XI
Pollock took his hands, but stared at him puzzled. "Surely!" he said atlast. His clear blue eyes slowly widened and became bigger. "Honest!Didn't you know me! Is that what ailed you, Bobby? I thought you'd doneclean gone back on me; and I sure always remembered you for a friend!"
"Know you!" shouted Bob. "Why, you eternal old fool, how should I knowyou?"
"You might have made a plumb good guess."
"Oh, sure!" said Bob; "easiest thing in the world. Guess that the firstshadow you see in the woods is a man you thought was in Mexico."
"Didn't you know I was here?" demanded Pollock earnestly. "Sure pop?"
"How should I know?" asked Bob again.
George Pollock's blue eyes smouldered with anger.
"I'll sure tan that promising nephew of mine!" he threatened; "I've donesent you fifty messages by him. Didn't he never give you none of them?"
"Who; Jack?"
"That's the whelp."
Bob laughed.
"That's a joke," said he; "I've been bunking with him for a year. Narymessage!"
"I told Carroll and Martin and one or two more to tell you."
"I guess they're suspicious of any but the mountain people," said Bob."They're right. How could they know?"
"That's right, they couldn't," agreed George reluctantly. "But I donetold them you was my friend. And I thought you'd gone back on me sure."
"Not an inch!" cried Bob, heartily.
George kicked the logs of the fire together, filled the coffee pot atthe creek, hung it over the blaze, and squatted on his heels. Bob tossedhim a sack of tobacco which he caught.
"Thought you were bound for Mexico," hazarded Bob at length.
"I went," said Pollock shortly, "and I came back."
"Yes," said Bob after a time.
"Homesick," said Pollock; "plain homesick. Wasn't so bad that-a-way atfirst. I was desp'rit. Took a job punching with a cow outfit nearNogales. Worked myself plumb out every day, and slept hard all night,and woke up in the morning to work myself plumb out again."
He fished a coal from the fire and deftly flipped it atop his pipe bowl.After a dozen deep puffs, he continued:
"Never noticed the country; had nothing to do with the people. All Iknew was brands and my bosses. Did good enough cow work, I reckon. For afact, it was mebbe half a year before I begun to look around. Thatcountry is worse than over Panamit way. There's no trees; there's nowater; there's no green grass; there's no folks; there's no nothin'! Themountains look like they're made of paper. After about a half year, as Isaid, I took note of all this, but I didn't care. What the helldifference did it make to me what the country was like? I hadn't notheories to that. I'd left all that back here."
He looked at Bob questioningly, unwilling to approach nearer his tragedyunless it was necessary. Bob nodded.
"Then I begun to dream. Things come to me. I'd see places plain--likethe falls at Cascadell--and smell things. For a fact, I smelt azaleasplain and sweet once; and woke up in the damndest alkali desert you eversee. I thought I'd never want to see this country again; the farther Igot away, the more things I'd forget. You understand."
Again Bob nodded.
"It wasn't that way. The farther off I got, the more I remembered. Soone day I cashed in and come back."
He paused for some time, gazing meditatively on the coffee pot bubblingover the fire.
"It's good to get back!" he resumed at last. "It smells good; it tastesgood. For a while that did me well enough.... I used to sneak downnights and look at my old place.... In summer I go back to Jim and thecattle, but it's dangerous these days. The towerists is getting thicker,and you can't trust everybody, even among the mountain folks."
"How many know you are back here?" asked Bob.
"Mighty few; Jim and his family knows, of course, and Tom Carroll andMartin and a few others. They ride up trail to the flat rock sometimesbringing me grub and papers. But it's plumb lonesome. I can't go onlivin' this way forever, and I can't leave this yere place. Since I havebeen living here it seems like--well, I ain't no call as I can see it todesert my wife dead or alive!" he declared stoutly.
"You needn't explain," said Bob.
George Pollock turned to him with sudden relief.
"Well, you know about such things. What am I to do?"
"There are only two courses that I can see," answered Bob, afterreflection, "outside the one you're following now. You can give yourselfup to the authorities and plead guilty. There's a chance that mitigatingcircumstances will influence the judge to give you a light sentence; andthere's always a possibility of a pardon. When all the details are madeknown there ought to be a good show for getting off easy."
