Shadow Mountain
by Dane Coolidge · English · Gutenberg #30574 · 420,510 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Shadow Mountain
Author: Dane Coolidge
Illustrator: George W. Gage
Release date: December 1, 2009 [eBook #30574]
Most recently updated: January 5, 2021
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/30574
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Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHADOW MOUNTAIN ***
Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: She reached out smiling wistfully and touched him with
her hand.]
SHADOW MOUNTAIN
BY
DANE COOLIDGE
AUTHOR OF THE DESERT TRAIL, ETC.
FRONTISPIECE BY
GEORGE W. GAGE
[Illustration]
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY
W. J. WATT & COMPANY
CONTENTS
Chapter Page
I. The Last of Ten Thousand 1
II. The Shotgun Widow 10
III. The Shadow 22
IV. The Ghost Man 30
V. A Load of Buckshot 38
VI. All Crazy 48
VII. Between Friends 58
VIII. The Tip 68
IX. A Peace Talk 78
X. The Best Head in Town 89
XI. A Touch 98
XII. The Expert 106
XIII. A Sack of Cats 118
XIV. The Explosion 127
XV. The God of Ten Per Cent 135
XVI. A Showdown With the Widow 143
XVII. Peace--and the Price 151
XVIII. On Christmas Day 160
XIX. The Enigma 170
XX. An Appeal To Charley 179
XXI. The Dragon's Teeth 187
XXII. Virginia Explains--Nothing 196
XXIII. On Demand 204
XXIV. Double Trouble 214
XXV. Virginia Repents 223
XXVI. The Call 231
XXVII. The Thunder Clap 239
XXVIII. The Way Out 248
XXIX. Across Death Valley 259
XXX. An Evening With Socrates 269
XXXI. The Broken Trust 279
XXXII. A Huff 290
XXXIII. The Fiery Furnace 299
XXXIV. A Clean-up 305
SHADOW MOUNTAIN
CHAPTER I
THE LAST OF TEN THOUSAND
Under the rim of Shadow Mountain, embraced like a pearl of great price
by the curve of Bonanza Point and the mined-out slope of Gold Hill, the
deserted city of Keno lay brooding and silent in the sun. A dry, gusty
wind, swooping down through the northern pass, slammed the great iron
fire-doors that hung creaking from the stone bank building, caught up a
cloud of sand and dirt and, whirling it down past empty stores and assay
offices, deposited it in the doorways of gambling houses and dance
halls, long since abandoned to the rats. An old man, pottering about
among the ruins, gathered up some broken boards and hobbled off; and
once more Keno, the greatest gold camp the West has ever seen, sank back
to silence and dreams.
A round of shots wakened the echoes of Shadow Mountain; a lonely miner
came down the trail from Gold Hill, where in the old days the Paymaster
had turned out its million a month; and then, far out across the floor
of the desert on the road that led in from the railroad, there appeared
an arrow-point of dust. It grew to a racing streak of white, the distant
purring of the motor gave way to a deep-voiced thunder and as the
powerful car glided swiftly up the street the doors of old houses opened
unexpectedly and the last of ten thousand looked out.
There were old men and cripples, left stranded by the exodus; and
prospectors who had moved into the vacant houses along with the other
desert rats; but out on the gallery of the old Huff mansion--where the
creepers still clung to the lattice--there was a flutter of white and a
girl came out with a kitten in her arms. In the days of gold--when ten
thousand men, the choice spirits of two hemispheres, had tramped down
this same deserted street--the house of Colonel Huff, the discoverer of
the Paymaster, had been the social center of Keno. And so it was still,
for the Widow Huff remained; but across the front of the hospitable
gallery where the Colonel had entertained the town, a cheap cloth sign
announced meals fifty cents and Virginia, his daughter, was the waiter.
She stood by the sign, still high-headed and patrician, and when the
driver of the car saw her he came to a sudden stop. He was long and
gaunt, with deep lines around his mouth from bucking the wind and dust
and after a moment's hesitation he threw on his brake and leapt out.
"Did you want something?" she asked and, glancing warily about, he
nodded and came up the steps.
"Yes," he said, still eying her doubtfully, "what's the chance for
something to eat?"
"Why, good," she answered with a suspicion of a smile. "Or--well, come
in; I'll speak to mother."
She showed him into the spacious dining room, where the Colonel had
once presided in state, and hurried into the kitchen. The young man
gazed after her, looked swiftly about the room and backed away towards
the door; then his strong jaw closed down, he smiled grimly to himself
and sat down unbidden at a table. The table was mahogany and, in a
case against the wall, there was a scant display of cut glass; but the
linen was worn thin and the expensive velvet carpet had been ruined by
hob-nailed boots. Heavy workingmen's dishes lay on the tables, the
plating was worn from the knives, and the last echoing ghost of
vanished gentility was dispelled by a voice from the kitchen. It was
the Widow Huff, once the first lady of Keno, but now a boarding-house
cook.
"What--a dinner now? At half-past three? And with this wind fairly
driving me crazy? Well, I can't _hire_ anybody to keep such hours
for _me_ and----"
There was a murmur of low-voiced protest as Virginia pleaded his cause
and then, as the Widow burst out anew, the young man pushed back his
chair. His blue eyes, half hidden beneath bulging brows, turned a
steely, fighting gray, his wind-blown hair fairly bristled; and as he
listened to the last of the Widow's remarks his lower lip was thrust up
scornfully.
"You danged old heifer," he muttered and then the kitchen door flew
open. The baleful look which he had intended for the Widow was surprised
on his face by Virginia and after a startled moment she closed the door
behind her.
"Why--Wiley Holman!" she cried accusingly and a challenge leapt into his
eyes.
"Well?" he demanded and gazed at her sullenly as she scanned him from
head to foot.
"I knew it," she burst out. "I'd know that stubborn look anywhere! You
double up your lip like your father. Honest John!" she added
sarcastically and brushed some crumbs from the table.
"Yes--Honest John!" he retorted. "And you don't need to say it like
that, either. He's my father--I know him--and I'll tell you right now he
never cheated a man in his life."
"Well, he did!" she flared back, her eyes dark with anger, "and I'll
bet--I'll bet if my father was here he'd--he'd prove it to your face!"
She ended in a sob and as he saw the tears starting the son of Honest
John relented.
"Aw, Virginia," he pleaded, "what's the use of always fighting? He's
gone now, so let's be friends. I was just going by when I saw you on the
gallery, and I thought--well, let's you and I be friends."
"What? After old Honest John robbed Papa of the Paymaster, and then
hounded him to his death on the desert?"
"He did nothing of the kind--he never robbed anybody! And as for
hounding your father to his death, the Old Man never even knew about it.
He was down on the ranch, and when they told him the news----"
"Yes, that's you," she railed, stifling back her sobs, "you can always
prove an alibi. But you'd better drift, Mr. Holman; because if mother
knows you're here----"
"Well, what?" he demanded, truculently.
"She'll fill you full of buckshot."
"Pah!" he scoffed and snapped his fingers in the air, after which he
lapsed into silence.
"Well, she will," she asserted, after waiting for him to speak, but
Wiley only grunted.
"Wait till I get that dinner," he said at last and slumped down into a
chair. He muttered to himself, gazing dubiously towards the kitchen, and
turned impatiently to look at some specimens in a case against the wall.
They were the usual chunks of high-grade gold ore, but he examined one
piece with great care.
"Where'd you get this?" he asked, holding up a piece of white rock, and
she sighed and brushed away her tears.
"Over on the dump," she answered wearily. "That's all Paymaster ore.
Don't you think you'd better go?"
"Never ran away yet," he answered briefly and balanced the rock in his
hand. "Pretty heavy," he observed, "I'll bet it would assay. Have you
got very much on the dump?"
"What--_that_?" she cried, snatching the specimen away from him and
bursting into a nervous laugh. "That assay? Well, you are a
greenie--it's nothing but barren white quartz!"
"Oh, it is, eh?" he rejoined and gazed at her hectoringly. "You seem to
know a whole lot about mineral."
"Yes, I do," she boasted. "Death Valley Charley teaches me. I've learned
how to pan, and everything. But that rock there--that's the barren
quartz that the Paymaster ran into when the values went out of the ore.
Old Charley knows all about it."
"Yes, they all do," he observed and as his lip went up her eyes dilated
suddenly in a panic.
"Oh, you went to that school--I forgot all about it--where they study
about the mines! Are you in the mining business now?"
"Why, yes," he acknowledged, "but that doesn't make much difference. I
find I can learn something from most everybody."
"Well, of course, then," she stammered, "I shouldn't have said that; but
the whole Paymaster dump is covered with that heavy quartz, and
everybody knows it's barren. Are you just looking around or----"
She hesitated politely and as he reached for another specimen she
noticed a ring on his finger. It was of massive gold and, set in
clutching claws, there were three stupendous diamonds. Not imitation
stones nor small, off-colored diamonds, but brilliants of the very first
water, clear as dew, yet holding in their hearts the faintest suggestion
of blue.
"Oh!" she gasped, and as he did not seem to notice, she drew her skirts
away with a flourish. "I'm surprised," she mocked, "that you condescend
to speak to us--of course you own your own mines!"
"Nope," he replied, shrugging his shoulders at her sarcasm, "I'm nothing
but a prospector, yet. And you don't need to be so surprised."
"No!" she retorted, giving way to swift resentment. "I guess I
don't--when you consider how you got your money. Here's Mother out
cooking for you, and I'm the waiter; and you're traveling around in
racing cars with thousand-dollar rings on your hands. But if old
Honest John hadn't sold all his stock while he was advising my father
to hold on----"
"He did not!"
"Yes, he did! He did, too! And now, after Father has been lost in Death
Valley, and we have come down to this, your father writes over and
offers to buy our stock for just the same as nothing. That's _my_
ring you're wearing, and the money that paid for it----"
"Oh, all right then," he sneered, stripping off the ring and handing it
abruptly over to her, "if it's your ring, take it! But don't you say my
father----"
"Well, he did," she declared, "and you can keep your old ring! It won't
bring back my father--now!"
"No, it won't," he agreed, "but while we're about it I just want to tell
you something. My father went broke, buying back Paymaster stock from
friends he'd advised to go in--and he's got the stock to prove it--and
when he heard that the Colonel was dead he decided to buy in your
mother's. He mortgaged his cows to raise the money for her and then that
old terror--I don't care if she is your mother--she slapped him in the
face by refusing it. Well, he didn't like to say anything, but you can
tell her from me she don't have to cook unless she wants to! She can
sell--or buy--a hundred thousand shares of Paymaster any day she says
the word; and if that isn't honest I don't know what is! I ask you, now;
isn't that fair?"
"What, at ten cents a share? When it used to sell for forty dollars!
He's just trying to get control of the mine. And as for offering to buy
or sell, that's perfectly ludicrous, because he knows we haven't any
money!"
"Well, what _do_ you want?" he demanded irritably, and then he thrust
up his lip. "I know," he said, "you want your own way! All right, I'll
never trouble you again. You can keep right on guarding that
hole-in-the-ground until you dry up and blow away across the desert.
And as for that old she-devil----"
He paused at a sudden slam from the kitchen, and Virginia's eyes grew
big; but as he rose to face the Widow Huff he slipped the white rock
into his pocket.
CHAPTER II
THE SHOTGUN WIDOW
The Widow Huff was burdened with a tray and her eye sought wildly for
Virginia but when she glimpsed Wiley moving swiftly towards the door she
set down his dinner with a bang. The disrespectful epithet which he had
applied to her had been lost in the clatter of plates, but the moment
the Widow came into the room she sensed the hair-trigger atmosphere.
"Here!" she ordered, taking command on the instant. "Come back here,
young man, and pay me for this dinner! And Virginia Huff, you go out
into the kitchen--how many times do I have to speak to you?"
Virginia started and stopped, her resentful eyes on Wiley, a thin smile
parting her lips.
"He said----" she began, and then Wiley strode back and slapped down a
dollar on the table.
"Yes, and I meant it, too," he answered fiercely. "There's your pay--and
you can keep your mine."
"Why, certainly," responded the Widow without knowing what she was
talking about, "and now you eat that dinner!"
She pointed a finger to the tray of food and looked Wiley Holman in the
eye. He wavered, gazing from her to the smiling Virginia, and then he
drew up his chair.
"I'll go you," he said and showed his teeth in a grin. "You can't hurt
my feelings that way."
He lifted the T-bone steak from the platter and transferred it swiftly
to his plate and then, as he fell to eating ravenously, the Widow
condescended to smile.
"When I go to the trouble of cooking a man a steak," she announced with
the suggestion of a swagger, "I expect him to stay and eat it."
"All right," mumbled Wiley, and glancing fleeringly at Virginia, he went
ahead with his meal.
The Widow looked over her shoulder at her daughter and then back at the
stranger, but as she was about to inquire into the cause of their
quarrel she spied his diamond ring. She approached him closer under
pretext of pouring out some water and then she sank down into a chair.
"That is a very fine ring," she stated briefly. "Worth fifteen hundred
dollars at the least. Haven't I seen you somewhere, before?"
"Very likely," returned Wiley, not venturing to look up, "my business
takes me everywhere."
"I thought I recognized you," went on the Widow ingratiatingly; "you're
a mining man, aren't you, Mister--er----"
"Wiley," he answered, and at this bold piece of effrontery Virginia
caught her breath.
"Ah, yes, I remember you now," said the Widow. "You knew my husband, of
course--Colonel Huff? He passed away on the twentieth of July; but there
was a time, not so many years ago, that I wore a few diamonds myself."
She fixed her restless eyes on his ring and heaved a discontented sigh.
"Virginia," she directed, "run out into the kitchen and clean up that
skillet and all. I declare, you do less and less every day--are you a
married man, Mr. Wiley?"
Without awaiting the answer to this portentous question, Virginia flung
out into the kitchen and, left alone, the Widow drew nearer and her
manner became suddenly confidential.
"I'd like to talk with you," she began, "about my husband's mine. Of
course you've heard of the famous Paymaster--that's the mill right over
east of town--but there are very few men that know what I do about the
reasons why that mine was shut down. It was commonly reported that
Colonel Huff was trying to get possession of the property, but the truth
of the matter is he was deceived by old John Holman and finally left
holding the sack. You see, it was this way. My husband and John Holman
had always been lifelong friends, but Colonel Huff was naturally
generous while Holman thought of nothing but money. Well, my husband
discovered the Paymaster--he was led to it by an Indian that he had
saved from being killed by the soldiers--but, not having any money, he
went to John Holman and they developed the mine together. It turned out
very rich and such a rush you never saw--this valley was full of tents
for miles--but it was so far from the railroad--seventy-four miles to
Vegas--that the work was very expensive. The Company was reorganized and
Mr. Blount, the banker, was given a third of the promotion stock. Then
the five hundred thousand shares of treasury stock was put on the market
in order to build the new mill; and when the railroad came in there was
such a crazy speculation that everybody lost track of the transfers. My
husband, of course, was generous to a fault and accustomed to living
like a gentleman--and he invested very heavily in real estate, too--but
this Mr. Blount was always out for his interest and Honest John would
skin a dead flea."
"Honest John!" challenged Wiley, looking up from his eating with an ugly
glint in his eye, but the Widow was far away.
"Yes, Honest John Holman," she sneered, without noticing his resentment.
"They called him Honest John. Did you ever know one of these 'Honest
John' fellows yet that wasn't a thorough-paced scoundrel? Well, old John
Holman he threw in with Blount to deprive Colonel Huff of his profits
and, with these street certificates everywhere and no one recording
their transfers, the Colonel was naturally deceived into thinking that
the selling was from the outside. But all the time, while they were
selling their stock and hammering down the price of Paymaster, they were
telling the Colonel that it was only temporary and he ought to support
the market. So he bought in what he could, though it wasn't much, as he
was interested in other properties, and then when the crash came he was
left without anything and Blount and Holman were rich. The great panic
came on and Blount foreclosed on everything, and then Mr. Huff fell out
with John Holman and they closed the Paymaster down. That was ten years
ago and, with the litigation and all, the stock went down to nothing.
The whole camp went dead and all the folks moved away--but have you ever
been through the mine? Well, I want you to go--that ground has hardly
been scratched!"
Wiley Holman glanced up doubtfully from under his heavy eyebrows and the
Widow became voluble in her protests.
"No, sir," she exclaimed, "I certainly ought to know, because the
Colonel was Superintendent; and when he had been drinking--the town was
awful, that way--he would tell me all about the mine. And that was his
phrase--he used it always: 'That ground has hardly been scratched!' But
when he fell out with old John Holman he--well, there was an explosion
underground and the glory-hole stope caved in. They cleaned it out
afterwards and hunted around, but all the rich ore was gone; but I'm
just as certain as I'm sitting here this minute the Colonel knew where
there was more! He never would admit it--he was peculiar, that way, he
never would discuss his business before a woman. But he wouldn't deny
it, and when he had been drinking--well, I know it's there, that's all!"
She paused for her effect but Mr. Wiley, the mining man, was singularly
unimpressed. He continued eating in moody silence and the Widow tried
the question direct.
"Well, what do you think about it?" she demanded bluffly. "Would you
like to consider the property?"
"No, I don't think so," he answered impersonally. "I'm on my way up
north."
"Well, when you come back, then. Since my husband is gone I'm so sick
and tired of it all I'll consider any offer--for cash."
"Nope," he responded, "I'm out for something different." Then to stem
the tide of her impending protest, he broke his studious silence. "I'm
looking for molybdenum," he went on quickly, "and some of these other
rare metals that are in demand on account of the war. Ever find any
vanadium or manganese around here? No, I guess they're all further
north."
He returned to his meal and the Widow surveyed him appraisingly with her
bold, inquisitive eyes. She was a big, strapping woman, and handsome in
a way; but the corners of her mouth were drawn down sharply in a sulky,
lawless pout.
"Aw, tell me the truth," she burst out at last. "What have you got
against the property?"
A somber glow came into his eyes as he opened his lips to speak, and
then he veiled his smouldering hate behind a crafty smile.
"The parties that I represent," he said deliberately, "are looking for a
_mine_. But the man that puts his money into the Paymaster property
is simply buying a lawsuit."
"What do you mean?" demanded the Widow, rousing up indignantly in
response to this sudden thrust.
"I mean, no matter how rich the Paymaster may be--and I hear the whole
district is worked out--I wouldn't even go up the hill to look at it
until you showed me the title was good."
The Widow sat and glowered as she meditated a fitting response and then
she rose to her feet.
"Well, all right, then," she sulked, "if you don't want to consider
it--but you're missing the chance of your life."
"Very likely," he muttered and reached for his hat. "Much obliged for
cooking my dinner."
He started for the door, but she flew swiftly after him and snatched him
back into the room.
"Now here!" she cried, "I want you to listen to me--I've got tired of
this everlasting waiting. I waited around for ten years on the Colonel,
to settle this matter up, and now that he's gone I'm going to settle it
myself and get out of the cussed country. Maybe I don't own the mine,
but I own a good part of it--I've got two hundred thousand shares of
stock--and I could sell it to-morrow for twenty thousand dollars, so you
don't need to turn up your nose. There must be something there after all
these years, to bring an offer of ten cents a share; but I wouldn't take
that money if it was the last act of my life--I just hate that Honest
John Holman! He cheated my husband out of everything he had--and yet he
did it in such a deceitful way that the Colonel would never believe it.
I've called him a coward a thousand times for tolerating such an outrage
for an instant, and now that he's gone I'm going to show Honest John
that he can't put it over _me_!"
She shook her head until her heavy black hair flew out like Medusa's
locks and then Wiley laughed provokingly.
"All right," he said, "but you can't rope me in on your feuds. If you
want to give me an option on your stock in the company for five or ten
cents a share I may take a look at your mine. But I'll tell you one
thing--you'll sign an agreement first to leave the country and never
come back. I'm a business man, working for business people, and these
shotgun methods don't go."
"Well, I'll do it!" exclaimed the Widow, passing by his numerous insults
in a sudden mad grab at release. "Just draw up your paper and I'll sign
it in a minute--but I want ten cents a share!"
"Ten cents or ten dollars--it makes no difference to me. You can put it
as high as you like--but if it's too high, my principals won't take it.
I can't stop to inspect it now, because I'm due up north, but I'll tell
you what I'll do. You give me an option on all your stock, with a
written permission to take possession, and if the other two big owners
will do as much I'll come back and consider the mine. But get this
straight--the first time you butt in, this option and agreement is off!"
"What do you mean--butt in?" demanded the Widow truculently, and then
she bit her lip. "Well, never mind," she said, "just draw up your
papers. I'll show you I'm business myself."
"Huh!" he grunted and, whipping out a fountain pen, he sat down and
wrote rapidly at a table. "There," he said tearing the leaf from his
notebook and putting it into her hands, "just read that over and if you
want to sign it we'll close the deal, right here."
The Widow took the paper and, turning it to the light, began a labored
perusal.
"Memorandum of agreement," she muttered, squinting her eyes at his
handwriting, "hmm, I'll have to go and get my glasses. 'For and in
consideration of the sum of ten dollars--to me in hand paid by M. R.
Wiley,' and so forth--oh well, I guess it's all right, just show me
where to sign."
"No," he said, "let me read it to you--you ought to know what you're
signing."
"No, just show me where to sign," protested the Widow petulantly, "and
where it says ten cents a share."
"Well, it says that here," answered Wiley, putting his finger on the
place, "but I'm going to read it to you--it wouldn't be legal
otherwise."
