When Rimrock had caught the first train for New York he had thought it was to seek out Mary Fortune—to kneel at her feet and tell her humbly that he knew he had done her a wrong—but as the months went by and his detectives reported no progress he forgot his early resolve. The rush and excitement of that great gambling game that goes on in the Stock Exchange, the plunges on copper and the rushes for cover, all the give-and-take of the great chase; it picked him up as a great flowing stream floats a leaf and hurries it along, and Gunsight and Tecolote and the girl he had known there seemed far away, like a dream.
He was learning the game from the gamblers about him, all the ins and outs of The Street; the names and methods of all the great leaders and how they had won their success; and also, bold gambler that he was, he was starting on a career of his own. In days gone by, at roulette or faro, or in frontier poker games, he had learned to play with big chances against him and, compared to them, Wall Street was safe. The money that he staked was less than six months' earnings of his share of the Tecolote Mine; and from the brief notes of L. W., who was acting as his agent, there was more of it piling up. So he played it carelessly, like the plunger he was, and fortune—and Mrs. Hardesty—smiled.
He won, on the Street; and, though the stakes were not specified, he seemed to be winning with her. It was a question with him whether a woman of her kind ever thought of such a thing as marriage. She had money of her own, and all that money could buy; and her freedom, whatever that was. In this new world about him all the terms of life seemed changed and transposed and vague, and he never quite knew what she meant. Every word that she said when they discussed life and love seemed capable of a double intent, and whether by freedom she meant to yield or to escape something he had never made out. All he knew was that at times she seemed to beckon him on and at others to fend him away. She was fickle as fortune which, as he plunged and covered, sometimes smiled and again wore a frown.
But it was sparkling and stimulating as the champagne he now drank, this new life with its win and lose, and he played his stakes with the stoical repose of a savage, the delighted abandon of a boy. His broker was always Buckbee, that gay, laughing Beau Brummel who had given him his first start in the world. It was Buckbee who had met him when he first came to the Waldorf with his assays and his samples of ore and, after much telephoning and importuning and haggling, had arranged for his interview with Stoddard. That interview had resulted in Rimrock's first clash with Stoddard, and he had hated him ever since; for a man who would demand a controlling interest in a mine for simply lending his name was certainly one who was fully capable of grabbing the rest if he could. So Rimrock had fought him; but for Buckbee, the broker, he had nothing but the best of good will.
To be sure Buckbee worked for Stoddard—that was plainly made evident at the time they had made the first deal—but he was open-hearted and honest and generous with his tips, and Rimrock found they were good. Buckbee even went further, he arranged credit for Rimrock at one of the biggest banks and when in his plunges he was caught short of funds the bank made him loans on his note. They took no chances, for he was rated at millions as half owner of the Tecolote Mine, but it helped out mightily as he extended his operations and found his margins threatened. But all this buying and selling of stocks, the establishment of his credit and the trying out of his strength, it was all preliminary to that great contest to come when he would come out into the open against Stoddard.
Whitney Stoddard was a man rated high up in the millions, but he was fallible like the rest. His wealth, compared to Rimrock's was as a hundred dollars to one, but it was spread out a hundred times as far; and with his next dividend, which was due in December, Rimrock would have nearly a million in cash. To Stoddard, at the same time, there would come nearly the same amount of money, but it would be gone within a few days. There were obligations to be met, as Rimrock well knew, that would absorb his great profits and more. The Tecolote Mine, before it began to pay, had cost several million dollars in dead work. That money had been borrowed, and while Rimrock took in velvet, Stoddard was obligated to pay his debts.
Several months went by and, patient Indian that he was, Rimrock still followed on Stoddard's trail. He looked up his connections with the Transcontinental railroad and there he made his first strike. Although he moulded the policies of that great corporation and seemed endowed with unlimited power his actual holdings in the stock of the company were almost ridiculously small. Yet he took advantage of his dominating position and the influence it gave him with the directors to make such coups as he had made with the Tecolote, building the branch line which had given value to his mine. As a business proposition it was a good investment for the Company, but who was it that reaped the big profits? By the investment of less than three million dollars—which he had borrowed as he went along—Whitney Stoddard had acquired practically a half interest in a property which he valued at a hundred millions. And now he was bucking the Hackmeisters!
