The Plunderer

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE BULLY MEETS HIS MASTER

  The ache and pain in her whole being was no greater than the colossaldesire Dick had to comfort and shield her. He rushed toward her withhis arms reached out to infold, but she pushed him back, and saidhoarsely: "No! No! I sha'n't let you! It would be an insult now!"

  Her eyes were filled with a light he had never seen in them before, acommanding flame that held him in check and stupefied him, as he triedto reason why his love at that moment would be an insult. It did notdawn on him that he was putting himself in the position of one who wasproffering silence for affection. All he knew was that everything inthe world seemed against him, and, overstrained to the breaking point,he was a mere madman.

  "You brought her here?" he hoarsely questioned Bill.

  "I did."

  "And told her that her father was under us?"

  "Yes."

  "And that I was to be kept above ground?"

  "Of course, and I had a reason, because--"

  He did not finish the sentence. The younger man shouted a furiouscurse, and lunged forward and struck at the same time. His feet,turning under a fragment of rock, twisted the directness of his blowso that it lost force; but its heavy spat on the patient face beforehim was like the crack of a pistol in that underground chamber.

  Bill's hands lifted impulsively, and then dropped back to his sides,hanging widely open. The flickering candlelight showed a slow redstream emerging slowly from one of his nostrils, and running downacross the firm chin, and the pain-distorted lips. In his eyes was ahurt agony of reproach, as if the knife of a friend had beenunexpectedly thrust into his heart. Dick's arm, tensed by the insaneanger of his mind, was drawn back to deal another blow, and seemed tostop half-way, impotent to strike that defenseless face before him.

  "Why don't you hit again, boy? I'll not strike back! I have loved youtoo much for that!"

  There was a world of misery and reproach in the quiet voice of thegiant, whose tremendous physical power was such that he could havecaught the younger man's arm, and with one wrench twisted it tosplintered bone. Before its echoes had died away another voice brokein, suffused with anguish, the shadows waving on the walls of grayrock twisted, and Joan's hands were on his arm.

  "Dick! Dick! Are you mad? Do you know what you are doing?"

  He shook her hands from his arm, reeled against the wall, and raisedhis forearm across his eyes, and brushed it across, as if dazed andblinded by a rush of blood which he would sweep away. He had notnoticed that in that staggering progress he had fallen full against acandlestick, and that it fell to the floor and lay there between them,with its flame slowly increasing as it formed a pool of grease. Forthe first time since he had spoken, the huge miner moved. He steppedforward, and ground the flame underfoot.

  "There might be a stray cap around here somewhere," he said.

  His voice appeared to rouse the younger man, and bring him to himself.He stepped forward, with his hands behind him and his face still set,wild and drawn, and said brokenly: "Bill! Bill! Strike back! Dosomething! Old friend!"

  "I cain't," came the reply, in a helpless monotone. "You know if itwere any other man I'd kill him! But you don't understand yet, and--"

  "I made him bring me here," Joan said, coming closer, until theshadows of the three were almost together. Her voice had a strangehopelessness in it, and yet a calm firmness. "He came to talk it overwith me, on your account. Pleading your cause--begging me that, nomatter what happened, I should not change my attitude toward you.Toward you, I say! He said your sense of honesty and loyalty to Sloanwould drive you to demanding restitution even though it broke yourheart. He said he loved you more than anything on earth, and begged meto help him find some way to spare--not me, or my father--but you!"

  Dick tried to speak, but his throat restricted until he clutched itwith his fingers, and his lips were white and hard.

  "I did not believe that what he said was true," the voice went on,coming as from depths of desolation and misery, and with dead levelsdulled by grief beyond emotion. "I have believed in my father! Ithought there must be some mistake. I demanded of your partner thathe lay off his own shift, and bring me here where we might listen. Oh,it was true--it was true!"

  She suddenly turned and caught the steel handle of a candlestick inher hand, and tore its long steel point from the crevice.

  "But I've found the way," she said. "I've found the way. You must comewith me--now! Right now, I say. We shall have this over with, andthen--and then--I shall go away from here; for always!"

  "Not that," Dick said, holding his hands toward her. "Not that, Joan!What are you going to do?"

  "I'm going to my father. He, too, must be spared. He must give itback. It must never be known. I must save him disgrace. It must bedone to-night--now!"

  She started down the drift toward the cage, walking determinedly, andDick's lips opened again to beg her to come back; but Bill's hand wason his shoulder, and his grave and kindly voice in his ear.

  "Go with her, boy. She's right. It's the only way. Have it over withto-night. If you don't you'll break her heart, as well as your own."

  They followed her to the cage, and the big miner gave the hoistingbell. The cage floated upward, and into the pale twilight. Heedless ofanything around, they walked across the yard, and turned into theroadway leading down the gulch.

  "Will you come?" she asked, turning toward Bill.

