marched into Beaver Canon to take possession of the old Heidlemann
workings, but it appeared that they had reckoned prematurely. A handful
of grim-faced Trust employees warned them back: there was a rush, some
rough work on the part of the aggressors, and then the guards brought
their weapons into play. The result afforded Gordon far more
sensational material than he had hoped for: one citizen was killed and
five others were badly wounded. Cortez, dazed and horror-stricken,
arose in her wrath and descended upon the "assassins"; lynchings were
planned, and mobs threatened the local jail, until soldiers were
hurried thither and martial law was declared.
Of course, the wires were burdened with the accounts; the reading
public of the States awoke to the fact that a bitter strife was waging
in the north between honest miners and the soulless Heidlemann
syndicate. Gordon's previously written and carefully colored stories of
the clash were printed far and wide. Editorials breathed indignation at
such lawlessness and pointed to the Cortez Home Railway as a
commendable effort to destroy the Heidlemann throttle-hold upon the
northland. Stock subscriptions came in a deluge which fairly engulfed
Gordon's Seattle office force.
During this brief white-hot campaign the promoter had been actuated as
much by his senseless hatred of O'Neil as by lust of glory and gain,
and it was with no little satisfaction that he returned to Alaska
conscious of having dealt a telling blow to his enemy. He sent Natalie
to Omar on another visit in order that he might hear at first hand how
O'Neil took the matter. But his complacency received a shock when the
girl returned. He had no need to question her.
"Uncle Curtis," she began, excitedly, "you ought to stop these terrible
newspaper stories about Mr. O'Neil and the Trust."
"Stop them? My dear, what do you mean?"
"He didn't sell out to the Trust. He has nothing to do with it."
"What?" Gordon's incredulity was a challenge.
"He sold to an Englishman named Illis. They seem to be amused by your
mistake over there at Omar, but I think some of the things printed are
positively criminal. I knew you'd want the truth--"
"The truth, yes! But this can't be true," stammered Gordon.
"It is. Mr. O'Neil did try to interest the Heidlemanns, but they
wouldn't have anything to do with him, and the S. R. & N. was going to
smash when Mr. Illis came along, barely in time. It was too exiting and
dramatic for anything the way Mr. O'Neil found him when he was in
hiding--"
"Hiding?"
"Yes. There was something about blackmail, or a secret arrangement
between Mr. Illis and the Yukon River lines--I couldn't understand just
what it was--but, anyhow, Murray took advantage of it and saved the
North Pass and the S. R. & N. at the same time. It was really a
perfectly wonderful stroke of genius. I determined at once that you
should stop these lies and correct the general idea that he is in the
pay of the Trust. Why, he went to Cortez last week and they threatened
his life!"
Mrs. Gordon, who had listened, said, quietly: "Don't blame Curtis for
that. That bloody affray at Beaver Canyon has made Cortez bitter
against every one connected with the Heidlemanns."
"What about this blackmail?" said her husband, upon whose ear the word
had made a welcome impression. "I don't understand what you mean by
O'Neil's 'saving' the North Pass and his own road at the same time--nor
Illis's being in hiding."
"Neither do I." Natalie confessed, "but I know you have made a mistake
that ought to be set right."
"Why doesn't he come out with the truth?"
"The whole thing is secret."
"Why?"
Natalie shrugged hopelessly, and Gordon lost himself in frowning
thought.
"This is amazing," he said, brusquely, after a moment. "It's vital. It
affects all my plans. I must know everything at once."
"I'm sorry I paid so little attention."
"Never mind; try it again and be diplomatic. If O'Neil won't tell you,
question Appleton--you can wind him around your fingers easily enough."
The girl eyed him with a quick change of expression.
"Isn't it enough to know that the Trust has nothing to do with the S.
R. & N.?"
"No!" he declared, impatiently. "I must know the whole inside of this
secret understanding--this blackmail, or whatever it is."
"Then--I'm sorry."
"Come! Don't be silly. You can do me a great service."
"You said you no longer disliked Mr. O'Neil and that he couldn't harm
you."
"Well, well! Must I explain the whys and wherefores of every move I
make?"
"It would be spying if I went back. The matter is confidential--I know
that."
"Will you do as I ask?" he demanded.
Natalie answered him firmly: "No! I told you what I did tell you only
so that you might correct--"
"You rebel, eh?" Gordon spoke out furiously.
