Produced by Suzanne Shell, Beginners Projects, Sankar Viswanathanand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net.
~By B. M. Bower~
* * * * *
GOOD INDIANTHE UPHILL CLIMBTHE GRINGOSTHE RANCH AT THE WOLVERINETHE FLYING U'S LAST STANDJEAN OF THE LAZY ATHE PHANTOM HERDTHE HERITAGE OF THE SIOUXSTARR, OF THE DESERTTHE LOOKOUT MAN
She was, after all, the goddess she looked, he thoughtwhimsically. Frontispiece. _See page_ 122.]
THE LOOKOUT MAN
By B. M. Bower
WITH FRONTISPIECE BYH. WESTON TAYLOR
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY1917
Published, August, 1917
VAIL-BALLOU COMPANYBINGHAMTON AND NEW YORKU. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I SOME TIME!
II "THANKS FOR THE CAR"
III TO THE FEATHER RIVER COUNTRY AND FREEDOM
IV JACK FINDS HIMSELF IN POSSESSION OF A JOB
V "IT'S A LONG WAY TO TIPPERARY," SANG JACK
VI MISS ROSE FORWARD
VII GUARDIAN OF THE FORESTS
VIII IN WHICH A GIRL PLAYS BILLIARDS ON THE MOUNTAIN TOP
IX LIKE THE BOY HE WAS
X WHEN FORESTS ARE ABLAZE
XI SYMPATHY AND ADVICE
XII KATE FINDS SOMETHING TO WORRY OVER
XIII JACK SHOULD HAVE A HIDE-OUT
XIV MURPHY HAS A HUMOROUS MOOD
XV A CAVE DWELLER JACK WOULD BE
XVI MIKE GOES SPYING ON THE SPIES
XVII PENITENCE, REAL AND UNREAL
XVIII HANK BROWN PROVES THAT HE CAN READ TRACKS
XIX TROUBLE ROCKS THE PAN, LOOKING FOR GRAINS OF GOLD
XX IGNORANCE TAKES THE TRAIL OF DANGER
XXI GOLD OF REPENTANCE, SUNLIGHT OF LOVE AND A MAN GONE MAD
XXII THE MISERERE OF MOTHERHOOD
XXIII GRIEF, AND HOPE THAT DIED HARD
XXIV TROUBLE FINDS THE GOLD THAT WAS IN THEM
CHAPTER ONE
SOME TIME!
From the obscurity of vast, unquiet distance the surf came booming inwith the heavy impetus of high tide, flinging long streamers of kelpand bits of driftwood over the narrowing stretch of sand wheregarishly costumed bathers had lately shrieked hilariously at theirgambols. Before the chill wind that had risen with the turn of thetide the bathers retreated in dripping, shivering groups, to appearlater in fluffs and furs and woollen sweaters; still inclined tohilarity, still undeniably both to leave off their pleasuring atVenice, dedicated to cheap pleasures.
But when the wind blew stronger and the surf boomed louder and nearer,and the faint moon-path stretched farther and farther toward thesmudgy sky-line, city-going street-cars began to fill with sunburnedpassengers, and motors began to purr out of the narrow side streetslined with shoddy buildings which housed the summer sojourners. Onemore Sunday night's revelry was tapering off into shouted farewells,clanging gongs, honking horns and the shuffling of tired feet hurryinghomeward.
In cafes and grills and private dining rooms groups of revelers, whosepleasures were not halted by the nickel alarm-clocks tickinginexorably all over the city and its suburbs, still lingered longafter the masses had gone home yawning and counting the fullness ofpast joys by the present extent of smarting sunblisters.
Automobiles loaded with singing passengers scurried after their ownbeams of silver light down the boulevards. At first a continuous lineof speeding cars; then thinning with long gaps between; then longergaps with only an occasional car; then the quiet, lasting for minutesunbroken, so that the wind could be heard in the eucalyptus trees thathere and there lined the boulevard.
After the last street-car had clanged away from the desertedbunting-draped joy zone that now was stark and joyless, a belatedseven-passenger car, painted a rich plum color and splendid inupholstering and silver trim, swept a long row of darkened windowswith a brush of light as it swung out from a narrow alley and wentpurring down to where the asphalt shone black in the night.
Full throated laughter and a medley of shouted jibes andcurrent witticisms went with it. The tonneau squirmed with uproariousyouth. The revolving extra seats swung erratically, propelled byenergetic hands, while some one barked the stereotyped invitation tothe deserted scenic swing, and some one else shouted to the revolvingoccupants to keep their heads level, and all the others laughedfoolishly.
The revolving ones rebelled, and in the scuffle some one lurchedforward against the driver at a critical turn in the road, throwinghim against the wheel. The big car swerved almost into the ditch, wasbrought back just in the nick of time and sped on, while Death, whohad looked into that tonneau, turned away with a shrug.
