SUGAR is a fattening product, and the Consolidated Beet Sugar Company
waxed fat and prospered. Its shares stood high on the Stock Exchange,
and the members of the syndicate to whom John Steele had sold his
portion were exuberantly grateful to the young man for the opportunity
he had given them. His reputation of possessing a keen financial brain
was enhanced by the forming of this company; for it was supposed that
it was he who had induced Amalgamated Soap to take it up. It was
erroneously surmised that the great Peter Berrington and his colleagues
had been so much impressed by Steele’s genius in the wheat deal, where
he was opposed to them, that they now desired the co-operation of this
rising young figure in the commercial world. No hint of the momentary
death-struggle in the board-room of the bank had ever leaked out through
the solid doors. Steele was now one of the men to be counted with in
the large affairs of the Western metropolis. Everything he touched was
successful. Personally he was liked, and great social success might have
been his had he cared for society, which he did not. He was commonly
rated as being worth anywhere from six to ten millions, and the world
looked upon him as the most fortunate of men. It did him no harm to
be thought to enjoy the backing of the powerful Peter Berrington, and
probably not more than half-a-dozen men knew that such was far from
being the case. He did not bask in Peter’s smile, but, on the contrary,
shivered in his shadow.
The one man who had no delusions on the subject was John Steele himself.
For the second time he had been entirely victorious over Nicholson and
the gigantic coterie behind him; but this, strange as it may appear,
gave him no satisfaction. If he had won the determined fight through his
own superior skill, or because of some great display of mental power,
he might have rested more at ease. Had that been the case, he would
have awaited the next onslaught with more equanimity than he at present
possessed; but he knew that his victory came to him through chance;
chance multiplied again and again. It was chance that his partner had
been out of his room when the messenger-boy brought the telegram. It was
chance that Steele had opened the envelope. It was chance that he knew
a man who could decode the cipher before it was too late for him to take
action on the information it carried. After these three lucky throws of
the dice, he admitted to himself that he had handled the situation
with diplomatic success; but it disturbed him to remember that all his
vigilance would have proved unavailing, had not pure luck stood his
friend. Yet, after all, the initial mistake was Nicholson’s, who should
not have sent a cipher telegram to the office of the man he intended to
destroy. Nicholson presumably did not know that his agent was actually
housed with Steele, and it was a mistake on Metcalfe’s part not to have
furnished his chief with this information. But even putting the best
face upon the matter, he could not conceal from himself the large part
that luck had played in compassing his salvation.
This never-lifted shadow of the silent Peter Berrington began to produce
its effect upon him. He became timourous--afraid to venture in any
large concern. He knew he was wasting time in pottering with small
affairs--street railways in outside towns, the installing of electric
light here and there, and such enterprises, which furnished only a
moderate revenue to an enterprising speculator. Time and again he
refused chances involving large amounts which turned out tremendously
lucrative to the promoters, but which he had been afraid to touch,
fearing the grip of Peter Berrington’s unseen hand on his throat. He
began to acquire the unexpected reputation of being an over-cautious
capitalist, and finally well-known people, who formerly professed much
admiration for him, ceased to come to his office with their schemes.
Steele laughed uneasily to himself as he thought that Peter Berrington
might perhaps accomplish his purpose by the gradual wearing down of his
courage. Of course, the fact that a project became successful was no
proof that the hand of Nicholson was not concealed somewhere within its
intricacies to clutch at John Steele if he had become involved. He
tried to shake off this depression, and once or twice plunged rather
recklessly, only to become nervous before the climax arrived and sell
out, sometimes at a small profit and sometimes at a loss.
At last he came to the conclusion that it was not Peter Berrington at
all, or his shadow, that was affecting him, but the usual breakdown
which afflicts strenuous business men in the stimulating atmosphere of a
great American city.
“My nerve’s gone; that’s what’s the matter with me,” he said to himself.
“I must go and rough it for a summer in the mountains, or else take a
trip to some spa in Europe. If I keep on like this, I shall be utterly
useless in a live city like Chicago.”
He consulted several of his friends--many of them, in fact--and told
them he was feeling far from fit. His complaint was common enough, and
every man to whom he spoke suggested a remedy. Some advised the plunging
into dissipation at a fashionable health resort, and some recommended
various medicinal springs in Europe which would work wonders; but the
majority counselled him to take rod and gun, and get into the Rocky
Mountains, camp out, and live like an Indian.
“Then,” they said jocularly, smiting him on the back, “you’ll be all
right, and come back yearning for scalps on the Stock Exchange.”
The newspapers mentioned the fact that John Steele was going into the
Rockies to hunt and fish and camp out for a month or more to recover
tone.
