Part 2

Shortly after ten, two figures approached the hotel from the direction of the shipping-shed. One was short and thick-set; the other wore a hat banded with bright silk. The street was illy lighted, and they did not see the figure by the door until the thick-set man, who was leading, was within arm’s length of it. Then the Judge moved, looking up into the faces of the two. Luce gave him a swift glance and entered the barroom. But Homer halted suddenly, called a nervous good-night after his companion, turned away sharply, and hurried into the darkness toward home.

The next evening found the Judge again tipped back in a chair beside the barroom entrance. But the third evening he came to his station at a late hour and, before sitting down, parted the swinging doors to stand between them a moment, leisurely surveying the brightly-lighted room.

Each night afterward he returned--always at a different hour. Midnight of the day the first refrigerator cars intended for the pear shipment were shunted upon the siding at the shipping-shed he again came face to face with Jim Luce at the Occidental. The rancher had been drinking, and walked unsteadily, so the Judge stepped out of his way. But Luce recognised him, and turned upon him with a curse.

“You been spyin’ on me,” charged Luce thickly. “Just as if I ain’t got a right to spend my money like I want to! I say, you been spyin’ on me, an’ you can’t deny it.” He wavered from side to side before the tall figure of the Judge. “But you cut it out. You hear me? You cut it out.”

“What do I want to spy on you for?” inquired the Judge mildly. “You’re full, Jim.”

“You’re mixin’ up in my business,” shrilled the other. “But I’ll pay that alimony when I git good an’ ready.”

The swinging doors were opening now and men were coming out.

“Don’t stir up no fracas,” advised the Judge. “I’m Justice of the Peace, mind y’--Peace. An’ I’m goin’ to see that it’s kept.”

The next moment the little crowd was treated to an exciting outcome of the meeting. Luce staggered forward and struck. The Judge, avoiding the blow, seized the rancher by the upturned collar of his coat, shook him vigorously and led him away up the street, half a dozen of the curious falling in behind. The general merchandise store was passed, and the rickety sidewalk; then the Judge unlocked a door beyond the entrance of the courtroom.

“Jim,” he said, “you been itchin’ for the lockup. And here you are!”

He pulled his prisoner after him into a dark room. Someone struck a match, and the room was seen to contain a narrow bed, and a table upon which were writing materials. The Judge tumbled Luce upon the bed without ceremony. Then the crowd backed out, and the key was turned in the lock once more.

“It’s all over, boys,” said the Judge from the sidewalk. “Good-night.”

He walked away in one direction, and his late audience, moving slowly back toward the Occidental, divided itself on the question as to whether or not a Justice of the Peace had a right to make an arrest.

Dawn found Jim Luce asleep upon his prison-cot. But by six o’clock he was well on his way toward his ranch; while by breakfast-time a check in full for back alimony was dispatched to Mrs. Luce through the medium of a small, barefooted boy who lived behind the jail.

At the middle of that same morning the Judge sat at his desk, combing his hair with his fingers. His face was unwontedly pale, his eyes were heavy from lack of sleep. But a calf-bound book was open before him, and he was bent over it almost doggedly.

He straightened wearily as a woman entered--Mrs. Luce, her face tear-marked, her mouth bent in a disconsolate half-moon. “W’y, what’s the matter?” he asked with concern. “Ain’t Jim’s check good?”

She did not answer, but hurried forward to the desk. “I want a warrant,” she cried. “I think it’s a shame and a disgrace that the constable won’t arrest him without a warrant.”

“The constable must foller the law,” explained the Judge. “Set down, Mrs. Luce. Who’s your warrant for?”

Her hands were clenched as if she had something hateful in their grasp. “It’s for that nice, stylish dude you’re always bragging up,” she said sarcastically. “He’s a thief, that’s what he is--a common, two-faced thief!”

“Dude?” repeated the Judge, puzzled.

“Mr. Homer Scott.”

The Judge stared her in the face. “Hush!” he commanded sternly. “You don’t know what you’re a-sayin’.”

“Oh, I don’t!” She laughed bitterly. “Well, you’ll change your mind.”

“You’re a-talkin’ strong talk, Mrs. Luce. What d’ you claim he’s stole?”

