done justice to the subject. There are a dozen men in Kyak to-night who
could put up a much stronger case than I. There's McCann, for instance.
He was a prospector back in the States until he made a strike which
netted him a hundred thousand dollars. He put nearly all of it into
Kyak coal claims and borrowed seventy thousand more. He got tired of
the interminable delay and finally mined a few tons which he sent out
for a test in the navy. It had better steaming qualities than the
Eastern coal now being used, but six weeks later an agent of the Land
Office ordered him to cease work until his title had been passed upon.
That was two years ago, and nothing has been done since. No charges of
irregularity of any sort have ever been filed against McCann or his
property. The Government has had his money for five years, and still he
can't get a ruling. He's broke now and too old to make a living. He's
selling pies on the street--"
"He borrowed a dollar from me just now," said O'Neil, who was staring
out of a window. Suddenly he turned and addressed his host. "Trevor,
it's going to storm." His voice was harsh, his eyes were eager; his
tone brought the engineer to his side. Together they looked out across
the bay.
The southern sky was leaden, the evening had been shortened by a rack
of clouds which came hurrying in from the sea.
"Let it storm," said Trevor, after a moment. "I'm ready."
"Have you ever seen it blow here?"
"The old-timers tell me I haven't, but--I've seen some terrible storms.
Of course the place is unusual--"
"In what way?" Eliza inquired.
"The whole country back of here is ice-capped. This coast for a hundred
miles to the east is glacial. The cold air inland and the warm air from
the Japanese Current are always at war."
"There is a peculiar difference in air-pressures, too," O'Neil
explained. "Over the warm interior it is high, and over the coast range
it is low; so every valley becomes a pathway for the wind. But that
isn't where the hurricanes come from. They're born out yonder." He
pointed out beyond the islands from which the breakwater flung its
slender arm. "This may be only a little storm, Trevor, but some day the
sea and the air will come together and wipe out all your work. Then
you'll see that I was right."
"You told me that more than a year ago, but I backed my skill against
your prophecy."
O'Neil answered him gravely: "Men like you and me become over-confident
of our powers; we grow arrogant, but after all we're only pygmies."
"If Nature beats me here, I'm a ruined man," said the engineer.
"And if you defeat her, I'm ruined." O'Neil smiled at him.
"Let's make medicine, the way the Indians did, and call upon the Spirit
of the Wind to settle the question," Eliza suggested, with a woman's
quick instinct for relieving a situation that threatened to become
constrained. She and Natalie ran to Trevor's sideboard, and, seizing
bottle and shaker, brewed a magic broth, while the two men looked on.
They murmured incantations, they made mystic passes, then bore the
glasses to their companions.
As the men faced each other Natalie cried:
"To the Wind!"
"Yes! More power to it!" Eliza echoed.
Trevor smiled. "I drink defiance."
"In my glass I see hope and confidence," said O'Neil. "May the storm
profit him who most deserves help."
Despite their lightness, there was a certain gravity among the four,
and as the night became more threatening they felt a growing suspense.
The men's restlessness communicated itself to the girls, who found
themselves listening with almost painful intentness to the voice of the
wind and the rumble of the surf, which grew louder with every hour. By
bed-time a torrent of rain was sweeping past, the roof strained, the
windows were sheeted with water. Now and then the clamor ceased, only
to begin with redoubled force. Trevor's guests were glad indeed of
their snug shelter.
As Natalie prepared for bed she said: "It was fine of Mr. Trevor to
treat Murray O'Neil so nicely. No one would dream that they were
rivals, or that one's success means the other's ruin. Now Gordon--" She
turned to see her friend kneeling at the bedside, and apologized
quickly.
Eliza lifted her face and said simply, "I'm praying for the Wind."
Natalie slipped down beside her and bowed her dark head close to the
light one. They remained there for a long time, while outside the rain
pelted, the surf roared, and the wind came shrieking in from the sea.
XVI
THE FRUIT OF THE TEMPEST
Neither O'Neil nor his host was in sight when the girls came to
breakfast. The men had risen early, it seemed, and were somewhere out
in the storm. A wilder day would be hard to imagine; a hurricane was
raging, the rain was whirled ahead of it like charges of shot. The
mountains behind Kyak were invisible, and to seaward was nothing but a
dimly discernible smother of foam and spray, for the crests of the
breakers were snatched up and carried by the wind. The town was sodden;
the streets were running mud. Stove-pipes were down, tents lay
flattened in the mire, and the board houses were shaking as if they
might fly to pieces at any moment. The darkness was uncanny, and the
tempest seemed to be steadily growing in violence.
