THE FIRST CHECK
It was characteristic of Gordon to act unhesitatingly once a decision
was arrived at. The consideration of Silas Mallinsbee's generous offer
was the work of just as many seconds as it took the rancher to make it
in. Though, verbally, it was left for a decision the next day, Gordon
had no doubts in his mind whatever as to the nature of that decision.
When he returned to McSwain's sheltering roof, when another meal had
been devoured in the evening, when the soup-like contents of the
wash-trough had been stirred in the doubtful effort of cleansing
himself, when the busy flies had gone to join the birds in their
evening roost, he betook himself to his private bathroom, and sat
himself upon his questionable bed and gave himself up to reflection,
endeavoring to apply some of the wisdom he believed himself to have
already acquired.
But the application was without useful effect.
He began by an attempt to review the situation from a purely financial
standpoint, and in this endeavor he stretched out his great muscular
limbs along his bed, and propped his broad back against the wall with a
dogged do-or-die look upon his honest face.
At once a mental picture of Hazel Mallinsbee obscured the problem. He
dwelt on it for some profoundly pleasant moments, and then resolutely
thrust it aside.
Next he started by frankly admitting that Mallinsbee's offer left him a
certain winner all along the line--if things went right. Good. If
things went wrong--but they couldn't go wrong with those wonderful
yellowy brown eyes of Hazel's smiling encouragement upon him. The
thought was absurd.
Again for some time his problem was obscured. But after a few minutes
he set his teeth and attacked it afresh.
Of course, if things did go wrong he was done--absolutely finished.
His six months would have expired, his stake would have melted into
thin air. His whole future---- But he would have spent six months at
Hazel's side, working upon something that was obviously very dear to
her brave and loyal heart. What more could a man desire?
He felt his great muscles thrill with a mighty sense of restrained
effort. Was there any thought in the world so inspiring as that which
had the support of the most wonderful creature he had ever met for its
inspiration? He thought not. His pulses stirred at the bare idea of
being Hazel Mallinsbee's companion all those weeks and months. Of
course it would mean nothing to her. She was far too clever, and--and
altogether brainy to give him a second thought. But he felt he could
help her. He felt that to go back home with the knowledge that he--he
had been one of the prime factors in her achieving the hope of her life
would not be without compensations. Compensations? He wondered what
form such compensations took. They certainly would need to be
considerable for the loss of such a companionship.
He thought of the vision he had seen upon the trail. The beautifully
rounded figure. The graceful movements, so obviously natural. Then
those eyes, and----
He smiled and abandoned all further attempt to consider seriously the
offer he had received. What was the use? His good fortune was
certainly running in a strong tide. To attempt to steer a course was
to fly in the face of his own luck. No, he would swim with it, let it
take him whither it might. Meanwhile, Hazel had promised to meet him
on the morrow, and show him the great coal seam, after which he was to
interview her father, and have supper at the--office. Forthwith he
hastily retired to his nightly game of hide-and-seek amongst the
hummocks of flock in his disreputable bed, that the long hours of night
might the more speedily merge into a golden to-morrow.
The next day Gordon, at an early hour, spent something over fifty
dollars on a pair of ready-made riding-breeches and boots. For once in
his life he felt that the faithful Harding had been found wanting.
Somehow, in arriving at this conclusion, he had forgotten the episode
of the five-cent-cigar man. Anyhow, the purchase had to be made, since
it was necessary to ride out to the coal seams.
It was during the time spent on these matters an incident occurred
which caused him some irritation. He saw in the distance, as he was
making his way to the principal store, the pale-faced, sickly-looking
creature who had accosted Hazel the day before. The sight of the man
put him into a bad temper at once, and he forthwith gave the
storekeeper all the unnecessary trouble he could put him to.
Then, on returning to his hotel, he discovered the man in the office
talking to Peter McSwain. His swift temper left him utterly without
shame, and he stood and stared at the object of his dislike, taking him
in from head to foot with profoundly contemptuous eyes.
Somehow his inspection made him feel glad he disliked the man. He was
a broad-chested person with aggressively cut clothes. His black hair
was obviously greased, and his general cast of features suggested his
Hebrew origin. Gordon had no grudge against him on this latter score.
It was not that. It was the narrow, shifty eyes, the hateful way in
which he smoked his cigar, with its flaming band about its middle. It
was the loud coarse laugh and general air of impertinent arrogance that
set his back bristling. And this--this had spoken to Hazel Mallinsbee
only the day before.
He deposited his parcels in his bathroom, and returned to the office to
find McSwain by himself. He had no hesitation in satisfying his
curiosity.
