The Valley of Fear by Arthur Conan Doyle (best ereader for pc txt) 📖

“Nothing out of the way.”

“Why, I thought the country was full of it. You'll hear quick enough. What made you come here?”

“I heard there was always work for a willing man.”

“Are you a member of the union?”

“Sure.”

“Then you'll get your job, I guess. Have you any friends?”

“Not yet; but I have the means of making them.”

“How's that, then?”

“I am one of the Eminent Order of Freemen. There's no town without a lodge, and where there is a lodge I'll find my friends.”

The remark had a singular effect upon his companion. He glanced round suspiciously at the others in the car. The miners were still whispering among themselves. The two police officers were dozing. He came across, seated himself close to the young traveller, and held out his hand.

“Put it there,” he said.

A hand-grip passed between the two.

“I see you speak the truth,” said the workman. “But it's well to make certain.” He raised his right hand to his right eyebrow. The traveller at once raised his left hand to his left eyebrow.

“Dark nights are unpleasant,” said the workman.

“Yes, for strangers to travel,” the other answered.

“That's good enough. I'm Brother Scanlan, Lodge 341, Vermissa Valley. Glad to see you in these parts.”

“Thank you. I'm Brother John McMurdo, Lodge 29, Chicago. Bodymaster J.H. Scott. But I am in luck to meet a brother so early.”

“Well, there are plenty of us about. You won't find the order more flourishing anywhere in the States than right here in Vermissa Valley. But we could do with some lads like you. I can't understand a spry man of the union finding no work to do in Chicago.”

“I found plenty of work to do,” said McMurdo.

“Then why did you leave?”

McMurdo nodded towards the policemen and smiled. “I guess those chaps would be glad to know,” he said.

Scanlan groaned sympathetically. “In trouble?” he asked in a whisper.

“Deep.”

“A penitentiary job?”

“And the rest.”

“Not a killing!”

“It's early days to talk of such things,” said McMurdo with the air of a man who had been surprised into saying more than he intended. “I've my own good reasons for leaving Chicago, and let that be enough for you. Who are you that you should take it on yourself to ask such things?” His gray eyes gleamed with sudden and dangerous anger from behind his glasses.

“All right, mate, no offense meant. The boys will think none the worse of you, whatever you may have done. Where are you bound for now?”

“Vermissa.”

“That's the third halt down the line. Where are you staying?”

McMurdo took out an envelope and held it close to the murky oil lamp. “Here is the address—Jacob Shafter, Sheridan Street. It's a boarding house that was recommended by a man I knew in Chicago.”

“Well, I don't know it; but Vermissa is out of my beat. I live at Hobson's Patch, and that's here where we are drawing up. But, say, there's one bit of advice I'll give you before we part: If you're in trouble in Vermissa, go straight to the Union House and see Boss McGinty. He is the Bodymaster of Vermissa Lodge, and nothing can happen in these parts unless Black Jack McGinty wants it. So long, mate! Maybe we'll meet in lodge one of these evenings. But mind my words: If you are in trouble, go to Boss McGinty.”

Scanlan descended, and McMurdo was left once again to his thoughts. Night had now fallen, and the flames of the frequent furnaces were roaring and leaping in the darkness. Against their lurid background dark figures were bending and straining, twisting and turning, with the motion of winch or of windlass, to the rhythm of an eternal clank and roar.

“I guess hell must look something like that,” said a voice.

McMurdo turned and saw that one of the policemen had shifted in his seat and was staring out into the fiery waste.

“For that matter,” said the other policeman, “I allow that hell must BE something like that. If there are worse devils down yonder than some we could name, it's more than I'd expect. I guess you are new to this part, young man?”

“Well, what if I am?” McMurdo answered in a surly voice.

“Just this, mister, that I should advise you to be careful in choosing your friends. I don't think I'd begin with Mike Scanlan or his gang if I were you.”

“What the hell is it to you who are my friends?” roared McMurdo in a voice which brought every head in the carriage round to witness the altercation. “Did I ask you for your advice, or did you think me such a sucker that I couldn't move without it? You speak when you are spoken to, and by the Lord you'd have to wait a long time if it was me!” He thrust out his face and grinned at the patrolmen like a snarling dog.

The two policemen, heavy, good-natured men, were taken aback by the extraordinary vehemence with which their friendly advances had been rejected.

“No offense, stranger,” said one. “It was a warning for your own good, seeing that you are, by your own showing, new to the place.”

“I'm new to the place; but I'm not new to you and your kind!” cried McMurdo in cold fury. “I guess you're the same in all places, shoving your advice in when nobody asks for it.”

“Maybe we'll see more of you before very long,” said one of the patrolmen with a grin. “You're a real hand-picked one, if I am a judge.”

“I was thinking the same,” remarked the other. “I guess we may meet again.”

“I'm not afraid of you, and don't you think it!” cried McMurdo. “My name's Jack McMurdo—see? If you want me, you'll find me at Jacob Shafter's on Sheridan Street, Vermissa; so I'm not hiding from you, am I? Day or night I dare to look the like of you in the face—don't make any mistake about that!”

There was a murmur of sympathy and admiration from the miners at the dauntless demeanour of the newcomer, while the two policemen shrugged their shoulders and renewed a conversation between themselves.

A few minutes later the train ran into the ill-lit station, and there was a general clearing; for Vermissa was