The Spoilers

by Rex Beach

  As she opened it, she fell back amazed while it swung wide and the candle flame flickered and sputtered in the night air. Roy Glenister stood there, grim and determined, his soft, white Stetson pulled low, his trousers tucked into tan half-boots, in his hand a Winchester rifle. Beneath his corduroy coat she saw a loose cartridge-belt, yellow with shells, and the nickelled flash of a revolver. Without invitation he strode across the threshold, closing the door behind him.

  “Miss Chester, you and the Judge must dress quickly and come with me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The Vigilantes are on their way here to hang him. Come with me to my house where I can protect you.”

  She laid a trembling hand on her bosom and the color died out of her face, then at a slight noise above they both looked up to see Judge Stillman leaning far over the banister. He had wrapped himself in a dressing-gown and now gripped the rail convulsively, while his features were blanched to the color of putty and his eyes were wide with terror, though puffed and swollen from sleep. His lips moved in a vain endeavor to speak.

  CHAPTER XV

  VIGILANTES

  ON the morning after the episode in the Northern, Glenister awoke under a weight of discouragement and desolation. The past twenty-four hours with their manifold experiences seemed distant and unreal. At breakfast he was ashamed to tell Dextry of the gambling debauch, for he had dealt treacherously with the old man in risking half of the mine, even though they had agreed that either might do as he chose with his interest, regardless of the other. It all seemed like a nightmare, those tense moments when he lay above the receiver’s office and felt his belief in the one woman slipping away, the frenzied thirst which Cherry Malotte had checked, the senseless, unreasoning lust for play that possessed him later. This lapse was the last stand of his old, untamed instincts. The embers of revolt in him were dead. He felt that he would never again lose mastery of himself, that his passions would never best him hereafter.

  Dextry spoke. “We had a meeting of the ‘Stranglers’ last night” He always spoke of the Vigilantes in that way, because of his early Western training.

  “What was done?”

  “They decided to act quick and do any odd jobs of lynchin’, claim-jumpin’, or such as needs doin’

  There’s a lot of law sharps and storekeepers in the bunch who figure McNamara’s gang will wipe them off the map next.”

  “It was bound to come to this.”

  “They talked of ejectin’ the receiver’s men and puttin’ all us fellers back on our mines.”

  “Good. How many can we count on to help us?”

  “About sixty. We’ve kept the number down, and only taken men with so much property that they’ll have to keep their mouths shut.”

  “I wish we might engineer some kind of an encounter with the court crowd and create such an uproar that it would reach Washington. Everything else has failed, and our last chance seems to be for the government to step in; that is, unless Bill Wheaton can do something with the California courts.”

  “I don’t count on him. McNamara don’t care for California courts no more ‘n he would for a boy with a pea-shooter—he’s got too much pull at headquarters. If the ‘Stranglers’ don’t do no good, we’d better go in an’ clean out the bunch like we was killin’ snakes. If that fails, I’m goin’ out to the States an’ be a doctor.”

  “A doctor? What for?”

  “I read somewhere that in the United States every year there is forty million gallons of whiskey used for medical purposes.”

  Glenister laughed. “Speaking of whiskey, Dex—I notice that you’ve been drinking pretty hard of late—that is, hard for you.”

  The old man shook his head. “You’re mistaken. It ain’t hard for me.”

  “Well, hard or easy, you’d better cut it out.”

  It was some time later that one of the detectives employed by the Swedes met Glenister on Front Street, and by an almost imperceptible sign signified his desire to speak with him. When they were alone he said:

  “You’re being shadowed.”

  “I’ve known that for a long time.”

  “The district-attorney has put on some new men. I’ve fixed the woman who rooms next to him, and through her I’ve got a line on some of them, but I haven’t spotted them all. They’re bad ones—‘up-river’ men mostly—remnants of Soapy Smith’s Skagway gang. They won’t stop at anything.”

