had gone through the street that Bill Wheaton was aboard with a writ, or a subpoena, or an alibi, or whatever was necessary to put the “kibosh” on McNamara, so public excitement grew. McNamara hoarded his gold in the Alaska Bank, and it was taken for granted that there would lie the scene of the struggle. No one supposed for an instant that the usurper would part with the treasure peaceably.

On the third morning the ship lay abreast of the town again and a life-boat was seen to make off from her, whereupon the idle population streamed towards the beach.

“
She'll make it to the surf all right, but then watch out.”

“We'd better make ready to haul 'em out,” said another. “It's mighty dangerous.” And sure enough, as the skiff came rushing in through the breakers she was caught.

She had made it past the first line, soaring over the bar on a foamy roller-crest like a storm-driven gull winging in towards the land. The wiry figure of Bill Wheaton crouched in the stem while two sailors fought with their oars. As they gathered for their rush through the last zone of froth, a great comber rose out of the sea behind them, rearing high above their heads. The crowd at the surf's edge shouted. The boat wavered, sucked back into the ocean's angry maw, and with a crash the deluge engulfed them. There remained nothing but a swirling flood through which the life-boat emerged bottom up, amid a tangle of oars, gratings, and gear.

Men rushed into the water, and the next roller pounded them back upon the marble-hard sand. There came the sound of splitting wood, and then a group swarmed in waist-deep and bore out a dripping figure. It was a hempen-headed seaman, who shook the water from his mane and grinned when his breath had come.

A step farther down the beach the by-standers seized a limp form, which the tide rolled to them. It was the second sailor, his scalp split from a blow of the gunwale. Nowhere was Wheaton.

Glenister had plunged to the rescue first, a heaving-line about his middle, and although buffeted about he had reached the wreck, only to miss sight of the lawyer utterly. He had time for but a glance when he was drawn outward by the undertow till the line at his waist grew taut, then the water surged over him and he was hurled high up on the beach again. He staggered dizzily back to the struggle, when suddenly a wave lifted the capsized cutter and righted it, and out from beneath shot the form of Wheaton, grimly clutching the life-ropes. They brought him in choking and breathless.

“I got it,” he said, slapping his streaming breast. “It's all right, Glenister. I knew what delay meant so I took a long chance with the surf.” The terrific ordeal he had undergone had blanched him to the lips, his legs wabbled uncertainly, and he would have fallen but for the young man, who thrust an arm about his waist and led him up into the town.

“I went before the Circuit Court of Appeals in ‘Frisco,” he explained later, “and they issued orders allowing an appeal from this court and gave me a writ of supersedeas directed against old Judge Stillman. That takes the litigation out of his hands altogether, and directs McNamara to turn over the Midas and all the gold he's got. What do you think of that? I did better than I expected.”

Glenister wrung his hand silently while a great satisfaction came upon him. At last this waiting was over and his peaceful yielding to injustice had borne fruit; had proven the better course after all, as the girl had prophesied. He could go to her now with clean hands. The mine was his again. He would lay it at her feet, telling her once more of his love and the change it was working in him. He would make her see it, make her see that beneath the harshness his years in the wild had given him, his love for her was gentle and true and all absorbing. He would bid her be patient till she saw he had mastered himself, till he could come with his soul in harness.

“I am glad I didn't fight when they jumped us,” he said. “Now we'll get our property back and all the money they took out—that is, if McNamara hasn't salted it.”

“Yes; all that's necessary is to file the documents, then serve the Judge and McNamara. You'll be back on Anvil Creek to-morrow.”

Having placed their documents on record at the court-house, the two men continued to McNamara's office. He met them with courtesy.

“I heard you had a narrow escape this morning, Mr. Wheaton. Too bad! What can I do for you?”

The lawyer rapidly outlined his position and stated in conclusion:

“I filed certified copies of these orders with the clerk of the court ten minutes ago, and now I make formal demand upon you to turn over the Midas to Messrs. Glenister and Dextry, and also to return all the gold-dust in your safe-deposit boxes in accordance with this writ.” He handed his documents to McNamara, who tossed them on his desk without examination.

