Produced by David Yingling, Bethanne M. Simms, Mary Meehanand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team athttps://www.pgdp.net
MONEY MAGIC
By HAMLIN GARLAND
SUNSET EDITION
HARPER & BROTHERSNEW YORK AND LONDON
COPYRIGHT 1907 BY HAMLIN GARLAND
HE ROSE AND WALKED UP AND DOWN]
CONTENTS
I. THE CLERK OF THE GOLDEN EAGLE
II. MARSHALL HANEY CHANGES HEART
III. BERTHA YIELDS TO TEMPTATION
IV. HANEY MEETS AN AVENGER
V. BERTHA'S UPWARD FLIGHT
VI. THE HANEY PALACE
VII. BERTHA REPULSES AN ENEMY
VIII. BERTHA RECEIVES AN INVITATION
IX. BERTHA MEETS BEN FORDYCE
X. BEN FORDYCE CALLS ON HORSEBACK
XI. BEN BECOMES ADVISER TO MRS. HANEY
XII. ALICE HEATH HAS A VISION
XIII. BERTHA'S YELLOW CART
XIV. THE JOLLY SEND-OFF
XV. MART'S VISIT TO HIS SISTER
XVI. A DINNER AND A PLAY
XVII. BERTHA BECOMES A PATRON OF ART
XVIII. BERTHA'S PORTRAIT IS DISCUSSED
XIX. THE FARTHER EAST
XX. BERTHA MEETS MANHATTAN
XXI. BERTHA MAKES A PROMISE
XXII. THE SERPENT'S COIL
XXIII. BERTHA'S FLIGHT
XXIV. THE HANEYS RETURN TO THE PEAKS
XXV. BERTHA'S DECISION
XXVI. ALICE VISITS HANEY
XXVII. MARSHALL HANEY'S SENTENCE
XXVIII. VIRTUE TRIUMPHS
XXIX. MARSHALL HANEY'S LAST TRAIL
MONEY MAGIC
CHAPTER I
THE CLERK OF THE GOLDEN EAGLE
Sibley Junction is in the sub-tropic zone of Colorado. It lies in a hot,dry, but immensely productive valley at an altitude of some fourthousand feet above the sea, a village laced with irrigating ditches,shaded by big cotton-wood-trees, and beat upon by a genial,generous-minded sun. The boarders at the Golden Eagle Hotel can sit onthe front stoop and see the snow-filled ravines of the mountains to thesouth, and almost hear the thunder crashing round old Uncompahgre, evenwhen the broad leaves above their heads are pulseless and the heat ofthe mid-day light is a cataract of molten metal.
It is, as I have said, a productive land, for upon this ashen,cactus-spotted, repellent flat men have directed the cool, sweet waterof the upper world, and wherever this life-giving fluid touches the soilgrass and grain spring up like magic.
For all its wild and beautiful setting, Sibley is now a town of farmersand traders rather than of miners. The wagons entering the gates areladen with wheat and melons and peaches rather than with ore andgiant-powder, and the hotels are frequented by ranchers of prosaicaspect, by passing drummers for shoes and sugars, and by the barbers andclerks of near-by shops. It is, in fact, a bit of slow-going villagelife dropped between the diabolism of Cripple Creek and the decay ofCreede.
Nevertheless, now and then a genuine trailer from the heights, orcow-man from the mesas, does drop into town on some transient businessand, with his peculiar speech and stride, remind the lazy town-loafersof the vigorous life going on far above them. Such types nearly alwaysput up at the Eagle Hotel, which was a boarding-house advanced to thesidewalk of the main street and possessing a register.
At the time of this story trade was good at the Eagle for two reasons.Mrs. Gilman was both landlady and cook, and an excellent cook, and, whatwas still more alluring, Bertha, her pretty daughter, was day-clerk andgeneral manager. Customers of the drummer type are very loyal to theirhotels, and amazingly sensitive to female charm--therefore Bertha, whowould have been called an attractive girl anywhere, was widely known andtenderly recalled by every brakeman on the line. She was tall andstraight, with brown hair and big, candid, serious eyes--wistful when inrepose, boyishly frank and direct as she stood behind her desk attendingto business, or smiling as she sped her parting guests at the door.
