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The Silver Horde

R >> Rex Beach >> The Silver Horde




"Oh, glory be!" ejaculated the clubman. "I must meet him, too. Let me show
him the town, will you? I'll foot the bills; I'll make it something
historic. Please do! I'm bored to death."

"We can't spare the time; we are here on business," said Emerson.

"Business!" Clyde remarked. "That sounds interesting. I haven't seen
anybody for years who was really busy at anything that was worth being
busy at. It must be a great sensation to really do something."

"Don't you do anything?"

"Oh yes; I'm as busy as a one-legged sword-dancer, but I don't _do_
anything. It's the same old thing: leases to sign, rents to collect, and
that sort of rot. My agent does most of it, however. I wish I were like
you, Boyd; you always were a lucky chap." Emerson smiled rather grimly at
thought of the earlier part of the evening and of his present fortune.

"Oh, I mean it!" said Clyde. "Look how lucky you were at the university.
Everything came your way. Even M--" He checked himself and jerked his head
in the direction of the North Side. "You know! She's never been able to
see any of us fellows with a spy-glass since you left, and I have proposed
regularly every full moon." He wagged his curly head solemnly and sighed.
"Well, there is only one man I'd rather see get her than you, and that's
me--or I--whichever is proper."

"I'm not sure it's proper for either of us to get her," smiled Boyd.

"Well, I'm glad you've returned anyhow; for there's an added starter."

"Who is he?"

"He's some primitive Western fellow like yourself! I don't know his name--
never met him, in fact. But while we Chicago fellows were cantering along
in a bunch, watching each other, he got the rail."

"From the way her father spoke and acted I judged he had somebody in
sight." Boyd's eyes were keenly alight, and Clyde continued.

"We've just _got_ to keep her in Chicago, and you're the one to do
it. I tell you, old man, she has missed you. Yes, sir, she has missed you
a blamed sight more than the rest of us have. Oh, you don't know how lucky
you are."

"I lucky! H'm! You fellows are rich--"

"Bah! _I'm_ not. I've gone through most of what I had. All that is
left are the rents; they keep me going, after a fashion. Now that it is
too late, I'm beginning to wake up; I'm getting tired of loafing. I'd like
to get out and do something, but I can't; I'm too well known in Chicago,
and besides, as a business man I'm certainly a nickel-plated rotter."

"I'll give you a chance to recoup," said Boyd. "I am here to raise some
money on a good proposition."

The younger man leaned forward eagerly. "If you say it's good, that's all
I want to know. I'll take a chance. I'm in for anything from pitch-and-
toss to manslaughter."

"I'll tell you what it is, and you can use your own judgment."

"I haven't a particle," Clyde confessed. "If I had, I wouldn't need to
invest. Go ahead, however; I'm all ears." He pulled his chair closer and
listened intently while the other outlined the plan, his weak gray eyes
reflecting the old hero-worship of his college days. To him, Boyd Emerson
had ever represented the ultimate type of all that was most desirable, and
time had not lessened his admiration.

"It looks as if there might be a jolly rumpus, doesn't it?" he questioned,
when the speaker had finished.

"It does."

"Then I've got to see it. I'll put in my share if you'll let me go along."

"You go! Why, you wouldn't like that sort of thing," said Emerson,
considerably nonplussed.

"Oh, wouldn't I? I'd _eat_ it! It's just what I need. I'd revel in
that out-door life." He threw back his narrow shoulders. "I'm a regular
scout when it comes to roughing it. Why, I camped in the Thousand Islands
all one summer, and I've been deer-hunting in the Adirondacks. We didn't
get any--they were too far from the hotel; but I know all about mountain
life."

"This is totally different," Boyd objected; but Clyde ran on, his
enthusiasm growing as he tinted the mental picture to suit himself.

"I'm a splendid fisherman, too, and I've plenty of tackle."

"We shall use nets."

"Don't do it! It isn't sportsmanlike. I'll take a book of flies and whip
that stream to a froth." Emerson interrupted him to explain briefly the
process of salmon-catching, but the young man was not to be discouraged.

"You give me something to do--something where I don't have to lift heavy
weights or carry boxes--and watch me work! I tell you, it's what I've been
looking for, and I didn't know it; I'll get as husky as you are and all
sunburnt. Tell me the sort of furs and the kind of pistols to buy, and
I'll put ten thousand dollars in the scheme. That's all I can spare."

"You won't need either furs or firearms," laughed Boyd. "When we get back
to Kalvik the days will be long and hot, and the whole country will be a
blaze of wild flowers."

