Copper Streak Trail | Page 8

We would
have to make inquiries and send the mortgage to be filed in
Prescott--very inconvenient. Besides, as I told you before, money is
tight. We regret that we cannot see our way to accommodate you. This
is final!"
"Shucks!" said Pete, crestfallen and disappointed; he lingered
uncertainly, twisting his hat brim between his hands.
"That is final," repeated the banker. "Was there anything else?"
"A check to cash," said Pete humbly.
He went back into the lobby, much chastened; the spring lock of the
door snapped behind him.
"Wait on this gentleman, if you please, Mr. Hudson," said Marsh, and
busied himself at a cabinet.
Hudson rose from his desk and moved across to the cashier's window.
His lip curved disdainfully. Mr. Johnson's feet were brisk and cheerful
on the tiles. When his face appeared at the window, his hat and the long
black cigar were pushed up to angles parallel, jaunty and perilous. He
held in his hand a sheaf of papers belted with a rubber band; he slid
over the topmost of these papers, face down.
"It's endorsed," he said, pointing to his heavy signature.

"How will you have it, sir?" Hudson inquired with a smile of mocking
deference.
"Quick and now," said Pete.
Hudson flipped over the check. The sneer died from his face. His
tongue licked at his paling lips.
"What does this mean?" he stammered.
"Can't you read?" said Pete.
The cashier did not answer. He turned and called across the room:
"Mr. Marsh! Mr. Marsh!"
Marsh came quickly, warned by the startled note in the cashier's voice.
Hudson passed him the check with hands that trembled a little. The
vice-president's face mottled with red and white. The check was made
to the order of P.W. Johnson; it was signed by Henry Bergman, sheriff
of Pima County, and the richest cowman of the Santa Cruz Valley; the
amount was eighty-six thousand dollars.
Marsh glowered at Johnson in a cold fury.
"Call up Bergman!" he ordered.
Hudson made haste to obey.
"Oh, that's all right! I'd just as soon wait," said Pete cheerfully. "Hank's
at home, anyhow. I told him maybe you'd want to ask about the check."
"He should have notified us before drawing out any such amount,"
fumed Marsh. "This is most unusual, for a small bank like this. He told
us he shouldn't need this money until this fall."
"Draft on El Paso will do. Don't have to have cash."
"All very well--but it will be a great inconvenience to us, just the

same."
"Really--but that is hardly our affair, is it?" said Pete carelessly.
The banker smote the shelf with an angry hand; some of the rouleaus of
gold stacked on the inner shelf toppled and fell; gold pieces clattered on
the floor.
"Johnson, what is your motive? What are you up to?"
"It's all perfectly simple. Old Hank and me used to be implicated
together in the cow business down on the Concho. One of the Goliad
Bergmans--early German settlers."
Here Hudson hung up and made interruption.
"Bergman says the check is right," he reported.
Johnson resumed his explanation:
"As I was sayin', I reckon I know all the old-time cowmen from here to
breakfast and back. Old Joe Benavides, now--one of your best
depositors; I fished Joe out of Manzanillo Bay thirty year back. He was
all drowned but Amen."
Wetting his thumb he slipped off the next paper from under the rubber
band. Marsh eyed the sheaf apprehensively and winced.
"Got one of Joe's checks here," Pete continued, smoothing it out. "But
maybe I won't need to cash it--to-day."
"Johnson," said the vice-president, "are you trying to start a run on this
bank? What do you want?"
"My money. What the check calls for. That is final."
"This is sheer malice."
"Not a bit of it. You're all wrong. Just common prudence--that's all.

You see, I needed a little money. As I was tellin' you, I got right smart
of property, but no cash just now; nor any comin' till steer-sellin' time.
So I come down to Tucson on the rustle. Five banks in Tucson; four of
'em, countin' yours, turned me down cold."
"If you had got Bergman to sign with you--" Marsh began.
"Tell that to the submarines," said Pete. "Good irrigated land is better
than any man's name on a note; and I don't care who that man is. A man
might die or run away, or play the market. Land stays put. Well, after
my first glimpse of the cold shoulder I ciphered round a spell. I'm a
great hand to cipher round. Some one is out to down me; some one is
givin' out orders. Who? Mayer Zurich, I judged. He sold me a shoddy
coat once. And he wept because he couldn't loan me the