DAVE BECOMES AN OFFICE MAN
From Graham came a wire a week after the return of the oil expert to
Denver. It read:
Report satisfactory. Can you come at once and arrange with me plan of
organization?
Sanders was on the next train. He was still much needed at Malapi to look
after getting supplies and machinery and to arrange for a wagon train of
oil teams, but he dropped or delegated this work for the more important
call that had just come.
His contact with Graham uncovered a new side of the state builder, one
that was to impress him in all the big business men he met. They might be
pleasant socially and bear him a friendly good-will, but when they met to
arrange details of a financial plan they always wanted their pound of
flesh. Graham drove a hard bargain with him. He tied the company fast by
legal control of its affairs until his debt was satisfied. He exacted a
bonus in the form of stock that fairly took the breath of the young man
with whom he was negotiating. Dave fought him round by round and found
the great man smooth and impervious as polished agate.
Yet Dave liked him. When they met at lunch, as they did more than once,
the grizzled Westerner who had driven a line of steel across almost
impassable mountain passes was simple and frank in talk. He had taken
a fancy to this young fellow, and he let him know it. Perhaps he found
something of his own engaging, dogged youth in the strong-jawed
range-rider.
"Does a financier always hogtie a proposition before he backs it?" Dave
asked him once with a sardonic gleam in his eye.
"Always."
"No matter how much he trusts the people he's doing business with?"
"He binds them hard and fast just the same. It's the only way to do. Give
away as much money as you want to, but when you loan money look after
your security like a hawk."
"Even when you're dealing with friends?"
"Especially when you're dealing with friends," corrected the older man.
"Otherwise you're likely not to have your friends long."
"Don't believe I want to be a financier," decided Sanders.
"It takes the hot blood out of you," admitted Graham. "I'm not sure, if I
had my life to live over again, knowing what I know now, that I wouldn't
choose the outdoors like West and Crawford."
Sanders was very sure which choice he would like to make. He was at
present embarked on the business of making money through oil, but some
day he meant to go back to the serenity of a ranch. There were times
when he left the conferences with Graham or his lieutenants sick at heart
because of the uphill battle he must fight to protect his associates.
From Denver he went East to negotiate for some oil tanks and material
with which to construct reservoirs. His trip was a flying one. He
entrained for Malapi once more to look after the loose ends that had been
accumulating locally in his absence. A road had to be built across the
desert. Contracts must be let for hauling away the crude oil. A hundred
details waited his attention.
He worked day and night. Often he slept only a few hours. He grew lean in
body and curt of speech. Lines came into his face that had not been there
before. But at his work apparently he was tireless as steel springs.
Meanwhile Brad Steelman moled to undermine the company. Dave's men
finished building a bridge across a gulch late one day. It was blown
up into kindling wood by dynamite that night. Wagons broke down
unexpectedly. Shipments of supplies failed to arrive. Engines were
mysteriously smashed.
The sabotage was skillful. Steelman's agents left no evidence that could
be used against them. More than one of them, Hart and Sanders agreed,
were spies who had found employment with the Jackpot. One or two men were
discharged on suspicion, even though complete evidence against them was
lacking.
The responsibility that had been thrust on Dave brought out in him
unsuspected business capacity. During his prison days there had developed
in him a quality of leadership. He had been more than once in charge of a
road-building gang of convicts and had found that men naturally turned to
him for guidance. But not until Crawford shifted to his shoulders the
burdens of the Jackpot did he know that he had it in him to grapple with
organization on a fairly large scale.
He worked without nerves, day in, day out, concentrating in a way that
brought results. He never let himself get impatient with details.
Thoroughness had long since become the habit of his life. To this he
added a sane common sense.
Jackpot Number Four came in a good well, though not a phenomenal one
like its predecessor. Number Five was already halfway down to the sands.
Meanwhile the railroad crept nearer. Malapi was already talking of its
big celebration when the first engine should come to town. Its council
had voted to change the name of the place to Bonanza.
The tide was turning against Steelman. He was still a very rich man, but
he seemed no longer to be a lucky one. He brought in a dry well. On
another location the cable had pulled out of the socket and a forty-foot
auger stem and bit lay at the bottom of a hole fifteen hundred feet deep.
His best producer was beginning to cough a weak and intermittent flow
even under steady pumping. And, to add to his troubles, a quiet little
man had dropped into town to investigate one of his companies. He was a
Government agent, and the rumor was that he was gathering evidence.
Sanders met Thomas on the street. He had not seen him since the
prospector had made his wild ride for safety with the two outlaws hard
on his heels.
"Glad you made it, Mr. Thomas," said Dave. "Good bit of strategy. When
they reached the notch, Shorty and Doble never once looked to see if we
were around. They lit out after you on the jump. Did they come close to
getting you?"
"It looked like bullets would be flyin'. I won't say who would 'a' got
who if they had," he said modestly. "But I wasn't lookin' for no trouble.
I don't aim to be one of these here fire-eaters, but I'll fight like a
wildcat when I got to." The prospector looked defiantly at Sanders,
bristling like a bantam which has been challenged.
"We certainly owe you something for the way you drew the outlaws off our
trail," Dave said gravely.
"Say, have you heard how the Government is gettin' after Steelman?
He's a wily bird, old Brad is, but he slipped up when he sent out his
advertisin' for the Great Mogul. A photographer faked a gusher for him
and they sent it out on the circulars."
Sanders nodded, without comment.
"Steelman can make 'em flow, on paper anyhow," Thomas chortled. "But he's
sure in a kettle of hot water this time."
"Mr. Steelman is enterprising," Dave admitted dryly.
"Say, Mr. Sanders, have you heard what's become of Shorty and Doble?" the
prospector asked, lapsing to ill-concealed anxiety. "I see the sheriff
has got a handbill out offerin' a reward for their arrest and conviction.
You don't reckon those fellows would bear me any grudge, do you?"
"No. But I wouldn't travel in the hills alone if I were you. If you
happened to meet them they might make things unpleasant."
"They're both killers. I'm a peaceable citizen, as the fellow says. O'
course if they crowd me to the wall--"
"They won't," Dave assured him.
He knew that the outlaws, if the chance ever came for them, would strike
at higher game than Thomas. They would try to get either Crawford or
Sanders himself. The treasurer of the Jackpot did not fool himself with
any false promises of safety. The two men in the hills were desperate
characters, game as any in the country, gun-fighters, and they owed both
him and Crawford a debt they would spare no pains to settle in full. Some
day there would come an hour of accounting.