Lord Stranleigh Abroad

Before entering the cavern he had noticed three or four of the miners standing in front of the bunk house, evidently watching him, but he paid no attention to them, and while he was inside, the roar of the cataract prevented him from hearing approaching footsteps. As he came out to the lip of the mine, he found Jim and three others waiting for him. Each had a rifle on his shoulder.

“Inspecting the property?” said Jim, casually.

“Yes,” replied Stranleigh.

“What do you think of it?”

“My opinion would be of very little value. I know nothing of mining.”

“The deuce you don’t!” said Jim. “What are you doing with that lump of rock in your hand?”

“Oh, that,” said Stranleigh, “I happened to pick up. I wanted to examine it in clear daylight. Is there silver in it?”

“How should I know?” replied Jim, gruffly. “I’m not a mining engineer. I only take a hand at the drill or the pick, as the case may be. But when you throw that back where you got it, throw it carefully, and not too far.”

“I don’t intend to throw it,” said Stranleigh. “I’m going to take it down to the house.”

“Oh, you think you’re not going to throw it, but you are. We’ve just come up to explain that to you.”

“I see. If it is compulsory, why shouldn’t I throw it as far as I can?”

“Because,” explained Jim, politely, “there’s a lot of dynamite stored in the end of that hole, and dynamite isn’t a thing to fool with, you know.”

Stranleigh laughed.

“I rather fancy you’re right, though I know as little about dynamite as I do about mines. But to be sure of being on the right side, I will leave the tossing of the stone to you. Here it is,” whereupon he handed the lump of rock to Jim, who flung it carelessly into the mine again, but did not join in his visitor’s hilarity.

“You seem to regard me as a dangerous person?”

“Oh, not at all, but we do love a man that attends to his own business. We understood that you came here for shooting and fishing.”

“So I did, but other people were out shooting before I got a chance. A man who’s had a bullet through his shoulder neither hunts nor fishes.”

“That’s so,” admitted Jim, with the suavity of one who recognises a reasonable statement, “but now that you are better, what do you come nosing round the mine for? Why don’t you go on with your shooting and your fishing?”

“Because Mr. Armstrong was to be my guide, and he, I regret to say, has not yet returned home. As he is tramping from Chicago to the ranch, no one knows when he will put in an appearance.”

“Well, Mr. Stranleigh, we are plain, ordinary backwoods folks, that have no reason for loving or trusting people who come from the city, as you do. You say that shooting is your game. Now, we can do a bit of shooting ourselves, and I tell you plainly that if any stranger was found prowling around here, he’d have got a bullet in a more vital spot than you did. Do you understand me?”

“Your meaning, sir, is perfectly plain. What do you want me to do? Go away from here before Mr. Armstrong returns?”

“No; we don’t say that, but we draw an imaginary line, such as they tell me the equator is, past this end of the farm house, and we ask you not to cross it westward. There’s all the fishing you want down stream, but there’s none up here by the waterfall, neither is there any game to shoot, so you see we’re proposing no hardship if your intentions are what you say they are.”

“Sir, you speak so beautifully that I must address you less familiarly than I am doing. My own name is Ned, but few take the liberty of calling me by that title. I don’t know that I should like it if they did. You are already aware, perhaps, that I answer to the name of Stranleigh. May I enquire what your name is?”

“I’m James Dean.”

“Ah, the Dean of the Faculty? You are leader of this band of brothers?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“Are they unanimous in restricting my liberty on this ranch?”

“You bet!”

“You’ve no right to do such a thing, and besides, it is inhospitable. I came to this ranch properly accredited, with a letter of introduction to Mr. Armstrong. He happens to be away; if he had been here, and I had seen that my visit was unwelcome to him, I should instantly have taken my leave, but I refuse to have my liberty restricted by Mr. Armstrong’s hired men.”

“That’s exactly where you’re wrong, Mr. Stranleigh. In the first place, we’re not hired men; we’re Mr. Armstrong’s partners, and we don’t restrict your liberty on the ranch.”

“A partner contributes his share to the expenses of the combination. I understand Mr. Armstrong bears the burden alone.”

