Destry Rides Again (13 page)

It seemed that this compliment was not altogether pleasing to Bent, for he waved it hurriedly aside and said: “I’m pretty
soft. I always was!”

“Some of the soft colts make the hard hosses,” observed Destry. “You’ve growed up, old timer. But I was thinkin’ as I stood
agin the wall that you ain’t everything that I thought you was.”

“Maybe not, Harry. You’ve had pretty high ideas about me.”

“Why the book, when you don’t read it?” asked Destry.

At this, Bent took his eyes definitely from his own thoughts and stared fixedly at Destry. Then he pointed to the window shade
behind his head.

“Fake?” said Destry, his lips compressing after he spoke.

“Fake,” said Bent frankly.

“I’m mighty sorry to hear it.”

“I knew you would be. But there’s the truth. I can’t lie to you, Harry.”

The latter sighed.

“To make ’em think that you’re in here studyin’?”

“Mostly that. I’m ambitious. I want the respect of other people. The fact is, Harry, that when I’ve finished a day at my office,
I’m so fagged that I can’t use my head for much else. I like to be alone and think things over. That’s the way of it! Well,
I got into the habit of sitting here; then I heard people talking about my late hours and all that sort of thing, so I rigged
up the sham, and there you are!”

Destry nodded.

“I can follow that,” he said. “But I’d rather——”

He paused.

“You’d rather that I’d rob a bank than do this?”

“Pretty near, I think!”

“You’re right,” answered the other. “Any crime’s better if it takes courage to do it! You’ll never think much of me after
this, Harry!”

“I’ll like you better, because you told me the straight of it. I suppose I’ll like you better for this than if you was to
lay down your life for me!”

He went suddenly to Bent and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Sometimes,” he said gravely, “I pretty nigh believe in a God. Things are so balanced! My friends turned out crooks and traitors
to me; the woman I loved, she turned me down the first chance; but I’ve got one friend that balances everything. You, Chet.”

He stopped abruptly and snapped his fingers.

“I’m going up to bed. It’s my last night here, I reckon.”

“Why the last night? Why d’you say that, old timer?”

“I can feel in my bones that they’re close to me. Six of ’em are left.”

“I thought it was seven?”

“I brought in Lefty, this evenin’. That’s where I been, on his trail. Old Ding Slater put me on the job, and I had to bring
him back and turn him over.”

“Tell me about it! Lefty gone? He’s worth two, to have out of the way!”

“I don’t wanta talk. You’ll hear people spin the yarn tomorrow. Good night, Chet.”

“Good night, old man. Only—I should think that you’d feel safe now! In my own house!”

“Of course you’d think that. But you ain’t got eyes for every door—or every window!”

He smiled and pointed at the one through which he had entered. Then he left the room.

The instant he was in the comparative dimness of the hallway, his manner changed to that of the hunted animal. Swiftly and
lightly he walked, and paused now and again to listen, hearing the stir of voices at the rear of the house, and then the whir
of the big clock which stood at the landing, followed by the single chime for the half hour.

Then he went up the stairs, treading close to the wall where the boards were less apt to creak under his weight. So he went
up to the attic floor where his room was, but he did not turn in at the door. Instead, he paused there for a moment and listened
intently.

There was not a sound from the interior.

Yet still he did not enter, but, turning the knob of the door by infinitesimally small degrees, he pushed it a fraction of
an inch past the catch, then allowed the knob to turn back. He drew back, and a moment later a draft caused the freed door
to sway open a few inches.

There was no movement within the bedroom. Yet still he lingered, until the current of air had pushed the door wide. Drawn
far back into a corner of the corridor, he still waited with an inhuman patience. The dark was thick, yet he could make out
the glimmering panel of the door’s frame.

Finally, out of this issued a shadow, and another, and two more behind. They stood there for a moment, and then slipped down
the hall. Close to Destry, the leader paused and held out his arms to stop the others.

“We’re chucking a chance in a lifetime!” said he.

“I’ve had enough,” replied another. “I can’t stand
it. When the damn door opens itself—that’s too ghostly for me!”

“It was only the wind, you fool!”

