CHAPTER XI
DIPLOMACY
Flett left the team at George's homestead. Bidding him take good care of it, and borrowing a fresh team, he drove away with the wagon. When he reached Sage Butte it was getting dusk. He hitched the horses outside of the better of the two hotels and entered in search of food, as he had still a long ride before him. Supper had long been finished, and Flett was kept waiting for some time, but he now and then glanced at the wagon. It was dark when he drove away, after seeing that the case lay where he had left it, and he had reached his post before he made a startling discovery. When he carried the case into the lamplight, it looked smaller, and on hastily opening it he found it was filled with soil!
He sat down and thought; though on the surface the matter was clear—he had been cleverly outwitted by somebody who had exchanged the case while he got his meal. This, as he reflected, was not the kind of thing for which a constable got promoted; but there were other points that required attention. The substitution had not been effected by anybody connected with the Queen's; it was, he suspected, the work of some of the frequenters of the Sachem; and he and his superiors had to contend with a well-organized gang. News of what had happened in the bluff had obviously been transmitted to the settlement while he had rested at Lansing's homestead. He had, however, made a long journey, and as he would have to ride on and report the matter to his sergeant in the morning, he went to sleep.
The next day George was setting out on a visit to Grant when a man rode up and asked for the team.
"Flett can't get over, but he wants the horses at the post, so as to have them handy if he finds anybody who can recognize them," he explained.
That sounded plausible, but George hesitated. The animals would be of service as a clue to their owner and a proof of his complicity in the affair. As they had not been identified, it would embarrass the police if they were missing.
"I can only hand them over to a constable, unless you have brought a note from Flett," he replied.
"Then, as I haven't one, you'll beat me out of a day's pay, and make Flett mighty mad. Do you think he'd get anybody who might know the team to waste a day riding out to your place? Guess the folks round here are too busy, and they'd be glad of the excuse that it was so far. They won't want to mix themselves up in this thing."
George could find no fault with this reasoning, but he thought the fellow was a little too eager to secure the horses.
"Well," he said, "as I'm going to call on Mr. Grant, I'll see what he has to say. If I'm not back in time, Mr. West will give you supper."
"Then Grant's standing in with you and the temperance folks?"
It struck George that he had been incautious, but he could not determine whether the man had blundered or not. His question suggested some knowledge of the situation, but an accomplice of the offenders would, no doubt, have heard of the part Grant's hired man had played.
"I don't see how that concerns you," he replied. "You'll have to wait until I return if you want the team."
He rode on, but he had not gone far when he met Beamish, of the Sachem.
"I was coming over to see you," the man told him. "You bought that young Hereford bull of Broughton's, didn't you?"
George was surprised at the question, but he answered that he had done so.
"Then would you sell him?"
"I hadn't thought of it."
"Guess that means I'll have to tempt you," Beamish said. "I want the beast."
He named a price that struck George as being in excess of the animal's value; and then explained:
"I've seen him once or twice before he fell into Broughton's hands; the imported Red Rover strain is marked in him, and a friend of mine, who's going in for Herefords, told me not to stick at a few dollars if I could pick up such a bull."
This was plausible, but not altogether satisfactory, and George, reflecting that a buyer does not really praise what he means to purchase, imagined that there was something behind it.
"I'm not likely to get a better bid," he admitted. "But I must ask if the transaction would be complete? Would you expect anything further from me in return?"
Beamish regarded him keenly, with a faint smile.
"Well," he said, "I certainly want the bull, but you seem to understand. Leave it at that; I'm offering to treat you pretty liberally."
"So as to prevent my assisting Flett in any way or taking a part in
Hardie's campaign?"
"I wouldn't consider it the square thing for you to do," Beamish returned quietly.
George thought of the man who was waiting at the homestead for the team. It was obvious that an attempt was being made to buy him, and he strongly resented it.
"Then I can only tell you that I won't make this deal. That's the end of the matter."
Beamish nodded and started his horse, but he looked back as he rode off.
"Well," he called, in a meaning tone, "you may be sorry."
George rode on to Grant's homestead, and finding him at work in the fallow, told him what had passed.
