CHAPTER XXXI.
The next morning dawned fair and cloudless, giving promise of one of those royal days, so frequent in the almost perfect climate of the higher altitudes.
Long before noon the heat would be intense, but in the early morning there was wafted down from the mountain side, where the pines were nodding and whispering so mysteriously, a cool, exhilarating breeze, which kissed the surface of the azure lake, sleeping so peacefully, and, awakening immediately into smiles, it lay rippling and dimpling with laughter in the sunlight.
The vines, transplanted by Miss Gladden and Lyle, under their fostering care, had transformed the little porch into a bower of beauty. Here stood Van Dorn, his fair, almost feminine face flushed with pleasure, and his blue eyes sparkling, as the light breeze played with the auburn curls clustering about his forehead, and he looked forth on the beauty of the scene.
“Ah––h!” he exclaimed, drawing a long breath, “isn’t this refreshing after the stifling heat and dust of the journey out here? Isn’t it glorious?”
“It is,” responded Houston, “this is one of the mornings when it is a joy just simply to live and breathe.”
Houston was fired with new ambition that morning; he would no longer have to work alone, keeping his anxieties and doubts, his plans and discoveries alike to himself; from henceforth he would have companionship, counsel and assistance, and he felt a new interest and enthusiasm.
Immediately after breakfast, the two set forth upon their first day’s work. Going first to the mills, Houston secured the services of two or three men who could be spared from the ordinary work, to assist Van Dorn in making preparations for the erection of the machinery; then he left for his early visit to the mines.
It was nearly ten o’clock when, having finished his round of duties at the mines, and coming up to the surface from the cool, underground workings, he found the heat almost unendurable, and strolled over to the mills, to see how Van Dorn was progressing. The latter did not seem averse to stopping for a few moments, and for a while, the two chatted and laughed with the old, careless abandon of their college days, without a thought of the more serious side of life, until, something being needed for the work, which Houston thought was in the tool-house, they proceeded together to look for it.
Houston was still searching for the needed implements, when Van Dorn, who was near the door, called out:
“I say, Everard, here’s a small specimen of humanity who seems to be looking for you in a desperate hurry,” and an instant later, he heard a familiar voice say:
“Is the boss in there, mister? Le’me in quick, I wan’ter see ’im!”
Turning quickly, he saw Bull-dog, breathless, pale and quivering with excitement.
“Say, boss,” he gasped, before Houston could speak, “they want yer––down ter the Y,––Morgan has shot hisself!”
“What is that, boy?” exclaimed Houston hoarsely, clearing the space between them at a bound.
“Morgan’s shot hisself, ’n they sent us fer yer,––me’n Hank,––he’s out there,” with a backward jerk of his thumb over his shoulder toward the open door.
Houston sprang to the door; another boy was talking excitedly with Van Dorn, while his horse stood, panting heavily and covered with dust and foam.
“Here’s the man you want,” said Van Dorn, turning a white face toward Houston, “Great God, Everard!” he exclaimed, “Morgan has killed himself!”
“He is not dead!” exclaimed Houston, turning towards the boy.
The latter nodded; “They found ’im shot through the head, ’n this was in his hand, ’n the cops won’t let nobody in till you come,” and he handed Houston a bit of paper.
It was a scrap of newspaper, crumpled and spattered with blood, and, as Houston smoothed it out, he read on the margin, in characters wavering and almost illegible, written with a trembling hand, but still Morgan’s writing, “Send to the camp for Houston, he’s the only friend I’ve got.”
For an instant, it seemed to Houston as though the glorious sunlight had suddenly turned to blackness, a blackness in which the scrap of paper gleamed white before him, its red spots glowing like spots of flame. He seemed again to see Morgan as he looked when parting from him the previous evening; the haggard face, with its hollow eyes and faint, pathetic smile, and as he recalled his words in reply to his own repeated offers of money, there seemed a new meaning in them; “Maybe I’ll call on you for it to-morrow if I don’t have luck to-night.”
But Houston realized there was no time to waste, and in a few moments he was mounted on a powerful gray horse, on his way to the Y, notwithstanding Van Dorn’s protests on account of the intense heat, having requested the latter to explain his absence at the house. Just as he was about to start, Bull-dog begged to be allowed to ride with him, to which Houston consented, and lifting the little fellow up, seated him in front of himself. Very little was said, for the horse seemed to understand what was expected of him, and sped like the wind down the narrow canyon road, but Houston’s hand rested kindly on Bull-dog’s shoulder, steadying the slender frame, and, at the same time, warming the heart of the forlorn little waif, to whom even the touch of kindness was something exceedingly rare.
Houston’s mind was occupied with thoughts of the terrible scene he was rapidly approaching, as well as with memories of his last interview with Morgan on the preceding night. At last, having crossed a ravine, the horse slackened his pace, as he climbed the steep ascent on the other side, and Houston, almost unconsciously, spoke his thoughts aloud.
