Читать книгу: «The Son of his Father», страница 16

Hazel sighed.

"There's enough of that done already. Say, you're sure you didn't hurt his poor ankles. You see," she explained, "he's Mr. Gordon's father."

The man began to laugh.

"Say, don't it beat all, Miss Hazel, stealin' your own father? How 'ud you fancy stealin' Mr. Mallinsbee? Gee! Mr. Gordon's a dandy. He sure is. He's a real bright feller, and I like him. What's the next play, Miss?"

"Goodness only knows," cried Hazel. Then she began to laugh. "Some harebrained, mad scheme, or it wouldn't be Gordon's. Anyway, you made it plain I'm to look after the – prisoner?"

"Sure. I also told him it would cost him a hundred thousand dollars before he gets out of here."

Hazel nodded and laughed.

"It'll do that." Then she sighed. "It'll take me all my wits keeping him from guessing I'm concerned in it. I don't know. Well, good-night, Bud. You're going back to the ranch now. You've only one of the boys here? That's right. Which is it? Sid Blake?"

"Yes, Miss. I left Sid. You see, he's bright, and up to any play you need. I'll get around once each day. Good-night, Miss."

CHAPTER XX
THE BOOM IN EARNEST

It was late in the evening. The lonely house at Buffalo Point stood out in dim relief against the purpling shades of dusk. At that hour of the evening the distant outline of Snake's Fall was lost in the gray to the eastwards. South, there were only the low grass hillocks, now blended into one definite skyline. To the westward, the sharp outline of the mountains was still silhouetted against the momentarily dulling afterglow of sunset. The evening was still, with that wonderful silence which ever prevails at such an hour upon the open prairie.

A light shone in the window of the hitherto closed office at Buffalo Point, and, furthermore, a rig stood at the door with a team of horses attached thereto, which latter did not belong to Mike Callahan.

An atmosphere not, perhaps, so much of secrecy as of portent seemed to hang about the place. The solitary light in the surroundings of gathering night seemed significant. Then the team, too, waiting ready to depart at a moment's notice. But above all, perhaps, this was the first time a sign of life had been visible in the house since the closing down at the moment when Slosson's sudden plunge into the real estate world of Snake's Fall had apparently swept all rivalry from his triumphant path.

Of a truth, a portentous moment had arrived in the affairs of those interested in Buffalo Point. And the significance of it was displayed in the earnest faces of the four men gathered together in the office. Silas Mallinsbee sat smoking in his own armchair, and with a profound furrow of concentration upon his broad forehead. His usually thrusting chin-beard rested upon the front of his shirt by reason of the intent inclination of his great head. Mike Callahan was seated on a small chair his elbows resting upon his parted knees, and his chin supported upon the knuckles of his locked fingers. His eyes were intently fixed upon the desk, behind which Gordon was frowning over a sheet of paper, upon which the scratching of his pen made itself distinctly audible in the silence. Peter McSwain, the fourth conspirator, was still suffering from a fictitious heat, and was comfortably, but wakefully, snoring under its influence, with a sort of nasal ticking noise which harmoniously blended with the scratching of Gordon's pen.

It was fairly obvious that the work Gordon was engaged upon was the central interest of all present, for every eye was steadily, almost anxiously, riveted upon the movement of his pen.

After a long time Gordon looked up, and a half smile shone in his blue eyes.

"Give us a light, some one," he demanded, as he turned his sheet of paper over on the blotting-pad, and drew his code book from an inner pocket and laid it beside it.

Mike Callahan produced and struck the required match. He held it while Gordon re-lit his half-burned cigar, which had gone out under the pressure of thought its owner had been putting forth.

"Good," the latter exclaimed, as the tobacco glowed under the draught of his powerful lungs. Then he turned the paper over again. "Guess I got it fixed. I haven't coded it yet, but I'll read it out. It's to Spenser Harker, my father's chief man."

