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Mine with the Iron Door

<h2>CHAPTER XVII THE SHERIFF’S VISIT</h2> <div class="blockquot">“Come to think of it, it’s generally a healthy proposition not to know too much about your neighbors—the ones that you like, I mean.” </div> THE Pardners were coming from their mine to the house for the midday meal when the officers stopped at the gate. “Howdy, Jim?” called Bob with the cheerful grin he kept for his friends. “Which one of us are you wantin’ now?” The sheriff laughed as he shook hands with the two old prospectors. “If you’ll give our horses a feed, I’ll let you both off this time.” “How about yourselves?” asked Thad. “Would you fight if we was to try to force you to eat a bite?” “I’ll say we would not,” returned one of the deputies, swinging from his saddle. “I’m that holler that I’d ring if anybody was to kick me,” drawled the other. “I’ll have to hear what the boss says before I commit myself,” said the sheriff. “How about it, Marta?” he called to the girl who stood in the doorway. “Are you backing the offer of these two daddies of yours?{173}” “You know I am, Mr. Burks,” she returned heartily. “You are always welcome here. I’ll be ready for you in a few minutes.” While they waited Marta’s call to dinner, the men exchanged news of general interest and talked together as old friends will. And Marta, in the kitchen, could hear through the open window every word as clearly as if she had been sitting with them. Presently the sheriff made known his mission in the Cañon of Gold. “You haven’t got any strangers in the neighborhood, have you?” he asked casually. “Nope,” said Bob. “Nary a stranger,” echoed Thad. “That is,” amended Bob, “not that we have seen or heard of. This here Cañada del Oro is a pretty big piece of country, Jim, an’ mighty rough, as you know, an’ Thad an’ me we stick kinda close to our diggin’.” “Natachee been ’round lately?” “Oh, he drops in once in a while, same as always,” returned Bob. “He was here yesterday.” “Natachee would sure know if there was any one around,” mused the officer. “There is nothing stirring in these mountains that Indian don’t see. I’m looking for a convict who escaped from the Florence penitentiary,” he continued. “The last trace we had of him he was headed this way. He came into Tucson and managed to get a sort of an outfit together and struck out for somewhere in this general direction.” At the officer’s words old Thad rubbed his bald{174} head meditatively. Bob bent over to pick up a bit of rock which he proceeded to examine with minute care. The girl in the kitchen caught at the table for support and, faint and trembling, with white face and horror-stricken eyes, stared through the open door toward that neighboring cabin. Then she heard Thad say: “We sure ain’t seen nothin’ like a convict in these parts, Jim. When did he make his break?” “Two weeks ago,” answered the sheriff. The color returned to the girl’s face and her trembling limbs became steady. But as she turned again toward the stove where the meal for her guests was cooking, she glanced through the open window and stood as if turned to stone. Natachee was moving with noiseless step toward the group of men outside. Then she heard Bob’s laugh. “Talkin’ about the devil, sheriff, suppose you take a look behind you.” While the officers and the Pardners were exchanging greetings with the Indian, Marta, going to the door, summoned the hungry men. They trooped into the house and Natachee, declining the invitation to join them at the table on the plea that he had eaten an early dinner, seated himself just inside the open doorway to continue his part in the general conversation. When the sheriff had explained his mission to the Indian, Natachee, with his eyes fixed on Marta’s face, confirmed the Pardners’ opinion that{175} no stranger had recently come into the Cañon of Gold. “That’s good enough for me,” said the sheriff. And then to his men: “We’ll swing over into the Tortollita country this afternoon. No use wasting any more time here.” “We can just about make it over to Dale’s ranch by dark,” returned one of the deputies. “We ain’t due to strike no such meal as this at Dale’s,” said the other officer mournfully, “Dale’s batchin’.” And with one accord they all smilingly expressed their appreciation of Marta’s cooking and acknowledged their gratitude for her hospitality, while the girl happily assured them again of the welcome that always awaited them in her home. For some time following this the hard-riding officers were too busy demonstrating their approval of the dinner to engage in conversation. Natachee waited. At last the Indian spoke casually: “You do not always succeed in finding these escaped convicts, do you, sheriff? This is a big stretch of country to cover and it’s not so very far to the Mexican line. I should think a man would have a fairly good chance.” “They have more than a fair chance,” returned the sheriff. “But still we get most of them. A man must have food and water, you know. If our man knows this sort of country, we can nearly always figure out about what he will do.” He put down his knife and fork and sat back in{176} his chair with the genial air of one who is at peace with the world. “It’s mostly the strangers that drift in from other parts that we never get,” added one of the deputies. “You