The Delafield Affair. Kelly Florence Finch
you will promise to induce him to remain neutral during this campaign.”
“Yes; I will promise that, and I will give you the five hundred dollars.”
“Very well; it’s a bargain.”
Curtis wrote his check for that sum on the First National Bank of Golden. Jenkins examined the bit of paper, folded it away in his pocket-book, rubbed his hands, and smiled at Conrad.
“You will be surprised,” he said, “when you hear the man’s name. He is well known to you, and he is universally regarded, all over New Mexico, as a model citizen, as square and honest as any man in the Territory – and much more so than most of them.”
“Yes?” said Conrad, rising and reaching for his hat.
“Yes, you will be astonished, I promise you,” Jenkins went on, rising and facing Curtis, still smiling and rubbing his hands together in satisfaction. “For Sumner L. Delafield, the fugitive from justice,” – he began speaking slowly and impressively, – “the absconding defaulter, the man who sank the fortunes of hundreds of people, the man who had to hide in Canada and slink around in out-of-the-way places for so many years, is now known as” – there was a brief pause to give his revelation its fullest dramatic effect – “is now known in New Mexico as Alexander Bancroft, president of the bank on which your check is drawn.”
Conrad started, and his attitude of eager attention stiffened. For an instant half a dozen Jenkinses seemed to be whirling about the room. Out of the repugnance, contempt, and anger boiling in his veins shot a definite idea, – the desire to choke the man who had said this thing about his best friend. He leaped forward, seized Jenkins by the collar, and shook him as if he had been a ten-year-old boy. Although his arms were flying hither and yon Jenkins grabbed wildly for the pistol in his pocket. Curtis saw the movement, and with his left hand seized the butt. As he pulled it out Jenkins caught its barrel; but with a twist of his right arm and a jerk with his left Conrad wrested the gun from the other’s hand and threw it under the bed.
His face white and his eyes blazing, he grasped Jenkins by the shoulders and jammed him against the wall until the windows rattled. With two quick, backward strides he gained the door. Opening it with a hand stretched behind him, Curtis spoke with deliberate emphasis, pointing his words with a menacing forefinger:
“Rutherford Jenkins, you are the damnedest liar and vilest skunk that ever made tracks in New Mexico, and if you ever tell that lie about Bancroft to another living soul I’ll wring your neck!”
Jenkins sprang toward the door, but as it closed from without he stooped, shook himself together, and swore under his breath. He took out the check, and chuckled. “I’ll get it cashed before he changes his mind,” he thought. Then a wave of anger and resentment rolled over him and he shook an impotent fist at the closed door. “Damn him!” he said aloud, “I’ll get even with him yet.”
CHAPTER IV
THE POWERS CONFER
Lucy Bancroft bade a smiling good-bye to her father at the door of the First National Bank, and crossed the street to a store on the corner opposite. Lingering in the doorway for her turn to be waited upon, she watched him with admiring eyes. “What a handsome man daddy is,” she was thinking; “I like a man to be tall and straight and broad-shouldered; and I’m glad he’s always so well groomed; I’d love him just as much if he wasn’t, but I couldn’t be quite so proud of him.”
Another man was coming up the street toward her father, and Lucy smiled as her eyes fell upon him. “There’s Congressman Baxter,” her thought ran on. “How slouchy and dumpy he seems beside daddy! They say he’s one of the smartest men in the Territory; but I’m sure daddy is just as smart as he is, and he’s certainly a great deal handsomer and nicer looking. And he’s just as nice as he looks, too, my dear daddy!”
Bancroft appeared the man of substance and of consequence, confident alike in himself and in the regard of the community, as he stood in the door of his bank and met the Congressman with friendly greeting. “Glad to see you, Baxter! Come in! I want to have a talk with you.”
Dellmey Baxter shook hands cordially, pleasure at the meeting fairly radiating from his round, sunburned face, even his cold gray eyes borrowing warmth from his gratified and shining countenance. One of these eyes was set at an angle slightly oblique, its peculiarity made more prominent by the loose hanging of the upper lid from the outer corner. The expression of cunning thus given to the upper part of his face was curiously at variance with his jovial look and manner.
In Bancroft’s private office Baxter’s first question was if the other had yet visited the mine at the base of Mangan’s Peak, concerning which they had had correspondence.
“Yes; I was there this week. The man who owns it hasn’t sabe enough about mines to know what a good proposition he’s got. He’ll sell cheap for cash, for he needs the money. I think it’s a first-class investment, and we’d better snap it up. Shall we make it half and half?”
“I don’t know about going in as a partner, Aleck. I’m getting too much tied up in all kinds of enterprises, and I don’t want to have more on my hands than I can attend to. But if it’s a good thing I’d like to help you get hold of it; I know you’d hustle its development and make all there is in it tell for the reputation of New Mexico. I’ve got too many other things on hand to go in as a partner, but if you haven’t the ready cash to buy it yourself I’ll advance you what you need and take a mortgage on the property.”
In the persuasive tones of Bancroft’s reply there was no hint of the reluctance and disappointment he inwardly felt at this prospect of having to increase his indebtedness to Baxter, concerning which he already felt some anxiety.
“That hardly seems fair, Dell. You gave me the hint about the mine, and you ought to make more than that out of it. I’m satisfied it’s an almighty good proposition and can be made to pay for itself and for the money needed in initial development inside the first year.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” Baxter responded heartily. “I’m glad to let the chance come your way, because you’ve got more sabe and more hustle than any other man I know, and you’ll do something worth while with it. Think about it, and we’ll talk it over again before I go back. I’m down here now mainly for politics. You know Silverside County as well as any man in it – how do things look?”
“Well, it’s always a close county, you know. But you’ll probably get the delegates to the convention, and I reckon you’ll stand as good a chance on election day as Johnny Martinez.”
The other chuckled. “Well, I rather guess! Why, he’s got no money to put into the fight!”
“No; but there are the Castletons.”
“I heard that their superintendent at Socorro Springs ranch – what’s his name? – Conrad? – had come out strong in his favor. What do they care about it? Neither one of ’em spends two weeks out of the year in the Territory.”
“Oh, if they really have any interest in it I suppose it’s that everlasting ‘cousin’ business of the Mexicans. You know Ned Castleton married a first cousin of Johnny’s, although she’s half American.”
Baxter looked thoughtful. “If he’s got the Castleton money back of him,” he began doubtfully, but broke off with an opposing idea: “I’ve heard that the wives of the two brothers fight each other to the limit on every proposition that comes along, and I reckon if Turner’s wife found out that Ned’s wife wanted Martinez boosted into Congress she’d see to it that Turner blocked the game if he could.”
“If Ned Castleton should back up Martinez with a bagful or two of his loose cash it would make mighty hard sledding for us,” observed Bancroft.
Baxter pursed his lips and whistled softly. “I reckon it would!” he said, with an air of taking the other into his innermost counsels. Then he broke out warmly: “That was damn good of you, Aleck, to come out for me as squarely as you did in the Albuquerque Leader the other day! It’s a good thing for me, all over the Territory, to have people know that Alexander Bancroft is supporting