Shadow Mountain

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Blount,” he said. But he did not take his hand.

CHAPTER XXIV

Double Trouble

The next two weeks of Wiley Holman’s life were packed so full of trouble that there were those who almost pitied him, though the word had been passed around to lay off. It was Samuel J. Blount who was making the trouble, and who notified the rest to keep out, and so great was his influence in all the desert country that no one dared to interfere. What he did was all legal and according to business ethics, but it gloved the iron hand. Blount was reaching for the mine and he intended to get it, if he had to crush his man. The attachments and suits were but the shadow boxing of the bout; the rough stuff was held in reserve. And somehow Wiley sensed this, for he sat tight at the mine and hired a lawyer to meet the suits. His job was mining ore and he shoveled it out by the ton.

The distressing accidents had suddenly ceased since he began to board his own men at the mine and, while his lawyer stalled and haggled to fight off an injunction, he rushed his ore to the railroad. It was too precious to ship loose, for at eighty-four dollars a unit it was worth over four dollars a pound; he sent it out sacked, with an armed guard on each truck to see that it was delivered and receipted for. As the checks came back he paid off all his debts, thus depriving Blount of his favorite club; and then, while Blount was casting about for new weapons, he began to lay aside his profits.

They rolled up monstrously, for each five-ton truck load added several thousand dollars to his bank account, but the time was getting short. Less than three weeks remained before the bond and lease expired, and still Wiley was playing to win. He crammed his mine with men, snatching the ore from the stopes as the bonanza leasers had done at Tonopah, and doubling the miner’s pay with bonuses. Every truck driver received his bonus, and night and day the great motors went thundering across the desert. The ore came up from below and was dumped on a jig, where it was sorted and hastily sacked; and after that there was nothing to do but sent it under guard to the railroad. There was no milling, no smelting, no tedious process of reduction; but the raw picked ore was rushed to the East and the checks came promptly back.

Blount was fully informed now of the terms of his contract and of the source of his sudden wealth, but there was no way of reaching the buyer. A great war was on, every minute was precious–and every ounce of the tungsten was needed. The munitions makers could not pause for a single day in their mad rush to fill their contracts. The only ray of hope that Blount could see was that the price had broken to sixty dollars a unit. Wiley’s contract called for eighty-four, throughout the full year–but suppose he should lose his mine. And suppose Blount should win it. He could offer better terms, provided always that the buyer would accommodate him now. Suppose, for instance, that the fat daily checks should cease coming during the life of the lease. That could easily be explained–it might be an error in book-keeping–but it would make quite a difference to Wiley. And in return for some such favor Blount could afford to sell the tungsten for, say, fifty-five dollars a unit.

Blount was a careful man. He did not trust his message to the wires, nor did he put it on paper to convict him; he simply disappeared–but when he came back Wiley’s lawyer was waiting with a check. It was for twenty thousand dollars, and in return for this payment the lawyer demanded all of Blount’s stock. Four hundred thousand shares, worth five dollars apiece if the bond and lease should lapse, and called for under the option at five cents! In those few short days, while Blount had been speeding East, Wiley had piled up this profit and more–and now he was demanding his stock!

“No!” said Blount, “that option is invalid because it was obtained by deception and fraud, and therefore I refuse to recognize it.”

“Very well,” replied the lawyer, who made his living out of controversies, and, summoning witnesses to his offer, he placed the money in the hands of the court and plunged into furious litigation. It was furious, in a way, and yet not so furious as the next day and the next passed by; for the lawyer was a business man and dependent upon the good will of Blount. It was a civil suit and, since Wiley could not appear to state his case in Court, it was postponed by mutual consent.

It had come over Wiley that, as long as he stood guard, no accident would happen at the mine; but he was equally convinced that, the moment he left it, the unexpected would happen. So, since Blount had elected to fight his suit, he let the fate of his option wait while he piled up money for his coup. As an individual, Blount might resist the sale of his stock; but as President of the Company he and his Board of Directors had given Wiley a valid bond and lease and, acting under its terms, Wiley still had an opportunity to gain a clear title to the mine. What happened to the stock could be thrashed out later, but with the Paymaster in his possession he could laugh his enemies to scorn–and he did not intend to be jumped! For who could tell, among these men who swarmed about him, which ones might be hired emissaries of Blount; and, once he was out of sight, they might seize the mine and hold it against all comers.