"Cancel all previous arrangements made through Slosson for Snake's Fall. Take following instructions. Have bought heavily at Buffalo Point, which is right on the coal-fields. Depot to be built at once at Buffalo Point. Make all arrangements for dispatch of engineers and surveyors at once. There must be no delay in starting a boom. My son, Gordon, is here to represent our interests. Put this to the general manager of the Union Grayling and Ukataw, and yourself see no delay. Am going on to coast on urgent affairs. Gordon has the matter well in hand and will control at this end. This should be a big coup for us.

"JAMES CARBHOY."

As Gordon finished reading he glanced round at his companions' faces through the smoke of his cigar. Mike was audibly sniggering. Mallinsbee's eyes were smiling in that twinkling fashion which deep-set eyes seem so capable of. As for Peter McSwain, from sheer force of habit he drew forth a colored handkerchief and mopped his grinning eyes.

"You ain't going to send that?" he said incredulously.

"Why not?"

"But – that piece about yourself?" grinned Mike. "You darsen't to do it."

"I think I get his point," nodded Mallinsbee, his broad face beaming admiration. "Sort of local color, I guess."

Gordon twisted his cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other. His blue eyes were shining with a sort of earnest amusement. His sharp white teeth were gripping the mangled end of his cigar firmly.

"Say, fellows," he said, after a moment's thought, "I'm kind of wondering if you get just what this thing means to me. It just needs a sum in dollars to get its meaning to you. But for me it's different. I need to make dollars, too. But still it's different. You see, some day I've got to sit right in my father's chair, and run things with a capital of millions of dollars. But before I do that I've got to get right up and convince my father I can handle the work right. He doesn't figure I can act that way – yet. So it's up to me to show him I can. Well, I've started in, and I'm going to see the game through to the end. I've backed my wits to push this boat right into harbor safe. And in doin' that I've got to squeeze the biggest financier in the country. When I've done it right, that financier will know he can hand over his particular craft to my steering without fear of my running it on the rocks. The dollars I need to make out of this are just a circumstance. They are the outward sign of my fitness for my father's edification. That piece about my representing my father isn't just local color either. I actually intend to assume that character, and, from now on, I intend to work direct with headquarters, ordering the whole transaction for the railroad myself in my own name. Do you get me? From now on I am my father's representative. If Spenser Harker chooses to come right along here, if the general manager of the Union Grayling chooses to come along, I shall meet them, and insist that the work goes through. You see, I am my father's son, I am still his secretary, and they have word in private code from my father that I represent him. There can be no debate. All they know of me is that I left New York on confidential work for my father. Well, this, I guess, is the confidential work. Gentlemen, we've simply got to sit right back and help ourselves to our profits. And while we're doing that, why, I guess the dear old dad is taking his well-earned vacation in the hills, while David Slosson is feeling a nasty draught through the chinks in an old adobe and log shack which I hope will blow the foul odors out of his fouler mind. You can leave the after part of this play safely in my hands. Meanwhile, if you'll just give me five minutes I'll code this message. Then we'll drive right into town and send it over the wire."

Sunday in an obscure country hotel on the western plains is usually the dullest thing on earth. The habit of years is a whitewash of respectability and a moderation of tone, both assumed through the medium of a complete change of attire from that worn during the week. There is nothing on earth but the loss by fire, or the definite destruction of them, which will stop the citizen, who possesses such things, from arraying himself in a "best suit." It is the outward sign of an attempted cleansing of the soul. There can be no doubt of it. That suit is not adjusted for the purpose of holiday enjoyment. That is quite plain. For each man is as careful not to do anything that can destroy the crease down his trousers, as he is not to sit on the tails of his well-brushed Prince Albert coat.