The thought of this man, who had come up from nothing and was even yet barely on his feet, deliberately attempting to break the great copper combine was hardly credible to Rimrock. He marveled now at the presumption of Stoddard in offering him fifty millions for his half and the control of the mine. From what he could gather Stoddard had never possessed fifty millions, nor did he possess them then. He was trading on his name and traveling on a shoestring; quite the common thing in New York. But Rimrock knew as well as he knew anything that a man like Stoddard was dangerous. As sure as the time came, by some hook or crook, he would beat him out of his mine. The thing to do was to beat him to it—to raid his newly acquired Navajoa stocks and then pinch him until he let go of Tecolote. But it must be done secretly, not a word to anybody, not even to Buckbee or Mrs. Hardesty. They were friends of Stoddard's as well as his—it was safest to work alone.
So, while outwardly the same good-hearted plunger, Rimrock began his campaign of revenge. It opened with a series of secret orders to outside brokers that he knew and soon, by selling Navajoa short, he had hammered the asking price down. Then he bought it in, a little at a time, until the market began to rise; and then, vindictively, he slaughtered it again and gathered in more at the bottom. Not for nothing had he listened to Mrs. Hardesty and Buckbee and learned how the market riggers worked, but neither to her nor to Buckbee did he so much as hint of his purpose. His day would come when the Tecolote dividend was voted, when he got his million dollar check; and the only thing that could keep him from a notable revenge was some slip-up in connection with the dividend.
In the continued absence of Mary Fortune, with her third and decisive vote, it would be necessary for Rimrock to agree with Stoddard, to the extent of dividing their profits. Not a great ways to go, even for men who were sworn enemies, and Stoddard certainly needed the money. He needed it badly, much worse than Rimrock, and would need it from time to time; yet until Rimrock actually got his hands on the money it was essential to conceal his plans. For a shrewd man like Stoddard, if he got an inkling of his purpose, was perfectly capable of tying up their profits and of stopping his credit at the bank. It was dangerous ground and Rimrock trod it warily, buying Navajoa in the most roundabout ways; yet month after month increased his holdings until his credit at the bank was stretched. If they asked for collateral he could turn over his Navajoa, although that would tip off his hand; but his note was still good and he went in deeper as the date of the annual meeting drew near.
There came a time when Buckbee asked shrewd questions and Mrs. Hardesty took him playfully to task; but he carried it off by wise nods and smiles and the statement that he knew something good. He was learning the game and, to cover up his tracks, he joined the mad whirl of social life. In place of his black sombrero and the high-heeled boots that had given him his entree in New York he appeared one evening in a top hat and dress suit, with diamonds glittering down the front of his shirt. It was a new plunge for him, but Buckbee supplied the tailor and Mrs. Hardesty launched his debut.
She had almost adopted him, this baffling, "free" woman, and yet she still had her reserves. She went with him everywhere, but the recherché suppers were almost a thing of the past. It was the opera now, and the gayest restaurants, and dinners where they met distinguished guests; but at the entrance of the St. Cyngia, when the graven-faced doorman opened the door to let her pass, she had acquired a way of giving Rimrock her hand without asking if he wouldn't come in. She played him warily, for his nature was impetuous and might easily lead him too far; but the time came at last when she found him recalcitrant and insurgent against her will.
It was at the opera where, amid jewelled women and men in immaculate attire, they had sat through a long and rather tedious evening during which Mrs. Hardesty had swept the boxes with her lorgnette. Something that she saw there had made her nervous and once in the cloakroom she delayed. Rimrock waited impatiently and when at last she joined him he forced his way aggressively into the slow-moving crowd and they were swept on down the broad, marble stairs. Once a part of that throng, there was no escaping its surge, and yet, as they drifted with the rest, two great columns of humanity flowing together like twin brooks that join in a river below, she clutched his arm and started back; but the crowd swept her inexorably on. Then Rimrock caught her glance—it was flashing across the foyer to the stream on the other side. He followed it instinctively and there, tripping gracefully down the stairway as he had seen her once before at Gunsight, was Mary Fortune, his girl!
Yes, his girl! Rimrock knew it instantly, the girl he had always loved. The One Woman he could love forever if fate would but give him the chance. He started forward, but a hand restrained him; it was Mrs. Hardesty at his side.
"Where are you going?" she asked and the slim, jewelled fingers closed down on his hand like a vise.
"Let me go!" muttered Rimrock, as he struggled against her; but she jerked him back to her side.
"Don't you dare to humiliate me!" she hissed into his ear, "don't you dare to leave me—for her!"
"It's Mary!" mumbled Rimrock without taking his eyes from her and Mrs. Hardesty tightened her grasp.
