"He has the appearance of a neglected old bachelor."
"Well, he isn't. He has a wife and seven children back in Tennessee—so he says."
"Fred," said Florence, sharply, "I hope you aren't playing off on these partners of yours."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean—letting them do all the hard and disagreeable work."
Kelley interposed. "Don't you worry about us, miss. We aren't complaining. We can't do the part he does. He does all the buying and selling—and—correspondence—and the like of that. But come, it's pretty near noon. I reckon we'd better drift along to Mrs. Finnegan's. The first table is bad enough in our boarding-place."
Again Fred took his mother and left Kelley to lead the way with Florence.
"Now, Mr. Kelley," began the girl, "I must tell you that I don't believe my brother has a thing to do with this mine except to divide the profits. Furthermore, you are trying to cover something up from me. You're doing it very well, but you've made one or two little 'catches' which have disturbed me. My brother has never mentioned you or Hank in his letters, and that's unnatural. He told us he was interested in a mine which was paying one hundred and fifty dollars a month. Now, why did he say that? I'll tell you why. It's because you pay him a salary and he's not really a partner." She paused to watch his face, then went on. "Now what does he do—what can he do to earn five dollars per day? His palms are as soft as silk—the only callous is on his right forefinger."
Kelley's face, schooled to impassivity, remained unchanged, but his eyes shifted. His astonishment was too great to be entirely concealed. "There's a whole lot of running—and figuring—and so on."
"Not with that little mine. Why, you can't employ more than five men!"
"Six," corrected Kelley, proudly.
"Well, six. You can't afford to pay my brother five dollars a day just to run errands and keep accounts for these six men. You're fooling him. You're paying him a salary out of sheer good nature because you like him. Deny it if you can!"
Kelley looked back to see that Fred was well out of earshot. "He is mighty good company," he admitted.
"There!" she exclaimed, triumphantly. "You can't fool me. I knew there was something queer about this whole arrangement." Then her voice changed. "It's very, very kind of you, Mr. Kelley, and I deeply appreciate it, and if you don't want me to do it—I will not let mother into our secret."
"What's the use? He's happier being called a partner."
"Very well—we'll let it go that way."
Thereafter her manner changed. She was more thoughtful; she looked at him with softer eyes. It seemed to her very wonderful, this friendship between a rough, big man and her brother, who had always been something of a scapegrace at home. Her own regard for Kelley deepened. "Men aren't such brutes, after all."
Her smile was less mocking, her jests less pointed, as she sat at Mrs. Finnegan's long table and ate boiled beef and cabbage and drank the simmered hay which they called tea. She was opposite Kelley this time, and could study him to better advantage.
Kelley, on his part, was still very uneasy. The girl's uncanny penetration had pressed so clearly to the heart of his secret that he feared the hours which remained. "I'm at the end of my rope," he inwardly admitted. "She'll catch me sure unless I can get away from her."
Nevertheless, he wondered a little and was a trifle chagrined when the girl suddenly turned from him to her brother. He was a little uneasy thereat, for he was certain she would draw from the youngster some admissions that would lead to a full confession.
As a matter of fact, she sought her brother's knowledge of Kelley. "Tell me about him, Fred. Where did you meet him first? He interests me."
"Well," Morse answered, cautiously, "I don't know exactly. I used to see him come down the hill of an evening after his mail, and I kind of took a shine to him and he did to me. At least that's what he said afterward. He has had a wonderful career. He's been all over Arizona and New Mexico alone. He's been arrested for a bandit and almost killed as city marshal, and he has been associated with a band of cattle-rustlers. Oh, you should get him talking. He nearly died of thirst in the desert once, and a snake bit him in the Navajo country, and he lay sick for weeks in a Hopi town."
"What a singular life! Is he satisfied with it?"
"He says he is. He declares he is never so happy as when he is leading a pack-horse across the range."
"I don't wonder you like him," she said, thoughtfully. "But you should do your part. Don't let him be always the giver and you the taker. I'm afraid you shirk on him a little, Fred."
"Why? What makes you think that?"
"Well, your hands are pretty soft for a working miner."
He met her attack bravely. "You don't suppose we do all the pick work in the mine, do you?"
"No. I don't see how you could possibly do any of it. Come now, Freddy, ''fess up.' You've been playing the gentleman in this enterprise and all this make-up is for our benefit, isn't it?"
Young Morse saw that the safest plan was to admit the truth of her surmise. "Oh, well, I never did have any hand in the actual mining, but then there is plenty of other work to be done."
Her answer was sharp and clear: "Well, then, do it! Don't be a drone."
Something very plain and simple and boyish came out in the young gambler as he walked and talked with his mother and sister, and Kelley regarded him with some amazement and much humor. It only proved that every man, no matter how warlike he pretends to be in public, is in private a weak, sorry soul, dependent on some one; and this youth, so far from being a desperado, was by nature an affectionate son and a loyal brother.
Furthermore, Kelley himself felt very much less the tramp and much more "like folks" than at any time since leaving home ten or fifteen years before. He was careful to minimize all his hobo traits and to correspondingly exalt his legitimate mining and cattle experiences, although he could see that Morse had made Florence curious about the other and more adventurous side of his career.
