CHAPTER X

EUGENE CROOK

Tripp County, laying just to the west of the town of Dallas and where Jean Baptiste had purchased the relinquishments for his people was a large county and rich in soil. There had been little delay on the part of the railroad company in extending their line into it. But before this occurred--before even the county had been thrown open to the settlers, new promoters, conscious of the great success which had been achieved by the men who had promoted Dallas, purchased an allotment from an Indian, or a breed and started a town thereon almost directly in the center of the county in a valley of a creek known as the Dog Ear.

And it was about this time that a political ring was formed in the newer county for the avowed and subtle purpose of securing the county seat.

Settlement on the whole had not as yet been possible, so the politics included the rabble. The cowboy, and the ex-cowboy; saloon men, bartenders--some freighters, squaw men and cattle thieves represented the voters. So it happened that before the bona-fide settlers had a chance in the way of political expression, they found the county organized, controlled and exploited by this ilk. But, as we have already stated, a town in the West--nor the East for that matter--is ever a town until a railway has found its way thither.

The difficulty began when the survey was run. Notwithstanding the fact that the county seat had been secured by the promoters of the town in the valley of the Dog Ear, the surveyors, from the route they took, did not seem to have had any orders to go via of Lamro, the county seat in question. On the contrary, they went smack through a section of land that had been secured in due time by the promoters who had made Dallas possible as a town.

Where the line of the survey stretched, less than two miles northwest of the county seat, they started a town, and were now bidding the townspeople and business men of the county seat to move their building over. A bitter fight was the answer--at the start. A railroad is everything almost to an aspiring town, and these people were capable of appreciating the fact. As a result, the little town in the valley a few months later, was no more. Another election was held and through the same the bona fide settlers asserted their rights and administered a severe rebuke by defeating the town in the valley and electing the new town which had been entitled Winner as the county seat.

Nevertheless, a few people remained in what was left of the valley town.

Some were unable to move their buildings, others were indifferent, while others still remained there for purposes of their own.

Among those who remained, there was a banker, whose little bank reposed all alone with caves and broken sidewalks and all the leavings of the moved away town about. His name was Crook, Eugene Crook, and it was common knowledge that he was fond of his name and conducted his affairs so as to justify it. 'Gene Crook would rather, it was said, acquire something by beating some one in a deal than to secure it honestly. He possessed an auto, and had business to the northwest of the town some fifteen or eighteen miles, and had been seen in the neighborhood quite often.

Perhaps it was due in some measure to an unscrupulous character who had drawn a claim in those parts, and pretended to be homesteading there; but who in truth homesteaded more around the saloons of Winner and Crook's town than he did on the claim. His name was James J. Spaight.

James J. Spaight, and Eugene Crook were very close. 'Gene Crook had advanced Spaight considerable money towards his claim, and had him tied up in many ways, therefore, they were understood cohorts.

"They are never here," said Spaight, jumping from the auto and sweeping his hand about over a beautiful quarter section of land, one of the finest in the county.

"But I see a sod shack over in the draw," returned Crook. "They have apparently called themselves establishing a residence on the land."

"Yes; but let me tell you," said Spaight. "I can get you this piece of land--I can win it for you through contest. I know a thing or two, and I believe when we let the fellow know that we've got him dead to right, he'll weaken, and sell it to you for a song."

"Well," said Crook, thoughtfully, "we'll drive back to town and consult Duval about it."

On the way they drove by the homesteaders near and held subtle conversations with many, always in the end ascertaining how many times the people had been seen on the claim they had just left.

When they returned to the town in the valley, and retired into the private office of the little bank, Spaight went for Duval, a lawyer, who came forthwith. He was a tall, lean creature who attracted attention by his unusual height and leanness. He, also, was one of the "left overs."

He was told of the beautiful homestead, and that the claimant had been seen only a few times there, and of the proposition to contest it.

"Who holds the place, did you say?" inquired Duval in his deep, droll voice, crossing his legs judiciously.

"Why, a nigger woman," said Spaight.

"A Negro woman?"

"Yes, what do you think of that?" pursued Spaight, his eyes widening. "I told Crook that if he worked a bluff good and right he could more than likely scare them out. A nigger in a white man's country!"

Crook smiled; Duval was thoughtful.

"What's her name--this Negress? Is she a single woman or married?"

"Why, she _was_ single when she took it, of course. But she's got married since. I think the guy she married put up the money, and that's where we have them again."

"And the name?" inquired Duval again.

"Oh, yes, Baptiste. That's it. Jean Baptiste is her husband's name."

"Oh, hell!" cried Duval, and spat upon the floor.

"Why--what's the matter?" cried Crook and Spaight in chorus.

"I was struck with the joke."

"The joke?"

"Yes. The bluffing."

"But we don't understand?"

"Then you ought to. Jean Baptiste, huh! You'll bluff Jean Baptiste! Say, that's funny." Suddenly his face took on a cold hard expression. "Why, that's one of the shrewdest, one of the wisest, one of the most forcible men in this country. Have you never heard of Jean Baptiste? Oh, you fools! He's worth forty thousand dollars--made it himself and is not over twenty-five."

"Is that so?" they echoed, taken aback.

"Well, I should say so, and everybody in the county knows it."

"But they haven't lived on the place as they should!" protested Spaight, weakly.

"Something like yourself," laughed Duval. Spaight colored guiltily.

"But I can prove it," insisted Spaight.

"Well, in so far as that goes, I wouldn't doubt but they have not lived on the land. Baptiste owns a lot of land in the county east, and the chances are that he's been so busy that his wife has neglected to stay on the claim as she should have. Yes, that is quite likely."

"Then we can contest it?" cried Spaight.

"Of course. You can contest any place so far as that goes."

"Well, that's what we intend to do. And I have the goods on him and am sure we can win."

"They're all sure of that when they start," said Duval, sarcastically.

"But I want to disillusion you. If you contest the place then do so with a realization of what we are up against. Don't go down there with any 'rough stuff' or with a delusion that you are going to meet a weakling.

Go down there with the calm, considerate understanding that you are going to vie with a man all through, and that man is Jean Baptiste. And while I'll take the case and do what I can, before we start, I'd advise that you keep away from that fellow as much as possible."

"Well, now, to be frank, Duval," said Crook, "What do you think of it anyhow?"

Duval regarded him closely a moment out of his small eyes. And then spoke slowly, easily, carefully. "Well, Crook, being frank with you, I don't think you can beat that fellow fairly. No one will beat Jean Baptiste in a fair fight. But of course," he added, "there are other ways. Yes, and when the time is right--if ever, you may try the _other_ way."