"AS MAN TO MAN"
In January, when Mrs. Feversham returned to Washington, her brother
accompanied her as far as Wenatchee. He went prepared to offer Banks as
high as five thousand dollars for his option.
At that time the Weatherbee tract was blanketed in snow. It never drifted,
because Cerberus shut out the prevailing wind like a mighty door; even the
bench and the high ridge beyond lifted above the levels of the vale smooth
as upper floors. Previous to that rare precipitation, gangs of men, put to
work on both quarter sections, had removed the sage-brush and planted
trees, and the new orchard traced a delicate pattern on the white carpet
in rows and squares. Banks had hurried the concrete lining of the basin
walls, and when it became necessary to suspend construction on the flumes,
he saw with satisfaction that the reservoir would husband the melting
snows and so supply temporary irrigation in the early spring. All the
lumber estimates had been included in his orders for building material in
the autumn, and already the house on the bench showed a tiled roof above
its mission walls, while down the gap and midway up the side slope of
Cerberus rose the shingled gables of Annabel's home.
To facilitate the handling of freight, the railroad company had laid a
siding at the nearest point in Hesperides Vale; then, for the convenience
of the workmen, the daily local made regular stops, and the little station
bore the name of Weatherbee. Later, at the beginning of the year, it had
become a post-office, and the Federal building included a general store.
Also, at that time, the girders of a new brick block rose on the adjoining
lots, and a sign secured to the basement wall announced: "This strictly
modern building will be completed about June first. For office and floor
space see Henderson Bailey."
The financier, who had motored up the valley in a rented car, noted these
indications of an embryo town with interest.
"Who is Henderson Bailey?" he asked.
And the chauffeur answered with surprise: "Don't you know Bailey? Why,
he's the man that got in on the ground floor. He owns the heart of
Hesperides Vale. That was his apple orchard we passed, you remember, a few
minutes ago. But the man who is backing him on that brick block is Lucky
Banks of Alaska. They are pulling together, nip and tuck, for Weatherbee."
"Nip--and Tuck," repeated Morganstein thoughtfully. "That reminds me of a
young team of bays I considered buying last fall, over at North Yakima.
Rather well named, if you knew 'em. But they were a little too gay for
Seattle hills and the lady I expected would drive 'em. George, though,
they made a handsome showing. A dealer named Lighter owned 'em, and they
won the blue ribbon for three-year-olds at Yakima and Spokane."
"I know them," replied the chauffeur. "They are owned here in the valley
now; and Lucky Banks' wife is driving them. You can meet her most any day
speeling down to the Columbia to see her goats."
"Goats?" queried Frederic.
"Yes, sir. Didn't you know she used to keep a flock of Angoras up here? It
was her land before she was married. But when Banks turned up with his
pile and started the orchards, the goats had to go. It wouldn't have taken
them a week to chew up every stick he planted. So she hired a man to
winter them down on the Columbia, where she could keep an eye on them.
Strange," the chauffeur went on musingly, "what a difference clothes make
in a woman. Nobody noticed her much, only we thought she was kind of
touched, when she was herding those billies by herself up that pocket, but
the minute Banks came, she blossomed out; made us all sit up and take
notice. Yes, sir, she's sure some style. To see her in her up-to-date
motoring-coat, veil to match, cape gloves, and up behind that team, you'd
think the Empress of India had the road."
"Just what I said first time I saw her," Morganstein chuckled thickly. "Or
I guess it was the Queen of Sheba I called her. Happened to be grand-opera
night, and she wore a necklace made of some of Banks' nuggets. George, she
could carry 'em; had the throat and shoulders. It isn't the clothes that
make the difference, my boy; it's the trick of wearing 'em. I know a slim
little thoroughbred, who puts on a plain gray silk like it was cloth of
gold. You'd think she was walking tiptoe to keep it off this darned old
earth. Lord, I'd like to see her in the real stuff. George, I'll do it,
soon's we're married," and he laughed deeply at the notion. "I'll order a
cloth of gold gown direct from Paris, and I'll set a diamond tiara on her
proud little head. Bet it don't out-sparkle her eyes. Lord, Lord, she'll
make 'em all stare."
