THE LURE OF EASY MONEY
In the afternoon Gardiner and Riles drove into town and met the
Harrises in the waiting-room of the hotel. Gardiner's greeting was
friendly, but not over-familiar, as became a man who had recently
suffered some reflection on his character. He shook Harris and Allan
by the hand, inquired after the cattle and the crops, but discreetly
avoided family matters, having learned from Riles that all had not
been going smoothly in their domestic affairs. Gardiner knew a little
room at the back of the bar, to which he escorted his guests. Having
ordered a bottle and glasses on the table, he turned the key in the
door.
"You can't be too careful," he explained. "You know, the walls have
ears, and if it gets out that this coal mine can be picked up at the
price we have on it, it will be taken before night. I understand your
money is not here yet, Mr. Harris?"
"No. Not started, I guess. The fact is, I haven't sold the farm."
"Well, I don't want to hurry you, but we've got to act quickly, or
not at all. Of course, we don't figure on taking any chances. Our
idea is to turn the property over at once, at a good profit. That's
the way you feel about it too, isn't it?"
"I'm not a coal miner."
"Exactly. Neither are the men who own most of the mines of this
country. There comes a time, Mr. Harris, when we realize that we
don't have to get down with pick and shovel to make ourselves some
money--in fact, the man with pick and shovel hasn't time to make any
real money. I am glad you feel like I do about it, for I have already
taken the liberty of putting the proposition up to a New York
syndicate."
"You mean if we don't come through, they will?"
"No, I mean that we'll come through--and they'll come after us. My
idea is not to take any chances, but to sell the property, or as good
as sell it, before we buy it. So I sent a Government report on it to
this syndicate, as I heard they were looking out for coal lands in
the West, and I just took the liberty of offering it to them for a
cool quarter of a million, and gave them until to-night to accept or
refuse, by wire. I'm a little anxious for an answer, although if they
don't take it others will. You see, the old fellow that owns it
simply hasn't any idea what it's worth. He has lived in the hills
until he looks like one of 'em, and a satchelful of money in real
bills will simply dazzle him. A cheque wouldn't serve the purpose;
he'd be suspicious of it, and he'd come down to investigate, and
someone would be sure to crimp our deal."
"But what is your plan for the deal, Mr. Gardiner?" asked Harris. "We
can't go into the mountains with a load of bills and buy a mine like
a man might buy a steer. There'll have to be papers, titles, and such
things, I suppose, to make it right with us and with the Government."
"Of course," Gardiner agreed. "We will take the money with us, but we
won't give it to him until we get the papers. We'll just let him see
it--nibble it a little, if you like--and then we'll lead him into
town with it, like you lead a horse with oats. The sight of so much
money will keep him coming our way when nothing else would. And we'll
slip him a hundred or two, and get a little receipt for it, just to
prevent him changing his mind if he should be so disposed."
"And suppose I don't like the look of the mine when I see it?"
"Then you bring your money back down with you and put it into farm
lands, or anything else that takes your fancy. After you look it
over, if you don't want to go in on it, Mr. Harris, perhaps Riles and
I can raise enough ourselves to swing the deal, but you see we
thought of you from the first, and we will stay with our original
plan until you have a chance to decide one way or another."
"Well, that sounds fair," said Allan, and his father nodded. "But we
haven't sold the farm, and until we do I guess there isn't much money
in sight."
"Bradshaw'll sell the farm quick enough if I send him word," his
father assured him. "He may not get it all in money, but he'll get a
good part of it, and he has ways o' raisin' the balance so long's the
security is good. I've half a mind t' wire him t' close 'er out."
At this moment there came a knock on the door, and a boy presented a
telegram for Gardiner. He opened it, read it, and emitted a whoop
like a wild Indian. "They're coming through," he shouted, "coming
through! How does half of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars look
to you, Mr. Harris?"
Harris reached out eagerly for the telegram, while Allan, his arm
thrown over his father's shoulder, read it in boyish excitement:
"If investigation confirms Government reports we will pay two hundred
fifty thousand. Our representative leaves at once for personal
interview."
The name at the end of the telegram was unknown to either Harris or
his son, but Gardiner assured them it was one to conjure with in the
financial world. Riles' excitement was scarcely less than Allan's.
Gardiner choked a flood of questions on his lips with a quick
imperative glance. Even Riles did not know that the telegram had been
written a few doors down the street by a stoutish man in a
pepper-and-salt suit.
"I'll take a chance," said Harris, at last. "I'll take a chance."
"Chance nothing!" interjected Gardiner, with momentary abruptness.
"It was a chance a minute ago; it's a certainty now. It's the cinch
of a lifetime."
