# The Benevolent Liar/Chapter 14

pp. 59–62.

### CHAPTER XIV.

The prospector turned from the trail and said, in a dry voice: “Well, that settles it; and now——” He stopped and looked irresolutely down the road in the direction that Cash Vance had taken. The significance of the look did not escape his partner, who made a diversion.
“Josh,” he said steadily, “it seems to me we have learned enough for to-night, and that our next move requires some deliberation. You cannot bring any legal case against Vance on the evidence in your possession, I'm afraid. It's better to travel slowly and surely than rapidly and at random. Besides, it is late. I must take Edith home. And I think it best that you go with us.”
For a moment the prospector hesitated, as if loath to forego some half-formed plan, and then accompanied them as they turned back toward Shingle. He seemed absorbed in thought, and answered in monosyllables; but Edith had many suggestions to make and questions to ask, which, being founded on sympathy evoked through the prospector's benevolent lie, were scarcely to the point. They left her at the gate, after she had ascertained that her father, having been detained at his mine by an accident, would not be home that night. Josh openly regretted this, inasmuch as he had decided to consult with Barnes as to what might be the best step to take.
Tom did most of the talking on the way back to the Lady Edith, and, after returning to the cabin with Josh, went to sleep with the fervent hope that his peculiar partner would do nothing rash. And he was fairly convinced that any reckless danger point was passed when, on the next morning, Josh went about his part of the work as if nothing troubled him or gave him cause for thought. Tom might have been less certain of the prospector's amicable intentions had he known that in the afternoon Josh sent a note by a teamster to Specimen Jones, requesting that loyal friend to come to the Lady Edith Mine at nine o'clock that evening and to bring his gun with him. And, as if coincidence was to play a part, it was just nine o'clock when Frank Barnes, wearied by a trying day's work, returned home after an absence of forty-eight hours. He had scarcely entered when Edith, hearing him arrive, hastened to him to recount her adventure of the previous night.
“Edith,” he questioned earnestly, when she had concluded, “are you certain, absolutely certain, that Vance is the man you saw that night at Pinnacle Rock? There is a great deal more involved in this certainty than you can possibly know.”
Impressed by the gravity of his tone, she replied, with conviction: “I could take my oath to it, father! I am positive!”
He got to his feet, throwing off his air of weariness.
“That being so, I must saddle my horse and ride out to the Lady Edith at once. It is very important that I consult with Josh about this new development. Of course you don't know its importance, but I wish you had sent word to me this morning.” He stopped suddenly, frowned, and added: “I can't understand why Josh didn't let me know. It must be that—— By Heaven! I must get out there as quickly as possible! I know Josh Price! The fact that he didn't send me word means that he intends to go after Vance alone! It won't do! I must stop him! If I don't, he'll either kill Cash Vance or be killed himself!”
He started away, but his daughter detained him.
“I shall go, too, dad,” she said.
“No, no! You could do nothing. It is best that you stay home.”
“I can't!” she insisted desperately. “I must go!”
“No, you must not,” he said; and then, facing her, discovered abruptly that he was no longer faced by a girl, but by a grown woman.
“Edith——” he began; but she hastened to him and stood in front of him, looking up with determined eyes.
“Father,” she declared. “you said there was more to this than I know. That is possibly true, but also there is more involved for me than you know.”
Astonished by her vehemence and defiance, he stared at her in his amazement.
“You don't mean to say that Tom Rogers has——” He stopped lest he betray his own knowledge of Tom's self-admitted delinquency.
“I mean, dad, that but once in my life have I ever kept anything from you or evaded telling you what was in my mind. And that I've forgotten all the humiliation it cost me since then. There shall be no more of it.”
She lowered her eyes for an instant, and then bravely met his.
“If Josh Price is going to rush into trouble, Tom will go with him, because Tom thinks of him as if he were his father. And, father, I love Tom Rogers.”
The mine owner turned and dropped into a chair, his hands thrown across its arms and falling listlessly. He looked away from her, fixing his eyes on the rug at his feet; and his head, habitually carried very erect, leaned forward like that of one who has sustained an unexpected blow.
“Has he—has Tom said anything to you that——”
“Not a word,” she confessed, standing quietly before him as though prepared to truthfully answer any question he might ask.
He lifted his head, grateful that his trust in Tom had not been betrayed, and for a time studied her face. She did not falter under his scrutiny.
“I am glad of that,” he said. “It proves that he has played fair. If any one is to blame,” he added, with absolute fairness, “it is I; for I encouraged the situation, wishing to befriend him, to make it easier for him in any way I might; because, entirely aside of what I think of Tom, his father and I were friends—yes, that was it, friends! There were three of us, Josh Price, Bill Rogers, and I—and we were very loyal to one another—back there when we three were young. But, Edith, there are some things I cannot decide to tell you—yet—that make it almost out of the question.”
He saw her quiver as from some harsh decree, and her hands closed, betraying her disappointment and stress. He felt the gravity of the moment. His dreams for her future had been vastly different from marriage with a self-confessed highwayman, although that bandit, ordinarily moral, clean, and honest, had yielded to temper, circumstance, and despair. There was one last hope.
“Perhaps,” he said hoarsely, “Tom does not love you.”
