CHAPTER XI.
A few moments later, Houston stepped briskly into the office. Morgan sat at his desk, sorting some mining reports, and looked up with a sullen, defiant glance, but Houston ignored him, and going to his own desk, began making preparations for his day’s work.
Bull-dog, who, since washing the windows, had constituted himself office boy, had built the fire and was now sweeping. Houston greeted him pleasantly, but his keen eyes at once detected trouble between Houston and Morgan, and he was immediately on the alert.
After the little fellow had finished his work, and Houston supposed he had gone, he walked with a firm, decided step, over to where Morgan stood lounging and looking out of the window. Morgan turned, and angry as he was, he could not help a feeling of admiration for the splendid, athletic form standing, firm as a rock, before him. Houston’s keen, dark eyes looked straight into his own, and for a moment, not a muscle of his face moved, the finely cut features might have been chiseled in stone; then he spoke, in even, measured tones, cold and cutting as steel itself:
“Mr. Morgan, I have this much to say to you, and it will be well for you to remember it; that if I ever hear another insinuation against that young lady of whom you were speaking this morning, or an improper word of any kind in the presence of either of those ladies at the house, I will put you in such shape, that you will not be able to come to the office for a week; and more than that, there will be no office work here for you.”
“What do you mean by that last threat?” asked Morgan defiantly.
“I mean just this; that I know enough about you, that if I should repeat what I know to Mr. Blaisdell, you would not remain in this office one day longer.”
Morgan grew pale. “You seem to know a great deal for a man that’s been here no longer than you have. I suppose Lyle Maverick has been filling you up with stuff about me.”
“She has never mentioned your name to me, and you will do well not to bring her name into this conversation.”
“Seems to me you’re wonderfully particular about old Jim Maverick’s girl,” Morgan sneered, “I suppose you want her for yourself, though I should think the other one––”
Morgan never finished his sentence; a blow that he afterwards said was “worse than the kick of a mule,” had closed one eye.
With an oath, he made a terrible lunge toward Houston, but he knew nothing more until about fifteen minutes later, when he found himself lying on the floor, under the long desk, on the opposite side of the room, while Houston stood a few feet away, watching him.
“You dirty contemptible cur!” said Houston, “do you think because you have no sense of honor, because you are so vile you can have no idea of what purity means, that every one is like yourself? You deserve to be kicked like a dog; come out from there and fight, why don’t you?”
“I don’t believe I’m very anxious to, if you’d just as soon excuse me,” said Morgan, who had gradually assumed a sitting posture, and was passing his hand over his eye and jaw. Then, looking up with as much of a grin as he could muster, with his rapidly swelling face, he said, “Give it up, Houston; you’re a better man than I am; I’ll let you boss this ranch.”
“Do you mean,” asked Houston sternly, “that from this time there will be no more insinuations against ladies, and no innuendoes in their presence?”
“Yes, I agree,” said Morgan, “I’ll never say anything myself, and I’ll smash any other fellow that does; I think,” he added, reflectively, “that you’ve showed me how pretty well, though I’d a little rather you’d practiced on some other fellow, Haight, for instance.”
“I’ll attend to Haight,” said Houston, helping Morgan to his feet, and smiling grimly at the figure he made.
An hour later, Houston presented himself at the sorting rooms, where Haight met him with many smiles, offering to show him through the rooms.
“Another time will do, Mr. Haight,” said Houston coldly, “I have business with yourself this morning.”
“Oh, yes,” said Haight, as if the thought had just occurred to him, “that unfortunate business at the table this morning; Mr. Houston, I am more than sorry for what happened, and assure you, that, so far as I am concerned, it shall never occur again.”
“It will be much better for your interests that it should not,” replied Houston; “I have not been in the habit of hearing such insinuations against ladies, or such language in their presence; and there is something more I have to say to you,” he continued, as he saw Haight was trying to speak; “you were bookkeeper for the company, for a while, were you not?”
“Certainly,” replied Haight in a tone of surprise, “I kept the books for a few months last year.”
“So I have been informed since coming here, and I wish to state that the other day I had occasion to refer to some of the old books kept by you, and I very soon found evidences of a few shady transactions on your part that I think you would not care to have come to the knowledge of the company.”
“You must be mistaken, Mr. Houston,” said Haight, trying to preserve a calm exterior, but paling visibly; “it must have been some of Mr. Johnson’s work you found.”
“No, Mr. Haight,” said Houston firmly, “it was your own work, in your own writing, and very bunglingly done at that; a man would not need to be an expert accountant,––and that is what I am,––to detect the fraud.”
“Mr. Houston,” interrupted Haight, in trembling tones, “everything here shall be as you wish, and I will help you too,––I can be of use to you,––if you will just say nothing. There were certain circumstances that I cannot now explain, that justified the transactions you allude to; and as I have told you, I regret what occurred this morning, and it shall not be repeated. But really, Mr. Houston,” he continued, “I had no idea that my teasing Morgan this morning would have such an effect; you see, what I was joking about was really to Miss Maverick’s credit; it seems that a few weeks ago, he was rather smitten with her and attempted to be what she thought was a little too familiar, and she gave him a black eye, and––”
“He has another one now,” said Houston, rising abruptly.
“Indeed!” exclaimed Haight.
“Yes, and there will be more black eyes if there are any more insinuations of that character,” and Houston returned to the office, leaving behind him a bitter enemy, but one whose enmity would be concealed by a cloak of friendship.
Meanwhile, while Houston was pursuing his chivalric course, Miss Gladden, sitting by the fire in the deserted breakfast room, was planning in what way and by what means she could best help her young friend in whom she felt such an interest. The scene at the table had given her a new insight into Lyle’s surroundings; the rudeness and insult to which the beautiful girl was likely to be subjected in such a home, the possible dangers to which she might also be exposed, and she was more than ever determined to win the confidence of the reserved, proud-spirited girl.
