CHAPTER XXVI
O'MIE'S INHERITANCE
In these cases we still have judgment here.
--SHAKESPEARE.
True to his word, Tell Mapleson's time followed hard on the finishing upof Judson. My father did not make a step until he was sure of what thenext one would be. That is why the supreme court never reversed hisdecisions. When at last he had perfected his plans, Tell Mapleson grewshy of pushing his claims. But Tell was a shrewd pettifogger, and hiswas a different calibre of mind from Judson's. It was not until myfather was about to lay claim in his client's behalf to the valuablepiece of land containing the big cottonwood and the haunted cabin, thatTell came out of hiding. This happened on the afternoon following themorning scene with Judson. And aside from the task of the morning, thenews of Bud Anderson's untimely death had come that day. Nobody couldforetell what next this winter's campaign might hold for the Springvaleboys out on the far Southwest Plains, and my father's heart was heavy.
Tell Mapleson was tall and slight. He was a Southern man by birth, andhe always retained something of the Southern air in his manner. Active,nervous, quick-witted, but not profound, he made a good impressiongenerally, especially where political trickery or nice turns in the lawcount for coin. Professionally he and my father were competitors; andhe might have developed into a man of fine standing, had he not keptstore, become postmaster, run for various offices, and diffused himselfgenerally, while John Baronet held steadily to his calling.
In the early afternoon Tell courteously informed my father that hedesired an interview with the idea of adjusting differences between thetwo. His request was granted, and a battle royal was to mark the secondhalf of the day. John Baronet always called this day, which was Friday,his black but good Friday.
"Good-afternoon, Mr. Mapleson, have a chair."
"Good-afternoon, Judge. Pretty stiff winter weather for Kansas."
So the two greeted each other.
"You wanted to see me?" my father queried.
"Yes, Judge. We might as well get this matter between us settled here asover in the court-room, eh?"
My father smiled. "Yes, we can afford to do that," he said. "Now,Mapleson, you represent a certain client in claiming a piece of propertyknown as the north half of section 29, range 14. I also represent aclaim on the same property. You want this settled out of court. I haveno reason to refuse settlement in this way. State your claim."
Mapleson adjusted himself in his chair.
"Judge, the half section of land lying upon the Neosho, the onecontaining among other appurtenances the big cottonwood tree and thestone cabin, was set down in the land records as belonging to onePatrick O'Meara, the man who took up the land. He was a light-headedIrishman; he ran off with a Cheyenne squaw, and not long afterwards waskilled by the Comanches. This property, however, he gave over to afriend of his, a Frenchman named Le Claire, connected in a business waywith the big Choteau Fur-trading Company in St. Louis. This Frenchmanbrought his wife and child here to live. I knew them, for they traded atthe 'Last Chance' store. That was before your day here, Baronet. LeClaire didn't live out in that cabin long, for his only child was stolenby the Kiowas, and his wife, in a frenzy of grief drowned herself in theNeosho. Then Le Claire plunged off into the Plains somewhere. Later hewas reported killed by the Kiowas. Now I have the evidence, the writtenstatement signed by this Irishman, of the turning of the property intoLe Claire's hands. Also the evidence that Le Claire was not killed bythe Indians. Instead, he was legally married to a Kiowa squaw, a sisterof Chief Satanta, who is now a prisoner of war with General Custer inthe Indian Territory. By this union there was one child, a son, JeanPahusca he is called. To this son this property now belongs. There canbe no question about it. The records show who entered the land. Here isthe letter sworn to in my store by this same man, left by him to begiven to Le Claire when he should come on from St. Louis. The Irishmanwas impatient to join these Cheyennes he'd met on a fur-hunting trip wayup on the Platte, and with his affidavit before old Judge Fingal (healso was here before you) he left this piece of land to the Frenchman."
Mapleson handed my father a torn greasy bit of paper, duly setting forthwhat he had claimed.
