CHAPTER VIII
THE GOVERNOR'S SON
After a conference with Walker in the middle of the morning, Bentleydecided that it would be well to wait until afternoon before beginninganew their search for the doctor. In case he had been called in hisprofessional capacity--for people were being born in Comanche, aselsewhere--it would be exceedingly embarrassing to him to have theauthorities lay hands on him as an estray.
"But his instrument-case is under his cot in the tent," persisted Agnes,who was for immediate action.
"He may have had an emergency call out of the crowd," explainedBentley.
In spite of his faith in the doctor, he was beginning to lean towardWalker's view of it. Slavens was big enough to take care of himself, andexperienced enough to keep his fingers out of other people's porridge.Besides that, there had to be a motive behind crime, and he knew of nonein the doctor's case. He was not the kind of man that the sluggers andholdups of the place practiced upon, sober and straight as he always hadbeen. Then it must be, argued Bentley, that the doctor had his ownreason for remaining away. His unexpected luck might have unbalanced himand set him off on a celebration such as was common in such cases.
"Very well," agreed Agnes. "I'll wait until noon, and then I'm going tothe police."
Being a regularly incorporated city, Comanche had its police force.There were four patrolmen parading about in dusty _deshabille_ withprominent firearms appended, and a chief who presided over them in alittle box-house, where he might be seen with his coat off and a diamondin the front of his white shirt, smoking cigars all day, his heels onthe window-sill.
As Dr. Slavens had not appeared at the time designated as her limit byAgnes, Bentley went with her to the chief's office to place the matterbefore him. It was well that they did not go there for sympathy, andunfortunate that they expected help. The chief received them withdisdainful aloofness which amounted almost to contempt. He seemed toregard their appeal to him for the elucidation of the doctor's mysteryas an affront.
The chief was a short man, who vainly believed that he could sustain histrousers in dignified position about his hipless body with a belt. Theresult of this misplaced confidence was a gap between waistcoat andpantaloons, in which his white shirt appeared like a zebra's stripe.
He was a much-bedizened and garnitured man, for all that he lacked acoat to hang his ornaments upon. Stones of doubtful value andunmistakable size ornamented the rings upon his stocky fingers, anddangled in an elaborate "charm" upon the chain of his watch. The onlyname they ever addressed him by in Comanche other than his officialtitle was Ten-Gallon. Whether this had its origin in his capacity, orhis similarity of build to a keg, is not known, but he accepted it withcomplacency and answered to it with pride.
Ten-Gallon was the chief guardian of the interests of the gamblers'trust of Comanche, which was responsible for his elevation tooffice--for even the office itself--and which contributed the fund outof which his salary came. It is a curious anomaly of civilization,everywhere under the flag which stretched its stripes in the wind abovethe little land-office at Comanche, that law-breaking thrives mostprosperously under the protection of law.
Gambling in itself had not been prohibited by statute at that time inWyoming, though its most profitable side diversions--such as droppingparalyzing poisons in a man's drink, snatching his money and clearingout with it, cracking him on the head with a leaden billet, or standinghim up at the point of a pistol and rifling him--were, as now,discountenanced under the laws.
But what profit is there in gambling if the hangers-on, the cappers, thesteerers, and the snatchers of crumbs in all cannot find protectionunder the flag and its institutions? That was what the gamblers' trustof Comanche wanted to know. In order to insure it they had the cityincorporated, and put in a good, limber-wristed bartender as chief ofpolice.
It was to that dignitary that Dr. Slavens' friends had come with theirappeal for assistance. There was discouragement in the very air thatsurrounded the chief, and in the indifference with which he heard theirreport. He looked at Agnes with the slinking familiarity of a man whoknows but one kind of woman, and judges the world of women thereby. Shecolored under the insult of his eyes, and Bentley, even-tempered andslow to wrath as he was, felt himself firing to fighting pitch.