It was their first clash since the marriage. Mrs. Gordon looked on,
torn between loyalty to her husband and a desire to protect her
daughter. She was searching her mind painfully for the compromise, the
half-truth that was her remedy for every moral distress. At length she
said, placatingly:
"I'm sure Natalie will help you in any way she can, Curtis. She isn't
rebellious, she merely doesn't understand."
"She doesn't need to understand. It is enough that I direct her--" As
Natalie turned and walked silently to the window he stifled an oath.
"Have I no authority?" he stormed. "Do you mean to obey?"
"Wait!" Gloria laid a restraining hand on his arm. "Perhaps I can learn
what you want to know. Mr. O'Neil was very kind--"
Her daughter whirled, with white face and flashing eyes.
"Mother!" she gasped.
"Our loyalty begins at home," said Gloria, feebly.
"Oh-h! I can't conceive of your--of such a thing. If you have no
decency, I have. I'm sorry I spoke, but--if you DARE to do such a thing
I shall warn Mr. O'Neil that you are a spy." She turned a glance of
loathing on Gordon. "I see," she said, quietly. "You used me as a tool.
You lied about your feeling toward him. You meant harm to him all the
time." She faced the window again.
"Lied!" he shouted. "Be careful--that's pretty strong language. Don't
try me too far, or you may find yourself adrift once more. I have been
too patient. But I have other ways of finding out what I wish to know,
and I shall verify what you have told me." He strode angrily from the
room, leaving Natalie staring out upon the bleak fall scene, her
shoulders very straight, her breast heaving. Gloria did not venture to
address her.
Fortunately for the peace of all concerned, Gordon left for Seattle on
the next steamer. Neither of the women believed that Natalie's
fragmentary revelation was the cause of his departure; but, once in
touch with outside affairs, he lost no time in running down the clues
he had gathered, and it was not long before he had learned enough to
piece the truth together. Then he once more brought his mimeograph into
use.
XXI
DAN APPLETON SLIPS THE LEASH
The first winter snows found O'Neil's track laid to the bridge site and
the structure itself well begun. He had moved his office out to the
front, and now saw little of Eliza, who was busied in writing her book.
She had finished her magazine articles, and they had been accepted, but
she had given him no hint as to their character.
One afternoon "Happy Tom" burst in upon his chief, having hastened out
from Omar on a construction-train. Drawing a Seattle paper from his
pocket, he began excitedly:
"Well, the fat's in the fire, Murray! Somebody has belched up the whole
North Pass story."
O'Neil seized the newspaper and scanned it hurriedly. He looked up,
scowling.
"Who gave this out?" he inquired, in a harsh voice.
Slater shrugged. "It's in the Cortez Courier too, so I s'pose it came
from Gordon. Blessings come from one source, and Gordon's the fountain
of all evil. I'm getting so I blame him for everything unpleasant.
Sometimes I think he gave me the smallpox."
"Where did he learn the inside of Illis's deal? By God! There's a leak
somewhere!"
"Maybe he uncovered it back there in the States."
Murray shook his head. "Nobody knows anything about it except you
boys." He seized the telephone at his elbow and called Dr. Gray, while
Tom listened with his shining forehead puckered anxiously. O'Neil hung
up with a black face.
"Appleton!" he said.
Tom looked, if possible, a shade gloomier than usual. "I wouldn't be
too sure it was Dan if I was you," he ventured, doubtfully.
"Where is he?" O'Neil ground out the words between his teeth.
"Surveying the town-site addition. If he let anything slip it was by
mistake--"
"Mistake! I won't employ people who make mistakes of that kind. This
story may bring the Canadian Government down on Illis and forfeit his
North Pass charter--to say nothing of our authorities. That would
finish us." He rose, went to the door, and ordered the recently arrived
engine uncoupled. Flinging himself into his fur coat, he growled: "I'd
rather have a crook under me than a fool. Appleton told us he talked
too much."
Tom pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Gordon got it through the Gerard
girl, I s'pose."
"Gordon! Gordon! Will there never be an end to Gordon?" His frown
deepened. "He's in the way, Tom. If he balks this deal I'm afraid
I'll--have to change ghosts."
"It would be a pious act," Slater declared. "And his ghost wouldn't
ha'nt you none, either. It would put on its asbestos overshoes and go
out among the other shades selling stock in electric fans or 'Gordon's
Arctic Toboggan Slide.' He'd promote a Purgatory Development Company
and underwrite the Bottomless Pit for its sulphur. I--I'd hate to think
this came from Dan."
