CHAPTER XIX. — LOVERS ONCE.—STRANGERS NOW.—FACE TO FACE.
Ushered into a private room, the soulless Hardin's iron nerves fail him. His heart leaps up wildly when royal "Madame de Santos" approaches silently. Heavens! Her startling beauty is only mellowed with time. Another woman than the Hortense Duval of old stands before him. A goddess.
She has grown into her new r“le in life.
"Hortense!" he eagerly cries, approaching her.
"Spare me any further deceit, Philip," she coldly replies. Seating herself, she gazes at him with flaming eyes! She is a queen at bay!
He is startled. A declaration of war. No easy mastery now.
"Where is your charge?" Hardin queries.
"Where you will not see her, until we understand each other," rejoins the determined woman. Her steady glance pierces his very soul. Memories of old days thrill his bosom.
"What do you mean by all this?" Hardin's nerve returns. He must not yield to mortal.
The woman who queened it over his home, extends a jewelled hand with an envelop. "Explain this," she sharply cries.
The Judge reads it. It is the announcement of his double senatorial and matrimonial campaign.
"Is there any foundation for that report?" Madame de Santos deliberately asks.
"There is," briefly rejoins the lawyer. He muses a moment. What devil is awakened in her now? This is no old-time pleading suppliant.
"Then you will not see Isabel until you have settled with me and provided the funds promised before the death of the count."
"Ah!" sneers the old advocate; "I understand you NOW, madame. Blood money!"
"Partly," remarks Madame de Santos. "I also insist upon your giving up this marriage."
Hardin springs from his chair. Age has robbed him of none of his cold defiance. He will crush her.
"You dare to dream of forcing me to marry you?" His eyes have the glitter of steel.
"You need not give up the senate, but you must marry me, privately, and give your own child a name. Then I will leave, with the funds you will provide. You can separate from me afterward by the mere lapse of time. There will be no publicity needed."
"Indeed!" Hardin snarls, "A nice programme, You have had some meddling fool advise you; some later confidant; some protector."
"Exactly so, Judge," replies the woman, her bosom heaving in scorn and defiance. "We have lived together. We are privately married now by law! Philip, you know the nameless girl you have never asked for is your own child."
Hardin paces the floor in white rage. He gazes sternly in her eyes. She regards his excited movements, glaring with defiant eyes. A tigress at bay.
"I will end this here, madame! In two weeks Isabel Valois will be eighteen. If she is not forthcoming I will invoke the law. If I am forced to fight you, you will not have a cent from me. I will never marry you! I decline to provide for you or yours, unless you yield this girl up. You must leave the country before the senatorial election. That is my will."
Natalie faces her old lover. Tyrant of her heart once, he is now a malignant foe!
"Philip Hardin," she pleads, "look out of that window. You can see the house my child was born in—YOUR home, OUR home! Philip, give that child a name; I will leave you in peace forever!" There is the old music in her velvet voice.
"Never!" cries the Judge. "Give up the girl you took away. Leave at once. I will secure your fortune. You cannot force me. You never could. You cannot now!" He glares defiance to the death.
His eyes tell the truth. He will not yield,
"Then God help you, Philip," the woman solemnly says. "You will never reach the Senate! You will never live to marry another woman!"
"Do you threaten me, you she-devil?" snarls Hardin, alarmed at the settled, resolute face. "I have a little piece of news for you which will block your game, my lady. There is no proof of the legitimacy of the child, Isabel Valois. A claim has already been filed by a distant Mexican relative of the Peraltas. The suit will come up soon. If the girl is declared illegitimate, you can take her back to France, and keep her as a beggar. You are in my hands!" He chuckles softly.
"Philip Hardin, you are a liar and a monster. This is your conspiracy. Now, show yourself a thief, also." Natalie retorts. The words cut the proud man like a lash.
He seizes her jewelled wrist. He is beside himself.
"Beware," she hisses. "By the God who made me, I'll strike you dead."
He recoils.
She is once more the queen of the El Dorado. Her ready knife is flashing before his eyes. "You have a fearful reckoning to answer. You will meet your match yet at the game of Life!" she cries.
But, Natalie de Santos is stunned by his devilish plot to rob the despoiled orphan even of her name. He reads her face. "I will give you a day to think this over. I will come to-morrow." Hardin's voice rings with ill-concealed triumph.
"Not ten minutes will you give me. I tell you now I will crush you in your hour of victory, if I die to do it. Once more, will you marry me and give your child a name?" She rises and paces room, a beautiful fury.
