Black Jack by Max Brand (top android ebook reader txt) 📕
His sister's voice cut into his musing. She had two tones. One might be called her social register. It was smooth, gentle--the low-pitched and controlled voice of a gentlewoman. The other voice was hard and sharp. It could drive hard and cold across a desk, and bring businessmen to an understanding that here was a mind, not a woman.
At present she used her latter tone. Vance Cornish came into a shivering consciousness that she was sitting beside him. He turned his head slowly. It was always a shock to come out of one of his pleasant dreams and see that worn, hollow-eyed, impatient face.
"Are you forty-nine, Vance?"
"I'm not fifty, at least," he countered.
She remained imperturbable, looking him over. He had come to notice that in the past half-dozen years his best smiles often failed to mellow her expression. He felt that something disagreeable was coming.
"Why did Cornwall run away this morning? I hoped to take him on a trip."
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why he thinks that? Because you turned him out. You thought he would turn
bad. And he respects you. He still turns to you. Ah, if you could hear
him speak of you! He loves you still!”
Elizabeth Cornish dropped back into her chair, grown suddenly weak, and
Kate fell on her knees beside her.
“Don’t you see,” she said softly, “that no strength can turn Terry back
now? He’s done nothing wrong. He shot down the man who killed his father.
He has killed another man who was a professional bully and mankiller. And
he’s broken into a bank and taken money from a man who deserved to lose
it—a wolf of a man everybody hates. He’s done nothing really wrong yet,
but he will before long. Just because he’s stronger than other men. And
he doesn’t know his strength. And he’s fine, Miss Cornish. Isn’t he
always gentle and—”
“Hush!” said Elizabeth Cornish.
“He’s just a boy; you can’t bend him with strength, but you can win him
with love.”
“What,” gasped Elizabeth, “do you want me to do?”
“Bring him back. Bring him back, Miss Cornish!”
Elizabeth Cornish was trembling.
“But I—if you can’t influence him, how can I? You with your beautiful—
you are very beautiful, dear child. Ah, very lovely!”
She barely touched the bright hair.
“He doesn’t even think of me,” said the girl sadly. “But I have no shame.
I have let you know everything. It isn’t for me. It’s for Terry, Miss
Cornish. And you’ll come? You’ll come as quickly as you can? You’ll come
to my father’s house? You’ll ask Terry to come back? One word will do it!
And I’ll hurry back and—keep him there till you come. God give me
strength! I’ll keep him till you come!”
Outside the door, his ear pressed to the crack, Vance Cornish did not
wait to hear more. He knew the answer of Elizabeth before she spoke. And
all his high-built schemes he saw topple about his ears. Grief had been
breaking the heart of his sister, he knew. Grief had been bringing her
close to the grave. With Terry back, she would regain ten years of life.
With Terry back, the old life would begin again.
He straightened and staggered down the stairs like a drunken man,
clinging to the banister. It was an old-faced man who came out onto the
veranda, where Waters was chewing his cigar angrily. At sight of his host
he started up. He was a keen man, was Waters. He could sense money a
thousand miles away. And it was this buzzard keenness which had brought
him to the Cornish ranch and made him Vance’s right-hand man. There was
much money to be spent; Waters would direct and plan the spending, and
his commission would not be small.
In the face of Vance he saw his own doom.
“Waters,” said Vance Cornish, “everything is going up in smoke. That
damned girl—Waters, we’re ruined.”
“Tush!” said Waters, smiling, though he had grown gray. “No one girl can
ruin two middle-aged men with our senses developed. Sit down, man, and
we’ll figure a way out of this.”
The fine gray head, the hawklike, aristocratic face, and the superior
manner of Waters procured him admission to many places where the ordinary
man was barred. It secured him admission on this day to the office of
Sheriff McGuire, though McGuire had refused to see his best friends.
A proof of the perturbed state of his mind was that he accepted the
proffered fresh cigar of Waters without comment or thanks. His mental
troubles made him crisp to the point of rudeness.
“I’m a tolerable busy man, Mr.—Waters, I think they said your name was.
Tell me what you want, and make it short, if you don’t mind.”
“Not a bit, sir. I rarely waste many words. But I think on this occasion
we have a subject in common that will interest you.”
Waters had come on what he felt was more or less of a wild-goose chase.
The great object was to keep young Hollis from coming in contact with
Elizabeth Cornish again. One such interview, as Vance Cornish had assured
him, would restore the boy to the ranch, make him the heir to the estate,
and turn Vance and his high ambitions out of doors. Also, the high
commission of Mr. Waters would cease. With no plan in mind, he had rushed
to the point of contact, and hoped to find some scheme after he arrived
there. As for Vance, the latter would promise money; otherwise he was a
shaken wreck of a man and of no use. But with money, Mr. Waters felt that
he had the key to this world and he was not without hope.
Three hours in the hotel of the town gave him many clues. Three hours of
casual gossip on the veranda of the same hotel had placed him in
possession of about every fact, true or presumably true, that could be
learned, and with the knowledge a plan sprang into his fertile brain. The
worn, worried face of the sheriff had been like water on a dry field; he
felt that the seed of his plan would immediately spring up and bear
fruit.
“And that thing we got in common?” said the sheriff tersely.
“It’s this—young Terry Hollis.”
