One of her hands rested on his shoulder. He took the other in both of his as he smiled at her indulgently. Her news had so heartened him that he hardly noticed her connection of Baxter with the affair. “I don’t know about that, daughter. It isn’t likely to have any effect, because his indictment is for murder—you know he killed Gaines while resisting arrest—and his motive in stealing the horse has no connection with that crime. I’m glad you told me about it, dear. I’ll talk with Melgares myself, and see what can be done. I suppose his wife must be having a hard time. You might give her some money. And ask her,” he said as he handed Lucy some bills, “not to speak about this Jenkins matter to any one else. Be sure you impress that upon her. It’s a pretty bad case, but you can tell his wife that everything possible will be done for him. Dell Baxter is coming down to undertake his defence; he does it for nothing. So you mustn’t think so badly of him hereafter, when you see how willing he is to make what amends he can to the poor fellow.”
Lucy threw her arms about his neck and kissed his forehead. “Daddy, you’re awfully good and kind—the best man in the world! About Mr. Baxter, though—” she paused to toss her head, and a little sparkle shone in her eyes—“well, I’m glad he has the decency to do it, but it’s no more than he ought; and before I think much better of him I’ll wait to see if he drives any more of the poor Mexicans out of their homes.”
Bancroft began to plan hopefully. He would see Melgares and get the exact facts. If this story was true it would be just the sword he needed to hang over Jenkins. Evidently he had told Conrad nothing; therefore that check must have been campaign money from Ned Castleton to be used for the benefit of Martinez. Jenkins would not be likely to talk: it would ruin his chance of making money out of it himself. As for Curtis—perhaps, after all, he would not be unreasonable about the offer to make restitution. Another check would reach him soon, with assurance of more to follow speedily. Surely the man was too sensible to cast aside such a start in life as this money would give him, just to carry out a crazy notion that would end in his own ruin.
“But if he will go on, he’ll have nobody but himself to blame for whatever happens,” he thought. “I’ve given him fair warning.”
The encouragement he felt turned his thoughts toward Louise Dent. In the intimacy of their daily life since she had been Lucy’s visitor he had found her ever more lovable. He began to think, as he looked into her eyes and felt the restrained sweetness of her manner, that when he should be free to speak she would welcome his feeling, and have for it an intoxicating return. But he could say nothing until the settlement of this affair left no further danger of discovery and disgrace.
“She must not know—neither she nor Lucy shall know—never—never a word or hint,” he thought desperately. True, Louise was not so unsparing in her moral judgments as Lucy; she was older, and, with more knowledge of the world, had more tolerance for the conditions under which men lived and worked. But if all that past, the past that he had believed buried beyond resurrection, should suddenly confront him, she and Lucy would be horrified. They would despise him. The respect, honor, and love for which he hungered would die; if they stayed beside him it would only be for compassion’s sake. In the fierce mood that possessed him as he thought of going down again into dishonor he was ready to strike out at anybody’s pity. This thing must not be. He had won his way back to position, power, affluence; he held the love and honor of his daughter and of the woman he hoped to make his wife; what he had won he would keep. His lips whitened as he struck the desk with his clenched fist.
“The past is dead, and it’s got to stay dead,” he muttered. “I’ll win out yet, by God!”