The chauffeur gave the financier a measuring glance from the corner of his
eye, but he puckered his lips discreetly to cover a grin, and with his
head still cocked sidewise, looked off to the lifting front of Cerberus,
whistling softly _Queen Among the Heather_. But the tune ceased abruptly
and, straightening like an unstrung bow, he swerved the machine out of the
thoroughfare and brought it to a stop.
It was not the Empress of India who held the road, but little Banks in his
red car. Slackening speed, he shouted back above the noise of the exhaust:
"Hello! Is that you, Mr. Morganstein? I guess likely you're looking for
me. But I can't stop. I've got to catch the local for Wenatchee; the
eastbound don't make our station, and I'm booked for a little run through
to Washington, D.C."
"That so?" answered Morganstein thoughtfully. "I came over just to look at
this orchard of yours. See here, wait a minute." He unbuttoned his heavy
coat and, finding a pocket, drew out a time-card. "You will have a couple
of hours to waste in Wenatchee between trains. Give me half an hour, long
enough to show me a bird's-eye view of the project--that's all I want in
this snow and I guarantee to put you in Wenatchee on time for your
eastbound. The road is in good shape; driver knows his car."
Banks left his roadster and came over to the larger car. "I'll risk it
since you've broke trail," he said, taking the vacant seat behind. "But I
knew if I took chances with snow, in this contrary buzz-wagon of mine,
she'd likely skid off the first mean curve."
Morganstein, laughing, changed his seat for the one beside the prospector.
"It's like this, dry and firm as a floor, straight through to Wenatchee.
These are great roads you have in this valley; wish we had 'em on the
other side the range."
"I sent a scraper up from the station ahead of me," said Banks. "And,
driver, we may as well run up the switchback to the house. It's level
there, with room to turn. And it will give you the chance to see the whole
layout below," he went on, explaining to Morganstein. "The property on
this side the mountain belongs to my wife, but we ain't living here yet;
we are stopping with folks down by the station. Likely we'll move, soon's
I get back from my trip. That is, if the boys get busy. Seem's if I have
to keep after some of them all the time. To-day it's the lathers. I've got
to stop, going through Weatherbee, to tell my wife to have an eye on them.
They get paid by the bundle, and they told me this morning lathe would run
short before they was through. I knew I had ordered an extra hundred on
the architect's figgers, but I didn't say anything. Just prospected 'round
and came back unexpected, and caught one of them red-handed. He was
tucking a bunch between the ceiling and the upper floor, without even
cutting the string. I made them rip off the lathe, and there they were
stored thick, a full bundle to 'bout every three they'd nailed on."
"That's the way," commented Morganstein, "every man of 'em will do you, if
he sees a chance. Mrs. Banks will have to keep both eyes open, if you are
leaving it to her. But it will be compensation to her, I guess, driving
those bays over from the station every day. Handsomest team in Washington.
I'll bet," and he turned his narrow eyes suddenly on Banks, "Lighter held
you up for all they were worth."
"The team belongs to Hollis Tisdale," answered Banks. "He bought them at
Kittitas last fall and drove them through. They were in the valley when I
came, and he asked me to look after them while he was east. My wife
exercises them. She understands horses, my, yes. One of those colts had a
mean trick of snapping at you if you touched the bit, but she cured him
complete. And she took such a shine to that team I thought likely they'd
do for a Christmas present. Tisdale told me in the fall if I had a good
chance, to sell, so I wrote and made him an offer. But his answer never
came till last night. A nurse at the hospital in Washington wrote for him;
he had been laid up with a case of blood-poison all winter, and it started
from a nip that blame' colt gave him on the trip from Kittitas. He refused
my price because, seeing's the team wasn't safe for a full-sized man to
drive, it went against his conscience to let them go to a lady."
"He was right," said Morganstein. "George, that was a lucky escape. I was
within an ace of buying that team myself. But I put down Tisdale's
sickness to frostbite; often goes that way with a man in the north."
"Sure; it does." Banks paused, while his glance fell to the empty fingers
of his right glove. "But that colt, Nip, gets the credit this time. It
happened while Hollis was trying to lead him over a break in the road. He
said it didn't amount to anything, the night I saw him before he left
Seattle, but he had the hand bandaged, and I'd ought to have known it was
giving him trouble."