“My nuggets.”

“How did he come to have your nuggets? Set down.”

“I gave ’em to him for security. I borrowed a hundred and fifteen dollars of his peach money that day I was in here with Jim. At first I wanted him to give me the money and then dock Jim that much on his pears. But he wouldn’t do that. He made me a straight loan and asked for security. I took him my nuggets.”

“He didn’t ask for ’em?”

“No; it was my idea. The string was easy for him to keep in his safe.”

“You didn’t take no receipt for it, I suppose?”

“That’s where I made a big mistake. This morning, the second I got my check, I wrote my name across it, went down to the shipping-shed and handed it to Homer. He took it, remarked that I was ahead of time, and went on with his writing. I noticed his hand shook something terrible.”

“Cigareets,” said the Judge sadly. “He learnt that in the city.”

“A guilty conscience, more likely. I says to him, ‘Well, Homer, are the nuggets handy? I’ll take ’em if they are.’ He looked up almost like he didn’t understand. ‘The nuggets?’ he says. ‘What nuggets?’ ‘Why, the nuggets I handed you as security.’ ‘You didn’t give me any nuggets,’ he says. ‘Yes, I did.’ ‘Why, you didn’t either!’ He was nice and friendly all the time, Judge, but said I was mistaken. Well, I’m not mistaken.” Her voice rose excitedly. “He’s been gambling with Jim; he’s short of money; Carpenter, the fruit-man, is back in town, and Homer’s scared.”

The face of the Judge grew pallid, and fear came into the grey eyes. He drew in a quick breath. “Mrs. Luce, you’re yellin’. Do you want the hull town t’hear? Let’s settle this without a crowd. You say Carpenter’s here?”

“Came in on the five-eight.” She looked across at the Judge defiantly.

“Mrs. Luce”--his voice was husky with pleading--“I think the boy’s playin’ a joke on you.”

“Well, he didn’t act joky. And I want his safe opened.”

“If he was tryin’ to do you such a trick he wouldn’t leave the nuggets in the safe.”

At that she burst into tears. “You’re against me!” she cried; “just like the other day. You’ve got your favourites, and you don’t show justice--not a bit of justice! When anybody does something wrong, you’re always ready to protect ’em and make excuses, and keep ’em from being punished, instead of getting the law on ’em. I tell you what this town needs; it needs a new Judge!”

Now the blood mounted to his face. “That’s pretty rough on me,” he said. “Wal, Mrs. Luce, I’ll be outen here just as soon as I can manage it. Y’know”--with almost a twinkle in his eyes--“I’m aimin’ to be District Attorney of Shasta County, Sooperior Judge, Rep’esentative from this district, Gov’nor of Californy, Senator to Washington, an’ President of the United States.”

“You’ll be back driving stage if you treat other people like you’re treating me.”

“Whenever a man makes a first mistake I like to encourage him,” he explained. “I allus do what I can--an’ keep inside the law. Now, please, Mrs. Luce, let me git this misunderstandin’ cleared up. ‘Gid’ll settle things fair,’ you said the other day. So you go home, an’ don’t say a word to nobody. If any of the women folks ask you w’y you been cryin’, tell ’em you been cuttin’ up onions.” He tried to smile.

“No, sir!” She rose angrily. “I won’t go home, and I won’t lie to shield Homer Scott. I’ll go up and down Main Street, and tell everybody what he’s done, and how you’re acting about it. I’ll have my revenge, anyhow. I’ll break off his match with Alicia Clay.”

Now the Judge rose, pressing down on the arms of his chair to lift himself, and a queer trembling--almost a spasm--crossed his face. “Alicia!” he said under his breath. “They’re engaged, then! An’ it’ll hurt her!”

“She’d better be hurt a little now than have her heart broken later on. It’s a mistake to let a sweet girl like that marry a crooked man.”

“Oh, Mrs. Luce, he ain’t a crooked man! Here--I want to be square t’ you, too. If you git him arrested without cause, you can be sued. Let’s talk this over some more.” He took her arm gently.

She sat down, wiping at her cheeks.

