THE REWARD OF VICTORY
Gordon breathed hard. He wiped the dust from his perspiring face, as a
man almost unconsciously will do after a great exertion. His eyes,
however, remained on his defeated adversary. Presently he moved away a
little uncertainly. A moment later, equally uncertainly, he picked up
his soft felt hat. Then, his gaze still steadily fixed on the object
of his concern, he all unconsciously smoothed his ruffled hair and
replaced his hat upon his head.
Hazel, too, was tensely regarding the deathly silent figure of David
Slosson. A subtle fear was clutching at her heart. So still. He was
so very still.
Gordon's breathing became normal, but his eyes remained absurdly grave.
He approached the prostrate man. But before he reached his side he
paused abruptly and breathed a deep sigh of relief--and began to laugh.
"Right!" he cried. Nor was he addressing any one in particular.
Hazel heard his exclamation, and the clutching fear at her heart
relaxed its grip. She understood that Gordon, too, had shared her
dread.
Now she shifted her regard to the victor. Her eyes were full of a
deep, unspeakable feeling. Gordon was looking in another direction,
so, for the moment, she had nothing to conceal.
The man's attention was upon the horses. A strange diffidence made him
reluctant to follow his impulse and approach Hazel. He had no pride in
his victory. Only regret for the exhibition he had made before her.
Sunset and Slosson's horse were grazing amicably together within twenty
yards of the trail. The fight had disturbed them not one whit. The
Lady Jane had moved off farther, and, in proud isolation, ignored
everybody and everything concerned with the indecent exhibition.
Gordon secured the livery horse to a bush, and rode off on Sunset to
collect the Lady Jane. When he returned the defeated man was stirring.
One glance told Gordon all he cared to know, and he passed over to
where Hazel was still standing, and in silence and quite unsmilingly he
held the Lady Jane for her to mount.
Hazel avoided his eyes, but not from any coldness. She feared lest he
should witness that which now, with all her might, she desired to
conceal. Her feelings were stirred almost beyond her control. This
man had come to her rescue--he had rescued her--by that great
chivalrous manhood that was his. And somehow she felt that she might
have known that he would do so.
Gordon was looking at David Slosson, who was already sitting up. Once
Hazel was in the saddle he moved nearer to the disfigured agent.
"If you're looking for any more," he said coldly, "you can find it.
But don't you ever come near Buffalo Point again or Mallinsbee's ranch.
If you do--I'll kill you!"
David Slosson made no reply. But his eyes followed the two figures as
they rode off, full of a bitter hatred that boded ill for their futures
should chance come his way.
For some time the speeding horses galloped on, their riders remaining
silent. A strange awkwardness had arisen between them. There was so
much to say, so much to explain. Neither of them knew how to begin, or
where. So they were nearing home when finally it was Gordon whose
sense of humor first came to the rescue. They had drawn their horses
down to a walk to give them a breath.
Gordon turned in his saddle. His blue eyes were absurdly smiling.
"Well?" he observed interrogatively.
The childlike blandness of his expression was all Hazel needed to help
her throw off the painful restraint that was fast overwhelming her.
Again he had saved her, but this time it was from tears.
"Well?" she smiled back at him through the watery signs of unshed tears.
"I guess Sunset 'll hate this trail worse than anything around Buffalo
Point," Gordon said, with a great effort at ease. "He got a flogging
I'll swear he never merited."
"Dear old Sunset," said the girl softly. "And--and he can go."
"Go? Why, he's an express train. Say, the Twentieth Century, Limited,
isn't a circumstance to him."
Gordon's laugh sounded good in Hazel's ears, and the last sign of tears
was banished. It had been touch and go. She had wanted to laugh and
to scream during the fight. Afterwards she had wanted only to weep.
Now she just felt glad she was riding beside a man whom she regarded as
something in the nature of a hero.
"I sort of feel I owe him an apology," Gordon went on doubtfully.
"Same as I owe you one. I--I'm afraid I made a--a disgusting
exhibition of myself. I--I wish I hadn't nearly bitten off that cur's
fingers. It's--awful. It--was that or lose my eyesight."
Hazel had nothing to say. A shiver passed over her, but it was caused
by the thought that the man beside her might have been left blinded.