The day is spent in just "sitting around." The citizen will talk. That is not calculated to spoil his suit. He will even write his mail after a careful adjustment of the knees of his trousers. He will sneak into the bar by a back door to obtain an "eye-opener." This, again, will involve no great risk to his suit. Then he will dine liberally off roast turkey and pie of some sort. If the hotel is fairly well priced he will even get an ice-cream with his midday dinner. In the afternoon he will again sit around and talk. He may even venture a walk. Then comes the evening supper. It is the worst function of a dreary day – a meal made up of cakes, preserves, tea or coffee, and any cold meats left over during the week.

After that the "best suits" somehow seem to fade out of sight, and a generally looser tone prevails.

Such had been the Sundays in Snake's Fall since ever the town had boasted an hotel with boarding accommodation. No guest had ever dared to break through the tradition. It would have required heroic courage to have done so. But now changes in the town were rapidly taking place. So rapidly, indeed, that the times might well have been characterized as "breathless."

On this particular Sunday a perfect revolution was in progress. Amongst the older inhabitants who managed to drift to the vicinity of the hotel a feeling of unreality took possession of them, and they wondered if it were not some curious and not altogether pleasant dream. The hotel was thronged with a blending of strangers and townspeople, clad, regardless of the day, in a state of excitement such as might only have been expected at the declaration of a world war, or a presidential election.

It was the culmination of the excitement inspired originally by the news of Slosson's defection, and which, in the course of less than a week, had been augmented by happenings in swift and rapid succession, such as set sober business men wondering if they were living on a volcano instead of a coalmine, or if the days of miracles had indeed returned upon the world.

Well before the excitement over Slosson had died down it became known that the Buffalo Point interests were at work again. Mallinsbee's office was opened once more. Furthermore, he had acquired two clerks, and was securing others from down east. This was more than significant. It attracted every eye in the new direction. Men strove to solve the question with regard to its relationship to Slosson's going. The thought which promptly came to each mind was that Slosson's going was less a miracle than a natural disappearance. His wild buying had inspired doubt from the first. The man had gone crazy, and his employers had turned him down. So he had bolted. The opening of Buffalo Point warned them that the railroad had in consequence come to terms with Mallinsbee. So there had been a fresh rush for information in that direction.

But this rush received no encouragement and less information, and the sorely tried speculators were once more flung back into their own outer darkness.

Then came the next, the culminating excitement. The news drifted into the place from outside sources. It came from agents and friends in the east. Surveyors and engineers and construction gangs were about to be sent to Buffalo Point! The news was quite definite, quite decided. It was more. It was accompanied by peremptory orders and urgent requests that those who were on the spot should get in on the Buffalo Point township without a moment's delay, and price was not to hinder them.

Had it been needed, there were no two people in the whole of Snake's Fall better placed for the dissemination and exaggeration of the news than Peter McSwain at the hotel and Mike Callahan at the livery barn. Nor were they idle. Nor did they miss a single opportunity.

In the office of the hotel, while service was on at the little church, and all the womenfolk and children were singing their tender hearts out in an effort to get an appetite for Sunday's dinner, Peter was the center of observation amidst a crowd of bitterly complaining commercial sinners, each with his own particular ax to grind and a desperate grievance against the crooks who were rigging the land markets in the neighborhood for their own sordid profit. He was holding forth, debating point for point, and, as he would have described it himself, "boosting the old boat over a heavy sea."

Some one had suggested that Buffalo Point had been in league with Slosson to hold up the situation, while the former completed their own arrangements to the detriment of the community. Peter promptly jumped in.

