CHAPTER IX
GOLD AND PEARLS
Bim Bagley, on the trail of the information brought by Doc Stooder'spipe line, found himself against a blank wall the instant he passedthrough the barrier of the Line into Sonizona. He was too conversantwith the ways of Mexican officialdom to make any inquiry in highplaces, knowing that to do so would be but to jeopardize Grant Hickman,however he might be placed, and win for himself naught but suavedenials. Nor did he even go to the American consul, who, in the usualcourse of things, would be the last man in Sonizona to hear of thedisappearance of an American citizen there.
Rather, with Doc Stooder's counsel, Bim circulated warily among thegambling halls and in the _cantinas_ where the rurales were wont to gofor their salt and mescal. Here ten pesos slipped into a complacentpalm; there twenty. Then weary waiting for results.
Bit by bit the story came to him, and behind the fragments was alwaysthe dim figure of Colonel Hamilcar Urgo. Bagley knew Urgo for thetyrant politician that he was: how he used his position in the garrisonas a cloak to cover his manipulations of government all along theSonora border. No man was stronger, not even the governor of Sonorahimself; and the central regime in Mexico City was forced to wink atColonel Urgo's obliquities else run the risk of his firing the train torevolution.
But why this little sand viper in uniform should have conceived adesire to be rid of Grant Hickman, a total stranger to the country, noteven the most astute of Bagley's informers could guess. "'E's not liketheese gringo" appeared to cover the whole case.
The saturnine doctor, repenting him of his brusque reception of theNew York man--prompted, after all, by his superlative caution in thepresence of a possible impostor--sent the tip to the farthermostganglions of his news system: "Fifty gold dollars to the man bringinginformation of the missing American's whereabouts."
Doc Stooder's proffer of that amount of money was not all humanitarian.Below his surface show of concern, designed for the benefit of BimBagley, good Dr. Stooder did not care a plugged nickel what mightbe the fate of the Eastern man. He was not one to lose sleep overthe misfortunes of others if those misfortunes were not attributableto strictly physical causes and under materia medica. Then only theyinterested him.
No, Doc Stooder's real concern was the delay caused by the disappearanceof this third party to his scheme for a "great killing." The killing inquestion was one he could not make single-handed. Circumstances whichhave no place in this tale had forced him to share the secret of it withBagley, and the latter had refused to move a step in the enterprise untilhe had his pal from overseas in on the game. The Doc fretted aloud oneday, which was the tenth after Grant had dropped from sight.
"Son, I'm tellin' you 'less we make tracks for that Four Evangelistsmission purty pronto this here O'Donoju Spaniard down in the Garden'sgoin' to get what's in the wind and shove in on us. He's got everyPapago from here to the Gulf runnin' to him with every whisper a littlebird lets spill. He gets wind you an' me are raising sand to lay handson an engineer out from Noo Yawk an' he smells a mice."
"You go dig alone for your dam'd mission." Bim Bagley's temper had beenground fine by days of restless anxiety. "Me, I roost right here tillI get the lay where my buddy is."
Next day all the silver of subsidy Bim had distributed bore fruit anhundred-fold. There came to the office of Doc Stooder unquestionedreport that the missing American was alive, though shot through thebody, and under the care of El Doctor Coyote Belly at a speck in thedesert called Babinioqui away down beyond the Line.
Bagley was off in his car that night. Doc Stooder, alone in his officeand with a graduating glass and bottle of fiery tequila at his elbow,dreamed of gold plate brought to light from caverns of sand, of altarjewels and hoards of nuggets--riches of crafty priests--salvaged fromthe crypt of a holy place lost to sight of man a century and a quarter.
"Gold all hammered into crosses an' such!" The Doc tipped his brimminggraduating glass against the electric bulb and studied with fond eyethe liquor made golden by the light.
"--Pearls, my Papago says. Pearls big as _bisnaga_ fruit an'greeny-white like a high moon. Gold an' pearls! Pearls an' gold!Stooder, you're goin' be a prancin', r'arin' aristocrat!"
Dust of the Desert Page 10
