O'Neil's talk with Mrs. Gerard upon her arrival from Hope was short and businesslike. Neither by word nor look did he show that he knew or suspected anything of the real reason of her break with Gordon. Toward both her and Natalie he preserved his customary heartiness, and their first constraint soon disappeared. Mrs. Gerard had been plunged in one of those black moods in which it seems that no possible event can bring even a semblance of happiness, but it was remarkable how soon this state of mind began to give way before O'Neil's matter-of-fact cheerfulness. He refused to listen to their thanks and made them believe that they were conferring a real favor upon him by accepting the responsibility of the new hotel. Pending the completion of that structure he was hard pressed to find a lodging-place for them until Eliza and her brother insisted that they share the bungalow with them—a thing O'Neil had not felt at liberty to ask under the circumstances. Nor was the tact of the brother and sister less than his; they received the two unfortunates as honored guests.
Gradually the visitors began to feel that they were welcome, that they were needed, that they had an important task to fulfil, and the sense that they were really of service drove away depression. Night after night they lay awake, discussing the wonderful change in their fortunes and planning their future. Natalie at least had not the slightest doubt that all their troubles were at an end.
One morning they awoke to learn that O'Neil had gone to the States, leaving Dr. Gray in charge of affairs at Omar during his absence. The physician, who was fully in his chief's confidence, gravely discussed their duties with them, and so discreet was he that they had no faintest suspicion that he knew their secret. It was typical of O'Neil and his "boys" that they should show this chivalry toward two friendless outcasts; it was typical of them, also, that they one and all constituted themselves protectors of Natalie and her mother, letting it be known through the town that the slightest rudeness toward the women would be promptly punished.
While O'Neil's unexpected departure caused some comment, no one except his trusted lieutenants dreamed of the grave importance of his mission. They knew the necessities that hounded him, they were well aware of the trembling insecurity in which affairs now stood, but they maintained their cheerful industry, they pressed the work with unabated energy, and the road crept forward foot by foot, as steadily and as smoothly as if he himself were on the ground to direct it.
Many disappointments had arisen since the birth of the Salmon River & Northwestern; many misfortunes had united to retard the development of its builder's plans. The first obstacle O'Neil encountered was that of climate. During the summer, unceasing rains, mists, and fogs dispirited his workmen and actually cut their efficiency in half. He had made certain allowances for this, of course, but no one could have foreseen so great a percentage of inefficiency as later developed. In winter, the cold was intense and the snows were of prodigious depth, while outside the shelter of the Omar hills the winds howled and rioted over the frozen delta, chilling men and animals and paralyzing human effort. Under these conditions it was hard to get workmen, and thrice harder to keep them; so that progress was much slower than had been anticipated.
Then, too, the physical difficulties of the country were almost insurmountable. The morass which comprised the Salmon River plain was in summer a bottomless ooze, over which nothing could be transported, yet in winter it became sheathed with a steel-hard armor against which piling splintered. It could be penetrated at that season only by the assistance of steam thawers, which involved delay and heavy expense. These were but samples of the obstacles that had to be met, and every one realized that the work thus far had been merely preparatory. The great obstruction, upon the conquest of which the success of the whole undertaking hinged, still lay before them.
But of all handicaps the most serious by far was the lack of capital. Murray had foreseen as inevitable the abandonment by the Trust of its Cortez route, but its change of base to Kyak had come as a startling surprise and as an almost crushing blow. Personally, he believed its present plan to be even more impracticable than its former one, but its refusal to buy him out had disheartened his financial associates and tightened their purse-strings into a knot which no argument of his could loose. He had long since exhausted his own liquid capital, he had realized upon his every available asset, and his personal credit was tottering. He was obliged to finance his operations upon new money—a task which became ever more difficult as the months passed and the Trust continued its work at Kyak. Yet he knew that the briefest flagging, even a temporary abandonment of work, meant swift and utter ruin. His track must go forward, his labor must be paid, his supplies must not be interrupted. He set his jaws and fought on stubbornly, certain of his ultimate triumph if only he could hold out.
A hundred miles to the westward was a melancholy example of failure in railroad-building, in the form of two rows of rust upon a weed-grown embankment. It was all that remained of another enterprise which had succumbed to financial starvation, and the wasted millions it represented was depressing to consider.
Thus far O'Neil's rivalry with the Trust had been friendly, if spirited, but his action in coming to the assistance of Mrs. Gerard and her daughter raised up a new and vigorous enemy whose methods were not as scrupulous as those of the Heidlemanns.