"Well," said the chief, turning from them presently with a long gape,terminating in a ructatious sigh, "I'll shake out all the drunks in thecalaboose this afternoon, and if your friend's among 'em I'll send himon over to you. No harm could happen to him here in Comanche. He'd be assafe here, night or day, as he would be playin' tennis in the back yardat home."
The chief mentioned that game with scorn and curling of the lip. Then hegazed out of the window vacuously, as if he had forgotten them, hismashed cigar smoking foully between his gemmed fingers.
Bentley looked at Agnes in amazed indignation. When he squared off as ifto read his mind to the chief she checked him, and laid her hand on hisarm with a compelling pressure toward the door.
"That man's as crooked as the river over there!" he exclaimed when theyhad regained the sunlight outside the smoke-polluted office.
"That's plain," she agreed; "and it doesn't mitigate my fears for thedoctor's safety in the least."
"Walker and I were wrong in our opinion; something has happened toSlavens," said Bentley.
"Your opinion?" she questioned.
"Well, I should say Walker's rather," he corrected. "I only concurredweakly along toward the end. Walker has held out all the time thatSlavens went out to hold a celebration all by himself."
"No; he didn't do that," said she calmly. "I thought so for a littlewhile this morning, too. But I know he didn't. Do you suppose----"
She stopped, as if considering something too extravagant to utter.
"Suppose?" he repeated.
"He talked a good deal about going into the canyon to clear up themystery of that newspaperman and earn the reward," said she.
Bentley shook his head.
"He'd hardly start at night and without preparation."
"He seemed to be a man of peculiar moods. If it came over him suddenlyand strongly in an hour of depression he might even go to that desperatelength. He believed the difficulties of the canyon were largelyexaggerated, anyhow. Once he told me that he would undertake to gothrough it with nothing more than a pair of moccasins and a lantern. Itwas his theory that a man would need the moccasins for clinging to therocks."
"It's a queer notion," said Bentley reflectively.
"Do you think----" she began, halting her words again and looking at himwith distended eyes.
"There's no telling what a man might do when desperate and despondent,"he answered. "But I don't believe he'd go without leaving some word, orat least making some disposition of his property in writing, in case henever returned. We'll open his bags and see what we can find."
They hurried forward to carry out this intention.
The doctor's baggage consisted of his battered suitcase and the blackbag which contained his instruments. Neither was locked, but neithercontained any word to explain where he had gone, nor to give support tothe belief that he had intended going anywhere.
Walker, whom Bentley and Agnes rejoined at the camp, sat pondering theinformation supplied by the girl concerning the doctor's designs on thecanyon.
"I'll tell you," he declared at length, as if talking to himself, "thatman had the nerve to tackle it!"
Agnes looked at him, her face quickening.
"What do you know about him?" she asked.
"I know," said Walker mysteriously, with no intention of bringing hisown indiscretions up for the censure of June and her severe mother,"that he had courage enough to tackle anything. I've seen proof of thatright here in Comanche, and I want to tell you people that doctor wasn'tany man's coward."
"Thank you for saying that," blurted Agnes, wholly unintentionally, aglow of pride on her cheeks.
Mrs. Reed and June looked at her, the widow with a severe opening of herm
outh, out of which no sound came; June with a smile behind her hand.
Walker shook his head.
"He had the courage," said he, "but he had too much sense to try to gothrough that canyon. No white man ever went in there and came out alive.And even if the doctor had wanted to go he wouldn't have started atnight."
"I don't know that it would make much difference," said Agnes. "It'salways night in that terrible canyon."
"And that's so, too," Walker agreed. "I think I'll go over there andtake a look around."
"Do you mind if Mr. Bentley and I go with you?" Agnes asked.
"I was going to suggest it," Walker replied, looking longingly at June.
June asked permission with her eyes; Mrs. Reed nodded, having overcomeher fears of Walker, owing to the substantial credentials which he wasable to show. Mrs. Mann put on her hat and slipped her black bag a bitfarther up her arm, and stood ready in a moment to join the expedition.Mrs. Reed was to remain alone in camp to watch things, for they had beenwarned that morning by the hotel people against a band of visitingIndians, who picked up anything and everything that was not anchored atleast at one end.
