"For a writer you select the most foolish words! Like, love, adore,
worship--words are no good, anyway. I'm dippy; I'm out of my head; I've
lost my reason. I'm deliriously happy and miserably unhappy. I--"
"That's enough!" the girl exclaimed. "I can imagine the rest."
"It was a fatal mistake for her to come to Omar, and to this very
house, of all places, where I could see her every day. I might have
recovered from the first jolt if I'd never seen her again, but--" He
waved his hands hopelessly. "I'm beginning to hate O'Neil."
"You miserable traitor!" gasped Eliza.
"Yep! That's me! I'm dead to loyalty, lost to the claims of friendship.
I've fought myself until I'm black in the face, but--it's no use. I
must have Natalie!"
"She's crazy about O'Neil."
"Seems to be, for a fact, but that doesn't alter my fix. I can't live
this way. You must help me or I'll lose my reason."
"Nonsense! You haven't any or you wouldn't talk like this. What can I
do?"
"It's simple! Be nice to Murray and--and win him away from her."
Eliza stared at him as though she really believed him daft. Then she
said, mockingly:
"Is that all? Just make him love me?"
Dan nodded. "That would be fine, if you could manage it."
"Why--you--you--I--" She gasped uncertainly for terms in which to voice
her indignant surprise. "Idiot!" she finally exclaimed.
"Thanks for such glowing praise," Dan said, forlornly. "I feel a lot
worse than an idiot. An idiot is not necessarily evil; at heart he may
be likable, and pathetic, and merely unfortunate--"
"You simply can't be in earnest!"
"I am, though!" He turned upon her eyes which had grown suddenly old
and weary with longing.
"You poor, foolish boy! In the first place, Mr. O'Neil will hate me for
this story. In the second place, no man would look at me. I'm ugly--"
"I think you're beautiful."
"With my snub nose, and big mouth, and--"
"You can make him laugh, and when a woman can make a fellow laugh the
rest is easy."
"In the third place I'm mannish and--vulgar, and besides--I don't care
for him."
"Of course you don't, or I wouldn't ask it. You see, we're taking no
risks! You can at least take up his attention and--and when you see him
making for Natalie you can put out your foot and trip him up."
"It wouldn't be honorable, Danny."
"Possibly! But that doesn't make any difference with me. You may as
well realize that I've got beyond the point where nice considerations
of that sort weigh with me. If you'd ever been in love you'd understand
that such things don't count at all. It's your chance to save the
reason and happiness of an otherwise perfectly good brother."
"There is nothing I wouldn't do for your happiness--nothing. But--Oh,
it's preposterous!"
Dan relapsed into gloomy silence, and they had a very uncomfortable
meal. Unable to bear his continued lack of spirits, Eliza again
referred to the subject, and tried until late in the evening to argue
him out of his mood. But the longer they talked the more plainly she
saw that his feeling for Natalie was not fanciful, but sincere and
deep. She continued to scout his suggestion that she could help him by
captivating O'Neil, and stoutly maintained that she had no attraction
for men; nevertheless, when she went to her room she examined herself
critically in her mirror. This done, she gave herself over to her
favorite relaxation.
First she exchanged her walking-skirt, her prim shirtwaist and jacket,
for a rose-pink wrapper which she furtively brought out of a closet. It
was a very elaborate wrapper, all fluffy lace and ruffles and bows, and
it had cost Eliza a sum which she strove desperately to forget. She
donned silk stockings and a pair of tiny bedroom slippers; then seating
herself once more at her dresser, she let down her hair. She invariably
wore it tightly drawn back--so tightly, in fact, that Dan had more than
once complained that it pulled her eyebrows out of place. On this
occasion, however, she crimped it, she curled it, she brought it
forward about her face in soft riotous puffs and strands, patting it
into becoming shape with dexterous fingers until it formed a golden
frame for her piquant features.
Now this was no unusual performance for her. In the midnight solitude
of her chamber she regularly gave rein to the feminine side of her
nature. By day she was the severe, matter-of-fact, businesslike Eliza
Appleton, deaf to romance, lost to illusion, and unresponsive to
masculine attention; but deep in her heart were all the instincts and
longings of femininity, and at such times as this they came uppermost.
