The Spoilers of the Valley Part 66

"I indignantly returned his draft and wrote him declining all aid from one whom I, in my juvenile heroics, felt I could no longer respect as a father.

"Gee!--what fools we are sometimes! And how often have I longed and ached to hear from my dear old dad again! But I was proud, and I fear I am still a little that way.

"I was thrown into the constant companions.h.i.+p of Graham Brenchfield and despite our great dissimilarity in make-up and his three years'

advantage over me in age, we got on well together. He was different then.

"The Brenchfields educated me, as they did Graham. I put it all down, for a long time after, to the great goodness of their hearts, but I have had every reason to believe lately that they were secretly in receipt of that hundred dollars a month which I so dramatically declined from my dad. I feel certain now that it was my stay with the Brenchfields that so materially aided them in the education of their own, for they had little enough money in their own right for educational purposes.

"I pulled up on Graham at school and in a few years we were ready to start out to conquer the world. It was then that we decided on the Great Adventure to the Golden West, in search of fame and chiefly fortune.

"Youthful-like, we made a vow. We were to work together if we could, but, no matter what took place, we were to meet at the end of five years, pool our profits and make a fair divide.

"Brenchfield had five hundred dollars in cash. I had a similar amount coming to me from a farmer named Angus Macdonald in payment of two summers' work I had put in on his place. Macdonald promised to send the money on to me at a certain date and, as his name and word were gold currency in and around Campbeltown, we set out on Graham Brenchfield's five hundred. We got to Vancouver, did odd jobs there for a bit; then Graham got something more promising to do on a cattle ranch in the Okanagan Valley and he left me clearing land in Carnaby, in the suburbs of Vancouver.

"Well, Jim,--Brenchfield had been only a few months gone, when I received letters from him urging me to send along the money I had coming from Angus Macdonald, as he had obtained a month's option on some land in which he declared there was a positive fortune. As it turned out, Brenchfield was right in his surmise, as he seemed to be in almost everything else he touched for years following. It was ranch property, evidently right on the survey line of a new railroad. He was wildly excited over it in all his letters. Macdonald's money was due, but it did not come to hand, so I had to keep on putting Brenchfield off and meantime I made a draft on Macdonald, putting it through the Carnaby branch of the Commercial Bank for collection. Three days before Brenchfield's option was up he dropped in on me unexpectedly, by the first inter-urban train one morning. At that time, I was living by myself in a little rented two-roomed shack a few hundred yards outside of Carnaby.

"Graham Brenchfield raged and ranted in a terrible way, getting purple in the face in his disappointment and anger. He called Macdonald all the skin-flinting names he could think of and incidentally expressed himself of my unbusiness-like qualities. I told him what I had done, how I had written to Macdonald repeatedly, wired him and finally drawn on him; that I had called at the bank until Maguire the banker got sick at the sight of me and declared I haunted him like a d.a.m.ned ghost.

"I left Brenchfield that morning in my place, promising to be back by noon. I worked for two hours, then left off for fifteen minutes to run over to the bank, for I had a hunch that there was something there.

Maguire the Agent was in a nasty mood.

"He declared there was nothing for me. I told him he hadn't looked to see, and I waited around, whistling and shuffling my feet till he got exasperated. It was the end of the month and he was busy, so perhaps I should have been more considerate, but I was nineteen years old then and consideration did not weigh very heavily on me. Besides, I was badly in need of the money.

"He finally threatened to throw me out for the 'kite-flier' I evidently was. That angered me; I picked up a heavy ruler and threatened to knock his head in. At last, my eye caught sight of the postal stamp of Campbeltown on a letter among his unopened mail lying on the counter. And, sure enough, it contained Macdonald's payment. I got the money from Maguire and left immediately, as happy as a king.

"Before going home to break the good news to Brenchfield, I returned to my job in order to tell Macaskill the foreman that I intended taking the afternoon off. When I got there, they used me to clear off some fallen timber from the right-of-way and that delayed me quite a bit. I didn't see Macaskill, so left without saying anything in particular to anyone.

"When I got back home, Brenchfield was sitting at the kitchen table with his head resting on his hands. He had been writing on a sheet of paper. I ran over to him and clapped my hand on his back. I threw my roll of bills on the table right under his nose. He stared at the bundle stupidly, then sprang up with an oath on his lips. Jim, I can see it all again as if it had taken place ten minutes ago. I can hear him word for word as if my mind had become for the time being a recording phonograph.

"I could see at a glance that there was something very far wrong. His eyes were bloodshot and he was deathly white.

