BRIGHT and early on the morning following his arrival in Denver, Philip
presented himself at the general offices of the narrow-gauge mountain
railroad to the officials of which he had been recommended by his
late employers in Kansas City, and was promptly given a desk in the
accounting department; the department head, whose thin, sandy hair,
straggling gray beard and protuberant eyes gave him the aspect of a
weird but benevolent pre-Adamite bird, asking but a single question.
“Not thinking of going prospecting right away, are you?”
“No,” said Philip, wondering what there might be in his appearance to
suggest any such thing.
“All right; the bookkeeper will show you where to hang your coat.”
The employment footing made good, the newcomer’s spare time for the
first few days was spent looking for a boarding place, the West Denver
hotel, regarded from the thrifty New England point of view, proving
far too expensive. The after-hours’ search gave him his earliest
impressions of a city at the moment figuring as a Mecca, not only for
eager fortune seekers of all ranks and castes, but also for mining-rush
camp followers of every description. With the railroads daily pouring
new throngs into the city, housing was at a fantastic premium, and
many of the open squares were covered with the tents of those for
whom there was no shelter otherwise. Having certain well-defined
notions of what a self-respecting bachelor’s quarters should be,
Philip searched in vain, and was finally constrained to accept the
invitation of a fellow clerk in the railroad office to take him as a
room-mate--this though the acceptance involved a rather rude shattering
of the traditions. Instead of figuring as a paying guest in a home-like
private house--no small children--with at least two of the daily meals
at the family table, he found himself sharing dingy sleeping quarters
on the third floor of a down-town business block, with the option of
eating as he could in the turmoil of the dairy lunches and restaurants
or going hungry.
“No home-sheltered coddling for you in this live man’s burg. The
quicker you get over your tenderfoot flinchings, the happier you’ll
be,” advised Middleton, with whom the down-town refuge was shared, and
who, by virtue of a six-weeks’ longer Western residence than Philip’s,
postured, in his own estimation at least, as an “old-timer.” “‘When
you’re in Rome’--you know the rest of it. And let me tell you: you’ll
have to chase your feet to keep up with the procession here, Philly, my
boy. These particular Romans are a pretty swift lot, if you’ll let me
tell it.”
Philip winced a little at the familiar “Philly.” He had known Middleton
less than a week and was still calling him “Mister.” But familiarity
of the nick-naming and back-slapping variety seemed to be the order
of the day; a boisterous, hail-fellow-well-met freedom breezily
brushing aside the conventional preliminaries to acquaintanceship. It
was universal and one had to tolerate it; but Philip told himself that
toleration need not go the length of imitation or approval.
Work, often stretching into many hours of overtime, filled the first
few weeks for the tenderfoot from New Hampshire. The narrow-gauge
railroad reaching out toward Leadville was taxed to its capacity and
beyond, and there was little rest and less leisure for the office
force. Still, Philip was able now and again to catch an appraisive
glimpse of what was now becoming a thrilling and spectacular scene
in the great American drama of development,--a headling, migratory
irruption which had had its prototypes in the rush of the ’49-ers to
the California gold fields, the wagon-train dash for Pike’s Peak, and
the now waning invasion of the Black Hills by the gold seekers, but
which differed from them all in being facilitated and tremendously
augmented by a swift and easy railroad approach. Vaguely at first, but
later with quickening pulses, Philip came to realize that the moment
was epochal; that he was a passive participant in a spectacle which was
marking one of the mighty human surges by which the wilderness barriers
are broken down and the waste places occupied.
With a prophetic premonition that this might well be the last and
perhaps the greatest of the surges, Philip was conscious of a growing
and militant desire to be not only in it, but of it. The very air he
breathed was intoxicating with the spirit of avid and eager activity
and excitement, and the rush to the mountains increased as the
season advanced. The labor turn-over in the railroad office grew to
be a hampering burden, and now Philip understood why the auditor had
asked him if he were a potential treasure hunter. Almost every day
saw a new clerk installed to take the place of a fresh deserter.