In the midst of her reflections, Lyle entered the room, and Miss Gladden saw there were still traces of trouble in her face. Unconscious of the friends who were beginning to care for her welfare, Lyle had felt that morning as though she could endure her life there no longer. She had felt by a sort of instinct that she was in some way connected with the talk at the table, and she knew that both Morgan and Haight would not hesitate to injure her by their insinuations, in retaliation for the manner in which she had met their advances. Thirsting for human sympathy, her heart quickly responded to Miss Gladden’s words, as she told Lyle of her interest in her, her sympathy for her, and her desire to help her, and in reply to one or two questions, she spoke freely of the trials she had suffered, inevitably connected with a life such as hers, and touched by the kindness of her new-found friend, Lyle continued:
“The insults and insinuations of those men, and others like them, are bad enough, but I expect nothing else from such as they, but when one receives insult from the source where one would expect protection,––that is hardest of all,” and with flushed cheeks and quivering lips, Lyle related the scene with her father, and his words to her, while Miss Gladden looked inexpressibly shocked.
“I was almost desperate this morning,” she said in conclusion, “I felt as though I could not live such a life any longer; I must go somewhere, anywhere, to get away from it. Mother says that nothing of that kind shall ever happen again, that father is in her power in some way, and she will not let him abuse me; but it is this whole wretched life that I despise, if I could only be freed from that!”
“I hope, dear, your life will not always be like this,” said Miss Gladden, “it shall not be if it is in my power to prevent it; perhaps I may be able to brighten it in some way.”
“You have already,” said Lyle gratefully, “I shall be happy now, as long as you are here; after you are gone away,––” she shuddered slightly, then added, “who knows what may happen before that time?”
CHAPTER XII.
A few hours later, a wild, mountain storm was raging outside, the wind roaring down the canyon from the icy fields above, driving the fast falling snow in every direction, with blinding fury.
Within doors, however, a happy group were seated around the fire, oblivious of the storm outside, or with just enough consciousness of its fury to add to the enjoyment of the warmth and comfort inside.
Miss Gladden was, as usual, becomingly gowned in a house dress of rich, warm color, while she had persuaded Lyle to put on a dark blue dress of her own, which, with a very little change, fitted as though originally intended for her, and also to dress her beautiful, golden hair high on her head, thus producing a change in her appearance which astonished even Miss Gladden herself.
The perfectly fitting gown revealed the outlines of her well developed and finely proportioned form; its color seemed to enhance the delicacy of her face and the brilliancy of her eyes, while the graceful coiffure showed to good advantage the beautifully shaped head, and added to her dignity. She seemed suddenly to have been transformed from shy, reserved girlhood, to graceful, royal womanhood.
As she, with Miss Gladden, entered the room where Rutherford awaited them, that young gentleman started suddenly, and turning, gazed at the regal little beauty, with her golden coronet, in undisguised admiration, much to the amusement of both ladies.
“Great Cæsar!” he exclaimed, “what metamorphosis is this? Excuse me, Miss Maverick, I really couldn’t help it; I thought you were a sort of little girl, you know, and you are,––begging your pardon,––a very beautiful young lady.”
Both ladies laughed merrily, and Miss Gladden secretly resolved that Lyle, in the future, should always be dressed becomingly, if her influence could accomplish anything in that direction.
The afternoon passed very pleasantly in looking over the beautiful views which Rutherford had collected since he left his distant, eastern home. The pictures taken among the mountains had developed finely, and they all grew enthusiastic over them. Then there were pictures of his friends, in groups and singly, and in laughable combinations and positions; among them, some which Rutherford had taken of his friend, Tom Durston, and his family, at the ranch where he had stopped over night on his way out. There was one of Tom himself, in a futile attempt to milk a refractory cow, where he lay sprawling ingloriously upon the ground, the milk bucket pouring its foaming contents over him, the excited cow performing a war dance, while two others, more peaceably inclined, looked on in mild-eyed astonishment: chickens were flying in every direction, with outstretched necks and wings, while in the background, a company of geese were hissing their disapproval of the scene.
The girls laughed until the tears were in their eyes. “How did you ever get such a picture? and so perfect!” they asked.
“Oh, I just happened to,” he answered, “I was out that morning, with my kodak all ready, looking for a subject, and I saw Tom milking, and thought it would be fun to take a picture of him to send back to the class-boys, you know; I held the kodak up and was just ready––when that old cow sent him flying quicker than lightning, and I caught the picture all right. I’m going to mail him one copy.”
There was a picture of Tom’s baby, taking his bath, his mouth wide open and his eyes shut, crying lustily for his mother, who had deserted him to run to Tom’s assistance. Then there were pictures of Rutherford’s home and friends, among them, that of a brother, older than himself, which particularly attracted Lyle’s attention; she looked at it long and earnestly. He was sitting in an easy attitude, smoking a cigar, and looking at the face of a beautiful, dark-eyed girl, of about her own age, which appeared above him, encircled by the light clouds of smoke,––just the face and no more. Rutherford stated that it was his brother and their only sister, and explained the process by which it was taken, but the picture remained in Lyle’s memory for many a day.
After a while, Houston, returning a little early on account of the storm, joined them, and the four friends spent the most enjoyable evening which they had yet known together, notwithstanding the storm.
It had been an eventful day. To Lyle, and one or two of the others, it was the beginning of a new life, though they did not then realize it; the first, faint flush that heralds the coming of the sun to brighten the new day, but which is so subtle and silent, that few are aware of its presence.
Houston, on his return to the house at noon, had given, in answer to Rutherford’s eager inquiries, an account of the “skirmish” as he called it. Rutherford was so proud of his friend, and of the victory he had won, that at the first opportunity, he told the story to Miss Gladden, before Houston had even returned to the office. Miss Gladden was enthusiastic in her admiration of the course he had taken, so different from many of the young men she had known in wealthy, aristocratic circles, in thus defending a poor, friendless girl, subject to insult because she had the misfortune, under such circumstances, to be beautiful; and obeying the impulses of her noble-hearted, high-spirited nature, she went to Houston, as she saw him standing alone a few minutes after dinner, and extending her hand, with a bright smile, said:
“Sir Knight, I want to thank you, in Lyle’s name and my own, for the chivalric course you have taken this morning.”
