XXIV
A WEEK later, Gregory, who was down in the bottom of the shaft, received a message by way of a descending miner that a gentleman from Butte, one Mr. John Robinson, requested the favour of an interview, and awaited him in the cabin on the top of the hill. At least such is the polite translation of the message as delivered: “Say, Boss, there’s a guy upstairs in your shack what says he’s from Butte, and’s come out to have a chin with you—some important. Says his name is John Robinson.”
Gregory swore under his breath and for a minute his face looked ugly and formidable. But as he stepped into the bucket and gave the signal he permitted his expression to change to one of grim amusement. Mr. Robinson was one of the brilliant galaxy that guided the legal footsteps of “Amalgamated”; that powerful company, financed by Standard Oil, which owned thirty-one of the mines of Butte openly, and exerted a power in Montana far exceeding that of state or nation.
Gregory wore corduroy trousers and coat, and these as well as his face and hands were white with “muck”, a mixture of rock-dust and water which spattered everyone in the vicinity of the ore drills; but he wasted no time to clean up before climbing to his cabin to meet the ambassador from Amalgamated.
Mr. Robinson, a portly gentleman, still young, but manifestly the victim of easy fortune, rose from his chair before the stove and greeted his host with beaming smile and extended hand.
“My dear Mr. Compton!” he exclaimed. “It is a great pleasure to meet you again. Of course you have forgotten me for I was two grades above you in the High, when you were a little chap——”
“What have you come here for? Out with it! I’ve no time to waste. Sit down if you like.”
Mr. Robinson colored angrily. He knew little of the man with whom he had come to deal, but had always relied upon his urbanity and Western heartiness to “make a hit.” He knew Mark Blake and, although he had heard, like others, of Gregory Compton’s record at the School of Mines, he had assumed that he was a mere student, and in other respects more or less the same sort of man as his chum. This man looked unlike any he had ever met. He concealed his chagrin, however, and resumed his seat.
“Really, Mr. Compton, you are somewhat abrupt——”
“Get down to business. What does Amalgamated want?”
Mr. Robinson wisely took the cue.
“To buy you out.”
“How much will they pay?”
“How much do you want?”
“What do they offer?”
“Well, between you and me. I fancy they might go as high as a hundred thousand.”
“Tell them to go to hell.”
“How much do you want?”
“A hundred millions.”
“Good God, man, are you mad!”
“If you had permitted me to finish. I should have added—in other words, nothing. There isn’t money enough inside of Montana, let alone on top, to buy one acre of this ranch.”
“But—you know what most mines are—pockety—yours may peter out any minute.”
“All right. I take the chances.”
“The history of Butte Hill is unique. There will never be another——”
“How do you know?”
“It stands to reason——”
“Why?”
“Oh, Lord, man, if you are indulging in wild dreams——!”
“My dreams concern no one but myself. I’m satisfied with my hill and that’s all there is to it.”
“I’m afraid not. Look here, you are a fine young fellow with a big future—people talk a lot about you—I don’t want to see you crushed——”
“You won’t.”
“I’m not here to make threats, but you are not so—ah—unsophisticated as to imagine that if Amalgamated sets out to get rid of you, you can stand up against them?”
“They can’t do a damned thing and you know it. They might have a few years ago, when a roll could be passed on the street to a judge who was to deny or grant an injunction within a few hours, and at a time when there was no prospect of the referendum and recall; when the people of Montana took the buying and selling of men in the legislature as part of the game, all in the day’s work. But Montana has caught the reform spirit that has been sweeping over the rest of the country, and she is also getting pretty sick of corporation power. Now, sir, not only have I a clear title to this ranch, but I’ve staked off the entire hill and applied for patents. If Amalgamated freezes me out of Anaconda and Great Falls, I’ll promote a company and put up a plant of my own. With nearly a million dollars in sight besides what I’ve taken out, you can figure, yourself, how much trouble I’d have in New York getting all the money I wanted. Amalgamated knows that, and my ore will continue to be smelted in Anaconda. Of course if I were within a mile or so of Butte I might be in some danger. They’d bore through and then claim that my ore vein apexed in one of their properties. But I’m too far away for that.”
Gregory saw the other man’s eyes flash wide open before they were hastily lowered. Mr. Robinson regarded the point of his cigar.
“Ah, yes,” he said. “That’s all very true. Luck is with you in a measure, but—well, take my advice and don’t fight Amalgamated. They have in their employ some of the most resourceful brains in the country—that are always on the job. Heinze taught them a lesson they’ll never forget.”
“Let’s drop the subject.” Gregory rose and opened a cupboard. “Have something?”
He poured whiskey into two glasses. The men smiled as they drank, Gregory sardonically, Mr. Robinson ruefully but with thoughtful eyes. He had what Ida called the quick-rich face, large and round and fat, and it was an admirable mask.
“Like to see the mine?” asked Gregory.
“Why, yes—do you mean it?”
