GRENFELL'S GIFT
It was snowing hard, and, though it was still two hours before sunset,
the light was growing dim when Weston pulled the foremost pack-horse
up on the edge of the gully. He and Devine had each a beast in his
charge, and the freighter had started with two, but one of these had
been left behind with a broken leg and a merciful bullet in its brain.
That country is a difficult one, even to the Cayuse horses, which are
used to its forest-choked valleys and perilous defiles.
In front of them a rugged peak rose above the high white ridge of Dead
Pine. They could see the latter cutting against a lowering sky some
twelve hundred feet above, though the peak showed only a ghostly shape
through its wrappings of drifting mist. In altitude alone the ridge
was difficult to reach, but, while that would not have troubled any of
the men greatly, the ascent was made more arduous by the fact that the
unmarked trail followed the slope of an awful gully. The latter fell
almost sheer from close beside their feet, running down into the
creeping obscurity out of which the hoarse thunder of a torrent rose.
Here and there they could catch a glimpse of a ragged pine clinging
far down among the stones, and that seemed only to emphasize the depth
of the gloomy pit. On the other hand, the hillside rose like a
slightly slanted wall, and the sharp stones of the talus lay thinly
covered with snow between it and the gully.
The freighter glanced dubiously up the hollow.
"I've struck places that looked nicer; but we can't stop here and
freeze," he said. "We'll either have to take the back trail and camp
among that last clump of pines or get on a hustle and get up."
"I'm certainly not going back," said Weston. "We have come out to see
in just what time we can make the journey to the railroad over the new
trail. When we have done it, we'll try to spread the information to
everybody likely to find it interesting."
"You're not going to worry about how many horses you leave behind, I
suppose?"
"That," said Devine, with a little laugh, "is one of the facts they
never do mention in a report of the kind. We've lost only one so far,
and two bags of rather high-grade ore."
"If you've one altogether when you fetch the head of this gully you'll
be blame lucky," said the freighter. "Give that beast a whack to start
him. Get up there!"
They went on, with the snow in their faces, and the stones they could
not see slipping beneath their feet; and the light grew dimmer as they
proceeded. A bitter wind swept down the gully and drove their wet
clothing against their chilled bodies, while the hillside, growing
steeper, pushed them nearer the brink of the awful hollow. The slope
of the latter, as far down as they could see, was apparently too steep
to afford a foothold, and every now and then there was a roar and a
rattle as the stones they dislodged plunged into the depths of it.
Weston, plodding along behind the freighter, however, kept his eyes
fixed for the most part on the face of the hill, for it seemed to him
that the cost of changing that perilous passage into a reasonably safe
trail would not be excessive.
When they had climbed for an hour, the snow grew thicker, and it
became evident that the light was dying out rapidly. The freighter
announced that he could scarcely see a dozen yards ahead, and Weston
could discern no more than the blurred shape of the horse that
floundered over the slippery stones a few paces in front of him. He
could, however, hear Devine encouraging the one he led, and
occasionally breaking out into hoarse expletives.
"It's gluey feet they want," said the latter, when they stopped for a
minute or two. "You can't expect horses to crawl up a wall."
"They've managed about half of it," Weston declared. "We could make
this quite an easy trail with a little grading. It's the only really
difficult spot."
"Well," said Devine, dryly, "I guess you could. In this country they
call any trail easy that you can crawl up on your hands and knees.
Still, that little grading's going to cost you about two thousand
dollars a mile."
They could scarcely see one another when they went on again, and the
sound of their footsteps was muffled by the sliding snow. Weston could
dimly make out something that moved on in front of him, but it had no
certain shape, and he stumbled heavily every now and then as the
stones rolled round beneath him. He gripped the pack-horse's bridle in
a half-numbed hand, but, as he admitted afterward, he made no attempt
to lead the beast. He said he rather clung to it for company, for the
others vanished now and then for minutes amidst the whirling snow.
Suddenly there was a crash and a cry behind him. For a moment he stood
half-dazed, with his hand on the bridle, while the jaded horse
plunged. Then he let it go as the freighter appeared, and together
they stumbled back to where Devine was clinging to the bridle of
another horse which lay close at his feet amidst a wreath of snow. He
staggered back just as they reached him; there was a frantic
scrambling in the snow, and then the half-seen horse rolled over and
slid away down the white slope of the gully.