After the lapse of a short month, Philip, Middleton and Baxter, the
head bookkeeper, were the three oldest employees, in point of time
served, in the auditing department. Two railroads, the South Park
and the Denver & Rio Grande, were building at frantic speed toward
Leadville, racing each other to be first at the goal; and from the
daily advancing end-of-track of each a stage line hurried the mixed
mob of treasure-seekers and birds of prey of both sexes on to their
destination in the great carbonate camp at the head of California
Gulch. To sit calmly at a desk adding columns of figures while all this
was going on became at first onerous, and later a daily fight for the
needful concentration upon the adding monotonies.
By this time some of the first fruits of the carbonate harvest reaped
and reaping in the sunset shadow of Mount Massive were beginning to
make themselves manifest in the return to Denver of sundry lucky
Argonauts whose royal spendings urged the plangencies to a quickened
and more sonorous wave-beat. One victorious grub-staker was said to be
burdened with an income of a quarter of a million a month from a single
mine, and was sorely perplexed to find ways in which to spend it. A
number of fortunate ones were buying up city lots at unheard-of prices;
one was building a palatial hotel; another was planning a theater
which was to rival the Opéra in Paris in costly magnificence.
These were substantials, and there were jocose extravagances to chorus
them. One heard of a pair of cuff-links, diamond and emerald studded,
purchased to order at the price of a king’s ransom; of a sybaritic
Fortunatus who reveled luxuriously in night-shirts at three thousand
dollars a dozen; of men who scorned the humble “chip” in the crowded
gaming rooms and played with twenty-dollar gold pieces for counters.
Philip saw and heard and was conscious of penetrating inward stirrings.
Was the totting-up of figures all he was good for? True, there were
money-making opportunities even at the railroad desk; chances to lend
his thrifty savings at usurious interest to potential prospectors;
chances to make quick turn-overs on small margins, and with certain
profits, in real-estate; invitations to get in on “ground floors” in
many promising enterprises, not excepting the carefully guarded inside
stock pool of the railroad company he was working for. But the inward
stirrings were not for these ventures in the commonplace; they were
even scornful of them. Money-lending, trading, stockjobbing--these
were for the timid. For the venturer unafraid there was a braver and a
richer field.
“How much experience does a fellow have to have to go prospecting?” he
asked of Middleton, one day when the figure-adding had grown to be an
anæsthetizing monotony hard to be borne.
Middleton grinned mockingly. “Hello!” he said. “It’s got you at last,
has it?”
“I asked a plain question. What’s the answer?--if you know it.”
“Experience? Nine-tenths of the fools who are chasing into the hills
don’t know free gold from iron pyrites, or carbonates from any other
kind of black sand. It’s mostly bull luck when they find anything.”
“Yet they _are_ finding it,” Philip put in.
“You hear of those who find it. The Lord knows, they make racket enough
spending the proceeds. But you never hear much about the ninety-nine in
a hundred who don’t find it.”
“Just the same, according to your tell, one man’s chance seems to be
about as good as another’s. I believe I’d like to have a try at it,
Middleton. Want to go along?”
“Not in a thousand years!” was the laughing refusal. “I’ll take mine
straight, and in the peopled cities. I’ve got a girl back in Ohio, and
I’m going after her one of these days--after this wild town settles
down and quits being so rude and boisterous.”
Philip looked his desk-mate accusingly in the eye.
“It’s an even bet that you don’t,” he said calmly.
“Why won’t I?”
“I saw you last night-down at the corner of Holladay and Seventeenth.”
Middleton, lately a country-town bank clerk in his native Ohio, but who
was now beginning to answer the invitation of a pair of rather moist
eyes and lips that were a trifle too full, tried to laugh it off.
“You mean the ‘chippy’ I was with? I’m no monk, Philly; never set up
to be. Besides, I’m willing to admit that I may have had one too many
whiskey sours last night. Cheese it, and tell me what’s on your mind.”
“I’ve already told you. I think I’ll try my luck in the hills, if I can
find a partner.”
