The Face And The Mask - Robert Barr
"That's about your size," said Pony putting his hands behind him and
standing in his place, while those near him edged away. "I'm unarmed,
so it is perfectly safe. You will insure your arrest so blaze away."
"Dodge under the table, then, and I will spare you."
Pony invited him to take up his abode in tropical futurity.
Cub laughed once more good naturedly, and lowered the muzzle of his
revolver. As he shoved back his soft felt hat, Mellish, who stood
nearest him, saw that the hair on his temples was grey. Lines of
anxiety had come into his apparently youthful face as he had scraped
his way along the wall.
"Good-night, all," he shouted back from the stairway.
OLD NUMBER EIGHTY-SIX.
John Saggart stood in a dark corner of the terminus, out of the rays of
the glittering arc lamps, and watched engine Number Eighty-six. The
engineer was oiling her, and the fireman, as he opened the furnace-door
and shovelled in the coal, stood out like a red Rembrandt picture in
the cab against the darkness beyond. As the engineer with his oil can
went carefully around Number Eighty-six, John Saggart drew his sleeve
across his eyes, and a gulp came up his throat. He knew every joint and
bolt in that contrary old engine--the most cantankerous iron brute on
the road--and yet, if rightly managed, one of the swiftest and most
powerful machines the company had, notwithstanding the many
improvements that had been put upon locomotives since old Eighty-six
had left the foundry.
Saggart, as he stood there, thought of the seven years he had spent on
the foot-board of old Eighty-six, and of the many tricks she had played
him during that period. If, as the poet says, the very chains and the
prisoner become friends through long association, it may be imagined
how much of a man's affection goes out to a machine that he thoroughly
understands and likes--a machine that is his daily companion for years,
in danger and out of it. Number Eighty-six and John had been in many a
close pinch together, and at this moment the man seemed to have
forgotten that often the pinch was caused by the pure cussedness of
Eighty-six herself, and he remembered only that she had bravely done
her part several times when the situation was exceedingly serious.
The cry "All aboard" rang out and was echoed down from the high-arched
roof of the great terminus, and John with a sigh turned from his
contemplation of the engine, and went to take his seat in the car. It
was a long train with many sleeping-cars at the end of it. The engineer
had put away his oil-can, and had taken his place on the engine,
standing ready to begin the long journey at the moment the signal was
given.
John Saggart climbed into the smoking-carriage at the front part of the
train. He found a place in one of the forward seats, and sank down into
it with a vague feeling of uneasiness at being inside the coach instead
of on the engine. He gazed out of the window and saw the glittering
electric lights slide slowly behind, then, more quickly, the red,
green, and white lights of the signal lamps, and finally there
flickered swiftly past the brilliant constellation of city windows,
showing that the town had not yet gone to bed. At last the flying train
plunged into the country, and Saggart pressed his face against the cold
glass of the window, unable to shake off his feeling of responsibility,
although he knew there was another man at the throttle.
He was aroused from his reverie by a touch on the shoulder, and a curt
request, "Tickets, please."
He pulled out of his pocket a pass, and turned to hand it to the
conductor who stood there with a glittering, plated, and crystal
lantern on his arm.
"Hello, John, is this you?" cried the conductor, as soon as he saw the
face. "Hang it, man, you didn't need a pass in travelling with me."
"They gave it to me to take me home," said Saggart, a touch of sadness
in his voice, "and I may as well use it as not. I don't want to get you
into trouble."
"Oh, I'd risk the trouble," said the conductor, placing the lantern on
the floor and taking his seat beside the engineer. "I heard about your
worry to-day. It's too bad. If a man had got drunk at his post, as you
and I have known 'em to do, it wouldn't have seemed so hard; but at its
worst your case was only an error of judgment, and then nothing really
happened. Old Eighty-six seems to have the habit of pulling herself
through. I suppose you and she have been in worse fixes than that,
with not a word said about it."
"Oh, yes," said John, "we've been in many a tight place together, but
we won't be any more. It's rough, as you say. I've been fifteen years
with the company, and seven on old Eighty-six, and at first it comes
mighty hard. But I suppose I'll get used to it."
"Look here, John," said the conductor, lowering his voice to a
confidential tone, "the president of the road is with us to-night; his
private car is the last but one on the train. How would it do to speak
to him? If you are afraid to tackle him, I'll put in a word for you in
a minute, and tell him your side of the story."