She could get no further; Houston, still holding her hand, interrupted her.
“Do not thank me, Miss Gladden; I have only done what it is the duty of every true man to do.”
“Then,” said Miss Gladden, interrupting him in turn, “true men must be exceedingly rare. I know very few, Mr. Houston, who would champion the cause of a girl in Lyle’s circumstances, in the manner you have done,” and then, with much feeling, she spoke of some of Lyle’s trials, and of her own determination to help her.
A beautiful woman is never so lovely as when defending the cause of some sister less fortunate than herself, and Houston thought he had never seen Miss Gladden so beautiful as at that moment, and the thought must in some way have conveyed itself to his eyes, for there was something in his glance that brought a bright color to Miss Gladden’s cheek, and an added tenderness to her soulful eyes; something that remained with her all that day, and somehow made life, even in the heart of the mountains, shut out from the rest of the world, look more inviting, more alluring than it had ever done before.
With Houston, also, the memory of those eyes with their depths of tenderness, and the hand whose touch had thrilled him with its magnetism, lingered, and brightened all that stormy afternoon.
To Lyle, this day seemed the beginning of a new epoch in her solitary, isolated life. For the first time, she had found genial companionship, human sympathy and love, and chivalrous protection; for Miss Gladden had hastened to tell her of the part Mr. Houston had taken in her defense; and as the slowly maturing bud suddenly unfolds in the morning sunlight, so in the new light and warmth which she had found that day, her nature had suddenly expanded into mature, conscious womanhood.
That evening, as the little group of friends were separating for the night, Miss Gladden having already gone up-stairs, Lyle, with a new dignity and grace, walked over to where Houston stood by the fire, with dreamy, thoughtful eyes.
“Mr. Houston,” said she, in low, sweet tones, “Miss Gladden has told me of your kindness toward me to-day, and though she has thanked you for us both, yet I wish to thank you personally.”
“Miss Maverick,” he replied in his grave, gentle manner, “you are more than welcome to any kindness I can do for you, but do not thank me for what I did to-day; that was nothing, I would have been a beast not to have done that little.”
“If you could know,” she said, earnestly, “how rare such kindness and protection have been in my past life, you would realize that it does not seem like ‘nothing’ to me.”
To Houston, Lyle seemed much less mature than Miss Gladden, and though he had been quick to observe the added charm in her manner that evening, still she seemed to him little more than a child. Her words, and something in the expression of those star-like eyes, touched him deeply, and taking her hands in his, he answered tenderly:
“My dear child, I am very sorry for the loneliness of your past life, and I want you, from this time, to regard me as a brother, and if there should be any way in which I could protect you, or help you, do not hesitate to tell me freely.”
For the first time in all those weary years within her recollection, Lyle went to her rest that night with a heart satisfied; for as yet, only the surface of her affections had been stirred, and the hidden depths below were still unfathomed, awaiting the influence of some mightier power.
CHAPTER XIII.
The snow-storm detained Mr. Blaisdell in the city rather longer than he intended, and Houston had improved the time in going over all the old books and office records which were available.
The books of the company he could examine at his leisure, on some pretext or other, in Morgan’s presence, but his extra work, which had occupied his evenings, consisted in going over the old letter files, mining reports and assay statements, making copies of whatever he found that would be of value to him later. He had found evidence of fraudulent transactions in the books of the company, and of these he had made careful memoranda, but so far, the greatest amount of evidence which he had secured, had been discovered in the old letters written by Mr. Blaisdell to other members of the company at Silver City, and received by him in return. These were copied exactly into a set of small books which he had brought for that purpose, and he had also made tracings and blue print copies of plats and maps of the most important mines, and of the plans of their underground workings.
What he now particularly desired was some turn of affairs that would necessitate his visiting the mines, and give him an opportunity to become familiar with their workings, and that, in some way, he could gain access to the books and papers of the main office at Silver City, as he would there find records of the business transacted directly with the company in New York. He had taken the precaution to bring with him copies of letters on file in the New York offices, but he now felt that much of the most important evidence was contained in the office at Silver City, and was the missing link which he would need before going much farther, and as he sat at his desk one bright morning, a few days after the storm, mentally reviewing the whole situation, he was planning how he could best secure this also.
Morgan, still carrying a few scars, sat with his legs crossed on top of his table, reading a newspaper, when the door opened, and Mr. Blaisdell entered.
“Well, boys, good-morning,” was his greeting, as he glanced quickly around the office, and Morgan’s feet suddenly descended to the floor. “What’s the matter with your eye, Morgan?”
“Oh, nothing, been sparring a little, that’s all.”
“Been down to the mines this morning?”
“No, sir, not yet; I thought maybe you’d be up and want to give some directions before I went down.”
“Very considerate!” remarked Mr. Blaisdell sarcastically, “you know I would come to the mines myself, anyway, and could give directions there just as well as here. Get ready to go down there with me, I’m going in a few minutes.”
Going over to Houston’s desk, he glanced hastily over the books, gave some instructions, and saying that he wished to see him later, went out to join Morgan.
“Morgan, how did you get that eye?” he asked again.
“Oh, Houston and I had a little set-to the other day, and he hit me pretty hard, that’s all.”
“What was it about?” demanded Mr. Blaisdell.
“Nothing much,” answered Morgan, carelessly, “we had some words about that girl of Maverick’s; I guess he’s a little stuck on her himself, and was afraid I’d be in his way, or something of the kind; I got mad and hit him, or tried to, and he gave me a knock-out.”
“I was going to say that he doesn’t look as though you had hit him very hard,” remarked Mr. Blaisdell dryly, and then continued, “Well, I don’t see the use of coming to blows over Maverick’s girl, or any other for that matter, they’re not so scarce as all that. Jim’s girl has got a pretty face, but she isn’t worth fighting about, that I can see.”