"Where's some paper?" asked Allan. "Let's get a telegram away right
off."
Gardiner produced a notebook and, at Harris's dictation, drafted a
telegram to Bradshaw, directing him to dispose of the farm at once
along the lines of the instructions already given him. He was to cash
the agreement and wire the proceeds to Harris.
Then followed long anxious days. Fortune seemed to hang on Bradshaw's
success in making an immediate sale of the farm. It was a large
order, and yet Harris felt confident a buyer would be found. The
price asked was not unreasonable, especially when it was remembered
that the crop would go to the purchaser, and was now almost ready for
the binder. Bradshaw was in constant touch with well-to-do farmers
from the South who were on the look-out for land, and his own banking
facilities would enable him to forward the cash as soon as a sale was
assured, without waiting for actual payment by the purchaser. So
Harris was confident in the midst of his anxiety.
A gentleman's agreement had been made with Gardiner and Riles that
not a word was to be said concerning their investment until it was a
completed fact. Gardiner dropped in occasionally to learn if any word
had come from Plainville, but it was not until the afternoon of the
fourth day that the fateful yellow envelope was handed in at the
hotel. As it happened, Gardiner and Riles were present at the moment.
They slipped into the back room and waited in a fever of expectation
for Harris to announce the contents.
Harris and Allan read the message twice before speaking; then Allan
repeated it aloud:
"Twenty thousand dollars proceeds sale goes forward by wire your
bank. Correspondence follows. Will explain failure to get price
asked.
"BRADSHAW."
Harris was torn between emotions, and his face worked with unwonted
nervousness as he struggled with them. That Bradshaw should have sold
the farm for half the price he had stipulated seemed incredible. It
was robbery; it was a breach of trust of the most despicable nature.
On the other hand, if the amount available would enable them to buy
the mine, the huge profit assured from that investment would much
more than offset the loss on the farm. Gardiner and Riles, too, were
visibly downcast when they heard the amount, but Gardiner promptly
grappled with the situation.
"It's less than we figured on," he said, "but perhaps we can get
through still. The thing to do is to get out to the mine at once with
this money. It will be sufficient to prove the genuineness of our
intentions, and induce him into town. Then Riles can put up some and
I can put up some, and that, with the twenty thousand, should hold
the deal until Riles can realize on his farm. Within a very short
time we can turn the whole thing over to the New Yorkers, and take in
the profits."
"Say, Gardiner," said Allan, speaking as one who had been struck by a
new and important thought. "Where do you come in on this deal? Is
your old gink up in the hills coming through for half?"
"Not a cent," said Gardiner. "As for where I come in, well, dealing
with old friends like Riles and the Harrises, I considered that a
secondary matter. I fancy that when they feel the profits in their
pockets they will be disposed to be not only fair, but generous, and,
of course, if I put up part of the money I will expect my share of
profit. But I'm not asking for any assurance; I'm just going to leave
that to you."
"Well, that's decent, anyway," Harris agreed. "I haven't as much
money as I expected, but if we can pull it through it may be all
right yet. Of course, you remember that I haven't promised to put up
a dollar unless I like the looks of the mine when I see it?" Harris
still had qualms of hesitation about entering into a transaction so
much out of his beaten path, and he took occasion from time to time
to make sure that an avenue of retreat was still open.
"That's the understanding, exactly," Gardiner assured him. "You're
the man with the money, and if you don't like it, don't pay."
Harris at once visited the bank, and returned shortly with the
information that the amount, less a somewhat startling percentage for
transmission and exchange, was already deposited to his credit.
"Then let us lose no more time," said Gardiner, with enthusiasm. "You
will need a team and rig, and you better pack a couple of blankets
and some grub. Make the stableman throw in a couple of saddles; you
may have to ride the last part of the trip. Riles and I will make it
the whole way on horseback." Gardiner then remembered that it would
be necessary for him to go back to the ranch and change horses, but
he described in detail the road they should take, and assured them
they could not miss it. It was the main road up the river valley--up,
and up--and if they drove hard they would reach that night a spot
where an old, deserted cabin stood back in a clump of poplars. It
would be a good place to spend the night, and Riles and Gardiner
would meet them there, if, indeed, they did not overtake them on the
road. Neither Harris nor Allan had any fear of a strange trail; they
had been bred to a sense of direction and location all their lives,
and were confident they would find no difficulty in reaching the
rendezvous.
"Better make your own arrangements about the horses," Gardiner
whispered as they left the room. "We can't be too careful to keep our
business secret."
As they stood for a moment in the waiting-room it occurred to Allan
that some shooting might be found in the mountains. "You haven't got
a gun you could lend me, I suppose?" he said to Gardiner.
