explained, coldly, "but--you don't really intend to have her here, do
you?"
"Most assuredly!"
"Then I shall have to tell her she is not welcome."
"You will do nothing of the sort, my dear: you will assume the duties
of hostess, for which no one is more charmingly qualified."
Mrs. Gerard's lips were white with anger as she retorted:
"I shall not allow that woman under the same roof with Natalie."
"As usual, you choose the most inconvenient occasion for insisting upon
your personal dislikes."
"My dislike has nothing to do with the matter. I overlooked her
behavior with you last year--as I have overlooked a good many things in
the past--but this is asking too much."
Gordon's coldness matched her own as he said:
"I repeat, this is no time for jealousy--"
"Jealousy! It's an insult to Natalie."
"Miss Golden is one of our largest stockholders."
"That's not true! I had Denny look up the matter."
"So!" Gordon flared up angrily. "Denny has been showing you the books,
eh! He had no more right to do that than you had to pry into my
affairs. While Miss Golden's investment may not be so large as some
others', she has influential friends. She did yeoman service in the
cause, and I can't allow your foolish fancies to interfere with my
plans."
"Fancies!" cried the woman, furiously. "You behaved like a school-boy
with her. It was disgraceful. I refuse to let her associate with my
daughter."
"Aren't we drawing rather fine distinctions?" Gordon's lip curled. "In
the first place, Natalie has no business here. Since she came,
uninvited, for the second time, she must put up with what she finds. I
warned you last summer that she might suspect--"
"She did. She does. She discovered the truth a year ago." Mrs. Gerard's
usually impassive face was distorted and she voiced her confession with
difficulty.
"The devil!" ejaculated Gordon.
The woman nodded. "She accused me last night. I tried to--lie,
but--God! How I have lived through these hours I'll never know."
"Hm-m!" Gordon reflected, briefly. "Perhaps, after all, it's just as
well that she knows; she would have found it out sooner or later, and
there's some satisfaction in knowing that the worst is over."
Never before had his callous cynicism been so frankly displayed. It
chilled her and made the plea she was about to voice seem doubly
difficult.
"I wish I looked upon the matter as you do," she said, slowly. "But
other people haven't the same social ideas as we. I'm--crushed, and
she--Poor child! I don't know how she had the courage to face it. Now
that she has heard the truth from my own lips I'm afraid it will kill
her."
Gordon laughed. "Nonsense! Natalie is a sensible girl. Disillusionment
is always painful, but never fatal. Sooner or later the young must
confront the bald facts of life, and I venture to say she will soon
forget her school-girl morality. Let me explain my views of--"
"Never!" cried the woman, aghast. "If you do I shall--" She checked
herself and buried her face in her hands. "I feel no regrets for
myself--for I drifted with my eyes open--but this--this is different.
Don't you understand? I am a mother. Or are you dead to all decent
feeling?"
"My dear, I'm the most tender-hearted of men. Of course I shall say
nothing, if you prefer, for I am subservient to your commands in all
things. But calm yourself. What is done cannot be undone."
In more even tones Mrs. Gerard said, "You seem to think the matter is
ended, but it isn't. Natalie will never allow us to continue this way,
and it isn't just to her that we should. We can't go on, Curtis."
"You mean I must marry you?"
She nodded.
He rose and paced the room before answering. "I always supposed you
understood my views on that subject. Believe me, they are unalterable,
and in no way the result of a pose."
"Nevertheless, for my sake and Natalie's you will do it. I can't lose
the one thing I love best in the world."
"It would seem that Natalie has filled your head with silly notions,"
he exclaimed, impatiently.
"She has awakened me. I have her life to consider as well as my own."
"We are all individuals, supreme in ourselves, responsible only to
ourselves. We must all live our own lives; she cannot live yours, nor
you hers."
"I am familiar with your arguments," Mrs. Gerard said, wearily, "but I
have thought this all out and there is no other way."
He frowned in his most impressive manner and his chest swelled
ominously.
"I will not be coerced. You know I can't be bullied into a thing. I
deny that you have any right to demand--"
"I'm not demanding anything. I merely ask this--this favor, the first
one I have ever asked. You see, my pride is crumbling. Don't answer
now; let's wait until we are both calmer. The subject came up--at least
she approached it, by asking about the coal claims. She is worried
about them."
"Indeed?"
