Chapter Twelve

Meanwhile, Dan Farlin had ridden even faster than he had anticipated. He had a good start on Jim Bond, to begin with, and considerable time had elapsed while events were in progress in Sunrise. As a consequence, neither Bond nor the mysterious rider caught as much as a glimpse of him as he proceeded swiftly on his way. Indeed, in the excitement of the race, Bond had forgotten all about Farlin.

The gambler reached the point south of the butte where the trail turned southeast for Rocky Point in due season, and at dawn was well on his way toward the county seat. There were ranches where he could have stopped, and at any of which he would have been welcome, but he preferred to push on. He was not riding on physical endurance alone, for his mind was busy with a hundred and one thoughts, suspicions, and conjectures. And out of this tangle came the conviction that he had to go through with the business in hand as speedily as possible. For Gladys, to all appearances, was altogether too much impressed by the young adventurer who he believed to be none other than Bovert.

And still he had inwardly to confess that Jim Bond, as the young adventurer called himself, had made a favorable impression on him. Damn it! What with a $100,000 ranch that he might never be able to pay for, a good-looking, vivacious, impressionable daughter, his own fondness—innate and studiously cultivated through the years—for games of chance, Lester’s hold over him, and Lawson’s proposition—he had much to think about. He did not look with favor upon the dubious role he was about to play, but—if he didn’t do it, somebody else would. It was an old alibi for him.

He reached Rocky Point shortly after noon and, after putting up his horse, took the small pack from his saddle and proceeded to the hotel. His eyes glistened as he looked up and down the busy principal street. There was money in this, the liveliest town on the north range. It was supported by a rich ranching country and by the mining activities in the south. He thought it peculiar that Lawson had not made a raid here before, regardless of the “hands-off” agreement he had with Sheriff Mills. In fact, the immunity enjoyed by Sunrise was due in a great part to this agreement. And now the outlaw intended to make the long-delayed raid. It was brought home to Farlin with startling force that this was to be Lawson’s final play in that territory. It was also to be Farlin’s last hand thereabouts. With the agreement broken, what would happen to Sunrise—and to Lester? The gambler smiled grimly. Sunrise was doomed. And if Lester was to get an inkling of what was in prospect! The smile faded and the gambler’s eyes hardened.

Dan Farlin was known personally to a favored few in Rocky Point. One of these was the proprietor of the leading hotel, the Palace. This stocky, ruddy-faced, good-natured individual spotted him as soon as he entered the hotel lobby and advanced with outstretched hand.

“’Lo, Dan,” he greeted. “In so soon? Don’t usually see you till after the Fourth. How’s Gladys getting on these days?”

“Very well,” said Farlin, shaking hands. “If I’m ahead of time, it’s because things are slow and I thought a trip to the big town would do me good.” His smile was engaging.

The proprietor became confidential. “If you’re looking for a play here, Dan, you’ve come at the right time. Shearing’s just over, the mines are booming, and there’s all kinds of loose money hunting a new owner, and I can put you right. You’re one gambler who can work this town and nobody’d kick.”

Farlin laughed. “I never work any town, my friend,” he replied with a suspicious twinkle in his eye.

“I know,” said the other, raising his eyes. “You don’t want the girlie in here, and I don’t blame you. She’s better off in Sunrise. This place”—he lowered his tone—“is getting tough.”

“You don’t say,” said Farlin, feigning astonishment. “And just when was it that it got soft? I wish you’d have let me know, because I’d have moved in, bought a house, and planted a flower garden. I always loved flowers, old horse thief.”

“Yeah? On somebody’s grave who . . . oh, I didn’t mean that, Dan. My jokes have a way of coming out twisted. At that, I’ve seen you wear a flower in your coat lapel, which is something I’ve never seen anyone else do around this burg. Now I know just what you want. You want a room, and you want a bath. And you’re going to get ’em is what I mean. And when you’re ready I want you to come down and have dinner with me. I haven’t eaten yet, and I’ll see the cook tosses up something you want. Come along.”

