Arizona Argonauts/Chapter 10

PON the following morning, Murray was at the printing establishment watching Bill Hobbs and his human derelict swear at each other, when Piute Tomkins beckoned him outside to the street.

Piute stood there, ostentatiously fingered a burnished deputy's star which adorned his sun-faded vest, twirled his melancholy mustache and spoke.

"Doc, the pris'ner wants to see ye."

"Prisoner? What prisoner?"

"Your partner, Mac."

"Good lord!" Murray stared blankly at him. "You don't mean he's—arrested?"

"Certain."

"On what charge?"

"Assault with 'tent to kill. Him and another man been mixin' it up consid'able back of the hotel; other man's Hennesy, the contractor from Meteorite. Seems like Mac took after him with an ol' wagon spoke and nigh riled him to death. I got him locked up in an extry room, so come along."

Murray followed, bewildered and angered. Sandy arrested!

Piute led the way into the hotel, and to a room at the door of which stood Deadoak Stevens on guard. A stern and implacable proponent of justice, Deadoak was also possessed of a polished badge and an ancient revolver, both of which he displayed with ostentation.

"Hennesy's goin' right back to town," he informed Piute, "he wants to see ye 'fore he pulls out." Piute strode away.

Murray, meantime, entered the room, where he found Mackintavers sitting, the picture of disconsolate despair. Sandy glanced up, then dropped a battered countenance into his hands and groaned.

"Hello!" said Murray cheerfully. "Hear you've been fighting. What's the fun about?"

"Doc, it's no use," groaned Sandy. "I'm a branded man! I thought nobody'd know me around here—but along comes a man named Hennesy, a man whom I'd had dealin's with in New Mexico. Fact is, I made him leave there for his health. Now he's turned up here. I run up against him—wham! Then we went to it, that's all."

"I hope," said Murray, "that you hurt him worse than he hurt you?"

"I done my best," was the gloomy response. "I sure knocked him out—then this here deputy sheriff dropped a gun on me."

Deadoak Stevens introduced his head inside the door, which he had placed ajar.

"He's goin' to Meteorite after the sheriff," he announced, "and you'll stay right here until he gets back"

"Nonsense!" declared Murray. "I'll bail him out and"

"There ain't no one here to bail him out to," said Deadoak. "You got to wait, that's all. Ding my dogs, this here ain't no city!"

"Don't you try to stick with me, Doc," said Mackintavers hopelessly. "It ain't fair to you an' Hobbs. Things like this'll come croppin' up all the while"

"Don't be a fool," snapped Murray, and rose. "I'll see what can be done, Sandy. We'll take care of this fellow somehow. Did you have a wagon-spoke in your hand?"

"I don't know," said Sandy. "I was hittin' him with everything in sight."

Murray chuckled and left the room.

He saw Piute Tomkins in the office downstairs, and speedily found that there was no way of freeing Mackintavers until the sheriff arrived in person. Piute flatly refused to accept bail, and there was no justice of the peace in town—the one and only J. P. being at the moment some score of miles away looking for a tungsten mine in the Saddleback hills. Murray gave up the attempt in disgust.

As he left the office, he saw that an automobile was standing at one side of the hotel, its engine purring. Standing talking to the driver was Doctor Scudder. Scudder stepped back, waved his hand, and the car drove away in the direction of Meteorite. Too late to halt the driver, Murray realized that it must be the man with whom Sandy had mixed. But what business had the man with Doctor Scudder?

Scudder passed him with a single flashing look, and Murray went on across the street, where he imparted to Bill Hobbs what had happened. They were still debating the matter, when the doorway was darkened—and Murray looked up to see Claire Lee.

She had already met Bill Hobbs, and had displayed much interest in his activities. But now she responded to Willyum's greeting with only a faint smile, and turned to Murray a gaze that was distinctly troubled.

"Doctor Murray," she said, a trace of color in her cheeks, "will you take me up to Morongo Valley in your car—right away?"

Murray was taken aback by this flat request.

