A Departmental Case

by O. Henry

　　

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In Texas you may travel a thousand miles in a straight line. If yourcourse is a crooked one, it is likely that both the distance and yourrate of speed may be vastly increased. Clouds there sail serenelyagainst the wind. The whip-poor-will delivers its disconsolate crywith the notes exactly reversed from those of his Northern brother.Given a drought and a subsequently lively rain, and lo! from a glazedand stony soil will spring in a single night blossomed lilies,miraculously fair. Tom Green County was once the standard ofmeasurement. I have forgotten how many New Jerseys and Rhode Islandsit was that could have been stowed away and lost in its chaparral. Butthe legislative axe has slashed Tom Green into a handful of countieshardly larger than European kingdoms. The legislature convenes atAustin, near the centre of the state; and, while the representativefrom the Rio Grande country is gathering his palm-leaf fan and hislinen duster to set out for the capital, the Pan-handle solon windshis muffler above his well-buttoned overcoat and kicks the snow fromhis well-greased boots ready for the same journey. All this merely tohint that the big ex-republic of the Southwest forms a sizable star onthe flag, and to prepare for the corollary that things sometimeshappen there uncut to pattern and unfettered by metes and bounds.The Commissioner of Insurance, Statistics, and History of the State ofTexas was an official of no very great or very small importance. Thepast tense is used, for now he is Commissioner of Insurance alone.Statistic and history are no longer proper nouns in the governmentrecords.In the year 188-, the governor appointed Luke Coonrod Standifer to bethe head of this department. Standifer was then fifty-five years ofage, and a Texan to the core. His father had been one of the state'searliest settlers and pioneers. Standifer himself had served thecommonwealth as Indian fighter, soldier, ranger, and legislator. Muchlearning he did not claim, but he had drank pretty deep of the springof experience.If other grounds were less abundant, Texas should be well up in thelists of glory as the grateful republic. For both as republic andstate, it has busily heaped honours and solid rewards upon its sonswho rescued it from the wilderness.Wherefore and therefore, Luke Coonrod Standifer, son of EzraStandifer, ex-Terry ranger, simon-pure democrat, and lucky dweller inan unrepresented portion of the politico-geographical map, wasappointed Commissioner of Insurance, Statistics, and History.Standifer accepted the honour with some doubt as to the nature of theoffice he was to fill and his capacity for filling it--but heaccepted, and by wire. He immediately set out from the little countrytown where he maintained (and was scarcely maintained by) a somnolentand unfruitful office of surveying and map-drawing. Before departing,he had looked up under the I's, S's and H's in the "EncyclopaediaBritannica" what information and preparation toward his officialduties that those weighty volumes afforded.A few weeks of incumbency diminished the new commissioner's awe of thegreat and important office he had been called upon to conduct. Anincreasing familiarity with its workings soon restored him to hisaccustomed placid course of life. In his office was an old, spectacledclerk--a consecrated, informed, able machine, who held his deskregardless of changes of administrative heads. Old Kauffman instructedhis new chief gradually in the knowledge of the department withoutseeming to do so, and kept the wheels revolving without the slip of acog.Indeed, the Department of Insurance, Statistics, and History carriedno great heft of the burden of state. Its main work was the regulatingof the business done in the state by foreign insurance companies, andthe letter of the law was its guide. As for statistics--well, youwrote letters to county officers, and scissored other people'sreports, and each year you got out a report of your own about the corncrop and the cotton crop and pecans and pigs and black and whitepopulation, and a great many columns of figures headed "bushels" and"acres" and "square miles," etc.--and there you were. History? Thebranch was purely a receptive one. Old ladies interested in thescience bothered you some with long reports of proceedings of theirhistorical societies. Some twenty or thirty people would write youeach year that they had secured Sam Houston's pocket-knife or SantaAna's whisky-flask or Davy Crockett's rifle--all absolutelyauthenticated--and demanded legislative appropriation to purchase.Most of the work in the history branch went into pigeon-holes.One sizzling August afternoon the commissioner reclined in his office-chair, with his feet upon the long, official table covered with greenbilliard cloth. The commissioner was smoking a cigar, and dreamilyregarding the quivering landscape framed by the window that lookedupon the treeless capitol grounds. Perhaps he was thinking of