“Poor Morgan!” he said, with a heavy sigh, “poor fellow! If I could only have saved him from this! God knows I would have given him any amount of money to have prevented this.”
“’Twouldn’t ha’ been no use, sir,” Bull-dog broke in quickly, eager to console Houston, “’twouldn’t ha’ been no use to have give ’im money, ’cause, ye see, them fellers that he played with would ha’ got it all.”
“Who were they?” inquired Houston.
“Oh, there was Faro Dick and Slicky Sam, and a lot of ’em; Morgan wasn’t no match for fellers like them, they was all too swift fer him.”
“How do you know?”
“Oh, I seen ’em playin’ lots o’ times, and they’re all reg’lar sharpers, ’n Morgan, he’d got reckless, ’n he didn’t stan’ no show against ’em.”
Houston looked down wonderingly and pityingly upon the little fellow, young in years, but who knew so much of the dark side of life, but nothing more was said, as, having reached the top of the hill, the station was close at hand.
Having left his horse in charge of one of the company’s men, Houston, accompanied by Bull-dog as guide, proceeded across the street, to the group of dirty, disreputable-looking buildings containing the saloons, gambling houses and dance halls. He had little need of a guide, for, before the shabbiest and most disreputable of the entire lot, was gathered a motley crowd, gazing with awestruck curiosity at the building in which had been enacted the tragedy of the night before. It was a saloon with gambling rooms in the rear. Here Morgan had played his last game,––just to see what luck he would have,––as he had said to Houston, and from which he had come forth ruined, despairing, desperate.
Passing through the crowd of jabbering Chinamen and “dagoes,” of miners off shift, drawn hither by curiosity, and of gamblers of all grades from the professional expert to the “tin-horn,” Houston found his way around the corner of the building, down into an alley, dark, dismal and reeking with filth. Here were groups of slatternly, unkempt women, some of whom stared at him with brazen faces, while others slunk away, not quite lost to shame.
At last they came to a rickety stair-way, and as they neared the top, Bull-dog whispered:
“There’s some of ’em now; that tall feller is Faro Dick, he deals down stairs, and the little, black feller is Slicky, and that short, fat one, that’s Brocky Joe.”
The group gathered about the door-way at the head of the stairs eyed Houston curiously as he approached. He gave them only a quick, keen glance, but in that glance he had detected the trio named by Bull-dog, and they cowered visibly beneath the scorn and contempt which flashed from his eye, while the entire group of loungers made way, impelled partly by an unconscious respect for the broad, powerful shoulders, and splendid, athletic frame.
Down a dark, narrow hall, Bull-dog led the way to a door guarded by two men, who touched their caps respectfully to Houston. They were two of the mining company’s watchmen, who were kept at the station to guard their property, and to preserve order generally, and hence were designated by the gamins of the place as police and “cops.”
Silently they unlocked and opened the door for Houston, and one of them entered with him. It was a small room, evidently a woman’s, and its general squalor and dilapidation were made more apparent by tawdry, shabby bits of finery strewn here and there. Curtains of red damask, faded and ragged, hung at the window, excluding the daylight, and on a small table a kerosene lamp had burned itself out. But Houston took little notice of the room; as his eyes became accustomed to the dim light, he saw but one object.
Across the bed in one corner of the room, lay Morgan, his left arm thrown out across the pillows, the other dropped at his side, and a revolver clenched in his right hand. His head was turned slightly to one side, exposing the ghastly wound near the temple, his face was blackened and mutilated, but still bore traces of the terrible strain of those last few hours of life.
Houston stepped back, even his firm nerves quivering, and his heart throbbing with a great sorrow for the life so suddenly quenched in the darkness of despair.
On a chair were Morgan’s hat and coat, where he had thrown them, and as Houston turned toward the little table, he saw there a newspaper from which a scrap had been torn. Taking the bit of paper, containing Morgan’s last message, from his pocket, he compared them; it fitted exactly, and beside the paper lay a bit of pencil with which those last words had been written, and to Houston, with his keen perception and vivid imagination, the whole scene of the previous night with its minute and pathetic details, seemed passing before his vision. He turned to the watchman:
“Open the window,” he said, and his voice sounded strange even to himself, “draw back those curtains, this place is stifling.”
Upon inquiry, Houston found the watchman could give him very little information. In passing down the alley at about eight o’clock that morning, his attention had been arrested by screams issuing from the building. On rushing up-stairs, he saw a crowd gathering about the door of this room, and, on entering, was shocked at the sight revealed. Mollie, the girl who usually occupied the room, was screaming hysterically, but when able to talk explained that she had been out all night and had but just returned. Morgan was in the habit of coming to the room, and had a key, but he had not been there of late, having gambled every night till daylight.
Her screams had attracted nearly the whole neighborhood, some of whom corroborated her statements, and one or two testified to having heard a shot sometime about midnight, but nothing had been thought of it, as it was supposed to be some row in the gambling rooms below. The watchman had ordered the crowd out of the room, and sent the messenger for Houston, and also a telegram to Silver City for the coroner, who was expected on the noon train.
