Читать книгу: «The Son of his Father», страница 9

"There's no need to 'wait around,'" he deferred blandly. "I am here to act for Mr. Mallinsbee – absolutely. The entire affairs of the township are in my hands, and I have his definite instructions how to proceed. If you have any proposition to make I am prepared to deal with it."

For all his apparent deference a note had crept into Gordon's tone which caught the suspicious ears of the railroad agent. He peered sharply into the blue eyes of the man across the desk.

"You have absolute power to deal in Mallinsbee's interest?" he questioned harshly.

"In Mr. Mallinsbee's interests," assented Gordon.

"Wal, what's his proposition?" The man's mustached upper lip was slightly lifted and he showed his teeth.

"Precisely what it was when he first explained it to you."

The deference had gone out of Gordon's voice. Then, after the briefest of smiling pauses, he added —

"That is in so far as the railroad is concerned. For your own personal consideration his offer of sites to you remains the same as regards price, but the selection of position will be made by – us."

Gordon was enjoying himself enormously. He had taken the law into his own hands, and intended to put things through in his own way. He expected an outburst, but none was forthcoming. David Slosson was beginning to understand. He was taking the measure of this man. He was taking other measures – the measure of the whole situation. Of a sudden he realized that he was being told, in his own pet phraseology, to – go to hell. He had consigned many people in that direction during his life, but somehow his own consignment was quite a different matter, especially through the present channel.

He pulled himself up in his chair and squared his shoulders truculently.

"I guess Mallinsbee knows what this means – for him?" he inquired sharply, but coldly.

"I fancy Mr. Mallinsbee does."

"Now, see here, Mister – I ferget your name," Slosson cried, with sudden heat. "I'm not the man to be played around with. If this is your Mister Mallinsbee's final offer, it just means that the railroad can't do business with him. Which means also that his whole wild-cat land scheme falls flat, and is so much waste ground, only fit for grazing his rotten cattle on. I'm not here to mince words – "

"No," concurred Gordon in a steady, cold tone.

"I said I'm not here to mince words. If I can't get my original terms there's nothing doing, and I'll even promise, seeing we're alone, to get right out of my way to sew up this concern, lock, stock and barrel."

"That seems to be the obvious thing to do from your point of view – if you can," said Gordon calmly. "Seeing that Mr. Mallinsbee is nearly as rich as a railroad corporation, there may be difficulties. Anyway, threats aren't business talk, and generally display weakness. So, if you've no business to talk, if you don't feel like coming in on our terms – why, that's the door, and I guess your horse is still waiting for that hay you seemed to think just now he needed."

Gordon picked up a pen and proceeded deliberately to start writing a letter. He felt that David Slosson had something to digest, and needed time. All he feared now was that Mallinsbee or Hazel might come in before he rid the place of this precious representative of the railroad.

After a few moments he glanced up from his letter.

"Still here?" he remarked, with upraised brows.

In a moment Slosson started from the brown study into which he had fallen and leaped to his feet. His narrow black eyes were blazing. His pasty features were ghastly with fury, and Gordon, gazing up at him, found himself wondering how it came that the hot summer sun of the prairie was powerless to change its hue.

The agent thrust out one clenched fist threateningly, and fairly shouted at the man behind the desk —

"I'll make you all pay for this – Mallinsbee as well as you. You think you can play me – me! You think you can play the railroad I represent! I'll show you just what your bluff is worth. You, a miserable crowd of land pirates! I tell you your land isn't worth grazing price without our depot. And I promise you I'll break the whole concern – "

"Meanwhile," said Gordon, deliberately rising from his seat and moving round his desk, "try that doorway, before I – break you. There it is." He pointed. "Hustle!"

There comes a moment when the wildest temper reaches its limits. And even the most furious will pause at the brick wall of possible physical violence. David Slosson had spat out all his venom, or as much of it as seemed politic. The threatening attitude of Gordon, his monumental size and obvious strength, his cold determination, all convinced him that further debate was useless. So he drew back at the "brick wall" and negotiated the doorway as quickly as possible.