"She was told by a friend in the Land Office that our rights had been
forfeited. I assured her--"
"I refused to heed the absurd rulings of the Department, if that is
what she refers to."
"Then we--have lost?" Mrs. Gerard's pallor increased.
"Technically, yes! In reality I shall show that our titles were good
and that our patents should issue."
"But"--the woman's bloodless fingers were tightly interlaced--"all I
have, all Natalie has, is in those claims."
"Yes! And it would require another fortune the size of both to comply
with the senseless vagaries of the Interior Department and to protect
your interests. I grew weary of forever sending good hard-earned
dollars after bad ones, merely because of the shifting whim of some
theorist five thousand miles away."
"Then I am afraid--" Mrs. Gerard's voice trailed out miserably. "It is
all we have, and you told me--"
Gordon broke in irritably: "My dear Gloria, spare me this painful
faultfinding. If I can win for you, I shall do so, and then you will
agree that I acted wisely. If I lose--it will merely be the luck of the
average investor. We played for big returns, and of course the risks
were great."
"But Mr. O'Neil told her his claims--"
Gordon's blazing eyes warned her. "O'Neil, eh? So, he is the 'friend in
the Land Office'! No doubt he also gave Natalie the suggestion that led
to her scene with you. Tell her to occupy herself less with affairs
which do not concern her and more with her own conduct. Her actions
with that upstart have been outrageous."
"What about your own actions with the Golden woman?" cried Mrs. Gerard,
reverting with feminine insistence to the subject of their first
difference. "What are you going to do about her?"
"Nothing."
"Remember, I refuse to share the same roof with her. You wouldn't ask
it of your wife."
Now this second reference to a disagreeable subject was unfortunate.
Gordon was given to the widest vagaries of temper, and this interview
had exasperated him beyond measure, for he was strained by other
worries. He exploded harshly:
"Please remember that you are not my wife! My ideas on matrimony will
never change. You ought to know by this time that I am granite."
"I can't give up Natalie. I would give up much, for we women don't
change, but--"
"A fallacy!" He laughed disagreeably. "Pardon me, Gloria, if I tell you
that you do change; that you have changed; that time has left its
imprint upon even you--a cruel fact, but true." He took a savage
pleasure in her trembling, for she had roused all the devils in him and
they were many.
"You are growing tired!"
"Not at all. But you have just voiced the strongest possible argument
against marriage. We grow old! Age brings its alterations! I have ever
been a slave to youth and beauty and the years bring to me only an
increasing appreciation, a more critical judgment, of the beautiful. If
I chose to marry--well, frankly, the mature charms of a woman of my own
age would have slight attraction for me."
"Then--I will go," said Mrs. Gerard, faintly.
"Not by any wish of mine," he assured her. "You are quite welcome to
stay. Things will run along in the usual way--more smoothly, perhaps,
now that we have attained a complete understanding. You have no place
to go, nor means with which to insure a living for yourself and
Natalie. I would hate to see you sacrifice yourself and her to a
Puritanical whim, for I owe you much happiness and I'm sure I should
miss you greatly. Some one must rule, and since nature has given me the
right I shall exercise it. We will have no more rebellion."
Mrs. Gerard left the room dazed and sick with despair.
"We must go! We must go!" she kept repeating, but her tragic look
alarmed Natalie far more than her words.
"Yes, yes!" The girl took her in her arms and tried to still the
ceaseless trembling which shook the mother's frame, while her own tears
fell unheeded.
"We must go! Now!"
"Yes, dearest! But where?"
"You--love me still?" asked Gloria. "I suppose you need me, too, don't
you? I hadn't thought of that."
"Every hour!" The round young arms pressed her closer. "You won't think
of--of leaving me."
Mrs. Gerard shook her head slowly. "No! I suppose that must be part of
the price. But--Penniless! Friendless! Where can we go?"
"Mr. O'Neil--my Irish Prince," faltered the daughter through her tears.
"Perhaps he would take us in."
"Omar Khayyam," said Eliza Appleton, entering O'Neil's office briskly,
"you are the general trouble man, so prepare to listen to mine."
"Won't the kitchen flue draw, or has a hinge come off the bungalow
door?" Murray smiled. He was harassed by endless worries, a dozen
pressing matters called for his instant attention; yet he showed no
trace of annoyance. "If so, I'll be right up and fix it."