"You have your answer," he coldly replies.
"Then, may the plundered orphan's curse drag you down to the hell you merit," is Natalie's last word as she walks swiftly out of the door. She is gone.
He is alone. Somethings rings with dull foreboding in his ears as his carriage rolls away. An orphan's curse! A cold clammy feeling gnaws at his heart. An orphan's curse!
Ah! from the tomb of buried years the millionaire hears the voice of Maxime Valois and shudders:
"May God deal with you as you deal with my child."
At home, in his library, where the silken rustling of that woman's dress has thrilled him in bygone years, the old Judge drinks a glass of cognac and slowly recovers his mental balance.
Through smoke-clouds he sees the marble chamber of the Senate of the Great Republic. He must move on to the marriage, he has deferred until the election. It is a pledge of twenty votes in joint ballot.
As for the girl Isabel, why, there is no human power to prove her legitimacy now. That priest. Bah! Dead years ago. Silence has rolled the stone over his tomb.
Hardin has foreseen for years this quarrel with Natalie de Santos. But she can prove absolutely nothing. He will face her boldly. She is ALONE in the world. He can tear the veil aside and blacken her name.
And yet, as evening falls, his spirit sinks within him. He can not, will not, marry the woman who has defied him. What devil, what unseen enemy put her on his track again? If he had never trusted her. Ah, too late; too late!
Secretly he had laid his well-devised mines. The judge in Mariposa is weighted down with a golden bribe. The court officials are under his orders. But who is the unknown foe counselling Natalie? He cannot fathom it. Blackmail! Yes, blackmail.
In three days Hardin is at Sacramento. His satellites draw up their cohorts for the senatorial struggle. If the legislature names him senator, then his guardianship will be quickly settled before the Mariposa Court. There, the contest will be inaugurated, which will declare Isabel Valois a nameless child of poverty. This is the last golden lock to the millions of Lagunitas, The poor puppet he has set up to play the contestant is under his control. He had wished to see Natalie homeward bound before this denouement. It must be. He muses. Kill her! Ah, no; too dangerous. He must FOIL her.
But her mad rage at his coming marriage. Well, he knew the ambitious and stately lady who aspired to share his honors would condone the story of his early "bonnes fortunes." What could lonely Natalie do at the trial? Nothing. He has the Court in his pocket. He will brave her rage.
Hardin writes a final note, warning the woman he fears, to attend with the heiress on the day of the calling for his accounting.
Marvels never cease. He tears open the answer, after two sleepless nights. She simply replies that the young Lady of Lagunitas will be delivered to him on the appointed day. He cannot read this riddle. Is it a surrender in hopes of golden terms? He knows not of PŠre Fran‡ois' advice.
He smiles in complacent glee. He has broken many a weak woman's nerve: she is only one more.
While he ponders, waiting that reply, Natalie Santos, with heavy heart, tells the priest the story of her tryst with her old lover.
PŠre Fran‡ois smiles thoughtfully. He answers: "Be calm. You will be protected. Trust to me. I will confer with our advisers. Not a word to Isabel of impending trouble."
The little court-house at Mariposa is not large enough for the crowd which pours in to see the Lady of Lagunitas when the fated day approaches. It is the largest estate in the country. A number of strangers have arrived. They are targets for wild rumors. Several grave-looking arrivals are evidently advocates. There is "law" in their very eyebrows.
Raoul Dauvray escorts Madame de Santos and the girl whose rumored loveliness is famous already. Philip Hardin, with several noted counsel, is in readiness. PŠre Fran‡ois is absent. There is an elderly invalid, with an Eastern party of strangers, who resembles him wonderfully.
On the case being reached, there is a busy hum of preparation. One or two professional-looking men of mysterious identity quietly take their places at the bar. In the clerk's offices there is also a bevy of strangers. By a fortuitous chance, the stalwart form of Colonel Joe Woods illuminates the dingy court-room. His business is not on the calendar, He sits idly playing with a huge diamond ring until the "matter of the guardianship of Isabel Valois" is reached.
Several lawyers spring to their feet at once. A queer gleam is in Joe Woods' eye as he nods carelessly to Hardin. They are both Knights of the Golden Circle.
Judge Hardin's counsel opens the case, Hardin passes Natalie in the court-room, with one last look of warning and menace. There is no quiver to her eyelids. The graceful figure of a veiled young girl is beside her.
When Hardin's advocate ceases, counsel rises to bring the contest for the heirship of Lagunitas to the judicial notice of the Court.