An hour or so later, bathed, shaved, dressed as usual in his dark double-breasted suit, with white shirt and dark-blue tie, his boots peeping forth brilliantly polished, his diamonds flashing, Dan Farlin stood looking out the window of his room on the second floor, facing the street. A smart, splendid figure of a man—the most striking in that town. No one knew how he had come by his taste for sartorial perfection, for quiet, elegant dress. They assumed it was inherited. The big diamonds? They were expected of him.

Farlin’s fine, handsome face was gathered in a frown. His talk with George Reed, the proprietor of the hotel, had disturbed him. Here was a man—a friend—who respected him. There were others. And Farlin did not pick his friends among the riff-raff of the cow towns and mining camps. And here he was about to—but they might never even suspect the part he had played with Lawson. He shrugged and went down to his dinner with Reed.

“You know, Dan,” Reed said, when they lighted their smokes after the meal, “I’ve been wondering if you’ve ever thought of . . . of quitting the game you’re in. Now, don’t think I’m trying to butt into your private affairs, for I’m not. After all, I’m your friend. But Gladys is getting to be quite a girl, and you’ve got to think of her.”

Farlin immediately saw an opportunity for an excuse if he should leave the country at all soon.

“I’ve thought of it, George. I’ve saved some money, and I’m going into ranching. No, not around here. I’ve a place picked out where the environment will be better for the girl. I think . . . I’m pretty sure I have enough to swing it. Now I’m going over to the bank and stick in a deposit.”

He smiled as he realized for the first time that no one would suspect him of anything when they learned he had put money into the bank himself. As Lawson had craftily pointed out, he was in the clear and under cover.

“Good!” exclaimed Reed in satisfaction, patting him on the shoulder as they rose from the table. “And if you ever need, well . . . you know.”

Again that queer feeling assailed Farlin, and he bit his lip. “I’ve got to go to the bank, George,” he said hurriedly. “So long.”

* * * * *

President John Duggan, of the Rocky Point State Bank, looked up with genuine pleasure; in fact, his large, genial face and blue eyes glowed as the immaculate gambler was shown into his private office—a new office, as was the cage before it. The interior of the old, trusted bank had been remodeled during the preceding winter.

“Dan, I’m glad to see you,” he said, giving Farlin’s hand a squeeze that made the latter wince. “Sit down in one of our new chairs.” He indicated a chair opposite his big, flat-topped desk.

“I was just about to say that the place looks pretty high-toned,” drawled Farlin. “New cage and floor and plate-glass windows, and then this office . . . and having to be led in. Guess you must have raised the limit on your interest rates, eh?”

“Nope,” said Duggan, not without a note of pride. “We’ve always made money, and I, that is, the directors . . . ahem! . . . decided the building needed freshening up a bit. Country’s booming around here and we have to put up a front.”

“New vault, too?” said Farlin casually.

“Not at all. The one we’ve had right along is still large enough to hold all the money, but I’m hoping we have to enlarge it soon. You’re looking good, Dan.”

“Fishing for me to say you look the same,” Farlin complained. “That’s the trouble with you bankers. You always hem and haw and beat around the bush and make small medicine until you’ve got an idea what a man has come for. Then, if he’s come to borrow money, your jaw drops a foot, and times are not good, and the outlook is doubtful, and there’s signs of drought, and there isn’t any too much water, and the grass is bad, and you shake your head and sigh and growl . . . ‘How much yah want and what’s the security?’ But if he’s come to put money into the bank, instead of take it out, why, then it’s a case of . . . ‘Ain’t the weather good? Looks like one of the best years we’ve ever had. This is an excellent time to invest . . . right in this here country!’ And you slap the desk and beam until one would think there were three suns shining instead of one. Now, how have you got me pegged? What do you think I’ve come for, John Duggan?”

The banker eased his huge bulk—he was a very big man—in his chair, leaned back, and laughed heartily. He wiped his eyes before he spoke.

