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Delafield Affair

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“The First National? That’s Bancroft’s bank, isn’t it? Yes; it lost some bricks out of the foundation, and the ground was washed away a little. Nothing of consequence.” “Well, that has happened several times already; some of these days it will happen once too often. Long ago, I’m told, the street and sidewalk had to be moved to the other side of the houses for a block or two along there. You remember the creek elbows toward the bank. If a great mass of water [Pg 336]ever comes down that canyon it will rush straight against the side of the building—and the lives of whoever happens to be inside won’t be worth two switches of a cow’s tail.” “I talked with Mr. Bancroft about that possibility to-day,” said Homer, “and he doesn’t think the situation is dangerous.” “Yes; nobody in Golden believes there’s any danger. And they may be right. They say there isn’t as much rain now as there used to be, and that cloud-bursts of any consequence are as rare as six-legged calves. It will all depend on the weather.” The next morning José Gonzalez was hitching up to drive the men to Adobe Springs when Conrad walked up, leaned carelessly against the wheel, and looked him in the eye. The Mexican returned the gaze unflinchingly but respectfully. “José,” said Curtis in a low tone, “you made a mistake about that wolf last night, didn’t you? It wasn’t the wolf you thought it was when you made ready to shoot, was it?” An amused gleam lighted for an instant José’s sombre eyes. “It might have been as you say, Don Curtis,” he answered cautiously. “I don’t want any might-have-beens; I want to know if you are making war on my [Pg 337]brother as well as on me. It’s all right about me, but I won’t have anything of the sort where he’s concerned. I want the truth, José. Is anything of the kind going to happen again?” Gonzalez looked at Conrad squarely as he earnestly replied: “It was a mistake, Don Curtis; I swear to you it was a mistake. Your brother looks much like you, it was your mare, and you had said you would be back from Golden about that hour. I saw it was Don Homer barely in time. After this I shall be more careful.” Conrad grinned at the closing sentence, and the Mexican scarcely repressed an answering smile. “Well, I am going away to-day,” said Curtis, “to be gone for several days. So it won’t be necessary for you to make any mistakes while I’m gone.” José looked up in quick alarm. “You are not going to Don Dellmey?” he exclaimed. “He is not the one who wishes your death!” “What do you say, José?” the other demanded, starting forward eagerly. “I swear to you by the Mother of God, Don Curtis,” said the Mexican, with voice intense and manner most earnest, “that it is not Señor Baxter who desires your death.” [Pg 338] “Are you speaking the truth, José?” “I will swear it on the crucifix, Don Curtis!” Conrad gazed at him steadfastly, and the conviction entered his mind that Gonzalez was speaking the truth. A look of puzzled wonder overspread his face. “In the name of God, then, who is it?” he said, half aloud. The Mexican shrugged a shoulder and turned away. “Who can it be?” the manager repeated, to himself, but still loud enough for the other to hear. “It must be Delafield!” he exclaimed. José’s ear caught the words, and he listened as his employer went on: “He knows I’m after him, and he’s trying to kill me first. If I could only make this coyote greaser tell me who his patron is, I’d know who Delafield is. I’d like to choke it out of you, you son of perdition!” He looked so fiercely at Gonzalez that the Mexican took a threatening step forward. “You needn’t worry,” Conrad exclaimed contemptuously. “I know you wouldn’t tell, even if I choked the life out of you trying to make you peach. It’s your patron I’m after.” José stooped to hitch the traces, and Curtis broke out impulsively: “I say, José, what [Pg 339]makes you do this sort of thing? You’re as square as they make ’em in most things; why do you go into this damned rattlesnake business?” Gonzalez looked up with a confiding smile. “The patron wishes it; and why not? If I kill a man he gets me off if he can, and then that is all right. If he can’t, I pay for it in prison—and that is fair.” “Huh!” grunted the superintendent as he walked away. “So you think you are going to pay for me that way, do you? Well, I guess not!” The same train that carried Conrad northward to Santa Fe carried also a brief and hurried letter to Dellmey Baxter which José Gonzalez had found time to write before he and the rest started for Adobe Springs, mailing it as they passed White Rock station. “You will see Señor Conrad in Santa Fe,” the Congressman read in his office the next morning, “but you need not be anxious. I have sworn to him that it is not you who desires his death, and he believes me. I heard him speak