The Spoilers (15 page)

At these words the politician appeared beside the Southerner, and the two conversed softly an instant, while the impatience of the crowd grew to anger. Some one cried:

“Let's go in and drag him out,” and the rumble at this was not pleasant. Morehouse raised his hand.

“Gentlemen, Mr. McNamara says he doesn't intend to take any of the gold away.”

“Then he's taken it already.”

“No, he hasn't.”

The receiver's course had been quickly chosen at the interruption. It was not wise to anger these men too much. Although he had planned to get the money into his own possession, he now thought it best to leave it here for the present. He could come back at any time when they were off guard and get it. Beyond the door against which he stood lay three hundred thousand dollars—weighed, sacked, sealed, and ready to move out of the custody of this Virginian whose confidence he had tried so fruitlessly to gain.

As McNamara looked into the angry eyes of the lean-faced men beyond the grating, he felt that the game was growing close, and his blood tingled at the thought. He had not planned on a resistance so strong and swift, but he would meet it. He knew that they hungered for his destruction and that Glenister was their leader. He saw further that the man's hatred now stared at him openly for the first time. He knew that back of it was something more than love for the dull metal over which they wrangled, and then a thought came to him.

“Some of your work, eh, Glenister?” he mocked. “Were you afraid to come alone, or did you wait till you saw me with a lady?”

At the same instant he opened a door behind him, revealing Helen Chester. “You'd better not walk out with me, Miss Chester. This man might—well, you're safer here, you know. You'll pardon me for leaving you.” He hoped he could incite the young man to some rash act or word in the presence of the girl, and counted on the conspicuous heroism of his own position, facing the mob single-handed, one against fifty.

“Come out,” said his enemy, hoarsely, upon whom the insult and the sight of the girl in the receiver's company had acted powerfully.

“Of course I'll come out, but I don't want this young lady to suffer any violence from your friends,” said McNamara. “I am not armed, but I have the right to leave here unmolested—the right of an American citizen.” With that he raised his arms above his head. “Out of my way!” he cried. Morehouse opened the gate, and McNamara strode through the mob.

It is a peculiar thing that although under fury of passion a man may fire even upon the back of a defenceless foe, yet no one can offer violence to a man whose arms are raised on high and in whose glance is the level light of fearlessness. Moreover, it is safer to face a crowd thus than a single adversary.

McNamara had seen this psychological trick tried before and now took advantage of it to walk through the press slowly, eye to eye. He did it theatrically, for the benefit of the girl, and, as he foresaw, the men fell away before him—all but Glenister, who blocked him, gun in hand. It was plain that the persecuted miner was beside himself with passion. McNamara came within an arm's-length before pausing. Then he stopped and the two stared malignantly at each other, while the girl behind the railing heard her heart pounding in the stillness. Glenister raised his hand uncertainly, then let it fall. He shook his head, and stepped aside so that the other brushed past and out into the street.

Wheaton addressed the banker:

“Mr. Morehouse, we've got orders and writs of one kind or another from the Circuit Court of Appeals at ‘Frisco directing that this money be turned over to us.” He shoved the papers towards the other. “We're not in a mood to trifle. That gold belongs to us, and we want it.”

Morehouse looked carefully at the papers.

“I can't help you,” he said. “These documents are not directed to me. They're issued to Mr. McNamara and Judge Stillman. If the Circuit Court of Appeals commands me to deliver it to you I'll do it, but otherwise I'll have to keep this dust here till it's drawn out by order of the court that gave it to me. That's the way it was put in here, and that's the way it'll be taken out.”

“We want it now.”

“Well, I can't let my sympathies influence me.”

“Then we'll take it out, anyway,” cried Glenister. “We've had the worst of it everywhere else and we're sick of it. Come on, men.”

“Stand back I—all of you !” cried Morehouse. “Don't lay a hand on that gate. Boys, pick your men.”

He called this last to his clerks, at the same instant whipping from behind the counter a carbine, which he cocked. The assayer brought into view a shot-gun, while the cashier and clerks armed themselves. It was evident that the deposits of the Alaska Bank were abundantly safeguarded.

