The door was opened and in came the attorneys and some others.
“Will you please ring the bell, Mrs. Beebe?” said Swiftwater.
I rang the bell, the boy came and Swiftwater ordered two pint bottles of wine.
Now, this was Swiftwater’s way of dallying with justice. It was another exemplification of his idea—the mainspring in the man’s whole character—that money could do anything and everything.
The wine came, two bottles at a time and then four, and then six. Every time the boy came up, Swiftwater borrowed money from me to pay the bill. Then Swiftwater did something that I never believed could happen. The National Bank at Fairbanks had, a few weeks before, issued its first currency—the first government bank notes in all Alaska. Swiftwater had a bunch of the new $20 bills and, wrapping in each a nugget taken from Number 6 Cleary, he presented one to each of his friends—that is, all who were present.
“If Mr. Gates will deposit $2,250, as counsel for Mrs. Gates desires, which is to be applied for the maintenance of herself and children and for attorney’s fees, I think we may continue this matter until a later date,” said the judge.
Swiftwater came over to me.
“I’ve got a thousand dollar draft,” said he, “and if you will loan me $1,250 I’ll pay everything up Monday,” said Swiftwater.
I have never yet fully made up my mind what led me to loan Swiftwater that money, unless it was that, like everyone else who knew of his wonderful capacity for getting money rapidly out of the North, I believed he would make good all of his promises. I gave him the money, and Swiftwater was a free man.