THE GUERRERO MINING COMPANY.
It was a model spring day. The snow had quite disappeared, and the
ground was relieved of its superabundant moisture so nearly that the
roads were in fair condition for the passage of teams. Ratke's
barnyard, tracked up by the stock, was a lone quagmire, surrounded by
stretches of solid earth.
Montcalm had just returned from Break o'Day, where the major had sent
him for the mail. Ratke, wishing to avoid the unpleasant observation
of Mrs. Grippin, made a detour and reached the barns in time to help
him unhitch the horse.
"Here are your cigars," said Montcalm, extending a wooden box as
Ratke drew near.
"What cigars?" asked the major.
"Do you not remember?" Montcalm queried; "you bet me a box of cigars
that the company to which I belong would accept you as a member? I
felt sure of the wager, but you have won it."
"You should have known better than to bet with me," said the major,
taking the cigars. "I have seen more of the world than you have."
"I have discovered that to my cost," replied Montcalm.
"I am anxious to hear the revelation which the company allows you to
make," said the major.
"Very well," said Montcalm, "but first you must sign this agreement
not to disclose the information you receive. It is a mining company,"
said Montcalm, when Ratke had signed the printed agreement, "and is
located in the province of Guerrero, Mexico. Two miners of Chicago
got tired of prospecting out West and finally went southward. South
of the city of Mexico they found what they believed to be rich
diggings. They returned to Chicago and interested some men of
moderate means, who formed the Guerrero Mining Company. In their
excavations they came upon many curious relics, such as pottery,
weapons and bodily ornaments. They exhumed a skeleton seven feet in
length, with silver bracelets on its arms and ornaments of the same
metal on its legs. The scientific men have disputed as to the date of
its interment. Professor McDowell claims it is the remains of an
Anahuac who lived previous to the union of that tribe with the
Chicimecs, while Dr. Hartsuff is equally positive that it is a relic
of the ante-Toltec period. Professor McDowell is writing a work on
the ancient races, which he intends to publish as soon as the
existence of the mines is generally known. What is your opinion on
the subject, Major?"
"We will discuss that some other time," replied the major, who was
not particularly well posted on American aboriginal history, and who
wished to consult his authorities before committing himself.
"Here is the letter which they wrote me," said Montcalm.
"They seem like candid fellows," remarked the major, after perusing
the missive. "Notice that, Trace.
"'Major Ratke's reputation as a veteran of the Mexican war is such
that we are not afraid to trust him with the knowledge he wishes. A
new mine has been opened, and we can let him have one share of stock,
provided he sends us his application for membership as soon as the
fourteenth of March.'
"You see," continued the major, "they have heard of me. The people
are beginning to revere the veterans of the Mexican war. But they
have picked up specific information about me. Are there any of my old
comrades in the company?"
"I do not know," replied Montcalm. "They may have read in the
histories of your military exploits."
"No," said the major; "my name was mentioned in the newspapers which
gave an account of the war period, but it never appeared in history.
Tell me something more about your company."
"All its members whom I know," said Montcalm, "are men whose
characters are beyond reproach. They wish to keep the knowledge of
the mines from the money kings, until they have occupied the best
diggings. They pay a quarterly dividend of fifteen per cent, on the
capital. That is sixty percent, yearly. Mr. Bruce, a friend of mine,
who used to live in Cortland, gave me the chance of membership."
"I like your company," said the major, "because of the men of culture
who are in it and who prop it with respectability. Where are you
going, Trace?"
"To the woods," answered Montcalm. "I have not yet worked up that old
tree-top."
"What is the use of your being in such a hurry?" asked the major
impatiently. "You have not told me all about the mining enterprise."
"I will do so at noon, to the best of my ability."
