The Benevolent Liar/Chapter 12
CHAPTER XII.
A weird-looking giant, under whose hat a bandage protruded, and who had to sit down and rest at intervals, trailed after a string of burros up across the gentle slope of the valley, passed through the brier-torn entrance to the shaft, and stumbled to a seat on the pile of rotted logs.
“Well, Tommy,” he croaked, “you and Frank Barnes and Edie fooled me, did you? Found the old hole up here, eh? That's all right, son. Don't worry about me. I'm all right. And I know you wanted to surprise me and that I beat you to it.”
He rested his back against a tree, dragged the hat from his head, beat the earth with it, and laughed uproariously. They protested in vain against his coming. He waved them aside and demanded the full account of the finding of the shaft.
“Good!” he said. “Glad I did get up, because now I'm in time to give it a name. It's goin' to be officially called the Lady Edith. And if that name don't bring good luck, nothin' will!”
Tom and Barnes, who were acting as windlass men, were called by the gong to lower timbers to the carpenter and his mate, and returned to Edith and the prospector just in time to see the latter suddenly fix his eyes on a footprint by his side, bend over it suddenly, peer at it, and then turn around and stare with equal intentness at the girl's clay-stained foot. He gasped for an instant, then blurted out: “By gee whiz! You—you are the girl that made the track by the bowlder on the Washoe Trail the day after the gold: wagon was robbed!”
There was a moment of confusion, in which Josh, regretting his impulsive speech concerning a discovery over which he had brooded so long, participated. Tom stared at him angrily, as if about to protest the accusation, and Frank Barnes looked steadily at his daughter. She, in turn, flushed, looked at her foot, then at Josh, and last of all at her father.
“Well, Edith, what have you to say?” demanded the mine owner quietly.
For an instant she stood looking at him pleadingly, and then hung her head, while the suspense of the three men increased and they fixed their eyes upon her. Tom felt like crying out that it didn't matter, and trying to shield her from something he knew not what. Barnes' face became stern. At last she lifted her eyes bravely to meet his, and replied: “Yes, father, the footprint was mine.”
“And you The mine owner stopped, as if fearing to voice a suspicion. She took the sentence from his lips.
“Oh, dad!” she exclaimed, her lips going white. “I have never lied to you. I have never evaded. But—but I have kept something from you—for the first time in my life!”
Her reply accentuated his distress, as well as the anxiety of Josh and Tom.
“Do you know how ugly an appearance is given by your confession? Do you know that” But Josh, who had slowly lifted his huge bulk to its feet until he towered above the others, suddenly reached out a huge hand and clutched Barnes' arm with fingers that dug into the muscles with savage intensity.
“For the Lord's sake, Frank! You orter be ashamed of yourself, scarin' her that-a-way over nothin'! Give the girl a chance! What if she did keep somethin' from you? That's nothin'. Ain't you ever kept nothin' back in all your life from her? You're goin' at her as if she was a dad-blamed skunk!”
He stopped, and, suddenly thrusting out his arm, swept it around her and unceremoniously dragged her toward him. He saw that she was on the verge of hurt tears.
“There, there!” he said consolingly. “You see, Edie, girl, you don't sabe what it is that's riled your dad. Wait till I explain it to you.”
In surprise she stared up at him. He did not look at the others, but down at her, with kindly, sympathetic eyes.
“The day before that Washoe hold-up,” he said, talking with swift fluency, “I come along that road, and one of my burros stumbled over a stone and busted a tendon. I didn't have time to sort my outfit, so took what he had in his pack and hid it under that big bowlder, in a little hole I found there, intendin' to come back and get it. You see, I didn't think at the time, bein' a careless sort of an old cuss, and not dreamin' anybody could find and pick it up before I got back; but the fact is, there was an old carpetbag on that burro that had my mother's picture in it, and my clean shirts, and some locks of hair, and—about all the money I had.”
She gave an excited start and tried to interrupt him, but he held up a big finger and said: “No! Just you wait! I got to finish this yarn of mine now, while the goin' is good and I'm strong. See?”
She nodded assent, and he continued: “Well, somebody lifted all that stuff before I could get back. I wouldn't have cared so much about the money, but—but, Edie, I can't get them locks of hair nor my poor old mother's picture back. Yes, it was the only one I had, and maw's been dead for more'n forty year. Hold on! That ain't all!”
