The Rider of Golden Bar

by William Patterson White

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE NEW BROOM

  Tip O'Gorman sat comfortably near the red-hot stove. The wind and thesnow were blustering outdoors. It was what the people you yearn tokill call a bracing day in January. Actually the weather was such thatthe well-known brass monkey would have been frostbitten in at least oneear.

  "It's a good old world." Tip sighed luxuriously and wiggled the toesof his roomy slippers.

  Entered then one who changed the pleasing aspect of the good old world.

  Judge Driver slammed the door behind him and untied the comforter thatheld the hat to his head. He removed the hat and buffalo coat, hungboth on pegs behind the door, sat down and glared at Tip O'Gorman.

  "You've done it now," exclaimed Judge Driver.

  "What particular thing have you on your mind?" Tip queried equably.

  "The sheriff you were so set on having elected! Oh, yes, says you, putin an honest man. Give the dear people a bone to chew on. And we tookyour advice and gave 'em their bone. And now look at the damn thing."

  "What's happened to the sheriff?"

  "Not a thing. I wish something would. It's what's happening to usthat bothers me. Your fine li'l love of a sheriff is appointing hisown deputies."

  "The law gives him that privilege."

  "You don't understand. I had picked two deputies for him toappoint--good safe men. You know that part was left to me, and I fixedon Johnson and Kenealy. This morning I mentioned their names to thenew sheriff. 'I thank you kindly for your good intentions,' says Bill,or words to that effect, 'but I have already decided to appoint ShotgunShillman and Riley Tyler.'"

  "What?"

  "I'd say what! I'd say hell, I would! Ain't it nice, ain't it funny,ain't it a pretty state of affairs? And what are you going to do aboutit?"

  "Has he appointed 'em yet?"

  "They're sworn in by now. He said he was expecting 'em any minute whenI left."

  "Shillman's the nearest," said Tip, glancing out of the partly frostedwindow pane, "and he lives forty miles away. I wouldn't count on thoseboys being appointed to-day. The storm may have kept 'em away."

  "No such luck," growled the judge. "They're appointed, all rightenough."

  "Think so if it makes you happy," Tip said with a grin. "You're alwayssuch a pessimist."

  "Here!" snarled the judge. "Don't you try to ride me, Tip. Say rightout what you mean."

  "I did," smiled Tip. "However----"

  "Huh," snorted the judge, and put his feet on the table and began topull at his lower lip.

  "Shotgun Shillman and Riley Tyler," murmured Tip musingly. "Hum-m-m!"

  "Can't you think of anything to do but buzz like a bee?" demanded theirritated judge.

  "There's lots of things you can learn from bees," protested TipO'Gorman. "Maybe they do buzz some, but they gather lots of honey."

  "We'll gather lots of honey, won't we?" snapped the other. "BothShotgun and Riley are absolutely honest."

  "And sharp--infernal sharp. Don't forget that."

  "You take it easy."

  "Spilt milk. We've overlooked a bet, that's all."

  "Oh, that's all is it? I tell you it won't be all. I've got a hunch."

  "Don't be superstitious. Politics is no place to play hunches."

  "Apparently it isn't even a place to play common sense," said thejudge. "If it hadn't been for you and your advice, we wouldn't be inthis fix. You got us in. Now you get us out."

  "You make me sick, Tom. You're getting to be a regular old granny. Itell you there is no rat in the hole. Suppose Bill does appoint twohonest deputies. There is still Bill, isn't there? What are twodeputies going to do against Bill's orders? And Bill will do what Itell him. Oh, yes, he will. You needn't shake your head. I canmanage Bill Wingo."

  "I wish I could be sure of that," worried the judge.

  "You can be, old-timer, you can be. I'll manage Bill as per invoice,so you just bed your mind down and give it a rest. The bottle's inthat cupboard, water's in the kettle, sugar's on the table, lemons inthat box. Help yourself, make punch and be happy. Make enough fortwo, while you're about it. Your punch always did taste better thanmine. I never could mix one to taste anything like. Lord knows howyou do it. It's a gift. I hear you had a long run of luck at Crafty'slast night."

