"Without a doubt," Gordon laughed. "He might get blood poisoning, or cancer, or dyspepsia, or something if we bustled him."
Hazel pointed a branching trail to the north.
"That's the trail," she said. "Father's at home. He'll be real glad to see you. Say, you know father ought to know better – at his age. He – he just loves a scrap. He was telling me about you, and saying how you 'hammered' – that's the word he used – the 'sharp.' He was most upset that the train crew spoiled the finish. You know father's a great scallywag. I don't believe he thinks he's a day over twenty. It's – it's dreadful – with a grown-up daughter. He's – just a great big boy for all his gray hair. You should just see him out on the range. He's got all the youngsters left standing. It must be grand to grow old like he does."
Gordon listened to the girl's rich tones, and the enthusiasm lying behind her words, and somehow the whole situation seemed unreal. Here he was driving one of the most perfectly delightful girls he had ever met to her home, within twenty-four hours of his absurd arrival in a still more absurd town. Nor was she any mere country girl. Her whole style spoke of an education obtained at one of the great schools in the East. Her costume might have been tailored on Fifth Avenue, New York. Yet here she was living the life of the wonderful sunlit prairie, the daughter of an obscure rancher in the foothills of the Rockies.
"Say, your father is just a bully feller," he agreed quickly. "He didn't know me from – a grasshopper, but he did me all sorts of a good service. It don't matter what it was. But it was one of those things which between men count a whole heap."
The girl's enthusiasm waxed.
"Father's just as good as – as he's clever. But," she added tenderly, "he's a great scallywag. Oh dear, he'll never grow up." A few minutes later she pointed quickly ahead with one gauntleted hand.
"That's Buffalo Point," she said. "There where that house is. That's our house, and beyond it, half a mile, you can see the telegraph poles of the railroad track."
Gordon gazed ahead. They still had a good mile to go. The lonely house fixed his attention.
"Say, isn't there a village?" he inquired. "Buffalo Point?"
The girl shook her head.
"No. Just that little frame house of ours. Father had it built as – a sort of office. You see, we're both working hard on his land scheme. You see, it's – it's our hobby, the same as losing trails is yours."
Gordon laughed.
"That's plumb spoiled my day. I'd forgotten the land business. Now it's all come over me like a chill, like the drip of an ice wagon down the back of my neck. I s'pose there'll always be land around, and we've always got to have coal. It seems a pity, doesn't it. Say, there hasn't been a soul I've met in twenty-four hours, but they've been crazy on – on town sites. They're most ridiculous things, town sites. Four pegs and four imaginary lines, a deal of grass with a substrata of crawly things. And for that men would scrap, and cheat, and rob, and – and graft. It's – a wonder."
Hazel Mallinsbee checked her inclination to laugh again. Her eyes were gazing ahead at the little frame house, and they grew wistfully serious.
"It isn't the land," she said simply. "The scrap, and cheat, and rob, and graft, are right. But it's the fight for fortune. Fortune?" she smiled. "Fortune means everything to a modern man. To some women, too, but not quite in the way it does to a man. You see, in olden days competition took a different form. I don't know if, in spite of what folks say about the savagery of old times, they weren't more honest and wholesome than they are now. However, nature's got to compete for something. Human nature's got to beat someone. Life is just one incessant rivalry. Well, in old times it took the form of bloodshed and war, when men counted with pride the tally of their victories. Now we point with pride to our civilization, and gaze back in pity upon our benighted forefathers. Instead of bloodshed, killing, fighting, massacring and all the old bad habits of those who came before us, we point our civilization by lying, cheating, robbing and grafting."
Gordon smiled.
"Put that way it sounds as though the old folks were first-class saints compared with us. There's a deal of honesty when two fellers get right up on their hind legs and start in to mush each other's faces to a pulp. But it isn't just the same when you creep up while the other feller isn't wise and push the muzzle of a gun into his middle and riddle his stomach till it's like a piece of gruyère cheese."