It was a thing which had been done before, and was likely to be done again; and as the days slipped by, bringing him closer to the end, he looked about for some agent. Had he a man that he could trust to hold the mine, while he went into town to gain title to it? He looked them all over but, knowing Blount as he did, and the weakness of human nature, he hesitated and decided against it. No, it was better by far that heshould hold the mine–for possession, in mining, is everything–and send someone to pay over the money. That would be perfectly legal, and anyone could do it, but here again he hesitated. The zeal of his lawyer was failing of late–could he trust him to make the payment, in a town that was owned by Blount? Would he offer it legally and demand a legal surrender, and come out and put the deed in his hand? He might, but Wiley doubted it.

There was something going on regarding the payments for his shipments which he was unable to straighten out over the ’phone, and his lawyer was neglecting even that. And yet, if those checks were held up much longer it might seriously interfere with his payment. He had wired repeatedly, but either the messages were not delivered or his buyer was trying to welch on his contract. What he wanted was an agent, to go directly to the buyer and get the matter adjusted. Wiley thought the matter over, then he ’phoned his lawyer to forget it and wrote direct to an express company, enclosing his bills of lading and authorizing them to collect the account. When it came to collecting bills you could trust the express company–and you could trust Uncle Sam with your mail–but as to the people in Vegas, and especially the telephone girl, he had his well-established doubts. His telegraphic messages went out over the ’phone and were not a matter of record and if she happened to be eating a box of Blount’s candy she might forget to relay them. It was borne in upon him, in fact, more strongly every day, that there are very few people you can trust. With a suitcase, yes–but with a mine worth millions? That calls for something more than common honesty.

The fight for the Paymaster, and Wiley’s race against time, was now on every tongue, and as the value of the property went up there was a sudden flurry in the stock. Men who had hoarded it secretly for eight and ten years, men who had moved to the ends of the world, all heard of the fabulous wealth of the new Paymaster and wrote in to offer their stock. Not to offer it, exactly, but to place it on record; and others began as quietly to buy. It was known that the royalties had piled up an accruing dividend of at least twenty cents a share; and with the sale of it imminent–and a greater rise coming in case there was no sale–there would be a further increase in value. It was good, in fact, for thirty cents cash, with a gambling chance up to five dollars; and the wise ones began to buy. Men he had not seen for years dropped in on Wiley to ask his advice about their stock; and one evening in his office, he looked up from his work to see the familiar face of Death Valley Charley.

“Hello there, Charley,” he said, still working. “Awful busy. What is it you want?”

“Virginia wants her stock,” answered Charley simply and blinked as he stood waiting the answer. There was a war on now between the Huffs and Holmans into which Wiley’s father had been drawn; and since Honest John had repudiated his son’s acts and disclaimed all interest in his deal, Charley knew that Wiley was bitter. He had cut off the Widow from her one source of revenue but, when she had accused him of doing it for his father, Wiley had forgotten the last of his chivalry. Not only did he board all his men himself but he promised to fire any man he had who was seen taking a meal at the Widow’s. It was war to the knife, and Charley knew it, but he blinked his eyes and stood firm.

“What stock?” demanded Wiley, and then he closed his lips and his eyes turned fighting gray. “You tell her,” he said, “if she wants her stock, to come and get it herself.”

“But she sent me to get it!” objected Charley obstinately.

“Yes, and I send you back,” answered Wiley. “I gave her that stock twice, and I made it what it is, and if she wants it she can come and ask for it.”

“And will you give it to her?” asked Charley, but Wiley only grunted and went ahead with his writing.

It was apparent to him what was in the wind. The Widow had written to demand of his father some return for the damage to her business; and Honest John had replied, and sent Wiley a copy, that he was in no ways responsible for his acts. This letter to Wiley had been followed by another in which his father had rebuked him for persecuting Mrs. Huff, and Wiley had replied with five pages, closely written, reciting his side of the case. At this John Holman had declared himself neutral and, beyond repeating his offer to buy the Widow’s stock, had disclaimed all interest in her affairs. But now, with her stock still in Blount’s hands and this last source of revenue closed to her, the Widow was left no alternative but to appeal indirectly to Wiley. What other way then was open, if she was ever to win back her stock, but to get back Virginia’s shares and sell them to raise the eight hundred dollars? Wiley grumbled to himself as Death Valley Charley turned away and went on writing his letter.

