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Dunlavey had lost a little of the composure which had characterized his actions since entering the office and the last words of his speech had writhed venomously through his lips.
Hollis’s face betrayed absolutely no emotion. Though Dunlavey’s visit to the Kicker office had surprised him he was not surprised at his offer for the ranch and the newspaper, for according to Judge Graney he had made some such offer to the elder Hollis. Coming now, with an addition of five thousand dollars, Dunlavey’s offer seemed to advertise his reluctance to continue the war that he had waged. Hollis appreciated the situation. If Dunlavey were to buy him off now there would come an end to the warfare that had already been an expensive one for the interests represented by Dunlavey. Likewise, the acceptance of the offer would give Hollis an opportunity to withdraw gracefully. Dunlavey had placed the issue squarely before him. The young man held his future in his hands and he did not reply at once.
He sat silent for a few moments, studying the coarse, brutal face of the man seated before him, noting that his under jaw had come forward slightly, and that the cold, hard glitter had come again in his eyes. However, Hollis’s silence meant nothing beyond the fact that he was going slowly over the history of the fight between his father and the man who sat there representing the interests which had begun the war. He had no thought of surrendering–that would be dishonorable. He was merely revolving the situation in his mind, considering how best to word his refusal. He did not want to appear belligerent; he did not want to precipitate war. But he did want Dunlavey to know that he purposed to have his rights; he wanted Dunlavey to know that he could not be frightened into surrendering them. He clasped one hand over his knee and leaned back in his chair, his gaze meeting Dunlavey’s steadily.
“Dunlavey,” he said quietly, “what is the actual value of the Circle Bar ranch?”
Dunlavey smiled blandly. “You couldn’t find any man around these parts to take it at any price,” he returned.
“Why?” questioned Hollis.
Dunlavey grinned mysteriously. “I reckon you know why,” he returned; “you’re pretty much of a tenderfoot, but I reckon Judge Graney has put you wise to the situation. There ain’t nobody wants to buy the Circle Bar except me.”
“Why?” persisted Hollis.
“I reckon you know that too,” laughed Dunlavey. “It ain’t no secret. The Cattlemen’s Association is running things in this here county and it ain’t wanting anyone to buy the Circle Bar except me. And nobody is fool enough to antagonize the Association. That’s the why, if you want to know real bad.”
“You are frank about it at any rate,” conceded Hollis smiling slightly. “But that doesn’t get us anywhere. What I am trying to get at is this: what would the Circle Bar bring in cash if the Cattlemen’s Association ceased to be a factor in the county?” Dunlavey grinned broadly. “For a tenderfoot you’re real amusing,” he derided. “There ain’t nobody out here crazy enough to think that the Cattlemen’s Association will ever be put out of business!”
Hollis’s lips curled a little, but his gaze was still steady.
“That’s evasion, Dunlavey,” he said quietly. “You will remember that I asked you what the Circle Bar would bring ‘if’ the Association ceased to be a factor.”
Dunlavey favored Hollis with a perplexed grin. “I don’t know what difference that makes,” he returned. “We’re dealing with what’s before us now–we ain’t considering what might be. But if you want to know my personal opinion it’s that the Circle Bar might bring thirty thousand.”
“Thanks,” said Hollis dryly; “that’s getting somewhere. And now we’ll be able to talk business. We’ve got thirty thousand to start with. I am told that when the Association began its war against my father he was rather prosperous. Usually he rounded up about two thousand head of cattle. But we’ll call it a thousand. We’ll say that they brought about thirty dollars a head, which would make an income of thirty thousand dollars a year, gross. We’ll deduct fifty per cent for operating expenses, losses, and so on. That would leave about fifteen thousand. You’ve been fighting the Circle Bar for several years. We’ll call it five. Five times fifteen thousand is seventy-five thousand. That represents the sum which my father would have made from the Circle Bar if you had not fought him. Add to that the thirty thousand which you admit would be a fair figure for the ranch if the Association were eliminated as a factor, and we have a total of one hundred and five thousand dollars.” He smiled and leaned a little farther back in his chair, narrowing his eyes at Dunlavey. “Now we have reached a point where we can get somewhere. I’ll take one hundred thousand dollars for the Circle Bar.”