The Judge is asked to stay the confirmation of the guardian's accounts and reports. His Honor blandly asks if the young lady is in court.
"Let Isabel Valois take the stand," is the direction.
Judge Hardin arises and passing to Natalie Santos, whose glittering eyes are steadily fixed on his, in an inscrutable gaze, leads the young lady beside her to the stand. Natalie has whispered a few words of cheer.
All eyes are fixed upon the beautiful stranger, who is removing a veil from a face of the rarest loveliness. There is a sensation.
Philip Hardin rises to his feet, ghastly pale, as Joseph Woods quietly leads up to the platform a slight, girlish form. It is another veiled woman, who quietly seats herself beside the claimant.
There is amazement in the court-room, "His Honor," with a startled glance at Judge Hardin, who is gazing vacantly at the two figures before him, says, "Which of these young ladies is Miss Isabel Valois?"
A voice is heard. It is one of the strange counselors speaking.
Hardin hears the words, as if each stabbed him to the heart.
"Your Honor, we are prepared to show that the last young lady who has taken the stand, is Miss Isabel Valois."
There is consternation in the assembly. Hardin's veins are knotted on his forehead. He stares blankly at the two girls. His eyes turn to Natalie de Santos. She is gazing as if the grave had given up its dead. Her cheeks whiten to ashes. PŠre Fran‡ois, Henry Peyton, and Armand Valois enter and seat themselves quietly by the side of the man who is speaking. What does this all mean? No one knows. The lawyer resumes.
"We will show your Honor, by the evidence of the priest who baptized her, and by the records of the church, that this young lady is the lawful and only child of Maxime Valois and Dolores Peralta. We have abundant proof to explain the seeming paradox. We are in a position to positively identify the young lady, and to dispose of the contest raised here to-day, as to the marriage of the parents of the real heiress."
Philip Hardin has sprung to his lawyers. They are amazed at the lovely apparition of another Isabel Valois. At the bidding of the Court, Louise Moreau's gentle face appears.
"And who is the other young lady, according to your theory?" falters the astounded judge, who cannot on the bench receive the support of his Mephistopheles.
"We will leave that to be proved, your Honor! We will prove OUR client to be Isabel Valois. We will prove the other lady not to be. It remains for the guardian, who produces her, to show who she may be." The lawyer quietly seats himself.
There is a deadlock. There is confusion in court. Side by side are seated two dark-eyed girls, in the flush of a peerless young womanhood. Lovely and yet unlike in facial lines, they are both daughters of the South. Their deep melting eyes are gazing, in timid wonder, at each other. They are strangers.
"What is the name of your witness?" the judge mechanically questions. The lawyer calmly answers, "Fran‡ois Ribaut (known in religion as 'Padre Francisco'), who married the father and mother of this young lady, and also baptized her."
A faint sob from Natalie breaks the silence. Her eyes are filled with sudden tears. She knows the truth at last. The priest has risen. Hardin looks once more upon that pale countenance of the padre which has haunted his dreams so long. "Is it one from the dead?" he murmurs. But, with quick wit, his lawyer demands to place on the witness stand, the lady charged with the nurture of "Isabel Valois." Philip Hardin gazes wolfishly at the royal beauty who is sworn. A breathless silence wraps the room.
The preliminary questions over, while Hardin's eyes rove wildly over the face of the woman he has cast off, the direct interrogatory is asked:
"Do you know who this young lady is?" says the attorney, with a furtive prompting from Hardin. "I do!" answers the lady, with broken voice.
Before another question can be asked, the colleagues of Hardin's leading lawyer hold a whispered colloquy with their chief.
There is a breathless silence in the court. The principal attorney for the guardian asks the Court for a postponement of two weeks.
"We were prepared to meet an inquiry into the legitimacy of the ward of our client. This production of another claimant to the same name, is a surprise to us. On account of the gravity of this matter, we ask for a stay."
No objection is heard. His Honor, anxious himself to have time to confer with the would-be senator, adjourns the hearing for two weeks.
Before Hardin could extricate himself from the circle of his advisers, the long-expected girl he has seen for the first time has disappeared with Madame de Santos. He has no control over her now. Too late!
His blood is bounding through his veins. He has been juggled with. By whom? Natalie, that handsome fiend. And yet, she was paralyzed at the apparition of the second beauty, who has also vanished.
He must see Natalie at once before she can frame a new set of lies. After all, the MINE is safe.
