CHAPTER XI
ANCIENT HISTORY
Peter wasn't at all certain that he had done the right thing. One eventhad followed another with such startling rapidity that there hadn't beentime to deliberate. Jim Coast was wounded, how badly Peter didn't know,but the obvious duty was to give him first aid and sanctuary until Petercould get a little clearer light on Coast's possibilities for evil. Noneof this was Peter's business. He had done what McGuire had asked him todo and had nearly gotten killed for his pains. Two fights already and hehad come to Black Rock to find peace!
In his anger at McGuire's trick he was now indifferent as to what wouldhappen to the old man. There was no doubt that Jim Coast held all thecards and, unless he died, would continue to hold them. It was evidentthat McGuire, having failed in accomplishing the murder, had placedhimself in a worse position than before, for Coast was not one to relaxor to forgive, and if he had gotten his five thousand dollars so easilyas this, he would be disposed to make McGuire pay more heavily now.Peter knew nothing of the merits of the controversy, but it seemedobvious that the two principals in the affair were both tarred with thesame stick. _Arcades Ambo_. He was beginning to believe that Coast wasthe more agreeable villain of the two. At least he had made no bonesabout the fact of his villainy.
Peter found Coast stripped to the waist, sitting in a chair by thetable, bathing his wounded shoulder. But the hemorrhage had stopped andPeter saw that the bullet had merely grazed the deltoid, leaving a cleanwound, which could be successfully treated by first aid devices. So hefound his guest a drink of whisky, which put a new heart into him, thentore up a clean linen shirt, strips from which he soaked in iodine andbandaged over the arm and shoulder.
Meanwhile Coast was talking.
"Well, _mon vieux_, it's a little world, ain't it? To think I'd find_you_, my old bunkie, Pete, the waiter, out here in the wilds, passin'the buck for Mike McGuire! Looks like the hand o' Fate, doesn't it?Superintendent, eh? Some job! Twenty thousand acres--if he's got aninch. An' me thinkin' all the while you'd be slingin' dishes in a NewYork chop house!"
"I studied forestry in Germany once," said Peter with a smile, as hewound the bandage.
"Right y'are! Mebbe you told me. I don't know. Mebbe there's a lot o'things you _didn't_ tell me. Mebbe there's a lot of things I didn't tell_you_. But I ought to 'a' known a globe trotter like you never would 'a'stayed a waiter. A waiter! _Nom de Dieu!_ Remember that (sanguine)steward on the _Bermudian_? Oily, fat little beef-eater with the goldteeth? Tried to make us 'divy' on the tips? But we beat him to it, Pete,when we took French leave. H-m! I'm done with waitin' now, Pete. So areyou, I reckon. Gentleman of leisure, _I_ am!"
"There you are," said Peter as he finished the bandage, "but you'll haveto get this wound dressed somewhere to-morrow."
"Right you are. A hospital in Philly will do the trick. And McGuire paysthe bill."
Jim Coast got up and moved his arm cautiously.
"Mighty nice of you, Pete. That's fine. I'll make him pay through thenose for this." And then turning his head and eyeing Peter narrowly,"You say McGuire told you nothin'!"
"Nothing. It's none of my affair."
The ex-waiter laughed. "He knows his business. Quiet as death, ain't he?He's got a right to be. And scared. He's got a right to be scared too.I'll scare him worse before I'm through with him."
He broke off with a laugh and then, "Funny to find you guardin' _him_against _me_. House all locked--men with guns all over the place. Hewanted one of those guys to kill me, didn't he? But I'm too slick forhim. No locked doors can keep out what's scarin' Mike McGuire----"
He broke off suddenly and held up his empty glass. "Another drink of thewhisky, _mon gars_, and I'm yer friend for life."
Peter was still curious, so he obeyed and after cleaning up the messthey had made he sank into a chair, studying the worn features of hisold companion. He had taken the precaution to pull in the heavy shutterof the window which had been opened and to lock the door. Peter did notrelish the idea of a murder committed in this cabin.