Her bedroom had none of the Puritanical primness which marked her habit
of dress; it was in no way suggestive of the masculine character which
she so proudly paraded upon the street. On the contrary, it was a bower
of daintiness, and was crowded with all the senseless fripperies of a
school-girl. Carefully hidden away beneath her starched shirtwaists was
much lingerie--bewildering creations to match the pink wrapper--and
this she petted and talked to adoringly when no one could hear.
Eliza read much when she was unobserved--romances and improbable tales
of fine ladies and gallant squires. There were times, too, when she
wrote, chewing her pencil in the perplexities of vividly colored love
scenes; but she always destroyed these manuscripts before the curious
sun could spy upon her labors. In such ecstatic flights of fancy the
beautiful heroine was a languorous brunette with hair of raven hue and
soulful eyes in which slumbered the mystery of a tropic night. She had
a Grecian nose, moreover, and her name was Violet.
From all this it may be gathered that Eliza Appleton was by no means
the extraordinary person she seemed. Beneath her false exterior she was
shamelessly normal.
In the days before O'Neil's return she suffered constant misgivings and
qualms of conscience, but the sight of her brother reveling, expanding,
fairly bursting into bloom beneath the influence of Natalie Gerard led
her to think that perhaps she did have a duty to perform. Dan's cause
was hers, and while she had only the faintest hope of aiding it, she
was ready to battle for his happiness with every weapon at her command.
The part she would have to play was not exactly nice, she reflected,
but--the ties of sisterhood were strong and she would have made any
sacrifice for Dan. She knew that Natalie was fond of him in a casual,
friendly way, and although it was evident that the girl accorded him
none of that hero-worship with which she favored his chief, Eliza began
to think there still might be some hope for him. Since we are all prone
to argue our consciences into agreement with our desires, she finally
brought herself to the belief that O'Neil was not the man for Natalie.
He was too old, too confirmed in his ways, and too self-centered to
make a good husband for a girl of her age and disposition. Once her
illusions had been rubbed away through daily contact with him, she
would undoubtedly awaken to his human faults, and unhappiness would
result for both. What Natalie needed for her lasting contentment was a
boy her own age whose life would color to match hers. So argued Eliza
with that supreme satisfaction which we feel in arranging the affairs
of others to suit ourselves.
She was greatly embarrassed, nevertheless, when she next met O'Neil and
tried to explain that story in The Review. He listened courteously and
smiled his gentle smile.
"My dear," said he, finally, "I knew there had been some mistake, so
let's forget that it ever happened. Now tell me about the smallpox
epidemic. When I heard what Linn was doing with our men I was badly
worried, for I couldn't see how to checkmate him, but it seems you and
Doc were equal to the occasion. He cabled me a perfectly proper
announcement of Tom's quarantine, and I believed we had been favored by
a miracle."
"It wasn't a miracle at all," Eliza said in a matter-of-fact tone; "it
was croton oil. Nobody has dared tell him the truth. He still believes
he could smell the tuberoses."
O'Neil seemed to derive great amusement from her account of what
followed. He had already heard Dr. Gray's version of the affair, but
Eliza had a refreshing way of saying things.
"I brought you a little present," he said when she had finished.
She took the package he handed her, exclaiming with a slight flush of
embarrassment, "A s'prise! Nobody but Dan ever gave me a present." Then
her eyes darkened with suspicion. "Did you bring me this because of
what I did?"
"Now don't be silly! I knew nothing about your part in the comedy until
Doc told me. You are a most difficult person."
Slowly she unwrapped the parcel, and then with a gasp lifted a
splendidly embroidered kimono from its box.
"Oh-h!" Her eyes were round and astonished. "Oh-h! It's for ME!"
It was a regal garment of heavy silk, superbly ornamented with golden
dragons, each so cunningly worked that it seemed upon the point of
taking wing. "Why, their eyes glitter! And--they'd breathe fire if I
jabbed them. Oh-h!" She stared at the gift in helpless amazement. "Is
it mine, HONESTLY?"
He nodded. "Won't you put it on?"
"Over these things? Never!" Again Miss Appleton blushed, for she
recalled that she had prepared for his coming with extraordinary care.