As he strides swiftly across the plaza, the thought of the senatorial election, and the lady whom he has to placate, presses on his mind.
As for the election, he will secure that. If Natalie attempts exposure, he will claim it to be a blackmail invention of political enemies. Ha! Money! Yes, the golden arguments of concrete power. He will use it in floods of double eagles.
He will see Natalie on her way to Paris before the second hearing. Yes, and send some one out of the State to watch her as far as New York. He must buy her off.
A part of the money in hand; the rest payable at Paris to her own order. She must be out of the way.
Mariposa boasts two hotels. The avoidance of Hardin's friends brings all the strangers, perforce, together in the other. They have been strangely private in their habits.
Philip Hardin's brow is set. It is no time for trifling. He sends his name up to Madame de Santos. She begs to be excused. "Would Judge Hardin kindly call in the evening?"
This would be after a council of war of his enemies. It must be prevented. He pens a few words on a scrap of paper, and waits with throbbing pulses,
"Madame will receive him." As he walks upstairs, he realizes he has to face a reckoning with Joe Woods. He will make that clumsy-headed Croesus rue the day. And yet Woods is in the State Senate, and may oppose his election.
With his eyes fixed on the doors of Natalie's apartment, he does not notice Woods gazing at him, from the end of the hall, in the open door of the portico.
Natalie motions him to a seat as he enters. He looks at her in amazement. She is not the same woman who entered that court-house. He speaks. The sound of his own voice makes him start.
"What is all this devil's tomfoolery? Explain it to me. Are you mad?" His suppressed feelings overmaster him. He gives way to an imprudent rage.
"Are you ready to marry me? Are you ready to keep the oath you swore to stand by me?" Her dark eyes burn into his heart. She is calm, but intense in her demand.
"Tell me the truth or I'll choke it out of you," he hisses, grasping her rudely.
His rashness breaks the last bond between them. A shriek from the struggling woman echoes through the room.
The door flies open.
Hardin is hurled to the wall, reeling blindly.
The energetic voice of Joe Woods breaks the silence. "You are a mean dog, but, by God, I did not think you'd strangle a woman."
Hardin has struggled to his feet. In his hand, flashes a pistol.
Joe Woods smiles.
"Trying the old El Dorado dodge, Judge, won't work. Sit down now. Listen to me. Put up that shooting iron, or I'll nail you to the wall."
His bowie knife presses a keen point to Hardin's breast. It is checkmate.
Natalie Santos is buried in the cushions of her chair. She is sobbing wildly. Shuffling feet are at the door. The fracas has been overheard.
Joe Woods quietly opens it. He speaks calmly. "The lady has fainted. It's all right. Go away."
Through the door a girl's lovely face is seen, in frightened shyness. "I'll send for you, miss, soon," Colonel Joe remarks, with awkward sympathy.
He seats himself nonchalantly.
"Now, Hardin, I've got a little account to settle with you. I'll give you all the time you want. But I'll say right here before this lady, I know you are under an obligation to treat her decently.
"I remember her at the El Dorado!"
Hardin springs to his feet. Natalie raises her tearful eyes.
"Keep cool, Judge," continues the speaker. "You used to take care of her. Now I'm a-going to advise her in her little private affairs. I want you to let her severely alone. I want you to treat her as she deserves; like a woman, not a beast. You can finish this interview with her. I'm a-going out. If you approach her after this, without my presence or until she sends for you, I'll scatter your brains with my old six-shooter. I shall see she gets a square deal. She's not going to leave California till this whole business is cleared up. You hear me." Joe's mood is dangerous.
"Now go ahead with your palaver, madame. I'm not going to leave the house. I know my business, and I'll stand by you as long as my name is Joe Woods. When you're done I want you to see me, and see my lawyer."
There is silence. Natalie's eyes give the stalwart miner a glance of unutterable thankfulness.
She has met a man at last.
Her bosom heaves with pride, her eyes beam on rough old Joe. Woods has taken out an unusually long cigar. He lights it at the door, and leisurely proceeds to smoke it on the upper veranda.
When his foot-fall dies away, Hardin essays to speak. His lips are strangely dry. He mutters something, and the words fail him. Natalie interrupts, with scorn: "Curse you and your money, you cowardly thief. You have met your match at last. I trusted to your honor. Your hands were on my throat just now. I have but one word to say to you now. Go, face that man out there!" Hardin is in a blind rage.