  “Thank you—I’ll keep my eyes open.”

  A few nights after, Glenister had reason to recall the words of the sleuth and to realize that the game was growing close and desperate. To reach his cabin, which sat on the outskirts of the town, he ordinarily followed one of the plank walks which wound through the confusion of tents, warehouses, and cottages lying back of the two principal streets along the water front. This part of the city was not laid out in rectangular blocks, for in the early rush the first-comers had seized whatever pieces of ground they found vacant and erected thereon some kind of buildings to make good their titles. There resulted a formless jumble of huts, cabins, and sheds, penetrated by no cross streets and quite unlighted. At night, one leaving the illuminated portion of the town found this darkness intensified.

  Glenister knew his course so well that he could have walked it blindfolded. Nearing a comer of the warehouse this evening he remembered that the planking at this point was torn up, so, to avoid the mud, he leaped lightly across. Simultaneously with his jump he detected a movement in the shadows that banked the wall at his elbow and saw the flaming spurt or a revolver-shot. The man had crouched behind the building and was so close that it seemed impossible to miss. Glenister fell heavily upon his side and the thought flashed over him, “McNamara’s thugs have shot me.”

  His assailant leaped out from his hiding-place and ran down the walk, the sound of his quick, soft footfalls thudding faintly out into the silence. The young man felt no pain, however, so scrambled to his feet, felt himself over with care, and then swore roundly. He was untouched; the other had missed him cleanly. The report, coming while he was in the act of leaping, had startled him so that he had lost his balance, slipped upon the wet boards, and fallen. His assailant was lost in the darkness before he could rise. Pursuit was out of the question, so he continued homeward, considerably shaken, and related the incident to Dextry.

  “You think it was some of McNamara’s work, eh?” Dextry inquired when he had finished.

  “Of course. Didn’t the detective warn me to-day?”

  Dextry shook his head. “It don’t seem like the game is that far along yet. The time is coming when we’ll go to the mat with them people, but they’ve got the aige on us now, so what could they gain by putting you away? I don’t believe it’s them, but whoever it is, you’d better be careful or you’ll be got.”

  “Suppose we come home together after this,” Roy suggested, and they arranged to do so, realizing that danger lurked in the dark comers and that it was in some such lonely spot that the deed would be tried again. They experienced no trouble for a time, though on nearing their cabin one night the younger man fancied that he saw a shadow glide away from its vicinity and out into the blackness of the tundra, as though some one had stood at his very door waiting for him, then became frightened at the two figures approaching. Dextry had not observed it, however, and Glenister was not positive himself, but it served to give him the uncanny feeling that some determined, unscrupulous force was bent on his destruction. He determined to go nowhere unarmed.

  A few evenings later he went home early and was busied in writing when Dextry came in about ten o’clock. The old miner hung up his coat before speaking, lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, then, amid mouthfuls of smoke, began:

  “I had my own toes over the edge to-night. I was mistook for you, which compliment I don’t aim to have repeated.”

  Glenister questioned him eagerly.

  “We’re about the same height an’ these hats of ours are alike. Just as I come by that lumber-pile down yonder,
a man hopped out an throwed a ‘gat’ under my nose. He was quicker than light, and near blowed my skelp into the next block before he saw who I was; then he dropped his weepon and said:

  “‘My mistake. Go on.’ I accepted his apology.”

  “Could you see who he was?”

  “Sure. Guess.”

  “I can’t.”

  “It was the Bronco Kid.”

  “Lord!” ejaculated Glenister. “Do you think he’s after me?”

  “He ain’t after nobody else, an’, take my word for it, it’s got nothin’ to do with McNamara nor that gamblin’ row. He’s too game for that. There’s some other reason.”

  This was the first mention Dextry had made of the night at the Northern.

  “I don’t know why he should have it in for me—I never did him any favors,” Glenister remarked, cynically.