He let that shot go home without a follow-up and was pleased to see the
sheriff’s forehead wrinkle with pain.
“He’s like a ghost hauntin’ me,” declared McGuire, with an attempted
laugh that failed flatly. “Every time I turn around, somebody throws this
Hollis in my face. What is it now?”
“Do you mind if I run over the situation briefly, as I understand it?”
“Fire away!”
The sheriff settled back; he had forgotten his rush of business.
“As I understand it, you, Mr. McGuire, have the reputation of keeping
your county clean of crime and scenes of violence.”
“Huh!” grunted the sheriff.
“Everyone says,” went on Waters, “that no one except a man named Minter
has done such work in meeting the criminal element on their own ground.
You have kept your county peaceful. I believe that is true?”
“Huh,” repeated McGuire. “Kind of soft-soapy, but it ain’t all wrong.
They ain’t been much doing in these parts since I started to clean things
up.”
“Until recently,” suggested Waters.
The face of the sheriff darkened. “Well?” he asked aggressively.
“And then two crimes in a row. First, a gun brawl in broad daylight—
young Hollis shot a fellow named—er—”
“Larrimer,” snapped the sheriff viciously. “It was a square fight.
Larrimer forced the scrap.”
“I suppose so. Nevertheless, it was a gunfight. And next, two men raid
the bank in the middle of your town, and in spite of you and of special
guards, blow the door off a safe and gut the safe of its contents. Am I
right?”
The sheriff merely scowled.
“It ain’t clear to me yet,” he declared, “how you and me get together on
any topic we got in common. Looks sort of like we was just hearing one
old yarn over and over agin.”
“My dear sir,” smiled Waters, “you have not allowed me to come to the
crux of my story. Which is: that you and I have one great object in
common—to dispose of this Terry Hollis, for I take it for granted that
if you were to get rid of him the people who criticize now would do
nothing but cheer you. Am I right?”
“If I could get him,” sighed the sheriff. “Mr. Waters, gimme time and
I’ll get him, right enough. But the trouble with the gents around these
parts is that they been spoiled. I cleaned up all the bad ones so damn
quick that they think I can do the same with every crook that comes
along. But this Hollis is a slick one, I tell you. He covers his tracks.
Laughs in my face, and admits what he done, when he talks to me, like he
done the other day. But as far as evidence goes, I ain’t got anything on
him—yet. But I’ll get it!”
“And in the meantime,” said Waters brutally, “they say that you’re
getting old.”
The sheriff became a brilliant purple.
“Do they say that?” he muttered. “That’s gratitude for you, Mr. Waters!
After what I’ve done for ‘em—they say I’m getting old just because I
can’t get anything on this slippery kid right off!”
He changed from purple to gray. To fail now and lose his position meant a
ruined life. And Waters knew what was in his mind.
“But if you got Terry Hollis, they’d be stronger behind you than ever.”
“Ah, wouldn’t they, though? Tell me what a great gent I was quick as a
flash.”
He sneered at the thought of public opinion.
“And you see,” said Waters, “where I come in is that I have a plan for
getting this Hollis you desire so much.”
“You do?” He rose and grasped the arm of Waters. “You do?”
Waters nodded.
“It’s this way. I understand that he killed Larrimer, and Larrimer’s
older brother is the one who is rousing public opinion against you. Am I
right?”
“The dog! Yes, you’re right.”
“Then get Larrimer to send Terry Hollis an invitation to come down into
town and meet him face to face in a gun fight. I understand this Hollis
is a daredevil sort and wouldn’t refuse an invitation of that nature.
He’d have to respond or else lose his growing reputation as a maneater.”
“Maneater? Why, Bud Larrimer wouldn’t be more’n a mouthful for him. Sure
he’d come to town. And he’d clean up quick. But Larrimer ain’t fool
enough to send such an invite.”
“You don’t understand me,” persisted Waters patiently. “What I mean is
this. Larrimer sends the challenge, if you wish to call it that. He takes
up a certain position. Say in a public place. You and your men, if you
wish, are posted nearby, but out of view when young Hollis comes. When
Terry Hollis arrives, the moment he touches a gun butt, you fill him full
of lead and accuse him of using unfair play against Larrimer. Any excuse
will do. The public want an end of young Hollis. They won’t be particular
with their questions.”
He found it difficult to meet the narrowed eyes of the sheriff.
“What you want me to do,” said the sheriff, with slow effort, “is to set
a trap, get Hollis into it, and then—murder him?”
“A brutal way of putting it, my dear fellow.”
“A true way,” said the sheriff.
But he was thinking, and Waters waited.
When he spoke, his voice was soft enough to blend with the sheriff’s
thoughts without actually interrupting them.
“You’re not a youngster any more, sheriff, and if you lose out here, your
reputation is gone for good. You’ll not have the time to rebuild it. Here
is a chance for you not only to stop the evil rumors, but to fortify your
past record with a new bit of work that will make people talk of you.
They don’t really care how you do it. They won’t split hairs about
method. They want Hollis put out of the way. I say, cache yourself away.
Let Hollis come to meet Larrimer in a private room. You can arrange it
with Larrimer yourself later on. You shoot from concealment the moment
Hollis shows his face. It can be said that Larrimer did the shooting, and
beat Hollis
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