Bexar Scrip No. 2692

by O. Henry

Whenever you visit Austin you should by all means go to see the GeneralLand Office. As you pass up the avenue you turn sharp round the corner of the courthouse, and on a steep hill before you you see a medieval castle. You think of the Rhine; the "castled crag of Drachenfels"; the Lorelei;and the vine-clad slopes of Germany. And German it is in every line ofits architecture and design. The plan was drawn by an old draftsman from the "Vaterland," whose heartstill loved the scenes of his native land, and it is said he reproducedthe design of a certain castle near his birthplace, with remarkablefidelity. Under the present administration a new coat of paint has vulgarized itsancient and venerable walls. Modern tiles have replaced the limestoneslabs of its floors, worn in hollows by the tread of thousands of feet,and smart and gaudy fixtures have usurped the place of the time-wornfurniture that has been consecrated by the touch of hands that Texaswill never cease to honor. But even now, when you enter the building, you lower your voice, andtime turns backward for you, for the atmosphere which you breathe iscold with the exudation of buried generations. The building is stone with a coating of concrete; the walls areimmensely thick; it is cool in the summer and warm in the winter; it isisolated and sombre; standing apart from the other state buildings,sullen and decaying, brooding on the past. Twenty years ago it was much the same as now; twenty years from now thegarish newness will be worn off and it will return to its appearance ofgloomy decadence. People living in other states can form no conception of the vastness andimportance of the work performed and the significance of the millions ofrecords and papers composing the archives of this office. The title deeds, patents, transfers and legal documents connected withevery foot of land owned in the state of Texas are filed here. Volumes could be filled with accounts of the knavery, thedouble-dealing, the cross purposes, the perjury, the lies, the bribery,the alteration and erasing, the suppressing and destroying of papers,the various schemes and plots that for the sake of the almighty dollarhave left their stains upon the records of the General Land Office. No reference is made to the employees. No more faithful, competent andefficient force of men exists in the clerical portions of anygovernment, but there is--or was, for their day is now over--a class ofland speculators commonly called land sharks, unscrupulous and greedy,who have left their trail in every department of this office, in theshape of titles destroyed, patents cancelled, homes demolished and tornaway, forged transfers and lying affidavits. Before the modern tiles were laid upon the floors, there were deephollows in the limestone slabs, worn by the countless feet that dailytrod uneasily through its echoing corridors, pressing from file room tobusiness room, from commissioner's sanctum to record books and backagain. The honest but ignorant settler, bent on saving the little plot of landhe called home, elbowed the wary land shark who was searching therecords for evidence to oust him; the lordly cattle baron, relying onhis influence and money, stood at the Commissioner's desk side by sidewith the preemptor, whose little potato patch lay like a minute speck ofisland in the vast, billowy sea, of his princely pastures, and playedthe old game of "freeze-out," which is as old as Cain and Abel. The trail of the serpent is through it all. Honest, earnest men have wrought for generations striving to disentanglethe shameful coil that certain years of fraud and infamy have wound.Look at the files and see the countless endorsements of those inauthority "Transfer doubtful--locked up." "Certificate a forgery--locked up." "Signature a forgery." "Patent refused--duplicate patented elsewhere." "Field notes forged." "Certificates stolen from office"--and soon ad infinitum. The record books, spread upon long tables, in the big room upstairs, areopen to the examination of all. Open them, and you will find the darkand greasy finger prints of half a century's handling. The quick hand ofthe land grabber has fluttered the leaves a million times; the dampclutch of the perturbed tiller of the soil has left traces of hiscalling on the ragged leaves. Interest centres in the file room. This is a large room, built as a vault, fireproof, and entered by but asingle door. There is "No Admission" on the portal; and the precious files are handedout by a clerk in charge only on presentation of an order signed by theCommissioner or chief clerk. In years past too much laxity prevailed in its management, and the fileswere handled by all corners, simply on their request, and returned attheir will, or not at all. In these days most of the mischief was done. In the file room, there areabout ---- files, each in a paper wrapper, and comprising the titlepapers of a particular tract of land. You ask the clerk in charge for the papers relating to any survey inTexas. They are arranged simply in districts and numbers. He disappears from the door, you hear the sliding of a tin box, the lidsnaps, and the file is in your hand. Go up there some day and call for Bexar Scrip No. 2692. The file clerk stares at you for a second, says shortly: "Out of file." It has been missing twenty years. The history of that file has never been written before. Twenty years ago there was a shrewd land agent living in Austin whodevoted his undoubted talents and vast knowledge of land titles, and thelaws governing them, to the locating of surveys made by illegalcertificates, or improperly made, and otherwise of no value throughnon-compliance with the statutes, or whatever flaws his ingenious andunscrupulous mind could unearth. He found a fatal defect in the title of the land as on file in BexarScrip No. 2692 and placed a new certificate upon the survey in his ownname. The law was on his side. Every sentiment of justice, of right, and humanity was against him. The certificate by virtue of which the original survey had been made wasmissing. It was