"That's fine! I love flowers. If I can't catch fish for the cannery, I'll
make up for it in some other way."

"Can you keep books?"

"No; but I can play a mandolin," Clyde offered, optimistically. "I guess a
little music would sound pretty good up there in the wilderness."

"Can you play a mandolin?" inquired "Fingerless" Fraser, observing the
young fellow with grave curiosity.

"Sure; I'm out of practice, but--"

"Take him!" said Fraser, turning upon Emerson.

"He can set on the front porch of the cannery with wild flowers in his
hair and play _La Paloma_. It will make those other fish-houses mad
with jealousy. Get a window-box and a hammock, and maybe Willis Marsh will
run in and spend his evenings with you."

"Don't josh!" insisted Clyde, seriously. "I want to go--"

"Me josh?" Fraser's face was like wood.

"I'll think it over," Emerson said, guardedly.

Without warning, the adventurer burst into shrill laughter.

"Are you laughing at me?" angrily demanded the city youth.

Fraser composed his features, which seemed to have suddenly disrupted.
"Certainly not! I just thought of something that happened to my father
when I was a little child." Again he began to shake, at which Clyde
regarded him narrowly; but his merriment was so impersonal as to allay
suspicion, and the young fellow went on with undiminished enthusiasm:

"You think it over, and in the mean time I'll get a bunch of the fellows
together. We'll all have lunch at the University Club to-morrow, and you
can tell them about the affair."

Fraser abruptly ended his laughter as Boyd's heel came heavily in contact
with his instep under the table. Clyde was again lost in an exposition of
his fitness as a fisherman when Fraser burst out:

"Hello! There's George. He's walking in his sleep, and thinks this is a
manicure stable."

Emerson turned to behold Balt's huge figure all but blocking the distant
door. It was evident that he had been vainly trying to attract their
attention for some time, but lacked the courage to enter the crowded room,
for, upon catching Boyd's eye, he beckoned vigorously.

"Call him in," said Clyde, quickly. "I want to meet him. He looks just my
sort." And accordingly Emerson motioned to the fisherman. Seeing there was
no help for it, Big George composed himself and ventured timidly across
the portal, steering a tortuous course toward his friends; but in these
unaccustomed waters his bulk became unmanageable and his way beset with
perils. Deeming himself in danger of being run down by a waiter, he
sheered to starboard, and collided with a table at which there was a
theatre party. Endeavoring to apologize, he backed into a great pottery
vase, which rocked at the impact and threatened to topple from its
foundation.

"I'd rather take an ox-team through this room than him," said Fraser.
"He'll wreck something, sure."

Conscious of the attention he was attracting on all sides, Big George
became seized with an excess of awkwardness; his face blazed, and the
perspiration started from his forehead.

"I hope the head waiter doesn't speak to him," Boyd observed. "He is mad
enough to rend him limb from limb." But the words were barely spoken when
they saw a steward hasten toward George and address him, following which
the big fellow's voice rumbled angrily:

"No, I ain't made any mistake! I'm a boarder here, and you get out of my
way or I'll step on you." He strode forward threateningly, at which the
waiter hopped over the train of an evening dress and bowed obsequiously.
The noise of laughter and many voices ceased. In the silence George
pursued his way regardless of personal injury or property damage, breaking
trail, as it were, to his destination, where he sank limply into a chair
which creaked beneath his weight.

"Gimme a lemonade, quick; I'm all het up," he ordered. "I can't get no
footholt on these fancy floors, they're so dang slick."

After a half-dazed acknowledgment of his introduction to Alton Clyde, he
continued: "I've been trying to flag you for ten minutes." He mopped his
brow feebly.

"What is wrong?"

"Everything! It's too noisy for me in this hotel. I've been trying to
sleep for three hours, but this band keeps playing, and that elevated
railroad breaks down every few minutes right under my window. There's
whistles blowing, bells ringing, and--can't we find some quiet road-house
where I can get an hour's rest? Put me in a boiler-shop or a round-house,
where I can go to sleep."

"The hotels are all alike," Boyd answered. "You will soon get used to it."

"Who, me? Never! I want to get back to God's country."

"Hurrah for you!" ejaculated Clyde. "Same here. And I'm going with you."

"How's that?" questioned George.

"Mr. Clyde offers to put ten thousand dollars into the deal if he can go
to Kalvik with us and help run the cannery," explained Emerson.

George looked over the clubman carefully from his curly crown to his
slender, high-heeled shoes, then smiled broadly.

