The morning after found Rimrock without regrets and, for once, without a head. He had subtly judged, from something she had said, that Mary did not like whiskey breaths, nor strong cigars, nor the odors of the two combined. So, having certain words to speak in her ear, he had refrained, with the results as aforesaid. For the first time in her life she had looked him in the eye and acknowledged, frankly, that she liked him. But she had not kissed him—she drew the line there—and once more in his shrewd unsophisticated way he judged it was never done, in her set.
He found her in the office when he appeared the next morning, with her harness over her head. It was the sign in a way that she was strictly business and all personal confidences were taboo, but Rimrock did not take the hint. It annoyed him, some way, that drum over her ear and the transmitter hung on her breast, for when he had seen her the evening before all these things had been set aside.
"What? Still wearing that ear-thing?" he demanded bluffly and she flushed and drew her lips tight. It was a way she had when she restrained some quick answer and Rimrock hastened on to explain. "You never wore it last night and—and you could hear every word I said."
"That was because I knew what you were going to say."
She smiled, imperceptibly, as she returned the retort courteous and now it was Rimrock who blushed. Then he laughed and waved the matter aside.
"Well, let it go at that," he said sitting down. "Gimme the books, I'm going to make you a director at our next meeting."
Mary Fortune looked at him curiously and smiled once more, then rose quickly and went to the safe.
"Very well," she said as she came back with the records, "but I wonder if you quite understand."
"You bet I do," he said, laying off his big hat and spreading out the papers and books. "Don't fool yourself there—we've got to be friends—and that's why I'm going the limit."
He searched out the certificate where, to qualify him for director, he had transferred one share of the Company stock to Buckbee, and filled in a date on the back.
"Now," he went on, "Mr. Buckbee's stock is cancelled, and his resignation automatically takes place. Friend Buckbee is all right, but dear friend W. H. Stoddard might use him to slip something over. It's We, Us and Company, you and me, little Mary, against Whitney H. Stoddard and the world. Do you get the idea? We stand solid together—two directors out of three—and the Tecolote is in the hollow of our hand."
"Your hand!" she corrected but Rimrock protested and she let him have his way.
"No, now listen," he said; "this doesn't bind you to anything—all I want is that we shall be friends."
"And do you understand," she challenged, "that I can vote against you and throw the control to Stoddard? Have you stopped to think that I may have ideas that are diametrically opposed to your own? Have you even considered that we might fall out—as we did once before, you remember—and that then I could use this against you?"
"I understand all that—and more besides," he said as he met her eyes. "I want you, Mary. My God, I'm crazy for you. The whole mine is nothing to me now."
"Oh, yes, it is," she said, but her voice trailed off and she thought for a minute in silence.
"Very well," she said, "you have a right to your own way—but remember, this still leaves me free."
"You know it!" he exclaimed, "as the desert wind! Shake hands on it—we're going to be friends!"
"I hope so," she said, "but sometimes I'm afraid. We must wait a while and be sure."
"Ah, 'wait'!" he scolded. "But I don't like that word—but come on, let's get down to business. Where's this Abercrombie Jepson? I want to talk to him, and then we'll go out to the mine."
He grabbed up his hat and began to stride about the office, running his hand lovingly over the polished mahogany furniture, and Mary Fortune spoke a few words into the phone.
"He'll be here in a minute," she said and began to straighten out the papers on her desk. Even to Rimrock Jones, who was far from systematic, it was evident that she knew her work. Every paper was put back in its special envelope, and when Abercrombie Jepson came in from his office she had the bundle back in the safe.
He was a large man, rather fat and with a ready smile, but with a harried look in his eye that came from handling a thousand details; and as Rimrock turned and faced him he blinked, for he felt something was coming.
"Mr. Jepson," began Rimrock in his big, blustering voice, "I want to have an understanding with you. You're a Stoddard man, but I think you're competent—you certainly have put things through. But here's the point—I've taken charge now and you get your orders from me. You can forget Mr. Stoddard. I'm president and general manager, and whatever I say goes."
He paused and looked Jepson over very carefully while Mary Fortune stared.
"Very well, sir," answered Jepson, "I think I understand you. I hope you are satisfied with my services?"
"We'll see about that later," went on Rimrock, still arrogantly. "I'll begin my tour of inspection to-day. But I'll tell you right now, so there won't be any mistake, that all I ask of you is results. You won't find me kicking about the money you spend as long as it comes back in ore. You're a competent man, so I've been given to understand, and, inside your field, you're the boss. I won't fire any of your men and I won't interfere with your work without having it done through you; but on the other hand, don't you forget for a single minute that I'm the big boss on this dump. And whatever you do, don't make the mistake of thinking you're working for Stoddard. I guess that will be all. Miss Fortune is going to be a director soon and I've asked her to go out with us to the mine."
