going to lay out a town site here? That's the first thing that will
happen. If you'll take my advice, Mr. Dale, you'll beat them to it. If
you own the town site, you can pretty nearly control the situation."
Bill and Don looked at each other questioningly. Don turned to the
other two, eyeing them quizzically. "What's the matter with you two
laying out the town site yourselves?" he asked. "Seems to me you're
entitled to some benefit here, if it's only to break even on your
outfit."
Mr. Rayfield laughed and threw out his hand in a gesture of
helplessness.
"Our hands are tied, Mr. Hunter. So long as we are in the employ of
the government we are not permitted to profit in any way from the work
that we do or from any mineral which may be uncovered. Sort of
sanctified to the service of Uncle Sam. We'd have to resign before we
could take any active part in your strike, Mr. Dale."
Bill studied that for a moment. "You know all about the best way to
handle this proposition," he said finally. "That town-site idea is a
bird--only I'd be plumb helpless about starting a thing like that in
country that isn't surveyed. I suppose you wouldn't think of such a
thing as resigning from your jobs and taking hold here." He glanced at
Don for approval.
Mr. Rayfield shook his head slowly. "That, I'm afraid, would need some
ve-ry serious consideration. Of course, we're not mere chattels; we
could resign at any time. But there's the ethical point to consider.
Speaking for myself, Mr. Dale, I'd have to feel very sure that I could
be of real service, and that in a field broad enough to justify my
leaving this research work to others. Of course," he went on musingly,
"if I could be sure that I might be able to help develop this district
and make the name Parowan stand for clean, efficient mining, with a
clean, orderly town here, that would be a tremendous achievement for
any man. The research work in this particular district would almost
take care of itself. This whole Parowan neighborhood would be gone
over with a fine-tooth comb by prospectors."
He rose, glancing with his good eye at Mr. Emmett. "I think we'd all
better sleep on the subject," he smiled disarmingly. "Mr. Emmett and I
will in any event be glad to look over your claims and give you our
honest opinion and as much advice as we feel competent to offer. And
as to our resigning and taking hold here--we'll have to think that
over. But I feel free to say, here and now, that we _will_ think it
over; and that, if you only knew it, is a very great compliment to you
folks and to the mine we believe you have got here."
Mr. Emmett had also risen to his feet. He smiled slightly, glancing
from one to the other.
"Walter is more impulsive than I am, more inclined to play hunches.
But we stand pretty close together and I usually agree with him in the
long run. I don't fall in with this idea of resigning. Right now I
call it foolish. We've passed up dozens of chances to make a stake in
some mining boom. I don't know what's got into him to-night. But it's
only fair to tell you that I'm going to talk him out of that notion
if I can."
Mr. Rayfield threw back his head and laughed contagiously. "It isn't a
notion," he denied jovially. "Bill Dale, here--_Hopeful_ Bill
Dale--paid us the high compliment of suggesting it. It's no treason,
John, to think it over. Come along to bed and don't look so solemn."
He turned to Don and Bill, smiling down at them almost paternally.
"Don't mind John Emmett, boys. He has no sense of humor, anyway.
To-morrow, I think we'll just postpone our field work and go into this
proposition very thoroughly with you. Our time and what scant
knowledge we have is at your disposal, and free as the desert air. I
hope you won't hesitate to use both as long as you feel the need. And
whether we decide to roll up our sleeves and help make you a
millionaire, Bill, or whether we go on pecking at rocks for the
government, I hope you'll rely always upon our friendship and good
will."
They had been gone some minutes before Don straightened from his
hunched position on a box and knocked the cold ashes from his pipe.
"We'll try and get them in," he said slowly. "That town-site idea is
worth darn near as much as your mine."
CHAPTER TWELVE
A MAN SHOULDN'T MIX BUSINESS WITH LOVE
The big hotel in Goldfield was humming with talk and laughter, as
people rushed here and there. Arriving guests were lined up at the
desk, waiting anxiously to hear whether they could have a room and
bath, or must content themselves with a plain room. A third of them
betrayed signs of having slept out under the stars or under canvas. A
few of them gazed at these desert dwellers with curiosity that was
more than a little envious. The rest were quite absorbed in their own
affairs and gave no attention to their neighbors. And the loungers in
the great, velvet-upholstered chairs scattered amongst the great
pillars of the lobby, watched the new ones, idly amused or
indifferent.