There were reasons for Mr. Blaisdell’s superior indifference to Lyle’s attractions, as she had been compelled more than once, in a most emphatic manner, to check attempts at undue familiarity on his part, notwithstanding the fact that he was a much-married man, living with his third wife, his table surrounded with “olive plants”––fifteen in number––of all sizes and descriptions, and regarded in the bosom of his family as a model husband and father.
Late in the afternoon, Mr. Blaisdell returned to the office, looking very weary and somewhat worried. Morgan remained at the mines the rest of the day. Mr. Blaisdell went over the books with Houston, and after expressing considerable satisfaction at the work which he had accomplished, he sat down by himself, and seemed lost in thought for some time. At last he said:
“Mr. Houston, I’ve been thinking for some time that we need a little extra help in the office at Silver City, and yet not enough that it has seemed advisable to employ another bookkeeper. Our books there are getting behind, and a little mixed, too, I’m afraid. Mr. Lewis, our bookkeeper, is quite an old man, and he has charge of two or three sets of books for the different companies, and it is not to be wondered at if he occasionally gets a little confused; and it occurred to me while sitting here, that perhaps you might be willing to come down, for a day or two, and straighten out the books for us.”
Houston seemed for a moment to be weighing the matter very deliberately.
“Of course I could do it,” he replied, “but it would involve considerable extra time and expense for me, and I would want extra compensation.”
“Oh, of course,” responded Mr. Blaisdell, readily, “I understand that; indeed, I was going to remark that you have already accomplished so much work, and your methods seem to be so exact and, at the same time, expeditious, that we will consider your term of probation here at an end; we agreed to raise your salary at the end of the month, if your services were satisfactory; they are eminently so, and I will take the responsibility of paying you one hundred and twenty-five dollars for this first month also. As to your fare back and forth between here and Silver City, of course we will pay that.”
“Then,” said Houston, smiling and inwardly congratulating himself, “I do not see but that it is settled that I go to Silver City whenever you are ready.”
“Very well,” said Mr. Blaisdell, “you will not need to go down there for ten days or so, as the time will make no appreciable difference in the state of affairs there, and I shall need you here during that time, as some parties are coming out from the east to look at some mining properties, and both Morgan and myself will probably have to spend most of our time at the mines.”
That evening, at the boarding house, Houston sat apparently interested in a game of chess between Miss Gladden and Rutherford, but in reality, paying close attention to a conversation carried on in low tones between Mr. Blaisdell and Morgan. Only an occasional sentence was audible, but he could gather enough to satisfy himself regarding the nature of their plans.
“Clean the rubbish out of the shaft, and set a couple of men to work there for a day or two,” Mr. Blaisdell was saying; a few words were lost, and then he said, “Whenever I hear what day they are coming up, we’ll put on a good force.”
“They’ll have their own expert with them, I suppose?” asked Morgan.
“Yes,” answered Mr. Blaisdell, “but if he’s like the most of those eastern experts, Haight and I can fix him very easily.”
A little later the conversation ended, Mr. Blaisdell saying, as he rose to go to his room:
“It is a confoundedly poor property, but I think a few tons of ore from the Yankee Boy will sell it all right.”
This remark gave Houston considerable food for reflection, as the Yankee Boy was one of the richest properties owned by the New York company. He had that day received his first letter from his uncle, in New York, sent under cover of an envelope from the Chicago firm, and written in reply to a letter from himself mailed immediately upon his arrival at the mines; and Mr. Blaisdell and Morgan having left, Houston retired to his room to make his first report of the information he had secured and seemed likely to secure, concerning the ways and means of the western mining company; leaving the chess players deep in their game, and Lyle watching them.
Lyle, though keeping up her studies afternoons, had not been down to Jack’s cabin since the evening he had shown her the picture, partly on account of the storm, and partly because she feared her father might be watching her.
Jack had wondered at her absence, thinking perhaps her new friends had something to do with it; but on this night, Jack had other company, as Bull-dog had ensconced himself in Mike’s chair beside the stove, and having also appropriated Mike’s briar pipe,––its owner being absent,––was smoking with all the gravity and self-possession of an old-timer, and entertaining Jack with his quaint talk.
“Say,” he said at last, clasping his hands about his knee, and holding the pipe between his teeth, “have ye seen that new feller up at the orfice. Mister Houston, they call him?”
Jack replied, very indifferently, that he had seen him once or twice.
“Well, now, he’s a Joe-dandy, a regular cracker-jack; an’ he’s goin’ ter be boss of that whole shootin’ match, Morgan an’ that little, black, snaky feller, an’ old Blaisdell, too, if he don’t look out fer hisself.”
“What makes you think so?” asked Jack, much amused.
“I don’t think so, I know it. He’s got more sand than all the rest of ’em put together, an’ he ain’t afraid of nobody. ’D ye hear ’bout that fight that him ’n Morgan had?”
“No, did they fight?” inquired Jack, much surprised.
“Did they fight!” exclaimed the little Arab, removing the pipe from his mouth, and shaking his head with evident satisfaction at the remembrance of the scene, “well, I should smile! Morgan, he tried hard enough ter fight, but the other feller did him up in ’bout the sixteenth part of a second!”
“Were you there?” asked Jack, laughing.
“I was peekin’ through a crack in the door; they s’posed I’d gone, but I see somethin’ was up when Mister Houston first come in, an’ I just makes up my mind I’ll see the fun through, an’ when I goes out, I bangs the door hard, and then opens it agin, careful like, and peeks in; an’ Mister Houston, he had walked over ter where Morgan was, an’ had lit into him ’bout somethin’ or ruther he’d ben sayin’, an’ if he didn’t lay down the law ter him, I’ll eat my hat. An’ then Morgan he sets out to give him some of his lip, and by Jiminy! ’fore he could spit the words out, biff! comes a stunner right in his face, and shut one eye. My, wasn’t he mad though! Then he goes ter give the other feller a punch in the head, an’ Houston, he ducked the purtiest ye ever see, and let out a blow at Morgan’s jaw, an’ gee-whizz! Morgan goes a flying across the room, and lan’s under the big desk, and he never come to fer ’bout twenty minits. My, but ’twas the slickest knock-out ye ever see, Corbett couldn’t a done it slicker hisself! an’ I rolled down them steps a laughin’ so I ’most died. I went back after he’d come to, an’ Mister Houston was a tellin’ him ter come out an’ fight, but he didn’t seem ter wan’ter very bad, an’ I see the fun was over, so I come away.”
