The Arrow-Point Estate/Chapter 11

At the Arrow-Point Ranch, whither Reid went at once, he found the letter he needed so badly—the letter from his friend, the stock inspector in Chicago. Also, he found a rather chilly welcome from Lorrie, though he did not think much about it in the first half-hour, while he was reading and re-reading the letter. It told him all he wanted to know, and more. The shipments of Arrow-Point stuff had always been heavy—heavy enough to prove beyond doubt that John Burkell had more than twice as many cattle as the appraiser’s report showed. There had been about the same number shipped each year—presumably the natural beef growth of his herds. Unless he had been a spendthrift he must have left a generous bank-account to his credit.

This fall the shipments of beef had noticeably increased, although the quarterly report of Uncle Howard accounted for only two shipments, and small ones at that. The evidence was plain and irrefutable. Reid folded the letter with a grim smile.

“I’m going to ask you,” he said gravely to Lorrie, “to let me take those brand-books and the two reports you showed me that time. I’ve found out that you and Skookum are getting the worst of it in this administration business, and I’m conceited enough to think I can bring a change for the better. May I have them?”

Lorrie looked at him coldly, and hesitated so that even the preoccupation of Reid could not fail to notice it. “Was your letter from the person you once called ‘Belladona’?” she asked him evenly.

Reid stared frankly. “Here, you can read it and see,” he said, and handed it out to her.

At first it seemed that she would refuse to look at it, but she did take it after a perceptible wait, and read it calmly through. “I see,” she said when she had finished. “Uncle Howard is a—is not honorable, either.”

“Either!” That last word stung from its very unexpectedness.

“Why do you say ‘either’? And why did you think my letter was from—her?” Reid’s tone was quiet, but it was compelling.

“I shall follow your example. I had a letter, too. Here, you may read it and see,” she retorted, and pulled a letter out of a pigeonhole in her desk.

This was the letter:

“Pretty good from Belladona,” Reid commented dryly, and gave back the letter. But there was a white line around his mouth, and a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “If you’re curious about her, I can maybe tell you a lot when there’s more time. Just at present there’s something more important than my own affairs to discuss. I’ve got to be back in Fallen Rock before six o’clock. May I have those papers, Miss Burkell?”

Lorrie looked mutinous. “I don’t see why it’s necessary,” she said. “There’s no reason why you should interest yourself in my affairs, Mr.—Reid.”

The white line grew more pronounced; otherwise Reid seemed quite unmoved by her evident hostility. “Have you any friend to take hold of this business—any one you can trust?”

“If I have,” Lorrie flung back bitterly, “they are not available at present.”

Reid thought she was thinking of Burns, and his eyebrows drew together sharply. He would have to tell her about Burns—but not now; not until he had settled with Uncle Howard. “Since that’s the case, I shall interest myself in your affairs, whether you like it or not. I have been studying this thing over in the last day or two. I think I shall have the judge appoint me your guardian and Skookum’s.” He spoke with an assurance calculated to disquiet her.

“And if I object?”

“That won’t stop me. Will you let me have the papers? You needn’t if you’d rather not; that will not stop me, either.” He stood up and looked down at her with softening eyes. “Oh, you women!” he said softly, and the tone was a caress that brought the pink into Lorrie’s cheeks. “When I come back, Miss Burkell, you’ll know that Uncle Howard has stepped down and out, and that I’m taking his place. You won't like that a little bit, will you? Legally you’re an infant, Miss Burkell; and infants don’t know what’s best for them—always. And grown-ups have to take care of them. Good-by. When I come again you may call me ‘Guardy’ if you like—the way they do in—love-stories!” He gave her another long look which she would not meet, and left her standing there with her slim body primly erect and her hands locked tightly in front of her. He could not doubt from her attitude that she was very angry. When he was outside he laughed bitterly to himself, also he said things about Belladonna.

