Lightnin'

"Hello, Lem! Come an' set down," called Bill, calmly interrupting the above flow of words and addressing a tall, rather impressive and distinguished-looking man of about forty who had come up the veranda steps.

"How's it goin' Lem?" Bill asked. He turned his eyes on Thomas. "Lem's runnin' fer superior judge o' Washoe County at the fall election."

Mrs. Jones and Millie greeted Townsend cordially and the girl placed a chair for him while he turned to shake hands with Thomas, who had recovered his slightly shattered poise and risen gracefully. Townsend shook hands genially, but there was a lurking frown in Raymond Thomas's eyes – more than a suggestion that he was annoyed at the interruption, and, for reasons of his own, resented the presence of another person on the veranda. His dazzling smile was at work, however.

"It is a pleasure to meet the future legal light of Washoe County!" he said.

"That's right – better make yourself solid with him now," said Bill, throwing away the remains of the cigar and bringing out his tobacco and papers. There was something in his voice that somehow did not bring a laugh.

"Why, daddy!" cried Millie. "I don't think that's funny at all!"

Bill merely glanced at her and went on rolling his cigarette. Thomas had given Bill a keen, puzzled look; but no one could ever tell from Lightnin's expression whether or not any special meaning lay back of his words.

Mrs. Jones created a diversion. Eagerly she imparted Bill's great idea to Townsend and their intention of carrying it out at once. Millie joined in and asked him if he would help. He declared himself at their immediate disposal.

"I'm very glad you are going to do it, mother!" he said. "In my judgment, it is an excellent solution of your problem. You will recall that I suggested this – "

"But I beat you to it, Lem!" Bill cut in quickly. "Forethought and execution is the whole carnage!"

Raymond Thomas had been listening closely. If there was disapproval and annoyance at the turn things were taking, it did not show in his face.

"But are you sure this venture will pay these good friends of ours, Mr. Townsend?" he asked, in a tone of grave doubt. "Those divorce people – they are mostly women, you know – are generally on short rations, though they have been used to having a lot of money to spend. I'm afraid they'll demand comforts and luxuries that will run expenses into big figures, and they won't want to pay enough to make a reasonable margin of profit."

"I am certain it will pay splendidly!" replied Townsend. "Look at the Reno hotels! Oh yes, I strongly advise our friends to tackle it!"

Thomas frowned slightly. "Perhaps you are right, Mr. Townsend. I presume you have investigated the matter. But there is another point to consider. I don't think – well, personally, I do not think it is altogether a good plan to – to bring women of that sort into contact with women like Mrs. Jones and Miss Mildred."

He turned to Millie, his expression one of delicate concern and appeal.

"It's fine of you to speak like that, Mr. Thomas," she said, flushing slightly, "but mother and I have talked over all that. We do not mind. And, besides, I don't think it right for us to feel that way about it. I'm sure most of those women are nice – and maybe they need just the sympathy and care we can give them."

Lemuel Townsend, on hearing Thomas's statement, had sat bolt upright. "Sir," he said, in tones of personal injury, adjusting his glasses and eying Thomas from head to foot, "I think that a rather broad and sweeping statement for you to make. Miss Mildred is perfectly correct in her surmise. I must remind you that I am a Nevada attorney. I have known, in my life, many of these young women, and I have found them most estimable!"

"Ye like 'em, don't you, Lem?" remarked Bill, chuckling.

Townsend flushed; he looked appealingly at Mrs. Jones and Millie, his judicial manner gone. It must be confessed that Millie suppressed something resembling a giggle.

"You old fogies up here in the mountains have the wrong idea!" Townsend said, turning to Bill. "Why should two people be hitched together when they are pulling in different directions? That doesn't get them any place." He rose and reached for his hat on the veranda rail. "Well, I must be off. I'll get to work at once, Mrs. Jones. The Reno papers shall have your ad. to-morrow, and I'll get busy on some other things at once."

The two women rose, profuse in their thanks, which he smilingly waved aside. With a nod to Bill, and a rather formal bow to Thomas, he went down the steps.

Thomas resumed his seat and his dazzling smile; there was nothing in his manner to show that he had been thinking quickly. He crossed his legs easily and drew out another cigar.

"Have you ever thought of selling the place, Mrs. Jones?" he asked, suddenly.

