The Delafield Affair Part 22

But to-day's Sunday, boys, and we've come finally where we can stop and take breath once a week. You fellows can do anything you like to-day."

Peters thought he'd sleep all day, for he hadn't caught up since the barbecue; but Jose wanted to visit a Mexican family who had a little ranch beside a spring on the road to Golden.

"All right," said the superintendent. "Take whichever one of the ponies you want, but be sure to get back to-night."

"Curt," said Homer when they sat down to breakfast, "if you're not going to use Brown Betty to-day, would you mind if I rode her over to Golden?

Or wouldn't you like to go with me? I'm going to call at the Bancrofts'

to see if Miss Bancroft has recovered from the shock she had the other night."

Curtis hesitated a moment as he poured their coffee, his own plan rising before him invitingly. But he remembered how pleased the two young people had seemed to be with each other and recalled his own resolution: "Let the lad have a fair field," he thought.

"Brown Betty? Certainly, Homer," was his reply. "I'll see that she's ready for you. I can't go because I must ride down to Adobe Springs to see about some work the boys must do there to-morrow. Give my regards to the Bancrofts. By the way, Mrs. Ned Castleton gave me a message for Miss Bancroft that I'll let you deliver."

As Homer mounted for his journey he cast an anxious glance at the wet-looking clouds against which rose the purple-blue, statuesque ma.s.ses of the Mogollon Mountains, and asked, "Is it going to rain?"

"It will sure rain in the mountains," replied his brother, "if it isn't pouring down by the bucketful there already. There may be a shower in Golden, but the creek will get on the rampage anyway, and maybe carry away some of the bridges. We shan't get any here right away, but it's coming, thank G.o.d! I tell you, Homer, it's been a cruel thing to see the cattle dying like flies on account of the drouth. For a while last Spring I thought of throwing up this job, I hated so to see the suffering of the poor brutes."

For a while all the man in Curtis Conrad clamored in revolt as he galloped southward across the silent, empty plain and thought of Lucy smiling a welcome from her veranda steps--and not upon him. His love called imperiously, demanding that he make trial of its strength. Should he give up the girl he loved without an effort, even though his rival be his brother? The primeval man in him was quick with the desire to take her in his arms and bear her away from all the world. But it was not long until he was saying grimly to himself, "What have I to do with love-making and winning a wife? The Delafield affair is my business, and I'd better stick to it."

He pondered over the conversation with his brother on the previous evening, feeling more keenly Homer's condemnation of his purpose. He remembered that every one with whom he had spoken about the matter had sought to dissuade him. Bancroft disapproved, and had begged him many times to desist. Miss Dent called it unworthy of him. Now his brother, upon whose sympathy he had counted, condemned both his feeling and his intention. Nevertheless, he was surely right. It was easy for them to talk, for they had not suffered from the man's crimes, they had not struggled as he had, and they had not spent years in the effort to find Delafield and cast his sins in his face. But still, his cherished purpose had lost a little of its savor. He thought of his journey northward, which he so ardently hoped would consummate his years of effort and desire, and there was not quite the usual pleasure in his mental forecast. He put the thought of Lucy behind him and went over once more that early struggle and the birth of his purpose, brought more vividly to mind by the talk with Homer, and soon the old ideas and intentions recovered their accustomed sway. By the time he galloped homeward in the late afternoon his indignation was once more hot and seething and his mind full of zest for his approaching journey.

He found Homer in the corral unsaddling Brown Betty and humming a college tune. "Say, Curt, I think I'll go hunting to-morrow," said the young man as they walked across to the house. "I want to see if I can't get a shot at that gray wolf you've been telling me about. As I was coming home your Mexican cowboy had sighted it not far from the road, in that valley beyond the hill yonder, and was just about to shoot when I had the bad luck to come along and scare the thing away."

Curtis looked up with quick interest. "Jose? What was he doing? Did he shoot?"

"He jumped from his hiding-place just as I came along, so suddenly that the mare s.h.i.+ed and nearly threw me. He was just ready to shoot--he said the beast was only a little way down the draw--and saw me barely in time to throw up his revolver and send it off at the sky. By that time, of course, the wolf was out of sight. I'm going back there at daybreak to-morrow to see if I can get a crack at it."