Court was adjourned when he rode up to the court-house and dismounted. A few stragglers were hurrying out and down the steps as he went in. He went clanking up the stairs in a businesslike manner, straight down the side hall to the judge’s office, turned the knob and walked composedly in.

As he had hoped, Judge McGraw was there and alone. He was leaning far back in his revolving chair, with his well-shod feet piled comfortably upon a flat-topped desk among a litter of papers, and he was smoking a very nice-smelling cigar. He looked at Reid from under fat, drooping lids, and shifted the cigar with his tongue to a corner of his mouth so that he could speak if it were worth the effort. Otherwise he made no move.

“It isn’t too late to do a little business, I hope,” Reid began, coming close to the desk. “Especially as this is important.”

The judge measured him with a leisurely glance and shifted the cigar a bit more to one side. “What d’you want?” he drawled. “Go to the clerk if it’s a license.”

Reid smiled unpleasantly. “It isn’t anything so nice as that—nor so easy,” he returned. “I’ve come to notify you that the administrator of the Arrow-Point estate is a thief. I want you to can him and appoint me in his place.” Reid might have put the matter in more choice language, but he did not think it worth while. His meaning was clear enough.

The judge lifted a fat, white hand and removed the cigar from his lips, blew a smoke-ring upward and watched it drift to the window. He was smiling a little to himself.

“If you've got proof,” he said placidly, “you may present it to the court in the usual manner, and it will be duly considered.” He replaced the cigar and waved his hand lazily, as if that closed the subject.

“Different here, old-timer,” said Reid, quite as placidly. “I’ve got the proof all right, and I’m going to present it to this court and have it considered right now.”

The judge looked him over again, and he did not hurry. “One drink less would have left you with some sense,” he mused aloud. “One more would have Go back and take that other drink,” he advised. “Then you won't feel so bad.”

Reid reached into his pocket and drew out some papers; not the ones he had wanted, but they looked important, and they answered the purpose.

“In Howard Burkell’s quarterly report,” he said calmly, “he gives the beef shipments at thirty-one cars. I have the Chicago record of four full trains of Arrow-Point beef. I have the dates, and the prices he sold them at. The appraisers reported something over three thousand cattle belonging to the estate. I have here proof of nearly seven thousand. I have proof that the expenses of the estate have been padded till they’re big enough to cover the running of two such outfits.”

The judge blew another ring, his manner that of one elaborately at ease. “Present your proof in the usual way and it will be considered,” he repeated. He turned his eyes from the drifting, swaying smoke-ring and watched Reid with a certain tigerish sleepiness.

Reid observed the glance and his lips tightened. “Old-timer,” he said coolly, “this thing is going to be considered right here and now. I know the law. You can suspend Howard Burkell without notice, pending investigation of these charges. They'll sure stand investigating! And you can appoint me special administrator and guardian of the heirs without notice, and with full power to act in that capacity. Get busy!”



The judge moved his feet on the desk, and pointed with his cigar. “Do you see that button? I can call the janitor and have him throw you out,” he remarked. “I can also have him call the marshal. I tell you to present your proof”

“You've told me that before. I’m presenting it. There’s something else, McGraw. I’ve just come from”—he paused a fraction of a second—“the Dipper Ranch, in Idaho. Do you know the place?”

Evidently the judge knew. He pulled open a drawer deliberately, as if looking for a paper, and brought out a gun—the last movement was one of catlike swiftness, but it was not swift enough. The muzzle of Reid’s six-shooter covered him from across the desk. He weakened at the sight of it and let his hand drop. “Well?” he asked, but he was not smiling.

“Well?” Reid mimicked him. “It’s too bad you didn’t get the drop, old-timer; too bad for you, that is. You could have laid me out nice and cold, called the sheriff, and told him some yarn—maybe that I was trying to hold you up for your roll or something. Oh, you're a bird of a district judge—I don’t think!