John Saggart shook his head.
"It wouldn't do," he said; "he wouldn't overrule what one of his
subordinates had done, unless there was serious injustice in the case.
It's the new manager, you know. There's always trouble with a new
manager. He sweeps clean. And I suppose that he thinks by 'bouncing'
one of the oldest engineers on the road, he will scare the rest."
"Well, I don't think much of him between ourselves," said the
conductor. "What do you think he has done to-night? He's put a new man
on Eighty-six. A man from one of the branch lines who doesn't know the
road. I doubt if he's ever been over the main line before. Now, it's an
anxious enough time for me anyhow with a heavy train to take through,
with the thermometer at zero, and the rails like glass, and I like to
have a man in front that I can depend on."
"It's bad enough not to know the road," said John gloomily, "but it's
worse not to know old Eighty-six. She's a brute if she takes a notion."
"I don't suppose there is another engine that could draw this train and
keep her time," said the conductor.
"No! She'll do her work all right if you'll only humor her," admitted
Saggart, who could not conceal his love for the engine even while he
blamed her.
"Well," said the conductor, rising and picking up his lantern, "the man
in front may be all right, but I would feel safer if you were further
ahead than the smoker. I'm sorry I can't offer you a berth to-night,
John, but we're full clear through to the rear lights. There isn't even
a vacant upper on the train."
"Oh, it doesn't matter," said Saggart. "I couldn't sleep, anyhow. I'd
rather sit here and look out of the window."
"Well, so long," said the conductor. "I'll drop in and see you as the
night passes on."
Saggart lit his pipe and gazed out into darkness. He knew every inch of
the road--all the up grades and the down grades and the levels. He knew
it even better in the murkiest night than in the clearest day. Now and
then the black bulk of a barn or a clump of trees showed for one moment
against the sky, and Saggart would say to himself, "Now he should shut
off an inch of steam," or, "Now he should throw her wide open." The
train made few stops, but he saw that they were losing time. Eighty-six
was sulking, very likely. Thinking of the engine turned his mind to his
own fate. No man was of very much use in the world, after all, for the
moment he steps down another is ready to stand in his place. The wise
men in the city who had listened to his defence knew so well that an
engine was merely a combination of iron and steel and brass, and that a
given number of pounds of steam would get it over a given number of
miles in a given number of hours, and they had smiled incredulously
when he told them that an engine had her tantrums, and informed them
that sometimes she had to be coddled up like any other female. Even
when a man did his best there were occasions when nothing he could do
would mollify her, and then there was sure to be trouble, although, he
added, in his desire to be fair, she was always sorry for it afterward.
Which remark, to his confusion, had turned the smile into a laugh.
He wondered what Eighty-six thought of the new man. Not much,
evidently, for she was losing time, which she had no business to do on
that section of the road. Still it might be the fault of the new man
not knowing when to push her for all she was worth and when to ease up.
All these things go to the making of time. But it was more than
probable that old Eighty-six, like Gilpin's horse, was wondering more
and more what thing upon her back had got. "He'll have trouble,"
muttered John to himself, "when she finds out."
The conductor came in again and sat down beside the engineer. He said
nothing, but sat there sorting his tickets, while Saggart gazed out of
the window. Suddenly the engineer sprang to his feet with his eyes wide
open. The train was swaying from side to side and going at great speed.
The conductor looked up with a smile.
"Old Eighty-six," he said, "is evidently going to make up for lost
time."
"She should be slowing down for crossing the G. & M. line," replied the
engineer. "Good heavens!" he cried a moment after, "we've gone across
the G. & M. track on the keen jump."
The conductor sprang to his feet. He knew the seriousness of such a
thing. Even the fastest expresses must stop dead before crossing on the
level the line of another railway. It is the law.
"Doesn't that fool in front know enough to stop at a crossing?"
"It isn't that." said Saggart. "He knows all right. Even the train boys
know that. Old Eighty-six has taken the bit between her teeth. He can't
stop her. Where do you pass No. 6 to-night?"
"At Pointsville."
"That's only six miles ahead," said the engineer; "and in five minutes
at this rate we will be running on her time and on her rails. She's
always late, and won't be on the side track. I must get to Eighty-six."