can’t tell what they’ll do, nohow. Generally they lose themselves and never show up.” Rolling a cigarette the sheriff, in a reminiscent mood, continued: “That’s right. There was one that got away from San Quentin over in California about six months ago, and we lost him clean. They traced him as far as Phœnix and notified me to be on the lookout, because it was reasonably sure that he was heading south, but that’s the last anybody ever heard of him. He may show up yet—if he’s not dead. We always try to keep them in mind, you know.” The Indian, watching Marta, saw the terror that came into her eyes at the sheriff’s words. Quietly she drew away from the group and slipped into the adjoining room where she stood just inside the half-open door listening. The eyes of the Pardners were fixed upon the officer with intense interest. Natachee smiled. “What did this man look like?” The sheriff answered: “The description sent to me says he is a man of about twenty-two or three, tall, rather slender, gray eyes, brown hair, clean shaven, good-looking, well educated, well appearing, likable sort of a chap. Haven’t seen him, have you, Natachee?{177}” “I might run across him somewhere, some day,” returned the Indian. There was a sound in the adjoining room and the sheriff, who was sitting with his back toward the door, turned his head inquiringly. Old Bob spoke quickly: “What was he in for, Jim?” And Thad asked in the same breath: “A killin’, was it?” The officer gave his attention again to his hosts. From where he sat the Indian, through the open kitchen door, saw Marta running toward the neighboring cabin. The sheriff was answering the old prospectors: “He was sent up for wrecking a big investment company in Los Angeles. You remember—the papers were full of the affair at the time.”   Hugh Edwards did not know that his neighbors were entertaining visitors. He was at work in the creek bed when the sheriff arrived and when he went up to his cabin for his noontime lunch the Pardners and their guests were on the far side of the house, so that he could not see them. He had returned to his work and was energetically wielding his pick when he heard Marta’s hurried step on the bank above. The girl came running and sliding down the steep path. At sight of Marta’s face, Edwards dropped his pick and ran to her. “Marta dear, what is the matter? What has happened?{178}” In his alarm for her he forgot himself for the moment, and would have taken her in his arms, but her first hurried words brought him back with a shock. “The sheriff—“ she cried in a voice that trembled with fear and excitement. Hugh Edwards stood as if stunned by a sudden blow, staring at her dully, unable to speak. “Don’t you understand?” she said sharply. “The sheriff is here—why don’t you speak? Why don’t you say something?” She caught him by the arm and shook him. “The sheriff is here, I tell you. He is looking for a man who escaped from prison.” Hugh Edwards drew a long shuddering breath and the girl saw him, in obedience to his first impulse, turn and start as if to run. Then, as suddenly he checked himself, and stood looking about in fearful indecision, not knowing which way to go. Another moment and he had regained control of himself. Facing her with a steadiness which revealed the real strength of his character he said coolly: “This is interesting, I’ll admit, but don’t you think perhaps you are a little overexcited?” he smiled reassuringly. “Suppose you tell me more.” Calmed by his strength the girl answered: “Sheriff Burks and two of his men are searching for a convict who escaped from the Florence penitentiary two weeks ago. They stopped at our house to inquire if we had seen any strangers in the cañon recently, and we asked them to stay for dinner of course. Natachee happened in as he always does{179} when any one from outside comes to the cañon—and—and—while they were all eating and talking I slipped out the front door and ran over here to tell you.” Edwards laughed. “A convict escaped from Florence two weeks ago. Well, he certainly is not in the Cañada del Oro or Natachee would know.” The girl looked at him pleadingly. “I—I—am afraid Natachee does know.” She shuddered. “He—it would be just like him to bring the sheriff and his men here. Please—please—won’t you go? For my sake, won’t you?” At this Edwards looked at her searchingly. “Go where?” he said at last. “What do you think the Indian knows? Why should I go anywhere?” “You—you do not understand,” the girl faltered. “You must hide somewhere, quick—Please, Hugh, they may come any minute.” Again Edwards looked about as if, while prompted to yield to her entreaty, he was still undecided as to the best course to pursue. “But surely you know that I did not escape from Florence two weeks ago,” he said slowly. “I know—I know,” she cried, “but there was another.” “Another?” “Yes—a man who escaped from San Quentin six months ago. They followed him as far as Phœnix. He was coming this way. He was twenty-two or{180} twenty-three years old—tall—slender—gray eyes—brown hair—well educated—Oh, Hugh—Hugh—don’t stand there looking at me like that! You must do something—you must go—quick—somewhere—anywhere where these men won’t see you.” With a low cry of horror and despair the man leaped away, running like a startled deer up the creek. But before he had gone a hundred feet he stopped as suddenly as he had started and faced back toward the girl, holding out his arms in an unmistakable gesture of love and longing. But Marta did not see. She had dropped to the ground, where she crouched with her face buried in her hands. Still holding out his arms the man went slowly toward her. Then again he stopped, to stand for a moment irresolute, as one fighting with all the strength of his will against himself. And then once more he faced the other way, and stooping low, with head down, ran as if in fear for his life.   