“I don't aim to have any trouble with you-all,” continued the Southerner, “but that money stays here till it's drawn out right.”

The crowd paused at this show of resistance, but Glenister railed at them:

“ Come on—come on! What 's the matter with you? And from the light in his eye it was evident that he would not be balked.

Helen felt that a crisis was come, and braced herself. These men were in deadly earnest: the white-haired banker, his pale helpers, and those grim, quiet ones outside. There stood brawny, sun-browned men, with set jaws and frowning faces, and yellow-haired Scandinavians in whose blue eyes danced the flame of battle. These had been baffled at every turn, goaded by repeated failure, and now stood shoulder to shoulder in their resistance to a cruel law Suddenly Helen heard a command from the street and the quick tramp of men, while over the heads before her she saw the glint of rifle barrels. A file of soldiers with fixed bayonets thrust themselves roughly through the crowd at the entrance.

“Clear the room!” commanded the officer.

“What does this mean?” shouted Wheaton.

“It means that Judge Stillman has called upon the military to guard this gold, that's all. Come, now, move quick.” The men hesitated, then sullenly obeyed, for resistance to the blue of Uncle Sam comes only at the cost of much consideration.

“They're robbing us with our own soldiers,” said Wheaton, when they were outside.

“Ay,” said Glenister, darkly. “We've tried the law, but they're forcing us back to first principles. There's going to be murder here.”

G
LENISTER had said that the Judge would not dare to disobey the mandates of the Circuit Court of Appeals, but he was wrong. Application was made for orders directing the enforcement of the writs—steps which would have restored possession. of the Midas to its owners, as well as possession of the treasure in bank—but Stillman refused to grant them.

Wheaton called a meeting of the Swedes and their attorneys, advising a junction of forces. Dextry, who had returned from the mountains, was present. When they had finished their discussion, he said:

“It seems like I can always fight better when I know what the other feller's game is. I'm going to spy on that outfit.”

“We've had detectives at work for weeks,” said the lawyer for the Scandinavians; “but they can't find out anything we don't know already.”

Dextry said no more, but that night found him busied in the building adjoining the one wherein McNamara had his office. He had rented a back room on the top floor, and with the help of his partner sawed through the ceiling into the loft and found his way thence to the roof through a hatchway. Fortunately, there was but little space between the two buildings, and, furthermore, each boasted the square fronts common in mining-camps, which projected high enough to prevent observation from across the way. Thus he was enabled, without discovery, to gain the roof adjoining and to cut through into the loft. He crept cautiously in through the opening, and out upon a floor of joists sealed on the lower side, then lit a candle, and, locating McNamara's office, cut a peep-hole so that by lying flat on the timbers he could command a considerable portion of the room beneath. Here, early the following morning, he camped with the patience of an Indian, emerging in the still of that night stiff, hungry, and atrociously cross. Meanwhile, there had been another meeting of the mine-owners, and it had been decided to send Wheaton, properly armed with affidavits and transcripts of certain court records, back to San Francisco on the return trip of the
Santa Maria,
which had arrived in port. He was to institute proceedings for contempt of court, and it was hoped that by extraordinary effort he could gain quick action.

At daybreak Dextry returned to his post, and it was midnight before he crawled from his hiding-place to see the lawyer and Glenister.

“They have had a spy on you all day, Wheaton,” he began, “and they know you're going out to the States. You'll be arrested to-morrow morning before breakfast.”

“Arrested! What for?”

“I don't just remember what the crime is—bigamy, or mayhem, or attainder of treason, or something—anyway, they'll get you in jail and that's all they want. They think you're the only lawyer that's wise enough to cause trouble and the only one they can't bribe.”

“Lord! What 'll do? They'll watch every lighter that leaves the beach, and if they don't catch me that way, they'll search the ship.”

“I've thought it all out,” said the old man, to whom obstruction acted as a stimulant.

“Yes—but how?”