Jack had laughed heartily over Bull-dog’s description of the scene; now he asked:
“What was the fight about?”
“Well,” said Bull-dog, gravely replacing his pipe in his mouth, “’s near ’s I could make out, ’twas ’bout some girl.”
“What girl?” inquired Jack, rather quickly.
“Well, the new feller, he didn’t call no names, but I heerd Morgan say somethin’ ’bout Lyle Maverick, an’ so I guess ’twas her, but I knew you was always kinder sweet on her yourself, an’ so I wasn’t goin’ ter say nothin’, ’cause, ’nless you’re a scrapper, you won’t stand no sort of a chance with that feller.”
“All right, Bull-dog,” said Jack, “I’m something of a ‘scrapper’ myself, but I don’t expect to get into any trouble;” the tone was kind, and he spoke with a half smile, but the keenly observant eyes of the boy detected a shade on Jack’s face. However, all conversation was suddenly checked by the entrance of Mike, who, in a manner more forcible than ceremonious, dispossessed Bull-dog of his chair and pipe. The little waif soon took his departure, but it was some time before the cloud on Jack’s brow was dispelled.
CHAPTER XIV.
For the next day or two, Houston saw very little of either Mr. Blaisdell or Morgan, as they spent most of their time at the mines, but his own work was greatly increased, as copies of mining reports regarding the Sunrise mine, and duplicate sets of statements of the assay values of samples of ore taken from its various shafts, were to be made out with the greatest care. There were tracings and blue prints to be made from the original plats, by which it was to be shown that the vein of the Sunrise mine was but an extension of that of the Morning Star, one of the famous North Star group of mines; and there were also very important and strictly confidential letters to be written, under Mr. Blaisdell’s directions, to the Silver City office, more particularly to Mr. Rivers, the secretary of the company, whom Houston had not yet seen.
The Sunrise mine which was suddenly looming up into such prominence, was one of which Houston had never heard, but judging from the rich samples of ore produced, and the testimony of experts and assayers, it seemed to be one of the most valuable properties in that locality; but to Houston, situated as he was, behind the scenes, it only afforded an additional glimpse of the business methods of the company.
As he still sat at his desk, having just completed his day’s work, Morgan came in and threw himself down heavily into a chair, taking his favorite attitude, with his feet crossed on the table, and his hands clasped behind his head.
“You look tired, Morgan,” commented Houston.
“I am tired,” he replied, “too tired to breathe if I wasn’t obliged to; this has been a hard day’s work, and if old Blaisdell sells that mine, as he expects to, he’ll have to divy up pretty liberally.”
Houston turned around facing Morgan, with a peculiar smile.
“The Sunrise mine seems to have developed wonderfully within the past few days,” he remarked quietly.
Morgan laughed; “You’d think so,” he replied, “if you could have seen it four days ago. There hasn’t been a day’s work done on it for over a year; some of it had caved in, and even the main shaft was pretty well filled up with rubbish. Now that’s all cleaned out, and the few places where there is any quantity of ore in sight show up to good advantage, and we’ve hauled eight or ten tons of ore from the Yankee Boy down onto the dump, so it makes a pretty respectable showing. Oh, the boss is a cuckoo for any job of that kind.”
“Does the mining company own the Yankee Boy?” asked Houston.
“No,” answered Morgan, “that whole group of mines is owned by a set of New Yorkers; this company out here is their agent, that’s all.”
“And New Yorkers are not supposed to know all the ins and outs of their western agent’s mining deals,” commented Houston.
“Well, I should say not! There’s a good many things going on that they are not supposed to know about, and that they wouldn’t be very likely to get onto, either, some of ’em, even if they were right on the ground. Some of those ducks are pretty green, and fellows like Blaisdell or Rivers can make them believe most anything. If Blaisdell was half as smart as he makes some of those eastern fellows think he is, he would have been a rich man before this.”
“Why,” said Houston, in surprise, “Blaisdell is quite well off, isn’t he?”
Morgan’s only answer was a significant shake of the head.
“What!” exclaimed Houston in astonishment.
“Really, he is not worth a dollar,” answered Morgan, “every nickle’s worth of property that he ever had, that he hasn’t lost outright, has been put into the hands of his wife, or his sons, or somebody or other, heaven knows who, I don’t, nor nobody else.”
“Well, I am surprised,” said Houston, “he seems shrewd and sharp in business matters, and I supposed he was a rich man. He must have made considerable money, what has become of it?”
Morgan shrugged his shoulders; “Have you seen old Rivers yet?” he inquired.
“The secretary? No, I’ve never met him.”
“Well,” continued Morgan, “you probably will, in a day or two, he’ll be likely to come up with the eastern party; and when you’ve seen him, you’ve seen the biggest rascal, and at the same time the slickest duck there is on this side of the divide, and I doubt if there’s any on the other side can beat him. Old Blaisdell’s pretty smooth, but he ain’t a circumstance to Rivers. Rivers will rob you of your last dollar, and make you think he’s your best friend all the time. Oh, he’s a lulu, and no mistake!”
Further conversation was prevented by the entrance of Mr. Blaisdell, with a fine lot of ore samples with their assay values attached, which he arranged on his desk, his thin lips drawn back meanwhile in his accustomed self-satisfied smile. When this was done, he turned to the young men.
“Well,” he began, with a low chuckle of delight, “I’ve got word my party is coming all right. Haight just got a telegram from Rivers, that Winters had wired him that he and his son and the expert would be in Silver City, on to-morrow’s train, so I will have to go back to the city to-night, to be in readiness to meet them. Let me see, this is Wednesday, they arrive Thursday; Morgan, set the men to work on that mine Friday morning; we will be up here in the course of the forenoon, you see that everything is in first-class order. Houston, are those statements and tracings all ready?”