It was late in the afternoon; the sun was low when they reached theriver. There wasn't anything to be made out of the footprints there. Themouth of the canyon had been visited by a great many tourists, some ofwhom had ventured within a little way to bring out stones for mementosof their daring days of fearsome adventures in the West.
The party stood looking into the mouth of the narrow slit between thehigh-towering walls. Down there it was already dark; the eye couldpierce the gloom but a little way.
"There are places in there where the sun never shines, even for a seconda day," Walker declared. "And that water goes through there with powerenough in it to grind a man's bones against the rocks. There must be afall of more than a thousand feet."
"I don't believe he went in there," said Agnes with finality, afterstanding as if trance-bound for a long time, gazing after the foam-whiteriver as it roared into the echoing depths.
"No," Walker agreed. "He had too much sense for that."
They were all cheered and lightened by this conclusion. A daylight studyof the terrors of the place was sufficient to convince anybody that aman would have to be driven to desperate lengths before he would venturefor the dubious reward or narrow notoriety to be gained by followingthat wild river through its dark way.
"I camped over at the other side one summer," Walker told them as theyturned away to go back to Comanche, "and I used to pick up things thathad come through--boards and things that people had dropped in over atMeander. It pounds things up, I tell you!"
"Did you ever pick up any gold on the other side?" asked June.
"I never found a trace of any," said Walker. "I think that's all asheep-herder's yarn."
They saw one of the police force in conversation with Mrs. Reed in frontof the tent as they drew near, and hastened forward in the hope that hehad brought news of the missing man. Mrs. Reed received them withshocked expression, and a gesture of the hands denoting hopelessness forthe salvation of the world.
"It's scandalous!" she declared.
The policeman, a carpenterly looking man full of sandy hairs, stood by,grinning.
"What is it, Mother?" asked June.
"I'll not repeat what he says," announced Mrs. Reed. "Iwill--not--repeat--it!"
They turned to the officer, who wore his tarnished badge--evidentlybought after long service in a pawn-shop at Cheyenne--pinned to hissuspender at a point where he could turn his eye down on it whenever thelonging, or a desire to feed upon the pride of his official importance,overcame him.
"I was tellin' her that the chief sent me over to say that your friend,the doctor, was seen last night at half-past two in the mornin', jaggedup so tight he took two steps back'ards for every one he went ahead. Thechief told me to tell you he was layin' under a tent somewhere, and thathe'd be as safe as a calf in a barn. I hope that's what you wanted toknow."
The policeman turned and went his dusty way after delivering his messagefrom the chief, the wagon-spoke which he carried at the end of a thongtwirling at his wrist.
Walker looked around with a little flash of triumph in his eyes, for aman likes to be vindicated in his opinion, even at the expense of hisfriends' honor. But the gust of pain and disappointment which he sawsweep over Agnes' face set him back with a sudden wrench.
"Say," said he with an assumption of indignation which he did notaltogether feel, "I don't believe that!"
"Nor I," declared Bentley, with no need of assuming a part to say it. "Iheard a man describing a crook the other day. He said the fellow was socrooked that if you were to shoot him in the top of the head the bulletwould make seven holes in his body before it hit the ground. That's thekind of a man that chief is."
"Well, it's scandalous!" declared Mrs. Reed. "Even it he comes back, hisconduct is simply disgusting, and I'll never permit him to address aword to my daughter again!"
Agnes had drawn a little apart from them. She had no heart to come toDr. Slavens' defense, although she knew that the charge was calumnious.But it furnished her a sudden and new train of thought. What interesthad the chief of police in circulating such a report? Was the motive forDr. Slavens' disappearance behind that insidious attempt to discredithim, and fasten a character upon him wholly foreign to his own?
It was a matter worth looking into. Had Dr. Slavens incurred, somehow,the disfavor of the vicious element which was the backbone of the place?And had he paid the penalty of such temerity, perhaps with his life?