"What do you want a gun for?" Gardiner demanded brusquely.
"Might get a shot at a partridge, or something. No harm in having one
along, is there?"
"Oh, no, but I don't expect you'll see anything to justify the
trouble. Anyway, I haven't got one."
"There's a shot-gun here," said the hotel clerk, who had overheard
the last remarks, "if that would suit you. A Cholly who was taking a
short course in poker put it up a few days ago as a stand-off on his
eat score. There's ten bones against it; if it's worth that to you,
take it."
He handed the gun over the counter, and Allan examined it with
interest. He recognized an English weapon of a value out of all
proportion to the price asked.
"I'll take it," he said, and paid down the money. There was a
momentary darkening of Gardiner's face which nobody noticed.
The little party then moved out to the street. Gardiner had regained
his smooth manner, and gave some final directions about the road.
"Oh, we'll find it all right," said Allan, in high spirits, "and
we'll beat you to the shanty unless you've some faster nags at home
than any I see you driving. So long."
"So long," called Gardiner. "So long, and good luck."
"So long, an' good luck," repeated Riles. He was trying to play the
game, but, as Gardiner often reminded him, he had no imagination. It
would have been quite impossible for Riles, on his own initiative, to
have thought of wishing the Harrises "good luck" on the journey they
were about to commence...They were interesting types of
villains--one, gentlemanly, suave, deep, and resourceful; the other,
coarse, shallow, slow-witted, and brutal. The offence of one against
society was wholly intellectual; of the other, almost wholly
physical. Gardiner fully appreciated the difference, and in his heart
he felt a contempt and loathing toward Riles which he concealed only
as a matter of policy. And he had worked out in his mind a little
plan by which Riles, when his usefulness was ended, should be
shuffled off without any share in the booty. At present he tolerated
him because of necessity. There was work before them for which Riles
was peculiarly qualified.
The Harrises went at once to a livery stable, where they arranged for
a team and outfit. They then bought some cartridges for the gun, and
a small handbag in which to carry the money.
When Harris presented himself at the bank wicket and asked for the
full amount to his credit in cash, the sallow-faced teller turned a
trifle paler still and slipped into the manager's office. A moment
later the manager himself appeared before them.
"That's a pretty heavy order on a country bank, Mr. Harris. Of course
we could give it to you in exchange, but to pay twenty thousand
dollars or thereabouts in bills will drain us to almost our last
dollar. Can't you use a marked cheque, or a draft on a Calgary bank?"
"Well, no," Harris said; "I'm afraid we can't."
"A marked cheque is as good as bills," the banker argued, "and much
easier to carry, not to speak of being safer," he added, as an
afterthought. "Travelling with that amount of money on you is a sort
of defiance of natural law, especially with the country full of
strangers, as it is at present." The banker looked from the powerful
frame of the farmer to the equally powerful frame of the farmer's
son, and his eye fell on the gun which the latter carried under his
arm. "But, I guess," he continued with a laugh, "there isn't much
danger on that score."
"Nothin' t' speak of," said Harris. "And while I don't want t' break
your bank, I do want t' get that money, and t' get it in bills, or
part of it in gold an' silver would do. The fact is, I don't mind
tellin' you I've a deal on, an' I've undertaken t' put up this money
in cash--to-night."
The banker ruminated for a few minutes. Experience had told him that
with a certain class of men money in bills was more valuable than
money in a cheque or draft. The very bulk of the currency seemed to
impress them. He had seen an old-timer refuse a twelve-hundred-dollar
marked cheque for his property, and yet surrender greedily at the
sight of a thousand one-dollar bills piled on a table before him.
This was a trait of human nature found in many persons unaccustomed
to the handling of considerable sums of money, and sharp traders
considered it good business to take advantage of it. The banker
thought he understood why Harris wanted all the money in bills,
although the sum was larger than he had ever seen handled in that way
before.
A young man emerged from somewhere and locked the front door of the
bank.
"It's closing time now," said the teller, addressing the manager. "We
have enough cash on hand to pay this gentleman, and we can wire for
more bills, which will reach us in time for to-morrow's business."
"Pay it, then," said the manager. "Mr. Harris has a right to his
money in that form if he wants it. But," he added, turning to Harris,
"I'd advise you to keep both eyes on it until your transaction is
completed."
The counting of the money was a bigger task than either Harris or
Allan had thought, but at last it was completed, and they were ready
for the road. The banker looked after their buggy as it faded out of
sight up the river road.
"Hang me if I like that!" he said to himself.
