The Man of Last Resort/The Grazier/Chapter 4
IV
Randolph mason leaned forward and struck his hand heavily on the arm of his chair.
“Forty thousand,” he said sharply, “you owe that sum, sir?” His face looked old, sunken, and furrowed with heavy dark lines, but his eyes shone under his shaggy brows.
“Yes,” responded the grazier, “fully that much.”
“To secure that amount in cash,” continued Mason, “it will be necessary to deal with some bank or savings institution of which the president or some powerful director is an attorney-at-law. This condition will be found to obtain in almost any one of the small towns of the country, and if my directions are followed strictly, the plan can be carried out and the money secured in a very few hours. The plan is simple and easy. In the first place”
“But,” said the giant Alshire, “I don't want other men's money. I don't want to commit a crime.”
The veins in the forehead of Randolph Mason grew black with anger.
“Commit a crime!” he cried. “No man who has followed my advice has ever committed a crime. Crime is a technical word. It is the law's name for certain acts which it is pleased to define and punish with a penalty. None but fools, dolts, and children commit crimes.”
“Well,” responded the grazier, “whether the plan you are about to propose is a crime or not, it is certainly a moral wrong, and I have no desire to rob a bank by committing even a moral wrong.”
Randolph Mason arose slowly and pointed his finger at the huge Alshire.
“The old story,” he sneered, “child afraid of a goblin. Moral wrong! A name used to frighten fools. There is no such thing. The law lays down the only standard by which the acts of the citizen are to be governed. What the law permits is right, else it would prohibit it. What the law prohibits is wrong, because it punishes it. This is the only lawful measure, the only measure bearing the stamp and the sanction of the State. All others are spurious, counterfeit, and void. The word moral is a pure metaphysical symbol, possessing no more intrinsic virtue than the radical sign.”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Mason,” said Van Meter thrusting into the conversation, “but I am quite certain that you mistake the request of my friend. He is not attempting to secure any sum of money. He simply desires to retain the title to his land and prevent its sale, until he can determine the extent of its oil production.”
“For what length of time?” asked Mason.
“Well,” said the grazier, “I scarcely know. One year might be time enough, or even less than one year; while, on the other hand, it might require several years. You see, if I can prevent the land from being sold, and keep it in my name until the territory is developed, then if oil is found in paying quantities I can meet all these notes, and if the land is dry I am no worse off. At any rate, I want to hold on to the land and see.”
“Are there judgments of record against you?” inquired Mason.
“Not yet,” replied Alshire, “but Farras is preparing to sue on the notes and rush the sale through. Can I stop him; can I hold the sale off?” There was anxiety in the grazier's voice.
Randolph Mason began to walk to and fro across the room with an unsteady nervous stride.
“Easy,” he muttered, “easy as learning to lie.” Then he stopped by the table and looked flown sharply at the great Alshire.
“Have you two friends,” he asked, “non-residents of your State, whom you can trust?”
“Yes,” responded the grazier, “Mr. Van Meter here in New York, and Morgan Gaston now in Ohio, they will both stand by me.”
“Then,” said Mason, “listen to me, and do as I advise, and the sale of your property will be as far distant years from to-day as it seems this afternoon. First make an oil lease for a long term, say thirty years, to your non-resident friend of Ohio, giving him all the oil privileges, but, for your own protection in case of the death of the lessee, incorporate in the instrument a clause permitting the lessor the right to annul the lease at any time by the payment of a small sum. Have the instrument show also that the entire compensation for the lease has been fully paid in advance. Then make another lease renting all your remaining property rights to your friend Mr. Van Meter of this city. Have this second lease for a similar term and of similar provisions to the first, and the entire compensation for it likewise paid in advance. Then you have but to record the instruments, employ an attorney, and sit down in the shadow of your house. The hair on your head will have thinned vastly before the litigation over your complicated affairs terminates in a final decree of sale.”
Rufus Alshire leaned forward listening eagerly. “But won't Farras sue me,” he asked, “won't he attack the leases?”
“Certainly,” said Mason, “he will at once do one of two things; either he will bring an action at law on the notes, or he will attempt to embrace the whole matter in a chancery suit. If he sues at law, resist and attempt to fight through the superior courts. When he finally obtains a judgment at law in your State, he will be compelled to resort to a suit in chancery for the purpose of selling the land. In either event he must come finally into a court of chancery and include the holders of these leases as parties defendant to his action. When this is done, the non-resident lessees are not to appear, and he will be able to obtain service on them only by an order of publication. You alone will fight this chancery suit through the lower and superior courts, and just before a sale of the land is ordered by the court of last resort, one of the non-resident lessees mast appear, and by virtue of the statutory provision applying to such cases, file his bill of review and open up the whole matter, enjoin the sale, fight the case over again and again through the superior court. When this new litigation finally draws near to a close and the land is again ordered sold, the remaining non-resident must appear, bring his action in the Circuit Court of the United States, enjoin the sale, and proceed with his fight.
“By this time,” continued Mason, placing his bony hand on the giant's shoulder, “there will probably be gray streaks in your beard, and if you wish to run this litigation on into eternity, you will have only to produce some collateral heir.”
The huge Alshire looked up at the strange man beside him. “Is all this possible?” he asked in astonishment.
Randolph Mason did not at once answer; he walked stumblingly across the room to his chair and sat down by the table. His form was thin and gaunt, and along the border of his forehead the veins were purple and swollen. After a time he turned toward the powerful grazier, his face ugly with a sneer. “To the law,” he said, “all things are possible—even justice.”