As it was nearly noon, Houston decided to step over to the depot, leaving the room in charge of the watchman. On his way, he heard various comments from groups gathered here and there. Passing a half-dozen miners, he heard one of them say:
“If he’d ’a been a union man, we’d ’a taken care of ’im, but he worked for the bosses, and helped ’em to make big money, and now, let the bosses take care of ’im and bury ’im.”
A bitter smile crossed Houston’s face, and stepping into the little telegraph office, he sent a message, first, in his own name, to one of the undertaking firms of Silver City, for everything that was needed to be sent up by the special freight that afternoon; and then a brief dispatch to Mr. Blaisdell, stating what had occurred, but that the affairs of the company were all right, and there was no necessity for his coming to the camp immediately.
A few moments later, the train arrived, bringing the coroner, and as quickly as possible the inquest was held. Very few facts were developed beyond those already learned by Houston, excepting the extent of Morgan’s losses. These included not only everything which he had possessed, even to his watch and a few pieces of jewelry, but in addition, a large sum of money advanced him by Brocky Joe. Those with whom he was playing testified that he had quit shortly before midnight, and left the hall rather hastily. At the time, they thought he had gone to borrow more money, and perhaps try his luck at some other place, but nothing more was seen of him, and they soon forgot the occurrence.
When all was over and the crowd was slowly dispersing, Houston saw several members of the gambling fraternity approaching him, headed by the two designated by Bull-dog as Slicky Sam and Brocky Joe. The latter, a stout, red-faced individual, with flaming necktie and blazing diamonds, was evidently speaker for the entire party.
“We would like,” he began, in a high-pitched, falsetto voice, “to express our regrets for what has occurred, and I wish to state on behalf of my associates here, and also personally, that there was no ill feeling toward your friend, and I am perfectly willing to overlook the small amount of indebtedness; and if there is anything we can do, in the way of sharing the burial expenses, or anything of the kind, we shall be glad to do so.”
“Your assistance is not needed,” replied Houston, in a cold, cutting tone, “you have already done your work; you and your ilk have brought him where he is, and that is enough,” and he turned abruptly from them.
As he re-entered the room, he met Mollie, who cast an appealing glance at him. She could not have been over twenty years of age, but she looked worn and haggard. Her hair was disheveled, large, dark rings encircled her heavy, lusterless eyes, now swollen with weeping, and there was a look of helpless and hopeless despair in her glance that aroused Houston’s pity. It was a new experience for him to be brought into contact with these wrecked and ruined lives, and sorrow for the one life which had gone out so suddenly and needlessly, made him pitiful toward all.
A look of pity, a word of pure, disinterested kindness, was something new in the life of the poor creature before him, and she began sobbing afresh:
“He’s gone,” she moaned, “and I don’t want to live no longer.”
“Did you care so much for him?” asked Houston, wonderingly.
“Yes,” she sobbed, “I never cared for nobody but him. I thought once he cared for me, but after a while I found he didn’t, and then I went to the bad as fast as I could, but still I cared for him. I never was very good, for I never had no chance to be, but I’d ’a been different from what I am, if he’d only ’a cared for me.”
Houston went back into the wretched room, and looked long and sadly at the one who, in his last moments of despair, had called him his friend. He recalled the story told him that night among the rocks; he thought of the life ruined by a mother’s neglect and sin, and now of another life shut out in hopeless misery because of his indifference and neglect, and Houston realized at that moment, as never before, the influences, for good or for evil, extending from one human life to another, spreading onward and onward,
“As wave follows wave across the sea,”
till the widening circles at last touch the shores of eternity.
An hour or two later, when Houston stepped over to the depot to meet the incoming special freight, he was somewhat surprised to see Mr. Blaisdell step from the train, and in his white face, his firmly set mouth with its hard lines, and his pale blue eyes, it could readily be seen that he knew nothing of pity or mercy for the man who had served him so faithfully.
“I did not expect you so early, Mr. Blaisdell,” said Houston, as they exchanged greetings, “I thought after receiving my dispatch you would feel no anxiety, and would probably not come out till the evening train.”
“Your telegram was a great relief,” Mr. Blaisdell answered in an excited tone, “but I was all ready to come, as, from the tenor of Haight’s message this morning, I feared the worst. You are sure the affairs of the company are all right?”
“Perfectly sure,” replied Houston, calmly, “so far as money is concerned, poor Morgan has wronged no one but himself.”
“Well,” said Mr. Blaisdell, with a sigh of relief, “I am glad to hear that, but this is an outrageous affair,––simply outrageous,––a man in his responsible position, trusted as he has been, coming to such an end as this, under such circumstances and amid such surroundings! It is a disgrace to himself, and to those associated with him in business,––to the entire company!”
