his bedroom fire. Then he turned to Jonas and said:
"Old man, it won't do. I can't stand it. I must not be able to follow
her movements or I shall not be able to keep my mind on matters here.
I shall never marry, Jonas. All the charms and all the affectionate
desires of you and Na-che cannot change that."
Jonas gave Enoch a long, reproachful look that was at the same time
well-tinctured with obstinacy. Without a word he left the room.
CHAPTER XVI
CURLY'S REPORT
"And now my house-mate is Grief. But she is wise and beautiful as the
Canyon is wise and beautiful and I claim both as my own."--_Enoch's
Diary_.
The Washington papers, the next morning, contained the accounts of two
very interesting dinner parties. One was a detailed story of the
President's dinner. The other told of the public meeting and
reconciliation of Secretary Fowler and Hancock Brown. The evening
papers contained, as did the morning editions the day following, widely
varied comment on the two episodes.
Enoch did not see the President for nearly a week after the dinner
party, excepting at the cabinet meeting. Then, in response to a
telephone call one evening, he went to the White House and told the
President of his break with Fowler.
"That was a curious thing for him to do," commented the chief
executive. "It looks to me like a plain case of losing his temper."
"It struck me so," agreed Enoch.
"Do you think that he had anything to do with the publishing of that
canard about you, Huntingdon?"
"I would not be surprised if he had. If I find that he was mixed up in
it, Mr. President, I shall have to punish him as well as Brown."
"Horsewhipping is what Brown deserves," growled the President.
"Huntingdon, why are they after Cheney?"
"I've told him to find out," replied Enoch. "I want him to put himself
in the position of being able to give them the lie direct, and then
resign."
"Who is after him?"
"I believe, if we can probe far enough, we'll find this same Mexican
controversy at the bottom of it. Cheney has been immensely interested
in the fuel problem. He's given signal help to the Bureau of Mines."
The telephone rang, and the President answered it. He returned to his
arm-chair shortly, with a curious smile on his face.
"Secretary Fowler wants to see me. I did not tell him that you are
calling. As far as he has informed me, you and he are still on a
friendly basis. He will be along shortly, and I shall be keenly
interested in observing the meeting."
Enoch smoked his cigar in silence for some moments before he said, with
a chuckle:
"I like a fight, if only it's in the open."
"So do I!" exclaimed the President.
The conversation was desultory until the door opened, admitting the
Secretary of State. He gave Enoch a glance and greeted the chief
executive, then bowed formally to Enoch, and stood waiting.
"Sit down, Fowler! Try one of those cigars! They haven't killed
Huntingdon yet."
"I beg your pardon, Mr. President," stiffly, "it is quite impossible
for me to make any pretense of friendship for the present Secretary of
the Interior."
The President raised his eyebrows. "What's the trouble, Fowler?"
"You may have heard," Fowler's voice was sardonic, "that your Secretary
of the Interior swung around the circle on a speech-making trip this
fall!"
"I heard of it," replied the chief executive, "probably before you did,
because I asked Mr. Huntingdon to make the trip."
"And may I ask, Mr. President, why you asked this gentleman to
interfere with my prerogatives?"
"Come! Come, Fowler! You are too clever a man to attempt the
hoity-toity manner with me! You undoubtedly read all of Huntingdon's
speeches with care, and you observed that his entire plea was for the
states to allow the Federal Government to proceed in its normal
function of developing the water power and oil resources of this
country; that a few American business men should not be permitted to
hog the water power of the state for private gain, nor to embroil us in
war with Mexico because of private oil holdings there. You will recall
that whatever information he used, he procured himself and, before
using, laid it in your hands. You laughed at it. You will recall that
I asked you, a month before Huntingdon went out, if you would not swing
round the circle, and you begged to be excused."
Still standing, the Secretary of State bowed and said, "Mr. Huntingdon
has too distinguished an advocate to permit me to argue the matter
here."
Enoch spoke suddenly. "Although I'm grateful to the President, Mr.
Fowler, I need no advocate. What in thunder are you angry about? If
you and I are to quarrel, why not let me know the _casus belli_!"
"I've stated my grievance," said Fowler flatly.
"Your new attitude toward me has nothing to do, I suppose," suggested
Enoch, lighting a fresh cigar, "with the fact that you dined with
Hancock Brown the other evening?"
Fowler tapped his foot softly on the rug, but did not reply. Enoch
went on. "I don't want to quarrel with you, Fowler. I'm a sincere
admirer of yours. But I'm going to tell you frankly, that I don't like
Brown and that Brown must keep his tongue off of me. And I'm deeply
disappointed in you. You did not need Brown to add to your prestige in
America."
"I don't know what the idea is, Fowler," said the President suddenly,
"but I do know that the aplomb and finesse with which you conduct your
official business are entirely lacking in this affair. It looks to me
as if you had a personal grievance here. Come, Fowler, old man, you
are too brilliant, too valuable--"
The Secretary of State interrupted by bowing once more. "I very much
appreciate my scolding, Mr. President. With your permission, I'll
withdraw until you feel more kindly toward me."
The President and Enoch did not speak for several minutes after Fowler
had left. Then the President said, "Enoch, how are you going to handle
Brown?"
"I haven't fully made up my mind," replied Enoch.
"The bitterest pill you could make him swallow would be to put yourself
in the White House at the next election."
"I'm afraid Brown would look on that as less a punishment than a
misfortune." Enoch smiled, as he rose and said-good night.
Nearly a month passed before Enoch heard from Cheney. During that time
neither from Fowler nor from the Brown papers was there any intimation
of consciousness of Enoch's existence. He believed that as long as he
chose to remain silent on the Mexican situation that they would
continue to ignore him. There could be little doubt that both Brown
and the public looked on Enoch's sudden silence following the Luigi
statement as complete rout. Enoch knew this and writhed under the
knowledge as he bided his time.
On a morning early in January, Charley Abbott answered a telephone call
which interrupted him while was taking the Secretary's dictation.
"It's Mr. Cheney!" he said, "He's very anxious to see you for ten
minutes, Mr. Secretary."
"Crowd him in, Abbott," replied Enoch.
Abbott nodded, and in less than half an hour the director of the Survey
came in.
"Mr. Secretary," he began without preliminaries, "I took your advice
and began investigating the trouble spots. Among other steps I took, I
detached two men temporarily from a Colorado River expedition and sent
them into Texas to discover if possible what the ordinary oil
prospectors felt toward the Survey."
Enoch's face brightened. "That was an interesting move!" he exclaimed.
"Were these experienced oil men?"
"One of them, Harden, knew something of drilling. Well, they struck up
some sort of a pseudo partnership with a man, a miner, name Field, and
the three of them undertook to locate some wells in southern Texas.
They were near the Mexican border and were heckled constantly by bands
of Mexicans. Finally, as the man Field, Curly, Harden calls him in his
report, was standing guard over the horses one night, he was shot
through the abdomen. Three days later, he died."
"Died!" exclaimed Enoch. "Are you sure of that?"
"So Harden reports. Field knew that his wound was fatal. He was
perfectly cool and conscious to the last, and he spent the greater part
of the period before his death, dictating to Harden a long story about
Hancock Brown's early activities in Mexico. He swore Harden to
absolute secrecy as to details and made him promise to send the story
to some lawyer here in Washington, who seems to have taken a small
portion of the Canyon trip with the expedition and who had prospected
with Field."
"And Curly Field is dead!" repeated Enoch.
"Yes, poor fellow! Now then, here's the point, both Harden and
Forrester, the other Survey man, are morally certain that there is a
well-organized gang whose business is to make oil prospecting on the
border unhealthy. They have several lists of names they want
investigated, and they suggest that Secret Service men be put on the
job, at once. There was a small item in Texas papers about the killing
and a New York paper was after me this morning for the story. That's
why I hurried to you."
"Did you gather that Field's story had anything to do with the present
trouble with Mexico?" asked Enoch.
The Director shook his head. "No, Mr. Secretary. I merely brought
that detail in because Brown is known to be your enemy and--"
He hesitated as he saw the grim lines deepening around Enoch's mouth.
The Secretary tapped the desk thoughtfully with his pencil, then said:
"Keep it all out of the papers, Mr. Cheney, if you please. Or, rather
if you are willing, let the publicity end be handled from this office.
Send the newspaper men to Mr. Abbott."
"That will be a relief!" exclaimed Cheney. "Shall I go ahead on the
lines indicated?"