"Not apt to come now, are they, Pete? Well, let 'em," he answeredhimself with a shrug. "But they won't if McGuire has his way. Murder isthe only thing that will suit McGuire's book. He can't do that--not withwitnesses around. Ain't he the slick one, though? I was watchin' forjust what happened. That's why I stayed in the tree so long--listenin'.He must of slipped in like a snake. How he did it I don't know. I'm aworse snake than he is but I always rattle before I strike."
He laughed again dryly.
"I've got _him_ rattled all O. K. Mebbe he'd of shot straighter if hehadn't been. He used to could--dead shot. But I reckon his talents arerunnin' different _now_. Millions he has they say, _mon vieux_,millions. And I'll get my share of 'em."
Jim Coast smoked for a moment in contented silence.
"See here, Pete. I like you. Always did. Straight as a string--you are.You've done me a good turn to-night. You might of put me out--killed mewhen you had me down----"
"I'm no murderer, Jim."
"Right. Nor I ain't either. I don't want to hurt a hair of McGuire'shead. Every one of 'em is precious as refined gold. I want him tolive--to keep on livin' and makin' more money because the more moneyhe's got the more I'll get--see."
"Blackmail," said Peter shortly.
Coast glanced at him, shrugged and laughed.
"Call it that if you like. It's a dirty word, but I'll stand for it,seein' it's you. Blackmail! What's a waiter's tip but blackmail for goodservice? What's a lawyer's fee from a corporation but money paid by mento keep them out of the jail? What's a breach of promise case?Blackmail--legal blackmail. I'm doin' nothin' less an' nothin' more thana million other men--but I'm not workin' with a lawyer. I'll turn thetrick alone. What would you say if I told you that half of every dollarMcGuire has got is mine--a full half--to say nothin' of payment for theyears I was wanderin' an' grubbin' over the face of the earth, while hewas livin' easy. Oh! You're surprised. You'd better be. For that's theGod's truth, _mon ami_."
"You mean--he--he----" Peter's credulity was strained and he failed tofinish his query.
"Oh, you don't believe? Well, you needn't. But there's no blackmail whenyou only take what belongs to you. The money--the money that made hismillions was as much mine as his. I'm going to have my share withcompound interest for fifteen years--and perhaps a bit more."
"You surprise me. But it seems that if there's any justice in yourclaim, you could establish it legally."
Jim Coast laughed again.
"There's a quicker--a safer way than that. I'm takin' it." He filled hisglass again and went on, leaning far over the table toward Peter."_Voyons_, Pete. When we came ashore, I made you an offer to play mygame. You turned me down. It's not too late to change your mind. The oldman trusts you or he wouldn't of sent you out with that money. I mayneed some help with this business and you're fixed just right to lend mea hand. Throw in with me, do what I want, and I'll see that you're fixedfor life."
Peter shook his head slowly from side to side.
"No, Jim. He pays me well. I'm no traitor."
"H-m. Traitor!" he sneered. "_He_ wasn't overparticular about _you_. Hemight of killed you or _I_ might of, if you hadn't been too damn quickfor me. What do you think Mike McGuire cares about _you_?" he laughedbitterly.
"Nothing. But that makes no difference. I----"
A loud jangle of a bell from the corner and Jim Coast sprang to hisfeet.
"The telephone," explained Peter, indicating the instrument. "That'sMcGuire now." He rose and moved toward it, but Coast caught him by thearm.
"Worried, eh?" he said with a grin. "Wants to know what's happened! Allright. Tell him--tell the----." And then, as Peter released himself,"Wait a minute. Tell him you've got me here," laughed Coast, "aprisoner. Tell him I'm talking. Ask for instructions. He'll tell youwhat to do with me, damn quick," he sneered.
Peter waited a moment, thinking, while the bell tinkled again, and thentook down the receiver. He was in no mood to l
isten to McGuire.
