CHAPTER XXIII
THE PAW OF THE CAT
Lablache was alone. Horrocks had left him to set out on his final effortto discover Retief's hiding-place. The great man was eagerly waiting forhis return. Evening was drawing on and the officer had not yet put in anappearance, neither had the money-lender received any word from him. Inconsequence he was beginning to hope that Horrocks had succeeded.
All day the wretched man had been tortured by horrid fears. And, as timepassed and evening drew on, his mood became almost a panic. Themoney-lender was in a deplorable state of mind; his nerves were shaken,and he was racked by a dread of he scarce knew what. What he had gonethrough the night before had driven him to the verge of mental collapse.No bodily injury could have thus reduced him; for, whatever might havebeen his failings, physical cowardice was not amongst the number. Anymoral weakness which might have been his had been so obscured by longyears of success and prosperity, that no one knowing him would havebelieved him to be so afflicted. No, in spite of his present conditionLablache was a strong man.
But the frightful mental torture he had endured at Retief's hands hadtold its tale. The attack of the last twenty-four hours had been madeagainst him alone; at least, so Lablache understood it. Retief's effortswere only in his direction; the raider had robbed him of twenty thousandhead of cattle; he had burnt his beautiful ranch out, in sheerwantonness it seemed to the despairing man; what then would be his nextmove if he were not stopped? What else was there ofhis--Lablache's--that the Breed could attack? His store--yes--yes; hisstore! That was all that was left of his property in Foss River. Andthen--what then? There was nothing after that, except, perhaps--excepthis life.
Lablache stirred in his seat and wheezed heavily as he arrived at thisconclusion. His horrified thoughts were expressed in the look of fearthat was in his lashless eyes.
His life--yes! That must be the raider's culminating object. Or would heleave him that, so that he might further torture him by burning him outof Calford. He pondered fearfully, and hard, practical as was hisnature, the money-lender allowed his imagination to run riot overpossibilities which surely his cooler judgment would have scoffed at.
Lablache rose hurriedly from his chair. It only wanted a quarter tofive. Putting his head through the partition doorway he ordered hisastonished clerks to close up. He felt that he could not--dare not keepthe store open longer. Then he inspected the private door of his office.The spring catch was fast. He locked his safe. All the time he movedabout fearfully--like some hunted criminal. At last he returned to hisseat. His bilious eyes roved over the various objects in the room. Ahunted look was in them. His mind seemed fixed on one thought alone--thecoming of Retief.
After this he grew more calm. Perhaps the knowledge that the store wassecure now against any intruder helped to steady his nerves. Then hestarted--was the store secure? He rose again and went to the window toput up the shutter. He gazed out towards the Foss River Ranch, and, ashe gazed, he saw some one riding fast towards the settlement.
The horseman came nearer; the sight fascinated the great man. Now thetraveler had reached the market place, and was coming on towards thestore. Suddenly the money-lender recognized in the horseman one ofHorrocks's troopers, mounted on a horse from John Allandale's stable. Awild hope leapt up in his heart. Then, as the man drew nearer andLablache saw the horrified expression of his face, hope went from him,and he feared the worst.
The clatter of hoofs ceased outside the office door. Lablache steppedheavily forward and threw it open. He stood framed in the doorway as theman gasped out his terrible news.
"He's drowned, sir, drowned before our eyes. We tried, but couldn't savehim. He would go, sir; we tried to persuade him, but he would go. Nomore than fifty yards from the bank, and then down he went. He was outof sight in two minutes. It was horrible, sir, and him never uttered asound. I'm going in to Stormy Cloud to report an' get instructions.Anything I can do, sir?"
So the worst was realized. For the moment the money-lender could find nowords. His tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. His last hope--thelast barrier between him and the man whom he considered his arch enemy,Retief, seemed to have been shattered. He thought not of the horror ofthe policeman's drowning; he felt no sorrow at the reckless man'sghastly end. He merely thought of himself. He saw only how the man'sdeath affected his personal interests. At last he gurgled out somewords. He scarce knew what he said.
