A stranger came to Abingdon by the morning train. Because of a
wide-brimmed gray hat, which he wore pushed well back, to testify against
burning suns elsewhere--where such hats must be pulled well down, of
necessity--a few Abingdonians, in passing, gave the foreigner the tribute
of a backward glance. A few only; Abingdon has scant time for curiosity.
Abingdon works hard for a living, like Saturday's child, three hundred
and sixty-five days a year; except every fourth year.
Aside from the hat, the foreigner might have been, for apparel, a thrifty
farmer on a trip to his market town. He wore a good ready-made suit, a
soft white shirt with a soft collar, and a black tie, shot with red. But
an observer would have seen that this was no care-lined farmer face;
that, though the man himself was small, his feet were disproportionately
and absurdly small; that his toes pointed forward as he walked; and
detraction might have called him bow-legged. This was Mr. Peter Johnson.
Mr. Johnson took breakfast at the Abingdon Arms. He expressed to the
landlord of that hostelry a civil surprise and gratification at the
volume of Abingdon's business, evinced by a steadily swelling current of
early morning wagons, laden with produce, on their way to the station,
or, by the river road, to the factory towns near by; was assured that he
should come in the potato-hauling season if he thought that was busy;
parried a few polite questions; and asked the way to the Selden Farm.
He stayed at the Selden Farm that day and that night. Afternoon of the
next day found him in Lawyer Mitchell's waiting-room, at Vesper,
immediate successor of Mr. Chauncey Bowen, then engaged in Lawyer
Mitchell's office on the purchase of the Watkins Farm; and he was
presently ushered into the presence of Mr. Mitchell by the demon clerk.
Mr. Mitchell greeted him affably.
"Good-day, sir. What can I do for you to-day?"
"Mr. Oscar Mitchell, is it?"
"The same, and happy to serve you."
"Got a letter for you from your cousin, Stan. My name's Johnson."
Mitchell extended his hand, gave Pete a grip of warm welcome.
"I am delighted to see you, Mr. Johnson. Take a chair--this big one is
the most comfortable. And how is Stanley? A good boy; I am very fond of
him. But, to be honest about it, he is a wretched correspondent. I have
not heard from him since Christmas, and then barely a line--the
compliments of the season. What is he doing with himself? Does he
prosper? And why did he not come himself?"
"As far as making money is concerned, he stands to make more than he'll
ever need, as you'll see when you read his letter," said Pete. "Otherwise
he's only just tol'able. Fact is, he's confined to his room. That's why I
come to do this business for him."
"Stanley sick? Dear, dear! What is it? Nothing serious, I hope!"
"Why, no-o--not to say sick, exactly. He just can't seem to get out o'
doors very handy. He's sorter on a diet, you might say."
"Too bad; too bad! He should have written his friends about it. None of
us knew a word of it. I'll write to him to-night and give him a good
scolding."
"Aw, don't ye do that!" said Pete, twisting his hat in embarrassment. "I
don't want he should know I told you. He's--he's kind of sensitive about
it. He wouldn't want it mentioned to anybody."
"It's not his lungs, I hope?"
"Naw! No thin' like that. I reckon what's ailin' him is mostly stayin'
too long in one place. Nothin' serious. Don't ye worry one mite about
him. Change of scene is what he needs more than anything else--and
horseback ridin'. I'll yank him out of that soon as I get back. And now
suppose you read his letter. It's mighty important to us. I forgot to
tell you me and, Stan, is pardners. And I'm free to say I'm anxious to
see how you take to his proposition."
"If you will excuse me, then?"
Mitchell seated himself, opened the letter, and ran over it. It was
brief. Refolding it, the lawyer laid it on the table before him, tapped
it, and considered Mr. Johnson with regarding eyes. When he spoke his
voice was more friendly than ever.
"Stanley tells me here that you two have found a very rich mine."
"Mr. Mitchell," said Pete, leaning forward in his eagerness, "I reckon
that mine of ours is just about the richest strike ever found in Arizona!
Of course it ain't rightly a mine--it's only where a mine is goin' to be.
Just a claim. There's nothin' done to it yet. But it's sure goin' to be a
crackajack. There's a whole solid mountain of high-grade copper."
"Stanley says he wants me to finance it. He offers to refund all expenses
if the mine--if the claim"--Mitchell smiled cordially as he made the
correction--"does not prove all he represents."
"Well, that ought to make you safe. Stan's got a right smart of property
out there. I don't know how he's fixed back here. Mr. Mitchell, if you
don't look into this, you'll be missin' the chance of your life."
"But if the claim is so rich, why do you need money?"
"You don't understand. This copper is in the roughest part of an awful
rough mountain--right on top," said Pete, most untruthfully. "That's why
nobody ain't ever found it before--because it is so rough. It'll cost a
heap of money just to build a wagon road up to it--as much as five or six
thousand dollars, maybe. Stan and me can't handle it alone. We got to
take some one in, and we gave you the first show. And I wish," said Pete
nervously, "that you could see your way to come in with us and go right
back with me, at once. We're scared somebody else might find it and
make a heap of trouble. There's some mighty mean men out there."
"Have a cigar?" said the lawyer, opening a desk drawer.
He held a match for his visitor and observed, with satisfaction, that
Pete's hand shook. Plainly here was a simple-minded person who would be
as wax in his skillful hands.
Mitchell smoked for a little while in thoughtful silence. Then, with his
best straightforward look, he turned and faced Pete across the table.
"I will be plain with you, Mr. Johnson. This is a most unusual adventure
for me. I am a man who rather prides himself that he makes no investments
that are not conservative. But Stan is my cousin, and he has always been
the soul of honor. His word is good with me. I may even make bold to say
that you, yourself, have impressed me favorably. In short, you may
consider me committed to a thorough investigation of your claim. After
that, we shall see."