"Now, to go on," he resumed. "This Kiowa marriage was a legal one, forthe Frenchman had a good Catholic conscience. This marriage was allright. I have also here the affidavit of the Rev. J. J. Dodd, formerpastor of the Methodist Church South in Springvale. At the time of thismarriage Dodd, who was then stationed out near Santa Fe, New Mexico, wason his way east with a wagon train. Near Pawnee Rock Le Claire with apretty squaw came to the train legally equipped and was legally marriedby Dodd. As a wedding fee he gave this letter of land grant to Dodd.'Take it,' he said, 'I'll never use it. Keep it, or give it away.' Doddkept it."
"Until when?" my father asked.
Mapleson's hands twitched nervously.
"Until he signed it over to me," he replied. "I have everythingsecured," he added, smiling, and then he went on.
"Le Claire soon got tired of the Kiowas of course, and turned priest,repented of all his sins, renounced his wife and child, and all hisworldly goods. It will be well for him to keep clear of old Satanta inhis missionary journeys to the heathen, however. You know this priest'sson, Jean Pahusca. He got into some sort of trouble here during the war,and he never comes here any more. He has assigned to me all his right tothis property, on a just consideration and I am now ready to claim myown, by force, if necessary, through the courts. But knowing yourposition, and that you also have a claim on the same property, I figuredit could be adjusted between us. Baronet, there isn't a ghost of a showfor anybody else to get a hold on this property. Every legal claimant isdead except this half-breed. I have papers for every step in the way topossession; and as a man whose reputation for justice has never beendiminished, I don't believe you will pile up costs on your client, nordeal unfairly with him. Have you any answer to my claim?"
At that moment the door opened quietly and Father Le Claire entered. Hewas embarrassed by his evident intrusion and would have retreated but myfather called him in.
"You come at a most opportune time, Father Le Claire. Mapleson here hasbeen proving some things to me through your name. You can help us both."
John Baronet looked at both men keenly. Mapleson's face had a look ofpleasure as if he saw not only the opportunity to prove his cause, butthe chance to grill the priest, whose gentle power had time and againled the Indians from his "Last Chance" saloon on annuity days, when thepeaceful Osages and Kaws came up for their supplies. The good Father'sface though serious, even apprehensive, had an undercurrent of serenityin its expression hard to reconcile with fear of accusation.
"Mr. Mapleson, will you repeat to Le Claire what you have just told meand show him your affidavits and records?" John Baronet asked.
"Certainly," Tell replied, and glibly he again set forth his basis to aclaim on the valuable property. "Now, Le Claire," he added, "Baronet andI have about agreed to arbitrate for ourselves. Your name will neverappear in this. The records are seldom referred to, and you are as safewith us as if you'd never married that squaw of old Satanta's household.We are all men here, if one is a priest and one a judge and the other aland-owner."
Le Claire's face never twitched a muscle. He turned his eyes upon thejudge inquiringly, but unabashed.
"Will you help us out of this, Le Claire?" my father asked. "If youchoose I will give you my claim first."
"Good," said Mapleson. "Let him hear us both, and his word will show uswhat to do."
"Well, gentlemen," my father began, "by the merest chance a few yearsago I came upon the entry of the land in question. It was entered in thename of Patrick O'Meara. Happening to recall that the little red-headedorphan chore-boy down at the Cambridge House bore the same name, I madesome inquiry of Cam Gentry about the boy's origin and found that he wasan orphan from the Osage Mission, and had been brought up here by one ofthe priests who stopped here a day or two on his way from the Osage toSt. Mary's, up
on the Kaw. Cam and Dollie were kind to the child, and hebegged the priest to stay with them. The good man consented, and whilethe guardianship remained with the people of the Mission, O'mie grew uphere. It seemed not impossible that he might have some claim on thisland. Everything kept pointing the fact more and more clearly to me.Then I was called to the war."
Tell Mapleson's mobile face clouded up a bit at this.
