_Figs and Thistles_
Though Zephyr had not explained his plan of operations in detail,
Firmstone found no difficulty in comprehending it. It was of prime
importance to have the river watched by an absolutely trustworthy man,
and Firmstone was in no danger of having an embarrassing number from
whom to choose. A day or two of cold, cloudy weather was liable to occur
at any time, and this, checking the melting of the snow, would lower the
river to a point where it would be possible to search for, and to
recover the safe.
It was with a feeling of relief that he tacitly confided the guarding of
the river to Zephyr. While he offered no opposition to Zephyr's carrying
out his scheme of having his mysterious disappearance reported, he was
fully satisfied that it would not deceive Pierre for an instant.
Firmstone, however, was deceived in another way. It was a case of
harmless self-deception, the factors of which were wholly beyond his
control. His reason assured him unmistakably that Hartwell would start
at once for Colorado on learning of the loss of the bullion, and that
the manager would be a hindrance in working out his plans, if indeed he
did not upset them entirely.
Firmstone's confidence in his ability to emerge finally triumphant from
his troubles came gradually to strengthen his hope into the belief that
he would be let alone. A telegram could have reached him within a week
after he had reported the loss, but none came. He was now awaiting a
letter.
The bridge had been repaired, and travel resumed. A meagre account of
the accident had been noted in the Denver, as well as in the local
papers, but no hint was given that it was considered otherwise than as
an event incidental to mountain travel. The miraculous escape of the
driver was the sole item of interest. These facts gratified Firmstone
exceedingly. Pierre was evidently satisfied that the cards were in his
own hands to play when and as he would. He was apparently well content
to sit in the game with Firmstone as his sole opponent. Firmstone was
equally well content, if only----
There came the sharp click of the office gate. Inside the railing stood
a slender man of medium height, slightly stooped forward. On his left
arm hung a light overcoat. From a smooth face, with a mouth whose thin
lips oscillated between assumed determination and cynical half-smiles, a
pair of grey eyes twinkled with a humorously tolerant endurance of the
frailties of his fellow-men.
"Well, how are you?" The gloved right hand shot out an accompaniment to
his words.
Firmstone took the proffered hand.
"Nothing to complain of. This is something of a surprise." This was true
in regard to one mental attitude, but not of another. Firmstone voiced
his hopes, not his judgment.
"It shouldn't be." The eyes lost their twinkle as the mouth straightened
to a line. "I'm afraid you hardly appreciate the gravity of the
situation. The loss of $50,000 is serious, but it's no killing matter to
a company with our resources. It's the conditions which make such losses
possible."
"Yes." Firmstone spoke slowly. The twinkle was in his eyes now. "As I
understand it, this is the first time conditions have made such a loss
possible."
The significance of the words was lost on Hartwell. The possibility of a
view-point other than his own never occurred to him.
"We will not discuss the matter now. I shall be here until I have
straightened things out. I have brought my sister with me. Her physician
ordered a change of air. Beatrice, allow me to introduce my
superintendent, Mr. Firmstone."
A pink and white face, with a pair of frank, blue eyes, looked out from
above a grey travelling suit, and acknowledged the curt introduction.
"I am very happy to meet you." Firmstone took the proffered hand in his
own.
Miss Hartwell smiled. "Don't make any rash assertions. I am going to be
here a long time. Where are you going, Arthur?" She turned to her
brother, who, after fidgeting around, walked briskly across the room.
"I'll be back directly. I want to look after your room. Make yourself
comfortable for a few minutes." Then addressing Firmstone, "I suppose our
quarters upstairs are in order?"
"I think so. Here are the keys. Or will you allow me?"
"No, thanks. I'll attend to it." Hartwell took the keys and left the
room.
Firmstone turned to Miss Hartwell.
"What kind of a trip did you have out?"
"Delightful! It was hot and dusty across the plains, but then I didn't
mind. It was all so new and strange. I really had no conception of the
size of our country before."
"And here, even, you are only a little more than half way across."
"I know, but it doesn't mean much to me."
"Does the altitude trouble you?"
"You mean Marshall Pass?"
"Yes. In part, but you know Denver is over five thousand feet. Some
people find it very trying at first."
"Perhaps I might have found it so if I had stopped to think. But I had
something else to think of. You know I had a ridiculous sensation, just
as if I were going to fall off the world. Now you speak of it, I really
think I did gasp occasionally." She looked up smilingly at Firmstone. "I
suppose you are so accustomed to such sights that my enthusiasm seems a
bore."
"Do you feel like gasping here?"
"No; why do you ask?"
"Because you are a thousand feet higher than at Marshall Pass, and here
we are three thousand feet below the mine. You would not only have the
fear of falling off from the world up there, but the danger of it as
well."
Miss Hartwell looked from the office window to the great cliff that rose
high above its steep, sloped talus.
"I told Arthur that I was going to see everything and climb everything
out here, but I will think about it first."