They watched it, horrified, for a moment or two; and said nothing for
a brief space when it vanished altogether into the obscurity. The
sight was more unpleasant because they knew that they had seen only
the commencement of that awful journey. Then Devine, who was white and
gasping, made a deprecatory gesture.
"I don't know whether it was my fault," he said. "The beast stumbled
and almost jerked me over. Then I guess the bridle either broke or
pulled out."
"Two horses and four bags of ore, and we're not through yet,"
commented the freighter. "Guess it's going to cost you something if
you pack much pay-dirt out over Dead Pine trail. Anyway, you'll have
to get that grading done before I come back here again."
"Get on," said Weston, quietly.
They struggled on; and in another half-hour the gully died out and
lost itself in the hillside, after which they made a rather faster
pace over the thinning talus. Still, it was snowing hard, and none of
them was capable of much further exertion when, soaked through and
white all over, they limped into the lee of a ridge of rock on the
crest of the divide. A bitter wind wailed above them, but there was a
little shelter beneath the wall of ragged stone, and, picketing the
jaded horses, they lay down in their wet blankets, packed close
together in a hollow, when their frugal meal was over. There was
nothing they might make a fire with on that empty wind-swept plateau.
Any one unused to the gold trail would have lain awake shivering that
night, and in all probability would have found it very difficult to
set out again the next morning, for a horrible ache in the hip is, as
a rule, not the least unpleasant result of such experiences; but these
men slept, and took up the trail almost fresh with the first of the
daylight. It was by no means the first time they had slept out in the
open in the frost or rain, and fed on wet, unwarmed food.
In due time they reached the settlement on the railroad; and, after
delivering the remaining bags of ore to the station-agent and leaving
the freighter with his horses, Weston went back along the trail with
Devine. Descending the gully in clear daylight, they reached the
Grenfell camp without misadventure.
It was some time later when the freighter, coming up by the other
route, with provisions, brought them a letter. It was from the manager
of the reducing plant, who stated that the yield of the ore sent him
for treatment was eminently satisfactory, and he enclosed a
certificate with particulars, as they had requested. Probably with a
view to further business he also offered to purchase any of the
Grenfell shares they might have to dispose of.
Saunders' eyes gleamed as he handed the certificate around.
"I guess that's going to send our stock up with a bang," he said.
"We'll put it right into Wannop's hands, so he can get a notice of the
new mineral field into the papers. The smelter man doesn't seem to
know that the last news we had was that the Grenfell stock was
tumbling down, but when he's open to buy it's a sure thing that he
figures it will soon stand at a big premium."
Then he waved his hand impressively.
"After what Weston has told us, boys, you want to get hold of the
significance of that. People have been selling our stock way down, on
the notion that before they had to deliver they could cover at a still
lower figure. Now, they can't buy it. We're going to smash them flat."
They celebrated the occasion that night with the most elaborate meal
Devine could prepare, and invited as many as possible of their
neighbors, who also had struck what promised to be payable milling
ore. As it happened, their satisfaction was fully warranted, for a few
days after Weston's letter arrived in Montreal two gentlemen connected
with western mines called on Wannop. Stirling was sitting in the
latter's office at the time, and he made no sign of retiring when they
entered.
"We should like a few minutes' conversation with you about the
Grenfell stock," said one of the strangers. "Naturally, we'd prefer to
have it alone."
Wannop looked at Stirling, who smiled and answered the man.
"I'm afraid you'll have to put up with my presence," he said. "In
fact, this is a pleasure that I've been expecting for the last few
days."
"What standing has Mr. Stirling in this matter?" the stranger asked.
"I hold most of the Grenfell stock that's likely to be salable," said
Stirling, dryly. "You can't pick up much on the market, which is
presumably why you have come to Wannop. Seems to me you have been
selling rather heavily."
"If we'd known you were in it, we might have let the thing alone," one
of the men admitted.
"You're going to realize that it's quite a pity you didn't."
The men looked at each other, and one of them turned to Stirling.