Gordon was a strangely unbalanced man. He was magnetic, his geniality was really heart-warming, yet he was perfectly cold-blooded in his selfishness. He was cool and calculating, but interference roused him to an almost insane pitch of passion. Fickle in most things, he was uncompromising in his hatreds. O'Neil's generosity in affording sanctuary to his defiant mistress struck him as a personal affront, it fanned his dislike of his rival into a consuming rage. It was with no thought of profit that he cast about for a means of crippling O'Neil. He was quite capable of ruining himself, not to speak of incidental harm to others, if only he could gratify his spleen.
Denny, his trusted jackal, resisted stoutly any move against "The Irish Prince," but his employer would not listen to him or consent to any delay. Therefore, a certain plausible, shifty-eyed individual by the name of Linn was despatched to Omar on the first steamer. Landing at his destination, Mr. Linn quietly effaced himself, disappearing out the right-of-way, where he began moving from camp to camp, ostensibly in search of employment.
It was a few days later, perhaps a week after O'Neil's departure, that Eliza Appleton entered the hospital and informed Dr. Gray:
"I've finished my first story for The Review."
The big physician had a rapid, forceful habit of speech. "Well, I suppose you uncorked the vitriol bottle," he said, brusquely.
"No! Since you are now the fount of authority here, I thought I'd tell you that I have reserved my treachery for another time. I haven't learned enough yet to warrant real fireworks. As a matter of fact, I've been very kind to Mr. O'Neil in my story."
"Let me thank you for him."
"Now don't be sarcastic! I could have said a lot of nasty things, if he hadn't been so nice to me. I suppose it is the corrupting influence of his kindness."
"He really will be grateful," the doctor assured her, seriously. "Newspaper publicity of the wrong sort might hurt him a great deal just now. In every big enterprise there comes a critical time, when everything depends upon one man; strong as the structure seems, he's really supporting it. You see, the whole thing rests ultimately on credit and confidence. An ill-considered word, a little unfriendly shove, and down comes the whole works. Then some financial power steps in, reorganizes the wreckage, and gets the result of all the other fellow's efforts, for nothing."
"Dan tells me the affairs of the S. R. & N. are in just such a tottering condition."
"Yes. We're up against it, for the time being. Our cards are on the table, and you have it in your power to do us a lot of harm."
"Don't put it that way!" said Eliza, resentfully. "You and Mr. O'Neil and even Dan make it hard for me to do my duty. I won't let you rob me of my liberty. I'll get out and 'Siwash' it in a tent first."
The physician laughed. "Don't mistake leaf-mold for muck, that's all we ask. O'Neil is perfectly willing to let you investigate him."
"Exactly! And I could bite off his head for being so nice about it. Not that I've discovered anything against him, for I haven't— I think he's fine—but I object to the principle of the thing."
"He'll never peep, no matter what you do or say."
"It makes me furious to know how superior he is. I never detested a man's virtues as I do his. Gordon is the sort I like, for he needs exposing, and expects it. Wait until I get at him and the Trust."
"The Trust, too, eh?"
"Of course."
"Now what have the Heidlemanns done?"
"It's not what they have done; it's what they're going to do. They're trying to grab Alaska."
Dr. Gray shook his head impatiently, but before he could make answer Tom Slater entered and broke into the conversation by announcing:
"I've spotted him, Doc. His name is Linn, and he's Gordon's hand. He's at mile 24 and fifty men are quitting from that camp."
"That makes two hundred, so far," said the doctor.
"He's offering a raise of fifty cents a day and transportation to Hope."
Gray scowled and Eliza inquired quickly:
"What's wrong, Uncle Tom?"
"Don't call me 'Uncle Tom,'" Slater exclaimed, irritably; "I ain't related to you."
Miss Appleton smiled at him sweetly. "I had a dear friend once—you remind me of him, he was such a splendid big man," she said.
Tom eyed her suspiciously.
"He chewed gum incessantly, too, and declared that it never hurt anybody."
"It never did," asserted Slater.
"We pleaded, we argued, we did our best to save him, but—" She shook her blond head sadly.
"What happened to him?"
"What always happens? He lingered along for a time, stubborn to the last, then—" Turning abruptly to Dr. Gray, she asked, "Who is this man Linn, and what is he doing?"
"He's an emissary of Curtis Gordon and he's hiring our men away from us," snapped the physician.
"Why, Dan tells me Mr. O'Neil pays higher wages than anybody!"
"So he does, but Linn offers a raise. We didn't know what the trouble was till over a hundred men had quit. The town is full of them, now, and it's becoming a stampede."
"Can't you meet the raise?"
"That wouldn't do any good."
Tom agreed. "Gordon don't want these fellows. He's doing it to get even with Murray for those wo—" He bit his words in two at a glance from Gray. "What happened to the man that chewed gum?" he demanded abruptly.