“We contribute our labour, which is cash in another form, therefore whether Mr. Armstrong is here, or whether he is away, we mean to defend our property. So when you cross the imaginary line I spoke of, you are trespassing, and no jury will convict a man who shoots a trespasser after he has been fully warned, as we warn you.”

“Well, Mr. Dean, I admit that you have right on your side, even if there is not much wisdom at the back of it. There is just one more thing I should like to know. Why do you treat me as an enemy?”

“As a possible enemy,” corrected Dean.

“As a possible enemy, then?”

“Because we don’t like your actions, and we don’t think much of you. You’re a city man, and we don’t trust any such.”

“But Mr. Banks, who gave me the letter to your chief, is not only a city man, but a lawyer. He has been here, and spoke highly of his reception.”

“That was before the mine was opened, and as for being a lawyer, we hate ’em, of course, but they’re like rattlesnakes. In some seasons of the year they are harmless. The opening of the silver mine opened the rattlesnake season, and that’s why this lawyer snake in Bleachers is trying to cheat Armstrong out of his ranch. He came over here with a mining engineer and learnt the whole value of the ground. How do we know you’re not a mining engineer?”

“I regret to say I’m nothing so useful.”

“And didn’t you send Miss Armstrong into Bleachers to see that villain Ricketts? What connection have you with him?”

“None at all, Mr. Dean. I never saw Ricketts in my life, and never heard of him before the day you mistook me for the sheriff.”

Dean glanced at his companions, who had taken no part in the colloquy, but who listened with an interest at once critical and suspicious. It was evident that their distrust could not be dissipated, or even mitigated, by strenuous talk, and for a moment Stranleigh was tempted to tell them that he had lent three thousand dollars to Miss Armstrong, in the hope that this money, added to her own, would gain some sort of concession from the obdurate lawyer. But he remembered that the girl was in constant communication with these men, and if she had not already informed them of his futile assistance, it was because she did not want them to know.

Dean pondered for a few moments before he spoke. He seemed to have gathered in the purport of his men’s thoughts without the necessity for words. At last he said:

“May I take it you agree hereafter to attend to your own business?”

Stranleigh laughed.

“There would be no use in my making that promise, for I have never in my life attended to my own business. My business affairs are all looked after by men who are experts. They live in New York and in London, and although I make a decision now and then, I do that as seldom as possible. It fatigues me.”

“So you are a loafer?”

“That’s it exactly, Mr. Dean, and I freely give you my promise not to loaf about your silver mine.”

“Are you so rich as all that?”

“You are not consistent, Mr. Dean. How can you ask me to attend to my business if you do not attend to yours? Whether I am rich or poor is none of your affair?”

“Quite true,” agreed Jim, nonchalantly, “we will let it go at that.”

Stranleigh, with a smile, bowed courteously to the group.

“I wish you a very good day,” he said, and turning, strolled down to the house at a leisurely gait, quite in keeping with his self-declared character of loafer. His back offered an excellent target, but no man raised his rifle, and Stranleigh never looked over his shoulder, never hurried a step, but walked as one very sure of himself, and in no fear of attack.

“Stuck up cuss,” said Jim to his comrades. “I’d like to take that chap down a peg. Let’s get back to the bunk house and talk it over,” so they, too, left the pit mouth, and returned to their cabin.

When the Earl of Stranleigh entered the house, he was accosted by Miss Armstrong, on whose fair face were traces of deep anxiety, which his lordship thought were easily accounted for by the fact that the homestead was to be sold in less than a fortnight.

“I have been anxious to see you, Mr. Stranleigh,” she said. “Won’t you come out on the verandah where we can talk?”

“With great pleasure, Miss Armstrong.”

When they were seated, she continued —

“You have been talking with the men?”

“Yes; we had a little chat together.”

“Did they tell you anything of their intentions?”

“No; except in so far as they were determined not to let me examine the mine.”

“Ah; they have distrusted you from the first. Did you insist on visiting it?”

“I have visited it.”

“Without asking one of them to accompany you?”

“I regarded them as hired men. They say they are your father’s partners.”

“So they are.”