“First of all,” he began, as he resumed his own seat, “did anybody see you give Homer the nuggets?”

“No.”

“Did you tell anybody before you took ’em down that he was goin’ to hold ’em as security?”

“I didn’t want anybody to find out I was borrowing.”

“And you two was alone, I s’pose, when he took ’em and give you the money?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s just your word against his?”

“You see? You don’t believe me!”

“I’m askin’ you a question.”

“Well, I suppose it is my word against his.”

“You told the constable about it?”

“Yes; and he pretty near laughed in my face. Never mind. I’ll take this case to the county seat.”

“The law reads the same at the county seat as it does here, Mrs. Luce. Say I give you a warrant. Bert serves it. Homer lands in jail. He says he never seen the nuggets. You say he has ’em, but you can’t locate ’em. What could a jury do about it? So--take a night t’ think it over.”

She shook her head decidedly. “No.”

“An’ don’t forgit it’ll hurt his maw, too,” urged the Judge. “She ain’t strong this summer--malaria, I reckon.”

“I don’t intend to give him a chance to skip on that down train.”

Once more the Judge rose and began to pace the floor, his hands clasped behind him, his chin on his breast. One minute passed, and Mrs. Luce sat quietly. But when another went by she settled her hat preparatory to leaving and tucked some stray wisps of hair into place.

At that the Judge returned to his desk. There was no fear in the grey eyes now, and his manner was resolute, even cheerful. “All right,” he said almost briskly. “I’m a-goin’ to do what you ask. A-course, I’d like to have the case rest easy for a few hours, so’s I could find out one or two things on the q. t. But”--putting several articles to rights on his desk--“that ain’t possible. I’ll have to ask you to write me out a statement.”

“Got to have one, Judge?”

“Shore. Allus got to have a statement of ev’ry case. Would you mind goin’ into the jail office to write it? There’s some private business to attend to in here. It’s cool in the jail office, an’ you’ll have the hull place to yourself. But be awful certain about one thing, Mrs. Luce.”

“What’s that?” She looked a little startled.

He led the way out of the rear door of the courtroom and around to the back entrance of the jail. “Don’t leave out nothin’,” he counseled. “Take plenty of time to git the statement ready. I won’t break in on you more’n I can help.”

“I’ve got some things on the line at home that ought to come in before noon. They’ll fade.”

“Your nuggets is more important, though. Don’t you want everything settled before that down train? Here--write at this table. I come in here when I don’t want nobody to find me. Here’s pen an’ ink an’ paper.”

“I’ll use a pencil if you don’t mind.”

“No; statements allus got to be writ in ink. An’ make as nice a copy as you can.”

He left her, closing the door softly behind him. Outside, he drew a key from his pocket, noiselessly fitted it into the lock and turned it. Then he re-entered the courtroom on a run, lifted one edge of the flag, disclosing a telephone, rang the bell twice, listened, rang it again, asked for his number in a low voice, and when the reply came began to speak with decision: “Homer, this is Gid. Run up for a minute. Yas, it’s important. I must see you. Can’t tell you over the ’phone. But don’t you wait--come. All right.” Then he hung up, rang for a second number--the constable’s--gave some quick directions and, having drawn the flag into place over the telephone, sat down.

He waited, bowed over in his chair, with his elbows upon the arms of it, and his head supported by his hands. But when the rickety sidewalk gave warning of an oncomer he straightened, and smiled in welcome as Homer entered the door. “Wal, here you are,” he said by way of salutation.

Homer flung himself into a chair before the Judge’s desk, fanning himself with his hat. His thin face was tense, like the face of a man under a strain.

“Boy, this is what I want to say: Don’t josh Mrs. Luce.”

Homer crimsoned. His hat fell to his knee. “Mrs. Luce is crazy!” he burst forth.

“She’s been tellin’ me how you hung on to her nuggets. Give ’em back to her, boy. She’s got a bad tongue.”

“Her nuggets! What does she mean? She needs her brain examined.”

“You ain’t got ’em, Homer?”

“Of course I haven’t got ’em. I don’t believe she ever had any. Did you ever see ’em?”

“No.”

“What on earth could I do with a string of nuggets?” His chest heaved angrily.