  Et cetera, words with end and amen. Tip O'Gorman was a skilfulscoundrel. He knew precisely how far to go and he rarely employed ashovel. For even the dullest have a wit flash now and then.

  He soon had the jurist purring.

  To Billy Wingo that evening came Tip O'Gorman; a bluff, hearty,good-hearted Tip; a Tip that told funny stories and was a good listenerhimself and laughed at the right place. You've heard it all beforedoubtless and know the method: "A chair for Mr. Dugan. He owns thestockyards. His pockets are full of greenbacks. Let him win as muchas he can and don't forget to tell Patsy to be waiting for him at thecorner with the lead pipe when he goes out."

  The old, old game, you see. Shabby, moth-eaten through and through,fairly obvious; but it works--most of the time.

  "That's fine whisky, Bill," observed Tip, cupping an affectionate handground his glass. "No, no, tempt me not, brother. I know when tostop, if I am old and sinful. A pleasant fire, a comfortable room, ahot drink, and a cold and winter's night. What more can a man want?"

  "What indeed?" said Billy politely. Inwardly he thought, "What thedevil does he want?"

  You will perceive that the game was not running true to form. For itto be successful, the victim must not become a prey to low suspicion.

  "Sworn in your deputies yet?" Tip made casual inquiry.

  "Not yet. Storm might have kept 'em away."

  Then all was not lost. Tip began to feel a mental glow. He had beencounting on the storm.

  "Have you appointed 'em?" he put the dread question.

  "Sure thing."

  "Who are they?"

  "Shotgun Shillman and Riley Tyler."

  "Oh, yes. Good men, both of 'em, but----"

  Tip O'Gorman fell silent. He toyed with his glass.

  Billy Wingo regarded him slantwise. That "but." "Yes?"

  "But," continued Tip O'Gorman, "I know of better men."

  "Yeah?" Rising inflection and a cocked eyebrow.

  "Yeah."

  "For instance?"

  "Johnson and Kenealy."

  "Why Johnson and Kenealy? Why not Shillman and Riley?"

  "Shillman and Riley never have done anything for the party. Johnsonand Kenealy have."

  "What have Johnson and Kenealy done for the party?"

  "For one thing, they have always voted right."

  "That is one thing, but not a large thing. Other men have voted righttoo--frequently. Some too frequently; if you know what I mean."

  "Politics, my dear fellow, is not child's play. We do what we must towin. But it doesn't pay to look a gift horse in the mouth too closely.He may bite." Tip O'Gorman stared at the new sheriff.

  The latter smiled a long, slow smile. "There are muzzles," said BillWingo.

  Tip dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "Too big a horse and toomany teeth," said he.

  "Ah!" murmured Billy Wingo.

  "Come, come, Bill, you're no fool. You know what I'm after. You knowwhat you owe the party. Johnson and Kenealy must be taken care of."

  "Must," observed Billy, "is the hardest word in the dictionary."

  "Sometimes it means the most," declared Tip O'Gorman. "This is one ofthose times."

  "Ah!"

  There it was again, that irritating monosyllable. For the first timeTip O'Gorman began to experience a doubt.

  "We expect you to appoint Johnson and Kenealy," he said bluntly.

  "And if I don't?"

  "Oh, you will--after you've thought it over."

  "I thought it over after Judge Driver came to me. And I decided notto. I prefer my own men."

  "Johnson and Kenealy will be your own men."
<
br />   "That is a question." Billy sat back in his chair and made a churchroof and a steeple with the fingers of his two hands. He raised lazygray eyes to Tip's face. "That is a question," he repeated. "They maybe my men and then again--" He ceased speaking, leaving the sentenceunfinished. The church steeple became a gallows. "You see, I can'trisk it," drawled Billy.

  Tip O'Gorman carefully set his glass down on the table. "You must," heremarked softly.

  "As I said before," murmured Billy, his drawl drawlier than ever, "mustis a hard, hard word. But I'll tell you what I'll do, Tip," hecontinued in a louder, more cheerful tone. "You show me what 'musts'in the statutes apply to the sheriff's office, and I'll obey every lastone of 'em. When I took office, I made oath to obey and support thelaws, you know."

  He smiled at Tip. The latter smiled back. "Lookit here, Bill," hesaid in his best and most fatherly fashion, "I like you----"

  "I suppose that was why I was elected," interrupted Billy.