“They are,” replied Houston.
“Very well, put them up as quick as you can, I’ll take them to the city with me, and the team will be here in half a minute; I want to catch that six o’clock train. I didn’t expect to have to go to-night, but that telegram has hurried up matters. Morgan, you keep everything straight to-morrow, and be ready for us Friday morning.”
“Shall I send a team down?” asked Morgan.
“No, no matter about that, I’ll take Joe Hunt’s team there at the Y, it will be a rather more stylish turnout than one of the mining teams. Everything is here O.K. I suppose,” as Houston handed him the papers he had requested, “all right, there’s my team; well, so long, boys, don’t get into any more fights while I’m gone,” and he was soon rattling down the canyon toward the Y, while Houston and Morgan began to make preparations for closing the office.
“Well,” said Morgan, as he stood looking out of the window, and waiting for Houston to put away his books and papers for the night, “I can just imagine the little scene that will be enacted down there at the main office to-morrow, it would be as good as a play just to watch it. There will be old Wilson, with his diamonds and palaver, expatiating on the country and the mines; and Blaisdell, with that dignified way of his, talking of nitrates and sulphides, and so many milligrams equaling so many grains troy, and so many gramestons in so many pounds avoirdupois, and all that razzle-dazzle, and Rivers, not saying much of anything, but smiling, and calculating how many thousands he is going to put in his own pockets.”
Houston laughed, and was about to reply, when Rutherford came in, as he often walked down to meet Houston and accompany him to the house.
“Come in, Ned,” said Houston, “you should have been here a minute ago; Morgan has been giving some verbal portraits of the mining company. Your descriptive powers are excellent, Morgan, and you seem to know these men pretty well.”
“Know them,” said Morgan, swinging himself astride a chair and folding his arms upon the back, while Rutherford perched upon a large writing table, and Houston leaned against his long desk, with his arms folded, “Know them, I should think I ought to. I worked in the Silver City office as bookkeeper for a year before coming out here, and six months of that time I boarded in Blaisdell’s family; and as his wife hates Rivers’ wife, and couldn’t say enough about her, I knew about as much of one family as the other before I came away.”
“Does Mr. Blaisdell try to impress his better half with a sense of his intellectual superiority, as he does the rest of his fellow mortals?” asked Rutherford.
“If he ever did,” answered Morgan, “he must have got bravely over it some time ago; she treats him with a contempt that would have cured him of that habit. I’ve sometimes thought that the reason he swells so much out among people is because he’s so unmercifully snubbed at home.”
“I see,” said Rutherford, “just a natural effort to keep his self-respect in equilibrium.”
“Has he many children?” inquired Houston.
“Well, no,” said Morgan, “not many, only fifteen.”
“Only fifteen!” said Houston, in astonishment, while Rutherford exclaimed, “Oh, come off now, you’re joking!”
“No joking about it,” said Morgan seriously, “I took the old man’s word for it. I tried several times to count ’em, but had to give it up, it seemed that every day I saw a new one. Some of ’em are as old as I; you see this is his third wife, and some of the children are older than she.”
“I think,” said Rutherford, “I’d like a wife younger than my children.”
“He seems to,” replied Morgan, “they’re as spooney as can be, when they’re not quarreling.”
“Oh, deliver me!” said Rutherford, “I don’t want to hear any more about them. How about that other man, Rivers? He hasn’t such a surplus of children and wives, has he?”
“Well,” said Morgan slowly, “I guess if his children could all be got together, there’d be more of ’em than of Blaisdell’s, and he has full as many wives, only, in his case, they are all living.”
“Great Scott!” said Rutherford, “is he a Mormon?”
Morgan shook his head, and Houston said:
“Morgan, I think in your efforts to be entertaining, you are drawing slightly on your imagination, thinking that we are fresh enough to believe anything you choose to tell us.”
“No, it’s all true, whether you believe it or not. That man left a wife and family of children somewhere in New York State, more than ten years ago, and ran away with another woman; they have five or six children, and here, about three years ago, since I came here, he got his divorce from the first woman, and married this one. Then he spent last winter in San Francisco, and it seems now, that he circulated around there under another name,––and his name is no more Rivers, than mine is Jenks,––and passed himself off for an unmarried man, and now there’s a woman there has entered suit against him, for breach of promise.”
“Well,” said Rutherford, descending from his elevated position, “I move that we adjourn to the boarding house at once; if I hear any more such stuff, I’ll lose my appetite.”
“The mystery to me is,” said Houston, when they were started on their way to the house, “how such a man is allowed to live and do business in a respectable community.”
“Oh,” said Morgan carelessly, “he isn’t any worse than the rest of ’em, only he’s a little more out and out with it; and the rest of ’em know it, and as long as they all live in glass houses, they don’t any of ’em want to throw any stones.”
“It cannot be quite as bad as that,” said Houston.
“Well, I’ve found ’em all about alike, men and women too, for that matter, though I believe you shut me off from expressing my views about women.”
“But you certainly would not include all women in such an assertion?” said Houston.
“I don’t know why not, as far as my experience goes, they’re all off the same piece.”
“Why, man,” said Houston indignantly, “what are you talking about? You had a mother once, you do not mean to traduce her memory?”
For a moment, Morgan was silent, then he replied in a tone that sounded very unlike his usual voice:
“Yes, I had a mother once, and that is what has made me what I am; sometime I will tell you about her.”
And nothing more was said until they reached the house.
CHAPTER XV.
Friday morning, word was received from Mr. Blaisdell, over the private wire connecting the office at Silver City with the mines, that he and Mr. Rivers would be up on the first train with a party of four, and to have everything in readiness for them; also to make arrangements for their accommodation at the boarding house. Morgan had already placed a small force of men at work on the mine, and after carrying out Mr. Blaisdell’s instructions, remained himself at the mine, superintending the work.