He wiped the beaded sweat from his brow and glanced towards the kitchen
door. In this desperate game which he was framing on the Widow the luck
had all come his way, but as he cleared his throat and commenced to read
Virginia came bounding in. She was carrying a kitten, but when she saw
the paper between them she dropped it on the floor.
"Virginia!" cried her mother, "go and hunt my glasses. They're somewhere
in my bedroom."
"All right," she responded, but when she came back she glanced
inquiringly at the paper.
"You can go now," announced the Widow, adjusting her glasses, but
Virginia threw up her head.
"Do you know who that is?" she demanded brusquely, pointing an accusing
finger at Wiley.
"Why--er--no," returned the Widow, now absorbed in the agreement.
"Well, all right," she said after a hasty perusal, "but where's that sum
of ten dollars? Now you hush, Virginia, and go--into--the--_kitchen_!
Now, it says right here--oh, where is that place? Oh yes, 'the receipt
whereof is hereby acknowledged'! _Virginia!_"
She stamped her foot, but Virginia's blood was up and she made a grab at
the paper.
"Now, _listen!_" she screamed, stopping her mother in her rush.
"That man there is Wiley Holman! Yes--Holman! Old Honest John's son!
What's this you're going to sign?"
She backed away, her eyes fixed on the agreement, while the Widow stood
astounded.
"Wiley _Holman_!" she shrieked, "why, you limb of Satan, you said
your name was Wiley!"
"It is," returned Wiley with one eye on the door, "the rest of my name
is Holman."
"But you signed it on this paper--you wrote it right there! Oh, I'll
have the law on you for this!"
She clutched at the paper and as Virginia gave it to her mother she
turned an accusing glance upon Wiley.
"Yes, that's just like you, Mr. M. R. Wiley," she observed with
scathing sarcasm. "You were just that way when you were a kid here in
Keno--always trying to get the advantage of somebody. But if I'd
thought you had the nerve----" She glanced at the paper and gasped and
Wiley showed his teeth in a grin.
"Well, she crowded me to it," he answered with a swagger. "I'm strictly
business--I'll sign up anybody. You can just keep that paper," he nodded
to the Widow, "and send it to me by mail."
He winked at Virginia and slipped swiftly out the door as the Widow
made a rush for her gun. She came out after him, brandishing a
double-barreled shotgun, just as he cranked up his machine to start.
"I'll show you!" she yelled, jerking her gun to her shoulder. "I'll
learn you to get funny with _me_!"
She pulled the trigger, but Wiley was watching her and he ducked down
behind the radiator.
_Clank_, went the hammer and with a wail of rage the Widow snapped
the other barrel.
"You, Virginia!" she cried in a terrible voice, "have you been monkeying
with my shotgun?"
The answer was lost in a series of explosions that awoke every echo in
Keno, and Wiley Holman leapt into his machine. He jerked off his brake
and stepped on the foot throttle but as he roared off up the street he
waved a grimy hand at Virginia.
CHAPTER III
THE SHADOW
The old, settled quiet returned to sleepy Keno--the quiet of the desert
and of empty, noiseless houses stretching in long, sunburned rows down
the canyon. The black lava patch, laid across the gray rhyolite flank of
Shadow Mountain like the shade of an angry cloud, still frowned down
upon the town like a portent of storms to come. But the sky was hot and
gleaming and no storms came; nor did Wiley Holman return, though the
Widow waited for him patiently. After all his boldness, his unbelievable
effrontery in trying to steal her Paymaster stock, he had gone on
laughing to seek other adventures and left her with the mine on her
hands. But he would come back, she knew it; and with her gun loaded with
buckshot she watched from the shelter of the gallery.
Yet the days went by and then the weeks and at last the Widow, with a
sigh of vexation, put up her gun and retired within. Now that the
episode was over she felt vaguely regretful that he had failed, after
all, in his purpose. If he had procured his option, under cover of her
blindness, and obtained her quit-claim to the mine, she would at least
have had the satisfaction of obtaining her own terms--and she would have
the twenty thousand to spend. It was maddening, disgusting, when she
thought it over, that he had turned out to be Holman's son, and she
never quite forgave Virginia for dinning the fact into her ears. For
what you don't know will never hurt you, and she had lost her last
chance to sell. When she went back into the house she went back into the
kitchen, and there she would have to stay. Either that or take Honest
John's money.
But he wanted the property--the Widow knew it--else why had he sent his
son? All the wise-acres in Keno agreed with the Widow that Honest John
had designs on her property and Death Valley Charley, who had jumped
half the claims in the district, began once more to carry his gun. It
was by virtue of that, more than of assessment work done or of any other
legal right, that Charley held title to his claims; and until Wiley had
come through town and attempted to bond the Paymaster he had feared no
one but Stiff Neck George. Stiff Neck George had been Blount's gunman
on the momentous occasion when they had tried to jump the Paymaster--and
the Widow Huff had put him to flight with one blast from her trusty
shotgun. But now that big interests were sending in their experts and
mining was picking up everywhere Stiff Neck George might forget that
humiliating defeat, so Death Valley Charley put on his six-shooter.
He was a little, stooping man, burned chocolate brown by the sun and
with eyes half blinded by the glare, and as the Widow gave up her
fruitless vigil, Death Valley Charley took her place. But he was not
alone, for through all the weary weeks Virginia had been watching her
mother. She had slipped in and out, now lingering on the gallery, now
listening through the doorway, expectant but at the same time afraid.
She knew Wiley Holman much better than her mother, and she knew that he
would come back. He was patient, that was all, more patient than an
Indian, and he had his eye on their mine. For ten years and more Colonel
Huff, and now the Widow, had held physical possession of the Paymaster.
Every great iron-bound door was locked and padlocked and the Huff family
held the keys, but in all those ten years Holman had never come near it
and Blount had merely seized it on a labor lien. The very title to the
mine was shrouded in mystery, for no one could locate the shares, and to
openly lay claim to it and produce a majority of the stock would be
equivalent to a confession of treachery. All that anyone knew surely was
that some one of the three original owners--or some unsuspected party
outside--had bought in and sequestered the almost valueless stock and
was patiently biding his time. Since the Huffs did not own the stock
themselves they knew for a certainty that it was held by either Holman
or Blount.
As Virginia sat on the gallery, listening subconsciously for the
drumming of Wiley's racing motor up the road, she ran over in her mind
the circumstances of his visit; and she could explain them all but one.
Why, after failing of his mission, and narrowly escaping her mother's
gun, had he waved his hand and smiled so gayly as he thundered away up
the street? Had he other schemes more subtle; or was he simply reckless,
regarding even this adventure as a joke? As a boy he had been both--a
crafty schemer and reckless doer--but now he was grown to a man. And if
the lines about his mouth were any criterion he would soon be coming
back to carry out by stealth what he failed to accomplish by assault. So
she, too, waited patiently, to foil his machinations and uphold the
honor of the Huffs.
In the good old days it had never been forgotten that the Huffs belonged
to the Virginia quality, while the Holmans came from Maine; hence the
Colonel's relations with Honest John Holman had at first been strictly
business. John Holman was a Northerner, with no social graces and
abstemious to a fault, but when his commercial honor upon a certain
occasion had saved the Colonel from bankruptcy he had cast the
traditions of the South to the winds and taken Honest John as his
friend. "My friend," he called him and neither his wife nor his enemies
could shake the Colonel's faith in his partner. Then, after years of
mutual trust, the panic had come on, and the crash in Paymaster stock;
and as their fortunes went tumbling and ugly rumors filled the air they
had broken their friendship completely. Yet so great was his love for
his old-time friend that he had never openly accused him; and Honest
John Holman, after months of somber silence, had moved away and started
a cow ranch. But it was a question of honesty between the two men and
their children had never forgotten. Ten years had passed since they had
been boy and girl together, but the moment they met the old quarrel
flashed up again and now the feud was on.
A boisterous blast of wind, whirling dust and papers down the street,
announced the beginning of another sandstorm; and Death Valley Charley,
who had been sitting outside the gate, came muttering up the steps.
Behind him trotted Heine, his worshipful little dog, and as Virginia's
pet cat suddenly arched its back, Death Valley took Heine in his arms.
"Can't you hear 'em?" he asked tiptoeing rapidly up to Virginia. "It's
them big guns, over in Europe. It's them forty-two centimeter howitzers
and the French seventy-fives in the trenches along the Somme."
"Do you think so?" murmured Virginia, smoothing down her cat's back, "it
sounds like blasting to me."
"No--big guns!" repeated Charley, regarding her intently through his
wavering, sun-blinded eyes, and then he burst into a laugh. "You can
hear 'em, can't you, Heine?" he cried to his dog, and Heine squirmed
ecstatically and sneezed. "Hah, that's my little dog--you're so
confectionate! Now get down on the floor, and don't you go near that
cat."
He put down the dog and advanced closer to Virginia.
"He's coming!" he whispered. "I can hear him, plain--jurrr, jurrr; hud,
hud, hud, hud, hud!"
"Who's coming?" demanded Virginia, looking swiftly up the road.
"Why--him! The man you're waiting for. Can't you hear him! Hrrrr--rud!
He's coming to grab you and take you away in his auto!"
"Oh, Charley!" exclaimed Virginia, not entirely displeased, "and where
will you go then?"
"I'll go to Death Valley," he answered mysteriously. "There's lots of
gold over there. I came back one time and they says to me: 'Charley,
where've you been for such a long time?' 'In Death Valley,' I says,
'in the Funeral Range. Working in the Coffin mine, on the graveyard
shift.' Hah, hah; they can't get nothing out of me. I know where
there's gold--in the Ube-Hebes; it's a place where nobody goes. I saw
your father there, the last time I went through, and he sent word to
you not to worry. 'But for Christ's sake,' he says, 'don't tell my
wife I'm here--I'm tired of her devilish chatter!'"
"Charley!" reproved Virginia, and as he subsided into mutterings, she
looked about with shocked eyes. "You talk too much," she said at last.
"Didn't I tell you not to say that again? Because if mother hears it
she'll drive you out of the house, and then what will Heine do?"
"Heine! Come here, sir!" commanded Charley abruptly, and slapped him
until he yelped. "Well, now," he warned as Heine slunk away, "you look
out or you lose your house."
"I guess you'd better go now," said Virginia discreetly, and continued
her vigil alone. Death Valley was harmless, but when he began hearing
things there was no telling where he would stop. The next minute he
would be seeing things, and then getting messages, and then looking
through mountains with radium. He was harmless, of course, but when
there was a sandstorm--well, some people thought he was crazy. And
there was a sandstorm coming up. It was blowing in from the north and
rushing clouds of dirt down the street; and along in the night, when it
had gained its full force, the sand and gravel would fly. She rose to go
in, but just at that moment she heard a low drumming up the street. It
increased to a bubbling, a drumming, a thunder, and like the spirit of
the rough north wind Wiley Holman went racing through the town. His hat
was off and as he drifted by his hair thrashed wildly in his eyes, yet
he glanced up in passing and it seemed to Virginia that he gave her a
roguish smile. Then in a series of explosions that brought the Widow
running he dashed on and whirled out across the desert.
"Oh, that devil!" she raged, brandishing her heavy shotgun at the
disappearing cloud of dust. "He's just making that hubbub to mock me!
He'll be coming back--I know it, the scoundrel--but you wait, he won't
fool me again!"
She stood on the gallery while the food scorched in the kitchen and
watched the boring arrow of dust, but it swept on and on across the
boundless desert until at last it was lost in the storm. "Oh, he'll be
back!" she screamed to the gathering neighbors. "I know him, he's after
my mine. But he'd better watch out! If he ever goes near it, I'll shoot
him, you mark my word!"
"No, he won't," said Virginia, but when they were all gone she came back
and gazed down the road.
CHAPTER IV
THE GHOST-MAN
As the sun paled to nothing in the yellow murk of dust, a high cloud of
sand overleapt the northern peaks and came sifting down the slopes of
Shadow Mountain. The gusts of wind began to wail in boding fury and then
the storm struck the town. Dirt and papers flew before it; tin cans
leapt forth from holes and alleys; and sticks and small stones, sucked
up in the vortex, joined in on the devil's dance. Ancient signs creaked
and groaned and threatened to leave their moorings, old houses gave up
shingles and loose boards, and up the street on the deserted bank
building, the fire-doors banged like cannon. Then the night came on and
the streets of Keno were empty, except for the flying dirt.
But it is nights such as this that move some men to greater daring and
as Wiley Holman, far out on the desert, felt the rush and surge of wind
he struck a swift circle and, turning back towards Keno, he bored his
way into the teeth of the storm. The gravel from the road slashed and
slatted against his radiator and his machine trembled before the buffets
of the gale, but it was just such a night as he needed for his purpose
and he ran with his lights switched off. If the Widow Huff, by any
chance, should glance out across the plain she might notice their gleam
and divine his purpose, which was to inspect the Paymaster mine. As a
stockholder and part owner it was, of course, his right to enter the
premises at will, but the Widow had placed her own personal mandate
above the laws of the land, and it was better, and safer, to avoid all
discussion by visiting the property after dark.
Up the long slope of the valley the white racer moved slowly, shuddering
and thundering as it took the first hill, and as the outlying houses
leaped up from the darkness, Wiley muffled his panting exhaust. In the
sheltered valley, under the lee of Shadow Mountain, the violence of the
wind was checked and some casual citizen, out looking at the stars,
might hear him above the storm. He turned off the main road and,
following up a side street, glided quietly into the shelter of a barn,
and five minutes later, with his prospector's pick and ore-sacks, he
toiled up the trail to the mine.
The Paymaster mine lay on the slope of Gold Hill, directly overlooking
the town--first the huge, dismantled mill; then the white slide of the
waste dump; and then, up the gulch, the looming gallows-frame of the
hoist and the dim bulk of abandoned houses. The mine had made the town,
and the town had clustered near it in the broad oval of the valley
below; but in its day the Paymaster had been a community by itself, with
offices and bunk-houses and stores. Now all was deserted and in the pale
light of the moon it seemed the mere ghost of a mine. A loose strip of
zinc on the corrugated-iron mill drummed and shuddered in a menacing
undertone and at uncertain intervals some door inside smote its frame
with a resounding bang. Straining timbers creaked and groaned, the wind
mourned like a disembodied spirit, and as Wiley Holman jumped at a
sudden sound he turned and glanced nervously behind him.
It was not a shadow but the passing of a shadow that caught his roving
eye and as he stripped off his wind-goggles and looked again he felt by
instinct for his six-shooter. But it was not on his hip. He had taken
his pick instead, and for the first time he felt a thrill of fear--not
fear for his life nor of anything tangible, but that old, primordial
fear of the night that only a gun can banish. He picked up a rock and
walked back down the trail; but nothing leapt forth at him--even the
shadow was gone, and he threw the rock petulantly away. It was the wind,
and the noises, and the blinders on his goggles; but now that the great
fear was born he jumped at every sound. He had been out before on worse
nights than this--what was it, then, that he feared? With his back
against a rock he stared about and listened until at last his nerve
returned; then he went boldly to the dump, where the white quartz lay
the thickest, and began to dig a hole with his pick.
Deep as he could dig there was nothing but the white waste and he paced
off the width of the pile; then very systematically he moved across the
slope, grabbing handfuls of fine dirt at measured intervals and throwing
them into an ore-sack. There was something about Virginia's piece of
"barren quartz" that had appealed to his prospector's eye and even in
the excitement of meeting the Widow he had not forgotten to sequester
it. But a piece of rock from a girl's case of specimens is a far call
from "ore in place" and he had come back that night to look the mine
over and collect an average sample from the dump. There were hundreds of
tons of that rock on the dump and it certainly was his right, as a part
owner in the property, to sample it and have it assayed.
Back and forth across the slide, now buffeted by the wind, now pelted by
loosened stones, he continued his methodical test and then as he knelt
to dig out a hole a great rock came bounding past. It came out of the
darkness and went smashing down the hillside like some terrific engine
of destruction and before he had more than scrambled from its path a
second boulder was upon him. He dodged it by a hair's breadth and fell
flat on his face, just as a stream of loose stone which the first flying
rock had dislodged sent him rolling and tumbling down the slope in an
avalanche of flying débris. For a minute he lay breathless while the
waste rattled past him, and then he looked up the hill. No movement of
his had started those great boulders. They had been launched by someone
from above, and as he raised his head cautiously he beheld a gaunt
figure standing outlined against the sky. It stood like a gibbet, its
head to one side, a pistol in its hand; but as Wiley moved the man
crouched and drew back as if he feared to be seen.
Who he was Wiley did not know, nor could he divine his animus in thus
attempting to take his life, but, being caught in the open without his
gun, he played safe and lay quiet where he had fallen. The wind howled
along the ridges and trailed off into silence and, looking around, Wiley
caught the wink of a lantern as it came across the flat from town. The
crash of the boulders as they bounded down the dump and then on through
the brush below had undoubtedly aroused some inquisitive citizen, who
was coming over to investigate. Wiley rose up quickly, for he did not
wish to be discovered, but as he started towards the trail he met the
ghost-man, creeping forward with his pistol ready to shoot.
At times like this a man acts by instinct, and Wiley Holman dropped to
the ground; then with the swiftness of an Indian he bellied off down the
hill, looking back after every lightning move. The man was a murderer, a
cold-blooded assassin; and, thinking him injured, he had been stealing
up to his hiding-place to give him the _coup de grace_. Wiley
rolled into a gulch and peered over the bank, his eyes starting out of
his head with fear; and then, as the lantern began to bob below him, he
turned and crept up the hill. Two trails led towards the mine, one on
either side of the dump, and as the wind swept down with a sudden gust
of fury, he ran up the farther trail. Once over the hill he could avoid
both his pursuers and, cutting a wide circle, slip back to his machine
and escape. The wind died to nothing as he neared the summit and he
turned and looked back down the trail. Something moved--it was the man,
his head twisted over his shoulder, his gun still held at a ready,
creeping waspishly up the path.
Wiley turned and fled, sick with rage at his own impotence, but as he
whipped over the dump the earth opened up before him and he slipped
and stopped on the brink of a chasm. It was the caved-in stope, the
old glory-hole of the Paymaster, and it cut off his last escape. A
sudden sinking of the heart, a feeling of fate being against him, came
over him as he slunk along the bank; and then, as a path opened up
before him, he took the steep slope at a bound. Further on in the
darkness he saw the roof of the mill and the broken hummocks of the
dump; beyond lay the other trail and the open country and his car--and
the six-shooter--beyond! His feet seemed to fly as he dashed across
the level and breasted a sudden ascent and then on its summit as the
wind snatched him back someone struck him in full flight. "God!" he
cried, and fought himself free but the other clutched him again.
"Run!" she begged, and he knew it was Virginia, but he was in a panic
for fear of what was behind.
"No!" he cried, catching her roughly in his arms and starting the other
way, "there's a crazy man back there and----"
"No--no--no!" she clamored, bringing him to a halt with her struggles.
"The other way--can't you hear what I'm saying to you----" And then
Wiley saw the Widow.
She was standing on the dump with her shotgun raised and pointed, and he
hurled Virginia to one side.
"Don't shoot!" he yelled, but as he ducked and started to run, the
Widow's gun spoke out. A blow like that of a club struck his leg from
under him and he fell to the ground in a heap, but even in his pain he
remembered the presence which had followed with its head on one side.
"You danged fool!" he cursed as the Widow ran up to him. "Keep that
cartridge, whatever you do. There's a crazy man after me and----"
"I see him!" shrieked the Widow, making a dash for the bank with her gun
at her hip for the shot. "You git, you dastard!" she shrilled into the
darkness and once more the old shotgun roared forth.
"Oh, mother!" wept Virginia, throwing her arms about Wiley, and
attempting to raise him up. "Oh, look what you've done--it's Wiley
Holman--and now I hope you're satisfied!"
"You bet I'm satisfied!" answered the Widow, exultingly. "That other
fellow was Stiff Neck George!"
CHAPTER V
A LOAD OF BUCKSHOT
Since he had turned back, far out on the desert, and braved the storm to
inspect the Paymaster Mine, Wiley Holman had met nothing but disaster;
but as he lay on the ground with one leg full of buckshot he blamed it
all on the Widow. Without warning or justification, without even giving
him a chance, she had sneaked up and potted him like a rabbit; and now,
as men came running to witness his shame, she gloried in her badness.
"Aha-ah!" she jeered, coming back to stand over him and Wiley reached
for a stone.
"You old she-cat," he burst out, "you say another word to me and I'll
bounce this rock off your head!"
He groaned and dropped the rock to take his leg in both hands, and then
Virginia rushed to the rescue.
"How badly are you hurt?" she asked, kneeling down beside him, but he
jerked ungraciously away.
"Go away and leave me alone!" he shouted to the world at large and the
Widow took the hint to withdraw. Then in a series of frenzied curses
Wiley stripped off his puttee and felt of his injured leg. It was wet
with blood and two shot-holes in his shin-bone were giving him the most
exquisite pain; the rest were just flesh-wounds where the buckshot had
pierced his leggings and imbedded themselves in the muscles. He looked
them over hastily by the light of a flashing lantern and then he rose up
from the ground.
"Gimme that gun for a crutch!" he demanded of the Widow; and Mrs. Huff,
who had been surveying her work with awe, passed over the shotgun in
silence. "All right, now," he went on, turning to Death Valley Charley,
who had been patiently holding his lantern, "just show me the trail and
I'll get out of camp before some crazy dastard ups and kills me."
"That was Stiff Neck George," observed Charley mysteriously. "He's
guarding the Paymaster for Blount."