The thought flashed through Houston’s mind that a deeper disgrace than this awaited the company, but he only replied:
“I had not looked at it in that light, Mr. Blaisdell; I, as one of his associates, certainly feel no disgrace attached to myself. I had thought only of the terrible pity for a life so needlessly ruined and lost.”
“Pity!” said Mr. Blaisdell, contemptuously, “If a man willfully degrades himself and disgraces his friends, I have no pity for him, he deserves none for such dishonorable, dishonest conduct.”
“His dishonesty, as you term it, must have been of rather an unusual type,” said Houston, “since I offered him money only last night, and he refused to take it.”
“So you knew of his habits and offered him money? It was your duty to have reported him to me.”
“I do not need you, Mr. Blaisdell, or any one else, to tell me what my duty is here,” replied Houston, with dignity, “I did not know until recently to what extent Morgan was gambling, and when a man is in trouble, I will never give him a push downward.”
One of the workmen just then came to Houston for instructions regarding the shipment which he had ordered from Silver City, thus attracting Mr. Blaisdell’s attention in that direction.
“What is this, Houston?” he exclaimed angrily, “what does this mean? You certainly had no right, no authority to order these things; the company will not pay one cent toward the burial of a man who has proven himself so unworthy of the confidence reposed in him.”
“Mr. Blaisdell,” said Houston, calmly, but in a tone his employer had never heard before, “there is not the least necessity for the company to pay one cent, or for you to feel any concern in this matter. I have ordered these things myself, personally, upon my own responsibility.”
For the first time Mr. Blaisdell had found an employe who evidently did not stand in fear of him, and surprise held him silent for a moment.
“Very well,” he answered, in an altered tone, “but I must say I can see no reason for such a quixotic proceeding on your part; I never supposed you and Morgan were particular friends.”
“Here is my reason,” Houston replied, handing him the bit of paper bearing Morgan’s last words; “When a despairing man, in his last moments, appeals to me as his friend, and his only friend, even though that man were my worst enemy, I would feel in duty bound to do for him everything that a friend could do.”
Mr. Blaisdell returned the slip, and there was a new respect indicated in tone and manner, as he replied:
“I don’t know but you are right, do as you think best. I am going up to the camp, you can come whenever you are ready.”
“I shall be there in a few hours,” said Houston, and they separated.
A little later, everything that he could do had been done, and as Houston looked for the last time upon the pale face, where the angel of death was already smoothing out the lines traced by the last few days of suffering, and softening the features into a look of contentment and peace, he was glad that in the last moments of that life, there had come faith, even in one human being.
Early the next morning, a little group was gathered in a beautiful, secluded spot, on the mountain side, overlooking the station. Houston and Van Dorn were there, and a clergyman from a little parish in a small town a few miles distant, to whom the sad story had been told, read the simple but impressive words of the burial service and offered a brief prayer. And, as the weary body was lowered to its final resting place, at the foot of the murmuring pines, there came to the minds of Houston and Van Dorn the memory of the burial of a class-mate in the old college days, and simultaneously their voices rose on the clear, morning air, blending in the words chanted on that former occasion:–––
“Rest, brother, rest in thy last, long sleep.”
Slowly the little company dispersed, each going his own way. Upon Houston’s mind the events of those last twenty-four hours had left an impression never to be effaced, but to most in that community one human life, more or less, was of slight significance. To them, life was but one great game, in which fortune, reputation, character, everything which they possessed, whether much or little, was staked on the high card. No wonder that little thought was given to the losers, dropping out, one by one!
CHAPTER XXXII.
The following days were crowded with work for Houston. A bookkeeper was immediately sent over from Silver City to do the office work, but, excepting Houston, the company had no man, both competent and who could be trusted, to fill Morgan’s position. It was therefore arranged that for the next few weeks, until they could ascertain the address of a former superintendent, who had recently returned east, and communicate with him, Houston was to superintend the working of all the mines.
This involved much additional work and responsibility, but Houston filled the position so satisfactorily and showed such business tact and executive ability, that Mr. Blaisdell, on his return to Silver City, had fully determined to retain him permanently as superintendent at the mines, and, if possible, secure Barden, their former man, as an assistant.
“I tell you, Rivers, that Houston is a capable man, wonderfully capable,” he said, having related to the remaining officers of the company Houston’s success in filling Morgan’s position.
“It seems to me, Blaisdell,” said Mr. Brunnell, the benevolent looking old gentleman whom Houston had seen on his first visit to the offices, and one of the board of directors, “it seems to me you had better look out for him yourself; that young man is rising so fast, he’s likely to oust you yet.”
“Well, no, I guess not,” replied Mr. Blaisdell confidently, with his complacent smile, “I don’t think you fellows could get along without me, just yet. I don’t know what we would do with him, though, in case of any disagreement, he’s as independent as though he were a millionaire instead of a salaried clerk; he would never care a rap for anything we might say, he would take his own way every time,” and Mr. Blaisdell gave an account of his interview with Houston at the Y.