"But I had by this time become so convinced that I called in Le Clairehere and held a council with him. He told me some of what he knew, notall, for reasons he did not explain" (my father's eyes were on thepriest's face), "but if it is necessary he will tell."
"Now that sounds like a threat," Mapleson urged. Somehow, shrewd as hewas, solid as his case appeared to himself, the man was growinguncomfortable. "I've known Le Claire's story for years. I neverquestioned him once. I had my papers from Dodd. Le Claire long agorenounced the world. His life has proved it. The world includes theundivided north half of section 29, range 14. That's Jean Pahusca's.It's too late now for his father to try to get it away from him,Baronet. You know the courts won't stand for it." Adroit as he was, theSouthern blood was beginning to show in Tell's nervous manner andflashing eyes.
"When I came back from the war," my father went on, ignoring theinterruption, "I found that the courthouse records had been juggledwith. Some of them, with some other papers, had been stolen. It happenedon a night when for some reason O'mie, a harmless, uninfluential Irishorphan, was hunted for everywhere in order to be murdered. Why? He stoodin the way of a land-claim, and human life was cheap that night."
Tell Mapleson's face was ashy gray with anger; but no heed was given tohim, as my father continued.
"It happened that Jean Pahusca, who took him out of town by mistake andleft him unconscious and half dead on the bank of Fingal's Creek, wasordered back by the ruffians to find his body, and if he was alive tofinish him in any way the Indian chose. That same night the courthousewas entered, and the record of this land-entry was taken."
"I have papers showing O'Meara's signing it over--" Tell began; but myfather waved his hand and proceeded.
"Briefly put, it was concealed in the old stone cabin by one AmosJudson. Le Claire here was a witness to the transaction."
The priest nodded assent.
"But for reasons of his own he did not report the theft. He did,however, remove the papers from their careless hiding-place in an oldchest to a more secure nook in the far corner of the dark loft. Before Icame home he had left Springvale, and business matters called him toFrance. He has not been here since, until last September when he spent afew days out at the cabin. The lead box had been taken from the loft andconcealed under the flat stone that forms the door step, possibly bysome movers who camped there and did some little harm to the property.
"I have the box in the bank vault now. Le Claire turned it over to me.There is no question as to the record. Two points must be settled,however. First, did O'Meara give up the land he entered? And second, isthe young man we call O'mie heir to the same? Le Claire, you are justback from the Osage Mission?"
The priest assented.
"Now, will you tell us what you know of this case?"
A sudden fear seized Tell Mapleson. Would this man lie now to pleaseJudge Baronet? Tell was a good reader of human nature, and he hadthoroughly believed in the priest as a holy man, one who had renouncedsin and whose life was one long atonement for a wild, tragic, andreckless youth. He disliked Le Claire, but he had never doubted thepriest's sincerity. He could have given any sort of bribe had he deemedthe Frenchman purchasable.
"Just one word please, Judge," he said suavely. "Look here, Le Claire,Baronet's a good lawyer, a rich man, and a popular man with a finereputation; but by jiminy! if you try any tricks with me and vary onehair from the truth, I'll have you before the civil and church courts soquick you'll think the Holy Inquisition's no joke. If you'll just tellthe truth nobody's going to know through me anything about your formerwives, nor how many half-breed papooses claim you. And I know Baronethere well enough to know he never gossips."
Le Claire turned his dark face toward Mapleson, and his piercing blackeyes seemed to look through the restless lawyer fidgeting in his chair.In the old days of the "Last Chance" saloon the two had played a quietgame, each trying to outwit the other--the priest for the spiritual andfinancial welfare of the Indian pensioners, Mapleson for his ownfinancial gain. Yet no harsh word had ever passed between them. Not evenafter Le Claire had sent his ultimatum to the proprietor of the "LastChance," "Sell Jean Pahusca another drink of whiskey and you'll beremoved from the Indian agency by order from the Secretary of Indianaffairs at Washington."