"Say," he demanded, in a crisp tone. "Who was that rotten-looking
'sharp' you were yarning to when I came in?"
Peter's amiable expression underwent the most trifling change.
"Guess I lost ten thousand dollars talkin' that way once," he said,
smelling cautiously at one of his own cigars.
Gordon promptly snapped back.
"Maybe I've lost more than that. But it don't cut any ice. Who was
he?"
Peter smiled as he lit his cigar.
"David Slosson. Guess he's chief robber for the railroad company.
You've seen him. Are you scared any? Say, we've been waitin' to hear
him talk two days now. I guess you could hand us a bunch of emperors,
an' kings, an' princes, an' dust over 'em a sprinkling of presidents,
but I don't reckon you'd stir a pulse among us like the coming of that
man did to this city. That feller's right here to put the railroad in
on this land scoop. When he's fixed 'em the way he wants we'll hear
from the railroad."
Gordon's eyes were thoughtful.
"Chief grafter, eh? He surely looks it."
"Some of 'em do," agreed Peter. "It's my belief the best of 'em don't,
though," he added reflectively. "Yet he surely ought to be right.
Railroads don't usual graft with anything but the best. He was talkin'
pretty, too."
"Pretty? More than he looked," snorted Gordon. Then he began to
laugh. "Say, you and I are pretty well agreed about miracles. I sort
of feel it'll have to be one of them miracles if the time don't come
when I knock seventeen sorts of stuffing out of that man. I feel it
coming on like a disease. You know, creeping through my bones, and
getting to the tips of my fingers. I'd like to spoil his store suit in
the mud, and beautify his features with your 'hoss' soap, and drown 'em
in--well, what's in your washing-trough."
Peter's smile was cordial enough at the forcefulness of his young
guest. He had not forgotten that Gordon was a friend of Mallinsbee.
"I wouldn't play that way till we see how he's buying," he said
cautiously.
"Play?" Gordon laughed and shook his head. "Well, perhaps you're
right. It certainly will be some play."
After midday dinner Gordon set out on one of Mike Callahan's horses to
keep his appointment with Hazel Mallinsbee. All his ill-humor of the
morning was forgotten, and he looked forward with unalloyed pleasure to
his afternoon, which was to culminate in his entering into his
agreement with her father.
Hazel was waiting for him on the veranda of the office. Her horse, a
fine brown mare, was standing ready saddled. Gordon noted the absence
of Sunset, and understood, but he noted also that her smile of welcome
was lacking something of the joyous spirit she had displayed the night
before.
"Sunset off duty?" he inquired, as he came up and leaped out of the
saddle to assist her.
Hazel scorned his assistance. She was in the saddle almost before he
was aware of her intention.
"Sunset's father's," she said. "The Lady Jane is my saddle horse.
She's the most outrageous jade on the ranch. That's why I like her.
Every moment I'm in the saddle she's trying to get the bit between her
teeth. If she succeeded she'd run till she dropped." Then, with a
deliberate effort, she seemed to thrust some shadow from her mind as
they set off at a brisk canter. "You know, father's just dying to show
you the ranch. He's quite quaint and boyish. He takes likes and
dislikes in the twinkle of an eye, and before all things in his life
comes his wonderful ranch. I'll tell you a secret, Mr. Van Henslaer.
The day you--arrived, after he'd told me just how you had arrived, he
said, 'I'd like to get that boy working around this lay out. I like
the look of him. He don't know a lot, but he can do things.' He's
certainly taken one of his wonderful, impulsive fancies to you. He's
very shrewd, too."
Gordon laughed.
"Now I wonder how I ought to take that. I'm all sorts of a fool, but I
can hit hard. That's about his opinion of me, eh?"
Hazel's eyes were slyly watching him. She shook her head.
"That's not it," she smiled back. "You don't know my daddy. He might
say that, but there's a whole lot of other thoughts stumbling around in
his funny old head. If he wants you he thinks you can do more than hit
hard."
The humor of it all got hold of Gordon.
"Good," he cried, with one of his whole-hearted laughs. "Now I'll let
you into a secret. This is a great secret. One of those secrets a
feller generally hangs on tight to because he's half ashamed of it. I
can do more than hit hard!"
Then he became serious, and it was the girl's turn to find amusement.
"You see, I've been raised in a bit of a hothouse. Maybe it's more of
a wind shelter, though. You know, where the rough winds of modern life
can't get through the crevices and buffet you. That's why I fell for
that sharp on the train. That's why I bumped head first into Snake's
Fall. That's why your daddy thinks I don't know a lot. But I tell you
right here I've got to make that hundred thousand dollars in six
months, and I'm going to do it by hook or crook, if there's half a
smell of a chance. I've no scruples whatsoever. I just _must_ make
it, or--or I'll never face my father ever again. Do you get me?
