'Firebrand' Trevison

by Charles Alden Seltzer

  CHAPTER IV

  THE LONG ARM OF POWER

  Presently Corrigan lit a cigar, biting the end off carefully, to keep itfrom coming in contact with his bruised lips. When the cigar was goingwell, he looked at Braman.

  "What is Trevison?"

  Pale, still dizzy from the effects of the blow on the head, Braman, whowas leaning heavily on the counter, smiled wryly:

  "He's a holy terror--you ought to know that. He's a reckless,don't-give-a-damn fool who has forgotten there's such a thing asconsequences. 'Firebrand' Trevison, they call him. And he lives up to whatthat means. The folks in this section of the country swear by him."

  Corrigan made a gesture of impatience. "I mean--what does he do? Of courseI know he owns some land here. But how much land does he own?"

  "You saw the figure on the check, didn't you? He owns five thousandacres."

  "How long has he been here?"

  "You've got me. More than ten years, I guess, from what I can gather."

  "What was he before he came here?"

  "I couldn't even surmise that--he don't talk about his past. From the wayhe waded into you, I should judge he was a prize fighter before becoming acow-puncher."

  Corrigan glared at the banker. "Yes; it's damned funny," he said. "How didhe get his land?"

  "Proved on a quarter-section. Bought the rest of it--and bought it mightycheap." Braman's eyes brightened. "Figure on attacking _his_ title?"

  Corrigan grunted. "I notice he asked you for cash. You're not his banker,evidently."

  "He banks in Las Vegas, I guess."

  "What about his cattle?"

  "He shipped three thousand head last season."

  "How big is his outfit?"

  "He's got about twenty men. They're all hard cases--like him, and they'dshoot themselves for him."

  Corrigan got up and walked to the window, from where he looked out atManti. The town looked like an army camp. Lumber, merchandise, supplies ofevery description, littered the street in mounds and scattered heaps,awaiting the erection of tent-house and building. But there was none ofthat activity that might have been expected from the quantity of materialon hand; it seemed that the owners were waiting, delaying in anticipationof some force that would give them encouragement. They were reluctant torisk their money in erecting buildings on the strength of mere rumor. Butthey had come, hoping.

  Corrigan grinned at Braman. "They're afraid to take a chance," he said,meaning Manti's citizens.

  "Don't blame them. I've spread the stuff around--as you told me. That'sall they've heard. They're here on a forlorn hope. The boom they arelooking for, seems, from present conditions, to be lurking somewhere inthe future, shadowed by an indefiniteness that to them is vaguelyconnected with somebody's promise of a dam, agricultural activity tofollow, and factories. They haven't been able to trace the rumors, butthey're here, and they'll make things hum if they get a chance."

  "Sure," grinned Corrigan. "A boom town is always a graft for firstarrivals. That is, boom towns _have_ been. But Manti--" He paused.

  "Yes, different," chuckled the banker. "It must have cost a wad to shovethat water grant through."

  "Benham kicked on the price--it was enough."

  "That maximum rate clause is a pippin. You can soak them the limit rightfrom the jump."

  "And scare them out," scoffed Corrigan. "That isn't the game. Get themhere, first. Then--"

  The banker licked his lips. "How does old Benham take it?"

  "Mr. Benham is enthusiastic because everything will be done in a perfectlylegitimate way--he thinks."

  "And the courts?"

  "Judge Lindman, of the District Court now in Dry Bottom, is going toestablish himself here. Benham pulled that string."

  "Good!" said Braman. "When is Lindman coming?"

  Corrigan's smile was crooked; it told eloquently of conscious power overthe man he had named.

  "He'll come whenever I give the word. Benham's got something on him."

  "You always were a clever son-of-a-gun!" laughed the banker, admiringly.

  Ignoring the compliment, Corrigan walked into the rear room, where hegazed frowningly at his reflection in a small glass affixed to the wall.Re-entering the banking room he said:

  "I'm in no condition to face Miss Benham. Go down to the car and tell herthat I shall be very busy here all day, and that I won't be able to seeher until late tonight."

  Miss Benham's name was on the tip of the banker's tongue, but, glancing atCorrigan's face, he decided that it was no time for that particular brandof levity. He grabbed his hat and stepped out of the front door.

  Left alone, Corrigan paced slowly back and forth in the room, his browsfurrowed thoughtfully. Trevison had become an important figure in hismind. Corrigan had not hinted to Braman, to Trevison, or to Miss Benham,of the actual situation--nor would he. But during his first visit to townthat morning he had stood in one of the front windows of a saloon acrossthe street. He had not been getting acquainted, as he had told MissBenham, for the saloon had been the first place that he had entered, andafter getting a drink at the bar he had sauntered to the window. Fromthere he had seen "Brand" Trevison ride into town, and because Trevisonmade an impressive figure he had watched him, instinctively aware that inthe rider of the black horse was a quality of manhood that one meetsrarely. Trevison's appearance had caused him a throb of disquieting envy.