"Who--that fellow that was after me?" burst out Wiley in a passion as he
hobbled off down the trail. "What the hell was he trying to do? The
whole rotten mine isn't worth stealing from anybody. What's the matter
with you people--are you crazy?"
"Well, that's all right!" returned the Widow from the darkness. "You
can't sneak in and jump _my_ mine!"
"_Your_ mine, you old tarrier!" yelled Wiley furiously. "You'd
better go to town and look it up. The whole danged works is mine--I
bought it in for taxes!"
"You--what?" cried the Widow, brushing Virginia and Charley aside and
halting him in the trail. "You bought the Paymaster for _taxes_!"
"Yes, for taxes," answered Wiley, "and got stung at that! Gimme
eighty-three dollars and forty-one cents and you can have it back,
with costs. But now listen, you old battle-ax; I've taken enough off
of you. You went up on my property when I was making an inspection of
it and made an attempt on my life; and if I hear a peep out of you,
from this time on, I'll go down and swear out a warrant."
"I didn't aim to kill you," defended the Widow, weakly. "I just tried to
shoot you in the leg."
"Well, you did it," returned Wiley, and, pushing; her aside, he limped
on down the trail. The Widow followed meekly, talking in low tones with
her daughter, and at last Virginia came up beside him.
"Take him right to our house," she said to Charley, "and I'll nurse him
until he gets well."
"No, you take me to the Holman house!" directed Wiley, obstinately. "I
guess we've got a house of our own."
"Well, suit yourself," she murmured, and fell back to the rear while
Wiley went hobbling on. At every step he jabbed the muzzle of the
shotgun vindictively into the ground, but as he reached the flat and met
a posse of citizens, he submitted to being carried on a door. The first
pain had passed and a deadly numbness seemed to take the place of its
bite; but as he moved his stiffened muscles, which were beginning to
ache and throb, he realized that he was badly hurt. With a leg like that
he could not drive out across the desert, seventy-four long miles to
Vegas; nor would he, on the other hand, find the best of accommodations
in the deserted house of his father. It had been a great home in its
day, but that day was past, and the water connections too, and somebody
must be handy to wait on him.
"Say," he said, turning to Death Valley Charley, "have you got a house
here in town? Well, take me to it and I'll pay you well, and for
anything else that you do."
"It won't cost you nothing," answered Charley quickly. "I used to know
your father."
"Well, you knew a good man then," replied Wiley grimly, but Death Valley
did not respond. The Widow Huff was listening behind; and besides, he
had his doubts.
"I'll run on ahead," said Charley noncommittally, and when Wiley arrived
a canvas cot was waiting for him, fully equipped except for the sheets.
Virginia came in later with a pair on her arm, and after a look at
Charley's greasy blankets Wiley allowed her to spread them on the bed.
Then, as Death Valley laid a grimy paw on his leg and began to pick out
the shot Wiley jerked away and asked Virginia impatiently if she didn't
have a little carbolic.
"Aw, he'll be all right," protested Charley cheerfully, as Virginia
pushed him aside; "them buckshot won't hurt him much, nohow. Jest put on
some pine pitch and a chew of tobacco and he'll fall off to sleep like a
child."
He stood blinking helplessly as Virginia heated some water and poured in
a teaspoonful of carbolic, then as she bathed the wounds and picked out
the last shot, Charley placed a disc on his phonograph.
"Does he want some music?" he inquired of Heine, who was sitting up and
begging, but Virginia put down her foot. "No, Charley," she said with a
forbidding frown, "you go ask mother for a needle and thread."
"He's kind of crazy to-night," she whispered to Wiley, when Death Valley
was safely out of sight, "you'd better come over to the house."
"Huh, I guess we're all crazy," answered Wiley, laughing shortly. "I can
stand it--but how does he act?"
"Oh, he hears things--and gets messages--and talks about Death Valley.
He got lost over there, three years ago last August, and the heat kind
of cooked his brains. He heard your automobile, when you came back
to-night--that's why mother and all the rest of them went over to the
mine to get you. I'm sorry she shot you up."
"Well, don't you care," he said reassuringly. "But she sure overplayed
her hand."
"Yes, she did," acknowledged Virginia, trying not to quarrel with her
patient, "but, of course, she didn't know about that tax sale."
"Well, she knows it now," he answered pointedly, and when Charley came
back they were silent. Virginia bandaged up his wound and slipped away
and then Wiley lay back and sighed. There had been a time when he and
Virginia had been friends, but now the fat was in the fire. It was her
fighting mother, of course, and their quarrel about the Paymaster; but
behind it all there was the old question between their fathers, and he
knew that his father was right. He had not rigged the stock market, he
had not cheated Colonel Huff, and he had not tried to get back the mine.
That was a scheme of his own, put on foot on his own initiative--and
brought to nothing by the Widow. He had hoped to win over Virginia and
effect a reconciliation, but that hole in his leg told him all too well
that the Widow could never be fooled. And, since she could not be
placated, nor bought off, nor bluffed, there was nothing to do but quit.
The world was large and there were other Virginias, as well as other
Paymasters--only it seemed such a futile waste. He sighed again and then
Death Valley Charley burst out into a cackling laugh.
"I heard you," he said, "I heard you coming--away up there in the pass.
Chuh, chuh, chuh, chud, chud, chud, chud; and I told Virginny you was
coming."
"Yes, I heard about it," answered Wiley sourly, "and then you told the
Widow."
"Oh, no, I didn't!" exulted Charley. "She'd've killed you, sure as
shooting. I just told Virginny, that's all."
"Oh!" observed Wiley, and lay so still that Charley regarded him
intently. His eyes were blue and staring like a newborn babe's, but
behind their look of childlike innocence there lurked a crafty smile.
"I told her," went on Charley, "that you was coming to git her and take
her away in your auto. She's a nice girl, Virginny, and never rode in
one of them things--I never thought you'd try to steal her mine."
"I did not!" denied Wiley, but Death Valley only smiled and waved the
matter aside.
"Never mind," he said, "they're all crazy, anyhow. They get that way
every north wind. I'm here to take care of them--the Colonel asked me
to, and keep people from stealing his mine. It's electricity that does
it--it's about us everywhere--and that's what makes 'em crazy; but
electricity is my servant; I bend it to my will; that's how I come to
hear you. I heard you coming back, away out on the desert, and I knowed
your heart wasn't right. You was coming back to rob the Colonel of his
mine; and the Colonel, he saved my life once. He ain't dead, you know,
he's over across Death Valley in them mountains they call the Ube-Hebes.
Yes, I was lost on the desert and he followed my tracks and found me,
running wild through the sand-hills; and then Virginia and Mrs. Huff,
they looked after me until my health returned."
"You can hear pretty well, then," suggested Wiley diplomatically. "You
must know everything that goes on."
"It's the electricity!" declared Charley. "It's about us everywhere, and
that's what makes them crazy. All these desert rats are crazy, it's the
electric storms that does it--Nevada is a great state for winds. But
when they comes a sandstorm, and Mrs. Huff she wraps up her head, I feel
the power coming on. I can hear far away and then I can hear close--I
make the electricity my slave. But the rest, they go crazy; they have
headaches and megrims, and Mrs. Huff she always wants to fight; but I'm
here to take care of 'em--the Colonel asked me to, so you keep away from
that mine."
"Oh, sure," responded Wiley, "I won't bother the mine. As soon as I'm
well I'll go home."
"No, you stay," returned Charley, becoming suddenly confidential.
"I'll show you a mountain of gold. It's over across Death Valley, in
the Ube-Hebes; the Colonel is over there now."
"Is that so?" inquired Wiley, and Charley looked at him strangely, as if
dazed.
"Aw, no; of course not!" he burst out angrily. "I forgot--the Colonel is
dead. You Heine; come over here, sir."
Heine crept up unwillingly and Charley slapped him. "Now--shut up!" he
admonished and went off into crazy mutterings.
"What's that?" he cried, rousing up suddenly to listen, and a savage
look replaced the blank stare. "Can't you hear him?" he asked. "It's
Stiff Neck George--he's coming up the alley to kill you. Here, take my
gun; and when he opens the door you fill him full of holes!"
Wiley listened intently, then he reached for the heavy pistol and sat
up, watching the door. The wind soughed and howled and rattled at the
windows, over which Charley had stretched heavy blankets, and it seemed
to his startled imagination that someone was groping at the door. The
memory of the skulking form that had followed him rose up with the
distinctness of a vision and at a knock on the door he cocked his pistol
and beckoned Death Valley to one side.
"Come in!" he called, but as the door swung open it was Virginia who
stood facing his gun.
"O--oh!" she screamed, and then she flushed angrily as Charley began to
laugh.
"Well, laugh then, you fool," she said to Wiley, "and when you're
through, just look at this that we found!"
She held up the ore-bag that Wiley had lost and strode dramatically in.
"Look at that!" she cried, and strewing the white quartz on the table
she pointed her finger in his face. "You stole my specimen!" she cried
accusingly. "That's why you came back for more. But you give it back to
me--I want it this minute. I see you're honest--like your father!"
She spat it out venomously, more venomously than was needful, for he
was already fumbling for the rock; and when he gave it back he smiled
over-scornfully and his lower lip mounted up.
"All right," he said, "you don't have to holler for it. You're getting
to be just like your mother."
"I'm not!" she denied, but after looking at him a minute she burst into
tears and fled.
CHAPTER VI
ALL CRAZY
The wind was still blowing when Wiley was awakened by the cold of the
October morning. In the house all was dark, on account of the blankets
which Death Valley had nailed over the windows, but outside he could
hear the thump of an axe and the whining yelp of a dog. Then Charley
came in, his arms full of wood, and lit a roaring fire in the stove.
Wiley dozed off again, for his leg had pained him and kept him awake
half the night, and when he woke up it was to the strains of music and
the mournful howls of Heine.
"Ah, you are so confectionate!" exclaimed Charley in honeyed tones and
laughed and patted him on the back. "Don't you like the fiddle, Heine?
Well, listen to this now; the sweetest song of all."
He stopped the rasping phonograph to put on another record and when
Heine heard "Listen to the Mocking-bird" he barked and leapt with joy.
Wiley listened for awhile, then he stirred in bed and at last he tried
to get up; but his leg was very stiff and old Charley was oblivious, so
he sank back and waited impatiently. Heine sat upon the floor before the
largest of three phonographs, which ground out the Mocking-bird with
variations; and each time he heard the whistled notes of the bird he
rolled his eyes on Charley with a soulful, beseeching glance. The
evening before, when his master had cuffed him, Wiley had considered
Heine badly abused; but now as the concert promised to drag on
indefinitely he was forced to amend his opinion.
"Say," he spoke up at last, in a pause between records, "what's the
chance of getting something to eat?"
"Yes, there's plenty," answered Charley, and went on with his frolic
until Wiley rose up in disgust. He had heated some water, besides
tearing down a blanket and letting the daylight in, when there came a
hurried knock at the door and the Widow appeared with his breakfast. She
avoided his eyes, but her manner was ingratiating and she supplied the
conversation herself.
"Good morning!" she smiled,--"Charley, stop that awful racket and let
Heine go out for his scraps. Well, I brought you your
breakfast--Virginia isn't feeling very well--and I hope you're going
to be all right. No, get right back into bed and I'll prop you up with
pillows; Charley's got a hundred or so. I declare, it's a question
which can grab the most; old Charley or Stiff Neck George. Every time
anyone moves out--and sometimes when they don't--you'll see those two
ghouls hanging around; and the minute they're gone, well, you never
saw anything like it, the way they will fight for the loot. Charley's
got a whole room filled up with bedding, and stoves and tables and
chairs; and George--he's vicious--he takes nearly everything and piles
it up down in his warehouse. It isn't his, of course, but----"
"He hauls it off in a wheelbarrow," broke in Charley, virtuously. "He
don't care what he does. They was a widow woman here whose daughter got
sick and she had to go out for a week, and when she came back----"
"Yes, her whole house was looted--he carried off even her
sewing-machine!"
"And a deep line of wheelbarrow tracks," added Charley, unctuously,
"leading from her house right down to his. She nailed up all her windows
before she went, but he----"
"Yes, he broke in," supplied the Widow. "He's a desperate character
and everybody is afraid of him, so he can do whatever he pleases; but
you bet your life he can't run it over me--I filled him up with
buckshot twice. Oh--that is--er--did you ever hear how he got his head
twisted? Well, go right ahead now and eat up your toast. I asked him
one time--that was before we'd had our trouble--what was the cause of
his head being to one side. He looks, you know, for all the world like
he was watching for a good kick from behind; but he tried to appear
pathetic and told me a long story about saving a mother and her child
in a flood. And when it was all over, according to him, he fell down
in a faint in the mud; but the best accounts I get say he was dead
drunk in the gutter and woke up with his head on one side."
She ended with a sniff and Wiley glanced at Charley, but he was staring
blankly away.
"I don't like that man," spoke up Charley at last, "he kicked my dog,
one time."
"And he bootlegs something awful," added the Widow, desperately, for
fear that the chatter would lag. "There doesn't a day go by but some
drunken Piute comes whooping up the road, and that bunch of
Shooshonnies----"
"Yes, he sells to the bucks," observed Death Valley, slyly. "They're no
good--they get drunk and tell. But you can trust the squaws--I had one
here yesterday----"
"You what?" shrieked the Widow, and Charley looked up startled, then
rose and whistled to his dog.
"Go lay down!" he commanded and slapped him till he yelped, after which
he slipped fearfully away.
"The very idea!" exclaimed the Widow frigidly and then she glanced at
Wiley.
"Mr. Holman," she began, "I came out here to talk business--there's
nothing round-the-corner about me. Now what about this tax sale, and
what does Blount mean by allowing you to buy it in for nothing?"
"Well, I don't know," answered Wiley. "He refused to pay the taxes, so I
bought in the property myself."
"Yes, but what does he _mean_?"
The Widow's voice rose to the old quarrelsome, nagging pitch, and Wiley
winced as if he had been stabbed.
"You'll have to ask _him_, Mrs. Huff, to find out for sure; but to
a man with one leg it looks like this. Whatever you can say about him,
Samuel J. is a business man, and I think he decided that, as a business
investment, the Paymaster wasn't worth eighty-three, forty-one.
Otherwise he would have bought it himself."
"Unless, of course," added the Widow scornfully, "there was some
understanding between you."
"Oh, yes, sure," returned Wiley, and went on with his eating with a
wearied, enduring sigh.
"Well, I declare," exclaimed the Widow, after thinking it over,
"sometimes I get so discouraged with the whole darned business you could
buy me out for a cent!"
She waited for a response, but Wiley showed no interest, so she went on
with her general complaint.
"First, it was the Colonel, with his gambling and drinking and inviting
the whole town to his house; and then your father, or whoever it was,
started all this stock market fuss; and from that time it's gone from
bad to worse until I haven't a dollar to my name. I was brought up to be
a lady--and so was Virginia--and now we're keeping a restaurant!"
Wiley pulled down his lip in masterful silence and set the breakfast
tray aside. It was nothing to him what the Widow Huff suffered--she had
brought it all on herself. And whenever she was ready to write to his
father she could receive her ten cents a share. That would keep her as a
lady for several years to come, if she had as many shares as she
claimed; but there was nothing to his mind so flat, stale and
unprofitable as a further discussion of the Paymaster. Indeed, with one
leg wound up in a bandage, it might easily prove disastrous. So he
looked away and, after a minute, the Widow again took up her plaint.
"Of course," she said, "I'm not a business woman, and I may have made
some mistakes; but it doesn't seem right that Virginia's future should
be ruined, just because of this foolish family quarrel. The Colonel is
dead now and doesn't have to be considered; so--well, after thinking it
over, and all the rest of it, I think I'll accept your offer."
"Which offer?" demanded Wiley, suddenly startled from his ennui, and the
Widow regarded him sternly.
"Why, your offer to buy my stock--that paper you drew up for me. Here it
is, and I'm willing to sign it."
She drew out the paper and Wiley read it silently, then rolled it into a
ball and chucked it into the corner.
"No," he said, "that offer doesn't hold. I didn't know you then."
"Well, you know me now!" she flashed back resentfully, "and you'd better
come through with that money. I've taken enough off of you and your
father without standing for any more of your gall. Now you write me out
a check for twenty thousand dollars and here's my two hundred thousand
shares. I know you're robbing me but I simply can't endure it--I can't
stay here a single day longer!"
She burst into angry tears as he shook his head and regarded her with
steady eyes.
"No," he said, "you can't do business that way. I haven't got twenty
thousand dollars."
"But--you offered it to me! You wrote out this paper and put it right
under my eyes----"
"No," he said, "I never offered you twenty thousand--I offered to take
an option at that price. I wanted to see that mine, and I wanted to see
it peaceably, and I thought I could do it that way; but that piece of
paper simply gave me the option of buying the stock if I wanted to."
"Well, you wanted to buy the stock--you were crazy to get hold of
it--and now, when I'm willing, you won't take it!"
"No, that's right," agreed Wiley, leaning back against his pillow. "And
now, what are you going to do about it?"
"I'm going to kill you!" shrieked the Widow in a frenzy. "I'm going to
_make_ you take it! I declare, it seems like every single soul is
against me--and me a poor helpless woman!"
She sank back in a chair and began to sob hysterically and Wiley looked
about for the old shotgun. It was far too short, but it had served once
as a crutch, and in a pinch it must serve him again. Keno was no place
for him, he saw that very plainly, and it was better to risk the long
drive across the desert than to stay with this weeping virago. If she
didn't kill him then she would kill him later, and he was powerless to
strike back in defense. She would take advantage of every immunity of
her sex to obtain her own way in the end. He located the gun--it was
down behind his bed where he had dropped it when they helped him in--but
as he was fishing it up the door burst open and Virginia stood looking
at her mother. Behind her appeared Death Valley Charley, his eyes
blinking fearfully; but at sight of the Widow he ducked around the
corner while Virginia came resolutely in.
"Oh, mother!" she burst out in a pleading, reproachful voice, "can't you
see that Wiley is sick? Well, what's the use of creating a scene when
it's likely to make him worse?"
"I don't care!" wailed the Widow. "I hope he dies. I wish I'd killed
him--I do!"
"You do not!" returned Virginia, and shook her reprovingly. "I declare,
I wonder what poor father would think if he heard how we'd treated a
guest. Now you go back to the house and don't you come out again until
Mr. Holman sends for you."
"You shut up!" burst out the Widow, pushing her brusquely aside. "I
guess I know what I'm about. But I'll fool you," she cried, whirling
about on Wiley as she started towards the door. "I'll sell my stock to
Blount!"
She paused for the effect but Wiley did not answer and she returned to
pursue her advantage.
"I know you!" she announced. "You and old Honest John--you're trying to
steal my mine. But I'm going to fool you, I'm going right down to Vegas
and sell every share to Blount!"
"Well, go to it," returned Wiley after a long, defiant silence, "and I
hope you stick him a-plenty!"
"Why, what's the matter?" inquired the Widow, brushing Virginia away
again and swaggering up to his bed. "I thought you and Blount were good
friends."
"Yeh, guess again," replied Wiley grimly. "I'll tell him the mine shows
up fine."
"Well, it does!" she asserted. "The Colonel said it wasn't scratched.
And didn't you steal that piece of quartz from Virginia? Oh, you gave it
back, eh? Well, how did it assay? I know you found _something_
pretty good!"
"How could I give it back, if I'd had it assayed?" asked Wiley with
compelling calm.
"Well what _did_ you come back for?" demanded the Widow,
triumphantly. "You must have figured to win somewhere."
"Yes, I did," sighed Wiley, "but I was badly mistaken. All I want now is
to get out of town."
"Well, how about your father? That offer he made me! Has he backed out
on that, too?"
"No, he hasn't," answered Wiley, "my father keeps his word. You can get
your money any time."
"Well, of all the crazy crooked deals," the Widow began to rave, and
then Wiley grabbed for the shotgun.
"It may be crazy!" he shouted savagely, "but believe me, it isn't
crooked. My father never did a crooked thing in his life, and you know
it as well as I do; and if it wasn't that you're such a crook
yourself----"
"Wiley Holman!" raged the Widow, but he rose up on his crutch and
shouldered his way out the door.
"You're crazy!" he yelled, "the whole danged town's crazy. All except
old Charley and me."
He jerked his head and winked at Charley as he hobbled towards the
street and Death Valley nodded gravely. There was a long, hateful
silence; then the great motor roared out and the white racer rushed away
across the desert.
"Well, I don't care!" declared the Widow as she gazed after his dust and
when the stage went out that day it took a lady passenger to Vegas.
CHAPTER VII
BETWEEN FRIENDS
The madness of the Widow and Old Charley and Stiff Neck George was no
mystery to Wiley Holman--it was the same form of mania which he
encountered everywhere when he went to see men who owned mines. If he
offered them a million for a ten-foot hole they would refuse it and
demand ten million more, and if he offered them nothing they
immediately scented a conspiracy to starve them out and gain
possession of their mine. It was the illusion of hidden wealth, of
buried treasure, which keeps half the mines in the West closed down
and half of the rest in litigation; except that in Keno it seemed to
be associated with gun-plays and a marked tendency towards homicide.
So, upon his return from a short stay in the hospital he came up the
main street silently, then stepped on the throttle and went through
town a-smoking. But the Widow was out waiting for him in the middle of
the road and, rather than run her down, he threw on both brakes and
stopped.
"Well, what now?" he inquired, frowning at the odor of heated rubber.
"What's your particular grievance this trip?" He regarded her coldly,
then bowed to Virginia and waved a friendly hand at Charley. "Hello,
there, Death Valley," he called out jovially, as the Widow choked with a
rush of words, "what's the news from the Funeral Range?"