She accepted his questioning for all that it was worth, and recognized the possible signs of surrender. She seized the advantage of love, a woman's one irresistible weapon, and threw herself forward at his feet, clasping his bent head with her arms, and looking up at him with frank eyes and trembling lips. For the first time she was conquered by bashfulness, and hid her face by leaning it against the breast that had never denied her refuge.
“Yes,” she asserted, “he does. Oh, dad, I know! Although he has never said a word. But I know! And, dad, I want him. Can't you understand? I love you; you know that; but—but it's not the same. I've known it for a year. It's not a foolish thing to me. It's something I can't get away from. It's something I can't forget, even when I'm asleep. I can't be happy unless I can have you both—you as well as him, dad—and I can't understand and——”
She broke off, strangled by the emotions of her confession, and he felt her break and give way, sobbing against his breast. He suddenly clutched her in his arms, lifted her to his knees, and drew her close. The hunger of his heart to retain all for which he had lived could not be denied. His surrender was complete. All ambitions and dreams; all his natural dislike for one who had stepped across the proscribed lines of life and law melted away like Sierra snowdrifts assailed by an August sun. He unclasped her arms and thrust her away from him gently, until he could look deeply into her eyes. She read their message. With a vain attempt at brusqueness, he exerted his strength and got to his feet.
“We are wasting time,” he said. “It is more vital than you think. But, Edith, you—you can come with me.”
It was his reply to all her appeal. For an instant they stood apart, speechless and silent; and then she slowly put her hands upward to him as he stood motionless, a rock of strength, and caught his face in her hands and kissed him.
“Get your things on,” he said quietly, turning away and moving toward the door. “I'll saddle your horse as well as mine. We shall ride together, you and I.”
A few minutes later they loped away through the quiet streets of Shingle camp, and out to the road that climbed gradually up toward the calm hills. The streaks of gleaming silver where the moon shone upon everlasting snows, the songs of the night birds, the peace of the night and all its beauties were unnoted by either. Some prescience bound them to an intent silence and warned them that they were on a journey of portent. Where the road turned off to the Lady Edith Mine they paused for a moment, the mine owner pulling his horse to its haunches and staring irresolutely, as if uncertain whether to lose time by riding to the Lady Edith or to continue to the Horseshoe.
“Oh, it can't be that Josh has been in too big a hurry!” he exclaimed, in answer to his own thoughts. “He acts quickly, but—— Come on, Edith; we will go to his cabin.”
hey cantered down the long slope, through the narrow defile where the prospector's life had been nearly sped, and out to where the cabin at the head of the valley was in plain view. It squatted there in homely shape, its moss-grown ugliness made beautiful by the night. A strong, white light was visible from one of its windows, and the girl gave a sigh of relief.
“It's all right, dad,” she said. “The light is Tom's room. He is there, studying.”
Heedless of the plume of smoke behind in the cove where the mill rumbled and roared a continuous threnody as it fought and conquered the hard ore, they went rapidly downward and leaped from their horses. Startled by the noise, an inner door opened and Tom appeared with an open book in his hand.
“Why, hello!” he exclaimed, surprised at seeing them. “What on earth brings you here at this time of the night?”
“Where is Josh?” inquired Barnes, ignoring his salutation.
“Why—I'll be blessed if I know where he is,” said Tom, like one recalling to his mind something forgotten. “He should be somewhere around. Come to think of it, Specimen Jones came in here an hour or two ago on horseback, and Josh went out with him—to keep from disturbing me, I suppose.”
“You've got a phone line from here to the stables up by the mine, haven't you? Call up the stable boss and see if Josh took one of the horses. Hurry, Tom!” said Barnes. And Tom, abruptly aware that there must be some significance in the request, made haste to comply. He turned from the telephone a moment later with an anxious look on his face.
“Josh took the only saddle horse we have,” he said, “some time ago, and told the stableman he was going out for a little ride. That was all. Wait!”
He struck a match, and, holding it above his head, walked to the prospector's bed and stared up in the corner. The match burned his fingers, and he struck another, again holding it up as if seeking some familiar object. He suddenly ground the match underfoot and came to the door.
“That isn't all that's gone,” he said, his voice betraying perturbation. “He has taken his gun, holster, and belt, that have hung on that peg since the day we unpacked our stuff in this cabin!”
“Then that settles it!” exclaimed Barnes. “Get another horse, quick! We must get over to Cash Vance's place as soon as possible. It may mean life or death for some one.”
Tom ordered the best horse obtainable brought at once, and rejoined them by the door as he pulled his coat over his arms.
“But if Josh was going to Vance's, why did he take Specimen?” he inquired thoughtfully.
“Because Specimen and Josh are old friends, and if Josh asked Specimen Jones to join him and fight an army, Specimen would grin, go with him, and stick to the finish. That's why! The very fact that they went away together proves that they're up to something pretty desperate!” exclaimed Barnes. “I tell you, my boy, that when those two take the trail together after Josh Price has strapped on his gun, some one is very apt to die. Now you can see that we've got to head them off—if we're not already too late. Josh is a fool. So is Specimen. It's about time they woke up and learned that the frontier days they knew are gone—that there is such a thing as law that does not permit a man to go out and shoot any one with whom he has had a big enough row. They don't congratulate the winner now; they hang him!”