A strange, startled look came over Jepson's face as he received this last bit of news, but he smiled and murmured his congratulations. Then he expressed the hope that he would be able to please them and withdrew with the greatest haste.
"Well!" observed Rimrock as he gazed grimly after him, "I guess that will hold Mr. Jepson."
"Very likely," returned Mary, "but as a prospective director may I enquire the reason for this outburst?"
"You may," replied Rimrock. "This man, Abercrombie Jepson, was put over on me by Stoddard. I had to concede something, after holding out on the control, and I agreed he could name the supe. Well now, after being the whole show, don't you think it more than likely that Mr. Jepson might overlook the main squeeze—me?"
He tapped himself on the breast and nodded his head significantly.
"That's it," he went on as she smiled enigmatically. "I know these great financiers. I'll bet you right now our fat friend Abercrombie is down telegraphing the news to Stoddard. He's Stoddard's man but I've got my eye on him and if he makes a crooked move, it's bingo!"
"All the same," defended Mary, "while I don't like him personally, I think Jepson is remarkably efficient. And when you consider his years of experience and the technical knowledge he has——"
"That has nothing to do with it, as far as I'm concerned—there are other men just as good for the price—but I want him to understand so he won't forget it that he's taking his orders fromme. Now I happen to know that our dear friend Stoddard is out to get control of this mine and the very man that is liable to ditch us is this same efficient Mr. Jepson. Don't ever make the mistake of giving these financiers the credit of being on the level. You can't grab that much money in the short time they've been gathering without gouging every man you meet. So just watch this man Jepson. Keep your eye on his accounts, and remember—we're pardners, now."
His big, excited eyes, that blazed with primitive emotion whenever he roused from his calm, became suddenly gentle and he patted her hand as he hurried off to order up the car.
All the way across the desert, as Mary exclaimed at the signs of progress, Rimrock let it pass in silence. They left the end of the railroad and a short automobile ride put them down at the Tecolote camp. Along the edge of the canyon, where the well-borers had developed water, the framework of a gigantic mill and concentrator was rapidly being rushed to completion. On the flats below, where Old Juan's burros had browsed on the scanty mesquite, were long lines of houses for the miners and a power plant to run the great stamps. A big gang of miners were running cuts into the hillside where the first of the ore was to come out and like a stream of ants the workmen and teams swarmed about each mighty task, but still Rimrock Jones remained silent. His eyes opened wider at sight of each new miracle but to Jepson he made no comments.
They went to the assay house, where the diamond drill cores showed the ore from the heart of the hills; and there at last Rimrock found his tongue as he ran over the assayer's reports.
"Pretty good," he observed and this time it was Jepson who tightened his lips and said nothing. "Pretty good," repeated Rimrock and then he laughed silently and went out and sat down on the hill. "A mountain of copper," he said, looking upward. "The whole butte is nothing but ore. Some rich, some low-grade, but shattered—that's the idea! You can scoop it up with a steam shovel."
He whistled through his teeth, cocking his eye up at the mountain and then looking down at the townsite.
"You bet—a big camp!" And then to Jepson: "That's fine, Mr. Jepson; you're doing noble. By the way, when will that cook-house be done? Pretty soon, eh? Well, let me know; I've got a friend that's crazy to move in."
He smiled at Mary, who thought at once of Woo Chong, but Jepson looked suddenly serious.
"I hope, Mr. Jones," he said, "you're not planning to bring in that Chinaman. I've got lots of Bisbee men among my miners and they won't stand for a Chinaman in camp."
"Oh, yes, they will," answered Rimrock easily. "You wait, it'll be all right. And there's another thing, now I think about it; Mr. Hicks will be out soon to look for a good place to locate his saloon. I've given him the privilege of selling all the booze that is sold in Tecolote."
"Booze?" questioned Jepson, and then he fell silent and went to gnawing his lip.
"Yes—booze!" repeated Rimrock. "I know these Cousin Jacks. They've got to have facilities for spending their money or they'll quit you and go to town."
"Well, now really, Mr. Jones," began Jepson earnestly, "I'd much prefer to have a dry camp. Of course you are right about the average miner—but it's better not to have them drunk around camp."
"Very likely," said Rimrock, "but Old Hassayamp is coming and I guess you can worry along. It's a matter of friendship with me, Mr. Jepson—I never go back on a friend. When I was down and out Old Hassayamp Hicks was the only man that would trust me for the drinks; and Woo Chong, the Chinaman, was the only man that would trust me for a meal. You see how it is, and I hope you'll do your best to make them both perfectly at home."
Abercrombie Jepson mumbled something into his mustache which Rimrock let pass for assent, although it was plainly to be seen by the fire in his eye that the superintendent was vexed. As for Mary Fortune, she sat at one side and pretended not to hear. Perhaps Rimrock was right and these first minor clashes were but skirmishes before a great battle. Perhaps, after all, Jepson was there to oppose him and it was best to ride over him roughshod. But it seemed on the surface extremely dictatorial, and against public policy as well. Mr. Jepson was certainly right, in her opinion, in his attitude toward Hicks' saloon; yet she knew it was hopeless to try to move Rimrock, so she smiled and let them talk on.
