'Firebrand' Trevison

by Charles Alden Seltzer

  CHAPTER VI

  A JUDICIAL PUPPET

  Bowling along over the new tracks toward Manti in a special car secured atDry Bottom by Corrigan, one compartment of which was packed closely withbooks, papers, ledger records, legal documents, blanks, and even officefurniture, Judge Lindman watched the landscape unfold with mingledfeelings of trepidation, reluctance, and impotent regret. The Judge's facewas not a strong one--had it been he would not have been seated in thespecial car, talking with Corrigan. He was just under sixty-five years,and their weight seemed to rest heavily upon him. His eyes were slightlybleary, and had a look of weariness, as though he had endured much and wasutterly tired. His mouth was flaccid, the lips pouting when he compressedhis jaws, giving his face the sullen, indecisive look of the brooderlacking the mental and physical courage of independent action andinitiative. The Judge could be led; Corrigan was leading him now, and theJudge was reluctant, but his courage had oozed, back in Dry Bottom, whenCorrigan had mentioned a culpable action which the Judge had regrettedmany times.

  Some legal records of the county were on the table between the two men.The Judge had objected when Corrigan had secured them from the compartmentwhere the others were piled.

  "It isn't regular, Mr. Corrigan," he had said; "no one except a legallyauthorized person has the right to look over those books."

  "We'll say that I am legally authorized, then," grinned Corrigan. The lookin his eyes was one of amused contempt. "It isn't the only irregular thingyou have done, Lindman."

  The Judge subsided, but back in his eyes was a slumbering hatred for thisman, who was forcing him to complicity in another crime. He regretted thatother crime; why should this man deliberately remind him of it?

  After looking over the records, Corrigan outlined a scheme of action thatmade the Judge's face blanch.

  "I won't be a party to any such scurrilous undertaking!" he declared when,he could trust his voice; "I--I won't permit it!"

  Corrigan stretched his legs out under the table, shoved his hands into histrousers' pockets and laughed.

  "Why the high moral attitude, Judge? It doesn't become you. Refuse if youlike. When we get to Manti I shall wire Benham. It's likely he'll feelpretty sore. He's got his heart set on this. And I have no doubt thatafter he gets my wire he'll jump the next train for Washington, and--"

  The Judge exclaimed with weak incoherence, and a few minutes later he wasbending over the records with Corrigan--the latter making sundry copies ona pad of paper, which he placed in a pocket when the work was completed.

  At noon the special car was in Manti. Corrigan, the Judge, and Braman,carried the Judge's effects and stored them in the rear room of the bankbuilding. "I'll build you a courthouse, tomorrow," he promised the Judge;"big enough for you and a number of deputies. You'll need deputies, youknow." He grinned as the Judge shrank. Then, leaving the Judge in the roomwith his books and papers, Corrigan drew Braman outside.

  "I got hell from Benham for destroying Trevison's check--he wired me toattend to my other deals and let him run the railroad--the damned oldfool! You must have taken the cash to Trevison--I see the gang's workingagain."

  "The cash went," said the banker, watching Corrigan covertly, "but Ididn't take it. J. C. wired explicit orders for his daughter to act."

  Corrigan cursed viciously, his face dark with wrath as he turned to lookat the private car, on the switch. The banker watched him with secret,vindictive enjoyment. Miss Benham had judged Braman correctly--he wascold, crafty, selfish, and wholly devoid of sympathy. He was for Braman,first and last--and in the interim.

  "Miss Benham went to the cut--so I hear," he went on, smoothly. "Trevisonwasn't there. Miss Benham went to the Diamond K." His eyes gleamed asCorrigan's hands clenched. "Trevison rode back to the car with her--whichshe had ordered taken to the cut," went on the banker. "And this morningabout ten o'clock Trevison came here with a led horse. He and Miss Benhamrode away together. I heard her tell her aunt they were going toBlakeley's ranch--it's about eight miles from here."

  Corrigan's face went white. "I'll kill him for that!" he said.

  "Jealous, eh?" laughed the banker. "So, that's the reason--"

  Corrigan turned and struck bitterly. The banker's jaws clackedsharply--otherwise he fell silently, striking his head against the edge ofthe step and rolling, face down, into the dust.

  When he recovered and sat up, Corrigan had gone. The banker gazedfoolishly around at a world that was still reeling--felt his jawcarefully, wonder and astonishment in his eyes.

  "What do you know about that?" he asked of the surrounding silence. "I'vekidded him about women before, and he never got sore. He must be inlove!"