The driver, bareheaded and with the wind blowing his thick mop of wavyhair straight back from his forehead, glanced back with swift disfavorat the scuffling bunch.
"Hey--you want to go in the ditch?" he expostulated, chewingvigorously upon gum that still tasted sweet and full-flavored. "Youwanta cut out that rough stuff over this way!"
"_All_ right, Jackie, old boy, anything to please!" chanted theoffender, cuffing the cap off the fellow next him. "Some time," headded with vague relish. "S-o-m-e time! What?"
"Some time is right!" came the exuberant chorus. "Hey, Jack! _u_ hadsome time, all right--you and that brown-eyed queen that danced likeMrs. Castle. Um-um! Floatin' round with your arms full ofsunshine--oh, you thought you was puttin' something over on the restof us--what?"
"Cut it out!" Jack retorted, flinging the words over his shoulder."Don't talk to me. Road's flopping around like a snake with its headcut off--" He laughed apologetically, his eyes staring straight aheadover the lowered windshield.
"Aw, step on her, Jack! Show some class, boy--show some class! Goodold boat! If you're too stewed to drive 'er, _e_ knows the way home.Say, Jackie, if this old car could talk, wouldn't momma get anear-full on Monday, hey? What if she--"
"Cut it _out_--or I'll throw you out!" came back over Jack'sshirt-clad shoulder. He at least had the wit to use what little sensehe had in driving the car, and he had plenty of reason to believe thathe could carry out his threat, even if the boulevard did heave itselfup at him like the writhings of a great snake. If his head was not fitfor the job, his trained muscles would still drive with automaticprecision. Only his vision was clouded; not the mechanical skillnecessary to pilot his mother's big car safely into the garage.
Whim held the five in the rear seats absorbed in their own maudlincomicalities. The fellow beside Jack did not seem to take any interestin his surroundings, and the five gave the front seat no furtherattention. Jack drove circumspectly, leaning a little forward, hisbare arms laid up across the wheel and grasping the top of it. Brownas bronze, those arms, as were his face and neck and chest down towhere the open V of his sport shirt was held closed with the looseknot of a crimson tie that whipped his shoulder as he drove. A finelooking fellow he was, sitting there like the incarnation of strengthand youth and fullblooded optimism. It was a pity that he wasdrunk--he would have been a perfect specimen of young manhood, else.
The young man on the front seat beside him turned suddenly on thosebehind. The lower half of his face was covered with a black muffler.He had a gun, and he "cut down" on the group with disconcertingrealism.
"Hands up!" he intoned fearsomely. "I am the mysterious lone bandit ofthe boulevards. Your jewels are the price of your lives!" Thesix-shooter wavered, looking bleakly at one and then another.
After the first stunned interval, a shout of laughter went up fromthose behind. "Good! Good idea!" one approved. And another, having somefamiliarity with the mechanics of screen melodrama, shouted, "Camera!"
r />
"Lone bandit nothing! We're _all_ mysterious auto bandits out seekingwhom we may devour!" cried a young man with a naturally attractiveface and beautiful teeth, hastily folding his handkerchief cornerwisefor a mask, and tying it behind his head--to the great discomfort ofhis neighbors, who complained bitterly at having their eyes jabbed outwith his elbows.
The bandit play caught the crowd. For a few tumultuous minutes elbowswere up, mufflers and handkerchiefs flapping. There emerged from theconfusion six masked bandits, and three of them flourishedsix-shooters with a recklessness that would have given a Texas mancold chills down his spine. Jack, not daring to take his eyes off theheaving asphalt, or his hands off the wheel, retained his naturalappearance until some generous soul behind him proceeded, in spite ofhis impatient "Cut it out, fellows!" to confiscate his flapping, redtie and bind it across his nose; which transformed Jack Corey into aspeeding fiend, if looks meant anything. Thereafter they threwthemselves back upon the suffering upholstery and commented gleefullyupon their banditish qualifications.
That grew tame, of course. They thirsted for mock horrors,and two glaring moons rising swiftly over a hill gave thepsychological fillip to their imaginations.
"Come on-let's hold 'em up!" cried the young man on the front seat."Naw-I'll tell you! Slow down, Jack, and everybody keep your facesshut. When we're just past I'll shoot down at the ground by a hindwheel. Make 'em think they've got a blowout--get the idea?"
"Some idea!" promptly came approval, and the six subsided immediately.
The coming car neared swiftly, the driver shaving as close to thespeed limit as he dared. Unsuspectingly he swerved to give plenty ofspace in passing, and as he did so a loud bang startled him. The brakesquealed as he made an emergency stop. "Blowout, by thunder!" theyheard him call to his companions, as he piled out and ran to the wheelhe thought had suffered the accident.