When an hour or two had passed with no word from the men Eliza
announced her intention of looking them up. She had spent the time at a
window, straining her eyes through the welter, while Natalie had curled
up cozily with a book in one of Trevor's arm-chairs.
"But, dearie, you'll be drenched." Natalie looked up in surprise. "Mr.
O'Neil is all right."
"Of course he is. I'm not going out to spank him and bring him in. I
want to look at the storm."
"So do I, but it won't do any good. I can't make it blow any harder by
getting my feet wet."
"You read your novel and talk to Mr. Trevor when he comes back. He
knows we're to blame for this storm, so you must be nice to him. I
can't." She clad herself in rain-coat, sou'wester, and boots, and
hurried out. Walking was difficult enough, even in the shelter of the
village, but not until she had emerged upon the beach did she meet the
full strength of the gale. Here it wrapped her garments about her limbs
until she could scarcely move. The rain came horizontally and blinded
her; the wind fairly snatched her breath away and oppressed her lungs
like a heavy weight. She shielded herself as best she could, and by
clinging to stationary objects and watching her chance she managed to
work her way onward. At last she caught sight of O'Neil, standing high
above the surf, facing the wind defiantly, as if daring it to unfoot
him. He saw her and came in answer to her signal; but to breast that
wind was like stemming a rushing torrent, and when he reached her side
he was panting.
"Child! What are you doing here?" he demanded.
"I couldn't wait any longer," she shouted back. "You've been out since
daylight. You must be wet through."
He nodded. "I lay awake all night listening. So did Trevor. He's
beginning to worry already."
"Already? If the breakwater stands this--"
"The storm hasn't half started! Come! We'll watch it together." He took
her hand, and they lunged into the gale, battling their way back to his
point of vantage. He paused at length, and with his arm about her
pointed to the milk-white chaos which marked Trevor's handiwork. The
rain pelted against their faces and streamed from their slickers.
The breakwater lay like a reef, and over it the sea was pounding in
mighty wrath. High into the air the waters rose, only to disappear upon
the bosom of the gale. They engulfed the structure bodily, they raced
along it with thunderous detonations, bursting in a lather of rage. Out
beyond, the billows appeared to be sheared flat by the force of the
wind, yet that ceaseless upheaval of spume showed that the ocean was in
furious tumult. For moments at a time the whole scene was blotted out
by the scud, then the curtain would tear asunder and the wild scene
would leap up again before their eyes.
Eliza screamed a question at her companion, but he did not seem to
hear; his eyes roved back and forth along that lace-white ridge of rock
on the weakness of which depended his salvation. She had never seen him
so fierce, so hawklike, so impassive. The gusts shook him, his garments
slatted viciously, every rag beneath his outer covering was sodden, yet
he continued to face the tempest as indifferently as he had faced it
since the dawn. The girl thrilled at thought of the issue these mighty
forces were fighting out before her eyes, and of what it meant to the
man beside her. His interests became hers; she shared his painful
excitement. Her warm flesh chilled as the moisture embraced her limbs;
but her heart was light, for O'Neil's strong arm encircled her, and her
body lay against his.
After a long time he spoke. "See! It's coming up!" he said.
She felt no increase in the wind, but she noted that particles of sand
and tiny pebbles from the beach were flying with the salt raindrops.
Her muscles began to tremble from the constant effort at resistance,
and she was relieved when Murray looked about for a place of refuge.
She pointed to a pile of bridge timbers, but he shook his head.
"They'll go flying if this keeps up." He dragged her into the shelter
of a little knoll. Here the blasts struck them with diminished force,
the roaring in their ears grew less, and the labor of breathing was
easier.
Rousing himself from his thoughts, the man said, gently:
"Poor kid! You must be cold."
"I'm freezing. But--please don't send me back." The face that met his
was supplicating; the eyes were bluer than a spring day. He patted her
dripping shoulder.
"Not until you're ready."
"This is grander than our trip past the glacier. That was merely
dangerous, but this--means something."
"There may be danger here if we expose ourselves. Look at that!"
High up beyond reach of the surf a dory had been dragged and left
bottom up. Under this the wind found a fingerhold and sent it flying.