“Humph!” sniffed Mr. Rivers contemptuously, “You’d better let me manage that fellow, Blaisdell, he’ll run away with you.”
“He’ll run away with those mines up there, Blaisdell,” chuckled Mr. Brunnell, peering over his glasses at the general manager, who was strutting pompously about the office.
“Well, you fellows may joke as much as you please,” said Mr. Blaisdell, a little testily, “I tell you the man is smart.”
“Confound it! I know he’s smart; I tell you he’s too damned smart for you!” responded Mr. Rivers, who had very little respect for Mr. Blaisdell’s business ability, but found him a very convenient cat’s-paw.
As early as possible after the completion of the new arrangements at the mines, Houston and Van Dorn, in accordance with a previous engagement, visited Jack at his cabin. The hour was late, and as they entered the room already familiar to Houston, a lamp was burning brightly, but a heavy screen hung over it, concentrating the light upon the table beneath, on which lay various drawings and tracings, and allowing only a dim light to pervade the room.
Houston introduced Van Dorn, whom Jack greeted with characteristic courtesy, though with something of his old reserve, and having seated his guests, he at once proceeded to the discussion of the business which had brought them together.
In reply to an inquiry of his regarding the present situation of affairs, Houston informed him of the arrangement just completed by which he was to have entire charge of the work at the mines for the next few weeks, until the coming of Mr. Barden.
“Your present position is much more favorable for your work,” replied Jack, “it is exceedingly doubtful whether the company will have any use for the services of Mr. Barden.”
Houston then stated briefly what had been done since Van Dorn’s arrival, adding in conclusion, “Of course, we would have accomplished more within this time, had it not been for the confusion and changes resulting from Morgan’s sudden death.”
“Yes,” said Jack, “that has hindered you temporarily, but it will result to your advantage. All that I regretted was that an examination which I hoped you and Mr. Van Dorn might be able to make last week, immediately upon his arrival, will now have to be postponed until next week, but even that is better as it is.”
“How is that?” inquired Houston, with much interest, “to what do you refer?”
“I refer to the Lucky Chance mine; are you familiar with that property?”
“Not especially,” said Houston, “I have paid no attention to it, as it was not one in which our company was interested, nor one of which I was in charge. Since the recent change, I have visited the mine once with Mr. Blaisdell, but we only went in a short distance, and he informed me there was but little work done there, and but few men employed.”
“Yes,” replied Jack, with peculiar emphasis, “but that ‘little work’ as he terms it yields the company a larger percentage than any other single mine which they own.”
Houston’s face expressed considerable astonishment. “You surprise me,” he exclaimed, “because I thought I knew their best paying properties, and I never would have supposed that was one of them, either from my own observation, or from anything I have heard of it.”
“It would not be for the interests of the company to have much said regarding the mine, or to have the workings investigated very closely. You are probably aware that the claim adjoins the Yankee Boy?”
“Certainly,” answered Houston, “I am aware of that fact.”
“Very well,” replied Jack, rising and going to the table. “I have prepared some diagrams here which I would like you and Mr. Van Dorn to examine. Here you will see,” he continued, as they drew their chairs near the table,“ the boundaries and underground workings of the Lucky Chance mine, with their approximate measurements. Please look them over and see if you detect any irregularities.”
Both Houston and Van Dorn studied the diagram carefully for a moment, when the latter exclaimed:
“Why, the main tunnel extends more than a hundred feet beyond the boundary line.”
“Now allow me to substitute this diagram,” said Jack, spreading a larger tracing before them. “This is the same as the other with the addition of a portion of the boundary lines and underground workings of the adjoining claim, the Yankee Boy.”
“Ah, I see,” said Houston, “the tunnel from the Lucky Chance has been carried beyond the boundary line in such a direction as to strike the vein of the adjoining claim.”
“That is it exactly,” said Van Dorn, “no wonder the mine pays well!”
“As I stated before,” continued Jack, “these measurements, and, to a certain extent, the course of the tunnel, are given approximately, as I had no means of ascertaining the exact data, but I know they are essentially correct. It only remains for you, gentlemen, to verify this, by making an examination of the tunnel and taking the courses and measurements exactly, and also by comparing the ore now taken out with that originally found in the mine, and with the ore of the Yankee Boy, and you will then have evidence of the greatest fraud which has been perpetrated upon the rightful owners of the Yankee Boy, and which has been carried on for the last four or five years.”
“But how did you discover this?” asked Houston.
