The Delafield Affair Part 8

They found the Mexican sitting on the steps of the front veranda when they finished dinner.

"Why," exclaimed Curtis with hearty interest, "he's the same chap that told me my mare was stolen. I hope you can ride and throw a rope; I'm obliged to you already, and I'd like to do you a good turn. I'll meet you down town presently, and if you know anything about the business I'll take you behind me on my mare to the ranch to-night, and you can go to work in the morning."

The moon had just risen, and its huge white disk seemed to be resting on the plain only a little way beyond the town. Its brilliant silvery light was already working weird transformations in the landscape.

"Oh, are you going to ride home to-night, through this wonderful moonlight!" Lucy exclaimed. "How I envy you!"

"Yes," he answered, lowering his voice and speaking in a tone different from any she had before heard from his lips; "and it is indeed a wonderful ride! I don't know anything more impressive than the landscape of this country under a marvellous moon, like that over there. I hope we can have a ride by moonlight together, some time, when the moon is full.

Does Miss Dent ride?" His voice went back to its usual tone. "I know your father is a fine rider. Perhaps we can make up a party some night, when I don't have to hurry home. I expect my brother here this Summer, to spend his vacation with me. You and Miss Dent will like him, I'm sure, for he's a fine lad. I hope we can all have some pleasant excursions together."

At the sound of his softened voice Lucy felt herself swept by sudden emotion, and hastily put her hands behind her lest he should see that they were trembling. And later that night, when she looked out from her window at the white moon floating in the violet sky, suddenly her nerves went a-quiver again and her eyes sought the far, dim plain as she softly whispered, "Under a marvellous moon, like that over there!"

The Mexican asked Bancroft how to reach the place where Conrad was to meet him, and the banker walked to the gate and pointed out the streets he was to follow. As he finished Gonzalez bent a keen gaze upon him and asked, significantly, "Has the senor further instructions for me?"

Bancroft's start and the shade of annoyance that crossed his face as he realized that it had been noticed were not lost upon the man, whose searching look was still on him. His equanimity had been well tried already that evening, and this sudden touch upon a half-formed and most secret desire startled him for an instant out of his usual self-control.

Heretofore he had merely dallied with the thought that Conrad's removal would mean his own safety, for the rest of his life. It had appeared to him merely as something the consequences of which would be desirable.

His hand could not be concerned in it, he wished to know nothing about it--but if Baxter thought best--to further his own ends--why had the Mexican come to him with this impudent question?

"I'm not hiring you," was his curt answer.

"Certainly not, senor," the man answered calmly, his head erect, his arms folded, and one foot advanced. The trio on the veranda noted and laughed over his att.i.tude. Lucy said he looked like a hero of melodrama taking the limelight. Miss Dent added that he was handsome enough for a matinee idol, and Conrad declared that there was no telling how many senoritas' hearts he had already broken. Bancroft turned to go back to the house, but paused an instant, and the Mexican quickly went on in a softly insinuating voice: "But if the senor should wish to say anything particular? Don Dellmey thought it might be possible."

Bancroft lingered, flicking the ashes from his cigar. "I--I know nothing about it," he blurted out, uncertainly. "If Don Dellmey had anything to say to you I suppose he said it."

As he turned away he heard the man say gently, "Thank you, Senor Bancroft. I shall not forget our talk." There was no reply, and the Mexican, whistling a Spanish love tune, disappeared down the hill in the weird mixed lights of the fading day and the brilliant moon.

Alone on the veranda, Alexander Bancroft walked restlessly to and fro, stopping now and again as if to listen to the music from within, which he did not hear, or to look at the moonlit landscape, which he did not see. Over and over he was saying to himself that he had no idea what Dellmey Baxter had said to this Mexican, and, whatever it was, he had distinctly told the creature that he knew nothing about it. The man had come to him recommended as an expert cowboy, he had pa.s.sed the recommendation on to Conrad, and that was all there was about it.

Nevertheless, he knew he had reason to believe--the Congressman had intimated as much in his letter--that the man who called himself Jose Gonzalez was in reality Liberato Herrara, guilty of at least one murder and probably of others, whom Baxter's legal skill had saved from the gallows. Curtis had said that he should carry the man behind him to the ranch that night. Before Bancroft's inward eye a sudden vision opened: wide miles of silent plain, a great white moon hanging low in the sky, a long stretch of deserted road, and then two men on a single horse--and the light gleaming on a long knife! He shuddered as the blade flashed, and turned his face away from the plain. Then, as there came to him a sudden sense of tremendous relief, with breath and thought suspended he turned slowly, fascinatedly, and with greedy eyes searched the distant plain, as if eager to find in it some proof, at last, of his own safety.

