CHAPTER X
GORDON MAKES HIS BID FOR FORTUNE
Gordon's new address was Buffalo Point, and, entering upon his duties, he felt like some Napoleon of finance about to embark upon a market-breaking scheme in which the brilliancy of his manipulations were to shine forth for the illumination of the pages of history, yet to be written.
That was how he felt. Those were the feelings of the moment. Later the burden of his responsibilities obscured the Napoleonic image, and raised up in his mind a thought as to the wisdom of butting one's head against a brick wall.
However, for the time at least the joy of responsibility was considerable, and the greater joy of the companionship and trust of his new friends was something which inspired him to great efforts.
He studied the affairs of Buffalo Point with a care for detail and an assiduity which quickly became the surprise and delight of Silas Mallinsbee. He went over every foot of the new township as laid out by a well-known firm of town planners from New York under Mallinsbee's orders and under State supervision. He spent one entire day in studying the drawn plans, and, finally, having committed all the details to memory, he felt himself equipped to devote his whole attention to the cajoling of the railroad which was the sum and substance of their combined efforts.
In the first week of his occupation he learned many things which had been obscure. He took the story of Mallinsbee's operations and examined it closely, discovering in the process that he possessed a faculty for clear reasoning altogether surprising. Furthermore, he discovered that Mallinsbee, though possibly unpracticed in the work of a big financial undertaking, yet possessed all, and more, of the shrewdness he had vaguely suspected.
One of the first efforts of the old man had been to secure the interest of many of the chief traders in the old township of Snake's Fall. Also that of the Bude and Sideley Coal Company. This had been done very simply but effectively. After having marked off the town sites he required for himself he had then offered, and sold, to pretty well every landowner in Snake's Fall a certain allotment of sites at a merely nominal fee. This, as the man himself declared in the course of his story, left Snake's Fall pretty well "not carin' a whoop which way the old cat jumped." The "cat" in this instance being the railroad.
In this way direct and active opposition from the landholders of Snake's Fall was minimized. As he explained, it was "graft," but he felt that it was justifiable. This left him with the good will of the citizens and free to act on broader lines. Then he began to pull all the wires he could command with the coal people, who regarded him in the friendliest spirit. However, there was difficulty here, though the difficulty was not insurmountable. Their engineers were at work already on the plans to be put into almost immediate operation for the construction of a private track to link up the coalfields with Snake's Fall. With them it was a question of time. They could not afford delay, and the exploitation of the new township would mean delay for them, although they admitted they would be relieved of a great expense from its proximity to their workings.
Mallinsbee, after stupendous efforts, and careful negotiations of the right kind, finally effected a compromise. He was given three months, of which already one week had elapsed, in which to obtain the definite assurance that the railroad would accept Buffalo Point as the new city. In the meantime the coal people's construction would be held up, and they would assist him with all the influence they could command in persuading the railroad. This concession was not unaided by considerable graft, and the graft took the form of an agreement that Mallinsbee, out of his own pocket, would construct them a coal depot and yards in conjunction with the railroad, and hand them the titles of the land necessary for it.
He had just returned from the east, where he had been in consultation with the Bude and Sideley people, and with whom he had ratified this agreement, and, at the same time, the railroad had been induced to move in the matter. All along he had triumphed through the agency of graft, and the crowning point of his triumph had been demonstrated in the arrival at Snake's Fall of Mr. David Slosson.
Gordon's first impressions of all these things was that Silas Mallinsbee had contrived with considerable skill, and that all was more or less plain sailing. All that remained was to go on, with the grafting hand thrust ready into the pocket for all eventualities, and he found himself smiling at the thought of his father, and how surely his own theories of financial undertakings were working out.
That was his first impression. But it only lasted until he became aware of those subtleties of human nature lying behind human effort and intention. He had reckoned without David Slosson, and, more than all, he had reckoned without Silas Mallinsbee himself.
During that first week of his new work David Slosson had called at the office twice. Once he had encountered only Gordon, and Hazel had arrived during the visit. The second time he had had another interview with Silas Mallinsbee. It was immediately after that interview that Gordon gained some appreciation of the point where human psychology stepped into the arena of commercial competition.
The revelation came in Silas Mallinsbee's own statement of the result of that interview.
"Gordon, my boy," he said. He had quickly abandoned the use of Gordon's formal address. "If that feller gets around here too frequent with his blackmail, I'm going to kill him."