"Now, here!" exclaimed the Widow, advancing from the dust cloud, and
glancing into the machine. "I want you to bring back that gun!"
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Huff," he replied with finality, "but you'll have to
get along without it. I turned it over to the sheriff, along with three
buckshot and an affidavit regarding the shooting----"
"What, you great, big coward!" stormed the Widow in a fury. "Did you run
and complain to the sheriff?"
"No, I walked," said Wiley, "and on one leg at that. But I might as well
warn you that next time you make a gun-play you're likely to break into
jail."
"You're a coward!" she taunted. "You're standing in with Blount to beat
me out of my mine. First you sneak off with my gun, so I can't protect
my rights, and then Stiff Neck George comes up and jumps the Paymaster!"
"The hell!" burst out Wiley, rising up in his seat and looking across at
the mine.
"Yes, the hell," she returned, "and he's warned off all comers and is
holding the mine for Blount!"
"For Blount!" he echoed and, seeing him roused at last, the Widow became
subtly provocative.
"For Samuel J. Blount," she repeated impressively. "He--he's got all my
stock on a loan."
"Oh!" observed Wiley, and as she raved on with her story he rubbed his
chin in deep thought.
"Yes, I went down to see him and he wouldn't buy it, so I left it as
collateral on a loan. And then he came out here and looked over the mine
again and told Stiff Neck George to stand guard. They're fixing to pump
out the water."
"Oho!" exclaimed Wiley, and his eyes began to kindle as he realized what
Blount had done. Then reaching for the pistol that lay handy beside his
leg, he leapt out with waspish quickness, only to stop short as he hurt
his lame foot.
"Go on!" hissed the Widow, advancing to his shoulder and pointing the
way up the trail. "He stays right there by the dump. The mine is yours;
go put him off--I would, if I had my gun."
"Aw, pfooey!" he exclaimed, suddenly turning back and clamoring into his
seat. "I've got one game leg already. Let 'im have the doggoned mine."
"What? Are you going to back out? Well, you are a good one--and it
stands in your name, this minute!"
"Yes, and it isn't worth--that!" he said with conviction, and snapped
his finger in the air. "He can have it. You can tell Blount, the next
time you see him, he can buy in that tax title for the costs."
He paused and muttered angrily, gazing off towards the dump where
crooked-necked George stood guard, and then he hopped out to crank up.
"Want a ride?" he asked, as he saw Virginia watching him and she
hesitated and shook her head. "Come on," he smiled, casting aside his
black mood, "let's take a little spin--just down on the desert and back.
What's going on--getting ready to move?"
He gazed with alarm at a pile of packing boxes that the Widow had
marshaled on the gallery and then he looked back at Virginia. She was
attired in a gown that had been very chic in the fall of nineteen ten,
but, though it was scant for these bouffant days, she was the old
Virginia still--slim and strong and dainty, and highbred in every line,
with dark eyes that mirrored passing thoughts. She was the Virginia he
had played with when Keno was booming and his own sisters had been there
for company; and now after ten years he remembered the time when he had
asked her, in vain, for a kiss.
"I've got something to tell you," he said at last and Virginia stepped
into the racer.
"Virginia!" reminded the Widow, and then at a glance she turned round
and flung into the house. There were times and occasions when she had
found it safer not to press her maternal authority too far, and the look
that she received was first notice from Virginia that such an occasion
had arrived. The motor began to thunder, Wiley threw in the clutch, and
with a speed that was startling, they whipped a sudden circle and went
bubbling away down the road.
It stretched on endlessly, this road across the desert, as straight as a
surveyor's line, and as they cleared the rough gulches and glided down
into its immensity Virginia glanced at the desert and sighed.
"Pretty big," he suggested and as she nodded slowly he raised his eyes
to the hills. "I don't know," he went on, "whether you'll like Los
Angeles. You'll get lonely for this, sometimes."
"Yes, but not for that"--she jerked a thumb back at Keno--"that place is
pretty small. What's left, of course; but it seems to me sometimes
they're all of them lame, halt and blind. Always quarreling and
backbiting and jumping each other's claims--but--what do you think of
the Paymaster?"
She shot the question at him and it occurred suddenly to Wiley that
perhaps she had a programme, too.
"Well, I'll tell you," he began, deftly changing his ground, "I'm in
Dutch on that, all around. When I came home full of buckshot and the Old
Man heard about it I got my orders to come back and apologize. Well,
I'll do that--to you--and you can tell your mother I'm sure sorry I went
up on that dump."
He grinned and motioned to his injured foot, but Virginia was in no mood
for a joke.
"That's all right," she said, "and I accept your apology--though I don't
know exactly what it's for. But I asked your opinion of the Paymaster."
"Oh, yes," he replied and then he began to temporize. "You'd better tell
me what you want it for, first."
"What? Do you have one opinion for one set of people and another for
somebody else? I thought!"---- She paused and the hot blood leapt to her
cheeks as she saw where her temper had led her. "Well," she explained,
"I've got a few shares of stock."
She said it quietly and the suggestion of scolding gave way to a
chastened appeal. She remembered--and he sensed it--that winged shaft
which he had flung back when she had said he was honest, like his
father. He had told her then she was becoming like her mother, and
Virginia could never endure that.
"Ah, I see," he answered and went on hurriedly with a new note of
friendliness in his voice. "Well, I'll tell you, Virginia, if it will be
any accommodation to you I'll take over that stock myself. But--well, I
hate to advise you--because--how many shares have you got?"
"Oh, several thousand," she responded casually. "They were given to me
by father--and by different men that I've helped. Mr. Masters, you know,
that I took care of for a while, he gave me all he had when he died. But
I don't want to sell them--I know there's no market, because Blount
wouldn't give Mother anything--but if he should happen to strike
something----"
She glanced across at him swiftly but Wiley's face was grim.
"Yes, _him_ find anything!" he jeered. "That fat-headed old tub! He
knows about as much about mining as a hog does about the precession of
the equinox. No; miracles may happen but, short of that, he'll never get
back a cent!"
"No, but Wiley," she protested, "you know as well as I do that the
Paymaster isn't worked out. Now what's to prevent my stock becoming
valuable sometime when they open it up?"
"What's to prevent?" he repeated. "Well, I'll tell you what. If Blount
makes a strike he'll close that mine down and send the company through
bankruptcy. Then he'll buy the mine back on a judgment and you'll be
left without a cent."
"But what about you?" she suggested shrewdly. "Will you let him serve
_you_ like that?"
"Don't you think it!" he answered. "I know him too well--my money is
somewhere else."
"But if you should buy the mine?"
"Well----" he stirred uneasily and then shot his machine ahead--"I
haven't bought it yet."
"No, but you offered to, and I don't see why----"
"Do you want to sell your stock?" he asked abruptly and she flushed and
shook her head. "Well!" he said and without further comment he slowed
down and swung about.
"Oh, dear," she sighed, as they started back and he turned upon her
swiftly.
"Do you know why I wouldn't have that mine," he inquired, "if you'd hand
it to me as a gift? It's because of this everlasting fight. I own it,
right now, if anybody does, and I've never been down the shaft. Now
suppose I'd go over there and shoot it out with George and get
possession of my mine. First Blount would come up with some other hired
man-killer and I'd have a bout with him; and then your respected
mother----"
"Now you hush up!" she chided and he closed down his jaw like a
steel-trap. She watched him covertly, then her eyes began to blink and
she turned her head away. The desert rushed by them, worlds of waxy
green creosote bushes and white, gnarly clumps of salt bush; and
straight ahead, frowning down on the forgotten city, rose the black
cloud-shadow of Shadow Mountain.
"Oh, turn off here!" she cried, impulsively as they came to a fork in
the road and, plowing up the sand, he skidded around a curve and
struck off up the Death Valley road. They came together at the edge of
the town--the long, straight road to the south, and the road-trail
that led west into the silence. There were no tracks in it now but the
flat hoof-prints of burros and the wire-twined wheel-marks of desert
buckboards; even the road was half obliterated by the swoop of the
winds which had torn up the hard-packed dirt, yet the going was good
and as the racer purred on Virginia settled back in her seat.
"I can't believe it," she said at last, "that we're going to leave here,
forever. This is the road that Father took when he left home that last
time--have you ever been over into Death Valley? It's a great, big
sink, all white with salt and borax; and at the upper end, where he went
across, there are miles and miles of sand-hills. He's buried out there
somewhere, and the hills have covered him--but oh, it's so awful
lonesome!"
She turned away again and as her head went down Wiley stared straight
ahead and blinked. He had known the Colonel and loved him well, and his
father had loved him, too; but that rift had come between them and until
it was healed he could never be a friend of Virginia's. She distrusted
him in everything--in his silence and in his speech, his laughter and
his anger, in his evasions and when he talked straight--it was better to
say nothing now. He had intended to help her, to offer her money or any
assistance he could give; but her heart was turned against him and the
most he could hope for was to get back to Keno without a quarrel. The
divide was far ahead, where the road struck the pass and swung over and
down into the Great Valley; and, glancing up at the sun, he turned
around slowly and rumbled back into town. Shadow Mountain rose before
them; it towered above the valley like a brooding image of hate but as
he smiled farewell at the sad-eyed Virginia something moved him to take
her hand.
"Good-by," he said, "you'll be gone when I come back. But if you get
into trouble--let me know."
He gave her hand a squeeze and Virginia looked at him sharply, then she
let her dark lashes droop.
"I'm in trouble now," she said at last. "What good did it do to tell
you?"
He winced and shrugged his shoulders, then gazed at her again with a
challenge in his eyes.
"If you'd trust _me_ more," he said very slowly, "perhaps I'd trust
_you_ more. What is it you want me to do?"
"I want you to answer me--yes or no. Shall I keep my stock, or sell it?"
"You keep it," he answered, and avoided her eye until she climbed out
and entered the house.
CHAPTER VIII
THE TIP
"Well?" inquired the Widow as her daughter came back from her ride with
Wiley Holman; but Virginia was not giving out confidences. At last, and
by a trick, she had surprised the truth from Wiley and he had told her
to keep her stock. For weeks, for months, he had told her and everybody
else that the Paymaster was not worth having; but when she had drooped
her lashes and asked him for his opinion he had told her not to sell.
Not hesitatingly nor doubtfully, or with any crafty intent; but
honestly, as a friend, perhaps as a lover--and then he had looked away.
He knew, of course, how his past actions must appear in the light of
this later advice; but he had told her the truth and gone. The question
was: What should she do?
Virginia returned to her room and locked the door while her mother
stormed around outside and at last she came to a decision. What Wiley
had told her had been said in strictest confidence and it would not be
fair to pass it on; but if he advised her not to sell he had a reason
for his advice, and that reason was not far to find. It was in that
white stone that he had stolen from her collection, and in the white
quartz he had gathered from the dump. He claimed, of course, that he had
not had her specimen assayed; but why, then, had he come back for more?
And why had he been so careful to tell her and everyone that he would
not take the Paymaster as a gift? As a matter of fact, he owned it that
minute by virtue of his delinquent tax-sale, and his goings and comings
had been nicely timed to enable him to keep track of his property. He
was shrewd, that was all, but now she could read him; for he had spoken,
for once, from his heart.
The mail that night bore a sample of white quartz to a custom assayer in
Vegas, but Virginia guarded her secret well. She had gained it by wiles
that were not absolutely straight-forward, in that she had squeezed
Wiley's hand in return, and since by so doing she had compromised with
her conscience she placated it by withholding the great news. If she
told her mother she would create a scene with Blount and demand the
return of her stock; and the secret would get out and everybody would be
buying stock and Wiley would blame it on her. No, everything must be
kept dark and she mailed her sample when even the postmistress was gone.
Perhaps Wiley was right in his extreme subterfuges and in always
covering up his hand, but she would show him that there were others just
as smart. She would take a leaf from his book and play a lone hand, too;
only now, of course, she could not leave town.
"Virginia!" scolded the Widow, when for the hundredth time she had
discovered her dawdling at her packing. "If you don't get up and come
and help me this minute I'll unpack and let you go alone."
"Well, let's both unpack," said Virginia thoughtfully, and the Widow sat
down with a crash.
"I knew it!" she cried. "Ever since that Wiley Holman----"
"Now, you hush up!" returned Virginia, flushing angrily. "You don't know
what you're talking about!"
"Well, if I don't know I can guess; but I never thought a Huff----"
"Oh, you make me tired!" exclaimed Virginia, spitefully. "I'm staying
here to watch that mine."
"That--mine!" The Widow repeated it slowly and her eyes opened up big
with triumph. "Virginia, do you mean to say you got the best of that
whipper-snapper and----"
"No, nothing of the kind! No! Can't you hear me? Oh, Mother, you'd drive
a person crazy!"
"I--see!" observed the Widow and stood nodding her head as Virginia went
on with her protests. "Oh, my Lord!" she burst out, "and I put up all my
stock for a measly eight hundred dollars! That scoundrelly Blount--I saw
it in his eye the minute I mentioned my stock! He's tricked me, the
rascal; but I'll fool him yet--I'll pay him back and get my stock!"
"You'll pay him back? Why, you've spent half the money to redeem your
jewels and the diamonds!"
"Well, I'll pawn them again. Oh, it makes me wild to think how that
rascal has tricked me!"
"But, Mother," protested Virginia, "_he_ hasn't done any work yet.
They haven't made any strike at the mine. Why not let it go until they
pump out the water and really find some ore? And besides, how could
Wiley know anything about it? He's never been down the shaft."
"But--why you told me yourself----"
"I never told you anything!" burst out Virginia tearfully. "You just
jump at everything like a flea. And now you'll tell everybody, and
Wiley'll say I did it, and----"
"Virginia Huff!" cried her mother, dramatically, "are you in love with
that--thief?"
"He is not! No, I am not! Oh, I wish you'd quit talking to me--I tell
you he never told me _anything_!"
"Well, for goodness sake!" exclaimed the Widow pityingly, and stalked
off to think it over.
"You, Charley!" she exclaimed as she found Death Valley on the gallery
pretending to nail up a box, "you leave those things alone. Well, that's
all right; we've changed our minds and now we're going to stay."
"That's good," replied Charley, laying his hammer aside, "I've been
telling 'em so for days. It's coming everywhere; all the old camps are
opening up, but Keno will beat them all."
"Yes, that's right," assented the Widow absently, and as she bustled
away to begin her unpacking, Death Valley looked at Heine and leered.
"Didn't I tell you!" he crowed and, scuttling back to get his
six-shooter, he went out and began re-locating claims. That was the
beginning. The real rush came later when the pumps began to throb in
the Paymaster. A stream of water like a sheet of silver flowed down
the side of the dump and as if it's touch had brought forth men from
the desert sands, the old-timers came drifting in. Once more the
vacant sidewalks resounded to the thud of sturdy hob-nailed boots; and
along with the locaters came pumpmen and miners to sound the flooded
depths of the Paymaster.
It was a great mine, a famous mine, the richest in all the West; within
twenty months it had produced twelve million dollars and the lower
levels had never been touched. But what was twelve million to what it
would turn out when they located the hidden ore-body? On its record
alone the Paymaster was a world-beater, but the ground had barely been
scratched. Even Samuel Blount, who was cold as a stone and had sold out
the entire town, even he had caught the contagion; and he was talking
large on the bank corner when Holman came back through town.
Wiley drove in from the north, his face burned by sun and wind and his
machine weighed down with sacks of samples, but when he saw the crowd,
and Blount in the middle of it, he threw on his brakes with a jerk.
"Hello!" he hailed. "What's all the excitement? Has the Paymaster made a
strike?"
All eyes turned to Blount, who stepped down ponderously and waddled out
to the auto. He was a very heavy man, with his mouth on one side and a
mild, deceiving smile; and as he shook hands perfunctorily he glanced
uneasily at Wiley, for he had heard about the tax-sale.
"Why, no," he replied, "no strike as yet. How's everything with you, Mr.
Holman?"
"Fine and dandy, I guess," returned Wiley civilly. "Where did all these
men jump up from?"
"Oh, they just dropped in, or stopped over in passing. Do you still take
an interest in mines?"
"Well, yes," responded Wiley. "I'm a mining engineer, and so naturally I
do take quite an interest. And by the way, Mr. Blount, did it ever occur
to you that the Paymaster has been sold for taxes? Oh, that's all right,
that's all right; I didn't know whether you'd heard about it--do you
recognize my title to the mine?"
"Well," began Blount, and then he smiled appeasingly, "I didn't just
know where to reach you. Of course, according to law, you do hold the
title; but I suppose you know that the stockholders of the company have
five years in which to buy back the mine. Yes, that is the law; but I
thought under the circumstances--the mine lying idle and all--you might
be willing to waive your strict rights in the interests of, well,
harmony."
"I get you," answered Wiley, glancing at the staring onlookers, "and
of course these gentlemen are our witnesses. You acknowledge my title,
and that every bit of your work is being done on another man's ground;
but, of course, if you make a strike I won't put any obstacles in your
way. I'm for harmony, Mr. Blount, as big as a wolf; but there's one
thing I want to ask you. Did you or did you not employ this Stiff Neck
George to act as guard on the mine? Because two months ago, after I'd
bought in the Paymaster for taxes, I went over to inspect the ground
and Stiff Neck George----"
"Oh, no! Oh dear, no!" protested Blount vigorously. "He was acting for
himself. I heard about his actions, but I had nothing to do with
them--I never even knew about it till lately."
"But was he in your employ at the time of the shooting, and did you tell
him to drive off all comers? Because----"
"No! My dear boy, of course not! But come over to my office; I want to
talk with you, Wiley."
The banker beamed upon him affectionately and, shaking out a white
handkerchief, wiped the sudden sweat from his brow; and then Wiley leapt
to the ground.
"All right," he said, "but let's go and see the mine first."
He strapped on his pistol and waited expectantly and at last Blount
breathed heavily and assented. Nothing more was said as they went across
the flat and toiled up the trail to the mine. Wiley walked behind and as
they mounted to the shaft-house his eyes wandered restlessly about;
until, at the tool-shed, they suddenly focussed and a half-crouching man
stepped out. He was tall and gnarly and the point of his chin rested
stiffly on the slope of his shoulder. It was Stiff Neck George and he
kept a crook in his elbow as he glanced from Blount to Wiley.
"How's this?" demanded Wiley, putting Blount between him and George,
"what's this man doing up here?"
"Why, that's George," faltered Blount, "George Norcross, you know. He
works for me around the mine."
"Oh, he does, eh?" observed Wiley, in the cold tones of an examining
lawyer. "How long has he been in your employ?"
"Oh, since we opened up--that's all--just temporarily. This gentleman is
all right, George; you can go."
Stiff Neck George stood silent, his sunken eyes on Wiley, his sunburned
lips parted in a grin, and then he turned and spat.
"Eh, heh; hiding!" he chuckled and, stung by the taunt, Wiley stepped
out into the open. His gun was pulled forward, his jaws set hard, and he
looked the hired man-killer in the eye.
"Don't you think it," he said, "I know you too well. You're afraid to
fight in the day-time; you dirty, sneaking murderer!"
He waited, poised, but George only laughed silently, though his
poisonous eyes began to gleam.
"What are you doing on my ground?" demanded Wiley, advancing
threateningly with his pistol raised. "Don't you know I own this mine?"
"No," snarled Stiff Neck George, coming suddenly to a crouch, "and,
furthermore, I don't give a damn!"
"Now, now, George," broke in Blount, "let's not have any words. Mr.
Holman holds the title to this claim."
"Heh--Holman!" mocked George, "Honest John's boy--eh?" He laughed
insultingly and spat against the wind and Wiley's lip curled up
scornfully.
"Yes--Honest John," he repeated evenly. "And it's a wonder to me you
don't take a few lessons and learn to spit clear of your chin."
"You shut up!" snapped George as venomous as a rattlesnake. "Your damned
old father was a thief!"
"You're a liar!" yelled Wiley and, swinging his pistol like a club, he
made a rush at the startled gunman. His eyes were flashing with a wild,
reckless fury and as Stiff Neck George dodged and broke to run he leapt
in and placed a fierce kick. "Now you git, you old dastard!" he shouted
hoarsely and as George went down he grabbed him by the trousers and sent
him sprawling down the dump. Sand, rocks and waste went avalanching
after him, and a loose boulder thundered in his wake, until, at the
bottom George scrambled to his feet and stood motionless, looking back.
His head sank lower as he saw Wiley watching him and he slunk down
closer to the ground, then with the swiftness of a panther that has
marked down its prey he turned and skulked away.
"That's bad business, Wiley," protested Blount half-heartedly and Wiley
nodded assent.
"Yes," he said, "he's dangerous now. I should have killed the dastard."
CHAPTER IX
A PEACE TALK
While his blood was pounding and his heart was high, Wiley Holman went
down into his mine. He rode down on the bucket, deftly balanced on the
rim and fending off the wall with one hand, and when he came up he was
smiling. Not smiling with his lips, but far back in his eyes, like a man
who has found something good. Perhaps Blount surprised the look before
it had fled for he beamed upon Wiley benevolently.
"Well, Wiley, my boy," he began confidentially as he drew him off to one
side, "I'm glad to see you're pleased. The gold is there--I find that
everyone thinks so--all we need now is a little co-operation. That's all
we need now--peace. We should lay aside all personal feelings and old
animosities and join hands to make the Paymaster a success."