to himself, and he said it must be Delafeel who wishes him dead. He said he would like to choke out of me who my patron is, for then he would know who Delafeel is. [Pg 340]Don Curtis is a very brave man. I like him much.” Baxter chuckled over the closing sentences as he tore the letter into bits. Poking them musingly with a fat forefinger he thought: “It’s a sure bet that his patron just now is Aleck Bancroft; and that makes it look as if Aleck might be this mysterious Delafeel—I’ll have to find out who Delafeel is and what he’s done some time or other; then I sure reckon I’ll have a cinch on Aleck that will keep him from trying to step into my shoes as long as I want him to keep out.” He looked out of his window into the little tree-filled plaza, cool and green in the morning sunlight, and saw Curtis Conrad walking across it from the hotel on the other side. He took a six-shooter from his pocket, made sure of its cartridges, and replaced it. From a drawer in his desk he took another, examined its chambers, and laid it on his desk, under an open newspaper. A moment later he was rising from his chair with outstretched hand and beaming smile. “Why, how do you do, Mr. Conrad! I’m sure glad to see you. How did you leave things down in old Silverside? That was a high old time we had at the barbecue, wasn’t [Pg 341]it? Have the Castletons gone yet? A fine figure of a woman is Mrs. Turner Castleton! And I tell you right now it was a great shave she gave me!” The Honorable Dellmey Baxter rubbed his cheek, and chuckled. But his right hand rested on his desk, close beside the newspaper which he had apparently just thrown down. “Mr. Baxter,” said Conrad, ignoring the stream of questions and remarks, “some weeks ago I wrote you, saying frankly that I believed you responsible for attempts against my life, made by a Mexican who had come from you to me. I find myself mistaken, and I have come to apologize to you for my suspicions.” “That’s all right, Curt, that’s all right!” Baxter broke in, relief apparent in his countenance. “I’ll admit I felt hurt by your insinuations, but as long as you’ve found out you were wrong and are willing to do me the justice of saying so, it’s not worth speaking of again.” “Understand,” Curtis went on, “that I’m not taking back or apologizing for anything else I’ve said about you, and I’m still shouting for Johnny Martinez for Congress.” “Johnny is to be congratulated for having [Pg 342]your support,” Baxter rejoined genially; “I wish I could get it away from him. Has that measly greaser made any more attempts on your life, my dear Conrad? You’re too good a citizen for the Territory to lose in that way.” Curtis smiled carelessly. “I don’t think my life is in any danger. No damned greaser will get the chance to stick me in the back when I’ve got both eyes shut and one foot tucked up in my feathers, if I’m onto his game. I don’t care anything about José; it’s his patron I’m after.” “His patron!” exclaimed Baxter in apparent surprise. “You don’t mean to say that José’s got a patron in that business!” His visitor nodded and the Congressman went on: “You don’t say so! I didn’t suppose you had an enemy in the Territory. This is interesting! We must get at the bottom of this, Mr. Conrad, for we can’t afford to lose you. Have you any idea who’s behind the greaser?” Curtis considered a moment. He might get some information from Baxter that would help him; it would do no harm to speak cautiously. “Yes, and no, Mr. Baxter. I know who he used to be, but I don’t know [Pg 343]who he is now. His name used to be Delafield, back in the States.” “Delafield—Delafield,” mused Baxter. He had got the conversation where he wanted it. “I don’t remember having heard that name in New Mexico.” “That hasn’t been his name for a good many years. Don’t you remember the Delafield affair in Boston, some fifteen years ago—Sumner L. Delafield, who made a big spread in the financial world, defaulted, and ran away?” “Why, of course!” The Congressman brought his fat fist down on the table with a thump. “The Delafield affair! Yes; I remember it, and how Delafield slid out and covered up his tracks completely. And you say he’s living in New Mexico now?” “Yes; he’s a rich, prominent, and respected citizen of New Mexico. But I haven’t discovered which one of ’em, and he doesn’t want me to find out. My father lost all he had in the smash.” They talked a little longer, and Curtis learned enough about the history of the two men he had in mind to be satisfied that neither of them was the one he sought. After Conrad went away, Baxter leaned [Pg 344]back and folded his hands across his waist-coat, his left eyelid drooping and his face beaming with smiles. “Now,” he thought, “I’ve got Aleck Bancroft exactly where he can do me the most good!” <hr class="large" />[Pg 345] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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