5,359 words:
Friends in San Rosario
The west-bound stopped at San Rosario on time at 8:20 A.M. A man
with a thick black-leather wallet under his arm left the train
and walked rapidly up the main
street of the town. There were other passengers ho also got off at San
Rosario, but they either slouched limberly over o the railroad
eating-house or the Silver Dollar saloon, or joined the groups
of idlers about the station.
Indecision had no part in the movements of the man with the
wallet. He was short in stature, but strongly built, with very light,
closely trimmed hair,
smooth, determined face, and aggressive, gold-rimmed
nose glasses. He was well dressed in the prevailing Eastern
style. His air denoted a quiet but conscious reserve force, if not
actual authority.
After
walking a distance of three squares he came to the center of
the town's business area. Here another street of importance
crossed the
main one, forming the hub of San Rosario's life and commerce.
Upon
one corner stood the post-office. Upon another Rubensky's Clothing
Emporium. The other two diagonally opposing corners were
occupied by the town's two banks, the First National and the
Stockmen's National. Into the First National Bank of San Rosario
the newcomer walked, never slowing his brisk step until he stood
at the cashier's window. The bank opened for business at nine, and the
working force was already assembled, each member preparing his
department for the day's business. The cashier was examining the
mail
when he noticed the stranger standing at his window.
"Bank
doesn't open 'til nine," he remarked, curtly, but without feeling. He had had to make that statement so often to early
birds since
San Rosario adopted city banking hours.
"
I am well aware of that, " said the other man, in cool, brittle
tones.
"Will you kindly receive my-card?"
The
cashier drew the small spotless parallelogram inside the bars of
his wicket, and read:
J. F. C. NETTLEWICK
NATIONAL BANK EXAMINER
"Oh - er - will you walk around inside, Mr.- er -
Nettlewick. Your
first visit - didn't know your business, of course. Walk right
around, please."
The examiner was quickly inside the sacred precincts of the bank,
here
he was ponderously introduced to each employee in turn by
Mr. Edlinger, the cashier - a middle-aged gentleman of
deliberation, iscretion,
and method.
"I
was kind of expecting Sam Turner round again, pretty soon,"
Mr. Edlinger. "Sam's been examining us now for about four years.
I guess you'll find us all right, though considering the tightness
in
business. Not overly much money on hand, but able to stand the orms,
sir, stand the storms."
"Mr. Turner and I have been ordered by the Comptroller to exchange
districts," said the examiner, in his decisive, formal
tones. "He is covering
my old territory in southern Illinois and Indiana. I will take the cash first, please."
Perry
Dorsey; the teller, was already arranging his cash on the ounter
for the examiner's inspection. He knew it was right to a cent,
and he had nothing to fear, but he was nervous and flustered. So was
every
man in the bank. There was something so icy and swift, so impersonal
and uncompromising about this man that his very presence seemed
an accusation. He looked to be a man who would never make nor overlook
an error.
Mr. Nettlewick first seized the currency, and with a rapid,
almost juggling motion, counted it by packages. Then he spun the sponge cup
toward him and verified the count
by bills. His thin, white fingers flew like some expert musician's upon
the keys of a piano. He dumped the
gold upon the counter with a
crash, and the coins whined and sang
as they skimmed across the marble slab from the tips of his
nimble digits. The air was full of fractional currency when he
came to the halves and
quarters. He counted the last nickel and dime.
He
had the scales brought, and he weighed every sack of n
the vault. He questioned Dorsey concerning each of the cash
memoranda - certain checks, charge slips, etc., carried over from
the previous day's work -
with unimpeachable courtesy, yet with something so mysteriously momentous in his Rigid manner, that the teller
was reduced to pink cheeks
and a stammering tongue.
This newly imported examiner was so different from Sam Turner.
It had been Sam's
way to enter the bank with a shout, pass the cigars, and tell the latest
stories he had picked up on his rounds. His customary greeting to Dorsey had been, "Hello, Perry! Haven't skipped out with
the boodle yet, I see." Turner's way of counting the cash had been
different too. He would finger the packages of bills in a tired kind of
way, and then go into the vault and kick
over
a few sacks of silver, and the thing was done. Halves and quarters and
dimes? Not for Sam Turner. "No chicken feed for me," he would
say when they were set before him. "I'm not in the agricultural
department." But, then, Turner was a Texan, an old friend of the
bank's president, and had known Dorsey since
he was a baby.