"Now, there's another matter," broke in Jepson aggressively, "that I've been waiting to see you about. As I understand it, I'm Mr. Stoddard's representative—I represent his interests in the mine. Very good; that's no more than right. Now, Mr. Stoddard has invested a large amount of money to develop these twenty claims, but he feels, and I feel, that that Old Juan claim is a continual menace to them all."
At the mention of the Old Juan Rimrock turned his head, and Mary could see his jaw set; but he listened somberly for some little time as Jepson went on with his complaint.
"You must know, Mr. Jones, that the history of the Old Juan makes it extremely liable to be jumped. We've had a strong guard set ever since you—well, continuously—but the title to that claim must be cleared up. It ought to be re-located——"
"Don't you think it!" sneered Rimrock with a sudden insulting stare. "That claim will stay—just the way it is!"
"But the guards!" protested Jepson, "they're a continual expense——"
"You can tell 'em to come down," cut in Rimrock peremptorily. "I'll look after that claim myself."
"But why not re-locate it?" cried Jepson in a passion, "why expose us to this continual suspense? You can re-locate it yourself——"
"Mr. Jepson," began Rimrock, speaking through his teeth, "there's no one that questions my claim. But if any man does—I don't care who he is—he's welcome to try and jump it. All he'll have to do is whip me."
He was winking angrily and Jepson, after a silence, cast an appealing glance at Mary Fortune.
"You've got a wonderful property here," he observed, speaking generally, "the prospects are very bright. There's only one thing that can mar its success, and that is litigation!"
"Yes," cried Rimrock, "and that's just what you'd bring on by your crazy re-location scheme! That Old Juan claim is good—I killed a man to prove it—and I'm not going to back down on it now. It won't be re-located and the man that jumps it will have me to deal with, personally. Now if you don't like the way I'm running this proposition——"
"Oh, it isn't that!" broke in Jepson hastily, "but I'm hired, in a way, to advise. You must know, Mr. Jones, that you're jeopardizing our future by refusing to re-locate that claim."
"No, I don't!" shouted Rimrock, jumping fiercely to his feet, while Mary Fortune turned pale. "It's just the other way. That claim is good—I know it's good—and I'll fight for it every time. Your courts are nothing, you can hire a lawyer to take any side of any case, but you can't hire one to go up against this!" He patted a lump that bulged at his hip and shook a clenched fist in the air. "No, sir! No law for me! Don't you ever think that I'll stand for re-locating that claim. That would be just the chance that these law-sharps are looking for, to start a contest and tie up the mine. No, leave it to me. I'll be my own law and, believe me, I'll never be jumped. There are some people yet that remember Andrew McBain——"
He stopped, for Mary had risen from her place and stood facing him with blazing eyes.
"What's the matter?" he asked, like a man bewildered; and then he understood. Mary Fortune had worked for Andrew McBain, she had heard him threaten his life; and, since his acquittal, this was the first time his name had been mentioned. And he remembered with a start that after he came back from the killing she had refused to take his hand.
"What's the matter?" he repeated, but she set her lips and moved away down the hill. Rimrock stood and watched her, then he turned to Jepson and his voice was hoarse with hate.
"Well, I hope you're satisfied!" he said and strode savagely off down the trail.
It had not taken long, after his triumphant homecoming, for Rimrock to wreck his own happiness. That old rift between them, regarding the law, had been opened the very first day; and it was not a difference that could be explained and adjusted, for neither would concede they were wrong. As the daughter of a judge, conservatively brought up in a community where an outlaw was abhorred, Mary Fortune could no more agree to his program than he could agree to hers. She respected the law and she turned to the law, instinctively, to right every wrong; but he from sad experience knew what a broken reed it was, compared to his gun and his good right hand. The return to Gunsight was a gloomy affair, but nothing was said of the Old Juan. Abercrombie Jepson guessed, and rightly, that his company was not desired; and they who had set out with the joy of lovers rode back absent-minded and distrait. But the question of the Old Juan was a vital problem, involving other interests beside theirs, and in the morning there was a telegram from Whitney H. Stoddard requesting that the matter be cleared up. Rimrock read it in the office where Mary sat at work and threw it carelessly down on her desk.
"Well, it's come to a showdown," he said as she glanced at it. "The question is—who's running this mine?"
"And the answer?" she enquired in that impersonal way she had; and Rimrock started as he sensed the subtle challenge.
"Why—we are!" he said bluffly. "You and me, of course. You wouldn't quit me on a proposition like this?"
"Yes, I think I would," she answered unhesitatingly. "I think Mr. Stoddard is right. That claim should be located in such a manner as to guarantee that it won't be jumped."