It was one of those perfect days, so frequent among the mountains; a cloudless sky, and the air so clear that one could see the most distant mountain peaks with wonderful distinctness. The weather was again warm, yet the air was cool and invigorating, and aromatic with the breath of the evergreen forests clothing the sides of the mountains and foot hills, while everywhere, the spring flowers were adding their color and beauty to the scene, their fragrance rising continuously, like an invisible cloud of incense, on every hand.
At about eleven o’clock, Houston heard the noise of the approaching team, and stepping to the window, saw a three-seated, open wagon, drawn by a pair of powerful horses. On the back seat, with Mr. Blaisdell, was an old gentleman, evidently Mr. Winters, and on the second seat, facing them, were two whom Houston judged to be Mr. Rivers and the junior Mr. Winters; but he took little notice of them, for his attention was arrested by one of the two young men sitting on the front seat, with the driver. The figure looked wonderfully familiar, but the face was almost wholly concealed by a broad-brimmed, soft hat. The team stopped, and at once the passengers prepared to alight; the hat was suddenly pushed back, revealing to the astonished Houston, the shining spectacles and laughing face of Arthur Van Dorn, his college class mate and chum.
The men were alighting, and it was evident that Mr. Blaisdell was in a most genial frame of mind, he fairly beamed on every one; but Houston, not waiting to meet him, made a hasty retreat into the back room, to decide quickly upon his course of action. Nearly a thousand plans occurred to him, but none seemed feasible. If Mr. Blaisdell were the only member of the firm present, he felt he would have little difficulty, but the presence of Mr. Rivers made it considerably harder for him.
Meanwhile, in the front room, Mr. Blaisdell was receiving his guests in the most effusive manner, reminding Houston, even in his dilemma, of a gushing school girl.
“Mr. Winters, let me assist you, you must be exceedingly weary; here, take this chair, you will find it a little more comfortable; sorry not to have more luxurious quarters in which to receive you, but this is the wild west, you know. Mr. Rivers, won’t you see that Mr. Winters is comfortable, while I wait on his son. Mr. Lindlay, let me show you these specimens of ore, I think you will appreciate them as few can.”
In the midst of all this effusion, Mr. Rivers suddenly appeared in the back room. He was a small man, quite bald, with small, twinkling, peering eyes, and a quick motion of his head from one side to the other that reminded Houston of a ferret. Seeing Houston, his eyes twinkled until they nearly closed, he smiled, and extending his hand, said:
“Ah, the new clerk, Mr. Houston, I suppose; very glad to meet you.”
At that moment Mr. Blaisdell entered; “Well, Mr. Rivers, you have found Mr. Houston, I see; Mr. Houston, this is Mr. Rivers, the secretary of the company. I was just looking for you, Houston, I want you to come in and meet the people in the other room.”
“In a moment, Mr. Blaisdell,” said Houston, “but first, will you and Mr. Rivers just look over something I have found here. This looks to me as though a serious error had been made in this report regarding the Sunrise mine, and as you will probably need it to-day, had it better not be corrected?”
“Error in the report of the Sunrise!” said Mr. Blaisdell, adjusting his spectacles, “let me see; why yes, that is an error, and a bad one, too, I am glad you called our attention to it; look here, Rivers,” and the two men were deeply engrossed in a study of the papers before them.
Houston improved the opportunity to reconnoiter the situation in the front room. Mr. Winters and his son were in a close consultation. The third man was busily engaged in looking at some ores, his back towards the door, while beside him stood Van Dorn, indifferently watching him. Houston gave a slight cough that attracted Van Dorn’s attention; he turned, and seeing Houston, his face brightened, and he was about to spring forward to greet him, when the latter, with a quick motion of his hand, gave him the signal of their old college days, its equivalent in the western vernacular being, “Don’t give me away,” at the same time putting his finger on his lips. A look of intense surprise flashed across Van Dorn’s face, but he grasped the situation at once, and silently giving the return signal, he turned and walked in the opposite direction with the most nonchalant manner imaginable, and Houston knew that his secret was safe. A few moments afterward, “Mr. Houston, our private secretary,” was introduced to the entire party, and a hearty grip from Van Dorn’s hand, which Houston returned with interest, was the only sign of mutual recognition.
“Well friends,” said Mr. Blaisdell, blandly, having looked at his watch, “it is now so near noon, that when we have allowed Mr. Winters ample time for rest, we had better proceed to the house and have our dinner, before going to the mines.”
“If you dine at noon,” replied Mr. Winters, in a very genial, yet dignified manner, “there is scarcely time for a very extended exploration, but don’t discommode yourselves in the least, gentlemen, on account of my age and feebleness. I have always enjoyed perfect health, and notwithstanding my gray hairs, I don’t believe I am much older than my friend, here, Mr. Blaisdell.”
“Not older than I am, sir!” exclaimed Mr. Blaisdell, who prided himself upon his youthful appearance, “why, how old do you take me to be?”
“Much older than you look,” replied Mr. Winters, “I am sixty-five, and you are at least sixty, although you look ten years younger than that.”
“You have certainly proven yourself a Yankee by your guessing,” said Mr. Blaisdell, slightly disconcerted, while the others joined in a general laugh at his expense, “I wouldn’t have thought you would have made so good a guess as that, neither did I think you were so near my own age.”
“You have the advantage of me now,” returned Mr. Winters, pleasantly, “but if we live twenty years, as I expect to, I’ll then look younger than you, for I have the better health of the two.”
“Have you ever visited the west before, Mr. Winters?” inquired Mr. Rivers.
“Yes, a few times,” replied the old gentleman, while the mining expert, an Englishman, with large blue eyes, full face and blond mustache, smiled quietly at Van Dorn and Houston, who were seated near each other; “I’ve been west once or twice a year for the last ten years.”
“Indeed!” said Mr. Rivers, with considerable surprise, while the younger Mr. Winters said with a laugh, “Oh, you couldn’t keep father at home in New York, any more than you could one of these Indians out here; he’s got to be roaming around all over the country continually. If he didn’t drag me about with him everywhere, I wouldn’t object.”
“You have been out in this country often, I suppose,” said Mr. Blaisdell, addressing the expert, who replied coolly, with a very slight accent:
“No, sir; I simply come out ’ere once in a w’ile, you know, just as an accommodation to Mr. Winters.”