"If you do—I'll kill you!" she added dangerously; but Rimrock gave no heed. He had forgotten all about her; forgotten she was there, the dead weight that was holding him back; all he saw was Mary, more radiant than ever, moving towards him down the stairs. She was dressed in soft white and her glorious brown hair, that had before been crushed down beneath its clasp, was fluffed out now in all its beauty; and she talked and laughed as she came. At her side was an elderly, distinguished gentleman who listened with an indulgent smile—and then they were engulfed in the crowd. The mass of humanity that had swept them down the stairway closed in and swallowed them up.
She was gone—but she was there—right there through the crowd—and Rimrock started towards her. Mrs. Hardesty followed, dragged on by main strength, and then resolutely she set her feet. The outraged escorts of jostled ladies formed a solid phalanx against him and Rimrock wheeled impatiently.
"Let go of my arm!" he commanded savagely and then he met her eyes. If he had doubted before the nature of the tiger woman he could read it now at a glance. She was choking with anger and her thin, even teeth were bared as she hissed out her breath; and then she spoke, very quietly:
"If you are a gentleman," she said in his ear, "you will not fail to escort me home. Otherwise——"
She stopped, but the roll of her eyes conveyed a threat that went beyond words. She was a tigress, after all, a woman of dark passions and uncontrolled anger, a woman who beneath her languid grace had the strength and the courage to strike. And now as she faced him the mill-race of people surged against them and carried them on. They moved with the crowd, there was no escape, and she lashed him with bitter words. He listened, unchastened, his head held high, his eyes still seeking for Mary; and as they plunged into the opposing currents of the street, he met her, face to face.
The distinguished man was talking now and Mary was listening to what he said; yet her eyes, that were accustomed to read from the lips, were now free to look about. A swift, unbidden gladness leapt up into them at first as she recognized Rimrock in the crowd; and then, quick as lightning, she saw the other woman and the glad look went out of her eyes. They flared up suddenly with the old anger and resentment and as quickly took on a distant stare. Then they turned to her escort and as Rimrock was shoved past them he heard her answer him pleasantly. It was just a word, only a fraction of a word, and then Mrs. Hardesty broke in. What she said fell again upon unheeding ears, but Rimrock knew it was harsh. Harsh and threatening and yet with an undertone of passion that thrilled him against his will.
He found himself in a gliding auto' with the street lights twinkling past, and there he came out of his dream.
"What's the matter with you?" he asked at last as he discovered her still walking on and she burst into hysterical tears.
"What's the matter!" she echoed, "why, can't you see? I'm in love with you—that's what's the matter! Oh, I hate that woman! She's a cruel thing—didn't you see the way she looked at me? But I'll pay her back, I'll get even with her yet! Ah, my God, how I hate the sight of her!"
She fell to weeping and Rimrock, silenced, drew away and left her alone. Then the automobile stopped and through the glass they could see the imposing entrance of the St. Cyngia. The chauffeur reached back and threw open the door and Rimrock leapt quickly out, but Mrs. Hardesty did not follow. She sat in the half-darkness, composing her hair and working swiftly to cover the traces of tears; and when she stepped out she was calm.
"Excuse me," she whispered as he led her towards the door, "I didn't mean what I said. But I do love you, Rimrock, in spite of myself, and—won't you come in for a moment?"
They stood at the entrance and the Sphinxlike doorman opened the door to let them pass. Outside it was cold and from the portals there came forth a breath of warm air, but for the first time Rimrock held back.
"No, thank you very much," he said, bowing formally, and turned quickly back towards the car. She watched him a moment, then drew her cloak about her and hurried in swiftly through the door.
As Mrs. Hardesty guessed, Rimrock was hurrying away in order to follow Mary Fortune; and as Rimrock guessed, she had invited him in to keep him from doing just that. She failed, for once, and it hurt her pride; but Rimrock failed as well. After a swift spin through the streets he returned to his hotel and called up his detective in a rage.
"Say, what kind of an agency are you running, anyhow?" he demanded when he got his man. "Ain't you been working ten months to find Mary Fortune? Well, I met her to-night, on the street. What's that you say? There's three million people! Well, I don't care if there's six—I want you to find that girl! No, stop her nothing! You lay a hand on her and I'll come down to your office and kill you. Just tell me where she is and keep an eye on her and I don't care what you charge. And paste this in your hat—if you don't find that girl you'll have to sue for your pay!"
The agency had to sue, for ten days later, Rimrock received a letter from her hand. It was mailed from Gunsight, Arizona, and was strictly business throughout. It was, in fact, the legal thirty days' notice of the annual meeting of the Company
"in the town of Gunsight, county of Geronimo, Territory of Arizona, on Tuesday, the 22nd day of December, to transact the following business, viz:
"1—to elect a Board of Directors
"2—to transact any other business that may properly come before the meeting."
