The Charles Alden Seltzer Megapack

by Charles Alden Seltzer

  Simmons’ face reddened deeply, the flush suffusing his neck and ears. He shot one swift glance at Lawler, and then looked down. In that swift glance, however, Lawler had seen a fleeting gleam of guilt, of insincerity.

  Lawler laughed shortly—a sound that made Simmons shoot another swift glance at him.

  “How is it that Gary Warden figures on getting cars, Simmons?” said Lawler.

  Simmons got up, his face flaming with rage.

  “You’re accusin’ me of holdin’ somethin’ back, eh? You’re callin’ me a liar! You’re thinkin’ I’m—”

  “Easy, there, Simmons.”

  There was a chill in Lawler’s voice that brought Simmons rigid with a snap—as though he had suddenly been drenched with cold water. The flush left his face; he drew a deep, quick breath; then stood with open mouth, watching Lawler.

  “Simmons,” said the latter; “it has been my experience that whenever a man is touchy about his veracity, he will bear watching. You and Gary Warden have both flared up from the same spark. I don’t know whether this thing has been framed up or not. But it looks mighty suspicious. It is the first time there has been a lack of cars after a round-up. Curiously, the lack of cars is coincident with Gary Warden’s first season as a buyer of cattle.

  “I don’t say that you’ve got anything to do with it, but it’s mighty plain you know something about it. I’m not asking you to tell what you know, because if there is a frame-up, it’s a mighty big thing, and you are about as important a figure in it as a yellow coyote in a desert. I reckon that’s all, Simmons. You can tell your boss that Kane Lawler says he can go to hell.”

  He wheeled, crossed the floor, went out of the room and left the door open behind him. Simmons could hear his step on the stairs. Then Simmons sat down again, drew a big red bandanna handkerchief from a hip pocket and wiped some big beads of perspiration from his forehead. He was breathing fast, and his face was mottled with purple spots. He got up, ran to a side window, and watched Lawler until the latter vanished behind a building opposite Gary Warden’s office.

  Again Simmons mopped his brow. And now he drew a breath of relief.

  “Whew!” he said, aloud; “I’m glad that’s over. I’ve been dreadin’ it. He’s the only one in the whole bunch that I was afraid of. An’ he’s wise. There’ll be hell in this section, now—pure, unadulterated hell, an’ no mistake!”

  CHAPTER VII

  THE COALITION

  When Lawler reached Willets’ one street he saw a buckboard drawn by two gray horses. The vehicle was headed west, away from him, and the horses were walking. The distance between himself and the buckboard was not great, and he saw that it was occupied by two women—one of them the woman whom he had met at the foot of the stairs leading to Warden’s office. The other was elderly, and was looking straight ahead, but the young woman’s head was turned toward Lawler at the instant Lawler caught sight of the buckboard. It seemed to him that the young woman must have been watching him, before he became aware of the buckboard, for there was a smile on her face as she looked at him; and when she seemed sure that he was looking she gayly waved a white handkerchief.

  Lawler did not answer the signal. He looked around, thinking that perhaps the woman might have waved the handkerchief at some friend she had just left, and when he turned she had her back to him.

  Lawler was conscious of a pulse of amusement over the woman’s action, though he experienced no fatuous thrill. The woman was frivolous, and had made no appeal to his imagination.

  Besides, Lawler was in no mood for frivolous thought. He was having his first experience with the invisible and subtle power that ruled the commerce of the nation, and his thoughts were serious—almost vicious.

  Somewhere a mighty hand had halted activity in the Wolf River section; a power, stealthy, sinister, had interfered with the business in which he was vitally interested, interrupting it, disturbing it.

  Lawler had kept himself well informed. In the big library at the Circle L were various volumes relating to economics that had been well thumbed by him. He had been privately educated, by his mother. And among the books that lined the shelves of the library were the philosophers, ancient and modern; the masters of art, science, and letters, and a miscellany of authorities on kindred subjects.