"Yes, and bring me your next budget of news!"
As Cheney went out, Enoch rang for Jonas. "Jonas, I wish you'd go home
and see if there is any mail there for Judge Smith. If there is, lock
it in the desk in my room," tossing Jonas the key.
"Yes, Mr. Secretary," exclaimed Jonas, disappearing out the door. He
returned shortly to report that mail had arrived for Judge Smith, and
that it was safely locked away.
Enoch had no engagement that evening. When he had finished his
solitary dinner he went to his room and took out of the desk drawer a
large document envelope and a letter. The letter he opened.
"My dear Judge: Forrester and I have just completed a sad bit of work,
the taking of poor Curly's body back to Arizona for burial. Soon after
you left, we took Milton over to Wilson's ranch and left Ag to look out
for him. He's coming along fine, by the way. We wired our dilemma to
our Chief in Washington and he told us to go into southern Texas and
investigate some conditions there for him. To our surprise, Curly
wanted to go along, as soon as he found we were later going into Mexico
to an old stamping ground of his. Well, we had a great time on the
Border. It wasn't so bad until the hombres began to get nasty, and as
you may recall, neither Curly nor my now good pal Forr stand well under
sniping. It got so finally that we had to stand watch over our outfit
at night, and Curly got a bullet in his bladder. He bled so we
couldn't move him and Forr went out, thirty miles, after a doctor.
While we waited, Curly got me to set down the stuff I am sending you
under separate cover. He also made his will and left you his mining
claims, all merely prospects so far. He says you know how he came to
feel as he does about Brown and Fowler. However that may be, it
certainly is the dirtiest story I ever heard one man tell on others
and, dying though he was, I begged Curly to let me tear the paper up
and let the story go into the grave with him. But he held me to my
promise, so I'm sending it to you, with this apology for contaminating
either of us with the dope. Poor old Curly! He was a man who'd been a
little embittered by some early trouble, but he was a good scout, for
all that.
"We all missed you and Jonas,--don't forget Jonas!--very much, after
you left. Milton said half a dozen times that when he gets in shape to
go on with the work in the spring, he was going to try to persuade you
to finish the trip with us. So say we all! With best wishes,
sincerely yours, C. L. Harden."
After Enoch had finished Harden's letter he replaced it in its envelope
slowly and dropped it into the desk drawer. Next, as slowly, he picked
up the bulkier envelope and placed it on edge on the mantel under the
Moran painting. Then he began to walk the floor.
He knew that, in that dingy envelope, lay the whip by which he could
drive Brown to public apology. As far as fearing any publicity with
which Brown could retaliate, Enoch felt immune. He believed that he
had sounded the uttermost depths of humiliation. And at first he
gloated over the thought that now Brown could be made to suffer as he
had suffered. He would give the story to the newspapers, exactly as it
had come to him. And what a setting! Curly shot from ambush, by
creatures, it was highly probable, who were ignorantly actuated by
Brown's own crooked Mexican policy. Curly flinging, with his dying
hands, the boomerang that was to strike Brown down. That incidentally
it would pull Fowler down, moved Enoch little. Fowler too would be
hoist by his own petard.
For a long hour Enoch paced the floor. Then he came to a sudden pause
before the mantel and turned on the light above the painting of Bright
Angel trail. Outside the room sounded the clatter of Washington's
streets. Enoch did not hear it. Once more a passionate, sullen boy,
he was clinging to his mule on the twisting trail. Once more swept
over him the horror of the Canyon and of human beings that had tortured
the soul of the boy, Enoch, on that first visit into the Canyon's
depths. The sweat started to his forehead and, as he stared, he
grasped the mantel with both hands. Then he picked up the envelope.
His hand shook as he inserted a finger under the flap, lifting his eyes
as he did so, once more to the painting.
He paused. Unearthly calm, drifting mists, colors too ephemeral, too
subtle for words--drawn in the Canyon!
The lift of the Ida under his knees, the eager welter of the whirlpool,
the sting of the icy Colorado dragging him under, the flash of Diana's
face and his winning fight with death.
The chaos of the river and two tiny figures staggering hour after hour
over the hopeless, impossible chasms and buttes; Harden going to the
rescue of Forrester.
Starlight on the desert. Diana's touch on his forehead, her tender,
gentle fingers smoothing his hair as they gazed together at the
mysterious shadowy depth beyond which flowed the Colorado; that tender
touch on his hair and forehead and the desert stars thrilling near,
infinitely remote.
Suddenly Enoch, resting his arm on the mantel, dropped his forehead
upon it and stood so, the wonderful glowing colors of the painting
seeming to shimmer on his bronze hair. At last, at the sound of
Jonas's footstep in the hall, he lifted his head, turned off the light
above the painting, crossed to his desk and, dropping the still
unopened envelope into a secret drawer, locked it and put the key in
his pocket.
The following morning Senator Havisham came to see Enoch. He was one
of the leading members of Enoch's party, a virile, progressive man,
very little older than the Secretary himself. After shaking hands with
Enoch and taking one of his cigars, he sat staring at him as if he
scarcely knew how to begin.
Enoch smiled half sadly. "Go ahead, Senator," he said. "You and I
have known each other a long time."
The Senator smiled in return. "Yes, we have, Huntingdon, and I'm proud
of the fact. That is why I was asked to undertake this errand which
has an unpleasant as well as a pleasant side. We want you to run as
our presidential nominee. But before we pass the word around, we want
you to issue a denial of the Brown canard that will settle that kind of
mud slinging at you for good and all."
Enoch's face was a cold mask. "I can't deny it, Havisham. The facts
stated are true. The inferences drawn as to my character are false.
The bringing of Miss Allen into the story was a blasphemy. All things
considered, as far as publicity goes, utter silence is my only
recourse. As for my private retaliation on Brown, that's another and a
personal matter."
Senator Havisham looked at Enoch through half-shut eyes.
"Huntingdon, let me issue that statement, exactly as you have made it."
"No," replied Enoch flatly. "The less reference made by us to the
Brown canard, the better chance of its being forgotten."
The Senator puffed silently, then said, "Why does Brown hate you?"
"I have fought his Mexican policy."
"Yes, I know, but is that the only reason?"
"As far as my knowledge goes," replied Enoch. "Of course, now that
he's openly committed to Fowler, he has an added grievance."
"There is nothing personal between you?"
"I never laid eyes on the man in my life. I never did him an
intentional injury. I am merely in his way. I always have despised
his papers and now I despise him. Understand, Senator, that, without
regard to diplomacy, Brown and I must have it out."
Havisham shook his head. "You'd better let him alone, Huntingdon. He
has an awful weapon in his papers and he can smear you in the public
mind no matter how obviously false his stories may be."
Enoch's lips tightened. "I'm not afraid of Brown. But all things
considered, Havisham, you'd better leave me out of your list of
presidential possibilities."
"There is no list! Or, at least, you're the list!" The Senator's
laugh was a little rueful.
"And," Enoch went on, "strange as it may seem, I'm not sure that I want
the Presidency. It seems to me that I might be far more useful in the
Capitol than in the White House."
"Not to the party!" exclaimed Havisham quickly.
"No, to the country!"
"Perhaps, but it's a debatable matter, which I don't intend to debate.
You are our man. If you won't deny the Brown canard, then we must go
ahead without the denial."
Enoch looked thoughtfully from the window, then turned back to the
Senator. "There is no great hurry, is there? Give me a month to get
matters clear in my own mind."
"There is no hurry, except that the Brown papers work while others
sleep, and Fowler is Brown's nominee. However, take your month, old
man. I don't doubt that you have troubles of your own!"
Enoch nodded. Havisham shook hands heartily and departed, and the
Secretary turned to his loaded desk. The Alaskan situation was causing
him keen anxiety. The old war between private ownership, with all its
greed and unfairness to the common citizen, and government control,
with all its cumbersome and often inefficient methods, had reached
acute proportions in the great northern province. Enoch was faced with
the necessity of deciding between the two. It must be a long distance
decision and any verdict he rendered was predestined to have in it
elements of injustice. For days Enoch thrust, as far as possible, his
personal problem into the background while he struggled with this
greater one. It was only at night that the thought of Diana
overwhelmed all else to torture him and yet to fill him with the joy of
perfect memories.
It was on the morning after he had given his Alaskan decision that
Charley Abbott, eyebrows raised, laid a Brown paper before the
Secretary, with the comment:
"Either Cheney or some one in Cheney's office has leaked."