Rimrock read it over and his courage failed him—after all he was afraid to face her. He did not flatter himself that she hated him; she despised him, and on account of Mrs. Hardesty. How then could he hasten back to Gunsight and beg for a chance to explain? She had fled from his presence ten months before, on the day after Mrs. Hardesty came; and ten months later, when she met him by accident, he was with Mrs. Hardesty again. As far as he knew Mrs. Hardesty was a perfect lady. She went out everywhere and was received even by millionaires on terms of perfect equality—and yet Mary Fortune scorned her. She scorned her on sight, at a single glance, and would not even argue the matter. Rimrock decided to use "the enclosed proxy."
He made it out in the name of L. W. Lockhart and returned it by the following mail, and then he called up the detective agency and told them to go ahead and sue. He told them further that he was willing to bet that Stoddard knew where she was all the time; and if they were still working for him, as he strongly suspected, they could tell him she was back in Gunsight. Rimrock hung up there and fell to pacing the floor and for the first time the busy city looked gray. It looked drab and dirty and he thought longingly of the desert with its miles and miles of clean sand. He thought of his mine and how he had fought for it, and of all his friends in the straggling town; of Old Juan and L. W. and hearty Old Hassayamp with his laugh and his Texas yupe. And of Mary Fortune, the typist, as he had known her at first—but now she was sending letters like this:
"DEAR SIR:
You are hereby notified that the regular Annual Meeting of the Stockholders of the Tecolote Mining Company will be held at the offices of the Company, in the Tecolote Hotel," etc., etc.
Rimrock threw down the letter and cursed himself heartily for a fool, a chump and a blackguard. With a girl like that, and standing all she had from him, to lose her over Mrs. Hardesty! Who was Mrs. Hardesty? And why had she gone to Gunsight and fetched him back to New York? Was it because he was crazy that he had the idea that she was an agent, somehow, of Stoddard? That two thousand shares of Tecolote stock that she had assured him Stoddard had sold her, wasn't it part of their scheme to lure him away and break up his friendship with Mary? Because if Mrs. Hardesty had it she had never produced it, and there was no record of the transfer on the books. Rimrock brought down his fist and swore a great oath never to see the woman again. From the day he met her his troubles had begun—and now she claimed she loved him!
Rimrock curled his lip at the very thought of any New York woman in love. There was only one woman who knew what the word meant and she was in Gunsight, Arizona. He picked up her letter and scanned it again, but his eyes had not learned to look for love. Even the driest formula, sent from one to another, may spell out that magic word; may spell it unconsciously and against the will, if the heart but rules the hand. Mary Fortune had told him in that briefest of messages that she was back in Gunsight again; and furthermore, if he wished to see her, he could do so in thirty days. It told him, in fact, that while their personal relations had been terminated by his own unconsidered acts; as fellow stockholders, perhaps even as partners, they might meet and work together again. But Rimrock was dense, his keen eyes could not see it, nor his torn heart find the peace that he sought. Like a wounded animal he turned on his enemy and fought Stoddard to keep down the pain. And back at Gunsight, trying to forget her hate, Mary Fortune fought her battle alone.
There was great excitement—it amounted almost to a panic—when Mary Fortune stepped in on Jepson. During her unexplained absence he had naturally taken charge of things, with L. W. of course, to advise; and to facilitate business he had moved into the main office where he could work with the records at hand. Then, as months went by and neither she nor Rimrock came back to assert their authority, he had rearranged the offices and moved her records away. Behind the main office, with its plate-glass windows and imposing furniture and front, there were two smaller rooms; the Directors' meeting place and another, now filled with Mary's records. A clerk, who did not even know who she was, sat at his ease behind her fine desk; and back in the Directors' room, with its convenient table, L. W. and Jepson were in conference. She could see them plainly through the half-opened door, leaning back and smoking their cigars, and in that first brief interval before they caught sight of her she sensed that something was wrong.
Of course there were apologies, and Jepson insisted upon moving out or giving her any room she chose, but Mary assured him she had not come back permanently and the smaller room would do just as well. Then she set about writing the notices of the annual meeting, which had to be sent out by her hand, and Jepson recovered from his fright. Perhaps he recovered too much; for Mary Fortune had intuitions, and she remembered that first glimpse of L. W. As the agent of Rimrock and his legal representative it was desirable, of course, to be friends; but Jepson, it was well known, was the agent of Stoddard and Stoddard was after their mine. Therefore it ill became Lockhart, with one treachery against him, to be found smoking so comfortably with Jepson.