"Hello--Yes, this is Nichols.... All right, yes. Shot at from thedark--while paying the money. You hit Hawk Kennedy in the shoulder....Yes, _you_. I'm no fool, McGuire.... He's here--at the Cabin. I've justfixed his shoulder----. All right----. What shall I do with him----?Yes--Yes, he's talking.... Let him go----! Hello! Let him go, you say?Yes----"
"Let me get to him----," growled Coast, pushing close to thetransmitter. "Hello--Mike McGuire--hello----"
"He's gone," said Peter.
"'Let him go,'" sneered Coast. "You'd bet he'd let me go." Then helooked at Peter and laughed. "He's scared all right--beat it like acottontail. Seems a shame to take the money, Pete--a real shame."
He laughed uproariously, then sauntered easily over to the table, tookanother of Peter's cigarettes and sank into the easy chair again. Petereyed him in silence. He was an unwelcome guest but he hadn't yetgratified Peter's curiosity.
"Well, what are you going to do?" asked Peter.
"Me?" Coast inhaled Peter's cigarette luxuriously, and smiled. "I'mgoin' West, _pronto_--to get my facts straight--all at the expense ofthe party of the first part. I might stop off at the Grand Canon firstfor the view. I need a rest, Pete. I ain't as young as I was--or Imightn't of let you put me out so easy to-night. I'm glad of that,though. Wouldn't like to of done you hurt----"
"And then----?" asked Peter steadily.
"Then? Oh, I'll beat it down to Bisbee and ask a few questions. I justwant to hook up a few things I _don't_ know with the things I _do_ know.I'll travel light but comfortable. Five thousand dollars makes a heap ofdifference in your point of view--and other people's. I'll be aneastern millionaire lookin' for investments. And what I won't know aboutJonathan K. McGuire, alias Mike McGuire--won't be worth knowin'." Hebroke off and his glance caught the interested expression on the face ofhis host.
"H-m. Curious, ain't you, Pete?"
"Yes," said Peter frankly. "I am. Of course it's none of my business,but----"
"But you'd like to know, just the same. I get you." He flicked off theash of his cigarette and picked up his whisky glass. "Well----," he wenton, "I don't see why I shouldn't tell you--some of it--that is. It won'tdo any harm for you to know the kind of skunk you're workin' for.There's some of it that nobody on God's earth will ever know but me andMike McGuire--unless he slips up on one of his payments, and theneverybody's goin' to know. _Everybody_--but his daughter first of all."
Coast was silent a long moment while he drained the whisky and slowlyset the glass down upon the table. The shadows upon his face wereunpleasant, darkened perceptibly as they marked the years his thoughtsfollowed, and the lines at his lips and nostrils became more deeplyetched in bitterness and ugly resolve.
"It was down in the San Luis valley I first met up with Mike McGuire. Hewas born in Ireland, of poor but honest parents, as the books tell us.He changed his name to 'Jonathan K.' when he made his first 'stake.'That meant he was comin' up in the world--see? Me and Mike workedtogether up in Colorado, punchin' cattle, harvestin', ranchin'generally. We were 'buddies,' _mon gars_, like you an' me, eatin',sleepin' together as thick as thieves. He had a family somewhere, sameas me--the wife had a little money but her old man made him quit--sometrouble. After awhile we got tired of workin' for wages, grub staked,and beat it for the mountains. That was back in nineteen one or two, Ireckon. We found a vein up above Wagon Wheel Gap. It looked good and westaked out claims and worked it, hardly stoppin' to eat or sleep." Coaststopped with a gasp and a shrug. "Well, the long an' short of that, _monvieux_, was a year of hard work with only a thousand or so apiece toshow for it. It was only a pocket. Hell!" He broke off in disgust andspat into the fireplace. "Don't talk to me about your gold mines. Thereain't any such animal. Well, Mike saved his. I spent mine. Faro. Youknow--an' women. Then I got hurt. I was as good as dead--but I pulledthrough. I ain't easy to kill. When I came around, I 'chored' for awhile, doin' odd jobs where I could get 'em and got a little moneytogether and went to Pueblo. When I struck town I got pretty drunk andbusted a faro bank. I never _did_ have any luck when I was sober."