It was a twisted story of Curly's death. Curly, according to this
version, had been doing his utmost to keep two Survey men, Harden and
Forrester, from hogging for obscure government purposes, certain oil
lands, belonging to Curly. In the ill feeling that had resulted, Curly
had been shot. Before his death, however, he had been able to write a
statement of the affair which had been sent to a well-known lawyer in
Washington. He also had left sufficient property to the lawyer to
enable him to expose the workings of the Geological Survey to its bones.
Enoch's face reddened. "I don't know what there is about a piece of
work like this that gets under my skin so intolerably!" he exclaimed.
"Whether it's the cruelty of it, or the dishonesty or the brute
selfishness, I don't know. But we are going to answer this, Abbott."
"How shall we go about it, sir? We might find out if Cheney knows
these men personally and have him make a statement."
"Have him tell of their previous records," said Enoch. "Let the world
know the heroism and the self-sacrifice of those men. And at the end
let him give the lie direct to the Brown papers. Tell him I'll sign it
for him."
"That will give Brown just the opening he's looking for, Mr. Secretary,
I'm afraid," said Abbott, doubtfully. "I mean, your signature."
"I'm ready for Brown," replied Enoch shortly.
Still Charley hesitated. "What is it, Abbott?" asked the Secretary.
"It's Miss Allen I'm thinking about," blurted out the younger man.
"You've gone through the worst that they can hand to a man, so you've
nothing more to fear. But if they bring her into it again, Mr.
Secretary, I'll go crazy!"
The veins stood up on Enoch's forehead, and he said, with a cold
vehemence that made Abbott recoil, "If Miss Allen's name is brought up
with mine in that manner again, I shall kill Brown."
Charley moistened his lips. "Well, but after all, Mr. Huntingdon,
Harden and Forrester are just a couple of unknown chaps. Is your
championing them worth the risk to Miss Allen?"
"Miss Allen would be the last person to desire that kind of shielding.
I've reached my limit, Abbott, as far as the Brown papers are
concerned. They've got to keep their foul pens off the Department of
the Interior. I'd a little rather kill Brown than not. Why should
decent citizens live in fear of his dirty newsmongers? Life is not so
sweet to me, Abbott, nor the future so full of promise that I greatly
mind sacrificing either."
"It's just--it's just that I care so much about Miss Allen," reiterated
Charley, miserably and doggedly.
Enoch drew a quick breath. The two men stared at each other, pain and
hopelessness in both faces. Enoch recovered himself quickly.
"I'm sorry, my boy," he said gently, "but life, particularly public
life, is full of bitter situations like this. Brown must be stopped
somewhere by somebody. Let's not count the cost. Get in touch with
Cheney and have that statement ready for the morning paper."
He turned back to his letters and Abbott left the room. Before he went
home that night, Enoch had signed the very readable account of some of
Harden's and Forrester's exploits in the Survey and had added, before
signing, a line to the effect that the slurs and insinuations regarding
the two men which had appeared in the morning papers were entirely
untrue.
For several days there was no reply from the Brown camp. Enoch's
friends commented to him freely on his temerity in deliberately drawing
Brown on, but Enoch only smiled and shrugged his shoulders, while
Curly's statement lay unopened in his drawer. But underneath his calm,
the still raw wound of Brown's earlier attack tingled as it awaited the
rubbing in of the salt.
Finally, one morning, Charley laid a Brown paper on Enoch's desk. The
Secretary of the Interior, said the account, had denied the truth of
certain statements made by the publication. A repetition of the story
followed. A careful reinvestigation of the facts, the account went on,
showed the case to be as originally stated. The well-known lawyer had
been interviewed. He had told the reporter that the contents of
Field's letter were surprising beyond words and that as soon as he had
made full preparations some arrests would follow that would startle the
country. The lawyer, whose name was withheld for obvious reasons, was
a man whose integrity was beyond question. He had no intention of
using the funds willed him by Field, for he and Field had grown up
together in a little New England town. The money would be put in trust
for Field's son, who would be sent to college with the lawyer's own
boy. In the meantime, the Secretary of the Interior would not be
beyond a most respectful and discriminating investigation himself. It
was known that he had cut short an unsuccessful speaking tour for very
good reasons, and had disappeared into the desert country for a month.
Where had he been?
Enoch suddenly laughed as he laid the paper down. "It is so childish,
so preposterous, that even a fool wouldn't swallow it!" he exclaimed.
"It's just the sort of thing that people swallow whole," returned
Abbott.
"Even at that, it's absolutely unimportant," said Enoch. Again Charley
disagreed with him. "Mr. Secretary, it's very important, for it's a
threat. It says that if you don't keep still, they will investigate
your desert trip. And you know what they could make of that!"
"Let them keep their tongues off my Department, then," said Enoch,
sternly. Nevertheless when Abbott had left him alone he did not turn
immediately to his work. His cigar grew cold, and the ink dried on his
pen, while he sat with the look of grim determination in his eyes and
lips, deepening.
He dined out that night and was tired and depressed when he returned
home. Jonas was smiling when he let the Secretary in and took his coat.
"Boss, they's a nice little surprise waiting for you up on your desk."
"Who'd be surprising me, Jonas? No one on earth but you, I'm afraid."
Jonas chuckled. "You're a bad guesser, boss! A bad guesser! How come
you to think I could do anything to surprise you?"
Enoch went into his brightly lighted room and stopped before his desk
with a low exclamation of pleasure. A large photograph stood against
the book rack. Three little naked Indian children with feathers in
their hair were dancing in the foreground. Behind them lay an ancient
cliff dwelling half in ruins. To the left an Indian warrior, arms
folded on his broad chest stood watching the children, his face full of
an inscrutable sadness. The children were extraordinarily beautiful.
Diana had worked with a very rapid lens and had caught them atilt, in
the full abandonment of the child to joy in motion. The shadowed,
mysterious, pathetic outline of the cliff dwelling, the somber figure
of the chief only enhanced the vivid sense of motion and glee in the
children. The picture was intrinsically lovely even without that
haunting sense of the desert's significance that made Diana's work
doubly intriguing.
Enoch's depression dropped from him as if it had never been. "Oh, my
dearest!" he murmured, "you did not forget, did you! It is your very
self you have sent me, your own whimsical joyousness!"
Jonas tapped softly on the door.
"Come in, Jonas! Isn't it fine! How do you suppose a photograph can
tell so much!"
"It's Miss Diana, it ain't the camera!" exclaimed Jonas, with a
chuckle. "Na-che says she ain't never seen her when she couldn't
smile. That buck looks like that fellow Wee-tah. Boss, do you
remember the night he took me out to see that desert charm?"
"Tell me about it, Jonas. It will rest me more than sleep."
Enoch sank back in his chair where he could face the photograph, and
Jonas established himself on the hearth rug and told his story with
gusto. "I got a lot of faith in Injun charms," he said, when he had
finished.
"They didn't get us our trip down Bright Angel," sighed Enoch, even as
he smiled.
"We'll get it yet, see if we don't!" protested Jonas stoutly. "Na-che
and I ain't give up for a minute. Don't laugh about it, boss."
"I'm not laughing," replied Enoch gravely. "I'm thinking how fortunate
I am in my friends, you being among those present, Jonas."
"As I always aim to be," agreed Jonas. "Do you think you could maybe
sleep now, boss?"
"Yes, I think so, Jonas," and Enoch was as good as his word.
Nearly two weeks passed before the attack on the Department of the
Interior was renewed. This time it was a deliberate assault on Enoch's
honesty. The Alaskan decision served as a text. This was held up as a
model of corruption and an example of the type of decision to be
expected from a gambling lawyer. Followed a list of half a dozen of
Enoch's rulings on water power control, on forest conservation and on
coal mining, each one interpreted in the light of Enoch's mania for
gambling. A man, the article said in closing, may, if he wishes, take
chances with his own fortune or his own reputation, but what right has
he to risk the public domain?
Several days went by after the appearance of this edifying story, but
Enoch made no move. Then the President summoned him to the White House.
"Enoch, shall you let that screed go unchallenged?" he demanded.
"What can I say, Mr. President?" asked Enoch. "And really, that sort
of thing doesn't bother me much. It is only the usual political mud
slinging. They are feeling me out. They want more than anything to
get me into a newspaper controversy with them. I am going to be
difficult to get."
