Wolves of the Chaparral

by Paul Evan Lehman

  He shrugged. “But a dance-hall girl, Barbara! Surely he could have made a better choice than that.”

  She did not answer, but unknowingly Alonzo J. Frothingham had erected a barrier between them that he would never be able to batter down. Barbara was loyal to the soul of her; the little Mexican girl had won her completely, and she had come to know that beneath the hard shell with which a careless life had necessarily surrounded her was a heart of virgin gold.

  For a while they rode in silence, reaching at last a clump of live oaks at the edge of the south road. Here they drew rein and sat their horses in the cool shade.

  “Barbara,” he said suddenly, “I’ve something to say to you.”

  Instinctively she sensed what was coming, but saw no way to avoid it.

  He went on tensely. “I have reached a cross-road in my life, and it is in the hands of Fate as to which way I turn. I have always believed that I possess great capacity for either good or evil. You must judge for yourself as to the direction I have exerted that capacity; but regardless of what I am now I feel that with the proper woman at my side to guide and direct and advise, I could reach the heights. Barbara, I love you, and I want you to marry me.”

  He had chosen his words carefully so as to tell her neither too much nor too little. To give him his due, he had honestly convinced himself that if she accepted his proposal he would ditch Horace Maley and his crooked schemes and strive to bend his talents towards a lawful career.

  At her impatient movement he urged his horse closer to her and continued before she could speak. “I’ve worked hard at the bank, and I’m ready for a holiday. I want you to share it. Let it be our honeymoon—one that we could never forget. Think of it, Barbara! The sunny skies of Mexico—the soft moon—the twang of guitars! It would be a dream come true. And afterwards we could live in the East, in the city, where you could see something else besides the eternal hills and the dusty rangeland. Theatres, parties, dances! Dear, say you’ll share it with me; say you’ll marry me.”

  He reached out to grasp her hand, but she kneed her horse away and at a safe distance shook her head at him.

  “No. No, it isn’t possible. It all sounds awfully nice, and I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t admit that I’d like to visit the big cities and go to the theatres and parties and dances. But after all I was born near the eternal hills and dusty rangeland, and I love them. And I don’t love you, Al. I dislike to hurt you, but I don’t love you.”

  For a moment he sat looking at her, a pained expression on his face; then she saw his eyes harden, saw the muscles of his jaws bulge.

  “So it’s this Weston fellow after all!”

  Barbara did not answer, but she knew now for a certainty what she had suspected in the past: that beneath the veneer of good nature and gentility which clothed the man was a core of selfishness and egotism and vindictiveness.

  They rode back to the ranch in silence, and he immediately took his departure. His vanity had been wounded, and he now felt a hot resentment toward this girl he had professed to love and the tall, somber Barry Weston who, he felt sure, had succeeded where he had failed. He was in an excellent mood for what was ahead of him. He had left the decision to Fate, and Fate had given him the answer.

  It was noon of the next day when the bank clerk called at Horace Maley’s office. He appeared worried.

  “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Moley, but I can’t locate Mr. Frothingham. I inquired at the hotel, but nobody has seen him since supper last night. I thought you might know where I could find him.”

  “Probably at the Cinchbuckle,” said Moley. “Go right on with your work. If you run short of cash, let me know. I have the combination to the vault.”

  The man was back shortly before closing time. “I’m afraid I’ll have to trouble you to open the vault,” he said respectfully. “I must have some more cash to honor a check of Mr. Hope’s.”

  Maley accompanied him to the bank to find Jeff Hope waiting on the sidewalk. The lawyer explained. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Jeff, but Mr. Frothingham isn’t about and I am the only other one who knows the combination to the vault.”

  Hope was surprised. “Didn’t know you was connected with the bank,” he said as they went inside.

  “My dear man,” Horace told him blandly, “now that the institution is on a firm basis I don’t mind telling you that I own it.”

  Jeff was still pondering over this when Moley drew open the big door and stood for a moment gazing at the interior of the vault. Suddenly he bent forward and started fumbling among some papers, evidently searching for something; then he straightened and turned to the clerk, and Jeff saw that his face was tight.