Two minutes later Gordon sighed in a great relief, and passed a hand across his perspiring forehead. Slosson had passed out of view as Mallinsbee, on the back of the great Sunset, appeared on the horizon.

"That was a close call," he muttered. "Two minutes more and the old man might have spoiled the whole scheme."

Silas Mallinsbee's personality seemed to crowd the little office when, five minutes later, he entered to find Gordon busy at his desk writing a letter home to his mother.

Gordon displayed no sign of his recent encounter when he looked up. His ingenuous face was smiling, and his blue eyes were full of an obvious satisfaction. Mallinsbee read the signs and rumbled out an inquiry.

"Slosson been around?"

Gordon nodded.

"Sure."

"Fixed anything?"

"Quite a – lot."

"You're lookin' kind of – happy?"

"Guess that's more than – Slosson was."

Mallinsbee's eyes became quite serious.

"I told Hazel just now I'd get along back. You see, I kind of remembered you just weren't sweet on Slosson, and guessed after all I'd best be around when he came. Hazel thought it might be as well, too. Specially as she didn't want to sit around and find no Slosson turn up. So – "

Gordon was on his feet in an instant. All his smile had vanished. A look of real alarm had taken its place.

"She was waiting for that skunk? Where?" he demanded in a tone that suddenly filled the father with genuine alarm.

"He was to go on to the coalpits after he was through here, and she was to meet him there an' ride over to the young horse corrals where they been breaking. She was to let him see the boys doin' a bit o' broncho bustin'. What's – "

"The coalpits? That's the way he took. Say, for God's sake stay right here – and let me use Sunset. I – "

But Gordon did not wait to finish what he had to say. He was out of the house and had leaped into the saddle before Mallinsbee could attempt to protest. The next moment he was galloping straight across country in the direction of the Bude and Sideley's Coal Company's workings.

CHAPTER XIII
SLOSSON SNATCHES AT OPPORTUNITY

Gordon had taken David Slosson's measure perfectly, notwithstanding his own comparative inexperience of the world. Apart from the agent's business methods, he had seen through the man himself with regard to Hazel. Hence, now his most serious alarm. The memory of those lascivious eyes gazing after Hazel in the Main Street of Snake's Fall, on his first day in the town, had never left him, and though he had listened to Hazel's positive assurance of her own safety in dealing with the man a subtle fear had continually haunted him. This was quite apart from his own jealous feelings. It was utterly unprejudiced by them. He knew that sooner or later, unless a miracle happened, Hazel would become the victim of insult. Deep down in his heart, somewhere, far underneath his passionate jealousy, he knew that Hazel was only encouraging Slosson that she might help on their common ends, but he had always doubted her cleverness to carry such a matter through successfully. To his mind there could only be one end to it all, and that end – insult.

Now the thing was almost a certainty. With Slosson in his present mood anything might happen. So he pressed Sunset to a rattling gallop. If Slosson insulted her – ? But he was not in the mood to think – only to act.

That his fears were well enough founded was pretty obvious. David Slosson, as he hurried away from Mallinsbee's office, knew that he had played the game of his own advantage and – lost. This sort of thing had not often happened, and on those rare occasions on which it had happened he had so contrived that those who had caused him a reverse paid fairly dearly in the end. He was one of those men who believed that if a man only squeezed hard enough blood could be contrived from a stone. Against every successful offensive of the enemy there was nearly always a way of "getting back."

That he could "get back" on the commercial side of the present affair he possessed not the smallest doubt. He would "recommend" to his company that the present depot at Snake's Fall, with certain enlargements, and the private line to be built by the Bude and Sideley Coal people, were all that was sufficient to serve the public, and, through his judicious purchase of sites in the old township, a far more profitable enterprise for them than the new township could offer. Personally, he would have to sacrifice his own interests. But since Mallinsbee and his cub of an office boy would be badly "stung," the matter would not be without satisfaction to his revengeful nature. Then there was that other matter – and he moistened his thin lips as he contemplated it.