"It's up to Mr. Emerson. I'm willing if he is." Whereupon, vastly
encouraged, Clyde proceeded to expatiate upon his own surpassing
qualifications. While he was speaking, a party of three men approached,
and seated themselves at an adjoining table. As they pulled out their
chairs, Big George chanced to glance in their direction; then he put down
his lemonade glass carefully.

"What's the matter?" Boyd demanded, in a low tone, for the big fellow's
face had suddenly gone livid, while his eyes had widened like those of an
enraged animal.

"That's him!" George growled, "That's the dirty hound!"

"Sit still!" commanded Fraser; for the fisherman had shoved back from the
table and was rising, his hands working hungrily, the cords in his neck
standing out rigidly. Seeing the murder-light in his companion's eyes, the
speaker leaned forward and thrust the big fellow back into the chair from
which he had half lifted himself.

"Don't make a fool of yourself," he cautioned.

Clyde, who had likewise witnessed the giant's remarkable metamorphosis,
now inquired its meaning.

"That's him!" repeated George, his eyes glaring redly. "That's Willis
Marsh."

"Where?" Emerson whirled curiously; but there was no need for George to
point out his enemy, for one of the strangers stood as if frozen, with his
hand upon the back of his chair, an expression of the utmost astonishment
upon his face. A smile was dying from his lips.

Boyd beheld a plump, thick-set man of thirty-eight in evening dress. There
was nothing distinctive about him except, perhaps, his hair, which was of
a decided reddish hue. He was light of complexion; his mouth was small and
of a rather womanish appearance, due to the full red lips. He was well
groomed, well fed, in all ways he was a typical city-bred man. He might
have been a broker, though he did not carry the air of any particular
profession.

That he was, at all events, master of his emotions he soon gave evidence.
Raising his brows in recognition, he nodded pleasantly to Balt; then, as
if on second thought, excused himself to his companions and stepped toward
the other group. The legs of George's chair scraped noisily on the tiles
as he rose; the sound covered Fraser's quick admonition:

"Take it easy, pal; let him talk."

"How do you do, George? What in the name of goodness are you doing here? I
hardly recognized you." Marsh's voice was round and musical, his accent
Eastern. With an assumption of heartiness, he extended a white-gloved
hand, which the big, uncouth man who faced him refused to take. The other
three had risen. George seemed to be groping for a retort. Finally he
blurted out, hoarsely:

"Don't offer me your hand. It's dirty! It's got blood on it!"

"Nonsense!" Marsh smiled. "Let's be friends again, George. Bygones are
bygones. I came over to make up with you and ask about affairs at Kalvik.
If you are here on business and I can help--"

"You dirty rat!" breathed the fisherman.

"Very well; if you wish to be obstinate--" Willis Marsh shrugged his
shoulders carelessly, although in his voice there was a metallic note. "I
have nothing to say." He turned a very bright and very curious pair of
eyes upon George's companions, as if seeking from them some hint as to his
victim's presence there. It was but a momentary flash of inquiry, however,
and then his gaze, passing quickly over Clyde and Fraser, settled upon
Emerson.

"Mr. Balt and I had a business misunderstanding," he said, smoothly,
"which I hoped was forgotten. It didn't amount to much--"

At this Balt uttered a choking snarl and stepped forward, only to meet
Boyd, who intercepted him.

"Behave yourself!" he ordered. "Don't make a scene," and before the big
fellow could prevent it he had linked arms with him, and swung him around.
The movement was executed so naturally that none of the patrons of the
cafe noticed it, except, perhaps, as a preparation for departure. Marsh
bowed civilly and returned to his seat, while Boyd sauntered toward the
exit, his arm which controlled George tense as iron beneath his sleeve. He
felt the fisherman's great frame quivering against him and heard the
excited breath halting in his lungs; but possessed with the sole idea of
getting him away without disorder, he smiled back at Clyde and Fraser, who
were following, and chatted agreeably with his prisoner until they had
reached the foyer. Then he released his hold and said, quietly:

"You'd better go up to your room and cool off. You came near spoiling
everything."

"He tried to shake hands," George mumbled, "_with me!_ That thieving
whelp tried to shake--" He trailed off into an unintelligible jargon of
curses and threats which did not end until he had reached the elevator.
Here Alton Clyde clamored for enlightenment as to the reason for this
eruption.

"That is the fellow we will have to fight, "Boyd explained. "He is the
head of the cannery combination at Kalvik, and a bitter enemy of George's.
If he suspects our motives or gets wind of our plans, we're done for."