The calm announcement had no effect upon Dunlavey except to cause him to grin derisively.
“For a tenderfoot you’re pretty slick,” he allowed, his teeth showing. “You’ve figgered it out so that it sounds right reasonable. But you’ve forgot one thing. The Cattlemen’s Association ain’t eliminated. It says that the Circle Bar is worth fifteen thousand. You’ll take that or – ” He smiled grimly, holding back the threat.
“I think I know what you mean,” said Hollis quietly, without changing color. “You mean that the Cattlemen’s Association will continue its fight and eventually ruin the Circle Bar. Perhaps it will–no man can tell what lies in the future. But I can tell you this: you can’t retard progress.”
“No?” said Dunlavey with an irritating drawl.
Hollis smiled composedly. He spoke without bitterness. “Dunlavey,” he said, “I’m going to tell you something which you perhaps know but will not admit. Your Association has been successful in pulling the strings which make the politicians at Washington jump to do your bidding. I don’t accuse you of buying them, but in any event they have greased the ways over which your Association has slipped to power. And now you think that the impetus you have gained will carry you along indefinitely. It won’t. Everything in this world runs its natural course and when it does there comes an end.
“If you were endowed with the average foresight you would be able to see that things cannot always go on the way they have. The law must come. It is inevitable. Its coming will be facilitated by such organizations as the Cattlemen’s Association and by such men as you. Back in the East the forces of Good and Bad are battling. The forces of Good will be victorious. The government at Washington is familiar with the conditions that exist here and sooner or later will be compelled to act. When it does the small cattle owner will receive protection.”
“We’re holding tight till the law comes,” sneered Dunlavey; “which won’t be soon.”
“Perhaps not,” admitted Hollis dryly; “good things come slowly. Meanwhile, if you don’t care to accept my figure for the Circle Bar I shall follow your example and hold tight until the law comes.”
“Meaning that you won’t sell, I suppose?” sneered Dunlavey.
“Meaning just that,” returned Hollis quietly. “I am going to fight you. I have offered the Circle Bar at a fair figure and you have responded with threats. I wouldn’t sell to you now if you offered one hundred and fifty thousand. The Circle Bar is not for sale!”
Dunlavey had not moved. He sat quiet, leaning a little forward, his hands resting on his knees, his eyes narrowed to glittering pin-points as he watched Hollis. When the latter had concluded he leaned back, laughing hoarsely.
“What are you going to do with this damn newspaper?” he demanded.
“The newspaper will be used as a weapon against you,” returned Hollis. “It will kick loud and long against such organizations as the Cattlemen’s Association–against such men as you. Ostensibly the Kicker will be a Dry Bottom newspaper, but it will appear in every city in the East; the matter that appears in it will be reprinted in Chicago, in Washington, in New York–in fact in every city in which I have a friend engaged in the newspaper business–and I have a number. I am going to stir up sentiment against you. I am going to be the Law’s advance agent!”
Dunlavey rose, his lips curling with contempt. “You make me sick!” he sneered. He turned his back and walked to the door, returning and standing in front of Hollis, ominously cool and deliberate. “So that’s the how of it?” he said evenly. “You’ve come out here looking for fight. Well, you’ll get it–plenty of it. I owe you something – ”
“Wait, Dunlavey,” Hollis interrupted, without excitement; “I want you to understand that there isn’t anything personal in this. I am going to fight you because you are a member of the Cattlemen’s Association and not because you were my father’s enemy. I am not afraid of you. I suspect that you will try to make things decidedly interesting for me from now on and I suppose I ought to be properly troubled. But I am not. I shall not be surprised at anything you do. I think that is all. Please close the door when you go out.”