Hazel shook her head. Her eyes were still smiling, but Gordon detected something of the serious thought behind them. He vainly endeavored to sober his mood in sympathy.
"Guess it's the refinement of competition due to the claims of our much proclaimed culture and civilization. I think civilization is a – a dreadful mockery. To call it a whitewash would be a libel on a perfectly innocent, wholesome, sanitary process. That's how I always feel when I stop to think. But – but," her eyes began to dance with a joyous enthusiasm, "I don't often think – not that way. Say, I just love the battle, I mean the modern battle for fortune. It's – it's almost the champagne of life. I know only one thing to beat it."
Gordon had forgotten the team he was driving, and let them amble leisurely on towards the house, now so rapidly approaching.
"What's – the real champagne?" he inquired.
The girl turned and gazed at him with wide eyes.
"Why," she cried. "Life – just life itself. What else? Say, think of the moment your eyes open to the splendid sunlight of day. Think of the moment you realize you are living – living – living, after a long, delicious night's sleep. Think of all the perfect moments awaiting you before night falls, and you seek your bed again. It is just the very essence of perfect joy."
"It's better after breakfast, and you've had time to get around some."
The ardor of the girl's mood received a sudden douche. Just for a moment a gleam of displeasure shadowed her eyes. Then a twinkling smile grew, and the clouds dispersed.
"Isn't that just a man? Where's your enthusiasm? Where's your joy of life? Where's your romance, and – and spirit of hope?"
A great pretense of reproach lay in her rapid questions.
"Oh, they're all somewhere lying around, I guess," returned Gordon simply. "Those things are all right, sure. But – but it's a mighty tough proposition worrying that way on – on an empty stomach. It seems to me that's just one of life's mistakes. There ought to be a law in Congress that a feller isn't allowed to – to think till he's had his morning coffee. The same law might provide for the fellow who fancies himself a sort of canary and starts right in to sing before he's had his bath. I'd have him sent to the electric chair. That sort of fellow never has a voice worth two cents, and he most generally has a repertoire of songs about as bright as Solomon's, and a mighty deal older. Sure, Miss Mallinsbee, I haven't a word to say against life in a general way, but it's about as wayward as a spoilt kid, and needs as much coaxing."
Hazel Mallinsbee watched the play of the man's features while he talked. She knew he meant little or nothing of what he said. The fine, clear eyes, the smiling simplicity and atmosphere of virile youth about him, all denied the sentiments he was giving vent to. She nodded as he finished.
"At first I thought you meant all – that," she said lightly. "But now I know you're just talking for talking's sake." Then, before he could reply, she pointed excitedly at the house, now less than a hundred yards away. "Why, there's father, standing right there on the veranda!" she exclaimed.
Gordon looked ahead. The old man was waving one great hand to his daughter.
CHAPTER VIII
AT BUFFALO POINT
To Gordon's mind Hazel Mallinsbee attached far greater importance to her father's presence on the veranda than the incident warranted. It did not seem to him that there was the least necessity for his being there at all. Truth to tell, the matter appeared to him to be a perfect nuisance. He had rather liked Silas Mallinsbee when he had met him under somewhat distressing circumstances in the town. Now he felt a positive dislike for him. His strong, keen, benevolent face made no appeal to his sympathies now whatsoever.
Besides, it did not seem right that any man who claimed parentage of such a delightful daughter as the girl at his side should slouch about in a pair of old trousers tucked into top-boots and secured about his waist by a narrow strap. And it seemed positively indecent that he should display no other upper garment than a cotton shirt of such a doubtful hue that it was impossible to be sure of its sanitary condition.
However, he allowed none of these feelings betrayal, and replied appropriately to Hazel's excited announcement. He was glad, later, he had exercised such control, for their arrival at the house was the immediate precursor of an invitation to share their midday meal, which had already been placed on the table by the silent, inscrutable Hip-Lee, the Chinese cook and general servitor in this temporary abode.
