The Just and the Unjust by Vaughan Kester

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He paused abruptly. In his excitement he had forgotten what the truth
meant, what it would mean to the man before him. He was vaguely aware
that in abler hands than his own, this knowledge which he possessed
would have been molded into a terrible weapon, but he was impotent to
use it; with every advantage his, he felt only the desperate pass in
which he had placed himself. If Gilmore and Marshall Langham could
juggle with John North's life, what of his own life when the judge
should have become their ally!

"Me and you'll have to fix up what I got to say, boss!" he added with a
cunning grin.

"Do you mean you wish to make a statement to me?" asked the judge.

The handy-man nodded. The judge hesitated.

"Perhaps we would better send for Mr. Moxlow?" he suggested.

But Montgomery shook his head vehemently.

"I got nothin' to say to that man Moxlow!" he growled with sullen
determination.

"Very well, then, if you prefer to make your statement to me," and the
judge turned to his desk.

"Hold on, boss, we ain't ready for that just yet!" Joe objected. He was
sober enough, by this time.

"What is it you wish to tell me?"

And the judge resumed his former position on the hearth-rug.

"First you got to agree to get me out of this."

"I can agree to nothing," answered the judge quietly.

"I ain't smart, boss, but Joe Montgomery's old hide means a whole lot to
Joe Montgomery! You give me your word that I'll be safe, no matter what
happens!"

"I can promise you nothing," repeated the judge.

"Then what's the use of my tellin' you the truth?" demanded Montgomery.

"It has become the part of wisdom, since you have already admitted that
you have perjured yourself."

"Boss, if it wasn't John North I seen in the alley that day, who was
it?" and he strode close to the judge's side, dropping his voice to a
whisper.

"Perhaps the whole story was a lie."

The handy-man laughed and drew himself up aggressively.

"I'm a man as can do damage--I got to be treated right, or by the Lord
I'll _do_ damage! I been badgered and hounded by Marsh and Andy Gilmore
till I'm fair crazy. They got to take their hands off me and leave me
loose, for I won't hang no man on their say-so! John North never done me
no harm, I got nothing agin him!"

"You have admitted that your whole story of seeing John North on the
night of the McBride murder is a lie," said the judge.

"Boss, there is truth enough in it to hang a man!"

"You saw a man cross McBride's sheds?"

And the judge kept his eyes fastened on the handy-man's face.

"I seen a man cross McBride's shed, boss."

"And you have sworn that that man was John North."

"I swore to a lie. Boss, we got to fix it this way: I seen a man come
over the roof and drop into the alley; I swore it was John North, but I
never meant to swear to that; the most I promised Andy was that I'd say
I thought it _looked_ like John North, but them infernal lawyers got
after me, and the first thing I knowed I'd said it _was_ John North!"

"Your story is absurd!" exclaimed the judge, with a show of anger.

The handy-man raised his right hand dramatically.

"It's God A'mighty's everlastin' truth!" he swore.

"Understand, I have made you no promises," said the judge, disregarding
him.

"You're goin' back on me!" cried Montgomery. "Then you look out. I'm a
man as can do harm if I have a mind to; don't you give me the mind,
boss!"

"I shall lay this matter before Mr. Moxlow in the morning," replied the
judge quietly and with apparent indifference, but covertly he was
watching the effect of his words on Montgomery.

"And then they'll be after me!" cried the handy-man.

"Very likely," said the judge placidly.

Montgomery glanced about as though he half expected to see Gilmore rise
up out of some shadowy corner.

"Boss, do you want to know who it was I seen come over old man McBride's
shed? Do you want to know why Andy and Marsh are so set agin my goin'
home to my old woman? Why they give me money? It's a pity I ain't a
smarter man! I'd own 'em, both body and soul!"

"Man, you are mad!" cried the judge.

But this man who was usually austere and always unafraid, was feeling a
strange terror of the debased and slouching figure before him.

"Do you reckon you're man enough to hear what I got in me to tell?"
asked Montgomery, again raising his right hand high above his head as if
he called on Heaven to witness the truth of what he said. "Why won't
they let me go home to my old woman, boss? Why do they keep me at Andy
Gilmore's--why do they give me money? Because what I'm tellin' you is
all a lie, I suppose! Just because they like old Joe Montgomery and want
him 'round! I don't think!" He threw back his head and laughed with
rough sarcasm. "You're a smarter man than me, boss; figure it out; give
a reason for it!"