Florence was now determined to make a study of the town. "I like it up here," she said, as she looked down over the tops of the houses. "It interests me, Fred; I propose that you keep us all night."
"Oh, we can't do that!" exclaimed her brother, hastily. "We haven't room."
"Well, there's a hotel, I should hope."
"A hotel—yes. But it is a pretty bad hotel. You see, it's sort of run down—like the town."
This did not seem to disturb her. Rather, it added to her interest. "No matter. We can stand it one night. I want to see the place. I would like to see a little of its street life to-night. It's all so new and strange to me."
Kelley, perceiving that she was determined upon this stop-over, and fearing that the attempt to railroad her out of town on the afternoon train might add to her suspicions, then said:
"I think we can find a place for you if you feel like staying."
Morse was extremely uneasy, and Florence remarked upon it. "You don't seem overflowing with hospitality, Fred. You don't seem anxious to have us stay on for another day."
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Well, it's a pretty rough old village, Flo—a pretty rough place for you and mother."
"We are not alarmed so long as we have you and Mr. Kelley as our protectors," she replied, smiling sweetly upon Tall Ed.
They had reached the car-line by this time, and were standing looking down the valley, and Fred, pulling out his watch, remarked: "You just have time to make that three-o'clock train. That will connect you with the night express for Los Angeles."
"Fred, what's the matter with you?" queried his sister, sharply. "You seem absolutely determined to get rid of us at once." Then, seeing that she had perhaps gone a little too far, she said, with a smile, "Mother, isn't he the loving son?"
The youth surrendered to her will and dropped all opposition. He appeared to welcome their decision to wait over another day; but Kelley busied himself with thinking how he could ward off any undesired inf
ormation which might approach the two women—the mother especially. It would be quite wonderful if, with another twenty-four hours to spend, Florence did not get Fred's secret from him.
He decided to put the matter squarely before her, and when they took the car arranged to have her sit beside him in a seat across the aisle from the mother and son, and almost immediately began his explanation by saying, very significantly:
"I reckon the boy is right, Miss Morse. You had better take that three-o'clock train."
She faced him with instant appreciation of the change in his tone. "Why so?" she asked, fixing a clear and steady glance upon his face.
"It will be easier for him and better for—for all of us if you go. He wants to spare your mother from—"
She was quick to perceive his hesitation. "From what?" she asked. And as he did not at once reply she went on, firmly: "You might just as well tell me, Mr. Kelley. Fred's been up to some mischief. He's afraid, and you're afraid, we'll find out something to his disadvantage. Now tell me. Is it—is it—a woman?"
"No," said Kelley as decisively as he could. "So far as I know Fred's not tangled up that way."
Quick as a flash she took him up on his emphasized word. "In what way is he tangled up?"
Kelley, more and more amazed at her shrewdness and directness, decided to meet it with blunt candor. "Well, you see, it's like this. When he first came out here he struck a streak of hard luck and lost all he had. He was forced to go to work at anything he could get to earn money, and—you see, when a feller is down and out he's got to grab anything that offers—and so, when Dutch Pete took a liking to him and offered him a job, he just naturally had to take it."
"You mean he has been working at something we wouldn't like to know about?"
"That's the size of it."
"What is this job? It isn't working for you. You wouldn't ask him to do anything that would be disgraceful."
Kelley did not take time to appreciate this compliment. He made his plunge. "No. He has been working for—a saloon."
She showed the force of the blow by asking in a horrified tone, "You don't mean tending bar!"
"Oh no! Not so bad as that," replied Kelley. "Leastways it don't seem so bad to me. He's been rolling the marble in a roulette wheel."
She stared at him in perplexity. "I don't believe—I—I don't believe I understand what that is. Just tell me exactly."
"Well, he's been taking care of a roulette layout."
"You mean he has been gambling?"
"Well, no. He hasn't been gambling. At least, not lately. But he represents the house, you see. He is something like a dealer at faro and is on a salary."
She comprehended fully now—at least she comprehended enough to settle back into her seat with a very severe and somber expression on her face. "That's where his five per day comes from." She mused for a little while on this, and then suddenly another thought came to her: "What about his being your partner?"
Kelley saw that it was necessary to go the whole way, and he said, quietly: "That was all fixed up yesterday. You see, he wanted to save your mother and you, and he came to me—and wanted me to take him in as a partner, and—I did it."
"You mean a partner for a day?"
"Yes. He was mighty nervous about your coming, and I told him I would help him out. Of course, it didn't worry me none, and so I concluded I would do it."
Her face softened as she pondered upon this. "That was very good of you, Mr. Kelley."
"Oh no! You see, I kinda like the boy. And then we've been partners—side partners. We room together."
She looked out of the window, but she saw nothing of the landscape now. "I understand it all. You want me to take mother away before she finds out."
"'Pears like that is the best thing for you to do. It would hit her a good deal harder than it does you."
"It hits me hard enough," she replied. "To think of my brother running a gambling-machine in a saloon is not especially reassuring. You say he went into it to carry him over a hard place. I'm afraid you were saving my feelings in saying that, Mr. Kelley. How long has he been in this business?"