Lucy's voice rose in a gay little song above the piano and fell upon his ears. With a deep, long-drawn breath his thought leaped out and seized upon all that freedom from Curtis Conrad's pursuit would mean for him.

Jose Gonzalez would sink out of sight, and Liberato Herrara would be back in his own home, unsuspected and silent. Some excitement would follow, search would be made, a body would be found in a mesquite thicket,--and then the interest would die out, and there would be only another grewsome tale of mystery to be added to the hundreds already told through the Southwest. And he--Alexander Bancroft--would be safe--secure in fortune and reputation and the love and honor of his daughter as long as they should live.

The music within ceased and Lucy's voice rippled out in girlish laughter. His heart sank as he seemed to hear again her hot denunciation of Baxter's loan and mortgage operations. "I'll sell out to Dell and she'll never know I've had anything to do with it," he thought. Then there came ringing through his memory, as he had heard them so many times since they rode home from the Socorro Springs ranch, her pa.s.sionate words, "He must have been a wicked man," and "I should hate him, with all my strength," and again his longing face turned impulsively toward the plain.

"I'd kill him myself, rather than let her find out," he whispered, with teeth set. "And a man has got to protect himself out here!" his urgent thought went on. "I'll be a fool if I don't stop him before he gets his chance at me!" With a sudden stirring of conscience he remembered that this man whose death he was so ardently desiring was his friend and trusted his friends.h.i.+p. "I--I don't want him stuck in the back," he muttered. "I might warn him. He may not have started yet."

He walked uncertainly toward the veranda steps. There was a flutter of white drapery and Lucy was laying an affectionate hand on his arm. "Oh, daddy dear," she coaxed, "won't you come in and try this duet with us?

Dearie will play the accompaniment for us to sing. She brought it to me, and I'm dying to try it."

"Yes, if you wish it, daughter," the banker replied, hesitation in his voice, "but I was thinking of going down town." He saw the shade of disappointment that crossed her face, and drew her hand into his arm.

"It doesn't matter," he went on, "and I would rather stay at home." To himself he said as they moved to the door, "Conrad has gone by this time, and, anyway, I've no reason to think this Mexican intends to do him any harm."

CHAPTER VIII

SPECTRES OF THE PAST

Restless was the night that followed for Alexander Bancroft; his sleep was troubled by many a dream in which one friend after another moved swiftly on to violent death. With the coming of dawn he arose to look out from the eastern windows of his room. The sky was a dome of rosy light and below lay the vast plain, dim but colorful, its gray-green mottled with vague bands and patches of opalescent lights and shadows and dotted with little islands of vivid green. His eyes clung to these darker spots, which he knew to be thickets of mesquite; piercing their shade his inner vision showed him the still body of his friend. So real was the mental picture that he turned pale about the lips and abruptly left the window.

If anything had happened, he kept rea.s.suring himself, it had been at Dellmey Baxter's instigation. He himself had had nothing to do with it.

If Baxter had decided that his affairs would go more smoothly with Conrad out of the way, why should he, Alexander Bancroft, trouble himself further? And if--anything had happened--again he felt the loosening of mental strain and his spirits rose in exultation at the prospect of freedom and safety. Life was more attractive than ever with that menacing figure no longer threatening him with disclosure, disgrace, and death. He could go on with his plans for the acc.u.mulation of fortune and the enjoyment of life. He could still hold Lucy's love and honor, travel with her, marry again, work his way to a commanding place in the world of business. The future opened before him as easy and inviting as the stairs down which he went to breakfast.

Lucy ran to meet him with a good-morning kiss and a rose for his b.u.t.tonhole. "It's the prettiest I could find in my conservatory," she smiled at him; "but it isn't half nice enough for my daddy dear. You don't look well this morning, daddy," she went on anxiously. "Is anything the matter?"

His hand slipped caressingly down over her curls and drew her to his breast in a quick embrace, instinct with the native impulse of the animal to protect its offspring. "She shall never know," was the thought in his mind.

"Daddy! What a bear hug that was!" she laughed, "like those you used to give me when I was a little girl. It didn't feel as if you were ill."

"I'm not," he answered lightly, kissing her pink cheek. "I guess I smoked too much yesterday, and so didn't sleep very well. Yes; I promise; I'll be more careful to-day."