therough and ready life he had led, of the old days of breathlessadventure and movement, of the comrades who now trod other paths orhad ceased to tread any, of the changes civilization and peace hadbrought, and, maybe, complacently, of the snug and comfortable camppitched for him under the dome of the capitol of the state that hadnot forgotten his services.The business of the department was lax. Insurance was easy. Statisticswere not in demand. History was dead. Old Kauffman, the efficient andperpetual clerk, had requested an infrequent half-holiday, incited tothe unusual dissipation by the joy of having successfully twisted thetail of a Connecticut insurance company that was trying to do businesscontrary to the edicts of the great Lone Star State.The office was very still. A few subdued noises trickled in throughthe open door from the other departments--a dull tinkling crash fromthe treasurer's office adjoining, as a clerk tossed a bag of silver tothe floor of the vault--the vague, intermittent clatter of a dilatorytypewriter--a dull tapping from the state geologist's quarters as ifsome woodpecker had flown in to bore for his prey in the cool of themassive building--and then a faint rustle and the light shuffling ofthe well-worn shoes along the hall, the sounds ceasing at the doortoward which the commissioner's lethargic back was presented.Following this, the sound of a gentle voice speaking wordsunintelligible to the commissioner's somewhat dormant comprehension,but giving evidence of bewilderment and hesitation.The voice was feminine; the commissioner was of the race of cavalierswho make salaam before the trail of a skirt without considering thequality of its cloth.There stood in the door a faded woman, one of the numerous sisterhoodof the unhappy. She was dressed all in black--poverty's perpetualmourning for lost joys. Her face had the contours of twenty and thelines of forty. She may have lived that intervening score of years ina twelve-month. There was about her yet an aurum of indignant,unappeased, protesting youth that shone faintly through the prematureveil of unearned decline."I beg your pardon, ma'am," said the commissioner, gaining his feet tothe accompaniment of a great creaking and sliding of his chair."Are you the governor, sir?" asked the vision of melancholy.The commissioner hesitated at the end of his best bow, with his handin the bosom of his double-breasted "frock." Truth at last conquered."Well, no, ma'am. I am not the governor. I have the honour to beCommissioner of Insurance, Statistics, and History. Is there anything,ma'am, I can do for you? Won't you have a chair, ma'am?"The lady subsided into the chair handed her, probably from purelyphysical reasons. She wielded a cheap fan--last token of gentility tobe abandoned. Her clothing seemed to indicate a reduction almost toextreme poverty. She looked at the man who was not the governor, andsaw kindliness and simplicity and a rugged, unadorned courtlinessemanating from a countenance tanned and toughened by forty years ofoutdoor life. Also, she saw that his eyes were clear and strong andblue. Just so they had been when he used them to skim the horizon forraiding Kiowas and Sioux. His mouth was as set and firm as it had beenon that day when he bearded the old Lion Sam Houston himself, anddefied him during that season when secession was the theme. Now, inbearing and dress, Luke Coonrod Sandifer endeavoured to do credit tothe important arts and sciences of Insurance, Statistics, and History.He had abandoned the careless dress of his country home. Now, hisbroad-brimmed black slouch hat, and his long-tailed "frock" made himnot the least imposing of the official family, even if his office wasreckoned to stand at the tail of the list."You wanted to see the governor, ma'am?" asked the commissioner, witha deferential manner he always used toward the fair sex."I hardly know," said the lady, hesitatingly. "I suppose so." Andthen, suddenly drawn by the sympathetic look of the other, she pouredforth the story of her need.It was a story so common that the public has come to look at itsmonotony instead of its pity. The old tale of an unhappy married life--made so by a brutal, conscienceless husband, a robber, aspendthrift, a moral coward and a bully, who failed to provide eventhe means of the barest existence. Yes, he had come down in the scaleso low as to strike her. It happened only the day before--there wasthe bruise on one temple--she had offended his highness by asking fora little money to live on. And yet she must needs, woman-like, appenda plea for her tyrant--he was drinking; he had rarely abused her thuswhen sober."I thought," mourned this pale sister of sorrow, "that maybe the statemight be willing to give me some relief. I've heard of such thingsbeing done for the families of old settlers. I've heard tell that thestate used to give land to the men who fought for it against Mexico,and settled up the country, and helped drive out the Indians. Myfather did all of that, and he never received