"I know Bertie ought to be in school," Mrs. Gilman said one day to asympathetic guest. "But what can I do? We got to live. I didn't come outhere for my health, but goodness knows I never expected to slave away ina hot kitchen in this way. If Mr. Gilman had lived--"
It was her habit to leave her demonstrations--even hersentences--unfinished, a peculiarity arising partly from her need ofhastening to prevent some pot from boiling over and partly from herfailing powers. She had been handsome once--but the heat of the stove,the steam of the washtub, and the vexation and prolonged effort of herdaily life had warped and faded and battered her into a pathetic wreckof womanhood.
"I'm going to quit this thing as soon as I get my son's ranch paid for.You see--"
She did not finish this, but her friend understood. Bertha's time forschooling was past. She had already entered upon the maiden's land ofdreams--of romance. The men who had hitherto courted her,half-laughingly, half-guiltily, knowing that she was a child, had atlast dropped all subterfuge. To them she was a "girl," with all thatthis word means to males not too scrupulous of the rights of women.
"I oughtn't to quit now when business is so good," Mrs. Gilman returnedto the dining-room to add. "I'm full all the time and crowded onSaturday. More and more of the boys come down the line on purpose tostay over Sunday. If I can stick it out a little while--"
The reason why "the boys came down the line to stay over Sunday," wasput into words one day by Winchell, the barber, who took his meals atthe Eagle.
He was a cleanly shaven young man of twenty-four or five, with acarefully tended brown mustache which drooped below the corners of hismouth.
He began by saying to Bertha:
"I wish I could get out of my business. Judas, but I get tired of it!When I left the farm I never s'posed I'd find myself nailed down to thefloor of a barber-shop, but here I am and making good money. How'd youlike to go on a ranch?" he asked, meaningly.
"I don't believe I'd like it. Too lonesome," she replied, without anyattempt to coquette with the hidden meaning of his question. "I kind o'like this hotel business. I enjoy having new people sifting along everyday. Seems like I couldn't bear to step out into private life again,I've got so used to this public thing. I only wish mother didn't have towork so hard--that's all that troubles me at the present time."
Her speech was quite unlike the birdlike chatter with which girls of herage entertain a lover. She spoke rather slowly and with the gravity of aman of business, and her blunt phrases made her smile the morebewitching and her big, brown eyes the more girlish. She did not giggleor flush--she only looked past his smirking face out into the streetwhere the sun's rays lay like flame. And yet she was profoundly moved bythe man, for he was a handsome fellow in a sleek way.
"Just the same, you oughtn't to be clerk," said the barber. "It's noplace for a girl, anyway. Housekeeping is all right, but this clerkingis too public."
"Oh, I don't know! We have a mighty nice run of custom, and I don't seeanything bad about it. I've met a lot of good fellows by being here."
The barber was silent for a moment, then pulled out his watch. "Well,I've got to get back." He dropped his voice. "Don't let 'em get gay withyou. Remember, I've got a mortgage on you. If any of 'em gets fresh youlet me know--they won't repeat it."
"Don't you worry," she replied, with a confident smile. "I can take careof myself. I grew up in Colorado. I'm no tenderfoot."
This boast, so childish, so full of pathetic self-assertion, was stillon her lips when a couple of men came out of the dining-room and pausedto buy some cigars at the counter. One of them was at f
irst sight a veryhandsome man of pronounced Western sort. He wore a long, gray frock-coatwithout vest, and a dark-blue, stiffly starched shirt, over which a rednecktie fluttered. His carriage was erect, his hands large of motion,and his profile very fine in its bold lines. His eyes were gray and inexpression cold and penetrating, his nose was broad, and the corners ofhis mouth bitter. He could not be called young, and yet he was not evenmiddle-aged. His voice was deep, and harsh in accent, but as he spoke tothe girl a certain sweetness came into it.
"Well, Babe, here I am again. Couldn't get along without coming down tospend Sunday--seems like Williams must go to church on Sunday or losehis chance o' grace."
His companion, a short man with a black mustache that almost made acircle about his mouth, grinned in silence.
Bertha replied, "I think I'll take a forenoon off to-morrow, CaptainHaney, and see that you both go to mass for once in your life."
The big man looked at her with sudden intensity. "If you'll takeme--I'll go." There was something in his voice and eyes that startledthe girl. She drew back a little, but smiled bravely, carrying out thejest.
"I'll call you on that. Unless you take water, you go to churchto-morrow."
The big man shoved his companion away and, leaning across the counter,said, in a low and deeply significant tone:
"There ain't a thing in this world that you can't do with MartHaney--not a thing. That's what I came down here to tell you--you canboss my ranch any day."