"That's right, that's right," agreed Wiley cheerfully, "there's nobody
believes in peace more than I do. But all the same," he went on almost
savagely, "you've got to get rid of old George. I'm for peace, you
understand, but if I find him here again--well, I'll have to take over
the property. He's nothing but a professional murderer."
"Yes, I know," explained Blount, "he's a dangerous man--but I don't like
to let an old man starve. He's got a right to live the same as any of
us, and, since he can't work--well, I gave him a job as watchman."
"Well, all right," grumbled Wiley, "if you want to be charitable; but I
suppose you know that, under the law, you're responsible for the acts of
your agents?"
"That's all right, that's all right," burst out Blount impatiently,
"I'll never hire him again. He refused to obey my orders and----"
"_And_ he tried to kill me!" broke in Wiley angrily, but Blount had
thrown up both hands.
"Oh, now, Wiley," he protested, "why can't we be reasonable? Why can't
we get together on this?"
"We can," returned Wiley, "but you've got to show me that you're not
trying to jump my claim."
"Oh, you know," exclaimed Blount, "as well as I do that a tax sale is
never binding. The owners of the property are given five years'
time----"
"It is binding," corrected Wiley, "until the property is bought
back--and I happen to be holding the deed. Now, here's the point--what
authority have you got for coming in here and working this property?"
"Well, you may as well know," replied Blount shortly, "that I own a
majority of the stock."
"Aha!" burst out Wiley. "I was listening for that. So you're the Honest
John?"
"What do you mean?" demanded Blount and, seeing the anger in his eyes,
he hastened to head off the storm. "No, now listen to me, Wiley; it's
not the way you think. I knew your father well, and I always found him
the soul of honor; but I never liked to say anything, because Colonel
Huff was my partner, too. So, when this trouble arose, I tried to remain
neutral, without joining sides with either. It pained me very much to
have people make remarks reflecting upon the honesty of your father, but
as the confidant of both it was hardly in good taste for me to give out
what I knew. So I let the matter go, hoping that time would heal the
breach; but now that the Colonel is dead----"
"Aha!" breathed Wiley and Blount nodded his head lugubriously.
"Yes," he said, "that is the way it was. Your father was absolutely
honest."
"Well, but who sold the stock, and then bought it back--and put all the
blame on my father?"
"I can't tell you," answered Blount. "I never speak evil of the
dead--but the Colonel was a very poor business man."
"Yes, he was," agreed Wiley, and then, after a silence: "How did it
happen that you got all his stock?"
"Well, on mortgages and notes; and now as collateral on a loan that I
made his widow. I own a clean majority of the stock."
"Oh, you do, eh?" observed Wiley and rubbed his jaw thoughtfully while
Blount looked mildly on. "Well, what are you going to do?"
"Why, I'd like to buy back that tax deed," answered Blount amiably, "and
get control of my property."
"Oh," said Wiley, and looked down the valley with eyes that squinted
shrewdly at the sun. "All right," he agreed, "just to show you that I'm
a sport, I'll give you a quit-claim deed right now for the sum of one
hundred dollars."
"You will?" challenged Blount, reaching tremulously for his fountain pen
and then he paused at a thought. "Very well," he said, but as he filled
out the form he stopped and gazed uneasily at Wiley. Here was a mining
engineer selling a possessory right to the Paymaster for the sum of one
hundred dollars; while he, a banker, was spending a hundred dollars a
day in what had proved so far to be dead work. "Er--I haven't any money
with me," he suggested at length. "Perhaps--well, perhaps you could
wait?"
"Sure!" replied Wiley, rising up from where he was seated, "I'll wait
for anything, except my supper. Where's the best place to eat in town,
now?"
"Why, at Mrs. Huff's," returned Blount in surprise. "But about this
quit-claim, perhaps a check would do as well?"
"What, are the Huffs still here?" exclaimed Wiley, starting off. "Why, I
thought----"
"No, they decided to stay," answered Blount, following after him. "But
now, Wiley, about this quit-claim?"
"Well, gimme your check! Or keep it, I don't care--I came away without
my breakfast this morning."
He strode off down the trail and Blount pulled up short and stood gazing
after him blankly, then he shouted to him frantically and hurried down
the slope to where Wiley was waiting impatiently.
"Here, just sign this," he panted. "I'll write you out a check. But
what's the matter, Wiley--didn't the mine show up as expected?"
Wiley muttered unintelligibly as he signed the quit-claim which he
retained until he had looked over the check. Then he folded up the check
and kissed it surreptitiously before he stored it away in his
pocketbook.
"Why, yes," he said, "it shows up fine. I'll see you later, down at the
house."
Blount sat down suddenly, but as Wiley clattered off he shouted a
warning after him.
"Oh, Wiley, please don't mention that matter I spoke of!"
"What matter?" yelled back Wiley and at another disquieting thought
Blount jumped up and came galloping after him.
"The matter of the Colonel," he panted in his ear, "and here's another
thing, Wiley. You know Mrs. Huff--she's absolutely impossible and--well,
she's been making me quite a little trouble. Now as a personal favor,
please don't lend her any money or help her to get back her stock;
because if you do----"
"I won't!" promised Wiley, holding up his right hand. "But say, don't
stop me--I'm starving."
He ran down the trail, limping slightly on his game leg, and Blount sat
down on a rock.
"Well, I'll be bound!" he puffed and gazed at the quit-claim ruefully.
The tables were all set when Wiley re-entered the dining-room from which
he had retreated once before in such haste, and Virginia was there and
waiting, though her smile was a trifle uncertain. A great deal of water
had flowed down the gulch since he had advised her to keep her stock,
but the assayer at Vegas was worse than negligent--he had not reported
on the piece of white rock. Therefore she hardly knew, being still in
the dark as to his motives in giving the advice, whether to greet Wiley
as her savior or to receive him coldly, as a Judas. If the white quartz
was full of gold that her father had overlooked--say fine gold, that
would not show in the pan--then Wiley was indeed her friend; but if the
quartz was barren and he had purposely deceived her in order to boom his
own mine--she smiled with her lips and asked him rather faintly if he
wanted his supper at once.
But if Virginia was still a Huff, remembering past treacheries and
living in the expectancy of more, the Widow cast aside all petty
heart-burnings in her joy at the humiliation of Stiff Neck George.
Leaving Virginia in the kitchen, to fry Wiley's steak, she rushed into
the dining-room with her eyes ablaze and all but shook his hand.
"Well, well," she exulted, "I'll have to take it back--you certainly did
boot him good. I said you were a coward but I was watching you through
my spy-glass and I nearly died a-laughing. You just walked right up to
him--and you were cursing him scandalous, I could tell by the look on
your face--and then all at once you made a jump and gave him that awful
kick. Oh, ho, ho; you know I've always said he looked like a man that
was watching for a swift kick from behind; and now--after waiting all
these years--oh, ho ho--you gave him what was coming to him!"
The Widow sat down and held her sides with laughter and Wiley's grim
features, that had remained set and watchful, slowly relaxed to a
flattered grin. He had indeed stood up to Stiff Neck George and booted
him down the dump, so that the score of that night when he had been
hunted like a rabbit was more than evened up; for George had sneaked up
on an unarmed man and rolled down boulders from above, but he had
outfaced him, man to man and gun to gun, and kicked him down the dump to
boot. Yes, the Widow might well laugh, for it would be many a long day
before Stiff Neck George heard the last of that affair.
"And old Blount," laughed the Widow, "he was right there and saw it--his
own hired bully, and all. Say, now Wiley, tell me all about it--what did
Blount have to say? Did he tell you it was all a mistake? Yes, that's
what he tells everybody, every time he gets into trouble; but he can't
make excuses to me. Do you know what he's done? He's tied up all my
stock as security for eight hundred dollars! What's eight hundred
dollars--I turned it all in to get the best of my diamonds out of pawn.
It made me feel so bad, seeing that diamond ring of yours; I just
couldn't help getting them out. And now I'm flat and he's holding all my
stock for a miserable little eight hundred dollars!"
She ended up strong, but Wiley sensed a touch and his expressions of
sympathy were guarded.
"Now, you're a business man," she went on unheedingly. "I'll tell you
what I'll do--you lend me the money to get back that stock and I'll sell
it all to your father!"
"To my father!" echoed Wiley and then his face turned grim and he
laughed at some hidden joke. "Not much," he said, "I like the Old Man
too much. You'd better sell it back to Blount."
"To Blount? Why, hasn't your father been hounding me for months to get
his hands on that stock? Well, I'd like to know then what you think
you're doing? Have you gone back on your promise, or what?"
"I never made any promise," returned Wiley pacifically. "It was my
father that made the offer."
"Oh, fiddlesticks!" exploded the Widow. "Well, what's the
difference--you're working hand and glove!"
"Not at all," corrected Wiley, "the Old Man is raising cattle. You can't
get him to look at a mine."
"Well, he offered to buy my stock!" exclaimed the Widow, badly
flustered. "I'd like to know what this means?"
"It's no use talking," returned Wiley wearily, "I've told you a thousand
times. If you send your stock to John Holman at Vegas, he'll give you
ten cents a share; but _I_ won't give you a cent."
"Do you mean to say," demanded the Widow incredulously, "that you don't
want that stock?"
"That's it," assented Wiley. "I've just sold my tax title for a hundred
dollars, to Blount."
"Oh, this will drive me mad!" cried the Widow in a frenzy. "Virginia,
come in here and help me!"
Virginia came in with the steak slightly scorched and laid his dinner
before Wiley. Her eyes were rather wild, for she had been listening
through the doorway, but she turned to her mother inquiringly.
"He says he's sold his tax claim," wailed the Widow in despair, "for one
hundred dollars--to Blount. And then he turns around and says his father
will buy my stock for ten cents a share in cash. But he won't lend me
the money to pay my note to Blount and get my Paymaster stock back."
"That's right," nodded Wiley, "you've got it all straight. Now let's
quit before we get into a row."
He bent over the steak and, after a meaning look at Virginia, the Widow
discreetly withdrew.
"We saw you fighting George," ventured Virginia at last as he seemed
almost to ignore her presence. "Weren't you afraid he'd get mad and
shoot you?"
"Uh, huh," he grunted, "wasn't I hiding behind Blount? No, I had him
whipped from the start. Bad conscience, I reckon; these crooks are all
the same--they're afraid to fight in the open."
"But _your_ conscience is all right, eh?" suggested Virginia
sarcastically, and he glanced up from under his brows.
"Yes," he said, "we've got 'em there, Virginia. Are you still holding
onto that stock?"
A swift flood of shame mantled Virginia's brow and then her dark eyes
flashed fire.
"Yes, I've got it," she said, "but what's the answer when you sell out
your tax claim to Blount?"
"I wonder," he observed and went on with his eating while she paced
restlessly to and fro.
"You told me to hold it," she burst out accusingly, "and then you turn
around and sell!"
"Well, why don't _you_ sell?" he suggested innocently, and she paused
and bit her lip. Yes, why not? Why, because there were no buyers--except
Wiley Holman and his father! The knowledge of her impotence almost
drove her on to further madness, but another voice bade her beware.
He had given her his advice, which was not to sell, and--oh, that
accursed assayer! If she had his report she could flaunt it in his
face or--she caught her breath and smiled.
"No," she said, "you told me not to!"
And Wiley smiled back and patted her hand.
CHAPTER X
THE BEST HEAD IN TOWN
What was Wiley Holman up to? Virginia paced the floor in a very
unloverlike mood; and at last she sat down and wrote a scathing letter
to the assayer, demanding her assay at once. She also enclosed one
dollar in advance to test the sample for gold and silver and then, as an
afterthought, she enclosed another bill and told him to test it for
copper, lead, and zinc. There was something in that rock--she knew it
just as well as she knew that Wiley was in love with her, and this was
no time to pinch dollars. For ten years and more they had stuck there in
Keno, waiting and waiting for something to happen, but now things had
come to such a pass that it was better to know even the worst. For if
the mine was barren and Wiley, after all, was only trying in his dumb
way to help, then she must pocket her pride and sell him her stock and
go away and hide her head. But if the white quartz was rich--well, that
would be different; there would be several things to explain.
Yet, if the quartz was barren, why did Wiley offer to buy her stock, and
if it was rich, why did he sell his tax deed? And if his father stood
ready to pay ten cents a share for two hundred thousand shares of stock
why did Wiley refuse to redeem her mother's holdings for a petty eight
hundred dollars? He must have the money, for his diamond ring alone was
worth well over a thousand dollars; and he had tried repeatedly to get
possession of this same stock which he now refused to accept as a gift.
Virginia thought it over until her head was in a whirl and at last she
stamped her foot. The assay would tell, and if he had been trying to
cheat her--she drew her lips to a thin, hard line and looked more than
ever like her mother.
The work at the Paymaster went on intermittently, but Blount's early
zest was lacking. For eight, yes, ten years he had waited patiently
for the moment when he should get control of the mine; but now that he
held it, without let or hindrance, somehow his enthusiasm flagged.
Perhaps it was the fact that the timbering was expensive and that his
gropings for the lost ore body came to nothing; but in the back of his
mind Blount's growing distrust dated from the day he had bought
Wiley's quit-claim. Wiley had come to the mine full of fury and
aggressiveness, as his combat with Stiff Neck George clearly showed;
but after he had gone down and inspected the workings he had sold out
for one hundred dollars. And Wiley Holman was a mining engineer, with
a name for Yankee shrewdness--he must have had a reason.
Blount recalled his men from the drifts where they had been working and
set them to crosscutting for the vein. It was too expensive, restoring
all the square-sets and clearing out the fallen rock; and he had learned
to his sorrow that Colonel Huff had blown up every heading with
dynamite. In that tangle of shattered timbers and caved-in walls the
miners made practically no progress, for the ground was treacherous and
ten years under water had left the wood soft and slippery. To be sure
the hidden chute lay at the breast of some such drift; but to clear them
all out, with his limited equipment and no regular engineer in charge,
would run up a staggering account. So Blount began to crosscut, and to
sink along the contact, but chiefly to cut down expenses.
With the railroad that had tapped the camp torn up and hauled away,
every foot of timber, every stick of powder, cost twice as much as it
ought. And then there was machinery, and gas and oil for the engine, and
valves and spare parts for the pumps, and the board of the men, and
overhead expenses--and not a single dollar coming in. Blount sat up late
in his office, adding total to total, and at the end he leaned back
aghast. At the very inside it was costing him two hundred dollars for
every day that he operated the mine. And what was it turning back?
Nothing. The mine had been gutted of every pound of ore that it would
pay to sack and ship, and unless something was done to locate the lost
ore body and give some guarantee of future values, well, the Paymaster
would have to shut down. Blount considered it soberly, as a business man
should, and then he sent for Wiley Holman.
There were others, of course, to whom he might appeal; but he sent for
Wiley first. He was a mining engineer, he had had his eye on the
property and--well, he probably knew something about the lost vein. So
he sent a wire, and then a man; and at last Holman, M. E., arrived. He
came under protest, for he had been showing a mine of his own to some
four-buckle experts from the east, and when Blount made his appeal he
snorted.
"Well, for the love of Miguel!" he exclaimed, starting up. "Do you think
I'm going to help you for nothing? I'm a mining engineer, and the least
it will cost you is five hundred dollars for a report. No, I don't think
anything; and I don't know anything; and I won't take your mine on
shares. I'm through--do you get me? I sold out my entire interest for
one hundred dollars, cash. That puts me ahead of the game, up to date;
and while I'm lucky I'll quit."
He stamped out of the office--Blount having moved into the bank building
where he had formerly officiated as president--and made a break for his
machine; but other eyes had marked his arrival in town and Death Valley
Charley button-holed him.
"Say," he said, "do you want something good--an option on ten
first-class claims? Well, come with me; I'll make you an offer that
you can't hardly, possibly refuse."
He led Wiley up an alley, then whisked him around corners and back to
his house behind the Widow's.
"Now, listen," he went on, when Wiley was in a chair and he had
carefully fastened the door, "I'm going to show you something good."
He reached under his bed and brought out ten sacks of samples which he
spread, one by one, on the table.
"Now, you see?" he said. "It's all that white quartz that you was after
on the Paymaster dump. I followed the outcrop, on an extension of the
Paymaster, and I took up ten, good, opened claims."
"Umm," murmured Wiley, and examined each sample with a careful,
appraising eye. "Yes, pretty good, Charley; I suppose you guarantee the
title? Well, how much do you want for your claims?"
"Oh, whatever you say," answered Charley modestly, "but I want two
hundred dollars down."
"And about a million apiece, I suppose, for the claims? It doesn't cost
_me_ anything, you know, on an option."
"Eh, heh, heh," laughed Charley indulgently and Heine, who had been
looking from face to face, jumped up and barked with delight. "Eh, heh;
yes, that's good; but you know me, Mr. Holman--I ain't so crazy as they
think. No, I don't talk millions with my mouth full of beans; all I want
is five hundred apiece. But I got to have two hundred down."
"Oh," observed Wiley, "that's two dollars for the marriage license and
the rest for the wedding journey. Well, if it's as serious as that----"
He reached for his check-book and Charley cackled with merriment.
"Yes, yes," he said, "then I _would_ be crazy. Do you know what the
Colonel told me?
"'Charley,' he says, 'whatever you do, don't marry no talking woman.
She'll drive you crazy, the same as I am; but don't you forget that
whiskey.'"
"Oh, sure," exclaimed Wiley, beginning to write out the option, "this
money is to buy whiskey for the Colonel!"
"That's it," answered Charley. "He's over across Death Valley--in the
Ube-Hebes--but I can't find my burros. They--Heine, come here, sir!"
Heine came up cringing and Charley slapped him soundly. "Shut up!" he
commanded and as Heine crept away Death Valley began to mutter to
himself. "No, of course not; he's dead," he ended ineffectively, and
Wiley looked up from his writing.
"Who's dead?" he inquired, but Charley shook his head and listened
through the wall.
"Look out," he said, "I can hear her coming--jest give me that two
hundred now."
"Well, here's twenty," replied Wiley, passing over the money, and then
there came a knock at the door.
"Come in!" called out Charley and, as he motioned Wiley to be silent,
Virginia appeared in the doorway.
"Oh!" she cried, "I didn't know you were here!" But something in the way
she fixed her eyes on him convinced Wiley that she had known, all the
same.
"Just a matter of business," he explained with a flourish, "I'm
considering an option on some of Charley's claims."
"Jest my bum claims!" mumbled Charley as Virginia glanced at him
reprovingly. "Jest them ten up north of the Paymaster."
"Oh," she said and drew back towards the door, "well, don't let me break
up a trade."
"You'd better sign as a witness," spoke up Wiley imperturbably, and she
stepped over and looked at the paper.
"What? All ten of those claims for five hundred apiece? Why, Charley,
they may be worth millions!"
"Well, put it down five million, then," suggested Wiley, grimly. "How
much do you want for them, Charley?"
"Five hundred dollars apiece," answered Charley promptly, "but they's
got to be two hundred down."
"Well?" inquired Wiley as Virginia still regarded him suspiciously, and
then he beckoned her outside. "Say, what's the matter?" he asked
reproachfully. "Let the old boy make his touch--he wants that two
hundred for grub."
"He does not!" she spat back. "I'm ashamed of you, Wiley Holman; taking
advantage of a crazy man like that!"
"Well, I don't know," he began in a slow, drawling tone that cut her to
the quick, "he may not be as crazy as you think. I've just been offered
a half interest in the Paymaster if I'll come out and take charge of
it."
"You _have_!" she cried, starting back and staring as he regarded
her with steely eyes. "Well, are you going to take it?"
"I don't know," he answered. "Thought I'd better see you first--it might
be taking advantage of Blount."
"Of Blount!" she echoed and then she saw his smile and realized that he
was making fun of her.
"Yes," went on Wiley, whose feelings had been ruffled, "he may be crazy,
too. He sure was looking the part."
"Now don't you laugh at me!" she burst out hotly. "This isn't as funny
as you think. What's going to happen to us if you take over that mine? I
declare, you've been standing in with Blount!"
"I knew it," he mocked. "You catch me every time. But what about Charley
here--does he get his money or not?" He turned to Death Valley, who was
standing in the doorway watching their quarrel with startled eyes. "I
guess you're right, Charley," he added, smiling wryly. "It must be
something in the air."
"Are you going to take that offer," demanded Virginia, wrathfully, "and
rob me and mother of our mine?"
"Oh, no," he answered, "I turned it down cold. I knew you wouldn't
approve."
"You knew nothing of the kind!" she came back sharply, the angry tears
starting in her eyes. "And I don't believe he ever made it."
"Well, ask him," suggested Wiley, and went back into the house,
whereupon Death Valley closed the door.
"Yes," whispered Charley, "it's in the air--there's electricity
everywhere. But what about that option?"
Wiley sat at the table, his eyes big with anger, his jaw set hard
against the pain, and then he reached for his pen.
"All right, Charley," he said, "but don't you let 'em kid you--you've
got the best business head in town."
CHAPTER XI
A TOUCH
The wrath of a man who is slow to anger cannot lightly be turned aside
and, though Virginia drooped her lashes, the son of Honest John brushed
past her without a word. She had followed him gratuitously to Death
Valley's cabin and seriously questioned his good faith; and then, to fan
the flames of his just resentment, she had suggested that he was telling
an untruth. He had told her--and it seemed impossible--that Blount had
offered him half the Paymaster, on shares; but the following morning,
without a word of warning, the Paymaster Mine shut down. The pumps
stopped abruptly, all the tools were removed, and as the foreman and
miners who had been their boarders rolled up their beds and prepared to
depart, the high-headed Virginia buried her face in her hands and
retired to her bedroom to weep. And then to cap it all that miserable
assayer sent in his belated report.