  "Partly," was the brazen reply. "But there were other reasons, ofcourse. We needed a good man to win, a man that was on the level, anhonest man, a----"

  "Not a crooked man, or a dishonest man, or a pink man, or even a manwith purple spots. So you elected me. I'll take it as a compliment.Go on."

  "A straight man doesn't throw down his friends," said Tip O'Gorman.

  "Sure not," declared Billy warmly. "He'd be a pup if he did. I agreewith you, Tip. We won't fight over that."

  "You're throwing us down," insisted Tip.

  "Now, we're getting down to carpet tacks," said Billy. "But who are'us'?"

  "The party."

  "The party?"

  "The party."

  "But the party and my friends are not necessarily the same thing."

  "We elected you."

  "That doesn't make you my friends. Understand me, Tip, there are a lotof folks in the party I like and admire--a lot of 'em. But the folks Ilike and admire don't come to me and give me orders, and my friendsdon't either. Not that you've been giving me any orders, Tip. Youwouldn't do such a thing."

  "It's all right to ride me," said Tip, without losing for a minute hisamiable smile, "but you might better leave off the spurs."

  "I ain't riding anything to-day," averred Billy. "There's the bowl.Dip you out another glassful."

  Tip O'Gorman did not accept the invitation. "I wish I could make youunderstand," he said slowly, crossing his legs and clasping both handsaround a plump knee. "This is a serious matter, Bill."

  "Sure it is," asserted Billy. "You're serious. I'm serious. He, sheor it is serious. Outside of that, it's a fine, large evening."

  "Lookit here, Bill, what's your game?"

  "Game? What game are you talking about?"

  "What do you want? What are you after, anyway?"

  Billy made swimming motions with his arms and hands. "Paddle out,paddle out. You're over my head and getting deeper."

  "Are you trying to give me the double-cross?" inquired Tip.

  "Now why should I do a fool thing like that?"

  "I don't know. I'm asking."

  "What makes you think I'm giving you the double-cross?"

  "The first favor I ever asked of you--the appointment of these two men."

  "When I was elected, then, it wasn't intended I should have a freehand?"

  "Free hand? Of course, of course." Tip was beginning to find theatmosphere oppressive. He passed a handkerchief across his beaded brow.

  Observing which, Billy said affectionately, "It is hot in here. ShallI open a window?"

  "Nemmine a window," Tip said. "Think a shake, Bill. Is it wise?"

  "Wise?"

  "You know what I mean."

  "Not I," denied the cheerful Bill.

  "You can't buck the party."

  "There ain't no such word, but just for the sake of argument, why can'tI?"

  "It has been done, but----"

  "Where are the snows of yesteryear, huh?"

  Tip nodded. "Something like that."

  "If I don't appoint your men and do appoint mine, what particular formof devilment would the party feel called upon to put on me?"

  "Devilment," grinned Tip. "You don't know us."

  "Backward and forward, sideways and from the bottom up. Don't you foolyourself I don't know you. I been looking over the situation a longtime. It's been a liberal education."

  "So that's it," murmured Tip. "Driver told me, but I didn't believehim."

  "The judge sometimes tells the truth."

  Tip O'Gorman sighed. He thought he saw what he would have to do. Andhe didn't want to do it. It meant one more mouth to feed, and one morefinger in the pie.

  "You understand, Bill," said he, "that it was always intended youshould have your share."

  "Nothing was ever said to me about any share," said Billy truthfully.

  "We occasionally prefer to leave something to the imagination."

  "It beats leaving it to the taxpayer," smiled Billy.

  "Sure, sure."

  "But my share you were speaking of, Tip," prompted Bill. "What is thisshare--large, small or indifferent?"

  "That depends," replied O'Gorman cadgily.

  "On the weather, or some one's generosity?"

  Was there mirth or something sinister in the gray eyes? Tip O'Gormancouldn't be sure. But Lord, there was no cause for apprehension. He'dbeen making himself unnecessary worry. Bill Wingo was too easy-goingand good-natured to hold out on the boys. He was just making a playfor his legitimate share. That was only right. Not that Tip hadintended in the beginning that Bill should have his legitimate share.These politicians!