"I fail to see why they're so eager to get hold of me," he concluded.
Grant, sitting in the saddle of the big plow, thoughtfully filled his pipe.
"Of course," he said, "it wasn't a coincidence that Beamish came over soon after the fellow turned up for the horses. It would have been worth while buying the bull if you had let them go—especially as I believe it's right about a friend of his wanting one—and nobody could have blamed you for selling. The fact is, your position counts. The bluff would make a handy place for a depot, and, while there's nobody else near, you command the trails to it and the reservation. Nobody could get by from the settlement without being seen, unless they made a big round, if you watched out."
"I'm beginning to understand. What you say implies that they're doing a good trade."
"That's so," Grant assented. "I wouldn't have believed it was so big before Hardie put me on the track and I began to look around. But you want to remember that what you're doing may cost you something. I'm your nearest neighbor, you're running stock that are often out of sight, and you're up against a determined crowd."
"It's true," George admitted. "Still, I can't back out."
Grant cast a keen, approving glance at him. George sat quietly in his saddle with a smile on his brown face; his pose was easy but virile: there was a stamp of refinement and old country breeding upon him. His eyes were suggestively steady; his skin was clear; he looked forceful in an unemphatic manner. The farmer was to some extent prejudiced against the type, but he could make exceptions. He had liked Lansing from the beginning, and he knew that he could work.
"No," he said; "I guess you're not that kind of man. But won't you get down and go along to the house? Flora will be glad to talk with you, and I'll be in for supper soon."
George thanked him, and did as he suggested. He was beginning to find pleasure in the conversation of Flora Grant.
It was two hours later when he took his leave and the farmer went out with him.
"I don't know what Hardie's doing, but I've an idea that Mrs. Nelson means to make some move at the Farmers' Club fair," he said. "She's a mighty determined and enterprising woman. If you can spare the time, you'd better ride in and see what's going on."
On reaching home, George was not surprised to find that the man who had come for the horses had departed without waiting for his answer. The next day he received an intimation that the annual exhibition of the Sage Butte Farmers' Club would shortly be held; and one morning a fortnight later he and Edgar rode off to the settlement.
They found the little town rudely decorated with flags and arches of poplar boughs, and a good-humored crowd assembled. The one-sided street that faced the track was lined with buggies, wagons, and a few automobiles; horses and two or three yoke of oxen were tethered outside the overfull livery stables.
A strong breeze drove blinding dust-clouds through the place, but even in the wind the sunshine was scorching.
As he strolled toward the fair-ground, George became interested in the crowd. It was largely composed of small farmers, and almost without exception they and their wives were smartly attired; they looked contented and prosperous. Mingling with them were teamsters, many as neatly dressed as their masters, though some wore blue-jean and saffron-colored shirts; and there were railroad-hands, mechanics, and store-keepers. All of them were cheerful; a few good years, free from harvest frost and blight, had made a marked improvement in everybody's lot.
Yet, there was another side to the picture. Odd groups of loungers indulged in scurrilous jests; hoarse laughter and an occasional angry uproar issued from the hotels, and shabby men with hard faces slouched about the veranda of one. George noticed this, but he presently reached the fair-ground, where he inspected the animals and implements; and then, toward supper-time, he strolled back with Grant. They were walking up one of the side-streets when shouts broke out behind them.
George looked around but for a moment he could see very little through the cloud of dust that swept the street. When it blew away it revealed a row of women advancing two by two along the plank sidewalk. They were of different ages and stations in life, but they all came on as if with a fixed purpose, and they had resolute faces. Mrs. Nelson led them, carrying a riding quirt, and though George was not astonished to see her, he started when he noticed Flora Grant near the end of the procession. She was paler than usual, and she walked quietly with a rather strained expression.
Grant touched George's shoulder.
"This is certainly more than I figured on," he said; "but I guess there's no use in my objecting. Now she's started, she'll go through with it. They're making for the Sachem; we had better go along."
Shortly afterward, a gathering crowd blocked the street.
"Speech!" somebody cried; and there was ironical applause.
Mrs. Nelson raised her hand, and when the procession stopped, she looked sternly at the men before her.