Thinking over the futility of a further appeal to the authorities there,and wondering where she could turn for honest assistance beyond WilliamBentley, who could do no more than herself, Agnes walked away from thecamp a short distance, retracing the way they had come.
"Of all the deluded, deceived creatures!" said Mrs. Reed.
"Hush-sh-sh!" said the miller's wife.
It was almost sunset when Agnes, overtaking her thoughts, halted with astart to find that she had gone half the distance back to the river.Hoping that they would not be waiting supper on her account, she turnedand hurried back.
Meanwhile, at camp there had been a little running-up of excitement,occasioned by the arrival of the Governor's son, who came on acommission from his mother and sister, bearing a note of invitation toMrs. Reed, her sister, Mrs. Mann, and June Reed.
Jerry Boyle--for that was the name of the Governor's son--was greatlysurprised to find his friend, Joe Walker, in the camp. But that onlymade it easier for him, he declared, seeing that Walker could vouch forhim and put him on unquestionable terms at once.
"Just as if it were necessary!" exclaimed Mrs. Reed, glowing withpleasure. "And you the brother of my daughter's dearest friend!"
Jerry Boyle seemed older by ten years than Walker. He was a tall man,with a little forward bend to him that gave him an awkward cast. He wasdark-skinned and big-nosed, with black eyebrows which met at its bridgeand appeared to threaten an invasion of that structure. Littlesensitive, expressive ripples ran over his face as he talked, and thatwas all the time. For Boyle was as voluble as a political press-agent.
Bentley recognized him, even before he was introduced, as the man whomWalker had pointed out in the dance-house the night before. He saidnothing about that, but he smiled to himself when he recalled Walker'sanxiety to leave the place. It was a sort of guilty honor, he thought,such as that which was anciently supposed to stand between thieves.
As Agnes approached, Boyle was in the middle of a story of hisexperiences in Comanche during the days of its infancy. Mrs. Reed, busyabout the stove, had grown so deeply interested that she stood with alamb chop in her hand poised above the frying-pan, her face all smiles.Boyle was seated on a low box, and some of the others were standingaround him, hiding him from Agnes, who stopped near the stove oncatching the sound of the new voice. Mrs. Reed nodded reassuringly.
"It's the Governor's son," said she.
Boyle caught
sight of Agnes at that moment and jumped to his feet.Walker turned to introduce him.
"No need," said Boyle, striding forward to their great amazement, hishand outstretched. "Miss Gates and I are old friends."
Agnes drew back with a frightened, shrinking start, her face verywhite.
"I beg your pardon, sir!" she protested with some little show ofindignation.
"This is Miss Horton," said Walker, coming to her rescue withconsiderable presence. "She's one of us."
Boyle stammered, staring in amazement.
"I apologize to Miss Horton," said he with something like an insolentemphasis upon the name. "The resemblance is remarkable, believe me!"
Agnes inclined her head in cold acknowledgment, as if afraid to trusther tongue, and passed on into the tent. Boyle stared after her, and afeeling that there was something out of tune seemed to fall upon theparty waiting there for supper in the red sunset.
Boyle forgot the rest of his story, and the others forgot to ask him toresume it. He repeated something about remarkable resemblances, andseemed to have fallen into a period of abstraction, from which he rousedhimself presently with a short, grunting laugh.
"I must be gettin' on," said he, arising and taking his cowboy hat fromthe table, where it lay among the plates--to the great satisfaction anddelight of Mrs. Mann, who believed that she had met a real westerner atlast.
"Oh, stay for supper!" pleaded June.
"You'll get enough of me when you come out to the ranch," he laughed,giving her cheek a brotherly pinch.
While Mrs. Reed would have resented such familiarity with June's cheekon the part of Mr. Walker, or even Mr. Bentley, she took it as an act ofcondescension and compliment on the part of the Governor's son, andsmiled.
Walker went off down the street with Boyle, to speed him on his way. TheGovernor's son was to send out to the ranch, some forty miles distant,for a conveyance to carry Mrs. Reed and her party thither. It was to bethere early on the morning of the second day from that time, that being,for that country, only an easy day's drive for a double team to ademocrat wagon.