  He had noticed Trevison's start upon getting his first glimpse of theprivate car on the siding. He had followed Trevison's movements carefully,and with increased disquiet. For, instead of dismounting and going into asaloon or a store, Trevison had urged the black on, past the private car,which he had examined leisurely and intently. The clear morning air madeobjects at a distance very distinct, and as Trevison had ridden past thecar, Corrigan had seen a flutter at one of the windows; had caught afleeting glimpse of Rosalind Benham's face. He had seen Trevison rideaway, to return for a second view of the car a few minutes later. Atbreakfast, Corrigan had not failed to note Miss Benham's lingering glancesat the black horse, and again, in the bank, with her standing at the door,he had noticed her interest in the black horse and its rider. Hisquickly-aroused jealousy and hatred had driven him to the folly ofimpulsive action, a method which, until now, he had carefully evaded. Yes,he had found "Brand" Trevison a worthy antagonist--Braman had himappraised correctly.

  Corrigan's smile was bitter as he again walked into the rear room andsurveyed his reflection in the glass. Disgusted, he turned to one of thewindows and looked out. From where he stood he could see straight down therailroad tracks to the cut, down the wall of which, some hours before,Trevison had ridden the black horse. The dinky engine, with its train offlat-cars, was steaming toward him. As he watched, engine and cars struckthe switch and ran onto the siding, where they came to a stop. Corriganfrowned and looked at his watch. It lacked fully three hours to quittingtime, and the cars were empty, save for the laborers draped on them, theirtools piled in heaps. While Corrigan watched, the laborers descended fromthe cars and swarmed toward their quarters--a row of tent-houses near thesiding. A big man--Corrigan knew him later as Patrick Carson--swung downfrom the engine-cab and lumbered toward the little frame station house, ina window of which the telegrapher could be seen, idly scanning a week-oldnewspaper. Carson spoke shortly to the telegrapher, at which the lattermotioned toward the bank building and the private car. Then Carson cametoward the bank building. An instant later, Carson came in the front doorand met Corrigan at the wire netting.

  "Hullo," said the Irishman, without preliminaries; "the agent was tellin'me I'd find a mon named Corrigan here. You're in charge, eh?" he added atCorrigan's affirmative. "Well, bedad, somebody's got to be in charge fromnow on. The Willie-boy engineer from who I've been takin' me orders hassneaked away to Dry Bottom for a couple av days, shovin' theraysponsibility on me--an' I ain't feelin' up to it. I'm a daisyconstruction boss, if I do say it meself, but I ain't enough of a fightin'mon to buck the business end av a six-shooter."

&nbs
p; "What's up?"

  "Mebbe you'd know--he said you'd be sure to. I've been parleyin' wid afello' named 'Firebrand' Trevison, an' I'm that soaked wid perspirationthat me boots is full av it, after me thryin' to urge him to be dacentlycareful wid his gun!"

  "What happened?" asked Corrigan, darkly.

  "This mon Trevison came down through the cut this mornin', goin' to town.He was pleasant as a mon who's had a raise in wages, an' he was joshin'wid us. A while ago he comes back from town, an' he's that cold an' politethat he'd freeze ye while he's takin' his hat off to ye. One av his armsis busted, an' he's got a welt or two on his face. But outside av thathe's all right. He rides down into the cut where we're all workin' fit tokill ourselves. He halts his big black horse about forty or fifty feetaway from the ol' rattle-box that runs the steam shovel, an' he grins likea tiger at me an' says:

  "'Carson, I'm wantin' you to pull your min off. I can't permit annyrailroad min on the Diamond K property. You're a friend av mine, an' allthat, but you'll have to pull your freight. You've got tin minutes.'

  "'I've got me orders to do this work,' I says--begging his pardon.

  "'Here's your orders to stop doin' it!' he comes back. An' I wasinspectin' the muzzle av his six-shooter.

  "'Ye wudn't shoot a mon for doin' his duthy?' I says.

  "'Thry me,' he says. 'You're trespassers. The railroad company didn't comethrough wid the coin for the right-of-way. Your mon, Corrigan, has got anidee that he's goin' to bluff me. I'm callin' his bluff. You've got tinminutes to get out av here. At the end av that time I begin to shoot. I'vegot six cattridges in the gun, an' fifty more in the belt around memiddle. An' I seldom miss whin I shoot. It's up to you whether I start acemetery here or not,' he says, cold an' ca'mlike.

  "The ginneys knowed somethin' was up, an' they crowded around. I thoughtTrevison was thryin' to run a bluff on _me_, an' I give orders for theginneys to go back to their work.