His legal vocabulary finds no ready phrase of adieu. His foot is on the top stair. Joe Woods says carelessly:
"Judge, you and I had better have a little talk to-night." Ah, his enemy! He knows him at last. Hardin hoarsely mutters: "Where? when?"
"When you please," says Woods.
"Ten, to-night; your room. I'll bring a friend with me." Hardin nods, and passes on, crossing the square to his hotel. He must have time for thought; for new plans; for revenge; yes, bloody revenge.
Colonel Joseph Woods spends an hour in conference with Peyton and Father Fran‡ois. Their plans are all finished.
Judge Davis, who is paralyzed by the vehemence of California character, caresses his educated whiskers. He pets his eye-glasses, while the three gentlemen confer. He is essentially a man of peace. He fears he may become merely a "piece of man" in case the appeal to revolvers, or mob law, is brought into this case. They do things differently in New York.
While the two lovely girls are using every soothing art of womanly sympathy to care for Natalie, it begins to dawn upon each of them that their futures are strangely interlinked. The presence of Madame de Santos seals their lips. They long for the hour when they can converse in private. They know now that the redoubtable Joe Woods has TWO fatherless girls to protect instead of ONE.
Natalie Santos, lying on her couch, watches these young beauties flitting about her room. "Does the heiress, challenged in her right, dream of her real parentage?" A gleam of light breaks in on the darkness of her sufferings. Why not peace and the oblivion of retirement for her, if her child's future is assured in any way? Why not?
Looking forward hopefully to a conference with Colonel Joe, she fears only the clear eyes of old Padre Francisco. "Shall she tell him all?" In these misgivings and vain rackings of the mind, she passes the afternoon. She yields to her better angel, and gives the story of her life to the patient priest.
Armand Valois and Raoul Dauvray have a blessed new bond of brotherhood. They are both lovers. With Padre Francisco, they are a guard of honor, watching night and day the two heiresses.
They share the secret consciousness of Natalie de Santos that Joe Woods has in store some great stroke.
Judge Davis, Peyton, and the resolute Joe are the only calm ones in the settlement. For, far and wide the news runs of racy developments. In store, saloon, and billiard lounging-place, on the corners, and around the deserted court-room, knots of cigar-smoking scandal-mongers assuage their inward cravings by frequent resort to the never-failing panacea—whiskey. Wild romances are current, in which two great millionaires, two sets of lawyers, duplicate heiresses, two foreign dukes, the old padre and the queenly madame are the star actors in a thrilling local drama, which is so far unpunctuated by the crack of the revolver.
It is a struggle for millions, and the clash of arms will surely come.
There has been no great issue ever resolved in Mariposa before the legal tribunal, which has not added its corpses to the mortuary selections lying in queer assortment on the red clay hillsides.
"Justice nods in California while the pistols are being drawn."
Hardin, closeted with his lawyers, suspends their eager plotting, to furtively confer in private with the judge.
When the first stars sweep into the blue mountain skies, and a silver moon rises slowly over the pine-clad hills, Joseph Woods summons all his latent fascinations to appease Madame Natalie de Santos. The sturdy Missourian has had his contretemps with Sioux and Pawnee. He has faced prairie fires, stampeded buffalo herds, and met dangers by flood and field. Little personal discussions with horse thieves, some border frays, and even a chance encounter on a narrow trail with a giant grizzly, have tried his nerve. But he braces with a good stiff draught of cognac now. He fears the wily and fascinating Natalie. He is at heart a would-be lady's man. Roughness is foreign to his nature, but he will walk the grim path of duty.
When he thinks of flinching, there rises on his memory the lonely grave where Peyton laid Maxime Valois to rest on the bloody field of Peachtree Creek, with the stars and bars lying lightly on his gallant breast. And he calmly enters the presence of the once famous siren.
There is a mute entreaty in her eyes, as she motions him to a seat.
Joseph toys nervously with the huge diamond, which is a badge "de rigueur" of his rank and grade as a bonanza king.
"I do not wish to agitate or distress you, madame," begins Joe, and his voice is very kind.
"I broke out a little on Hardin; all bluff, you know. Just to show him a card. Now will you trust and let me help you? I mean to bring you out all right. I can't tell you all I know. I am going to fight Hardin on another quarrel. It will be to the death. I can just as well square your little account too, if you will trust me. Will you let me handle your movements, up to the legal issue. After that you are free. I'll give you the word of an honest man, you shall not suffer. Will you trust me?"
Joe's big eyes are looking very appealingly in hers.