The girl was visibly alarmed, but as she still stood fascinated by hiseyes and voice, struggling to recover her serenity, another group ofdiners came noisily past, and the big man, with a parting look, went outand took a seat on one of the chairs which stood in a row upon the walk.The hand which held the cigar visibly trembled, and his companion said:
"Be careful, Mart--"
Haney silenced him with a look. "You're on the outside here, partner."
"I didn't mean to butt in--"
"I understand, but this is a matter between that little girl and me,"replied the big man in a tone that, while friendly, ended all furtherremark on the part of his companion, who rose, after a little pause, andwalked away.
Haney remained seated, buried in thought, amazed at the fever which hisencounter with the girl had put into his blood.
It was true that he had been coming down every Saturday forweeks--leaving his big saloon on the best evening in the week for achance to see this child--this boyish school-girl. In a savage, selfish,and unrestrained way he loved her, and had determined to possess her--tobuy her if necessary. He knew something of the toil through which theweary mother plodded, and he watched her bend and fade with a certaintythat she would one day be on his side.
When at home and afar from her, he felt capable of seizing the girl--ofcarrying her back with him as the old-time savage won his bride; butwhen he looked into her clear, calm eyes his villiany, his resolutionfell away from him. He found himself not merely a man of the nearertime, but a Catholic--in training at least--and the words he had plannedto utter fell dead on his lips. Libertine though he was, there werelines over which even his lawlessness could not break.
He was a desperate character--a man of violence--and none too delicatein his life among women; but away back in his boyhood his good Irishmother had taught him to fight fair and to protect the younger andweaker children, and this training led to the most curious andunexpected acts in his business as a gambler.
"I will not have boys at my lay-out," he once angrily said, to Williams,his partner, "and I will not have women there. I've sins enough toanswer for without these. Cut 'em out!" He was oddly generous now andthen, and often returned to a greenhorn money enough to get home on."Stay on the farm, me lad--'tis better to milk a cow with a mosquito onthe back of your neck than to fill a cell at Canon City."
In other ways he was inexorable, taking the hazards of the game with hisvisitors and raking in their money with cold eyes and a steady hand. Hecollected all notes remorselessly--and it was in this way that he hadacquired his interests in "The Bottom Dollar" and "The Flora"mines--"prospects" at the time, but immensely valuable at the present.It was, indeed, this new and measurably respectable wealth which haddetermined him upon pressing his suit with Bertha. As he sat there hecame to a most momentous conclusion. "Why not marry the girl and livehonest?" he asked himself; and being moved by the memory of hersweetness and humor, he said, "I will," and the resolution filled hisheart with a strange delight.
He presented the matter first to the mother, not with any intention ofdoing the right thing, but merely because she happened into the roombefore the girl returned, and because he was overflowing with hisnew-found grace.
Mrs. Gilman came in wiping her face on her apron--as his mother used todo--and this touched him almost like a caress. He rose and offered her achair, which she accepted, highly flattered.
"It must seem warm to you down here, Captain?" she remarked, as she tooka seat beside him.
"It does. I wouldn't need to suffer it if you were doing business inCripple. I can't leave go your Johnny-cake and pie; 'tis the kind thatmother didn't make--for she was Irish."
"I've thought of going up there," she replied, matter-of-factly, "but Ican't stand the altitude, I'm afraid--and then down here we have myson's little ranch to furnish us eggs and vegetables."
"That's an advantage," he admitted; "but on the peak no one expectsvegetables--it's still a matter of ham and eggs."
"Is that so?" she asked, concernedly.
"'Tis indeed. I live at the Palace Hotel, and I know. However, 'tis notof that I intended to speak, Mrs. Gilman. I'm distressed to see youworking so hard this warm weather. You need a rest--a vacation, I'mthinkin'."
"You're mighty neighborly, Captain, to say so, but I don't see any wayof taking it."
"Furthermore, your daughter is too fine to be clerkin' here day by day.She should be in a home of her own."
"She ought to be in school," sighed the mother, "but I don't see my wayto hiring anybody to fill her place--it would take a man to do herwork."
"It would so. She's a rare little business woman. Let me see, how old isshe?"
"Eighteen next November."
"She seems like a woman of twenty."
"I couldn't run for a week without her," answered the mother, rollingdown her sleeves in acknowledgment that they had entered upon a realconversation.
"She's a little queen," declared Haney.
It was very hot and the flies were buzzing about, but the big gamblerhad no mind to these discomforts, so intent was he upon bringing hisproposal before the mother. Straightened in his chair and fixing a keenglance upon her face, he began his attack. "'Tis folly to allow anythingto trouble you, my dear woman--if anny debt presses, let me know, andI'll lift it for ye."