It was at this interesting juncture that Alice Fuller called to see
him. Now, John Steele was the most susceptible of men, and one reason he
shunned society was because he knew he would surely fall a victim to the
first designing pretty girl who laid a trap for him--if, indeed,
pretty girls ever do lay traps for men said to possess from six to ten
millions. His weakness in this line was exemplified by his impetuous
proposal to Dorothy Slocum in the environs of Bunkerville, as has
already been stated. But Alice Fuller was not the commonplace young
person Dorothy Slocum had been. He often thought of his proposal to
Dorothy with a shudder, and accounted it a narrow escape, which, indeed,
it was not, for Dorothy was thoroughly devoted to her station-master,
and never gave even a thought to Mr. John Steele of Chicago.
Alice Fuller was a blonde, and she brought in with her to the
conventional private office of John Steele, with its extremely modern
fittings of card indices, loose-leaf ledgers, and expanding office
furniture, an air of breezy freshness that hinted of the mountainous
West. Although dressed as any Chicago woman might be, there was,
nevertheless, something about her costume which suggested the riding of
mountain ponies and even the expert handling of a rifle.
The glory of a woman is her hair, and in truth Miss Fuller’s golden
tresses were glorious enough; but her eyes were the most distinguished
and captivating features of a face sufficiently beautiful to attract
attention anywhere. They were of a deep, translucent blue, darkening now
and then into violet, like a pair of those limpid mountain lakes in the
Rockies whose depths are said to be unfathomable. It was impossible to
look into those honest orbs without trusting the clear purity of
the soul behind them, and Steele, whose nerves were unstrung, almost
shivered with apprehension when they were turned full upon him.
“Lord save me!” he thought with a gasp. “If this girl wants to sell
shares in the most bogus company afloat, I’m her victim. John Steele,
if your bank account is to remain intact, now is the time to play St.
Anthony.”
But aloud he said calmly enough: “Pray be seated, madam,” and she sank
gracefully into a chair on the opposite side of the flat-topped desk
behind which he was entrenched, although small protection the barricade
afforded him against such artillery as a handsome young woman might
bring to bear upon the position.
“It is so good of you to see me,” said the girl. “I have read much of
you in the newspapers, and I know that your time is valuable, so I shall
take up as little of it as may be necessary to explain my business.”
Somehow this remark, although only introductory sparring, disappointed
young Mr. Steele. Nearly every stranger he met said the same thing in
almost identical words. They all referred to his newspaper reputation,
of which he was exceedingly tired, and nearly everyone spoke of the
value of his time, promised not to encroach upon it, and then stayed for
hours if they were permitted.
“My time is of little value at the present moment, Miss Fuller, because
I am doing nothing. For some months past I have been rather out of
health, and, in fact, within a few days I expect to leave Chicago.”
“Yes,” she rejoined, “I saw that also in the papers. I read that you
intended to go West among the mountains. Is that true?”
“Such are my present intentions, but they are always liable to change. A
man who is fighting his own nerves is rather capricious, you know.”
“Like a woman,” laughed Miss Alice. “Well, it is on account of the
statement in the Press that I am here. I have been thinking of calling
upon you for a long time, but it appears we have no mutual friends who
could give me an introduction, and so, seeing you were about to leave
the city, I said to myself: ‘It’s now or never.’The reference to the
mountains struck me as a lucky omen. You know we women are rather
superstitious, Mr. Steele, and I think it was that even more than your
impending departure which gave me courage to venture up here.”
“I am very glad you came,” said John Steele gallantly, “and I shall be
more than pleased if there is anything I can do for you.”
“My father is the owner of a gold-mine in the Black Hills. Do you know
anything of mines, Mr. Steele?”
John slowly shook his head. The mere mention of a gold-mine did
something to clarify his brain from the glamour that was befogging it.
“I know nothing whatever about mines, Miss Fuller, excepting the fact
that more gold has been sunk in goldmines than has ever been taken out
of them.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear you say that,” replied the girl, with a slight
tremor of apprehension in her voice, “and, furthermore, I do not in the
least believe it to be true. Indeed, it cannot be true, because it is
impossible to sink gold without first having mined it. Nothing can be
more lucrative than a good gold-mine, for its product is one of the
few things taken from the earth which do not fluctuate in value. With
copper, or silver, or iron, you are dependent on the market; not so with
gold.”
“You are a very eloquent advocate, Miss Fuller. Where is your father?”
The girl looked up quickly at this sudden change of subject, and once
more John fell under the fascination of those enchanting eyes.
“My father? He is in Chicago.”
“Then, Miss Fuller, the best plan will be to have him call upon me, and
we can discuss the mine together.”