anything. He never wouldtake it. I thought the governor would be the one to see, and that'swhy I came. If father was entitled to anything, they might let it cometo me.""It's possible, ma'am," said Standifer, "that such might be the case.But 'most all the veterans and settlers got their land certificatesissued, and located long ago. Still, we can look that up in the landoffice, and be sure. Your father's name, now, was--""Amos Colvin, sir.""Good Lord!" exclaimed Standifer, rising and unbuttoning his tightcoat, excitedly. "Are you Amos Colvin's daughter? Why, ma'am, AmosColvin and me were thicker than two hoss thieves for more than tenyears! We fought Kiowas, drove cattle, and rangered side by sidenearly all over Texas. I remember seeing you once before, now. Youwere a kid, about seven, a-riding a little yellow pony up and down.Amos and me stopped at your home for a little grub when we weretrailing that band of Mexican cattle thieves down through Karnes andBee. Great tarantulas! and you're Amos Colvin's little girl! Did youever hear your father mention Luke Standifer--just kind of casually--as if he'd met me once or twice?"A little pale smile flitted across the lady's white face."It seems to me," she said, "that I don't remember hearing him talkabout much else. Every day there was some story he had to tell aboutwhat he and you had done. Mighty near the last thing I heard him tellwas about the time when the Indians wounded him, and you crawled outto him through the grass, with a canteen of water, while they--""Yes, yes--well--oh, that wasn't anything," said Standifer, "hemming"loudly and buttoning his coat again, briskly. "And now, ma'am, who wasthe infernal skunk--I beg your pardon, ma'am--who was the gentlemanyou married?""Benton Sharp."The commissioner plumped down again into his chair, with a groan. Thisgentle, sad little woman, in the rusty black gown, the daughter of hisoldest friend, the wife of Benton Sharp! Benton Sharp, one of the mostnoted "bad" men in that part of the state--a man who had been a cattlethief, an outlaw, a desperado, and was now a gambler, a swaggeringbully, who plied his trade in the larger frontier towns, relying uponhis record and the quickness of his gun play to maintain hissupremacy. Seldom did any one take the risk of going "up against"Benton Sharp. Even the law officers were content to let him make hisown terms of peace. Sharp was a ready and an accurate shot, and aslucky as a brand-new penny at coming clear from his scrapes. Standiferwondered how this pillaging eagle ever came to be mated with AmosColvin's little dove, and expressed his wonder.Mrs. Sharp sighed."You see, Mr. Standifer, we didn't know anything about him, and he canbe very pleasant and kind when he wants to. We lived down in thelittle town of Goliad. Benton came riding down that way, and stoppedthere a while. I reckon I was some better looking then than I am now.He was good to me for a whole year after we were married. He insuredhis life for me for five thousand dollars. But for the last six monthshe has done everything but kill me. I often wish he had done that,too. He got out of money for a while, and abused me shamefully for nothaving anything he could spend. Then father died, and left me thelittle home in Goliad. My husband made me sell that, and turned me outinto the world. I've barely been able to live, for I'm not strongenough to work. Lately, I heard he was making money in San Antonio, soI went there, and found him, and asked for a little help. This,"touching the livid bruise on her temple, "is what he gave me. So Icame on to Austin to see the governor. I once heard father say thatthere was some land, or a pension, coming to him from the state thathe never would ask for."Luke Standifer rose to his feet, and pushed his chair back. He lookedrather perplexedly around the big office, with its handsome furniture."It's a long trail to follow," he said, slowly, "trying to get backdues from the government. There's red tape and lawyers and rulings andevidence and courts to keep you waiting. I'm not certain," continuedthe commissioner, with a profoundly meditative frown, "whether thisdepartment that I'm the boss of has any jurisdiction or not. It's onlyInsurance, Statistics, and History, ma'am, and it don't sound as if itwould cover the case. But sometimes a saddle blanket can be made tostretch. You keep your seat, just for a few minutes, ma'am, till Istep into the next room and see about it."The state treasurer was seated within his massive, complicatedrailings, reading a newspaper. Business for the day was about over.The clerks lolled at their desks, awaiting the closing hour. TheCommissioner of Insurance, Statistics, and History entered, and leanedin at the window.The treasurer, a little, brisk old man, with snow-white moustache andbeard, jumped up youthfully and came forward to greet Standifer. Theywere friends of old."Uncle Frank," said the commissioner, using the familiar name by whichthe historic treasurer was addressed by every Texan, "how much