The locomotive had been switched out by this time, and O'Neil hurried
to board it. On his way to Omar he had time thoroughly to weigh the
results of this unexpected complication. His present desire was merely
to verify his suspicion that Appleton had told his secret to Natalie;
beyond that he did not care to think, for there was but one course open.
His anger reached the blazing-point after his arrival. As he stepped
down from the engine-cab Gray silently handed him a code message from
London which had arrived a few moments before. When its contents had
been deciphered, O'Neil cursed and he was furious as he stumbled
through the dark toward the green bungalow on the hill.
Swinging round the corner of the house, he came into a bright radiance
which streamed forth from Eliza's window, and he could not help seeing
the interior of the room. She was there, writing busily, and he saw
that she was clad in the elaborate kimono which he had given her; yet
it was not her personal appearance which arrested his angry eyes and
caused his step to halt; it was, instead, her surroundings.
He had grown to accept her prim simplicity as a matter of course, and
never associated her in his thoughts with anything feminine, but the
room as it lay before him now was a revelation of daintiness and artful
decoration. Tasteful water-colors hung on the walls, a warm rug was on
the floor, and everywhere were rosy touches of color. The plain white
bed had been transformed into a couch of Oriental luxury; a lace spread
of weblike texture covered it, the pillows were hidden beneath
billowing masses of ruffles and ribbons. He saw a typical woman's cozy
corner piled high with cushions; there was a jar of burning incense
sticks near it--everything, in fact, was utterly at variance with his
notions of the owner. Even the girl herself seemed transfigured for her
hair was brought forward around her face in some loose mysterious
fashion which gave her a bewilderingly girlish appearance. As he looked
in upon her she raised her face so that the light shone full upon it;
her brows were puckered, she nibbled at the end of her pencil, in the
midst of some creative puzzle.
O'Neil's eyes photographed all this in a single surprised glance as he
passed; the next moment he was mounting the steps to the porch.
Dan flung open the door, but his words of greeting froze, his smile of
welcome vanished at sight of his chief's forbidding visage.
Murray was in no mood to waste words; he began roughly:
"Did you tell Miss Gerard that Poultney Illis is backing me?"
Dan stammered. "I--perhaps--I--What has gone wrong, Chief?"
"Did you tell her the inside--the story of his agreement with the
steamboat people?"
Dan paled beneath his tan, but his eyes met Murray's without flinching.
"I think I did--tell her something. I don't quite remember. But
anything I may have said was in confi--"
"I thought so. I merely wished to make certain. Well, the whole thing
is in the papers."
Appleton laid his hand upon the table to steady himself.
"Then it--didn't come from her. She wouldn't--"
"Gordon has spread the story broadcast. It couldn't have come from any
other source; it couldn't have reached him in any other way, for none
of my boys has breathed a word." His voice rose despite his effort at
self-control. "Illis's agreement was ILLEGAL," he said, savagely; "it
will probably forfeit the charter of the North Pass or land him in
court. I suppose you realize that! I discovered his secret and assured
him it was safe with me; now you peddle it to Gordon, and the whole
thing is public. Here's the first result." He shook the London
cablegram in Dan's face, and his own was distorted with rage. There was
a stir in Eliza's room which neither noticed. Appleton wiped his face
with uncertain hand; he moistened his lips to say:
"I--I'm terribly sorry! But I'm sure Natalie wouldn't spy--I don't
remember what I told her, or how I came to know about the affair. Doc
Gray told me, I think, in the first excitement, but--God! She--wouldn't
knowingly--"
"Gordon fired you for talking too much. I thought you had learned your
lesson, but it seems you hadn't. Don't blame Miss Gerard for pumping
you--her loyalty belongs to Gordon now. But I require loyalty, too.
Since you lack it you can go."
O'Neil turned as Eliza's door opened; she stood before him, pale,
frightened, trembling.
"I couldn't help hearing," she said. "You discharge us?"
He nodded. "I'm sorry! I've trusted my 'boys' so implicitly that the
thought of betrayal by them never occurred to me. I can't have men
close to me who make such mistakes as this."
"Perhaps there was--an excuse, or the shadow of one, at least. When a
man is in love, you know--"
Murray wheeled upon Dan and demanded sharply:
"What's this?" Then in a noticeably altered tone he asked, "Do you
love--Natalie?"
"Yes."
"Does she love you?"