So astonished and stunned had she been by the changes and the sudden suspicions that arose that Mary at first had stood startled and silent, and Jepson had raised his voice. At this he remembered that she had gone East for an operation to help restore her hearing and, seeing her now so unresponsive, he immediately assumed the worst. So he shouted his explanations and Mary, flushing, informed him that she could hear very well.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," he apologized abjectly; but she noticed that he kept on shouting. And then in a flash of sudden resentment she bit her lips and let him shout. If he still wished to think that she was deaf as a post she would not correct him again. Perhaps if her suspicions should prove to be justified it would help her to discover his plans.
In her room that evening Mary brought from her trunk the ear-'phone she had cast aside. She had packed it away with a sigh of relief and yet a lingering fear for the future, and already she was putting it on. At the back of the transmitter there was a mechanical device which regulated the intensity of the sound. When she settled the clasp across her head and hung the 'phone over her ear she set it at normal and then advanced the dial until she could hear the faintest noise. The roar of the lobby, drifting in through the transom, became separated into its various sounds. She could hear men talking and outbursts of laughter and the scrape of moving chairs. The murmur of conversation in the adjoining room became a spat between husband and wife and, ashamed of her eavesdropping, she put down the instrument and looked about, half afraid.
As the doctor through his stethoscope can hear the inrush of air as it is drawn into the patient's lungs, or the surge of blood as it is pumped through the heart with every telltale gurgle of the valves; so with that powerful instrument she could hear through walls and know what was being said. It was a wonderful advantage to have over these men if she discovered that there was treachery afoot and the following morning, to test it out, she wore her 'phone to the office.
"Mr. Jepson," she said as he rose nervously to meet her, "I'd like to bring my books down to date. Of course it is mostly a matter of form, or I couldn't have been gone for so long, but I want to look over the records of the office and make out my annual report."
"Why, certainly," responded Jepson, still speaking very clearly, and assuming his most placating smile, "I'd be glad to have you check up. With Mr. Jones away I've been so pressed by work I hardly know where we are. Just make yourself at home and anything I can do for you, please feel free to let me know."
She thanked him politely and then, as she ran through the files, she absently removed her ear-'phone.
"Just hold out that report of the mining experts," she heard Jepson remark to his clerk; and in an instant her suspicions were confirmed. He had had experts at work, making a report on their property, but he wished to withhold it from her. That report was doubtless for Whitney H. Stoddard, the only man that Jepson really served, the man who actually controlled their mine. But she worked on unheeding and presently, from across the room, she heard him speak again. His voice was low, but the painful operations, the tedious treatments she had endured, had sharpened her hearing until she caught every word except the mumbled assent of the clerk.
"And tell Mr. Lockhart I'll arrange about that rebate. The check will go directly to him."
He went on then with some hurried directions about the different accounts to be changed and then, without troubling to shout at her again, he turned and slipped away. She had found him out, then, the very first day—Mr. Jepson had an understanding with L. W.! She retired to her room to think it over and then went systematically to work on the books, but these seemed scrupulously correct. The influence of Stoddard, that apostle of thoroughness, was apparent throughout the office; for Jepson well knew that the day was coming when he must render an account to his master. The books were correct, yet she could hardly believe the marvellous production they recorded. Her share alone—a poor one per cent. of all that enormous profit—would keep her in comfort for the rest of her life; she need never work again.
But as the days went by and the yearly profit was reduced to dollars and cents; as she looked over the statement from L. W.'s bank and saw the money piling up to their credit; the first thrill of joy gave way to fear—of Stoddard, and what he might do. With interests so vast lying unprotected what could restrain his ruthless hand? And yet there was Rimrock, wrecking his life in New York and letting her watch their mine alone! A wave of resentment rose up at the thought—it was the old hatred that she tried to fight down—and she clasped her hands and gazed straight ahead as she beheld in a vision, the woman! A lank rag of a woman, a Kipling's vampire, who lived by the blood of strong men! And to think that she should have fastened on Rimrock, who was once so faithful and true!
For the thousandth time there rose up in her mind the old Rimrock as she had seen him first—a lean, sunburned man on a buckskin horse with a pistol slung at his hip; a desert miner, clean, laughing, eager, following on after his dream of riches. But now, soft and fat, in top hat and diamonds, swaggering past with that woman on his arm! It would be a blessing for them both if Stoddard should jump the mine and put them back where they were before—he a hardy prospector; and she a poor typist, with a dream! But the dream was gone, destroyed forever, and all she could do was to fight on.