He stopped impressively, and she drew away and stood looking up at him.
“Tom and me found the place robbed, and all we could find about who done it was two sets of tracks. One set was made by a woman—the ones you made. The others by a man, who had robbed me of 'most all I had, and, Edie, the man that robbed me was the man who shot me from ambush a while after! We have got to know who the man is. Your daddy found this man's track up there in the gulch where he plugged me from behind a bowlder. You don't want your old friend—me, Josh Price—shot at again, and maybe the next time with better aim. Now, what I'd like to know is who that man was, and maybe you can tell us. That's all that makes your daddy so riled about it. He thinks that maybe if you hadn't kept your mouth shut, likely I wouldn't have been plugged, because before that I'd have found that root-diggin' son of a thief and filled him so full of .45 holes that he'd have made a nice colander to strain string beans with. Your paw ain't sore, honey. He's just vexed. I ain't sore; I'm only laughin' to think how we been fumblin' around all the time on false scents, when, maybe, if you'd told your paw, we'd have been saved a lot of time. Now, how did you come to be there at about the same time the robber was?”
“At about the same time? Why, I saw him stealing it!” she exclaimed.
The three men leaned forward as if fearing to lose any of her words. Forgetting her father's censure in her anxiety to assist the prospector in his search, she said: “Why, father! You remember you told me that if I didn't get home earlier when I rode across the range to visit Mary Carlyle, you wouldn't consent to my going any more?”
He smiled a trifle as he recollected his admonition. It encouraged her, and she caught his arm and looked up into his face as she proceeded, while he stared down at her:
“I rode out on the Washoe Road without thinking of going to see Mary, and was—well, just idling. I came to that pinnacle rock and climbed up on it, leaving Dandy to nibble at the grass on the other side of the road. Then I thought I could gallop over to Mary's and be home early, and climbed down and rode. That morning you had given me that new pair of long gauntlets that you had sent to San Francisco for, because you thought I should protect my hands, that you said were getting scarred. And, not being accustomed to wearing riding gloves, I left them there on top of the rock, and didn't think of them again until I was miles away. Then I got to Mary's and—and forgot the time. I was terribly distressed when I rode away. It was in the bright moonlight. I thought to myself that you would think me unappreciative if I didn't return with the gloves. I was certain you would miss them, because you had taken so much trouble to surprise me with them. Also, I was afraid you would be angry with me for being so late; so, when I came to the Pinnacle, I dropped off, let Dandy crop the grass, and went to get them.
“I climbed up on top, and then saw something that frightened me. It was a man who was dragging something from a hole on the opposite side of the rock and had not heard me. It was heavy, and the man had to get down on his hands and knees to pull it out. He stood up and gave a big, deep breath, and looked around as if afraid of something, listened, and then went on with his work. I kept very still, because I was a little bit frightened. When I saw him stoop again, I dropped back and ran away on tiptoes, with your new gauntlets in my hand. Then, when I came home, you had been detained at the mine for some reason, and—I was very glad. You hadn't found out! And, dad, I have not gone out on any late trips since, have I? You know that I don't deceive you, don't you? And that I wouldn't have had it happen for the world? And that now I'm ashamed and hate myself for not telling you all this before?”
Barnes suddenly threw both arms around her hungrily, picked her up, and kissed her as her hands leaped upward to clasp his neck. Tom looked away, and the prospector smiled with a slow, wistful, envious smile, as if wishing that he had such a daughter of his own. The lie he had told had slipped away into the past and was already forgotten. He saw her struggle to free herself, her confession incomplete, and she turned both hands toward him and looked up into his rugged face.
“Oh, Josh!” she cried. “Just think! If I had told it all then, as I should have done, you might have caught the robber and wouldn't have been shot! And that isn't all. You might have got back your mother's picture and all those other mementos that you have lost. And it was all my fault!”
“Humph! Forget 'em! Forget 'em!” he rumbled. “I'll forgive you. Maybe it ain't too late yet. What I'd like to know is if you knew the man.”
She shook her head in the negative.
“Would you know him if you saw him again?”
She was perturbed and frowned thoughtfully away from him.