“Why not? If it had any secrets your spies would have turned them over before this. Glad to show it to you.”
They went to the shafthead and descended in one of the buckets.
“How far down have you gone?” asked Mr. Robinson, with an air of polite interest.
“We found chalcopyrite at one hundred and ten feet, after a narrow vein leading from the chamber near the surface, and are stoping.”
As they left the bucket they were greeted by the cheerful rhythmical sound of hammers on the drills, and by the light of the miners’ candles they saw the men working at different points of the dark chamber, two on a scaffolding above.
“Great waste of labor,” said Gregory. “I shall install a compressor before long as well as electric lighting. Of course it is only the beginning of a mine.”
He saw the ambassador from Amalgamated smile, and turned on his heel. “They’ll be loading the holes in a minute,” he said. “And I’d like to show you the upper chamber.”
When they reached the surface Mr. Robinson declined to go down into the excavation, but stood on the edge watching the busy hive below. “Great sight,” he said admiringly. “How deep have you gone?”
“About seventy-eight feet.”
“And the end not in sight!”
“Not yet, but of course it’s only a chamber.”
“You’ve taken out close on half a million here alone.”
“Pretty near. What the devil made you suppose I’d take a paltry hundred thousand for the hill?”
“Oh, just to avoid trouble. You have the reputation of being a very clever man.”
“Thanks. It’s cold standing round. Wouldn’t you like to take a walk? How’d you like to see the Primo Mine?”
As Gregory, who was watching him intently, anticipated, the man’s face lit up. “I should like it!” he said definitely. “I hear that they too have struck chalcopyrite. Lost their gold vein.”
“They’re nosing after it in another direction. When the lease is up I shall consolidate with the Blakes.”
“Quite natural. Of course it’s the same vein?—the chalcopyrite, I mean.”
“Unquestionably. And it apexes in my property.”
“Are you so sure of that?”
“Not a doubt in the world. I struck the top of the vein twelve feet below the surface. But it will never go to the courts.”
“Of course not.”
Gregory, who looked remote, almost blank, lost not an intonation of the other man’s voice, nor a flickering gleam in his cunning eyes. His own head was a little on one side, which, had Mr. Robinson had the good fortune to know him better, would have warned him that the young man for whom he had conceived a certain respect was thinking hard and to some purpose.
Douglas, who had a personal liking for his neighbor, unaware that he had been the chief instrument in the upsetting of skillful plans for untold wealth, readily gave permission to visit the mine as soon as the smoke from a recent blast would permit. Gregory and Mr. Robinson walked about to keep warm, the former pointing out the probability of a faulted ore vein under the aspens, and enlarging upon the great fortune bound to be Mrs. Blake’s in any case. Then as the man merely remarked, “Yes, charming woman, Mrs. Blake; thought the night of the Prom she was one of the prettiest women I ever saw. No dead easy game there”; Gregory refrained from kicking him and said innocently.
“Good thing the law compels creditors to present their claims within a limited time, or Amalgamated might grab this mine and bore through to my hill. I understand Judge Stratton was heavily in debt to the Anaconda Company when he died.”
Mr. Robinson’s face turned a deep brick-red, and he shot a piercing glance into the narrow noncommittal eyes opposite.
“Of course—it’s too late for that, but—Oh, well——” He broke off abruptly and walked toward the shaft as Osborne beckoned. Gregory stood a moment, his head bent forward. He had experienced the sensation of coming into contact with an electrical wave. But he was smiling pleasantly as he joined his guest at the shaft house.
After the visit to the mine, during which he amiably pointed out the dip of the vein toward his own property, and Mr. Robinson succumbed to the charm which nevermissed fire when Gregory chose to exert it, they walked back to the ranch, where a team awaited the ambassador at the foot of the hill.
“I’ve had quite a delightful visit,” began Mr. Robinson, when Gregory interrupted:
“I’ve no intention of letting you go. You must have supper at the farm and meet Oakley. I’ll send off the rig and drive you in myself——”
“Oh, I couldn’t think of troubling you——” Robinson, red again, stood in almost agitated embarrassment.
“No train to Butte till nine-thirty. You don’t want to spend four hours in Pony?”
“The fact is——” But whatever he had on his mind died on his lips. He looked sharply into the bland smiling eyes opposite, and concluded abruptly, “All right. Many thanks. Glad of the chance to know you better.”
He paid off the driver of the team and they walked toward the ranch house, Gregory commenting on Oakley’s genius for dry farming, and expatiating upon the excellence of the crops. Mining was not mentioned again during the evening and the lawyer enjoyed an excellent supper.
Gregory drove him to Pony, and clung to him so closely that he had no opportunity to visit the telegraph office or a telephone booth. They shook hands cordially as the train moved off. When it was out of sight Gregory sent a telegram to Mark telling him to take the first train next morning for Virginia City and meet him in the Court House. He took his car to a garage and spent the night in Pony. On the following morning at nine o’clock he walked into the Tax Collector’s office at the County Seat.