“Good collateral,” said the Judge, “case a man needed money.”

“I don’t need money.” He said it sullenly, and shifted in his chair.

“Come to me when you do, boy.”

There was a long silence. The elder man sat, his grave look fixed on the younger, who crossed and uncrossed his feet and wiped at his forehead and neck with a folded silk handkerchief.

“How’s your work comin’?” inquired the Judge presently. He took up a pen and began to write.

“Oh, pretty good.”

“I reckon Mister Fruit-Buyer is satisfied, hey? He couldn’t find a better man than you for the place, anyhow.”

“Oh, he’s satisfied, I guess. But I don’t think I--I care to hang on to the job.”

“No?” The Judge thrust a sheet of paper into a pocket. “How long’s Carpenter stayin’ over this time?”

“Till the down train.”

“That so? Wal!” He paused a moment, examining the end of his pen. “Say, you don’t wear your Business College medal no more.”

“I carry it in my pocket.”

“I see. Got it now? I like to take a peep at it ev’ry once in a while.”

The younger man reached into a vest pocket and drew forth a small silver piece, shield-shaped and engraved. He handed it across the desk.

“It’s mighty pretty,” said the Judge, holding it up. He rose, still looking at it. “Must ’a’ cost somethin’, too. Excuse me a minute.” He went to the front door, looked out, opened it, disappeared for a moment and then entered again.

His hands were deep in his trousers’ pockets now, and as he talked he walked to and fro. “Homer,” he said, “you’re right about not hangin’ on to that fruit job. I think you oughta begin to plan on goin’ into business for your own self. You’ll want t’ settle down soon an’ have a little home. I’d like to help you out on it, ’cause I’ve got your good at heart, boy. You could build right on that lot of your maw’s. It’s a big lot. An’ then about a good, payin’ business for you--I’ve got two or three ideas I’d like to propose. (Y’see, I’m in a gassy mood t’day.) Now, the first idea is like this----”

Five minutes passed; then five more, and still the Judge talked on. Homer listened without raising his eyes.

At last the rattle of a board in the rickety sidewalk made the Judge pause. Once more he went to the door and stepped outside.

When he came back into the courtroom he walked unsteadily, like one suddenly seized with a sickness. He sat down, not at his desk, but in the chair next to the younger man; then he reached out a trembling hand. “Homer,” he said huskily, “forgive me for coming back to that nugget business. It’s made me feel turrible, somehow. Boy, you know I’m your friend, don’t you? Now, let’s have the hull truth about Mrs. Luce. Homer”--he lifted a hand and pointed to the flag--“look at that an’ tell me: Have you got them nuggets?” His voice broke with its pleading.

Homer jerked away his hand and sprang to his feet. “Do you want me to lie and say I stole her nuggets?” he demanded. “All right, I’ll lie! I’ll----”

The Judge also rose. And now his voice was calm and cold. “I don’t like lies,” he said. “And I think this matter has been drug out far enough.” He reached into an outer coat pocket for the medal and handed it to the other. Then he reached into the pocket a second time and drew forth--a string of nuggets.

Homer’s face whitened to ghastliness, his jaw fell. He retreated, knocking over his chair and backing into the Judge’s desk. There he hung, panting.

“Oh, boy!” said the Judge.

The other strove to speak; but his voice would not come, and the hands that clutched at the desk were shaking.

“I sent your medal to Carpenter,” explained the Judge. “An’ he sent the string.”

“Then he’ll grab me. It’s embezzlement. I can’t pay him back. I’ll go to jail!”

“Sh! I sent a check, too.”

“For how much? Oh, Gid!” The trembling hands were lifted to cover his face.

“I don’t know how much, so I just left the check blank an’ sent word you’d forgot the exact amount you owed. I--I reckon my bank’ll stand for a’ overdraft.”

Now the white face was slowly uncovered again and the staring eyes were fixed upon the Judge. “Carpenter came--I didn’t expect him--I told him I was short--I asked him to take the nuggets to the Mint--it was the only thing----”

“Never once thought of old Gid?” The Judge wiped at his eyes with the back of a hand.

“Oh, you’re too good to me!” Now Homer broke down and fell to sobbing.