"That's Bill Dale," a slender, black-eyed man volunteered to his
companion on the right, and waved his cigar toward the elevator. "And
that's his bride--the little Hunter girl. You know Don Hunter, don't
you? Sure, you do! Well, that's his daughter and her mother. Bill?
Why, he's the fellow that discovered Parowan! Gold you could hack out
of the quartz with your knife! Yeah--that's the stuff they've got over
across the street, in the window. Brought in a ton of it and dumped it
in that window like so much dirt!
"Talk about luck! You know how he found it? Why, he was prospecting
around and happened to camp at Parowan spring one night. And I'm
blamed if a young cloud-burst didn't hit that side of the mountain,
that night, and uncovered the whole vein, bare as your hand. Fact.
Bill ran slap on to it when he went to the spring next morning for
water.
"He was cute as the next one. Staked out a group of claims and kept
the whole thing hushed up till he'd got everything nailed down. Laid
out a town site, even. Did that on the quiet, too--Don Hunter got a
surveyor friend of his to go down and run some lines on his ranch.
When he got him down there, he just hitched up and hauled him over to
Bill's claims, and had him lay out Parowan town and survey the group
of claims so there wouldn't be any chance for fraction hunters.
Everything air-tight----
"Huh? No, I didn't say _water_-tight! Bill's incorporated, and
everybody with two bits in his overalls is buying stock. Take my word,
that stock's making a rocket look like a kid climbing a greased pole.
I bought a block at par--first offering was at par, mind you. Nothing
cheap about Bill! But then he's a fine, straight fellow, and everybody
knows he wouldn't stand for any wildcatting. He's _got_ it, you see.
Why, they keep guards standing over that mine with sawed-off
shotguns--or so I heard.
"What's that? Sure, I'll take you down there. If I get a chance, I'll
have you meet Bill. Nothing swell-headed about him--I used to know him
when he packed his grub out of here on two burros; wasn't so long ago,
either, that he did that same thing--but everybody is after him now,
of course. He always was popular and now his millions are not getting
him the cold shoulder any, that I've noticed. Then he was just married
to-day--this morning, upstairs in the parlor--with all the big bugs in
town present. They're leaving to-morrow morning for California on
their honeymoon.
"You know, Fred, if you want a good, safe investment that will bring
quick returns, Parowan's your best bet. Either buy Parowan
Consolidated, or else go down and pick up some lots in the town. As
for the stock, they're shipping gold out of there in the rock right
now and building a mill with the proceeds. There's going to be a
railroad in there soon as it can be put through; two, I heard
to-day--but that may be just street gossip. Some one was saying a
cut-off's coming through from Las Vegas to Parowan, and on to
Goldfield. Don't know how true that is, but I do know for a fact that
a line will be put through from Barstow or thereabouts. That's been
talked of for quite a while, but Goldfield has lost the peak of her
boom in the last few months, and it took this new Parowan strike to
bring things to a head.
"Bill's heading this way. You hold my place--I'm going to wander
across his trail and meet him. If I can, I'll bring him over. I want
you to meet the man that's being talked about more than any other man
in the West to-day."
The black-eyed man manoeuvered cleverly so that he met Bill within six
feet of the settee where his friend was waiting. But Bill was halted
in the middle of a group that seemed disinclined to make their
greetings brief. They were important-looking men, money-makers every
one, if looks meant anything. All were laughing; several were talking
at once. The black-eyed man caught Bill's eye over the shoulder of
those in front, and tilted his head backwards. Bill answered the look
with a slight nod and gradually worked his way toward the signaller.
"How are you, Davis? Pretty crowded here to-night." Mechanically Bill
shook hands, that friendly ceremony having been forced upon him in
the past two months until his hand went out as unconsciously as does
the hand of a politician at election time. Davis held to the hand and
drew him toward the settee.
"Gold's an old story to you, Bill, but all the same I want you to meet
a friend of mine who is just down from Alaska after his own little
clean-up. Fred Moore's his name, and he's not such a bad guy to have
for a friend. Packed me in out of the cold on his back, once, when I
was up there a year or two ago. How many miles was it, Fred, that you
carried me that time?"
Fred had gotten to his feet and was shaking hands with Bill. "Not over
forty," he parried indifferently. "So you're a bloated plutocrat, eh?