In spite of all Gordon's lack of faith in Hazel's efforts, they had not been without effect. Slosson had been flattered. His vanity had seen conquest in Hazel's readiness to accept his company. It had been obvious to him from the first that the manner in which he had displayed his "nerve" before her at the ranch pleased her more than a little. After all, she was a mere country girl – a "rube" girl.

Nor was it likely that she would be difficult now. She was pretty, pretty as a picture. Her figure appealed to his sensual nature. She didn't know a thing – outside her ranch. Well, he could teach her. Especially now. Oh, yes, it was all very opportune. He would teach her all he knew. He laughed. He would teach her for – her father's sake. And – yes, for the sake of that young cub of a man that had ordered him out of the office.

What was his name – "Van Henslaer"? Yes, that was it. A "square-head," he supposed. The country was full of these American-speaking German "square-heads." Then quite suddenly he began to laugh. For the first time since he came to Snake's Fall the thought occurred to him that possibly this fellow was in love with Hazel himself. He had been so busy prosecuting his own attentions to her himself that he had never considered the possibility of another man being in the running. The thought inspired an even more pleasant sensation. It threw a new light upon Van Henslaer's attitude. Well, there was not much doubt as to who was the favored man. The fellow's very attitude suggested his failure.

Slosson felt he was going to reap better than had seemed at first. He would ruin Mallinsbee's schemes and satisfy his company at a slight personal loss to himself. He would complete his triumph over the individual in Mallinsbee's office. First of all, through Mallinsbee's failure in the land scheme, by robbing him of a position, and secondly, through robbing him of all chance of success with the girl. It was not too bad a retort. He would have made it harsher if he could, but, for a start, it would have to do. Later, of course, since he would see a great deal of Snake's Fall and his power in the place would increase, he would extend operations against his enemies.

Hazel must be his – his entirely. To that he had made up his mind. She was much too desirable to be "running loose," he told himself. Marriage was out of the question, unless he wished to commit bigamy; a pleasantry at which he laughed silently. Anyway, if it were possible, it would not have suited him. Marriage would have robbed him of the right to break up her father's land scheme. No, marriage was – Well, he was married – to his lasting regret.

Hazel was very attractive; very. He could quite understand a man making a fool of himself over her. He had once made a fool of himself, and in consequence marriage was very cheap from his point of view. He regarded women now as lawful prey. And apart from Hazel's attractiveness, which was very, very seductive, it would be a pretty piece of getting back on her father and that other. He laughed again. It was quaint. The prettier a woman the greater the fool she was.

So he rode on towards the coalpits.

His narrow eyes were alert, watching the horizon on every side. He was looking for that fawn-colored figure on its brown mare. His thoughts were full of it now. The rest was all thrust into the background, leaving full play to his desires, which were fast overwhelming all caution. It would have been impossible to overwhelm his sense of decency.

Suddenly it occurred to him that it was ridiculous that he should go on to the coalpits. His eagerness was swaying him. His mad longing for the girl swept everything before it. Why should he not cut across to the westward and intercept her on the way from the ranch? She must come that way, and – he could not possibly miss her.

He looked at his watch. It wanted half an hour to their appointment. Why, he would be at the pits in ten minutes, which would leave him a full twenty minutes of waiting.

In his mood of the moment it was a thought quite impossible. So he swung his horse westwards, with his eyes even more watchful for the approach of the figure he was seeking.

Perhaps Hazel was late. Perhaps Slosson was traveling faster than he knew. Anyway, he was already in the shadow of the bigger hills when he discovered the speeding brown mare with its dainty burden. Hazel discovered him almost at the same instant, and reined in her horse to let him come up. In a moment or two his roughly familiar greeting jarred her ears.

"Hello!" he cried. "There never was a woman who could keep time worth a cent. I guessed you'd strayed some, so I got along quick."

He had reined up facing her on the cattle track, and his sensual eyes covertly surveyed her from head to foot.

"Why, you haven't been near the pits," protested Hazel, avoiding his gaze. "You've come across country. Anyway, it's not time yet." She pulled off a gauntlet and held up her wrist for him to look at the watch upon it.