Over and over it rolled, until a stronger gust caught it and sent it in
huge leaps, end over end. It brought up against the timber pile with a
crash, and was held there as if by a mighty suction. Then the beams
began to tremble and lift. The pile was disintegrated bit by bit,
although it would have required many hands to move any one of its parts.
Even where the man and the woman crouched the wind harried them like a
hound pack, but by clinging to the branches of a gnarled juniper bush
they held their position and let the spray whine over their heads.
"Farther west I've seen houses chained to the earth with ships'
cables," he shouted in her ear. "To think of building a harbor in a
place like this!"
"I prayed for you last night. I prayed for the wind to come," said the
girl, after a time.
O'Neil looked at her, curiously startled, then he looked out at the sea
once more. All in a moment he realized that Eliza was beautiful and
that she had a heart. It seemed wonderful that she should be interested
in his fortunes. He was a lonely man; beneath his open friendliness lay
a deep reserve. A curiously warm feeling of gratitude flamed through
him now, and he silently blessed her for bearing him company in the
deciding hour of his life.
Noon came, and still the two crouched in their half-shelter, drenched,
chilled, stiff with exposure, watching Kyak Bay lash itself into a
boiling smother. The light grew dim, night was settling; the air seemed
full of screaming furies. Then O'Neil noticed bits of driftwood racing
in upon the billows, and he rose with a loud cry.
"It's breaking up!" he shouted. "It's breaking up!"
Eliza lifted herself and clung to him, but she could see nothing except
a misty confusion. In a few moments the flotsam came thicker.
Splintered piling, huge square-hewn timbers with fragments of twisted
iron or broken bolts came floating into sight. A confusion of wreckage
began to clutter the shore, and into it the sea churned.
The spindrift tore asunder at length, and the watchers caught a brief
glimpse of the tumbling ocean. The breakwater was gone. Over the place
where it had stood the billows raced unhindered.
"Poor Trevor!" said O'Neil. "Poor Trevor! He did his best, but he
didn't know." He looked down to find Eliza crying. "What's this? I've
kept you here too long!"
"No, no! I'm just glad--so glad. Don't you understand?"
"I'll take you back. I must get ready to leave."
"Leave? Where--"
"For New York! I've made my fight, and I've won." His eyes kindled
feverishly. "I've won in spite of them all. I hold the key to a
kingdom. It's mine--mine! I hold the gateway to an empire, and those
who pass through must pay." The girl had never seen such fierce triumph
in a face. "I saw it in a dream, only it was more than a dream." The
wind snatched O'Neil's words from his lips, but he ran on: "I saw a
deserted fishing-village become a thriving city. I saw the glaciers
part to let pass a great traffic in men and merchandise. I saw the
unpeopled north grow into a land of homes, of farms, of mining-camps,
where people lived and bred children. I heard the mountain passes echo
to steam whistles and the whir of flying wheels. It was a wonderful
vision that I saw, but my eyes were true. They called me a fool, and it
took the sea and the hurricane to show them I was right." He paused,
ashamed of his outburst, and, taking the girl's hand in his, went
stumbling ahead of the storm.
Their limbs were cramped, their teeth chattered, they wallowed through
mire, and more than once they fell. Nearing Trevor's house, they saw
what the storm had done. Kyak was nearly razed. Roofs had been ripped
off, chimneys were down, glass was out. None but the most substantial
log cabins had withstood the assault, and men were busied in various
quarters trying to repair the damage.
They found Natalie beside herself with anxiety for their safety, and an
hour later Trevor came in, soaked to the skin. He was very tired, and
his face was haggard.
"Well! She went out!" he said. "I saw a million dollars swallowed up in
that sea."
They tried to comfort him, but the collapse of his work had left him
dazed.
"God! I didn't think it could blow like this--and it isn't over yet.
The town is flat."
"I'm sorry. You understand I sympathize?" said Murray; and the engineer
nodded.
"You told me it blew here, and I thought I knew what you meant, but
nothing could withstand those rollers."
"Nothing."
"You'll go East and see our people, I suppose?"
"At once."
"Tell them what you saw. They'll never understand from my reports.
They're good people. If there's anything I can do--"
O'Neil took his hand warmly.
Two days later Murray bade the girls good-by, and left, traveling
light. They remained in Kyak so that Eliza might complete her
investigations.
Of all those who suffered by the storm Curtis Gordon took his
misfortune hardest. This had been a black season for him, indeed.