Saggart quickly made his way through the baggage-coach, climbed on the
express car, and jumped on the coal of the tender. He cast his eye up
the track and saw glimmering in the distance, like a faint wavering
star, the headlight of No. 6. Looking down into the cab he realized the
situation in a glance. The engineer, with fear in his face and beads of
perspiration on his brow, was throwing his whole weight on the lever,
the fireman helping him. Saggart leaped down to the floor of the cab.
"Stand aside," he shouted; and there was such a ring of confident
command in his voice that both men instantly obeyed.
Saggart grasped the lever, and instead of trying to shut off steam
flung it wide open. Number Eighty-six gave a quiver and a jump forward.
"You old fiend!" muttered John between his teeth. Then he pushed the
lever home, and it slid into place as if there had never been any
impediment. The steam was shut off, but the lights of Pointsville
flashed past them with the empty side-track on the left, and they were
now flying along the single line of rails with the headlight of No. 6
growing brighter and brighter in front of them.
"Reverse her, reverse her!" cried the other engineer, with fear in his
voice.
"Reverse nothing," said Saggart. "She'll slide ten miles if you do.
Jump, if you're afraid."
The man from the branch line promptly jumped.
"Save yourself," said Saggart to the stoker; "there's bound to be a
smash."
"I'll stick by you, Mr. Saggart," said the fireman, who knew him. But
his hand trembled.
The air-brake was grinding the long train and sending a shiver of fear
through every timber, but the rails were slippery with frost, and the
speed of the train seemed as great as ever. At the right moment Saggart
reversed the engine, and the sparks flew up from her great drivers like
catharine wheels.
"Brace yourself," cried Saggart. "No. 6 is backing up, thank God!"
Next instant the crash came. Two headlights and two cow-catchers went
to flinders, and the two trains stood there with horns locked, but no
great damage done, except a shaking up for a lot of panic-stricken
passengers.
The burly engineer of No. 6 jumped down and came forward, his mouth
full of oaths.
"What the h--l do you mean by running in on our time like this? Hello,
is that you, Saggart? I thought there was a new man on to-night. I
didn't expect this from _you_."
"It's all right, Billy. It wasn't the new man's fault. He's back in the
ditch with a broken leg, I should say, from the way he jumped. Old
Eighty-six is to blame. She got on the rampage. Took advantage of the
greenhorn."
The conductor came running up.
"How is it?" he cried.
"It's all right. Number Eighty-six got her nose broke, and served her
right, that's all. Tell the passengers there's no danger, and get 'em
on board. We're going to back up to Pointsville. Better send the
brakesmen to pick up the other engineer. The ground's hard tonight, and
he may be hurt."
"I'm going back to talk to the president," said the conductor
emphatically. "He's in a condition of mind to listen to reason, judging
from the glimpse I got of his face at the door of his car a moment ago.
Either he re-instates you or I go gathering tickets on a street-car.
This kind of thing is too exciting for my nerves."
The conductor's interview with the president of the road was apparently
satisfactory, for old Number Eighty-six is trying to lead a better life
under the guidance of John Saggart.
PLAYING WITH MARKED CARDS.
"I'm bothered about that young fellow," said Mellish early one morning,
to the professional gambler, Pony Rowell.
"Why?"
"He comes here night after night, and he loses more than he can afford,
I imagine. He has no income, so far as I can find out, except what he
gets as salary, and it takes a mighty sight bigger salary than his to
stand the strain he's putting on it."
"What is his business?"
"He is cashier in the Ninth National Bank. I don't know how much he
gets, but it can't be enough to permit this sort of thing to go on."
Pony Rowell shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't think I would let it trouble me, if I were you, Mellish."
"Nevertheless it does. I have advised him to quit, but it is no use. If
I tell the doorkeeper not to let him in here, he will merely go
somewhere else where they are not so particular."
"I must confess I don't quite understand you, Mellish, long as I have
known you. In your place, now, I would either give up keeping a
gambling saloon or I would give up the moral reformation line of
business. I wouldn't try to ride two horses of such different tempers
at the same time."
"I've never tried to reform you, Pony," said Mellish, with reproach in
his voice.
"No; I will give you credit for that much sense."