Morganstein pondered a silent moment, then said slowly, "Kittitas is close
enough to be a suburb of Ellensburg, and that's where the Wenatchee stage
meets the Milwaukee Puget Sound train. Friend of mine made the trip about
that time; didn't say anything of a break in the road."
"There's just one road through," answered Banks, "and that's the one they
used for hauling from the Northern Pacific line while this railroad was
building. Likely there was a stage then, but it ain't running now."
Frederic pondered again, then a gleam of intelligence flashed in his eyes.
"Did Tisdale make that trip from Kittitas alone?" he asked.
Banks shook his head. "He didn't mention any passengers. Likely it was
having to drive himself, after his hand was hurt, that did the mischief.
Anyhow, he's had a close call; fought it out sooner than let the doctors
take his hand; and he never let one of us boys know. That was just the way
with Dave Weatherbee; they was a team. But I'm going to look him up, now,
soon's I can. He had to get that nurse to write for him. Likely there
ain't a man around to tend to his business; he might be all out of money."
"I guess, with the Aurora mine to back him, you needn't worry."
The little man shook his head. "It will take more security than the Aurora
to open a bank account in Washington, D.C. I ain't saying anything against
Dave Weatherbee's strike," he added quickly, "but, when you talk Alaska to
those fellows off there in the east, they get cold feet."
Morganstein looked off, chuckling his appreciation. They had arrived at
the final curve; on one side, rising from the narrow shoulder, stood
Annabel's new home, while on the other the mountain sloped abruptly to
Weatherbee's vale. Banks pointed out the peach orchard on the bench at the
top of the pocket; the rim of masonry, pushing through the snow, that
marked the reservoir; the apple tract below.
"I see," said Frederic, "and this mountain we are on must be the one Mrs.
Weatherbee noticed, looking down from that bench. Reminded her of some
kind of a beast!"
Banks nodded. "It looked like a cross between a cougar and a husky in the
fall. One place you catch sight of two heads. But she'll be tamer in the
spring, when things begin to grow. There's more peaches, set in narrow
terraces where the road cross-cuts down there, and all these small
hummocks under the snow are grapes. It's warm on this south slope and
sheltered from the frosts; the vines took right ahold; and, with fillers
of strawberries hurrying on the green, Dave's wife won't know the mountain
by summer, my, no."
"Presume," said the financier abruptly, "you expect to supply both tracts
with water from those springs?"
"My, no. This quarter section belongs to my wife, and it's up to me to
make the water connections safe for her. I can do it." Banks set his lips
grimly, and his voice shrilled a higher key. "Yes, sir, even if I have to
tunnel through from the Wenatchee. But I think likely I'll tap the new
High Line and rig a flume with one of these new-style electric pumps. And
my idea would be to hollow out a nice little reservoir, with maybe a
fountain, right here on this shoulder alongside the house, and let a
sluice and spillways follow the road down. There'd be water handy then,
and to spare, in case Dave's springs happen to pinch out."
Morganstein's glance moved slowly over the sections of road cross-cutting
the mountain below, and on up the vale to the distant bench. Presently he
said: "What are you building over there? A barn, or is it a winery for
your grapes?"
"It's neither," answered Banks with sharp emphasis. "It's a regular,
first-class house. Dave Weatherbee was counting on striking it rich in
Alaska when he drew the plans. The architect calls it California-Spanish
style. The rooms are built around a court, and we are piping for the
fountain now."
Frederic grew thoughtful. Clearly an offer of five thousand dollars for
Lucky Banks' option on the Weatherbee tract was inadequate. After a moment
he said: "What is it going to cost you?"
"Well, sir, counting that house complete, without the furniture, seven
thousand would be cheap."
After that the financier was silent. He looked at his watch, as they
motored down Cerberus, considering, perhaps, the probabilities of a
telegram reaching Marcia; but he did not make the venture when they
arrived in Wenatchee, and the nearest approach he made to that offer was
while he and Banks were waiting at the station for their separate trains.
They were seated together on a bench at the time, and Frederic, having
lighted a cigar, drew deeply as though he hoped to gather inspiration.
Then he edged closer and, dropping his heavy hand on the little
prospector's shoulder, said thickly: "See here, tell me this, as man to
man, if you found both those tracts too big to handle, what would you take
for your option on the Weatherbee property?"
And Banks, edging away to the end of the seat, answered sharply: "I can
handle both; my option ain't for sale."