"Yes, you've told me about that," said Peter.
"So I did--on the _Bermudian_. Well, it was at Pueblo I met up with MikeMcGuire, and we beat it down into Arizona where the copper was. Bisbeewas only a row of wooden shacks, but we got some backin', bought anoutfit and went out prospectin' along the Mexican border. And what with'greasers' and thievin' redskins it was some job in those days. But wemade friends all right enough and found out some of the things we wantedto know.
"Now, Pete, if I was to tell you all that went on in that long trailinto the Gila Desert and what happened when we got what we went for,you'd know as much as I do. You'd know enough to hold up Mike McGuireyourself if you'd a mind to. This is where the real story stops. Whathappened in between is my secret and Mike McGuire's. We found the minewe were lookin' for.... That's sure----How we got it you'll never know.But we got it. And here's where the real story begins again. We weremiles out in the Gila Desert and if ever there's a Hell on earth, it'sthere. Sand, rocks, rocks and sand and the sun. It was Hell with thecover off and no mistake! No water within a hundred miles.
"Now, this is where the fine Eyetalian hand of Mike McGuire showsitself. We were rich. Any fool with half an eye could see that. Theplace was lousy--fairly lousy! It was ours----," Coast's brow darkenedand his eyes glittered strangely as a darting demon of the past gotbehind them. "Yes--_ours_. _Sacre bleu!_ Any man who went through whatwe did deserved it, by G----! We were rich. There was plenty enough fortwo, but McGuire didn't think so. And here's what he does to me. In themiddle of the night while I'm asleep he sneaks away as neat as youplease, with the horses and the pack-mules and the water, leavin' mealone with all the money in the world, and a devourin' thirst, more thana hundred miles from nowhere."
"Murder," muttered Peter.
Coast nodded. "You bet you. Murder. Nothin' less. Oh, he knew what _he_was about all right. And I saw it quick. Death! That's what it meant.Slow but sure. Hadn't I seen the bones bleaching all along the trail? Heleft me there to die. He thought I would die. _Dios!_ That thirst!"Coast reached for the pitcher and splashed rather than poured a glass ofwater which he gulped down avidly. "There was nothin' for it but to tryafoot for Tucson, which was due east. Every hour I waited would of mademe an hour nearer to bein' a mummy. So I set out through the hot sand,the sun burnin' through me, slowly parchin' my blood. My tongue swelled.I must of gone in circles. Days passed--nights when I lay gaspin' on myback, like a fish out of water, tryin' to suck moisture out of dryair.... Then the red sun again--up over the edge of that furnace,mockin' at me. I was as good as dead and I knew it. Only the mummy ofme, parched black, stumbled on, fallin', strugglin' up again, fallin' atlast, bitin' at the sand like a mad dog...."
"Horrible," muttered Peter.
"It was. I reckon I died--the soul of me, or what was left of it. I cameto life under the starlight, with a couple of 'greasers' droppin' wateron my tongue. They brought me around, but I was out of my head for aweek. I couldn't talk the lingo anyhow. I just went with 'em like achild. There wasn't anything else to do. Lucky they didn't kill me. Iguess I wasn't worth killin'. We went South. They were makin' forHermosillo. Revolutionists. They took all my money--about three hundreddollars. But it was worth it. They'd saved my life. But I couldn't goback now, even if I wanted to. I had no money, nor any way of gettin'any."
Jim Coast leaned forward, glowering at the rag carpet.
"But I--I didn't want to go back just then. The fear of God was in me.I'd looked into Hell."
He laughed bitterly.