“I don’t care what it was. I’ve got enough. I’m going to leave. The rest of you do what you want!”

“Bud, will you stay on with me?”

“Where?”

“Back in that room, of course! He’s bound to come there. He seen the sheriff, and after that, he’ll come here. Likely talkin’
with Bent downstairs, right now!”

“I’ll tell you,” answered Bud, “I wouldn’t mind waitin’, but not in that room, after the ghost has got into it!”

“Ghost, you jackass!”

“You’re tellin’ me that the wind opened the door. Sure it did. And it blew the ghost in on us!”

“Bud, I don’t believe you mean what you say. I won’t believe that! Ghost talk out of you!”

“A wind,” said Bud, “that’s able to turn the knob of a door, can blow in a ghost, too!”

“You fool, of course the latch wasn’t caught!”

“Anyway, I’ve had enough.”

They went down the stairs. Noiselessly as Destry had ascended, so noiselessly did the four go down, and Destry gripped the
naked revolver which he held, tempted to fire on them from behind. In spite of the darkness, he could not have missed them!

However, he let them go, still kneeling on the hall carpet and listening.

He thought he heard the opening of a window, but even this was managed so dexterously that he could not be sure. It was only
after several moments that he was sure that the house no longer held that danger for him, and he started down to tell Chester
Bent about what he had seen and heard.

However, after a moment of reflection he changed his mind. There was nothing that Bent could do except feel alarm and disgust
at his inability to protect a guest. The men were gone; Bent could not overtake them in the dark; and since one attempt had
been planned for this night, it was not likely that there would be another before morning.

So Destry went into the bedroom, threw himself wearily on the bed, and, without even taking off his clothes or locking the
door, went instantly to sleep.

When he wakened, it was not yet dawn. He rose quickly, washed his face and hands, and, sitting down by lamplight at the table,
he wrote hastily:

Dear Chet,

This is to say good-by for a time. I’m going to leave Wham, and even leave you.

I’m traveling light, and leave a good deal of stuff behind me. You might let it stay in this room. It will make other folks,
probably, think that I’m coming back here. And the more I can confuse the others, the luckier it will be for me.

They’re hot after me, Chet. There were four men waiting for me in my room, last night when I came upstairs. I managed to get
them out without trouble, but the next time won’t be so easy.

So long, old fellow. You certainly been the top of the world to me.

I’m not thanking you for what you’ve done. But I’ll tell you that you’re the man who makes life worth while for me.

H
ARRY
.

This message he thrust under Bent’s door, and hurried away into the dark of the morning.

The emotions of Chester Bent were not at all what Destry would have imagined. For when the former rose in the morning and
found the note which had been pushed under the edge of his door, his face puckered savagely, and one hand balled into a fist.

He dressed hurriedly and went to the house of James Clifton. It was a little shack that stood almost on the very street, built
by the father, and now occupied by his talented son, who was a serious investigator of the mines and therefore, according
to the public, a “lucky” investor.

Chester Bent walked swiftly enough to feel his leg muscles stretching, and every step he took restored his confidence, though
it did not diminish his irritation. Early as it was, there were already people on the street, and, of the dozen he passed,
he knew the face and name of every one. Moreover, each of them had a special smile, a special wave of the hand for him; each
looked as though he gladly would pause for conversation. But Bent went quickly by. He knew his own power in that town, however,
from the looks he had seen in the faces of the pedestrians, and he was smiling to himself when he came to Clifton’s house.

He found the proprietor in his small kitchen, with the smoke from frying ham ascending into his face. Jimmy Clifton turned
a face as yellow as a Chinaman’s toward his guest. He was like a Chinaman in other ways, for he had a froglike face, with
a little awkward body beneath it. Some said that Jimmy Clifton had been through the fire when he was an infant, thereby accounting
for the quality and color
of his skin, which looked like loosely stretched parchment over the bones.

In spite of his peculiarities, however, Clifton was not really an ugly man so much as a strange one. He had a cordial manner
which made him many friends, and he showed it now as he advanced to meet Bent and shook him warmly by the hand, hoping that
he would join him at a breakfast which was ample for two.