As she waited for his letter from day to day, Mary Fortune thought incessantly of Rimrock. She went out to the mine and gazed at the great workings where men appeared no larger than ants. She watched the ore being scooped up with steam shovels and dropped load by load into cars; she saw it crushed and pulverized and washed and the concentrates dumped into more cars; and then the endless chain of copper going out and the trainloads of supplies coming in. It was his, if he would come to it; every man would obey him; his orders would tear down a mountain; and yet he chose to grow fat and sordid, he preferred that woman to her!
She fought against it, but the anger still raged that had driven her fleeing from New York. How could she endure it, to meet him again? And yet she hoped he would come. She hated him, but still she waited and at last his letter came. She tore it open and drew out his proxy; and then in the quiet of her office she sat silent, while the letter lay trembling in her hands. This was his answer to her, who had endured so much for him, his answer to her invitation to come. He enclosed his proxy for L. W.
She began on a letter, full of passionate reproaches, and tore it up in a rage. Then she wrote another, and tore it up, and burst into a storm of tears. She rose up at last and, dry-eyed and quiet, typed a note and sent it away. It was a formal receipt for his proxy for Lockhart and was signed: Mary R. Fortune, Secretary.
The second annual meeting of the Tecolote stockholders found Whitney H. Stoddard in the chair. Henry Rimrock Jones was too busy on the stock market to permit of his getting away. He was perfecting a plan where by throwing in all his money, and all he could borrow at the bank, he hoped to wrest from Stoddard his control of Navajoa, besides dealing a blow to his pride. But Whitney H. Stoddard, besides running a railroad and a few subsidiary companies as well, was not so busy; he had plenty of time to come to Gunsight and to lay out a carefully planned program. As his supposed friend, the mysterious Mrs. Hardesty, had remarked once upon a time: he was a very thorough man, and very successful.
He greeted Mary warmly and in a brief personal chat flattered her immensely by forgetting that she was deaf. He also found time to express his gratification that she had approved his idea of a temperance camp. In the election that followed the incumbent Directors were unanimously re-elected, whereupon, having performed their sole function as stockholders, they adjourned and immediately reconvened as Directors. In marked contrast to the last, this meeting of the Directors was characterized by the utmost harmony—only L. W. seemed ill at ease. He had avoided Mary since the day she came back, and even yet seemed to evade her eye; but the reason for that appeared in time.
After the usual reports of the secretary and treasurer, showing a condition of prosperity that made even Stoddard's eyes gleam, Mr. Jepson presented his report. It was a bulky affair, full of technical statistics and elaborate estimates of cost; but there was a recommendation at the end.
"The report of our treasurer," said Jepson in closing, "shows a net profit of several million dollars, but I wish to point out our losses. Chief of these is the enormous wastage which comes from shipping our concentrates. There is no doubt in my mind that the Tecolote properties contain an inexhaustible supply of ore; nor that that ore, if economically handled, will pay an increasing profit. The principal charges, outside the operating expenses, have been freight and the smelting of our concentrates. As you doubtless know, the long haul to El Paso, and the smelter charges at that end, have materially reduced our net profits. The greater part of this loss is preventable and I therefore recommend that the Company construct its own smelter."
He went on with estimates of costs and the estimated saving per ton, but Mary Fortune allowed her attention to stray. She was thinking of Rimrock Jones, and she was watching Rimrock's proxy. Like a criminal on trial L. W. sat glowering, his dead cigar still in his teeth; and before the end of the report was reached the sweat was beading his face.
"Well, I, for one," began Stoddard diplomatically, "most heartily approve of this plan. It will necessitate, of course, a postponement of profits, but I think we can all stand that. I therefore suggest that we apply this year's profits to the immediate construction of a smelter and, if I hear a motion, we will consider the question of passing the annual dividend."
He paused and as Mary went on with her writing a dead silence fell upon the room. L. W. glanced at Jepson and then at Stoddard and at last he cleared his throat.
"Well, Mr. President," he said, half-heartedly, "this is a new proposition to me. I regret very much that Mr. Jones isn't here, but—well, I make a motion that we build the smelter and pass the annual dividend."
He spoke with an effort, his eyes on the table, and at the end he sank back in his chair.
"Did you get that, Miss Fortune?" asked Stoddard solicitously and Mary nodded her head.
"Yes, I second the motion," she answered sweetly and an electric thrill passed round the room. It had not been expected by the most optimistic that the vote would be unanimous.