“Doesn’t make a particle of difference, Dan. If you’ve come to borrow money, you can have it. Not from the bank, understand. I have to account to my directors and . . .”

He was interrupted by Farlin’s guffaw. “You and your directors!” said the gambler scornfully. “Say, John, if one of those directors . . . if you have any . . . came in here and said anything, you’d throw him out, and you know it.”

“Tut-tut.” Duggan frowned. “I’d be able to manage a loan, perhaps, but I’d have to guarantee it, that is . . . I’d have to be responsible for it.”

“Now you’re talking,” said Farlin, waving aside the proffered cigar and taking out his tobacco and cigarette papers. “Well, John, I haven’t come to borrow anything, except, maybe, a match. I’ve come to stick twenty thousand in that old vault of yours and just dropped in to say hello for the sake of politeness.”

“By golly, things must have started off with a bang in your . . . your . . . ah . . . business.” The banker smiled.

“Why don’t you say what’s in your head?” suggested Farlin. “Mine isn’t a business, it’s a game, and a rocky one at that.”

“I wish you’d get out of it,” said Duggan thoughtfully. “But right this minute, I don’t know just what you’d do to . . . to . . .” He pursed his lips.

“To make as much money,” Farlin supplied, smiling wryly.

“I don’t believe you have any balance with us, Dan, but I’m glad to reopen the account. I’m mighty glad to reopen the account. And with no thought of the bank, I wish you’d keep a respectable balance for your own sake. Maybe you’ll come out all right on your ranch deal down there, but cash is a nice thing to be able to lay your hands on when you need it quick.”

“Have you told anybody about that deal?” asked Farlin quickly.

“Of course not!” Duggan exclaimed in indignation. “What I know . . .”

“Yes, yes,” said Farlin with a wave of his hand. “You’re just like a lawyer . . . and I wouldn’t trust a lawyer so far.”

“Say, Dan”—the banker leaned forward—“what does Big Tom Lester do with all his money?”

“I don’t know,” Farlin replied, surprised. “Hasn’t he got any in here?”

“He . . . I couldn’t tell you that,” said Duggan. “It wouldn’t be ethical.”

Dan Farlin laughed. He was looking curiously about. There was a window at the rear of the office, and none too securely barred, he thought. The vault was the same and could be easily cracked. He felt that he was looking guilty when he again gazed at the banker.

But John Duggan was not looking at him. He was drumming on the top of his desk and staring through the open door into the cage. He turned his head suddenly.

“You know, it’s too bad about that town of Sunrise,” he said seriously. “It’s in such a good location. And they’re going to open up a big bunch of land north and west of there. This fall, maybe, next spring, sure. The government, I mean.”

“Homesteaders!” snorted Farlin, unable to suppress a sneer.

The banker nodded. “They’ve got to come, Dan. There’s no stopping ’em. It means farming country, and big ranchers will find that their land is too valuable to run stock on. When the time arrives, there’ll be no kick from that quarter. Now, I’ll make out your deposit slip myself and give you a book and a . . .”

“Don’t need a book or receipt or anything,” Farlin interrupted. He tossed the roll Lawson had given him on the desk. “There’s twenty thousand there to start.” He rose to avoid Duggan’s eyes. “By the way, my daughter has an account here, hasn’t she?”

“Yes.” Duggan smiled. “I can tell you that because you’re her father, but I can’t tell you her balance.”

Farlin frowned. Gladys would have to withdraw her balance before . . .

“Well, I don’t want to know,” he said. “So long, John.”

John Duggan rose, stepped with him to the door. “I don’t do this for everybody, Dan.” He chuckled. “And everybody doesn’t get in to see the president, either.” His broad face beamed.

“John, we’re both gamesters.” Farlin laughed as he went out.

He looked about the rear out of the corners of his eyes as he left, and again the uncomfortable feeling swept over him. He was glad to gain the open air.