  “Are you quite certain that the currency isn’t in the little safe?” he asked, and at the tone of his voice the man started.

  “Quite certain, sir. We keep only enough for current needs there.”

  “Go out and find Sheriff Billings at once and send him to me. And keep your mouth shut.”

  Jeff Hope was staring. “You mean—you mean Frothingham’s—skipped?”

  Moley leaned against the counter and passed his hand over his forehead. He appeared stunned—broken.

  “I—I—Jeff, it looks like it. If he has, I’m a ruined man.”

  Jeff almost flew from the bank to spread the news. A crowd soon gathered about the entrance, which by this time was closed and locked. Through the milling citizens of Mescal Matt Billings forced his way. The door was opened at his knock and he slipped through to face a pale and tight-lipped Moley.

  “What is it, Horace? What’s this they’re sayin’ outside?”

  “Matt, I’m ruined—ruined! Frothingham has taken every cent of currency and all the negotiable bonds in the vault. I backed him from the start—thought him the soul of honesty, and he betrayed me! Get after him. Bring him back. A thousand dollars to you if you do! Make it five thousand! Get out posters—notify the adjoining counties—but bring him back. I tell you I’m ruined!”

  Matt departed on the run, but there was nothing at first to tell him in which direction to search for the missing cashier. He had just come from the hotel after questioning the help, when a man rode into town with Frothingham’s horse on a lead rope.

  “Found him grazin’ by the road when I was comin’ to town,” explained the fellow. “Ten miles north of Mescal on the stage road.”

  Within five minutes Matt and a hastily summoned posse rode out of town at a furious gallop, headed north. And hardly had they departed when a pasty-faced clerk slipped through the doorway of the bank and hurriedly tacked up a penciled notice:

  This bank will be closed until further notice.

  Horace Moley, Prop.

  The wolf had closed his jaws!

  CHAPTER XV

  THE WOLF SNARLS

  THERE WAS consternation in the Basin that day. The news spread like a prairie fire, and before the day was over had carried to the farthest reaches of the range. Frothingham had been well liked; his frank, easy manner and apparent sympathy for the ranchers had won their confidence; to have him suddenly branded a thief stunned them.

  When they finally reconciled themselves to this unexpected situation the shadow of Horace Moley rose to confront them. His ownership of the bank had been kept a careful secret; even Steve had been unaware of it until his father had seen fit to make the news public. The lawyer talked freely now, and his denunciation of Alonzo J. Frothingham was bitter. The man had come to him a year before armed with credentials of the very best. Moley now believed them forged. He had suggested a partnership, Moley to furnish the capital, he the banking experience and executive ability. Horace had agreed, but, knowing that folks in the Basin were prejudiced against him, had insisted that his connection with the institution be kept secret.

  The bank prospered and to all appearances Frothingham was the soul of integrity. He, Horace Maley, had been cleverly duped. At first a bit cautious, he had furnished capital sufficient only to keep the bank going; later his confidence in Frothingham
grew to such an extent that he had entrusted practically all his cash and securities to the banker’s keeping. Now Frothingham had absconded and he, Horace Moley, was ruined. Except for the building and a few investments and balances in other banks, nothing remained but notes receivable. These, of course, would be called immediately. So said Horace Moley.

  This last statement proved the crowning blow to the Basin ranchers. The notes were demand ones, secured by airtight mortgages on their property. To pay them would be impossible; the fact that the makers had been promised the privilege of renewing them at will would not hold for a minute, the one who had made the promise being a thief and a scoundrel. Moley, when Jeff Hope spoke to him on the subject, disclaimed any knowledge of the bargain; even said that Frothingham had no authority to lend his money under such conditions. The notes would have to be paid immediately or foreclosure steps would be taken at once. Court would be in session within a few days, and judgment would be secured. The lawyer was adamant; they must pay or turn their property over to him.

  Jeff Hope and Harry Webb talked the matter over outside Moley’s office.