moneyhave you got on hand?"The treasurer named the sum of the last balance down to the odd cents--something more than a million dollars.The commissioner whistled lowly, and his eyes grew hopefully bright."You know, or else you've heard of, Amos Colvin, Uncle Frank?""Knew him well," said the treasurer, promptly. "A good man. A valuablecitizen. One of the first settlers in the Southwest.""His daughter," said Standifer, "is sitting in my office. She'spenniless. She's married to Benton Sharp, a coyote and a murderer.He's reduced her to want, and broken her heart. Her father helpedbuild up this state, and it's the state's turn to help his child. Acouple of thousand dollars will buy back her home and let her live inpeace. The State of Texas can't afford to refuse it. Give me themoney, Uncle Frank, and I'll give it to her right away. We'll fix upthe red-tape business afterward."The treasurer looked a little bewildered."Why, Standifer," he said, "you know I can't pay a cent out of thetreasury without a warrant from the comptroller. I can't disburse adollar without a voucher to show for it."The commissioner betrayed a slight impatience."I'll give you a voucher," he declared. "What's this job they've givenme for? Am I just a knot on a mesquite stump? Can't my office standfor it? Charge it up to Insurance and the other two sideshows. Don'tStatistics show that Amos Colvin came to this state when it was in thehands of Greasers and rattlesnakes and Comanches, and fought day andnight to make a white man's country of it? Don't they show that AmosColvin's daughter is brought to ruin by a villain who's trying to pulldown what you and I and old Texans shed our blood to build up? Don'tHistory show that the Lone Star State never yet failed to grant reliefto the suffering and oppressed children of the men who made her thegrandest commonwealth in the Union? If Statistics and History don'tbear out the claim of Amos Colvin's child I'll ask the nextlegislature to abolish my office. Come, now, Uncle Frank, let her havethe money. I'll sign the papers officially, if you say so; and then ifthe governor or the comptroller or the janitor or anybody else makes akick, by the Lord I'll refer the matter to the people, and see if theywon't endorse the act."The treasurer looked sympathetic but shocked. The commissioner's voicehad grown louder as he rounded off the sentences that, howeverpraiseworthy they might be in sentiment, reflected somewhat upon thecapacity of the head of a more or less important department of state.The clerks were beginning to listen."Now, Standifer," said the treasurer, soothingly, "you know I'd liketo help in this matter, but stop and think a moment, please. Everycent in the treasury is expended only by appropriation made by thelegislature, and drawn out by checks issued by the comptroller. Ican't control the use of a cent of it. Neither can you. Yourdepartment isn't disbursive--it isn't even administrative--it's purelyclerical. The only way for the lady to obtain relief is to petitionthe legislature, and--""To the devil with the legislature," said Standifer, turning away.The treasurer called him back."I'd be glad, Standifer, to contribute a hundred dollars personallytoward the immediate expenses of Colvin's daughter." He reached forhis pocketbook."Never mind, Uncle Frank," said the commissioner, in a softer tone."There's no need of that. She hasn't asked for anything of that sortyet. Besides, her case is in my hands. I see now what a little, rag-tag, bob-tail, gotch-eared department I've been put in charge of. Itseems to be about as important as an almanac or a hotel register. Butwhile I'm running it, it won't turn away any daughters of Amos Colvinwithout stretching its jurisdiction to cover, if possible. You want tokeep your eye on the Department of Insurance, Statistics, andHistory."The commissioner returned to his office, looking thoughtful. He openedand closed an inkstand on his desk many times with extreme and undueattention. "Why don't you get a divorce?" he asked, suddenly."I haven't the money to pay for it," answered the lady."Just at present," announced the commissioner, in a formal tone, "thepowers of my department appear to be considerably string-halted.Statistics seem to be overdrawn at the bank, and History isn't goodfor a square meal. But you've come to the right place, ma'am. Thedepartment will see you through. Where did you say your husband is,ma'am?""He was in San Antonio yesterday. He is living there now."Suddenly the commissioner abandoned his official air. He took thefaded little woman's hands in his, and spoke in the old voice he usedon the trail and around campfires."Your name's Amanda, isn't it?""Yes, sir.""I thought so. I've heard your dad say it often enough. Well, Amanda,here's your father's best friend, the head of a big office in thestate government, that's going to help you out of your troubles. Andhere's the old bushwhacker and cowpuncher that your father has helpedout of scrapes time and time again wants to ask you a question.Amanda, have