"Oh yes! Poor fellow! We warned him time and again, but he was a sullen brute, he wouldn't heed advice. Why don't you bounce this man Linn? Why don't you run him out of camp?"
"Fine counsel from a champion of equal rights!" smiled Gray. "You forget we have laws and Gordon has a press bureau. It would antagonize the men and cause a lot of trouble in the end. What O'Neil could do personally, he can't do as the president of the S. R. & N. It would give us a black eye.
"We've go to do something dam' quick," said Slater, "or else the work will be tied up. That would 'crab' Murray's deal. I've got a pick-handle that's itching for Linn's head." The speaker coughed hollowly and complained: "I've got a bad cold on my chest—feels like pneumonia, to me. Wouldn't that just be my luck?"
"Do you have pains in your chest?" inquired the girl, solicitously.
"Terrible! But I'm so full of pains that I get used to 'em".
"It isn't pneumonia."
Slater flared up at this, for he was jealous of his sufferings.
"It's gumbago!" Eliza declared.
Dr. Gray's troubled countenance relaxed into a grin as he said:
"I'll give you something to rub on those leather lungs—harness-oil, perhaps."
"Is this labor trouble really serious?" asked the girl.
"Serious! It may knock us out completely. Go away now and let me think. Pardon my rudeness, Miss Appleton, but—"
Slater paused at the door.
"Don't think too long, Doc," he admonished him, "for there's a ship due in three days, and by that time there won't be a 'rough-neck' left on the job. It'll take a month to get a new crew from the States, and then it wouldn't be any good till it was broke in."
When he was alone the doctor sat down to weigh the news "Happy Tom" had brought, but the more squarely he considered the matter the more alarming it appeared. Thus far the S. R. & N. had been remarkably free from labor troubles. To permit them to creep in at this stage would be extremely perilous: the briefest cessation of work might, and probably would, have a serious bearing upon O'Neil's efforts to raise money. Gray felt the responsibility of his position with extraordinary force, for his chief's fortunes had never suffered in his hands and he could not permit them to do so now. But how to meet this move of Gordon's he did not know; he could think of no means of keeping these men at Omar. As he had to Eliza, to meet the raise would be useless, and a new scale of wages once adopted would be hard to reduce. Successful or unsuccessful in its effect, it would run into many thousands of dollars. The physician acknowledged himself dreadfully perplexed; he racked his brain uselessly, yearning meanwhile for the autocratic power to compel obedience among his men. He would have forced them back to their jobs had there been a way, and the fact that they were duped only added to his anger.
It occurred to him to quarantine the town, a thing he could easily do as port physician in case of an epidemic, but Omar was unusually healthy, and beyond a few surgical cases his hospital was empty.
His meditations were interrupted by Tom Slater, who returned to say:
"Give me that dope, Doc; I'm coughing like a switch engine." Gray rose and went to the shelves upon which his drugs were arranged, while the fat man continued, "That Appleton girl has got me worried with her foolishness. Maybe I AM sick; anyhow, I feel rotten. What I need is a good rest and a nurse to wait on me."
The physician's eyes in running along the rows of bottles encountered one labeled "Oleum Tiglii," and paused there. "You need a rest, eh?" he inquired, mechanically.
"If I don't get one I'll wing my way to realms eternal. I ain't been dried off for three months." Gray turned to regard his caller with a speculative stare, his fingers toyed with the bottle. "If it wasn't for this man Linn I'd lay off—I'd go to jail for him. But I can't do anything, with one foot always in the grave."
The doctor's face lightened with determination.
"Tom, you've been sent from heaven!"
"D'you mean I've been sent for, from heaven?" The invalid's red cheeks blanched, into his mournful eyes leaped a look of quick concern. "Say! Am I as sick as all that?"
"This will make you feel better." Gray uncorked the bottle and said, shortly, "Take off your shirt."
"What for?"
"I'm going to rub your chest and arms."
Slater obeyed, with some reluctance, pausing to inquire, doubtfully:
"You ain't stripping me down so you can operate?"
"Nonsense!"
"I'm feeling pretty good again."
"It's well to take these things early. They all look alike at the beginning."
"What things?"
"Grippe, gumbago, smallpox—"
"God'lmighty!" exclaimed Slater with a start. "I haven't got anything but a light cold."
"Then this liniment ought to be just the thing."
"Humph! It don't smell like liniment," Tom declared, after a moment, but the doctor had fallen to work on him and he submitted with resignation.
Perhaps an hour later Dr. Gray appeared at the Appleton bungalow and surprised Eliza by saying:
"I've come to you for some help. You're the only soul in Omar that I can trust."