It had been a surprise, after his break with Virginia, to discover that it left him almost glad. It had removed a burden that had weighed him down for months, and it left him free to act. He could protect his property now as it should be protected, without thought of her or anybody; and he could board his own men and keep the gospel of hate from being constantly dinned into their ears. They were honest, simple miners, easily swayed by a woman’s distress, but equally susceptible to the lure of gold; and now with a bonus after the minimum of work they were tearing out the ore like Titans. They were loyal and satisfied, greeting his coming with a friendly smile; but if Virginia got hold of them, or her venomous mother, where then would be his discipline?

He was deep in his work when a shadow fell upon his desk and he looked up to see–Virginia.

CHAPTER XXV

Virginia Repents

“I came for my stock,” said Virginia coolly as she met his questioning eye and Wiley turned and rummaged in a drawer. The stock was hers and since she came and asked for it–he laid it on the desk and went ahead with his work. Virginia took the envelope and examined it carefully, but she did not go away. She glanced at him curiously, writing away so grimly, and there was a scar across his head. Could it be–yes, there her rock had struck him. The mark was still fresh, but he had given her the stock; and now he was privileged to hate her. That wound on his head would soon be overgrown and covered, but she had left a deeper scar on his heart. She had hurt his man’s pride; and now he had hurt hers, and humbled her to ask for her stock. He looked up suddenly, feeling her eyes upon him, and Virginia drew back and blushed.

“Oh–thank you,” she stammered and turned to go, and yet she lingered to see what he would say.

“You’re welcome,” he answered evenly, and took a fresh sheet of paper, but she refused to notice the hint. A sense of pique, of wonder at his politeness and half-resentment at his obliviousness of her presence, drew her back and she leaned against his desk.

“What are you writing?” she asked as he glanced at her inquiringly. “Is it a letter to that squaw?”

A sudden twitch of passion passed over his face at this reference to a dark page in their past and he drew the written sheet away.

“No,” he said, “I happened to remember a white girl─”

“What?” burst out Virginia before she could check herself and he curled his lip up scornfully.

“Yes,” he nodded, “and she seems to think I’m all right.”

“Oh,” she said and turned away her head with a painful twisted smile. Somehow she had always thought–and yet he must have met other girls–he was meeting them all the time! She tried to summon her anger, to carry her past this fresh stab, but the tears rose to her eyes instead.

“I–we’ll be going away soon,” she went on hurriedly. “That is, if he gives us back our stock. Do you think he’ll do it, Wiley? You know–the plan you spoke of. We’re going to sell this stock to a broker and then pay Mr. Blount back.”

“I don’t know,” mumbled Wiley, and humped up over his letter, but it did not produce the effect he had hoped for.

“Well–I’m sorry I hurt you,” she broke out impulsively, rebuked by the long gash in his hair, “but you shouldn’t have tried to stop me! I wasn’t doing you any harm–I just came up there that night to see what was going on. And I did see Stiff Neck George, you can smile all you want to, and he had something heavy in his hand.”

She ran on with her explanation, only to trail off inconclusively as she saw his face growing grim. He did not believe her, he did not even listen; he just sat there patiently and waited.

“Are you waiting for me to go?” she asked, smiling wanly, but even then he did not respond. There had been a time, not many weeks ago, when he would have risen up and offered her a chair; but he had got past that now and seemed really and sincerely to prefer his own company to hers. “I thought you might help us,” she went on almost tearfully, “to get back our stock from Blount. It was nice of you to tell me, after the way I acted; but–oh, I don’t know what it was that came over me! And I never even thanked you for telling me!”

A cynical smile came into Wiley’s eyes as he sat back and put down his pen, but even after that she hurried on. “Yes, I know you don’t like me–you think I tried to wreck your mine and turned all your men against you–but I do thank you, all the same. You–you used to care, Wiley; but anyhow, I thank you and–I guess I’ll be going now.”

She started for the door but he did not try to stop her. He even picked up his pen, and she turned back with fire in her eyes.

“Well, you might say something,” she said defiantly, “or don’t you care what happens to me?”