He reached out, caught her hand, and drew it towards him on the pretense of looking at the watch. His eyes were shining dangerously as he did so. Just for an instant Hazel was taken unawares. Then her pretty eyes suddenly lost their smile, and she drew her hand sharply away.

Slosson looked up.

"Your watch is wrong," he declared, with a grin intended to be facetious, but which scarcely disguised the feelings lying behind it.

Hazel was smiling again. She shook her head.

"It isn't," she denied. "But come on, or we'll miss the fun. I've got a youngster there in the corrals, never been saddled or man-handled. I'm going to ride him for your edification when the boys are through with the others. It's a mark of my favor which you must duly appreciate."

She led the way back towards the hills at a steady canter.

"Say, you've got nerve," cried Slosson, in genuine admiration. "Never been saddled?"

"Or man-handled," returned Hazel, determined he should lose nothing of her contemplated adventure. "He was rounded up this morning at my orders out of a bunch of three-year-old prairie-bred colts. You'll surely see some real bucking – not cat-jumping," she added mischievously.

"Say, you can't forget that play," cried the man, with some pride. "I'd have got on that hoss if he'd bucked to kingdom-come. I don't take any bluff from a girl."

"I s'pose girls aren't of much account with you? They're just silly things with no sense or – or anything. Some men are like that."

A warm glow swept through the man's veins.

"I allow it just depends on the girl."

"Maybe you don't reckon I've got sense?"

Slosson gazed at her with a meaning smile.

"I've seen signs," he observed playfully.

"Thanks. You've surely got keen eyes. Black eyes are mostly keen. Say, I wonder how much sense they reckon they've seen in me?"

"Well, I should say they've seen that you reckon David Slosson makes a tolerable companion to ride around with. Which is some sense."

Hazel turned, and her pretty eyes looked straight into his. A man of less vanity might have questioned the first glance of them. But Slosson only saw the following smile.

"Just tolerable," she cried, in a fashion which could not give offense. Then she abruptly changed the subject. "Get through your business at – the office?" she inquired casually.

Slosson's eyes hardened. In a moment the memory of Gordon swept through his brain in a tide of swift, hot anger.

"There's nothing doing," he said harshly.

Hazel turned. A quick alarm was shining in her eyes, and the man interpreted it exactly. Caution was abruptly cast to the winds.

"Say, Hazel," he cried hotly, "I'm going to tell you something. Your father's a – a fool. Oh, I don't mean it just that way. I mean he's a fool to set that boy running things for him. He's plumb killed your golden goose. We've broken off negotiations. That's all. The railroad don't need Buffalo Point."

"But what's Gordon done?" the girl cried, for the moment off her guard. "Father gave him instructions. You had an offer to make, and it was to be considered – duly."

"What's Gordon done?" The man's eyes were hot with fury. "So that's it – 'Gordon.' He's 'Gordon,' eh?" All in a moment venom surged to the surface. The man's unwholesome features went ghastly in his rage. "He turned me – me out of the office. He told me to go to hell. Say, that pup has flung your father's whole darned concern right on to the rocks. So it's 'Gordon,' eh? To everybody else he's 'Van Henslaer,' but to you he's 'Gordon.' That's why he's on to me, I guessed as much. Well, say, you've about mussed up things between you. My back's right up, and I'm cursed if the railroad 'll move for the benefit of those interested in Buffalo Point."

Hazel had heard enough. More than enough. Her temper had risen too.

"Look here, Mr. Slosson. I don't pretend to mistake your inference. Gordon is just a good friend of mine," she declared hotly. "But I've no doubt that whatever he did was justified. If we're going on any farther together you're going to apologize right here and now for what you've said about Gordon."

She reined up her mare so sharply that the startled creature was flung upon her haunches, and the man's livery horse went on some yards farther before it was pulled up. But Slosson came back at once and ranged alongside. They were already in the bigger hills, and one shaggy crag, overshadowing them, shut out the dazzling gleam of the westering sun.

"There's going to be the need of a heap of apology around," cried Slosson, but something of his anger was melting before the girl's flashing eyes. Then, too, the moment was the opportunity he had been seeking. "See here, Hazel – "

"Don't you dare to call me 'Hazel,'" the girl flung out at him hotly. "You will apologize here and now."

