CHAPTER XIX
LABLACHE'S MIDNIGHT VISITOR
Lablache was alone in his office. He was more alone than he had everbeen in his life; or, at least, he felt more alone--which amounted tomuch the same thing. Possibly, had he been questioned on the subject, hewould have pooh-poohed the idea, but, nevertheless, in his secret hearthe felt that, in spite of his vast wealth, he was a lonely man. He knewthat he had not a single friend in Foss River; and in Calford, anothercenter of his great wealth, things were no better. His methods ofbusiness, whilst they brought him many familiar acquaintances--a largecircle of people who were willing to trade, repelled all approach tofriendship. Besides, his personality was against him. His flintydisposition and unscrupulous love of power were all detrimental to humanaffection.
As a rule, metaphorically speaking, he snapped his fingers at thesethings. Moreover, he was glad that such was the case; he could the morefreely indulge his passion for grab. Hated, he could work out hispeculiar schemes without qualms of conscience; loved, it would have beenotherwise. Yes, Lablache preferred this social ostracism.
But the great money-lender had his moments of weakness--moments when herebelled against his solitary lot. He knew that his isolated positionhad been brought about by himself--fostered by himself, and he knew hepreferred that it should be so. But, nevertheless, at times he felt verylonely, and in these moments of weakness he wondered if he obtained fullconsolation in his great wealth for his marooned position. Generally theresult of these reflections brought him satisfaction. How? is aquestion. Possibly he forced himself, by that headstrong power withwhich he bent others who came into contact with him to his will, to sucha conclusion. Lablache was certainly a triumph of relentless purposeover flesh and feelings.
Lablache was nearly fifty, and had lived alone since he was in histeens. Now he pined as all who live a solitary life must some day pine,for a companion to share his loneliness. He craved not for the societyof his own sex. With the instinct in us all he wanted a mate to sharewith him his golden nest. But this mass of iron nerve and obesity wasnot as other men. He did not weakly crave, and then, with his wealth,set out to secure a wife who could raise him in the social scale, or addto the bags which he had watched grow in bulk from flattened folds ofsacking, to the distended proportions of miniature balloons. No, hedesired a girl, the only relation of a man whom he had helped to ruin--agirl who could bring him no social distinction, and who could not addone penny piece to his already enormous wealth. Moreover, strangelyenough, he had conceived for her a passion which was absolutely unholyin its intensity. It is needless, then, to add, when, speaking of such aman, that, willing or not, he intended that Jacky Allandale should behis.
Thoughts of this wild, quarter-breed girl filled his brain as he satsolitary in his little office on the night of the pusky. He sat in hisfavorite chair, in his favorite position. He was lounging back with hisslippered feet resting on the burnished steel foot-rests of the stove.There was no fire in the stove, of course, but from force of habit hegazed thoughtfully at the mica sides which surrounded the firebox.Probably in this position he had thought out some of his most dastardlyfinancial schemes and therefore most suitable it seemed now as hecalculated his chances of capturing the wild prairie girl for his mate.
He had given up all thoughts of ever obtaining her willing consent, and,although his vanity had been hurt by her rejection of his advances,still he was not the man to be easily thwarted. His fertile brain hadevolved a means by which to achieve his end, and, to his scheme-lovingnature, the process was anything but distasteful. He had always, fromthe first moment he had decided to make Jacky Allandale his wife, beenprepared for such a contingency as her refusal, and had never missed anopportunity of ensnaring her uncle in his financial toils. He hadunderstood the old man's weakness, and, with satanic cunning, had sethimself to the task of wholesale robbery, with crushing results to hisvictim. This had given him the necessary power to further prosecute hissuit. As yet he had not displayed his hand. He felt that the time wasbarely ripe. Before putting the screw on the Allandales it had been hisobject to rid the place, and his path, of his only stumbling block. Inthis he had not quite succeeded as we have seen. He quite understoodthat the Hon. Bunning-Ford must be removed from Foss River first. Whilsthe was on hand Jacky would be difficult to coerce. Instinctively he knewthat "Lord" Bill was her lover, and, with him at hand to advise her,Jacky would hold out to the last. However, he believed that in the endhe must conquer. Bunning-Ford's resources were very limited he knew, andsoon his hated rival must leave the settlement and seek pastures new.Lablache was but a clever scheming mortal. He did not credit others withbrains of equal caliber, much less cleverer and more resourceful thanhis own. It had been better for him had his own success in life beenless assured, for then he would have been more doubtful of his ownability to do as he wished, and he would have given his adversariescredit for a cleverness which he now considered as only his.