  “I reckon there ain’t no use fightin’,” sighed Jeff. “He can git judgment all right, and I sure can’t satisfy it. Even if we got a fair price for the spreads, which ain’t noways likely at a sheriff’s sale, what we get over and above the judgment would be et up by lawyer’s fees and such like. No, Harry, I reckon I’ll turn her over, lock, stock, and bar’l, and pull out.”

  “Me, too,” said Webb grimly. “I was fixin’ to git out a long time ago, but Frothingham talked me outa it. Jerry Weston’s gone, and so are Charley Dawn and George Brent. This’ll bust Matt Billings too, but he’s got the sheriff’s job to keep him gain’. Let Horace take the clanged spread if he wants it; I’ll find me a bit of new range over in Arizona and start over.”

  The most miserable person in the Basin at that moment was Clay Dawn. The news of Frothingham’s defalcation had come to him like a thunder clap. Save for a few dollars he had gambled away three thousand, always in the hope of winning back the four he had originally lost. Seven thousand dollars had slipped through his fingers within the short space of three months! This, added to the seven thousand Barbara had borrowed, would ruin the Cinchbuckle. Their stock, depleted by drought and disease and rustling, would possibly bring enough to cover Barbara’s notes; but the three thousand he had borrowed would have to be paid, and since he had borrowed it for the purpose of improving the Cinchbuckle, the money had become a loan against the property rather than a personal one.

  Until late in the night he sat in the Palace drinking steadily, moody, silent, dangerous. Steve and his friends from the Slash B wisely kept away from him. Stupid with drink, the last of his money gone, he staggered to the hotel stable and slept in the hay. When he awoke the next morning he saddled up and rode back into the hills, and for several hours sat in silence fighting it out with himself.

  His first impulse was to leave the Basin. He had disgraced his sister and betrayed her trust. He did not blame Steve, although it had occurred to him that Maley won with surprizing consistency. In the end he rejected the idea of flight. That would leave Barbara alone to face the calamity. Clay was young and by nature weak of will; but he was no quitter. In that moment some of the courage which he had inherited from his father manifested itself. He finally rode to the Flying W.

  Barry was out on the range, but Clay found him and led him to a shady spot on the slope of the north hills. Here he told Weston everything, speaking deliberately and not sparing himself one whit.

  Barry heard him through in silence, troubled gaze on the rolling Basin rangeland. When Clay had finished, he remained for a moment without speaking. The boy’s manly confession had touched him, and when he finally turned to Clay his eyes reflected the respect he felt.

  “Runnin’ away from trouble never pays in the end. I caused my mother five years of heartache because I got scared and ran. Clement had the deck stacked against him by runnin’. Had he stayed right there with Cal Garth’s body until the sheriff arrived, there would have been no reloadin’ of Cal’s gun. I reckon when you get right down to it you’ve shown more real guts than either Clem or myself will ever have. Go straight to Barbara and tell her about it just like you told me. She’s a soldier; she’ll stand by you. And she’ll be proud of you even while she’s scoldin’ you.”

  Clay’s eyes were moist. “Thanks, Barry. I’ll do it, but only one one condition.” He eyed Barry directly, almost fiercely. “If I ever touch another card or take another drink of liquor, I want you to bull-whip the hide clean off me.”

  Barry thumped him on the back. “Clay, I sure promise; but I’m bettin’ it’s one promise I’ll never have to keep.”

  Clay’s fine young body showed determination in every line. “I want to ask one more favor. Barbara thinks a heap of you. I’d sort of like you to ride over to the spread in an hour or so. It’s goin’ to hit her hard, comin’ like it has on top of Clem’s trouble, and maybe you can cheer her up a bit.”

  “Clay, I’ll sure do it. I’ll start in an hour.”

  That session of Barbara’s and Clay’s must forever be a secret locked in the hearts of both of them; neither ever mentioned the matter thereafter. But that day marked the beginning of an understanding of each other that had never existed before; an understanding and sympathy which they were to carry through life. And on that day Clay became a man.

  When Barry found them they were seated on the gallery quietly talking. Barbara’s eyes were shining, although he thought he could detect the trace of tears. He greeted them casually and dropped into a chair.

  “Well,” he said, “what are we goin’ to do about it?”