"Why – why, no! Can't say as we have!" she answered, evidently surprised. "An' I don't know as we could if we wanted to. Ain't much call for a place like this, Mr. Thomas!"

"But you can't always tell about these things, my dear lady," said Thomas, addressing himself exclusively to Mrs. Jones. "It might not be so hard to find a purchaser, and at a good price, too."

"I – I don't think Bill would like to sell," she replied, doubtfully. "Would you, Bill?"

Her husband made no reply. He sat gazing straight ahead, his eyes half shut as usual.

"Perhaps Mr. Jones is indifferent on the subject," Thomas resumed. "Now I am sure that if he felt that you and Miss Mildred were well provided – "

"Say, you're kinder full of ideas yourself, ain't you?" Bill interrupted, unexpectedly turning and bringing his thin, unshaven face close to the other man's, quite unwonted force and anger in his manner.

"Daddy!" Millie cried, while his wife stared at him.

The anger left his face and the old, shrewd, humorous light crept back into his eyes.

"I don't believe in more 'n one idea at a time," he said, grinning. "No – I guess mother an' me an' Millie 'll try out that little busted-heart notion o' mine first, afore we tackles any other notions. Guess I'll turn in, mother – had a kinder tall day. Look sorter all in yourself. Better come along. Tirin' business, havin' ideas. If Mr. Thomas 'ain't been entertained ernough, maybe Millie 'll stay down an' keep the show goin'." And he got up slowly, stuck his hands in his pockets, and ambled into the house.

"I think we'd better go in, too, mother," said Millie, rising. "I know you're just fagged out, and it's late, anyway. You won't mind if we leave you to finish your cigar, Mr. Thomas, will you?"

"Not at all! Not at all!" Thomas exclaimed, with his smile. "A thousand pardons for keeping you up so late – it was thoughtless of me!"

He sprang to the screen door, held it open for them, and called a cheery "Good-night!" as they disappeared up the stairs. Then he sat down again and thoughtfully finished his cigar. He appeared to have a lot to think about, to figure out. When finally he went up to his own room a light burned there for an hour longer.

In the morning Bill Jones was up and about unwontedly early. He got himself some breakfast, then went to the little desk where the few boarders habitually left the letters they had written the night before for the outgoing mail, which he took to the post-office. He found some half-dozen letters on the desk this morning, and he examined the addresses deliberately. One in particular seemed to interest him immensely. It was in a handwriting he had seen before and recognized as that of Raymond Thomas. He put a finger to his cheek and gazed up at the ceiling – which is the same as saying that Bill Jones was making a careful mental note of the name and address on that letter. It was addressed to one Everett Hammone, the Golden Gate Land Company, San Francisco. It was quite obvious that Bill Jones had a strong desire to know the contents of that letter; but he dropped it carelessly among the rest, bundled them up with a string and stuffed them in his pocket as he strolled out of the house on his daily journey.

Out on the trail a bit, his ambling feet came to a pause. He took out his tobacco and papers and rolled a cigarette. Lighting it, he turned around and gazed up the mountain, his eyes blinking in the morning sunlight as they rested on the dot that was John Marvin's cabin. For a moment it seemed as if Bill had it in mind to change his direction and go up the mountain.

"I sure would like to have er talk with John," he mused. "Sure would. 'Ain't had a talk with him for some time. But I guess as John is pretty put to it with that there timber proposition – things must be gittin' some excited up there! Maybe I'll go up to-morrer."

And having characteristically decided to do it to-morrow, Bill continued his morning stroll toward the post-office.

CHAPTER III

For reasons obvious and otherwise, Bill Jones did not carry out his intention of visiting John Marvin's cabin "to-morrow." In spite of himself, Bill naturally was drawn into the vortex of work and preparation necessary to turning his home into the Calivada Hotel. The period of change was a nightmare to Bill, the only leaven in his misery being the astonishing fact that he actually evolved quite a number of ideas – ideas which Mrs. Jones, Millie, and Lem Townsend not only O.K.'d, but put into instant execution – and found exceedingly workable. He made many attempts to disappear from the premises, but his wife, or Millie, or Lem always had an eye on him and managed to frustrate his hasty sorties or more subtle schemes to take French leave. This went on day after day, and now Bill had endured nearly six weeks of more or less pleasantly enforced captivity.