"All in favor, say 'Ay!' spoke up Stoddard sharply, but L. W. had sprung to his feet.
"Mr. President!" he began, suddenly panting with excitement, and Stoddard fixed him with his steely eyes.
"Very well, Mr. Lockhart," he responded curtly, "what is it you wish to say?"
"Why, I—I didn't know," began L. W. haltingly, "that she was going to vote—that way."
"Well, you know it now," answered Stoddard freezingly, "does that conclude your remarks?"
"Oh, no!" burst out L. W., his drawn face twitching. "I—in that case, I change my vote. I don't think Mr. Jones——"
"You haven't voted yet," corrected Stoddard shortly, "all in favor please say: 'Ay!'"
"Ay!" said Mary and as Stoddard echoed it he cast a sneering glance at L. W.
"Do I understand, Mr. Lockhart," he enquired pointedly, "that you wish to go on record as voting 'No'?"
"Yes, put me down 'No!'" directed L. W. feverishly. "I don't approve of this at all. Rimrock needs the money—he wrote me particularly—I wouldn't put him out for the world." He straightened the stoop from his long, bent back and his eyes opened up appealingly. "Put me down for a 'No,'" he repeated wildly. "My God, he'll kill me for this. I wouldn't cross that boy for anything in the world—he's the best friend a man ever had. But put me down 'No'—you will, won't you, Miss? I don't want Rimrock to know."
"Mr. Lockhart votes 'No,'" broke in Stoddard peremptorily, "the 'Ayes' have it and the motion is carried. Is there any other business?"
His cold, incisive words seemed almost to stab, but L. W. still swayed on his feet.
"I'd like to explain," he went on brokenly. "I never go back on a friend. But Rimrock, he's wasting his money back there—I thought it would be a kindness."
"Yes, yes, Mr. Lockhart," interrupted Stoddard impatiently, "we all know the goodness of your heart. Do I hear a motion to adjourn?"
He shifted his keen, commanding eyes to Mary, who nodded her head in return. She was watching L. W. as he stood there sweating, with the anguish of that Judas-like thought. He had betrayed his friend, he had sold him for gold; and, already, he was sorry.
"Second the motion," said Stoddard. "All in favor say 'Ay!' The meeting stands adjourned."
He rose up quickly and gathering up his papers, abruptly left the room. Jepson followed as quickly and L. W., still talking, found himself alone with the girl. She was gazing at him strangely and as he paused enquiringly she went over and held out her hand.
"I understand, Mr. Lockhart," she said, smiling comfortingly. "I understand just how you feel. Itwasa kindness—I felt so myself—and that's why I voted as I did."
The staring eyes of L. W. suddenly focused and then he seized her hand. "God bless you," he cried, crushing her fingers in his grip. "You'll make it right on the books? God bless you, then; I wouldn't sell out that boy for all the money in the world."
He broke off suddenly and dashed from the room while Mary gazed pensively after him. She too, in a way, had betrayed her friend; but she had not done it for gold.
As secretary of the Company and the Board of Directors it devolved upon Mary Fortune to notify Rimrock of the passed dividend. She knew as well as L. W. knew that it would be a bitter blow to him, but she felt no pity or regret. The money that would otherwise be wasted in New York would be diverted to the construction of the smelter, and if he found the loss a hardship he had only himself to thank. She went into her office and shut the door, but, simple as the letter seemed, she was unable to put it on paper. Three times she tried, but at each attempt her pent-up anger burst forth and the coldest and most business-like words she could summon seemed packed with hate and resentment. She gave up at last and was sitting listlessly when she heard voices in the outer room. It was Jepson and Stoddard, and as she listened closer she could make out what they said.
"I've got a report here," said the voice of Jepson, "that I'd like to show you—alone."
There was an impatient slamming of desk drawers and then the clerk spoke up—the young man who had taken Mary's place.
"That report of the experts? I put it in here. You remember, on account of Miss Fortune."
"Oh, yes," answered Jepson, "and by the way, where is she?"
And then suddenly his voice was dropped. Mary reached for her ear-'phone and slipped it on and listened to catch every word. If Jepson saw fit to practice deceit she had no compunction in listening in.
"Well, that's all right," he was saying, "she can't hear what we say. You go on out for your lunch."
There was a scuffling of feet and then, still talking, Jepson led the way to the Directors' room.
"Yes, she reads your lips—she's really quite clever at it—that's her, running the typewriter, now."
He shut the door and for several minutes Mary played a tattoo on her machine. Then she keyed down quietly and, setting her transmitter at its maximum, she turned it towards the wall.