While the examiner was counting the cash, Major Thomas B. Kingman
- known to every one as "Major Tom"- the president of the
First
National, drove up to the side door with his old dun horse and
buggy,
and came inside. He saw the examiner busy with the money, and,
going into the little "pony corral," as he called it, in which
his
desk
was railed off, he began to look over his letters.
Earlier, a little incident had occurred that even the sharp eyes
of the
examiner had failed to notice. When he had begun his work at
the
cash counter, Mr. Edlinger had winked significantly at Roy Wilson,
the
youthful bank messenger, and nodded his head slightly toward the front
door. Roy understood, got his hat and walked leisurely out, with
his collector's book under his arm. Once outside, he made a
beeline for the Stockmen's National. That bank was also getting ready to
open. No customers had, as yet, presented themselves.
"Say, you people!" cried Roy, with the familiarity of
youth and long acquaintance,
"you want to get a move on you. There's a new bank
examiner over at the First, and he's a stem-winder. He's counting
nickels on Perry,
and he's got the whole outfit bluffed. Mr. Edlinger gave
me the tip to let you know."
Mr. Buckley, president of the Stockmen's National - a stout,
elderly man, looking like a farmer dressed for Sunday - heard Roy
from his private office at the rear and called him.
"Has Major Kingman come down to the bank yet?" he asked
of the boy.
"Yes, sir, he was just driving up as I left," said Roy.
"I want you to take him a note. Put it into his own hands as
soon as you get back." Mr.
Buckley sat down and began to write.
Roy returned and handed to Major Kingman the envelope containig the note. The major read it, folded it, and slipped it into
his vest pocket. He leaned back in his chair for a few moments as if he
were meditating deeply, and
then rose and went into the vault. He came out with the
bulky, old-fashioned leather note case stamped on the back in
gilt letters, "Bills
Discounted." In this were the notes due the bank with their
attached securities, and the major, in his rough way, dumped the lot
upon his desk and began to
sort them over.
By this time Nettlewick had finished his count of the cash. His
pencil fluttered
like a swallow over the sheet of paper on which he had set his
figures. He opened his black wallet, which seemed to be also a
kind of secret memorandum book, made a few rapid figures in it, wheeled
and transfixed Dorsey with
the glare of his spectacles. That look seemed to say: "You're safe
this time, but . ..."
"Cash all correct,"
snapped the examiner. He made a dash for the
individual bookkeeper, and, for a few minutes there was a
fluttering of ledger leaves and
a sailing of balance sheets through the air.
"How often do you balance your pass-books?" he
demanded, suddenly.
"Er - once a month," faltered the individual
bookkeeper, wondering how many years
they would give him.
"All
right," said the examiner, turning and charging upon the general
bookkeeper, who had the statements of his foreign banks and
their
reconcilement memoranda ready. Everything there was found to
be all right. Then the stub book of the certificates of deposit.
Flutter
- flutter - zip - zip - check! All
right, list of over-drafts, please.
Thanks. H-m-m. Unsigned bills of the bank next. All right.
Then
came the cashier's turn, and easy-going Mr. Edlinger rubbed his
nose and polished his glasses nervously under the quick fire questions
concerning the circulation, undivided profits, bank real
estate,
and stock ownership.
Presently Nettlewick was aware of a big man towering above him t
his elbow - a man sixty years of age, rugged and hale, with a rough, grizzled beard, a mass of gray hair, and a pair of
penetrating blue eyes that
confronted the formidable glasses of the examiner without a flicker.
"Er - Major Kingman, our president - er - Mr. Nettlewick,"
said the cashier.
Two men of very different types shook hands. One was a finished
product of the world of straight lines, conventional methods, and formal
affairs. The other was something freer, wider, and nearer to
nature. Tom Kingman had not been cut to any pattern. He had been
mule-driver,
cowboy, ranger, soldier, sheriff, prospector and cattle-man.
Now, when he was bank president, his old comrades from the
prairies,
of the saddle, tent, and trail, found no change in him. He had
made his fortune when Texas cattle were at the high tide of value, and
had organized the First National Bank of San Rosario. In spite
of
his largeness of heart and sometimes unwise generosity toward his
old friends, the bank had prospered, for Major Tom Kingman knew
men as well as he knew cattle. Of late years the cattle
business had
known
a depression, and the major's bank was one of the few whose losses
had not been great.