Then he thrust the patch over his left eye high up on to his forehead, and Gordon realized the angry light shining in the man's eyes. With one eye covered his face had almost been expressionless. His evident surprise at this realization did not fail to attract the rancher's attention.
His angry eyes softened to a smile of amusement.
"You're wonderin' 'bout that patch?" he went on. "Wal, when I get up against a feller who's brighter than I am in a deal, I don't figure to take chances. Ever played 'draw' with a one-eyed man? No? Wal, I did – once. An' I ain't recovered from all he taught me yet. He taught me that two eyes can just about give away double as much as one. Which, in financial dealings, is quite a piece. I guess that patch has saved me quite a few dollars in its time. An' it makes me kind of sore to think I didn't meet that one-eyed 'sharp' earlier in life."
Gordon nodded as he folded up the plan of the town lying on his desk.
"You were using it on – Mr. David Slosson. Say, is he smart, or is he just a – crook?"
Mallinsbee rose from his chair and moved cumbersomely over to the doorway, and stood with his back turned, gazing out.
"I ain't fixed him that way – yet. He's sure a crook, anyway. That's a cinch. 'Bout the other we'll know later. Say, I'm open to graft anybody on this thing – reasonably. It's part of the game. It's more. It's the game itself. But I don't submit to blackmail."
"There doesn't seem much difference," said Gordon, drawing some letter-paper towards him, and preparing to write.
The other remained where he was, moodily gazing out at the hills where his beloved ranch lay.
"You'd think not – but there is," Mallinsbee went on. "You graft an organization when you're needin' something from them which they ain't under obligation to themselves to do. That's buying and selling, and, as things go, there ain't much kick coming. But when you've done that, and their favor's fixed right, it's blackmail if their servants come along and refuse to carry out their work if you don't pay their price. This feller Slosson is a servant of the railroad. I'm ready to graft all they need. He's out for blackmail. That feller wants to be paid something for nothing. He don't do a thing for us. He's got to do the work I'm paying the railroad for. See? Say, Gordon, boy, happen what likes I won't do it. That feller don't make one cent out of me. I'm on the buck, an' I don't care a curse."
Mallinsbee had turned about to deliver his irrevocable decision, and, as Gordon met the man's serious, obstinate expression, he realized something of the psychology lying behind a big financial transaction.
If Slosson had been a man of reasonable grafting disposition, if he had been a pleasant, amiable personality, if he had been a – man, if Silas Mallinsbee had been used to affairs such as his father dealt in – well – . But it was useless to speculate further. He only saw a troublous situation growing up for him to contend with.
"We've got to get him playing our game," he hazarded.
"That we'll never do. We're playing a straight bid for a win. He couldn't play a straight bid for anything."
"No." There was a great cordiality in Gordon's negative.
"It's us who've got to play him – someways."
"It's some proposition," mused Gordon.
"It surely is. There's ways." Mallinsbee laughed shortly. "Maybe I'll hand him over to Hazel." Then he gave another short laugh. "Guess the ranch 'll interest him some – too."
Gordon's eyes lit apprehensively.
"I wouldn't do that," he said almost sharply.
Mallinsbee faced about.
"Why not? Hazel's a bright girl. She's as wise as any two men. A crook don't worry her a thing."
"I guess all that's right enough. But – she's a girl, and – I don't seem to feel it's fair to her."
Mallinsbee remained silent for some moments. Gordon watched the broad back of the great, lolling figure in the doorway with an alarm he would not have displayed had he been facing him. Then the sound of clattering hoofs outside broke up the silence and the old man turned.
"Here she is," he cried, with a shadowy smile. "Guess she can speak for herself."
Gordon could have cursed the luck that had brought the girl there at that moment. He understood the depth of her devotion to her father and his enterprise. Nothing could have been less opportune.
But, in a moment, his annoyance became lost in his delight at the sound of her cheery greeting.
"Hello, Daddy," he heard her call out.
Gordon remained where he was, waiting to feast his eyes upon the fresh beauty of this girl, who occupied so large a portion of his thoughts.
Her father stood aside to allow her to pass in, and Gordon had his reward in her radiant smile.
"How's our junior partner?" she cried gayly.
"Feeling just about ready to turn the office into a twelve-foot ring and – hurt somebody," the junior partner retorted quickly.