  * * * * *

  Riding through a saccaton basin, the green-brown tips so high that theycaught at their stirrups as they rode slowly along; a white, smiling skyabove them and Blakeley's still three miles away, Miss Benham and Trevisonwere chatting gayly at the instant the banker had received Corrigan'sblow.

  Miss Benham had spent the night thinking of Trevison, and she had spentmuch of her time during the present ride stealing glances at him. She haddiscovered something about him that had eluded her the day before--animpulsive boyishness. It was hidden behind the manhood of him, so that thecasual observer would not be likely to see it; men would have failed tosee it, because she was certain that with men he would not let it be seen.But she knew the recklessness that shone in his eyes, the energy thatslumbered in them ready to be applied any moment in response to any whimthat might seize him, were traits that had not yet yielded to the sterngovernors of manhood--nor would they yield in many years to come--theywere the fountains of virility that would keep him young. She felt theirresistible appeal of him, responsive to the youth that flourished in herown heart--and Corrigan, older, more ponderous, less addicted to impulse,grew distant in her thoughts and vision. The day before yesterday hersympathies had been with Corrigan--she had thought. But as she rode sheknew that they were threatening to desert him. For this man of heroic moldwho rode beside her was disquietingly captivating in the bold recklessnessof his youth.

  They climbed the far slope of the basin and halted their horses on thecrest. Before them stretched a plain so big and vast and inviting that itmade the girl gasp with delight.

  "Oh," she said, awed; "isn't it wonderful?"

  "I knew you'd like it."

  "The East has nothing like this," she said, with a broad sweep of thehand.

  "No," he said.

  She turned on him triumphantly. "There!" she declared; "you have committedyourself. You are from the East!"

  "Well," he said; "I've never denied it."

  Something vague and subtle had drawn them together during the ride,bridging the hiatus of strangeness, making them feel that they had beenacquainted long. It did not seem impertinent to her that she should askthe question that she now put to him--she felt that her interest in himpermitted it:

  "You are an easterner, and yet you have been out here for about ten years.Your house is big and substantial, but I should judge that it has nocomforts, no conveniences. You live there alone, except for some men, andyou have male servants--if you have any. Why should you bury yourselfhere? You are educated, you are young. There are great opportunities foryou in the East!"

  She paused, for she saw a cynical expression in his eyes.

  "Well?" she said, impatiently, for she had been very much in earnest.

  "I suppose I've got to tell you," he said, soberly. "I don't know what hascome over me--you seem to have me under a spell. I've never spoken aboutit before. I don't know why I should now. But you've got to know, Ipresume."

  "Yes."

  "On your head rest the blame," he said, his grin still cynical; "and uponmine the consequences. It isn't a pretty story to tell; it's only virtueis its brevity. I was fired out of college for fighting. The fellows Ilicked deserved what they got--and I deserved what I got for breakingrules. I've always broken rules. I may have broken laws
--most of us have.My father is wealthy. The last time I saw him he said I was incorrigibleand a dunce. I admit the former, but I'm going to make him take the otherback. I told him so. He replied that he was from Missouri. He gave me anopportunity to make good by cutting off my allowance. There was a girl.When my allowance was cut off she made me feel cold as an Eskimo. Told mestraight that she had never liked me in the way she'd led me to believeshe did, and that she was engaged to a _real_ man. She made the mistake oftelling me his name, and it happened to be one of the fellows I'd hadtrouble with at college. The girl lost her temper and told me things he'dsaid about me. I left New York that night, but before I hopped on thetrain I stopped in to see my rival and gave him the bulliest trimming thatI had ever given anybody. I came out here and took up a quarter-section ofland. I bought more--after a while. I own five thousand acres, and about athousand acres of it is the best coal land in the United States. Iwouldn't sell it for love or money, for when your father gets his railroadrunning, I'm going to cash in on ten of the leanest and hardest andlonesomest years that any man ever put in. I'm going back some day. But Iwon't stay. I've lived in this country so long that it's got into my heartand soul. It's a golden paradise."

  She did not share his enthusiasm--her thoughts were selfishly personal,though they included him.

  "And the girl!" she said. "When you go back, would you--"

  "Never!" he scoffed, vehemently. "That would convince me that I am thedunce my father said I was!"

  The girl turned her head and smiled. And a little later, when they wereriding on again, she murmured softly:

  "Ten years of lonesomeness and bitterness to save his pride! I wonder ifHester Keyes knows what she has missed?"