"Gold--a trace. Silver--blank. Copper--blank. Lead--blank. Zinc--blank."
The heavy white quartz which Wiley had made so much of was as barren as
the dirt in the street. It had absolutely no value and--oh, wretched
thought--he had offered to buy her stock out of charity! Out of the
bigness of his heart--and then she had insulted him and accused him of
robbing Death Valley Charley! In the light of this new day Death Valley
was a magnate, with his check for two hundred dollars, and Virginia and
her mother must either starve on in silence or accept the bounty of the
Holmans. It was maddening, unbelievable--and to think what he had
suffered from her, before he had finally gone off in a rage. But how
sarcastic he had been when she had accused him of robbing Charley, and
of standing in with Blount! He had said things then which no woman could
forgive; no, not even if she were in the wrong. He had led her on to
make unconsidered statements, smiling provokingly all the time; and
then, when she had doubted that Blount had offered him the mine, he had
said, "Well, ask him!" and shut the door in her face! And now, without
asking, the question had been answered, for Blount had closed down the
mine in despair and gone back to his bank in Vegas.
The Paymaster was dead, and Keno was dead; and their eight hundred
dollars was gone. All the profits from the miners which they had counted
upon so confidently had disappeared in a single day; and now her mother
would have to pawn her diamonds again in order to get out of town.
Virginia paced up and down, debating the situation and seeking some
possible escape, but every door was closed. She could not appeal to
Wiley, for she knew her stock was worthless, and her hold on his
sympathies was broken. He was a Yankee and cold, and his anger was
cold--the kind that will not burn itself out. When he had loved her it
was different; there was a spark of human kindness to which she could
always appeal; but now he was as cold and passionless as a statue; with
his jaws shut down like iron. She gave up and went out to see Charley.
Death Valley was celebrating his sudden rise to affluence by a resort to
the flowing bowl and when Virginia stepped in she found all three
phonographs running and a two-gallon demijohn on the table. Death Valley
himself was reposing in an armchair with one leg wrapped up in a white
bandage and as she stopped the grinding phonographs and made a grab for
the demijohn he held up two fingers reprovingly.
"I'm snake-bit," he croaked. "Don't take away my medicine. Do you want
your Uncle Charley to die?"
"Why, Charley!" she cried, "you know you aren't snake-bit! The
rattlesnakes are all holed up now."
"Yes--holed up," he nodded; "that's how I got snake-bit. It was fourteen
years ago, this month. Didn't you ever hear of my snake-mine--it was one
of the marvels of Arizona--a two-foot stratum of snakes. I used to hook
'em out as fast as I needed them and try out the oil to cure rheumatism;
but one day I dropped one and he bit me on the leg, and it's been bad
that same month ever since. Would you like to see the bite? There's the
pattern of a diamond-back just as plain as anything, so I know it must
have been a rattler."
He reached resolutely for the demijohn and took a hearty drink whereat
Virginia sat down with a sigh.
"I'll tell you something," went on Charley confidentially. "Do you know
why a snake shakes its tail? It's generating electricity to shoot in the
pisen, and the longer a rattlesnake rattles----"
"Oh, now, Charley," she begged, "can't you see I'm in trouble? Well,
stop drinking and listen to what I say. You can help me a lot, if you
will."
"Who--me?" demanded Charley, and then he roused himself up and motioned
for a dipper of water. "Well, all right," he said, "I hate to kill this
whiskey----" He drank in great gulps and made a wry face as he rose up
and looked around.
"Where's Heine?" he demanded. "Here Heine, Heine!"
"You drove him under the house," answered Virginia petulantly, "playing
all three phonographs at once. Really, it's awful, Charley, and you'd
better look out or mother will give you the bounce."
"Scolding women--talking women," mused Charley drunkenly. "Well; what do
you want me to do?"
"I'm _not_ scolding!" denied Virginia, and then as he leered at her
she gave way weakly to tears. "Well, I can't help it," she wailed, "she
scolds me all the time and--she simply drives me to it."
"They'll drive you crazy," murmured Charley philosophically. "There's
nothing to do but hide out. But I must save the rest of that whiskey for
the Colonel."
He reached for the demijohn and corked it stoutly, after which he turned
to Virginia.
"Do you want some money?" he asked more kindly, bringing forth his roll
as he spoke. "Well here, Virginny, there's one hundred dollars--it's
nothing to your Uncle Charley. No, I got plenty more; and I'm going up
the Ube-Hebes just as soon as I find my burros. They must be over to
Cottonwood--there's lots of sand over there and Jinny, she's hell for
rolling. No, take the money; I got it from Wiley Holman and he's got
plenty more."
He dropped it in her lap, but she jumped up hastily and put it back in
his hands.
"No, not that money," she said, "but listen to me, Charley; here's what
I want you to do. I've got some stock in the Paymaster Mine that Wiley
was trying to buy; but now--oh, you saw how he treated me yesterday--he
wouldn't take it, if he knew. But Charley, you take it; and the next
time you see him--well, try to get ten cents a share. We want to go
away, Charley; because the mine is closed down and----"
"Yes, yes, Virginny," spoke up Death Valley, soothingly, "I'll get you
the money, right away."
"But don't you tell him!" she warned in a panic, "because----"
"You ought to be ashamed," said Charley reprovingly and went out to hunt
up his burros. Virginia lingered about, looking off across the desert at
the road down which Wiley had sped, and at last she bowed her head.
Those last words of Charley's still rang in her ears and when, towards
evening, he started off down the road she watched him out of sight.
It was a long, dry road, this highway to Vegas, but twenty miles out, at
Government Wells, there was water, and a good place to camp. Charley
stopped there that night, and for three days more, until at last in the
distance he saw Wiley's white racer at the tip of a streamer of dust. He
went by like the wind but when he spied Charley he slowed down and
backed up to his camp.
"Hel-lo there, Old Timer," he hailed in surprise, "what are you doing,
away out here?"
"Oh, rambling around," responded Charley airily, waving his hand at the
world at large. "It's good for man to be alone, away from them scolding
women."
The shadow of a smile passed over Wiley's bronzed face and then he
became suddenly grim.
"Bum scripture, Charley," he said, nodding shortly, "but you may be
right, at that. What's the excitement around beautiful Keno?"
"I don't know," lied Charley. "Ain't been in town since you was there,
but she was sure booming, then. Say, I've got some stock in that
Paymaster Mine that I might let you have, for cash. I'm burnt out on the
town--they's too many people in it--I'm going back to the Ube-Hebes."
"Well, take me along, then," suggested Wiley, "and we'll bring back a
car-load of that gold. Maybe then I could buy your stock."
"No, you buy it now," went on Charley insistently. "I'm broke and I need
the money."
"Oh, you do, eh?" jested Wiley. "Still thinking about that wedding trip?
Well, I may need that money myself."
"Eh, heh, heh," laughed Charley, and drawing forth a package he began to
untie the strings. "Eh, heh; yes, that's right; I've been watching you
young folks for some time. But I'll sell you this stock of mine cheap."
He unrolled a cloth and flashed the certificates hopefully, but Wiley
did not even look at them.
"Nope," he said, "no Paymaster for me. I wouldn't accent that stock as a
gift."
"But it's rich!" protested Charley, his eyes beginning to get wild.
"It's full of silver and gold. I can feel the electricity when I walk
over the property--there's millions and millions, right there!"
"Oh, there is, eh?" observed Wiley, and, snatching away the
certificates, he ran them rapidly over. "Where'd you get these?" he
asked, and Death Valley blinked, though he looked him straight in the
eyes.
"Why, I--bought 'em," he faltered, "and--the Colonel gave me some.
And----"
"How much do you want for them?" snapped Wiley, and Charley blinked
again.
"Ten cents a share," he answered, and Wiley's stern face hardened.
"You take these back," he said, "and tell her I don't want 'em."
"Who--Virginny?" inquired Death Valley, and then he kicked his leg and
looked around for Heine.
"Now, here," spoke up Wiley, "don't go to slapping that dog. How much do
you want for the bunch?"
"Four hundred dollars!" barked Charley, and stood watchful and expectant
as Wiley sat deep in thought.
"All right," he said, and as he wrote out the check Death Valley
chuckled and leered at Heine.
CHAPTER XII
THE EXPERT
Like the way of an eagle in the air or the way of a man with a maid, the
ways of a mining promoter must be shrouded in mystery and doubt. For
when he wants to buy, no man will sell; and when he wants to sell, no
man will buy; and when he will neither buy nor sell he is generally
suspected of both. Wiley Holman had two fights and a charge of buckshot
to prove that he wanted the Paymaster, and the fact that he had refused
a half interest for nothing to prove that he did not want it. Also he
had sold his tax-title to the property for the sum of one hundred
dollars. What then did it signify when he bought Virginia's despised
stock for four hundred dollars, cash down? The man who could answer that
could explain the way of a man with a maid.
Samuel J. Blount made the claim--and he had his pile to prove it--that
he could think a little closer than most men. A little closer, and a
little farther; but the Paymaster had been his downfall. He had played
the long game to get possession of the mine, only to find he had bought
a white elephant. Every day that he held it he had thrown good money
after bad and he sent out a search party for Wiley Holman. Wiley had
refused half the mine, but that only proved that half of the mine did
not appeal to him--perhaps he would take it all. Samuel J. had been a
student for a good many years in the school of predatory business and he
had learned the rules of the game. He knew that the buyer always decried
the goods and magnified each tiny defect, whereas the seller by as
natural a process played up every virtue to the limit. But any man who
inspected the goods was a potential buyer of the same, and Wiley had
shown more than a passing interest in the fate of the unlucky Paymaster.
And Wiley was a mining engineer.
They met in the glassed-in office of Blount in the ornate Bank of Vegas
and for a half an hour or more Wiley sat tipped back in his chair while
Blount talked of everything in general. It was a way he had, never to
approach anything directly; but Wiley favored more direct methods.
"I understood," he remarked, bringing his chair down with a bang, "that
you wanted to see me on business?"
"Yes, yes, Wiley," soothed Blount, "now please don't rush off--I wanted
to see you about the Paymaster."
"Well, shoot," returned Wiley, "but don't ask my advice, unless you're
ready to pay for it."
He tipped back his chair and sat waiting patiently while Blount
unraveled his thoughts. He could think closer than most men, but not
quicker, and the Paymaster was a tangled affair.
"I have been told," he began at last, "that you are still buying
Paymaster stock. Or at least--well, a check of yours came through here
endorsed by Death Valley Charley, and Virginia Huff. Oh, yes, yes;
that's your business, of course; but here's the point I'm coming to; it
won't do you any good to buy in that stock because I've got a majority
of it right here in my vault. If you want to control the Paymaster,
don't go to someone else--I'm the man you want to see."
He tapped himself on the breast and smiled impressively, and Wiley
nodded his head.
"All right," he said imperturbably, "when I want the Paymaster Mine I'll
know right where to go."
"Yes, you come to me," went on Blount after a minute, "and I'll do the
best I can." He paused expectantly, but Wiley did not speak, so he went
on blandly, as before. "The stock, of course, is nonassessable and the
taxes are very small. I intend from now on to keep them paid up, so
there will be no further tax sales. The stock of Mrs. Huff, which I now
hold as collateral security, is practically mine already, as she has
defaulted on her first month's interest and is preparing to leave the
state. Of course, there is the stock which your father is holding--as I
calculate, something over two hundred thousand shares--and what little
remains outside; but if you are interested in the mine I am the man to
talk to, so what would you like to propose?"
"Well," began Wiley, and then he stopped and seemed to be lost in
thought. "I'll tell you," he said, "I was interested in the Paymaster--I
believe there's something there; but I've got some other propositions
that I can handle a little easier, so if you don't mind we'll wait a
while."
"No, but Wiley," protested Blount as his man rose up to go, "now just
sit down; I'm not quite through. Now I know just as well as you do that
you take a great interest in that mine. Your troubles with Mrs. Huff and
Stiff Neck George prove conclusively that such is the case; and I am
convinced that, either from your father or some other source, you have
valuable inside information. Now I must admit that I'm not a mining man
and my management was not a success; but with your technical education
and all the rest, I am convinced that the results would be different.
No, there's no use denying it, because I know myself that you've been
buying up Paymaster stock."
"Sure," agreed Wiley, "I bought four hundred dollars worth. That would
break the Bank of Vegas. But you've got lots of money--why don't you
hire a competent mining man and go after that lost ore-body yourself?"
"I may do that," replied Blount easily, "but in the meantime why not
make me a reasonable offer, or take the mine on shares?"
"If the Paymaster," observed Wiley, "was the only mine in the world, I'd
make you a proposition in a minute. But a man in my position doesn't
have to buy his mines, and I never work anything on shares."
"Well, now Wiley, I've got another proposition, which you may or may not
approve; but there's no harm, I hope, if I mention it. You know there's
been a difference between me and your father since--well, since the
Paymaster shut down. I respect him very much and have nothing but the
kindliest feelings towards him but he--well, you know how it is. But I
have been informed, Wiley, that since Colonel Huff's death, your father
has been bidding for his stock. In fact, I have seen a letter written to
Mrs. Huff in which he offers her ten cents a share. Now, of course, if
you want to gain control of the company, I'm willing to do what's right;
and so, after thinking it over, I have come to the conclusion that I
will accept that offer now."
"Umm," responded Wiley, squinting his eyes down shrewdly, "how much
would that come to, in all?"
"Well, twenty-one thousand, eight hundred dollars, for what I received
from Mrs. Huff; but of course--well, he'd have to buy a little more of
me in order to get positive control."
"How much more?" asked Wiley, but Blount's crooked mouth pulled down in
a crafty smile.
"We can discuss that later," he suggested mildly. "Do you think he will
buy the stock?"
"Not if he takes my advice," answered Wiley coldly. "I can buy the whole
block for eight hundred."
"How?"
"Why, by loaning Mrs. Huff the eight hundred dollars with which to take
up her note."
"I doubt it," replied Blount, and his mild, deceiving eyes took on the
faintest shadow of a threat. "Mrs. Huff has defaulted on her first
month's interest and, according to the terms of her note, the collateral
automatically passes to me."
"Well, keep it, then," burst out Wiley, "and I hope to God you get stuck
for every cent. Your old mine isn't worth a dam'!"
"Why--Wiley!" gasped Blount, quite shaken for the moment by this
disastrous piece of news, "what reason have you for thinking that?"
"Give me a hundred dollars as an advising expert and I'll tell you--and
show you, too."
"No, I hardly think so," answered Blount at last. "And, Wiley, you don't
think so, either."
"No?" challenged Wiley. "Well, you just watch my smoke and see whether I
do or not."
He had closed the door before Blount dragged him back like a haggling,
relentless pawn-broker.
"Make me a proposition," he clamored desperately, "and if it's anywhere
in reason I'll accept it."
"All right," answered Wiley, "but show me what you've got--I don't buy
any cat in a bag."
"And will you make me an offer?" demanded Blount hopefully. "Will you
take the whole thing off my hands?"
"I will if it's good--but you'll have to show me first that you've got a
controlling share of the stock. And another thing, Mr. Blount, since our
time is equally valuable, let's cut out this four-flushing stuff. If I'd
wanted your mine so awfully bad I'd have held on to it when the title
was mine; but I turned it back to you, just to let you look it over, and
to keep the peace for once. But now, if you're satisfied, I might look
it over; but it'll be under a bond and lease. The parties I represent
are strictly business, and we make it a rule to tie everything up tight
before we put out a cent. I'll want an option on every share you have,
and I can't offer more than ten per cent royalty; but to compensate for
that I'll agree to pay in full or vacate within six months from date."
"But how much?" demanded Blount, brushing aside all the details, "how
much will you pay me a share?"
"I'll pay you," stated Wiley, "what I paid Death Valley Charley, and
that's five cents a share."
"Five cents!" shrilled Blount, rising up in protest, yet jumping at the
price like a trout, "five cents--why, that's practically nothing!"
"Just five cents more than nothing," observed Wiley judicially and
waited for Blount to rave.
"But your father," suggested Blount with a knowing leer, "is in the
market at ten."
"No, not in the market. He offered that to the Widow, but now the deal
is off, because all of her stock has changed hands."
"Well, the stock is the same," suggested Blount insinuatingly. "Give me
seven and a half and split the profits."
"Now don't be a crook," rapped out Wiley angrily. "Just because you
would rob your own father doesn't by any means prove that I will."
"Well, you certainly implied," protested Blount with injured innocence,
"that this stock was to be sold to your father. And if it is worth that
to him, why is it worth less to you? You must be working together."
"No, we're not," declared Wiley. "I'm in on this alone, and have been,
from the start. And just to set your mind at rest--he didn't make that
offer because he wanted the stock, but to kind of help out the Widow."
"Ah," smiled Blount, and nodded his head wisely, but there was a playful
light in his eyes.
"Yes--ah!" flashed back Wiley, "and if you think you're so danged smart
I'll let you keep your old mine a few months."
He started for the door again but Blount dragged him back and laid a
metal box on the table.
"Well, let's get down to business," he said with quick decision, and
spread a heap of papers before his eyes. "There are all my Paymaster
shares, and if you'll take them off my hands you can have them for six
cents, cash."
"I said five," returned Wiley, as he ran through the papers, "and an
option to buy in six months. But this stock of the Widow's--I can't take
that at any price--the Colonel isn't legally dead."
"What?" yelled Blount, and sat down in a chair while he stared at the
inscrutable Wiley.
"His body was never found and, under the law, he can't be declared dead
for seven years. Mrs. Huff had no right to sell his stock."
"Oh, but he's dead, Wiley," assured Blount. "Surely there's no doubt of
that. They found his burro, and his letters and everything; and where he
had run wild through the sand. If that storm hadn't come up they would
certainly have found his body--the Indian trailers said so; so why stick
on a technicality?"
"That's the law," said Wiley. "You know it yourself. But of course, if
you want to vote this stock at a Directors' meeting we can still do
business on that lease."
"Oh, my Lord!" sighed Blount, and after a heavy silence he rose up and
paced the floor. As for Wiley, he ran through the papers, making notes
of dates and numbers, and then grimly began to fill out a legal blank.
"There's the option," he said, passing over a paper, "and I see now how
you double-crossed my father. So you don't need to sign unless you want
to."
"Why--er--what's that?" exclaimed Blount, coming out of his abstraction
as Wiley slapped down the bundle of certificates.
"I see by these endorsements," replied Wiley, "that you sold out before
the panic and bought in all this stock afterwards."
Blount started and a red line mounted up to his eyes as he hastily
glanced over the option.
"Well, I'll sign it," he mumbled, and reached for the pen, but Wiley
checked his hand.
"No, you ring for a notary," he said. "I want that signature
acknowledged."
The notary came and ran perfunctorily through his formula, after which
he left them alone.
"Now here's the bond and lease," went on Wiley curtly, "so bring on your
Board of Directors and let's get this business over. By rights I ought
to kill you."
There was a special meeting then of the Board of Directors of The
Paymaster Mining and Milling Company, and when the bond and lease was
properly drawn up, they signed it and had it witnessed. Then once more
the tense silence came over the room and Wiley rose to go.
"Well," he said, "I've been waiting for ten years just to get these
papers in my hands. And now, you danged crook, just to hit you where you
live, I'm going to make a fortune."
"A fortune!" echoed Blount, and then he clasped his hands and sank
down weakly in a chair. "I knew it!" he moaned, "I knew it all the
time--you've been trying to get that mine for months. But what is it,
Wiley? Have you located the lost vein? Oh, I knew it; all the time!"
"Yes, you did," jeered Wiley, "you didn't know anything, except how to
grab hold of the stock. What good was it to you after you'd got the old
mine--you didn't know what to do with it! All you knew was how to rob
the widow and the orphan and deprive better men of their good name. You
wait till I tell my Old Man about this--and how you were selling him
out, all the time. If it wasn't for you he'd never been called Honest
John by a bunch of these tin-horns and crooks. But I'll show you who's
honest--I'm going to skin you alive for what you did to my father. You
wait till I make my clean-up!"
"But what is it, Wiley?" cried Blount, despairingly. "Have you really
discovered the lost vein?"
"No," grinned Wiley, "but I've consulted an expert and he tells me the
mine is worth millions!"
"What--millions?" burst out Blount, struggling up to his feet. "Now
here, Wiley Holman; I want that option back! You secured it by fraud and
misrepresentation and by concealment of the actual facts. I'll have the
law on you--I'll break the contract--you came here with intent to
defraud!"
"Don't you think it!" returned Wiley, thrusting out his lip. "You
thought you were trimming me, like taking candy from a baby. Why didn't
_you_ get an expert? I offered to hire out to you, myself!"
"Oh--hell!" choked Blount. "Well, tell me the worst--where was it he
told you to dig?"
"Why right down the shaft," answered Wiley blandly. "He's a new kind of
mining expert and he locates the gold by electricity."
"By electricity!" exclaimed Blount, and as he perceived Wiley's smile he
straightened up in a rage. "I don't believe a word of it. Who is this
man, anyway? I never heard of such a thing before!"
"Oh, yes!" said Wiley, as he stepped out the door, "you know the
professor well. They call him Death Valley Charley."