"And now," said the examiner, briskly, pulling out his
watch, "the last
thing is the loans. We will take them up now, if you please."
He had gone through the First National at almost record-breaking
speed - but thoroughly, as he did everything. The running order of
the
bank was smooth and clean, and that had facilitated his work.
There
was but one other bank in the town. He received from the
Government
a fee of twenty-five dollars for each bank that he examined. He should be able to go over those loans and
discounts in lf
an hour. If so, he could examine the other bank immediately afterward,
and catch the 11:45, the only other train that day in the
direction
he was working. Otherwise, he would have to spend the night
and Sunday in this uninteresting Western town. That was why Mr.
Nettlewick was rushing matters.
"Come with me, sir," said Major Kingman, in his deep
voice, that
united
the Southern drawl with the rhythmic twang of the West. "We
will
go over them together. Nobody in the bank knows those notes
as
I do. Some of 'em are a little wobbly on their legs, and some are
mavericks
without extra many brands on their backs, but they'll 'most
all
pay out at the round-up."
The two sat down at the president's desk. First, the examiner
went through the notes at lightning speed, and added up their total,
finding
it
to agree with the amount of loans carried on the book of daily
balances.
Next, he took up the larger loans, inquiring scrupulously
into
the condition of their endorsers or securities. The new examiner's mind
seemed to course and turn and make unexpected dashes hither
and
thither like a bloodhound seeking a trail. Finally he pushed aside
all
the notes except a few, which he arranged in a neat pile before
him,
and began a dry, formal little speech.
"I find, sir, the condition of your bank to be very good,
considering the
poor crops and the depression in the cattle interests of your
state. The clerical work seems to be done accurately and punctually.
Your past-due paper is moderate in amount, and promises only a small
loss. I would recommend the calling in of your large loans, and the
making of only sixty and
ninety day or call loans until general business revives. And
now there is one thing
more, and I will have finished with the bank. Here are six notes aggregating something like $40,000. They are secured,
according to their faces, by various stocks, bonds, shares, etc.,
to the value of $70,000. Those securities are missing from the notes to
which they should be attached. I suppose you have them in the safe or
vault. You will permit me to examine them."
Major
Tom's light-blue eyes turned unflinchingly toward the examiner.
"No,
sir," he said, in a low but steady tone; "those securities are
neither in the safe nor the vault. I have taken them. You may hold me personally
responsible for their absence."
Nettlewick felt a slight thrill. He had not expected this. He had
struck a momentous trail when the hunt was drawing to a close.
"Ah!" said the examiner. He waited a moment, and then
continued:
"May I ask you to explain more definitely?"
"The
securities were taken by me," repeated the major. "It was not
for my own use, but to save an old friend in trouble. Come in here, sir, and
we'll talk it over."
He led the examiner into the bank's private office at the rear,
and closed the door. There was a desk, and a table, and half-a-dozen
leather-covered chairs. On the wall was the mounted head of a Texas
steer with horns five feet from tip to tip. Opposite hung the major's
old cavalry saber that he had carried at Shiloh and Fort Pillow.
Placing a chair for Nettlewick, the major seated himself by the
window, from which
he could see the post-office and the carved limestone front of the ockman's
National. He did not speak at once, and Nettlewick felt, perhaps, that
the ice should be broken by some-thing so near its own temperature as
the voice of official warning.
"Your
statement," he began, "since you have failed to modify it,
amounts, as you
must know, to a very serious thing. You are aware, also, of what
my duty must compel me to do. I shall have to go before the United
States Commissioner and make . . ."
"I
know, I know," said Major Tom, with a wave of his hand. "You
don't suppose I'd run a bank without being posted on national banking
laws and the revised statutes! Do your duty. I'm not asking any favors.
But I spoke of my friend. I did want you to hear me tell about
Bob. "
Nettlewick
settled himself in his chair. There would be no leaving San Rosario for
him that day. He would have to telegraph to the Comptroller of
the Currency; he would have to swear out a warrant before the United
States Commissioner for the arrest of Major Kingman; perhaps he would be
ordered to close the bank on account of
the loss of the securities. It was not the first crime the
examiner had
unearthed.