"The kitchen chimney has a draught that threatens to draw Dan's salary
out with the smoke every time I cook a meal, and the house is dandy.
This is a real man's-size tribulation, so of course I run to you. Simon
Legree is at his tricks again."
"Legree!"
The girl nodded her blond head vigorously.
"Yes! He's stolen Mrs. St. Claire's slaves, and she and Little Eva are
out in the cold."
"What the deuce are you talking about?"
"Gordon, of course, and the two Gerards, Natalie and Gloria--'Town
Hall, To-night. Come one, Come all!'"
"Oh!" O'Neil's eyes brightened.
"There have been terrible goings-on over at Hope. I went up yesterday,
in my official capacity, to reconnoiter the enemy's position and to
give him a preliminary skirmish, but the great man was sulking in his
tent and sent word by a menial for me to begone or look out for the
bloodhounds. Isn't he the haughty thing? I don't like to 'begone'--I
refuse to git when I'm told, so, of course, I paid my respects to
Natalie and her mother. But what do you think I found? Mrs. St. Claire
desolated, Eva dissolved in tears and her hair down."
"Will you talk sense?"
"Just try a little nonsense, and see. Well, the great eruption has
taken place and the loss of life was terrible. Among those buried in
the cinders are the dusky-eyed heroine and her friend mother. It seems
Eva had a hand in the overseer's exposure--"
"Yes, yes! It's about those coal claims. I knew it was coming."
"She told her mother of the horrid treachery, and mother lugged the
complaint to Gordon and placed it in his lap. Result, confession and
defiance from him. Even the family jewels are gone."
"Is Gordon broke?"
"He's weltering in money, but the coal claims are lost, and he wants to
know what they're going to do about it. The women are ruined. He
magnanimously offers them his bounty, but of course they refuse to
accept it."
"Hasn't he made any provision for them?"
"Coffee and cakes, three times a day. That's all! He won't even provide
transportation, and the troupe can't walk home. They refuse to stay
there, but they can't get away. I've cabled The Review, overdrawing my
salary scandalously, and Dan is eager to help, but the worst of it is
neither of those women knows how to make a living. Natalie wants to
work, but the extent of her knowledge is the knack of frosting a layer
cake, and her mother never even sewed on a button in all her life. It
would make a lovely Sunday story, and it wouldn't help Curtis Gordon
with his stockholders."
"You won't write it, of course!"
"Oh, I suppose not, but it's maddening not to be able to do something.
Since there's a law against manslaughter, the pencil is my only weapon.
I'd like to jab it clear through that ruffian." Eliza's animated face
was very stern, her generous mouth was set firmly.
"You can leave out the personal element," he told her. "There's still a
big story there, if you realize that it runs back to Washington and
involves your favorite policy of conservation. Those claims belonged to
Natalie and her mother. I happen to know that their locations were
legal and that there was never any question of fraud in the titles,
hence they were entitled to patents years ago. Gordon did wrong, of
course, in refusing to obey the orders of the Secretary of the Interior
even though he knew those orders to be senseless and contradictory, but
the women are the ones to suffer. The Government froze them out. This
is only one instance of what delay and indecision at headquarters has
done. I'll show you others before we are through. As for those two--You
say they want to do something?"
"It's not a question of wanting; they've GOT to do something--or
starve. They would scrub kitchens if they knew how."
"Why didn't they come to me?"
"Do you need a cook and a dishwasher?"
Murray frowned. "Our new hotel is nearly finished; perhaps Mrs. Gerard
would accept a position as--as hostess."
"HOSTESS! In a railroad-camp hotel! Who ever heard of such a thing?"
Eliza eyed him incredulously.
O'Neil's flush did not go unnoticed as he said, quietly:
"It IS unusual, but we'll try it. She might learn to manage the
business, with a competent assistant. The salary will be ample for her
and Natalie to live on."
Eliza laid a hand timidly upon his arm and said in an altered tone:
"Omar Khayyam, you're a fine old Persian gentleman! I know what it will
mean to those two poor women, and I know what it will mean to you, for
of course the salary will come out of your pocket."
He smiled down at her. "It's the best I can offer, and I'm sure you
won't tell them."
