The Delafield Affair. Kelly Florence Finch
made him anxious about the outcome of the approaching convention, and set him to interrogating the banker regarding the intentions of this, that, and the other man of local consequence. At last he came back to the subject of the Castletons.
“Do you really think, Aleck, that Ned Castleton’s money is behind Martinez? If it is, that would explain Conrad’s attitude.”
Bancroft saw that the Congressman was worried by the possibility of such effective opposition. On the instant an idea was projected into his mind, born of his own secret anxiety and his knowledge of Baxter’s reputation. It came so suddenly and so vividly that it took him unawares, sending a telltale light into his eyes and across his usually impassive countenance. His lids were quickly lowered, but Baxter had already seen the revealing flash and was wondering what it might mean. The banker hesitated for a moment, his thoughts confused by the force of the bolt which had shot into his mind.
“Of course I don’t know anything about it,” he went on cautiously, the other watching him for signs of self-betrayal, “but it looks to me as if Conrad might be acting as Ned Castleton’s agent, so that Ned won’t have to be mixed up in it. That would take away the chance of Mrs. Turner’s trying to make her husband block the game. And Conrad is violently opposed to you. He handles you without gloves, and is doing all he can against your nomination. He says he’ll bolt you if you get it, and that if the other side puts up Martinez he’ll jump in and fight for him with both feet and his spurs on.”
The smile faded from Baxter’s face, and his left eyelid drooped lower than usual – a sign that his mind was busy with some knotty problem. But he was not considering the pros and cons of the Castleton money. He was wondering why that sudden purpose had flashed in Bancroft’s eyes, why he had shown that momentary discomposure, and why he was now dwelling so much more strongly on the fact of Conrad’s opposition. He drew his chair nearer and in confidential tones began to inquire about the young cattleman: “Has Conrad got much influence?”
“Yes; a good deal. He’s a bright, energetic fellow, and he’s made lots of friends.”
“Know anything about him, Aleck?”
“Not much. Ned Castleton ran across him in San Francisco, I believe, where he was agent for one of the big cattle ranches in southern California. He’s been their superintendent at Socorro Springs for two years, and he’s put the ranch in better shape and made it pay better, in spite of the drought, than anybody else they’ve had since their father died.”
“But where’d he come from before Castleton got him?”
“I don’t know, except in a general way. I guess he’s mostly run along with the cattle business in Colorado and California and New Mexico.”
“You really think his opposition to me down here is important?”
“There’s no doubt about it, Dell,” Bancroft rejoined, his manner becoming more earnest and his tones more persuasive as he went on. “Curt Conrad is a fighter from the word ‘go,’ and he seems to have started out with the intention of doing you up. He’ll sure do you a lot of damage if you can’t find some way of making him change his mind. He’s popular, – the sort that everybody likes, you know, – and he’s always enthusiastic and cocksure, so that he has a good deal of influence of his own, whether or not he’s acting for Ned Castleton. And as people generally believe he is it amounts to the same thing.”
“We must get at him some way,” said Baxter earnestly, his cold eyes watchful of his companion’s manner and expression. “Hasn’t he done something that would give us a hold on him?”
“No, there’s nothing in that lead. I’ve tried argument, and you might as well talk to a cyclone.”
“How about money?”
Bancroft shook his head decisively. “That would be the worst mistake you could make. He wouldn’t touch it and he’d roar about it everywhere. The fact is, Dell, we’ll have to get rid of his opposition some way. I’ve done everything I can, and now I’ll have to put it up to you.”
“Well, I’ll think it over,” said Baxter, rising and looking at his watch. “I’ll see you again about that mine business, while I’m here, and I want to talk with you about a paisano ranch, up above Socorro, there’s a chance of our getting. I think we’ll be able to get our development company going in less than a year. When it’s organized, Aleck, I want you to be president of it.”
“I don’t know about that,” Bancroft replied slowly, an uneasy recollection of some of Lucy’s freely expressed ideas coming into his mind. “I may prefer to stay in the background, as a silent partner, as our arrangement is now.”
“It would be good for the company to have you at its head; your reputation would be an asset,” Baxter objected persuasively.
“By the way, Dell, did you foreclose on a man named Melgares, José Maria Melgares, a month or two ago?”
“Melgares? Yes; and I was especially easy on him; let him have three months’ extra time. But I had to come down on him finally. Why?”
“He’s here in Golden now, and he’s been roaring about it. He came down here from the Mogollons, where it’s likely he’d been doing some horse-stealing. And I guess he’s been lifting chickens and things out of people’s back-yards since he’s been here.”
“Next thing he’ll be getting arrested,” Baxter chuckled, “and I’ll have to defend him – for nothing. These greasers all seem to think I’m a heaven-sent protector for ’em all, no matter what they do. So long, Aleck; I’ll see you again before I leave town.”
Baxter lounged down the street, greeting one acquaintance after another with a jovial laugh, a hearty handshake, or a slap on the shoulder, his round, red face aglow with good fellowship. But his gray eyes were cold and preoccupied. At the court-house door he stopped to talk with Dan Tillinghurst, the sheriff, and Little Jack Wilder, his deputy.
“Say, Jack,” said the sheriff, as the Congressman went on up the street, “what sort o’ hell do you-all reckon Dell Baxter’s cookin’ up now? He’s too jolly not to have somethin’ on hand. The louder he laughs the more sulphur you can bet he’s got in his pockets.”
“Be careful, Dan,” warned Jack, “or that nomination for sheriff will miss fire.”
“Don’t you worry about that – Dell an’ me’s all right; you-all just worry about the fellow that’s made his eyes look like a dead fish’s. Dell’s sure got somethin’ on his mind.”
There was something on Baxter’s mind. He was still wondering why Alexander Bancroft had insisted so strongly upon the importance of young Conrad’s opposition, which the Congressman did not believe was of much consequence. He chuckled and his left lid drooped lower as he finally decided: “I reckon he wants me to pull some chestnut or other out of the fire for him. I’ll just let him think I’m taking it all in. I’d like to know what it is, though, for if I don’t keep a good hold on Aleck he’s likely to get heady and try to step into my shoes.”
CHAPTER V
CHASTISEMENT CONDIGN
Dan Tillinghurst and Little Jack Wilder sat under the big cottonwood in front of the court-house, commenting upon things in general, and, presently, more particularly upon Curtis Conrad and his mare, Brown Betty, when they espied him talking with the landlord in front of the hotel across the stream. The town of Golden lay in a gulch among the foot-hills. It had been a thriving silver camp in the older days. Discovered in the heyday of the pale metal, it had yielded so richly that the men flocking thither, in sheer, exultant contempt of the value of its yellow brother, had named the camp “Golden Gulch.” The mines had been in the bottom of the gulch, and near them, along the banks of the stream, had been built all the houses of the mining days. The earliest roads had run along each side of the water, and these were still the main streets of the town. Facing one another across the two streets and the bed of the creek were all the public buildings and business houses, the two hotels, some of the best residences, and many of the poorer ones. The Mexican quarter, called “Doby Town” by the Americans, straggled