Clyde spoke more earnestly than at any time during the evening. "Well,
that absolutely settles it as far as I am concerned. This is bound to end
in a row."

"You mean you don't want to join us?"

"_Don't want to!_ Why, I've just _got_ to, that's all. The ten
thousand is yours, but if you don't take me along I'll stow away."





CHAPTER XI

WHEREIN BOYD EMERSON IS TWICE AMAZED




Nearly a month had elapsed when Emerson at last expressed to George the
discouragement that for several days had lain silently in both men's
minds.

"It looks like failure, doesn't it?"

"Sure does! You've played your string out, eh?"

"Absolutely. I've done everything except burglary, but I can't raise that
hundred thousand dollars. From the way we started off it looked easy, but
times are hard and I've bled my friends of every dollar they can spare. In
fact, some of them have put in more than they can afford."

"It's an awful big piece of money," Balt admitted, with a sigh.

"I never fully realized before how very large," Boyd said. "And yet,
without that amount the Seattle bank won't back us for the remainder."

"Oh, it's no use to tackle the business on a small scale." Big George
pondered for a moment. "We can't wait much longer. We'd ought to be on the
coast now. We're shy twenty-five thousand dollars, eh?"

"Yes, and I can't see any possible way of raising it. I've done the best I
could, and so has Clyde, but it's no use."

The strain of the past month was evident in Emerson's face, which was worn
and tired, as if from sleepless nights. Of late he had lapsed again into
that despondent mood which Fraser had observed in Alaska, his moments of
depression growing more frequent as the precious days slipped past. Every
waking hour he had devoted to the promotion of his enterprise. He had
laughed at rebuffs and refused discouragement; he had solicited every man
who seemed in any way likely to be interested. He had gone from office to
office, his hours regulated by watch and note-book, always retailing the
same facts, always convincingly lucid and calmly enthusiastic. But a
scarcity of money seemed prevalent. Those who sought investment either had
better opportunities or refused to finance an undertaking so far from
home, and apparently so hazardous.

During those three years in the North, Boyd had worked with feverish haste
and suffered many disappointments; but never before had he used such a
vast amount of nervous force as in this short month, never had fortune
seemed so maddeningly stubborn. But he had hung on with bulldog tenacity,
not knowing how to give up, until at last he had placed his stock to the
extent of seventy-five thousand dollars, only to realize that he had
exhausted his vital force as well as his list of acquaintances. In public
he maintained a sanguine front, but in private he let go, and only his two
Alaskan friends had sounded the depths of his disappointment.

One other, to be sure, had some inkling of what troubled him, yet to
Mildred he had never explained the precise nature of his difficulties. She
did not even know his plans. He spent many evenings with her, and she
would have given him more of her society had he consented to go out with
her, for the demands upon her time were numerous; but this he could never
bring himself to do, being too wearied in mind and body, and wishing to
spare himself any additional mental disquiet.

Neither Mildred nor her father ever spoke of that unknown suitor in his
presence, and their very silence invested the mysterious man with menacing
possibilities which did not tend to soothe Boyd's troubled mind. In fact,
Mr. Wayland, despite his genial manner, inspired him with a vague sense of
hostility, and, as if he were not sufficiently distracted by all this,
Fraser and George kept him in a constant state of worry from other causes.
The former was continually involving him in some wildly impossible
enterprise which seemed ever in danger of police interference. He could
not get rid of the fellow, for Fraser calmly included him in all his
machinations, dragging him in willy-nilly, until in Boyd's ears there
sounded the distant clank of chains and the echo of the warden's tread. A
dozen times he had exposed the rogue and established his own position,
only to find himself the next day wallowing in some new complication more
difficult than that from which he had escaped. Ordinarily it would have
been laughable, but at this crisis it was tragic.

As for George, he had been very quiet since the night of his encounter
with Marsh, and he spent much of his time by himself. This was a relief to
Boyd, until he happened several times to meet the big fellow in strange
places at unexpected hours, surprising in his eyes a look of expectant
watchfulness, the meaning of which at first puzzled him. It took but
little observation, however, to learn that the fisherman spent his days in
hotel lobbies, always walking about through the crowd, and that by night
he patrolled the theatre district, slinking about as if to avoid
observation. Emerson finally realized with a shock that George was in
search of his enemy; but no amount of argument could alter the fellow's
mind, and he continued to hunt with the silence of a lone wolf. What the
result of his meeting Marsh would be Boyd hesitated to think, but neither
George nor he discovered any trace of that gentleman.