"One thing troubles me," said Ratke, "and that is the mortgage on my
place. Unless relief comes, the farm must be sold in July. I hoped
that I might die where I had lived in the prime of manhood. Here I
have planned and worked. In that tool-house have been generated those
mental children, whose births have cost me the pangs of labor, whose
nurture and development have been my constant care, and which, I had
hoped, would be the comfort of my declining years. If I am to be
driven from my home, it would be a solace to know that that building
will be pointed out as the one in which were cradled the creations of
a mighty inventive genius."
"I trust that you will not be reduced to so poor a consolation," said
Montcalm. "My father was heavily in debt, and he paid the mortgage on
his place."
"How did he manage it?" inquired Ratke.
"The mortgage so nearly covered the real value of the property,"
answered Montcalm, "that it was difficult for him to obtain the
money. He was obliged to give his creditor a deed of the farm and
take a bond for the deed."
"A bond?" queried Ratke.
"Yes," responded Montcalm; "his creditor bound himself by a forfeit
of $20,000, to deed back the property, provided the debt was paid at
the specified time. My father cleared the place of the incumbrance in
three years."
"If I could get such a chance," said the major, "I would accept it.
Of course it would be a risk. But, unless something is done, I am
certain to lose everything. Times are hard, and nothing will sell
now. Land would bring a very low price if it were put up at auction.
In case my property must go, I would rather see it pass into other
hands than Green's. Stay a little longer. Trace."
"I am paid for my time," answered Montcalm firmly, "and I must
improve it."
"Just like your father," said the major. "Nothing ever kept him from
duty. Well, since you will go, I will make it as easy as possible for
you. You can take the one-man saw."
After Montcalm's departure to the woods, Ratke seated himself on a
log which was on the south side of the central barn. The sun, whose
warming rays are most appreciated after a hard winter, beat down with
just enough heat to make the position one of comfort. The major,
enjoying the delightful temperature of the place, glanced upward to
note the spot where the lines of heat struck the barn-boards and were
reflected downward to him. He located the angle of reflection formed
by that most pleasing ray which touched the back of his neck. It was
above and at the right of a protruding nail and under and to the left
of an oval knot. This done, he traced out the normal which with the
perpendicular completed the plane of reflection. He estimated how far
away must be an object which interrupts the sun's rays, to produce a
cold wave sixty seconds from the time of interruption.
Opposite to his dwelling the hired men were engaged in the work of
transferring the hill to the quagmire. Some of them were laboring
faithfully enough. There were, however, two notable exceptions.
Wingscheut and Archer, on the sunny slope of the elevation, out of
sight of the house and, in their opinion, of the major, were seated
on the ground kicking up the dirt with their heels.
Ratke wished that he could bar from them temporarily the calorific or
heat rays of the sun, so that the mild climate of the hillside would
be changed to the frigidity of winter. How he would enjoy watching
them as the gradual decline in temperature came on. They would slap
their hands and stamp with their feet and put off the hardship of
work as long as they could, but they would have to--yes, they would
have to, get up and shovel or freeze. Then, when they were
industriously at their work, he would remove the obstacle and let the
pleasant warmth again stream down upon them. Of course there would be
a relapse of laziness and a consequent reapplication of the remedy,
but they would soon learn that friction develops heat, that there was
a relation between the action of the shovel and the transmission of
the calorific rays, and he would have the power of securing efficient
service from his hired men.
A foreign body passed between him and the scene of labor. To the
preoccupied major the object seemed to divide, the under and larger
piece remaining stationary, while the upper portion fell off and
continued to advance. With an effort the major drew his attention
from the hill and recognized Durgenson, a cattle-buyer and dealer in
agricultural implements.
Durgenson also dealt occasionally in horses and sheep, and was well
liked in the community for his square dealing, his readiness to
accommodate and his frank, jocular manner. The only thing which had
ever blackened his good name in that region was his rumored
connection with the Nijni Novgorod oat scheme, but he had
demonstrated to the satisfaction of the farmers that he was guiltless
of complicity in the fraud. He was a large, square-shouldered man
with a closely-trimmed, full beard which gave him an appearance
sterner at a distance than in close proximity.