"So I see!" retorted the President. "If you are not careful, old man,
people will begin to think Brown is right and you are afraid."
Enoch laughed. "I am not afraid of him or any other skunk. But also,
in spite of my red hair, I have a good deal of patience. I am waiting
for our friends to trot out their whole bag of tricks."
"What do you hear from Fowler?" asked the President.
"Nothing. I am desperately sorry that he has got mixed up with Brown.
He is a brilliant man and the party needs him. I hope his attitude
toward me has made no break in the pleasant relationship between you
and him, Mr. President."
"It did for a short time. But we got together over the Dutch Guiana
matter and he's quite himself again. As you say, the party can ill
afford to lose him. But a man who works with Brown I consider lost to
the party, no matter if he keeps the name."
"Fowler used to like me," said Enoch, thoughtfully.
"He certainly did. But the reason that Fowler will always be a
politician and not a statesman is that he is still blind to the fact
that the biggest thing a man can do for himself politically is to
forget himself and work for the party."
"You mean for the country, do you not?" asked Enoch.
"It should be the same thing. If Fowler can get beyond himself, he'll
be a statesman. But he's fifty and characters solidify at fifty. He's
been a first rate Secretary of State, because he's a first rate
international lawyer, because his tact is beyond reproach and because
he is forced by the nature of his work to think nationally and not
personally."
"I'm sorry he's taken up with Brown," repeated Enoch. "There never was
such a dearth of good men in national politics before."
"I've known him for many years," the President said thoughtfully, "and
I never knew him to do a dishonest thing. He's full of horse sense.
I've heard rumors that in his early days in the Far West he got in with
a bad crowd, but he threw them off and any one that knew details has
decently forgotten them. I've tried several times to speak to him
about this new alliance but although he's never shown temper as he did
that night when you were here, I get nowhere with him. His ideas for
the party are sane and sound and constructive."
"You mean for the country, do you not, sir?" asked Enoch again with a
smile.
The older man smiled too. "Hanged if I don't mean both!" he exclaimed.
"What do you think of Havisham as presidential material?" asked Enoch.
"Too good-natured! A splendid fellow but not quite enough chin! By
the way, I understand you refused to commit yourself to him the other
day."
Enoch rose with a sigh. "Life to some people seems to be a simple aye!
aye! nay! nay! proposition. It never has been to me. Each problem of
my life presents many facets, and the older I grow the more I realize
that most of my decisions concerning myself have been made for one
facet and not for all. This time I'm trying to make a multiple
decision, as it were."
"I think I understand," said the Chief executive. "Good night, Enoch."
And Enoch went home to the waiting Jonas.
CHAPTER XVII
REVENGE IS SWEET
"And then, after that day on the Colorado was ended, after the agony of
toil, the wrestling with death while our little boats withstood the
shock of destiny itself, oh, then, the wonder and the peace of the
night's camp. Rest! Rest at last!"--_Enoch's Diary_.
January slipped swiftly by and February, with its alternate rain and
snow came on. The splendid mental and physical poise that Enoch had
brought back with him from the Canyon stood him in good stead under the
pressure of office business which never had been so heavy. One
morning, late in February, Cheney came to see the Secretary.
"Well, Mr. Cheney, have you made your discovery?" asked Enoch.
Cheney nodded slowly. "But I didn't make it until last night, Mr.
Huntingdon. I've followed up all sorts of leads that landed me
nowhere. Last night, a newspaper reporter came to my house. He's with
the News now, but he used to be with Brown. He came round to learn
something about our men finding gold in the Grand Canyon. He wanted
the usual fool thing, an expression of opinion from me as Director. As
soon as he let slip that he'd been on the Brown papers, I began to
question him and I found that he'd been fired because he'd refused to
go out to Arizona and follow up your vacation trip. But, he said, two
weeks ago they started another fellow on the job."
Enoch did not stir by so much as an eye wink.
"I thought you ought to know this, although, personally, it may be a
matter of indifference to you."
Enoch nodded. "And what are your conclusions, Mr. Cheney?"
"That Brown is determined to discredit the Department of the Interior
and you, until you are ousted and a man in sympathy with his Mexican
policy is put in."
"I agree with you, entirely. And what are your plans?"
"I shall stick by my Bureau until we lick him. I haven't the slightest
desire to desert my Chief. When I thought it was I they were after, I
felt differently."
"Thanks, Mr. Cheney! Will you give me the name of the reporter of whom
you were speaking."
"James C. Capp. He's not a bad chap, I think."
Enoch nodded and Cheney took his departure. There were several
important conferences after this which Enoch cleared off rapidly and
with his usual efficiency. When, however, Jonas announced luncheon,
Abbott asked for a little delay.
"Here is an interesting item from this morning's Brown," he said.
Enoch read the clipping carefully.
"The visitor to El Tovar, the rim hotel of the Grand Canyon receives
some curious impressions of our governmental prerogatives. Recently a
government expedition down the Colorado was too well equipped with
spirits and had some severe smash-ups. Two of the men became disgusted
and quit, but nothing daunted, Milton, the leader took on two fugitives
from justice in Utah and proceeded on his way. A week later, however,
there was a complete smash-up both moral and material. The boats were
lost and the expedition disbanded. The expensive equipment lies in the
bottom of the Colorado. So much for the efficiency and morale of the
U. S. Geological Survey."
Enoch laughed, but there was an unpleasant twist to his mouth as he did
it.
"Abbott," he said, "will you please find out if Brown is in New York.
Wherever he is, I am going to see him, immediately and I want you to go
with me. No, don't be alarmed! There will be no personal violence,
yet."
The locating of the newspaper publisher was a simple task. An hour
after lunch, Charley reported Brown as in his New York office.
"Very well," said Enoch, "telegraph him that we will meet him at his
office at nine to-night. We will take the three o'clock train and
return at midnight."
It was not quite nine o'clock when Enoch and Charley entered Hancock
Brown's office. The building was buzzing with newspaper activities,
but the publisher's office was quiet. A sleepy office attendant was
awaiting them. With considerable ceremony he ushered the two across
the elaborate reception room and throwing open a door, said:
"The Secretary of the Interior, sir."
A small man, with a Van Dyke beard and gentle brown eyes crossed the
room with his hand outstretched.
"Mr. Huntingdon! this is a pleasure and an honor!"
"It is neither, sir," said Enoch, giving no heed to the outstretched
hand.
Brown raised his eyebrow. "Will you be seated, Mr. Huntingdon?"
"Not in your office, sir. Mr. Brown, I have endured from your hands
that which no _man_ would think to make another endure." Enoch's
beautiful voice was low but its resonance filled the office. His eyes
were like blue ice. "I have remained silent, for reasons of my own,
under your personal attacks on me, but now I have come to tell you that
the attacks on the Department of the Interior and on my personal life
must cease."
Hancock Brown looked at Enoch with gentle reproach in his eyes.
"Surely you don't want to muzzle the press, Mr. Huntingdon?"
"We're not speaking of the press," returned Enoch, "I have sincere
admiration for the press of this country."
Brown flushed a little at this. "I shall continue on exactly the line
I have laid down," he said quietly.
"If," said Enoch, clearly, "Miss Allen is brought into your publication
again either directly or by implication, I shall come to your office,
Mr. Brown, and shoot you. Abbott, you are the witness to what I say
and to the conversation that has led to it."
"I am, Mr. Secretary," said Charley. "And if for any reason you should
be unable to attend to the matter, I would do the shooting for you."
"This will make interesting copy," said Brown.
"I have within my control," Enoch went on, steadily, "the means to
force you to cease to put out lies concerning the Department of the
Interior and me. I seriously consider not waiting for your next move,
but of making use of this in retaliation for what you have done to me.
As to that, I have reached no conclusion. This is all I have to say."
Enoch turned on his heel and closely followed by Charley left the
office. As they entered the taxicab, Abbott said, "Gee, that did me
more good than getting my salary doubled! I thought you were going to
use this morning's item as a text!"
"You'd better have Cheney prepare a reply to that, for me to sign,"
said Enoch and he lapsed into silence. They went directly to their
train and to bed and the next morning office routine began promptly at
nine as usual.
February slipped into March. One cold, rainy morning Abbott, with a
broad smile on his face, came in to take dictation.
"What's happened, Abbott?" asked Enoch. "Some one left you some money?"
"Better than that!" exclaimed Charley. "I dined at the Indian
Commissioner's last night and whom do you think I took out? Miss
Allen!"