not be found in the file, and no memorandum or date on thewrapper to show that it had ever been filed. Under the law the land was vacant, unappropriated public domain, andopen to location. The land was occupied by a widow and her only son, and she supposed hertitle good. The railroad had surveyed a new line through the property, and it haddoubled in value. Sharp, the land agent, did not communicate with her in any way until hehad filed his papers, rushed his claim through the departments and intothe patent room for patenting. Then he wrote her a letter, offering her the choice of buying from himor vacating at once. He received no reply. One day he was looking through some files and came across the missingcertificate. Some one, probably an employee of the office, had bymistake, after making some examination, placed it in the wrong file, andcuriously enough another inadvertence, in there being no record of itsfiling on the wrapper, had completed the appearance of its having neverbeen filed. Sharp called for the file in which it belonged and scrutinized itcarefully, fearing he might have overlooked some endorsement regardingits return to the office. On the back of the certificate was plainly endorsed the date of filing,according to law, and signed by the chief clerk. If this certificate should be seen by the examining clerk, his ownclaim, when it came up for patenting, would not be worth the paper onwhich it was written. Sharp glanced furtively around. A young man, or rather a boy abouteighteen years of age, stood a few feet away regarding him closely withkeen black eyes. Sharp, a little confused, thrust the certificate intothe file where it properly belonged and began gathering up the otherpapers. The boy came up and leaned on the desk beside him. "A right interesting office, sir!" he said. "I have never been in herebefore. All those papers, now, they are about lands, are they not? Thetitles and deeds, and such things?" "Yes," said Sharp. "They are supposed to contain all the title papers." "This one, now," said the boy, taking up Bexar Scrip No. 2692, "whatland does this represent the title of? Ah, I see 'Six hundred and fortyacres in B---- country? Absalom Harris, original grantee.' Please tellme, I am so ignorant of these things, how can you tell a good surveyfrom a bad one. I am told that there are a great many illegal andfraudulent surveys in this office. I suppose this one is all right?" "No," said Sharp. "The certificate is missing. It is invalid." "That paper I just saw you place in that file, I suppose is somethingelse--field notes, or a transfer probably?" "Yes," said Sharp, hurriedly, "corrected field notes. Excuse me, I am alittle pressed for time." The boy was watching him with bright, alert eyes. It would never do to leave the certificate in the file; but he could nottake it out with that inquisitive boy watching him. He turned to the file room, with a dozen or more files in his hands, andaccidentally dropped part of them on the floor. As he stooped to pickthem up he swiftly thrust Bexar Scrip No. 2692 in the inside breastpocket of his coat. This happened at just half-past four o'clock, and when the file clerktook the files he threw them in a pile in his room, came out and lockedthe door. The clerks were moving out of the doors in long, straggling lines. It was closing time. Sharp did not desire to take the file from the Land Office. The boy might have seen him place the file in his pocket, and thepenalty of the law for such an act was very severe. Some distance back from the file room was the draftsman's room nowentirely vacated by its occupants. Sharp dropped behind the outgoing stream of men, and slipped slyly intothis room. The clerks trooped noisily down the iron stairway, singing, whistling,and talking. Below, the night watchman awaited their exit, ready to close and bar thetwo great doors to the south and cast. It is his duty to take careful note each day that no one remains in thebuilding after the hour of closing. Sharp waited until all sounds had ceased. It was his intention to linger until everything was quiet, and then toremove the certificate from the file, and throw the latter carelessly onsome draftsman's desk as if it had been left there during the businessof the day. He knew also that he must remove the certificate from the office ordestroy it, as the chance finding of it by a clerk would lead to itsimmediately being restored to its proper place, and the consequentdiscovery that his location over the old survey was absolutelyworthless. As he moved cautiously along the stone floor the loud barking of thelittle black dog, kept by the watchman, told that his sharp ears hadheard the sounds of his steps. The great, hollow rooms echoed loudly,move as lightly as he could. Sharp sat down at a desk and laid the file before him. In all his queerpractices and cunning tricks he had not yet included any act that wasdownright criminal. He had always kept on the safe side of the law, butin the deed he was about to commit there was no compromise to be madewith what little conscience he had left. There is no well-defined boundary line between honesty and dishonesty. The frontiers of one blend with the outside limits of the other, and hewho attempts to tread this dangerous ground may be sometimes in onedomain and sometimes in the other; so the only safe road is the broadhighway that leads straight through and has been well defined by lineand compass. Sharp was a man of what is called high standing in the community. Thatis, his word in a trade was as good as any man's; his check was as goodas so much cash, and so regarded; he went to church regularly; went ingood society and owed no man anything. He was regarded as a sure winner in any land trade he chose to make, butthat was his occupation. The act he was about to commit now would place him forever in the ranksof those who chose evil for their portion--if it was found out. More than that, it would rob a widow and her son of property soon to beof great value, which, if not legally theirs, was theirs certainly byevery claim of justice. But he had gone