"What's the other?" demanded Pollock, who had listened with the closestattention.
"The other is simply to go back home."
"They'd arrest me."
"Let them," said Bob. "Plead not guilty, and take your chances on thetrial. Their evidence is circumstantial; you don't have to incriminateyourself; I doubt if a jury would agree on convicting you. Have you evertalked with anybody about--about that morning?"
"About me killing Plant?" supplied Pollock tranquilly. "No. A man don'task about those things."
"Not even to Jim?"
"No. We just sort of took all that for granted."
"Well, that would be all right. Then if they're called on the stand,they can tell nothing. There are at least no witnesses to the deeditself."
"There's you----" suggested George.
Bob brought up short in his train of reasoning.
"But you won't testify agin me?"
"There's no reason why I should be called. Nobody even knows I was outof bed at that time. If my name happens to be mentioned--which isn't atall likely--Auntie Belle or a dozen others will volunteer that I was inbed, like the rest of the town. There's no earthly reason to connect mewith it."
"But if you are called?" persisted the mountaineer.
"Then I'll have to tell the truth, of course," said Bob soberly; "it'llbe under oath, you know."
Pollock looked at him strangely askant.
"I didn't much look to hear you talk that-a-way," said he.
"George," said Bob, "this will take money. Have you any?"
"I've some," replied the mountaineer sulkily.
"How much?"
"A hundred dollars or so."
"Not enough by a long patch. You must let me help you on this."
"I don't need no help," said Pollock.
"You let me help you once before," Bob reminded him gently, "if it wasonly to hold a horse."
"By God, that's right!" burst out George Pollock, "and I'm a fool! Ifthey call you on the stand, don't you lie under oath for me! I don'tbelieve you'd do it for yourself; and that's what I'm going to do formyself. I reckon I'll just plead guilty!"
"Don't be in a hurry," Bob warned him. "It isn't a matter to go offhalf-cock on. Any man would have done what you did. I'd have done itmyself. That's why I stood by you. I'm not sure you aren't right to takeadvantage of what the law can do for you. Plenty do just that with onlythe object of acquiring other people's dollars. I don't say it's rightin theory; but in this case it may be eternally right in practice. Goslow on deciding."
"You're sure a good friend, Bobby," said Pollock simply.
"Whatever you decide, don't even mention my name to any one," warnedBob. "We don't want to get me connected with the case in any man's mind.Hardly let on you remember to have known me. Don't overdo it though.You'll want a real good lawyer. I'll find out about that. And themoney--how'll we fix it?"
George thought for a moment.
"Fix it with Jack," said he at length. "He'll stay put. Tell him not totell his own father. He won't. He's reliable."
"Sure?"
"Well, I'm risking my neck on it."
"I'll simply tell him the name of the lawyer," decided Bob, "and get himactual cash."
"I'll pay that back--the other I can't," said Pollock with suddenfeeling. "
Here, have a cup of coffee."
Bob swallowed the hot coffee gratefully. Without speaking further,Pollock arose and led the way. When finally they had reached the openforest above the camp, the mountaineer squeezed Bob's fingers hard.
"Good-bye," said the younger man in a guarded voice. "I won't see youagain. Remember, even at best it's a long wait in jail. Think it overbefore you decide!"
"I'm in jail here," replied Pollock.
Bob walked thoughtfully to camp. He found a fire burning and Elliottafoot.
"Thank God, you're here!" cried that young man; "I was getting scaredfor you. What's up?"
"You are and I am," replied Bob. "Couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk.Think that bogy-man of yours had got me?"
"I surely began to."
"Nothing doing. I guess I can snooze a little now."
"I can't," complained Elliott. "You've got me good and waked up,confound you!"
Bob kicked off his boots, and without further disrobing rolled himselfinto his gray blanket. As he was dropping asleep two phrases flashedacross his brain. They were: "compounding a felony," and "accessoryafter the fact."
"Don't feel much like a criminal either," murmured Bob to himself; andafter a moment: "Poor devil!"