"Mr. Mapleson, I hope the truth will do you no harm. It is the onlything that will avail now, even the truth I have for years kept back. Iam no longer a young man, and my severe illness in October forced me toget this business settled. Indeed, I in part helped to bring matters toan issue to-day."
Mapleson was disarmed at once by the priest's frankness. He had waitedlong to even up scores with the Roman Catholic who had kept many adollar from his till.
"You are right, gentlemen, in believing that I hold the key to thissituation. The Judge has asked two questions: 'Did Patrick O'Meara evergive up his title to the land?' and 'Is O'mie his heir, and thereforethe rightful owner?' Let me tell you first what I know of O'mie.
"His mother was a dear little Irish woman who had come, a stranger, toNew York City and was married to Patrick O'Meara when she was quiteyoung. They were poor, and after O'mie was born, his father decided totry the West. Fate threw him into the way of a Frenchman who sent him toSt. Louis to the employment of a fur-trading company in the upperMissouri River country. O'Meara knew that the West held largepossibilities for a poor man. He hoped in a short time to send for hiswife and child to join him."
The priest paused, and his brow darkened.
"This Frenchman, although he was of noble birth, had all the evil traitsand none of the good ones of all the generations, and withal he was awild, restless, romantic dreamer and adventurer. You two do not knowwhat heartlessness means. This man had no heart, and yet," the holyman's voice trembled, "his people loved him--will always love hismemory, for he could be irresistibly charming and affectionate when hechose. To make this painful story short, he fell in love--madly as onlyhe could love--with this pretty little auburn-haired Irish woman. He hada wife in France, but Mrs. O'Meara pleased him for the time; and he wasthat kind of a beast.
"O'Meara came to Springvale, and finding here a chance to get hold of agood claim, he bought it. He built a little cabin and sent money to NewYork for his wife and child to join him here. Mails were slow inpreterritorial days. The next letter O'Meara had from New York was fromthis Frenchman telling him that his wife and child were dead. Meanwhilethe villain played the kind friend and brother to the little woman andhelped her to prepare for her journey to the West. He had businesshimself in St. Louis. He would precede her there and accompany her toher husband's new home. Oh, he knew how to deceive, and he was ascharming in manner as he was dominant in spirit. No king ever walked theearth with a prouder step. You have seen Jean Pahusca stride down thestreets of Springvale, and you know his regal bearing. Such was thisFrenchman.
"In truth," the priest went on, "he had cause to leave New York. Wordhad come to him that his deserted French wife was on her way to America.This French woman was quick-tempered and jealous, and her anger wassomething to flee from.
"It is a story of utter baseness. From St. Louis to Springvale Mrs.O'Meara's escort was more like a lover than a friend and businessdirector of her affairs. This land was an Osage reservation then.O'Meara's half-section claim was west of here. The home he built wasthat little stone cabin near where the draw breaks through the bluff upthe river, this side of the big cottonwood."
Le Claire paused and sat in silence for a while.
"Much as I have dealt with all sorts of people," he continued, "I nevercould understand this Frenchman's nature. Fickle and h
eartless he was tothe very core. The wild frontier life attracted him, and he, who couldhave adorned the court of France or been a power in New York's highcircles, plunged into this wilderness. When they reached the cabin thecause for his devoted attentions was made plain. O'Meara was not there,had indeed been gone for weeks. Letters left at Springvale directed tothis Frenchman read:
"'I'm gone for good. A pretty Cheyenne squaw away up on the Platte istoo much for me. Tell Kathleen I'm never coming back. So she is free todo what she wants to. You may have this ground I have preempted, foryour trouble. Good-bye.'
"This letter, scrawled on a greasy bit of paper, was so unlike anythingPatrick O'Meara had ever said, its spirit was so unlike his genialtrue-hearted nature that his wife might have doubted it. But she wasyoung and inexperienced, alone and penniless with her baby boy in aharsh wilderness. The message broke her heart. And then this man usedall the force of his power to win her. He showed her how helpless shewas, how the community here would look upon her as his wife, and nowsince she was deserted by her husband, the father of her child, her onlyrefuge lay with him, her true lover.