"No," she answered; "speeches are wasted on such folks; we're here to act!"
She waved the quirt commandingly.
"Let us pass!"
She was obeyed. The women moved on; and George and Grant managed to enter the hotel behind them before the throng closed in. The big general-room was hot and its atmosphere almost intolerably foul; the bar, which opened off it, was shadowy, and the crowded figures of lounging men showed dimly through thick cigar smoke. The hum of their voices died away and there was a curious silence as the women came in. Edging forward, George saw Beamish leaning on his counter, looking quietly self-possessed and very dapper in his white shirt and well-cut clothes.
"Well," he said, "what do you ladies want with me?"
Their leader faced him, a small and yet commanding figure, with an imperious expression and sparkling eyes.
"You got a notice that from supper-time this bar must be shut!"
"I did, ma'am. It was signed by you. Now, so far as I know, the magistrates are the only people who can close my hotel."
"That's so!" shouted somebody; and there were confused murmurs and harsh laughter which suggested that some of the loungers were not quite sober.
"Fire them out!" cried another man. "Guess this is why Nelson gets cold potatoes for his supper. Ought to be at home mending socks or washing their men's clothes."
The lady turned sternly on the last speaker.
"Yes," she said; "that's the kind of idea you would hold. It's getting played out now."
George was conscious of slight amusement. The affair had its humorous side, and, though he was ready to interfere if the women were roughly handled, he did not think they ran any serious risk. Beamish looked capable of dealing with the situation.
"You don't require to butt in, boys," he said. "Leave me to talk to these ladies; I guess their intentions are good." He bowed to Mrs. Nelson. "You can go on, ma'am."
"I've only this to say—you must close your bar right now!"
"Suppose I'm not willing? It will mean a big loss to me."
"That," answered Mrs. Nelson firmly, "doesn't count; the bigger the loss, the better. You will stop the sale of drink until to-morrow, or take the consequences."
Another woman, who looked careworn and haggard, and was shabbily dressed, stood forward.
"We and the children have borne enough!" she broke out. "We have to save the cord-wood in the bitter cold; we have to send the kiddies out in old, thin clothes, while the money that would make home worth living in goes into your register. Where are the boys—our husbands and sons—who once held steady jobs and did good work?" She raised an accusing hand, with despair in her pinched face. "Oh! I needn't tell you—they're rebranding farmers' calves or hiding from the police! Don't you know of one who walked to his death through the big trestle, dazed with liquor? For these things the men who tempted them will have to answer!"
"True, but not quite to the point," Mrs. Nelson interposed. "We have found remonstrance useless; the time for words has passed. This fellow has had his warning; we're waiting for him to comply with it."
There was an uproar outside from the crowd that was struggling to get in and demanding to be told what was going on; but Beamish made a sign of resignation.
"It looks as if I couldn't refuse you; and anyway it wouldn't be polite." He turned to his customers.
"Boys, it's not my fault, but you'll get no more drinks to-day. For all that, I must make a point of asking you to treat these ladies with respect."
"Smart," Grant remarked to George. "He has handled the thing right.
This means trouble for Hardie."
Then Beamish once more addressed the intruders.
"Now that I've given in, has it struck you that there isn't much use in closing my place if you leave the Queen's open?"
"We'll shut them both!" Mrs. Nelson declared.
"Then there's just another point—I've folks who have driven a long way, staying the night with me, and there's quite a crowd coming in for supper. How am I to treat them?"
"They can have all they want to eat," Mrs. Nelson told him graciously; "but no liquor."
"I can't refuse to supply them without a reason. What am I to say?"
"Tell them that the Women's Reform League has compelled you to close your bar."
"And I've been given the orders by their acknowledged secretary?"
"Yes. I'm proud of being their leader, and of the duty I've discharged."
Beamish turned to his customers.
"You'll remember what she has told me, boys!"
Grant drew George away.
"She walked right into the trap; you couldn't have stopped her. I'm sorry for Hardie. But we may as well get out now; there'll be no trouble."