“I first came here,” replied Jack, “shortly after the sale of the Yankee Boy group of properties had been consummated. Within a few months afterward, the company located the Lucky Chance mine; development work was carried forward as rapidly as possible, quite a number of men being employed, of which I was one. It was evident that in locating this mine, the company hoped they had struck an extension of the vein of the Yankee Boy lode; it proved of an entirely different character, however, yielding rather a low-grade ore. The claim was surveyed and patented as soon as the necessary amount of improvements, required by law, had been placed upon it. After obtaining patent, the company then extended the tunnel in an entirely different direction, and, as you will find upon investigation, beyond the boundary line, until it intersected a portion of the Yankee Boy vein. Here a body of very rich ore was struck, and the mine has been a paying property ever since. For this last work very few men were retained, and but few have been employed there since, those few being men whom the company thought could be trusted, or upon whom they had some hold by which they could compel them to silence. I was employed there until very recently, and from the first had a thorough understanding of the course and extent of the different workings, and consequently am perfectly familiar with them.”
“Everard,” said Van Dorn, for whom work of this kind possessed a special attraction, “I think this is just about the kind of an expedition we will like.”
“I think so myself,” Houston replied, “but at the same time, it is the most risky piece of work we have yet undertaken, and we will have to depend upon our friend here for suggestions and advice. You will of course accompany us?” he added, turning to Jack, who had withdrawn from the table and was sitting in the dim light.
“Certainly,” responded Jack, “it would be a very dangerous undertaking for two strangers to go through that part of the mine without a guide at any time, especially at night, and it will be at best, a hazardous piece of work.”
“How many are employed there? and what class of men are they?” inquired Houston.
“About a dozen on the night shift,” Jack replied, “mostly Cornishmen, but whatever their nationality, it is usually the most treacherous and brutal men that we have that are employed by the company in that mine. Maverick used to work there until he was transferred above ground. It will not be necessary for us to come in contact with very many of them, however, as they are so widely scattered through the mine, and on the night shift next week, there will be four men,––a father and three sons,––who will do just about whatever I say, especially if a little money is given them. Mr. Houston’s new position as superintendent, will aid us very materially. A visit from him, with me as guide, will not excite suspicion, but Mr. Van Dorn will be suspected in a moment, and we must disguise him.”
Van Dorn whistled softly.
“Could you assume the Irish dialect, on an occasion like this, Mr. Van Dorn?” Jack inquired.
“An’ shure,” exclaimed Van Dorn, with the broadest accent imaginable, “an’ will yez be afther tellin’ me, be-dad! why I should not shpake me own mither tongue?”
Both Houston and Jack laughed at Van Dorn’s ready answer.
“You will do,” Jack said quietly, but in a tone so rich and musical as to chain the attention of his guests while he proceeded to plan the details of their visit to the mine.
In an hour or two, the modus operandi had been fully decided upon, and nothing remained but to fix the night for their expedition, and this it was thought best to leave to be determined by circumstances the following week. The instruments needed for taking measurements were to be taken down beforehand by Houston, and concealed in a safe place near the mine, and on the night of the examination, he was to go from the house directly to the mine, where he would be joined by Jack and Van Dorn, the latter dressed in a suit of Mike’s mining clothes, and personating him as closely as possible.
All arrangements being now as nearly complete as possible, Houston and Van Dorn bade their host a cordial good night, and walked cheerfully homeward, in the cool, night air, under the star-lit sky, all unconscious of a pair of eyes, which from behind a large rock, had eagerly watched for their appearance, and followed their every movement.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
As Houston and Van Dorn disappeared around a turn in the road, the figure of Haight emerged into the starlight from behind a large rock where he had been concealed most of the time during their stay at the cabin. Incidently he had seen them on their way to visit Jack, and the lateness of the hour combined with the direction in which they were going, aroused his curiosity to such a degree that he followed them at a distance, and having seen them enter the cabin, his suspicious nature was at once on the alert.
“I guess I’ll find out what in the devil this means,” he said to himself, as he paused behind a rock at a little distance, determined to ascertain what he could regarding their movements.
It was a long and wearisome watch; once or twice he ventured near the cabin, to see whether by closer observation he could obtain any clue to what might be going on within, but the closely shaded window gave no sign, and beyond an occasional low murmuring of voices, nothing disturbed the silence, except once a low, ominous growl from Rex, as he caught sight of Haight’s skulking figure from his station just outside the door.
When at last the door opened, and Houston and Van Dorn stepped forth into the calm night, the lynx-eyed watcher failed to detect anything beyond a friendly leave-taking, after which the two walked homeward, chatting in the most commonplace manner imaginable.
“By George!” he soliloquized, as he followed at a safe distance, “I wonder if I haven’t had my labor for my pains! But that did look mighty queer anyhow, their going ’round to see the old chap, and I’ll wager there’s something in it, too. I shouldn’t wonder if that Van Dorn is out here in the interest of that old party who was looking at mines a while ago, and with Houston’s help is going to get a few pointers. Jack knows pretty well what is going on around here, and may be a little money would make him talk. I’m going to keep watch of some of these smart people, and I know of one or two that will help me about it. If I can get hold of anything, I’ll report it to Rivers; Houston has pulled the wool over Blaisdell’s eyes, but Rivers won’t have anybody monkeying round these mines, and if I can once put him on the track, there’ll be a few less of these swells about, and it will be money in my pocket.”