Whatever you have at stake in this land proposition, it's just nothing
to what I have. And you'll know what I mean when I say it's just the
youthful pride and foolish egoism of twenty-four years. Say, do you
know what it means to a kid when he's dared to do some fool trick that
may cost his life? Well, that's my position, but I've done the daring
for myself. My mood about this thing is the sort of mood in which, if
I couldn't get that money any other way, I'd willingly hold up a
bullion train."
The girl nodded. For a moment she made no attempt to answer him. She
was gazing out ahead at a point where signs of busy life had made
themselves apparent. Something of the shadow that had been in her eyes
at their meeting had returned. Gordon was watching them, and a quick
concern troubled him.
"Say," he observed anxiously. "You're--worried. I saw it when I came
up."
The girl endeavored to pass his inquiry off lightly.
"Worried?" she shook her head. "The anxieties of the business are on
my poor daddy's shoulders, and will soon be on yours. They're not on
mine."
But Gordon was not easily put off. He edged his horse closer to her
side.
"But you _are_ worried," he declared doggedly. Then he added more
lightly, "I'll take a chance on it. It's--a man. And he's got a sort
of whitewash face, and black, shoe-shined hair. He's got a nose you'd
hate to run up against with any vital part. As for his clothes,
well--a blind man would hate to see 'em."
The girl turned sharply.
"What makes you think that way?"
Gordon smiled triumphantly.
"Guess I've been trying to impress you with the fact that
foolishness--like beauty--is only skin deep. The former applies to me.
The latter--well, I guess I must have just read about--that."
"If you're not careful you'll convince me," Hazel laughed.
"That's one of the things I'm yearning to do."
"You're talking of David Slosson," she challenged him.
Gordon nodded.
"The railroad's--chief grafter."
"And a hateful creature."
"Who's started right away to--annoy you--from the time he got around
Snake's Fall."
A great surprise was looking back into Gordon's eyes.
"You're guessing. You can't know that," Hazel said, with decision.
"Maybe. Say,"--Gordon's eyes were half serious, half smiling--"a girl
don't push her way past a man when he's talking to her if--he isn't
annoying her."
"Then you saw him stop me on Main Street yesterday?"
"Sure." Then, after a pause, Gordon went on, "Say, tell me. We're to
be fellow conspirators."
Just for one moment Hazel Mallinsbee looked him straight in the eyes.
She was thinking, thinking swiftly. Nor were her thoughts unpleasant.
For one thing she had realized that which Gordon had wished her to
realize--that he was no fool. She was seeing that something in him
which doubtless her father had been quick to discover. She was
thinking, too, of his direct, almost dogged manner of driving home to
the purpose he had in view, and she told herself she liked it. Then,
too, all unconsciously, she was thinking of the open, ingenuous,
smiling face of his. The handsome blue eyes which were certainly his
chief attraction in looks, although his other features were sound
enough. She decided at once that for all these things she liked him
and trusted him. Therefore she admitted her worries.
"Yes," she said, "it's David Slosson--and your description of him is
too good. He's been here two days. He came here the day before you.
He came out to see father directly he arrived, but, as you know, father
was away. I had to see him. And it wasn't pleasant. Maybe you can
guess his attitude. I don't like to talk of it. He took me for some
silly country girl, I s'pose. Anyway I got rid of him. Then he saw me
yesterday." Suddenly her face flushed, and an angry sparkle shone in
her eyes. "His sort ought to be raw-hided," she declared vehemently.
Then, after a pause, in which she choked her anger back, "We got a note
from him this morning to say he'd be along this afternoon. Father's
going to see him. And I was scared to death you wouldn't get along in
time. That's why I was waiting ready for you, and hustled you off
without seeing father. I was scared the man would get around before we
were away. I haven't said a word to my daddy. You see he'd kill him,"
she finished up, with a whimsical little smile.
Gordon was gazing out ahead at the great coal workings they were now
approaching. But though he beheld a small village of buildings, and an
astonishing activity of human beings and machinery, for the time, at
least, they had no interest for him.
"I knew I was up against that man directly I saw him peeking into that
store after you," he said deliberately. "Miss Mallinsbee, I'm going to
ask you all sorts of a big favor. We three are going to work together
for six months. Well, any time you feel worried any by that feller,
don't go to your daddy, just come right along to me. I guess it would
puzzle more than your daddy to kill him after I've done with him. I
don't guess it's the time to talk a lot about this thing now. I don't
sort of fancy big talk that way, anyhow. All I ask you is to let me
know, and to be allowed to keep my own eyes on him."