Her boots were even stouter than usual, her skirt more plain, her waist
more stiff, and her hair more tightly smoothed back. "It would take a
fluffy person to wear this. I'll always keep it, of course, and--I'll
worship it, but I'm not designed for pretty clothes. I'll let Natalie
wear--"
"Natalie has one of her own, done in butterflies, and I brought one to
her mother also."
"And you bought this for me after you had seen that fiendish story over
my signature?"
"Certainly!" He quickly forestalled her attempted thanks by changing
the subject. "Now then, Dan tells me you are anxious to begin your
magazine-work, so I'm going to arrange for you to see the glaciers and
the coal-fields. It will be a hard trip, for the track isn't through
yet, but--"
"Oh, I'll take care of myself; I won't get in anybody's way," she said,
eagerly.
"I intend to see that you don't, by going with you; so make your
preparations and we'll leave as soon as I can get away."
When he had gone the girl said, aloud:
"Eliza Violet, this is your chance. It's underhanded and mean,
but--you're a mean person, and the finger of Providence is directing
you." She snatched up the silken kimono and ran into her room, locking
the door behind her. Hurriedly she put it on, then posed before the
mirror. Next down came her hair amid a shower of pins. She arranged it
loosely about her face, and, ripping an artificial flower from her
"party" hat, placed it over her ear, then swayed grandly to and fro
while the golden dragons writhed and curved as if in joyous admiration.
A dozen times she slipped out of the garment and, gathering it to her
face, kissed it; a dozen times she donned it, strutting about her
little room like a peacock. Her tip-tilted nose was red and her eyes
were wet when at last she laid it out upon her bed and knelt with her
cheek against it.
"Gee! If only I were pretty!" she sighed, "I almost believe he--likes
me."
Tom Slater laboriously propelled himself up the hill to the bungalow
that evening, and seated himself on the topmost step near where Eliza
was rocking. She had come to occupy a considerable place in his
thoughts of late, for she was quite beyond his understanding. She
affected him as a mental gad-fly, stinging his mind into an activity
quite unusual. At times he considered her a nice girl, though
undoubtedly insane; then there were other moments when she excited his
deepest animosity. Again, on rare occasions she completely upset all
his preconceived notions by being so friendly and so sympathetic that
she made him homesick for his own daughter. In his idle hours,
therefore he spent much time at the Appleton cottage.
"Where have you been lately, Uncle Tom?" she began.
Slater winced at the appellation, but ignored it.
"I've been out on the delta hustling supplies ahead. Heard the news?"
"No."
"Curtis Gordon has bought the McDermott outfit in Kyak."
"That tells me nothing. Who is McDermott?"
"He's a shoe-stringer. He had a wildcat plan to build a railroad from
Kyak to the coal-fields, but he never got farther than a row of alder
stakes and a book of press clippings."
"Does that mean that Gordon abandons his Hope route?"
"Yep! He's swung in behind us and the Heidlemanns. Now it's a
three-sided race, with us in the lead. Mellen just brought in the news
half an hour ago; he was on his way down from the glaciers when he ran
into a field party of Gordon's surveyors. Looks like trouble ahead if
they try to crowd through the canon alongside of us."
"He must believe Kyak Bay will make a safe harbor."
"Don't say it! If he's right, we're fried to a nice brown finish on
both sides and it's time to take us off the stove. I'm praying for a
storm."
"'The prayers of the wicked are an abomination unto the Lord,'" quoted
Eliza.
"Sure! But I keep right on praying just the same. It's a habit now. The
news has set the chief to jumping sideways."
"Which, translated, I suppose means that he is disturbed."
"Or words to that effect! Too bad they changed that newspaper story of
yours."
"Yes."
"It put a crimp in him."
"How--do you mean?"
"He had some California capitalists tuned up to put in three million
dollars, but when they read that our plan was impracticable their
fountain-pens refused to work."
"Oh!" Eliza gasped, faintly.
Slater regarded her curiously, then shook his head. "Funny how a kid
like you can scare a bunch of hard-headed bankers, ain't it?" he said.
"Doc Gray explained that it wasn't your fault, but--it doesn't take
much racket to frighten the big fish."
"What will Mr. O'Neil do?"
"Oh, he'll fight it out, I s'pose. The first thing is to block Gordon.
Say, I brought you a present."
"This is my lucky day," smiled Eliza as Tom fumbled in his pocket. "I'm
sure I shall love it."