Late as it was when Houston and Van Dorn returned to the house, Miss Gladden and Lyle had not retired. Houston had told Miss Gladden the secret of his business there in the mining camp, and, true to Lyle’s prediction, he had found her, while quick to realize the dangers of his position, yet able to assist him by her readiness to enter into his feelings, her interest in his plans and her timely suggestions. Once she had met Jack since learning Houston’s secret, and in a few, well-chosen words, had conveyed to him her knowledge of the fact that he was giving her lover aid and protection in his work, and her gratitude therefor.
She and Lyle were aware of the import of the visit to the cabin that night, and they sat in the dusky shadows, looking out into the night, alternately talking in low tones, and listening for the return of Houston and his friend.
Miss Gladden was the first to catch the sound of her lover’s voice, as he and Van Dorn approached the house, and a moment later, they heard the ringing laugh of the latter.
“They are evidently in good spirits,” remarked Lyle, “their visit must have been a satisfactory one.”
“Mr. Van Dorn seems so jubilant they must have made some new discoveries,” said Miss Gladden, “he never seems so happy as when he is ferreting out some fraud, or unearthing some dishonest scheme.”
“There is material enough here to make his happiness complete for some time,” said Lyle rather bitterly, “I only wish every one of the guilty parties could be brought to justice, but I doubt whether they ever will be.”
“Why?” exclaimed Miss Gladden in surprise, “do you think Mr. Houston will fail after all?”
“No, not that necessarily,” Lyle answered, “but even if he succeeds in getting his evidence together, and his friends come out from the east, I do not believe they will ever succeed in securing the ones who are most guilty, who have planned and plotted the whole thing. Over and over again, people whom they have wronged and defrauded have brought suit against them, but to no purpose; they are continually involved in litigation, but they always manage to evade the law in one way or another, I do not claim to understand how.”
“I would not think they could escape with all the evidence accumulating against them now,” said Miss Gladden thoughtfully.
“You wouldn’t think so,” replied Lyle, “but you don’t know them. Who is that?” she asked suddenly, catching sight in the dim light of a figure approaching the house.
“It looks like Haight,” said Miss Gladden, “but why is he creeping along so cautiously?”
“I believe he has been following Mr. Houston,” said Lyle, quickly, “wait a minute, keep perfectly quiet, so he will think every one is asleep up stairs,” and in an instant, she was going swiftly and noiselessly down the stairs. The door at the foot of the stairs was partially open, and Lyle could hear Haight, as, after opening the outside door very carefully, he stepped lightly toward the room occupied by Houston and Van Dorn; here he paused and listened, but evidently hearing nothing, he cautiously made his way across to the room of Mr. and Mrs. Maverick, the door of which was ajar.
“Jim!” he whispered, “Jim, wake up!”
“Who’s that? What d’ye want?” came the response in a surly tone.
“Sh! don’t make any noise,” he whispered, “it’s Haight; get up and come out on the porch, but be quiet about it; I want to have a talk with you.”
A muttered assent was given, and Haight tip-toed softly out to the porch, and sat down.
Lyle crept up-stairs again to Miss Gladden.
“Don’t be frightened,” she said, “but I believe Haight must have seen or heard something;” and she hastily told what she had overheard.
“Now,” said she in conclusion, “the window on the porch is open, and as soon as they are both outside, I will go there and listen. Even if I cannot hear all that is said I will probably catch enough to learn what is going on. You wait for me and keep perfectly quiet.”
A few moments later, Maverick shuffled out on the porch and sat down beside Haight with a growl.
“Damned pretty time, I sh’d think, to talk! What in hell do you want?”
“Well, you were long enough getting out here,” said Haight, in his smoothest tones, all unaware of a figure that had glided to the open window behind him, and now knelt within six feet of him. “Now quit your growling, for you and I are good friends, Jim, and I want your advice. Jim,” he continued in a lower tone, “what would you think two fellows like Houston and Van Dorn would want with that old chap, Jack?”
“Huh?” said Maverick, rather stupidly, “what are ye drivin’ at?”
“Wake up! you’re half asleep, Jim! Your two dandy boarders here only just came home about twenty minutes ago; they’ve been for the last three or four hours down there in Jack’s cabin, with the windows all shut tight and curtains down, and still as death. What do you suppose that means?”
“Damned if I know,” was the laconic response.
“Now, Jim, don’t be so uncommunicative; there may be something in this for you and me if we just put our heads together, ‘two heads are better than one,’ you know, so set your thinking machine to work and grind out some ideas.”
“Well,” said Maverick, slowly, “I dun’no what that Houston, damn him, would be runnin’ ’round after Jack for, unless he wanted to get some p’inters on the mines some way.”
“That’s it, go ahead!” said Haight.
“Houston,” continued Maverick, with an oath and applying a vile epithet, “is too all-fired smart to notice anybody, and Jack’s another, so they’d be likely to hitch.”
“That’s right,” said Haight, “now what object would he be likely to have in getting information from Jack?”