"I'll get to the point," he said. "We have certainly been selling, and
now that settling day is almost on us we find that we can't buy in.
Now, of course, if you hold most of the available stock you have the
whip hand of us. We'll admit that right away, and we're quite prepared
to face any reasonable tax you and Wannop may think fit to exact.
Still, it might be wiser to be reasonable."
"How much do you want?" Stirling asked.
They told him how many shares, and Stirling appeared to consider.
"Well," he said, "what are you going to offer?"
One wrote something on a strip of paper and handed it to the other,
who nodded, and made an offer.
"That's our idea," he said. "I don't mind admitting that it will cost
us twenty cents on the dollar."
"No," said Stirling, "it's going to cost you just whatever I like to
call it. I can swing every dollar that stock stands for up to two or
three. Will you do me the favor to glance at that certificate?"
Wannop handed it to the nearest man, and the latter's face fell.
"Now," said Stirling, "at the moment, you're the only people anxious
to buy; but I've only to send that certificate and a nicely worked-up
account of the rich new find around to the press, and everybody with a
dollar to spare will be wanting Grenfell stock. Still, there'll be no
shares available--I've made sure of that. I'll ask you, as men with
some knowledge of these matters, where's the price going to?"
One of the men sat down limply.
"What'll you take to hold the thing over until after settling day?" he
asked.
"In money?" inquired Stirling, whose face grew hard. "If you put it
that way, we'll call it half your personal estate."
The second man, who saw that his companion had been injudicious,
hastily broke in.
"No," he said; "in the shape of mutual accommodation. Perhaps there's
some little arrangement you might like us to make."
Stirling laughed, "Anyway, why should you want to make an offer of
that kind? Suppose I held the certificate over, it wouldn't straighten
things out for you. You have to deliver to the people who acted on my
behalf so much Grenfell stock, and you can't get it--now."
"That's true," was the dejected answer. "What are you going to do?"
"That," said Stirling, grimly, "is a matter that must stand over until
I can send for the man who found the Grenfell mine. I can't tell you
what course he's likely to adopt, but in the meantime I'd like to
point out just how you stand. You set in motion the laws of supply and
demand to break a struggling man. They're the only ones you recognize;
but, as it happens, they're immutable laws that work both ways, and
you're hard up against them now. It's not a pleasant situation, but I
can't say how far we may be disposed to let you off it until I've had
a talk with Mr. Weston. After that, I'll send for you."
There was nothing more to be said; and when the two men went out,
Stirling turned to Wannop.
"If you can get a wire through to Mr. Weston, tell him to come back at
once."
"I'll have it done," said Wannop. "He said he had sent an Indian to
wait for letters or messages at the nearest railroad settlement. You
have those men in your clutches. You could break them if you wanted
to."
"Well," laughed Stirling, "on the whole I'm more disposed to make them
hand over a moderate sum, and to let them off after that, on condition
that in the future they keep their hands off the Grenfell
Consolidated."
"You'd take their word?" Wannop asked.
"Yes," said Stirling, with an air of whimsical reflection; "in this
case, anyway, I 'most think I could. They've had about enough of the
Grenfell Consols. I guess they found them prickly."
Then he went out, and Wannop despatched a telegram to Weston, who left
the mine immediately after it reached him. Somewhat to his
astonishment, he, found Stirling awaiting him when he sprang down from
the car platform in the station at Montreal, and the latter smiled
benevolently as he grasped his hand.
"Ida would have come along if I'd let her," he explained. "I felt,
however, I'd better make things clear to you before you saw her. We'll
go straight to Wannop's office and have a little talk."
It did not take Wannop long to explain the situation; and when he
judiciously left Weston and Stirling alone together, the latter smiled
at his companion.
"Well," he said, "as the specimens we have just been handling seem
quite as rich as the last lot, it's evident that your share in the
Grenfell will keep you comfortable, and, as far as I'm concerned,
there's no reason why you and Ida should not set up housekeeping as
soon as you like. Now, it's my intention to hand her a block of the
Grenfell stock as part of her wedding present, on condition that she
takes your advice as to what she does with it. I'd just like to
suggest that you make the people who want that stock subscribe quite
smartly, and then let them off. It's not wise to push a beaten enemy
too far."
