Produced by Al Haines
The Furnace of Gold
By
PHILIP VERRILL MIGHELS
Author of
THE PILLARS OF EDEN, BRUVVER JIM'S BABY, ETC
Illustrations by
J. N. MARCHAND
GROSSET & DUNLAP
Publishers :: New York
Copyright, 1909, by
P. V. Mighels
Copyright, 1910, by
Desmond FitzGerald, Inc.
_All Rights Reserved_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. PRINCE OR BANDIT
II. INTO THE MOUNTAINS
III. A RESCUE
IV. CONGENIAL COMPANY
V. VAN'S PARTNERS
VI. THE BATTLE
VII. AN EXCHANGE OF QUESTIONS
VIII. A NIGHT'S EXPENSES
IX. PROGRESS AND SALT
X. THE LAUGHING WATER CLAIM
XI. ALGY STIRS UP TROUBLE
XII. BOSTWICK LOSES GROUND
XIII. A COMBINATION OF FORCES
XIV. MOVING A SHACK
XV. HATCHING A PLOT
XVI. INVOLVING BETH
XVII. UNEXPECTED COMPLICATIONS
XVIII. WHEREIN MATTERS THICKEN
XIX. VAN AND BETH AND BOSTWICK
XX. QUEENIE
XXI. IN THE SHADOW OF THE ROPE
XXII. TWO MEETINGS AFTER DARK
XXIII. BETH'S DESPERATION
XXIV. A BLIZZARD OF DUST
XXV. A TIMELY DELIVERANCE
XXVI. THE NIGHT IN THE DESERT
XXVII. TALL STORIES
XXVIII. WORK AND SONG
XXIX. SUSPICIOUS ANSWERS
XXX. BETH'S ONE EXPEDIENT
XXXI. McCOPPET BUSIES HIS MIND
XXXII. THE HARDSHIPS OF THE TRAIL
XXXIII. THE CLOUDS OF TROUBLE GATHER
XXXIV. THE TAKING OF THE CLAIM
XXXV. THE MEETINGS OF TWO STRONG MEN
XXXVI. VAN RUNS AMUCK
XXXVII. THE PRIMITIVE LAW
XXXVIII. BETH MAKES DEMANDS
XXXIX. ALGY'S COOKING AND BETH'S DESPAIR
XL. GLEN AND REVELATIONS
XLI. SUVY PROVES HIS LOVE
XLII. THE FURNACE OF GOLD
XLIII. PREPARING THE NET FOR A DRAW
XLIV. THE ENGINES OF CLIMAX
XLV. THE LAST CIGARS
XLVI. WASTED TIME
XLVII. A TRIBUTE TO THE DESERT
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
He Proceeded to Pan from a Dozen Different
Places in the Cove . . . . Frontispiece [missing from book]
His Hold Was Giving Way
The Angry Miner Lurching in Closer to Shoot [missing from book]
"Don't You Want to Give This Man a Chance?"
Beth Felt Her Heart Begin New Gymnastics [missing from book]
No Corpse Snatched from Its Grave Could Have
Been More Helplessly Inert
"Yesh, He's Broke the Law"
Till the Mechanism Burst, He would Chase His
Man Across the Desert [missing from book]
THE FURNACE OF GOLD
CHAPTER I
PRINCE OR BANDIT
Now Nevada, though robed in gray and white--the gray of sagebrush and the
white of snowy summits--had never yet been accounted a nun when once
again the early summer aroused the passions of her being and the wild
peach burst into bloom.
It was out in Nauwish valley, at the desert-edge, where gold has been
stored in the hungry-looking rock to lure man away from fairer pastures.
There were mountains everywhere--huge, rugged mountains, erected in the
igneous fury of world-making, long since calmed. Above them all the sky
was almost incredibly blue--an intense ultramarine of extraordinary
clearness and profundity.
At the southwest limit of the valley was the one human habitation
established thereabout in many miles, a roadside station where a spring
of water issued from the earth. Towards this, on the narrow, side-hill
road, limped a dusty red automobile.
It contained three passengers, two women and a man. Of the women, one
was a little German maid, rather pretty and demure, whose duty it was to
enact the chaperone. The other, Beth Kent, straight from New York City,
well--the wild peach was in bloom!