"You'll never regret it," said Pete. "Shake!"
"I suppose you are not commissioned to make any definite proposal as to
terms, in case the investigation terminates as favorably as you
anticipate? At any rate, this is an early day to speak of final
adjustments."
"No," said Pete, "I ain't. You'll have to settle that with Stan. Probably
you'll want to sign contracts and things. I don't know nothin' about law.
But there's plenty for all. I'm sure of one thing--you'll be glad to
throw in with us on 'most any terms once you see that copper, and have a
lot of assays made and get your expert's report on it."
"I hope so, I am sure. Stanley seems very confident. But I fear I shall
have to disappoint you in one particular: I can hardly leave my business
here at loose ends and go back with you at once, as, I gather, is your
desire."
Pete's face fell.
"How long will it take you?"
"Let me consider. I shall have to arrange for other lawyers to appear for
me in cases now pending, which will imply lengthy consultations and
crowded days. It will be very inconvenient and may not have the happiest
results. But I will do the best I can to meet your wishes, and will
stretch a point in your favor, hoping it may be remembered when we come
to discuss final terms with each other. Shall we say a week?" He tapped
his knuckles with the folded letter and added carelessly: "And, of
course, I shall have to pack, and all that. You must advise me as to
suitable clothing for roughing it. How far is your mine from the
railroad?"
"Oh, not far. About forty mile. Yes, I guess I can wait a week. I stand
the hotel grub pretty well."
"Where are you staying, Mr. Johnson?"
"The Algonquin. Pretty nifty."
"Good house. And how many days is it by rail to--Bless my soul, Mr.
Johnson--here am I, upsetting my staid life, deserting my business on
what may very well prove, after all, but a wild-goose chase! And I do not
know to what place in Arizona we are bound, even as a starting-point and
base of supplies, much less where your mine is! And I don't suppose
there's a map of Arizona in town."
"Oh, I'll make you a map," said Pete. "Cobre--that's Mexican for
copper--is where we'll make our headquarters. You give me some paper and
I'll make you a map mighty quick."
Pete made a sketchy but fairly accurate map of Southern Arizona, with the
main lines of railroad and the branches.
"Here's Silverbell, at the end of this little spur of railroad. Now give
me that other sheet of paper and I'll show you where the mine is, and the
country round Cobre."
Wetting his pencil, working with slow and painstaking effort, making
slight erasures and corrections with loving care, poor, trustful,
unsuspecting Pete mapped out, with true creative joy, a district that
never was on land or sea, accompanying each stroke of his handiwork
with verbal comments, explaining each original mountain chain or newly
invented valley with a wealth of descriptive detail that would have
amazed Münchausen.
Mitchell laughed in his heart to see how readily the simple-minded
mountaineer became his dupe and tool, and watched, with a covert sneer,
as Pete joyously contrived his own downfall and undoing.
"I have many questions to ask about your mine--I believe I had almost
said our mine." The lawyer smiled cordially. "To begin with, how about
water and fuel?"
"Lots of it. A cedar brake, checker-boarded all along the mountain.
There's where it gets the name, Ajedrez Mountain--Chess Mountain;
kind of laid out in squares that way. Good enough for mine timbers, too.
Big spring--big enough so you might almost call it a creek--right close
by. It's almost too good to be true--couldn't be handier if I'd dreamed
it! But," he added with regretful conscientiousness, "the water's pretty
hard, I'm sorry to say. Most generally is, around copper that way. And
it'll have to be pumped uphill to the mine. Too bad the spring couldn't
have been above the mine, so it could have been piped down."
Prompted by more questions he plunged into a glowing description of
Ajedrez Mountain; the marvelous scope of country to be seen from the
summit; the beauty of its steep and precipitous cañons; the Indian
pottery; the mysterious deposit of oyster shells, high on the
mountain-side, proving conclusively that Ajedrez Mountain had risen
from the depths of some prehistoric sea; ending with a vivid description
of the obstacles to be surmounted by each of the alternate projects for
the wagon road up to the mine, with estimates of comparative cost.
At length it drew on to the hour for Mitchell's dinner and Pete's supper,
and they parted with many expressions of elation and good-will.
From his window in the Algonquin, Pete Johnson watched Mitchell picking
his way across to the Iroquois House, and smiled grimly.
"There," he confided to his pipe--"there goes a man hotfoot to dig his
own grave with his own tongue! The Selden kid has done told Uncle
McClintock about Stan being in jail. She told him Stan hadn't written to
Cousin Oscar about no jail, and that I wasn't to tell him either. Now
goes Cousin Oscar on a beeline to tell Uncle how dreadful Stanley has
went and disgraced the family; and Uncle will want to know how he heard
of it. 'Why,' says Oscar, 'an old ignoramus from Arizona, named
Johnson--friend of Stanley's--he told me about it. He came up here to
get me to help Stanley out; wanted me to go out and be his lawyer!'
"And, right there, down goes Cousin Oscar's meat-house! He'll never touch
a penny of Uncle's money. Selden, she says Uncle Mac was all for blowing
him up sky-high; but she made him promise not to, so as not to queer my
game. If I get Oscar Mitchell out to the desert, I'll almost persuade him
to be a Christian.... She's got Old McClintock on the run, Mary Selden
has!
"Shucks! The minute I heard about the millionaire uncle, I knowed
where Stan's trouble began. I wonder what makes Stan such a fool! He
might 'a' knowed!... This Oscar person is pretty soft.... Mighty nice
kid, little Selden is! Smart too. She's some schemer!... Too smart for
Oscar!... Different complected, and all that; but her ways--she sort of
puts me in mind of Miss Sally."