"This is that report," the voice of Jepson was saying, "that you spoke to me about in the spring. It gives the geology of the whole Tecolote properties, by the very best experts in the field—three independent reports, made in advance of litigation, and each comes to the same conclusion. If we accept the ore-body as a single low-grade deposit instead of a series of high-grade parallel veins—and each of these experts does—the crest of that dome, the Old Juan claim, is the apex of the whole. In other words, according to the apex law, the possession of the Old Juan claim will give us indisputable right to the whole property. You can look over that yourself."
There was a period of silence, broken only by the rattling of Mary Fortune's machine, and then they began again.
"Very well," said Stoddard, "this seems satisfactory. Now what about this L. W. Lockhart? In our meeting this morning he showed such a contemptible weakness that—now Jepson, that was very careless of you! Why didn't you find out before that fiasco how Miss Fortune intended to vote? It must have been perfectly evident to her, from the way Mr. Lockhart talked, that he had been—well, over-persuaded, to say the least. It was very awkward, and if I hadn't rushed it she might have reconsidered her vote. But never mind that—I suppose you did your best—now who is to re-locate this claim?"
"Well, that's the question," began Jepson. "There's a man here named Bray, who used to keep a saloon—"
"No, no!" broke in Stoddard, "no disreputable characters! Now, Jepson, this is up to you! You're the only man we can trust in an extremity——"
"Positively—no!" exclaimed Jepson firmly. "I absolutely refuse to touch it. I'll arrange the preliminaries, but after it's started you must look to your attorneys for the rest."
"Oh, nonsense!" cried Stoddard, "isn't it perfectly legal? Won't the claim be open to location? Well, then, why this sudden resort to evasion and hairsplitting, and all over a mere detail?"
"I have told you before," answered Jepson impatiently, "that it's against the ethics of my profession. I am a mining engineer and if you want this claim jumped——"
"Oh, yes, yes! We won't argue the matter! Who is this Mr. Bray?"
"He's a man with nerve—about the only one in the country that will stand up to Rimrock Jones. It seems that Jones won his saloon away from him and gave it to one of his friends. Some gambling feud they've had on for years, but now Mr. Bray is broke. I haven't sounded him, but for a thousand dollars——"
"Five hundred!"
"Now, Mr. Stoddard!" burst out Jepson complainingly, "you don't understand the gravity of this case. Do you realize that already one man has been killed in trying to jump that claim? And Rimrock Jones has made the threat openly that he will kill any man who does it!"
"He's a blusterer—a braggart—a criminal, through and through! Well, make it a thousand dollars. Now one thing more—is there any chance that Mr. Lockhart may still break up all our plans? As I understand it, Jones gave him his orders to see that the assessment work was done. There are still nine days before the first of January, and it struck me that he was repenting of his bargain. You must watch him carefully—he doesn't seem trustworthy—and positively we must have no slip-up now. Does he actually know that this work has been neglected—and that, if not performed, it will invalidate the claim?"
"Yes, he knows it," answered Jepson wearily. "I've been stuffing money into his bank until he has over a million in deposits, and still the old screw isn't satisfied. He's crazy over money—and yet he's just as crazy over standing A1 with Jones. You don't realize, Mr. Stoddard, what a strain I've been under in trying to make that man run true."
"Well, give him anything. We must win at all hazards before this thing gets back to Jones. We have cut off his money by the construction of this smelter, but that can't be done again; and, once he begins to accumulate his profits, we'll find him a dangerous man. But we have passed this dividend and before I get through with him he'll be stripped of every dollar he has won. I'm going to break that man, Jepson, if only as an example to these upstarts who are hounding Navajoa. I've got him by the heels and—but never mind that, let's see if our plans are air-tight. Now, this man Lockhart!"
"He's drunk!" answered Jepson. "I'll arrange it to keep him soaked."
"Very well—now Bray!"
"He's drinking, too. I'll wait till the last day, and probably send him out with a guard."
"Yes, make sure of that. Better send two guards. They can sign their names as witnesses, in case Bray should leave the Territory. And now, this girl!" went on Stoddard, lowering his voice instinctively, "is she really as deaf as she seems? Remember, you can never depend on a woman!"
"Yes, she's deaf!" replied Jepson. "And you don't need to worry—she hates Rimrock Jones like poison. Did you notice the way she passed that dividend, to cut off his supply of slush? Just as sweet and smiling! When they take it like that—well, we can forget about her!"
He paused and in the silence a typewriter began to clack with a fierce, staccato note. It was Mary Fortune, writing her letter to Rimrock Jones.