"Uh! You think so, eh? Well, what do you know about it? Can't you take my word for anything?"
"Why, yes, I can. In most matters at the mine I think you're entitled to have your way. But if you elect me as a Director in this coming stockholders' meeting and this question comes before the Board, unless you can make me see it differently I'm likely to vote against you."
Rimrock shoved his big hat to the back of his head and stood gazing at her fixedly.
"Well, if that's the case," he suggested at last, and then stopped as she caught his meaning.
"Very well," she said, "it isn't too late. You can get you another dummy."
"Will you vote for him?" demanded Rimrock, after an instant's thought, and she nodded her head in assent.
"Well, dang my heart!" muttered Rimrock impatiently, pacing up and down the room. "Here I frame it all up for us two to get together and run the old Company right and the first thing comes up we split right there and pull off a quarrel to boot. I don't like this, Mary; I want to agree with you; I want to get where we can understand. Now let me explain to you why it is I'm holding out; and then you can have you say-so, too. When I was in jail I sent for Juan Soto and it's true—he was born in Mexico. But his parents, so he says, were born south of Tucson and that makes them American citizens. Now, according to the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo if any citizen of Mexico moves to the United States, unless he moves back or gives notice within five years of his intention of returning to Mexico he becomes automatically an American citizen. Do you get the idea? Even if Juan was born in Mexico he's never considered himself a Mexican citizen. He moved back with his folks when he was a little baby, took the oath when he came of age and has been voting the Democratic ticket ever since. But here's another point—even if he is a Mexican, no private citizen can jump his claim. The Federal Government can, but I happen to know that no ordinary citizen can take possession of a foreigner's claim. It's been done, of course, but that lawyer I consulted told me it wasn't according to Hoyle. And here's another point—but what are you laughing at? Ain't I laying the law down right?"
"Why, yes, certainly," conceded Mary, "but with all this behind you what's the excuse for defying the law? Why don't you tell Mr. Jepson, or Mr. Stoddard, that the Old Juan is a perfectly good claim?"
"I did!" defended Rimrock. "I told Jepson so yesterday. I used those very same words!"
"Yes, but with another implication. You let it be understood that the reason it was good was that you were there, with your gun!"
"Stop right there!" commanded Rimrock. "That's the last, ultimate reason that holds in a court of law! The code is nothing, the Federal law is nothing, even treaties are nothing! The big thing that counts is—possession. Until that claim is recorded it's the only reason. The man that holds the ground, owns it. And that's why I say, and I stand pat on it yet, that my gun outweighs all the law!"
"Well, I declare," gasped Mary, "you are certainly convincing! Why didn't you tellmeabout it yesterday?"
"Well," began Rimrock, and then he hesitated, "I knew it would bring up—well, another matter, and I don't want to talk about that, yet."
"Yes, I understand," said Mary very hastily, "but—why didn't you tell Jepson this? I may do you an injustice but it seemed to me you were seeking a quarrel. But if you had explained the case——"
"What? To Stoddard's man? Why, you must think I'm crazy. Jepson has hired a lawyer and looked up that claim to the last infinitesimal hickey; he knows more about the Old Juan than I do. And speaking about quarrels, don't you know that fellow deliberately framed the whole thing? He wanted to know just where I stood on the Old Juan—and he wanted to get me in bad with you."
"With me?"
"Yes, with you! Why, can't you see his game? If he can get you to throw your vote against me he can knock me out of my control. Add your stock to Stoddard's and it makes us fifty-fifty—a deadlock, with Jepson in charge. And if he thought for a minute that I couldn't fire him he'd thumb his nose in my face."
Mary smiled at this picture of primitive defiance in a battle of grown-up men and yet she saw dimly that Rimrock was right in his estimate of Jepson's motives. Jepson did have a way that was subtly provocative and his little eyes were shifty, like a boxer's. As the two men faced each other she could feel the antagonism in every word that they said; and, looking at it as he did, it seemed increasingly reasonable that Rimrock's way was the best. It was better just to fight back without showing his hand and let Jepson guess what he could.
"But if we'd stand together—" she began at last and Rimrock's face lit up.
"That's it!" he said, leaping forward with his hand out, "will you shake on it? You know I'm all right!"
"But notalwaysright," she answered smiling, and put her hand in his. "But you're honest, anyway; and I like you for that. It's agreed, then; we stand together!"
"No-ow, that's the talk!" grinned Rimrock approvingly, "and besides, I need you, little Mary."
He held on to her hand but she wrested it away and turned blushing to her work.
"Don't be foolish!" she said, but her feelings were not hurt for she was smiling again in a minute. "Don't you know," she confided, "I feel utterly helpless when it comes to this matter of the mine. Everything about it seems so absolutely preposterous that I'm glad I'm not going to be a Director."