The horses had been housed and fed in the temporary stable at the back of the house, and a committee of three had sat upon Sunset's injury and prescribed for and treated it. Now they were indoors, ready for the homely meal set out for them.
Hip-Lee moved softly about setting an additional place at the table for the visitor. Silas Mallinsbee was lounging in the doorway, looking out across the veranda. Hazel was superintending Hip-Lee's efforts. Gordon was endeavoring to solve the problem of the rapid and unexpected happenings which had befallen him since his arrival, and at the same time carry on a conversation with the rumbling-voiced originator of Snake's Fall boom.
"At one time I guessed I'd bumped right into the hands of the Philistines," he said. "That's when I was – er arriving. Since then a Samaritan got busy my way and dumps me right down in the heart of the Promised Land, which just now seems to be flowing with milk and honey. I set out to view the dull black mountains of industry, and instead I arrive at the sparkling plains of delightful ease. Mr. Mallinsbee, you certainly have contrived to put me under enormous obligation."
Gordon's eyes were pleasantly following the movements of the girl's graceful figure about the plain but neat parlor. "I suppose all offices in the West are not like this, because – "
Mallinsbee rumbled a pleasant laugh.
"Office?" he said, without turning. "That's jest how Hazel calls it. Guess she's got notions since she finished off her education at Boston. She's got around with a heap of 'em, includin' that suit she's wearin'. Y'see, she's my foreman hoss-breaker, and reckons skirts and things are – played out. Office? Why, it's just a shack. Some time you must get around out an' see the ranch house. It's some place," he added with simple pride.
Hazel went up to her father and pretended to threaten him by the neck.
"See, Daddy, you can just quit telling about my notions to – folks. Anyway" – she turned her back to Gordon – "I appeal to you, Mr. Van Henslaer, isn't an office a place where folks transact big deals and make fortunes?"
"That's how folks reckon when they rent them," said Gordon. "Of course, I've known folks to sleep in 'em. Others use 'em as a sort of club smoking lounge. Then they've been known to serve some men as a shelter from – home. I used to have an office."
Silas Mallinsbee turned from his contemplation of the horizon. He was interested, and his shrewd eyes displayed the fact.
Hazel clapped her hands.
"And what did you use it for?" she demanded quizzically.
"I – oh, I – let's see. Well, mostly an address from which to have word sent to folks I didn't want to see that – I was out. I used to find it useful that way."
Mallinsbee's chuckle amused Gordon, but Hazel assumed an air of judicial severity.
"A spirit not to be encouraged." Then, at the sound of her father's chuckle, "My daddy, you are as bad as he. Now food's ready, so please sit in. We can talk easier around a table than when people are dreaming somewhere in the distance on the horizon, or walking about a room that isn't bigger than the bare size to sit in. Anyway, Mr. Van Henslaer, this office is for business. I won't have it disparaged by my daddy, or – or anyone else. It serves a great purpose so far as we're concerned." Then she added slyly, "You see, we're in the throes of the great excitement of making a huge pile, for the sheer love of making it. Aren't we, Daddy, dear?"
Silas Mallinsbee looked up from the food he was eating with the air of a man who only eats as a matter of sheer necessity.
"Say, Mr. Van Henslaer," he said in his deep tones, "I've been a rancher all my life. Cattle, to me, are just about the only things in the world worth while, 'cept horses. I've never had a care or thought outside 'em, till one day I got busy worrying what was under the ground instead of keeping to the things I understood above the ground. Y'see, the trouble was two things," he went on, smiling tenderly in his daughter's direction. "One was I'd fed the ranch stoves with surface coal that you could find almost anywheres on my land, and the other was the fates just handed me the picture of a daughter who caught the dangerous disease of 'notions' way down east at school in Boston. Since she's come along back to us I've had coal, coal, coal all chasin' through my head, an' playing baseball with every blamed common-sense idea that ever was there before. Wal, to tell things quick, I made a mighty big pile out of that coal just to please her. We didn't need it, but she guessed it was up to me to do this. But that didn't finish it. This gal here couldn't rest at that. She guessed that pile was made and done with. She needs to get busy in another direction. Well, she gets to work, and has all my land on the railroads staked out into a township, and reckons it's a game worth playing. The other was too dead easy. This time she reckons to measure her brains and energy against a railroad! She reckons to show that we can match, and beat, any card they can play. That's the reason of this office."