There was an uncomfortable air of uneasiness and constraint upon themduring supper and afterward, a period usually filled with banter andchatter, and shrill laughter from June. They were not able to get clearof the suspicion raised by Boyle's apparent recognition of Agnes and herdenial that she was Miss Gates. The two older women especially seemed tobelieve that Agnes had been guilty of some serious misdemeanor in herpast.
"He _wasn't_ mistaken in her identity," whispered Mrs. Reed to Mrs. Mannwhen Agnes went in for a wrap as the chill of night began to settle.
Mrs. Mann, charitable and romantic as she was in her mild way, shook herhead sadly.
"I'm afraid he wasn't," said she.
"I'm sorry that I can't take June away from here tomorrow," lamentedMrs. Reed. "There's something hidden in that woman's life!"
Agnes had come out silently, as anyone must have come over thatvelvet-soft earth, which much trampling only made the softer. In thegloom she stood just behind Mrs. Reed. That pure-minded lady did notknow that she was there, and was unable to see the rolling warning inher sister's eyes.
"Would you mind walking over to the stage-office with me, Mr. Bentley?"asked Agnes. "I want to engage passage to Meander for tomorrow."
On the way to the stage-office they talked matters over between them.Her purpose in going to Meander was, primarily, to enlist the sheriff ofthe county in the search for Dr. Slavens, and, remotely, to be therewhen her day came for filing on a piece of land.
"I made up my mind to do it after we came back from the canyon," sheexplained. "There's nothing more to be hoped for here. That story thepolice told us only strengthens my belief that a crime has beencommitted, and in my opinion that chief knows all about it, too."
She said nothing of Boyle and the start that his salutation had givenher. Whatever Bentley thought of that incident he kept to himself. Butthere was one thing in connection with Boyle's visit which he felt thatshe should know.
"The Governor's son told Walker that he saw the doctor late last nightin about the same condition as that policeman described," he said. "Itcame up when Walker asked Boyle to keep an eye open and let us know ifhe happened to run across him."
"Well, in spite of the high authority, I don't believe it," said shewith undisturbed conviction.
For a little while Bentley walked on beside her in silence. When hespoke there was the softness of reverence in his voice.
"If I had the faith of a good woman in such measure as that," said he,"I'd think I was next door to heaven!"
"It is the being who inspires faith that is more admirable than thefaith itself, it seems to me," she rejoined. "Faith has lived in many aguilty heart--faith in somebody, something."
"Yes," he agreed gently. And then, after a little while: "Yes."
"Will you be returning to the East soon?" she asked.
"I've been thinking some of going on to Meander to get a fullerimpression of this country and see how the boy is getting on," hereplied.
"Then go with me," she invited.
"I wondered if you had faith enough in me to ask me," he laughed.
There was an extra stage out the next morning, owing to the movementtoward Meander of people who must file on their claims within the nextten days. Smith was to drive it. He was in the office when theyarrived.
"I think I'll assume the responsibility of taking the doctor's two bagswith me," said Bentley.
She agreed that there was little use in leaving them behind. Walker wasto go to his ranch the next day; the others would break camp thefollowing morning. There would be nobody to leave his possessions incharge of, except the hotel-keeper, who had a notoriously short memory,and who was very likely to forget all about it, even if the doctor everreturned.
Bentley made arrangements for the transportation of that much excessbaggage, therefore. The cost was reminiscent of freight charges in thedays of the Santa Fe Trail.
"We'll leave word for him at the hotel-office," said he.
As they came out of the stage-office a man was mounting a horse beforethe stable door, a group of stage employees around him. He galloped offwith a flourish. The man who had caparisoned his horse stood lookingafter him as he disappeared in the night.
"That feller's in a hurry--he couldn't wait for the stage in themorning," said Smith. "He's ridin' relay to Meander tonight on ourhorses, and he'll be there long before we start. He's the Governor'sson."