"No, sir!"
O'Neil turned back to the girl, saying: "I told Dan, when I hired him,
that he would be called upon to dare much, to suffer much, and that my
interests must be his. He has disregarded them, and he must go. That's
all. There's little difference between treachery and carelessness."
"It's--too bad," said the girl, faintly. Dan stood stiff and silent,
wholly dazed by the sudden collapse of his fortunes.
"I'm not ungrateful for what you've done, Appleton," O'Neil went on. "I
intend to pay you well for the help you gave me. You took a chance at
the Canon and at Gordon's Crossing. You'll get a check."
"I don't want your damned money," the other gulped. "I've drawn my
wages."
"Nevertheless, I shall pay you well. It's highly probable that you've
wrecked the S. R. & N. and ruined me, but I don't intend to forget my
obligations to you. It's unfortunate. Call on the cashier in the
morning. Good night."
He left them standing there unhappily, dumb and stiff with shame. Once
outside the house, he plunged down the hill as if fleeing from the
scene of some crime. He rushed through the night blindly, for he had
loved his assistant engineer, and the memory of that chalk-faced,
startled girl hurt him abominably.
When he came to the company office he was walking slowly, heavily. He
found Gray inside and dropped into a chair: his face was grimly set,
and he listened dully to the physician's rambling talk.
"I fired Appleton!" he broke out, at last. Gray looked up quickly. "He
acknowledged that he--did it. I had no choice. It came hard, though.
He's a good boy."
"He did some great work, Chief!"
"I know! That affair at the Crossing--I intend to pay him well, if
he'll accept. It's not that--I like those kids, Stanley. Eliza took it
harder than he. It wasn't easy for me, either," he sighed, wearily.
"I'd give ten thousand dollars if it hadn't happened. She looked as if
I'd struck her."
"What did they say?"
"Nothing. He has been careless, disloyal--"
"You told them so?"
O'Neil nodded.
"And they said nothing?"
"Nothing! What could they say?"
Gray answered gruffly: "They might have said a good deal. They might
have told you how they paid off your men and saved a walk-out when I
had no money."
O'Neil stared incredulously. "What are you talking about?" he demanded.
When he had the facts he rose with an exclamation of dismay.
"God! Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't they speak out? I--I--why,
that's loyalty of the finest kind. All the money they had saved,
too--when they thought I had failed! Jove! That was fine. Oh, I'm
sorry! I wonder what they think of me? I can't let Dan go after that.
I--" He seized his cap and hurried out of the building.
"It's hardly right--when things were going so well, too!" said Dan. He
was sitting crumpled up in a chair, Eliza's arm encircling his
shoulders. "I didn't mean to give up any secrets, but--I'm not myself
when I'm with Natalie."
"We must take our medicine," his sister told him, gravely. "We deserve
it, for this story may spoil all he's done. I didn't think it of her,
though."
Dan groaned and bowed his head in his hands. "I don't know which hurts
worse," he said--"his anger or her action. She--couldn't do such a
thing, Sis; she just couldn't!"
"She probably didn't realize--she hasn't much sense, you know. But
after all he's suffered, to think that we should injure him! I could
cry. I think I shall."
The door opened before a rough hand, and O'Neil strode into the room,
huge, shaggy in his coonskin coat. They rose, startled, but he came to
them swiftly, a look of mingled shame and gladness in his face.
"I've come back to apologize," he cried. "I couldn't wait. I've learned
what you children did while I was gone, and I've come to beg
forgiveness. It's all right--it's all right."
"I don't know what you mean," Dan gasped.
"Doc told me how you paid those men. That was real friendship; it was
splendid. It touched me, and I--I want to apologize. You see, I hurried
right back."
They saw that his eyes were moist, and at the sight Eliza gave a
quivering cry, then turned swiftly to hide her face. She felt O'Neil's
fur-clad arm about her shoulder; his hand was patting her, and he was
saying gently: "You are a dear child. It was tremendously good of you
both, and I--ought to be shot for acting as I did. I wonder if you can
accept a wretched apology as bravely as you accepted a wrong
accusation."
"It wasn't wrong; it was right," she sobbed. "Dan told her, and she
told Gordon."
"There, there! I was to blame, after all, for letting any one know, and
if Dan made a mistake he has more than offset it by his
unselfishness--his sacrifices. It seems I forgot how much I really owe
him."