"How is everything, Major?" he said, with the heartiness which had
made him popular among the rural classes.
Ratke, resolved to reap some advantage from the intrusion on his
meditations, broached to the cattle-buyer the subject of a loan.
"I don't hardly know what to tell you. Major," responded Durgenson.
"I'd like to accommodate. I would. But I don't see how I can now.
Can't you get the money of Berry?"
"I have been to Berry," answered Ratke, "and I have been to every
moneyed man in the county. They all talk as you do. It will be no
risk to you. I will give you a deed of the farm; and you on your part
must sign a bond to deed it back provided the money is paid at the
specified time."
"I don't see how I can help you, Major," said Durgenson. "I couldn't
let you have a loan any longer than August. That is, I wouldn't agree
to, for I'm thinking I'll want to use my cash then. That wouldn't pay
you at all. You might better get it of some one that can wait."
"There are no such men in this vicinity," returned Ratke. "You can
let me have it until August, you say. That may be long enough to save
me. Whatever happens, I do not want the place to go on the mortgage,
for I cannot endure it to be gloated over by Green. I tell you,
Durgenson, I am crowded to the wall, and, unless I get help, I shall
be ruined. I will pay you twenty per cent interest and secure you so
that you can lose nothing."
"Oh, I don't want your twenty per cent," said Durgenson. "Seven will
do me. If I can accommodate you, I'll be glad. That's all. Of course
I'll have to have the bond just as we talked. Maybe I can let you
have it four or five years. It depends altogether on whether I get in
a pinch or not. I shall have to draw up the papers to make it payable
in July."
"That is satisfactory to me," said the major. "Suppose we meet at
Sparks's to draw up the writings this afternoon."
"All right," responded Durgenson. "By the way, have you any fat
cattle to sell?"
As the major had no cattle of any description to sell, Durgenson took
his departure.
That afternoon in the office of Justice Sparks James Ratke signed the
instrument which gave sections fourteen and twenty-three and the
north half of section eleven to Hiram B. Durgenson, his heirs and
assigns forever. The major's hand moved unwillingly as he took the
pen. The word "forever" in capitals looked to him unnecessarily
large. He had hitherto refrained from placing an incumbrance on the
Barton hundred and sixty. But after the deeding away of the larger
part of his property, he went to Break o'Day and, that he might
invest in the Guerrero Mining Company, mortgaged this, the last of
his real estate.
Returning to his home, he found Mrs. Grippin and Manie getting a
basket of cakes and pies in readiness for the donation, which was to
be held that night.
Manie had accepted the offer of Montcalm's service as escort. Nora,
disappointed in securing the attention of Fred Loomis, had acquainted
Manie with her trouble, and that model of cousins had exercised her
influence on the major, who had invited John Wrengell to ride in the
wagon with the family. So it happened that Nora and he whose
awkwardness she had mercilessly ridiculed not a week before sat side
by side during the journey to Osborne's.
The major soon after his arrival at Osborne's met a reverse in his
favorite warfare, argument. Lyman Sparks had brought with him
Largess, a nephew of his wife and the principal of the Sharptown
Academy, who, according to the rural custom, was honored with the
title of "Professor." Professor Largess was an atheist; and the pride
of the Sparks' who were professed Christians, was raised more by the
proficiency of their relative in debate than it was lowered by, the
defeat, of their creed. The professor was a tall, lank, loose-jointed
man, who, while he was talking, walked back and forth with a
bombastic swing and a rising and falling of his index finger, a habit
which he had probably acquired in the school-room.