Just then Gonzalez came riding into the corral, and Curtis moved his chair to the doorway, in front of his brother. "All right, Homer, I wish you would," he said; "it would be just a tenderfoot's luck, you know, if you should get it." He was rolling a cigarette, but keeping one eye on Jose, who was caring for his horse. "Was there much rain in Golden to-day?" he asked.

"Yes; quite a storm, with lots of fireworks; I never saw such lightning or heard such thunder in my life. There must have been a flood farther up in the mountains, for the creek came down that ravine fairly booming, just as you said it would. It swept away one of the bridges and washed out parts of the foundations of two or three houses. But it soon went down again."

"Was the bank building injured?" Curtis asked, still following with narrowed eyes the movements of Gonzalez. "It's in a dangerous spot if a really bad flood ever does come down that valley."

"The First National? That's Bancroft's bank, isn't it? Yes; it lost some bricks out of the foundation, and the ground was washed away a little.

Nothing of consequence."

"Well, that has happened several times already; some of these days it will happen once too often. Long ago, I'm told, the street and sidewalk had to be moved to the other side of the houses for a block or two along there. You remember the creek elbows toward the bank. If a great ma.s.s of water ever comes down that canyon it will rush straight against the side of the building--and the lives of whoever happens to be inside won't be worth two switches of a cow's tail."

"I talked with Mr. Bancroft about that possibility to-day," said Homer, "and he doesn't think the situation is dangerous."

"Yes; n.o.body in Golden believes there's any danger. And they may be right. They say there isn't as much rain now as there used to be, and that cloud-bursts of any consequence are as rare as six-legged calves.

It will all depend on the weather."

The next morning Jose Gonzalez was. .h.i.tching up to drive the men to Adobe Springs when Conrad walked up, leaned carelessly against the wheel, and looked him in the eye. The Mexican returned the gaze unflinchingly but respectfully. "Jose," said Curtis in a low tone, "you made a mistake about that wolf last night, didn't you? It wasn't the wolf you thought it was when you made ready to shoot, was it?"

An amused gleam lighted for an instant Jose's sombre eyes. "It might have been as you say, Don Curtis," he answered cautiously.

"I don't want any might-have-beens; I want to know if you are making war on my brother as well as on me. It's all right about me, but I won't have anything of the sort where he's concerned. I want the truth, Jose.

Is anything of the kind going to happen again?"

Gonzalez looked at Conrad squarely as he earnestly replied: "It was a mistake, Don Curtis; I swear to you it was a mistake. Your brother looks much like you, it was your mare, and you had said you would be back from Golden about that hour. I saw it was Don Homer barely in time. After this I shall be more careful."

Conrad grinned at the closing sentence, and the Mexican scarcely repressed an answering smile. "Well, I am going away to-day," said Curtis, "to be gone for several days. So it won't be necessary for you to make any mistakes while I'm gone."

Jose looked up in quick alarm. "You are not going to Don Dellmey?" he exclaimed. "He is not the one who wishes your death!"

"What do you say, Jose?" the other demanded, starting forward eagerly.

"I swear to you by the Mother of G.o.d, Don Curtis," said the Mexican, with voice intense and manner most earnest, "that it is not Senor Baxter who desires your death."

"Are you speaking the truth, Jose?"

"I will swear it on the crucifix, Don Curtis!"

Conrad gazed at him steadfastly, and the conviction entered his mind that Gonzalez was speaking the truth. A look of puzzled wonder overspread his face. "In the name of G.o.d, then, who is it?" he said, half aloud. The Mexican shrugged a shoulder and turned away.

"Who can it be?" the manager repeated, to himself, but still loud enough for the other to hear. "It must be Delafield!" he exclaimed. Jose's ear caught the words, and he listened as his employer went on: "He knows I'm after him, and he's trying to kill me first. If I could only make this _coyote_ greaser tell me who his _patron_ is, I'd know who Delafield is.

I'd like to choke it out of you, you son of perdition!" He looked so fiercely at Gonzalez that the Mexican took a threatening step forward.