But the judge, white-faced and shaken to his very soul, was silent; yet
he guessed no part of the terrible truth Montgomery supposed he had made
plain to him. At the most he believed Marshall was shielding Gilmore
from the consequences of a crime the gambler had committed.

Montgomery, sinister and menacing, shuffled across the room and then
back to the judge's side.

"You ask Marsh, boss, what it all means. I got nothin' more to say! Ask
him who killed old man McBride! If he don't know, no man on this green
earth does!"

The judge's face twitched convulsively, but he made no answer to this.

"Ask him!" repeated the handy-man, and swinging awkwardly on his heel
went from the room without a single backward glance.

An instant later the street-door closed with a noisy bang.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

AN UNWILLING GUEST

Montgomery told himself he would go home; he had seen the last of the
gambler and Marsh Langham, he would look out for his own skin now and
they could look out for theirs. He laughed boisterously as he strode
along. He had fooled them both; he, Joe Montgomery, had done this, and
by a very master stroke of cunning had tied the judge's hands. But as he
shuffled down the street he saw the welcoming lights of Lonigan's saloon
and suddenly remembered there was good hard money in his ragged pockets.
He would have just one drink and then go home to his old woman.

It was well on toward midnight when he came out on the street again, and
the one drink had become many drinks; still mindful of his original
purpose, however, he reeled across the Square on his way home. He had
just turned into Mulberry Street when he became conscious of a brisk
step on the pavement at his side, and at the same instant a heavy hand
descended on his shoulder and he found himself looking into Andy
Gilmore's dark face.

"Where have you been?" demanded Gilmore. "I thought I told you to stay
about to-night!"

"I have been down to Lonigan's saloon," faltered Joe, his courage going
from him at sight of the gambler.

"What took you there?" asked Gilmore angrily. "Don't you get enough to
drink at my place?"

"Lots to drink, boss, but it's mostly too rich for my blood. I ain't
used to bein' so pampered."

"Come along with me!" said Gilmore briefly.

"Where to, boss?" asked Montgomery, in feeble protest.

"You'll know presently."

"I thought I'd like to go home, maybe--" said Joe irresolutely.

"Never mind what you thought you'd like, you come with me!" insisted
Gilmore.

Although the handy-man's first impulse had been that of revolt, he now
followed the gambler meekly back across the Square. They entered the
building at the corner of Main Street and mounted to Mr. Gilmore's
rooms. The latter silently unlocked the door and motioned Montgomery to
precede him into the apartment, then he followed, pausing midway of the
room to turn up the gas which was burning low. Next he divested himself
of his hat and coat, and going to a buffet which stood between the two
heavily curtained windows that overlooked the Square, found a decanter
and glasses. These he brought to the center-table, where he leisurely
poured his unwilling guest a drink.

"Here, you old sot, soak this up!" he said genially.

"Boss, I want to go home to my old woman!" began the handy-man, after he
had emptied his glass.

"Your old woman will keep!" retorted Gilmore shortly.

"But, boss, I got to go to her; the judge says I must! She's been there
to see him; damn it, she cried and hollered and took on awful because
she ain't seein' me; it was pitiful!"

"What's that?" demanded Gilmore sharply.

"It was pitiful!" repeated Montgomery, shaking his great head
dolorously.

"Oh, cut that! Who have you seen?"

"Judge Langham."

"When did you see him?"

Mr. Gilmore spoke with a forced calm.

"To-night. My old woman--"

"Oh, to hell with your old woman!" shouted the gambler furiously. "Do
you mean that you were at Judge Langham's to-night?"

"Yes, boss; he sent for me, see? I had to go!" explained Montgomery.

"Why did you go there without letting me know, you drunken loafer?"
stormed Gilmore.

He took the handy-man by the arm and pushed him into a chair, then he
stood above him, black-browed and menacing.

"Boss, don't you blame me, it was my old woman; she wants me home with
the kids and her, and the judge, he says I got to go!"

"If he wants to know why I'm keeping you here, send him round to me!"
said Gilmore.

"All right, I will." And Montgomery staggered to his feet.

But Gilmore pushed him back into his chair.

"What else did you talk about besides your old woman?" asked the
gambler, after an oppressive silence in which Montgomery heard only the
thump of his heart against his ribs.

"I told him you'd always been like a father to me--" said the handy-man,
ready to weep.

"I'm obliged to you for that!" replied Gilmore with a smile of grim
humor.

"He said he always knowed it," added Montgomery, misled by the smile.

"Well, what else?" questioned Gilmore.