Davis has been telling me all about you. Placer or quartz?"
"Free milling gold in quartz," Bill told him, and then excused himself
hastily, with two valid reasons. One was the appearance of Doris by
the elevator, evidently looking for him; and the other was his growing
distaste for the subject of his mine. It seemed to him that every man
he met seized the first opportunity to quiz and question him about
Parowan. Over and over again he had told the truth about finding the
mine. Now he was cynically content to let the garbled newspaper
stories and the gossip of men stand for the truth.
Mr. Rayfield joined him without greeting or apology as Bill made his
way to the elevator,--and his bride. Mr. Emmett saw the two and came
up, so that the three arrived together before Doris.
"Are you going to have time this evening to hold that business
meeting, Bill?" Emmett asked casually. "Your train leaves about nine
o'clock in the morning, doesn't it? We ought to get that straightened
out before you go, or we'll have to pester you with papers to sign and
a lot of detail work. What do you want done about the meeting?"
Bill hesitated, glancing toward Doris. Rayfield came to the rescue,
laying his hand familiarly on Bill's arm, perfectly aware of the fact
that half the men in the lobby were at that moment registering a
certain degree of envy.
"Now, if you don't want to attend that meeting, Bill, just leave it to
us. We can get everything done and you can sign the minutes in the
morning. My, my, events are surely moving fast! There's a bunch of New
York men here to-day--just got in this morning. They want to start a
bank at Parowan just as soon as they can get a roof to put it under.
And that man O'Hara, with the chain of hotels all up and down the
coast, wants a good corner with two hundred feet frontage on Main
Street. He's going to build a hotel. We'll have to take that up
to-night at the meeting. The question is, do we present him with the
ground for the sake of getting him down there, or do we make him pay,
the same as other folks? He argues that the prestige of having an
O'Hara House at Parowan is worth the site to put it on." He pursed his
lips, which was his substitute for a smile.
"Make him pay!" Doris exclaimed, laughing a bit. "You can bet he isn't
going to build an O'Hara House at Parowan just to help make our town
look nice. He'll charge boom prices and clean up a fortune. Why should
we donate to the cause? Won't he be making his money off us and the
things we're doing?"
"_That's_ the way to talk!" Rayfield beamed upon her with his good
eye. "O'Hara's not in the hotel business for his health, you can bet
on that. And if he doesn't build a hotel down there, some one else
will."
"Yes, but let it once be known that O'Hara's going to put up a hotel
in Parowan, and our stock will take another jump. We could well afford
to give him the ground to build on." Mr. Emmett's tone betrayed the
fact that this point had been discussed before.
"Oh, split the difference," Bill suggested impatiently. "Let him pick
his own site, and charge him half price for it. You're both right,
according to my understanding of the case. O'Hara'll clean up a bunch
of money on the investment, just as Doris says. And John's right about
the prestige of having an O'Hara House. Make him call it that trade
name. Then he won't dare work off poor accommodations on the public.
When folks know that they can get O'Hara standard of cooking and so on
at Parowan, they'll come in droves. I reckon that's what makes a
town."
"That's the talk!" Rayfield patted approval on Bill's flat, muscular
shoulder. "Suppose we make that a regular policy, folks? Cut the
prices on building sites for all enterprises that will reflect credit
on the town, to just half the selling price?" He looked from one to
the other eagerly. "The selling price is going up steadily, you know.
Having to pay something for a site will shut out the little shoestring
propositions that go broke and leave empty houses behind them. That
always looks bad in a town. If they have to pay for their building
site, it means they'll have to have capital behind them. And no firm
is going to sink money in real estate unless they mean business."
"Oh, come on up to our sitting room and let's have the meeting there
and get it over with," said Doris. "I'm terribly interested in the
whole thing--but honestly, my feet are just ready to drop off! It's a
radical change from desert shoes to French-heeled pumps, let me tell
you."
"All right--come on up," Bill invited resignedly.
Rayfield looked at Emmett.
"Sure, if your wife isn't too tired," Emmett hesitated. "You've got an
early start to make in the morning, remember."
"Oh, fudge!" Doris placed a finger tip on the elevator button. "This
is important. We don't want to go away and leave a lot of tag ends, do
we, Bill? Because," she added, smiling up at them, "goodness only
knows when we'll come back!"