"But you are!" came back Rimrock, "now don't tell me different; because you're bull-headed, once you've put yourself on record. There ain't another living soul that I can trust to take that directorship. Even Old Hassayamp down here—and I'd trust him anywhere—might get drunk and vote the wrong way. But you——"
"You don't know me yet," she replied with decision. "I won't get drunk, but I've got to be convinced. And if you can't convince me that your way is right—and reasonable and just, as well—I give you notice that I'll vote against you. Now! What are you going to say?"
"All right!" he answered promptly, "that's all I ask of you. If you think I'm wrong you're welcome to vote against me; but believe me, this is no Sunday-school job. There's a big fight coming on, I can feel it in my bones, and the best two-handed scrapper wins. Old W. H. Stoddard, when he had me in jail and was hoping I was going to be sent up, he tried to buy me out of this mine. He started at nothing and went up to twenty million, so you can guess how much it's worth."
"Twenty million!" she echoed.
"Yes; twenty million—and that ain't a tenth of what he might be willing to pay. Can you think that big? Two hundred million dollars? Well then, imagine that much money thrown down on the desert for him and me to fight over. Do you think it's possible to be pleasant and polite, and always reasonable and just, when you're fighting a man that's never quit yet, for a whole danged mountain of copper?" He rose up and shook himself and swelled out his chest and then looked at her and smiled. "Just remember that, in the days that are coming, and give me the benefit of the doubt."
"But I don't believe it!" she exclaimed incredulously. "What ground have you for that valuation of the mine?"
"Well, his offer, for one thing," answered Rimrock soberly. "He never pays what a thing is worth. But did you see Mr. Jepson when I went into the assay house and began looking at those diamond-drill cores? He was sore, believe me, and the longer I stayed there the more fidgety Jepson got. That ore assay's big, but the thing that I noticed is that all of it carries some values. You can begin at the foot of it and work that whole mountain and every cubic foot would pay. And that peacock ore, that copper glance! That runs up to forty per cent. Now, here's a job for you as secretary of the Company, a little whirl into the higher mathematics. Just find the cubic contents of Tecolote mountain and multiply it by three per cent. That's three per cent. copper, and according to those assays the whole ground averages that. Take twenty claims, each fifteen hundred feet long, five hundred feet across and say a thousand feet deep; pile the mountain on top of them, take copper at eighteen cents a pound and give me the answer in dollars and cents. Then figure it out another way—figure out the human cussedness that that much copper will produce."
"Why—really!" cried Mary as she sat staring at him, "you make me almost afraid."
"And you can mighty well be so," he answered grimly. "It gets me going sometimes. Sometimes I get a hunch that I'll take all my friends and go and camp right there on the Old Juan. Just go out there with guns and hold her down, but that ain't the way it should be done. The minute you show these wolves you're afraid they'll fly at your throat in a pack. The thing to do is to look 'em in the eye and keep your gun kind of handy, so."
He tapped the old pistol that he still wore under his coat and leaned forward across her desk.
"Now tell me this," he said. "Knowing what you know now, does it seem so plain criminal—what I did to that robber, McBain?"
Mary met his eyes and in spite of her the tears came as she read the desperate longing in his glance. He was asking for justification after those long months of silence, but his deed was abhorrent to her still. She had shuddered when he had touched that heavy pistol whose shot had snuffed out a man's life; and she shuddered when she thought of it, when she saw his great hand and the keen eyes that had looked death at McBain. And yet, now he asked it, it no longer seemed criminal, only brutal and murderous—and violent. It was that which she feared in him, much as she was won by his other qualities, his instinctive resort to violence. But when he asked if she considered it plain criminal she was forced to answer him:
"No!"
"Well, then, what is the reason you always keep away from me and look like you didn't approve? Ain't a man got a right, if he's crowded too far, to stand up and fight for his own? Would you think any better of me if I'd quit in the pinch and let McBain get away with my mine? Wasn't he just a plain robber, only without the nerve, hiring gun-fighters to do the rough work? Why, Mary, I feel proud, every time I think about it, that I went there and did what I did. I feel like a man that has done a great duty and I can't stand it to have you disapprove. When I killed McBain I served notice on everybody that no man can steal from me, not even if he hides behind the law. And now, with all this coming up, I want you to tell me I did right!"
He thrust out his big head and fixed her eyes fiercely, but she slowly shook her head.
"No," she said, "I can never say that. I think there was another way."
"But I tried that before, when he robbed me of the Gunsight. My God, you wouldn't have me go to law!"
"You didn't need to go to law," she answered, suddenly flaring up in anger. "I warned you in plenty of time. All you had to do was to go to your property and be there to warn him away."
"Aw, you don't understand!" he cried in an agony. "Didn't I warn him to keep away? Didn't I come to his office when you were right there and tell him to keep off my claims? What more could I do? But he went out there anyhow, and after that there was nothing to do but fight!"
"Well, I'm glad you're satisfied," she said after a silence. "Let's talk about something else."