"You needn't worry," Conrad exclaimed contemptuously. "I know you wouldn't tell, even if I choked the life out of you trying to make you peach. It's your _patron_ I'm after." Jose stooped to hitch the traces, and Curtis broke out impulsively: "I say, Jose, what makes you do this sort of thing? You're as square as they make 'em in most things; why do you go into this d.a.m.ned rattlesnake business?"

Gonzalez looked up with a confiding smile.

"The _patron_ wishes it; and why not? If I kill a man he gets me off if he can, and then that is all right. If he can't, I pay for it in prison--and that is fair."

"Huh!" grunted the superintendent as he walked away. "So you think you are going to pay for me that way, do you? Well, I guess not!"

The same train that carried Conrad northward to Santa Fe carried also a brief and hurried letter to Dellmey Baxter which Jose Gonzalez had found time to write before he and the rest started for Adobe Springs, mailing it as they pa.s.sed White Rock station.

"You will see Senor Conrad in Santa Fe," the Congressman read in his office the next morning, "but you need not be anxious. I have sworn to him that it is not you who desires his death, and he believes me. I heard him speak to himself, and he said it must be Delafeel who wishes him dead. He said he would like to choke out of me who my _patron_ is, for then he would know who Delafeel is. Don Curtis is a very brave man.

I like him much."

Baxter chuckled over the closing sentences as he tore the letter into bits. Poking them musingly with a fat forefinger he thought: "It's a sure bet that his _patron_ just now is Aleck Bancroft; and that makes it look as if Aleck might be this mysterious Delafeel--I'll have to find out who Delafeel is and what he's done some time or other; then I sure reckon I'll have a cinch on Aleck that will keep him from trying to step into my shoes as long as I want him to keep out." He looked out of his window into the little tree-filled plaza, cool and green in the morning sunlight, and saw Curtis Conrad walking across it from the hotel on the other side. He took a six-shooter from his pocket, made sure of its cartridges, and replaced it. From a drawer in his desk he took another, examined its chambers, and laid it on his desk, under an open newspaper.

A moment later he was rising from his chair with outstretched hand and beaming smile.

"Why, how do you do, Mr. Conrad! I'm sure glad to see you. How did you leave things down in old Silverside? That was a high old time we had at the barbecue, wasn't it? Have the Castletons gone yet? A fine figure of a woman is Mrs. Turner Castleton! And I tell you right now it was a great shave she gave me!" The Honorable Dellmey Baxter rubbed his cheek, and chuckled. But his right hand rested on his desk, close beside the newspaper which he had apparently just thrown down.

"Mr. Baxter," said Conrad, ignoring the stream of questions and remarks, "some weeks ago I wrote you, saying frankly that I believed you responsible for attempts against my life, made by a Mexican who had come from you to me. I find myself mistaken, and I have come to apologize to you for my suspicions."

"That's all right, Curt, that's all right!" Baxter broke in, relief apparent in his countenance. "I'll admit I felt hurt by your insinuations, but as long as you've found out you were wrong and are willing to do me the justice of saying so, it's not worth speaking of again."

"Understand," Curtis went on, "that I'm not taking back or apologizing for anything else I've said about you, and I'm still shouting for Johnny Martinez for Congress."

"Johnny is to be congratulated for having your support," Baxter rejoined genially; "I wish I could get it away from him. Has that measly greaser made any more attempts on your life, my dear Conrad? You're too good a citizen for the Territory to lose in that way."

Curtis smiled carelessly. "I don't think my life is in any danger. No d.a.m.ned greaser will get the chance to stick me in the back when I've got both eyes shut and one foot tucked up in my feathers, if I'm onto his game. I don't care anything about Jose; it's his _patron_ I'm after."

"His _patron_!" exclaimed Baxter in apparent surprise. "You don't mean to say that Jose's got a _patron_ in that business!" His visitor nodded and the Congressman went on: "You don't say so! I didn't suppose you had an enemy in the Territory. This is interesting! We must get at the bottom of this, Mr. Conrad, for we can't afford to lose you. Have you any idea who's behind the greaser?"