Hazel shook her head.
"I don't think I can promise you anything like that," she said
seriously. "But I--thank you all the same. You see, out here a girl's
got to take her own chances, and I'm not altogether helpless that way."
Then she definitely changed the subject and pointed ahead. "There,
what do you think of it?"
"Think of it? Why, he's a low down skunk!" cried Gordon fiercely,
unable any longer to restrain his feelings.
"I wasn't speaking of him. It!" the girl laughed. "The coalpits."
"Oh!" There was no responsive laugh from Gordon. Then he added with
angry pretense of enjoyment, "Fine!"
For nearly two hours they wandered round the embryonic coal village,
examining everything in detail, and not without a keen interest. The
place, hidden away amongst the higher foothills, was a perfect hive of
industry. Great masses of machinery were lying about everywhere,
waiting their turn for the attention of the engineers. Wooden
buildings were in the course of construction everywhere. A small army
of miners and their wives and children had already taken up their
abode, and the men were at work with the engineers in the preparatory
borings already in full operation.
Even to Gordon's unpracticed eye there was little doubt of the accuracy
of the information he had received relating to Snake's Fall. Here
there was everything required to provoke the boom he had been warned
of. Here was an evidence that the boom would be a genuine one built on
the solid basis of great and lasting commercial interest. Long before
they started on their return journey he congratulated himself heartily
upon the accident which had brought him into the midst of such an
enterprise, and thanked his stars for the further chance which had
brought him into contact with the train "sharp," and so with Silas
Mallinsbee.
It was getting on towards the time for the Mallinsbees' evening meal
when the little frame house once more came within view. There was a
decided charm in its isolation. On all sides were the undulations of
grass which denoted the first steps towards the foothills. There was a
wonderful radiance of summer sheen upon the green world about them, and
the brightness of it all, and the pleasantness, set Gordon thinking of
the pity that all too soon it would be broken up almost entirely by
those black and gloomy signs of man's industry when the resources of
the old world have to be tapped.
However, he was content enough with the moment. The sky was blue and
radiant, the earth was all so green, and the wide, wide world opened
out before him in whatever direction he chose to gaze. While beside
him, sitting her mare with that confident seat of a perfect horsewoman,
was the most beautiful girl in all the world, a girl in whose
companionship he was to spend the next six months. The gods of Fortune
were very, very good to him, and he smiled as the vision of his
sportsman father flashed through his mind.
But his moments of pleasant reflection were abruptly cut short.
Hazel had suddenly raised one pointing arm, and a note of concern was
in her voice.
"Look," she cried. "Something's--upset my daddy."
Gordon looked in the direction of the house.
Silas Mallinsbee was pacing the veranda at a gait that left no doubt in
his mind. It was the agitated walk of a man disturbed.
"What's the matter?" demanded Gordon, with some concern.
"It looks like--David Slosson," said Hazel, in a hard voice.
They rode up in silence, and the girl was the first to reach the ground.
"Daddy----" she began eagerly.
But her father cut her short. The flesh-tinted patch, which Gordon had
almost forgotten, which he used to cover his left eye with, was thrust
up absurdly upon his forehead. His heavy brows were drawn together in
an angry frown. His tufty chin beard was aggressively thrust, his two
great hands were stuck in the waist of his trousers, which gave him
further an air of truculence.
"Say," he cried, his deep, rolling voice now raised to a pitch of
thunder, "it's taken me fifty-six years to come up with what I've been
chasing all my life. Say, I've spent years an' years huntin' around to
find something meaner than a rattlesnake. Guess I come up with him
to-day."
"David Slosson," cried Hazel, her eyes wide with her anger.
Her father waved her aside as she came towards him.
"No, don't you butt in. I've got to let off hot air, or--or--I'll
bust."
He paced off down the little veranda, and came back again. Then he
stood still, and suddenly brought one great fist down with terrific
force into his other palm.
"Gee, but it's tough. Say, you ever tried to hold a slimy eel?" he
cried, glaring fiercely into Gordon's questioning eyes. "No? It's a
heap of a dirty and unsatisfact'ry job, but it ain't as dirty as
dealing with Mr. David Slosson, nor half as unsatisfact'ry. You can
stamp your heel on it, and crush it into the ground. With David
Slosson you just got to talk pretty and fence while you know he's got
you beat all along the line, an' all the time you're just needin' to
kill him all to death. Of all the white-livered bums. Say, if only
the good God would push him right into these two hands an' say squeeze
him. Say----" He held out his two clenched fists as though he were
wringing out a sponge.
Gordon raked his hair with one hand.