“You live in New York, I suppose?”
“No, sir; my ’ome is in London,” he replied, with an air that seemed to indicate he did not care for any further conversation.
“Blaisdell,” said Mr. Rivers, “I thought you said something some time ago, about dinner; if the ride in the mountain air has given the rest of these gentlemen such an appetite as it has me, we would like to see that dinner materialize before very long.”
On the way to the boarding house, Van Dorn managed to walk with Houston, and exclaimed in a low tone:
“Good heavens, Everard, what does this mean? What are you masquerading around in this style for?”
“Don’t ask me to explain now, there are too many around; after dinner we will go down by ourselves, and I’ll tell you the whole story. I may want a little advice from you, as you’re a mining expert yourself.”
“Don’t let any of these people out here know that,” Van Dorn answered quickly; “Mr. Winters has introduced me as an inventor of some mining machinery that they use, just out here looking around for the pleasure of it; you know I did invent an amalgamator that is being used to some extent; but I’m not supposed to know anything about practical mining.”
Houston laughed; “How about the Englishman?” he asked.
“He’s no fool,” said Van Dorn quickly, “though he is playing verdant; only comes out here to accommodate Mr. Winters, and so forth; that’s all right, but he accommodates Mr. Winters pretty often. He’s a fine expert and understands his business thoroughly, only I happen to be a little more familiar with the ores in this locality, as I spent a good many months out here in the mountains two years ago, experting mines; not in this camp of course, but only a few miles from here. Mr. Winters himself is sharp, and with Lindlay and myself out here, he’s not going to be very badly taken in.”
“Good!” said Houston, “and now there is one thing more before we get to the house. You remember Morton Rutherford?”
“Mort Rutherford, of old college days? well, I should say so; what about him?”
“His brother is stopping here, you will see him at dinner.”
“What!” interrupted Van Dorn, “little Ned? What under heaven is he doing out here? Are you two fellows out here incognito making love to rustic maidens? or what are you doing?”
“No, Ned is out here in his own name, you won’t need be under any restrictions with him, but what I want to say is this: Don’t let him know who I am, or that you used to know me, or that I know his brother.”
“Anything else I’m not to let him know?” queried Van Dorn, taking out a small note book.
“No, put up your book, or Mr. Blaisdell will think I am giving you pointers on the mine. But this is how it is; Rutherford met me on the train coming out here, introduced himself to me, took a fancy to the mountains, and decided to stay a few weeks. He thinks I am––what you found me––the clerk for this company, and my home in Chicago. I am not ready to explain matters to him yet, so just simply appear as if you had never met me or heard of me till to-day.”
“But how is it Ned didn’t know you? Didn’t you ever see him when you visited Mort?”
“No, I was there only once, and he was away at school at the time, and then he never went to Yale, you know, he is a Harvard graduate.”
“Oh, I see; all right, I’ll be mum.”
A sharp turn in the road brought the house into view, with Rutherford seated on the porch, reading a magazine.
He glanced up with his usual assumption of dignity, as the party approached, but catching sight of Van Dorn, at the rear of the little procession, his magazine and his dignity were suddenly flung to the winds, and he bounded down from the porch like a school-boy.
“By Jove! Hello there, Van Dorn, how do you do? Great Scott! how did you ever come out here? I’m awfully glad to see you.”
“Very glad to see you, my dear boy,” said Van Dorn, heartily, “but the mystery to me is, how do you happen to be here?”
Mr. Blaisdell looked on greatly astonished and amused by Rutherford’s impetuous greeting.
“Well, Mr. Rutherford,” he remarked, “you seem to have met an old friend; ah, yes, I see, you are from Boston, and so is Mr. Van Dorn.”
Introductions followed, and the party sat down to dinner. Houston, seated between Van Dorn and Rutherford, did not lack for entertainment, but he had been at the table but a few seconds when he became aware that Miss Gladden was not there. He waited till the meal was nearly over, and then quietly inquired of Lyle whether Miss Gladden were ill.
“Oh no,” Lyle answered, in a low tone, “Miss Gladden thought best, as so many gentlemen were to be here, and on business, to let them have the table to themselves.”
After dinner, Houston started a little early for the office, and Van Dorn took his hat, saying:
“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’ll walk down with Mr. Houston. You know I’m not so crazy on mining as you are, and I’d like to see somebody for a change, that can talk on some other subject.”
“Go ahead,” said Mr. Winters, “I suppose you’ll want to go through the mines in our company, though, by and by.”
“I probably will have to go in your company, if I go at all,” Van Dorn replied carelessly, “my choice is rather limited.”
“You’ll be here this evening, won’t you Van?” said Rutherford, who was then engaged in a sort of one-sided conversation with the Englishman.
“I suppose so,” Van Dorn answered.
“All right, I’ll see you later,” Rutherford responded.
The confidential clerk and the young inventor strolled down the road together, and the officers of the mining company never dreamed of the results.
Half an hour later, Mr. Blaisdell and Mr. Rivers rose to return to the office, and the others followed their example, with the exception of Mr. Winters, who said:
“If you boys are in a hurry to start, all right, go ahead; I’m going to take my after-dinner smoke out here on the porch,” at the same time producing a fine meerschaum.
“Now, father, don’t you get left behind,” said his son jokingly.
“Get left, you young rattle-brains! I’ll have my smoke out and be down there at the office, before you are ready to start; your old father generally ‘gets there’ in as good time as you can make.”
“I’ll tell you what we will do, Mr. Winters,” said Mr. Blaisdell, “the road to the mine branches off just below here, and we can just as well drive around here and call for you.”
“All right, Mr. Blaisdell, that will be perfectly satisfactory, whatever suits you young fellows, suits me.”
“Very well, then, Mr. Winters,” said Mr. Blaisdell, “we ‘young fellows’ will be along in the course of half an hour,” and they went down the canyon, leaving the old gentleman in the low porch, deep in the enjoyment of his pipe.