  "You see, Bill, it's thisaway," said Tip. "Some years the party makesmore than other years, and----"

  "And the years it makes the most," insisted Bill, "are the years I makethe most. Is that it?"

  "You get the general idea."

  "But not the general idea of what I get," persisted the strangelyobtuse sheriff. "What is the minimum I can expect?"

  Tip did not relish being pinned down to cases in this fashion. Hepreferred generalities.

  "The minimum," repeated Tip.

  "And the maximum," suggested Bill. "I might as well know all thehorrible details."

  "From three to five thousand dollars," said Tip, watching his_vis-a-vis_ closely.

  Said _vis-a-vis_ looked disappointed. "Small change," he remarkedcoldly. "Who gets the other nickle?"

  "Your salary is two thousand," Tip told him reproachfully, "and threeto five thousand above that makes five to seven thousand. What more doyou want?"

  "Whatever's right," declared the amazing Mr. Wingo.

  "That's right--what I told you."

  "What did the last sheriff get?"

  "I told you it varied."

  "I know you told me. Tell me again."

  Tip O'Gorman shifted his position in the chair. He was being baited.He realized it now. A slow anger rose in his breast. But an admixtureof dismay in the anger kept it from boiling over.

  He continued to temporize. "Your slice will be worth while, well worthwhile. Leave it to us. You can trust me."

  "Can I? I wonder."

  "Meaning?" O'Gorman's face was cold as his heart was hot.

  "I wonder. I do it now and then. Habit, I suppose. No harm in it, isthere?"

  "Lookit here, you don't doubt me, do you?"

  "Unhand me, Jack Dalton! I may be poor--I may starve to death, but Iwill never be an old man's plaything. Better death thandishonor-rur-rur. Don't be so melodramatic, Tip. Who am I to doubtyou? You? What a question!"

  The fingers with which Billy Wingo then proceeded to make a cigarettewere steady and sure in every movement. Billy licked the length of thewhite roll, smoothed it down and twisted one end. Tip O'Gorman did notknow what to make of him. Or rather he thought he knew too well, whichfrequently amounts to the same thing.

  "You'd better trust me," rumbled Tip.

  "Be reasona
ble, Tip. You ask for trust and you give me a stone."

  "A stone?"

  "What else is three to five thousand bucks, I'd like to know. I'm nochild, man. I've got my growth, and I've put away childish things,including all-day suckers."

  "You must take me for one."

  "Not you, not in a million years. But--" Mr. Wingo paused and lookedup at the ceiling. His lips moved. He muttered of figures and sums.

  Tip O'Gorman awaited his pleasure. What else was there to do?

  "I think between nine and ten thousand is nearer the correct amount forli'l me," Billy said at last.

  "What?" screeched Tip, fairly jarred off his balance at last.

  Billy made his position plain. "Say ten thousand in round numbers."

  "Ten thousand devils!"

  "Not devils--dollars."

  "You're crazy!"

  "It's the least you can do," insisted Billy.

  Tip O'Gorman made an odd noise in his throat. After making which, adog would have bitten Mr. Wingo. Tip may have been a bad old man, buthe was not a dog. He really dissembled his foamingly murderous ragevery well indeed.

  "I'll have to see the rest of the boys," said Tip O'Gorman, and heactually smiled.

  "Why, no," contradicted Billy. "You won't. Why should you? Rafe andyou are the dogs with the brass collars in Crocker County, and you wearmore brass than Rafe, when you come right down to it. What you sayusually goes without question."

  "I never said ten thousand for a sheriff before," protested Tip.

  "There's nothing like establishing a precedent. Don't be hidebound.This is the newer generation, and advanced age, you know; one that'sadvanced by jumps, if you could only be brought to realize it."

  Tip held up an arresting hand. "Don't joke," he said. "I realize whatthe blessed age is doing, but doubling the ante this way is more than ajump--it's a mighty wild leap."

  "It can be done," Billy said placidly. "What are impossibilitiesto-day become realities to-morrow. Q.E.D. P.D.Q."