you got money enough to run you for the next two or threedays?"Mrs. Sharp's white face flushed the least bit."Plenty, sir--for a few days.""All right, then, ma'am. Now you go back where you are stopping here,and you come to the office again the day after to-morrow at fouro'clock in the afternoon. Very likely by that time there will besomething definite to report to you." The commissioner hesitated, andlooked a trifle embarrassed. "You said your husband had insured hislife for $5,000. Do you know whether the premiums have been kept paidupon it or not?""He paid for a whole year in advance about five months ago," said Mrs.Sharp. "I have the policy and receipts in my trunk.""Oh, that's all right, then," said Standifer. "It's best to look afterthings of that sort. Some day they may come in handy."Mrs. Sharp departed, and soon afterward Luke Standifer went down tothe little hotel where he boarded and looked up the railroad time-table in the daily paper. Half an hour later he removed his coat andvest, and strapped a peculiarly constructed pistol holster across hisshoulders, leaving the receptacle close under his left armpit. Intothe holster he shoved a short-barrelled .44 calibre revolver. Puttingon his clothes again, he strolled to the station and caught the five-twenty afternoon train for San Antonio.The San Antonio /Express/ of the following morning contained thissensational piece of news:BENTON SHARP MEETS HIS MATCHThe Most Noted Desperado in Southwest Texas Shot to Death in theGold Front Restaurant--Prominent State Official SuccessfullyDefends Himself Against the Noted Bully--Magnificent Exhibition ofQuick Gun Play.Last night about eleven o'clock Benton Sharp, with two other men,entered the Gold Front Restaurant and seated themselves at atable. Sharp had been drinking, and was loud and boisterous, as healways was when under the influence of liquor. Five minutes afterthe party was seated a tall, well-dressed, elderly gentlemanentered the restaurant. Few present recognized the Honourable LukeStandifer, the recently appointed Commissioner of Insurance,Statistics, and History.Going over to the same side where Sharp was, Mr. Standiferprepared to take a seat at the next table. In hanging his hat uponone of the hooks along the wall he let it fall upon Sharp's head.Sharp turned, being in an especially ugly humour, and cursed theother roundly. Mr. Standifer apologized calmly for the accident,but Sharp continued his vituperations. Mr. Standifer was observedto draw near and speak a few sentences to the desperado in so lowa tone that no one else caught the words. Sharp sprang up, wildwith rage. In the meantime Standifer had stepped some yards away,and was standing quietly with his arms folded across the breast ofhis loosely hanging coat.With that impetuous and deadly rapidity that made Sharp sodreaded, he reached for the gun he always carried in his hippocket--a movement that has preceded the death of at least a dozenmen at his hands. Quick as the motion was, the bystanders assertthat it was met by the most beautiful exhibition of lightning gun-pulling ever witnessed in the Southwest. As Sharp's pistol wasbeing raised--and the act was really quicker than the eye couldfollow--a glittering .44 appeared as if by some conjuring trick inthe right hand of Mr. Standifer, who, without a perceptiblemovement of his arm, shot Benton Sharp through the heart. It seemsthat the new Commissioner of Insurance, Statistics, and Historyhas been an old-time Indian fighter and ranger for many years,which accounts for the happy knack he has of handling a .44.It is not believed that Mr. Standifer will be put to anyinconvenience beyond a necessary formal hearing to-day, as all thewitnesses who were present unite in declaring that the deed wasdone in self-defence.When Mrs. Sharp appeared at the office of the commissioner, accordingto appointment, she found that gentleman calmly eating a golden russetapple. He greeted her without embarrassment and without hesitation atapproaching the subject that was the topic of the day."I had to do it, ma'am," he said, simply, "or get it myself. Mr.Kauffman," he added, turning to the old clerk, "please look up therecords of the Security Life Insurance Company and see if they are allright.""No need to look," grunted Kauffman, who had everything in his head."It's all O.K. They pay all losses within ten days."Mrs. Sharp soon rose to depart. She had arranged to remain in townuntil the policy was paid. The commissioner did not detain her. Shewas a woman, and he did not know just what to say to her at present.Rest and time would bring her what she needed.But, as she was leaving, Luke Standifer indulged himself in anofficial remark:"The Department of Insurance, Statistics, and History, ma'am, has donethe best it could with your case. 'Twas a case hard to cover accordingto red tape. Statistics failed, and History missed fire, but, if I maybe permitted to say it, we came out particularly strong on Insurance."

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