Even a stranger to the big town walking for the first timethrough London, sees on the sides of the houses many names withwhich he has long been familiar. His precognition has cost thefirms those names represent much money in advertising. The strangerhas had the names before him for years in newspapers and magazines,on the hoardings and boards by the railway side, paying little heedto them at the time; yet they have been indelibly impressed on hisbrain, and when he wishes soap or pills his lips almostautomatically frame the words most familiar to them. Thus are thelavish sums spent in advertising justified, and thus are manyexcellent publications made possible. When you come to ponder over the matter, it seems strange thatthere should ever be any real man behind the names so lavishlyadvertised; that there should be a genuine Smith or Jones whosejustly celebrated medicines work such wonders, or whose soap willclean even a guilty conscience. Granting the actual existence ofthese persons and probing still further into the mystery, can anyone imagine that the excellent Smith to whom thousands of formersufferers send entirely unsolicited testimonials, or the admirableJones whom prima donnas love because his soap preservestheir dainty complexions--can any one credit the fact that Smithand Jones have passions like other men, have hatreds, likes anddislikes? Such a condition of things, incredible as it may appear, existsin London. There are men in the metropolis, utterly unknownpersonally, whose names are more widely spread over the earth thanthe names of the greatest novelists, living or dead, and these menhave feeling and form like unto ourselves. There was the firm of Danby and Strong for instance. The namemay mean nothing to any reader of these pages, but there was a timewhen it was well-known and widely advertised, not only in Englandbut over the greater part of the world as well. They did a greatbusiness, as every firm that spends a fortune every year inadvertising is bound to do. It was in the old paper-collar days.There actually was a time when the majority of men wore papercollars, and, when you come to think of it, the wonder is that thepaper-collar trade ever fell away as it did, when you consider withwhat vile laundries London is and always has been cursed. Take theDanby and Strong collars for instance, advertised as being sosimilar to linen that only an expert could tell the difference.That was Strong's invention. Before he invented the Piccadillycollar so-called, paper collars had a brilliant glaze that wouldnot have deceived the most recent arrival from the most remoteshire in the country. Strong devised some method by which a slightlinen film was put on the paper, adding strength to the collar andgiving it the appearance of the genuine article. You bought apasteboard box containing a dozen of these collars for somethinglike the price you paid for the washing of half a dozen linen ones.The Danby and Strong Piccadilly collar jumped at once into greatpopularity, and the wonder is that the linen collar ever recoveredfrom the blow dealt it by this ingenious invention. Curiously enough, during the time the firm was struggling toestablish itself, the two members of it were the best of friends,but when prosperity came to them, causes of difference arose, andtheir relations, as the papers say of warlike nations, becamestrained. Whether the fault lay with John Danby or with WilliamStrong no one has ever been able to find out. They had mutualfriends who claimed that each one of them was a good fellow, butthose friends always added that Strong and Danby did not "hit itoff."
Strong was a bitter man when aroused, and could generally becounted upon to use harsh language. Danby was quieter, but therewas a sullen streak of stubbornness in him that did not tend to themaking up of a quarrel. They had been past the speaking point formore than a year, when there came a crisis in their relations witheach other, that ended in disaster to the business carried on underthe title of Danby and Strong. Neither man would budge, and betweenthem the business sunk to ruin. Where competition is fierce no firmcan stand against it if there is internal dissension. Danby heldhis ground quietly but firmly, Strong raged and cursed, but wasequally steadfast in not yielding a point. Each hated the other sobitterly that each was willing to lose his own share in aprofitable business, if by doing so he could bring ruin on hispartner. We are all rather prone to be misled by appearances. As onewalks down Piccadilly, or the Strand, or Fleet Street and meetsnumerous irreproachably dressed men with glossy tall hats andpolished boots, with affable manners and a courteous way ofdeporting themselves toward their fellows, we are apt to fall intothe fallacy of believing that these gentlemen are civilised. Wefail to realise that if you probe in the right direction you willcome upon possibilities of savagery that would draw forth thewarmest commendation from a Pawnee Indian. There