Part 35 (2/2)

Innocent people are suffering. If that money could be returned--”

He did not finish the sentence. Mr. Wagg was most distinctly not encouraging that line of talk.

”Look here, Vaniman, when you got away with that money you had hardened yourself up to the point where you were thinking of your own self first, hadn't you?”

The young man did not dare to burst out with the truth--not while Wagg was in the mood his expression hinted at.

Wagg continued: ”Well, I've got myself to the point where I'm thinking of my own self. I'm as hard as this rock I'm sitting on.” In his emphasis on that a.s.sertion Wagg scarred his knuckles against the ledge.

”After all the work I've had in getting myself to that point, I'm proposing to stay there. If you try to soften me I shall consider that you're welching on your trade.”

Wagg made the declaration in loud tones. After all his years of soft-shoeing and repression in a prison, the veteran guard was taking full advantage of the wide expanses of the big outdoors.

”What did I do for you, Vaniman? I let you cash in on a play that I had planned ever since the first barrow of dirt was dumped into that pit.

There's a lifer in that prison with rich relatives. I reckon they would have come across with at least ten thousand dollars. There's a manslaughter chap who owns four big apartment houses. But I picked you because I could sympathize with you on account of your mother and that girl the papers said so much about. It's a job that can't be done over again, not even for the Apostle Peter. Now will you even hint at welching?”

”Certainly not!”

But that affirmation did not come from Vaniman. It was made in his behalf by a duet of voices, ba.s.s and nasal tenor, speaking loudly and confidently behind the two men who were sitting on the ledge.

The younger man leaped to his feet and whirled; the older man struggled partly upright and ground his knees on the ledge when he turned to inspect the terrifying source of sound.

So far as Vaniman's recollection went, they were strangers. One was short and dumpy, the other was tall and thin. They wore slouchy, wrinkled, cheap suits. There was no hint of threat in their faces. On the contrary, both of the men displayed expressions of mingled triumph and mischief. Then, as if they had a mutual understanding in the matter of procedure, they went through a sort of drill. They stuck their right arms straight out; they crooked the arms at the elbows; they drove their hands at their hip pockets and produced, each of them, a bulldog revolver; they snapped their arms into position of quick aim.

Wagg threw up his hands and began to beg. Vaniman held himself under better control.

But the men did not shoot. They returned the guns to their pockets and saluted in military fas.h.i.+on, whacking their palms violently against their thighs in finis.h.i.+ng salute.

”Present!” they cried. Then the dumpy man grinned. Wagg had been goggling, trying to resolve his wild incredulity into certainty. That grin settled the thing for him. It was the same sort of a suggestive grin that he had viewed on that day of days in the prison yard.

”Number Two-Eight-Two!” he quavered.

”Sure thing!” The dumpy man patted the tall man's arm. ”Add one, and you have Number Two-Eight-Three--a pal who drew the next number because we're always in company.”

”And we're here because we're here,” stated the other.

The short man fixed his gaze on the ex-cas.h.i.+er. ”You don't realize it yet, but this is more of a reunion than it looks to be on the surface.

You two gents have seen how we're fixed in the gun line, and we hope the understanding is going to make the party sociable.”

”You may be thinking that this is only another case of it being proved how small the world is, after all,” remarked the tall man. ”Not so! Not so! We have followed you two because we have important business with you. We have had a lot of trouble and effort in getting here. Bear that in mind, please!”

The new arrivals were quite matter-of-fact and Wagg was helped to recover some of his composure. ”The two of you are three-year men--robbery in the nighttime,” he declared, out of his official knowledge. ”What in blue blazes are you doing outside the pen?”

”Attending to the same business as you are--after a slice of the bank coin,” replied the short man, carelessly.

Wagg got to his feet and banged his fists together. ”Do you dare to walk right up to a guard of the state prison and--and--” He balked in his demand for information; Mr. Wagg was plainly afflicted with a few uncomfortable considerations of his own situation.

”We do!” the convicts declared in concert. Then the dumpy man went on: ”And whatever else it is you're wondering whether we dare to do, we'll inform that we dare. Once on a time we had occasion to express our opinion of a bank. I wrote out that opinion and left it where it would be seen. Not exactly Sunday-school language, but it hit the case.” He turned away from Vaniman's frenzy of gasping interrogation. He confined his attention to Wagg. ”A prison guard, say you? You're a h.e.l.l of a guard!”

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