She was amazingly beautiful and winning. It seemed as if she and not the
pink mountain blossoms must be responsible for all that haunting
redolence in this landscape of passionless gray. Her brown eyes burned
with glorious luminosity. Her color pulsed with health and the joyance
of existence. Her red lips quivered with unuttered ecstacies that surged
in the depths of her nature. Even the bright brown strands of her hair,
escaping the prison of her cap, were catching the sunlight and flinging
it off in the most engaging animation. She loved this new, unpeopled
land--the mountains, the sky, the vastness of it all!
For a two-fold reason she had come from New York to Nevada. In the first
place her young half-brother, Glenville Kent--all the kin she had
remaining in the world--had been for a month at Goldite camp, where she
was heading, and all that he wrote had inflamed her unusual love of
adventure till she knew she must see it for herself. Moreover, he was
none too well. She had come to visit and surprise him.
In the second place, her fiancé, Searle Bostwick, he who was now at the
wheel, had also been marooned, as it were, in this sagebrush land, by the
golden allurements of fortune. Beth had simply made up her mind to come,
and for two days past had been waiting, with her maid, at the pretty
little town of Freemont, on the railroad, for Searle to appear in his
modern ship of the desert and treat her to the one day's drive into
Goldite, whither he also was bound.
The man now intent on the big machine and the sandy road was a noticeable
figure, despite the dust upon his raiment. He was a tall, well-modeled
man of thirty-five, with an air of distinction upon him, materially
heightened by his deep-set, piercing gray eyes, his firm, bluish jaw, and
the sprinkling of frost in his hair.
He wore no moustache. His upper lip, somewhat over long, bore that same
bluish tint that a thick growth of beard, even when diligently shaved,
imparted to his face. He was, indeed, a handsome being, in a somewhat
stern, determined style.
He was irritated now by the prospect of labor at the station. Even
should he find some willing male being whose assistance with the tire
might be invoked, the task would still involve himself rather
strenuously; and above all things he loathed rough usage of his hands.
For three more miles he cursed the mechanism, then he halted the car at
the station.
A shack that served as lodging-house, saloon, and dining-room, a shack
for a stable, and a shack for a shed, together with a rough corral,
comprised the entire group of buildings at the place. Six or eight fine
cottonwoods and a number of twisted apple trees made the little place
decidedly inviting. Behind these, rising almost sheer from the level
yard, the mountains heaved upward grayly, their vast bulk broken, some
hundred yards away, by a yawning rock canyon, steep and forbidding.
The station proprietor, who emerged from the door at sound of the halting
machine, was a small, lank individual, as brown as an Indian and as
wrinkled as a crocodile. The driver in the car addressed him shortly.
"I wonder if you can help me put on a tire?"
The lank little host regarded him quietly, then looked at the women and
drew his hand across his mouth.
"Wal, I dunno," he answered. "I've set a tire and I've set a hen, but I
wouldn't like to tell ye what was hatched."
The girl in the tonneau laughed in frank delight--a musical outburst that
flattered the station host tremendously. The man at the wheel was
already alighting.
"You'll do," he said. "My name is Bostwick. I'm on my way to Goldite,
in a hurry. It won't take us long, but it wants two men on the job."
He had a way of thrusting his disagreeable tasks upon his fellow beings
before they were prepared either to accept or refuse a proposition. He
succeeded here so promptly that the girl in the car made no effort to
restrain her amusement. She was radiantly smiling as she leaned above
the wheel where the two men were presently at work.
In the midst of the toil a sound of whistling came upon the air. The
girl in the auto looked up, alertly. It was the Toreador's song from
Carmen that she heard, riotously rendered. A moment later the whistler
appeared--and an exclamation all but escaped the girl's red, parted lips.
Mounted on a calico pony of strikingly irregular design, a horseman had
halted at the bend of a trail that led to the rear of the station. He
saw the girl and his whistling ceased.
From his looks he might have been a bandit or a prince. He was a roughly
dressed, fearless-looking man of the hills, youthful, tall, and as
carelessly graceful in the saddle as a fish in its natural clement.
The girl's brown eyes and his blue eyes met. She did not analyze the
perfect symmetry or balance of his features; she only knew his hair and
long moustache were tawny, that his face was bronzed, that his eyes were
bold, frank depths of good humor and fire. He was splendid to look
at--that she instantly conceded. And she looked at him steadily till a
warm flush rose to the pink of her ears, when her glance fell, abashed,
to the pistol that hung on his saddle, and so, by way of the hoofs of his
pinto steed, to the wheel, straight down where she was leaning.