"Of course not. I know how it feels to lose a fortune, too, for I've
been through the mill--Don't laugh! You have a load on your shoulders
heavier than Mr. Sinbad's, and it's mighty nice of you to let me add to
the burden. I--I hope it won't break your poor back. Now I'm going up
to your bungalow and lock myself into your white bedroom, and--"
"Have a good cry!" he said, noting the suspicious moisture in her eyes.
"Certainly not!" Eliza exclaimed, indignantly. "I'm not the least bit
sentimental."
X
IN WHICH THE DOCTOR SHOWS HIS WIT
O'Neil's talk with Mrs. Gerard upon her arrival from Hope was short and
businesslike. Neither by word nor look did he show that he knew or
suspected anything of the real reason of her break with Gordon. Toward
both her and Natalie he preserved his customary heartiness, and their
first constraint soon disappeared. Mrs. Gerard had been plunged in one
of those black moods in which it seems that no possible event can bring
even a semblance of happiness, but it was remarkable how soon this
state of mind began to give way before O'Neil's matter-of-fact
cheerfulness. He refused to listen to their thanks and made them
believe that they were conferring a real favor upon him by accepting
the responsibility of the new hotel. Pending the completion of that
structure he was hard pressed to find a lodging-place for them until
Eliza and her brother insisted that they share the bungalow with
them--a thing O'Neil had not felt at liberty to ask under the
circumstances. Nor was the tact of the brother and sister less than
his; they received the two unfortunates as honored guests.
Gradually the visitors began to feel that they were welcome, that they
were needed, that they had an important task to fulfil, and the sense
that they were really of service drove away depression. Night after
night they lay awake, discussing the wonderful change in their fortunes
and planning their future. Natalie at least had not the slightest doubt
that all their troubles were at an end.
One morning they awoke to learn that O'Neil had gone to the States,
leaving Dr. Gray in charge of affairs at Omar during his absence. The
physician, who was fully in his chief's confidence, gravely discussed
their duties with them, and so discreet was he that they had no
faintest suspicion that he knew their secret. It was typical of O'Neil
and his "boys" that they should show this chivalry toward two
friendless outcasts; it was typical of them, also, that they one and
all constituted themselves protectors of Natalie and her mother,
letting it be known through the town that the slightest rudeness toward
the women would be promptly punished.
While O'Neil's unexpected departure caused some comment, no one except
his trusted lieutenants dreamed of the grave importance of his mission.
They knew the necessities that hounded him, they were well aware of the
trembling insecurity in which affairs now stood, but they maintained
their cheerful industry, they pressed the work with unabated energy,
and the road crept forward foot by foot, as steadily and as smoothly as
if he himself were on the ground to direct it.
Many disappointments had arisen since the birth of the Salmon River &
Northwestern; many misfortunes had united to retard the development of
its builder's plans. The first obstacle O'Neil encountered was that of
climate. During the summer, unceasing rains, mists, and fogs dispirited
his workmen and actually cut their efficiency in half. He had made
certain allowances for this, of course, but no one could have foreseen
so great a percentage of inefficiency as later developed. In winter,
the cold was intense and the snows were of prodigious depth, while
outside the shelter of the Omar hills the winds howled and rioted over
the frozen delta, chilling men and animals and paralyzing human effort.
Under these conditions it was hard to get workmen, and thrice harder to
keep them; so that progress was much slower than had been anticipated.
Then, too, the physical difficulties of the country were almost
insurmountable. The morass which comprised the Salmon River plain was
in summer a bottomless ooze, over which nothing could be transported,
yet in winter it became sheathed with a steel-hard armor against which
piling splintered. It could be penetrated at that season only by the
assistance of steam thawers, which involved delay and heavy expense.
These were but samples of the obstacles that had to be met, and every
one realized that the work thus far had been merely preparatory. The
great obstruction, upon the conquest of which the success of the whole
undertaking hinged, still lay before them.
But of all handicaps the most serious by far was the lack of capital.
Murray had foreseen as inevitable the abandonment by the Trust of its
Cortez route, but its change of base to Kyak had come as a startling
surprise and as an almost crushing blow. Personally, he believed its
present plan to be even more impracticable than its former one, but its
refusal to buy him out had disheartened his financial associates and
tightened their purse-strings into a knot which no argument of his
could loose. He had long since exhausted his own liquid capital, he had
realized upon his every available asset, and his personal credit was
tottering. He was obliged to finance his operations upon new money--a
task which became ever more difficult as the months passed and the
Trust continued its work at Kyak. Yet he knew that the briefest
flagging, even a temporary abandonment of work, meant swift and utter
ruin. His track must go forward, his labor must be paid, his supplies
must not be interrupted. He set his jaws and fought on stubbornly,
certain of his ultimate triumph if only he could hold out.