"That affair with the shift bosses wasn't anything," said Dan, hastily,
"and it was all Eliza's idea. I refused at first, but when she started
to pay them herself I weakened." He stuttered awkwardly, for his sister
was motioning him desperately to be silent; but he ran on: "Oh, he
ought to know the whole truth and how rotten I acted, Sis. I deserve to
be discharged."
"Please don't make this any harder for me than it is," Murray smiled.
"I'm terribly embarrassed, for I'm not used to apologies. I can't
afford to be unjust; I--have so few friends that I want to cherish
them. I'm sorry you saw me in such a temper. Anger is a treacherous
thing, and it always betrays me. Let's forget that I was here before
and pretend that I just came to thank you for what you did." He drew
Dan into the shelter of his other arm and pressed the two young people
to him. "I didn't realize how deeply you kids care for each other and
for me."
"Then I'm not fired?" Dan queried, doubtfully.
"Of course not. When I take time to think about discharging a man I
invariably end by raising his salary."
"Dan isn't worth half what you're paying him," came Eliza's muffled
voice. She freed herself from Murray's embrace and rearranged her hair
with tremulous fingers. Surreptitiously she wiped her eyes. "You gave
us an awful fright; it's terrible to be evicted in winter-time." She
tried to laugh, but the attempt failed miserably.
"Just the same, when a man contemplates marriage he must have money."
"I don't want your blamed money," Dan blurted, "and it doesn't cost
anything to contemplate marriage. That's all I'm doing--just looking at
it from a distance."
"Perhaps I can help you to prevail on Miss Natalie to change her mind.
That would be a real service, wouldn't it?" Under his grave glance
Dan's heart leaped. "I can't believe she's indifferent to you, my boy.
You're suited to each other, and there's no reason on earth why you
shouldn't marry. Perhaps she doesn't know her own mind."
"You're mighty good, but--" The lover shook his head.
Murray smiled again. "I think you're too timid. Don't plead and
beg--just carry her off. Be firm and masterful. Be rough--"
"The idea!" exclaimed Eliza. "She's no cave-woman!"
"Exactly. If she were, Dan would need to court her and send her
bouquets of wild violets. She's over-civilized, and therefore he needs
to be primitive."
Dan blushed and faltered. "I can't be firm with her, Murray; I turn to
jelly whenever she looks at me." There was something so friendly and
kind in his employer's attitude that the young fellow was tempted to
pour out all his vexations; he had never felt so close to O'Neil as
now; but his masculine reserve could not be overcome all in a moment,
and he held his tongue.
When Murray had put the two young people fully at their ease he rose to
go, but Eliza's eager voice made him turn with his hand on the
door-knob.
"What can we do about this unfortunate Illis affair?" she asked. "Dan
must try to--"
"Leave that to me. I'll straighten it out somehow. It is all my fault,
and I'll have to meet it." He pressed their hands warmly.
When he had gone Dan heaved a great sigh of relief.
"I'm glad it happened just as it did, Sis," he announced. "He knows my
secret now, and I can see that he never cared for Natalie. It's a load
off my mind to know the track is clear."
"What a simpleton you are!" she told him. "Don't you see he's merely
paying his debt?"
"I wonder--" Dan eyed her in amazement.
"Gee! If that's so he is a prince, isn't he?"
The same ship which had brought the ominous news to O'Neil also brought
Curtis Gordon north. He had remained in Seattle only long enough to see
the Illis story in print, and then had hastened back to the front. But
his satisfaction over the mischief he had done received a rude jolt
when at his first moment of leisure he looked over the late magazines
which he had bought before taking leave. In one which had appeared on
the news-stands that very day he found, to his amazement, an article by
Miss Eliza Appleton, in which his own picture appeared. He pounced upon
it eagerly; and then, as he read, his eyes narrowed and his jaw
stiffened. There, spread out to the public gaze, was his own record in
full, including his initial venture into the Kyak coal-fields, his
abandonment of that project in favor of Hope Consolidated, and an
account of his connection with the latter enterprise. Eliza had not
hesitated to call the mine worthless, and she showed how he, knowing
its worthlessness from the first, had used it as a lure to investors.
Then followed the story of his efforts to gain a foothold in the
railroad struggle, his defeat at the Salmon River Canon, his rout at
the delta crossing, and his final death-blow at Kyak. His career stood
out boldly in all its fraudulent colors; failure was written across
every one of his undertakings. The naked facts showed him visionary,
incompetent, unscrupulous.