In the mean time the mysterious "excitement" up the mountain about which Bill had mused that morning on the trail had come to a head, and John Marvin's little cabin seemed to be the center of it.

It was shortly after sundown one evening that a big, red-headed lumberjack, obviously a Swede, put his head in the door of the cabin and glanced quickly around the one room. Seeing that there was no one inside, he entered, closing the door behind him. Going to the window, he looked out through the thick grove of pines and cedars, but evidently could see no one. He was breathing hard, as if from running, and he sank into a chair.

His rest was short-lived. There was a rap at the door, which was instantly pushed open, and a lanky, sinewy man in sombrero and riding-breeches, with two revolvers at the belt, strode in. The Swede, on his feet in an instant, recognized the intruder as Nevin Blodgett, sheriff of Washoe County.

"What you want?" the lumberjack asked, in his heavy voice.

The sheriff did not answer at once, but took a quick survey of the cabin's contents, his eyes lighting up as they rested upon the unwashed dishes on the table, telling of a recent meal. There was a self-satisfied swagger about the sheriff as he walked up to the Swede.

"You're John Marvin, ain't you?" he demanded.

"No, sir," replied the Swede, with a heavy frown.

The sheriff looked puzzled for a moment; then it seemed to dawn on him that it was just possible that a big, red-headed Swede was not likely to be John Marvin.

"Well!" he snapped. "Then I guess you're working for him, ain't you?"

The lumberjack shook his head and went close to Blodgett, emphasizing his words, "Who I work for bane my business!" There was no fear in his manner as he stood looking into his interrogator's face with a grin that boded ill for any one looking for trouble.

Blodgett backed away, his eyes following the breadth of the Swede's husky shoulders and the line of his powerful arms.

"None of that!" he said. "You're with the gang that's been chopping down that timber out there. You know well enough that Marvin's stealing that timber, don't you?"

"Stealing?"

"Yes! He's stealing it from the Pacific Railroad Company, and I'm here to arrest him for it!"

"Humph!" The Swede shrugged his shoulders and wheeled around, gazing anxiously out of the window, where the path through the forest was visible.

"You know where he is, don't you?" Blodgett asked.

"He gone away."

"Where?" Blodgett stamped his spurred boot.

"I doan' know."

"When did he go?"

"Maybe – yesterday."

"When's he coming back?"

"I doan' think he coomin' back." The Swede deliberately put a kettle on the stove and whistled indifferently.

Blodgett was evidently torn between a desire to maintain his dignity and authority as sheriff and a rather healthy reluctance to have any trouble with the great, hulking Swede.

"It's going to be hard for you if you're lying – "

He got no farther. The Swede stepped up to him with blazing eyes.

"You call me liar?" he yelled. "I throw you out the door!"

Blodgett backed quickly away – very quickly. His hand sought the latch behind him. "If you threaten me, the next thing you know you'll find yourself in jail!" he cried, shaking his fist.

The Swede's only answer was an ugly grin. Blodgett opened the door, slamming it after him as he went away.

The big lumberjack stood quiet for several minutes, listening to the sounds of retreat beaten by the hoofs of Blodgett's horse. Assured that the sheriff was safely out of the way, he crept to the window, thrust his head over the sill, and gave a low whistle.

There was a stir in the soap-plant outside and Marvin emerged, hurried around to the door, and entered the cabin.

"Good work!" he exclaimed, laughing and clapping the grinning Swede on the back. "You got rid of him very well, Oscar! Now I'll go on with my supper!"

He took off his coat and went over to the stove, where he began to shake the damper to let out the ashes. Oscar came and stood beside him.

"He tell me – "

"I know what he told you," Marvin interrupted, continuing to shake the ashes.

"Do that land belong to the railroad?" There was a slight note of alarm in the Swede's voice.

"It does now, Oscar," Marvin replied, throwing some paper and wood into the stove and lighting it; "but I sold the timber a long time before the railroad got the property, and I'm trying to save the timber for the man who bought it from me."

"Oh!" The Swede turned toward the door, as if to go. "Bane they arrest you for that?"

"Not unless they find me!" Marvin chuckled.

"An' me an' the boys – can they arrest oos?"

"No, Oscar," Marvin laughingly reassured him. "You fellows are working for me and you are not supposed to know anything about my affairs."

"Oh!" The Swede gave a satisfied nod of his head. "I see – you know that from – from your books." He jerked his thumb toward a table in the corner on which some law-books stood.