A hundred miles to the westward was a melancholy example of failure in
railroad-building, in the form of two rows of rust upon a weed-grown
embankment. It was all that remained of another enterprise which had
succumbed to financial starvation, and the wasted millions it
represented was depressing to consider.
Thus far O'Neil's rivalry with the Trust had been friendly, if
spirited, but his action in coming to the assistance of Mrs. Gerard and
her daughter raised up a new and vigorous enemy whose methods were not
as scrupulous as those of the Heidlemanns.
Gordon was a strangely unbalanced man. He was magnetic, his geniality
was really heart-warming, yet he was perfectly cold-blooded in his
selfishness. He was cool and calculating, but interference roused him
to an almost insane pitch of passion. Fickle in most things, he was
uncompromising in his hatreds. O'Neil's generosity in affording
sanctuary to his defiant mistress struck him as a personal affront, it
fanned his dislike of his rival into a consuming rage. It was with no
thought of profit that he cast about for a means of crippling O'Neil.
He was quite capable of ruining himself, not to speak of incidental
harm to others, if only he could gratify his spleen.
Denny, his trusted jackal, resisted stoutly any move against "The Irish
Prince," but his employer would not listen to him or consent to any
delay. Therefore, a certain plausible, shifty-eyed individual by the
name of Linn was despatched to Omar on the first steamer. Landing at
his destination, Mr. Linn quietly effaced himself, disappearing out the
right-of-way, where he began moving from camp to camp, ostensibly in
search of employment.
It was a few days later, perhaps a week after O'Neil's departure, that
Eliza Appleton entered the hospital and informed Dr. Gray:
"I've finished my first story for The Review."
The big physician had a rapid, forceful habit of speech. "Well, I
suppose you uncorked the vitriol bottle," he said, brusquely.
"No! Since you are now the fount of authority here, I thought I'd tell
you that I have reserved my treachery for another time. I haven't
learned enough yet to warrant real fireworks. As a matter of fact, I've
been very kind to Mr. O'Neil in my story."
"Let me thank you for him."
"Now don't be sarcastic! I could have said a lot of nasty things, if he
hadn't been so nice to me. I suppose it is the corrupting influence of
his kindness."
"He really will be grateful," the doctor assured her, seriously.
"Newspaper publicity of the wrong sort might hurt him a great deal just
now. In every big enterprise there comes a critical time, when
everything depends upon one man; strong as the structure seems, he's
really supporting it. You see, the whole thing rests ultimately on
credit and confidence. An ill-considered word, a little unfriendly
shove, and down comes the whole works. Then some financial power steps
in, reorganizes the wreckage, and gets the result of all the other
fellow's efforts, for nothing."
"Dan tells me the affairs of the S. R. & N. are in just such a
tottering condition."
"Yes. We're up against it, for the time being. Our cards are on the
table, and you have it in your power to do us a lot of harm."
"Don't put it that way!" said Eliza, resentfully. "You and Mr. O'Neil
and even Dan make it hard for me to do my duty. I won't let you rob me
of my liberty. I'll get out and 'Siwash' it in a tent first."
The physician laughed. "Don't mistake leaf-mold for muck, that's all we
ask. O'Neil is perfectly willing to let you investigate him."
"Exactly! And I could bite off his head for being so nice about it. Not
that I've discovered anything against him, for I haven't-- I think he's
fine--but I object to the principle of the thing."
"He'll never peep, no matter what you do or say."
"It makes me furious to know how superior he is. I never detested a
man's virtues as I do his. Gordon is the sort I like, for he needs
exposing, and expects it. Wait until I get at him and the Trust."
"The Trust, too, eh?"
"Of course."
"Now what have the Heidlemanns done?"
"It's not what they have done; it's what they're going to do. They're
trying to grab Alaska."
Dr. Gray shook his head impatiently, but before he could make answer
Tom Slater entered and broke into the conversation by announcing:
"I've spotted him, Doc. His name is Linn, and he's Gordon's hand. He's
at mile 24 and fifty men are quitting from that camp."