"The woman's heart was broken, but her fidelity and honor were foundedon a rock. She scorned the villain before her and drove him from herdoor. That night she and O'mie were alone in that lonely little cabin.The cruel dominant nature of the man was aroused now, and he determinedto crush the spirit of the only woman who had ever resisted him. Twodays later a band of Kiowas was passing peaceably across the Plains.Here the Frenchman saw his chance for revenge by conniving with theIndians to seize little O'mie playing on the prairie beyond the cabin.
"The women out in Western Kansas have had the same agony of soul thatKathleen O'Meara suffered when she found her boy was stolen. In herdespair she started after the tribe, wandering lost and starving manydays on the prairie until a kind-hearted Osage chief found her and tookher to our blessed Mission down the river. Here a strange thinghappened. Before she had been there a week, her husband, Thomas O'Meara,came from a trapping tour on the Arkansas River. With him was a littlechild he had rescued from the Kiowas in a battle at Pawnee Rock. It washis own child, although he did not know it then. In this battle he wastold that a Frenchman had been killed. The name was the same as that ofthe Frenchman he had known in New York. Can you picture the joy of thatreunion? You who have had a wife to love, a son to cherish?"
My father's heart was full. All day his own boy's face had been beforehim, a face so like to the woman whose image he held evermore in sacredmemory.
"But their joy was short-lived, for Mrs. O'Meara never recovered fromher hardships on the prairie; she died in a few weeks. Her husband waskilled by the Comanches shortly after her death. His claim here he leftto his son, over whom the Mission assumed guardianship. O'mie wastransferred to St. Mary's for some reason, and the priest who started totake him there stopped here to find out about his father's land. But therecords were not available. Fingal, for whom Fingal's Creek was named,also known as Judge Fingal, held possession of all the records,and--how, I never knew--but in some way he prevented the priest fromfinding out anything. Fingal was a Southern man; he met a violent deaththat year. You know O'mie's story after that." Le Claire paused, and asadness swept over his face.
"But that doesn't finish the Frenchman's story," he continued presently.
"The night that O'mie's mother left her home in the draw, the Frenchwoman who had journeyed far to find her husband came to Springvale. Youknow what she found. The belongings of another woman. It was she whoslipped into the Neosho that night. The Frenchman was in the fight atPawnee Rock. After that he disappeared. But he had entered a formalclaim to the land as the husband of Patrick O'Meara's widow, heir to herproperty. You see he held a double grip. One through the letter--forged,of course--the other through the claim to a union that never existed."
"Seems to me you've a damned lot to answer for," Tell Mapleson hissed inrage. "If the Church can make a holy man out of such a villain, I'm gladI'm a heretic."
"I'm answering for it," the priest said meekly. Only my father sat withface impassive and calm.
"This half-section of land in question is the property of ThomasO'Meara, son and heir to Patrick O'Meara, as the records show. Thesestolen records I found where Amos Judson had hastily concealed them, asJudge Baronet has said. I put them in the dark loft for safer keeping,for I felt sure they were valuable. When I came to look for them, theyhad been moved again. I supposed the one who first took them hadrecovered them, and I let the matter go. Meanwhile I was called home.When I came here last Fall I found matters still unsettled, and O'miestill without his own. I spent several days in the stone cabin searchingfor the lost papers. The weather was bad, and you know of my severeattack of pneumonia. But I found the box. In the illness that followed Iwas kept from Springvale longer than I wished. When I came again O'miehad gone."
The priest paused and sat with eyes downcast, and a sorrowful face.
"Is this your story?" Tell queried. "Your proof of O'mie's claim youconsider incontestable, but how about these affidavits from the Rev. Mr.Dodd who married you to the Kiowa squaw? How--"
But Le Claire lifted his hand in commanding gesture. A sudden sternnessof face and attitude of authority seemed to clothe him like a garment.