"You see, that was 'rough and tough,'" Gordon went on, feeling that he
must explain. "It's not human. It's worse than the beasts of the
fields. I--I'm ashamed. But I had to save my eyes. I thought I'd
killed him."
"I'm glad you didn't," Hazel said in a low voice. Then she added
quickly, "But not for his sake."
Gordon nodded.
"He deserved anything."
Suddenly Hazel turned a pair of shining eyes upon him.
"Oh, I wish I were a man!" she cried. "Deserved? Oh, he deserved
everything; but so did I. I'll never do it again. Never, never,
never! You warned me. You knew. And it was only you who saved me
from the result of my folly. I--I thought I was smart enough to deal
with him. I--I thought I was clever." She laughed bitterly. "I
thought, because I run our ranch and can do things that few girls can
that way, I could beat a man like that. Say, Mr. Van Henslaer,
I'm--just what he took me for--a silly country girl. Oh, I feel so mad
with myself, and if it hadn't been for you I don't know what would have
happened. Oh, if I could only have fought like you. It--it was
wonderful. And--I brought it all on you by my folly."
There was a strange mixture of emotion in the girl's swift flow of
words. There was a bitter feeling of self-contempt, a vain and
helpless regret; but in all she said, in her shining eyes and warmth of
manner, there was a scarcely concealed delight in her rescuer's great
manhood, courage and devotion. If Gordon beheld it, it is doubtful if
he read it aright. For himself, a great joy that he had been of
service in her protection pervaded him. Just now, for him, all life
centered round Hazel Mallinsbee and her well-being.
"You brought nothing on," he said, his eyes smiling tenderly round at
her. "He's a disease that would overtake any girl." Then he began to
laugh, with the intention of dispelling all her regrets. "Say, he's
just one of life's experiences, and experience is generally unpleasant.
See how much he's taught us both. You've learned that a feller who can
wear a suit that sets all sense of good taste squirming most generally
has a mind to match it. I've learned that no honesty of methods,
whether in scrapping or anything else, is a match for the unscrupulous
methods of a low-down mind. Guess we'll both pigeon-hole those facts
and try not to forget 'em. But say--there's worse worrying," he added,
with an absurdly happy laugh.
"Worse?"
"Only worse because it hasn't happened yet--like the other things have.
You see, the worst always lies in those things we don't know."
"You're thinking of the Buffalo Point scheme?"
"Partly."
"Partly?"
"Did he tell you anything?"
Hazel nodded.
"He said you'd--turned him out of the office."
"That all?" Gordon was chuckling.
"He said you'd told him to go to----" Hazel's eyes were smiling.
"Just so. I did," returned Gordon. "That's the trouble now. I've got
to face your father. I've hit on a plan to beat this feller. I've got
the help of Peter McSwain and some of the boys at Snake's. I'd a
notion we'd pull the thing off, so I just took it into my own
hands--and your father don't know of it. I'm worrying how he'll feel.
You see, if I fail, why, I've busted the whole contract. And now this
thing. Say, what's going to happen next?" As he put his final
question his smiling face looked ludicrously serene.
Hazel had entirely recovered from her recent experiences. She laughed
outright. More and more this man appealed to her. His calm, reckless
courage was a wonderful thing in her eyes. Their whole schemes might
be jeopardized by that afternoon's work, but he had acted without
thought of consequence, without thought of anybody or anything beyond
the fact that he yearned to beat this man Slosson, and would spare
nothing to do so. What was this wild scheme he had suddenly conceived,
almost the first moment he was left in sole control?
She tried to look serious.
"Can you tell it me now?" she asked.
"I could, of course, but----"
"You'd rather wait to see father about it."
"I don't know," said Gordon, with a wry twist of the lips and a shrug.
"Say, did you ever feel a perfect, idiotic fool? No, of course you
never have, because you couldn't be one. I feel that way. Guess it's
a sort of reaction. I just know I've busted everything. The whole of
our scheme is on the rocks, through me, and, for the life of me,
somehow I--I don't care. I've hit up that cur so he won't want his
med'cine again for years, and it was good, because it was for you. So
I don't just care two cents about anything. Say, I'm learning I'm
alive, same as you talked about the first day I met you, and it's you
are teaching me. But the champagne of life isn't just Life. Guess
Life is just a cheap claret. You're the champagne of my life. That
being so, I guess I'm a drunkard for champagne."