"It's all right with old stagers like you and me, Pony, but with a boy
just beginning life, it is different. Now it struck me that you might
be able to help me in this."
"Yes, I thought that was what you were leading up to," said Rowell,
thrusting his hands deep in his trousers' pockets. "I'm no missionary,
remember. What did you want me to do?"
"I wanted you to give him a sharp lesson. Couldn't you mark a pack of
cards and get him to play high? Then, when you have taken all his ready
money and landed him in debt to you so that he can't move, give him
back his cash if he promises not to gamble again."
Rowell looked across at the subject of their conversation. "I don't
think I would flatter him so much as to even stock the cards on him.
I'll clean him out if you like. But it won't do any good, Mellish. Look
at his eyes. The insanity of gambling is in them. I used to think if I
had $100,000, I would quit. I'm old enough now to know that I wouldn't.
I'd gamble if I had a million."
"I stopped after I was your age."
"Oh, yes, Mellish, you are the virtuous exception that proves the rule.
You quit gambling the way the old woman kept tavern," and Rowell cast a
glance over the busy room.
Mellish smiled somewhat grimly, then he sighed. "I wish I was out of
it," he said. "But, anyhow, you think over what I've been talking
about, and if you can see your way to giving him a sharp lesson I wish
you would."
"All right I will, but merely to ease your tender conscience, Mellish.
It's no use, I tell you. When the snake has bitten, the victim is
doomed. Gambling isn't a simple thing like the opium habit."
* * * * *
Reggie Forme, the bank cashier, rose at last from the roulette table.
He was flushed with success, for there was a considerable addition to
the sum he had in his pockets when he sat down. He flattered himself
that the result was due to the system he had elaborately studied out.
Nothing lures a man to destruction quicker than a system that can be
mathematically demonstrated. It gives an air of business to gambling
which is soothing to the conscience of a person brought up on
statistics. The system generally works beautifully at first; then a cog
slips and you are mangled in the machinery before you know where you
are. As young Forme left the table he felt a hand on his shoulder, and
looking around, met the impassive gaze of Pony Rowell.
"You're young at the business, I see," remarked the professional
quietly.
"Why do you think that?" asked the youngster, coloring, for one likes
to be taken for a veteran, especially when one is an amateur.
"Because you fool away your time at roulette. That is a game for boys
and women. Have you nerve enough to play a real game?"
"What do you call a real game?"
"A game with cards in a private room for something bigger than half-
dollar points."
"How big?"
"Depends on what capital you have. How much capital can you command?"
The cashier hesitated for a moment and his eyes fell from the steady
light of Rowell's, which seemed to have an uncomfortable habit of
looking into one's inmost soul.
"I can bring $1,000 here on Saturday night."
"All right. That will do as a starter. Is it an appointment then?"
"Yes, if you like. What time?"
"I generally get here pretty late, but I can make an exception in your
case. What do you say to 10 o'clock?"
"That will suit me."
"Very well, then. Don't fool away any of your money or nerve until I
come. You will need all you have of both."
* * * * *
The professional gambler and the amateur began their series of games a
few minutes after ten in a little private room. The young man became
more and more excited as the play went on. As for Pony, he was cool
under any circumstances. Before an hour had passed the $1,000 was
transferred from the possession of Forme into the pockets of the
professional, and by midnight the younger man was another $1,000 in
Rowell's debt.
"It isn't my practice," said Rowell slowly, "to play with a man unless
he has the money in sight. I've made an exception in your case, as luck
was against you, but I think this has gone far enough. You may bring me
the $1,000 you owe any day next week. No particular hurry, you know."
The young fellow appeared to be dazed. He drew his hand across his brow
and then said mechanically, as if he had just heard his opponent's
remark:
"No hurry? All right. Next week. Certainly. I guess I'll go home now."
Forme went out, leaving Rowell idly shuffling the cards at the small
table. The moment the young man had disappeared all Rowell's indolence
vanished. He sprang up and put on his overcoat, then slipped out by the
rear exit into the alley. He had made up his mind what Forme would do.
Mentally he tracked him from the gambling rooms to the river and he
even went so far as to believe he would take certain streets on his way
thither. A gambler is nothing if not superstitious and so Rowell was
not in the least surprised when he saw the young man emerge from the
dark stairway, hesitate for a moment between the two directions open to
him, and finally choose the one that the gambler expected him to take.