  When his father had insisted that he be educated he had studied the political history of his state; he had kept a serious eye upon the activities of all the politicians of note; he had kept his mind open and free from party prejudice. He knew that the present governor of the state was incapable, or swayed by invisible and malign influences. He was aware that the state railroad commissioner lacked aggressiveness, or that he had been directed to keep in the background. And he was also aware that for a year or more the people of the state had regretted electing the present governor; the dissatisfaction manifesting itself in various ways, though chiefly in the tone of the editorials published by the newspapers in the towns.

  As the average newspaper editor endeavors to anticipate public opinion he invariably keeps himself well informed concerning the activities of an office-holder, that he may be prepared to campaign against him at the instant he detects dissatisfaction among his subscribers. And the present governor was being scathingly arraigned by the newspapers of the state, while he sat in smug complacence in his office at the capital. He had made no effort to correct some of the evils of government about which he had raged just before the election.

  Lawler smiled with grim amusement as he walked toward the Willets Hotel—where he meant to stay overnight. For he was convinced that the car shortage could not exist if the state officials—especially the railroad commissioner—would exert authority to end it. It seemed to Lawler that there must exist a secret understanding between the railroad commissioner and the invisible power represented by Gary Warden. And he wondered at the temerity of the governor—the sheer, brazen disregard for the public welfare that permitted him to become leagued with the invisible power in an effort to rob the cattle owners of the state. He must certainly know that he had been elected by the cattle owners—that their votes and the votes of their employees had made it possible for him to gain the office he had sought.

  But perhaps—and Lawler’s lips curved with bitterness—the governor wanted only one term. For two years of complete and absolute control of the cattle industry of the state would make him wealthy enough to hold public opinion in contempt.

  From a window of his office Gary Warden had watched Lawler go into the station building. And from the same window Warden saw Lawler emerge. He watched Lawler, noting the gravity of his face, exulting, smiling mockingly. Warden also noted the little drama of the fluttering handkerchief, and the smile went out and a black, jealous rage seized him.

  However, Gary Warden and Jay Simmons were not the only persons in town who watched Lawler. When he had entered town the school children who had preceded him had watched him from in front of the Wolf; and half a dozen lean-faced, rugged, and prosperous-looking men had watched him from the lounging-room of the Willets Hotel.

  The men in the lounging-room were watching Lawler now, as he walked toward the building, for they seemed to divine that he would enter.

  When Lawler stepped over the threshold his lips were set in stern, serious lines and his brows were drawn together in a frown. For his thoughts were dwelling upon the sinister power that threatened to create confusion in the section.

  He did not see the men in the lounging-room until he had taken several steps toward the desk; and then he glanced carelessly toward them. Instantly his eyes glowed with recognition; he walked toward them.

  “Howdy, Lawler,” greeted one, extending a hand. And, “howdy,” was the word that passed the lips of the others as Lawler shook hands with them. He called them all by name; but it was to the first man that he spoke, after the amenities had been concluded.

  “I heard you were in town, Caldwell,” he said.

  Caldwell—a big man with a black beard, probing, intelligent eyes
, and an aggressive chin, grinned grimly.

  “Gary Warden tell you?” he asked.

  “No. Warden didn’t mention you.”

  “Then it was Jay Simmons. You ain’t been anywhere else.”

  “How do you know?”

  Caldwell exchanged glances with his companions. “I reckon we’ve been watchin’ you, Lawler. We seen you ride into town on Red King, an’ we seen you go over to the station from Warden’s office.”

  “Watching me?” queried Lawler; “what for?”

  “Wall, I reckon we wanted to see how you took it.”

  “Took what?”

  “What Warden an’ Simmons had to say to you. We got ours—me yesterday; Barthman an’ Littlefield this mornin’; an’ Corts, Sigmund, an’ Lester the day before yesterday. I reckon the whole section will get it before long. Looks like they’re tryin’ to squeeze us. How many steers did you sell to Warden at twenty-five?”

  Lawler grinned.

  “An’ Simmons?” said Caldwell, gleefully.

  “No cars.”

  “Seems Simmons ain’t makin’ no exceptions. We’ve all heard the same story. We knowed you’d be in, an’ we sort of waited around, wonderin’ what you’d do about it. We didn’t bring no cattle over, for we hadn’t made no arrangement with Jim Lefingwell—like you done—an’ we didn’t want to stampede Warden.”

  Lawler told them what had occurred in his interview with Warden.