"There's nothing to be done. Yes--no--yes, you'd better go up to theAllandales," he went on uncertainly. "They'll send a rescue party."
The trooper dashed off and Lablache securely fastened the door. Then heput the shutter over the window, and, notwithstanding that it was broaddaylight still, he lit the lamp.
Once more he returned to his protesting chair, into which he almostfell. To him this last catastrophe was as the last straw. What was nowto become of the settlement; what was to become of him? Horrocks gone;the troopers withdrawn, or, at least, without a guiding hand, whatmight Retief not be free to do while the settlement awaited the comingof a fresh detachment of police. He impotently cursed the raider. Thecraven weakness, induced by his condition of nervous prostration, wasalmost pitiable. All the selfishness which practically monopolized hisentire nature displayed itself in his terror. He cared nothing forothers. He believed that Retief was at war with him alone. He believedthat the raider sought only his wealth--his wealth which his years ofhard work and unscrupulous methods had laboriously piled up--the wealthhe loved and lived for--the wealth which was to him as a god. He thoughtof all he had already lost. He counted it up in thousands, and his eyesgrew wide with horror and despair as the figures mounted up, up, untilthey represented a great fortune.
The long-suffering chair creaked under him as he flung himself back init, his pasty, heavy-jowled face was ghastly under the lash ofdespairing thought. Only a miser, one of those wretched creatures wholive only for the contemplation of their hoarded wealth, couldunderstand the feelings of the miserable man as he lay back in hischair.
The man who had thus reduced the money-lender must have understood hisnature as did the inquisitors of old understand the weaknesses of theirvictims. For surely he could have found no other vulnerable spot in thegreat man's composition.
The first shock of the trooper's news began to pass. Lablache's mindbegan to balance itself again. Such a state of nerves as was his couldnot last and the man remain sane. Possibly the thought that he was stilla rich man came to his aid. Possibly the thought of hundreds ofthousands of dollars sunk in perfect securities, in various Europeancenters, toned down the grievousness of his losses. Whatever it was hegrew calmer, and with calmness his scheming nature reasserted itself.
He moved from his seat and helped himself liberally to the whisky whichwas in his cabinet. He needed the generous spirit, and drank it off ata gulp. His chair behind him creaked. He started. His ashen face becamemore ghastly in its hue. He looked round fearfully. Then he understood,and he wheezed heavily. Once more he sat himself down, and the warmingspirit steadily did its work.
Suddenly his mind leapt forward, as it were, from its stagnatorycondition of abject fear. It traveled swiftly, urged by a pursuing dreadover plans for the future. The guiding star of his thought was safety.At all costs he must find safety for his property and himself. So longas Retief was at large there could be no safety for him in Foss River.He must get away. He must get away, bearing with him the fruits whichyet remained to him of his life's toil. He had contemplated retiringbefore. His retirement from business would mean ruin to many of thosewho had borrowed from him he knew, and to those on whose property heheld mortgages as security. But that could not be helped. He was notgoing to allow himself to suffer through what he considered anyhumanitarian weakness. Yes, he would retire--get away from the reach ofRetief and his companions, and--ah!
His thoughts merged into another channel--a channel which, under thestress of his terrors, had for the moment been obscured. He suddenlythought of the Allandales. Here for the instant was a
stumbling block.Or should he renounce his passion for Jacky? He drummed thoughtfullywith his finger-tips upon the arms of his chair.
No, why should he give her up? Something of his old nerve was returning.He held all the cards. He knew he could, by foreclosing, ruin "Poker"John. Why should he give the girl up, and see her calmly secured by thatcursed Bunning-Ford? His bilious eyes half closed and his sparseeyebrows drew together in a deep concentration of thought. Thenpresently his forehead smoothed, and his lashless eyes gleamed wickedly.He rose heavily to his feet and labored to and fro across the floor,with his beefy hands clasped behind his back.