Jack obligingly slowed down so that the six, leaning far out andcraning back at their victims, got the full benefit of their joke.When he sped on they fell back into their seats and howled with glee.
It was funny. They laughed and slapped one another on the backs, andthe more they laughed the funnier it seemed. They rocked with mirth,they bounced up and down on the cushions and whooped.
All but Jack. He kept his eyes on the still-heaving asphalt, andchewed gum and grinned while he drove, with the persistent sensationthat he was driving a hydro-aeroplane across a heaving ocean. Still,he knew what the fellows were up to, and he was perfectly willing tolet them have all the fun they wanted, so long as they didn'tinterfere with his driving.
In the back of his mind was a large, looming sense of responsibilityfor the car. It was his mother's car, and it was new and shiny, andhis mother liked to drive flocks of fluttery, middle-aged ladies tobenefit teas and the like. It had taken a full hour of coaxing to getthe car for the day, and Jack knew what would be the penalty ifanything happened to mar its costly beauty. A scratch would be almostas much as his life was worth. He hoped dazedly that the fellows wouldkeep their feet off the cushions, and that they would refrain fromkicking the back seat.
Mrs. Singleton Corey was a large, firm woman who wore her white hairin a marcelled pompadour, and frequently managed to have a flatteringpicture of herself in the Sunday papers--on theSociety-and-Club-Doings page, of course. She figured prominently incivic betterment movements, and was loud in her denunciation of Sundaydances and cabarets and the frivolities of Venice and lesser beachresorts. She did a lot of worrying over immodest bathing suits, andnever went near the beach except as a member of a purity committee, tosee how awfully young girls behaved in those public places.
She let Jack have the car only because she believed that he was goingto take a party of young Christian Endeavorers up Mount Wilson to viewthe city after dark. She could readily apprehend that such a sightmight be inspiring, and that it would act as a spur upon the worthyambitions of the young men, urging them to great achievements. Mrs.Singleton Corey had plenty of enthusiasm for the betterment of younglives, but she had a humanly selfish regard for the immaculateness ofher new automobile, and she feared that the roads on the mountainmight be very dusty and rough, and that overhanging branches mightsnag the top. Jack had to promise that he would be very careful ofoverhanging branches.
Poor lady, she never dreamed that her son was out at Venice gambolingon the beach with bold hussies in striped bathing trunks and noskirts; fox-trotting with a brown-eyed imp from the telephone office,and drinking various bottled refreshments--carousing shamelessly, asshe would have said of a neighbor's son--or that, at one-thirty in themorning, he was chewing a strong-flavored gum to kill the odor ofalcohol.
She was not sitting up waiting for him and wondering why he did notcome. Jack had been careful to impress upon her that the party mightwant to view the stars until very late, and that he, of course, couldnot hurry them down from the mountain top.
You will see then why Jack was burdened with a sense of deepresponsibility for the car, and why he drove almost as circumspectlyas if he were sober, and why he would not join in the hilarity of theparty.
"Hist! Here comes a flivver!" warned the young man on the front seat,waving his revolver backward to impress silence on the others. "Let's_all_ shoot! Make 'em think they've run into a mess of tacks!"
"Aw, take a wheel off their tin wagon!" a laughter-hoarse voicebettered the plan.
"Hold 'em up and take a nickel off 'em--if they carry that much ontheir persons after dark," another suggested.
"You're on, bo! This is a hold-up. Hist!"
A hold-up they proceeded to make it. They halted the little car with aseries of explosions as it passed. The driver was alone, and as heclimbed out to inspect his tires, he confronted what looked to hisstartled eyes like a dozen masked men. Solemnly they went through hispockets while he stood with his hands high above him. They took hishalf-plug of chewing tobacco and a ten-cent stick-pin from his tie,and afterwards made him crank his car and climb back into the seat andgo on. He went--with the throttle wide open and the little car lopingdown the boulevard like a scared pup.
"Watch him went!" shrieked one they called Hen, doubling himselftogether in a spasm of laughter.
"'He was--here--when we _started_, b-but he was--gone--when we gotth'ough!'" chanted another, crudely imitating a favorite black-facedcomedian.
Jack, one arm thrown across the wheel, leaned out and looked back,grinning under the red band stretched across the middle of his face."Ah, pile in!" he cried, squeezing his gum between his teeth andstarting the engine. "He might come back with a cop."
That tickled them more than ever. They could hardly get back into thecar for laughing. "S-o-m-e little bandits!--what?" they asked oneanother over and over again.
"S-o-m-e little bandits is--right!" the approving answer camepromptly.
"S-o-m-e _time_, bo, s-o-m-e _time!_" a drink-solemn voice croaked ina corner of the big seat.
Thus did the party of Christian Endeavorers return sedately from theirtrip to Mount Wilson.