Hazel pulled a long face.
"Is it that way?" she demanded, and turned back to her father. Then she added playfully: "What's ruffled the atmosphere of our – dovecote?"
The old man began to chuckle.
"Dovecote?" he said. "Guess armed fortress comes nearer describing this lay out. Anyway the temper of its occupants," he added, his twinkling eyes on the determined features of his protégé. "Guess I'll get goin' out to the ranch while you two scrap things out. Seems to me I need to get the cobwebs of David Slosson out of my head."
He took his departure without haste, but with the obvious intention of avoiding any further discussion of David Slosson for the present. And Gordon was not sorry for his going. He felt that at all costs his suggestion that Hazel should take her place in the ring with this man Slosson was not to be thought of.
But he was reckoning without Hazel herself. He was calculating with all a man's – a young man's – assurance that this girl would regard his opinions in the light he regarded them himself.
Hazel sat herself upon the edge of his desk, and flicked the rawhide quirt against the leg of her top boot. Her prairie hat was thrust back from her forehead, and her pretty tanned face was turned in a smiling inquiry upon Gordon.
"What is it?" she asked, with that new alertness the man had come to regard as a part of her nature, second only to her delightful camaraderie.
He smiled back into her merry eyes.
"I'm wondering why two men bent on a joint purpose can't see the same thing in the same light."
"Which means you and my daddy have already started an argument which I'll have to settle."
Gordon laughed.
"Guess you'll settle it, though – there's no need."
"Why not? If you can't agree?"
"We do agree."
"Then where's the argument?"
"There isn't one."
Hazel began to laugh.
"Why did you say there was?"
"I didn't. It was you who said that."
Hazel's smile had died away.
"It's Slosson, of course," she said decidedly. And Gordon began to wish she were not so clearsighted, nor so direct in her challenges.
"Oh, he's a constant thorn," he said evasively.
"Has he been here to-day?"
Gordon nodded.
"And the result?"
"Your father is – obdurate. Says he won't submit to blackmail."
"Has Slosson abated his terms?"
"I don't think so."
Hazel rose quickly from her seat on the desk. She walked slowly across the room and propped herself in the doorway, in precisely the same position as her father had occupied. Gordon's eyes watched her every movement. He knew she was considering deeply, and intuition warned him that the result of her consideration might easily conflict with that which he had in his mind. But he was not prepared for the announcement which came a moment later.
She came back to the desk quickly, and took up her old place on it. Her pretty lips were firmly set, and she gazed soberly and unflinchingly down into Gordon's apprehensive blue eyes.
"I shall have to deal with David Slosson," she said quietly. Then, with a light, expressive shrug: "It won't be pleasant – not by quite a lot. But – it's got to be done, and done quickly. Father won't give way, so – he must."
But, in a moment, Gordon's protest came with all the enthusiasm of his impulsive nature. To think of this beautiful child having to defile herself by cajoling a creature like this Slosson moved him to a pitch of distraction. Whatever else he did not know, he knew the meaning of expression when men gaze at women. And he had not forgotten his first morning in Snake's Fall.
"Miss Mallinsbee," he cried, his big body leaning forward in his earnestness, and all his feelings displayed in his ingenuous face, "I'd rather let this thing go plumb smash than that you should be brought into contact with that filthy scum again. Say, you're too young, and good, to understand such creatures. I know – "
Hazel was smiling whimsically down into his anxious eyes.
"And you're so old and wise you can see plumb through him," she cried. Then with an exact reproduction of his manner, she leaned forward so that their faces were within a foot of each other. "You two Solomons can't deal with him worth two cents. My daddy's too obstinate, and you – are too prejudiced. He's got to be dealt with, and I'm going to do it. In a case like this a girl's wiser than any two men."
"That's – just how your father argued," cried Gordon, in exasperation. And the next moment he could have bitten off his tongue.
Hazel clapped her hands.
"So that was the argument," she cried delightedly. "My daddy in his wisdom thought of me, and you – you being just a big, big chivalrous boy with notions, couldn't see the same way."
Then she sat up, and her eyes grew very serious. That which lay behind them was completely hidden from her companion, as she intended it to be.
Had it been possible for him to have read her approval of himself in her attitude, he now made it beyond question by the sudden wave of heat which swept through his heart.