After some time spent in surveying and considering his plans histhoughts reverted to other matters. This was the night of the half-breedpusky. His great face contorted into a sarcastic smile as he thought ofSergeant Horrocks. He remembered with vivid acuteness every incident ofhis interview with the officer two nights ago. He bore the man nomalice now for the contradiction of himself, for the reason that he wassure his own beliefs on the subject of Retief would be amply realized.His lashless eyes quivered as his thoughts invoked an inward mirth. Noone realized more fully than did this man the duplicity and cunning ofthe Breed. He anticipated a great triumph over Horrocks the next time hesaw him.
As the time passed on he became more himself. His loneliness did notstrike him so keenly. He felt that after all there was greatsatisfaction to be drawn from a watcher's observance of men. Isolated ashe was he was enabled to look on men and things more critically than heotherwise would be.
He reached over to his tobacco jar, which stood upon his desk, andleisurely proceeded to fill his pipe. It was rarely he indulged himselfin an idle evening, but to-night he somehow felt that idleness would begood. He was beginning to feel the weight of his years.
He lit his heavy briar and proceeded to envelop himself in a cloud ofsmoke. He gasped out a great sigh of satisfaction, and his leatheryeyelids half closed. Presently a gentle tap came at the glass door,which partitioned off the office from the store. Lablache called out aguttural "Come in," at the same time glancing at the loud ticking"alarm" on the desk. He knew who his visitor was.
One of the clerks opened the door.
"It is past ten, sir, shall I close up?" he asked.
"Yes, close up. Whose evening off is it?"
"Rodgers, sir. He is still out. He'll be in before midnight, sir."
"Ah, down at the saloon, I expect," said Lablache, drily. "Well, boltthe front door. Just leave it on the spring latch. I shall be up untilhe comes in. What are you two boys going to do?"
"Going to bed, sir."
"All right; good-night."
"Good-night, sir."
The door closed quietly after the clerk, and Lablache heard his twoassistants close up the store and then go upstairs to their rooms. Themoney-lender was served well. His employees in the store had been withhim for years. They were worked very hard and their pay was not great,but their money was sure, and their employment was all the year round.So many billets upon the prairie depended upon the seasons--opulence onemonth and idleness the next. On the ranches it was often worse. There isbut little labor needed in the winter. And those who have the goodfortune to be employed all the year round generally experience areduction in wages at the end of the fall round-up, and find themselvesdoing the "chores" when winter comes on.
After the departure of the clerk Lablache re-settled himself and went onsmoking placidly. The minutes ticked slowly away. An occasional groanfrom the long-suffering basket chair, and the wreathing clouds of smokewere the only appreciable indication of life in that little room.By-and-by the great man reached a memorandum tablet from his desk anddotted
down a few hurried figures. Then he breathed a great sigh, andhis face wore a look of satisfaction. There could be no doubt as to thetenor of his thoughts. Money, money. It was as life to him.
The distant rattle of the spring lock of the store front door beingsnapped-to disturbed the quiet of the office. Lablache heard the sound.Then followed the bolting of the door. The money-lender turned again tohis figures. It was the return of Rodgers, he thought, which haddisturbed him. He soon became buried in further calculations. Whilefiguring he unconsciously listened for the sound of the clerk'sfootsteps on the stairs as he made his way up to his room. The sound didnot come. The room was clouded with tobacco smoke, and still Lablachebelched out fresh clouds to augment the reek of the atmosphere. Suddenlythe glass door opened. The money-lender heard the handle move.