  "Trevison didn't say another word, but at the end av the tin minutes hegrins that tiger grin av his an' busts the safety valve on the rattle-boxwid a shot from his pistol. He smashes the water-gauge wid another, an'jammed one shot in the ol' rattle-box's entrails, an' she starts to blowoff steam----shriekin' like a soul in hell. The ginneys throwed down theirtools an' started to climb up the walls of the cut like a gang av monkeys,Trevison watchin' thim with a grin as cold as a barrow ful ov icicles.Murph', the engineer av the dinky, an' his fireman, ducks for theengine-cab, l'avin' me standin' there to face the music. Trevison yells atthe engineer av the rattle-box, an' he disappears like a rat into a hole.Thin Trevison swings his gun on me, an' I c'u'd feel me knees knockin'together. 'Carson,' he says, 'I hate like blazes to do it, but you're theboss here, an' these min will do what you tell thim to do. Tell thim toget to hell out of here an' not come back, or I'll down you, sure as mename's Trevison!'

  "I'm old enough to know from lookin' at a mon whether he manes business ornot, an' Trevison wasn't foolin'. So I got the bhoys away, an' here weare. If you're in charge, it's up to you to smooth things out. Though fromthe looks av your mug 'Firebrand's' been maulin' you some, too!"

  Corrigan's answer was a cold glare. "You quit without a fight, eh?" hetaunted; "you let one man bluff half a hundred of you!"

  Carson's eyes brightened. "My recollection is that 'Firebrand' is stillholdin' the forrt. Whin I got me last look at him he was sittin' on thetop av the cut, like he was intendin' to stay there indefinite. If yethink he's bluffin', mebbe it'd be quite an idee for you to go out thereyourself, an' call it. I'd be willin' to give ye me moral support."

  "I'll call him when I get ready." Corrigan went to the desk and sat in thechair, ignoring Carson, who watched him narrowly. Presently he turned andspoke to the man:

  "Put your men at work trueing up the roadbed on the next section back,until further orders."

  "An' let 'Firebrand' hold the forrt?"

  "Do as you're told!"

  Carson went out to his men. Near the station platform he turned and lookedback at the bank building, grinning. "There's two bulldogs comin' to gripsin this deal or I'm a domn poor prophet!" he said.

  When Braman returned from his errand he found Corrigan staring out of thewindow. The banker announced that Miss Benham had received Corrigan'smessage with considerable equanimity, and was rewarded for his levity witha frown.

  "What's Carson and his gang doing in town?" he queried.

  Corrigan told him, briefly. The banker whistled in astonishment, and hisface grew long. "I told you he is a tough one!" he reminded.

  Corrigan got to his feet. "Yes--he's a tough one," he admitted. "I'mforced to alter my plans a little--that's all. But I'll get him. Hunt upsomething to eat," he directed; "I'm hungry. I'm going to the station fora few minutes."

  He went out, and the banker watched him until he vanished around thecorner of a building. Then Braman shook his head. "Jeff's resourceful," hesaid. "But Trevison--" His face grew solemn. "What a damned fool I was totrip him with that broom!" He drew a pistol from a pocket and examined itintently, then returned it to the pocket and sat, staring with unseeingeyes beyond the station at the two lines of steel that ran out upon theplains and stopped in the deep cut on the crest of which he could see aman on a black horse.

  Down at the station Corrigan was leaning on a rough wooden counter,writing on a yellow paper pad. When he had finished he shoved the paperover to the telegrapher, who had been waiting:

  J. Chalfant Benham, B-- Building, New York.

  Unexpected opposition developed. Trevison. Give Lindman removal order immediately. Communicate with me at Dry Bottom tomorrow morning. Corrigan.

  Corrigan watched the operator send the message and then he returned to thebank building, where he found Braman setting out a meager lunch in therear room. The two men talked as they ate, mostly about Trevison, and thebanker's face did not lose its worried expression. Later they smoked andtalked and watched while the afternoon sun grew mellow; while the sombertwilight descended over the world and darkness came and obliterated thehill on which sat the rider of the black horse.

  Shortly after dark Corrigan sent the banker on another errand, this timeto a boarding-house at the edge of town. Braman returned shortly,announcing: "He'll be ready." Then, just before midnight Corrigan climbedinto the cab of the engine which had brought the private car, and whichwas waiting, steam up, several hundred feet down the track from the car.

  "All right!" said Corrigan briskly, to the engineer, as he climbed in anda flare from the fire-box suffused his face; "pull out. But don't make anyfuss about it--I don't want those people in the car to know." And shortlyafterwards the locomotive glided silently away into the darkness towardthat town in which a judge of the United States Court had, a few hoursbefore, received orders which had caused him to remark, bitterly: "So doesthe past shape the future."