"I tell you, you've no right to sacrifice yourself," he cried hotly. "Nor has your father – "
"No right? Sacrifice?" Hazel's eyes opened wide, and in their beautiful depths a sparkle of resentment shone. "Who says that?" she demanded. Then in a moment her merry thought banished the clouds of her displeasure. She began to tease. "Why shouldn't I do this? Say, you've roused my curiosity. What's the danger? I – I just love danger. What is the danger I'm running?"
But Gordon's sense of humor was unequal to her teasing on such a subject. He remained sulkily silent.
"I'm waiting," Hazel urged slyly.
Gordon cleared his throat. He glanced up at her a little helplessly. Their eyes met, and somehow he caught the infection of her lurking smile.
He was forced to laugh in spite of himself.
"If – if you don't know, it's not for me to say," he cried at last, with a shrug. "But I tell you, right here, if you were my sister you wouldn't go near Slosson, if I had to – to chain you up."
"But I'm not your sister," retorted Hazel, with her dazzling smile. "And, if I were, I shouldn't be a sister of yours if I didn't." Then she laughed at herself. "Say, isn't that real bright?" Then with a great pretense at severity she flourished an admonitory finger at him. "Gordon Van Henslaer," she said solemnly, "you're just as obstinate as my daddy, but you haven't got his wisdom." Her pretense passed and she became suddenly very earnest. "This thing is just all the world to my daddy," she said, "and I can help him. Wouldn't you help him if you had such a dear, quaint old daddy as I have? I'm sure you would. What does it matter to me what I may have to put up with if I can help him out? True, it doesn't matter a thing. Insults? Why, I'll just deal with them as they come along." Then her mood lightened. "Say, we're just two real good friends, Mr. Van Henslaer, aren't we? Friends. It's got a bully sound. That's just how my daddy and I've been ever since my poor momma died years and years ago. Heigho!" she sighed. "And now I've got another friend, and that's you. Say, we're always going to be friends, too, because you're going to understand that this – this thing is business, and business isn't play. My daddy wants to make good, and I'm going to do all I know. And," she added slyly, "that's quite a lot. Do you know, in this thing I'm dead honest when I'm dealing with honest folk, and I'm a 'sharp' when I'm dealing with 'sharps'? By that I just mean I'm not scared of a thing. Certainly of nothing Mr. David Slosson can do. My daddy can trust me, and he's known me all my life. You've only known me a week, but you can trust me too. I'm out to help things along, so just let's forget this – this talk."
Gordon's admiration for the girl was so obvious that no words of his were necessary to illuminate it, but he shook his head seriously as she finished speaking.
"I just can't help it, Miss Mallinsbee," he said, a little desperately. "If anything happened to you I'd never forgive myself. What do you mean to do?"
Hazel smiled at his manner. Her smile was confident, but it was also an expression of her regard for him. She had no intention of modifying her decision, but she liked him for his dogged protest.
"You just leave that to me," she cried buoyantly. "I haven't an idea in my silly head – yet. All I can say is, David Slosson is to be encouraged. He's to be flattered. I'm going to make him smile real prettily with that mealy face of his. Guess I'll have to take him out rides – but I'll promise you it won't be my fault if he don't break his wicked neck."
Gordon was forced to join in the girl's infectious laugh, but it was without enjoyment. To think of this man riding at Hazel's side, basking in her smiles, enjoying her company just when and where he pleased. The thought was maddening. And it set his fingers tingling and itching to possess themselves of his throat and squeeze the life out of him.
"And how long's this to go on for?" he asked sulkily, in spite of his laugh.
Hazel's eyes opened wide.
"Why – until he weakens, and we get things fixed."
"And if he beats your game?"
"He'll hate himself first, and then we'll have to reorganize our plans."
"Then I guess I'll get busy on the other plans."
"I shall be beaten?"
Gordon glanced away towards the window. His eyes had become reflective.
"It's the only thing I can see," he said slowly. "He'll finish by insulting you. I know his kind. He'll insult you, sure. And I – well, I shall just as surely pretty near kill him. And then we'll need other – plans."