The station-keeper glanced up briefly.
"Hullo, Van," was all he said.
The horseman made no reply. He was still engaged in looking at the girl
when Bostwick half rose, with a tool in hand, and scowled at him silently.
It was only a short exchange of glances that passed between the pair,
nevertheless something akin to a challenge played in the momentary
conflict, as if these men, hurled across the width of a continent to
meet, had been molded by Fate for some antagonistic clash, the essence of
which they felt thus soon with an utter strangeness between them.
Bostwick bent promptly to his labors with the tire. The girl in the
tonneau stepped past her maid and opened the door on the further side of
the car. Bostwick stood up at once.
"I wouldn't get out, Beth--I wouldn't get out," he said, a little
impatiently. "We'll be ready to go in five minutes."
Nevertheless she alighted.
"Don't hurry on my account," she answered. "The day is getting warm."
The eyes of both Bostwick and the horseman followed her graceful figure
as she passed the front of the car and proceeded towards the orchard.
Above the medium height and superbly modeled, she appeared more beautiful
now than before. She had not descended for a change of position, or even
to inspect the place. As a matter of fact she was hoping to secure a
profile view of the bold-looking horseman on the pony. Her opportunity
soon arrived. He spoke to the station proprietor.
"Want to see you for a moment, Dave," and he rode a little off to a tree.
Dave ceased helping on the tire with marked alacrity and went to the
horseman at once. The two engaged in an earnest conversation, somewhat
of which obviously concerned the auto and its passengers, since the lank
little host made several ill-concealed gestures in the car's direction
and once turned to look at the girl.
She had halted by the orchard fence from which, as a post of vantage, she
was apparently looking over all the place. Her brown eyes, however,
swung repeatedly around to the calico pony and its rider.
Yes, she agreed, the horseman was equal to the scene. He fitted it all,
mountains, sky, the sense of wildness and freedom in the air. What was
he, then? Undoubtedly a native--perhaps part Indian--perhaps----
There was something sinister, she was certain, in the glance he cast
towards the car. He was armed. Could it be that he and the station man
were road-agents, plotting some act of violence? They were certainly
talking about the machine, or its owner, with exceptional earnestness of
purpose.
Bostwick had finished with the tire.
"Come along, Beth, come along!" he called abruptly.
No sooner had she turned to walk to the car than the horseman rode up in
her path. Her heart sank suddenly with misgivings. She halted as the
unknown visitor addressed himself to Bostwick.
"May I speak to you a moment privately?"
Bostwick bristled with suspicions at once.
"I have nothing of a private nature to discuss with you," he answered.
"If you have anything to say to me, please say it and be prompt."
The horseman changed color, but lost no whit of the native courtesy that
seemed a part of his being.
"It isn't particularly private," he answered quietly. "I only wished to
say I wouldn't rush off to Goldite this morning. I'd advise you to stay
here and rest."
Bostwick, already irritated by delay, and impervious to any thought of a
possible service in the horseman's attitude, grew more impatient and far
more irritating.
"I haven't desired your advice," he answered sharply. "Be good enough to
keep it to yourself." He advanced to the station owner, held out a bill,
and added: "Here you are, my man, for your trouble."
"Heck!" said the lank little host. "I don't want your money."
Across the horseman's handsome visage passed a look that, to the girl,
boded anything but peace. Bostwick's manner was an almost intolerable
affront, in a land where affronts are resented. However, the stranger
answered quietly, despite the fact that Bostwick nettled him to an
extraordinary degree.
"I agree that the sooner _you_ vamoose, the prompter the improvement in
the landscape. But you're not going off to Goldite with these ladies in
the car."
Matters might still have culminated differently had Bostwick even asked a
civil "Why?" for Van was a generous and easy-going being.
Beth, in the road, felt her heart beat violently, with vague excitement
and alarm. Bostwick glared, in sudden apprehension as to what the
horseman had in mind.
"Is this a hold-up?" he demanded. "What do you mean?"
The rider dismounted, in a quick, active manner, and opened the door of
the tonneau.
"You wouldn't have thanked me for advice," he replied; "you would hardly
thank me more for information." He added to the maid in the car:
"Please alight, your friend is impatient to be starting." He nodded
towards the owner of the auto.
