Roderick was half irritated to find no letter at the post office from Stella Rain. In point of fact, during the past two months, he had been noticing longer and longer gaps in her correspondence. Sometimes he felt his vanity touched and was inclined to be either angry or humiliated. But at other times he just vaguely wondered whether his loved one was drifting away from him.
CHAPTER XII – THE MAJOR’S FIND
WHEN Grant Jones and Roderick arrived at the Major’s home that evening they found other visitors already installed before the cheerful blaze of the open hearth. These were Tom Sun, owner of more sheep than any other man in the state; Boney Earnest, the blast furnace man in the big smelting plant; and Jim Rankin, who had joined his two old cronies after unharnessing the horses from the sleigh.
Cordial introductions and greetings were exchanged. Although Roderick had shaken hands before with Boney Earnest, this was their first meeting in a social way. And it was the very first time he had encountered Tom Sun. Therefore the fortuitous gathering of his father’s three old friends came to him as a pleasant surprise. He was glad of the chance to get better acquainted.
While the company were settling themselves in chairs around the fireplace, Jim Rankin seized the moment for a private confabulation with Roderick. He drew the young man into a corner and addressed him in a mysterious whisper: “By gunnies, Mr. War-field, it sure is powerful good to have yer back agin. It’s seemed a tarnation long winter. But you bet I’ve been keepin’ my mind on things – our big secret – you know.”
Roderick nodded and Rankin went on: “I’ve been prognosticatin’ out this here way and then that way on a dozen trips after our onderstandin’, searchin’ like fur that business; but dang my buttons it’s pesterin’ hard to locate and don’t you forgit it. Excuse us, gentlemen, we are talkin’ about certain private matters but we don’t mean ter be impolite. I’m ‘lowin’ it’s the biggest secret in these diggin’s – ain’t that right, Roderick?”
Rankin laughed good-humoredly at his own remarks as he took out his tobacco pouch of fine cut and stowed away a huge cud. “You bet yer life,” he continued between vigorous chews, “somebody is nachurlly going to be a heap flustrated ‘round here one of these days, leastways that’s what we’re assoomin’.”
“Say, Jim,” observed Tom Sun, “what are you talkin’ about anyway? Boney, I think Jim is just as crazy as ever.”
“I reckon that’s no lie,” responded Boney, good-naturedly. “Always was as crazy as a March hare with a bone in its throat.”
“Say, look here you fellows, yer gittin’ tumultuous,” exclaimed Rankin, “you’re interferin’. Say, Major Hampton, I’m not a dangnation bit peevish or nuthin’ like that, but do you know who are the four biggest and most ponderous liars in the state of Wyoming?” The Major looked up in surprise but did not reply. “Waal,” said Rankin, expectorating toward the burning logs in the open hearth and proceeding to answer his own question, “Boney Earnest is sure one uv ‘em, I am one uv ‘em, and Tom Sun is ‘tother two.” Rankin guffawed loudly. This brought forth quite an expression of merriment The only reply from Tom Sun was that his thirty odd years of association with Jim Rankin and Boney Earnest was quite enough to make a prince of liars of anyone.
Presently the Major said: “Gentlemen, after taking a strict inventory I find there are six men in the world for whom I entertain an especial interest. Of course, my mission in life in a general way is in behalf of humanity, but there are six who have come to be closer to me than all the rest Five of them are before me. Of the other I will not speak at this time. I invited you here this evening because you represent in a large measure the things that I stand for. The snow will soon be going, spring is approaching and great things will happen during the next year – far greater than you dream of. You are friends of mine and I have decided under certain restrictions to share with you an important secret.”
Thereupon he pointed to some little sacks, until now unnoticed, that lay on the center table. “Untie these sacks and empty the contents onto the table if you will, Mr. Warfield.” Roderick complied.
Each sack held about a hatful of broken rock, and to the amazement of the Major’s guests Roderick emptied out on the table the richest gold ores that any of them had ever beheld. They were porphyry and white quartz, shot full of pure gold and stringers of gold. Indeed the pieces of quartz were seemingly held together with purest wire gold.
The natural query that was in the heart of everyone was soon given voice by Jim Rankin. After scanning the remarkable exhibit he turned to Major Buell Hampton and exclaimed: “Gosh ‘lmighty, Major, where did this here come from?”
“A most natural question but one which I am not inclined to answer at this time,” said the Major, smiling benignly. “Gentlemen, it is my intention that everyone present shall share with me in a substantial way in the remarkable discovery, the evidence of which is lying before you. There are five of you and I enjoin upon each the most solemn pledge of secrecy, even as regards the little you have yet learned of the great secret which I possess.”