are reputablebusiness men in London who would, if they dared, tie an enemy to astake and roast him over a slow fire, and these men have succeededso well, not only in deceiving their neighbours, but alsothemselves, that they would actually be offended if you told themso. If law were suspended in London for one day, during which timenone of us would be held answerable for any deed then done, howmany of us would be alive next morning? Most of us would go out topot some favourite enemy, and would doubtless be potted ourselvesbefore we got safely home again. The law, however, is a great restrainer, and helps to keep thedeath- rate from reaching excessive proportions. One department ofthe law crushed out the remnant of the business of Messrs. Danbyand Strong, leaving the firm bankrupt, while another department ofthe law prevented either of the partners taking the life of theother. When Strong found himself penniless, he cursed, as was hishabit, and wrote to a friend in Texas asking if he could getanything to do over there. He was tired of a country of law andorder, he said, which was not as complimentary to Texas as it mighthave been. But his remark only goes to show what extraordinaryideas Englishmen have of foreign parts. The friend's answer was notvery encouraging, but, nevertheless, Strong got himself out theresomehow, and in course of time became a cowboy. He grew reasonablyexpert with his revolver and rode a mustang as well as could beexpected, considering that he had never seen such an animal inLondon, even at the Zoo. The life of a cowboy on a Texas ranchleads to the forgetting of such things as linen shirts and papercollars. Strong's hatred of Danby never ceased, but he began to think ofhim less often. One day, when he least expected it, the subject was brought tohis mind in a manner that startled him. He was in Galvestonordering supplies for the ranch, when in passing a shop which hewould have called a draper's, but which was there designated asdealing in dry goods, he was amazed to see the name "Danby andStrong" in big letters at the bottom of a huge pile of smallcardboard boxes that filled the whole window. At first the namemerely struck him as familiar, and he came near asking himself"Where have I seen that before?" It was some moments before herealised that
the Strong stood for the man gazing stupidly in atthe plate-glass window. Then he noticed that the boxes were allguaranteed to contain the famous Piccadilly collar. He read in adazed manner a large printed bill which stood beside the pile ofboxes. These collars it seemed, were warranted to be the genuineDanby and Strong collar, and the public was warned againstimitations. They were asserted to be London made and linen faced,and the gratifying information was added that once a person worethe D. and S. collar he never afterwards relapsed into wearing anyinferior brand. The price of each box was fifteen cents, or twoboxes for a quarter. Strong found himself making a mentalcalculation which resulted in turning this notation into Englishmoney. As he stood there a new interest began to fill his mind. Was thefirm being carried on under the old name by some one else, or didthis lot of collars represent part of the old stock? He had had nonews from home since he left, and the bitter thought occurred tohim that perhaps Danby had got somebody with capital to aid him inresuscitating the business. He resolved to go inside and get someinformation. "You seem to have a very large stock of those collars on hand,"he said to the man who was evidently the proprietor. "Yes," was the answer. "You see, we are the State agents forthis make. We supply the country dealers." "Oh, do you? Is the firm of Danby and Strong still in existence?I understood it had suspended." "I guess not," said the man. "They supply us all right enough.Still, I really know nothing about the firm, except that they turnout a first- class article. We're not in any way responsible forDanby and Strong; we're merely agents for the State of Texas, youknow," the man added, with sudden caution. "I have nothing against the firm," said Strong. "I asked becauseI once knew some members of it, and was wondering how it wasgetting along." "Well, in that case you ought to see the Americanrepresentative. He was here this week ... that's why we make such adisplay in the window, it always pleases the agent ... he's nowworking up the State and will be back in Galveston before the monthis out." "What's his name? Do you remember?" "Danby. George Danby, I think. Here's his card. No, John Danbyis the name. I thought it was George. Most Englishmen are George,you know." Strong looked at the card, but the lettering seemed to waverbefore his eyes. He made out, however, that Mr. John Danby had anaddress in New York, and that he was the American representative ofthe firm of Danby and Strong, London. Strong placed the card on thecounter before him. "I used to know Mr. Danby, and I would like to meet him. Wheredo you think I could find him?"