  “I reckon Warden’s the liar, all right,” declared Caldwell; “Jim Lefingwell’s word was the only contract anyone ever needed with him.” He looked keenly at Lawler. “What you aimin’ to do?” he questioned.

  “I’ve been thinking it over,” said Lawler.

  “You ain’t figgerin’ to lay down to the cusses?” Caldwell’s voice was low and cold.

  Lawler looked straight at him, smiling. Caldwell laughed, and the others grinned.

  “Lawler, we knowed you wouldn’t,” declared Caldwell; “but a man’s got a right to ask. Right here an’ now somethin’ has got to be done. Looks to me as if we’ve got to play this game to a showdown, an’ we might as well start right now. They’re ain’t none of us men goin’ to let Gary Warden an’ the railroad company run our business; but there’s a few owners around here that ain’t got no stomach for a fight, an’ they’d sell to Warden for ten dollars rather than have any trouble. Them’s the guys we’ve got to talk mighty plain to. For if they go to sellin’ for what they can get, they’ll make it allfired uncomfortable for us.”

  “This is a free country, Caldwell. So far as I’m concerned every man runs his own ranch and sells for what he thinks is a fair price. If we go to interfering with them, we’d be as bad as Warden and the railroad company.”

  “Lawler, you’re right,” agreed Caldwell, after reflecting a moment. “I didn’t realize that, at first. A man don’t think, when he’s mad clear through. But it’s mighty plain—we’ve got to stand on our own feet, if we stand at all.”

  Barthman, a tall, lean-faced man, cleared his throat.

  “Lawler, you’re the man to handle this thing. You’ve got the most money, the most brains, an’ you’re known all over the state—on account of them slick Herefords you’ve been raisin’, an’ on account of headin’ the delegation to the state convention last fall, from this county. You can talk, for you mighty near stampeded that convention last fall. If you’d said the word you’d have been governor today instead of that dumb coyote which is holdin’ down the office now. You’ve got the reputation an’ the backbone—an’ they’ve got to listen to you. I’ve heard that cattle owners all over the state are gettin’ the same deal.” Barthman’s eyes gleamed with passion. “I propose that you be elected chairman of this meetin’, an’ that you be instructed to hop on the mornin’ train an’ go to the railroad commissioner at the capital an’ tell him that if he don’t give orders to bust up this thievin’ combination the cattle owners of this county will come down there an’ yank off his hide!”

  CHAPTER VIII

  A WOMAN’S MERCY

  Gary Warden did not stand at the office window many minutes after he saw Lawler on the street. He drew on his coat, took his hat from a hook, on the wall and descended the stairs. At the street door he glanced swiftly around, saw Red King standing at the hitching rail in front of the building, and several other horses farther up the street. There were several men on the sidewalks, but he did not see Lawler.

  Grinning crookedly, Warden crossed the street and made his way to the station building, where a few minutes later he was talking with Simmons. Simmons was visibly excited. There was curiosity in Warden’s gaze.

  “He’s wise,” said Simmons. He was still wiping perspiration from his forehead, and he mechanically repeated to Warden the words he had uttered to himself immediately after Lawler left his office: “I’m glad it’s over. I’ve been dreadin’ it. He’s the only one in the whole bunch that I was afraid of. There’ll be hell to pay in this section, now—pure, unadulterated hell, an’ no mistake!” And then he added something that had occurred to him afterward: “If the big guys back of this thing knowed Kane Lawler as well as I know him, they’d have thought a heap before they started this thing!”

  “Bah!” sneered Warden; “you’re raving! We know what we are doing. You do as you’re told—that’s all. And keep your mouth shut. Just keep on telling them there are no cars. That’s the truth, isn’t it?” He grinned gleefully at Simmons.

  “So he’s wise, eh?” he added. “Well, I’m damned glad of it—the sagebrush rummie! We’ll make him hump before we get through with him!”

  Hatred of Lawler had seized Warden—a passion that ran through his veins with the virulence of a strong poison. It had been the incident of the fluttering handkerchief that had aroused him. Until then he had merely disliked Lawler, aware of the latent strength of him, his rugged manliness, and his quiet confidence. All those evidences of character had irritated him, for they had brought an inevitable contrast between himself and the man, and he knew he lacked those things which would have made him Lawler’s equal. He felt inferior, and the malevolence that accompanied the conviction was reflected in his face as he faced Simmons.