"It ain't much, but it was the best in the crate and I shined it up on
my towel." Mr. Slater handed Eliza a fine red apple of prodigious size,
at sight of which the girl turned pale.
"I--don't like apples," she cried, faintly.
"Never mind; they're good for your complexion."
"I'd die before I'd eat one."
"Then I'll eat it for you; my complexion ain't what it was before I had
the smallpox." When he had carried out this intention and subjected his
teeth to a process of vacuum-cleaning, he asked: "Say, what happened to
your friend who chewed gum?"
"Well, he was hardly a friend," Miss Appleton said, "If he had been a
real friend he would have listened to my warning."
"Gum never hurt anybody," Slater averred, argumentatively.
"Not ordinary gum. But you see, he chewed nothing except wintergreen--"
"That's what I chew."
Eliza's tone was one of shocked amazement. "Not REALLY? Oh, well, some
people would thrive on it, I dare say, but he had indigestion."
"Me too! That's why I chew it."
The girl eyed him during an uncomfortable pause. Finally she inquired:
"Do you ever feel a queer, gnawing feeling, like hunger, if you go
without your breakfast?"
"Unh-hunh! Don't you?"
"I wouldn't alarm you for the world, Uncle Tom--"
"I ain't your uncle!"
"You might chew the stuff for years and not feel any bad effects, but
if you wake up some morning feeling tired and listless--"
"I've done that, too." Slater's gloomy eyes were fixed upon her with a
look of vague apprehension. "Is it a symptom?"
"Certainly! Pepsin-poisoning, it's called. This fellow I told you about
was a charming man, and since we had all tried so hard to save him, we
felt terribly at the end."
"Then he died?"
"Um-m! Yes and no. Remind me to tell you the story sometime--Here comes
Dan, in a great hurry."
Young Appleton came panting up the hill.
"Good-by, Sis," he said. "I'm off for the front in ten minutes."
"Anybody hurt?" Slater asked quickly.
"Not yet, but somebody's liable to be. Gordon is trying to steal the
canon, and Murray has ordered me out with a car of dynamite to hold it."
"Dynamite! Why, Dan!" his sister exclaimed in consternation.
"We have poling-boats at the lower crossing and we'll be at the canon
in two days. I'm going to load the hillside with shots, and if they try
to come through I'll set 'em off. They'll never dare tackle it." Dan's
eyes were dancing; his face was alive with excitement.
"But suppose they should?" Eliza insisted, quietly.
"Then send Doc Gray with some stretchers. I owe one to Gordon, and this
is my chance." Drawing her aside, he said in an undertone. "You've got
to hold my ground with Natalie while I'm gone. Don't let her see too
much of Murray."
"I'll do the best I can," she answered him, "but if he seems to be in
earnest I'll renig, no matter what happens to you, Danny."
He kissed her affectionately and fled.
XII
HOW GORDON FAILED IN HIS CUNNING
The so-called canon of the Salmon River lies just above the twin
glaciers. Scenically, these are by far the more impressive, and they
present a more complex engineering problem; yet the canon itself was
the real strategic point in the struggle between the railroad-builders.
The floor of the valley immediately above Garfield glacier, though
several miles wide, was partly filled with detritus which had been
carried down from the mother range on the east, and this mass of debris
had forced the stream far over against the westward rim, where it came
roaring past the foot wall in a splendid cataract some three miles
long. To the left of the river, looking up-stream at this point, the
mountains slanted skyward like a roof, until lost in the hurrying scud
four thousand feet above. To the right, however, was the old moraine,
just mentioned, consisting of a desolate jumble of rock and gravel and
silt overlaying the ice foot. On account of its broken character and
the unstable nature of its foundation this bank was practically useless
for road-building, and the only feasible route for steel rails was
along the steep west wall.