Weston, who agreed with this, expressed his thanks and then asked a
question.
"Wannop mentioned one lot of six hundred shares. Where did you get
those?"
"They were thrown on the market by an English holder. I believe you
gave some stock to friends over there?"
"I did. On condition that they didn't sell without consulting me."
"Then it seems that somebody must have gone back on you."
Weston's face grew a trifle flushed.
"I think," he said, "we'll let that subject drop altogether. It's a
rather painful one."
Stirling made a sign of comprehension.
"Well," he said, "I've other business on hand, and I guess Ida is
expecting you."
Weston took the hint; and not long afterward Ida was smiling up at him
with shining eyes. They had a good deal to tell each other, and some
time had passed when Ida said:
"We'll go back to the bush again as soon as the snow melts, if only
for a week or two." Then she flashed a quick glance at him. "That is,
unless you are longing for a trip to England."
A shadow crept into Weston's face as he remembered the six hundred
shares, but he smiled a moment later.
"No," he said. "We'll go over there together by and by--but not just
now. We'll camp beside the lake where I met you first, instead."
After a while Ida lifted his right hand gently, and glanced down at
the battered knuckles and broken nails.
"I'm glad it's hard and strong--strong enough to keep me safe. And
those scars will wear off, dear," she said. "There are scars of
another kind that don't--but with those you and I have nothing to do."
Then she looked up at him.
"Do you know what first made me think of you?"
"I don't," replied Weston, smiling. "In fact, I have often wondered."
"Then," said Ida, "I'll show you. I mentioned the picture once before,
but you didn't think it worth while to look at it. That was left to
me. I looked at it very often while you were away."
She led him across the room, and Weston started and flushed when she
took out the picture Arabella Kinnaird had made.
"No," said Ida, "I really don't think you have any reason to regret
your conduct that eventful evening."
"I never fancied that you or Miss Kinnaird saw me," laughed Weston.
"I'm afraid it was a remarkably foolish action."
"It was one of the little actions that have big results," said Ida.
And in this she was correct, for one must reap as one has sown. Then
she looked up at him.
"If you hadn't taken Grenfell's part that night you would not have
found the mine."
Weston smiled, and gripped the hand he held in a tightening clasp.
"The mine!" he said. "Grenfell gave me you!"
THE END
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painting.
SHE THAT HESITATES. By Harris Dickson. Illustrated by C. W. Relyea.
The scene of this dashing romance shifts from Dresden to St.
Petersburg in the reign of Peter the Great, and then to New Orleans.
The hero is a French Soldier of Fortune, and the princess, who
hesitates--but you must read the story to know how she that
hesitates may be lost and yet saved.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK
A FEW OF
GROSSET & DUNLAP'S
Great Books at Little Prices
HAPPY HAWKINS. By Robert Alexander Wason. Illustrated by Howard
Giles.
A ranch and cowboy novel. Happy Hawkins tells his own story with
such a fine capacity for knowing how to do it and with so much humor
that the reader's interest is held in surprise, then admiration and
at last in positive affection.
COMRADES. By Thomas Dixon, Jr. Illustrated by C. D. Williams.
The locale of this story is in California, where a few socialists
establish a little community.
The author leads the little band along the path of disillusionment,
and gives some brilliant flashes of light on one side of an
important question.
TONO-BUNGAY. By Herbert George Wells.
The hero of this novel is a young man who, through hard work, earns
a scholarship and goes to London.
Written with a frankness verging on Rousseau's, Mr. Wells still uses
rare discrimination and the border line of propriety is never
crossed. An entertaining book with both a story and a moral, and
without a dull page--Mr. Wells's most notable achievement.
A HUSBAND BY PROXY. By Jack Steele.
A young criminologist, but recently arrived in New York city, is
drawn into a mystery, partly through financial need and partly
through his interest in a beautiful woman, who seems at times the
simplest child and again a perfect mistress of intrigue. A baffling
detective story.
LIKE ANOTHER HELEN. By George Horton. Illustrated by C. M. Relyea.