"Well, as I said before, you could see him right here inGalveston if you wait a month, but if you are in a hurry you mightcatch him at Broncho Junction on Thursday night." "He is travelling by rail then?" "No, he is not. He went by rail as far as Felixopolis. There hetakes a horse, and goes across the prairies to Broncho Junction; athree days' journey. I told him he wouldn't do much business onthat route, but he said he was going partly for his health, andpartly to see the country. He expected to reach Broncho Thursdaynight." The dry goods merchant laughed as one who suddenlyremembers a pleasant circumstance. "You're an Englishman, I takeit." Strong nodded. "Well, I must say you folks have queer notions about thiscountry. Danby, who was going for a three days' journey across theplains, bought himself two Colts revolvers, and a knife half aslong as my arm. Now I've travelled all over this State, and nevercarried a gun, but I couldn't get Danby to believe his route was assafe as a church. Of course, now and then in Texas a cowboy shootsoff his gun, but it's more often his mouth, and I don't believethere's more killing done in Texas than in any other bit of landthe same size. But you can't get an Englishman to believe that. Youfolks are an awful law-abiding crowd. For my part I would soonerstand my chance with a revolver than a lawsuit any day." Then thegood-natured Texan told the story of the pistol in Texas; of thegeneral lack of demand for it, but the great necessity of having ithandy when it was called for. A man with murder in his heart should not hold a conversationlike this, but William Strong was too full of one idea to think ofprudence. Such a talk sets the hounds of justice on the righttrail, with unpleasant results for the criminal. On Thursday morning Strong set out on horse-back from BronchoJunction with his face towards Felixopolis. By noon he said tohimself he ought to meet his former partner with nothing but thehorizon around them. Besides the revolvers in his belt, Strong hada Winchester rifle in front of him. He did not know but he mighthave to shoot at long range, and it was always well to prepare foreventualities. Twelve o'clock came, but he met no one, and therewas nothing in sight around the empty circle of the horizon. It wasnearly two before he saw a moving dot ahead of him. Danby wasevidently unused to riding and had come leisurely. Some time beforethey met, Strong recognised his former partner and he got his rifleready. "Throw up your hands!" he shouted, bringing his rifle butt tohis shoulder. Danby instantly raised his hands above his head. "I have nomoney on me," he cried, evidently not recognising his opponent."You may search me if you like." "Get down off your horse; don't lower your hands, or Ifire."
Danby got down, as well as he could, with his hands above hishead. Strong had thrown his right leg over to the left side of thehorse, and, as his enemy got down, he also slid to the ground,keeping Danby covered with the rifle. "I assure you I have only a few dollars with me, which you arequite welcome to," said Danby. Strong did not answer. Seeing that the firing was to be at shortrange, he took a six-shooter from his belt, and, cocking it,covered his man, throwing the rifle on the grass. He walked up tohis enemy, placed the muzzle of the revolver against his rapidlybeating heart, and leisurely disarmed him, throwing Danby's weaponson the ground out of reach. Then he stood back a few paces andlooked at the trembling man. His face seemed to have already takenon the hue of death and his lips were bloodless. "I see you recognise me at last, Mr. Danby. This is anunexpected meeting, is it not? You realise, I hope, that there arehere no judges, juries, nor lawyers, no mandamuses and noappeals. Nothing but a writ of ejectment from the barrel of apistol and no legal way of staying the proceedings. In other words,no cursed quibbles and no damned law." Danby, after several times moistening his pallid lips, found hisvoice. "Do you mean to give me a chance, or are you going to murderme?" "I am going to murder you." Danby closed his eyes, let his hands drop to his sides, andswayed gently from side to side as a man does on the scaffold justbefore the bolt is drawn. Strong lowered his revolver and fired,shattering one knee of the doomed man. Danby dropped with a crythat was drowned by the second report. The second bullet put outhis left eye, and the murdered man lay with his mutilated faceturned up to the blue sky. A revolver report on the prairies is short, sharp, and echoless.The silence that followed seemed intense and boundless, as ifnowhere on earth there was such a thing as sound. The man on hisback gave an awesome touch of the eternal to the stillness. Strong, now that it was all over, began to realise his position.Texas, perhaps, paid too little heed to life lost in fair fight,but she had an uncomfortable habit of putting a rope round the neckof a cowardly murderer. Strong was an inventor by nature. Heproceeded to invent his justification. He took one of Danby'srevolvers and fired two shots out of it into the empty air. Thiswould show that the dead man had defended himself at least, and itwould be difficult to prove that he had not been the first to fire.He placed the other pistol and the knife in their places in Danby'sbelt. He took Danby's right hand while it was still warm and closedthe fingers around the butt of the revolver from which he hadfired, placing the forefinger on the trigger of the cockedsix-shooter. To give effect and naturalness to the tableau he wasarranging for the benefit of the next traveller by that trail, hedrew up the right knee and put revolver and closed hand on it as ifDanby had been killed while just about to fire his third shot.
Strong, with the pride of a true artist in his work, steppedback a pace or two for the purpose of seeing the effect of his workas a whole. As Danby fell, the back of his head had struck a lumpof soil or a tuft of grass which threw the chin forward on thebreast. As Strong looked at his victim his heart jumped, and a sortof hypnotic fear took possession of him and paralysed action at itssource. Danby was not yet dead. His right eye was open, and itglared at Strong with a malice and hatred that mesmerised themurderer and held him there, although he felt rather than knew hewas covered by the cocked revolver he had placed in what he thoughtwas a dead hand. Danby's lips moved but no sound came from them.Strong could not take his fascinated gaze from the open eye. Heknew he was a dead man if Danby had strength to crook his finger,yet he could not take the leap that would bring him out of range.The fifth pistol-shot rang out and Strong pitched forward on hisface. The firm of Danby and Strong was dissolved.