Hazel laughed and raised an admonishing finger at the smiling face and twinkling eyes of her father.
"What did I tell you, Mr. Van Henslaer?" she cried. "Didn't I say he was just a scallywag? Oh, my great, big daddy, I'm dreadfully, dreadfully ashamed and disappointed in you. I'm going to give you away. I am, surely. There, there, Mr. Van Henslaer, sits the wicked plotter and schemer. Look at him. A big, burly ruffian that ought to know better. Look at him," she went on, pointing a dramatic finger at him. "And he isn't even ashamed. He's laughing. Now listen to me. I'm going to tell you my version. He's a rancher all right, all right. He's been satisfied with that all his life, and prosperity's never turned him down. Then one day he found coal, and did nothing. We just used to talk of it, that was all. Then another day along comes a friend, a very, very old friend and neighbor, whom he's often helped. He came along and got my daddy to sell him a certain patch of grazing – just to help him out, he said. He was a poor man, and my big-hearted daddy sold it him at a rock-bottom price to make it easy for him. Three months later they were mining coal on it – anthracite coal. That fellow made a nice pile out of it. He'd bluffed my daddy, and my daddy takes a bluff from no man. Well, say, he just nearly went crazy being bested that way, and he said to me – these were his words: 'Come on, my gal, you and me are just goin' to show folks what we're made of. If there's money in my land we're going to make all we need before anyone gets home on us. I'm goin' to show 'em I'm a match for the best sharks our country can produce – and that's some goin'.' There sits the money-spinner. There! Look at him; he's self-confessed. I'm just his clerk, or decoy, or – or any old thing he needs to help him in his wicked, wicked schemes!"
Mallinsbee sat chuckling at his daughter's charge, and Gordon, watching him, laughed in chorus.
"I'm kind of sorry, Mr. Mallinsbee, to have had to listen to such a tale," he said at last, with pretended seriousness, "but I guess you're charged, tried, convicted and sentenced. Seeing there's just two of you, it's up to me to give the verdict Guilty!" he declared. "Have you any reason to show why sentence should not be passed upon you? No? Very well, then. I sentence you to make that pile, without fail, in a given time. Say six months. Failing which you'll have the satisfaction of knowing that you have assisted in the ruin of an innocent life."
In the midst of the lightness of the moment Gordon had suddenly taken a resolve. It was one of those quick, impulsive resolves which were entirely characteristic of him. There was nothing quite clear in his mind as to any reason in his decision. He was caught in the enthusiasm of his admiration of the fair oval face of his hostess, whose unconventional camaraderie so appealed to his wholesome nature; he was caught by the radiance of her sunny smile, by the laughing depths of her perfect hazel eyes. Nor was the manner of the man, her father, without effect upon his responsive, simple nature.
But his sentence on Silas Mallinsbee had caught and held both father's and daughter's attention, and excited their curiosity.
"Why six months?" smiled Hazel.
"Say, it's sure some time limit," growled Mallinsbee.
Gordon assumed an air of judicial severity.
"Is the court to be questioned upon its powers?" he demanded. "There is a law of 'contempt,'" he added warningly.
But his warning was without effect.
"And the innocent's ruin?" demanded Hazel.
The answer came without a moment's hesitation.
"Mine," said Gordon. And his audience, now with serious eyes, waited for him to go on.
Hip-Lee had brought in the sweet, and vanished again in his silent fashion. Then Gordon raised his eyes from his plate and glanced at his host. They wandered across to and lingered for a moment on the strong young face of the girl. Then they came back to his plate, and he sighed.