"Why, I reckon that was about all!" said Joe, who had ventured as far
afield into the realms of fancy as his drunken faculties would allow.

"You're sure about that?"

"I hope I may die--"

"And the judge says you're to go home?"

"Say, Shrimp took my old woman there, and she cried and bellered and
carried on awful! She loves me, boss--the judge says I'm to go home to
her to-night or he'll have me pinched. He says that you and Marsh ain't
to keep me here no longer!"

His voice rose into a wail, for blind terror was laying hold of him.
There was something, a look on Gilmore's handsome cruel face, he did not
understand but which filled him with miserable foreboding.

"What's that, about Marsh and me keeping you here?" inquired Gilmore.

"You got to leave me loose--"

"So you told him that?"

"I had to tell him somethin'. My old woman made an awful fuss! They had
to throw water on her; Shrimp took her home in an express-wagon. Hell,
boss, I'm a married man--I got a family! I know what I ought to do, and
I'm goin' home, the judge says I got to! Him and me talked it all over,
and he's goin' to speak to Marsh about keepin' me here!"

"So you've told him we keep you here?" And the gambler glowered at him.
He poured himself a drink of whisky and swallowed it at a gulp. "Well,
what else did you tell him?" he asked over the rim of his glass.

"That's about all; only me and the judge understand each other," said
the handy-man vaguely.

"Well, it was enough!" rejoined Gilmore. "You are sure you didn't say
anything about North?"

Montgomery shook his head in vigorous denial.

"Sure?" repeated Gilmore, his glance intent and piercing. "Sure?"

A sickly pallor was overspreading the handy-man's flame-colored visage.
It began at his heavy puffy jaws, and diffused itself about his cheeks.
He could feel it spread.

"Sure?" said the gambler. "Sure?"

There was an awful pause. Gilmore carefully replaced his glass on the
table, then he roared in a voice of thunder:

"Stand up, you hound!"

Montgomery realized that the consequences of his treachery were to be
swift and terrible. He came slowly to his feet, but no sooner had he
gained them than Gilmore drove his fist into his face, and he collapsed
on his chair.

"Stand up!" roared Gilmore again.

And again Montgomery came erect only to be knocked back into a sitting
posture, with a long gash across his jaw where the gambler's diamond
ring had left its mark.

"I tell you, stand up!" cried Gilmore.

Reaching forward he seized Montgomery by the throat with his left hand
and jerked him to his feet, then holding him so, he coolly battered his
face with his free hand.

"For God's sake, quit, boss--you're killin' me!" cried Joe, as he vainly
sought to protect his face with his arms.

But Mr. Gilmore had a primitive prejudice in favor of brute force, and
the cruel blows continued until Montgomery seemed to lose power even to
attempt to shield himself; his great hands hung helpless at his side and
his head fell over on his shoulder. Seeing which the gambler released
his victim, who, limp and quivering, dropped to the floor.

Still crazed with rage, Gilmore kicked the handy-man into a corner, and
turning poured himself still another drink of whisky. If he had spoken
then of what was uppermost in his mind, it would have been to complain
of the rotten luck which in so ticklish a business had furnished him
with fools and sots for associates. He should have known better than to
have trusted drunken Joe Montgomery; he should have kept out of the
whole business--

With the suddenness of revelation he realized his own predicament, but
with the realization came the knowledge that he was now hopelessly
involved; that he could not go back; that he must go on, or--here he
threw back his shoulders as though to cast off his evil forebodings--or
between the dusk of one day and the dawn of another, he might disappear
from Mount Hope.

With this cheering possibility in mind, he picked up the glass of whisky
beside him and emptied it at a single draught, then he put on his
overcoat and hat and went from the room, locking the door behind him.

Presently the wretched heap on the floor stirred and moaned feebly, and
then lay still. A little later it moaned again. Lifting his head he
stared vacantly about him.

"Boss--" he began in a tone of entreaty, but realizing that he was
alone he fell weakly to cursing Gilmore.

It was a good five minutes from the time he recovered consciousness
until he was able to assume a sitting posture, when he rested his
battered face in his hands and nursed his bruises.

"And me his cousin!" he muttered, and groaned again.

He feebly wiped his bloody hands on the legs of his trousers and by an
effort staggered to his feet. His only idea was escape; and steadying
himself he managed to reach the door; but the door was locked, and he
flung himself down in a convenient chair and once more fell to nursing
his wounds.

Fifteen or twenty minutes had passed when he heard steps in the hallway.
He knew it was Gilmore returning, but the gambler was not alone;
Montgomery heard him speak to his companion as a key was fitted to the
lock. The door swung open and Gilmore, followed by Marshall Langham,
entered the room.

"Here's the drunken hound, Marsh!" said the gambler.

"For God's sake, boss, let me out of this!" cried Montgomery, addressing
himself to Langham.

"Yes, we will--like hell!" said Gilmore. "By rights we ought to take you
down to the creek, knock you in the head and heave you in--eh, Marsh?
That's about the size of what we _ought_ to do!"

Langham's face was white and drawn with apprehension, yet he surveyed
the ruin the gambler had wrought with something like pity.

"Why, what's happened to him, Andy?" he asked.

His companion laughed brutally.

"Oh, I punched him up some, I couldn't keep my hands off him, I only
wonder I didn't kill him--"

"Let me out of this, boss--" whined the handy-man.

"Shut up, you!" said the gambler roughly.

He drew back his hand, but Langham caught his arm.

"Don't do that, Andy!" he said. "He isn't in any shape to stand much
more of that; and what's the use, the harm's done!"

The gambler scowled on his cousin Joe with moody resentment.

"All the same I've got a good notion to finish the job!" he said.

"Let me go home, boss!" entreated Montgomery, still addressing himself
to Langham. "God's sake, he pretty near killed me!"

He stood up on shaking legs.

Wretched, abject, his uneasy glance shifted first from one to the other
of his patrons, who were now his judges, and for aught he knew would be
his executioners as well. The gambler glared back at him with an
expression of set ferocity which told him he need expect no mercy from
that source; but with Langham it was different; he at least was not
wantonly brutal. The sight of physical suffering always distressed him
and Joe's bruised and bloody face was more than he could bear to look
at.

"For two cents I'd knock him on the head!" jerked out Gilmore.

"Oh, quit, Andy; let him alone! I want to ask him a question or two,"
said Langham.

"You'll never know from him what he said or didn't say--you'll learn
that from the judge himself," and Gilmore laughed harshly.

A minute or two passed before Langham could trust himself to speak. When
he did, he turned to Montgomery to ask:

"I wish you'd tell me as nearly as you can what you said to my father?"

"I didn't go there to tell him anything, boss; he just got it out of me.
What chance has a slob like me with him?"

"Got what out of you?" questioned Langham in a low voice.

"Well, he didn't get much, boss," replied Montgomery, shaking his head.

"But what did you tell him?" insisted Langham.

"I don't remember, boss, I was full, see--and maybe I said too much and
then agin maybe I didn't!"

"I hope you like this, Marsh; it's the sort of thing I been up against,"
said Gilmore.

By way of answer Langham made a weary gesture. The horror of the
situation was now a thing beyond fear.

"I'm for sending the drunken loafer to the other side of the continent,"
said Gilmore.

"What's the use of that?" asked Langham dully.

"Every use," rejoined Gilmore with fresh confidence. "It's enough, ain't
it, that he's talked to your father; we can't take chances on his
talking to any one else. There's the west-bound express; I'm for putting
him on that--there's time enough. We can give him a couple of hundred
dollars and that will be the end of him, for if he ever shows his face
here in Mount Hope, I'll break every bone in his body. What do you say?"

"Perhaps you are right!" And Langham glanced uncertainly at the
handy-man.

"Well, it's either that, or else I can knock him over the head. Perhaps
you had rather do that, it's more in your line."

"Boss, you give me the money and let me go now, and I won't _ever_ come
back!" cried Montgomery eagerly. "I been lookin' for the chance to get
clear of this bum town! I'll stay away, don't you lose no sleep about
that; I ain't got nothin' to ever bring me back."

And on the moment Mr. Montgomery banished from his mind and heart all
idea of the pure joys of domestic life. It was as if his old woman had
never been. He was sure travel was what he required, and a great deal
of it, and all in one direction--away from Mount Hope.

No unnecessary time was wasted on Montgomery's appearance. A wet towel
in the not too gentle hands of Mr. Gilmore removed the blood stains from
his face, and then he was led forth into the night,--the night which so
completely swallowed up all trace of him that his old woman and her
brood sought his accustomed haunts in vain. Nor was Mr. Moxlow any more
successful in his efforts to discover the handy-man's whereabouts. As
for Mount Hope she saw in the mysterious disappearance of the star
witness only the devious activities of John North's friends.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

FATHER AND SON

While Mr. Gilmore was an exceedingly capable accomplice, at once
resourceful, energetic, unsentimental and conscienceless, he yet
combined with these solid merits, certain characteristics which rendered
uninterrupted intercourse with him a horror and a shame to Marshall
Langham who was daily and almost hourly paying the price the gambler had
set on his silence. And what a price it was! Gilmore was his master,
coarse, brutal, and fiercely exacting. How he hated him, and yet how
necessary he had become; for the gambler never faltered, was never
uncertain; he met each difficulty with a callous readiness which Langham
knew he himself would utterly have lacked. He decided this was because
Gilmore was without imagination, since in his own many fearful, doubting
moments, he saw always what he had come to believe as the inevitable
time when the wicked fabric they were building would collapse like a
house of cards in a gale of wind, and his terrible secret would be
revealed to all men.

All this while, step by step, Gilmore, without haste but without pause,
was moving toward his desires. He came and went in the Langham house as
if he were master there.

When Marshall had first informed Evelyn that he expected to have Mr.
Gilmore in to dinner, there had been a scene, and she had threatened to
appeal to the judge; but he told her fiercely that he would bring home
whom he pleased, that it suited him to be decent to Andy and that was
all there was to it. And apparently she soon found something to like in
this strange intimate of her husband's; at least she had made no protest
after the gambler's first visit to the house.

On his part Gilmore was quickly conscious of the subtle encouragement
she extended him. She understood him, she saw into his soul, she divined
his passion for her and she was not shocked by it. In his unholy musings
he told himself that here was a woman who was dead game--and a lady,
too, with all the pretty ways and refinements that were so lacking in
the other women he had known.

Montgomery was some two days gone toward the West and Gilmore had
dropped around ostensibly to see Marshall Langham, but in reality to
make love to Marshall Langham's wife, when the judge, looking gray and
old, walked in on the little group unobserved. He paused for an instant
near the door.

Evelyn was seated before the piano and Gilmore was bending above her,
while Marshall, with an unread book in his hands and with a half-smoked
cigar between his teeth, was lounging in front of the fire. The judge's
glance rested questioningly on Gilmore, but only for a moment. Then an
angry flame of recognition colored his thin cheeks.

Aware now of his father's presence, Marshall tossed aside his book and
quitted his chair. For two days he had been dreading this meeting, and
for two days he had done what he could to avert it.

"You must have had a rather cold walk, father; let me draw a chair up
close to the fire for you," he said.

Evelyn had risen to greet the judge, while the gambler turned to give
him an easy nod. A smile hid itself in the shadow of his black mustache;
he was feeling very sure of himself and surer still of Evelyn. The
disfavor or approval of this slight man of sixty meant nothing to him.

"How do you do, sir!" said the judge with icy civility.

Had he met Gilmore on the street he would not have spoken to him. As he
slowly withdrew his eyes from the gambler, he said to his son:

"Can you spare me a moment or two, Marshall?"

"Come into the library," and Marshall led the way from the room.

They walked the length of the hall in silence, Marshall a step or two in
advance of the judge. He knew his father was there on no trivial errand.
This visit was the result of his interview with Joe Montgomery. How
much had the handy-man told him? This was the question that had been
revolving in his mind for the last two days, and he was about to find an
answer to it.

The father and son entered the room, each heavily preoccupied. Marshall
seated himself and stared moodily into the fire. Already the judge had
found a chair and his glance was fixed on the carpet at his feet.
Presently looking up he asked:

"Will you be good enough to tell me what that fellow is doing here?"

"Andy?"

The single word came from Langham as with a weary acceptance of his
father's anger.

"Yes, certainly--Gilmore--of whom do you imagine me to be speaking?"

"Give a dog a bad name--"

"He has earned his name. I had heard something of this but did not
credit it!" said the judge.

There was another pause.

"Perhaps you will be good enough to explain how I happen to meet that
fellow here?"

The judge regarded his son fixedly. There had always existed a cordial
frankness in their intercourse, for though the judge was a man of few
intimacies, family ties meant much to him, and these ties were now all
centered in his son. He had shown infinite patience with Marshall's
turbulent youth; an even greater patience with his dissipated manhood;
he believed that in spite of the terrible drafts he was making on his
energies, his future would not be lacking in solid and worthy
achievement. In his own case the traditional vice of the Langhams had
passed him by. He was grateful for this, but it had never provoked in
him any spirit of self-righteousness; indeed, it had only made him the
more tender in his judgment of his son's lapses.

"Marshall--" and the tone of anger had quite faded from his
voice--"Marshall, what is that fellow's hold on you?"

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