Overland Red: A Romance of the Moonstone Cañon Trail Read online

  CHAPTER IX

  A CELESTIAL ENTERPRISE

  Broad avenues of feathery pepper trees, long driveways between shadowyrows of the soldierly eucalyptus, wide lawns and gigantic palms of thesouthern isles, weaving pampas grass, gay as the plumes of romance,jasmine, orange-bloom, and roses everywhere. Over all is the eternalsunshine and noon breeze of the sea, graciously cooling. Roundabout is agirdle of far hills.

  Some old Spanish padre named it "Nuestra Senora Reina de Los Angeles,"making melody that still lures with its ancient charm. A city forangels, verily. A city of angels? Verily; some fallen, indeed, for thereis much nefarious trafficking in real estate, but all in all themajority of souls in Los Angeles are celestial bound, treading uponsunbeams in their pilgrimage.

  The plaza, round which the new town roars from dawn to dusk, is stillhaunted by a crumbling old adobe, while near it droop dusty pepper treesthat seem to whisper to each other endlessly--"Manana! Manana!" Whisperas did those swarthy vaqueros and the young, lithe, low-voicedsenoritas who strolled across the plaza in the dusk of by-gone days."Manana! Manana!--To-morrow! To-morrow!"

  And the to-morrows have come and gone as did those Spanish lovers,riding up through the sunshine on their silver-bitted pinto ponies andriding out at dusk with tinkling spur-chains into that long to-morrowthat has shrouded the ancient plaza in listless dreams. Mexicans inblack sombreros and blue overalls still prowl from cantina to cantina,but the gay vaquero and his senorita are no more.

  Overland Red, a harsh note in the somnolence of the place, steppedbuoyantly across the square. And here, if ever, Overland was at home.

  A swarthy, fat Mexican shaved him while a lean old rurale of Overland'searlier acquaintance obligingly accepted some pesos with which to drinkthe senor's health, and other pesos with which to purchase certainclothing for the senor.

  The retired rurale drove a relentless bargain with a countryman,returning with certain picturesque garments that Overland donned in theback room of the little circus-blue barber shop.

  The tramp had worthily determined to hold wise and remunerative conversewith the first Easterner that "looked good to him." He would makehalf-truths do double duty. He needed money to purchase a burro, packs,canteen, pick, shovel, dynamite, and provisions. He intended to repaythe investor by money-order from some desert town as soon as he foundthe hidden gold. This unusual and worthy intention lent Overland addedassurance, and he needed it. Fortune, goddess evanishing and coy, waswith him for once. If he could but dodge the plain-clothes men longenough to outfit and get away....

  The "Mojave Bar," on North Main Street of the City of Angels was all butempty. Upon it the lassitude of early afternoon lay heavily. Thespider-legged music-racks of the Mexican string orchestra, the emptyplatform chairs, the deserted side-tables along the pictured wall, thehuge cactus scrawled over with pin-etched initials,--all the impedimentaof the saloon seemed to slumber.

  The white-coated proprietor, with elbows on the bar, gazed listlessly ata Remington night-scene--a desert nocturne with a shadowy adobe againstthe blue-black night, a glimmer of lamplight through a doorway, and inthe golden pathway a pony and rider and the red flash of pistol shots.

  Opposite the bartender, at a table against the wall, sat a young man,clad in cool gray. He smoked a cigarette, and occasionally sipped from atall glass. He was slender, clean-cut, high-colored, an undeniablepatrician. In his mild gray eyes, deep down, gleamed a latent humor, aninterior twinkling not apparent to the multitude.

  Sweeney Orcutt, the saloon-keeper, noticed this reserve characteristicnow for the first time, as the young man turned toward him. Sweeney wasa retired plain-clothes man with a record, and a bank account. It wassaid that he knew every crook from Los Angeles to New York. Be it added,to his credit, that he kept his own counsel--attending to his ownbusiness on both sides of the bar.

  "Do they ever do those things now?" queried the young man, noddingtoward the picture.

  Sweeney Orcutt smiled a thin-lipped smile. "Not much. Sometimes in Texasor Mexico. I seen the day when they did."

  The young man lazily crossed his legs. "Nice and cool here," he remarkedpresently.

  "Been in town long?" asked Sweeney.

  "No, only a few days."

  "I was goin' to say there's a good show over on SpringStreet--movin'-pictures of the best ridin' and buckin' and ropin' I seenyet."

  "Yes? Is there any one in town who is not working for the movies?"

  Again Sweeney Orcutt smiled his thin-lipped smile. "Yes, I guess thereis. I might scare up one or two I used to know who is workin' thetransients, which ain't exactly workin' _for_ the movies."

  "I should like to meet some character who is really doing something inearnest; that is, some cowboy, miner, prospector, teamster,--one ofthose twenty-mule-team kind, you know,--or any such chap. Why, even thereal estate men that have been up to my hotel seem to be acting a part.One expects every minute to see one of them pull a gun and hold up afellow. No doubt they mean business."

  "Bank on that," said Orcutt dryly.

  "You see," continued the young man, "I have too much time on my handsjust now. The doctors tell me to rest, and I've been doing nothing elseall my life. It's pretty monotonous. I've tried to get interested insome of the chaps on North Main Street, and around the plaza. I'veoffered to buy them drinks and all that, but they seem to shy off. Isuppose they think I'm a detective or something of that kind."

  "More like, a newspaper man after a story. Hello, there! Now, what'sdoin'?"

