The White Desert

by Courtney Ryley Cooper

"Yes. I shot twice at her. The first bullet missed."

Again the door of the tiny lobby opened and closed, and a form edged forward,—Blackburn, summoned from his mill. Thayer glanced at him, then lowered his eyes. Houston made the additional notation on the confession and went back to his reading:

"'When I found the deed box, there was only ten thousand dollars in it instead of the fortune that I had supposed was there. I was about to take it out and stuff it into my pocket, when I heard a noise outside the window. Thinking it was Renaud's wolf-dog, and that he might give the alarm, I pushed the box under my coat and ran out the back door. The next day, Corbin—or Langdon—came to me and demanded his share of what I had stolen. He said that he had seen me at the deed box after I had killed the woman, that he had made the noise outside the window. I put him off—denying it all. But it wasn't any use. At first he threatened that he would go to the sheriff at Montview, and for several days he came to me, telling me that this was the last chance that he would give me if I didn't let him have his share. I played him for time. Then he began to beg small amounts of money from me, promising to keep still if I gave them to him. I guess this kept up for two or three months, the amounts getting larger all the time. At last, I wouldn't stand it any longer. He threatened me again,—and then, suddenly, one day disappeared. I hurried to Montview, thinking of course that he had gone there, hoping to catch him on the way. But no one had seen him. Then I went to Tabernacle and learned that he had bought a ticket for Boston, and that he had left on a morning train. I knew what was up then; he was going back to tell Old Man Houston and try to step into my shoes when I was arrested. But I beat him there by going over the range in an automobile, and taking an earlier train for Boston. I picked him up when he arrived and trailed him to young Houston's office. After that I saw them go to a cafe, and from there to a prize fight. I bought a ticket and watched them from the rear of the hall. I had my gun with me—I had made up my mind to kill them both. I thought Langdon had told. After the fight, they started out, myself in the rear. Young Houston had gotten a mallet from the timekeeper. On the way home, I could hear them talking, and heard Houston asking Langdon why he wanted to see the old man. By that I knew that it hadn't been told yet—and I felt safer. Then they got in a quarrel, and my chance came. It was over the mallet—Langdon took it away from his cousin and started to fight him. Houston ran. When he was well out of sight, I went forward. No one was near. Langdon still had the mallet in his hand. I crept up behind him and clubbed my revolver, hitting him on the head with it. He fell—dead—and I knew I was safe, that Houston would be accused.'"

Barry looked earnestly at the man before him.

"That's all true, isn't it, Thayer?"

"I haven't made any objection, have I?" came surlily.

"I merely wanted to be sure. But to go on: 'Then I thought of a way to get what I wanted from Miss Jierdon. This was several months afterward, just before the trial. I argued that I was sure young Houston hadn't committed the murder, and that if some woman could testify to the fact that Langdon had that mallet, it might free Houston, and make a hit with the old man and that maybe he would make good on his promises. I did it pretty skilfully and she listened to me, largely, I guess, because she was in love with me. Anyway, it ended with her testifying at the trial in a sort of negative way. I didn't care about that—it was something else I wanted. Later after the old man had died, I used it. I wanted her to switch some papers on young Mr. Houston for me, and she bucked against it. Then I told her that she had done worse things, that she had perjured herself, and that unless she stayed by me, she could be sent to the penitentiary. Of course, I didn't tell her in those exact words—I did it more in the way of making a criminal out of her already, so that the thing she was going to do wouldn't seem as bad to her. I wasn't foolish enough to threaten her. Besides, I told her that the mill should have been rightfully mine, that the old man had lied to me and gotten me to work for him for years at starvation wages, on promises that it would be mine some time, and that he had neither taken me in partnership, nor left it to me in the will. She got her cousin to help her in the transfer of the papers; it was a lease and stumpage contract. He affixed a notary seal to it. The thing was illegitimate, of course. Shortly after that, young Houston came out here again, and I got her to come too. I wanted to see what he was up to. He fired me, and while he was in Denver, and Renaud away from the mill, I got Miss Jierdon and took her for a walk, while one of the other men kept watch for the cook who was asleep. But she didn't wake up. On the way back, Miss Jierdon saw that the mill was burning, and I directed her suspicion toward Renaud. She accused him, and it brought about a little quarrel between Miss Jierdon and young Houston. I had forced her, by devious ways, to pretend that she was in love with him—keeping that perjury thing hanging over her all the time and constantly harping on how, even though he was a nice young fellow, he was robbing us both of something that was rightfully ours. All this time, I had dodged marrying her, promising that I would do it when the mill was mine. In the meantime, with the lease and contract in my hands, I had hooked up with this man here, Blackburn, and he had started a mill for me. I guess Miss Jierdon had gotten to thinking a little of Houston, after all, because when I forced her to the final thing of telling some lies about him to a young woman, she did it, but went away mad at me and threatening never to see me again. But a little while later, she came back. Our relations, while she had been at the Houston camp, hadn't been exactly what they should have been. Miss Jierdon is dead—she had stayed in a little cabin in the woods. I had lived with her there. About ten days ago, the baby died, while I was laid up at camp with a sprained hip. To-day I went there to find her dead, and while I was there, Renaud and young Houston caught me. This is all I know. I make this statement of my own free will, without coercion, and I swear it to be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.'"

The little lobby milled and buzzed, drowning the scratching of the pen as a trembling man signed the confession, page by page. Then came the clink of handcuffs. A moment later two figures had departed in the dusk,—the sheriff and Fred Thayer, bound for the jail at Montview. Houston straightened, to find a short, bulky form before him, Henry Blackburn.

"Well?" questioned that person. "I guess it's up to me. I—I haven't got much chance against that."

"What do you mean?"