He turned to the desk, ignoring Dunlavey. Sitting there, his senses alert, he heard the door slam. From beyond it came a curse. Silence again reigned in the office; Hollis was alone with the dust and the heat–and some very original thoughts.
CHAPTER VII
THE “KICKER” BECOMES AN INSTITUTION
It was mid-July–and hot. The sun shone continually; the nights were uncomfortable, stifling. The dust was everywhere and grew deeper and lighter as the days passed. Water grew scarce; cattle suffered, lowing throughout the night, during the day searching the bogs and water holes for drops of moisture. Men looked up at the clear, cloudless sky and prayed–and cursed–for rain. The rain did not come. It was one long, continuous nightmare of heat.
The Kicker had appeared four times–on Saturdays–on time. Telegraphic communication with the outside world had been established. Potter had taken up his residence at the Circle Bar. War had been declared between the Kicker and the Lazette Eagle. Hollis had written an argumentative essay on the virtues of Dry Bottom as a town, dwelling upon its superiority over Lazette. The editor of the Eagle had replied with some bitterness, setting forth in detail why Dry Bottom did not compare with Lazette. As the editor of the Eagle mentioned population and civic spirit in his bill of particulars the war promised to be of long duration–questions of superiority between spirited persons are never settled. And Hollis had succeeded in arousing the spirit of Dry Bottom’s citizens. They began to take some interest in the Kicker. Many subscribed; all read it.
From the “local” columns of the paper one might have discovered that many public and private improvements were contemplated. Among these the following items were of the greatest interest:
Steps are being taken by the government toward the erection of a fence around the court house grounds. Judge Graney is contemplating a lawn and flowers. When these improvements are completed there will be no comparison between our court house and the dilapidated hovel which disgraces the county seat of Colfax. The Lazette Eagle please notice.
William Dunn, the proprietor of the Alhambra eating house, announces that in the near future he will erect a new sign. Thereafter the Alhambra will be known as the Alhambra Restaurant. This is a step forward. We have been informed that there is no restaurant in Lazette. Good boy, Dunn.
Chet Miller’s general merchandise store is to be repainted throughout. Chet is public spirited.
Everybody of any importance in Dry Bottom received weekly mention of some sort in the Kicker. Chet Miller was heard to say that the Kicker was a “hummer,” and no one ascribed his praise of the paper to thanks for the appearance of his name therein, for all who would have criticized were silenced by the appearance of their own names.
In the fourth issue of the paper appeared several new advertisements. Judicious personal mention and lively news locals had aroused public spirit to a point where it ignored thoughts of Dunlavey’s displeasure.
Upon the Saturday which had marked the first issue of the Kicker under Hollis’s ownership he had employed a circulation manager. That afternoon on the street near the Kicker office he had almost collided with a red haired youth of uncertain age who had bounded out through the door of a private dwelling. In order to keep from knocking the youth over Hollis was forced to seize him by the arms and literally lift him off his feet. While in the air the youth’s face was close to Hollis’s and both grinned over the occurrence. When Hollis set the youth down he stood for an instant, looking up into Hollis’s face and a grin of amusement overspread his own.
“Shucks!” he said slowly. “If it ain’t the tenderfoot editor!”
“That’s just who it is,” returned Hollis with a smile.
The youth grinned as he looked critically at Hollis. “You gittin’ out that there paper to-day, mister?” he questioned.
“Right now,” returned Hollis.
“Bully!” exclaimed the youth. He surveyed Hollis with a frank admiration. “They said you wouldn’t have the nerve to do it,” he said; “but, say! I reckon they ain’t got you sized up right!”
Hollis smiled, remembering that though the paper had been printed it was not yet distributed. He placed a hand on the youth’s shoulder.
“Have you got nerve enough to pass the Kicker around to the people of this town?” he questioned.
“I reckon,” grinned the youth. “I was comin’ down to ast you for the job when you bumped into me. I used to peddle them for your dad. My name’s Jiggs Lenehan–mebbe you’ve heard of me?”