A slow red suffused Enoch's forehead and died out. "When did she
return to Washington?" he asked, quietly.
"A day or so ago. She is studying at the Smithsonian. She says she'll
be here two months."
"She is well, I hope," said Enoch.
"She looks simply glorious!"
Enoch nodded. "Instead of dictating letters, this morning, Abbott,
suppose you start the visitors this way. Somehow, the thought of
wading through that pile, right now, sickens me."
Charley's face showed surprise, but he rose at once. "Mr. Cheney's
been waiting for an hour out there with an interesting chap from the
western field. Perhaps you'd better see them before I let the
committee from California in."
Cheney came first. "Mr. Secretary, one of my men is in from Arizona.
He is very much worked up over Brown's last effort and he's got so much
to say that I thought you'd better meet him. Incidentally, he's a very
fine geologist."
"Bring him in," said Enoch.
The Director swung open the door and moving slowly on a cane, Milton
came into the room.
"Mr. Secretary, Mr. Milton," said Cheney. "He--" then he stopped with
his mouth open for Milton had turned white and the Secretary was
laughing.
"Judge!" gasped Milton.
Enoch left his desk and crossing the room seized both Milton's hands,
cane and all.
"Milton, old boy, there's no man in the world I'd rather see than you."
"Why, are you two old friends?" asked Cheney.
"Intimate friends!" exclaimed Enoch. "Cheney, I'll remember the favor
all my life, if you'll leave me alone with Milton for a little while."
"Why certainly! Certainly! I didn't know Milton was trying to spring
a surprise on you. I'll be just outside when I'm needed."
"Sit down, Milton," said Enoch, soberly, when they were alone. "Don't
hold my deception against me. I was not spying. It was the blindest
fate in the world that brought me to the Canyon and to your expedition."
Milton's freckled face was still pale. "Hold it against you! Of
course not! But you've rattled me, Judge,--Mr. Secretary."
"No one but Abbott knows of my trip and he in baldest outline. Keep my
secret for me, old man, as long as you possibly can. I suppose it will
leak out eventually."
Milton was staring at Enoch. "Think of all we said and did!" he gasped.
"Especially what we did! Oh, it was glorious! Glorious!" cried Enoch.
"It did all for me that you thought it might, Milton. Do you remember?"
"Yes, I remember. And I remember telling you my personal ambitions!
I'd rather have cut out my tongue!"
"And once you all told what you thought of Enoch Huntingdon!" The
Secretary burst out laughing, and Milton joined him with a great "Ha!
ha!"
"So you were the fugitive from justice, that joined my drunken crew,"
chuckled Milton, wiping the tears from his eyes. "And I came over to
try to put myself straight as to that with the Big Boss!"
"The best part of it all is that excepting Abbott and Jonas and now
you, not a living soul knew it was the Secretary of the Interior who
took the trip."
"Of course, there was Miss Allen!" added Milton. "Don't forget her!
But she's as safe as the Canyon itself at keeping a secret."
"How about the reporter who's said to be on my trail?" asked Enoch.
"He's prowling round on the river, running up an expense account
twenty-three hours and making up lies on the twenty-fourth. Capp told
Mr. Cheney that this reporter, whose name is Ames, I believe, was to
write nothing until his return to New York. Mr. Secretary, can't
something be done to shut him off?"
"Yes," replied Enoch, sternly. The two men were silent for a moment,
then Enoch said with a sudden lighting of his blue eyes. "Where are
you stopping, old man."
"I haven't located the cheapest hotel in Washington yet. When I do,
that'll be where I'll stop. You remember we used to speak our minds on
the salaries the Department paid."
"I remember," chuckled Enoch. "Well, Milton, the cheapest stopping
place in Washington is over at Judge Smith's place. I believe you have
the address. By the way, have you seen Jonas?"
"No, but I want to," replied Milton.
Enoch pressed the button, and Jonas' black head popped in at the door.
As his eyes fell on Milton, they began to bulge.
"The Lord have mercy! How come you didn't tell me, boss--" he began.
Then he rushed across the room and shook hands. "Mr. Milton, I'd
rather see you than my own brother. Did you find any pieces of the
Na-che?"
"No, Jonas, but I've got some fine pictures in my trunk of you shooting
rapids in the old boat."
"No! My Lordy! Where's your trunk, Mr. Milton?"
"Jonas," said Enoch, "you get Mr. Milton's trunk check and--but he says
he's going to a hotel."
Jonas looked at Milton, indignantly. "Going to a hotel! How come you
to try to insult the boss' and my house, Mr. Milton? Huh! Hotel!
Huh!"
He took the check and left the room, still snorting. Milton rose. "I
mustn't intrude any longer, Mr. Secretary."
"Luckily I'm free, to-night," said Enoch. "We'll have a great talk.
Ask Cheney to come in, please."
"Mr. Cheney," asked Enoch, when Milton had gone, "do you think you
could find out whether or not that fellow Ames has returned from
Arizona?"
"Yes, we can do that without much trouble. Was Milton able to
straighten matters up with you, Mr. Secretary?"
"He didn't have to. I'm an ardent admirer of Milton's. He's going to
stop at my house, while he's in Washington. Why don't you take him out
of the field and begin to groom him for your job, Mr. Cheney? He
should be ready for it in a few years."
Cheney nodded. "He's a good man. I'll think it over. And I will
telephone Abbott about Ames."
It was fortunate for Enoch that Milton was with him that evening, for
the knowledge that Diana was in Washington and that he could not see
her was quite as agonizing as he had suspected it would be. Yet it was
impossible not to enjoy Milton's continual surprise and pleasure at the
change in the Judge's identity and it was a real delight to make once
more the voyage to the Ferry not only for its own sake but because with
the landing at the Ferry came much conversation on the part of Jonas
and Milton about Diana. But Enoch did not sleep well that night and
reached his office in the morning, heavy-eyed and grim.
Abbott, standing beside the Secretary's desk was even more grim. "Mr.
Cheney was too slow getting us the information about Ames," he said,
pointing to the newspaper that lay on the desk.
Enoch lighted a cigar very deliberately, then began to read. It was a
detailed account of the vacation trip of the Secretary of the Interior.
It was written with devilish ingenuity, purporting to show that Enoch
in his hours of relaxation was a thorough-going good fellow. The
account said that Enoch had picked up a mining outfit made up of two
notorious gamblers. That the three had then annexed two Indian bucks
and a squaw and had slowly made their way into the Grand Canyon,
ostensibly to placer mine, actually to play cards and hunt. The story
was witty, and contained some good word pictures of the Canyon country.
It was subtle in its wording, but it was from first to last an
unforgettable smirching of Enoch's character.
Enoch laid the paper down. "Abbott," he said slowly, "the time has
come to act. I want Mr. Fowler, Mr. Brown, this fellow Ames, or
whatever reporter wrote the first article about me to come to my office
tomorrow afternoon at five o'clock. If it is necessary to ask the
President for authority to bring them here, I shall ask for it."
Abbott's eyes glowed. "Thank God, at last!" he exclaimed. "Shall I
prepare a denial of this stuff."
"No! At least they have left Miss Allen out. We may be thankful and
let it stand at that. Now, start the procession in, Abbott. I'm in no
mood to dictate letters."
Enoch threw himself into the day's work with burning intensity. About
three o'clock, he told Abbott to deny all visitors that he might devote
himself to an Alaskan report.
"Mr. Milton just rushed in. Will you let him have a moment?" asked
Charley.
"Yes, but--" here Milton came in unceremoniously.
"Mr. Huntingdon," he said, "I've just finished lunching with Miss
Allen. We are both nearly frantic over this morning's paper. You must
let us publish the truth."
"No," thundered Enoch. "You know the Brown papers. If they discovered
what Miss Allen did for us all at the Ferry, how she led me back to El
Tovar, what would they do with it?"
Abbott looked from Enoch to Milton in astonishment. Milton started to
speak, but Enoch interrupted, "You are, of course, thinking that I
should have thought of that long before, when I asked her to let me go
back to El Tovar with her. But I didn't! I had been in the Canyon
long enough to have forgotten what could be made of my adventure by bad
minds. I was a cursed fool, moving in a fool's paradise and I must
take my punishment. If ever--"
Jonas opened the door from the outer office. "The President, Mr.
Secretary," he said.
Enoch started toward the telephone, but Jonas spoke impatiently--"No!