"'Good G.o.d!' he cried, pus.h.i.+ng his fingers through his hair.

"'Graham,--whatever is the matter with you?' I asked. 'You surely haven't been drinking? You're ill.'

"He laughed.

"'I'm all right! Nothing wrong with my health! Guess it's my morals that have gone fluey. So you got the money? My G.o.d!--if I'd only known that."

"He put his hand in his back pocket, drew out a bundle of bills and tossed it on the table beside mine. It was money, Jim,--money by the heap.

"'Good heavens, man!--where did you get it?' I cried.

"'Ay!--you may well ask. I had to have it--you know; so I went out and got it. Stole it--or rather, borrowed it when the other fellow wasn't looking. See that over there!' He pointed to a basin on the wash-stand. 'Look inside, Phil. It's red. Look at your s.h.i.+rt lying in the corner there. It's b.l.o.o.d.y too. G.o.d!--the d.a.m.ned stuff is still all over me. It sticks like glue. It won't come off.'

"His voice was gradually getting louder, so I went to him and clapped my hand over his mouth. I cautioned him to be quiet. For the first time in my memory, Graham Brenchfield broke down and cried like a baby. Little wonder,--for it was his first great offence against society and law.

"I led him to a chair and sat quietly beside him until the worst of his wildness seemed to be over.

"'Graham,--you must pull yourself together,' I said. 'Tell me what it is you have done. Maybe it is not so bad. Maybe we can fix it up.'

"'Phil, I got tired waiting for you and went out three-quarters of an hour ago,' he replied. 'I went over the fields to the village. I didn't mean any wrong then. I had no thought of it. I went the back way toward the bank. The back door was open and I looked in. The banker was figuring. There was money--stacks of it. The sight of the d.a.m.ned stuff made me crazy. I had little hope of you getting yours. It seemed an easy way. Something gripped me and I saw nothing after that but the money. There was no one about. I crept in, and under that counter that lifts up. He never saw or heard me. I picked up something--a poker, a ruler maybe. G.o.d only knows what it was! I hit him over the head with it. It didn't drop him. I had to hit him again and again. Then blood spurted. He fell on the floor. I grabbed as much money as I thought I needed and I came away hoping to get out from here before you got back. I was just writing to you now to tell you what I had done. I put it in the old cipher we made up together at school. I knew you'd fathom it and understand. It is on the table there.

"'Now you've come back,' he continued. 'They'll be after me. What am I to do, Phil? It'll break the dad's and mother's hearts if the police get me for this. Honest, Phil!--I didn't mean to. I can't think right.

You tell me what to do. You fix it up and get me away from here.'

"He was on the point of breaking down again, Jim, when I brought him up with a jerk.

"'I can help any man but a murderer,' I said. 'You didn't kill Maguire?'

"'No, no! I swear it,' he answered. 'The knocks I gave him could not kill him.'

"'Well, if he dies, Graham, I'll have to tell. If he doesn't, you can bank on me. Your folks have been too good to me for me to forget and we've been too good friends for me to give you away. Does anybody know you are in Carnaby?' I asked further.

"'Not a soul,' he said.

"'Has anyone seen you here?'

"'Not that I know of!'

"'Quick then,' I cried. 'Take this money Angus Macdonald sent. It's ours. There are five hundred dollars. That's all you need to meet your present obligations. Leave the blood money where it is. I'll put it in an envelope and some time late to-night I'll drop it, unaddressed, into the bank letter-box. They'll never guess what has happened, and, if Maguire recovers and they get their money back, no one--no one but you, Graham--will be any the worse for it.'

"This was one time that Brenchfield allowed himself to be advised and led.

"'Here,--take the back way,' I went on, 'the way you came, through the timber. Walk till you get to Newtown, then drop on to a Vancouver car and in. Then up the main line by to-night's train, and lie quiet.'

"Brenchfield stopped at the door and offered me his hand.

"'You won't hold a grudge against me for this?' he asked.

"'Never a grudge!' I said.

"'You won't let it interfere with our plans for the future, Phil?'

"'No,--for you'll have learned your lesson.'

"'And we're still partners?'

"I wasn't quite so sure about that part of it, but a look in Brenchfield's face made me relent.

"'Partners,--yes, Graham,--if you still wish it,' I said.

"'Wish it,--sure I wish it, Phil.'

"'Right-o.'

"'And whatever happens between you and me, in five years' time we'll pool everything we have, as we promised, and make a fair divide?'