"No, let's fight this out!" he answered insistently. "I want you to understand."
"I do," she replied. "I know just how you feel. But unfortunately I see it differently."
"Well, how do you see it? Just tell me, how you feel and see if I can't prove I'm right."
"No, it can't be proved. It goes beyond that. It goes back to the way we've been brought up. My father was a judge and he worshiped the law—you men out West are different."
"Yes, you bet we are. We don't worship any law unless, by grab, it's right. Why, there used to be a law, a hundred years ago, to hang a man if he stole. They used to hang them by the dozen, right over there in England, and put their heads on a spike. Could you worship that law? Why, no; you know better. But there's a hundred more laws on our statute books to-day that date clear back to that time, and lots of them are just as unreasonable. I believe in justice, and every man for his own rights, and some day I believe you'll agree with me."
"That isn't necessary," she said, smiling slightly, "we can proceed very nicely without."
"Aw, now, that's what I mean," he went on appealingly. "We can proceed, but I want more than that. I want you to like me—and approve of what I do—and love and marry me, too."
He poured it out hurriedly and reached blindly to catch her, but she rose up and slipped way.
"No, Rimrock," she said as she gazed back at him from a distance, "you want too much—all at once. To love and to marry are serious things, they make or mar a woman's whole life. I didn't come out here with the intention of marrying and I have no such intention yet. And to win a woman's love—may I tell you something? It can never be done by violence. You may take that big pistol and win a mountain of copper that is worth two hundred million dollars, but love doesn't come that way. You say you want me now, but to-morrow may be different. And you must remember, you are likely to be rich."
"Yes, and that's why I want you!" burst out Rimrock impulsively. "You can keep me from blowing my money."
"Absolutely convincing—from the man's point of view. But what about the woman's? And if that's all you want you don't have to have me. You'll find lots of other girls just as capable."
"No, but look! I mean it! I've got to have you—we can throw in our stock together!"
There was a startled pause, in which each stared at the other as if wondering what had happened, and then Mary Fortune smiled. It was a very nice smile, with nothing of laughter in it, but it served to recall Rimrock to his senses.
"I think I know what you mean," she said at last, "but don't you think you've said enough? I like you just as much; but really, Rimrock, you're not very good at explaining."
The next thirty days—before the stockholders' meeting—were spent by Rimrock in trying to explain. In spite of her suggestion that he was not good at that art he insisted upon making things worse. What he wanted to say was that the pooling of their stock would be a happy—though accidental—resultant of their marriage; what he actually said was that they ought to get married because then they would stand together against Stoddard. But Mary only listened with a wise, sometimes wistful, smile and assured him he was needlessly alarmed. It was that which drove him on—that wistful, patient smile. Somehow he felt, if he could only say the right words, she would lean right over and kiss him!
But those words were never spoken. Rimrock was worried and harassed and his talk became more and more practical. He was quarreling with Jepson, who stood upon his rights; and Stoddard had served notice that he would attend the meeting in person, which meant it had come to a showdown. So the month dragged by until at last they sat together in the mahogany-furnished Directors' room. Rimrock sat at the head of the polished table with Mary Fortune near by, and Stoddard and Buckbee opposite. As the friend of all parties—and the retiring Director—Buckbee had come in the interest of peace; or so he claimed, but how peace would profit him was a question hard to decide. It might seem, in fact, that war would serve better; for brokers are the sharks in the ocean of finance and feed and fatten where the battle is fiercest.
Whitney Stoddard sat silent, a tall, nervous man with a face lined deep with care, and as he waited for the conflict he tore off long strips of paper and pinched them carefully into little square bits. Elwood Buckbee smiled genially, but his roving eye rested fitfully on Mary Fortune. He was a dashing young man of the Beau Brummel type and there was an ease and grace in his sinuous movements that must have fluttered many a woman's heart. But now he, too, sat silent and his appraising glances were disguised in a general smile.
"Well, let's get down to business," began Rimrock, after the preliminaries. "The first thing is to elect a new Director. Mr. Buckbee here has been retired and I nominate Mary Fortune to fill the vacancy."
"Second the motion," rapped out Stoddard and for a moment Rimrock hesitated before he took the fatal plunge. He knew very well that, once elected to the directorship, he could never remove her by himself. Either her stock or Stoddard's would have to go into the balance to undo the vote of that day.
"All in favor say 'Ay!'"
"Ay!" said Stoddard grimly; and Rimrock paused again.
"Ay!" he added and as Mary wrote it down she felt the eyes of both of them upon her. The die had been cast and from that moment on she was the arbiter of all their disputes.
They adjourned, as stockholders, and reconvened immediately as Directors; and the first matter that came up was a proposition from Buckbee to market a hundred million shares of common stock.