“Leave it to me. Get your things together and be ready to duck in two hours.”

“I tell you they'll search the
Santa Maria
from stem to stem,” protested the lawyer, but Dextry had gone.

“Better do as he says. His schemes are good ones,” recommended Glenister, and accordingly the lawyer made preparation.

In the mean time the old prospector had begun at the end of Front Street to make a systematic search of the gambling-houses. Although it was very late they were running noisily, and at last he found the man he wanted playing “Black Jack,” the smell of tar in his clothes, the lilt of the sea in his boisterous laughter. Dextry drew him aside.

“Mac, there's only two things about you that's any good—your silence and your seamanship. Otherwise, you're a disreppitable, drunken insect.”

The sailor grinned.

“What is it you want now? If it's concerning money, or business, or the growed-up side of life, run along and don't disturb the carousals of a sailorman. If it's a fight, lemme get my hat.”

“I want you to wake up your fireman and have steam on the tug in an hour, then wait for me below the bridge. You're chartered for twenty-four hours, and—remember, not a word.”

“I'm on! Compared to me the Spinks of Egyp' is as talkative as a phonograph.”

The old man next turned his steps to the Northern Theatre. The performance was still in progress, and he located the man he was hunting without difficulty.

Ascending the stairs, he knocked at the door of one of the boxes and called for Captain-Stephens.

“I'm glad I found you, Cap,” said he. “It saved me a trip out to your ship in the dark.”

“What's the matter?”

Dextry drew him to an isolated comer. “Me an' my partner want to send a man to the States with you.”

“All right.”

“Well—er—here's the point,” hesitated the miner, who rebelled at asking favors. “He's our law sharp, an' the McNamara outfit is tryin' to put the steel on him.”

“I don't understand.”

“Why, they've swore out a warrant an' aim to guard the shore to-morrow. We want you to—”

“Mr. Dextry, I'm not looking for trouble. I get enough in my own business.”

“But, see here,” argued the other, “we've
got
to send him out so he can make a pow-wow to the big legal smoke in ‘Frisco. We've been cold-decked with a bum judge. They've got us into a corner an' over the ropes.”

“I'm sorry I can't help you, Dextry, but I got mixed up in one of your scrapes and that's plenty.”

“This ain't no stowaway. There's no danger to you,” began Dextry, but the officer interrupted him:

“There's no need of arguing. I won't do it.”

“Oh, you
won't,
eh?” said the old man, beginning to lose his temper. “Well, you listen to
me
for a minute. Everybody in camp knows that me an' the kid is on the square an' that we're gettin' the bunk passed to us. Now, this lawyer party must get away to-night or these grafters will hitch the horses to him on some phony charge so he can't get to the upper court. It 'll be him to the bird-cage for ninety days. He's goin' to the States, though, an' he's goin'—in—your—wagon! I'm talkin' to you—man to man. If you don't take him, I'll go to the health inspector—he's a friend of mine—an' I'll put a crimp in you an' your steamboat. I don't want to do that—it ain't my reg'lar graft by no means—but this bet goes through as she lays. I never belched up a secret before. No, sir; I am the human huntin'-case watch, an' I won't open my face unless you press me. But if I should, you'll see that it's time for you to hunt a new job. Now, here's my scheme.” He outlined his directions to the sailor, who had fallen silent during the warning. When he had done, Stephens said:

“I never had a man talk to me like that before, sir—never. You've taken advantage of me, and under the circumstances I can't refuse. I'll do this thing—not because of your threat, but because I heard about your trouble over the Midas—and because I can't help admiring your blamed insolence.” He went back into his stall.

Dextry returned to Wheaton's office. As he neared it, he passed a lounging figure in an adjacent doorway.

“The place is watched,” he announced as he entered. “Have you got a back door? Good! Leave your light burning and we'll go out that way.” They slipped quietly into an inky, tortuous passage which led back towards Second Street. Floundering through alleys and over garbage heaps, by circuitous routes, they reached the bridge, where, in the swift stream beneath, they saw the lights from Mac's tug.