“No; I don’t, Virginia,” he answered quietly, “so just let it go at that. We can’t get along, so what’s the use of trying? You go your way and let me go mine.”

“Oh, I know!” she sighed, “you think I’m ungrateful–and you think I just came for my stock. But I didn’t, altogether; I wanted to say I’m sorry and–oh, Wiley, doyou think he’s alive?”

“Who?” he asked; but he knew already–she was thinking about the Colonel.

“Why, Father,” she ran on. “I heard you that time when you got old Charley drunk. Do you think he’s really alive? Because if he is!” She raised her eyes ecstatically and suddenly she was smiling into his. “Because if he is,” she said, “and I can find him again–oh, Wiley; won’t you help me find him?”

“I’ll think about it,” responded Wiley, but his eyes were smiling back and the anger had died in his heart. After all, she was human; she could smile through her tears and reach out and touch his rough hand, and he could not bring himself to hate her. “After I pay for the mine,” he suggested gently. “But now you’d better go.”

“Oh, no,” she protested, “please tell me about it. Is he hiding in the Ube-Hebes? Oh, you don’t know how glad I was when I heard you talking with Charley–I never did think he was dead. He sent me word once, not to worry about him, but–the Indians said he had died. That is–well, they said if it hadn’t been for that sandstorm they would surely have found the body. And he’d thrown away his canteen, so he couldn’t have had any water; and there wasn’t any more for miles. He was lost, you know, and out of his head; and heading right out through the sand-hills. Oh, it’s awful to talk about it, but of course we don’t know for certain; and it might have been somebody else. Don’t you think it was some other man?”

“I don’t know,” answered Wiley, and sat staring straight ahead as she ran on with her arguments and entreaties. After all, what did he have to base his belief upon, except the babblings of brain-cracked Charley? They had found the Colonel’s riding-burro, and his saddle-bags and papers, besides his rifle and canteen; and the Shoshone trailers had followed the tracks of a man until they were lost in the drifting sand-hills. And yet Charley’s remarks, and his repeated attempts to get across the valley with some whiskey; there was something there, certainly, upon which to build hope–and Virginia was very insistent.

“Yes, I think it was another man,” he said at length. “Either that or your father escaped. He might have lost one canteen and still have had another, or he might have found his way to some water-hole. But from the way Charley talks, and tries to cover up his breaks, I feel sure that your father is alive.”

“Oh, goodie!” she cried and before he could stop her she had stooped over and kissed his bruised head. “Now you know I’m sorry,” she burst out impulsively, “and will you go out and look for him at once?”

“Pretty soon,” said Wiley, putting her gently away. “After I make my payment on the mine. They’d be sure to jump me, now.”

“Oh, but why not now?” she pleaded. “They wouldn’t jump your mine.”

“Yes, they would,” he replied. “They’d jump me in a minute! I don’t dare to go off the grounds.”

“But what’s the mine,” she demanded insistently, “compared to finding father?”

“Well, not very much,” he conceded frankly, “but this is the way I’m fixed. I’ve got the whole world against me, including you and your mother, and I’ve got to play out my hand. There’s nobody I can trust–even my father has turned against me–and I’ve got to fight this out myself.”

“What? Just for the money? Do you think more of that than you do of finding my father?”

“No, I don’t,” he said, “but I can’t go now, and so there’s no use talking.”

“No,” she answered, drawing resentfully away from him, “there’s no use talking to you! He might be dying, or out of food, but you don’t think of anything but that money!”

“Well, maybe so,” he retorted tartly, “but if you’d just left me alone, instead of sicking all your dogs on me, I’d’ve been over there looking for him, long ago. Of course I’m wrong–that’s understood from the start; but─”

“What dogs did I set on you?” she demanded, flaring up, and he fixed her with sullen eyes.

“Never mind,” he said. “You know what you’ve done as well or better than I do. All I’ve got to say is that my conscience is clear and we’d better quit talking while we’re friends.”

“Yes–friends!” she repeated, and then she stopped and at last she heaved a sigh. “Well, I don’t care,” she defended. “You drove me to it. A woman must protect herself, somehow.”

“Well, you can do it,” he said, feeling tenderly of his head, and Virginia flew into a rage.