"You have here," he said, "a phenomenal property—one that will stand the closest of scrutiny; and with the name of Whitney H. Stoddard behind it. More than that, you are on the eve of an enormous production at a time when copper is going up. It is selling now for over eighteen cents and within a year it will be up in the twenties. Within a very few months, unless I am mistaken, there will be a battle royal in the copper market. The Hackmeister interests have had copper tied up, but the Tecolote Company can break that combine and at the same time gain an enormous prestige. There will be a fight, of course, but this stock will cost you nothing and you can retain a controlling share. My proposition is simply that you issue the common and divide it pro rata among you, your present stock then becoming preferred. Then you can put your common on the market in such lots as you wish and take your profits at the crest. In conclusion let me say that I will handle all you offer at the customary broker's charge."
He sat down and Rimrock looked out from under his eyebrows at Stoddard and Mary Fortune.
"Very well," said Stoddard after waiting for a moment. "It's agreeable to me, I'm sure."
"I'm against it," declared Rimrock promptly. "I'm against any form of reorganization. I'm in favor of producing copper and taking our profits from that."
"But this is plain velvet," protested Buckbee, smilingly. "It's just like money picked up in the road. I don't think I know of any company of importance that hasn't done something of the kind."
"I'm against it," repeated Rimrock in his stubborn way and all eyes were turned upon Mary Fortune. She sat very quiet, but her anxious, lip-reading gaze shifted quickly from one to the other.
"Did you get that, Miss Fortune?" asked Buckbee suavely, "the proposition is to issue a hundred million shares of common and start them at, say, ten cents a share. Then by a little manipulation we can raise them to twenty and thirty, and from that on up to a dollar. At that price, of course, you can unload if you wish: I'll keep you fully informed."
"Yes, I understood it," she answered, "but I'm not in favor of it. I think all stock gambling is wrong."
"You—what?" exclaimed Buckbee, and Whitney H. Stoddard was so astounded that he was compelled to unmask. His cold, weary eyes became predatory and eager and a subtle, scornful smile twisted his lips. Even Rimrock was surprised, but he leaned back easily and gave her a swift, approving smile. She was with him, that was enough; let the stock gamblers rage. He had won in the very first bout.
"But my dear Miss Fortune," began Stoddard, still smiling, "do you realize what you have done? You have rejected a profit, at the very least, of one or two million dollars."
"That may be," she said, "but I prefer not to take it unless we give something in return."
"But we do!" broke in Buckbee, "that stock is legitimate. The people that buy in will get rich."
"But the people who buy last will lose," she said. "I know, because I did it myself."
"Oho!" began Buckbee, but at a glance from Stoddard he drew back and concealed his smirk. Then for half an hour with his most telling arguments and the hypnotic spell of his eyes Whitney Stoddard outdid himself to win her over while Rimrock sat by and smiled. He had tried that himself in days gone by and he knew Stoddard was wasting his breath. She had made up her mind and that was the end of it—there would be no Tecolote common. Even Stoddard saw at last that his case was hopeless and he turned to the next point of attack. Rimrock Jones, he knew, opposed him on general principles—but the girl as a matter of conscience. They would see if that conscience could not be utilized.
"Very well," he said, "I'll withdraw my motion. Let us take up this matter of the saloon."
"What saloon?" demanded Rimrock, suddenly alert and combative, and Stoddard regarded him censoriously.
"I refer," he said, "to the saloon at the camp, which you have put there in spite of Jepson's protests. Now outside the question of general policy—the effect on the men, the increase in accidents and the losses that are sure to result—I wish to protest, and to protest most vigorously, against having a whiskey camp. I want the Tecolote to draw the best type of men, men of family who will make it their home, and I think it's a sin under circumstances like this to poison their lives with rum. I could speak on this further, but I simply make a motion that Tecolote be kept a temperance camp."
He paused and met Rimrock's baleful glance with a thin-lipped fighting smile; and then the battle was on. There were hot words in plenty and mutual recrimination, but Stoddard held the high moral ground. He stuck to his point that employers had no right to profit by the downfall of their men; and when it came to the vote, without a moment's hesitation, Mary Fortune cast her vote with his.
"What's that?" yelled Rimrock, rising up black with anger and striking a great blow on the table. "Have I got to tell Hassayamp to go? This old friend of mine that helped me and staked me when nobody else would trust me? Then I resign, by grab. If I can't do a little thing like that, I'm going to quit! Right now! You can get another manager! I resign! Now vote on it! You've got to accept it or——"
"I accept it!" said Stoddard and a wild look crossed Rimrock's face as he saw where his impetuosity had led him. But Mary Fortune, with an understanding smile, shook her head and voted no.
"How doyouvote?" challenged Stoddard, trying to spur him to the leap, but Rimrock had sensed the chasm.
"I voteno!" he said with answering scowl. "I'll take care of Mr. Hicks, myself. You must take me for a sucker," he added as an afterthought, but Stoddard was again wearing his mask. It was Buckbee who indulged in the laugh.
