The Rules of the Game is a Webnovel created by Stewart Edward White.
This lightnovel is currently completed.
“Don’t be in a hurry,” Bob warned him. “It isn’t a matter to go off half-c.o.c.k on. Any man would have done what you did. I’d have done it myself. That’s why I stood by you. I’m not sure you aren’t right to take advantage of what the law can do for you. Plenty do just that with only the object of acquiring other people’s dollars. I don’t say it’s right in theory; but in this case it may be eternally right in practice. Go slow on deciding.”
“You’re sure a good friend, Bobby,” said Pollock simply.
“Whatever you decide, don’t even mention my name to any one,” warned Bob. “We don’t want to get me connected with the case in any man’s mind.
Hardly let on you remember to have known me. Don’t overdo it though.
You’ll want a real good lawyer. I’ll find out about that. And the money–how’ll we fix it?”
George thought for a moment.
“Fix it with Jack,” said he at length. “He’ll stay put. Tell him not to tell his own father. He won’t. He’s reliable.”
“Sure?”
“Well, I’m risking my neck on it.”
“I’ll simply tell him the name of the lawyer,” decided Bob, “and get him actual cash.”
“I’ll pay that back–the other I can’t,” said Pollock with sudden feeling. “Here, have a cup of coffee.”
Bob swallowed the hot coffee gratefully. Without speaking further, Pollock arose and led the way. When finally they had reached the open forest above the camp, the mountaineer squeezed Bob’s fingers hard.
“Good-bye,” said the younger man in a guarded voice. “I won’t see you again. Remember, even at best it’s a long wait in jail. Think it over before you decide!”
“I’m in jail here,” replied Pollock.
Bob walked thoughtfully to camp. He found a fire burning and Elliott afoot.
“Thank G.o.d, you’re here!” cried that young man; “I was getting scared for you. What’s up?”
“You are and I am,” replied Bob. “Couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk.
Think that bogy-man of yours had got me?”
“I surely began to.”
“Nothing doing. I guess I can snooze a little now.”
“I can’t,” complained Elliott. “You’ve got me good and waked up, confound you!”
Bob kicked off his boots, and without further disrobing rolled himself into his gray blanket. As he was dropping asleep two phrases flashed across his brain. They were: “compounding a felony,” and “accessory after the fact.”
“Don’t feel much like a criminal either,” murmured Bob to himself; and after a moment: “Poor devil!”
XII
Two days later, from the advantage of the rock designated by California John, Elliott reported the agreed signal for their recall. Accordingly, they packed together their belongings and returned to headquarters.
“We’re getting short-handed, and several things have come up,” said Thorne. “I have work for both of you.”
Having dispatched Elliott, Thorne turned to Bob.
“Orde,” said he, “I’m going to try you out on a very delicate matter. At the north end lives an old fellow named Samuels. He and his family are living on a place inside the National forests. He took it up years ago, mainly for the timber, but he’s one of these hard-headed old c.o.o.ns that’s ‘agin the Government,’ on general principles. He never proved up, and when his attention was called to the fact, he refused to do anything. No reason why not, except that ‘he’d always lived there and always would.’ You know the kind.”
“Ought to–put in two years in the Michigan woods,” said Bob.
“Well, as a matter of fact, he gave up the claim to all intents and purposes, but now that the Yellow Pine people are cutting up toward him, he’s suddenly come to the notion that the place is worth while. So he’s patched up his cabin, and moved in his whole family. We’ve got to get a relinquishment out of him.”
“If he has no right there, why not put him off?” asked Bob.
“Well, in the first place, this Samuels is a hard old citizen with a shotgun; in the second place, he has some shadow of right on which he could make a fight; in the third place, the country up that way doesn’t care much for us anyway, and we want to minimize opposition.”
“I see,” said Bob.
“You’ll have to go up and look the ground over, that’s all. Do what you think best. Here are all the papers in the matter. You can look them over at your leisure.”
Bob tucked the bundle of papers in his _cantinas_, or pommel bags, and left the office. Amy was rattling the stove in her open-air kitchen, shaking down the ashes preparatory to the fire. Bob stopped to look across at her trim, full figure in its starched blue, immaculate as always.
“Hullo, Colonel!” he called. “How are the legions of darkness and ignorance standing the cannonading these days? Funny paper any new jokes?”
This last was in reference to Amy’s habit of reading the Congressional Record in search of speeches or legislation affecting the forests. Bob stoutly maintained, and n.o.body but Amy disputed him, that she was the only living woman, in or out of captivity, known to read that series of doc.u.ments.
Amy shook her head, without looking up.
“What’s the matter?” asked Bob solicitously. “Nothing wrong with the Hero, nor any of the a.s.sistant Heroes?”
Thus in their banter were designated the President, and such senators as stood behind his policies of conservation.
“Then the villains must have been saying a few triumphant ha! has!”
pursued Bob, referring to Fulton, Clark, Heyburn and the rest of the senatorial representatives of the anti-conservationists. “Or is it merely the stove? Let me help.”
Amy stood upright, and thrust back her hair.
“Please don’t,” said she. “I don’t feel like joking to-day.”
“It _is_ something!” cried Bob. “I do beg your pardon; I didn’t realize … you know I’d like to help, if it’s anything I can do.”
“It is nothing to do with any of us,” said Amy, seating herself for a moment, and letting her hands fall in her lap. “It’s just some news that made me feel sorry. Ware came up with the mail a little while ago, and he tells us that George Pollock has suddenly reappeared and is living down at his own place.”
“They’ve arrested him!” cried Bob.
“Not yet; but they will. The sheriff has been notified. Of course, his friends warned him in time; but he won’t go. Says he intends to stay.”
“Then he’ll go to jail.”
“And to prison. What chance has a poor fellow like that without money or influence? All he has is his denial.”