They all gave their pledges, and the Major went on: “There is enough of these remarkably rich ores for everyone. But should the slightest evidence come to me that anyone of you gentlemen has been so thoughtless, or held the pledge you have just made so lightly, that you have shared with any outsider the information so far given, his name will assuredly be eliminated from this pact. Therefore, it is not only a question of honor but a question of self-interest, and I feel sure the former carries with it more potency with each of you than the latter.”
In the meantime Roderick was closely examining the samples of gold. Instinctively he had put his hand to the inside pocket of his coat and felt for his father’s map. He was wondering whether Buell Hampton had come into possession of the identical piece of knowledge he himself was searching for. Presently Jim Rankin whispered in his ear: “By gunnies, Warfield, I guess the Major has beat us to it.”
But Roderick shook his head reassuringly. He remembered that his father’s find was placer gold – water-worn nuggets taken from a sandbar in some old channel, as the sample in Jim Rankin’s own possession showed. The ores he was now holding were of quite a different class – they had been broken from the living rock.
After the specimens had been returned to the sample sacks and the excitement had quieted a little, Major Hampton threw his head back in his own princely way, as he sat in his easy chair before the fire and observed: “Money may be a blessing or it may be a curse. Personally I shall regret the discovery if a single dollar of this wealth, which it is in my power to bring to the light of day, should ever bring sorrow to humanity. It is my opinion that the richest man in the world should not possess more than a quarter of a million dollars at most, and even that amount is liable to make a very poor citizen out of an otherwise good man. Unnecessary wealth merely stimulates to abnormal or wicked extravagance. It is also self-evident that a more equal distribution of wealth would obtain if millionaires were unknown, and greater happiness would naturally follow.”
“Yes, but the world requires ‘spenders’ as well as getters,’”laughed Tom Sun. “Otherwise we would all be dying of sheer weariness of each other.”
“Surely, there are arguments on both sides,” assented the Major. “It is a difficult problem. I was merely contending that a community of comparatively poor people who earn their bread by the sweat of their brow – tilling the soil and possessed of high ideals of good citizenship – such people beyond question afford the greatest example of contentment, morality and happiness. Great wealth is the cause of some of our worst types of degeneracy. However,” he concluded, knocking the ashes from his pipe, “it is not my purpose this evening to sermonize. Nor do I intend at present to say anything more about the rich gold discovery I have made except to reiterate my assurance that at the proper time all you gentlemen will be called on to share in the enterprise and in its profits. Now I believe some of you” – and he looked at Jim Rankin, Tom Sun and Boney Earnest as he spoke – “have another engagement tonight. It was only at my special request, Mr. Warfield, that they remained to meet you and Mr. Jones.”
“And we’re much obliged to you, Major,” said Boney Earnest, arising and glancing at his watch. “Hope old John Warfield’s boy and I will get still better acquainted. But I’ve got to be going now. You see my wife insisted that I bring the folks back early so that she might have a visit with Mr. Rankin and Mr. Sun.”
Tom Sun shook hands cordially.
“Glad to have met you, Mr. Warfield,” he said, “for your father’s sake as well as your own. I trust we’ll meet often. Good-night, Mr. Jones.”
Rankin whispered something to Roderick, but Roderick did not catch the words, and when he attempted to inquire the old fellow merely nodded his head and said aloud: “You bet your life; I’m assoomin’ this is jist ‘tween me and you.” Roderick smiled at this oddity, as the man of mystery followed his friends from the room.
When the door closed and Roderick and Grant were alone with the Major, pipes were again lighted, and a spell of silence fell upon the group – the enjoyable silence of quiet companionship. The Major showed no disposition to re-open the subject of the rich gold discovery, nor did Roderick feel inclined to press for further information. As he mused, however, he became more firmly convinced than before that his secret was still his own – that Buell Hampton, in this rugged mountain region with its many undiscovered storehouses of wealth, had tumbled on a different gold-bearing spot to that located by Uncle Allen Miller and his father. Some day, perhaps, he would show the Major the letter and the map. But to do this now might seem like begging the favor of further confidences, so until these were volunteered Roderick must pursue his own lonesome trail. The mere sight of the gold, however, had quickened his pulse beats. To resume the humdrum life at the ranch seemed intolerable. He longed to be out on the hills with his favorite pony Badger, searching every nook and corner for the hidden treasure.
