CHAPTER XIII: TIGHTENING ROPES
For quite a number of years John Freeman had been cashier of the Medicine Tree Bank. Painted Valley had seen his hair turn from brown to gray during the years he had served them, and they knew him for an honest man. He lived simply and alone, never having been married. From one end of the valley to the other, he was known as “Uncle John,” as much a fixture of the bank as the faded gold-leaf letters on the window.
Just now John Freeman sat at his old desk, facing Jim Kelton, one of his oldest friends. It had been difficult for Jim Kelton to come to Medicine Tree, but he knew the cause was urgent.
“I know what you want, Jim,” said Freeman. He seemed to have aged greatly in a few months, and the blue-veined hands, which toyed with a pencil, were not steady.
“You know what I want, John?” queried Kelton.
“Yes, I know; you want to renew your mortgage.”
“Well?”
Freeman shook his head sadly, his fine old eyes turned away from his friend’s face.
“I can’t do it, Jim. I’ve had my orders. The bank has decided that Painted Valley ranch property is too big a risk; so we are not to renew any mortgages. I’m sorry. It isn’t like the old Medicine Bank to do a thing like that. We’ve always carried the folks along, taking the lean with the fat. But it’s different now.”
“Since Kendall Marsh got control, eh?”
Freeman sighed deeply, but did not deny it.
“If I only had the money, Jim; but I haven’t. The bank never did pay me a very big salary. It isn’t big enough to pay much. But it has been my job and my pleasure—until now. Now it’s just a job.”
“I’ve got about thirty days,” said Kelton slowly.
“Just about. Don’t you suppose you could place it with the bank in Broad Arrow?”
“No, John; not a chance. I owe this bank twenty thousand dollars, which I might pay, if I sold every head of stock I own. But I’d be flat broke and nothin’ to start on. Beef ain’t worth anythin’ now.”
“Sam Hawker was in yesterday.”
“Tryin’ to renew?”
“Yes. I had to tell him the same thing. Jim, it’s like slapping an old friend in the face; but what can I do? I’d give any of you the last shirt I owned. But shirts won’t save ranches.”
Jim Kelton hobbled out of the place, downhearted, although he knew what would happen. He had had plenty of warning. Jane met him down at the post office. She still limped a little and the back of her right hand was scratched. It was the second day after the trouble at the Triangle X, but she still felt the effects of that fall.
Her father shook his head at her, indicating that he had failed.
“I’m goin’ into the post office,” he told her.
“All right, dad. I’ve got a few things more to buy, and I’ll meet you at the buckboard.”
“Sure; that’s fine.”
Jane walked down to the general merchandise store and started to go in, when she met Blaze Nolan face to face. They both stopped short, looking at each other. Then Blaze stepped aside to allow her to enter the store, but she did not go in.
“So you really came back to Painted Valley, did you?” she said softly.
“Kinda foolish of me, Jane, wasn’t it? The last time I seen you, I wasn’t sure where I would go.”
“The last time?” She was looking closely in his face.
“Yeah; that last time. Wasn’t that the last time? I saw you in that street car, and I wondered if I’d ever see you again.”
“That wasn’t the last time, Blaze.”
“It wasn’t? I don’t remember any other time since.”
“The last time you saw me, you called me a paid liar and said I had done you all the dirt I could.”
Then she turned and walked into the store, leaving Blaze, his jaw sagging, looking after her. He leaned against the doorway, a perplexed expression in his eyes.
“Called her a paid liar,” he muttered. “Who’s crazy around here, anyway? Said she had done me— My God!” His eyes snapped open wide and he stared into space. That was what he had told Della. And Della had come back with Butch Van Deen that night.
Jane had been at the Triangle X that night. He had mistaken her for the lady from the War Dance Saloon. He had held her in his arms all the way from the Triangle X, and had called her a paid liar. He tried to laugh, but it was only a grimace, as he reviewed the things he had told her on the ride.
But what was she doing out there, he wondered? Was she looking for another chance to take a shot at Kendall Marsh? Was it Jane who had hit Terry Ione over the head? He wanted to ask her all these questions, but was afraid to go back to the store; so he sat down on the sidewalk and watched her join her father and ride out of town on the buckboard.
After they had left town he sauntered up past the bank, where he found John Freeman standing in the doorway. The old man looked at him curiously.
“Hello, Uncle John,” said Blaze.
“Hello, Blaze.”
There was an awkward pause; awkward for both of them, because they had been friends. Then, “I heard you were back, Blaze.”
“Yeah, I’ve been back quite a while, Uncle John. How is everythin’?”
“Just going along.”
“Yeah? But not so well. I saw Jim Kelton come from here to-day.”
“Oh, yes; he come in to see me once in a while.”
“But you didn’t renew his mortgage.”
The old cashier stared at Blaze wonderingly.
“What do you know of these things?” he asked.
“I know that Kendall Marsh owns control of this bank, and that Painted Valley mortgages are not to be renewed.”
The old man nodded sadly.
“I guess your information is correct, Blaze; but I didn’t know it was public knowledge, yet. You seem to know considerable about the private affairs of Kendall Marsh.”
Blaze grinned knowingly.
“Yeah, that’s right. Me and Marsh are very familiar. In fact, we take shots at each other once in a while. It’s my turn next.”
He sauntered on up the street, leaving Freeman to stare after him and wonder what Blaze meant.
“Well, bless my soul!” exploded Freeman. “Taking shots at each other? This is rather a peculiar state of affairs, it seems to me.”
Cultus Collins was seated near the front of a restaurant, when Blaze came in, and Blaze sat down across the little table from him. Blaze was in rather a jovial mood, and Cultus wondered what had happened to him.
“Feelin’ pretty good to-day, eh?” he remarked.
“Better than I have for quite a while, Collins.”
“Shotgun medicine, eh?”
Blaze looked at him quizzically, wondering what Cultus meant.
“I don’t quite understand,” he said slowly.
“There ain’t two Blaze Nolans in this valley, is there?”
“No-o-o,” drawled Blaze. “One is plenty.”
“And if that last five seconds had ever been ticked off, there wouldn’t even be one.”
Blaze jerked forward, studying the homely face of Cultus Collins, who was smiling lazily back at him.
“Where were you?” whispered Blaze.
“I was behind the man who was behind the gun.”
“It was you, Collins? You hit him?”
“He had to be hit.”
Blaze took a deep breath and settled back in his chair, but his eyes still searched Cultus’s face.
“Collins,” he said slowly, “I don’t understand why or how you happened to be there, but God knows I’m grateful. You saved my life. In another second or two, that shotgun would have made mincemeat out of me. For once in his life, Kendall Marsh wasn’t bluffin’.”
“That shotgun didn’t sound like a bluff. Gosh, I shore was scared that it had killed somebody, but the light was out and I had a hunch that the loads had gone into the ceiling.”
Blaze gave his order to the waiter, who shuffled away.
“How did you happen to be there, Collins?” he asked.
“I saw you go through town, and I saw a lady follow yuh; so I followed her.”
“That lady was Jane Kelton?”
“Oh, you knew she was there, eh?”
“I found it out a few minutes ago, Collins.”
Cultus laughed softly and leaned across the table.
“I seen you pick her up, Nolan. I was close to yuh. I thought you knew who she was; so I brought her horse to town.”
“I thought she was that woman from the War Dance.”
“That shore was funny. Did she tell yuh what she was doin’ out there?”
“No; but I imagine she wanted to know just how damn’ low I had sunk.”
“Women are funny thataway.”