These various cares, added to the consequences of his inability to finance
the cannery project, had reduced Emerson to a state bordering upon
collapse. Balt had entered his room that morning for his daily report of
progress, and after his partner's confession of failure had fetched a deep
sigh.

"Well, it's tough, after all we've went through," he said. Then, after a
pause, "Cherry will be broken-hearted."

"I hadn't thought of her," confessed the other.

"You see, it's her last chance, too."

"So she told me. I'm sorry I brought you all these thousands of miles on a
wild-goose chase, but--"

"I don't care for myself. I'll get back somehow and live in the brush,
like I used to, and some day I'll get my chance. But she's a woman, and
she can't fight Marsh like I can."

"Just who or what is she?" Boyd inquired, curiously, glad of anything to
divert his thoughts from their present channel.

"She's just a big-hearted girl, and the only person, red, white, or
yellow, who gave me a kind word or a bite to eat till you came along.
That's all I know about her. I'd have gone crazy only for her." The big
man ground his teeth as the memory of his injuries came uppermost.

Before Boyd could follow the subject further, Alton Clyde strolled in upon
them, arrayed immaculately, with gloves, tie, spats, and a derby to match,
a striped waistcoast, and a gold-headed walking-stick.

"Salutations, fellow-fishermen!" he began. "I just ran in to settle the
details of our trip. I want my tailor to get busy on my wardrobe to-
morrow." Boyd shook his head.

"Ain't going to be no wardrobe," said Balt.

"Why? Has something happened to scare the fish?"

"I can't raise the money," Emerson confessed.

"Still shy that twenty-five thou?" questioned the clubman.

"Yes! I'm done."

"That's a shame! I had some ripping clothes planned--English whip-cord--"

"That stuff won't rip," George declared. "But over-alls is plenty good."

Clyde tapped the narrow points of his shoes with his walking-stick,
frowning in meditation. "I'm all in, and so are the rest of the fellows.
By Jove, this will be a disappointment to Mildred! Have you told her?"

"No. She doesn't know anything about the plan, and I didn't want to tell
her until I had the money. Now I can't go to her and acknowledge another
failure."

"I'm terribly disappointed," said Clyde. There was a moment's silence;
then he went to the telephone and called the hotel office: "Get me a cab
at once--Mr. Clyde. I'll be right down."

Turning to the others, he remarked: "I'll see what I can do; but as a
promoter, I'm a joke. However, the trip will do me good, and I am hungry
for the fray; the smell of battle is in my nostrils, and I am champing at
my bit. Woof! Leave it to me." He smote the air with his slender cane, and
made for the door with an appearance of fierce determination upon his
colorless face. "You'll hear from me in the morning. So long!"

His martial air amused the two, but Boyd soon dismissed him from his mind
and spent that evening in such moody silence that, in desperation, Big
George forsook him and sought out the manicure parlor. Fraser was busied
on some enterprise of his own.

The thought of Alton Clyde's raising twenty-five thousand dollars where he
had failed was ridiculous to Emerson. He was utterly astounded when that
radiantly attired youth strolled into his room on the following morning
and tossed a thick roll of bills upon the table, saying, carelessly:

"There it is; count it."

"What?"

"Twenty-five one-thousand-dollar notes. Anyhow, I think there are twenty-
five of them, but I'm not sure. I counted them twice: once I made twenty-
four and the next time twenty-six, but I had my gloves on; so I struck an
averages and took the paying teller's word for it."

Emerson leaped to his feet, staring at the dandy as if not comprehending
this sudden turn of fortune.

"Did you rustle this money without any help?" he demanded.

"Abso-blooming-lutely!"

"Is it your own?"

"Well, hardly! It is so far from it that I was sorely tempted to spread my
wings and soar to foreign parts. It wouldn't have taken much of a nudge to
butt me clear over into Canada this morning."

"Where in the world did you get it, Al?"

"What difference does that make? I _got_ it, didn't I?" He slapped
his trousers leg daintily with his stick. "You can issue the stock in my
name."

Boyd seized the little fellow and whirled him around the room, laughing
gleefully, lifted in one moment from the pit of despair to the height of
optimism.

"Stop it! I'm all rumpled!" gasped Clyde, finally, sinking into a chair
"When I get rumpled in the morning I stay rumpled all day. Don't you touch
me!"

"Whose money is this? What good angel took pity on us?"

Clyde's faded eyes dropped. "Well, I turned a trick, and to all intents
and purposes it is mine. There it is. I didn't steal it, and--you don't
have to know _everything,_ do you? That is why I got the check
cashed."

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