Presently Buell Hampton arose and laid his pipe aside, and going to a curtained corner of the room returned with his violin. And long into the night, with only a fitful light from the burning logs in the open fireplace, the Major played for his young friends. It seemed his repertoire was without beginning and without end. As he played his moods underwent many changes. Now he was gay and happy, at another moment sad and wistful. He passed from sweet low measures into wild, thrilling abandonment. Now he was drawing divine harmony from the strings by dainty caresses, again he was almost brutally compelling them to render forth the fierce passion of music that was surging in his own soul. The performance held the listeners spellbound – left them for the moment speechless when at last the player dropped into a chair. The instrument was laid across his knees; he was still fondling it with gentle touches and taps from his long slender fingers.
“You love your violin, Major,” Roderick at last managed to articulate.
“Yes,” came the low-spoken fervent reply, “every crease, crevice and string of the dear old Cremona that was given me more than half a century ago.”
“I wish,” said Grant, “that I could express my appreciation of the wonderful entertainment you have given us tonight.”
“You are very complimentary,” replied the Major, bestirring himself. He rose, laid the violin on the table, and brightened up the fire with additional fuel.
“But I’m afraid we must be going,” added Grant. “It is getting late.”
“Well, I have a message for you young gentlemen,” said the Major. “You are invited to attend one of the most distinguished soirees ever given in the Platte River Valley. Mr. and Mrs. Shields mentioned this today, and made me the special messenger to extend the invitation to you both.”
“Splendid,” exclaimed Grant. “When does this come off?”
“Two weeks from this evening,” replied the Major. “And we will have a comparative newcomer to the valley to grace the occasion. She has been here through the late fall and winter, but has been too busy nursing her sick and bereaved old father to go out into society.”
“General Holden’s daughter?” queried Grant.
“The same. And Gail Holden is certainly a most beautiful young lady. Have you seen her, Mr. War-field?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” replied Roderick.
“A most noble young woman, too,” continued the Major. “They are Illinois people. The mother died last year under sad circumstances – all the family fortune swept away. But the girl chanced to own these Wyoming acres in her own right, so she brought her father here, and has started a little cattle ranch, going in for pedigreed dairy stock and likely to do well too, make no mistake. You should just see her swing a lariat,” the speaker added with a ring of admiration in his tone.
Roderick started. Great Scott! could this be the fair horsewoman he had encountered on the mountain side just before the coming of the big snow. But a vigorous slap on his shoulder administered by Grant broke him from reverie.
“Why don’t you say something, old fellow? Isn’t this glorious news? Are you not delighted at the opportunity of tripping the light fantastic toe with a beauty from Illinois as well as our own home-grown Wyoming belles?”
“Well,” replied Roderick slowly, “I have not been attending any of these affairs, although I may do so in this instance.”
“Miss Barbara Shields,” said the Major, “especially requested me to tell you, Mr. Warfield, that she positively insists on your being present.”
“Ho, ho!” laughed Grant. “So you’ve made a hit in that quarter, eh, Roderick? Well, better a prospective brother-in-law than a dangerous rival. Dorothy’s mine, and don’t you forget it.”
Grant’s boyish hilarity was contagious, his gay audacity amusing. Even the Major laughed heartily. But Roderick was blushing furiously. A moment before he had been thinking of one fair charmer. And now here was another being thrown at him, so to speak, although in jest and not in earnest. Barbara Shields – he had never dared to think of her as within his reach even had not loyalty bound his affections elsewhere. But the complications seemed certainly to be thickening.
“Come along, old chap,” said Grant, as they gained the roadway. “We’ll have a look through the town, just to see if there’s any news about.”
CHAPTER XIII – ENTANGLEMENTS
THE Bazaar was a popular resort. The proprietor was known as “Southpaw.” Doubtless he had another name but it was not known in the mining camp. Even his bank account was carried in the name of “Southpaw.”
When Roderick and Grant entered the saloon they found a motley crowd at the bar and in the gaming room, fully twenty cowboys with their broad-rimmed sombreros, wearing hairy chaps, decorated with fancy belts and red handkerchiefs carelessly tied about their necks. Evidently one of them had just won at the wheel and they were celebrating.
The brilliant lights and the commingling of half a hundred miners and many cowboys presented a spectacular appearance that was both novel and interesting. Just behind them came shuffling into the room a short, stout, heavily-built man with a scowling face covered with a short growth of black whiskers. His eyes were small and squinty, his forehead low and his chin protruding.