Without a word, she places her hand in his. "I am yours until that time, but spare me as much as you can—the old histories, you know," her voice falters. She is a woman, after all.
"Now see here, madame! I swear to you I am the only private man in California who knows your secret, except Hardin, now. I got it in the days long past. No one shall know your identity." He fixes a keen glance on her: "Is there anyone else you wish to spare?" he softly says.
"Yes." She is sobbing now. "It is my child. Don't let her know that awful past."
Joseph's eyes are filled with manly sorrow. He whispers with eagerness:
"Her father is"—
"Philip Hardin," falters the woman, whose stately head is now bowed in her hands.
"I'll protect that child. She shall never want a friend, if you do one thing," Joe falters.
Natalie raises a white face to his.
"What is it?" she huskily whispers.
"Will you swear, in open court, which of these two girls is your own child, if I ask you to?" He is eager and pleading.
She reads his very soul. She hesitates. "And you will protect the innocent girl, against his wrath?" There is all a mother's love in her appeal.
"Both of you. I swear it. You shall not want for money or protection," Joe solemnly says.
"Then, I will!" Natalie firmly answers.
He springs to her side.
"Does Hardin know which girl is his daughter?"
"He does not!" Natalie says slowly.
There is a silence; Joe can hear his own heart beat. Victory at last.
"I have nothing to ask you, except to see no one but myself, Padre Francisco, or my lawyer. If Hardin wants to see you, I'll be present. Now I am going to see him to-night. You will be watched over night and day. I am going to have every precaution taken. I shall be near you always. Rest in safety. I think I can save you any opening up of the old days.
"I will see you early."
Her hands clasp his warmly! She says: "Colonel, send PŠre Fran‡ois to me. I will tell him all you need to know. He will know what to keep back."
"That's right," cries Joseph, warmly. "I know how to handle Hardin now. You can bank on the padre. He's dead game."
"And your reward?" Natalie whispers, with bowed head.
A wild thought makes the blood surge to Joe's brain. He slowly stammers, "My reward?" His eyes tell him he must make no mistake. A flash of genius.
"You will square my account, madame, if you make no objection to the immediate marriage of your daughter to Dauvray. He's a fine fellow for a Frenchman, and she shall never know this story. She'll have money enough. I'll see to that." Joe's voice is earnest.
Natalie's arms are stretched to him in thanks. "In God's name, be it, my noble friend."
Joe dares not trust himself longer.
He retires, leaving Natalie standing, a splendid statue, with shining, hopeful eyes. Her blessing follows him; sin-shadowed though she be, it reaches the Court of Heaven.
Natalie, in silent sorrow, sees her labor of years brushed away. Her child can never be the heiress of Lagunitas. Fate has brought the gentle Louise Moreau to the very threshold of her old home. It is Providence. Destiny. The all-knowing PŠre Fran‡ois reveals to her how strangely the life-path of the heiress has been guarded. "My daughter," the priest solemnly says, "be comforted. Right shall prevail. Trust me, trust Colonel Woods. Your child may fall heir yet to a name and to her own inheritance. The ways of Him who pardons are mysterious." He leaves her comforted and yet not daring to break the seal of silence to the lovely claimants.
While PŠre Fran‡ois confers with Natalie, as the moon sails high in heaven over the fragrant pines, Woods and Peyton exchange a few quiet words over their cigars.
By the repeater which Joe consults it is now a quarter of ten. The two gentlemen stroll over the grassy plaza. By a singular provincial custom each carries a neat navy revolver, where a hand could drop easily on it. Joe also caresses his favorite knife in his overcoat pocket.
In five minutes they are seated with Philip Hardin in his room. There is an air of gloomy readiness in Hardin which shows the unbending nature of the man. He is alone. Woods frankly says: "Judge Hardin, I wish you to know my friend, Mr. Henry Peyton. If anything should happen to me, he knows all my views. He will represent me. As you are alone, I will ask Mr. Peyton to wait for me below."
Henry Peyton bows and passes downstairs, where he is regarded as an archangel of the enemy. For the Hardin headquarters are loyal to their great chief. The man who controls the millions of Lagunitas is surrounded by his loyal body-guard at Mariposa.
When the two men are alone, Woods waits for Hardin to speak. He is silent. There is a gulf between them which never can be bridged. Joseph feels he is no match for Hardin in chicanery, but he has his little surprise in store for the lawyer. It is an armed truce.
"Hardin, I've come over to-night to talk a little politics with you," begins Joseph. His eye is glued on the Judge's, who steadily returns the glance.