“I dun’no,” said the other, “unless mebbe he’s paid by somebody on the outside.”
“Well,” said Haight, “I guess we’ve got about the same idea of it; it’s my opinion he is paid by somebody, and that somebody is Van Dorn, or whoever’s backing him. I don’t put much stock in this machinery business of his; he don’t act like a fellow that needs to go peddling machines about the country, and I notice he don’t seem in any great rush about putting it up, now he’s got here; he ain’t one of the kind that has to rustle for a living, like you and me. I think he’s just out here getting pointers on the mines for that old fellow that was here a while ago, and he’s probably paying Houston a good, round sum for helping him along, and now they’ve got Jack roped in on the deal.”
“Well,” said Maverick savagely, “if that’s their game, I guess ’twill be dead easy stoppin’ it any time we’re a mind to; these ’ere mines is awfully unsafe places for a tenderfoot to be prowlin’ ’round in,” and he laughed a cruel laugh, very familiar to the listener at the window.
“That’s so,” assented Haight, “I think we’d better keep close watch of these fellows, and if they get too fresh, just have ’em laid out with a sandbag or two.”
“Better’n that,” said Maverick, “to take ’em some time in the mines; folks like them are likely to get dizzy and fall some times, or get in the way of the ore buckets and be knocked silly.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what I want you to do; I’ll keep watch, and if I know of their going down to the cabin again, I want you to put some men on to watch out for them; we’ll investigate and find out what is going on. Put on what men you please, and have them report to me, and we’ll find out what this means, and make our plans accordingly.”
“That there’s a damned ticklish place to get any of the men to go late at night,” said Maverick reflectively.
“Why so?”
“That place is harnted, ye know, by the man on the spotted horse.”
“Oh, nonsense!” ejaculated Haight.
“It’s a fact though; he rides up and down there once in a while, and I wouldn’t want ter see him myself.”
“Oh, hang your ghost!” said Haight, impatiently, “tell your men if they see it to shoot it.”
“That wouldn’t do no good,” responded Maverick doggedly, “It’s the sight of it brings bad luck, and sometimes death. There was a fellow here two years ago, he seen it one night, and the next day he was killed in the mines; they said the ghost had called him.”
“Well,” said Haight, rising, “It would be well if your ghost would only call Houston and Van Dorn some night; but I want you to do as I say, anyway.”
Lyle, who had caught nearly every word of this conversation, now rose quickly and retreated to the kitchen, knowing she would there be safe from detection, and could also judge of their movements. Nothing further was said, however; Haight went stealthily up-stairs to his room, and Maverick, after cursing to himself a few moments, was soon snoring profoundly, and Lyle then returned to Miss Gladden’s room. She felt a sickening sensation as she repeated the conversation to her friend, and realized all that it meant. Miss Gladden was inexpressibly shocked:
“Lyle, my dear child, is it possible that they would go to such extreme limits as that. I had thought that he would be in danger of some assault in the dark, or something of that kind, but to trap him in the mines! I never dreamed of anything so cowardly, so dastardly! He will be in constant danger in the performance of his daily round of duties.”
“Dear Leslie,” said Lyle,––for thus Miss Gladden had of late requested her to address her,––“I have told you, you did not realize what a place this is, and the worst of all is, that it is my father who is planning this, after all the kindness which you and Mr. Houston have shown me! What must you think of us?”
“Of you, my dear child? I love you and trust you the same as ever,” exclaimed Miss Gladden impulsively, “he is no father of yours!”
Lyle, in her grief, did not notice the import of Miss Gladden’s words, but she exclaimed passionately:
“I will never call that man father again as long as I live, and if it ever comes to that, I will shoot him, rather than let him injure Mr. Houston.” Then, a moment later, she added more calmly:
“I must not allow myself to become excited, I must think and plan. Do you know, I was so glad that they have not, as yet, found the real clue to what is going on, and do not even suspect the truth, and they must not be allowed even to surmise it; as long as they do not, Mr. Houston is comparatively safe, and they must not be allowed to watch him, or get any clue to his movements.”
“But how can you prevent it, dear? You know the country and the people so much better than I, that you can plan and direct far better than I can; you command, dear Lyle, and you will find me ready to obey, afraid of nothing, not death itself, if I can only help him and save him from his enemies.”
“You had better write a note to him to-night, to give him quietly in the morning, as you may not have an opportunity for a long talk with him so early, and tell him what I have told you. Then he can probably make arrangements with Jack by writing, so that he will not need to go to the cabin again at present; or, if necessary, I can go for him.”
“But what will they do about their intended examination of the mines? They will surely be watched then.”
“All they can do is to make their plans as quietly and secretly as possible, and then go prepared for the worst, but I think I can help them there; I have a scheme of my own, something that occurred to me while listening to their conversation, which I will tell you later.”
The note was written, and it was nearly daylight, when the two at last retired, to rest possibly, but not to sleep.