Hollis smiled. “The question of delivering the Kicker was one of the details that I overlooked,” he said. “But fortunately it is arranged now. Henceforth, Jiggs, you are the Kicker’s official circulation manager. Likewise, if you care to add to your income, you can help Potter around the office.”
So it had been arranged, and Jiggs entered upon his duties with an energy that left little doubt in his employer’s mind that he would prove a valuable addition to the force.
In Hollis’s “Salutatory” to the people of Dry Bottom he had announced in a quiet, unostentatious paragraph that while he had not come to Dry Bottom for a free fight, he would permit no one to tread on his toes. His readers’ comprehension of the metaphor was complete–as was evidenced by the warm hand-clasps which he received from citizens who were not in sympathy with the Dunlavey regime. It surprised him to find how many such there were in town. He was convinced that all this element needed was a leader and he grimly determined to step quietly into that position himself.
The second issue of the Kicker was marked by a more aggressive spirit–a spirit engendered by the sympathetic reception of the first issue. In it he stated concisely his views of the situation in Union County, telling his readers that the best interests of the community demanded that Dunlavey’s evil influence be wiped out. This article was headed: “Dry Bottom’s Future,” and won him many friends.
The third issue contained stronger language, and the fourth was energetically aggressive. As he had decided before the first appearance of the paper, he took a certain number of copies of each issue, folded them neatly, stamped and addressed them, and mailed them to a number of newspapers throughout the country whose editors he knew. He also directed copies to a number of his friends in the East–to the president of his college, and last, to the Secretary of the Interior at Washington, who had formerly resided near him in Boston, and with whom he had a long acquaintance. There had been a change of administration the fall previous and he was certain that the new administration would not ignore the situation. To the Secretary, and also to a number of his friends, he wrote personal letters, explaining in detail the exact condition of affairs in Union County.
He had not seen Dunlavey since the day the latter had come to the Kicker office to negotiate for the purchase of the paper. On several of his rides to and from the Circle Bar ranch he had seen signs of life at the Circle Cross; once or twice he thought he saw someone watching him from a hill on the Circle Cross side of the Rabbit-Ear, but of this he was not quite certain, for the hill-top was thickly wooded and the distance great.
He had been warned by Norton not to ride too often over the same trail lest Dunlavey send someone to ambush him.
Hollis had laughed at the warning, though thanking Norton for it. He told his range boss that he did not anticipate any immediate trouble with Dunlavey.
“It all depends on how Big Bill feels,” returned Norton with a grim smile. “If you’ve got him mad there’s no telling. And there are plenty of places between here and Dry Bottom where a man might be shot from ambush. And nobody’d ever know who done it. I wouldn’t ride the Dry Bottom trail every day. There’s the old Coyote trail, that takes you past the Razor-Back and through Devil’s Hollow to Little Canyon an’ along the hills to the other side.”
He laughed. “There’s only one thing you need to be afraid of if you take the Coyote trail, an’ that’s Ed Hazelton. Ed gets spells when he’s plum crazy. He’s Nellie Hazelton’s brother–her that Dunlavey was pesterin’ when you slammed him.” He laughed again, significantly. “Though if Ed knowed you was the man who took his sister’s part you wouldn’t need to be much scared of him–I’ve heard that he’s got a pretty good memory for his friends–even when he’s off.”
Hollis had not told Norton of his experience in Devil’s Hollow, nor did he tell him now. But he followed his advice about taking the Coyote trail, and the following day when he made the trip to Dry Bottom he returned that way. About half way between Dry Bottom and the Circle Bar he came upon a little adobe cabin snuggling an arroyo through which trickled a small stream of water.
It was an ideal location for a small rancher, and Hollis observed that the buildings were in order–evidently Nellie Hazelton and her brother were provident. He saw some cattle grazing on the edge of a small grass plateau which began at the slope of the arroyo through which the stream of water ran. A shout reached his ears as he sat motionless in the saddle looking about him, and he saw Ed Hazelton on the plateau among the cattle, waving a hand to him. The young man began to descend the side of the plateau, but before he had fairly started Nellie Hazelton had come out of the front door of the cabin and stood on the edge of the small porch, smiling at him.