Hazel was held serious by some feeling that also kept her silent.
Somehow she could no longer face those shining, smiling, ingenuous blue
eyes. She wanted to, because she felt they were the most beautiful in
the whole world, and she longed to go on gazing into them forever and
ever. But something forced her to deny herself, and she kept hers
straight ahead.
Gordon went on.
"Say, I haven't said anything wrong, have I?" he cried, fearful of her
displeasure. "You see, I can't put things as they run through my head.
That's one of the queer things about a feller. You know, I've got a
whole heap of beautiful language running around in my head, and when I
try to turn it loose it comes out all mussed up and wrong. Guess
you've never been like that. That's where girls are so clever. D'you
know, if you were to ask me just to pass the salt at supper it would
sound to me like the taste of ice-cream?"
Hazel looked round at the earnest face with a swift sidelong glance.
Then her laughter would no longer be denied.
"Would it?" she cried.
"Say, don't laugh at a feller. I'm in great trouble," Gordon went on
quickly.
"Trouble?"
"Sure. Wouldn't you be if you'd bust up a man's scheme the same as I
have, and if the only person in the world whose opinion you cared for
can't help but think you all sorts of a fool?"
Hazel's smile had become very, very tender.
"Who thinks you a--fool?"
"Anybody with sense."
"Then I'm afraid I've got no sense."
Gordon found himself looking into the girl's serious eyes.
"You--don't think me--a--fool?" he cried incredulously.
Hazel had no longer any inclination to laugh. A great emotion suddenly
surged through her heart, and her pretty oval face was set flushing.
"When a woman owes a man what I owe you, if he were the greatest fool
in the world to others, to that woman he becomes all that is great and
fine, and--and--oh, just everything she can think good of him. But
you--you are not a fool, or anything approaching it. I don't care what
you have done in our affairs--for me, whatever it is, it is right.
I'll tell you something more. I am certain that if my daddy wins
through it will be your doing."
Gordon had nothing to say. He was dumbfounded. Hazel, in her
generosity, was the woman he had always dreamed of since that first day
he had seen her, which seemed so far back and long ago. He had nothing
to say, because there was just one thought in his mind, and that
thought was, then and there to take her in his arms and release her for
no man, not even her----
Hazel was pointing along the trail.
"Why, there is my daddy coming along--on foot. I've never--known him
to walk a prairie trail ever before, I wonder what's ailing him."
And then Gordon had to laugh.
They were back in the office. By every conceivable process Silas
Mallinsbee had sought to discover what had happened. But Hazel would
tell him nothing, and Gordon followed her lead.
The old man was disturbed. He was on the verge of anger with both of
them. Then Hazel lifted the safety valve as she remounted her mare,
preparatory to a hasty retreat homewards.
"I'll get back to home, Daddy," she said, in a tone lacking all her
usual enthusiasm. "Mr. Van Henslaer has a lot to tell you about
things, and when I am not here he'll be able to tell you all that
happened--out there."
Gordon again took his cue.
"Yes, I've a heap to tell you," he said, without any display of
enjoyment.
The men passed into the office as Hazel took her departure. Her
farewell wave of the hand and its accompanying smile for once were not
for her father. Even in the midst of his mixed feelings that obvious
farewell to Gordon made the old rancher feel a breath of the winter he
had once spoken of, nipping the rims of his ears.
And his mind settled upon the thought of banking the furnaces
with--coal.
He took his seat in the big chair he always used and lit a cigar.
Gordon went at once to his desk and sat down. He leaned forward with
hands clasped, and looked squarely into the strong face before him.
"It's bad talk," he said briefly.
"So I guessed."
Then, after a few moments of silence, Gordon recounted the story of the
events of the afternoon right up to Mallinsbee's arrival at the office.
The rancher listened without comment, but with obvious impatience.
This was not what he wanted to hear first. But Gordon had his own way
of doing things.
"You see, I took a big chance on the spur of the moment," he finished
up. "I just didn't dare to think. The idea took right hold of me.
And even now, when I tell it you in cold blood, I seem to feel it was
one of those inspirations that don't need to be passed by. In the
ordinary way I believe it would succeed. Slosson would have been
driven into our plans. But--but now there's worse to come."