“Ah, well, if that is really the case, I must apologise to them. I thought when you ordered Dean to bring in my luggage, and he obeyed with such docility, that he was your servant. I intended to offer him some money for that service, but I suppose I must not.”

“Certainly not. Those men will do anything for a friend, but nothing for one of whom they are suspicious. Their distrust, once aroused, is not easily removed. I am sure, however, you were tactful with them.”

Stranleigh smiled ruefully.

“I am not so certain of that myself. I fear I failed in diplomacy.”

“I do wish my father were here,” she said, ignoring his last remark. “I am very much worried about the men.”

“What do they know of your trouble with that man Ricketts?”

“They know all about it, and they now threaten to march into Bleachers in a body and, as we say, shoot up the town, including Ricketts, of course.”

“When do they intend to do this?”

“On the day of the auction sale.”

“Don’t they understand that that would be futile?”

“It would cause an infinite amount of harm, and ultimately might result in their being wiped out themselves. Not that Bleachers could do such a thing, but because they would be pitting themselves against the United States Government, which is a mere name to those men, carrying no authority. All their lives have been spent in camps, where the only law is that of the mob. I have tried my best to influence them, but they regard me merely as a woman, and a woman from the East at that, who has no knowledge of practical affairs, so I have every reason for wishing my father were here.”

“I should not trouble about that if I were you, Miss Armstrong. If they intended to carry out their resolution to-morrow, or next day, there might be reason for anxiety, but we have luckily plenty of time in which to act. The one immediate thing is to find your father. I’ll undertake that task. He’s travelling somewhere between here and Chicago, on foot. May I see the latest letter he wrote you?”

The girl brought it to him.

“Might I take this with me?”

“Yes. What do you intend to do?”

Stranleigh smiled.

“Oh, I never do anything. As I was telling your men, who wished me to mind my own business, I always have people to do that for me. I am a great believer in the expert. Now, America seems to be the land of experts, and the man to deal with this case is Detective Burns, of New York. I shall get into touch with him by telegraph, and if he cannot attend to the matter himself, he will select the best substitute that is to be had, and as Burns and his men invariably track down anyone they want, even though he be seeking to elude them, it will be an easy task to find your father, who is tramping the straightest possible line between Chicago and this ranch. I shall give instructions for two or three hundred dollars to be handed to Mr. Armstrong, with directions to take the next train to Bleachers, as we need his presence here. I shall do nothing but send a telegram, and Mr. Burns will do the rest. Now, if you will assist me by ordering out my horse, I shall be ready to start within ten minutes. I’d order the horse myself, but I don’t think your men would obey me.”

In less than the time mentioned, Jim brought the horse to the door. All his men were standing in front of their cabin, looking on. They quite naturally believed that their guest had taken alarm, and was making off to some district where he would be in less danger. When his lordship came downstairs and out to the front, Jim was overcome with astonishment. His lordship was accoutred amazingly, after the fashion of the English horseman. He had dressed himself in a riding costume such as an English gentleman would wear at home. Jim and his comrades had never seen such an outfit before, and they greeted his appearance with a roar of laughter.

Stranleigh sprang into his saddle with the agility of a cowboy, and smiling good-humouredly at his audience, raised his hat to them, and rode off.

As Stranleigh’s horse entered the forest the young man began to ponder over the problem that confronted him. When the unfortunate Armstrong borrowed money from Ricketts, he had, of course, fully explained the situation. The lender had examined the property in company with a mining engineer, and this expert doubtless took away with him some ore to analyse at his leisure. Ricketts, being in possession of the engineer’s estimate of the pit’s value, had probably formed a syndicate, or perhaps made arrangements with other capitalists, to see him through with the speculation. Undoubtedly Ricketts expected no competition when the estate was put up at auction, but if he was a shrewd man, as was almost certain to be the case, events had occurred which might stimulate thought regarding his position.

Miss Armstrong had ridden out to Bleachers, having in her possession five thousand dollars, the face value of the notes. Ricketts would wonder how she had obtained the money. She possessed only two thousand dollars on her first visit, as he knew from the fact that she had offered it to him for refraining from action until her father returned. Who could have given her the extra three thousand? Whoever had done so must have known the girl could offer no security for its repayment. He was therefore a rich man, or he could not afford to throw away a sum so considerable.