Roderick and Grant were standing at the end of the bar, waiting for lemonades they had ordered. Roderick’s attention was attracted by the uncouth newcomer.
“Grant, who is that gorilla-looking chap?” he asked.
Grant half turned with a sweeping glance and then looking back at Roderick, replied: “That is Bud Bledsoe. He is a sort of sleuth for Grady, the manager of the smelting plant, the man I introduced you to, remember, the first day you came to Encampment.”
“I remember Grady all right,” nodded Roderick.
“Well, many people believe he keeps Bledsoe around him to do his dirty work. A while ago there was a grave suspicion that this chap committed a terrible crime, doubtless inspired by Grady, but it is not known positively and of course Grady is all-powerful and nothing was said about it outright.”
In the meantime Bud Bledsoe walked into the back part of the room, and finding a vacant seat at a gaming table bought a stack of chips and was soon busy over his cards. Presently the two friends, having lighted fresh cigars, left the saloon.
Grant looked into two or three other places, but finding there was “nothing doing,” no news of any kind stirring, at last turned for home. Entering the familiar old bachelor shack, Roderick too felt at home, and it was not long before a cheerful fire was kindled and going. Grant was leaning an elbow on the mantel above and talking to Roderick of the pleasure he anticipated at the coming dance over at the Shields place.
“I wonder what Miss Barbara meant when she sent that special message to you, Roderick? Have you a ground wire of some kind with the young lady and are you on more intimate relations than I have been led to believe?”
Grant smiled broadly at Roderick as he asked the question.
“Search me,” replied Roderick. “I have never spoken to her excepting in the presence of other people.”
“I presume you know,” Grant went on, “that she is the object of Carlisle’s affections and he gets awfully jealous if anyone pays court to her?”
“And who’s Carlisle?” asked Roderick, looking up quickly.
“Oh, he is the great lawyer,” replied Grant “W. Henry Carlisle. Have you never heard of the feud between Carlisle and Attorney Bragdon?”
“No,” said Roderick. “Both names are new to me.”
“Oh, I supposed everybody knew about their forensic battles. You see, W. Henry Carlisle is the attorney for the Smelter and Ben Bragdon is without doubt the most eloquent young lawyer that ever stood before a jury in southern Wyoming. These two fellows are usually against each other in all big lawsuits in these parts of the country, and you should see the courthouse fill up when there is a jury trial.”
Roderick did not seem especially interested, and throwing his cigar stub into the open fire, he filled his pipe. “Now, I’ll have a real smoke,” he observed as he pressed a glowing firestick from the hearth down on the tobacco.
“Grady and Carlisle are together in all financial ventures,” Grant continued.
“Don’t look as if you are very fond of this man Grady,” commented Roderick.
“Fond of him?” ejaculated Grant in disgust; “he is the most obnoxious creature in the district. He treats everybody who is working for him as if they were dogs. He has this bruiser, Bud Bledsoe, as a sort of bodyguard and this W. Henry Carlisle as a legal protector, so he attempts to walk rough shod over everybody – indifferent and insolent. Oh, let’s not talk about Grady. I become indecently indignant whenever I think of his outrages against some of the poor fellows in this camp.”
“All right,” said Roderick, jovially looking up; “let us talk about the dance and especially Miss Dorothy.”
“That’s the text,” said Grant, “Dorothy – Dorothy Shields-Jones. Won’t that make a corker of a name though? If I tell you a secret will you promise it shall be sacred?”
“Certainly,” replied Roderick.
“Well,” said Grant, reddening, “while I was over there at the Dillon Doublejack office, isolated from the world, surrounded with mountains and snow – nothing but snow and snowbanks and high mountains in every direction, why, I played job printer and set up some cards with a name thereon – can’t you guess?”
“Impossible,” said Roderick, smiling broadly.
“Well, Mrs. Dorothy Shields-Jones,” he repeated slowly, then laughed uproariously at the confession.
“Let me see one of the cards,” asked Roderick.
“Oh, no, I only kept the proof I pulled before pieing the type, and that I have since torn up. But just wait That girl’s destiny is marked out for her,” continued Grant, enthusiastically, “and believe me, Warfield, I shall make her life a happy one.”
“Hope you’ve convinced her of that, old man?”
“Convinced her! Why I haven’t had the courage yet to say a word,” replied Grant, somewhat shamefacedly. “I’m going to rely on you to speak up for me when the critical moment arrives.”
“It was rather premature, certainly, to print the lady’s double-barreled-name visiting card,” laughed Roderick. “But there, you know I’m with you and for you all the time.” And he extended the hand of brotherly comradeship.