“Alas!” said the young woman, with a mournful droop of the head, “if
that had been possible, I should not have been here. My father at the
present moment is very ill and quite unable to discuss business with
anyone. You are going from the city to the mountains in search of
health. He has come from the mountains to the city on the same quest.
The gold-mine is at once our hope and our despair. If it can be properly
worked, we are certain it will produce riches incalculable; but it takes
money to make money, and my father knows no wealthy people nor does
he possess the necessary capital for the preliminary outlay. We are
somewhat like King Midas, in danger of starving with gold all around
us.”
“Has the mine been opened, or is it only a prospective claim?”
“At the present moment there are from sixteen to twenty miners working
upon it. The shaft, I believe, is something like a hundred feet deep,
and one or two short galleries have been run. The ore assay is extremely
rich; I have not the figures with me, but can easily bring them; and the
reports are better and better as the miners proceed.”
“If that be the case, Miss Fuller, I see no reason why you should lack
for capital.”
“There are a hundred reasons, but one is sufficient. Every capitalist
shuns a gold-mine. They speak just as you spoke a moment ago. Then, you
see, our lives having been spent in the West, we know very few Eastern
people, and those few have no money. The great difficulty is not in
proving the wealth of the mine, but in getting a capitalist to listen.
If you promise to listen, I shall undertake to prove to you that this is
one of the most valuable properties in the world.”
“Well, Miss Fuller, I am listening; but, as I told you, I know nothing
whatever about gold-mines, and, indeed, am rather afraid of them. If the
mine is producing ore in paying quantity, why does not your father have
that ore crushed?--I suppose they could do that in the neighbourhood, or
at Denver, or wherever the nearest mining town is--and with the product
keep himself and pay his men?”
“That is exactly what he has done, Mr. Steele, and a ruinous thing it
is to do. If it were not for that, we should have had to give up the
struggle long ago. But there are no mines within miles of us, and we are
two days and a half’s journey from the nearest railway. Ore is bulky and
heavy, and the transport alone over those mountain roads, which are not
roads at all, and scarcely even paths, is at once slow and expensive.
Railway freight is high, and when the ore gets to the reducing-plant,
we have to take exactly what is given us, because beggars cannot be
choosers. We need machinery at the mouth of the pit, and whoever will
furnish the money for that machinery is sure to reap a rich reward.”
“Nevertheless--” protested John, but the girl interrupted him, her eyes
aglow with fervour.
“You promised to listen, you know. There is another point I wish to put
before you. The ore is very rich, and if we ship much of it, there is
bound to be inquiry as to where it came from. Now, my father has been
able to stake out only a comparatively small claim. If once it becomes
known where this ore originates, there will be the usual rush. The rush
is ultimately inevitable in any case, but my father is anxious to be
fully secure before it comes.”
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Miss Fuller,” said John in a burst of
enthusiasm, “I’ll give you a thousand dollars; and if you make money out
of your mine, you can repay me at your leisure.”
Alice Fuller slowly shook her golden head.
“I could not accept money in that way,” she said. “It is like the giving
of charity when a pathetic tale is told. Besides, a thousand dollars
would be of no particular use; it would not purchase the stamp-mills, or
transport them to the mine. In two months, or three, we should be just
where we are now, and the thousand dollars would be gone.”
“What is it, then, you wish me to do, Miss Fuller?”
“I wish our transaction to be upon a sane business basis, and I don’t
want you to offer me a thousand dollars or twenty thousand dollars, or
two hundred thousand dollars again.”
“I beg your pardon. I had no thought of charity or anything of the sort
when I made my proposal.”
“I am sure you hadn’t,” said the girl, with a naïve confidence which
Steele found very charming. “I’ll tell you what I wish to suggest.
You are going to the mountains in any case. Very well, go to the Black
Hills; there you will find the air pure and bracing; there are wild
mountains and sparkling streams, and everything that a tired city
man could desire. I want you to camp near our mine and investigate it
thoroughly. If you are so satisfied with it as to justify the risk, I
ask you to be prepared to buy a half share for three hundred thousand
dollars.”
John Steele drew a long breath.
“My purpose in going to the mountains is to get away from business, and
not to take upon myself a new anxiety; to fish and shoot, not to pore
over gold-bearing ore.”
“Are you an enthusiastic sportsman, then?”
“Not at all. I was too busy when I was young to indulge in such
recreation, and too poor. Since then I have become busier still.”
“And too rich?” suggested the girl, with a smile.
“A man is never too rich, I am afraid.”
“If you are not an enthusiastic sportsman, a week in the woods will
prove more than enough for you. After that comes boredom, and a yearning
for the ticker and the morning newspaper.”