The weary mother felt the sincerity of his offer, and replied, with muchfeeling: "You're mighty good, Captain Haney, but we're more than holdingour own, and another year will see the ranch clear. I'm just as muchobliged to you, though; you're a true friend."
"But I don't like to think of you here for another year--and Bertieshould not stand here another day with every Tom, Dick, and Harrypassin' their blarney with her. She's fitter to be mistress of a bighouse of her own, an' 'tis that I've the mind to give her; and I can,for I'm no longer on the ragged edge. I own two of the best mines on thehill, and I want her to share me good-fortune with me."
Mrs. Gilman, worn out as she was, was still quick where her daughter'swelfare was concerned, and she looked at the big man with wonder andinquiry, and a certain accusation in her glance.
"What do you mean, Captain?"
The big gambler was at last face to face with his decision, and with buta moment's hesitation replied, "As my wife, I mean, of course."
She sank back in her chair and looked at him with eyes of consternation."Why, Captain Haney! Do you really mean that?"
"I do!" He had a feeling at the moment that he had always been honorablein his intentions.
"But--but
--you're so old--I mean so much older--"
"I know I am, and I'm rough. I don't deny that. I'm forty, but then I'mwhat they call well preserved," he smiled, winningly, "and I'll soonhave an income of wan hundred thousand dollars a year."
This turned the current of her emotion--she gasped. "One hundredthousand dollars!"
He held up a warning hand. "Sh! now that's between us. There are thoseyounger than I, 'tis true, but there is a kind of saving grace in money.I can take you all out of this daily tile like winkin'--all you need todo is to say the wan word and we'll have a house in Colorado Springs orDenver--or even in New York. For what did you think I left me businesson the busiest day of every week? It was to see your sweet daughter, andI came this time to ask her to go back with me."
"What did she say?"
"She has not said. We had no time to talk. What I propose now is that wetake a drive out to the ranch and talk it over. Williams will fill herplace here. In fact, the house is mine. I bought it this morning."
The poor woman sat like one in a stupor, comprehending little of what hesaid. The room seemed to be revolving. The earth had given way beneathher feet and the heavens were opening. Her first sensation was one ofterror. She feared a man of such power--a man who could in a singlemoment, by a wave of his hand, upset her entire world. His enormouswealth dazzled her even while she doubted it. How could it be true whilehe sat there talking to her--and she in her apron and her hair indisorder? She rose hurriedly with instinct to make herself presentableenough to carry on this conversation. As she stood weakly, sheapologized incoherently.
"Captain, I appreciate your kindness--you've always been a goodcustomer--one I liked to do for--but I'm all upset--I can't get mywits--"
"No hurry, madam," he said, with a generous intent. "To-morrow iscoming. Don't hurry at all--at all."
She hurried out, leaving him alone--with the clock, the cat, and thehostler, who was spraying the sidewalk under the cotton-wood-trees.Quivering with fear of the girl's refusal, the gambler rose and went outinto the sunsmit streets to commune with this new-found self.
Life was no longer simple for Mrs. Gilman. It was, indeed, filled with awind of terror. Haney's promise of relief from want was very sweet, yetdisturbingly empty, like the joy of dreams, and yet his words took herbreath--clouded her judgment, befogged her insight.
She went back to the dining-room, where her daughter sat eating dinner,with a numbness in her limbs and a sense of dizziness in her brain, anddropping into a chair at the table gasped out:
"Do you know--what Captain Haney just said to me?"
"Not being a mind-reader, I don't," replied the girl, calmly, though shewas moved by her mother's white, awed face.
"He wants you!"
Bertha flushed and braced both hands against the table as she replied,"Well, he can't have me!"
With the opposition in her daughter's tone, Mrs. Gilman was suddenlymoved to argue.
"Think what it means, Bertie! He's rich. Did you know that? He owns twomines."
"I know he is a gambler and runs two saloons. You see, the boys keep meposted, and I'm not marrying a gambler--not this summer," she ended,decisively.
"But he's going to give that up, he says." He hadn't said this, but shewas sure he would. "His income is a hundred thousand dollars a year.Think of that!"
"I don't want to think of it," the girl answered, frowning slightly. "Itmakes my head ache. Nobody has a right to so much money. How did he getit?"
"Out of his mine--and oh, Bertie, he says if you'll speak the word weneedn't do another day's work in this hot, greasy old place! The houseis his, anyway. Did you know that?"