CHAPTER XI
HAZEL MALLINSBEE'S CAMPAIGN
The seductive mystery of the hills was beyond all words. A wonderful outlook of wide valleys, bounded in almost every direction by the vast incline of wood-clad hills, opened out a world that seemed to terminate abruptly everywhere, yet to go on and on in an endless series of great green valleys and mountain streams. Darkling wood-belts crept up the great hillsides, deep in mysterious shadows, stirring imagination, and carrying it back to all those haunting dreams of early childhood. For the most part these were all untrodden by human foot, and so their mystery deepened. Then above, often penetrating into the low-lying clouds, the crowning glory of alabaster peaks whose snowy sheen dazed the wondering eyes raised towards them.
In the valleys below, the green, the wonderful green, bright and delicate, and quite unfaded by the scorching sun of the prairie away beyond. Pastures beyond the dreams of all animal imagination in their humid richness. Water, too, and low, broken scrubs and woodland bluffs – one vast panorama of verdant beauty, such as only the eye of an artist or the heart of a ranchman could appreciate.
It was the setting of Silas Mallinsbee's ranch, that ranch which was more to him than all the world, except his motherless daughter. Gordon had seen it all as he rode out to spend the week-end on a ranch horse, placed by Mallinsbee at his disposal. He had marveled then at the delights spread out before his eyes. Now, on the Sunday morning, while he awaited breakfast, he wondered still more as he examined, even more closely, that wealth of natural splendor spread out for his delight.
He was lounging on the deep sun-sheltered veranda which faced the south. The ranch house was perched high up on the southern slope of one of the lesser hills. Above him the gentle morning breeze sighed in the rustling tree-tops of a great crowning woodland. Below him, and all around him, were the widespreading buildings and corrals of a great ranching enterprise. It seemed incredible to him that within twenty miles of him, away to the east, there could exist so mundane and sordid an undertaking as the Bude and Sideley Coal Company, and the vicious chorus of ground sharks which haunted Snake's Fall. He felt as though he were gazing out upon some enchanted valley of dreamland, where the soft breezes and glinting sunlight possessed a magic to rest the teeming energy of modern highly tuned brain and nerves.
Its seductiveness lulled him to a profound meditation, and into his dreaming stole the figure of the mistress of these miles of perfect beauty. Now he had some understanding of that fascinating buoyancy of spirit, the simple devotion with which she contemplated the life that claimed her. How could it be otherwise? Here was nature in all its wonders of simplicity, shedding upon the life sheltering at its bosom an equal simplicity, an equal strength, an equal singleness of mind with which it was itself endowed. He felt that if he, too, had been brought up in such surroundings no city flesh-pots could ever have offered him any fascination. He, too, must have felt that this – this alone was the real life of man.
The play of the dancing sunlight through the distant trees held his gaze. He forgot to smoke, he forgot everything except the beauty about him, the stirring ranch life below him, and the girl whose fascination was daily possessing a greater and greater hold upon him.
Then, quite gently, something else subtly merged itself with the pleasant tide of his meditations. It was the deep note of a voice which came from close beside him in a rolling bass that afforded no jar.
"A picture that's mighty hard to beat," it said.
Gordon nodded without turning.
"Sure."
"Kind of holds you till you wonder why folks ever build cities and things."
"Sure."
"There ain't a muck hole in miles and miles around that you could fall into, and not come out of with a clean conscience an' a wholesome mind. Kind of different to a city."
Gordon stirred. He turned and looked into Silas Mallinsbee's smiling eyes.
"It's – all yours?" he inquired.
"For miles an' miles around. I got nigh a hundred miles of grazing in these hills – and nobody else don't seem to want it. Makes you wonder."
Gordon laughed.
"Say, set a spade into the ground and find a marketable mineral and tell somebody. Then see."
Mallinsbee chewed an unlit cigar, and his chin beard twisted absurdly.
"That's it," he said slowly. "There's nothing to these hills as they are, except to a cattleman, I guess. Cattle don't suit the modern man. Your profitable crop's a three years' waiting, and that don't mean a thing to folk nowadays, except a dead loss of time on the round-up of dollars. They don't figure that once you're good and going that three years' crop comes around once every year. So they miss a deal."
"Yes, they'd reckon it slow, I guess," Gordon agreed. "But," he went on with enthusiasm, "the life of it. The air." He took a deep breath of the sparkling mountain atmosphere. "It's champagne. The champagne of life. Say, it's good to be alive in such a place. And you," he gazed inquiringly into the man's strong face, "you began it from – the beginning?"