The street was blocked when the women left, but a passage was made for them; and, followed by everybody in the settlement, they proceeded to the other hotel, whose proprietor capitulated. Then Mrs. Nelson made a speech, in which she pointed out that for once the festival would not be marked by the orgies which had on previous occasions disgraced the town. Her words, by no means conciliatory, and her aggressive air provoked the crowd, which had, for the most part, watched the proceedings with amusement. There were cries of indignant dissent, angry shouts, and the throng began to close in upon the speaker. Then there was sudden silence, and the concourse split apart. Into the gap rode a slim young man in khaki, with a wide hat of the same color, who pulled up and sat looking at the people with his hand on his hip. George recognized him as the constable who shared the extensive beat with Flett.
"Now," he said good-humoredly, "what's all this fuss about?"
Several of them informed him and he listened gravely before he called one of the farmer's stewards, and spoke a few words to him.
"It strikes me," he said, "that you had all better go back to the fair-ground, while I look into things. There's an item or two on the program Mr. Carson wants to work off before supper."
He had taken the right tone, and when they began to disperse he rode on to the Sachem.
"I want your account of this disturbance," he said to the proprietor.
Beamish related what had taken place and the constable looked surprised.
"Am I to understand that you're afraid to open your bar because of the women?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," replied Beamish, coolly; "that's about the size of it.
You'd have been scared, too; they're a mighty determined crowd."
"Nobody except the authorities has any right to interfere."
"That's my opinion, but what am I to do about it? Suppose these women come back, will you stand at the door and keep them out? They're capable of mobbing you."
The constable looked dubious, and Beamish continued:
"Besides, I've given them my word I'd shut up—they made me."
"Then how do you expect us to help?"
"So far as I can see, you can only report the matter to your bosses."
The constable felt inclined to agree with this. He asked for the names of the ladies, and Beamish hesitated.
"I was too taken up with Mrs. Nelson to notice the rest, and the place was rather dark. Anyway, about half of them were foolish girls with notions; I don't want to drag them in."
"You blame somebody for setting them on?"
"I do," said Beamish, without a trace of rancor. "There's Mrs. Nelson—everybody knows she's a crank—and Hardie, the Methodist minister. They've been trying to make trouble for the hotels for quite a while."
The constable made a note of this and presently called on Hardie, who had just returned to town after visiting a sick farmer. The former listened to what the minister had to say, but was not much impressed. Beamish had cleverly made him his partizan.
After supper George and Grant called on Hardie and found him looking distressed.
"I'm much afraid that the result of three or four months' earnest work has been destroyed this afternoon," he said. "Our allies have stirred up popular prejudice against us. We'll meet with opposition whichever way we turn."
"There's something in that," Grant agreed. "Mrs. Nelson's a lady who would wreck any cause. Still, she has closed the hotels."
"For one night. As a result of this afternoon's work, they will probably be kept open altogether. You can imagine how the authorities will receive any representations we can make, after our being implicated in this disturbance."
"Have you thought of disowning the ladies? You could do so—you had no hand in the thing."
The young clergyman flushed hotly.
"I'd have stopped this rashness, if I'd heard of it; but, after all, I'm the real instigator, since I started the campaign. I'm willing to face my share of the blame."
"You mean you'll let Beamish make you responsible?"
"Of course," said Hardie. "I can't deny I'm leader. The move was a mistake, considered prudentially; but it was morally justifiable. I'll defend it as strongly as I'm able."
Grant nodded, and Flora and Mrs. Nelson came in.
"Are you satisfied with what you've done?" Grant said to the girl.
"You might have given me a hint of it."
Flora smiled.
"I'm afraid Beamish was too clever for us. From an outsider's point of view, he behaved exceptionally well, and in doing so he put us in the wrong. I didn't know what had been planned when I left home, but, as one of the league, I couldn't draw back when I heard of it."
"You think he was too clever?" Mrs. Nelson broke in. "How absurd to say that! We have won a brilliant victory!"
Grant made a little gesture.
"If you're convinced of that, ma'am, we'll leave you to talk it over."
He led George toward the door.
"I like that man Hardie," he resumed when they reached the street. "Beamish has him beaten for the present, but I'm thankful there'll be no women about when we come to grips with his crowd. It may take a while, but those fellows have got to be downed."