"Say, if there's one thing hurts me it's to hear everybody telling a yarn, and my not having one to throw back at 'em," he said, smiling down at the simple baked custard and fruit he was devouring. "Just now I'm not hurt a thing, however, so that remark don't apply. You see, my yarn's just as simple and easy as both of yours, and I can tell it in a sentence. My father's sent me out in the world with a stake of my own naming to make one hundred thousand dollars in six months!"
He was surprised to witness, the dramatic effect of his announcement. Hazel's astonishment was serious and frankly without disguise. But her father's was less marked by outward expression. It was only obvious from the complete lack of the smile which had been in his shrewd eyes a moment before.
"One hundred thousand dollars in six months!" Hazel exclaimed. She had narrowly escaped scalding herself with the coffee Hip-Lee had just served. She set her cup down hastily.
"Guess your father's takin' a big chance," said Mallinsbee thoughtfully.
But their serious astonishment was too great a strain for Gordon. He began to laugh.
"It's my belief life's too serious to be taken seriously, so the chance he's taken don't worry me as, maybe, it ought," he said. "You see, my father's a good sportsman, and he sees most things the way every real sportsman sees 'em – where his son's concerned. Morally I owe him one hundred thousand dollars. I say morally. Well, I guess we talked together some. I – well, maybe I made a big talk, like fellows of my age and experience are liable to make to a fellow of my father's age and experience. Then I sort of got a shock, as sometimes fellows of my age making a big talk do. In about half a minute I found a new meaning for the word 'bluff.' I thought I'd got its meaning right before that. I thought I could teach my father all there was to know about bluff. You see, I'd forgotten he'd lived thirty-three more years than I had. Bluff? Why, I'd never heard of it as he knew it. The result is I've got to make one hundred thousand dollars in six months or forfeit my legitimate future." Then he added with the gayest, most buoyant laugh, "Say, it's a terrible thing to think of. It's dead serious. It's as serious as an inter-university ball game."
The lurking smile had returned to Mallinsbee's eyes, and Hazel frankly joined in Gordon's laugh.
"And you've come to Snake's Fall to – to make it?" she cried.
"I can't just say that," returned Gordon.
"No." Mallinsbee shook his head, and the two men exchanged meaning glances. Then the old man went on with his food and spoke between the mouthfuls. "You had an office?"
"Sure. You see, I was my father's secretary."
"Secretary?" Mallinsbee looked up quickly.
Gordon nodded.
"That's what he called me. I drew the salary – and my allowance. It was an elegant office – what little I remember of it."
The old man's regard was very nearly a broad laugh.
"Say, you made a talk about an 'innocent's' life gettin' all mussed up?"
Gordon nodded with profound seriousness.
"Sure," he replied. "Mine. I don't guess you'll deny my innocence." Mallinsbee shook his head. "Good," Gordon went on; "that makes it easy. If you don't make good I lose my chance. I'm going to put my stake in your town plots."
The rancher regarded him steadily for some moments. Then —
"Say, what's your stake?" he inquired abruptly.
Gordon had nothing to hide. There was, it seemed to him, a fatal magnetism about these people. The girl's eyes were upon him, full of amused delight at the story he had told; while her father seemed to be driving towards some definite goal.
"Five thousand dollars. That and a few hundred dollars I had to my credit at the bank. It don't sound much," he added apologetically, "but perhaps it isn't quite impossible."