The cold streets were deserted and so Rowell had more difficulty in
following his late victim unperceived than he would have had earlier in
the evening. Several times the older man thought the pursued had become
aware of the pursuit, for Forme stopped and looked around him; once
coming back and taking another street as if trying to double on the man
who was following him.
* * * * *
Rowell began to realize the difficulty of the task he had set for
himself, and as he had never had any faith in it anyhow, he began to
feel uncomfortable and to curse the tender heart of Mellish. If the
youngster got the idea into his head that he was followed he might
succeed in giving his pursuer the slip, and then Rowell would find
himself with the fool's death on his conscience, and what was to him
infinitely worse, with a thousand dollars in his pocket that had been
unfairly won. This thought made him curse Mellish afresh. It had been
entirely against his own will that he had played with marked cards, but
Mellish had insisted that they should take no chances, and the veteran
knew too well the uncertainties of playing a fair game where a great
object lesson was to be taught. It would make them look like two fools,
Mellish had said, if Forme won the money. In answer to this Rowell had
remarked that they were two fools anyhow, but he had finally succumbed
to Mellish as the whole scheme was Mellish's. As Rowell thought
bitterly of these things his attention was diverted from the very
matter he had in hand. Few men can pursue a course of thought and a
fellow-creature at the same time. He suddenly realized that young Forme
had escaped him. Rowell stood alone in the dimly-lighted silent street
and poured unuttered maledictions on his own stupidity. Suddenly a
voice rang out from a dark doorway.
"What the devil are you following me for?"
"Oh, you're there, are you?" said Pony calmly.
"I'm here. Now what do you want of me? Aren't you satisfied with what
you have done to-night?"
"Naturally not, or I wouldn't be fool-chasing at such an hour as this."
"Then you admit you have been following me?"
"I never denied it."
"What do you want of me? Do I belong to myself or do you think I belong
to you, because I owe you some money?"
"I do not know, I am sure, to whom you belong," said Rowell with his
slow drawl. "I suspect, however, that the city police, who seem to be
scarce at this hour, have the first claim upon you. What do I want of
you? I want to ask you a question. Where did you get the money you
played with to-night?"
"It's none of your business."
"I presume not. But as there are no witnesses to this interesting
conversation I will venture an opinion that you robbed the bank."
The young man took a step forward, but Pony stood his ground, using the
interval to light another cigarette.
"I will also venture an opinion, Mr. Rowell, and say that the money
came as honestly into my pocket as it did into yours."
"That wouldn't be saying much for it. I have the advantage of you,
however, because the nine points are in my favor. I have possession."
"What are you following me for? To give me up?"
"You admit the robbery, then."
"I admit nothing."
"It won't be used against you. As I told you, there are no witnesses.
It will pay you to be frank. Where did you get the money?"
"Where many another man gets it. Out of the bank."
"I thought so. Now, Forme, you are not such a fool as you look--or act.
You know where all that sort of thing leads to. You haven't any chance.
All the rules of the game are against you. You have no more show than
you had against me to-night. Why not chuck it, before it is too late?"
"It is easy for you to talk like that when you have my money in your
pocket."
"But that simply is another rule of the game. The money of a thief is
bound to go into someone else's pocket. Whoever enjoys the cash
ultimately, he never does. Now if you had the money in your pocket what
would you do?"
"I would go back to Mellish's and have another try."
"I believe you," said Rowell with, for the first time, some cordiality
in his voice. He recognized a kindred spirit in this young man.
"Nevertheless it would be a foolish thing to do. You have two chances
before you. You can become a sport as I am and spend your life in
gambling rooms. Or you can become what is called a respectable business
man. But you can't be both. In a very short time you will not have the
choice. You will be found out and then you can only be what I am--
probably not as successful as I have been. If you add bank robbery to
your other accomplishments then you will go to prison or, what is
perhaps worse, to Canada. Which career are you going to choose?"
"Come down to plain facts. What do you mean by all this talk? If I say
I'll quit gambling do you mean that you will return to me the thousand
dollars and call the other thousand square?"
"If you give me your word of honor that you will quit."
"And if I don't, what then?"
"Then on Monday I will hand over this money to the bank and advise them
to look into your accounts."