"I would suggest your seeing about it first. Perhaps that will be
enough."
Hartwell bustled into the room with a preoccupied air. "Sorry to have
kept you waiting so long."
Miss Hartwell followed her brother from the room and up the stairs.
"Make yourself as comfortable as you can, Beatrice. I gave you full
warning as to what you might expect out here. You will have to look out
for yourself now. I shall be very busy; I can see that with half an
eye."
"I think if Mr. Firmstone is one half as efficient as he is agreeable
you are borrowing trouble on a very small margin." Miss Hartwell spoke
with decided emphasis.
"Smooth speech and agreeable manners go farther with women than they do
in business," Hartwell snapped out.
"I hope you have a good business equipment to console yourself with."
Hartwell made no reply to his sister, but busied himself unstrapping her
trunk.
"Dress for supper as soon as you can. You have an hour," he added,
looking at his watch.
Hartwell did not find Firmstone on re-entering the office. He seated
himself at the desk and began looking over files of reports of mine and
mill. Their order and completeness should have pleased him, but, from
the frown on his face, they evidently did not.
Firmstone, meanwhile, had gone to the cook-house to warn Bennie of his
coming guests, and to advise the garnishing of the table with the
whitest linen and the choicest viands which his stores could afford.
"What sort of a crowd are they?" Bennie inquired.
"You'll be able to answer your own question in a little while. That will
save you the trouble of changing your mind."
"'Tis no trouble at all, sir! It's a damned poor lobster that doesn't
know what to do when his shell pinches!"
Firmstone, laughing, went to the mill for a tour of inspection before
the supper hour. Entering the office a little later, he found Hartwell
at his desk.
"Well," he asked, "how do you find things?"
Hartwell's eyes were intrenched in a series of absorbed wrinkles that
threw out supporting works across a puckered forehead.
"It's too soon to speak in detail. I propose to inform myself generally
before doing that."
"That's an excellent plan."
Hartwell looked up sharply. Firmstone's eyes seemed to neutralise the
emphasis of his words.
"Supper is ready when you are. Will Miss Hartwell be down soon?"
Miss Hartwell rustled into the room, and her brother led the way to the
cook-house.
Bennie had heeded Firmstone's words. Perhaps there was a lack of
delicate taste in the assortment of colours, but scarlet-pinks, deep red
primroses, azure columbines, and bright yellow mountain sunflowers
glared at each other, each striving to outreach its fellow above a
matted bed of mossy phlox. Hartwell prided himself, among other things,
on a correct eye.
"There's a colour scheme for you, Beatrice; you can think of it in your
next study."
Bennie was standing by in much the same attitude as a suspicious
bumble-bee.
"Mention your opinion in your prayers, Mr. Hartwell, not to me. They're
as God grew them. I took them in with one sweep of my fist."
Miss Hartwell's eyes danced from Firmstone to Bennie.
"Your cook has got me this time, Firmstone." Hartwell grinned his
appreciation of Bennie's retort.
They seated themselves, and Bennie began serving the soup. Hartwell was
the last. Bennie handed his plate across the table. They were a little
cramped for room, and Bennie was saving steps.
"It's a pity you don't have a little more room here, Bennie, so you
could shine as a waiter."
"Good grub takes the shortest cut to a hungry man with no remarks on
style. There's only one trail when they meet."
Hartwell's manner showed a slight resentment that he was trying to
conceal. "This soup is excellent. It's rather highly seasoned"--he
looked slyly at Bennie--"but then there's no rose without its thorns."
"True for you. But there's a hell of a lot of thorns with the roses, I
take note. Beg pardon, Miss!"
Miss Hartwell laughed. "You have had excellent success in growing them
together, Bennie."
"Thank you, Miss!" Bennie was flushed with pleasure. "I've heard tell
that there were roses without thorns, but you're the first of the kind
I've seen."
Bennie had ideas of duty, even to undeserving objects. Consequently,
Hartwell's needs were as carefully attended to as his sister's or
Firmstone's, but in spite of all duty there is a graciousness of manner
that is only to be had by a payment in kind. Bennie paraded his duty as
ostentatiously as his pleasure, and with the same lack of words.
Hartwell noted, and kept silence.
Hartwell looked across to the table which Bennie was preparing for the
mill crew.
"Do you supply the men as liberally as you do your own table,
Firmstone?"
"Just the same."
"Don't think I want to restrict you, Firmstone. I want you to have the
best you can get, but it strikes me as a little extravagant for the
men."
Bennie considered himself invaded.
"The men pay for their extravagance, sir."
"A dollar a day only, with no risks," Hartwell tendered, rather stiffly.
"I'll trade my wages for your profits," retorted Bennie, "and give you a
commission, and I'll bind myself to feed them no more hash than I do
now!"
The company rose from the table. For the benefit of Miss Hartwell and
Firmstone, Bennie moved across the room with the dignity of a
drum-major, and, opening the door, bowed his guests from his presence.