“Don’t do that.” The elder laid a kind hand on the shoulder of the younger. “No; it’s a-goin’ to be all right, boy. Only I won’t spoil you no more, you bet your life. I’ll come down turrible hard on you if ever you do this kind of business again. You just quit your gamblin’, Homer. If you don’t I’ll never let you marry Alicia.”

“She wouldn’t marry me, Gid.”

A knocking sounded from without, at the rear.

“What’s that?” Homer caught the Judge’s sleeve in a frightened grasp.

“It’s Mrs. Luce. I kept her in there, writin’, till I could git them nuggets back. Now, you skip. Go home. Here’s your hat. Stay there till I come. Now, don’t forgit.” He hurried the other to the front door, opened it and shoved him on to the sidewalk. Then, with long strides, he gained the rear yard.

“By Jingo!” he called out. “Is that door stickin’, Mrs. Luce? You’re a shore enough prisoner! Wal, that’s a good one! Never mind. Come along. Where’s that statement?”

Mrs. Luce handed him several sheets of foolscap. “I don’t think I’ve left anything out,” she said. “Can you read my awful writing?”

When they were in the courtroom, in their former places, the Judge laid the written sheets upon his desk, leaned back, looked at her a moment silently, and then began to smile across at her.

“Say!” he said. “You shore can’t take a josh.”

“What d’ you mean?”

“What I said to you when you first come in. How many people did you say you’d tole?”

“The constable and you.”

“That’s good. ’Cause if you’d tole anybody else I’d have to ask you to go an’ untell ’em.”

Sudden hope came into her eyes. “Judge! You ain’t----”

“Yas,” said the Judge. He dropped a big hand into his coat pocket once more. It came out, the nuggets dangling from it.

In an instant she was beside him and had seized the string. “Glory!” she exclaimed.

“Now, I’m goin’ to ask a favour of you,” said the Judge. “It’s this: Just forgit about the nuggets an’ Homer. Will you? The hull thing makes you look silly an’ wouldn’t help the boy.”

“All right,” she promised. “My, but I’m happy!” She ran the nuggets through her fingers, fondling and counting them.

The Judge watched her for a moment. Then his face suddenly brightened; he smiled in his slow way. “I wouldn’t wonder if Homer thought you tattled to Alicia about him playin’ cards with Jim at the Occidental.”

“Yes, I did,” she admitted a little shamefacedly.

“Wal, he’s got even with you.”

She moved away. “I’m glad he was only joking,” she said. Then from the door: “I wonder when he and Alicia’ll marry. My, but they’ll make a fine-looking couple, her so dark and him so light! Of course, I don’t exactly favour these marriages where the groom and bride have been acquainted with each other for so long. They get to know each other too good. Give a woman something to find out, I say, so that she can live with her husband two or three years, anyhow. Now, I met Jim one week and was married the next, and it was four years before we was what you might call fighting.”

“Oh, wait,” said the Judge. “There’s one thing more. In a case like this, where a statement has been writ out, it’s the rule, in law, for the statoress----”

“The statoress?”

“You’re the statoress in this case. Y’see, you writ the statement. It’s the rule for her to make a second statement, appended to the end of the first, sayin’ that the first ain’t so.”

“All right, Judge.”

“I’ll just write the second statement, an’ you can sign it.” He scribbled a few lines hastily.

“Wish you’d wrote the first statement,” she said enviously, when she had come back and was standing at the desk once more. “Can’t you go fast!”

“That’s because mine’s a fountain-pen,” he explained. “Here, sign right on this line.”

“An’ say!” he added as she started away a second time, “lemme repeat what I advised once before--don’t never give security, especially collateral security, without you git a receipt, Mrs. Luce. The next feller, mebbe, won’t be jokin’.”

“I won’t, Judge,” she promised.

When she was across the railroad track on her homeward way he went back to his armchair, sat down, laid his arms upon his desk and his head upon his arms.

Noon came and passed unnoticed. The down train snorted by, and he did not look up. Then the long afternoon went slowly. He stayed where he was, scarcely moving. Afternoon merged into twilight. Darkness crept into the courtroom.