“Perhaps,” she said, after a pause. “You see, although it was moonlight, from where I was, his hat concealed his face, and he stooped; but Yes, I am certain I should know him again if I saw him in just the same way. There was something about his shoulders—they were very high, and one was peculiar—and, yes, when he bent forward he didn't bend straight. He put his right hand on the ground and dropped down like—like I don't know what; but he bent down as a man who had been wounded might, as if it hurt him if he bent straight forward. And—yes, I'm sure he must have been a very tall man.”
“That's not very much to identify a man by,” said Barnes, expressing his disappointment. “Think, Edith! Think hard! Can't you remember something more than that?”
She bent her brows into a frown while they watched her, but at last she shook her head.
“I can't! I can't! I wish I could. I was afraid he would look up and see me, or that I would make a noise, and was very frightened.”
“Maybe you'll think of somethin' else later,” said Josh hopefully. “And, anyhow, you've cleared up some of it. That lets all the others we've suspected out of the job, and havin' no trail at all is a heap better than trustin' to a wrong one. We'll just keep on tryin' to find that gent with the funny foot.”
He wavered on his feet as if stricken with faintness.
“I don't think it wise for you to stay up here,” Edith protested, in alarm, as she came to his assistance. “You are supposed to be convalescent, but not well. I must help you back to the cabin.”
But Josh seated himself and protested so vigorously that on her father's advice Edith departed without him, and they watched her as she went down the new trail and out of sight, to prepare their luncheon.
“Well,” Barnes said, “in any event, nearly every one seems to have lost interest in capturing the robber since they learned that Cash Vance carried insurance on all clean-ups passing between the Horseshoe and the express office, and has been paid his loss in full. The insurance company should have had a better messenger to guard its end of the bargain.”
He stopped, aware that the prospector was staring at him.
“What I'd like to know, Frank,” said Josh, “is why you coupled up my bein' robbed of my valise and stuff with the Horseshoe robbery?”
Barnes made no attempt at concealment.
“Because, Josh,” he replied, “I know that you lied to save Tom. Tom told me all about it on the night when he tried to learn who had ambushed you. You never lost a valise with money and locks of hair and photographs in all your life.”
“Maybe that's so,” agreed Josh, grinning brazenly. “I'll swear I do get mixed up about things sometimes. I'm a terrible liar, I am, ever since I got hit on the head with a shovel by my mother when I was fourteen years old.”
“Why, you told me one time that you never saw your own mother; that she died when you were born, back in Missouri!”
“So she did! So she did!” Josh asserted. “Good Lord! How I wish I had a memory like yours, Frank Barnes! Anyhow, I'm glad Tommy told you, because you don't seem too proud to associate with him. Also, Tommy's a fool to go blabbin' about”
“He told me—and it was a hard confession to make, don't forget—because he was ready to take his chance of sacrificing himself for your benefit,” the mine owner answered hotly. “I admire him for it. It proves to me that he is decent. You've no right to”
“Great Scott! Talk about kickin' over a wasps' nest! You needn't get so blamed crusty about it, Frank,” the prospector roared; but they saw by the look in his eyes as he turned them on Tom that he was immensely pleased and proud of Tom's action. He suddenly laid a hand on Tom's shoulder. “Tommy, I had a hunch when I picked you up that you were all right. And I'm proud of you, bein' as you're not only my pardner, but that you belong to me; proud that you had the nerve, boy, to stand up and take the gaff when old Josh Price was down, out, and unable to do his own fightin'. You've made mighty good with me. And somehow I think you've made good with Frank Barnes, too.”
“He has!” declared the mine owner. “Otherwise I wouldn't take such an interest in Oh, let's drop this! Come on, Tom! We've got to lower some of that timber.”
And, glad of any excuse to end an embarrassing situation, Tom hastened after him, while Josh leaned against a tree and chuckled. He stared meditatively at the ground for a moment and said, with the air of an artist who, on reviewing his work, discovers an irremediable flaw: “I'd ought to have run some baby's shoes into that valise when I told Edie about it. Baby shoes always gets a girl or a woman. Plague on it! Why didn't I think to have baby shoes in it? Maw's picture was very fair work, and them locks of hair was good; but I've used 'em until I'm sick of 'em. I'm sure enough gettin' old and stupid and stale!”