But Bent refused. His irritation increased and his good humor lessened as he accompanied his host into the next room, which
served for dining room, guest room, and living room in the shack. There they sat down, and, as Clifton began to eat, Bent
observed:

“Suppose that your father had been tangled up in a row like this? How long would he have hesitated? He would have stayed there
in Destry’s room until morning. For that matter, he would have stayed there alone, too, and waited until he was in bed!”

He pointed, as if for verification to a long string of grizzly claws which hung across the wall from one side to the other.
Old Clifton had killed the animals whose claws were represented there, and Indianlike he had saved the mementoes. There was
a tale that he actually had engaged one of the great brutes in a cave and had killed it with a knife thrust. Without imputations
upon the courage of little Jimmy Clifton, it was plain that he was a lame descendant of such a hero.

That young man now regarded the sinister decoration on the wall as he tackled his breakfast. The greatest peculiarity of Jimmy
Clifton was that he was never perturbed, by words or deeds.

Then he said in answer: “I don’t know. The old man was a pretty tough fellow, but I don’t know about him staying alone in
the same room with
Destry. I’ll tell you this, though. I tried to get the rest of ’em to stay with me!”

“Bah!” exploded Chester Bent. “Tell me the truth, Jimmy! You were all of you in a blue funk!”

“I was scared, sure,” said Clifton readily, “but not in a funk. I would have seen it through, but not alone. I wasn’t up to
that. You don’t know what happened. The infernal latch of the door hadn’t caught, and all at once a draft must have hit it,
though there was no whistle of wind around the house. But suddenly the door sagged; then it opened, and a whisper of air fanned
through the room. A pretty ghostly business!”

“What did you do? When was it that this happened?”

“About ten, I suppose!”

“I’ll tell you who the ghost was! It was Destry. He went up to bed at exactly ten, I think!”

“Hello! You mean that he opened the door and stood there waiting for us?”

“Of course he was there in the hall, laughing at four scared heroes as they sneaked off. I was waiting downstairs, and waiting
and waiting to hear gunshots. Then I thought that maybe you’d closed in on him and done it with knives. But I decided there
wasn’t enough blood in you all for that sort of work!”

“Did you?” asked the other blandly.

“I did! And now you’ve foozled the entire thing, and Destry’s gone. He left me a note. Confound it, Jimmy, you’ve thrown away
a golden opportunity!”

The other nodded.

“It was a great chance,” he said. “Of course I didn’t expect that the boys would get such a chill at the last minute. They
were game enough for men, but not for ghosts, Chet. Not for that! They light-footed it
out of the room, and they wouldn’t come back. That’s all there was to it.”

“But to think!” groaned Bent. “Four of you—in the dark—and Destry in your hands!”

“Tell me,” said Clifton. “What makes you hate Destry so like the devil?”

“I’ll tell you, Jimmy, that you’d never understand why I hate him so completely. But let that go. The main point is that I
see nothing will ever be done with him, no matter how many opportunities I give him, until I take up the work with my own
hands!”

“Is it the girl?” asked Clifton. “Is she still fond of him? With Destry out of the way, d’you think that you could have her?”

“Jimmy,” said the other darkly, “that’s a confounded impertinence that I can’t take even from you!”

The other waved his hand.

“Let it go. I’m sorry. Only, we know each other so well, old fellow, that I thought I could talk out to you!”

Bent shrugged his shoulders, but he added at once: “I’m sorry I lost my temper. You can see this is a blow to me. Now the
bird’s escaped out of my hand, and God knows how I’ll get a string on him again! It’s a blow to the rest of you, also! He’s
snagged six; the six who remain are apt to do a little sweating now!”

“I’m sweating, for one,” said Clifton.

“Then well have to put our heads together and try again. There’s another thing. When you got them into my house, you didn’t
have to let them guess that I was with you?”

“Not a bit,” said Clifton. “The boys thought you’d be almost as dangerous to them as Destry!”

“I’m glad that you’ve kept me sheltered! A whisper of the truth would bring Destry down on me like seven devils!”

“Of course. No fear of that. I’ve kept a closed mouth about you. And Destry will never know! People are a little afraid to
be too curious about you, anyway, Chet.”

“Afraid? Of me? That’s a joke!”