No! not that."
"The President of what, Jonas!" asked Abbott.
Jonas lifted his chest and flung the door wide. "The President of the
United States of America," he announced, and the President came in.
Enoch rose. "Don't let me disturb you, Mr. Secretary. I can wait,"
said the chief executive.
"We were quite finished, Mr. President. May I, I wonder, introduce Mr.
Milton to you, the geologist whom Brown said headed the drunken
expedition down the Colorado."
The President looked keenly at Milton as they shook hands. "Mr.
Huntingdon took great pains to deny that story, publicly," he said.
"Can't you persuade him, Mr. Milton, to do as much for himself, to-day."
"That's exactly why I'm here, Mr. President!" exclaimed Milton. "But
he's absolutely obdurate!"
Jonas came into the room and spoke to Enoch softly. "Mr. Fowler's
office is on the outside wire, Mr. Secretary. I wouldn't connect in
here while the President was here. Mr. Fowler wants to speak to you,
hisself, before he catches a train."
"I'll go into your office to get it, Abbott," said Enoch. "May I
detain you, a moment, Mr. President? Mr. Fowler wants to speak to me."
The President raised his eyebrows with a little smile. "Yes, if you
tell me what's happened to Fowler."
Enoch's smile was twisted as he went out. Milton immediately began to
speak.
"Mr. President, can't you make Mr. Huntingdon tell about his vacation?"
The chief executive shook his head. "Perhaps it's not best. Perhaps
he did have a lapse into his boyhood habits. Not that it makes any
difference to me."
"No! No! Mr. President. I know--" began Charley.
But Milton interrupted, "Mr. President, he was with me and part of the
time Miss Diana Allen, a wonderful woman, was with us. And Mr.
Huntingdon is afraid they'll turn their dirty tongues on her."
The President's face lighted as if he had received good news. "Really!
With you!"
"Yes, with me for a week and more. And I want to tell you, sir, that
for nerve and endurance and skill in a boat and as a pal and friend
under life and death conditions I've never seen any one to surpass him.
He scorned cards while he was with us. We had no liquor. We admired
him beyond words and had no idea who he was."
"No!" cried the President, delightedly. "Why, there must be a real
story in this! Go on with it, Milton! Enoch," as the Secretary came
in, "I'm winning the truth out of your old cruising pal, here!"
"I can't help it, Mr. Huntingdon!" cried Milton as Enoch turned toward
him indignantly. "Miss Diana said this noon that if you didn't tell
the story, she would."
"There you are!" exclaimed the President. "Wouldn't you know she'd
take it that way? And on second thoughts I think I'd rather hear the
story from her than any one else."
"But she can't tell you about the voyage, sir," protested Milton.
"That's true," agreed the President. "I shall have to arrange one of
my choice little dinners and have you and Miss Diana Allen there to pad
out the Secretary's account." Then, with a sudden change of voice, he
walked over to Enoch and put his hand on the younger man's shoulder.
Abbott nodded to Milton and the two slipped out.
"You are a bit twisted about women, dear old man! Come, you must let
Milton put out the right kind of a denial of Brown's story."
"Brown will put the denial out for himself," said Enoch sternly. "I've
reached my limit. Mr. President, I have asked Mr. Fowler, Brown, and
the reporter who's been maligning me to come to my office to-morrow
afternoon. I think I shall be able to settle this matter. I would
perhaps have done it before but I could not settle in my own mind just
how I wanted to go about it. Fowler refused to come until I told him
the purpose of the meeting."
"And you know now how to end this miserable affair?" asked the
President, wonderingly.
"Yes," replied Enoch. "And now, Mr. President, what can I do for you?"
"Exactly what you are doing, Enoch. Clear up this disgusting matter."
"You came to see me for that, sir?"
The President smiled. "You do not seem to realize that a great many
people, people who never saw you, are deeply troubled about you. You
do not belong to yourself but to us, Mr. Secretary."
"Perhaps you are right, sir," said Enoch humbly. "I thank you most
sincerely for coming."
"Will you come to me as soon as you have finished, to-morrow, Enoch?"
"Yes, Mr. President! Abbott, will you show the President out?" Then
when Charley had returned, he said, "Abbott, the Secretary of State
will be here. How about Brown?"
"He will be here," replied Charley. "I used the President's name
pretty freely, but I think I finally got him curious enough and worried
enough."
Enoch nodded. "Abbott, for the first time since I've been in this
office, I'm going to quit early and go for a ride."
"It's what you ought to do every day," said Abbott.
"Look here, Abbott, if I get this beastly matter settled to-morrow, I
want you to go away for two months' vacation."
"Well," said Charley, doubtfully, "if you get it settled!"
"Don't let that worry you," said Enoch grimly as he pulled on his
overcoat and left the office. "I'll settle it."
Promptly at three o'clock, the next day, Abbott ushered three men into
the Secretary's office. Enoch rose and bowed to Secretary Fowler, to
Hancock Brown, and to Ames, the reporter. The last was a clear cut
young fellow with a nose a little too sharp and eyes set a trifle too
close together.
"If you will be seated, gentlemen, I'll tell you the object of this
call upon your time. Mr. Abbott, please remain in the room.
"On the third of November, Mr. Brown, you published in one of your
evening papers an article about me written under your direction by
Ames. The facts in that article were in the main true. The deductions
you drew from them were vilely false. It is not, Mr. Brown, a pleasant
knowledge for a man to carry through life that his mother was what my
mother was. I have suffered from that knowledge as it is obviously
quite beyond your power to comprehend. I say obviously, because no men
with decency or the most ordinary imagination would have dared to
harrow a man's secret soul as you harrowed mine. Even in my many
battles with Tammany, my unfortunate birth has been respected. It
remained for you to write the unwriteable.
"As for my gambling, that too is true, to a certain extent. I have
played cards perhaps half a dozen times in as many years. I was taught
to play by the Luigi whom you interviewed. I have a gambler's
instinct, but since I was fourteen I have fought as men can fight and
latterly I have been winning the battle.
"Your insinuations as to my adult relationship to the underworld and to
women are lies. And your dragging Miss Allen into the dirty tale was a
gratuitous insult which it is fortunate for both of you, her father has
not yet seen. It happened that while I was on the vacation recently in
which you have taken so impertinent an interest, that I joined the camp
of two miners. One of them, Curly Field, told me an interesting story.
He probably would not have told me had I not been calling myself Smith
and had he not discovered that I am a lawyer."
The smile suddenly disappeared from Brown's face.
"That fellow Curly always was a liar," he said.
Enoch shrugged his shoulders. "You should be a good judge of liars,
Brown. Curly told me that Mr. Fowler was his brother-in-law's partner."
Fowler spoke, his face drawn. "Spare me that story, Mr. Huntingdon, I
beg of you."
"Did you beg Brown to spare me?" demanded Enoch, sternly.
"Pshaw!" exclaimed Brown, "that is old stuff. It couldn't be proved
that we had anything to do with it."
"No?" queried Enoch. "What would you say to my taking the fund left
Judge Smith by Curly and employing a first-class lawyer and a detective
to go on the trail of those mis-appropriated funds?" Brown did not
answer and Enoch went on: "Curly's idea was to get even with Fowler.
It was, in fact, a type of mania with him. He told me that for years
he had been in possession of facts concerning certain doings of Brown
and Fowler in Mexico, which if they were properly blazed across the
country would utterly ruin both of them. He wanted to put me in
possession of those facts."
Suddenly Fowler rose and went to stand at a window, his back to the
group around the Secretary's desk. Enoch continued, clearly and firmly:
"I could scarcely believe my good fortune. Here was my chance to pay
Brown in kind."
"Did Curly give you the facts?" asked Brown, who had grown a little
white around the mouth.
Enoch did not heed him. "I asked Curly if the story was a reflection
on these two men morally or financially. He said, morally; that it was
bad beyond words. At this point I weakened and told him that I had no
desire to display any man's weakness in the market place. And Curly
laughed at me and asked me what mercy Fowler had shown his brother?
But still I could not make up my mind to take those facts from Curly."
Mr. Brown eased back in his chair with a sneering smile. Young Ames
sat sickly pale, his mouth open.
"But when I left him," the calm, rich voice went on, "I told him that
he could write down the story and send it to my house in Washington.