"So I guessed."
Mallinsbee's answer was sharp and dry.
"And it's the most important of your talk," he added a moment later.
"What happened--out there?"
Gordon's eyes took on a far-away expression as he gazed out of the
window.
"I nearly killed David Slosson," he said simply. Then he added, "I
knew I'd have to do it before I'd finished."
His gaze came back to Mallinsbee's face. A fierce anger had made his
blue eyes stern and cold. Then he told the rancher of his finding
Hazel struggling furiously in the man's arms, and of her piteous cry
for help, and all that followed.
While he was still talking the girl's father had leaped from his seat
and began pacing the little room like a caged wild beast. His cigar
was forgotten, and every now and then he paused abruptly as Gordon made
some definite point. His eyes were darkly furious, his nostrils
quivered, his great hands clenched at his sides, and in the end, when
the story was told, he stood towering before the desk with a pair of
murderous eyes shining down upon the younger man.
"God in heaven!" he cried furiously; "and he's still alive?"
Then he turned away abruptly. A revolver-belt was hanging on the wall,
and he moved towards it. But Gordon was on his feet in a moment.
"That gun's mine, and--you can't have it!"
Gordon was standing in front of the weapon, facing the furious eyes of
the father.
"Stand aside! I'm--going to kill him--now."
But Gordon made no movement.
"No," he said, with a stony calmness.
It was a painful moment. It was a moment full of threat and intense
crisis. One false move on Gordon's part, and the maddened father's
fury would be turned on him.
The younger man forced a smile to his eyes.
"You once said I could scrap, Mr. Mallinsbee. I promise you I scrapped
as I never did before. That man hasn't one whole feature in his face,
and if the hangman's rope had been drawn tight around his neck it
couldn't have done very much more damage than my fingers did. I tell
you he's has his med'cine good and plenty. There's no need for
more--that way. But we're going to hurt him. We're going to hurt him
more by outing him from this deal of ours than ever by killing him.
We're going to stand at nothing now to--'out' him. Let's get our minds
fixed that way. If one plan don't succeed--another must."
Standing there eye to eye Gordon won his way. He saw with satisfaction
the fire in the old man's eyes slowly die down. Then he watched him
reluctantly return to his chair.
It was not until the rancher had struck a match and relit his cigar
that Gordon ventured to return to his desk.
"You're right, boy," Mallinsbee said at last. "You're right--and
you've done right. If the whole scheme busts we--can't help it.
But--but we'll out that--cur."
The hall porter at the Carbhoy Building was perturbed. He was more
than perturbed. He was ruffled out of his blatant superiority and
dignity, and reduced to a condition when he could not state, with any
degree of accuracy, whether the Statue of Liberty was a symbol of
Freedom or a mere piece of cheap decoration for New York Harbor.
The precincts of the beautiful colored marble entrance hall over which
he presided had been invaded, against all rules, by a woman who
obviously had no business there. Moreover, he had been powerless to
stay the invasion. Also he had been forced to submit out of a sheer
sense of politeness to the sex, a politeness it was not his habit to
display even towards his wife. Furthermore, like the veriest
underling, instead of the autocrat he really was, he had been
ordered--_ordered_--to announce the lady's arrival to Mr. James
Carbhoy, and forthwith conduct her to that holy of holies, which no
other female, except the cleaner, had ever been permitted to enter. It
was Mrs. James Carbhoy who had caused the deplorable upheaval.
But Mrs. James Carbhoy was in no mood to parley with any hall porter,
however gorgeous his livery. She was in no mood to parley even with
her husband. She was disturbed out of her customary condition of
passive acquiescence. She was heartbroken, too, and ready to weep
against any manly chest with which her head came into contact. It is
doubtful, even, if a Fifth Avenue policeman's chest would have been
safe from her attentions in that direction. And surely distress must
certainly be overwhelming that would not shrink from such support.
James Carbhoy detected the signs the moment his door was opened, and
his wife tripped over the fringe of the splendid Turkey carpet and
precipitated herself into the great morocco arm-chair nearest to her,
waving a bunch of letter-paper violently in his direction.