"Then I joined the 'greasers' against Diaz. I've told you about that.And the 'Rurales' cleaned us up all right. A girl saved my life. Insteadof shootin' me against a mud wall, they put me to work on a railroad. Iwas there three years. I escaped at last and reached the coast, where Ishipped for South America. It was the only way out, but all the while Iwas thinkin' of Mike McGuire and the copper mine. You know the rest,Pete--the A
rgentine deal that might of made me rich an' how it fellthrough. Don't it beat Hell how the world bites the under dog!"
"But why didn't you go back to America and fight your claim withMcGuire?" asked Peter, aware of the sinister, missing passage in thestory.
Coast shot a sharp glance at his questioner.
"There were two reasons--one of which you won't know. The other was thatI couldn't. I was on the beach an' not too popular. The only ships outof Buenos Aires were for London. That was the easiest way back toAmerica anyhow. So I shipped as a cattle hand. And there you are. Ilived easy in London. That's me. Easy come easy go. There it was I wrotea man I knew out in Bisbee--the feller that helped stake us--and heanswered me that McGuire was dead, and that the mine was a flivver--toofar away to work. You see he must of showed the letter to McGuire, andMcGuire told him what to write. That threw me off the track. I forgothim and went to France...."
Coast paused while he filled his glass again.
"It wasn't until I reached New York that I found out McGuire was alive.It was just a chance while I was plannin' another deal. I took it. Ihunted around the brokers' offices where they sell copper stocks. Itdidn't take me long to find that my mine was the 'Tarantula.' McGuirehad developed it with capital from Denver, built a narrow gauge in. Thenafter a while had sold out his share for more than half a millionclear."
Peter was studying Coast keenly, thinking hard. But the story held withwhat he already knew of the man's history.
"That's when Mike McGuire tacked the 'Jonathan K.' onto his name," Coastwent on. "And that money's mine, the good half of it. Figure it out foryourself. Say five hundred thou, eight per cent, fifteen years--Ireckon I could worry along on that even if he wouldn't do better--whichhe will.
"Well, Pete--to shorten up--I found McGuire was here--in New York--and Ilaid for him. I watched for a while and then one day I got my nerve upand tackled him on the street. You ought to of seen his face when I toldhim who I was and what I'd come for. We were in the crowd at Broadwayand Wall, people all about us. He started the 'high and mighty' stufffor a minute until I crumpled him up with a few facts. I thought he wasgoin' to have a stroke for a minute, when I made my brace for the fivethou--then he turned tail and ran into the crowd pale as death. I losthim then. But it didn't matter. I'd find him again. I knew where hisoffice was--and his hotel. It was dead easy. But he beat it down here.It took me awhile to pick up the trail. But here I am, Pete--here Iam--safe in harbor at last."
Coast took the bills out of his pocket and slowly counted them again.
"And when you come back from the West, what will you do?" asked Peter.
"Oh, now you're talkin', Pete. I'm goin' to settle down and liverespectable. I like this country around here. I came from Jersey, youknow, in the first place. I might build a nice place--keep a few horsesand automobiles and enjoy my old age--run over to gay Paree once ayear--down to Monte Carlo in the season. Oh, I'd know how to _live_ now.You bet you. I've seen 'em do it--those swells. They won't have anythingon me. I'll live like a prince----"
"On blackmail----," said Peter.
"See here, Pete----!"
"I meant it." Peter had risen and faced Coast coolly. "Blackmail! Youcan't tell me that if you had any legal claim on McGuire you couldn'tprove it."
"I mightn't be able to----," he shrugged.
"What is McGuire frightened about? Not about what he owes you. He couldpay that ten times over. It's something else--something that happenedout there at the mine that you dare not tell----"
"That I _won't_ tell," laughed Coast disagreeably.
"That you _dare_ not tell--that McGuire dares not tell. Something thathas to do with his strange message about the blood on the knife, andyour placard about what you've got holding over him----"
"Right you are," sneered the other.
"It's dirty money, I tell you--bloody money. I know it. And I know whoyou are, Jim Coast."
Coast started up and thrust the roll deep into his trousers pocket.
"You don't know anything," he growled.