"A little less than a year."
"And you want me to go away without trying to get him out of this awful trade?"
"I don't see how you could safely try it. I think he is going to quit it himself. Your coming has been a terrible jolt to him. Now I'll tell you what you do. You take the old lady and pull out over the hill and I'll undertake to get the boy out of this gambling myself."
She was deeply affected by his quiet and earnest manner, and studied him with reflective glance before she said: "You're right. Mother must never know of this. She was brought up to believe that saloons and gambling were the devil's strongest lure for souls, and it would break her heart to know that Fred has become a gambler. I will do as you say, Mr. Kelley. I will take this train. But you must write me and tell me what you do. You will write, won't you?"
"Yes," replied Kelley, hesitatingly. "I'll write—but I ain't much of a fist at it. Of course, I may not make a go of my plan, but I think it will work out all right."
She reached her hand to him, as if to seal a compact, and he took it. She said: "I don't know who you are or what you are, Mr. Kelley. But you've been a loyal friend to my brother and very considerate of my mother and me, and I appreciate it deeply."
Kelley flushed under the pressure of her small fingers, and replied as indifferently as he could: "That's all right, miss. I've got a mother and a sister myself."
"Well, they'd be proud of you if they could know what you have done to-day," she said.
His face took on a look of sadness. "They might. But I'm glad they don't know all I've been through in the last ten years."
III
Morse was surprised, almost delighted, when his sister announced her decision to take the afternoon train. "That's right," he said. "You can stop on your way back in the spring. Perhaps Kelley and I will have our own house by that time."
The train was on the siding, nearly ready to start, and there was not much chance for further private conference, but Florence succeeded in getting a few final words with Kelley.
"I wish you would tell me what your plan is," she said. "You needn't if you don't want to."
Kelley seemed embarrassed, but concluded to reply. "It is very simple," said he. "I'm going to make him an actual partner in the mine. I'm going to deed him an interest, so that when you come back in the spring he won't have to lie about it."
Her glance increased his uneasiness. "I don't understand you, Mr. Kelley. You must love my brother."
He could not quite meet her glance as he answered. "Well, I wouldn't use exactly that word," he said, slowly, "but I've taken a great notion to him—and then, as I say, I have an old mother myself."
The bell on the engine began to ring, and she caught his hand in both of hers and pressed it hard. "I leave him in your hands," she said, and looked up at him with eyes that were wet with tears, and then in a low voice she added: "If I dared to I'd give you a good hug—but I daren't. Good-by—and be sure and write."
As they stood to watch the train climb the hill, Morse drew a deep sigh and said: "Gee! but Flo is keen! I thought one while she was going to get my goat. I wonder what made her change her mind all of a sudden?"
Kelley looked down at him somberly. "I did."
"You did? How?"
"I told her what you had really been working at."
The boy staggered under the force of this. "Holy smoke! Did you do that?"
"Sure I did. It was the only way to save that dear old mother of yours. I told your sister also that I was going to stop your white-marble exercise, and I'm going to do it if I have to break your back."
There was no mistaking the sincerity and determination of Kelley's tone, and the young man, so far from resenting these qualities, replied, meekly: "I want to get out of it, Ed. I've been saying all day that I must quit it. But what can I do?"
"I'll tell you my plan," said Kel
ley, with decision. "You've got to buy my interest in the mine."
Morse laughed. "But I haven't any money. I haven't three hundred dollars in the world."
"I'll take your note, provided your sister will indorse it, and she will."
The young fellow looked up at his tall friend in amazement which turned at last into amusement. He began to chuckle. "Good Lord! I knew you'd made a mash on Flo, but I didn't know it was mutual. I heard her say, 'be sure and write.'" He slapped Kelley on the back. "There'll be something doing when she comes back in the spring, eh?"
Kelley remained unmoved. "There will be if she finds you rolling that white marble."
"She won't. I'll take your offer. But what will you be doing?"
"Climbing some Alaska trail," replied Kelley, with a remote glance.
?
* * *
THE PROSPECTOR
—still pushes his small pack-mule through the snow of glacial passes seeking the unexplored, and therefore more alluring, mountain range.
* * *
VI
THE PROSPECTOR
Old Pogosa was seated in the shade of a farm-wagon, not far from the trader's store at Washakie, eating a cracker and mumbling to herself, when a white man in miner's dress spoke to her in a kindly voice and offered her an orange. She studied him with a dim, shining, suspicious gaze, but took the orange. Eugene, the grandson of her niece, stood beside the stranger, and he, too, had an orange.
"Tell her," said the white man, "that I want to talk with her about old days; that I am a friend of her people, and that I knew Sitting Bull and Bear Robe. They were great chiefs."
As these words were interpreted to the old witch, her mouth softened a little and, raising her eyes, she studied her visitor intently. At last she said: "Ay, he was a great chief, Sitting Bull. My cousin. I came to visit Shoshoni many moons ago. Never returned to my own people."
To this the miner replied, "They say your husband, Iapi, was one of the sheep-eaters exiled to the mountains?"
They of the High Trails Page 12