"Say, youse fellers are all sorts of 'smarts,' anyway," he said, with a pitying sort of contempt. "What you need is gilt-edged finance. You're scared to death pulling the chestnuts out o' the fire. You're mostly looking for a thousand per cent. result, with only a five per cent. courage. That's just about your play. What's the use in settin' around here talking murder when the plums are lyin' around? Pick 'em up, I says. Pick 'em right up an' get your back teeth into 'em so the juice jest trickles right over your Sunday suits. They're there for you. Just grab. I'm tired of talk. The truth is, some o' youse feelin' you've burnt your fingers over Slosson. Slosson was the railroad's agent. Your five per cent. minds saw the gilding in following Slosson. When he skipped out with my team you were stung bad. You've got stakes in Snake's, while you're finding out now the railroad ain't moved that way. An' so you're just scared to death to show the color of your paper till you see the depot built and the locomotives passing this place ringing a chorus of welcome for Buffalo. Then where are you? You're going to pay sucker prices then, or get right back east with a big debit for wasted board and time. I'm takin' a chance myself, and it ain't with any five per cent. courage. I got a big stake in both places, and I don't care a continental where they build the depot."

Mike Callahan was talking in much the same strain in the neighborhood of his barn, which somehow always became a sort of Sunday meeting-place for loungers seeking information. But Mike, acting on instructions, went much further. He spoke of the reports of the movements of the railroad's engineers and surveyors. He assured his hearers he had had definite word of it himself, and then added a hint that started something in the nature of a panic amongst his audience.

"It ain't no use in guessing," he said from his seat on an upturned bucket at the open door of his barn. "I ain't got loose cash to fling around. Mine is just locked right up in hossflesh and rigs, so I ain't got no ax needs sharpening. But I drive folks around and I hear them yarning. I drove a crowd out to Mallinsbee's place – the office at Buffalo Point yesterday. They were guests of his. They were talkin' depots and things the whole way. Say, ever heard the name of Carbhoy? Any of youse?"

Some one assured him that Carbhoy was President of the Union road, and Mike winked.

"Jest so," he observed. "As sure as St. Patrick drove the snakes out of Ireland, one of that gang was called 'Carbhoy.' I heard one of 'em use the name. And I heard the feller called 'Carbhoy' tell him to close his map. Not just in them words, but the sort of words a millionaire might use. That gang are guests of Mallinsbee. Wher' they are now I can't say. I didn't drive 'em back."

It was small enough wonder that the conflagration of excitement fairly swallowed up the town of vultures. The Buffalo Point interests intended it to do so. Nor could their agents have been better selected. They were established citizens who came into contact with the whole floating population of the place. They were above suspicion, and they just simply laughed and talked and pushed their pinpricks home, preparing the way for the dénouement.

On the Monday following, the effect of their work began to show itself. Amongst other visitations Mallinsbee was invaded by a deputation representing large real-estate interests.

Under Gordon's management the office had been entirely converted. Now the original parlor office had been turned over to the use of the clerical staff. The bedroom Gordon had occupied had become Mallinsbee's private office, and the other bedroom had been made into an office for Gordon himself. There was no longer any appearance of a makeshift about the place. It was an organized commercial establishment ready for the transaction of any business, from battling with a royal eagle of commerce down to the plucking of the half-fledged pigeon.

The deputation arrived in the morning, and consisted of Mr. Cyrus P. Laker and Mr. Abe Chester. These two men represented two Chicago real-estate corporations who were prepared to shed dollars that ran into six figures in a "right" enterprise.

The rancher had been notified of their coming, and had sat in consultation with Gordon for half an hour before their arrival. When the clerk showed them into Mallinsbee's private office they found him fully equipped, with his hideous patch over one eye, and Gordon sitting near by at a small table under the window.

Abe Chester overflowed the chair the clerk set for him, and Laker possessed himself of another. They were in sharp contrast, these two. One was lean and tall, the other was squat and breathed asthmatically. But both were men of affairs, and equal to every move in a deal.

The tall man opened the case, with his keen eyes searching the baffling face of the rancher. Just for one moment he had doubtfully eyed Gordon's figure, so intently bent over his work, but Mallinsbee had reassured him with the words, "My confidential secretary."

Mr. Laker assumed an air of simple frankness.