It was likely that such reflections as these had put Ricketts on the alert, and the sudden advent in Bleachers of a smartly costumed stranger, a stranger coming from the direction of the ranch, would almost certainly convince Ricketts that here was his opponent. In Bleachers, too, each inhabitant very probably knew every one else’s business. That he could elude the astute Ricketts was therefore exceedingly doubtful, and Stranleigh already knew enough about the lawlessness of the district to believe that he might ride into considerable danger. In that sparsely-settled country, people were not too scrupulous in their methods of getting rid of an enemy.

He wondered how far down the line the next town was, for he was certain that any telegraphing he did from Bleachers would speedily be known to Ricketts. Would it be possible to deflect his course, and make for the next station eastwards? He possessed no map of the State, however, and there was little chance of meeting anyone, so there seemed nothing for it but to push on to Bleachers.

At this point his meditations were interrupted by the dimly heard sound of horses’ hoofs on the trail behind him. He pulled up and listened. Pausing for a few minutes, he heard nothing more, and so went on again, with an uneasy feeling of being followed. He determined not to camp out when night overtook him, but to hurry on until he reached Bleachers. He had made a two days’ journey to reach the ranch, but that was because the laden mules were slow. Before dark he would be on the high road, and after that he could not lose his way. After all, perhaps it was better to reach Bleachers at night, and trust to rousing up the people in the one tavern of the place.

It was after midnight when his task was accomplished, and having seen to the accommodation of a very tired and hungry horse, Stranleigh threw himself down, dressed as he was, upon the bed to which he was shown by a sleepy ostler. He had had quite enough equestrian exercise for one day.

Ten o’clock had struck next morning before he woke, and went down to breakfast. His mind had become clarified, and he knew now exactly what he meant to do. To avoid the cognizance of Ricketts was impossible; of that he was certain. His first object, then, was to draw a red herring across the trail, so he enquired from the hotel-keeper the whereabouts of Ricketts’ office, and was directed to it.

He crossed the street and ascended a stair. Ricketts kept neither clerk nor office boy, so Stranleigh knocked at the door, was gruffly commanded to enter, and obeyed.

Silas A. Ricketts was seated at a large table strewn with books and legal-looking documents, and he stared in astonishment at the figure which presented itself. He, like the men on the ranch, had never seen such a costume before.

“Are you Mr. Ricketts?” asked his lordship.

“Yes, sir.”

“My name is Stranleigh. I took the liberty of calling upon you to learn, if possible, the whereabouts of Mr. Stanley Armstrong.”

“Why should I know anything of his whereabouts?” demanded Ricketts.

“Permit me to explain – ”

“Now, before we go any further,” interrupted the lawyer, “I want you to know that this is a business office, and I’m a business man. My time is valuable. I thought when you came in that you were a client. If you have come here for aimless gossip, I’m not your man. I have my own affairs to look after.”

“You state the case very lucidly, Mr. Ricketts, and I congratulate your clients. My own time is far from precious, for I’m here after sport. How valuable is your time? How much does an hour’s conference with you cost?”

“It all depends on the business transacted.”

“I can’t agree with you, Mr. Ricketts. An hour is an hour. I want to buy sixty minutes of your time and attention. What do you ask for it?”

“Five dollars!” snapped Ricketts.

Stranleigh drew forth a five-dollar bill, and placed it on the table.

“May I sit down?” he enquired. “No healthy man should be tired in the morning, but I endured a long horseback ride yesterday, and had an indifferent night’s rest.”

“Where did you come from?”

“I have been living for the past few days at Armstrong’s ranch.”

“Are you the man who was shot last week?”

“Yes; by mistake for your estimable sheriff I understand. You see, I came here from New York with a letter of introduction to Mr. Armstrong, being told that I might enjoy some good fishing and a little shooting, while Armstrong was described as a most admirable guide to these sports. I waited at the ranch day after day, hoping that Armstrong would return, but nobody seems to know yet where he is, or when he will return, so I came out here, hoping to get into telegraphic communication with him. I’m well enough now to take part in the chase, and I am loth to return to New York without having had any sport.”