"I've been to the Inquiry Bureau, and had a man detailed right away to
go and find the boy," she burst out at once. Then all her mother's
anxiety merged into an attack upon the man who silently rose from his
desk and closed the door she had left open. "I don't know what to say
to you, James," she went on. "I can't just think why I'm sitting right
here in the presence of such a monster. Here you've driven our boy
from the house. Maybe you've driven him to his death, or even worse,
and I can't even get you to make an attempt to discover if he's alive
or--or dead. This letter came this morning," she went on, holding the
pages aloft, lest he should escape their reproach. "And if he hasn't
gone and married some hussy there, out in some uncivilized region, I
don't know a thing. S'pose he's married a half-breed or--or a squaw,"
she cried, her eyes rolling in horror at the bare idea. "It--it'll be
your fault--your doing. You're just a cruel monster, and if it wasn't
for our Gracie's sake I'd--I'd get a divorce. You--you ought to be
ashamed, James Carbhoy. You ought--ought to be in--in prison, instead
of sitting there grinning like some fool image."
The millionaire leaned back in his chair wearily.
"Oh, read the letter, Mary. You make me tired."
"Tired? Letter, you call it," cried the excited woman. "I tell you
it's--it's a lot of gibberish that no sane son of ours ever wrote. Oh!
you're as bad as those men at the bureau. I made them read it,
and--and they said he was a--bright boy. Bright, indeed! You listen
to this and you can judge for yourself--if you've any sense at all."
"DEAREST MUM:
"I haven't written you in weeks, which should tell you that I am quite
up to the average in my sense of filial duty. It should also tell you
that I _hope_ I am prospering both in health and in worldly matters. I
say 'hope' because nothing much seems certain in this world except the
perfidy of human nature. It has been said that disappointment is
responsible for all the hope in the world, but I'd like to say right
here that that's just a sort of weak play on words which don't do
justice to the meanest intelligence. I am full of hope and haven't yet
been disappointed. Not even in my conviction that human nature has
some good points, but bad points predominate, which makes you feel
you'd, generally speaking, like to kick it plenty.
"While I'm on the subject of human nature it would be wrong not to
discriminate between male and female human nature. Male can be
dismissed under one plain heading: 'Self'--a heading which embraces
every unpleasant feature in life, from extreme moral rectitude, with
its various branches of self-complacency, down to chewing tobacco, to
me a symbol of all that is criminally filthy in life. Female human
nature comes under a similar heading, only, in a woman's case, 'Self'
is a combination of the two personalities, male and female. You see,
'Self,' in female human nature, is not a complete proposition in
itself. Before it becomes complete there must be a man in the case,
even if he be a disgrace to his sex. I will explain. You couldn't
entertain any feeling or purpose without the old Dad coming into your
focus. But with man it's different. The only reason a woman comes
into his life at all is so that he can kick her out of it if she don't
do just as he says and wants. I guess this sounds better to me writing
from here than maybe it will to you in your parlor in New York. But
it's easier to say things when you feel yourself shorn of the
artificialities of life.
"This is merely preliminary, leading up to two pieces of news I have to
hand to you. The first is, I have discovered that woman is the
greatest proposition inspired by a creative Providence for the delight
of man, but in business, unless specially trained, she's liable to fall
even below the surface scum which includes the lesser grade of biped
called 'man.' The second is that man, generally, is a pretty
disgusting brute, and I allow he deserves all he gets in life, even to
lynching. Understand I am speaking generally, as a looker-on, whose
eyes are no longer blinded by the glamour of wealth in a big city and
the comforts of a luxurious home.
"I feel I've got to say right here that to me, apart from the foregoing
observations, woman is just the most wonderful thing in all this
wonderful world. Her perfections and graces are just sublime; her
understanding of man is so sympathetic that it don't seem to me she'd
need more than two guesses to locate how many dollars he'd got in his
pocket or the quality of the brain oozing out under his hat.
"I guess her eyes are just the dandiest things ever. Furthermore, when
they happen to be hazel, they got a knack of boring holes right through
you, and chasing around and finding the smallest spark of decency that
may happen to be lying hidden in the general muck of a man's moral
makeup. They do more than that. I'd say there never was a man in this
world who, under such circumstances, happens to become aware of some
such spark, but wants to start right in and fan it into a big bonfire
to burn up the refuse under which it's been so long secreted. That's
how he's bound to feel--anyway, at first.