"Yes," said Marvin, looking into the coffee-pot. "Anyhow, you'll be gone in the morning. The job's done, thanks to you and the boys."

The lumberjack stood for a moment, nodding his red head; then he turned slowly and went out.

Marvin put the coffee-pot on the stove, watched it a minute, and then sank thoughtfully into the shabby but comfortable arm-chair at the end of his reading-table – which also served as a dining-table. He sat there for several minutes – until the coffee, boiling over on the stove, brought him out of his reverie and to his feet. At the same moment he caught the sound of remote but high words coming from that part of his land where the recently cut timber was stacked.

"I tell you he bane gone away!" he heard, in Oscar's heavy, threatening voice.

Hurriedly pushing the coffee-pot on to the back of the stove, he sprang to the door, but before he could reach it it was thrust in against him and he was thrown back into the middle of the room, where he stood, perforce, facing a tall, athletic-looking man in motor togs. The man's strong, intellectual face, undoubtedly pleasant and agreeable ordinarily, was now clouded with anger, his jaw set and grim.

At sight of him, however, Marvin's fists unclenched and he smiled amiably, despite the other's attitude.

"Why, hello, Mr. Harper!" he exclaimed, holding out his hand. "You're just the man I've been looking for! But you seem a bit upset. What's the trouble?"

Ignoring the outstretched hand, Harper threw off his duster and tossed it, with his gloves, on the table.

"Just a minute, young man," he said, with a grim tightening of his jaw and his keen eyes boring into Marvin's. "Just a minute. I came here to have a look for myself and to see precisely where I stand." He turned and carefully closed the door.

Marvin went to the stove and calmly poured himself a cup of coffee. "Well," he remarked, with a laugh, "won't you have a chair and some coffee first – you can shoot just as easily sitting down."

Harper, his hand at his belt, glared at him.

"You don't think I mean business, do you?" he said, grimly. "Or perhaps you think you have beaten me to it, eh? Now what sort of man are you and what nice little game is this you are playing? Here I buy a grove of timber from you, and while my back is turned you sell the property, timber and all, to the railroad! I want an explanation and I want it now!"

"You have the facts a bit mixed up," Marvin replied, still smiling and nodding toward the chair, at the same time placing the coffee on the table. "Sit down and we'll talk it over – and I think you'll decide not to shoot!"

Harper, however, was adamant.

"All right," said Marvin. "In the first place, when I sold you the timber you said you were going to cut it at once – "

"Correct – correct! But something came up and I could not attend to it – and I don't see how that exculpates you in the least!"

"It doesn't," replied Marvin, adding, as he took up his coffee, "if you won't join me, I'll have to go it alone, as this is the first I've had since morning. Well, when I sold you that timber I never thought I would sell any of this property. My mother loved every inch of it. It was our dream that when I received my diploma and established a practice we would make a home here; but she was taken sick – "

"Yes, I remember your telling me about her being in the hospital." Harper's voice softened a bit.

Marvin was silent a moment. "I took her to San Francisco. She died there."

Harper fumbled with the buckle of his belt. His heart went out to the younger man; yet he felt that right was on his side. He picked up a picture of Mrs. Marvin that stood in a small frame on the table. "I'm deeply sorry," he said, softly. "I did not know."

"There is no need to apologize," Marvin answered, quietly. "You have a perfect right to demand an explanation about that timber." With a last swallow of coffee, he put down his cup and stood squarely facing Harper, and his own expression was grim as he continued:

"When we got to San Francisco – mother and I – a lawyer in whose office I had been a student came to the hospital and got into her good graces. He had taken a great interest in me and I would have taken an oath as to his integrity. But when I came up here to sell you the timber – and mother and I needed the money desperately at the time – this man took advantage of my absence to persuade mother to deed him fifty acres, nearly the whole of the property! It was to be a pleasant surprise for me when I returned! Instead of cash, he gave her a batch of stock in the Golden Gate Land Company, stock of which I have been unable to dispose. And the next day he resold the property to the Pacific Railroad Company for three or four times the price represented by the stock he gave mother. I found that out later, of course. Well, after mother's death I hurried up here, only to discover that you had not cut the timber I sold you before the property was sold. I got busy at once and have been staying on here until the gang out there finished cutting it and piling it on what is left to me of the property. Your timber is ready for you, Mr. Harper, any time you are ready to haul it away."