Bertha eyed her mother closely--with cool, bright, accusing eyes--for amoment, then she softened. "Poor old mammy, it's pretty tough lines onyou--no two ways about that. You've got the heavy end of the job. I'dmarry most anybody to give you a rest--but, mother, Captain Haney isforty, if he's a day, and he's a hard citizen. He has been a gambler allhis life. You can't expect me to marry a sport like him. And thenthere's Ed."
The mother's face changed. "A barber!" she exclaimed, scornfully.
"Yes, he's a barber now, but he's going to make a break soon and getinto something else."
"Don't bank on Ed, Bertie; he'll never be anything more than he is now.No man ever got anywhere who started in as a barber."
"Would you rather I married a gambler and a sure-shot? They tell meHaney has killed his man."
"That may be all talk. Well, anyhow, he wants to see you and talk itover; and oh, Bertie, it does seem a wonderful chance--and my heart's sobad to-day it seems as though I couldn't see to another meal! I don'twant you to marry him if you don't want to--I'm not asking you to. Youknow I'm not. But he is a noble-looking man--and I get awfullydiscouraged sometimes. It scares me to think of dying and leaving youwithout any security."
One of the waiters, half-dead with curiosity, was edging near, underpretense of brushing the table, and so the mistress rose and took up theburdens of her stewardship.
"But we'll talk it over to-night. Don't be hasty."
"I won't," replied the girl.
She was by no means as unmoved as she gave out. She had always admiredand liked Captain Haney, though he never moved her in the same way thatthe young barber did (for Ed Winchell had youth as well as comeliness,and there is a divine suppleness in youth), yet he had been a welcomeguest. "A hundred thousand dollars a year! And yet he's been coming toour little hotel for a year--to see me!"
This consideration was the one that moved her most. All the bland words,the jocular phrases of his singular wooing came back to her now,weighted with deep significance. She had called it "joshing," and hadput it all aside, just as she had parried the rude jests of the brakemenof her acquaintance. Now she saw that he had been in earnest.
She was wise beyond her years, this calm-faced, keen-eyed girl, trainedby adversity to take care of herself. She knew instinctively that shelived surrounded by wolves, and, much as she admired the big frame andbold profile of Captain Haney, she had placed him among her enemies. Hiscoming always pleased her but at the same time put her upon thedefensive.
Strange to say, she enjoyed her position there in her battered littlehotel. "If it weren't for poor old mother--" She arrested herself andwent back to the counter with a certain timidity, a self-consciousnessnew to her, fearing to face the gambler now that she knew his intent washonorable.
The room was empty, all the men having gone out upon the walk to escapethe heat, and she took her seat behind her desk and gave herself up to aconsideration of the life to which the possession of so much wealthwould introduce her. She could have unlimited new gowns, she couldtravel, and she could rescue her mother from drudgery and worry. Thesethings she could discern--but of the larger life which money could opento her she could only vaguely dream.
The first effect of marrying Marshall Haney would be to cut short herlife in Sibley; the second, the establishment of a home in the greatcamps about them.
As she looked around the dingy room buzzing with flies, she experienceda premonitory pang of the pain she would suffer in going out of itsdoors forever.
When Haney came back an hour later, he read in the cold, serious lookshe gave him a warning, therefore he spoke but a few words oncommonplace subjects, and returned to his seat on the walk to await achange in her mood.
This meekness on the part of a powerful man moved the girl, and a littlelater she went to the doorway and said to the crowd generally, "It's awonder some fellow wouldn't open a cantaloupe or something."
Haney put his finger to his mouth and whistled to the grocer opposite.He came on the run, alert for trade.
"Roll up a couple of big melons," called Haney, largely. "We're alldrying to cinders over here."
The loafers cheered, but the girl said, in a lower voice, "I was onlyjoking."
"What you say goes," he replied, with significance.
She did not stay to see the melons cut, but went back to her desk, andhe brought a choice
slice in to her.
She took it, but she said, "You mustn't think you own me--not yet." Hertone was resentful. "I don't want you to say things like that--beforepeople."
"Like what?" he asked.
She did not answer.
He went on: "I don't mean to assume anything, God knows. I'm onlywaitin' and hopin'. I'll go away if you want me to and let you think itover alone."
"I wish you would," she said, realizing that this committed her to atleast a consideration of his proposal.
He held out his hand. "Good-bye--till next Saturday."
She put her small, brown hand in his. He crushed it hard and his boldface softened. "I need you, my girl. Sure I do!" And in his eyes wassomething very winning.
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