"We can't all win," he said, rising up to go. "Think of me and that Tecolote common!"
Rimrock grinned, but Stoddard had come there for a purpose and he did not choose to unbend.
"Mr. Jones," he began, as they were left alone, "I see we are not able to agree. Every point that I bring up you oppose it on general principles. Have you any suggestions for the future?"
"Why, yes," returned Rimrock, "since I'm in control I suggest that you leave me alone. I know what you'd like—you'd like to have me play dead, and let you and Jepson run the mine. But if you've got enough, if you want to get out, I might take that stock off your hands."
A questioning flash came into Stoddard's keen eyes.
"In what way?" he enquired cautiously.
"Well, just place a value on it, whatever you think it's worth, and we'll get right down to business." Rimrock hitched up his trousers, and the square set of his shoulders indicated his perfect willingness to begin. "You're not the only man," he went on importantly, "that's got money to put into mines."
"Perhaps not," admitted Stoddard, "but you take too much for granted if you think I can be bought out for a song."
"Oh, no," protested Rimrock, "I don't think anything like that. I expect you to ask a good price. Yes, a big price. But figure it out, now, what you've put into the mine and a reasonable return for your risk. Then multiply it by five, or ten, or twenty, whatever you think it's worth, and make me an offer on paper."
"Not at all! Not at all!" rapped out Stoddard hastily, "I'm in the market to buy."
"Well, then, make me an offer," said Rimrock bluffly, "or Miss Fortune here, if she'd like to sell. Here, I'll tell you what you do—you name me a figure that you'll either buy at, or sell! Now, that's fair, ain't it?"
A fretful shadow came over Stoddard's face as he found himself still on the defense and he sought to change his ground.
"I'll tell you frankly why I make this offer—it's on account of the Old Juan claim. If you had shown any tendency to be in the least reasonable I'd be the last to propose any change——"
"Never mind about that," broke in Rimrock peremptorily, "I'll take your word for all that. The question is—what's your price?"
"I don't want to sell!" snapped out Stoddard peevishly, "but I'll give you twenty million dollars for your hundred thousand shares of stock."
"You offered that before," countered Rimrock coolly, "when I was shut up in the County Jail. But I'm out again now and I guess you can see I don't figure on being stung."
"I'll give you thirty million," said Stoddard, speaking slowly, "and not a dollar more."
"Will you sell out for that?" demanded Rimrock instantly. "Will you takefortyfor what you hold? You won't? Then what are you offering it to me for? Haven't I got the advantage of control?"
"Well, perhaps you have," answered Stoddard doubtfully and turned and looked straight at Mary. "Miss Fortune," he said, "I don't know you intimately, but you seem to be a reasonable woman. May I ask at this time whether it is your present intention to hold your stock, or to sell?"
"I intend to hold my stock," replied Mary very quietly, "and to vote it whichever way seems best."
"Then am I to understand that you don't follow Mr. Jones blindly, and that he has no control over your stock?"
Mary nodded, but as Stoddard leaned forward with an offer she hurried on to explain.
"But at the same time," she said in her gentlest manner and with a reassuring glance at her lover, "when we think what hardships Mr. Jones had endured in order to find this mine, and all he has been through since, I think it is no more than right that he should remain in control."
"Aha! I see!" responded Stoddard cynically, "may I enquire if you young people have an understanding?"
"That is none of your business," she answered sharply, but the telltale blush was there.
"Ah, yes, excuse me," murmured Stoddard playfully, "a lady might well hesitate—with him!"
He cast a teasing glance in the direction of Rimrock and perceived he had guessed right again. "Well, well," he hurried on, "that does make a difference—it's the most uncertain element in the game. But all this aside, may I ask you young people if you have a top price for your stock. I don't suppose I can meet it, but it's no harm to mention it. Don't be modest—whatever it is!"
"A hundred million dollars!" spoke up Rimrock promptly, "that's what I value my share of the mine."
"And you?" began Stoddard with a quizzical smile, but Mary seemed not to hear. It was a way she had, when a thing was to be avoided; but Stoddard raised his voice. "And you, Miss Fortune?" he called insistently. "How much do you want for your stock?"
She glanced up, startled, then looked at Rimrock and dropped her eyes to the table.
"I don't wish to sell," she answered quietly and the two men glared at each other.
"Mr. Jones," began Stoddard in the slow, measured tones of a priest who invokes the only god he knows, "I'm a man of few words—now you can take this or leave it. I'll give you—fifty—million—dollars!"
"Nothing doing!" answered Rimrock. "I don't want to sell. Will you take fifty millions for yours?"
For a moment Stoddard hesitated, then his face became set and his voice rasped harshly in his throat.
"No!" he said. "I came here to buy. And you'll live to wish you had sold!"
"Like hell!" retorted Rimrock. "This has been my day. I'll know where I'm at, from now on."