O'Neil on his first reconnaissance had perceived that while there was
room for more than one bridge across the Salmon between the upper and
the lower ice masses, there was not room for more than one track
alongside the rapids, some miles above that point. He knew, moreover,
that once he had established his title to a right-of-way along the west
rim of the cataract, it would be difficult for a rival to oust him, or
to parallel his line without first crossing back to the east bank--an
undertaking at once hazardous and costly. He had accordingly given Dan
Appleton explicit instructions to be very careful in filing his survey,
that no opportunity might be left open for a later arrival. The
engineer had done his work well, and O'Neil rested secure in the belief
that he held possession of the best and least expensive route through
to the open valleys above. He had had no cause to fear a clash with the
Heidlemann forces, for they had shown a strict regard for his rights
and seemed content to devote themselves to developing their terminus
before trying to negotiate the canon. They were wise in taking this
course, for their success would mean that O'Neil's project would fall
of its own weight. Kyak was nearer Seattle, by many miles, than Omar;
it was closer to the coal and copper fields, and the proven permanence
of their breakwater would render useless further attempts to finance
the S. R. & N.
But in the entrance of Curtis Gordon into the field O'Neil recognized
danger. Gordon was swayed by no such business scruples as the
Heidlemanns; he was evidently making a desperate effort to secure a
footing at any cost. In purchasing the McDermott holdings he had
executed a coup of considerable importance, for he had placed himself
on equal footing with the Trust and in position to profit by its
efforts at harbor-building without expense to himself. If, therefore,
he succeeded in wresting from O'Neil the key to that upper passageway,
he would be able to block his personal enemy and to command the
consideration of his more powerful rival.
No one, not even the Trust, had taken the McDermott enterprise
seriously, but with Curtis Gordon in control the "wildcat" suddenly
became a tiger.
In view of all this, it was with no easy mind that O'Neil despatched
Appleton to the front, and it was with no small responsibility upon his
shoulders that the young engineer set out in charge of those wooden
boxes of dynamite. Murray had told him frankly what hung upon his
success, and Dan had vowed to hold the survey at any cost.
Steam was up and the locomotive was puffing restlessly when he returned
from his farewell to Eliza. A moment later and the single flat car
carrying his party and its dangerous freight was being whirled along
the shores of Omar Lake. On it rushed, shrieking through the night, out
from the gloomy hills and upon the tangent that led across the delta.
Ten minutes after it had rolled forth upon the trestle at the "lower
crossing" the giant powder had been transferred to poling-boats and the
long pull against the current had begun.
O'Neil had picked a crew for Dan, men upon whom he could depend. They
were on double pay, and as they had worked upon the North Pass & Yukon,
Appleton had no doubt of their loyalty.
The events of that trip were etched upon the engineer's mind with
extraordinary vividness, for they surpassed in peril and excitement all
his previous experiences. The journey resembled nothing but the mad
scramble of a gold stampede. The stubborn boats with their cargoes
which had to be so gently handled, the ever-increasing fury of the
river, the growing menace of those ghastly, racing icebergs, the
taut-hauled towing-lines, and the straining, sweating men in the loops,
all made a picture hard to forget. Then, too, the uncertainty of the
enterprise, the crying need of haste, the knowledge of those other men
converging upon the same goal, lent a gnawing suspense to every hour.
It was infinitely more terrible than that first expedition when he and
Tom Slater and O'Neil had braved the unknown. It was vastly more trying
than any of the trips which had followed, even with the winter
hurricane streaming out of the north as from the mouth of a giant
funnel.
Dan had faced death in various forms upon this delta during the past
year and a half. He had seen his flesh harden to marble whiteness under
the raging north wind; his eyes and lungs had been drifted full of sand
in summer storms which rivaled those of the Sahara. With transit on his
back he had come face to face with the huge brown grizzly. He had slept
in mud, he had made his bed on moss which ran water like a sponge; he
had taken danger and hardship as they came--yet never had he punished
himself as on this dash.
Through his confusion of impressions, his intense preoccupation with
present dangers and future contingencies, the thought of Natalie
floated now and then vaguely but comfortingly. He had seen her for a
moment, before leaving--barely long enough to explain the nature of his
mission--but her quick concern, her unvoiced anxiety, had been very
pleasant, and he could not believe that it was altogether due to her
interest in the fortunes of O'Neil.
Dan knew that Mellen's crew was camped at the upper crossing, busied in
drilling for the abutments and foundations of the bridge; but he
reasoned that they would scarcely suspect the object of Gordon's party
and that, in any case, they were not organized or equipped to resist
it. Moreover, the strategic point was four miles above the bridge site,
and the surveying corps would hardly precipitate a clash, particularly
since there was ample room for them to select a crossing-place
alongside.