Peter got up too. His mind had followed Coast's extraordinary story, andso far as it had gone, believed it to be true. Peter wanted to know whathad happened out there at the mine in the desert, but more than that hewanted to know how the destinies of this man affected Beth. And so thethought that had been growing in his mind now found quick utterance.
"I know this--that you've come back to frighten McGuire, but you've alsocome back to bring misery and shame to others who've lived long in peaceand happiness without you----"
"What----?" said Coast incredulously.
"I know who you are. You're Ben Cameron," said Peter distinctly.
The effect of this statement upon Jim Coast was extraordinary. Hestarted back abruptly, overturning a chair, and fell rather than leanedagainst the bedpost--his eyes staring from a ghastly face.
"What--what did--you say?" he gasped chokingly.
"You're Ben Cameron," said Peter again.
Coast put the fingers of one hand to his throat and straightened slowly,still staring at Peter. Then uneasily, haltingly, he made a sound in histhroat that grew into a dry laugh----
"Me--B-Ben Cameron! That's damn good. Me--Ben Cameron! Say, Pete,whatever put _that_ into your head?"
"The way you frightened the old woman at the kitchen door."
"Oh!" Coast straightened in relief. "I get you. You've been talkin' to_her_."
"Yes. What did you say to her?"
"I--I just gave her a message for McGuire. I reckon she gave it to him."
"A message?"
"Oh, you needn't say you don't know, Pete. It didn't fetch him. So I putup the placard."
Peter was now more bewildered than Coast. "Do you deny that you're BenCameron?" he asked.
Coast pulled himself together and took up his coat.
"Deny it? Sure! I'm not--not him--not Ben Cameron--not Ben Cameron.Don't I know who I am?" he shouted. Then he broke off with a violentgesture and took up his cap. "Enough of your damn questions, I say. I'vetold you what I've told you. You can believe it or not, as you choose.I'm Jim Coast to you or Hawk Kennedy, if you like, but don't you gothrowin' any more of your dirty jokes my way. Understand?"
Peter couldn't understand but he had had enough of the man. So hepointed toward the door.
"Go," he ordered. "I've had enough of you--get out!"
Coast walked a few paces toward the door, then paused and turned andheld out his hand.
"Oh, Hell, Pete. Don't let's you and me quarrel. You gave me a startback there. I'm sorry. Of course, you knew. You been good to meto-night. I'm obliged. I need you in my business. More'n ever."
"No," said Peter.
"Oh, very well. Suit yourself," said Coast with a shrug. "There's plentyof time. I'll be back in a month or six weeks. Think it over. I've madeyou a nice offer--real money--to help me a bit. Take it or leave it, asyou please. I'll get along without you, but I'd rather have you with methan against me."
"I'm neither," said Peter. "I want nothing to do with it."
Coast shrugged. "I'm sorry. Well, so long. I've got a horse back in thedunes. I'll take the milk train from Hammonton to Philadelphia. Youwon't tell, Pete?"
"No."
"Good-night."
Peter didn't even reply. And when the man had gone he opened the doorand windows to let in the night air. The room had been defiled by theman's very presence. Ben Cameron? Beth's father? The thing seemedimpossible, but every fact in Peter's knowledge pointed toward it. Andyet what the meaning of Jim Coast's strange actions at the mention ofhis name? And what were the facts that Jim Coast _didn't_ tell? What hadhappened at the mine that was too terrible even to speak about? What wasthe bond between these two men, which held the successful one in terror,and the other in silence? Something unspeakably vile. A hideous pact----
The telephone bell jangled again. Peter rose and went to it. But he wasin no humor to talk to McGuire.
"Hello," he growled. "Yes--he's gone. I let him go. You told
me to....Yes, he talked--a long while.... No. He won't be back for a month....We'll talk that over later.... No. Not to-night. I'm going to bed....No. Not until to-morrow. I've had about enough of this.... All right.Good-night."
And Peter hung up the receiver, undressed and went to bed.
It had been rather a full day for Peter.