The elevator slid down, the door slid open and Doris stepped inside,
Bill just behind her, his hand placed solicitously under her elbow.
"We'd better get all the books and bring up, then," Mr. Rayfield
suggested, standing just outside. "I think it will be a good idea to
clean up everything, so John and I won't have to bother you again. You
go on up, and we'll be right along in a few minutes."
He gave them a smile like a benediction. When it was quite certain
that the conversation had terminated, the elevator boy deferentially
closed the door and conveyed bride and groom to the second floor with
the air of one who waits upon royalty.
"Shall I unlock the door for you, sir?" he asked eagerly.
"No, thanks," drawled Bill. "I'm not paralyzed, sonny." But he slid a
coin into the boy's hand to salve the rebuff.
"Now, Bill-dear, you _must_ give enough time to business to let John
and Walter go ahead without having to bother us every day. You know,
we're going to travel around, just wherever we take the notion we want
to go. We don't want Parowan riding our necks all the time. Walter
told me that if you signed the stock books in blank, and the
Corporation check book, he wouldn't have to bother you at all----"
"That's giving them a pretty free hand, honey," Bill objected, laying
his cheek against her silky hair as she stood within his arms.
Doris turned in the embrace so that she could look into his eyes.
"Why, Bill Dale! If you don't _trust_ John and Walter, why have you
got them in the company? Why is Walter Rayfield Vice President and
General Manager, then, and John, Secretary and Treasurer? Bill-dear,
don't you think you are rather inconsistent?"
Bill kissed her.
"Bill, it would just about break my heart to see you tie yourself down
to running Parowan Consolidated. I think that would show a streak of
narrowness in you, dear. It seems to me that the whole advantage of
having the mine and the town site and everything is to be able to let
others do the work and leave you free. You see, dear, they both
resigned from good government positions to take hold and help organize
the company, and the best way to show your gratitude, I think, is to
trust them with the management now. We've got the control, haven't we?
And they certainly have shown that they know exactly how to go ahead
and make money out of the mine.
"Why, dear man, just think! _You'd_ have plugged along, just digging
out the gold and selling it. _They've_ made a fortune for us already,
without taking out more than enough gold to make all the expenses of
the organization and the town-site promotion, and mining and hauling.
I don't know how they do it--but they certainly are wizards at getting
in money."
"I love you, little wife," said Bill irrelevantly. "If money will make
you the happiest woman on earth, they can't dig up too much."
Doris pulled him over to a red velvet couch and sat down beside him,
snuggling against his straight, strong body.
"Bill, you mustn't think I worship money above other things. I don't.
But all my life I've heard one sentence that always grated on my
nerves and my sense of justice. Whenever I wanted something nice,
daddy or mother would say, 'We can't afford it.' They worked hard, and
I worked and tried to do right always--and still we couldn't _afford_
to enjoy life.
"Bill-dear, I never want to hear that said to me again, as long as I
live!" She drew away from him, so that she could look into his face.
Her own was flushed and very earnest. "Now we're rich, I mean to have
the things and enjoy the things we couldn't _afford_. I never want to
wonder whether the money will hold out to the end of the trip. I want
to buy things without asking what they cost. I--I'm just _hungry_ for
the world, Bill! And if you had to hurry back and look after things,
I--I----"
Bill gathered her into his arms, his throat contracting painfully at
the sudden quiver of her lips. One day married, and Doris had tears in
her eyes!
"I'll make you one promise, right now," he said contritely. "I'll
never bring you back to this country unless you want to come. And
I'll fix it so that you'll always be able to afford anything you want.
Why, all _I_ want is to see you happy and keep you loving me,
sweetheart. I could grin at the world if I were a hobo and had your
love. So never worry about having to come back to Parowan or any other
place."
Doris rewarded him properly for that, and immediately made use of her
woman's prerogative and had the last word.
"Then you'd better lay aside that suspiciousness of yours and fix
things so you won't _have_ to come back," she pouted. "John and Walter
are perfectly capable of managing things, and it's to their interest.
Look at the salary they're getting--and the big block of stock you
gave them! Our interests are their interests, Bill-dear--and they can
do the work. You did your share when you tramped the desert and found
the mine. It's their turn now at the job."