The maid came down, demurely, casting but a glance at the tall,
commanding figure by the wheel. He promptly lifted out a suitcase and
three decidedly feminine-looking bags.
Bostwick by now was furious.
"It's an outrage!" he cried, "a dastardly outrage! You can see I am
wholly unarmed! Do you mean to restrain these ladies here by force?"
The horseman slipped his arm through the reins of his pony's bridle,
surveying Bostwick calmly.
"Do you mean to desert them if I do? I have not yet ordered you to
leave."
"Ordered me to leave!" echoed the car owner fiercely. "I can neither be
ordered to leave nor to stay! But I shall go--do you hear?--I shall
go--and the ladies with me! If you mean to rob us, do so at once and
have it over! My time is precious, if yours is not!"
Van smiled. "I might be tempted to rob a gentleman," he said, "but to
deprive your passengers of your company would be a charity. Pray waste
no more of your precious time if that is your only concern."
Beth had regained a shadow of her former composure. Her courage had
never been absent. She was less alarmed than before and decidedly
curious as to what this encounter might signify. She dared address the
horseman.
"But--but surely--you seem---- You must have some excellent reason
for--for acting so peculiarly."
He could not repress the brightness in his eyes as he met her
half-appealing gaze.
"Reason, advice, and information would apparently be alike unwelcome to
your chauffeur," he answered, doffing his hat. "He is eager to hasten on
his way, therefore by all means let us bid him begone."
Bostwick grew rapidly wilder at each intimation of his social standing--a
friend of the maid, and Beth's chauffeur! His impatience to proceed with
all possible haste to Goldite was consuming. He had not intended that
anything under the sun should delay him another single hour--not even
Beth, should occasion arise to detain her. Even now he was far more
concerned about himself and the business of his mission than he was for
the women in his charge. He was much afraid, however, of the horseman's
visible gun. He was not at all a person of courage, and the man before
him presented such an unknown quantity that he found himself more or less
helpless. At most he could merely attempt a bluff.
"You'll pay for this!" he cried somewhat shrilly, his face a black mask
of anger. "I'll give you just half a minute to release these ladies and
permit them to go with me in peace! If you refuse----"
The horseman interrupted.
"I said before you had not been ordered on your way, but now I've changed
my mind. Don't talk any more--get into your car and hike!"
The gleam in his eye achieved two results: It cowed the last vestige of
bravado in Bostwick's composition and ignited all the hatred of his
nature. He hesitated for a moment, his lips parting sidewise as if for a
speech of defiance which his moral courage refused to indorse. Then, not
daring to refuse the horseman's command, he climbed aboard the car, the
motor of which had never ceased its purring.
"You'll pay for this!" he repeated.
The girl, now pale again and tremendously disturbed, was regarding
Bostwick with a new, cold light in her eyes--a light that verged upon
contempt. She had never seen this lack of courageous spirit in the man
before.
"But, Searle! You're not going--you're not really going, like this?"
It was the horseman who replied.
"You see, his time is precious. Also in his present state of mind he is
certainly unfit company for--well, for Dave, here, a man who loves the
pure white dove of peace." The station owner grinned. Van turned once
more to the car owner, adding, placidly: "There, there, driver----"
Bostwick broke in vehemently.
"I refuse to abandon these ladies! Your conduct is not only that of a
coward, it is----"
Van looked him over in mock astonishment.
"Say, Searle," he said, "don't you savvy you've lost your vote in this
convention? I told you to do these ladies the kindness to sweeten the
atmosphere with your absence. Now you hit the trail--and hit it quick!"
Bostwick looked helplessly at the girl.
"I am entirely unarmed," he said as before, though she knew there was a
pistol in the car. "This ruffian----"
The horseman cut him short.
"So long, Searle. I trust you'll meet congenial company on the road, but
I advise you even now to return the way you came."
Bostwick glared at him vindictively, but impotently. His jaw was set and
hard. A cold fire glittered in his eyes. How selfishly eager he was to
be started on his way not even the girl could have known. Moreover, some
sort of plan for the horseman's speedy punishment had taken possession of
his mind.
"Have courage, Beth," he said to the girl. "Have courage."
He speeded up his motor, dropped in his clutch, and the car slowly
started on its way.