“Now here’s a chance for you—but you'll play the game my way! You write out that special administration business without any fooling, and if you play fair I’ll keep still about your part in this rotten deal. Election’s coming pretty soon, and I hear you are up for another spell of this snap you’re holding down. There’s another thing—you'll have to see that all of the Dipper stock is transferred back to the Arrow-Point estate; and you can throw in the ranch for damages. But that will keep. What I want right at present is administration letters. Get busy, old-timer.” The voice of Reid was smooth and soft; he might have been saying something nice to a woman, from the tone of him.

But Judge McGraw proceeded to “get busy” without further delay.

In a way he was game; he made no protest, nor did he whine or bluster. He just laid his cigar down upon an edge of the table with the fire-end out, reached in a drawer and got the blank he wanted, picked up a fountain pen and shook it gently to start the ink-flow.

“This is really the clerk’s business,” he remarked, filling in the date. “But it will be all right. What name?”

“Reid Holleman.”

The judge wrote easily for a minute in blank spaces down the page. “The law requires that you give a bond,” he said, still writing. “Got any property?”

“The law also leaves the bond to the discretion of the court or judge,” Reid retorted. “In this case my word is my bond. I’ve property—plenty of it; but it’s not in this State. Otherwise, I’d be glad to put it up. And if I had to I could put up a cash bond of seventy-five thousand; but it would all take time. So you can just take my word of honor and call it square.”

“This will need to be witnessed, and you'll have to take oath,” said the judge. “Do you object to my calling in a couple of men?”

“Certainly not. A missmove [sic] would cost you more than you'd care to lose, and you know it. Go ahead and do it right.” Reid, spite of his vengeful mood, could not but admire the superb coolness of McGraw.

Afterward, when the papers were in his hand and he had satisfied himself that it was all perfectly correct, he turned to McGraw, who was at that moment engaged in relighting his cigar.

“It might interest you to know,” he said, “that I met Howard Burkell out at the Dipper Ranch. I expect he'll want to see you pretty bad, as soon as he gets back. He and that foreman of yours followed Frank Burns and me when we left, and took a couple of pot-shots at us from behind. They killed Burns. I got off, though they didn’t know it then, and notified the sheriff at Blue River. So you did a wiser thing than you knew not to stick by him. Uncle Howard is going to have troubles of his own—and plenty of them!”

“Huh!” commented the judge, and looked reflectively at the end of his cigar. Then he glanced up at Reid. “You said you’d keep this thing quiet,” he remarked in an extremely casual tone. “I shall have to trust you, of course; you’ve got me where I can’t very well help myself. But I want to say that I’m not worrying over your going back on your word.”

“And I want to say,” Reid replied with emphasis, “that I realize the misfortune of having to make any such agreement. I'll keep my word, but I advise you to sell out and quit the country. And I don’t believe, if I were you, I’d ask honest folks to vote for me. I believe I’d withdraw my name from the ticket and clear out. I might say that my health demanded a change of climate.”

The judge’s jaw dropped against his double-chin, but he made no opposition. “Just as you say,” he responded, but not so placidly as at first.

“It’s enough,” Reid added, “for me to feel the disgrace of letting a cur like you run loose. I don’t want the temptation of killing you every time I see you. To-morrow I'll come in for the transfer of that stock and ranch, and I'll expect to have you put it through without any hitch. The law will have to settle with Burkell, and I hope it settles in full.” He went to the door, opened it and stepped out. He came back, however, for another word.

“I forgot to tell you that copies of all the proof and a statement of the whole business, including your connection with it, are filed with a lawyer in this town. He’s to put it through if any accident should happen to me. Savvy? If you’ve got any idea of putting me to the bad, forget it.”

“Damn you!” gritted the judge with much venom, and threw his cigar violently upon the floor.

Reid smiled understandingly, closed the door from the outside and went clanking back down the hall, whistling in an undertone just to demonstrate to the listening judge his entire satisfaction with himself and what he had accomplished.