Once or twice the terrible upheaval of human emotions that his
investigations had loosed had almost caused a ripple in his
official calm. He had seen bank men kneel and plead and cry like women
for a chance - an hour's time - the overlooking of a single error. One
cashier had shot himself at his desk before him. None of them had taken
it with the dignity and coolness of this stern old
Westerner. Nettlewick felt that he owed it to him at least to
listen if he wished to talk. With his elbow on the arm of his chair, and his square chin
resting upon the fingers of his right hand, the bank examiner waited to
hear the confession of the president of the First National Bank of San
Rosario.
"When
a man's your friend," began Major Tom, somewhat didactically,
"for forty years, and tried by water, fire, earth, and cyclones,
when you can do him a little favor you feel like doing it."
("Embezzle
for him $7O,000 worth of securities," thought the examiner. )
"We
were cowboys together, Bob and I," continued the major, speaking
slowly, and deliberately, and musingly, as if his thoughts
were rather with the past than the critical present, "and we
prospected together for gold and silver over Arizona, New Mexico, and a
good part of California. We were both in the war of sixty-one, but in
different
commands. We've fought Indians and horse thieves side by side; we've
starved for weeks in a cabin in the Arizona mountains, buried twenty
feet deep in snow; we've ridden herd together when the wind blew so hard
the lightning couldn't strike - well, Bob and I have been through some
rough spells since the first time we met in the branding camp of the old
Anchor-Bar ranch. And during that time we've found it necessary more
than once to help each other out of tight places. In those days it was
expected of a man to stick to his friend, and he didn't ask any credit
for it. Probably next day you'd need him to get at your back and help
stand off a band of Apaches, or
put a tourniquet on your leg above a rattlesnake bite and ride for
whisky. So, after all, it was give and take, and if you didn't stand
square with your pardner, why, you might be shy one when you needed him.
But Bob was a man who was willing to go further than that. He never
played a limit.
"Twenty
years ago I was sheriff of this county and I made Bob
my
chief deputy. That was before the boom in cattle when we both made our
stake. I was sheriff and collector, and it was a big thing for
me
then. I was married, and we had a boy and a girl - a four and a six
year old. There was a comfortable house next to the courthouse,
furnished
by the county, rent-free, and I was saving some money.
Bob
did most of the office work. Both of us had seen rough times
and plenty of rustling and danger, and I tell you it was great
to hear he
rain and the sleet dashing against the windows of nights, and be warm
and safe and comfortable, and know you could get up in the
morning
and be shaved and have folks call you 'mister.' And then, I ad
the finest wife and kids that ever struck the range, and my old
friend
with me enjoying the first fruits of prosperity and white shirts, nd
I guess I was happy. Yes, I was happy about that time."
The major sighed and glanced casually out of the window. The
bank
examiner changed his position, and leaned his chin upon his ther
hand.
"One winter," continued the major, "the money for
the county taxes came pouring in
fast that I didn't have time to take the stuff
to the bank for a week. I just shoved the checks into a cigar box
and the money into a sack, and locked them in the big safe that belonged
in the sheriff's office.
"I had been overworked that week, and was about sick,
anyway. My nerves were out of order, and my sleep at night didn't
seem to
rest
me. The doctor had some scientific name for it, and I was taking
medicine.
And so, added to the rest, I went to bed at night with that
money
on my mind. Not that there was much need of being worried,
for
the safe was a good one, and nobody but Bob and I knew the combination.
On Friday night there was about $6,500 in cash in the
bag. On Saturday morning I went to the office as usual. The safe
was
locked, and Bob was writing at his desk. I opened the safe, and
the
money was gone. I called Bob, and roused-everybody in the
courthouse
to announce the robbery. It struck me that Bob took it
pretty
quiet, considering how much it reflected upon both him and me.