  “Well, you watch out, anyhow. I’d sooner face McNamara an’ all the crooks he can hire than that gambler.”

  During the next few days Roy undertook to meet the proprietor of the Northern face to face, but the Kid had vanished completely from his haunts. He was not in his gambling-hall at night nor on the street by day. The young man was still looking for him on the evening of the dance at the hotel, when he chanced to meet one of the Vigilantes, who inquired of him:

  “Aren’t you late for the meeting?”

  “What meeting?”

  After seeing that they were alone, the other stated:

  “There’s an assembly to-night at eleven o’clock. Something important, I think. I supposed, of course, you knew about it.”

  “It’s strange I wasn’t notified,” said Roy. “It’s probably an oversight. I’ll go along with you.”

  Together they crossed the river to the less frequented part of town and knocked at the door of a large, un-lighted warehouse, flanked by a high board fence. The building faced the street, but was enclosed on the other three sides by this ten-foot wall, inside of which were stored large quantities of coal and lumber. After some delay they were admitted, and, passing down through the dim-lit, high-banked lanes of merchandise, came to the rear room, where they were admitted again. This compartment had been fitted up for the warm storage of perishable goods during the cold weather, and, being without windows, made an ideal place for clandestine gatherings.

  Glenister was astonished to find every man of the organization present, including Dextry, whom he supposed to have gone home an hour since. Evidently a discussion had been in progress, for a chairman was presiding, and the boxes, kegs, and bales of goods had been shoved back against the walls for seats. On these were ranged the threescore men of the “Stranglers,” their serious faces lighted imperfectly by scattered lanterns. A certain constraint seized them upon Glenister’s entrance; the chairman was embarrassed. It was but momentary, however. Glenister himself felt that tragedy was in the air, for it showed in the men’s attitudes and spoke eloquently from their strained faces. He was about to question the man next to him when the presiding officer continued:

  “We will assemble here quietly with our arms at one o’clock. And let me caution you again not to talk or do anything to scare the birds away.”

  Glenister arose. “I came late, Mr. Chairman, so I missed hearing your plan. I gather that you’re out for business, however, and I want to be in it. May I ask what is on foot?”

  “Certainly. Things have reached such a pass that moderate means are useless. We have decided to act, and act quickly. We have exhausted every legal resource and now we’re going to stamp out this gang of robbers in our own way. We will get together in an hour, divide into three groups of twenty men, each with a leader, then go to the houses of McNamara, Stillman, and Voorhees, take them prisoners, and—” He waved his hand in a large gesture.

  Glenister made no answer for a moment, while the crowd watched him intently.

  “You have discussed this fully?” he asked.

  “We have. It has been voted on, and we’re unanimous,”

  “My friends, when I stepped into this room just now I felt that I wasn’t wanted. Why, I don’t know, because I have had more to do with organizing this movement than any of you, and because I have suffered just as much as the rest. I want to know if I was omitted from this meeting intentionally.”

  “This is an embarrassing position to put me in,” said the chairman, gravely. “But I shall answer as spokesman for these men if they wish.”

  “Yes. Go ahead,” said those around the room.

  “We don’t question your loyalty, Mr. Glenister, but we didn’t ask you to this meeting because we know your attitude—perhaps I’d better say sentiment—regarding Judge Stillman’s niece—er—family. It has come to us from various sources that you have been affected to the prejudice of your own and your partner’s interest, Now, there isn’t going to be any sentiment in the affairs of the Vigilantes. We are going to do justice, and we thought the simplest way was to ignore you in this matter and spare all discussion and hard feeling in every quarter.”