When Marta had recovered a little of her self-control she realized that she must not be seen near Edwards’ cabin by the officers, who by this time must have finished their dinner. Hurriedly she stole away down the creek, thinking that if she was seen coming up the path that led from the Pardners’ mine to the house no one would question as to where she had been. When she had gained the top of the bank she saw{181} her fathers just outside the kitchen door deep in a heated argument. There was no one else in sight. Catching her breath sharply, the girl hurried on until she could gain an unobstructed view of the neighboring cabin. There was no one there. With a sob of relief she almost ran the remaining distance to the Pardners, who were by now watching her expectantly, as if wondering what she would do or say. “Where are they? Have they gone?” she cried as she came up to them. The two men looked at each other questioningly. “Go ahead, you old fool, she’s your gal, ain’t she?” said Bob. “What’s the use in your standin’ there lookin’ at me like that, I ain’t done nothin’.” “Holy Cats!” ejaculated Thad. “Can’t a man even look at you without you goin’ mad? I ain’t a-worryin’ none about what you’ve done or about what anybody’s done, if it comes to that. It’s what you’re likely to do that’s got me layin’ awake nights.” He turned to the girl and in a very different tone said: “Sure they’re gone. Jim figgered that if the man they wanted was in the Cañada del Oro, Natachee would a-seen him and so, as long as the Indian hadn’t seen nobody strange in these parts, they’ve pulled out for the Tortollitas. Jim said to tell you good-by an’ that they’d sure enjoyed your cookin’.{182}” To the utter amazement of the two old prospectors their partnership girl burst into a joyous ringing laugh, and throwing her arms around each leathery wrinkled old neck in turn she kissed them and ran into the house. Bob looked at Thad—Thad looked at Bob—together they looked toward the kitchen door through which their girl had disappeared. “Holy Cats!” murmured Thad softly, as he rubbed his bald head. “Now what in seven states of blessedness do you make of that?” “She must know,” said Bob. “She must a-heard what Jim said—she ain’t a plumb fool if she is your gal.” He shook his head. “I give it up. Listen to that, will you?” Marta, busy with her after-dinner kitchen work, was singing. “One thing is certain sure,” said Thad softly, “whatever trouble the boy may have got himself into, it’s a dead immortal cinch that he ain’t in no way different now from what he was before Jim Burks happened to eat dinner with us, an’ that blamed Indian began askin’ fool questions about what ain’t none of his business.” “That’s fair enough,” returned Bob. “We didn’t never take to Hugh for what some judge, that we never saw or heard tell of, said he was or wasn’t. We threw in with him for what he is. An’ if we’re such a pair of boneheads as to be livin’ with him like we have all this time without findin’ out more about what he really is than any judge that ever{183} sat on a bench—well—we ought to be sentenced ourselves, that’s what I’m sayin’.” Thad rubbed his bald head. “At that,” he said mournfully, “it wouldn’t be the first time by several, that we’d ought to a-been sentenced, would it? If young Edwards was to go to pryin’ into our records—huh—I’ll bet he wouldn’t feel proud of his neighbors no matter what he’s done hisself.” Old Bob grinned cheerfully. “You’ve said it, Pardner, by smoke!—if he was to know, the youngster would be hittin’ it out of this Cañada del Oro so fast you wouldn’t see Mount Lemmon for dust. Come to think of it, it’s generally a healthy proposition not to know too much about your neighbors—the ones that you like, I mean. What is it the good book says: ‘Where ignorance is bliss a man’s a darned fool to poke around tryin’ to find out things?’ As for my gal, it’s plain to be seen that she’s plumb tickled at the way it’s all turnin’ out an’——“ “Your gal!” shrilled Thad. “Your gal!—there you go again. Holy Cats! Have you got to be allus tryin’ to gouge me out of my rights? Can’t you never give me a fair break?” “Excuse me, Pardner, I forgot. As I was about to say, in my opinion you’d better let that gal of yourn work her own way out of this. It’s easy to see that she’s in too deep for us, an’ considerin’ everything—considerin’ everything, I say—it might not turn out so bad after all.{184}” To which Thad replied: “However it looks an’ however it turns out, my gal knows a heap more about it than us two old sand rats ever could. We’re bankin’ on the boy, an’ we’re trustin’ the gal, an’ we’re mindin’ our own business, you bet!” To which Bob responded fervently: “You bet!{185}” <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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