"I built the first ranch house with my own hands. My old wife an' I built up this ranch and ran it. And now it's rich and big – she's gone. She never saw it win out. Hazel's took her place, and it's been for her to see it grow to what it is. She helped me ship my first single year's crop of twenty thousand beeves to the market ten years ago. She was a small kiddie then, and she cried her pretty eyes out when I told her they were going to the slaughter yards of Chicago. You see, she'd known most of 'em as calves."
"The work of it must be enormous," meditated Gordon, after a pause in which he had pictured that small child weeping over her lost calves.
"So," rumbled Mallinsbee. "We're used to it. I run thirty boys all the year round, and more at round-up. Guess if I was missing Hazel wouldn't be at a loss to carry on. She's a great ranchman. She knows it all."
"Wonderful," Gordon cried in admiration. "It's staggering to think of a girl like that handling this great concern."
"There's two foremen, though. They've been with us years," said the other simply.
But Gordon's wonder remained no less, and Mallinsbee went on —
"After breakfast we'll take a gun and get up into those woods yonder. Maybe we'll put up a jack rabbit, or a blacktail deer. Anyway, I guess there's always a bunch of prairie chicken around."
"Fine," cried Gordon, all his sporting instincts banishing every other thought. "Which – "
But Hazel's voice interrupted him, summoning them both to breakfast.
"Come along, folks," she cried, "or the coffee 'll be cold."
The men hurried into the house. Gordon felt that there was nothing and no power on earth that could keep him from his breakfast in that delicious mountain air, with Hazel for his hostess.
The meal was all he anticipated. Simple, ample, wholesome country fare, with the accompaniment of perfect cooking. He ate with an appetite that set Hazel's merry eyes dancing, and her tongue accompanying them with an equally merry banter. And all the time Silas Mallinsbee looked on, and smiled, and rumbled an occasional remark.
After breakfast the two men set out with their guns.
"We're sure making Sunday service," said Hazel's father, glancing into the breech of his favorite gun.
Gordon concurred.
"Up in the woods there," he laughed.
"With a congregation of fur and feather," laughed Hazel.
"Which is as wholesome as petticoats an' swallowtails," said her father, "an' a good deal more healthy fer our bodies."
"But what about your souls?" inquired Hazel slyly.
"Souls?" Her father snapped the breech closed. "A soul's like a good sailin' ship. If she's driving on a lee shore it's through bad seamanship and the winds of heaven, and you can't save it anyway. If she ain't driving on a lee shore – well, I don't guess she needs saving."
"It's a great big scallywag," came through the open doorway after them, as they departed. The tenderness and affection in the manner of the girl's parting words made Gordon feel that his great host had some compensation for the absence of that mother who had blessed him with such a pledge of their love.
The two men were returning with their bag. It was not extensive, but it was select. A small blacktail was lying across Mallinsbee's broad shoulders. Gordon was carrying a large jack-rabbit, and several brace of prairie chicken. The younger man was enthusiastic over their sport.
"Talk to me of a city! Why, I could do this twice a day and every day, till I was blind and silly, and deaf and dumb. I sort of feel life don't begin to tell you things till you get out in the open, at the right end of a gun. Makes you feel sorry for the fellows chasing dollars in a city."
They were approaching the limits of a woodland bluff, from the edge of which the ranch would be in view.
"Guess that's how I've always felt – till little Hazel got without a mother," replied Mallinsbee. "After that – well, I just guess I needed other things to fill up spare thoughts."
Gordon's enthusiasm promptly lessened out of sympathy. Something of the loneliness of the ranch life – when one of the partners was taken – now occurred to him.
"Yes," he said earnestly, "the right woman's just the whole of a man's world. I guess there are circumstances when – this sun don't shine so bright. When a man feels something of the vastness and solitude of these hills, when their mystery sort of gets hold of him. I can get that – sure."
"Yep. It's just about then when a bit of coal makes all the difference," Mallinsbee smiled. "I wouldn't just call coal the gayest thing in life. But it's got its uses. When the summer's past, why, I guess the stoves of winter need banking."
Gordon nodded his understanding.
"But your daughter is just crazy on this life," he suggested.
The old man's smile had passed.
"Sure." Then he sighed. "She's been my partner ever since, sort of junior partner. But sometime she 'll be – going." Then his slow smile crept back into his eyes. "Then it'll be winter all the time. Then it'll have to be coal, an' again coal – right along."