  "No," he said slowly. "I'm not needed. Besides, I couldn't standanother blow to-day!"

  It was the only reference he ever made to it, but it went through Dickwith more pain than he had administered. Almost sullenly he followedher down the road, wordless, bewildered, and despairing. Unable tospare her, unable to shield her, unable to comfort her, and unable tobe other than true to his benefactor, he plodded after her into thedeeper shadows of the lower gulch, across the log bridge spanning thebrawling mountain stream, and up into the Rattler camp. Her stepsnever faltered as she advanced straight to the office door, andstepped inside.

  The bookkeepers were gone, and the inner door ajar. She threw it open,walked in, and closed it after Dick, who sustained a deadly angeragainst the man who sat at his desk, and as they entered looked upwith a sharp stare of surprise.

  Something in the attitude of the two appeared to render him morealert, more hard, more uncompromising and he frowned, as Dick had seenhim frown before when angry men made way for him and his dominantmastery. His daughter had stopped in front of the closed door, andeyed him with eyes no less determined than his own.

  "Your men are working under the Croix d'Or," she said coldly, withoutwasting words in preliminary.

  His face hardened instantly, and his eyes flamed, dull and defiant.The lines of his heavy jaw appeared to deepen, his shoulders lifted atrifle, as if the muscles of him had suddenly tensed for combat, andhis lips had a trace of the imperious sneer.

  "Oh, you're certain of that, are you, my girl?"

  "I am," she retorted. "I was in their lower level when the Rattler'sshots were fired. I heard them."

  For an instant he seemed about to leap from his chair, and then,recovering himself, said with sarcastic emphasis, and a deadlycalmness: "And pray what were you doing there? Was the young mineowner, Townsend, there with you? Was he so kind----?"

  "Is there any need for an exchange of insults?" Dick demanded, takinga step toward him, and prevented from going farther only byrecollection of his previous loss of temper.

  For an instant the mine owner defiantly met his look, and thenhalf-rose from his chair, and stared more coldly across the litter ofpapers, plans, and impedimenta on his desk.

  "Then why are you here together?" he demanded. "Weren't you man enoughto come yourself, instead of taking my daughter underground? Did youwant to compel her to be the chief witness in your claim? What righthad you to--?"

  "Father!" admonished Joan's voice.

  It served a double purpose, for had she not interrupted Dick mighthave answered with a heat that
he would have regretted, and BullyPresby dropped back into his chair, and drummed with his fingers onthe desk.

  "You took the ore. You must pay. You must!" went on the dull voice ofhis daughter.

  "But how should I know how much it amounts to, even if I do find outthat some of my men drove into the Cross pay?" he answered, fixing herwith his flaming eyes.

  "But you must know," she insisted dully. "I know you know. I know youknew where the ore was coming from. It must be paid back."

  For an instant they eyed each other defiantly, and her brave attitude,uncompromising, seemed to lower the flood-gates of his anger. Hischeeks flushed, and he lowered his head still farther, and stared morecoldly from under the brim of his square-set hat. There were not manymen who would have faced Bully Presby when he was in that mood; butbefore him stood his daughter, as brave and uncompromising as he, andfortified by something that he had allowed to run dwarf in his soul--awhite conscience, burning undimmed, a true knowledge of what was rightand what was wrong. Her inheritance of brain and blood had all thestrength of his, and her fearlessness was his own. She did not waver,or bend.

  "It must be paid back," she reiterated, a little more firmly.

  He suddenly jerked himself to his feet, his tremendous shouldersthrust forward across the desk, and raised his hand with a commandingfinger.

  "Joan," he ordered harshly, "you get out of here. Go to your room!Leave this affair to this man and me. This is none of your business.Go!"

  "I shall not!" she defied him.

  "I think it is best," Dick said, taking a step toward her. "I cantake care of my own and Mr. Sloan's interests. Please go."

  The word "Joan" almost slipped from his lips. She faced him, andbacked against the door. "Yours and Mr. Sloan's interests? What ofmine? What of my conscience? What of my own father? What of me?"

  She stepped hastily to the desk, and tapped on it with her firmfingers, and faced the mine master.

  "I said you must pay!" she declared, her voice rising and trembling inher stress. "And you must! You shall!"

  He was in a fury of temper by now, and brought the flat of his heavy,strong hand down on its top, sending the inkwell and the electricstand lamp dancing upward with a bound.

  "And I shall do as I please!" he roared. "And it doesn't please me topay until these men"--and between the words he brought his hand downin heavy emphasis--"until--these--men--of the Cross mine prove it!I'll make them get experts and put men in my mine, and put youyourself on the stand before I'll give them one damned dollar! I'llfight every step of the road before I'll lay my hand down. I'll paynothing!"