“So you did come, after all?” was her greeting.
Hollis spurred his pony closer and sat smiling down at her. “I don’t think anything could have stopped me after your invitation,” he returned quickly.
“Oh!” she said. The sudden color that came into her face told of her confusion. It betrayed the fact that she knew he had come because of her. Her brother’s invitation in Devil’s Hollow had been merely formal; there had been another sort of invitation in her eyes as she and her brother had left him that day.
“Won’t you get off your horse?” she said while he still sat motionless. “It’s quite a while before sundown and you have plenty of time to reach the Circle Bar before dark.”
He had determined to discover something of the mystery that surrounded her and her brother, and so he was off his pony quickly and seating himself in a chair that she drew out of the cabin for him. By the time her brother had reached the porch Hollis was stretched comfortably out in the chair and was answering several timid questions concerning his opinion of the country and his new responsibilities.
She was glad he liked the country, she said. It was wonderful. In the five years they had been here they had enjoyed it thoroughly–that was, of course, barring the trouble they had had with Dunlavey.
Of their trouble with Dunlavey Hollis would hear much later, he told himself. At present he was more interested in discovering something about her and her brother, though he did not wish to appear inquisitive. Therefore his voice was politely casual.
“Then you are not a Westerner?” he said.
She smiled mournfully. “No,” she returned; “we–Ed and I–were raised in Illinois, near Springfield. We came out here five years ago after–after mother died.” Her voice caught. “Sometimes it seems terribly lonesome out here,” she added; “when I get to thinking of–of our other home. But”–she smiled bravely through the sudden moisture that had come into her eyes–“since Ed got hurt I don’t have much time to think of myself. Poor fellow.”
Hollis was silent. He had never had a sister but he could imagine how she must feel over the misfortune that had come to her brother. It must be a sacrifice for her to remain in this country, to care for a brother who must be a great burden to her at times, to fight the solitude, the hardships, to bear with patience the many inconveniences which are inevitable in a new, unsettled country. He felt a new admiration for her and a profound sympathy.
“I think that you must be a very brave young woman,” he said earnestly.
“Oh!” she returned with a sudden, illuminating smile. “It isn’t hard to be brave. But at times I find it hard to be patient.”
“Patience is one of the cardinal virtues,” declared Hollis, “but it takes bravery of a rare sort to remain in this country, surrounded with the care – ”
Her fingers were suddenly over her lips warningly, and he saw Ed Hazelton nearing the porch.
“I wouldn’t have him know for the world,” she said rapidly. “It isn’t a care to look after someone you love.”
Hollis smiled grimly at the reproach in her voice and rose to greet her brother.
The latter seemed to be quite recovered from the attack he had suffered in Devil’s Hollow and talked freely and intelligently of affairs in the country. Hollis found that on the whole he was a well informed young man–quiet, modest, and apparently well able to give a good account of himself in spite of his affliction. He was bitter against Dunlavey and thanked Hollis warmly for his defense of his sister.
At sundown Hollis departed, telling the Hazeltons that since he was their neighbor he would not neglect to see them occasionally. As he rode away into the dusk Nellie Hazelton stood on the porch smilingly waving her hand at him. As he threaded his way through the rapidly growing darkness he felt an unaccountable satisfaction over the fact that he had elected to remain in Union County; that henceforth his fortunes were to be linked with those of a brave young woman who had also accepted the robes of sacrifice and who was committed to war against their common enemy–Dunlavey. Curiously, during the past few days he had felt a decided change in his attitude toward life. His old ambition was no longer uppermost in his mind–it had been crowded out of his existence. In its place had been erected a new pinnacle of promise. A seat among the mighty was a worthy goal. Yet the lowly bench of sacrifice was not without its compensations.