“Good-by,” grunted Middleton, turning back to his tonnage sheet. “As
for the partner part, all you have to do is to chase down to the
station and shoot your invitation at the first likely looking fellow
who gets off the next incoming train. He’ll be a rank tenderfoot, of
course, but that won’t make any difference: there’ll be a pair of
you--both innocents. Why, say, Philly; I’ll bet you’ve still got your
first drink of red liquor waiting for you! Come, now--own up; haven’t
you?”
“I should hope so,” said Philip austerely. “I didn’t come all the way
out here to make a fool of myself.”
This time Middleton’s grin was openly derisive.
“My, my!” he jeered. “The spirit moves me to prophesy. I know your
kind, Philly--up one side and down the other. When you let go, I hope
I’ll be there to see. It’ll be better than a three-ring circus. Wine,
women and song, and all the rest of it. Speaking of women----”
“You needn’t,” Philip cut in shortly; and he got up to answer the
auditor’s desk bell.
The process of securing a partner for a prospecting trip was scarcely
the simple matter that Middleton’s gibing suggestion had made it.
Though there were many haphazard matings achieved hastily at the
outfitting moment, a goodly proportion of the treasure hunters were
coming in pairs and trios hailing from a common starting point in the
east. In spite of the free-and-easy levelling of the conventions,
Philip found it difficult to make acquaintances, his shell of
provincial reserve remaining unchipped, though he tried hard enough to
break it. Besides, he felt that he was justified in trying to choose
judiciously. He could conceive of no experience more devastating than
to be isolated in the wilderness for weeks and perhaps months with an
ill-chosen partner for his only companion. The very intimacy of such an
association would make it unbearable.
It was while he was still hesitating that a small duty urged itself
upon him. It concerned the Mississippi family with the death-threatened
husband and father. In a city where all were strangers he had fully
intended keeping in touch with the Dabneys, if only to be ready
to offer what small help a passing acquaintance might in case the
threatened catastrophe should climax. Since he would shortly be leaving
Denver, the duty pressed again, and he set apart an evening for the
tracing of the Mississippians, going first to the American House to
make inquiries.
Fortunately for his purpose, one of the hotel clerks, himself a
Southerner, remembered the Dabneys. They had remained but a few days
in the hotel; were now, so the clerk believed, camping in one of the
tent colonies out on California or Stout Streets somewhere between
Twentieth and Twenty-third. Yes, Captain Dabney had been in pretty bad
shape, but it was to be assumed that he was still living. The clerk had
been sufficiently interested to keep track of the obituary notices in
the newspapers, and the Dabney name had not appeared in any of them.
Inquiry among the tenters would probably enable Philip to find them.
Reproaching himself for his prolonged negligence, Philip set out to
extend his search to the tent colonies. It was after he had reached
the more sparsely built-up district, and was crossing a vacant square
beyond the better-lighted streets, that a slender figure, seemingly
materializing out of the ground at his feet, rose up to confront him,
a pistol was thrust into his face, and he heard the familiar formula:
“Hands up--and be quick about it!”
It is probably a fact that the element of shocked surprise, no less
than the natural instinct of self-preservation, accounts for the easy
success of the majority of hold-ups. Sudden impulse automatically
prompts obedience, and the chance of making any resistance is lost.
But impulsiveness was an inconsequent part of Philip’s equipment.
Quite coolly measuring his chances, and well assured that he had a
considerable advantage in avoirdupois, he knocked the threatening
weapon aside and closed in a quick grapple with the highwayman. He
was not greatly surprised when he found that his antagonist, though
slightly built, was as wiry and supple as a trained acrobat; but in
the clinching struggle it was weight that counted, and when the brief
wrestling match ended in a fall, the hold-up man was disarmed and
spread-eagled on the ground and Philip was sitting on him.
When he could get his breath the vanquished one laughed.
“Made a complete, beautiful and finished fizzle of it, d-didn’t I?” he
gasped. “Let me tell you, my friend, it isn’t half so easy as it is
made to appear in the yellow-back novels.”