“I more than half believe you’re right,” said Steele ruefully.
“Of course I am right. Now, if you camp out beside the mine, you have
something to interest you. Don’t bother about it for the first week.
There is plenty of shooting and fishing in the neighbourhood.”
“I hate to put two and a half days between me and a telegraph-wire.”
“Then you had better leave mountains alone and stay in Chicago.”
John laughed.
“You are a very clever young lady, Miss Fuller, and I wonder you haven’t
made that gold-mine a success on your own.”
“I am doing it now,” she said with a flash almost of defiance from her
eyes.
Again the young man laughed.
“Are you?” he asked. “You women have us at a disadvantage when you talk
business, but I am going to get right down to plain facts, and speak to
you as if you were your own brother. You won’t be offended?”
“Not in the least.”
“Very well. Do you know what a salted mine is?”
“Certainly. I thought you said you knew nothing of mines? A salted mine
is one in which rich ore has been planted for the cheating of fools.”
“An admirable definition, Miss Fuller. Well, in the matter of mines
I’m a fool, and a salted mine would take me in as a gold brick on State
Street would delude an Illinois farmer.”
“Then induce an expert to go with you--a mining expert who knows pay ore
when he sees it.”
“I am more distrustful of mining experts than of salted mines.”
The girl sighed.
“I suppose all faith has left Chicago?”
“It has--in gold-mines.”
“Now, Mr. Steele, I’ll talk to you as if you were your own sister. Have
you ever done a stroke of useful toil since you were born?”
“Oh, yes; I worked on a railway.”
“Very well. Go to the Black Hills and take a miner’s outfit with you.
Become for the time one of my father’s workmen--or, rather, boss of the
gang, if you like. Go into that mine, and direct them where they are to
run the next level, and follow that level for a month, working with the
men and keeping clear of the blasts. After you have penetrated a month
in any direction you please, take the ore from the last blast and have
it assayed. A mine can’t be salted under those conditions. If that whole
mountain is salted with gold, you’d better buy it.”
“No one can gainsay the honesty of that, Miss Fuller; but, to tell you
the truth, I dread the two and a half days’ journey from the railway.”
“You don’t need to. I will be your guide.”
“What!” cried John, in amazement.
“I’ll take you from the railway to the Hard Luck mine. Will you go?” she
demanded with a touch of defiance.
“Go!” he cried, discretion struggling with enthusiasm. “Of course I’ll
go. Nothing would give me greater pleasure. But, then, on the other
hand--you see--well--to speak quite frankly, for a young lady to--to, as
one might say, journey across the plains----”
“Yes, I know, I know. You are talking now, not to my brother, as you
remarked a while ago, but to my brother’s sister. All my life I have had
not only to take care of myself, but of my father as well. This project
is a matter of vital importance to me, and I cannot allow it to fail
merely because the rules of society would frown on what I intend to do.
I shall take with me my own tent, and an old man who was in my father’s
employ long before I was born. This is a cold business deal, and no
other consideration is going to enter into it. So let us brush aside
every other consideration and come down to plain facts. You offered me
a thousand dollars, and I refused it. If you will now give me the
necessary money, which may be anything from two hundred dollars upwards,
depending on what you want to take with you, I shall go at once to
Pickaxe Gulch, which is the nearest railway station to the Hard Luck
mine, and will collect what transport we need. There I shall await your
coming. Do you intend to take any servants with you?”
“I shall be accompanied by Sam Jackson, a negro man, who is the best
cook in this town.”
“Very well, you will need a horse for him, and one for yourself; I shall
need two horses; that’s four. Then if you will give me an idea of the
number of tents and boxes you require, I shall secure mules enough to
carry them. We shall want two or three men to look after the mules,
and you must give me a week at least to get this cavalcade together.
Sometimes there are neither animals nor men at Pickaxe Gulch, but I
intend to telegraph at once and secure whatever transport is available.”
John Steele smiled his appreciation of the capability displayed by the
fearless young woman, opened his drawer, and took out a cheque-book.
“Shall we say five hundred dollars?” he asked, looking across the desk
at her. “You must leave some money with your father, you know.”
“Five hundred will be ample,” she replied decidedly, and he wrote a
cheque for that amount.
Later on in his life Steele remembered that demand for money with
admiration. It was just one of those little points where a less subtle
person than Miss Fuller would have made a mistake, deluded by success
in getting him to promise to make the trip. But the young woman was
evidently shrewd enough to know that after she left he would wonder, she
having pleaded poverty, where the money came from to pay for so long
a railway journey and at the same time provide for an ailing father at
home. He always regarded that request for expenses as the climax of a
well-thought-out plan.