A Yankee from the West Part 40

"To-morrow morning. I see by the paper that my man is there."

"Plague take your man and your woman too. Why can't you stay here and behave yourself? I do hate mightily to see you go. Why don't you say you hate to go?"

"Because I don't. I have worked in order to be able to go."

"What do you want to see the man for? You never have told me anythin'

about yourself, and here you are, goin' away. What do you want with him?"

"Want to tell him I'm well, and ask him how's all."

"Oh, you'll do. Fainted at the grave," she said, after a moment's silence. "Yes, I know all about such faintin'. They can't fool me, Bill.

It's been tried too often. Fainted at the thought of gettin' that ten thousand dollars, and I wish to the Lord I had half of it. I'd faint too; yes, you bet!"

Early the next morning he bade the old woman good-bye. She scolded him, with tears in her eyes, wheeled about, and left him standing at the gate. At the station the milkmen gathered about him to shake hands. They were sorry to lose him. In trade some of them had been nipped by him, but that only proved his worth as a citizen. He waved them a farewell, and Rollins became a memory.

Upon reaching the city, he went straightway to the Norwegian's cottage.

There was a romping of children within, and it was some time before he made himself heard. But finally a woman came to the door. He asked for Gunhild, and was told that she had gone over to see Mrs. Goodwin, but would not long be absent. He stood for a moment with his hand on the door. "When she comes back," he said, "tell her that a Yankee from the West has called. She will understand. Tell her that he will be back soon."

Jim Mills, railway monarch of the West, sat in his room at a hotel.

Strong, an engine of industry, he could do the work of three men. He had heard the hum of a mult.i.tude of enemies; he had climbed in slippery places, sliding back, falling, getting up, struggling onward to stand on the top of the mountain. Without a change of countenance he had swallowed the decree of many a defeat. In playful tones he had announced to his a.s.sociate the news of many a victory. He was a reader of old books and of young men. His word could build or kill a city. Legislators traveled with his name in their pockets. Men who cursed him in private were proud to be seen with him in public. He could clap an enemy on the shoulder and laugh enmity out of him, but failing, would fight him to an end that was not sweet. A commercial viking, he was ever thrusting himself into unexplored territory, a great commander with his scouts snorting on iron across the plains. He was a generous host and a captivating companion, but it was said that with all his apparent heartiness, he never forgave an injury. This, however, was spoken by his enemies, men whose "real estate" had been slaughtered by him.

Mills was busy in his room at the hotel, for neither at home nor abroad had he an aimless moment. His dozing on a train involved millions. A card, bearing a name in pencil, was handed to him.

"I don't know him," he said, glancing at the name.

"He says he must see you on most important business."

"What sort of looking man is he? I can't recall his name."

"Nice enough looking--hard worker, I should think."

"Tell him to come in."

Milford stepped into the room, looked at Mills and then at the secretary who stood near. "I should like to see you alone," he said.

Mills glanced at the secretary. The man vanished.

"Well, sir," said Mills, "what can I do for you? Sit down."

Milford sat down, a table between them.

"I wish to tell you of something that happened about five years ago."

"Well, go ahead. But I'm busy."

"I saw by the newspapers that you had arrived in town--you'll have to let me get at it in my own way."

Mills glanced at him and moved impatiently. Milford cleared his throat.

He leaned back and then leaned forward with his arms on the table. "Have just a little patience, please. For years I have worked toward this moment--have pictured it out a thousand times, but now that I'm up against it I hardly know how to begin. But let me say at the outset that I have come to repair a wrong done you."

Mills grunted. "Rather an odd mission," said he. "Men don't read the newspapers to learn my whereabouts to repay any wrong done me. But does the wrong concern me?"

"Yes, you and me. Now I'll get at it. I lived in Dakota. I was sometimes sober, but more often drunk. I gambled. I fought. At one time I was town marshal of Green Mound. Once I was station agent for you. An evil report reached the main office, and I was discharged. I was broke. I was mad. I was put out of a gambling house."

"But what have I got to do with all this?"

"Wait. I met a man, a twin-brother of the devil. He made a suggestion. I agreed to it. We heard that you and your pay-master were coming across in a stage. We stopped the stage, and robbed you of twelve hundred and fifty dollars. That was all you had in currency. We didn't want checks."

"Go ahead," said Mills, without changing countenance.

"I was called h.e.l.l-in-the-Mud. My partner was Sam Bradley. We got back to town, and were seen that night in a gambling house. But we didn't play--broke, presumably. We were not suspected. Sam died three months afterwards in Deadwood. We had run through with your money. The town buried him. I won't pretend to give you any flub-dub about reform, any of the guff of a mother's dying prayers, for that has been worked too often. But I got a newspaper from Connecticut with a prayer in it--the last words of an old woman. That's all right. We'll let that go. But I resolved to pay you--my part and Sam's too. So I drifted about looking for something to do, and at last I rented a farm not far from here, and went to work. My luck was good. I skinned every farmer in the neighborhood. All I wanted was enough money to clear my conscience.

Something--it must have been the devil--gave me a strange insight into cattle trading. Anyway I prospered, and the other day sold out. And here's your money, with six per cent interest for five years."

He placed a roll of paper on the table. Mills looked at him and then at the card which he had taken up. "My name is Newton," said Milford--"William Milford Newton. There's your money."

Mills took up the money, and then looked at his visitor. "I remember the occasion," said he. "And you have worked all this time. Very commendable, I a.s.sure you. How much more have you?"

"Less than ten dollars. Doesn't that satisfy you?"

"Oh, yes, I'm satisfied, but did it occur to you that the law might have to be satisfied?"

"The law?" Milford gasped.

"Yes. You seem to have forgotten that part of it."

"The law!" said Milford.

"Yes, sir, the law."

"And that means the penitentiary," said Milford, looking hard at him.

"That's what it means. Will you go quietly with me, or shall I send for an officer?"

"I came here quietly, didn't I? Yes, I'll go with you. I'm prepared to take my medicine. When do you leave?"

"At twelve to-night."

"Will you let me go out on my word of honor? I'll be back by six o'clock."

"Yes, but on your word of honor."

"Thank you. I will be here by six. I didn't think--but it's all right.

Yes, the law, of course. I'll be here by six."