"Gentlemen, there is another story. A bitter, painful story. I havenever told it, although it has sometimes almost driven me from the holysanctuary because of my silence."
It was a deeply impressive moment, for all three of the men realized theimportance of the occasion.
"My name," said the priest, "is Pierre Rousseau Le Claire. I am of atitled house of France. We have only the blood of the nobility in ourveins. My father had two sons, twins--Pierre the priest, and Jean therenegade, outlawed even among the savages; for his scalp will hang fromSatanta's tepee pole if the chance ever comes. Mapleson, here, has toldyou the truth about his being married to a sister of Chief Satanta. Healso is the father of Jean Pahusca. You have noticed the boy's likenessto me. If he, being half Indian, has such a strong resemblance to hisfamily, you can imagine how much alike we are, my brother and myself. Inform and gesture, everything--except--well, I have told you what hisnature was, and--you have known me for many years. And yet, I have neverceased to pray for him, wicked as he is. We played together about themeadows and vine-clad hill slopes of old France, in our happy boyhood.We grew up and loved and might both have been happily weddedthere,--but--I've told you his story. There is nothing of myself thatcan interest you. That letter of Mapleson's, purporting to be fromPatrick O'Meara, is a mere forgery. I have just come up from theMission. The records and letters of O'Meara have all been kept there.This handwriting would not stand, in court, Mapleson. The land wasO'Meara's. It is now O'mie's."
Mapleson sat with rigid countenance. For almost fifteen years he hadmatched swords with John Baronet. He had felt so sure of his game, hehad guarded every possible loophole where success might escape him, hehad paved every step so carefully that his mind, grown to the habitualthought of winning, was stunned by the revelation. Like Judson in themorning, his only defence lay In putting blame on somebody else.
"You are the most accomplished double-dealer I ever met," he declared tothe priest. "You pretend to follow a holy calling, you profess a lovefor your brother, and yet you are trying to rob his child of hisproperty. You are against Jean Pahusca, son of the man you love so much.Is that the kind of a priest you are?"
"The very kind--even worse," Le Claire responded. "I went back to Francebefore my aged father died. My mother died of a broken heart over Jeanlong ago. While our father yet lived I persuaded him to give all hisestate--it was large--to the Holy Church. He did it. Not a penny of itcan ever be touched."
Mapleson caught his breath like a drowning man.
"It spoiled a beautiful lawsuit, I know," Le Claire continued lookingmeaningly at him. "For that fortune in France, put into the hands ofJean Pahusca's attorneys here, would have been rich plucking. It cannever be. I fixed that before our father's death
. Why?"
"Yes, you narrow, grasping robber of orphans, why?" Tell shouted in hispassion.
"For the same reason that I stood between Jean Pahusca and this townuntil he was outlawed here. The half-breed cares nothing for propertyexcept as it can buy revenge and feed his appetites. He would sellhimself for a drink of whiskey. You know how dangerous he is when drunk.Every man in this town except Judge Baronet and myself has had to fleefrom him at some time or other. Sober, he is a devil--half Indian, halfFrench, and wholly fiendish. Neither he nor his father has any property.I used my influence to prevent it. I would do it again. Jean Le Clairehas forfeited all claims to inheritance. So have I. Among the Indians heis a renegade. I am only a missionary priest trying as I may to atonefor my own sins and for the sins of my father's son, my twin brother.That, gentlemen, is all I can say."
"We are grateful to you, Le Claire," John Baronet said. "Mapleson saidbefore you began that your word would show us what to do. It has shownus. It is now time, when some deeds long past their due, must berequited." He turned to Tell sitting defiantly there casting mentally inevery direction for some legal hook, some cunning turn, by which to winvictory away from defeat.
"Tell Mapleson, the hour has come for us to settle more than a propertyclaim between an Irish orphan and a half-breed Kiowa. And now, if it waswise to settle the other matter out of court, it will be a hundred timessafer to settle this here this afternoon. You have grown prosperous inSpringvale. In so far as you have done it honestly, I rejoice. You knowyourself that I have more than once proved my sincerity by turningbusiness your way, that I could as easily have put elsewhere."