"Two
days went by and we never got a clew. It couldn't have been
burglars,
for the safe had been opened by the combination in the
proper
way. People must have begun to talk, for one afternoon in
comes
Alice - that's my wife - and the boy and girl, and Alice stamps
her
foot, and her eyes flash, and she cries out, "'The lying wretches -
Tom,
Tom!" and I catch her in a faint, and bring her 'round little by
little,
and she lays her head down and cries and cries for the first time since
she took Tom Kingman's name and fortunes. And Jack and
Zilla
- the youngsters - they were always wild as tiger's cubs to rush Bob
and climb all over him whenever they were allowed to come
to
the courthouse - they stood and kicked their little shoes, and
herded
together like scared-partridges. They were having their first trip down
into the shadows of life. Bob was working at his desk, and
he got up and went out without a word. The grand jury was in session
then, and the next morning Bob went before them and confessed that he stole the money. He said he lost it in a
poker game. In
fifteen
minutes they had found a true bill and sent me the warrant
to
arrest the man with whom I'd been closer than a thousand brothers for
many a year.
"I did it, and then I said to Bob, pointing: 'There's
my house, and here's my office, and up there's Maine, and out that way
is California,
and
over there is Florida - and that's your range 'til court meets. You're
in my charge, and I take the responsibility. You be here when
you're
wanted '
" 'Thanks, Tom,' he said, kind of carelessly; 'I was sort of
hoping
you
wouldn't lock me up. Court meets next Monday, so, if you don't
object,
I'll just loaf around the office until then. I've got one favor
to
ask, if it isn't too much. If you'd let the kids come out in the yard
once
in a while and have a romp I'd like it.'
"
'Why not?' I answered him. 'They're welcome, and so are you.
And
come to my house the same as ever.' You see, Mr. Nettlewick,
you
can't make a friend of a thief, but neither can you make a thief of a friend, all at once."
The examiner made no answer. At that moment
was
heard the shrill whistle of a locomotive pulling into the depot. That was the train on the little, narrow-gauge road that struck
into San Rosario from
the south. The major cocked his ear and listened for a moment,
and
looked at his watch. The narrow-gauge was in on time --------- 10:35.
The
major continued.
"So Bob hung around the office, reading the papers and
smoking.
I put another deputy to work in his place, and, after a while,
the first excitement of the case wore off.
"One day when we were alone in the office Bob came over to where I
was sitting. He was looking sort of grim and blue - the same look he
used to get when he'd been up watching for Indians all night or
herd-riding.
" 'Tom,' says he, 'it's harder than standing off redskins; it's
harder than lying in the lava desert forty miles from water; but I'm
going to stick it out to the end. You know that's been my style. But if
you'd tip me the smallest kind of a sign - if you'd just say, "Bob
I understand," why, it would make it lots easier."
"I
was surprised. 'I don't know what you mean, Bob,' I said. 'of course,
you know that I'd do anything under the sun to help you that I could,
but you've got me guessing.
" 'All right, Tom,' was all he said, and he went back to his
newspaper and lit another cigar.
"It
was the night before the court met when I found out what he meant. I
went to bed that night with the same old,
light-headed, nervous feeling come back upon me. I dropped off to sleep
about midnight. When I woke I was standing half dressed in one of
the courthouse corridors. Bob was holding one of my arms, our
family doctor the other and Alice was shaking me and half crying.
She had sent for the doctor without my knowing it, and when he
came they had found
me out of bed and missing, and had begun a search.
" 'Sleep-walking,' said the doctor.
"All
of us went back to the house, and the doctor told us some remarkable
stories about the strange things people had done while in that
condition. I was feeling rather chilly after my trip out, and, as my
wife was out of the room at the time, I pulled open the door of an old
wardrobe that stood in the room and dragged out a big quilt I had seen
in there. With it tumbled out the bag of money for stealing
which
Bob was to be tried - and convicted - in the morning.
" 'How the jumping rattlesnakes did that get there?' I
yelled, and all hands must have seen how surprised I was. Bob knew in a
flash.
" 'You darned old snooker,' he said, with the old-time look
on his face, 'I saw you put it there. I watched you open the safe and take it out,
and I followed you. I looked through the window and saw you hide it in
that wardrobe.'
"'Then, you blankety-blank, flop-eared, sheep-headed coyote,
what did you say you took it for?'
" 'Because,' said Bob, simply, 'I didn't know you were
asleep.'
"I saw him glance toward the door of the room where Jack and
Zilla
were, and I knew then what it meant to be a man's friend from
Bob's
point of view."
Major Tom paused, and again directed his glance out of the window.