"Our errand is a simple one, Mr. Mallinsbee," he began in hollow tones which seemed to emanate from somewhere in the region of his highly shined shoes. Then he smiled vaguely, a smile which Gordon mentally registered as being "childlike," as he observed it out of the corners of his eyes. "We are looking for two little pieces of information which you, as a business man, will appreciate as being a justifiable search on our part. You see, we are open to negotiating a deal of several hundred thousand dollars, of course depending on the information being satisfactory."

"There's several rumors afloat that maybe you can confirm or deny," broke in Abe Chester shortly. His confrère's "high-brow" methods, as he termed them, irritated him.

"Just so," agreed Laker suavely. "Two rumors which affect the situation very nearly. The first is, is it a fact that the President of the Union Grayling and Ukataw Railroad is your guest at the present moment? The second is, there is a rumor afloat that the railroad company are actually preparing to build their depot here. Is this so?"

Mallinsbee's expression was annoyingly obscure. Mr. Laker felt that he was smiling, but Abe Chester was convinced that a smile was not within a mile of his large features. Both men were agreed, however, that they distrusted that eye-patch.

Gordon awaited the rancher's reply with amused patience. It came in the rumbling, heavy voice so like an organ note, after a duly thoughtful pause.

"Well, gentlemen," he said, with the air of a man who has bestowed a weight of consideration upon his answer, "you have put what a legal mind maybe 'ud consider 'leading' questions. Not having a legal mind, but just the mind of an honest trader, I'll say they certainly are some questions. However, it don't seem to me they'll prejudice a thing answering 'em straight. You are yearning to deal – well, so am I; an' if my answer's going to help things that way, why, I thank you for asking. Mr. Carbhoy is my guest at this moment. How long he'll remain my guest I can't just say. You see, he's going along to the coast when we're through fixing things right for Buffalo Point. That answers your first question, I guess. The second's even easier. The railroad's engineers will be right here with plans and specifications and materials and workers for building the depot at Buffalo Point on Wednesday noon."

Abe Chester drew a short asthmatical breath. His leaner companion smiled cadaverously.

"Then it will give us both much pleasure to talk business," said the latter.

"Sure," agreed Chester, sparing words which cost him so much breath, of which he possessed such a small supply.

Mallinsbee pushed cigars towards them. He felt the occasion needed their moral support.

"Help yourselves, gentlemen," he said. "Guess it'll make us talk better. There's a whole heap of talk coming."

The two men helped themselves, tenderly pressing the cigars and smelling them. The rancher took one himself, with the certainty of its quality, and lit it.

"A lot to talk about?" inquired Mr. Laker, not without misgivings.

"Why, yes." The rancher pulled deeply at his cigar and examined the ash thoughtfully. "Yes," he went on after a moment, "I guess I'll have to say quite a piece before you talk money. You see, I'd just like you to understand the position. It's perhaps a bit difficult. This scheme has been lying around quite a time, inviting folks to put money into it at a profitable price to themselves. A number of wise friends of mine have taken the opportunity and are in, good and snug. There's a number of others hadn't the grit. Maybe I don't just blame them. You see, it was some gamble, and needed folks who could take a chance. Wall, those days are past. There's no gamble now. It's as good as American double eagles. You see, Snake's will just become a sort of flag station, while Buffalo Point will sit around in a halo of glory with a brand-new swell depot. It's been some work handling this proposition, and the folks interested, including the Bude and Sideley Coal Company, need a deal of compensation for their work. Personally, I am not selling a single frontage now until the depot is well on the way. In short, I need a fancy price. In conclusion, gentlemen, let me say quite plainly that what I would have sold originally for three figures will now, or rather when the time comes, cost four – and maybe even five."

"You mean to shut us out," snapped Abe Chester.

"Is it graft?" inquired Laker, with something between a sneer and anger.

"Call it what you like," said Mallinsbee coldly. "I've told you the plain facts, as I shall tell everybody else. Those who want to get in on the Buffalo Point boom will have to pay money for it – good money. I think that is all I have to say, gentlemen."