  Barbara answered. “Barry, I don’t know. Those notes will be called, and of course we can’t meet them in full. I am going to Horace Maley; perhaps if I pay him half he can be persuaded to take a new note for the balance.”

  “I’m afraid it won’t work,” said Clay. “Barbara has been tellin’ me just why you think Moley wants the Cinchbuckle. She also told me about the rustlin’ and the blackmailin’. She didn’t tell me before, and I don’t blame her. I been stayin’ in Mescal most of the time, and in addition to that I just wasn’t worthy of bein’ told.” His face wore a flush of shame, but he went on steadily. “If it is true that Horace Maley wants this spread, the opportunity he’s been waitin’ for is his. He’s a wolf, and when he once gets somethin’ in his jaws he won’t let go.”

  “We can try,” said Barbara bravely. “I’m afraid I hurt my chances by talking to him the way I did when I discovered he was blackmailing us, but I’m ready to eat any kind of humble pie if it will save the Cinchbuckle.”

  Clay was pessimistic. “Now that my eyes are open, I can see a little farther than the end of my nose. What a fool I’ve been! I was robbed of that four thousand dollars. It was part of the plan, just like the rustlin’ of our breeders. You notice it was breeders we lost—the foundation of our herd. The whole thing was planned to weaken us so Horace could get the spread.”

  “When you speak of the Devil,” said Barry, “he generally pops up. Here comes Horace’s buggy now. I reckon we’d better leave him alone with Barbara. Let’s go in and visit with Lola and Nip.”

  “They’ve gone for a ride, Barry,” Barbara told him. “Lola has been improving wonderfully; she’s almost herself again.”

  Barry and Clay led their horses to the back of the house before Moley was close enough to identify them. They waited the outcome in the bunkhouse, talking quietly.

  When Horace Moley drew up before the gallery, Barbara was standing at the steps awaiting him. He tied quickly and came up to the veranda, his long face hard, his eyes cold. He greeted her stiffly, took the chair she indicated, and sat there with his beaver hat balanced on his skinny knees.

  “I assume that you can guess the object of my call, Miss Dawn,” he said. “It’s about those notes of yours. Demand notes, if you will remember. I would like to reach an understanding wit
h regard to them.”

  Barbara’s face brightened a little. A compromise of some kind, it seemed, might be possible after all.

  “I’m glad you called,” she said. “We are horribly worried, of course. You must have suffered a great loss through Mr. Frothingham’s breach of faith.”

  “It was cold-blooded robbery,” grated Horace. “The man is a thief. I have been utterly ruined by the scoundrel. Friend of yours, wasn’t he?”

  “He was.” She colored slightly. “We were all deceived by him.”

  “About these notes. I must recover, and recover quickly. They represent assets of the bank; we must reach some understanding immediately.”

  “Mr. Maley, I shall be more than glad to meet you half way.”

  “No half way about it,” snapped the lawyer. “Young lady, I hold notes of yours totaling seven thousand dollars, and notes of your brother amounting to three thousand more. They are all binding on the partnership. Are you prepared to pay me ten thousand dollars with interest to date.”

  “Why—why, no, Mr. Maley, we are not. I had hoped—”

  “No use to hope. It was my hard-earned money that Frothingham squandered in this Basin. I did not know he was scattering it broadcast; he must have had a queer streak of generosity that permitted him to share it with his friends. I intend to recover every cent.”

  “Of course. And we can pay you in time. I believe I could manage to raise half of it in thirty days; I could surely get the rest within a year.”

  “A year! Do you think me crazy? Impossible to consider such a proposition, Miss Dawn.”

  “I thought you mentioned something about an understanding, Mr. Maley.”

  “Only as regards the manner in which the notes are to be met. The question of time does not enter into it. The notes have been called; I have mailed you a written demand. Failure to meet them means that I must start proceedings against you and your brother. I shall certainly secure judgment, and the ranch will be sold to the highest bidder. In that event you will have to bear the cost of the proceedings. I’m afraid there will be little left. Harry Webb and Jeff Hope saw this at once, and have agreed to save trouble by deeding their ranches to me at once. I believe it would be to your interest to do likewise.”