Florence Kelly - The Delafield Affair

Dellmey Baxter shook hands cordially, pleasure at the meeting fairly radiating from his round, sunburned face, even his cold gray eyes borrowing warmth from his gratified and shining countenance. One of these eyes was set at an angle slightly oblique, its peculiarity made more prominent by the loose hanging of the upper lid from the outer corner. The expression of cunning thus given to the upper part of his face was curiously at variance with his jovial look and manner.

In Bancroft’s private office Baxter’s first question was if the other had yet visited the mine at the base of Mangan’s Peak, concerning which they had had correspondence.

“Yes; I was there this week. The man who owns it hasn’t sabe enough about mines to know what a good proposition he’s got. He’ll sell cheap for cash, for he needs the money. I think it’s a first-class investment, and we’d better snap it up. Shall we make it half and half?”

“I don’t know about going in as a partner, Aleck. I’m getting too much tied up in all kinds of enterprises, and I don’t want to have more on my hands than I can attend to. But if it’s a good thing I’d like to help you get hold of it; I know you’d hustle its development and make all there is in it tell for the reputation of New Mexico. I’ve got too many other things on hand to go in as a partner, but if you haven’t the ready cash to buy it yourself I’ll advance you what you need and take a mortgage on the property.”

In the persuasive tones of Bancroft’s reply there was no hint of the reluctance and disappointment he inwardly felt at this prospect of having to increase his indebtedness to Baxter, concerning which he already felt some anxiety.

“That hardly seems fair, Dell. You gave me the hint about the mine, and you ought to make more than that out of it. I’m satisfied it’s an almighty good proposition and can be made to pay for itself and for the money needed in initial development inside the first year.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” Baxter responded heartily. “I’m glad to let the chance come your way, because you’ve got more sabe and more hustle than any other man I know, and you’ll do something worth while with it. Think about it, and we’ll talk it over again before I go back. I’m down here now mainly for politics. You know Silverside County as well as any man in it – how do things look?”

“Well, it’s always a close county, you know. But you’ll probably get the delegates to the convention, and I reckon you’ll stand as good a chance on election day as Johnny Martinez.”

The other chuckled. “Well, I rather guess! Why, he’s got no money to put into the fight!”

“No; but there are the Castletons.”

“I heard that their superintendent at Socorro Springs ranch – what’s his name? – Conrad? – had come out strong in his favor. What do they care about it? Neither one of ’em spends two weeks out of the year in the Territory.”

“Oh, if they really have any interest in it I suppose it’s that everlasting ‘cousin’ business of the Mexicans. You know Ned Castleton married a first cousin of Johnny’s, although she’s half American.”

Baxter looked thoughtful. “If he’s got the Castleton money back of him,” he began doubtfully, but broke off with an opposing idea: “I’ve heard that the wives of the two brothers fight each other to the limit on every proposition that comes along, and I reckon if Turner’s wife found out that Ned’s wife wanted Martinez boosted into Congress she’d see to it that Turner blocked the game if he could.”

“If Ned Castleton should back up Martinez with a bagful or two of his loose cash it would make mighty hard sledding for us,” observed Bancroft.

Baxter pursed his lips and whistled softly. “I reckon it would!” he said, with an air of taking the other into his innermost counsels. Then he broke out warmly: “That was damn good of you, Aleck, to come out for me as squarely as you did in the Albuquerque Leader the other day! It’s a good thing for me, all over the Territory, to have people know that Alexander Bancroft is supporting me. They’ve got confidence in you, Aleck. I appreciate it, I tell you, and I won’t forget it, either.”

Baxter had already served two terms in Congress, and some members of his party thought he should be willing to stand aside and give some one else the prize. This made him anxious about the outcome of the approaching convention, and set him to interrogating the banker regarding the intentions of this, that, and the other man of local consequence. At last he came back to the subject of the Castletons.

“Do you really think, Aleck, that Ned Castleton’s money is behind Martinez? If it is, that would explain Conrad’s attitude.”

Bancroft saw that the Congressman was worried by the possibility of such effective opposition. On the instant an idea was projected into his mind, born of his own secret anxiety and his knowledge of Baxter’s reputation. It came so suddenly and so vividly that it took him unawares, sending a telltale light into his eyes and across his usually impassive countenance. His lids were quickly lowered, but Baxter had already seen the revealing flash and was wondering what it might mean. The banker hesitated for a moment, his thoughts confused by the force of the bolt which had shot into his mind.

“Of course I don’t know anything about it,” he went on cautiously, the other watching him for signs of self-betrayal, “but it looks to me as if Conrad might be acting as Ned Castleton’s agent, so that Ned won’t have to be mixed up in it. That would take away the chance of Mrs. Turner’s trying to make her husband block the game. And Conrad is violently opposed to you. He handles you without gloves, and is doing all he can against your nomination. He says he’ll bolt you if you get it, and that if the other side puts up Martinez he’ll jump in and fight for him with both feet and his spurs on.”

The smile faded from Baxter’s face, and his left eyelid drooped lower than usual – a sign that his mind was busy with some knotty problem. But he was not considering the pros and cons of the Castleton money. He was wondering why that sudden purpose had flashed in Bancroft’s eyes, why he had shown that momentary discomposure, and why he was now dwelling so much more strongly on the fact of Conrad’s opposition. He drew his chair nearer and in confidential tones began to inquire about the young cattleman: “Has Conrad got much influence?”

“Yes; a good deal. He’s a bright, energetic fellow, and he’s made lots of friends.”

“Know anything about him, Aleck?”

“Not much. Ned Castleton ran across him in San Francisco, I believe, where he was agent for one of the big cattle ranches in southern California. He’s been their superintendent at Socorro Springs for two years, and he’s put the ranch in better shape and made it pay better, in spite of the drought, than anybody else they’ve had since their father died.”

“But where’d he come from before Castleton got him?”

“I don’t know, except in a general way. I guess he’s mostly run along with the cattle business in Colorado and California and New Mexico.”

“You really think his opposition to me down here is important?”

“There’s no doubt about it, Dell,” Bancroft rejoined, his manner becoming more earnest and his tones more persuasive as he went on. “Curt Conrad is a fighter from the word ‘go,’ and he seems to have started out with the intention of doing you up. He’ll sure do you a lot of damage if you can’t find some way of making him change his mind. He’s popular, – the sort that everybody likes, you know, – and he’s always enthusiastic and cocksure, so that he has a good deal of influence of his own, whether or not he’s acting for Ned Castleton. And as people generally believe he is it amounts to the same thing.”