"I—why, Miss Lee, what do you mean? Your father can't travel yet"

"It's not a question of my father," she said, biting her lip. "Here is a note that he asked me to hand you"

She extended a paper, which the astounded Murray took and opened. The note was brief:

Murray looked from Bill Hobbs to Claire, and choked down the questions that rose to his lips.

"When do you want to go?"

"Now," said the girl quietly. "I'll get my things in a few minutes."

"How long do you want to stay?"

"Until we hear from my father."

"Hadn't I better see him?"

"No. He wants me to go at once."

Murray scratched his red thatch, more embarrassed and put to confusion than he cared to admit. This thing was preposterous on its face! No reason assigned—nothing but the request to take this girl away out there to the Morongo Valley, for an indefinite stay!

He looked helplessly at Bill Hobbs. "Willyum, can you take care of Sandy?"

"Sure," asserted Willyum, wide-eyed.

"I am at your service, Miss Lee," said Murray.

"You—you are very good, Doctor," she said, and he thought that her lip trembled. "I'll be ready in five minutes."

"Very well. I'll meet you behind the hotel, at my car—it's the one stacked with supplies in the back seat."

She turned and left the print shop. Bill Hobbs looked at Murray bewilderedly.

"What's it mean, Doc?"

"How the devil do I know?" Murray swore in puzzled disgust.

"Looked to me like she'd been cryin' Doc."

Murray swore again, and started for the door. "Come on and help me throw some things together—put one of those extra gas cans in the back of my car, will you? Fortunately she's full up on everything. And you'll have to get Sandy's money before the sheriff gets it"

They crossed to the hotel, and while he prepared for the trip, Murray instructed his henchman, whom he placed in charge of the mutual funds, to explain matters to Sandy and to do whatever might be possible.

The two men descended to the car, which was already filled with a mass of supplies made ready by Murray and Sandy against their return to the valley on a prolonged prospecting trip. Willyum turned over the engine, and as he did so, Claire appeared, bearing only a small handbag.

The anxiety in her countenance broke in a smiling greeting, and she climbed in beside Murray. The latter shoved down on his pedal and sent the flivver toward the street. He waved a hasty farewell to Bill Hobbs; and as he did so, a backward glance showed him the tall figure of Doctor Scudder, standing in the doorway of the hotel and gazing after them. Somehow, the remembrance of that impassive, high-browed, jet-bearded figure left a feeling of disquiet within him.

Not until they had left Two Palms behind them, was the silence broken. Then Murray, seeing Claire's handkerchief going to her eyes, put on the brakes.

"What's the matter?" he exclaimed.

"Nothing—please go on!" The girl forced a smile. "I'll tell you what's happened—I'll tell you what's happened"

Murray drove on frowning. Presently Claire spoke, her voice low.

"You'll have to try and understand everything, Doctor Murray; I know that you're a gentleman, and father agrees with me. He isn't an ordinary Chinaman, you know—a coolie. Before the revolution, he went into business. He consolidated a number of antique shops near San Francisco into one big combine, and he's wealthy. But he has so set his heart on doing good to other men who have the opium habit, and helping them to break it, that whoever can approach him in the right way can—can win his trust. Doctor Scudder has done this."

"Ah!" said Murray. "You don't like Scudder, eh?"

"I don't trust him!" exclaimed the girl passionately. "I think he's been deliberately keeping Father under the influence of opium, while pretending to cure him; a doctor can obtain the drug now, you know, and no one else can. Well, this morning I met Doctor Scudder in the hall, and he said something—something I resented, and when I told Father, there was a row. I'll have to be perfectly frank about it, Doctor Murray.

"Doctor Scudder apologized to me and said I had misunderstood him, then he launched a bitter attack on you and said that he meant to prove you were not what you seemed to be at all—that you were engaged in smuggling drugs"

"I?" exclaimed Murray, then laughed amusedly. "Nonsense!"

"Well, there was a fuss," said the girl. "I hoped that Father might begin to see Doctor Scudder as I saw him; but I don't know—it's terribly hard to tell just what he thinks and does not think, for he seldom says anything. When we were alone, he told me to take that note out to you, and to have you take me to Morongo Valley at once—without any delay."

"And no reason given?" asked Murray, in open astonishment.