CHAPTER XIII
A SACK OF CATS
The weary work of packing had gone on endlessly in the bare rooms of the
old Huff house and now Virginia, with two kittens in her arms and the
mother cat following behind, was passing it all in review. A solid row
of packing boxes, arrayed on the front gallery, awaited the motor truck;
and here and there in corners lay piles of discarded treasures that were
destined to go to Charley for loot. He was hanging about, with his
pistol well in front, on the watch for Stiff Neck George; but up to that
moment the Widow had not said the word that would start the mad rush for
plunder. Her trunks were all packed, the china nested in barrels and the
bedding sewed up in burlap; but still from day to day she put off the
evil moment, and Virginia did not try to hurry her. The house had been
their home for ten years and more and, though Los Angeles would be fine
with its palm trees and bungalows, it was a strange land, far away. And
what would they do in that city of strange faces and hustling, eager
real-estate agents? It was that which held the Widow back.
In the city there would be rent and water to pay for, and electric
lights and wood; but in desolate Keno rent and water and wood were free,
and the electric light company had taken down its poles. If the town
were not so dead--if they could only make a living,--the Widow started
up for the thousandth time, for she heard a racing auto down the street.
It was Wiley Holman, as sure as shooting, and--well, Wiley was not so
bad. It was his money, really, that had enabled them to pack up, and
would enable them to go, when they started; and the Widow knew, as well
as she knew anything, that he had designs upon the mine. He was after
the Paymaster, and if he ever got hold of it--well, Keno would come back
to its own. She rushed to the door and looked out into the street; and
when she met Virginia, running away from meeting Wiley, she caught her
and whirled her about.
"Now you go back there," she hissed in her ear, "and I want you to be
nice to him--he may have come back about the mine."
Virginia went out the door and, as Wiley Holman saw her standing there,
he leapt out and came up the steps.
"Well, well," he said, "just in time to say good-by. And I wanted to see
you, too." He smiled down at her boyishly and Virginia's eyes turned
gentle as he took both her hands in his. "I've got some news to tell
you," he burst out eagerly; "not news that will buy you anything but
something to remember when you're gone."
He led her to a box and, taking one of the kittens, sat down with his
back to the door. Then he rose up hastily at a sudden rustle from behind
and glanced inquiringly at Virginia.
"It's just mother," she said and at the mention of her name Mrs. Huff
came boldly out.
"Why, good morning, Wiley," she said, smiling over-sweetly. "Seems to me
you're awful early."
"Yes," answered Wiley, trying vainly to seem polite, "I just stopped off
to say good-by!"
He offered her his hand, but the Widow ignored the hint and took the
conversation to herself.
"Well, I'm real glad you came," she went on sociably, "because I wanted
to see you on a matter of business. In fact, I've been kind of waiting,
on the chance that you might come through. Oh, I know that I don't
count, but you can see Virginia afterwards; and I wanted to consult you
about my stock. Yes, I know," she hastened on, as his face turned grim,
"I haven't treated you fairly at all. I should have taken your offer,
when you said you'd give ten cents for every share of stock that I had.
But I took them to that Blount and he gave me next to nothing, and now
he's holding the stock. But what I wanted to ask was: Isn't there some
way we can arrange it to get it back and sell it to your father?"
"No, I don't think so," answered Wiley, putting down the kitten,
"and--well, I guess I'd better go."
He rose up reluctantly, but the Widow would not hear to it and Virginia
beckoned him to stay.
"Well, now listen," persisted the Widow. "That stock certainly must be
worth something."
"Not to you," returned Wiley. "I saw Blount only yesterday and he says
it belongs to him."
"Well, it does not!" declared the Widow, but as no one contradicted her,
she took a different tack. "Are you coming back?" she asked, smiling
brightly. "Are you going to open up the mine?"
Wiley's face fell for a moment.
"What gave you that idea?" he inquired bluffly, but the Widow pointed a
finger and laughed roguishly.
"I knew it," she cried. "I've known it for months--and I wish you the
best of good luck."
"Oh, you do, eh?" grunted Wiley, and stood undecided as Mrs. Huff
continued her assurances. He had come there to see Virginia, but
business was business and the Widow seemed almost reasonable. "Huh,
that's funny," he said at last. "I thought you had it in for me. What's
the chance for getting a quit-claim?"
"A quit-claim!" echoed the Widow, suddenly pricking up her ears. "Why,
what do you want that for, now?"
"Well, you're going away," explained Wiley quietly, "and it might come
in handy, later, if I should want to take over the mine. Of course
you've got no title--and no stock, for that matter--but I'll give you a
hundred dollars, all the same."
"I'll take it!" snapped the Widow and Wiley broke out laughing as he
reached for his fountain pen.
"Zingo!" he grinned and then he bit his lip, for the Widow was quick to
take offence. "Of course," he went on, "this doesn't affect your stock
if you should ever get it back from Blount. That is still your property,
according to law, and this quit-claim just guarantees me free entry and
possession. We'll get Virginia to witness the agreement."
"All right," bridled the Widow and watched him cynically as he wrote out
the quit-claim and check. "Oh! Actually!" she mocked as he put the check
in her hands. "I just wanted to see if you were bluffing."
"Well, you know now," he answered and sat in stony silence until she
departed with a triumphant smirk. Then he glanced at Virginia and
motioned towards the street, but she sighed and shook her head.
"No," she said, "I can't leave the house--mother is likely to start any
time, now."
"I suppose you'll be glad to go," he suggested at last as she sat down
and gathered up the kittens. "The old town is sure awful dead."
"Yes--I guess so," she agreed half-heartedly. "You'd think so, but we
don't seem to go."
"Is there anything I can do for you?" he inquired after a silence. "You
know what I told you once, Virginia."
"Yes, I know," she answered bitterly, "but--Oh, I'm ashamed to let you
help me, after the way I acted up about Charley."
"Well, forget it," he said at length. "I guess I get kind of ugly when
anyone doubts my good faith. It's on account of my father, and calling
him Honest John--but say, I forgot to tell the news!"
Virginia looked up inquiringly and he beckoned her into the corner where
no one could overhear his words.
"Blount sent for me yesterday--trying to sell me the mine," he whispered
in her ear, "and I made him show me his stock. And when I looked on the
back of his promotion certificates--the ones he got for promoting the
mine--I found by the endorsements that he'd sold every one of them
before or during the panic. Do you see? They were street certificates,
passing from hand to hand without going to the company for transfer, but
every broker that handled them had written down his name as a memorandum
of the date and sale. Don't you see what he did--he set your father
against my father, and my father against yours, and all the time, like
the crook he is, he was selling them both out for a profit. I could have
killed him, the old dog, only I thought it would hurt him more to
whipsaw him out of his mine; but listen now, Virginia, don't you think
we can be friends--because my father never robbed anybody of a cent! He
thought more of the Colonel than he did of me; and I've started out,
even if it is a little late, to prove that he was on the square."
He stopped abruptly, for in his rush of words he had failed to note the
anger in her eyes, until now she turned and faced him.
"Oho!" she said, "so that's your idea--you're going to whipsaw Blount
out of his mine?"
"If I can!" hedged Wiley. "But for the Lord's sake, Virginia, don't tell
what I said to your mother! It won't make any difference, because she's
given me a quit-claim--but what's the use of having any trouble?"
"Yes, sure enough!" murmured Virginia, with cutting sarcasm. "She might
even demand her rights!"
"Well, maybe you _like_ to fight!" burst out Wiley angrily, "and if
you do, all right--hop to it! But I'll tell you one thing; if you can't
be reasonable, I can be just as bullheaded as anybody!"
"Yes, you can," she agreed and then she sighed wearily, and waved it all
away with one hand. "Well, all right," she said, "I'm so sick and tired
of it that I certainly don't want any more. And since I've taken your
money, as you know very well, I'm going to go away and give you peace."
Her eyes blinked fast, to hold back the tears, and once more the son of
Honest John weakened.
"No, I don't want you to go away," he answered gently, "but--isn't there
something I can do before you go? I have to fight my way, you know that
yourself, Virginia; but don't let that keep us from being friends. I'm a
mining engineer, and I can't tell you all my plans, because that sure
would put me out of business; but why can't you trust me, and then I'll
trust you and--what is it you've got on your mind?"
He reached for her hand but she drew it away and sat quiet, looking up
the street.
"You wouldn't understand," she said with a sigh. "You're always thinking
about money and mines. But a woman is different--I suppose you'll laugh
at me, but I'm worried about my cats."
"About your cats!" he echoed, and she smiled up at him wistfully and
then looked down at the kittens in her lap.
"Yes," she said, "you know they were left to me when the people moved
out of town, and now I've got eight of them and I just know that old
Charley----"
"He'll starve 'em to death," broke in Wiley, instantly. "I know the old
tarrier well. You give 'em to me, Virginia, and I swear I'll take care
of 'em just the same as I would of--you."
"Oh," smiled Virginia, and then she gave him her hand and the old hatred
died out in her eyes. "That's good of you, Wiley, and I certainly
appreciate it; because no one would trust them with Charley. I'm going
to take the two kittens, but you can have the rest of them and--you can
write to me about them, sometimes."
"Every week," answered Wiley. "I'll take 'em back to the ranch and the
girls will look after them when I'm gone. We'll have to put them in
sacks, but that will be better----"
"Yes, that's better than starving," assented Virginia absently, and
Wiley rose suddenly to go. There was something indefinable that stood
between them, and no effort of his could break it down. He shook hands
perfunctorily and started down the gallery and then abruptly he turned
and swung back.
"Here," he said, throwing her stock down before her, "I told you to hold
onto that, once."
CHAPTER XIV
THE EXPLOSION
There are moments when his great secret rises to every man's lips and
flutters to wing away; but a thought, a glance, a word said or unsaid,
turns it back and he holds it more closely. Wiley Holman had a secret
which might have changed Virginia's life and filled every day with joy
and hope, but he shut down his lips and held it back and spoke kind
words instead. There was a look in her eyes, a brooding glow of
resentment when he spoke of his father and hers; and, while he spoke
from the heart, she drooped her dark lashes and was silent beyond her
wont. He gave her much but she gave him little--and the reason she was
sorry to leave Keno was the parting with six suffering cats.
There were girls that he knew who would have gone the limit and said
something about missing Wiley Holman. So he gave her back her stock and
put the cats in sacks and burnt up the road to the ranch. The next day
the news came that he had bonded the Paymaster, but Wiley was far away.
He caught the Limited and went speeding east, and then he came back,
headed west; and finally he left Vegas followed by four lumbering auto
trucks loaded down with freight and men. The time had come when he must
put his fortunes to the test and Keno awaited him, anxiously.
A cold, dusty wind raved down through the pass, driving even old Charley
to shelter; but as the procession moved in across the desert the city of
lost hopes came to life. Old grudges were forgotten, the dead past was
thrust aside, and they lined up to bid him welcome--Death Valley Charley
and Heine, Mrs. Huff and Virginia, and the last of ten thousand brave
men. For nine years they had lived on, firm in their faith in the mighty
Paymaster; and now again, for the hundredth time, the old hope rose up
in their breasts. The town was theirs, they had seen it grow from
nothing to a city of brick and stone, and they loved its ruins still.
All it needed was some industry to put blood into its veins and it would
thrill with energy and life. Even the Widow forgot her envy and her
anger at his deception and greeted Wiley Holman with a smile.
"Well--hello!" he hailed when he saw her in the crowd. "I thought you
were going away."
"Not much!" she returned. "Bring your men in to dinner. I'm having my
dishes unpacked!"
"Umm--good!" responded Wiley and, shrugging his shoulders, he led the
way on to the mine. There were other faces that he would as soon have
seen as the Widow's fighting mien, and he had brought his own cook
along; but Mrs. Huff was a lady and as such it was her privilege to
claim her woman's place in the kitchen. The town was part hers and the
restaurant was her livelihood; and then, of course, there was Virginia.
Having bidden her good-by, and taken care of her cats, he had reconciled
himself to her loss, but not even the smile in her welcoming dark eyes
could make him quite forget the Widow. She was an uncertain quantity,
like a stick of frozen dynamite that will explode if it is thawed too
soon; and there was a bombshell to come which gave more than even
promise of producing spontaneous combustion. So Wiley sighed as he fired
his cook, and told his men that they would board with the Widow.
The first dinner was not so much, consisting largely of ham and eggs
with the chickens out on a strike; but there was plenty of canned stuff
and the Widow promised wonders when she got all her boxes unpacked. Yet
with all her work before her and the dishes unwashed, she followed the
crowd to the mine. That was the day of days, from which Keno would date
time if Wiley made his promise good; and every man in town, and woman
and child, went over to watch them begin. Up the old, abandoned road the
auto trucks crept and crawled, and the shed and the houses that had been
prepared by Blount now gave shelter to his hated successor. Only one man
was absent and he sat on the hill-top, looking down like a lonely
coyote. It was Stiff Neck George, that specter at the feast, the
harbinger of evil to come; but as Wiley ordered the empty trucks to back
up against the dump he glanced at the hill-top and smiled.
"We'll take back a load of tungsten," he announced to the drivers and
the crowd of onlookers stared.
"Just load on that white stuff," he explained to the muckers and there
was a general rush for the dump.
"What did you say that stuff was?" inquired Death Valley Charley, after
a hasty look at his specimen; and Keno awaited the answer, breathless.
"Why, that's scheelite, Charley," replied Wiley confidentially, "and it
runs about sixty per cent tungsten. It comes in pretty handy to harden
those big guns that you hear shooting over in France."
"Oh, tungsten," muttered Charley, blinking wisely at the rock while
everyone else grabbed a sample. "Er--what do you say they use it for?"
"Why, to harden high-speed steel for guns and turning-tools--haven't you
read all about it in the papers?"
"How much did you say it was worth?" asked the Widow cautiously, and
Wiley knew that the bombshell was ignited.
"Well, that's a question," he began, "that I can answer better when I
get a report on this ore. It's all mixed up with quartz and ought to be
milled, by rights, before I even ship it; but since the trucks are going
back--well, if it turns out the way I calculate it might bring me forty
dollars a unit."
"A unit!" repeated the Widow, her voice low and measured. "Well, I'd
just like to know how much a unit is?"
"A hundredth of the standard of measure--in this case a ton of ore. That
would come to twenty pounds."
"Twenty pounds! What, of this stuff? And worth forty dollars! Well,
somebody must be crazy!"
"Yes, they're crazy for it," answered Wiley, "but it's just a temporary
rage, brought on by the European war. The market is likely to break any
time."
"Why--tungsten!" murmured the Widow. "Who ever heard of such a thing?
And it's been lying here idle all the time."
"How much would that be a ton?" piped up someone in the crowd, and Mrs.
Huff put her head to one side.
"Let's see," she said, "forty dollars a unit--that's one hundredth of
a ton. Oh, pshaw, it can't be that. Let's see, twenty pounds at forty
dollars--that's two dollars a pound; and two thousand pounds,
that's--oh, I don't believe it! I never even heard of tungsten!"
"No, it's a new metal," replied Wiley ever so softly, "or rather, it's
an acid. The technical magazines are full of articles that tell you all
about it. It's found in wolframite, and hubnerite and so on; but this is
calcium tungstate, where it is found in connection with lime. The others
are combined variously with iron or manganese----"
"Yes, manganese," broke in Charley importantly. "I know that well--and
wolfite and all the rest. It certainly is wonderful how they build them
big cannons that will shoot for twenty-two miles. But it's tungsden that
does it, tungsden in connection with electricity and the invisible rays
of raddium."
"Oh, shut up!" burst out the Widow, thrusting him rudely aside and
seizing a fresh handful of the rock. "I just can't hardly believe it."
She gazed at the glossy fragments and then at the muckers, industriously
loading the trucks; and then she cocked her head on one side.
"Let's see--two times twenty--that's forty dollars a ton. No--four
hundred! Why, no--four thousand!" She stopped short and made a hurried
re-calculation, while a murmur ran through the crowd, and then Death
Valley Charley gave a whoop.
"Four thousand!" he shouted. "I told ye! I knowed it! I claimed she was
rich, all the time!"
"You did not!" snapped the Widow, putting her hand under his jaw and
forcibly stifling his whoops. "You poor, crazy fool, you knew nothing of
the kind--you sold out for five thousand dollars!" She pushed him away
with a swift, disdainful shove that sent him reeling through the crowd
and then she whirled on Wiley. "And I suppose," she accused, "that you
knew all the time that this dump here was nothing but tungsten?"
"Well, I had a good idea," he admitted deprecatingly, "although it's yet
to be tested out. This is just a sample shipment----"
"Yes, a sample shipment; and at two dollars a pound how much will it
bring you in? Why, nothing, hardly; a mere bagatelle for a gentleman and
a scholar like you; but what about me and poor Virginia, slaving around
to cook your meals? What do we get for all our pains? Oh, I could kill
you, you scoundrel! You knew it all the time, and yet you let me sell
those shares!"
She choked and Wiley shifted uneasily on the ore-pile, for of course he
had done just that. To be sure he had urged her to sell them to his
father for the sum of ten cents a share; but the mention of that fact,
in her heated condition, would probably gain him nothing with the Widow.
She was gasping for breath and, if nothing intervened, he was in for the
scolding of his life. But it was all in the day's work and he glanced
about for Virginia, to seek comfort from her smiling eyes. She would
understand now why he had given her back her stock, and advised her from
the start not to sell; but--he looked again, for her dark orbs were
blazing and her lips were moving as with threats.
"You knew it all the time!" screamed the Widow in a frenzy, but Wiley
barely heard her. He heard her words, for they assaulted his ears in a
series of screeching crescendos, but it was the unspoken message from
the lips of Virginia that cut him to the quick. He had expected nothing
else from the abusive Widow; but certainly, after all the kindnesses he
had done her, he was entitled to something better from Virginia. Not
only had he warned her to hold on to her stock, at a time when one word
might ruin him; but he had bought it from Charley and then given it
back, to show how he valued her friendship. And yet now, while the
others were shouting with joy or rushing to stake out more claims, she
stood by the Widow and with cruel, voiceless words added her burden to
this pæan of hate. And she looked just like her mother!
"You shut up, you old cat!" he burst out fiercely, as the Widow rushed
in to assault him. "Shut your mouth and get off my ground!" He drew back
his palm to launch a swift blow and then his hand fell slack. "Well,
holler then," he said, "what do I give a dam' whether you like the deal
or not? You'd be yammering, just the same. But it's lucky for you you're
a woman."
CHAPTER XV
THE GOD OF TEN PER CENT
It was the nature of the Widow to resort to violence in every crisis of
her life and at each fresh memory of the effrontery of Wiley Holman she
searched the empyrean for words. From the very start he had come to Keno
with the intention of stealing her mine. First it was his father, who
pitied her so much he was willing to buy her shares; then it was the tax
sale, and he had sneaked in at night and tried to jump the Paymaster;
then he had deceived her and stood in with Blount to make her sell all
her stock for a song; and then, oh hateful thought, he had actually sold
out to Blount for a hundred dollars, cash; only to put Blount in the
hole and buy the mine back again for the price of the ore on the dump!
The Widow poured forth her charges without pausing for breath or
noticing that her audience had fled, and as Wiley went on about his
business she raised her voice to a scream. The rest of the Kenoites, and
some of the workmen, were out staking the nearby hills; but whenever she
stopped she thought of some fresh duplicity which made reason totter on
its throne. He had refused half the mine from Blount as a gift and then
turned around and bought it all. He had refused to buy her shares, time
and again, when he knew they were worth a million; and then, to cap the
climax, he had let her sell to Blount and bought them for nothing from
him. And even Death Valley Charley--poor, crazy, brain-sick Charley--he
had robbed him of all ten of his claims!
It was a damning arraignment, and Wiley's men listened grimly, but he
only twisted his lip and nodded his head ironically. With one eye on his
accuser, who was becoming hysterical, he hustled the ore into the empty
trucks and started them off down the road; and then, as Virginia led her
mother away, he re-engaged his cook. They had supper that night in the
old, abandoned cook-house; and, so wonderfully do great minds work, that
a complete bill of grub was discovered among the freight. Not only flour
and beans and canned goods and potatoes, but baking powder and matches
and salt; and the cook observed privately that you'd think Mr. Holman
had intended to make camp all the time. It is thus that foresight leaps
ahead into the future and robs life of half its ills; and the Widow
Huff, still unpacking plates and saucers, was untroubled by clamorous
guests. She had had her say and, as far as Wiley was concerned, there
were no more favors to be expected.
Yet the Widow was wise in the ways of mining camps and she prepared to
feed a horde--and the next day they came, by automobile and
motor-truck, until every table was filled. The rush was on, for
four-thousand dollar ore will bring men from the ends of the world.
Before the sun had set in the red glow of a sandstorm the desert was
staked for miles. From the chimneys of old houses, long abandoned to
the rats, rose the smokes of many fires and the rush and whine of
passing automobiles told of races to distant grounds. All the old
mines in the district, and of neighboring districts where the precious
"heavy spar" occurred, were re-located--or jumped, as the case might
be--and held to await future developments. The first thing was to
stake. They could prospect the ground later. Tungsten now was king.
Men who had never heard the name, or pronounced it haltingly, now
spoke learnedly of tungsten tests; and he was a poor prospector indeed
who lacked his bottle of hydrochloric acid and his test-tubes and
strip of shiny tin. They swarmed about the base of the old Paymaster
dump like bees around a broken pot of honey and when, pounded up and
boiled in the hydrochloric acid, the solution bit the tin and turned
bright blue, there was many a hearty curse at the fickle hand of
fortune which had led Wiley Holman to that treasure.
It had lain there for years, trampled down beneath their feet. Now this
kid, this mining-school prospector, had come back and grabbed it all.