  “It’s a lie!” shouted the young man, hoarsely. “A damned He! You wouldn’t let me in for fear I’d kick, oh? Well, you were right. I will kick. You’ve hinted about my feelings for Miss Chester. Let me tell you that she is engaged to marry McNamara, and that she’s nothing to me. Now, then, let me tell you, further, that you won’t break into her house and hang her uncle, even if he is a reprobate. No, sir I This isn’t the time for violence of that sort—we’ll win without it, If we can’t, let’s fight like men, and not hunt in a pack like wolves. If you want to do something, put us back on our mines and help us hold them, but, for God’s sake, don’t descend to assassination and the tactics of the Mafia!”

  “We knew you would make that kind of a talk,” said the speaker, while the rest murmured grudgingly. One of them spoke up.

  “We’ve talked this over in cold blood, Glenister, and it’s a question of their lives or our liberty. The law don’t enter into it.”

  “That’s right,” echoed another at his elbow. “We can’t seize the claims, because McNamara’s got soldiers to back him up. They’d shoot us down. You ought to be the last one to object.”

  He saw that dispute was futile. Determination was stamped on their faces too plainly for mistake, and his argument had no more effect on them than had the pale rays of the lantern beside him, yet he continued:

  “I don’t deny that McNamara deserves lynching, but Stillman doesn’t. He’s a weak old man”—some one laughed derisively—” and there’s a woman in the house. He’s all she has in the world to depend upon, and you would have to kill her to get at him. If you must follow this course, take the others, but leave him alone.”

  They only shook their heads, while several pushed by him even as he spoke. “We’re going to distribute our favors equal,” said a man as he left. They were actuated by what they called justice, and he could not sway them. The life and welfare of the North were in their hands, as they thought, and there was not one to hesitate. Glenister implored the chairman, but the man answered him:

  “It’s too late for further discussion, and let me remind you of your promise. You’re bound by every obligation that exists for an honorable man—”

  “Oh, don’t think that 111 give the snap away!” said the other; “but I warn you again not to enter Still-man’s house.”

  He followed out into the night to find that Dextry had disappeared, evidently wishing to avoid argument. Roy had seen signs of unrest beneath the prospector’s restraint during the past few days, and indications of a fierce hunger to vent his spleen on the men who had robbed him of his most sacred rights. He was of an intolerant, vindictive nature that would go to any length for vengeance. Retribution was part of his creed.

  On his way home, the young man looked at his watch, to find that he had but an hour to determine his course. Instinct prompted him to join his friends and to even the score with the men who had injured him so bitterly, for, measured by standards of the frontier, they were pirates with their lives f
orfeit. Yet, he could not countenance this step. If only the Vigilantes would be content with making an example—but he knew they would not. The blood hunger of a mob is easy to whet and hard to hold. McNamara would resist, as would Voorhees and the district-attorney, then there would be bloodshed, riot, chaos. The soldiers would be called out and martial law declared, the streets would become skirmish-grounds. The Vigilantes would rout them without question, for every citizen of the North would rally to their aid, and such men could not be stopped. The Judge would go down with the rest of the ring, and what would happen to—her?

  He took down his Winchester, oiled and cleaned it, then buckled on a belt of cartridges. Still he wrestled with himself. He felt that he was being ground between his loyalty to the Vigilantes and his own conscience. The girl was one of the gang, he reasoned—she had schemed with them to betray him through his love, and she was pledged to the one man in the world whom he hated with fanatical fury. Why should he think of her in this hour? Six months back he would have looked with jealous eyes upon the right to lead the Vigilantes, but this change that had mastered him—what was it? Not cowardice, nor caution. No. Yet, being intangible, it was none the less marked, as his friends had shown him an hour since.

  He slipped out into the night. The mob might do as it pleased elsewhere, but no man should enter her house. He found a light shining from her parlor window, and, noting the shade up a few inches, stole close. Peering through, he discovered Struve and Helen talking. He slunk back into the shadows and remained hidden for a considerable time after the lawyer left, for the dancers were returning from the hotel and passed close by. When the last group had chattered away down the street, he returned to the front of the house and, mounting the steps, knocked sharply. As Helen appeared at the door, he stepped inside and closed it after him.