"Excellent--excellent," he muttered. "The devil could not have designedit better." There was a grim, evil smile about his mouth. "Yes, agame--a game. It will tickle old John, and will carry out my purpose.The mortgages which I hold on his property are nothing to me. Most aregambling debts. For the rest the interest has covered the principal. Ihave seen to that. But he is in arrears now. Good--good. Theirabandonment represents no loss to me--ha, ha." He chuckled mirthlessly."A little game--a gentle flutter, friend John, and the stakes all in myfavor. But I do not intend to lose. Oh, no. The girl might outwit me ifI lost. I shall win, and on my wedding day I shall bemagnanimous--good." He unclasped his hands and rubbed them togethergleefully.
"The uncle's consent--his persuasion. She will do as he wishes or--ruin.It is capital--a flawless scheme. And then to leave Foss River forever.God, but I shall be glad," with a return to his nervous dread. He lookedabout him; eagerly, his great paunchy figure pictured grotesquelybeneath the pasty, fearful face.
"Now to see John," he went on, after a moment's pause. "How--how? I wishI could get him here. It would be better here. There would be no chanceof listening ears. Besides, there is the whisky." He paused againthinking. "Yes," he muttered presently. "Delay would be bad. I must notgive my enemy time. At once--at once. Nothing like doing things at once.I must go to John. But--" and he looked dubiously at the darkenedwindow--"when I return it will be dark." He picked up his other revolverand slipped it into his breast pocket. "Yes, yes, I am gettingfoolish--old. Come along, my friend, we will go."
He seized his hat and went to the office door. He paused with his handupon the lock, and gave one final look round, then he turned the springwith a great show of determination and passed out.
It was a different man who left the little office on that evening tothe man who had for so many years governed the destinies of the smallerranching world of the Foss River district. He had truly said that he wasgetting old--but he did not quite realize how old. His enemies had donetheir work only too well. The terrible consequences of the night ofterror were to have far-reaching results.
The money-lender set out for the ranch bristling with eagerness to putinto execution his hastily conceived plan.
He found the old rancher in his sanctum. He was alone brooding over thecalamity which had befallen the police-officer, and stimulating histhought with silent "nippings" at the whisky bottle. He was in asemi-maudlin condition when the money-lender entered, and greeted hisvisitor with almost childish effusion.
Lablache saw and understood, and a sense of satisfaction came to him. Hehoped his task would be easier than he had anticipated. His evil naturerose to the occasion, and, for the moment, his own troubles and fearswere forgotten. There was a cat-like licking of the lips as hecontemplated the pitiful picture before him.
"Well?" said old John, looking into the other's face with a pair ofbloodshot eyes, as he re-seated himself after rising to greet hisvisitor. "Well, poor Horrocks has gone--gone, a victim to his sense ofduty. I guess, Lablache, there are few men would have shown his grit."
"Grit! Yes, that's so." The money-lender had been about to say "folly,"but he checked himself. He did not want to offend "Poker" John--now.
"Yes. The poor fellow was too good for his work," he went on, in tonesof commiseration. "'Tis indeed a catastrophe, John. And we are thelosers by it. I regret now that I did not altogether agree with him whenhe first came amongst us."
John wagged his head. He looked to be near weeping. His companion'ssympathetic tone was almost too much for his whisky-laden heart. ButLablache had not come here to discuss Horrocks, or, for that matter, tosympathize with the gray-headed wreck of manhood before him. He wishedto find out first of all if anybody was about whom his plans concerned,and then to force his proposition upon his old companion. He carefullyled the rancher to talk of other things.
"The man has gone into Stormy Cloud to report?"
"Yes."
"And who are they likely to send down in place--ah--of the unfortunateHorrocks, think you?"
"Can't say. I guess they'll send a good man. I've asked for more men."
The old man roused somewhat from his maudlin state.
"Ah, that's a good move, John," said the money-lender. "What does Jackythink about--these things?"