The long drive up the valley in the warm August afternoon was an
experience for the soul of painter or poet. Even John and Allan
Harris, schooled as they were in the religion of material things,
felt something within them responding to the air, and the sunlight,
and the dark green banks of trees, and the sound of rushing water,
and the purple-blue mountains heaving and receding before them. The
sweat trickled in narrow tongues down the backs of their horses,
reminding them that the ascent was much steeper than it appeared. As
they topped each new ridge they looked expectantly forward to a
greater revelation of the mountains, but this was constantly denied
by ever-recurring successions of ridges still ahead. The long, smooth
swell of the plain gradually gave way to the more abrupt formations
of the foothills, and here and there in their rounded domes protruded
great warts of green-grey rock where the winds of ages had whipped
the sand down into the valleys. Little clusters of green poplars,
like vast goatees, nestled on the northern chin of the hills across
the valley, where the Chinook had failed to spread its balmy
winter-blight among them; here and there were glimpses of thousands
of cattle feeding on the brown ranges. The sun, like a bubble of
molten gold blown from the bowl of heaven, hung very close in a
steel-bright, cloudless sky. Lower it fell, and lower, until a fang
of rock two miles high pierced its under-edge, and sent a flood of
fire pouring in a thin, bright border along the crest of the Rockies.
The travellers stopped their horses on a ridge to watch the
marvellous transformation; light before them, light behind them, at
their feet the shadows creeping up the mountain sides, and the valley
beneath transformed as by some fairy wand into a sea of amber.
Allan breathed deeply of the high, clear air, and in his eye was
something which revealed that the light without had some way struck
to new life the slumbering light within. He had no words of
expression--no means of conveying his emotion; but he thought of his
mother and Beulah--Beulah, who had so often protested against the
substitution of existence for life. He had never had much patience
with her queer notions, but now, in this moment when he knew that in
some strange way he had invaded the borderland of the Infinite,
Beulah stood up before his eyes--Beulah, his sister, resolute,
defiant, reaching out, demanding life, life! He turned to his father,
but was silenced by the sight of a line of moisture crawling slowly
down the weather-beaten cheek. John Harris was driving again the
pioneer trail from Emerson; at his side was Mary, young, beautiful,
and trusting, and before them lay life...And they had not found that
life...He made a dry sound in his throat, and the horses moved on.
Darkness settled about them. One or two stars came out. The poplars
took on the colour of the spruce; the river fretted more noisily in
its rocky channel. A thin ribbon of cloud lay across the mountains,
and a breeze of wonderful mellowness came down through the passes.
At length, just as they were thinking of pitching camp for the night,
Allan espied a deserted cabin in a cluster of trees by the side of
the road. They turned into the wood and unhitched the horses.
The building was some old prospector's shack, long unoccupied save
for occasional hunter or rancher, and the multitude of gophers that
had burrowed under its rotting sills. The glass was gone from a
single window looking out upon the road; the door had fallen from its
hinges; the floor had been broken down in spots by the hoofs of
wandering cattle. A match revealed a lantern hanging on the wall, and
a few cooking utensils, safe from all marauders under the unwritten
law of the new land.
The two men first made their horses comfortable, and then cooked some
supper on a little fire at the door of the shack. Harris was tired,
so they cleared a space in the corner furthest from the door, and
spread their blankets there. Harris lay down to rest, the precious
bag of money by his side.
"You might as well drop off for a nap," Allan suggested. "They must
have been delayed, and may not make it to-night at all. We're here
for the night, and you may as well rest if you can. I won't turn in
myself until you waken."
"I believe I'll do as you say," his father agreed. "Keep a keen ear
an' don't leave the building without wakin' me."
Allan looked out at different times for Gardiner and Riles, but there
seemed no sound in all the world save the rushing of water. A cold
draught crept along the floor...He fancied his father had fallen into
a nap...The night chill deepened, and at length Allan hung a blanket
as best he could across the open door. His gun gave him a sense of
companionship, and he took it in his hands and sat down beside his
father...It was very lean and graceful in his fingers.
While the banker worked in his garden in the long August evening the
thought of the two men with a bag full of money kept recurring and
recurring in his mind, and smothering the natural pride he felt in
his abounding cabbages. True, it was no business of his, but still he
could not feel entirely at ease. As he bent over his hoe he heard
hoofs clatter in the street, and, looking up, saw the erect form of
Sergeant Grey on his well-groomed Government horse. At a signal from
the banker the policeman drew up beside the fence.
They talked in low voices for ten minutes. "It may be a wild-goose
chase," said the sergeant at last, "but it's worth a try." Half an
hour later his horse was swinging in his long, steady stride up the
road by the winding river.