At breakfast his eyes dwelt much upon Louise Dent's face, gentle and pleasant. He had always liked her, and since her coming on this visit she had seemed very attractive. He knew she had strength and poise of character and a nature refined and cheerful. These qualities in her, with a certain genial, un.o.btrusive companionableness, had long ago won his warm friends.h.i.+p. But was there not in her steady gray eyes a hint of pa.s.sionate depths he had never thought of before? It stirred him so deeply that for a little while, as they lingered over the breakfast table, he forgot the other facts of life, noting the faint rose flush in her cheeks, the graceful turn of her wrists, and the soft whiteness of her throat as she threw back her head and laughed. And Lucy loved her so devotedly! If she were willing to marry him their household would surely be harmonious and happy.

Lucy fluttered beside him to the gate, her arm in his, as she chattered to him of the funny things her Chinese cook had been saying and doing.

She lingered there, her eyes following his figure, until he turned, half a block away, to wave his hat in response to her farewell handkerchief.

By the time he reached the foot of the hill Bancroft's mind was once more engrossed with the need of knowing whether or not he was at last secure from ignominious exposure. He no longer disguised from himself the fact that news of Conrad's death would be most welcome. He looked eagerly up and down the main streets; there was no sign of excitement.

Had nothing happened, then? But it was still early; moreover, news of the affair might not reach the town for a day or two. The sound of horses' feet coming at a swift trot down the street on the other side of the stream made his heart beat quickly. He lingered at the door of his bank until the horseman came into view under the big cottonwoods at the next corner. It was Red Jack from the Socorro Springs ranch. At once his heart leaped to certainty. He turned to enter the bank, but stopped and looked back, undecidedly. Red Jack had not dismounted, but had drawn rein in front of the court-house at the next corner, and was sitting there quietly, looking up and down the road as if expecting somebody. He led a saddled horse. Perhaps he was to take a physician back with him.

But he seemed in no haste, and in his manner there was neither excitement nor anxiety. Bancroft could wait no longer to learn what had happened. With hands in pockets he sauntered down the street.

"h.e.l.lo, Jack," he said indifferently to the waiting horseman. "You're in town early this morning."

"I sure hiked along from the ranch early enough," the cowboy replied.

"The boss hired a new man last night; and I had to come over this morning after him."

Bancroft's eyes were on the cigar he was taking from his pocket, which he handed to the cowboy, saying idly, "Why, he intended last night to carry the man behind him. Did he change his mind? The man was a Mexican, wasn't he?"

"Y-e-s; a measly coyote! The boss didn't bring him last night because he thought it would be too hard on Brown Betty to carry double. I wonder if mebbe that ain't my man comin' down the street right now! I've done forgot his name; do you happen to know it, Mr. Bancroft?"

"I think it's Jose Gonzalez. He came here from Dellmey Baxter, who recommended him to me as a first-rate cowboy."

"Well, he'll have to be a peach if he strikes the boss's gait," Red Jack rejoined, motioning to the Mexican.

Bancroft walked back to his place of business with brows knitted and mouth drawn into grim lines. His mind was acting rapidly and ruthlessly.

The sudden collapse of his house of cards, the knowledge that danger was still as imminent as ever, left him savage with desire for Curtis Conrad's death, or, rather, for the delectable land that lay beyond it.

n.o.body but this young hothead with his insensate desire for revenge knew or cared anything about that old affair now. With him out of the way there would be no danger from anybody or anything. Why wasn't the man sensible enough to take the money he was willing to pay, and be satisfied? Perhaps the receipt of another check or two would soften his purpose; it was worth trying. And--there was still the Mexican! Baxter had surely said something to him, and the fellow seemed to understand that he, also--but he had said nothing about it, and whatever the creature suspected was his own inference. Evidently the Mexican did suspect something and had some purpose in his mind. With Conrad so intent upon his destruction had he not every right to protect himself and his child? Of course he had, he told himself fiercely, and what means he might use were his own affair.

At the door of the bank Rutherford Jenkins met him with a smiling salutation: "Good-morning, Mr. Bancroft; this is lucky! I was waiting for you here, but I've got so much to do that I'd begun to be afraid I wouldn't be able to see you before I go back."

Bancroft greeted him pleasantly. "What do you mean, Jenkins," he went on, "by deserting to Martinez? Hadn't you better think again about that?

We need you on our side."

"That's exactly what I want to see you about," said Jenkins in a confidential tone. "Can't you come over with me to Bill Williams's hotel for a few minutes? I want to have a talk with you."

They went back together, Bancroft wondering if Jenkins, who was regarded as a desirable ally by both parties, notwithstanding his character, was about to make overtures to him for deserting the Martinez fold and coming back to Baxter's. "Perhaps that spanking Curt gave him has set him against the whole Martinez following," he thought. "Baxter will be mighty glad to get him back, and I'll do my best to cinch the bargain so he can't crawl."