  Tip O'Gorman raised plump hands to the level of his ears. "I didn'tthink when I proposed you for sheriff," he remarked earnestly, "that Iwas proposing a road agent too. Oh, you burglar! I do admire a hawg.Yes, sir. But what can a feller do? Ten thousand goes. About thosedeputies--I don't suppose you'll have any objections, now that you'vegot what you want, to appointing Johnson and Kenealy?"

  "Oh, yes, indeed I have--plenty. No Johnson and no Kenealy. Shillmanand Tyler. Yes."

  "No. You've got to earn that ten thousand."

  "Bribery and corruption, Tip, is a serious crime."

  "Bosh! You listen to me, young feller. We're buying you, body, souland roll, with that ten thousand cases! You've got to do as we say.Hells bells, what do you think you are?"

  "A stranger in a strange land. Damn strange, too. Tip, you're an oldscoundrel!"

  Tip O'Gorman's hand halted half-way to his armpit.

  "No, no, Tip, not that," Billy warned him, keeping turned on the otherman's stomach the gun that had suddenly appeared from nowhere. "Don'tturn rusty in here. The carpet is new and so is the furniture. Go ali'l slow, or a li'l slower, whichever appeals to you."

  Tip locked his hands behind his head. "Be sensible, Bill," said hecalmly. "You can't hope to buck us, if that's your idea. You can't."

  "Can't I? We'll see."

  "What can one man do?" contemptuously.

  "One-two-three. Three men. Three men can do a lot. Yep. I've seenit done."

  "Have you?"

  "I have. But I want to be fair to you, Tip. You'll notice I haven'tremoved your gun. I'll return mine where it came from--behind thewaistband of my pants. Now turn your wolf loose."

  But Tip O'Gorman merely smiled. "I thank you kindly," said he. "Youmean well; but as you say, the carpet and the furniture are new. Itwould be a pity to spoil both them and the evening."

  "You mean we'll go outdoors then?"

  "_We_ will not, but _I_ will. You will stay here and, I hope, enjoyone good night's rest."

  "One, huh? Do I hear you say one? I do. I get your meaning, thankyou. So good of you. Don't get up. I would a tale unfold. Did youever hear the story of Benjy and the bear. No? This is it. Benjy wasout hunting one day and it happened the bear was out hunting too. Forthe bear was hungry, and the bear saw Benjy before Benjy saw the bear.And after the dust had cleared away and all, the bear was bulgy and thebulge was Benjy."

  "Huh," snorted Tip O'Gorman, "what does that prove?"

  "It proves that it's better to be the bear than Benjy. At least,that's the way it looks to a man up a tree. I made up my mind sometime ago that if I got tangled up in a situation like that I'd be thebear and not Benjy."

  Tip O'Gorman stared with an odd expression at Billy Wingo. "You _have_changed," he remarked with conviction. "I wonder----"

  "Give it a name," begged Billy, when Tip failed to complete thesentence.

  Mr. O'Gorman shook his bullet head. "No, I got other fish to fry."

  He got up heavily and began to pull on his overcoat.

  When he was gone, Billy Wingo crossed the room unhurriedly and barredthe door. He threw a quick glance at the blankets nailed across thewindows ostensibly to keep out the drafts. All tight. No one couldlook in.

  "All right, boys," he said in a conversational tone. "You can come outnow."

  The door of an inner room opened. Two men emerged. One was a long,lean citizen with a long, lean face barred by a heavy grizzledmustache. The other was shorter, of equally lean build, andconsiderably younger. The older man was Shotgun Shillman, the youngerwas Riley Tyler.

  In Riley's hand was a thin block of paper. A pencil stuck up behindhis ear.

  "Did you get it all?" queried Billy, sitting down in his chair andhunching it close to the table.

  "Most of it," Riley replied. "All the important part, especially wherehe tried to buy you up. Gee, you've got him now. Send him over theroad any time."

  "But it's only Tip," said Billy, taking the block of paper from Rileyand riffling through the scribbled leaves.

  "Arresting him would sure throw a heap scare into the others," Rileygrinned.

  "And that is what I want to avoid," said Billy. "There's no use inscaring off the flock by downing one bird. We'll just file away TipO'Gorman's remarks for future reference. We can afford to wait.Where's that Bible? I'll swear you boys in right away."