There was no mistaking her determination, and the man watched her with furtive eyes. He pretended to consider deeply before he replied. At a gesture of impatience from the girl he finally flung out one arm.

"See here," he cried, "maybe I oughtn't to have said that, and I guess I apologize. But – you see, I was sort of mad when you talked that way about this – 'Gordon.'" His teeth clipped over the word. "You see, Hazel," he insinuated again, "we've had a real good time together, and you made it so plain I'm not – indifferent to you that it just stung me bad to hear you speak of – 'Gordon.' I'm crazy about you, I am sure. I'm so crazy I can't sleep at nights. I'm so crazy that I'd let the railroad folk go hang just for you – if you just asked me. I'd even forget all that feller said, and would pool in on Buffalo Point the way your father needs – if you asked me."

He waited. He had thrown every effort of persuasion he was capable of into his words and manner, and Hazel was deceived. She did not observe the furtive eyes watching her. She was only aware of the almost genuine manner of his pleading.

"If I asked you?" she said thoughtfully. Then she looked up quickly, her eyes half smiling. "Of course I ask you."

In a moment the man pressed nearer.

"And you'll play the game?" he asked almost breathlessly.

All in a moment a subtle fear of him swept through the girl. Instinctively her hand tightened its grip on the heavy quirt swinging from her wrist.

"What do you mean?" she demanded in a low tone.

The man's eyes were shining with the meaning lying behind his words. There should have been no necessity to ask that question.

Quite suddenly he reached farther out and seized her about the waist with one hand, while with the other he caught her reins to check her mare. The next moment he had crushed her to him and his flushed face was close to hers.

"There's only one game," he cried hoarsely. "And – "

But he got no further. Like a flash of lightning Hazel's quirt slashed furiously at him. The blow was wild and missed its object. It fell on his horse's head and neck. Again it was raised, and again it fell on the horse and on her mare. The horse plunged aside and her own mare started forward. The next moment both riders were on the ground, struggling violently.

Sunset plowed along over the prairie. True enough, he was the rocking-horse Hazel had declared him to be. But she might have added that he was the speediest horse ever foaled on her father's range.

Gordon was in no mood to spare him. But, press him as he might, he seemed incapable of sounding the full depths of his resources.

Had Gordon only taken the course of the impatient Slosson he would have arrived in time to have prevented the catastrophe. But as it was he made the coalpits, and, finding no trace of either Hazel or the agent, with prompt decision he headed at once for the southern corrals. It was some time before he discovered the tracks he sought, and was beginning to think that in some extraordinary fashion he had missed them altogether. The thought stirred his jealousy, and – but he put all doubt from his mind, and further bustled the long-suffering Sunset. Then came the moment when he first saw the hoof-prints in the sand of the cattle track. In a moment his thoughts cleared and his old fears urged him on.

He was right now, he knew. The hills about him were growing in height and ruggedness. The corrals were only a few miles on, and Sunset was racing down the track as if he were aware of the threatening danger to the girl whom he had so often carried on his back. But even if he were he was utterly unprepared for the furious thrashing of his present rider's heels which came as they were approaching one great shaggy hill to the south of them, in answer to a thin, high-pitched shrill for "Help!"

Gordon heard and understood. He had been right, after all, and a terrible panic and fury assailed him. Sunset was racing now, with his barrel low to the ground. Then as they came into the shadow of the hill the faithful creature felt the bit in his mouth jar suddenly and painfully, and he nearly sank on to his haunches.

Gordon was out of the saddle and rushing headlong like some rage-maddened bull.

Something had happened, and Hazel, in a partial daze, scarcely understood quite what it was. All she knew was that she was no longer struggling desperately in the arms of a man, with his hideous face thrust towards hers with obvious intention. She had fought as she had never dreamed of having to fight in all her life, and in her extremity she had shrilled again and again for "Help!" which, had she thought, she would have known was miles from the lonely spot where she was struggling. Then had happened that something she could not understand. She only knew that she was no longer struggling, and that hideous, coarse, passion-lit face had vanished from before her terrified eyes.