Now the chances are that having drifted so many years without telling
it, he would have drifted on indefinitely. But fate intervened. Curly
went to the Mexican border. Certain gentlemen have seen to it that the
Mexican border is not safe. Curly was shot and he made it his
death-bed duty to dictate this delectable tale to a friend. In due
course of time, the document reached my house in Washington, and here
it is!" He tapped the upper drawer of his desk.
There was utter silence in the room while Enoch lighted a cigarette.
"Have you told any one the er--tale?" demanded Brown, hoarsely. "I can
prove that not a word of it is true!"
"Can you?" Enoch squared round on him. "Are you willing to risk having
the story told with the idea of disproving it, afterward? Isn't your
system of scandal mongering built on the idea that mud once slung
always leaves a stain in the public mind? And Curly was an eye
witness. He is dead, but I do not believe all the other eye witnesses
are dead. At any rate--"
Brown suddenly leaned forward in his chair. "Mr. Huntingdon, I'll give
you my check for $100,000, if you will give me that document and swear
to keep your mouth shut."
"Your bribe is not large enough," Enoch answered tersely.
"Five hundred thousand! I'll agree to make a public retraction of
everything I said about you and to work for you with all the power of
my newspapers."
"Not enough!" repeated Enoch, watching Brown's white face, keenly.
"What do you want?" demanded the newspaper publisher.
"First," Enoch threw his cigarette away, "I want Secretary Fowler to
break with you, absolutely and completely."
"Curly can't implicate me, in that Mexican affair!" cried Fowler.
"Why, my whole attitude was one of disapproval and disgust. I told
Brown over and over, that he was a fool and after the shooting I broke
with him, absolutely, for years. I am--"
Enoch interrupted. "Brown, was Fowler in on the trouble?"
"No!" replied Brown, sullenly.
"I'm very glad to hear it," Enoch exclaimed. "Mr. Fowler, as far as I
am concerned all that I learned from Field regarding you is a closed
book and forgotten if you will break with Brown."
"I'd break with him, gladly, if he'd cease to blackmail me about the
Field matter," said Fowler. "Good God! How many of us are there
who've not committed sins that we never forgive ourselves?"
"None of us!" said Enoch. "Mr. Fowler, why did you break with me?"
"Didn't you do your best to undermine me with the President? Didn't
you go to Ambassador Johns-Eaton and tell him--" Here, catching a
curious flickering of young Ames' eyelids, Fowler interrupted himself
to demand, "Or was that more of your dirty work, Ames?"
"Answer, Ames!" Enoch's voice was not to be ignored.
"Brown paid me for it," muttered Ames.
Fowler groaned and looked at Enoch, who was lighting a fresh cigarette.
"Will you agree, Brown, to an absolute break with Fowler and no come
backs?" asked Enoch.
"Yes," said Brown eagerly. "What else?"
"You are to go out of the newspaper business."
There was another silence. Then Brown said, "I'll not do it!"
"Very well," returned Enoch, "then the Mexican affair will be published
as Curly has written it with all the attendant circumstances."
Again there was silence, with all the eyes in the room focused on the
pale, gentle face, opposite Enoch. The noise of street traffic beat
against the windows. Telephones sounded remotely in the outer office.
For ten minutes this was all. Then Brown in a husky voice said,
"Very well! Give me the document!"
"Not at all," returned Enoch, coolly. "This document goes into my
safety deposit box. In case of my death, it will be left to
responsible parties. When you die, it will be destroyed. I am not a
rich man, Mr. Brown, but I shall devote a part of my income to having
you watched; watched lest indirectly and by the underhand methods you
know so well you again attempt to influence public opinion. After
to-morrow, you are through."
"To-morrow! Impossible!" gasped Brown.
"Nothing is impossible except decency to a man of your capacity," said
Enoch. "To-morrow you publish a complete denial of your lies about me
and this Department and then you are no longer a newspaper publisher.
That is all I have to say to you, Mr. Brown." He pressed a button,
"Jonas, please show Mr. Brown out."
Jonas' black eyes snapped. "How come you think I'd soil my shadow
letting that viper trail it, boss? I never disobeyed you before, Mr.
Secretary, but that trash can show hisself out!" and Jonas withdrew to
his own office, while Brown, shrugging his shoulders, opened and closed
the door for himself.
Ames would have followed him, but Enoch said, "One moment, Ames! What
assurance are you going to give me that you will keep your mouth shut
as to what you've heard this afternoon?"
"I give you my word," began Ames, eagerly.
Enoch raised his hand. "Don't be silly, Ames. Do you know that I can
make serious legal trouble for you for your part in libelling me and
the Department?"
"But Brown said his lawyers--"
"Brown's lawyers? Do you think Brown's lawyers will fight for you now?"
"No, Mr. Secretary," muttered the reporter.
"Very well! Keep your mouth shut and you'll have no trouble from this,
but let me trace one syllable to you and I shall have no bowels of
compassion. One word more, Ames. You are clever or Brown would not
have used you as he did. Get a job on a clean paper. There is no
finer profession in the world than that of being a good newspaper man.
Newspaper men wield a more potent influence in our American life than
any other single factor. Use your talent nobly, not ignobly, Ames.
And above all things never tell a vile tale about any man's mother.
Don't do it, Ames!" and here Enoch's voice for the first time broke.
Ames, his hands trembling, picked up his hat. His face had turned an
agonized red. Biting his lips, he made his way blindly from the room.
"And now," said Enoch, "if you'll leave Mr. Fowler and me alone for a
few minutes, Abbott, I'll appreciate it." As the door closed after
Charley he said, "Sit down, Fowler. I'm sorry to have put you through
such an ordeal, but I knew no other way."
"I deserve it, I guess." Fowler sat down wearily. "I was an unlicked
whelp in my youth, Huntingdon, but though I got into rotten company, I
never did anything actually crooked."
"I believe you," Enoch nodded. "Let the guiltless throw the first
stone. We both have paid in our heart's blood, I guess, for all that
we wrought in boyhood."
"A thousand-fold," agreed Fowler. "Huntingdon, let me try to express
my regret for--"
"Don't!" interrupted Enoch. "If you are half as eager as I am to
forget it all you'll never mention it even to yourself. But I do want
to talk candidly to you about our political aspirations. Mr. Fowler, I
don't want to go to the White House! I have a number of reasons that I
don't think would interest you particularly. But I want to go back to
the Senate when I finish here. Fowler, if you were not so jealous and
so personal in your ambitions I would be glad to see you get the party
nomination."
Fowler's fine, tired face expressed incredulity mingled with
bewilderment.
Enoch went on, "You and I are talking frankly as men rarely talk and as
we probably never shall again. So perhaps you will forgive me if I
make some personal comments. It seems to me that the only permanent
satisfaction a man gets out of public life is the feeling that he has
added in greater or less degree to the sum total of his country's
progress and stability. I think your weakness is that you place
yourself first and your country second."
"No!" said Fowler, eagerly. "You don't understand me, Huntingdon! My
own aim in life is to make my service to my country compensate for the
selfishness and foolishness of my youth. My methods may, as you say,
have been open to misinterpretation. But God knows my impulses have
been disinterested. And you must realize now, Huntingdon, that it has
been the business of certain people to see that you and I misunderstand
each other."
"That's true," said Enoch, thoughtfully. "Well, I doubt if that is
possible again."
"It is absolutely impossible!" exclaimed Fowler. "I am yours to
command!"
"No, you're not!" laughed Enoch. "Brown is finished and you're your
own man. I look for great things from you, Fowler. I wanted to tell
you that and to tell you that in me you have no rival."
"No," Fowler spoke slowly, "no, because no one can win, no one deserves
to win the place in the hearts of America that you have. Huntingdon,
your kindness and courtesy is the most exquisite punishment you could
visit upon me."
Enoch looked quickly from the Secretary of State to the opposite wall.
But he did not see the wall. He saw a crude camp in the bottom of the
Canyon. He heard the epic rush of waters and the sigh of eternal winds
and he saw again the picture of Harden fighting his way up the menacing
walls to rescue Forrester. It seemed to Fowler that the silence had
lasted five minutes before Enoch turned to him with his flashing smile.
"We are friends, Fowler, are we not?"
The older man rose and held out his hand. "Yes, Huntingdon, as long as
we live," and he slowly left the room.
Enoch sank back on his chair, wearily, and opening the top drawer of
his desk, took out the familiar envelope. _The seal was still
unbroken_! He placed it in a heavy document envelope, sealed this and
wrote a memorandum on it, and dropped it on the desk. Then for a long
time he sat staring into the dusk. At last, as if the full realization
of the loneliness of his life had swept over him he dropped his head on
his desk with a groan.