“I still don’t understand why you come to me about the matter.”

“I was told by his daughter that Armstrong had written to you. She does not know in the least where he is, and so on the chance of your having received a recent letter, I have called to enquire.”

“I see. Armstrong’s letter to me was written from Chicago. It was a request for money. I had already loaned him a considerable sum and was unable to accede to his further demand. I answered to this effect, but have heard no more from him. It is likely that his own people have received word since the letter to me was written. Of course, you don’t know the date of their last letter from him?”

“Yes, I do,” said Stranleigh, “I have the letter with me. It contains all the data of which Miss Armstrong is possessed, and she gave me the letter to assist me in my search.”

He drew the letter from his pocket, and showed the date to the lawyer, who consulted his file, and then said —

“It is just as I expected. That letter was written ten days later than the one I received. Sorry I am unable to give you any definite assistance, Mr. Stranleigh.”

Stranleigh rose.

“I am sorry also. I suppose there wouldn’t be much use in telegraphing to the address he gives in Chicago?”

“I see no object in that. The place is probably a boarding-house, and he’s not there.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ricketts. Good morning.”

Stranleigh went slowly down the steep stairs, and reaching the sidewalk, almost fell into the arms of Jim Dean. Here, then, was the man who had been following him.

“Good morning, Mr. Dean.”

“Morning,” snarled Jim, briefly.

“I’ve just been up to see Mr. Ricketts, whom I think you mentioned the other day.”

“So I supposed,” agreed Dean.

“I expected to get some information from him about Mr. Armstrong, but he doesn’t appear to know very much.”

“Well, you’re the first man I ever heard say that S. A. Ricketts doesn’t know very much, but I think by and by you will find that others know a great deal.”

“Perhaps they know a great deal that is not so; there’s a lot of knowledge of that kind lying around loose.”

“Very likely,” remarked Jim, laconically, then turned on his heel and walked down the street, while Stranleigh went towards the depôt to enlist the services of a telegraph operator, and learn when the next train left for the east.

Stranleigh found the telegraph operator dozing in a wooden chair tilted back against the wall, his soft hat drawn over his eyes, his feet resting on a rung of the chair. It was a hot day, and the commercial inactivity of Bleachers called for very little exertion on the part of the telegraphist. The young man slowly roused himself as the door opened and shut. His unexpected customer nodded good morning to him.

“Could you oblige me with some forms?” asked the newcomer.

“Forms? Forms of what?” The operator’s feet came down with a crash on the board floor as he rose from his chair.

“Well, telegraph blanks, perhaps I should have said.”

“Oh, certainly.”

The young man fished one out from a drawer, and flung it on the counter.

“This will do excellently for a beginning,” said Stranleigh, “but you’d better let me have a dozen to go on with.”

The young man was waking up. He supplied the demand, and with ever-increasing amazement, watched his client write.

Stranleigh gave the New York detective particulars in great detail so far as he possessed them, asked him to spare no expense, and requested that Armstrong, when found, should be presented with two hundred dollars or more, as he required, with admonition to take the first train home, where his presence was urgently needed.

“Great Scott!” cried the operator, “is that all one message?”

“Yes,” said Stranleigh.

“Where is it going?”

“I’ve written the address as plainly as I can. It’s going to New York.”

“I say, stranger,” protested the telegraphist, “have you any idea what it costs to send a message across the Continent to New York?”

“No, I haven’t, but I expect to be in possession of that information as soon as you have mastered my handwriting, and counted the words.”

The operator was practically speechless when he reached the end of his enumeration, but after making a note on the pad, he was sufficiently recovered to remark —

“Say, stranger, you’ll have to dig up a pretty big wad to pay for this. We don’t give credit in a Western Union office.”

“I shouldn’t think of asking credit from a downtrodden monopoly,” said Stranleigh, pulling out his pocket book, and liquidating his debt. “You ought to be happy if you get a percentage.”

“Worse luck, I don’t.”

“Well, I think you’re entitled to one. I’ve given a fee this morning and received no particular equivalent for it. Do you, being a useful man, object to accepting a five-dollar bill?”

“Not on your life!” assented the operator with great earnestness.