"None," she responded. "I thought that perhaps he wanted to get you away from Doctor Scudder, to prevent trouble; but why should I go too? He refused absolutely to explain anything."

Murray reflected that there might be excellent reasons for the girl going too, but that certainly none appeared.

"Well," he said whimsically, "since we're on our way, we might as well go! I certainly am honored and delighted by your company, Miss Lee. I think you're a very wonderful sort of woman, and that your father should send you with me, like this, implies a trust which I shall try to deserve."

The girl glanced at him, and to his amazement he saw that a smile was rippling in her face.

"You've been wondering about me, I suppose? Most people do; they seem to think that it must be terrible to acknowledge a Chinaman as one's father, and to love him! I remember that when some of the girls came home with me one vacation, they could not see the wealth and happiness around me, the devoted servants such as they had never been used to, the love and affection which had been flung about me. All they could see was the yellow man who was their host"

Her voice trailed off, and suddenly Murray realized that her smile had not been one of mirth. A quick flash of pity leaped through him. He saw her life as it must be—always a stigma upon her, always the yellow man whom she loved and who loved her, always the shadow that enveloped her friendships and all that she did!

"A year ago, Miss Lee," he said quietly, "I was among the leaders of my profession. Through the deadly sin of heedlessness, of failure to observe what I was doing in the effort always to do more in my profession, I became a drug fiend. Since then, I have conquered myself—but in the world's eyes, I can never be rehabilitated. So I, too, have learned the folly of caring what the world thinks or says. It is the inward self that matters; nothing else."

"Oh, but you are cynical about it!" she answered simply. "Rather, you are trying to be cynical, and not succeeding very well. Haven't you found that after all life is very good as it is—that in one sense the world does not matter, but that in another sense one must regard it very keenly? To be thought ill of, hurts, and hurts much. There is always self-respect, and the inner guidance of one's own life to be followed; but all the same, one must bring one's self into accord with the things outside.

"It does not worry me to be considered the daughter of a yellow man. I am only sorry that people cannot know, as I know, the wonderful character and goodness of Tom Lee. Why, if he is able to do what he came here to do, he will be a tremendous benefactor of his own race! Hundreds of the men who work for him are still slaves to opium, although most of them would be glad to be free again."

Murray followed the road mechanically. It was a poor road, merely a track across the white-gray desert face, dodging to avoid ancient "Joshua trees" or groups of cacti, ever following the line of least resistance and curving endlessly.

The road did not interest Murray; he was thinking of the girl beside him and her situation.

"At least," he said gravely, "I think that I can appreciate the character of your father; and if I were you, I wouldn't worry about my own position. You're a marvelously beautiful girl, Clairedelune—beautiful beyond words, and with a deep fund of personality to back it. To have your trust and confidence and affection would be an unbounded honor to any man alive! For you to think, perhaps, that any man who cared for you might be prejudiced because there is Chinese blood in your"

"Oh!" cried out the girl suddenly. Her voice startled him, shook him. He saw that her face had mantled with crimson. "Oh! But that isn't so!"

"What?" Murray turned toward her, slowed the car, stared uneasily at her. She met his gaze with level eyes, although her bosom was heaving tumultuously.

"I thought you knew!" she exclaimed. "I'm only an adopted daughter, Doctor Murray; father found me in San Francisco at the time of the fire, and could never discover my real parents. So he adopted me"

"Adopted you? Would such a thing be allowed?"

"Yes, for all the records were destroyed; besides, at that time Father was known as a Manchu prince, and his position was highly respected. To save trouble, Father merely took the adoption for granted; it was never legal, perhaps, but it was never questioned. And so"

Murray sat in a daze, unable to find words in the astounded comprehension that burst upon him. He could see only the one great fact—that she was bred of no oriental race! He knew now that he must have been prejudiced before that supposition; he had fought the prejudice, had conquered it, but none the less he felt a surge of relief, and a song uprose in his heart. Then he told himself that he was a fool to think such thoughts. What matter to him? As to what the girl had suggested about his being a drug smuggler, quoting Scudder, Murray never gave this another thought. He forgot it completely.