Beginning with O'Neil's rivalry, everything had gone against him. He
had dropped his coal interests at Kyak in favor of the copper-mine,
because they failed to yield quick profits. Then he had learned that
the mine was valueless, and realized that it could not serve him much
longer as a means of raising funds. Still, he had trusted that by
taking a vigorous part in the railroad struggle he would be able either
to recoup his fortunes or at least to effect a compromise in the shadow
of which his fiasco at Hope would be forgotten. As yet the truth about
Hope Consolidated was not generally known to his stock-holders, but a
certain restlessness among them had become troublesome. The stream of
money had diminished alarmingly, and it was largely because of this
that he had bought the McDermott right-of-way and moved to Kyak. And
now, just as he had his affairs in shape for another and a greater
campaign of stock-flotation, the storm had come to ruin him.
The bitterest element in his defeat was the realization that O'Neil,
who had bested him at every turn, was destined to profit by the very
blow which crushed him. Defeat at the hands of the Copper Trust he
would have accepted with a fairly good grace; but the mere thought that
Murray O'Neil, whom he considered in every way his inferior, had gained
the upper hand was intolerable. It was in keeping with Gordon's
character that instead of blaming his own judgment he became furiously
angry at the Trust for the mistake of its engineers, and held them
responsible for his desperate situation. That it was truly desperate he
very soon realized, since disaster to his railroad project meant that
his stock-holders would be around his ears like a swarm of hornets, and
once they understood the true state of affairs at Hope the complete
collapse of his fortunes would surely follow.
During the days succeeding the storm he scarcely knew where to turn, so
harassed was he; yet he never for a moment wavered in his resolve to
make O'Neil pay for his interference and to exact a reckoning from
Gloria Gerard.
Natalie's presence in Kyak confirmed his belief that O'Neil was
interested in her, and he began to plan a stroke by which he could take
revenge upon all three. It did not promise in any way to help him out
of his financial straits, but at least it would give him a certain
satisfaction.
He sent word to the girl that he would like to see her.
XVII
HOW THE PRINCE BECAME A MAN
Gordon found his erstwhile ward greatly improved by her recent life.
She was brown, vigorous, healthy; her physical charms quickened his
pulses.
"You must have a very good reason for coming to see me," she began. "I
don't flatter myself that it is from affection."
"There you wrong me," he assured her, with the warm earnestness he so
easily assumed. "I have always regarded you as a daughter."
"I have no faith in you."
"Exactly, and the knowledge distresses me. You and Gloria were a large
part of my life; I can't bear to lose you. I hope--and I believe--that
her regard for me has changed no more than mine for her. It remains for
me to regain yours."
"That is impossible. You had the chance--"
"My dear, you can't know my reasons for acting as I did at Omar. But
those reasons no longer exist."
"Just what--do you mean by that?" stammered Natalie.
"I mean what I say. I'm ready to marry your mother."
"When?"
"At once. You shall plead my cause for me. You shall add your voice to
mine--"
"That isn't necessary. You know mother is only waiting for you. It
means so much to her that she couldn't refuse."
"Doesn't it mean anything to you?"
Natalie nodded. "It means more to me than to any one else, perhaps. I
have been carrying a great burden, almost more than I can bear.
Sometimes I've wished I were a man--for just long enough to make you
pay. Oh yes," she continued, as he started to protest. "Don't let us
begin this new life with any false conceptions; you may as well know
that I shall always hate you. We shall see very little of each other."
"Nonsense! I can't let you feel like that. I sha'n't rest until I win
back your love and confidence."
She eyed him searchingly for a moment, then opened her lips to speak,
but closed them.
"Well?" he prompted her. "Let us be frank with each other."
"I'm merely wondering how greatly your decision has been influenced by
the storm and the fight at the railroad crossing. I understand how you
feel toward Mr. O'Neil, and I know that he means to crush you."
"Oh!" Gordon's face lighted.
"Yes! He has never said so, but I can feel it. I wonder if you have
snatched us up in your extremity as a defense."
"Ridiculous! Your suspicions are insulting. I have nothing to fear from
him, for he is broken, his credit is gone, he is in desperate straits."
"Are you in any better condition? How long can you fool your people
with that pretense of a mine?"
Gordon flushed, but affected scorn. "So! Have you and Gloria begun to
balance my wealth against my love? If so--"
"You know she would marry you if you were penniless."
"I hope so--and, indeed, I can't believe her mercenary. Well, I shall
say good-by to Kyak, without idle regret, and we three shall return to
Hope, where I can attack my problems with fresh courage. I can well
afford my loss here, if by doing so I gain the woman of my desires."