The question was put carelessly. John yawned, and poured out a "tot" ofwhisky for his friend.
"Guess I haven't seen the child since breakfast. She seemed to take itbadly enough then."
"Thanks. Aren't you going to have one?" as John pushed the glass over tothe other.
"Why, yes, man. Never shirk my liquor."
He dashed a quantity of raw spirit into his glass and drank it off.Lablache looked on with intense satisfaction. John rose unsteadily, and,supporting himself against the furniture as he went, moved over to theFrench window and closed it. Then he lurched heavily back into his chairagain. His eyes half closed. But he roused at the sound of Lablache'sguttural tones.
"John, old friend." Muddled as he was the rancher started at the term."I've come to have a long chat with you. This morning I could not talk.I was too broken up--too, too ill. Now listen and you shall hear of allthat happened last night, and then you will the better be able to judgeof the wisdom of my decision."
John listened while Lablache told his tale. The money-lender embellishedthe facts slightly so as the further to emphasize them. Then, at theconclusion of the story of his night's doings, he went on to matterswhich concerned his future.
"Yes, John, there is nothing left for me but to get out of the country.Mind this is no sudden determination, but a conclusion I have longarrived at. These disastrous occurrences have merely hastened my plans.I am not so young as I was, you know," with an attempt at lightness, "Isimply dare not stay. I fear that Retief will soon attempt my life."
He sighed and looked for sympathy. Old John seemed too amazed torespond. He had never realized that the raider's efforts were solelydirected against Lablache. The money-lender went on.
"And that is why I have come to you, my oldest friend. I feel you shouldbe the first to know, for with no one else in Foss River have I lived insuch perfect harmony. And, besides, you are the most interested."
The latter was in the tone of an afterthought. Strangely enough thecareless way in which it was spoken carried the words well home to therancher's muddled brain.
"Interested?" he echoed blankly.
"Why, yes. Certainly, you are the most interested. I mean from amonetary point of view. You see, the winding up of my business willentail the settling up of--er--my books."
"Yes," said the rancher, with doubtful understanding.
"Then--er--you take my meaning as to how--er--how you are interested."
"You mean my arrears of interest," said the gray headed old man dazedly.
"Just so. You will have to meet your liabilities to me."
"But--but--man." The rancher spluttered for words to express himself.This was the money-lender's opportunity, and he seized it.
"You see, John, in retiring from business I am not altogether a freeagent. My affairs are so mixed up with the affairs of the Calford Trustand Loan Co. The period of one of your mortgages, for instance--theheaviest by the way--has long expired. It has not been renewed. Theinterest is in arrears. This mortgage was arranged by me jointly withthe Calford Trust and Loan Co. When I retire it will have to be settledup. Being my friend I ha
ve not troubled you, but doubtless the companywill have no sentiment about it. As to the others--they are debts ofhonor. I am afraid these things will have to be settled, John. You willof course be able to meet them."
"God, man, but I can't," old John exclaimed. "I tell you I can't," hereiterated in a despairing voice.
Lablache shrugged his obese shoulders.
"That is unfortunate."
"But, Lablache," said the rancher, gazing with drunken earnestness intothe other's face, "you will not press me?"
"Why no, John, of course not--as far as I am personally concerned. Ihave known you too long and have too much regard for you and--yours. No,no, John; of course I am a business man, but I am still your friend.Friend--eh, John--your friend."
The rancher looked relieved, and helped himself to more whisky. Lablachejoined him and they silently drank. "Poker" John set his empty glassdown first.
"Now Lablache, about these lia-liabilities," he said with a hiccup."What is to be done?"
"Well, John, we are friends of such old standing that I don't like toretire from business and leave you inconvenienced by the process.Perhaps there is a way by which I can help you. I am very wealthy--andwealth is a great power--a very great power even in this wild region.Now, suppose I make a proposition to you."
The Story of the Foss River Ranch: A Tale of the Northwest Page 23
