ON THE FLYER
West, his friends not in evidence, artfully waylaid Graham on his way to
the private car.
"Hello, Henry B. Sorry I couldn't see you yesterday," the railroad
builder told West as they shook hands. "You taking this tram?"
"Yes, sir. Got business takes me East."
"Drop in to see me some time this morning. Say about noon. You'll have
lunch with me."
"Suits me. About noon, then," agreed West.
The conspirators modified their plans to meet a new strategic situation.
West was still of opinion that he had better use his card of entry to get
his friends into the railroad builder's car, but he yielded to Dave's
view that it would be wiser for the cattleman to pave the way at
luncheon.
Graham's secretary ate lunch with the two old-timers and the conversation
threatened to get away from West and hover about financial conditions in
New York. The cattleman brought it by awkward main force to the subject
he had in mind.
"Say, Horace, I wanta talk with you about a proposition that's on my
chest," he broke out.
Graham helped himself to a lamb chop. "Sail in, Henry B. You've got me at
your mercy."
At the first mention of the Jackpot gusher the financier raised a
prohibitive hand. "I've disposed of that matter. No use reopening it."
But West stuck to his guns. "I ain't aimin' to try to change yore mind on
a matter of business, Horace. If you'll tell me that you turned down the
proposition because it didn't look to you like there was money in it,
I'll curl right up and not say another word."
"It doesn't matter why I turned it down. I had my reasons."
"It matters if you're doin' an injustice to one of the finest young
fellows I know," insisted the New Mexican stanchly.
"Meaning the convict?"
"Call him that if you've a mind to. The Governor pardoned him yesterday
because another man confessed he did the killin' for which Dave was
convicted. The boy was railroaded through on false evidence."
The railroad builder was a fair-minded man. He did not want to be unjust
to any one. At the same time he was not one to jump easily from one view
to another.
"I noticed something in the papers about a pardon, but I didn't know it
was our young oil promoter. There are other rumors about him too. A stage
robbery, for instance, and a murder with it."
"He and Em Crawford ran down the robbers and got the money back. One of
the robbers confessed. Dave hadn't a thing to do with the hold-up.
There's a bad gang down in that country. Crawford and Sanders have been
fightin' 'em, so naturally they tell lies about 'em."
"Did you say this Sanders ran down one of the robbers?"
"Yes."
"He didn't tell me that," said Graham thoughtfully. "I liked the young
fellow when I first saw him. He looks quiet and strong; a self-reliant
fellow would be my guess."
"You bet he is." West laughed reminiscently. "Lemme tell you how I first
met him." He told the story of how Dave had handled the stock shipment
for him years before.
Horace Graham nodded shrewdly. "Exactly the way I had him sized up till
I began investigating him. Well, let's hear the rest. What more do you
know about him?"
The Albuquerque man told the other of Dave's conviction, of how he had
educated himself in the penitentiary, of his return home and subsequent
adventures there.
"There's a man back there in the Pullman knows him like he was his
own son, a straight man, none better in this Western country," West
concluded.
"Who is he?"
"Emerson Crawford of the D Bar Lazy R ranch."
"I've heard of him. He's in this Jackpot company too, isn't he?"
"He's president of it. If he says the company's right, then it's right."
"Bring him in to me."
West reported to his friends, a large smile on his wrinkled face. "I got
him goin' south, boys. Come along, Em, it's up to you now."
The big financier took one comprehensive look at Emerson Crawford and did
not need any letter of recommendation. A vigorous honesty spoke in the
strong hand-grip, the genial smile, the level, steady eyes.
"Tell me about this young desperado you gentlemen are trying to saw off
on me," Graham directed, meeting the smile with another and offering
cigars to his guests.
Crawford told him. He began with the story of the time Sanders and
Hart had saved him from the house of his enemy into which he had been
betrayed. He related how the boy had pursued the men who stole his pinto
and the reasoning which had led him to take it without process of law. He
told the true story of the killing, of the young fellow's conviction, of
his attempt to hold a job in Denver without concealing his past, and of
his busy week since returning to Malapi.
"All I've got to say is that I hope my boy will grow up to be as good
a man as Dave Sanders," the cattleman finished, and he turned over to
Graham a copy of the findings of the Pardon Board, of the pardon, and of
the newspapers containing an account of the affair with a review of the
causes that had led to the miscarriage of justice.
"Now about your Jackpot Company. What do you figure as the daily output
of the gusher?" asked Graham.
"Don't know. It's a whale of a well. Seems to have tapped a great lake of
oil half a mile underground. My driller Burns figures it at from twenty
to thirty thousand barrels a day. I cayn't even guess, because I know so
blamed little about oil."
Graham looked out of the window at the rushing landscape and tapped on
the table with his finger-tips absentmindedly. Presently he announced a
decision crisply.
"If you'll leave your papers here I'll look them over and let you know
what I'll do. When I'm ready I'll send McMurray forward to you."
An hour later the secretary announced to the three men in the Pullman the
decision of his chief.
"Mr. Graham has instructed me to tell you gentlemen he'll look into your
proposition. I am wiring an oil expert in Denver to return with you to
Malapi. If his report is favorable, Mr. Graham will cooperate with you
in developing the field."