"A woman's just every sort of thing a man needs around him. It don't
seem a matter for worry if the sun-spots became a complete rash and its
old light went out altogether. That feller would still see those
wonderful eyes shining out of the darkness, giving him all the light he
needed in which to play foolish and think himself all sorts of a man.
"Guess when he'd worked overtime that way and sleep set him dreaming
he'd make pictures he couldn't paint in a year. There'd be every sort
of peaceful delight in 'em. There'd be lambs, and children without
clothes, and birds and flowers. And the lambs would bleat, and the
children sing, and the birds flutter, and the flowers smell, and all
the world would be full of joy. Then he'd wake up. Maybe it would be
different then. You see, a man awake figures his woman needs to look
like the statue of Venus, be bursting with the virtues of a first-class
saint, and possess the economical inspiration of a Chinee cook.
"In pursuance of these discoveries of mine I feel that maybe I've got a
wrong focus of our Gracie. Maybe when she gets sense, and sort of
finds herself floating around in the divine beauties of womanhood, some
escaped crank may chase along and figure she possesses some of the
wonderful charms I've been talking about. Personally I wish our Gracie
well, and am hoping for the best. Still, I feel whatever trouble she
has getting a husband I don't guess it'll end there--the trouble, I
mean.
"To come to my second discovery, it has afforded me some pleasant
moments, as well as considerable disgust and anger. It may seem
difficult to associate these emotions without confusion. But were you
to fully understand the situation you would realize that they could be
associated in one harmonious whole. With anger coming first, you find
yourself in a frenzied state of elation, capable of achieving anything,
from murder down to robbing the dead. It is a splendid feeling, and
saves one from the rust of good-natured ineptitude. Then come the
pleasant moments, which may find themselves in extreme exertion and the
general exercise of muscles, and even, in some cases--brains. Disgust
is the necessary mental attitude under reaction. This is how my
discovery affected me. But I fancy the object through which I made my
second discovery was probably affected otherwise. I can't just say
offhand. Maybe I'll learn later, and be able to tell you.
"There is not a day passes but what I make discoveries of a more or
less interesting nature. For instance, I've learned that there's
nothing like three people hating one person to make for a bond of
friendship between them. I'd say it's far more binding than marriage
vows at the altar. This comes under the heading of 'more' interesting.
Under the 'less' comes such things as--the only time that impulsive
action justifies itself is when you're sure of winning out. I have
given myself two examples of impulsive action only to-day. The one in
which I have won out seems to have ruined the chances of the other.
This is a confusion that doesn't seem to justify anything. Still, a
philosopher might be able to disentangle it.
"I should be glad if you would give the old Dad my best love, and tell
him that the figures representing one hundred thousand dollars grow in
size with the advancing weeks. Nor can I tell how big they will appear
by the end of six months. If they grow in my view at the present rate,
by the end of six months it seems to me I'll need to walk around
looking through the wrong end of a telescope so as to get a place for
my feet anywhere on this continent. However, as 'disappointment' has
not yet appeared to create 'hope,' it is obvious that 'conviction'
remains.
"I regret that time does not permit me to write more, so I will close.
Any further news I have to give you I will embody in another letter.
"Your loving son,
"GORDON.
"P.S.--I have been thinking a great deal about Gracie lately, she being
of the female sex. Of course, I could not compare her with a real
woman, but I feel, with a little judicious broadening of her mind, say
by travel or setting her out to earn her living, she might develop in
the right direction. It is a thought worth pondering. Such a process
might even have good results.
"G."
Mrs. James Carbhoy's angry and disgusted eyes were raised from her
reading to confront her husband's amused smile.
"Well?" she demanded. "Is it sunstroke, or--or----?"
"That inquiry agent was a smart feller," the millionaire interrupted.
"Gordon surely is a--bright boy."
Mrs. Carbhoy's indignation leaped. And with its leap came another.
She fairly bounced out of the chair she had occupied and hurled herself
at the mahogany door of the office.
"James Carbhoy, I shall see to this matter myself. I always knew you
were merely a money machine. Now I know you have neither heart nor
sense."
She flung open the door. Again she tripped over the fringe of the
carpet, and, with a smothered ejaculation, flew headlong in the
direction of the hall porter's stately presence.