  Outside near the curb a crowd had collected. A traffic officer wastalking to the driver of an automobile. As Sweeney Orcutt strolledtoward the doorway, Overland Red, clean-shaven, clothed in new corduroysand high lace boots, and a sombrero aslant on his stiff red hair, doveinto the saloon and called for a "bucket of suds."

  "Close--shave--Red--" whispered Orcutt.

  "Had me Orcutt, likewise," replied the tramp. "Say, Sweeney, stall offthe Dick out there. I think he piped me as I blew in, but I ain't sure.He'll be pokin' in here in a minute. If he sees me talkin',--to the guythere, for instance,--and you give him a steer, he won't look too close.Sabe?" And Overland drank, observing the Easterner at the table over thetop of his glass.

  "They got that guy Overland Red mugged in every station from here toChicago," whispered Orcutt. "Paper says he put it over a desert rat upnear Barstow. Did you hear about it?"

  "Some," replied Overland sententiously.

  "And did you hear about his last get-away on one of the Moonstone Ranchoponies? Some class to that!"

  "I read somethin' about it," replied Overland.

  "Well, Red, if you won't tumble, all I got to say is, beat it. You'reworth a thousand bucks to any fly-cop that nips you in this town. I'mhandin' you a little dope that you can slide out on and not get stuck."

  "Thanks, Sweeney. Well, I'll ring you up from Kalamazoo."

  "Kalamazoo? In them clothes?"

  "Sure. There's a law against travelin' naked in some States. Where youbeen grazin' lately?"

  "In the bull-pasture; and say, Red, it's gettin' warm there, for some."

  "Well, I guess I'll beat it," said Overland.

  "Take a slant at the door first."

  Overland turned leisurely. In the doorway stood the traffic officer. Heglanced from Orcutt to the two men near the table. "Hello, Sweeney!" hecalled, glancing a second time at Overland.

  "Hello!" answered Sweeney, strolling to the end of the bar. "Somebodyspeedin'?"

  "Yes. Say, who's the guy, the big one?"

  "Him? Oh, that's Billy Sample, the fella that does the desert stuff forthe General Film Company. The kid is his pardner who acts thetenderfoot. They 're waitin' for the machine now to take 'em out toGlendale. Got some stunt to pull off this afternoon, so Billy wastellin' me. They're about half-stewed now. They make me sick."

  "Thought I saw the big guy out on the street a minute ago," said theofficer, hesitating. "There's a card out for a fella that looks likehim. I guess--"

  "He
thought it was his machine comin'," said Orcutt. "He run out to see.It's a wonder how them movie actors can make up to look like mostanybody. Why, I been in your line of business, as you know, and I beenfooled lots of times. Makes a fella feel like he don't know where he'sat with the town full of them movin'-picture actors."

  "Well, so long, Sweeney." And the traffic officer, a little afraid ofbeing laughed at by the famous ex-officer, Sweeney Orcutt, departed,just a thousand dollars poorer than he might have been had he had thecourage of his convictions.

  Overland and Orcutt exchanged glances. Orcutt's glance rested meaningly,for an instant, on the Easterner at the table. Overland grinned. Orcuttspoke to the young Easterner, who immediately rose to his feet andbowed.

  "You was lookin' for somebody that's the real thing, you said. Thishere's my friend Jack Summers. He used to be sheriff of Abilene once. Heain't workin' for a movin'-picture outfit and he won't borrow yourwatch. Mebby he has a little business deal to put up to you and mebbynot. Take my word for it, he's straight."

  "I'm William Winthrop, back East. 'Billy' will do here. I'm atenderfoot, but I'm not exactly a fool. I observed the delicacy withwhich you engineered the recent exodus of the policeman. I'minterested."

  "Sounds like plush to me," said Overland. "I got a little time--notmuch. You're correct about the cop. I got a pretty good thing out inthe Mojave--gold--"

  Winthrop laughed. "You aren't losing any time, are you?"

  "You wouldn't neither if you was in my boots," said Overland, grinningcheerfully.

  "Oh, Red's all right," said Orcutt. "What'll you gents have?"

  "Seein' I'm all right, Sweeney, I'll take five dollars in small change.I need the coin for entertainin' purposes, I'll pay you in the mornin'."

  "You got me that time," said Orcutt. "Here's the coin."

  "Shall we sit down here?" asked Winthrop, indicating one of the tables.

  "Sure! Now this ain't no frame-up. No, I'll set where I can watchSweeney. He's like to steal his own cash-register if you don't watchhim." And Winthrop noticed that his companion faced the door. He alsonoticed, as the man's coat brushed against a chair as he sat down, thatthat same coat covered a shiny black shoulder holster in which gleamedthe worn butt of an automatic pistol.

  "My real name is Jack Summers," began Overland Red. "Some folks took tocallin' me 'Overland Red,' seein' as I been some towerist in my time."

  "Great!" murmured the Easterner. "'Overland Red!' That name has mehypnotized."

  "You was sayin'?" queried Overland.

  "Beg your pardon. Nothing worth while. I haven't been so happy for ayear. Let me explain. I have a little money, pretty well invested. Ialso have lungs, I believe. The doctors don't quite agree about that,however. The last one gave me six months to live. That was a year ago. Iowe him an apology and six months. I'm not afraid, exactly, and I'mcertainly not glad. But I want to forget it. That's all. Go ahead aboutthat desert and the gold. I'm listening."