  “No cars, now—damn them! Not a single car! Understand, Simmons? No cars—you can’t get them! No matter what happens, you can’t get cars—for anybody!”

  He left Simmons and descended to the street. As he passed the front of the Willets Hotel he saw Lawler and his friends inside; but Lawler had his back turned, and the others were interestedly watching him, gesturing and talking.

  Warden entered the front door of the Wolf. He stopped at the bar for a drink, and the barkeeper told him, in reply to his question, that Singleton was in a rear room.

  Singleton was alone. He was sitting in a chair at a table, with a glass in front of him, and he was staring abstractedly at the floor when Warden entered, closing the door behind him.

  Warden drew a chair up to the table and dropped into it. And then for the first time he looked closely at Singleton’s face and saw the gash on his left cheek. The wound had been treated, but beneath the cloth at one end Warden could see the open flesh.

  “What in blazes has happened to you?” inquired Warden.

  “Lawler,” growled Singleton; “he walloped my kid down at the schoolhouse, an’ when I went down there to take the kid’s part, he walloped me, too.” He grinned lugubriously. “I didn’t know the cuss could hit so hard,” he muttered. “Warden, he salivated me—hit me so durned hard I thought the roof had dropped on me.”

  Warden stiffened; then leaned forward, his lips loose, his eyes malignant. “What do you carry those two guns for, Singleton? I thought you knew how to use them. Men have told me you know.”

  “Bah!” exclaimed Singleton. His gaze met Warden’s, his eyes gleaming with resentment. “What do you know about Kane Lawler?”

  “I hate him, Singleton.”

  “Well, I reckon you ain’t the only one. I ain’t exactly in love with the cuss, myself. I w
as thinkin’ of my guns when I was with him in the schoolhouse, but somehow I didn’t feel like takin’ a chance on slingin’ ’em. I ain’t tryin’ to explain nothin’—I just couldn’t make my hands go for ’em, that’s all. Hell! I reckon the man who can draw a gun on Kane Lawler when he’s lookin’ at him ain’t been born yet. But I’m gettin’ square with him for wallopin’ me—I’m lettin’ you know that, right enough!”

  “You’ll have your chance, Singleton. Lawler will have to trail his cattle—as far as Red Rock, anyway.”

  Singleton’s eyes glowed with venomous satisfaction. He grinned evilly at Warden.

  “So he wouldn’t do business with you, eh? I knowed it, an’ I’ve been gettin’ ready. Ha, ha! He’ll wish he had. Blondy Antrim rode in as far as Kinney’s cañon last night. I met him an’ had a long talk with him. He’s keen for it—says he admires any guy which can plan a thing that big. Grinned like a hyena when I told him the big guys back of it wouldn’t let any law interfere. He’s got seventy men, he says—dare-devil gun-fighters from down south a piece which will do anything he tells ’em an’ howl for more.”

  Warden moistened his lips as he grinned his satisfaction.

  “There’s only one trail, Singleton—you are sure of that?”

  “One trail—the Tom Long trail. The devil himself couldn’t find another through that country.”

  Warden leaned back in his chair, laughing lowly. Into his manner as he sat there came a confidence that had not been there before—bold, arrogant. His laugh had a sinister quality in it; in his eyes was the light of greed.

  And as he watched Singleton something else came into his eyes—something abysmal, causing them to narrow and glow with a bestial light.

  “Singleton,” he said, his voice thick and throaty; “when I stepped into Jim Lefingwell’s boots the county board of education appointed me to succeed Lefingwell as school commissioner for Willets. It strikes me that something ought to be done about the teacher punishing your boy. I think I had better have a talk with her.”

  “Shucks,” growled Singleton; “I reckon the kid deserved what he got. He was tryin’ to wallop her when Lawler come in. I ain’t admirin’ Ruth Hamlin none, but I reckon she wasn’t to blame for that. If you was figgerin’ to see Lawler, now, why that would be more to the point.” He grinned crookedly at Warden, slight mockery in his gaze.