“What the devil do you mean--trying to hold me up with a gun?” Philip
demanded angrily.
“Why--if you must know, I meant to rob you; to take and appropriate to
my own base uses that which I have not, and which you presumably have.
Not having had the practice which makes perfect, I seem to have fallen
down. Would you mind sitting a little farther back on me? I could
breathe much better if you would.”
Philip got up and picked up the dropped weapon.
“I suppose I ought to shoot you with your own gun,” he snapped; and the
reply to that was another chuckling laugh.
“You couldn’t, you know,” said the highwayman, sitting up. “It’s
perfectly harmless--empty, as you may see for yourself if you’ll break
it. You were quite safe in ignoring it.”
Philip regarded him curiously.
“What kind of a hold-up are you, anyway?” he asked.
“The rottenest of amateurs, as you have just proved upon my poor body.
I thank you for the demonstration. It decides a nice question for me. I
hesitated quite some time before I could tip the balance between this,
and going into a restaurant, ordering and consuming a full meal, and
being kicked out ignominiously for non-payment afterward. This seemed
the more decent thing to do, but it is pretty evident that I lack
something in the way of technique. Wouldn’t you say so?”
“I should say that you are either a fool or crazy,” said Philip bluntly.
“Wrong, both ways from the middle,” was the jocular retort. “At the
present moment I am merely an empty stomach; and empty stomachs, as you
may have observed, are notoriously lacking in any moral sense. May I
get up?”
“Yes,” said Philip; and when the man was afoot: “Now walk ahead of me
to that street lamp on the corner. I want to have a look at you.”
What the street lamp revealed was what he was rather expecting to see;
a handsome, boyish face a trifle thin and haggard, eyes that were
sunken a little, but with an unextinguished smile in them, a fairly
good chin and jaw, a mouth just now wreathing itself in an impish grin
under his captor’s frowning scrutiny.
“Umph!--you don’t look like a very hard case,” Philip decided.
“Oh, but I am, I assure you. I’ve been kicked out of two respectable
colleges, dropped from the home club for conduct unbecoming a
gentleman, and finally turned out of house and home by a justifiably
irate father. Can I say more?”
“What are you doing in Denver?”
“You saw what I was trying to do a few minutes ago. The outcome
dovetails accurately with everything else I have attempted since I
parted with the final dollar of the even thousand with which I was
disinherited. Failure seems to be my baptismal name.”
“What is your name?”
“Henry Wigglesworth Bromley. Please don’t smile at the middle third of
it. That is a family heirloom--worse luck. But to the matter in hand:
I’m afraid I’m detaining you. Shall I--‘mog,’ is the proper frontier
word, I believe--shall I mog along down-town and surrender myself to
the police?”
“Would you do that if I should tell you to?”
“Why not, if you require it? You are the victor, and to the victors
belong the spoils--such as they are. If you hunger for vengeance, you
shall have it. Only I warn you in advance that it won’t be complete.
If the police lock me up, they will probably feed me, so you won’t be
punishing me very savagely.”
For once in a way Philip yielded to an impulse, a prompting that he was
never afterward able to trace to any satisfactory source. Dropping the
captured revolver into his coat pocket, he pressed a gold piece into
the hand of the amateur hold-up.
“Say that I’ve bought your gun and go get you a square meal,” he said,
trying to say it gruffly. “Afterward, if you feel like it, go and sit
in the lobby of the American House for your after-dinner smoke. I’m not
making it mandatory. If you’re not there when I get back, it will be
all right.”
“Thank you; while I’m eating I’ll think about that potential
appointment. If I can sufficiently forget the Wigglesworth in my name
I may keep the tryst, but don’t bank on it. I may--with a full-fed
stomach--have a resurgence of the Wigglesworth family pride, and in
that case----”
“Good-night,” said Philip abruptly, and went his way toward the tent
colony in the next open square, wondering again where the impulse to
brother this impish but curiously engaging highwayman came from.