The banker moved uneasily, then took cigars from the box on top of his desk. “By the way, Aleck,” said Baxter carelessly between whiffs of smoke, “you’ve been around this Territory considerably and mixed with mining men a good deal.” His cold eyes were watching his companion from under their shaggy brows. “Do you remember ever running across a chap named Delafield?”
The time had been when Bancroft could hear that name without the quiver of a lash or the tremble of a nerve. But those days of cool self-control and impassive seeming had gone by. For many weeks he had been on the rack of constant apprehension, the nervous strain of conflicting emotions concerning Conrad had been great, and recently the fear of sudden exposure had grown into a secret, abiding terror. He started, dropped his cigar, and his face paled.
“Delafield?” he repeated in a low voice. “I do not remember the name—and I have a pretty good memory for names, too.” The desire seized him to know whether Baxter was speaking out of knowledge or ignorance. “What about him?” he went on. “Is he supposed to be living here?”
“I don’t know much about it,” Baxter rejoined, “but I believe the people who are trying to locate him make the guess that he is. A party asked me about him not long ago, but I wasn’t able to place the name, although it has a familiar sound. I told him it wasn’t any use looking for his man under that name—it’s too easy to pick up a new one out here for anybody to keep an old one that’s got dirty.”
When the door closed upon the portly figure and cherubic smile of the Congressman, Bancroft sat still and stared dully at the wall. “Dell knows,” was the conviction that had gone straight to his wretched heart. “Dell knows. He knows the whole story. And now I’ve got to do whatever he says.” Apprehension leaped quickly forward. If Baxter knew, was the story out? Was it already going from mouth to mouth? Second thought brought reassurance. No; for in that case Baxter would not have so discreetly veiled his hint. But how had he found out? Could Jenkins—no, not likely, for Jenkins was making too good a thing out of it as a secret. Baxter said Conrad had been to see him—then did Curtis know by this time? His heart took quick alarm, and he had a moment of desperation. Then he recalled the young man’s repeated declaration that he meant to lose no time in facing Delafield after learning the man’s identity. He soon decided that a little time was still left to him before that encounter could take place and—Gonzalez was yet at the ranch. Doubtless Conrad had talked with Baxter about the case, perhaps told him of his own search and asked for information about the men he suspected. Finally, knowing well the Congressman’s mental habits, he came to the conclusion that Baxter had put things together and made a shrewd guess.
“But he knows, all right,” Bancroft owned to himself in impotent anger, “and that means another chain on me.” Another obstacle had risen in his path that would have to be overcome, one way or another, before he could reach that longed-for security. A little before, safety had seemed so near, and now it was further away than ever! He should have to fight for it, that was plain—and fight he would, to the last inch, Conrad and Jenkins and Baxter. They had pushed him to the wall, but that should not be the end. He would not let them wreck everything if—no matter now what he might have to do to protect himself.
He spent an anxious forenoon, unable to keep his mind off his own troubles and impending dangers, thinking and scheming, trying to work out effective means of defence and counter-attack. When he left the bank for luncheon at home, it was with a lively sense of how restful and pleasing he should find its atmosphere of love, respect, and confidence. He bought a box of candy for Lucy and a magazine for Louise, and hastened up the hill.
Never before had home seemed to him so delightful. Lucy was gay of spirit, piquant, rosy of cheek and bright of eye, lovingly solicitous for his comfort. Louise was paler than usual, with a touch of wistfulness in her manner. Lucy explained that she had a bad headache, and they agreed that it was probably due to the day’s peculiar atmospheric conditions. It was hot and still; a thin, gray, luminous haze veiled the sky and made the sunshine, usually clear and white, look palely yellow; the air was charged with electricity, whose jangling effect upon the nerves only the soundest could withstand. Louise said she felt it acutely. As always, she was gentle and sympathetic, and Bancroft felt her influence at once. Her presence never failed to soothe, tranquillize, and encourage him.
She saw the anxiety in his eyes, and at once divined a new cause for trouble. With renewed alarm and indignation in her heart her thoughts turned to Conrad. Had there been some new development? The fires of love and solicitude for her friend and of hatred for his enemy were burning brightly in her secret thoughts and shone now and then in her eyes. Bancroft caught their glow, and his heart rose to be warmed in it. What a sweet woman she was, how adorable! His arms ached with the longing to enfold her and press her dearness to his breast. But no!—with such dangers thickening about him, he must not think of it. It angered him the more that he must thus repress the feeling which was struggling to make itself understood, which he felt certain she would welcome. For half an hour after luncheon they lingered on the veranda. As if drawn irresistibly by secret cords of feeling, Bancroft and Miss Dent kept constantly near each other; once, when she accidentally touched his hand, his fingers closed quickly upon hers in a moment’s warm grasp.
After he had gone, Louise walked restlessly up and down, her nerves strung to the highest tension by her love and anxiety for Bancroft and her hatred of Conrad. Her headache grew rapidly worse, and her heart was beating like a trip-hammer. She and Lucy agreed that the electrical condition of the atmosphere had become more trying. The sunshine, too, was more dingily yellowish. They noticed that heavy, dark clouds, like huge, sleeping beasts, were lying behind the summits of the Mogollon Mountains.