As the Pacific Express was speeding westward across the prairies, a
young man, half reclining among the cushions of the smoking car, was
enjoying a choice Havana. He took no note of external objects as they
flashed with almost lightning rapidity past the car windows, and he
seemed equally unconscious of the presence of his fellow passengers.
His dress and manner, as well as his nonchalant, graceful attitude,
and even the delicate poise of his cigar, were all indicative of
wealth and refinement, and of a courtesy innate, not acquired. His
head was slightly thrown back, and with half-closed, dreamy eyes, he
watched the coils of blue smoke wreathing and curling above his head,
but his mind was actively engaged in planning the details of the new
life opening up before him in the west. Walter Everard Houston, of New
York, the possessor of a million in his own name, and prospective heir
to many millions more, was en route for a small mining camp, far west,
in the heart of the Rockies, where he was to fill the position of
bookkeeper and corresponding secretary in the office of a mining
company, at a salary of one hundred dollars per month.
Mr. Houston's parents had died when he was very young, and he had been
tenderly reared in the home of his uncle, his mother's brother, Walter
Everard Cameron. Even now, as he watched the blue coils above his
head, his memory was going back to the time when he had entered that
beautiful home. He recalled the different members of that lovely
family, as they then appeared to him; the dark, patrician face of his
aunt, with its wondrous beauty, which, in the following years had
been so softened and deepened by sorrow that now it was almost
saint-like in the calm look of peace and love which it wore, with the
soft, snow-white hair surrounding it like a halo of glory. Then his
beautiful cousin Edna, with her sunny hair and starry eyes, and her
wonderful voice filling the home with music. She had married soon
after he entered the family, and went with her husband to a distant,
western city, often returning to visit the old home. How well he
remembered the last visit! Her baby was then nearly two years old; he
could not now recall her name, but she was a little, golden-haired
toddler, with her mother's eyes and voice. His cousin was suddenly
called home by a telegram that her husband was ill; then, in a day or
two, came the news of a frightful railroad accident, a collision and a
fire which quickly consumed the wreck. Edna was rescued from the
flames, unconscious and dying, but no trace could be found of the
little one. Then followed word of the death of Edna's husband; he had
died a few hours later than the accident occurred, ignorant of the
terrible fate of his wife and child.
Next came the memory of his cousin, Guy Cameron, but a few years older
than himself; dark and beautiful like his mother, proud spirited and
headstrong, the pride of his parents, but through him came their most
bitter sorrow. Through fast living and gambling he became deeply
involved, and forged his father's name to several checks, amounting to
nearly a hundred thousand; then, overcome by shame and remorse, he had
fled in the night, no one knew whither. His father payed the full
amount of the debt, without even betraying his son's guilt, and then
for years employed the most skillful detectives, trying to bring back
the wanderer to the love and forgiveness which awaited him; but in
vain, no trace of him existed. The father had long ago given up all
hope of ever seeing his boy again, and doubted whether he were living.
Only the sweet-faced mother, strong in her mother-love and in her
faith in God, believed that he would yet return, and was content to
watch and wait.
Meantime, Everard Houston had become like a son to Mr. and Mrs.
Cameron. After leaving college, he had been taken by his uncle as a
partner into his enormous banking house, and intrusted more or less
with the charge of various departments of business with which he was
connected, and he had proven himself worthy of the trust reposed in
him.
For a number of years, Mr. Cameron had been president of a large
investment company, which, among other properties, owned a number of
mines in the west which had been represented to be very valuable, and
which, at the time of purchase, possessed every indication of being
heavy producers of very rich ore. Lately, these mines had not been
yielding the profit which it was reasonable to expect from them, and
there were indications of bad management, if not of dishonesty, at the
western end of the line. One or two so-called experts had been sent
out to investigate, but they had after all so little knowledge of
practical mining, that they were unable to produce any tangible
evidence against the company who constituted their western agents,
although their reports had only tended to strengthen Mr. Cameron's
belief that there was underhanded and dishonest dealing somewhere,
which could only be detected by a person on the ground whom the
western company would not suspect of being personally interested.
Happening to learn, through a Chicago firm who were friends of Mr.
Cameron's, that the western company were desirous of getting a
bookkeeper and confidential clerk, it was decided, after consultation,
to send out Everard Houston to take this position. Accordingly, he had
gone to Chicago, and the firm there had written a letter to the mining
company, recommending him as a young man of their acquaintance, of
exceptional ability, reliable, and thoroughly to be trusted in all
confidential matters. The company had responded favorably, offering
the position to Mr. Houston for one month on trial, at one hundred
dollars, his traveling expenses to be paid by them. If he proved
satisfactory, they would retain him as long as would be mutually
agreeable, and if his services proved as valuable as expected, would
increase his salary. Mr. Houston was, therefore, on his way to the
mines to accept this position, together with the munificent salary,
and hoped to prove so satisfactory as to soon be admitted to the
"confidential" clerkship, in which event he anticipated being able to
accomplish a nice little piece of detective work.