"I don't guess there's a thing impossible in this world for the feller who's got to make good," said Mallinsbee. "You see, you've got to make good, and it don't matter a heap if your stake's five hundred or five thousand. Say, talk's just about the biggest thing in life, but it's made up of hot air, an' too much hot air's mighty oppressive. So I'll just get to the end of what I've to say as sudden as I can. I guess my gal's right, I'm just crazy to beat the 'sharps' on this land scoop, and I'm going to do it if I get brain fever. Now it's quite a proposition. I've got to play the railroad and all these ground sharks, and see I get the juice while they only get the pie-crust. I'm needing a – we'll call him a secretary. Hazel is all sorts of a bright help, but she ain't a man. I need a feller who can swear and scrap if need be, and one who can scratch around with a pen in odd moments. This thing is a big fight, and the man who's got the biggest heart and best wind's going to win through. My wind's sound, and I ain't heard of any heart trouble in my family. Now you ken come in in town plots so that when the boom comes they'll net you that one hundred thousand dollars. You don't need to part with that stake – yet. The deal shall be on paper, and the cash settlement shall come at the finish. Meanwhile, if need be, for six months you'll put in every moment you've got on the work of organizing this boom. Maybe we'll need to scrap plenty. But I don't guess that'll come amiss your way. We'll hand this shanty over for quarters for you, and we'll share it as an office. This ain't philanthropy; it's business. The man who's got no more sense than to call a bluff to make one hundred thousand dollars in six months is the man for me. He'll make it or he won't. And, anyway, he's going to make things busy for six months. You ain't a 'sharp' now – or I wouldn't hand you this talk. But I'm guessin' you'll be mighty near one before we're through. We've got to graft, and graft plenty, which is a play that ain't without attractions to a real bright feller. You see, money's got a heap of evil lyin' around its root – well, the root of things is gener'ly the most attractive. Guess I've used a deal of hot air in makin' this proposition, but you won't need to use as much in your answer – when you've slept over it. Say, if food's through we'll get busy, Hazel."
Mrs. James Carbhoy was in bed when she received her morning's mail. Perhaps she and her millionaire husband were unusually old-fashioned in their domestic life. Anyway, James Carbhoy's presence in the great bedstead beside her was made obvious by the heavy breathing which, in a less wealthy man, might have been called snoring, and the mountainous ridge of bedclothes which covered his monumental bulk.
A querulous voice disturbed his dreams. He heard it from afar off, and it merged with the scenes he was dwelling upon. A panic followed. He had made a terrible discovery. It was his wife, and not the president of a rival railroad, who was stealing the metals of a new track he was constructing as fast as he could lay them.
He awoke in a cold sweat. He thought he was lying in the cutting beside the track. His wife had vanished. He rubbed his eyes. No, she hadn't. There she was, sitting up in bed with a sheaf of papers in her hand. He felt relieved.
Now her plaint penetrated to his waking consciousness.
"For goodness' sake, James," she cried, "quit snoring and wake up. I wish you'd pay attention when I'm speaking. I'm all worried to death."
The multi-millionaire yawned distressingly.
"Most folks are worried in the morning. I'm worried, too. Go to sleep. You'll feel better after a while."
"It's nothing to do with the morning," complained his wife. "It's – it's a letter from Gordon. The poor boy writes such queer letters. It's all through you being so hard on him. You never did have any feeling for – for anybody. I'm sure he's suffering. He never talked this way before. Maybe he don't get enough to eat; he don't say where he is either. Perhaps he's just nowhere in particular. You'd better ring up an inquiry bureau – "
"For goodness' sake read the letter," growled the drowsy man. "You're making as much fuss as a hen with bald chicks."
Mrs. Carbhoy withered her husband with a glance that fell only upon the back of his great head. But she had her way. She meant him to share in her anxiety through the text of the, to her, incomprehensible letter. She read slowly and deliberately, and in a voice calculated to rivet any wandering attention.
"DEAREST MUM:
"There's folks who say that no man knows the real meaning of luck, good or bad, till he takes to himself a wife. This may be right. My argument is, it's only partially so. There may be considerable luck about matrimony. For instance, if any fool man came along and married our Gracie he'd be taking quite a chance. Her native indolence and peevishness suggest possibilities. Her tongue is vitriolic in one so young, as I have frequently had reason to observe. This would certainly be a case where the man would learn the real meaning of luck. But there wouldn't be a question. His luck would be out – plumb out. Jonah would have been a mascot beside him.
"This is by the way.
"I argue luck can be appreciated fully through channels less worrying. When luck gets busy around it