"Eh, what is it, Rodgers?" he said, in a displeased tone. As he spokehe peered through the smoke.
"What d'you want?" he exclaimed angrily. Then he rubbed his eyes andcraned forward only to fall back again with a muttered curse. He hadstared into the muzzle of a heavy six-shooter.
He moved his hand as though to throw his memorandum pad on the desk, butinstantly a stern voice ordered him to desist and the threateningrevolver came closer.
"Jest stay right thar, pard." The words were spoken in an exaggeratedWestern drawl. "My barker's mighty light in the trigger. I guess itdon't take a hundred-weight to loose it. And I don't cotton to muckingup this floor with yer vitals."
Lablache remained still. He saw before him the tall thin figure of ahalf-breed. He had black lank hair which hung loosely down almost on tohis shoulders. His face was the color of mud, and he was possessed of apair of keen gray eyes and a thin-hooked nose. His face wore a loftylook of command, and was stamped by an expression of the unmostresolution. He spoke easily and showed not the smallest haste.
"Guess we ain't met before, boss--not familiar-like, leastways. Myname's Retief--Peter Retief, an' I take it yours is Lablache. Now I'vejest come right along to do biz with you--how does that fit yourbowels?"
The compelling ring of metal faced the astonished money-lender. For themoment he remained speechless.
"Wal?" drawled the other, with elaborate significance.
Lablache struggled for words. His astonishment--dismay made the effort adifficult one.
"You've got the drop on me you--you damned scoundrel," he at last burstout, his face for the moment purpling with rage. "I'm forced to listento you now," he went on more gutturally, as the paroxysm having foundvent began to pass, "but watch yourself that you make no bad reckoning,or you'll regret this business until the rope's round your neck. You'llget nothing out of me--but what you take. Now then, be sharp. What areyou going to do?"
The half-breed grinned.
"You're mighty raw oh the hide jest now, I guess. But see hyar, myreckonin's are nigh as slick as yours. An' jest slant yer tongue some.'Damned scoundrel' sliden' from yer flannel face is like a coyoteroundin' on a timber wolf, an' a coyote ain't as low down as a skunk. Iopine I want a deal from you," Retief went on, with a hollow laugh, "andwot I want I mostly git, in these parts."
Lablache was no coward. And even now he had not the smallest fear forhis life. But the thought of being bluffed by the very man he waswilling to pay so much for the capture of riled him almost beyondendurance. The Breed noted the effect of his words and pushed his pistolalmost to within arm's reach of the money-lender's face.
The half-breed's face suddenly became stem.
"That's a dandy ranch of yours down south. Me an' my pards 'ave taken anotion to it. Say, you're comin' right along with us. Savee? Guess we'llshow you the slickest round up this side o' the border. Now jest sitright thar while I let my mates in."
Retief took no chances. Lablache, under pistol compulsion, was forced toremain motionless in his chair. The swarthy Breed backed cautiously tothe door until his hand rested upon the spring catch. This, with deftfingers, he turned and then forced back, and the next moment he wasjoined by two companions as dark as himself and likewise dressed in thepicturesque garb of the prairie "hustler." The money-lender, in spite ofhis predicament, was keenly alert, and lost no detail of the new-comers'appearance. He took a careful mental photograph of each of the men,trusting that he might find the same useful in the future. He wonderedwhat the next move would be. He eyed the Breed's pistol furtively, andthought of his own weapon lying on his desk at the corner farthest fromhim. He knew there was no possible chance of reaching it. The slightestunbidden move on his part would mean instant death. He understood, onlytoo well, how lightly human, life was held by these people. Implicitobedience alone could save him. In those few thrilling moments he hadstill time to realize the clever way in which both he and Horrocks hadbeen duped. He had never for a moment believed in Gautier's story, buthad still less dreamed of such a daring outrage as was now beingperpetrated. He had not long to wait for developments. Directly the twomen were inside, and the door was again closed, Retief pointed to themoney-lender.