“Is it? I don’t know,” replied Clifton. “There are some who say that there’s an iron fist under Bent’s soft hand. I’m a little
afraid of you myself, old son! Or else I’d have talked before about something that I want to know!”

“What’s that?”

“The notes are due today, Chet.”

“Hello! Those notes? But not the grace, Jimmy!”

“The grace, too! The time’s up today.”

“Forgot all about ’em,” said Bent rising. “But I’ll have the money for you in a day or two.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!”

“I need it, pretty badly,” said Clifton.

“Are you pinched?”

“Yes.”

“Drop over to my house this evening, will you, and I’ll give you a check?”

“Thanks,” said Clifton. “I’ll do that!”

And Chester Bent departed with a little haste that was not thrown away on the observant eye of the smaller man.

Back in his office, Mr. Bent sat for a long time at his desk, considering ways and means. His secretary, after one wise and
sour look at him, left him strictly alone.

It was not until the mid-morning that he ventured
out on the street. Then he went straight to the bank and found the president in, a rosy, plump man of fifty, whose refusals
were always so masked and decorated beneath his smile that most of their sting was taken away.

He wanted to know what he could do for Bent, and the latter said instantly: “I have some deals coming up. I need twelve thousand.
Can you let me have it?”

The president’s eye grew rather blank in spite of his smile. Then he said with the Western frankness which invades even the
banking world:

“Bent, this is one of the times that I’m stumped. Look here. You’re a rising man in this town. You own property in mines.
You own a good deal of real estate—-a lot of it, in fact. You’re what people consider a rich man. That’s the opinion I have
of you, myself.”

“Thanks,” said Bent, “but——?”

“There is another side to it, too. That’s this. You’re young. You’ve made a quick success, out of nothing, apparently. You’ve
rolled a big load right up the hill. But one can’t be so sure that you’re at the top of it!”

“Go,” encouraged Bent. “I like to have frankness, of course.”

“You’ll get that from me. On the one hand, I don’t want to antagonize a man whose patronage will probably mean a lot to this
bank. Personally I think you’re all right. But a banker can’t let personalities enter too far into his business dealings.”

“I understand that. But even banking has to be a gamble.”

“Yes. That’s true, but with as narrow a margin of failure and chance as possible. Now, then, Bent, as I say, you seem to have
gained almost the top of
the hill, rolling up a big ball before you. How you made your start, I don’t know. But six years ago you seemed suddenly to
come into your own. You extended in all directions. You got your hands on property. Almost like a man who had come into a
legacy—”

The glance of Bent strayed a little uneasily out the window.

“You’ve done wonderfully well, but suppose that several things happened. Most of your property you don’t own outright. You
have a lot of mortgages. Convenient things—they leave an operator with his hands free for more speculation. At the same time,
they’re dangerous poison. Here you are, in need of twelve thousand. On the face of it, it’s not a large sum. But suppose,
Bent, that Wham went bust? It’s a quick boom town; it may be a skeleton in another year. There’s a new town opening up on
the other side of the Crystal Mountains. Seems to me to be better placed than this. Perhaps it’ll kill us. That would wipe
out your real estate holdings in Wham at a stroke and fill your hands with heavy cash debts—because you haven’t bought in
at the bottom of the market by any means! As a matter of fact, you’ve been pretty high in it! I suggest this to you, not because
I haven’t confidence in Wham, but because I’m trying to explain to you why I don’t think it would be good banking to lend
you twelve thousand dollars.”

“Bad policy?”

“It might be the best policy in the world, Bent. It might secure your faith in us and we’d grow as you grow in the world.
But on the other hand there’s one chance in ten that you might break, and if you break it would be a serious loss for us.
I don’t want to take
that ten per cent chance. I don’t feel justified in doing so!”

“That’s business luck,” he said. “I don’t blame you a bit. And I’ll manage this all right. Only a temporary need, old man.”

He went out onto the street, and walked down it, still smiling a little, and envious glances followed his contented face.
But as he went on he was seeing such a picture as would not have pleased most men, and which did not please Bent himself—a
dead man was stretched before him, and the dead man wore the face of Jimmy Clifton.