As the major was considered the argumentative champion of Jefferson
township, upon him, in the absence of the minister, fell the task of
defending the Biblical account of creation. This task he strove
manfully to perform. But his efforts were unsuccessful. The professor
was well versed in those evolutionary theories which have sprung up
in the last half century, and especially in such authors as Spencer
and Darwin, who, more than the direct advocates of infidelity, have
sown the seeds of unbelief. The effect of this logic upon Ratke was
something like that produced upon the Romans by the introduction of
Pyrrhus' elephants into Italy; but, with the perseverance of that
stubborn people, he determined to bring confusion to the opposing
lines by the use of the enemy's own auxiliaries.
The call to supper gave him an interval of rest and an opportunity to
collect his scattered forces, just as the blows of his opponent were
driving him from his last redoubt. The major was a firm believer in
the benefit of an abstemious diet on brain labor. While he
appreciated a good meal, he liked better a controversial triumph. He
ate, therefore, very sparingly, keeping his mind on the discussion
and avoiding such food as is detrimental to clear thinking. Of all
viands he was fondest of roast pig, and near him was a young porker
prepared by a master hand, but he withdrew his gaze from the tempting
brown as he reflected that baked pork requires five hours to digest.
He noticed to his satisfaction that Largess was eating heartily,
almost voraciously. The professor had taken two dishes of oysters,
besides pastry and other eatables, when Ratke passed toward him the
platter holding the pig, which, leaving a liberal share of its
contents on his plate, made a circuit of the table and returned to
its original position. Whenever Largess's supply of meat was nearly
exhausted and his longing glances again wandered to the platter for
which he was ashamed to call, the obliging major, who was nibbling
with pretended relish at his first piece of bread, politely supplied
his wants. And now the professor took his third and the last
remaining piece of pig from the platter, which had been seized and
passed by Ratke barely in time for it to escape the clutches of a
ravenous farmer at his right.
The major had a suspicion that his conduct in this affair was not
strictly according to the rules of honorable warfare, that it
somewhat resembled the ruse of the Central African who feeds the
hippopotamus pease, or that of the sons of Jacob who converted the
Hivites to circumcision only to slay them before they had recovered
from the rite. Whatever his scruples, they did not deter him from
maintaining any advantage which he had gained. Approaching Largess,
who was picking his teeth and whose lank form actually seemed to have
grown rotund, he remarked, "So you claim that all growth springs
primarily from intelligence?"
"Assuredly," replied the professor.
"And intelligence is divided into two kinds--conscious and
unconscious?"
"That is the theory of the leading men of to-day, sir," answered
Largess.
"And," continued the major, "conscious intelligence alone possesses
the power of definite thought?"
"That is not a debatable question," dryly commented the professor.
The major congratulated himself that the roast pig was taking effect.
"Which requires the higher degree of intelligence," he asked, "the
creation of the simple or of the complex?"
"I am not partial to trivialities," angrily replied the professor.
"But, since you wish an answer to every petty interrogation which you
invent, I will tell you. The creation of the complex requires the
higher power."
"Is there not some conscious intelligence about a tree?" inquired the
major.
"Conscious intelligence?" said Largess, uncertain whether to give a
negative or an affirmative answer. "Why do you ask?" Then, thinking
the major's question a declaration and deciding that it was best to
oppose it, he added, "No enlightened modern scientist ever saw fit to
ascribe conscious intelligence to a tree. It is contrary to
recognized evolutionary theories."
"And time is a period of constant progress?"
"No man of sense ever had the hardihood to dispute it," answered
Largess.
"Now," said the major, "one question more is all I will ask. What
kind of intelligence shaped that top, which Mr. Osborne's boy has
probably had for his amusement?"
"If this is your last," said the professor, "I will have patience to
answer you. It was conscious intelligence."
"Allow me to state several of your propositions," said the major.
"Proposition I.: Conscious intelligence alone possesses the power of
definite thought.
"Proposition II.: Time is a period of constant progress.
"Proposition III.: The creation of the complex requires a higher
degree of intelligence than the creation of the simple.
"Proposition IV.: A tree is not created by conscious intelligence.
"Proposition V.: A top is created by conscious intelligence.