Tell did know, and with something of Southern politeness, he noddedassent.
"You are here now to settle with me or to go before my court for somecounts you must meet. You have been the headpiece for all the evil-doingthat has wrecked the welfare of Springvale and that has injuredreputation, brought lasting sorrow, even cost the life of many citizens.Sooner or later the man who does that meets his own crimes face to face,and their ugly powers break loose on him."
"What do you mean?" Tell's voice was suppressed, and his face was livid.
"I mean first: you with Dick Yeager and others, later in Quantrill'sband, in May of 1863 planned the destruction of this town by mobviolence. The houses were to be burned, every Union man was to bemurdered with his wife and children, except such as the Kiowa andComanche Indians chose to spare. My own son was singled out as thechoicest of your victims. Little O'mie, for your own selfish ends, wasnot to be spared; and Marjory Whately, just blooming into womanhood, yougave to Jean Pahusca as his booty. Your plan failed, partly through theefforts of this good man here, partly through the courage and quickaction of the boys of the town, but mainly through the mercy ofOmnipotent God, who sent the floods to keep back the forces of Satan.That Marjory escaped even in the midst of it all is due to theshrewdness and sacrifice of the young man you have been trying todefraud--O'mie.
"In the midst of this you connived with others to steal the records fromthe courthouse. You were a treble villain, for you set the Rev. Mr.Dodd to a deed you afterwards held over him as a threat and drove himfrom the town for fear of exposure, forcing him to give you the papershe held against Jean Le Claire's claims to the half-section on theNeosho. Not that his going was any loss to Springvale. But Dodd willnever trouble you again. He cast his lot with the Dog Indians of theplains, and one of them used him for a shield in Custer's battle withBlack Kettle's band last December. He had not even Indian burial.
"Those deeds against Springvale belong to the days of the Civil War, butyour record since proves that the man who planned them cannot be trustedas a safe citizen in times of peace. Into your civil office you carriedyour war-time methods, until the Postmaster-General cannot deal longerwith you. Your term of office expires in six days. Your successor'scommission is already on its way here. This much was accomplished in thetrip East last Fall." My father spoke significantly.
"It wasn't all that was accomplished, by Heaven! There's a lawsuitcoming; there's a will that's to be broken that can't stand when I getat it. You are mighty good and fine about money when other folks aregetting it; but when it's coming to you, you're another man." Tell'svoice was pitched high now.
"Father Le Claire, let me tell you a story. Baronet's a smooth rascaland nobody can find him out easily. But I know him. He has called me athief. It takes that kind to catch a thief, maybe. Anyhow, back atRockport the Baronets were friends of the Melrose family. One of them,Ferdinand, was drowned at sea. He had some foolish delusion or other inhis head, for he left a will bequeathing all his property to his brotherJames Melrose during his lifetime. At his death all Ferdinand's moneywas to go to John Baronet in trust for his son Phil. Baronet, here, senthis boy back East to school in hopes that Phil would marry RachelMelrose, James's daughter, and so get the fortune of both Ferdinand andJames Melrose. He went crazy over the girl; and, to be honest, forPhil's a likable young fellow, the girl was awfully in love with him.Baronet's had her come clear out here to visit them. But, you'll excuseme for saying it, Judge, Phil is a little fast. He got tangled up with agirl of shady reputation here, and Rachel broke off the match. Now, lastOctober the Judge goes East. You see, he's well fixed, but that nicelittle sum looks big to him, and he's bound Phil shall have it, wife orno wife. But there's a good many turns in law. While Baronet was atRockport before I could get there, being detained at Washington" (myfather smiled a faint little gleam of a smile in his eyes more than onhis lip)--"before I could get to Rockport, Mr. Melrose dies, leaving hiswife and Rachel alone in the world. Now, I'm retained here as theirattorney. Tillhurst is going on to see to things for me. It's only a fewthousand that Baronet is after, but it's all Rachel and her mother have.The Melroses weren't near as rich as the people thought. That will ofFerdinand's won't hold water, not even salt water. It'll go to pieces incourt, but it'll show this pious Judge, who calls his neighbors toaccount, what kind of a man he is. The money's been tied up in someinvestments and it will soon be released."