“And about you and Barbara?” ventured Grant, tentatively. “I’ve heard your name mentioned in connection with hers several times.”
“Oh, forget all that rot,” responded Roderick, flushing slightly. He had never mentioned the “college widow” to his friend, and felt that he was sailing under false colors. “It will be a long time before I can think of such matters,” he went on, turning toward his accustomed stretcher. “Let’s get to bed. It has been a long day, and I for one am tired.”
A few minutes later lights were out.
When they got up next morning, they found that a letter had been pushed under the door. Warfield picked it up and read the scrawled inscription. It was addressed to Grant.
“Gee,” said Grant as he took the letter from Roderick, “this town is forging ahead mighty fast. Free delivery. Who in the demnition bowwows do you suppose could have done this?”
Opening the envelope he spread the letter on the table, and both bent above it to read its contents. There was just a couple of lines, in printed characters.
Words had been cut out of a newspaper apparently, and stuck on the white sheet of paper. They read as follows: “Tell your friend to let Barbara alone or his hide will be shot full of holes.”
Grant and Roderick stood looking at each other, speechless with amazement. Barbara was the only written word.
“What can be the meaning of this?” inquired Roderick.
“Beyond me,” replied Grant. “Evidently others besides myself have come to think you are interested in Barbara Shields. Possibly the young lady has been saying nice things about you, and somebody is jealous.”
“Rank foolishness,” exclaimed Roderick hotly. Then he laughed, as he added: “However, if the young lady interested me before she becomes all the more interesting now. But let the incident drop. We shall see what we shall see.”
They walked up the street to a restaurant and breakfasted.
“It might be,” remarked Grant, referring back to the strange letter, “that Attorney Carlisle, who they say is daffy over Barbara Shields, has had that sleuth of Grady’s, Bud Bledsoe, fix up this letter to sort of scare you off.”
Grant laughed good-humoredly as he said this.
“Scare me off like hell,” said Roderick in disgust. “I am not easily scared with anonymous letters. Only cowards write that sort of stuff.”
They arose from the table and turned down the street towards the smelting plant It was necessary to keep well on the sidewalks and away from the mud in the roadway, for the weather was turning warm and snow was melting very fast.
“There will be no sleighs and sleigh-bells at the Shields’ entertainment,” observed Grant. “This snow in the lowlands will all be gone in a day or two.”
They paused on a street corner and noticed five logging outfits swinging slowly down the street, then turn into the back yard of Buell Hampton’s home and begin unloading.
“What do you suppose Major Hampton can want with all those logs?” asked Grant.
“Let us make a morning call on the Major,” suggested Roderick.
“Right you are,” assented Grant.
The Major extended his usual hearty welcome. He had evidently been busy at his writing table.
“We came down,” said Grant, “to get a job cutting wood.”
The Major looked out of the window at the great stack of logs and smiled. “No, young gentlemen,” he said, “those logs are not for firewood but to build an addition to my humble home. You see, I have a small kitchen curtained off in the rear, and back of that I intend putting in an extra room. I expect to have ample use for this additional accommodation, but just at this time perhaps will not explain its purposes. Won’t you be seated?”
They pulled up chairs before the fire, which was smouldering low, for in the moderated condition of the weather a larger fire was not needed.
“Only for a moment, Major. We do not wish to take you from your work, whatever it may be. I will confess,” Grant went on, smiling, “that we were curious to know about the logs, and decided we would look in on you and satisfy our curiosity; and then, too, we have the pleasure of saying hello.”
“Very kind of you, very kind, I am sure,” responded the Major; and turning to Roderick he inquired when he expected to return to the Shields ranch.
“I am going out this afternoon,” replied Roderick. “By the way, Major, do you expect to be at the Shields’ entertainment?”
“No, it is hardly probable. I am very busy and then, too, I am far past the years when such functions interest. Nevertheless, I can well understand how two young gentlemen like yourselves will thoroughly enjoy an entertainment given by such hospitable people as the Shields.”
Soon after they took their leave and walked up the street. Grant made arrangements to start directly after luncheon for Dillon, where copy had to be got ready for the next issue of his paper.
As Roderick rode slowly across the valley that afternoon, his mind dwelt on the rich gold discovery made by Buell Hampton, and he evolved plans for getting promptly to serious prospecting work on his own account. Sometimes too he caught himself thinking of the strange girl of the hills who could throw a lasso so cleanly and cleverly; he wondered if their paths would ever cross again.