She went home with that “little daughter” ringing in her ears and her heart. It brought back a wealth of memories of those childish, happy, longed-for times when her father came, so glad to see his “little daughter” that the days were not long enough to hold all the pleasures he wished to give her. It filled her breast with tenderness and a sort of yearning affection, more maternal than filial in quality, and made more ardent her desire to stand by him with perfect loyalty. But the old, joyous love that had been rooted deep in admiration, esteem, and honor no longer stirred within her. She knew that it would never fill her life again with its warmth and gladness, and that now and again she would have to struggle with that same aversion which had sent her that morning to hide herself in her room against his accustomed affectionate farewell. Nevertheless, she was pleased that a returning tide of tenderness, which was almost remorse, had swept over her in time for her to join him at the station.
Lucy’s breathless rush to overtake him and the appealing tenderness of her manner during their moment together were sweet thoughts in Bancroft’s mind as the train bore him northward. Dear little daughter! she grew dearer every day, and so did his pride and happiness in her. He longed to give her all the pleasures that his money could buy, just as he used to fill his pockets for her delight when she was a little girl. Once past these threatening dangers, they should have good times together. All his business enterprises were promising well; it would not be long before money would be plenty. Then, with clear sailing ahead and no ominous clouds, he could ask Louise to marry him.
They would have to give up Lucy some time, but not for many a day. She was the sort of girl that is always attractive to men—why, half the young fellows in Golden were already dancing devoted attendance!—but she was very young; he and Louise still had many years in which to enjoy her, to travel with her and show her the world. Once past these threatening dangers, how fair was the world beyond! He would vanquish them yet, by whatever means might come to his hand! Each day’s anxiety for the present and its longing for the fair future made his heart more desperate and reckless. He was hopeful that this coming interview with Rutherford Jenkins would make things easier for him in that quarter. Money would always keep Jenkins quiet, but to give up money to a blackmailer was like pouring it down a rat hole; if he kept it up the process was sure to cripple him in time.
Jenkins received him with smiling cordiality. “I’m very glad to see you, Mr. Delafield—oh, I beg your pardon!—Mr. Bancroft. I always think of you as—ah, by the other name—and I sometimes forget in speaking.”
“You’d better not forget again,” Bancroft interposed. “And, speaking of forgetting, there is a little matter concerning you that I’m willing to let drop out of my memory. You know, of course, about the case of José Maria Melgares. Doubtless you know, also, how Melgares happened to steal Curtis Conrad’s horse; and you could tell to a cent—to a jury, if necessary—how much money was given to Melgares in the rear of the Blue Front saloon to induce him to undertake the theft. I take it, however, that you would not care to have it brought into court, as a conviction on a charge of conspiracy would be sure to follow. I have all the evidence in my possession—quite enough to convict. I got it from Melgares’ wife in the first place, and I have since secured his affidavit. But I have stopped her mouth, and his, and nobody else knows anything about it. I am quite willing to forget it myself if you will show equal courtesy concerning—certain other matters.”
Jenkins grinned and licked his lips. “Really, my dear Mr. Delafield—excuse me—my dear Mr. Bancroft—I don’t know what you are driving at! I suppose you mean that Melgares has been saying that I hired him to steal Conrad’s horse. The thing is as false as it is absurd. If it were to come into court I should deny it absolutely, exactly as I do now. And the word of Rutherford Jenkins would stand for considerably more with a jury than that of a Mexican horse-thief.”
“You are probably the only man in the Territory, Mr. Jenkins, who holds that opinion. Unless you take a more reasonable view of the matter I shall feel it my duty to see the district attorney as soon as I get home.”
“See him, and be damned!” Jenkins broke out. “If you do, Curtis Conrad shall know before the week is out that you are Sumner L. Delafield.”
Bancroft’s eyes fell, but his reply came quickly enough: “Well, and what is that to me?”