“I told you I was sorry!” she cried, stamping her foot. “Isn’t that enough? I’m sorry, I said!”

“Yes, and I’m sorry,” he answered, but his eyes were level and his jaw jutted out like a crag.

“Sorry for what?” she demanded, and he sprang his trap.

“Sorry I can’t go out and hunt for your father.”

“Oh,” she said, and drooped her head.

“If we could pay for what we’ve done by just being sorry,” he went on with a ghost of a smile, “we wouldn’t be where we are. But you know we can’t, Virginia. I’m sorry for some things myself, and I expect to pay for them, but I can’t stop to do it now.”

“But will you go for him–sometime?” she asked, smiling wistfully. “Then–oh, Wiley; why can’t we be friends?” She held out her hands and he rose up and took them, but with a startled look in his eyes. “You know that I’m sorry,” she said, “and I’m willing to pay, too; if there’s anything that I can do. Can’t I help you, Wiley? Isn’t there something I can do to help you pay for your mine? And I’ll never oppose you again–if you’ll only go and find my father!”

She raised his hands and put them against her cheek and the quick tears sprang to his eyes.

“I’ll do it,” he promised, “just the minute I can go. And–I’ll try to be good to you, Virginia. Won’t you give me a kiss, just to show it’s all right? I’m sorry I treated you so rough. But it’ll be all right now and we’ll try to be friends again–I wasn’t writing to any other girl.”

“Oh, weren’t you?” she smiled. “Well, I’ll kiss you, then–just once. But somehow, I’m afraid it won’t last.”

CHAPTER XXVI

The Call

The long quarrel was over, they had made up–and kissed–and yet to Wiley it all seemed unreal. That is, all but the kiss. It was that, perhaps, which made the rest seem unreal, for it had changed the color of his life. Before, he had thought in terms of hard fact, but the kiss put a rainbow in the sky. It roused a great hope, a joy, an ecstasy, a sense of well-wishing for mankind; and yet it was only he who had changed. The world was the same; Samuel Blount was the same; and the miners, and Stiff Neck George. They were all there together in a rough-and-tumble fight to see who would get the Paymaster Mine and, even with the madness of her kiss in his soul, he pressed on towards the one, fixed goal.

He had set out to win the Paymaster and win it he would if he had to shoot his way to victory. For Stiff Neck George, like a watchful coyote, had taken up his post on the hill; and from that sign alone Wiley knew that Blount had changed his tactics and appealed to the court of last resort. His attachments had failed, his injunction suit had failed, and his cheap attempt to cut off Wiley’s checks. The money had come, promptly forwarded by the Express Company with a note of apology from the buyer, and it lay now in Wiley’s office safe. All that was left to do was to send it to Blount and get back the deed to the property. Three days remained before the bond and lease expired, but that was not a day too much. The question was–who to send? Wiley thought the matter over, glanced at George up on the hill, and sent a note down to Virginia.

She came up the trail smiling, for her proud reserve had vanished, and she even allowed him a kiss; but when he asked her to take the money to Blount she drew back and shook her head.

“I’m afraid,” she said, “–I’m afraid something might happen. Can’t you send it by somebody else?”

“No, that’s just the point,” he answered gravely. “Something is likely to happen if I do. My lawyer has turned crooked, and the bank won’t touch it; so there’s nobody to send but you. You can hide the money till you get there, so that no one will rob you on the way; and if anybody asks you, you can tell them about that stock deal and that you’re going down to hold up Blount.”

“Why don’t you go?” she objected and he pointed out the doorway at Stiff Neck George on the hill.

“There he sits,” he said, “like a red-necked old buzzard, just waiting for a chance to jump my mine. He may do it, anyhow–I wouldn’t put it past him–but if he comes he’d better come a-shooting. You see, here’s the point: the man that holds this mine can turn out ten thousand dollars a day, and that amount of money would hire enough lawyers to fight the outsiders to a standstill. If I get jumped I’m licked, because I haven’t got any more money; and I’m going to stay right here and fight ’em. But you take this money–there’s fifty-two thousand dollars–and go down and make that payment. If you can’t find Blount, then hunt up the clerk of the Superior Court and deposit the fifty thousand with him. Just bring me his receipt, with a memorandum of the payment, and he’ll notify Blount himself.”