Into the echo of that speech walked John and Walter, drawn into
Christian-name intimacy in the past two months. Their arms were full
of books--too precious to be carried by anxious bellboys--their heads
were full of plans and the details of their work. Their hearts were
full, too, of zeal, perchance. One must judge most persons by their
faces and the words they speak.
So Bill spent a weary two hours signing stock certificates in blank,
on the line in the right-hand corner entitled PRESIDENT in small caps.
They were dignified-looking certificates, but Bill grew very tired of
them before he was through.
After that, Bill rubbed the cramp out of his right hand and wrist, and
signed a large book of blank checks with Parowan Consolidated Mining
Company, Incorporated, printed across the face in letters much larger
than the name of the bank. Bill thought suspiciously of certain
dishonest uses to which his signature as president might be put, and
immediately throttled suspicion with the stern hand of loyalty. Doris
was right. If he didn't trust John Emmett and Walter Rayfield, why
were they officers in his company?
"There's one thing I want done," he said abruptly, pushing the signed
blanks away from him with a sigh of relief. "I want that whole
block--the whole _block_, remember--where my tent and dugout stands
made over to me. I want a high board fence built around it, with
spikes in the top. I want a padlock on the gate. I want that tent and
cellar left just as I left it, with Tommy as caretaker. And I want
Tommy to have a block next to it, to do as he pleases with it. Can you
make out the papers to-night?"
They could. Bill sat for some time silent, smoking meditatively and
staring at the door through which the fate of Parowan had passed, in
the persons of John S. Emmett and Walter B. Rayfield.
He was a rich man, even now. He was growing richer so fast that he
felt slightly dizzy when he tried to follow the process by which his
bank account increased. It wasn't the gold in the mine that did
it--yet. Doris was right; the gold shipped had just about paid the
expense of exploitation. People were buying town lots at boom prices
and selling them at double what they paid. He was not the only man who
was growing rich. Even Tommy was talking about starting a saloon and
calling it "Tommy's Place" with naïve triteness.
As Parowan Consolidated was selling in the open market, Bill was a
millionaire. As Parowan lots were selling, Bill's income was better
than a thousand dollars a day--real money, that, with a certain
increase as men flocked to the new camp. Already that camp was
noisy--garish, unwholesome, no place at all for Doris to live. Bill
had tried to prevent that. He had wanted a decent town, had worked and
sweated and sworn to make it so. But Parowan was like a landslide
started with one ill-judged step. It has gathered a devastating power
as it progressed, until now, Bill knew that it was out of hand; a boom
town, living up to the reputation of other boom towns. Only--and Bill
sighed relievedly as he thought of it--_his_ boom had a mine to give
it a solid foundation.
"No reason in the world why Parowan shouldn't be on the map a hundred
years from now," he muttered, and began to unlace the first pair of
patent-leather shoes he had ever worn.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BILL LEARNS ABOUT WOMEN FROM 'ER
A mysterious, clotted haze of gray and blue and smoke smudges, shot
with rose and deeper tints of carmine; a churning of white foam in an
oily sweep of undulating water that caught the lights from the sunset
so that they swam through a magic floating world; screaming gulls
flapping close, their pink legs hanging straight down like little
sticks; bellowing boat whistles, deep siren blasts, pricking lights in
the haze. With frankly confessed eagerness, Doris stood with Bill in
the bow of the ferry and gazed enraptured, her face pallid with
emotion.
Bill looked down at her, knew himself forgotten in that moment of
blissful arrival into her dream world. A vague hurt, a slow
understanding, sobered his face as he watched her. Then, like a blow
that forces open a door, Bill saw. There, mirrored in her eyes, on the
tremulous lips, glowing through the pallor of her cheeks, was a joy,
an incredulous rapture such as he himself had known, not once, but
many times in the past weeks. Doris was trying to feel the reality of
a dream come true. Bill remembered poignantly how he had struggled to
express that emotion, and the paucity of words that had held him dumb.
He had felt it when his lips first touched the lips of Doris; when she
had said that she loved him. Doris--why, Doris had wanted to talk
about the gold, about whatever came into her mind. Things, other than
their love, could claim her thoughts, while she stood abashed before
the miracle. He had thought that Doris was different. She didn't show
her feelings much; women were shy about love. It never occurred to him
to question the depth of her love until that moment.