He saw someone in the Stockmen's National Bank reach and
draw
a yellow shade down the whole length of its plate-glass, big
front
window, although the position of the sun did not seem to
warrant
such a defensive movement against its rays.
Nettlewick sat up straight in his chair. He had listened
patiently, ut
without consuming interest, to the major's story. It had impressed
him
as irrelevant to the situation, and it could certainly have no effect upon
the consequences. Those Western people, he thought, had an exaggerated
sentimentality. They were not business-like. They needed
to be protected from their friends. Evidently the major had concluded.
And what he had said amounted to nothing.
"May
I ask," said the examiner, "if you have anything further to say
that bears directly upon the question of those abstracted securities?"
"Abstracted securities, sir!" Major Tom turned suddenly
in his chair, his blue eyes flashing upon the examiner. "What do you mean,
Sir?"
He drew from his coat pocket a batch of folded papers held
together
by
a rubber band, tossed them into Nettlewick's hands, and rose to his
feet.
"You'll
find those securities there, sir, every stock, bond, and share
of
'em. I took them from the notes while you were counting the
cash.
Examine and compare them for yourself."
The major led the way back into the banking room. The examiner,
astounded,
perplexed, nettled, at sea, followed. He felt that he had
been
made the victim of something that was not exactly a hoax, but
that
left him in the shoes of one who had been played upon, used, and then
discarded, without even an inkling of the game. Perhaps,
also,
his official position had been irreverently juggled with. But there
was
nothing he could take hold of. An official report of the matter
would
be an absurdity. And, somehow, he felt that he would never
know
anything more about the matter than he did then.
Frigidly, mechanically, Nettlewick examined the securities, found
them to tally with the notes,
gathered his black wallet, and rose to
depart.
"I will say, " he protested, turning the indignant
glare of his glasses
upon
Major Kingman, "that your statements - your misleading statements, which you have not condescended to explain - do
not appear
to
be quite the thing, regarded either as business or humor. I do not
understand
such motives or actions."
Major
Tom looked down at him serenely and not unkindly.
"Son,"
he said, "there are plenty of things in the chaparral, and on
the prairies, and up on the canons that you don't understand. But
I
want to thank you for listening to a garrulous old man's prosy story.
We
old Texans love to talk about our adventures and our old comrades, and
the home folks have long ago learned to run when we begin with
'Once
upon a time,' so we have to spin our yarns to the stranger within
our
gates."
The
major smiled, but the examiner only bowed coldly, and abruptly quitted
the bank. They saw him travel diagonally across the street in a
straight line and enter the Stockmen's National Bank.
Major Tom sat down at his desk and drew from his vest pocket the
note Roy had given him. He had read it once, but hurriedly, and now,
with something
like a twinkle in his eyes, he read it again. These were the words he read:
===========================================
Dear Tom: I hear there's one of Uncle Sam's greyhounds going through
you, and that means that we'll catch him inside of a couple
of hours, maybe. Now, I want you to do something for me.
We've got just $2,200 in the bank, and the law requires that
we
have $2O,OOO. I let Ross and Fisher have $18,000 late yesterday afternoon
to buy up that Gibson bunch of cattle. They'll realize
$40,000
in less than thirty days on the transaction, but that won't make
my cash on hand look any prettier to that bank examiner.
Now, I can't show him those notes, for they're just plain notes of
hand without any security in sight, but you know very well that
Pink Ross and Jim Fisher are two of the finest white men God
ever made, , and they'll do the square thing. You remember Jim
Fisher - he was the one who shot that faro dealer in El Paso.
I wired Sam Bradshaw's bank to send me $20,000, and it will get
in on the narrow-gauge at 10:35. You can't let a bank examiner in
to count $2,200 and close your doors. Tom, you hold that examiner.
Hold
him. Hold him if you have to rope him and sit on his head. Watch our front window after the narrow-gauge gets in, and when
we've
got the cash inside we'll pull down the shade for a signal. Don't turn him loose till then. I'm counting on you, Tom.
Your Old Pard
Bob
Buckley,
Prest.
Stockmen's National
================================
The major began to tear the note into small pieces and throw them
into his waste basket. He gave a satisfied little chuckle as he
did so.
"Confounded
old reckless cowpuncher!" he growled, contentedly, that pays him some on account for what he tried to do for me
in the sheriff's office
twenty years ago."
====================
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