"Hustle, boys--the rope. Lash his feet."
One of the men produced an old lariat In a trice the great man's feetwere fast.
"His hands?" said one of the men.
"Guess not. He's goin' to write, some."
Lablache instantly thought of his cheque-book. But Retief had no fancyfor what he considered was useless paper.
The hustler stepped over to the desk. His keen eyes spotted themoney-lender's pistol lying upon the far corner of it. He had also notedhis prisoner casting furtive glances in the direction of it. To preventany mischance he picked the gleaming weapon up and slipped it into hiship pocket. After that he drew a sheet of foolscap from the stationerycase and laid it on the blotting pad. Then he turned to his comrades.
"Jest help old money-bags over," he said quietly. He was thoroughlyalert, and as calmly indifferent to the danger of discovery as if hewere engaged on the most righteous work.
When Lablache had been hoisted and pushed into position at the desk theraider took up a pen and held it out towards him.
"Write," he said laconically.
Lablache hesitated. He looked from the pen to the man's leveled pistol.Then he reluctantly took the pen. The half-breed promptly dictated, andthe other wrote. The compulsion was exasperating, and the great manscrawled with all the pettishness of a child.
The message read--
"Retief is here. I am a prisoner. Follow up with all speed."
"Now sign," said the Breed, when the message was written.
Lablache signed and flung down the pen.
"What's that for?" he demanded huskily.
"For?" His captor shrugged. "I guess them gophers of police are snuglytrussed by now. Mebbe, though, one o' them might 'a' got clear away.When they find you're gone, they'll light on that paper. I jest want 'emto come right along after us. Savee? It'll 'most surprise 'em when theycome along." Then he turned to his men. "Now, boys, lash his hands, andcut his feet adrift. Then, into the buckboard with him. Guess hiscarcase is too bulky for any 'plug' to carry. Get a hustle on, lads.We've hung around here long enough."
The men stepped forward to obey their chief, but, at that moment,Lablache gave another display of that wonderful agility of his of which,at times, he was capable. His rage got the better of him, and even underthe muzzle of his captor's pistol he was determined to resist. We havesaid that the money-lender was no coward; at that moment he wasdesperate.
The nearest Breed received a terrific buffet in the neck, then, in spiteof his bound feet, Lablache seized his heavy swivel chair, and, raisingit with all his strength he hurled it at the other. Still Relief'spistol was silent. The money-lender noticed the fact, and he became evenmore assured. He turned heavily and aimed a blow at the "hustler." But,even as he struck, he felt the weight of Retief's hand, and strugglingto steady himself--his bound feet impeding him--he overbalanced and fellheavily to the ground. In an instant the Breeds were upon him. His ownhandkerchief was used to gag him, and his hands were secured. Then,without a moment's d
elay, he was hoisted from the floor--his greatweight bearing his captors down--and carried bodily out of the officeand thrown into his own buckboard, which was waiting at the door. Retiefsprang into the driving seat whilst one of the Breeds held the prisonerdown, some other dark figures leapt into the saddles of several waitinghorses, and the party dashed off at a breakneck speed.
The gleaming stars gave out more than sufficient light for the desperateteamster. He swung the well-fed, high-mettled horses of the money-lenderround, and headed right through the heart of the settlement. Theaudacity of this man was superlative. He lashed the animals into agallop which made the saddle horses extend themselves to keep up. On, oninto the night they raced, and almost in a flash the settlement waspassed. The sleepy inhabitants of Foss River heard the mad racing of thehorses but paid no heed. The daring of the raider was his safeguard.
Lablache knew their destination. They were traveling southward, and hefelt that their object was his own ranch.