"O Diana! Diana!"
He did not hear the door open softly. Abbott with Ames just behind
him, stood on the threshold. The two young men looked at each other,
abashed, and Abbott would have withdrawn, but Ames went doggedly into
the room.
"Mr. Secretary!" he said, hesitatingly.
Enoch sat erect. Abbott flashed on the light. "Mr. Ames insists on
seeing you again, Mr. Huntingdon," Charley spoke hesitatingly.
"Come in, Ames," said Enoch, coldly. "Abbott, see that this envelope
is put in a safe place."
Abbott left them alone. Ames advanced to the desk, where he stood, his
face eager.
"Mr. Secretary, you've been so decent. You,--you--well, you're such a
man! I--I want to tell you something but I don't know how you'll take
it. The truth is, I believe that I could prove that Luigi's mistress
was not your mother!"
Enoch clutched his desk and his face turned to stone. "Don't you think
you went far enough with that matter before?" he asked sternly.
Ames stumbled on, doggedly. "This last trip out West I just thought
I'd go down to Brown's early stamping grounds and see what kind of a
reputation he had there. I was getting a little fed up on him and I
thought it couldn't hurt me to have a little something on him against a
rainy day, as it were. You see I never did know what this Curly Field
stuff was, but it didn't take me long to run that story down, even if
it was a generation old. Of course, I don't know what Curly told you,
but certainly the official reports of the Field scandal never proved
anything on either Brown or Fowler."
Enoch moved impatiently. But young Ames, standing rigidly before his
desk exclaimed, "Just a moment longer, please, Mr. Secretary! Some of
these facts you know unless Field was so obsessed with the thought of
his brother's alleged wrongs that he did not mention them, but I'll
state them anyhow. The mining and smelting property that caused the
whole row was originally owned by an old timer named Post who struck it
rich late in life, married and died soon after, leaving everything to
his son, a little chap named Arthur. This is the child Field was
supposed to have robbed. Little Arthur died a couple of years after
Field's suicide but by that time there was nothing left of the property
and no one paid any attention to the child's death. But in reading old
Post's will, something piqued my curiosity. In the event of Arthur's
death, the property was to go to old Post's baby nephew, Huntingdon
Post."
Enoch knit his brows quickly but he did not speak and Ames went on,
"Being, of course, in a suspicious state of mind, it struck me as an
unusual coincidence that this child should have died, too. So I made
some inquiries. It was difficult to trace the facts because there were
no relatives. Old Post seemed to have been just a solitary prowler,
coming from nowhere, like so many of the old timers. But finally, I
found an old fellow in the back country who had known old Post. He
told me that little Hunt Post, as he called him, had been killed with
his father and mother in a railway accident. I asked where they got
the child's name and he said the mother's name was Huntingdon. He knew
her when she was a girl living alone with her father in the Kanab
country, north of the Grand Canyon. He said her father died when she
was ten or eleven and a family named Smith sort of brought her up and
she was known as Mary Smith. But when she married, she named the boy
after her father who was a raw boned, red headed man named Enoch
Huntingdon."
Enoch gave Ames a long steady look and the younger man relaxed a little.
"Now," Ames went on, "knowing Brown as I do, I wonder if little Hunt
Post, who, like his mother was red headed and blue eyed, was burned up
in a railroad accident. Did Field speak of the child?"
Enoch pressed the desk button and Abbott came. "Give me the Field
envelope, please, Abbott."
When the envelope was in his hands, Enoch tore the flap up and began to
read the close written pages. When he had finished, he put the
manuscript back with steady hands. "Most of the letter," he said
quietly, "is taken up by the recital of Brown's shady moral career in
Mexico. At the end he speaks of a Mexican woman with red hair and
violet eyes who lived with Brown for some months. She left to act as
nurse to little Hunt Post. Some time after the railroad accident,
Curly was the unsuspected witness to a secret meeting between this
Anita and Brown. The woman demanded money and Brown demanded proof
that little Hunt was dead. The conference ended only when Anita
produced a box containing the child's body. Curly did not know how
much Brown paid her or where she went."
Ames gave an ugly laugh. "Hoist with his own petard! Think of him
starting me after the Luigi scandal!"
"Tell Abbott what you've just told me," said Enoch.
He did not stir while Ames repeated the story. Charley's eyes blazed.
When Ames finished, Charley started to speak but the young reporter
interrupted.
"Mr. Secretary, I want you to let me tie up the loose ends for you.
We've got to put the screws on Luigi and I'll take another trip West."
"Wait a bit!" exclaimed Charley. "Mr. Secretary, I'm going to claim
that long deferred vacation. Let me spend it with Ames clearing this
matter up for you."
Enoch drew a quick breath. "When could you begin, you two?"
"Now!" the two young men said together.
Enoch smiled. "Wait until to-morrow. I've more important work
to-night, and I want to go over every detail with you before you start
out. In the meantime, Abbott, guard this envelope as you would your
life."
"What won't we do to Brown!" exclaimed Charley.
"I've punished Brown," said Enoch. "He'll never hurt me again. As
soon as this thing is cleared, we'll forget him."
Again Ames laughed. "Believe me, he's going to be good the rest of his
life. Think of your reading that stuff about little Hunt, Mr.
Secretary, and never realizing its import!"
"God knows, I didn't want to read the story of another man's ignominy!"
said Enoch, earnestly, "and I never would have, had not--" he paused,
then said as if to himself, "God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders
to perform!"
The two younger men stood in silence. Then Enoch said, "Thank you,
Ames, I'll see you at nine o'clock to-morrow morning. Abbott, get the
White House for me and then go home to dinner."
A few minutes later Enoch was speaking to the President. "I have to
report victory, Mr. President, all along the line. . . . Yes, sir,
it's a long story and I want to tell it to you to-morrow, not to-night.
Mr. President, I'm going to find Miss Allen and dine with her,
to-night, if I have to take her from a state function. . . . Yes, you
may chuckle if you wish. I thought you'd understand. . . . Thank you!
Good night, Mr. President."
Enoch hung up the receiver and sat looking at the floor, his face as
white as marble. For five minutes he did not stir, then he heaved a
great sigh and the tense muscles of his face relaxed. He tossed back
the hair from his forehead, sprang to his feet and began to pace the
floor. After a short time of this, he rang for Jonas.
"Jonas, do you know where Miss Diana is stopping?"
Jonas did not seem to hear the question. He stood staring at Enoch
with eyes that seemed to start from their sockets.
"My Lordy, boss, what's happened? You look like I never hoped to see
you look!" Then he paused for he could not express what he saw in the
Secretary's shining eyes.
"Jonas, old man, I've had the greatest news of my life, but I can't
tell even you, first."
"Miss Diana!" ejaculated Jonas. "Boss, she's at the Larson; one of
these boarding houses that calls themselves a name. Didn't I tell you
Injun charms was strong? Tell me! Huh!"
"All right, Jonas! I won't be home to dinner. Better sit up for me
though, for I'll want to talk to you."
"Did I ever not sit up for you?" demanded Jonas as he gave Enoch his
coat.
Enoch paced the floor of the Larson while a slatternly maid went in
search of Diana. When, a little pale and breathless, Diana appeared in
the doorway, Enoch did not stir for a moment from under the chandelier.
Nor did he speak. Diana gazed at him as if she never had seen him
before. His eyes were blazing. His lips quivered. He was very pale.
Suddenly, tossing his hat and cane to a chair, he crossed the room. He
tried to smile.
"Diana, have you seen your friend, the psychologist yet?"
"No, Enoch, but I have an appointment with him for next week."
Enoch seized her hands and held them both against his heart. "You need
never see him, Diana, I have been made whole. I--" his voice broke
hoarsely--"I have something to tell you. Diana, you are going to dine
with me."
"Yes, Enoch!"
"Diana! Oh, how lovely you are! Diana, it's a wonderful night, with a
full moon. I want you to walk with me to the Eastern Club. I have
something to tell you. And while I'm telling you, no four walls must
hem us in."
Diana, her great eyes shining in response to Enoch's, turned without a
word and went back upstairs. She returned at once, clad for the walk.
Enoch opened the street door and paused to look down into her face with
a trembling smile. Then they descended the steps into the moonlight
together.