  She stood there above him, fixing him with her clear, honest, accusingeyes, and never faltered. Neither his words nor his rage had alteredher determination. She was like a statue of justice, fixed anddemanding the right. Dick had rushed forward to try and dissuade herfrom further speech, and stood at the end of the desk in the halo oflight from the lamp, and there was a tense stillness in the room whichrendered every outward sound more distinct. The voice of a boy drivingmules to their stable and singing as he went, the clank and jingle ofthe chain tugs across the animals' backs, and the ceaseless monotoneof the mill, all came through the open windows, and assailed theirears in that pent moment.

  "Please let me have my way," Joan said, turning to Dick, and in hervoice was infinite sorrow and tragedy. "It is more my affair thanyours now. Father, I shall not permit you to go any farther. It isuseless. I know! I can't do it! I can't keep the money you gave me. Itisn't mine! It is theirs! You say you will not pay. Well, then, Ishall, to the last dollar!"

  "But I shall accept nothing--not a cent--from you, if we never get apenny from the Cross!" declared Dick, half-turning, as if to end theinterview.

  She did not seem to hear him. She was still facing the hard, twistingface of Bully Presby, who had suddenly drawn back, as if confrontedby a greater spirit than his own. She went on speaking to him as ifDick was not in the room.

  "You stole their ore. You know you stole it. Somehow, it all hurts sothat I cannot put it in words; for, Dad, I have loved you so much--somuch! Oh, Dad! Dad! Dad!"

  She dropped to her knees, as if collapsed, to the outer edge of thedesk, and her head fell forward on her hands. The unutterable wail ofher voice as she broke, betrayed the desperate grief of her heart, thedestruction of an idol. It was as if she told the man across the deskthat he had been her ideal, and that his actions had brought this ruinabout them; as if all the sorrows of the world had cumulated in thatruin of faith.

  Dick looked down at her, and his nails bit into his palms as he foughtoff his desire to reach down and lift her to his arms. Bully Presby'schair went clashing back against the wall, where he kicked it as heleaped to his feet. He ran around the end of the desk, throwing Dickaside as he did so with one fierce sweep of his arm.

  "Joan!" he said brokenly, laying his hand on her head. "Joan! Mylittle Joan! Get up, girl, and come here to your Dad!"

  She did not move. The excess of her grief was betrayed by her benthead and quivering shoulders. The light, gleaming above her, threwstray shadows into the depths of her hair, and softened the white,strained tips of her fingers.

  Bully Presby, the arrogant and forceful, still resting his hand on herhead, turned toward the twisted, youthful face of the man at his side,whose fingers were now clenched together, and held at arm's length infront of him. The mine owner seemed suddenly old and worn. Theinvincible fire of his eyes was dulled to a smoldering glow, as if,reluctantly, he were making way for age. His broad shoulders appearedsuddenly to have relinquished force and might. He stooped above her,as if about to gather her into his arms, and spoke with the slow voiceof pathos.

  "She's right," he said. "She's right! I should pay; and I will! But Idid it for her. She was all I had. I've starved for her, and workedfor her, and stolen for her! Ever since her mother died and left herin my arms, I've been one of those carried away by ambition. God isdamning me for it, in this!" He abruptly straightened himself to hisold form, and gestured toward the sobbing girl at his feet. "I ampaying more to her than as if I'd given you the Rattler andall--all--everything!--for the paltry ore I pulled from under yourfeet. You shall have your money. Bully Presby's word is as good as hisgold. You know that! I don't know anything about you. I don't hateyou, because you are fighting for your own! Somehow I feel as if thebottom had been knocked out of everything, all at once! I wish you'dgo now. I want to have her alone--I want to talk to her--just the wayI used to, before--before--"

  He had gone to the limit. His strong hands knotted themselves as theyclenched, then unclenched as he stepped to the farther side of thedoor and looked at Dick, who had not moved; but now, as if hislimitations also had been reached, the younger man leaned forward,stooped, and his arms caught Joan and lifted her bodily to his breast.In slow resignation, and with a sigh as if coming to shelter at last,her arms lifted up, her hands swept round his shoulders, and came torest, clasped behind his head, and held him tightly, as if withoutcapitulation.

  There was a gasp of astonishment, and the rough pine floor creaked asBully Presby, dumbfounded, comprehending, conquered, turned toward thedoor. He opened it blindly, fumbling for the knob with twitchinghands--hands unused to faltering. He looked back and hesitated, as ifall his directness of life, all his fierce decision of character hadbecome undermined, irresolute. He opened his lips as if to protest, todemand, to dominate, to plead for a hearing; but no sound came. Hisface, unobserved by either the man he had robbed, or the daughter whohad arraigned him, betrayed all these struggling, conflictingemotions. He was whipped! He was beaten more certainly than by fists.He was spiritually and physically powerless. Dazed, bewildered, hestood for an instant, then his heavy hands, which for the first timein his life had been held out in mute appeal, dropped to his sides.Habit only asserted when he slammed the door behind him as he walkedout into the lonely darkness of the accusing night.