"Do you need to worry that way, Mr. Mallinsbee? I owe him some myself."
The old man glared for some moments. Then a subtle smile crept into
his eyes. Hazel saw it, and seized the opportunity.
"Let's get right inside and have food. You can tell us then, Daddy.
You see, Mr. Van Henslaer's one of our confederates now. He's come
along to tell you so."
It was with some difficulty that Hazel contrived to pacify her father,
but at last she succeeded in persuading him to partake of the pleasant
meal provided by Hip-Lee.
Gordon was glad when at last they all sat down. The appetizing smell
of coffee, the delicious plates of cold meats, the glass dishes of
preserves, and steaming hot scones, all these things appealed to the
accumulated appetite consequent upon his ride.
"Now tell us all about it," Hazel demanded, when the meal was well
under way.
Old Mallinsbee, still with the absurd eye-shade upon his forehead, had
recovered his humor, and he poured out his story in characteristic
fashion.
"Wall," he said, "maybe I was hot when you come up. He'd been gone
best part of an hour. During that time I'd been sort of bankin' the
furnaces. Gordon Van Henslaer, my boy, I hate meanness worse 'n any
devil hated holy water. Ther's all sorts of meanness in this world,
and ther' ain't no other word to describe it. Killing can be just
every sort of thing from justifiable homicide down to stringin' up some
black scallywag by the neck for doin' the same things white folks do
an' get off with a caution. The feller that steals ain't always to
blame. As often as not we need to blame the general community. Lyin's
mostly a disease, an' when it ain't I guess it's a sort of aggravated
form of commercial enterprise, or the budding of a great newspaper
faculty. You can find excuse, or other name, fer most every crime of
human nature--'cept meanness. David Slosson is just the chief ancestor
of all meanness, an' when I say that, why--it's some talk. He's here
to put the railroad in on the land scoop, and, in that respect, I guess
he's all I could have expected. We were making elegant talk. Or, I
guess, he was mostly. He said his chiefs had sent him up to see how
the general public could best be served by his road with regard to this
coal boom, and I told him I was dead sure that railroads never failed
in their service of the public. I pointed out I had always observed it.
"That talk of mine seemed to open up the road for things, and I handed
him a good cigar and pushed a highball his way. Then he made a big
music of railroads in general, and talked so pious that it set me
yearnin' for my bed. Then I got wide awake. Say, I ain't done a heap
in chapel goin' recently, but I've sort of got hazy recollections of
sitting around dozing, while the preacher doped a lot of elegant hot
air about things which kind of upset your notions of life generally.
Then I seem to recollect getting a sack pushed into my face, and I got
visions of the terrible scare of its coming, and the kind of nervous
chase for that quarter that I could have sworn I'd set ready in my
pocket for such an emergency. That's how I felt--nervous. He was
talkin' prices of plots.
"Wal, I got easy after awhile, and we fixed things elegant. The
railroad was to get a dandy bunch of plots at bedrock prices, if they
built the depot right here at Buffalo Point. And that feller was quick
to see that I was out for the interests of the public, and to make
things easy for the railroad. So he talked pretty. Then--then he
hooked me a 'right.' He asked me plumb out how he stood. I was ready
for him. I said that nothing would suit me better than he should come
in the same way with the railroad." He shook his head regretfully.
"That man hadn't the conscience of a louse. He was yearning for twenty
town plots, in best positions, five of 'em being corner plots, in the
commercial area for--nix! I was feeling as amiable as a she wild-cat,
and I told him there was nothing doing that way. He said he'd hoped
better from my public-spirited remarks. I assured him my public spirit
hadn't changed a cent. He said he was sure it hadn't, and was
astonished what a strong public spirit was shown around the whole of
Snake's Fall. He said that the old town was just the same as Buffalo
Point. They were most anxious to help the railroad out, too. Which,
seeing the depot--the old depot--was already standing there, made it a
cinch for the railroad. They were dead anxious to save the railroad
trouble and expense. I pushed another highball at him, but he guessed
he hadn't a thirst any more, and one cigar was all he ever smoked in an
afternoon. Then he oozed off, and I was glad. I guess homicide has
its drawbacks."
"High 'graft,'" said Gordon.
"Maybe it's 'high,'" said Mallinsbee, with a smile in which there was
no mirth. "Guess I wouldn't spell it that way myself. There's just
one thing certain: if my side of the game has to go plumb to hell David
Slosson don't get his graft the way _he_ wants it. And that's what you
and me are up against."
"And we'll beat him."
"We got to."
"You and----"
"You," cried Mallinsbee, thrusting out a hand towards him across the
table.
The two men gripped. Gordon had joined the conspirators.