Mr. Horton's powerful romance stands in a new field and brings an
almost unknown world in reality before the reader--the world of
conflict between Greek and Turk on the Island of Crete. The "Helen"
of the story is a Greek, beautiful, desolate, defiant--pure as snow.
There is a certain new force about the story, a kind of
master-craftsmanship and mental dominance that holds the reader.
THE MASTER OF APPLEBY. By Francis Lynde. Illustrated by T. de
Thulstrup.
A novel tale concerning itself in part with the great struggle in
the two Carolinas, but chiefly with the adventures therein of two
gentlemen who loved one and the same lady.
A strong, masculine and persuasive story.
A MODERN MADONNA. By Caroline Abbot Stanley.
A story of American life, founded on facts as they existed some
years ago in the District of Columbia. The theme is the material
love and splendid courage of a woman.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK
TITLES SELECTED FROM
GROSSET & DUNLAP'S LIST
REALISTIC, ENGAGING PICTURES OF LIFE
THE GARDEN OF FATE. By Roy Norton. Illustrated by Joseph Clement
Coll.
The colorful romance of an American girl in Morocco, and of a
beautiful garden, whose beauty and traditions of strange subtle
happenings were closed to the world by a Sultan's seal.
THE MAN HIGHER UP. By Henry Russell Miller. Full page vignette
illustrations by M. Leone Bracker.
The story of a tenement waif who rose by his own ingenuity to the
office of mayor of his native city. His experiences while
"climbing," make a most interesting example of the possibilities of
human nature to rise above circumstances.
THE KEY TO YESTERDAY. By Charles Neville Buck. Illustrated by R.
Schabelitz.
Robert Saxon, a prominent artist, has an accident, while in Paris,
which obliterates his memory, and the only clue he has to his former
life is a rusty key. What door in Paris will it unlock? He must know
that before he woos the girl he loves.
THE DANGER TRAIL. By James Oliver Curwood. Illustrated by Charles
Livingston Bull.
The danger trail is over the snow-smothered North. A young Chicago
engineer, who is building a road through the Hudson Bay region, is
involved in mystery, and is led into ambush by a young woman.
THE GAY LORD WARING. By Houghton Townley. Illustrated by Will Grefe.
A story of the smart hunting set in England. A gay young lord wins
in love against his selfish and cowardly brother and apparently
against fate itself.
BY INHERITANCE. By Octave Thanet. Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty.
Elaborate wrapper in colors.
A wealthy New England spinster with the most elaborate plans for the
education of the negro goes to visit her nephew in Arkansas, where
she learns the needs of the colored race first hand and begins to
lose her theories.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK
THE NOVELS OF
GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON
GRAUSTARK.
A story of love behind a throne, telling how a young American met a
lovely girl and followed her to a new and strange country. A
thrilling, dashing narrative.
BEVERLY OF GRAUSTARK.
Beverly is a bewitching American girl who has gone to that stirring
little principality--Graustark--to visit her friend the princess,
and there has a romantic affair of her own.
BREWSTER'S MILLIONS.
A young man is required to spend _one_ million dollars in one year
in order to inherit _seven_. How he does it forms the basis of a
lively story.
CASTLE CRANEYCROW.
The story revolves round the abduction of a young American woman,
her imprisonment in an old castle and the adventures created through
her rescue.
COWARDICE COURT.
An amusing social feud in the Adirondacks in which an English girl
is tempted into being a traitor by a romantic young American, forms
the plot.
THE DAUGHTER OF ANDERSON CROW.
The story centers about the adopted daughter of the town marshal in
a western village. Her parentage is shrouded in mystery, and the
story concerns the secret that deviously works to the surface.
THE MAN FROM BRODNEY'S.
The hero meets a princess in a far-away island among fanatically
hostile Musselmen. Romantic love making amid amusing situations and
exciting adventures.
NEDRA.
A young couple elope from Chicago to go to London traveling as
brother and sister. They are shipwrecked and a strange mix-up occurs
on account of it.
THE SHERRODS.
The scene is the Middle West and centers around a man who leads a
double life. A most enthralling novel.
TRUXTON KING.
A handsome good natured young fellow ranges on the earth looking for
romantic adventures and is finally enmeshed in most complicated
intrigues in Graustark.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK