Gordon Craig Soldier of Fortune

Excerpt

CHAPTER I

I had placed the lumber inside the yard as directed, and was already rehitching the traces, when the man crossed the street slowly, switching his light cane carelessly in the air. I had noticed him before standing there in the doorway of the drug store, my attention attracted by the fashionable cut of his clothes, and the manner in which he watched me work. Now, as he rounded the heads of the mules, I straightened up, observing him more closely. He was forty or forty-five, heavily built, with a rather pasty-white face, a large nose, eyes unusually deep set, and a closely clipped mustache beginning to gray. His dress was correct to a button, and there was a pleasant look to the mouth which served to mitigate the otherwise hard expression of countenance. As I faced him in some surprise he looked me fairly in the eyes.

"Been at this job long?" he asked easily.

"Three days," I replied unhesitatingly, drawing the reins through my hands.

"Like it?"

"Well, I 've had worse and better," with a laugh. "I prefer this to my last one."

"What was that?"

"Ridin' blind baggage."

It was his turn to laugh, and he did so.

"I thought I was not mistaken," he said at last, sobering. "You are the same lad the train hands put off the Atlantic Express at Vernon a week ago."

I nodded, beginning to suspect him of being a fly-cop who had spotted me for a pull.

"I never noticed the name of the burg," I returned. "Why? were you there?"

"Yes, I came in on the same train. Just caught a glimpse of your face in the light of the brakeman's lantern. How did you get here?"

"Freight, two hours later."

"You 're not a bum, or you would n't be working."

I put one foot on the wheel, but he touched me on the sleeve with his cane.

"Wait a minute," and there was more animation in the tone. "I may have something better for you than this lumber wagon. I 'm right, ain't I, in guessing you 're no regular bum?"

"I 've bummed it most of the way from Frisco; I had to. I was homesick for the East, and lost my transportation."

"Your what?"

"Transportation; I was discharged at the Presidio."

"Oh, I see," smiling again, and tapping the wheel with his stick; "the army—foreign service?"

"The Philippines three years; invalided home."

"By God, you don't look it," his eyes on me. "Never saw a more perfect animal. Fever?"

"No, bolo wound; got caught in the brush, and then lay out in a swamp all night, till our fellows got up."

He looked at his watch, and I climbed into my seat. "See here, I have n't time to talk now, but I believe you are the very fellow I am looking for. If you want an easier job than this," waving a gloved hand toward the pile of lumber, "come and see me and we 'll talk it over." He took a card out of a morocco case, and wrote a line on it. "Come to that address at nine o'clock tonight."

I took the bit of pasteboard as he handed it up.

"All right, sir, I 'll be there on time."

"Come to the side door," he added swiftly, lowering his voice, "the one on the south. Give three raps....