too far to hesitate. His own survey was in the patent room for patenting. His own title wasabout to be perfected by the State's own hand. The certificate must be destroyed. He leaned his head on his hands for a moment, and as he did so a soundbehind him caused his heart to leap with guilty fear, but before hecould rise, a hand came over his shoulder and grasped the file. He rose quickly, as white as paper, rattling his chair loudly on thestone floor. The boy who land spoken to him earlier stood contemplating him withcontemptuous and flashing eyes, and quietly placed the file in the leftbreast pocket of his coat. "So, Mr. Sharp, by nature as well as by name," he said, "it seems that Iwas right in waiting behind the door in order to see you safely out. Youwill appreciate the pleasure I feel in having done so when I tell you myname is Harris. My mother owns the land on which you have filed, and ifthere is any justice in Texas she shall hold it. I am not certain, but Ithink I saw you place a paper in this file this afternoon, and it isbarely possible that it may be of value to me. I was also impressed withthe idea that you desired to remove it again, but had not theopportunity. Anyway, I shall keep it until to-morrow and let theCommissioner decide." Far back among Mr. Sharp's ancestors there must have been some of theold berserker blood, for his caution, his presence of mind left him, andleft him possessed of a blind, devilish, unreasoning rage that showeditself in a moment in the white glitter of his eye. "Give me that file, boy," he said, thickly, holding out his hand. "I am no such fool, Mr. Sharp," said the youth. "This file shall be laidbefore the Commissioner to-morrow for examination. If he finds--Help!Help!" Sharp was upon him like a tiger and bore him to the floor. The boy wasstrong and vigorous, but the suddenness of the attack gave him no chanceto resist. He struggled up again to his feet, but it was an animal, withblazing eyes and cruel-looking teeth that fought him, instead of a man. Mr. Sharp, a man of high standing and good report, was battling for hisreputation. Presently there was a dull sound, and another, and still one more, and ablade flashing white and then red, and Edward Harris dropped down likesome stuffed effigy of a man, that boys make for sport, with his limbsall crumpled and lax, on the stone floor of the Land Office. The old watchman was deaf, and heard nothing. The little dog barked at the foot of the stairs until his master madehim come into his room. Sharp stood there for several minutes holding in his hand his bloodyclasp knife, listening to the cooing of the pigeons on the roof, and theloud ticking of the clock above the receiver's desk. A map rustled on the wall and his blood turned to ice; a rat ran acrosssome strewn papers, and his scalp prickled, and he could scarcelymoisten his dry lips with his tongue. Between the file room and the draftsman's room there is a door thatopens on a small dark spiral stairway that winds from the lower floor tothe ceiling at the top of the house. This stairway was not used then, nor is it now. It is unnecessary, inconvenient, dusty, and dark as night, and was ablunder of the architect who designed the building. This stairway ends above at the tent-shaped space between the roof andthe joists. That space is dark and forbidding, and being useless is rarely visited. Sharp opened this door and gazed for a moment up this narrow cobwebbedstairway. * * * * After dark that night a man opened cautiously one of the lower windowsof the Land Office, crept out with great circumspection and disappearedin the shadows. * * * * One afternoon, a week after this time, Sharp lingered behind again afterthe clerks had left and the office closed. The next morning the firstcomers noticed a broad mark in the dust on the upstairs floor, and thesame mark was observed below stairs near a window. It appeared as if some heavy and rather bulky object had been draggedalong through the limestone dust. A memorandum book with "E. Harris"written on the flyleaf was picked up on the stairs, but nothingparticular was thought of any of these signs. Circulars and advertisements appeared for a long time in the papersasking for information concerning Edward Harris, who left his mother'shome on a certain date and had never been heard of since. After a while these things were succeeded by affairs of more recentinterest, and faded from the public mind. * * * * Sharp died two years ago, respected and regretted. The last two years ofhis life were clouded with a settled melancholy for which his friendscould assign no reason. The bulk of his comfortable fortune was madefrom the land he obtained by fraud and crime. The disappearance of the file was a mystery that created some commotionin the Land Office, but he got his patent. * * * * It is a well-known tradition in Austin and vicinity that there is aburied treasure of great value somewhere on the banks of Shoal Creek,about a mile west of the city. Three young men living in Austin recently became possessed of what theythought was a clue of the whereabouts of the treasure, and Thursdaynight they repaired to the place after dark and plied the pickaxe andshovel with great diligence for about three hours. At the end of that time their efforts were rewarded by the finding of abox buried about four feet below the surface, which they hastened toopen. The light of a lantern disclosed to their view the fleshless bones of ahuman skeleton with clothing still wrapping its uncanny limbs. They immediately left the scene and notified the proper authorities oftheir ghastly find. On closer examination, in the left breast pocket of the skeleton's coat,there was found a flat, oblong packet of papers, cut through and throughin three places by a knife blade, and so completely soaked and clottedwith blood that it had become an almost indistinguishable mass. With the aid of a microscope and the exercise of a little imaginationthis much can be made out of the letter; at the top of the papers: B--x a-- ---rip N--2--92.

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