“Well,” said the politician, quietly, “I won't do it.”

Had he been slapped in the face the attorney would not have been more astonished.

“Why—you—”

“I won't do it, I said,” McNamara repeated, sharply. “Don't think for a minute that I haven't gone into this fight armed for everything. Writs of supersedeas! Bah!” He snapped his fingers.

“We'll see whether you'll obey or not,” said Wheaton and when he and Glenister were outside he continued:

“Let's get to the Judge quick.”

As they neared the Golden Gate Hotel they spied McNamara entering. It was evident that he had slipped from the rear door of his office and beaten them to the judicial ear.

“I don't like that,” said Glenister. “He's up to something.”

So it appeared, for they were fifteen minutes in gaining access to the magistrate and then found McNamara with him. Both men were astounded at the change in Stillman's appearance. During the last month his weak face had shrunk and altered until vacillation was betrayed in every line, and he had acquired the habit of furtively watching McNamara's slightest movement. It seemed that the part he played sat heavily upon him.

The Judge examined the papers perfunctorily, and, although his air was deliberate, his ringers made clumsy work of it. At last he said:

“I regret that I am forced to doubt the authenticity of these documents.”

“My Heavens, man!” Wheaton cried. “They're certified copies of orders from your superior court. They grant the appeal that you have denied us and take the case out of your hands altogether. Yes—and they order this man to surrender the mine and everything connected with it. Now, sir, we want you to enforce these orders.”

Stillman glanced at the silent man in the window and replied:

“You will, of course, proceed regularly and make application in court in the proper way, but I tell you now that I won't do anything in the matter”

Wheaton stared at him fixedly until the old man snapped out:

“You say they are certified copies. How do I know they are? The signatures may all be false. Maybe you signed them yourself.”

The lawyer grew very white at this and stammered until Glenister drew him out of the room.

“Come, come,” he said, “we'll carry this thing through in open court. Maybe his nerve will go back on him then. McNamara has him hypnotized, but he won't dare refuse to obey the orders of the Circuit Court of Appeals.”

“He won't, eh? Well, what do you think he's doing right now?” said Wheaton. “I must think. This is the boldest game I ever played in. They told me things while I was in ‘Frisco which I couldn't believe, but I guess they're true. Judges don't disobey the orders of their courts of appeal unless there is power back of them.”

They proceeded to the attorney's office, but had not been there long before Slapjack Simms burst in upon them.

“Hell to pay!” he panted. “McNamara's taking your dust out of the bank.”

“What's that?” they cried.

“I goes into the bank just now for an assay on some quartz samples. The assayer is busy, and I walk back into his room, and while I'm there in trots McNamara in a hurry. He don't see me, as I'm inside the private office, and I overhear him tell them to get his dust out of the vault quick.”

“We've got to stop that,” said Glenister. “If he takes ours, he'll take the Swedes', too. Simms, you run up to the Pioneer Company and tell them about it. If he gets that gold out of there, nobody knows what 'll become of it. Come on, Bill.”

He snatched his hat and ran out of the room, followed by the others. That the loose-jointed Slapjack did his work with expedition was evidenced by the fact that the Swedes were close upon their heels as the two entered the bank. Others had followed, sensing something unusual, and the space within the doors filled rapidly. At the disturbance the clerks suspended their work, the barred doors of the safe-deposit vault clanged to, and the cashier laid hand upon the navy Colt's at his elbow. “What's the matter?” he cried.

“We want Alec McNamara,” said Glenister.

The manager of the bank appeared, and Glenister spoke to him through the heavy wire netting.

“Is McNamara in there?”

No one had ever known Morehouse to lie. “Yes, sir.” He spoke hesitatingly, in a voice full of the slow music of Virginia. “He is in here. What of it?”

“We hear he's trying to move that dust of ours and we won't stand for it. Tell him to come out and not hide in there like a dog.”