She had heard a voice, a familiar voice, hoarse with passion. The words it had uttered were the foulest blasphemy, such words as only a man uses when in the heat of battle and his desire is to kill. Then had passed that nightmare face from before her eyes.

After some moments her mental faculties became less uncertain, and with their clearing she became aware of a confusion of sounds. She heard the sound of blows and the incessant shuffling of feet through the tall prairie grass. She looked about her.

All in a minute she was on her feet, her eyes wide and staring with an expression half of terror, half of the wildest excitement. A fight was going on – a fight in which six feet three of science was arrayed against lesser stature but equal strength and a blend of animal fury which yearned to kill.

David Slosson came at his hated adversary in lunging rushes and with all his weight and muscle, hoping to clinch and reduce the battle to the less scientific condition of a "rough-and-tumble" as it is known only in America. Once he could achieve a definite clinch he knew that the advantage would lie with him. He knew the game of "chew and gouge" as few men knew it. He had learned it in his earlier days of lumber camps.

But Gordon had steadied himself from his first mad rush. It was the sight of Hazel in this man's clutches that had roused the desire for murder in his hot blood. Now it was different. Now it was a fight, a fight such as he could enjoy; and such were his feelings that he was determined it should be a fight to a finish, even if that finish should mean a killing.

He had no difficulty in punishing. His opponent's arms came at him wildly, while his own leads and counters struck home with smashes of a staggering nature. Twice he got in an upper-cut which set his man reeling, and in each case he smashed home his left immediately with all the force of his great shoulders. But David Slosson was tough. He seemed to thrive on punishment, and he came again and again.

Gordon was in his element. His physical condition had never been more perfect, and, provided that clinch was prevented, nothing on earth could save his man. The blood was already streaming from Slosson's cheek, and an ugly split disfigured his lower lip.

Now he came in with his head down – a favorite bull rush of the "rough-and-tumble." Gordon saw it coming and waited. He side-stepped, and smashed a terrific blow behind the left ear. The man stumbled, but saved himself. With an inarticulate attempt at an oath he was at the boxer again. Another rush, but it checked half-way, and a violent kick was aimed at Gordon's middle. It missed its mark, but caught him on the side of the knee. The pain of the blow for a moment robbed the younger man of his caution. He responded with a smashing left and right. They both landed, but in the rush his loose coat was caught and held as the agent fell.

Slosson clung to the coat as a terrier will cling to a stick. In spite of the rain of blows battering his head he held on. It was the first hold he needed. The second came a moment later. His other arm crooked about Gordon's right knee. The next moment they were on the ground in the throes of a wild, demoniacal "rough-and-tumble."

The science of the boxer could serve Gordon no longer. He knew it. He knew also that the fight was more than leveled up. The struggle had degenerated into an inhuman aim for those vital parts which would leave the victim blind or maimed for life.

By the luck of Providence he fell uppermost. His hands being free and his strength at its greatest, also possessing nothing of the degraded mind of the rough-and-tumble fighter, he went for his opponent's throat, and got his grip just as he felt the other's teeth clip, in a savage snap, at his right ear. It was a happy miss, or he knew he would have spent the rest of his life with only one ear, and possibly part of the other.

But there were other things to avoid. He crushed the man's head upon the ground, while his great hands tightened their grip upon his throat. But Slosson's hands were not idle. They struggled up, and Gordon felt that they were groping for his throat. His own pressure increased.

"Squeal, you swine!" he roared. "Squeal, or I'll choke the life out of you!"

The man was unable to squeal under the terrible throat-hold. His breath was coming in gasps. All of a sudden those groping hands made a lunge at Gordon's eyes. One finger even struck his left eye with intent to gouge it out. Gordon threw back his head, but dared not release his hold. His only other defense was an instinctive one. He opened his mouth and made a wolfish snap at the hand that had sought to blind him. He bit three of its fingers to the bone. There was a cry from the man under his hands, and the straining body beneath him ceased to struggle.

Gordon released his hold and stood up. He aimed one violent kick of disgust at the man's ribs and turned away.