"You want me to go with you?"
"Of course. You can't stay in Omar, knowing what you do about O'Neil.
Remember, I shall be in the position of a father to you."
"Very well. It is the least I can do. Miss Appleton and I are returning
to Omar in a few days. Will you go with us?"
"I shall be delighted, my dear." He smiled upon her in his most
fatherly fashion, but she was far from feeling the assurance he meant
to convey.
The eighteen-hour train from Chicago bore Murray O'Neil into New York
on time, and he hastened directly to the Holland House, where the clerk
greeted him as if he had run in from Yonkers instead of from the
wilderness of the far northwest. His arrival was always the forerunner
of great prosperity for the bell-boys, and there was the customary
struggle for his baggage.
An hour later, having bathed and changed his linen, he was whizzing
toward lower Broadway, with the roar of the Subway in his ears. New
York looked very good to O'Neil, for this time he came not as a
suppliant, but as a conqueror, and a deep contentment rested in his
heart. More than once during the last two years he had made this flying
trip across an ocean and a continent, but heretofore he had been
burdened with worries and responsibilities. Always he had needed to
gather his wits for some supreme effort; always there had been the
urgent necessity of raising money. As the S. R. & N. had grown his
obligations had increased; and, while he had never returned
empty-handed, no one but he knew at what cost of time and strength he
had succeeded in financing his venture. Invariably he had left New York
mentally and physically exhausted, and his days in the open had barely
served to replenish his store of nervous energy for the next campaign.
As he looked back upon it all he was amazed at his daring in attempting
to finance a railroad out of his own pocket. But he had won, and the
Trust had met with a sharp reverse in attempting to beat him at his own
game. He held the winning card, and he looked out upon the world
through eyes which were strained and weary, but complacent.
Mr. Herman Heidlemann was expecting him.
"You have the most confident way of arranging appointments from the
other side of the world," he began, as O'Neil entered his office.
"Steamships and railroads appear to be your obedient servants."
"Not always. I find railroads very troublesome at times."
"Well, you're on time to the minute," said Heidlemann. "Now tell me
about Kyak. Trevor cables that you were there during the storm which
ruined us." The head of the copper syndicate did not look like a man
facing ruin; in fact, he seemed more curious to hear of the physical
phenomena of that hurricane than of its effect upon his fortunes.
"Kyak was a great mistake," he admitted, when O'Neil had given him the
particulars he asked for. "We're all agreed on that point. Some of our
associates feel that the whole Alaskan enterprise has been a
mistake--mines and all."
"Your mines are as good as they ever were, but Kyak is a long way from
Wall Street, and you relied too much upon other people's judgment."
"We have to rely upon our experts."
"Of course. But that country must have a railroad."
"Must?" Heidlemann lifted his brows. "It has done very well without one
so far. Our friends call us crazy for trying to build one, and our
enemies call us thieves."
"You can't afford to give up."
"No. There's an element of pride in the matter, and I really believe
the country does need transportation."
"You can't understand how badly it needs it."
"Yet it's a heavy load to carry," said Heidlemann, with conviction,
"for a road will lose money for many years. We were willing to wait
until the agriculture and the mining developed, even though the profit
came only to our children; but--we have been misunderstood, abused by
the press and the public. Even Congress is down on us. However, I
suppose you came to tell me once more that Omar is the gateway and that
we need it."
O'Neil smiled. "That's hardly necessary now, is it? I own every inch of
water-front at that point, and there's no other harbor. My track will
be laid to the glaciers by the time snow flies."
"Trevor reports that a bridge is possible, although expensive."
"It will cost two million dollars."
"I don't see how it can be built to withstand the ice."
"I'll guarantee to build it so it will hold."
"What is your proposition?" asked Heidlemann.
"I'll sell the S.R.&N. for five million dollars and contract to
complete the road within two years on a ten-per-cent commission."
"It has cost you about three million dollars, I believe. That would
leave you a handsome profit."
"One million for me, one million for my associates."
"What will the remaining hundred miles cost?"
"About ten millions. That will give me another million profit as
contractor. My force and equipment is on the ground. I can save you
money and a year's time."
Mr. Heidlemann drummed upon the top of his desk for a moment.
"You're a high-priced man, O'Neil," he said, finally.
"You've had experience with the other kind."
"Counting the money we've already sunk, the road would stand us about
twenty million dollars completed."