Le Claire looked anxiously toward my father, whose face for the firsttime that day was pale. Rising he opened his cabinet of private papersand selected a legal document.
"This seems to be the day for digging up records," he said in a lowvoice. "Here is one that may interest you and save time and money. WhatMapleson says about Ferdinand Melrose is true. We'll pass by the motivesI had in sending Phil East, and some other statements. When I becameconvinced that love played no part in Phil's mind toward Rachel Melrose,I met him in Topeka in October and gave him the opportunity of signing arelinquishment to all claims on the estate of Ferdinand Melrose. Phildidn't care for the girl; and as to the money gotten in that way" (myfather drew himself up to his full height), "the oxygen of Kansas breedsa class of men out here who can make an honest fortune in spite of anyinheritance, or the lack of it. I put my boy in that class."
I was his only child, and a father may be pardoned for being proud ofhis own.
"When I reached Rockport," he continued, "Mr. Melrose was ill. I hurriedto him with my message, and it may be his last hours were more peacefulbecause of my going. Rachel will come into her full possessions in ashort time, as you say. Mapleson, will you renounce your retainer's feesin your interest in the orphaned?"
It was Tell's bad day, and he swore sulphureously in a low tone.
"Now I'll take up this matter where I left off," John Baronet said."While O'mie was taking a vacation in the heated days of August, heslept up in the stone cabin. Jean Pahusca, thief, highwayman, robber,and assassin, kept his stolen goods there. Mapleson and his mercantilepartner divided the spoils. O'mie's sense of humor is strong, and onenight he played ghost for Jean. You know the redskin's inherent fear ofghosts. It put Jean out of the commission goods business. No persuasionof Mapleson's or his partner's could induce Jean to go back after nightto the cabin after this reappearance of the long quiet ghost of thedrowned woman."
Le Claire could not repress a smile.
 
; "I think I unconsciously played the same role in September out there,frightening a little man away one night. I was innocent of any harmintended."
"It did the work," my father replied. "Jean cut for the West at once,and joined the Cheyennes for a time--and with a purpose." Then as helooked straight at Tell, his voice grew stern, and that mastery of menthat his presence carried made itself felt.
"Jean has bought the right to the life of my son. His pay for thehundreds of dollars he has turned into the hands of this man was thatMapleson should defame my son's good name and drive him from Springvale,and that Jean in his own time was to follow and assassinate him.Mapleson here was in league to protect Jean from the law if the deedshould ever be traced to his door. With these conditions in addition,Mapleson was to receive the undivided one-half of section 29, range 14.
"Tell Mapleson, I pass by the crime of forging lies against the name ofIrving Whately; I pass by the plotted crimes against this town in '63; Iignore the systematic thievery of your dealings with the half-breed JeanPahusca; but, by the God in heaven, my boy is my own. For the crime ofseeking to lay stain upon his name, the crime of trying to entangle himhopelessly in a scandal and a legal prosecution with a sinful erringgirl, the crime of lending your hand to hold the coat of the man whoshould stone him to death,--for these things, I, the father of PhilipBaronet, give you now twenty-four hours to leave Springvale and theState. If at the end of that time you are within the limits of Kansas,you must answer to me in the court-room over there; and, Tell Mapleson,you know what's before you. I came to the West to help build it up. Icannot render my State a greater service than by driving you from itsborders; and so long as I live I shall bar your entrance to a land that,in spite of all it has to bear, grows a larger crop of honest men withthe conquest of each acre of the prairie soil."