Part 40 (2/2)

Mills glanced at him and moved impatiently. Milford cleared his throat.

He leaned back and then leaned forward with his arms on the table. ”Have just a little patience, please. For years I have worked toward this moment--have pictured it out a thousand times, but now that I'm up against it I hardly know how to begin. But let me say at the outset that I have come to repair a wrong done you.”

Mills grunted. ”Rather an odd mission,” said he. ”Men don't read the newspapers to learn my whereabouts to repay any wrong done me. But does the wrong concern me?”

”Yes, you and me. Now I'll get at it. I lived in Dakota. I was sometimes sober, but more often drunk. I gambled. I fought. At one time I was town marshal of Green Mound. Once I was station agent for you. An evil report reached the main office, and I was discharged. I was broke. I was mad. I was put out of a gambling house.”

”But what have I got to do with all this?”

”Wait. I met a man, a twin-brother of the devil. He made a suggestion. I agreed to it. We heard that you and your pay-master were coming across in a stage. We stopped the stage, and robbed you of twelve hundred and fifty dollars. That was all you had in currency. We didn't want checks.”

”Go ahead,” said Mills, without changing countenance.

”I was called h.e.l.l-in-the-Mud. My partner was Sam Bradley. We got back to town, and were seen that night in a gambling house. But we didn't play--broke, presumably. We were not suspected. Sam died three months afterwards in Deadwood. We had run through with your money. The town buried him. I won't pretend to give you any flub-dub about reform, any of the guff of a mother's dying prayers, for that has been worked too often. But I got a newspaper from Connecticut with a prayer in it--the last words of an old woman. That's all right. We'll let that go. But I resolved to pay you--my part and Sam's too. So I drifted about looking for something to do, and at last I rented a farm not far from here, and went to work. My luck was good. I skinned every farmer in the neighborhood. All I wanted was enough money to clear my conscience.

Something--it must have been the devil--gave me a strange insight into cattle trading. Anyway I prospered, and the other day sold out. And here's your money, with six per cent interest for five years.”

He placed a roll of paper on the table. Mills looked at him and then at the card which he had taken up. ”My name is Newton,” said Milford--”William Milford Newton. There's your money.”

Mills took up the money, and then looked at his visitor. ”I remember the occasion,” said he. ”And you have worked all this time. Very commendable, I a.s.sure you. How much more have you?”

”Less than ten dollars. Doesn't that satisfy you?”

”Oh, yes, I'm satisfied, but did it occur to you that the law might have to be satisfied?”

”The law?” Milford gasped.

”Yes. You seem to have forgotten that part of it.”

”The law!” said Milford.

”Yes, sir, the law.”

”And that means the penitentiary,” said Milford, looking hard at him.

”That's what it means. Will you go quietly with me, or shall I send for an officer?”

”I came here quietly, didn't I? Yes, I'll go with you. I'm prepared to take my medicine. When do you leave?”

”At twelve to-night.”

”Will you let me go out on my word of honor? I'll be back by six o'clock.”

”Yes, but on your word of honor.”

”Thank you. I will be here by six. I didn't think--but it's all right.

Yes, the law, of course. I'll be here by six.”

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