Not only the Paymaster with its tons of mined ore, but the ten claims to
the north, all showing good scheelite, which Death Valley Charley had
located--he had held them down as well. Two hundred dollars down and a
carefully worded option had tied them up for five thousand dollars, and
there were tungsten-mad men in that crowd of boomers who would have
given fifty thousand apiece. They came up to the mine where Wiley was
working and waved their money in his face, and then went off grumbling
as he refused all offers and went busily about his work. So they came,
and went, until at last the great wave brought Samuel J. Blount himself.
He came up the trail smiling, for there was nothing to be gained by
making belated complaints; but when he saw the pile of precious white
rock the smile died away in spite of him. It was the boast of Blount
that, buying or selling, he always held out his ten per cent; but that
pile of ore had cost him dear and he had sold it out for next to
nothing. And it was his other boast that he could read men's hearts when
they came to buy or sell, but here was a young man who had seen him
coming twice and gained the advantage both times. So the smile grew
longer in spite of his best efforts and when at last he found Wiley
Holman in the office of the company it was perilously near a sulk.
"Well, good morning, Wiley," he began with unction, and then he looked
grievously about. The expensive gas engine which he had bought and
installed was already unwatering the mine; spare timbers were going
down, the new blacksmith-shop was running and Wiley was sitting at his
desk. Everything was there, just the way he had left it, except that it
belonged to Wiley. Blount heaved a heavy sigh and then set his features
resolutely, for the battle was not over yet. To be sure the mine was
bonded for a measly fifty thousand dollars, and his stock was tied up
under an option; but many things can happen in six months' time and
Wiley was only a boy. Granted that he was a miner and understood ore,
there is such a thing as an "Act of God." Cables break without reason,
mines cave and timbers fall; and certainly if there is a God of Ten Per
Cent his just wrath would be visited upon Wiley. Blount knew that great
god and worshipped him continually and he felt certain that something
would happen, for when boys out of college take money away from bank
presidents it comes dangerously close to sacrilege.
"Well, well," murmured Blount, "quite a change, quite a change. Are you
sure that stuff is tungsten, Wiley?"
"Yes," responded Wiley, affecting a becoming modesty to cover up his
youthful smirk. "Would you like to see it tested?"
"Very much," answered Blount, and followed after him to the assay
office, which Wiley had hurriedly fitted up. Wiley took a piece of
scheelite and pounded it in a mortar until it was fine as flour, then
dropped it into a test-tube and boiled it over a flame in a solution of
hydrochloric and nitric acids.
"Now," he said, when the tungstic acid had been dissolved, and he had
dropped a small bar of tin into the solution. It turned a dark blue and
Blount sighed again, for he had looked up the test in advance. "If it
turns blue," a prospector had told him, "like the color of me overalls,
then, sure as hell, it's tungsten."
"Well, well," commented Blount, gazing mildly about, for great men do
not stop to repine, "and what do you use these big scales for?"
"That's for the quantitative test," explained Wiley importantly. "By
weighing the sample first and extracting the tungsten we get the
percentage, when it's been filtered and dried and weighed again, of the
tungstic acid in the ore. But it's quite an elaborate process."
"Yes, yes," assented Blount, still managing to smile pleasantly. "Rather
out of my line, I guess. What per cent do your samples average?"
"Oh, between sixty and seventy when I pick my specimens. I'm rigging up
a jigger to separate the ore until I can get capital to start up the
mill. It ought to be milled, by rights, and only the concentrates
shipped; but while I'm getting started----"
"Oh, draw on me--any time," broke in Blount, smiling radiantly. "I'd be
only too glad to accommodate you. That's my business, you know; loaning
out money on good security, and you're good up to fifty thousand
dollars."
"Do you mean it?" demanded Wiley after a startled silence, and Blount
slapped him heartily on the back.
"Just try me," he said. "I've been looking up the market and tungsten is
simply booming. It's quoted at forty-five for sixty per cent
concentrates, and you must have tons and tons on the dump."
"Yes, lots of it," admitted Wiley, "and say, now that you mention it, I
believe I'll take you up. I need a little money to install some
machinery and get the old mill to running. How about ten thousand
dollars?"
"Why--all right," assented Blount, after a moment's thought. "Of course
you'll give some security?"
"Oh, sure," agreed Wiley. "My option on the mine--I suppose that's what
you're after?"
Blount blinked for a moment, for such plain speaking was surprising
from one as shrewd as Wiley, but he summoned up his smile and nodded.
"Why--why, yes, that's all right. Say one per cent a month--payable
monthly--those are our ordinary short-time terms."
"Suits me," said Wiley. "But no cut-throat clauses--none of this Widow
Huff line of stuff. If I forget to pay my interest that doesn't make the
principal due and the security forfeit and so on, world without end."
"Oh, no; no, certainly," cried Blount with alacrity. "We'll make it a
flat loan, if you like, and endeavor to treat you right. Of course
you'll start a checking account and----"
"No," said Wiley, "if I borrow the money I'll take it out of your bank
and put it in another, right away. I never let friendship interfere with
business or warp my business judgment."
"Yes, but Wiley," protested Blount, "what difference does it make? Isn't
my bank perfectly safe and sound?"
"Undoubtedly," returned Wiley, "but--do you happen to remember a little
check for four hundred dollars? It was made out by me in favor of Death
Valley Charley and they cashed it through your bank--Virginia Huff, you
know--in payment for Paymaster stock. Well, if you're going to keep
track of my business like that----"
"Oh, no, no," exclaimed Blount, suddenly remembering the means by which
he had detected Wiley's purchase of Virginia's stock, "you misunderstand
me, entirely. If you want to wait a few days for the money you are
welcome to put it anywhere."
"Well, hold on," began Wiley. "Now maybe I'd better go to the other
bank----"
"Oh, no, no, no," protested Blount, "I wouldn't hear of it. I'll write
you the check, this minute. On your personal note--that's good enough
for me. You can put up the collateral later."
"Well, let's think this over," objected Wiley cannily. "I don't like to
put up that option for security. That bond and lease is worth half a
million dollars and----"
"Just give me your note," broke in Blount hurriedly, "and hurry up--here
comes Mrs. Huff."
"All right," cried Wiley, and scribbled out the note while Blount was
writing the check.
CHAPTER XVI
A SHOW-DOWN WITH THE WIDOW
If the benevolent Samuel Blount could have seen Wiley Holman's monthly
statement from that mysterious "other bank" he would have crushed him
with one blow of his ready, financial club and gone off with both
bond-and-lease and option. But the pure, serene fire in those first
water diamonds which graced the ring on Wiley's hand--that dazzled
Samuel J. Blount as it had dazzled the Widow and many a store-keeper
in Vegas. For it is hardly to be expected that a man with such a ring
will have a bank account limited to three figures, any more than it is
expected that a man with so little capital will be sitting in a game
with millionaires. But Wiley was sitting in, holding his cards well
against his chest, and already he had won ten thousand dollars. Which
is one of the reasons why all mining promoters wear diamonds--and
poker faces as well.
Yet Blount was playing a game which had once won him a million dollars
from just such plungers as Wiley, and if he also smiled as he tucked
away the note it was not without excuse. There had been a time when this
boy's father had sat in the game with Blount and now he was engaged in
raising cattle on a ranch far back in the hills. And Colonel Huff, that
prince of royal plungers, had surrendered at last to the bank. It was
twelve per cent, compounded monthly, with demand, protest and notice
waived, which had brought about this miracle of wealth; and since it is
well known that history repeats itself, Mr. Blount could see Wiley's
finish. The thing to do first was to regain his confidence and get him
into his power and then, at the first sign of financial embarrassment,
to call his notes and freeze him out. Such were the intentions of the
benevolent Mr. Blount--if the Widow Huff did not kill him.
She came toiling up the trail, followed by Virginia and Death Valley
Charley and a crowd of curious citizens; and as they awaited the shock,
Blount shuddered and smiled nervously, for he knew that she would demand
back her stock. Wiley shuddered too, but instead of smiling he clenched
his jaws like a vise; and as the Widow entered he signaled a waiting
guard, who followed in close behind her. She halted before his desk, one
hand on her hip the other on the butt of a six-shooter, and glanced
insolently from one to the other.
"Aha!" she exclaimed, "so you're talking it over,--how to take advantage
of a poor widow! But I want to tell you now, and I don't care who knows
it, I've been imposed upon long enough. Here you sit in your office,
both of you worth up into the millions, and discuss the division of your
spoils; while the daughter and the widow of the man that found this mine
are slaving away in a restaurant."
"Yes, I'm sorry, Mrs. Huff," interposed Blount, smiling gently. "We were
just discussing your case. But it often happens that the best of us err
in judgment, and in this case I've been caught worse than you were. Yes,
I must admit that when I first heard about this tungsten and realized
that I had sold out for nothing, I was moved for the moment to resent
it; but under the circumstances----"
"Aw, what are you talking about?" demanded the Widow scornfully. "Don't
you think I can see through your game? You pretend to be enemies until
you get hold of my stock and then you come out into the open. I always
knew you were partners, but now I can prove it; because here you are,
thick as thieves."
"Yes, we're friendly," admitted Blount with a painful smile at Wiley,
"but Wiley owns the mine. That is, he owns a bond and lease on the
property, with the option of buying for fifty thousand dollars. And then
besides that, I regret to say, he has an option on all my stock."
"Oh! Yes!" scoffed the Widow. "You've been cleaned by this
whipper-snapper that's just a few months out of college! He's taken
away your mine and your stock and everything--but of course you don't
mind a little thing like that. But what I want to know, and I came
here to find out, is which of you has got my stock--because I'll tell
you right now----" she whipped out her pistol and brandished it in the
air--"I'll tell you right now I intend to get it back or kill the one
or both of you!"
Blount's lips framed a lie, and then he glanced at Wiley, who was
standing with his hand by his gun.
"Well, now, Mrs. Huff," he began at a venture, "I--perhaps this can all
be arranged."
"No! I want that stock!" cried the Widow in hot anger, "and I'm going to
get it, too!"
"Why--why yes," stammered Blount, "but you see it was this way--I had no
idea of the value of the stock. And so when Wiley came to see me I gave
him an option on it for--well, I believe it was five cents a share."
"Ah!" triumphed the Widow, whirling to train her gun on Wiley, "so now
I've got you, Mr. Man! You've been four-flushing long enough but I've
got you dead to rights, and I want--that--Paymaster--stock!"
She threw down on him awkwardly, but as the pistol was not cocked, Wiley
only curled his lip and smiled indulgently, with a restraining glance at
his guard.
"Yes, Mrs. Huff," he agreed quite calmly, "I don't doubt you want it
back. You want lots of things that you'll never get from me by coming
around with these gun-plays. So put up that gun before you pull it off
and I'll tell you about your husband's stock."
"My _husband's_ stock!" cried the Widow in surprise, letting the
six-shooter wobble down to her side. "Well I'd just like to tell you
that that stock is _mine_, and furthermore----"
"Oh, yes! Sure! Sure!" shrugged Wiley scornfully. "Of course you know it
all! But that stock wasn't yours, and you couldn't transfer it, and so I
didn't take any option on it. It's in the bank yet; and if you want to
get it, why, here's the man to talk to."
He jerked his thumb towards the cringing Blount, and exchanged scornful
glances with Virginia. She was standing behind her mother and her glance
seemed to say that he was passing the buck again; but his feeling for
Virginia had suffered a great change and he replied to her head-toss
with a sneer.
"Now--now Wiley!" protested Blount, rising weakly to his feet and
regarding his pseudo-partner reproachfully, "you know very well----"
"Gimme that stock!" snapped the Widow, suddenly cocking the heavy pistol
and throwing down savagely on Wiley; and then things began to happen.
The watchful guard, who had been standing at her side, reached over and
struck up the gun and as it went off with a bang, shooting a hole in the
ceiling, he seized it and wrenched it away.
"You're under arrest, Madam," he said with some asperity, and flashed
his officer's star.
"Well, who are you, sir?" demanded the Widow, vainly attempting to
thrust him aside.
"I'm a deputy sheriff, ma'am," replied the officer respectfully, "and
I'd advise you not to resist. It'll be assault with intent to kill."
"Why--I wouldn't kill anybody!" exclaimed the Widow breathlessly. "I
was--I didn't intend to do anything."
"Will you swear out a warrant?" inquired the deputy and Wiley nodded his
head.
"You bet I will," he said, "this is getting monotonous. She took a shot
at me, once before."
"Oh, Wiley!" wailed the Widow suddenly weakening in the pinch. "You know
I never meant it!"
"Well, maybe not," replied Wiley evenly, "but you hit me in the leg."
"But _he_ pulled off my gun!" charged the Widow angrily, "I never
went to do it!"
"Well, come on;" said the deputy, "you can explain to the judge." And he
took her by the arm. She went out, sobbing violently, and in the
succeeding silence Wiley found himself confronted by Virginia. He had
seen her before when the wild light of battle shot forth from her angry
eyes but now there was a glow of soft, feminine reproach and the
faintest suggestion of appeal.
"Oh, Wiley Holman!" she cried, "I'll never forgive you! What do you mean
by treating Mother like this?"
"I mean," replied Wiley, "that I've taken about enough, and now we'll
leave it to the law. If your mother is right the judge will let her go,
but I guess it's come to a showdown."
"What? Are you going to let them put my mother in jail?" she asked with
tremulous awe, and then she burst into tears. "You ought to be ashamed!"
she broke out impetuously. "I wish my father was here!"
"Yes, so do I," answered Wiley gravely. "I'd be dealing with a
gentleman, then. But if your mother thinks, just because she is a woman,
she can run amuck with a gun, then she gives up all right to be treated
like a lady and she has to take what's coming to her."
"But Wiley!" she appealed, "just let her off this time and she'll never
do it again. She's over-wrought and nervous and----"
"Nope," said Wiley, "it's gone past me now--she'll have to answer before
the judge. But if you think you can restrain her I'll be willing to let
it go and have her bound over to keep the peace."
"Oh, that'll be fine! If she just promises not to bother you and----"
"And puts up a five-thousand-dollar bond," added Wiley. "And the next
time she makes a gun-play or comes around and threatens me the five
thousand dollars is gone."
"Oho!" she accused, "so that's your scheme! You've been framing this up,
all the time!"
"Sure," nodded Wiley, with his old cynical smile, "I just love to be
shot at. I got her to come over on purpose."
"Well, I'll bet you did!" cried Virginia excitedly. "Didn't you have
that officer right there? You've just framed this up to rob us. And how
are we going to give a five-thousand-dollar bond when you know we
haven't a cent? Oh, I--I hate you, Wiley Holman; and if you put my
mother in jail I'll--I'll come back and kill you, myself!"
She stamped her foot angrily, but a light leapt into Wiley's eyes such
as had flamed there when he had faced Stiff Neck George.
"Very well," he said, "if you people think you can rough-house me I'll
show you I can rough it, myself. I've tried to be friendly and to give
you the best of it; but now it's all off, for good. I hate to fight a
woman, but----"
"You do not!" she challenged. "You're a coward, that's what you are! And
you can take your old stock back!"
She drew a package from her bosom and slammed it spitefully on the table
and rushed out after her mother. Wiley picked up the envelope and
regarded it absently, his lip curling to a twisted smile. It was the
package of stock which he had bought from Death Valley Charley and
returned, as a gift, to Virginia.
CHAPTER XVII
PEACE--AND THE PRICE
In the justice court at Vegas the Widow Huff met her match in the person
of the magistrate, who warned her peremptorily that if she interrupted
again he would commit her for contempt of court. Then the bailiff smote
his desk a resounding blow and there was silence in the presence of the
law. It was a new thing to her, this power called the law and that
accuser of all offenders, The People; and before she had finished she
learned the great truth that no one is above the law. It governs us all
and, but for the mercy of the courts, would land most of our hot-heads
in jail. But though it was proved beyond the peradventure of a doubt
that the Widow had attempted violence it was tacitly understood that,
being a woman, there would be no actual commitment.
Wiley Holman came forward and informed the court that the defendant had
threatened his life and upon two occasions and had made assaults upon
his person with the avowed intention of killing him. Upon being
questioned by the judge he admitted recognizing a shotgun, and three
buckshot which had been extracted from his leg; but in a voluntary
statement he expressed the opinion that the defendant was hardly
responsible. At the same time, he stated, since his place of business
was not far from the defendant's home, he would respectfully request
that she be placed in custody and bound over to keep the peace. The
testimony of the officer and of other witnesses left no doubt as to the
existence of a threat and after the Widow had made a chastened speech
she was placed in the custody of the sheriff.
To this humiliation was added the greater pang of depositing all her
jewels with her bondsmen and when it was over and she was back in her
home the Widow's proud spirit was broken. She retired to the kitchen and
the balm of a great peace was laid upon tumultuous Keno. For years the
bold ego of Colonel Huff's wife had dominated the very life of the camp,
but the son of Honest John had at last found a way of putting her anger
in leash. Rage as she might in the privacy of her kitchen, or pour out
her woes to the neighbors, when Wiley Holman came by she turned away her
face and allowed him to pass in silence. And Wiley himself never gave
her a glance, nor Virginia when he met her in the street; for the memory
of their insults was still hot in his brain, and all he asked for was
peace.
He was safe, at last, safe to remodel the mill and bring up the ore from
the mine; but as his work grew and prospered the anger died in his
breast and his heart turned back to Virginia. She was quiet now, with
averted eyes and the sad, brooding face of a nun; and she worked early
and late in the crowded dining-room, serving meals to the hard-rock
miners. He had closed down his cook-house to give them some patronage,
when the first mad rush of prospectors was past; but though they fed his
men and took the money that he had paid them, they owned no obligation
to him.
In the Paymaster the pumps were working steadily now, clearing the water
from the submerged passages, and as the first checks came back in
payment for his tungsten he ordered more timbers and men. There was
plenty of ore on the dump for the moment but, while he separated it from
the waste and shipped it to town, he caught up the falling ground in the
drifts and prepared to stope out the scheelite. In the old, dismantled
mill he had a crew working over-time, installing a rock-crusher and a
concentrating plant; and every truck that brought out timbers and
supplies took back its tons of ore. The price of tungsten leapt from
forty dollars a unit to sixty and sixty-five, and rival buyers clamored
for his ore; the mills treated it for almost nothing in order to get
control of it and his credit was A1 at the bank--but when he passed
Virginia she turned her face away and his heart turned heavy as lead.
It was the price of success, and Wiley recognized it, but he rebelled
against his fate. What fault was it of his that her father and his
father had fallen out over the mine? He had shown by the stock that the
treachery had been Blount's and neither of them was to blame. What fault
was it of his that she had a shrewish mother who was bent upon ruining
her life? Had he not endured abuse and suffered grievous wounds before
he had asserted his rights? And with Virginia herself, when had there
ever been a time when he had forgotten his lover's part--except on that
last day, when he had turned like a trodden worm and protested his right
to live? And yet she blamed him for all her misfortunes and for every
day that she slaved; and even took the stock which he had returned as a
peace-offering and hurled it in his face!
Wiley's lips set grimly as he gazed at the certificates for which men
had striven and died. There were some from her father, transferred on
her birthdays when the stock was around thirty and forty; and others
from old prospectors like Henry Masters, who had left it to Virginia
when they died. She had sent it to him by Charley, out of shame for her
harsh words, and he had bought it for four hundred dollars, half the
money that he had in the world. Those had been happy days, in spite of
the anxiety, for he had made the sacrifice for her; and to prove his
devotion--and make a peace-offering against the explosion that was bound
to come--he had given the stock back to Virginia. That was when he was a
prospector, doing business on a shoe-string, a racing car and a diamond
ring; but now when he had made his _coup_ and could write his check
for thousands she threw the stock back in his face.
The stock had a value now for, under the terms of the bond and lease,
one-tenth of the net mill returns were automatically withheld and turned
in to the company as royalty; and if for any reason he failed to meet
the payment when the fifty thousand-dollar option expired, then this
stock and all Paymaster stock would take a sudden jump to five or ten
dollars a share. And the stock was hers--she had received it from her
father when he was the mining king of the West, and from old man Masters
when he was dying in the cabin where she had helped to care for him for
months--yet she would not accept it as a gift. Wiley pondered a long
time and then, as Christmas drew near, he sent for Death Valley Charley.
"Charley," he began, when he came up that night, "did I understand you
to say one time that you were acting as a kind of guardian to Virginia?
Well, now here's a bunch of stock that you sold to me once when you were
slightly off your cabeza. There's over twelve thousand shares and all
you asked was four hundred dollars, when you knew they were worth eight
hundred at least."
"Yes, that's so," admitted Charley, blinking and rubbing his chin, "but
you know them women, Wiley. They're crazy, that's all, and the Colonel
he told me special not to let them lose their mine."
"Well, never mind the mine," said Wiley wincing. "I'm talking about this
stock. Don't you think it's your duty, by George, as guardian, to turn
around and buy it back? You've got five thousand dollars coming to you
on those claims of yours and I'll tell you what I'll do. I'm short,
right now on account of buying machinery, and so I can't pay you much
cash; but if you'll take this stock back in part payment of your claims
I'll give you four hundred more."
"Well, all right," agreed Charley after gazing at him thoughtfully, "but
you ought to give back that mine. The Colonel, he told me----"
"What do you mean, give it back?" demanded Wiley, irritably. "It isn't
my property yet. I've got to pay for it first and get it away from old
Blount before I can give it to anybody. That's fifty thousand dollars
that I've got to make clear between now and the twentieth of May; but
believe me, Charley, if I once get it paid for I'm going to do something
noble."
"That's good," assented Charley, "but you've got to pay me, right
off--there's something going to happen!" His sun-d
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