It was Harper's turn to put out his hand. "I'm mighty sorry I misunderstood you, Marvin!" he exclaimed, as the latter returned the clasp. "But look here! Can't you do anything about this fellow, this lawyer? What's the rascal's name?"

"Raymond Thomas. He's up in these parts quite frequently of late. Made himself solid with some dear friends of mine, I'm sorry to say, and I'm worried about it. I can't help believing that he's up to some new game, though I can't just see what it is. He's a remarkably smooth customer. It's very hard to pin anything on him. I'm going to make him disgorge my property if I can, but I shall have a difficult legal fight on my hands."

Harper nodded understandingly. "I see, I see – covered himself cleverly. I don't know the gentleman, but I'll be only too glad to do anything to help you, Marvin." He took a turn about the room, while Marvin leaned against the table. "I'll have the timber hauled away at once. I didn't have it cut, myself, because – well, I've had a lot of trouble myself. Had a strike at the mill, and – oh, hang it all! It's my wife, Marvin! She's packed up in a hurry and left me!"

He flung himself into the chair and stared ruefully, comically, at the younger man, who, not knowing what to say, said nothing.

"I didn't mind the strike so much, nor this timber mix-up!" Harper rushed on, with the air of a man who must tell some one or explode. "It was my wife, young man! It's her being so unreasonable that makes me sore. I bought her a present when I was East and had it shipped to the office. It happened to arrive about the time Mrs. Harper was to come to the office in the machine to take me home, and she walked in just as I was showing it to my stenographer. Of course my wife thought I bought it for Miss Robbins, and – well, what's the use of talking about it?"

With a gesture of dismissal for the subject, he stood up and took out a wallet.

"How much do I owe you?" he asked. "I figured it would cost about eight hundred dollars to do that job out there – "

Marvin put up a deprecatory hand. "I can't take it now, Mr. Harper," he interrupted. "You haven't got that timber yet, and – "

"The railroad will have some job on its hands to get it away from me!" said Harper. "And unless they do I owe you eight hundred dollars – do you understand?"

A faint noise outside broke into their conversation. With a warning gesture, Marvin tiptoed to the door and put his ear against it. Harper, thinking that it might be a railroad employee who had come to eavesdrop in order to report their plans, stood with his jaw set, his hand on the revolver at his belt. With a quick movement Marvin jerked open the door.

Instead of a railroad employee, or the sheriff, it was only Lightnin' Bill Jones who stood there, leaning idly against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets. He ambled silently into the middle of the room, his half-shut eyes blinking in the sudden light.

"I guess I must 'a' been out there some time, come to think of it," he remarked, meditatively, and addressing himself to the ceiling, quite as if he were alone. Then he turned carelessly to Marvin.

"I knocked, too – but I guess maybe you wasn't expectin' me."

CHAPTER IV

With a laugh, Marvin shut the door. "It's all right," he said, winking at Harper. Smiling, he went up to Bill and swung him around to face him.

"Hello, Lightnin'!" he exclaimed. "I'm mighty glad to see you. What do you mean by staying away from me all this time? And you were so quiet and mysterious outside there that we thought some one was spying on us!"

"I was a spy once – with Buffalo Bill," said Lightnin', conversationally. He stared interestedly at Harper. "Friend of yours, John?"

"This is Lightnin' Bill Jones, Mr. Harper. This is the gentleman I sold that timber to, Bill." The two men acknowledged the introduction.

"Have you had any supper, Bill?" Marvin asked, resuming operations at the stove. "If not, you'd better stop and have it with me."

Bill shook his head with an air of importance. "No; can't stop. Got to be home at the hotel at supper-time to see that everythin's goin' right. What time is it now?"

"Seven o'clock."

Bill shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, meditated, and announced: "Well, maybe they can get along without me. I got everythin' sys-sys-matized."

Marvin glanced at him quickly. "Bill, I'm afraid you've been having a drink or two?"

"Nope. Nope!" Bill repeated, with the debonair innocence of a mischievous and prevaricating school-boy. "I was just sayin' good-by to the boys out there." He signified with a jerk of his head that the lumberjacks were responsible if he seemed in any way elated. "You see, they're breakin' up camp – an' I didn't want to hurt their feelin's, as they're all friends o' mine."