"Do I state your position correctly?"
"We will go back to protoplasm," said Largess. "The cause of
primordial growth is intelligence."
"You wish to ignore my question," returned Ratke. "I have correctly
stated your argument. A top requires for its construction one kind of
wood, a knife and a boy with little mechanical skill. A tree is
composed of many different elements which I cannot mention. The tree,
therefore, is more complex and requires a higher order of
intelligence. It is not possible for all of your statements to be
correct. You assert, firstly, that the creation of the complex
requires a higher degree of intelligence than the creation of the
simple. And secondly, that the creation of the complex requires the
lower order of intelligence. Which one of your propositions is
wrong?"
"Sir," said the professor, walking back and forth and resuming the
bombastic swing and the rising and falling of his index finger, "when
you confine yourself to reason, I will answer you. You have no
authority from science to ascribe conscious intelligence to a tree.
Time is a period of progress. When that tree falls, decays and its
substance is in the body of a man, then there will be associated with
it that intangible thing which is called mind."
"If intelligence is the sole creator," replied Ratke, "and all growth
is self-creating, when you were an oak you might well be proud of
your intellect. Then you could measure out the exact quantity of each
ingredient necessary to your development, and, at the same time, tell
each rootlet what kind of nutriment it should contribute to the
general supply. Had you in weighing let the balance slip a notch, you
would have made an elm instead of an oak. Then you had knowledge and
ingenuity such as is possessed by no human chemist or inventor. Now,
I doubt if you have ingenuity enough to make a good ferule. And yet
you say time is a period of constant progress. Professor Largess, you
are indebted for your entanglement not to me, but to yourself."
"Bertrand," said Mrs. Sparks, "come away. I wouldn't pay any
attention to him."
"I will talk no longer with one so unreasonable," declared the
professor, going toward the bedroom, which had been made a receptacle
of hats and overcoats.
"Largess," began Ratke, following him until the bedroom door was
closed against him, "which one of your propositions did I mistake?
Tell me. Does the creation of the complex require a higher order of
intelligence than the creation of the simple? Is time a period of
constant progress?"
"My batteries were too strong for him," commented the major as he was
on his way home. "I completely demoralized him."
"Didn't you tell him he beat himself?" asked Mrs. Grippin. "And now
you're claiming you was the one that did it."
While they were going along a level stretch of road, they were passed
by Lyman Sparks, Mrs. Sparks and Professor Largess in a buggy drawn
by Sparks' trotter, Madge T.
"Charge!" shouted Ratke.
The horses instantly sprang into a run. Mrs. Grippin was saved from
falling only by clinging to her brother, and John and Nora were
thrown in a heap to the bottom of the box.
"James Ratke," shrieked Mrs. Grippin, "you don't deserve to have any
horses. You stop now, for I won't ride so. You act like a fool."
"Go on. Uncle James," cried Nora gleefully from the bottom of the
box. "Don't you let him beat you, Uncle James. Oh my! Ain't it fun!
We're gaining on him."
The major ran his team by Sparks, and, wishing to show that one of
his horses excelled in another gait, steadied Taylor to a trot,
allowing the gray Bill to lope along by his side. The change in
tactics cost him his success in the race, for Sparks, urging Madge T.
to the utmost, again went by him and obtained the lead on a narrow
causeway where he could not be passed and racing was impossible.
After turning the corner west of the church, the major practiced his
team in making a quick start and in obeying instantly the summons of
"Halt!"
"James Ratke," said Mrs. Grippin, when she stood by their dwelling,
"you act crazy. I never saw such a man. I've a good notion to say I
never will ride with you again."
"I wish," said the major reflectively, "that I had brought with us
the cow I bought of Osborne. I might have hitched her behind the
wagon."
"Yes," retorted Mrs. Grippin contemptuously; "then you'd have dragged
her home. Tie a cow behind a wagon when you drive."