"Have you gone raving mad?" she inquired.
"No. I must put an end to Linn's activity or we'll be ruined. These workmen must be held in Omar, and you must help me do it."
"They have the right to go where they please."
"Of course, but Gordon will let them out as soon as he has crippled us. Tell me, would you like to be a trained nurse?"
"No, I would not," declared Eliza, vehemently. "I'm neither antiseptic nor prophylactic."
"Nevertheless, you're going to be one—Tom needs you."
"Tom? What ails him?"
"Nothing at this moment, but—wait until to-morrow." The physician's eyes were twinkling, and when he had explained the cause of his amusement Eliza laughed.
"Of course I'll help," she said. "But it won't hurt the poor fellow, will it?"
"Not in the least, unless it frightens him to death. Tom's an awful coward about sickness; that's why I need some one like you to take care of him. He'll be at the hospital to-morrow at three. If you'll arrange to be there we'll break the news to him gently. I daren't tackle it alone."
Tom was a trifle embarrassed at finding Eliza in Dr. Gray's office when he entered, on the next afternoon. The boss packer seemed different than usual; he was much subdued. His cough had disappeared, but in its place he suffered a nervous apprehension; his cheeks were pale, the gloom in his eyes had changed to a lurking uneasiness.
"Just dropped in to say I'm all right again," he announced in an offhand tone.
"That's good!" said Gray. "You don't look well, however."
"I'm feeling fine!" Mr. Slater hunched his shoulders as if the contact of his shirt was irksome to the flesh.
"You'd better let me rub you. Why are you scratching yourself?"
"I ain't scratching."
"You were!" The doctor was sternly curious; he had assumed his coldest and most professional air.
"Well, if I scratched, I probably itched. That's why people scratch, ain't it?"
"Let me look you over."
"I can't spare the time, Doc—"
"Wait!" Gray's tone halted the speaker as he turned to leave. "I'm not going to let you out in this weather until I rub you."
This time there was no mistaking "Happy Tom's" pallor. "I tell you I feel great," he declared in a shaking voice. "I—haven't felt so good for years."
"Come, come! Step into the other room and take off your shirt."
"Not on your life."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't want no more of your dam' liniment."
"Why?"
"Because I'm—because I don't."
"Then I suppose I'll have to throw and hog-tie you." The physician rose and laid a heavy hand upon his patient's arm, at which Tom exclaimed:
"Ouch! Leggo! Gimme the stuff and I'll rub myself."
"Tom!" The very gravity of the speaker's voice was portentous, alarming. Mr. Slater hesitated, his gaze wavered, he scratched his chest unconsciously.
Eliza shook her head pityingly; she uttered an inarticulate murmur of concern.
"You couldn't get my shirt off with a steam-winch. I tell you I'm feeling grand."
"Why WILL you chew the horrid stuff?" Miss Appleton inquired sadly.
"I'm just a little broke out, that's all."
"Ah! You're broken out. I feared so," said the doctor.
The grave concern in those two faces was too much for Slater's sensitive nature; his stubbornness gave way, his self-control vanished, and he confessed wretchedly:
"I spent an awful night, Doc. I'll bust into flame if this keeps up. What is it, anyhow?"
"Is there an eruption of the arms and chest?"
"They're all erupted to hell."
Dr. Gray silently parted the shirt over Slater's bosom. "Hm-m!" said he.
"Tell him what it is," urged Eliza, in whom mirth and pity were struggling for mastery.
"It has every appearance of-smallpox!"
The victim uttered a choking cry and sat down limply. Sweat leaped out upon his face, beads appeared upon his round bald head.
"I knew I was a sick man. I've felt it coming on for three months, but I fought it off for Murray's sake. Say it's chicken-pox," he pleaded.
"Never mind; it's seldom serious," Eliza endeavored to comfort the stricken man.
"You wanted a good rest-"
"I don't. I want to work."
"I'll have to quarantine you, Tom."
Slater was in no condition for further resistance; a complete collapse of body and mind had followed the intelligence of his illness. He began to complain of many symptoms, none of which were in any way connected with his fancied disease. He was racked with pains, he suffered a terrible nausea, his head swam; he spoke bravely of his destitute family and prepared to make his will. When he left the hospital, an hour later, it was on a stretcher between four straining bearers.
That evening a disturbing rumor crept through the town of Omar. It penetrated the crowded saloons where the laborers who had quit work were squandering their pay, and it caused a brief lull in the ribaldry; but the mere fact that Tom Slater had come down with smallpox and had been isolated upon a fishing-boat anchored in the creek seemed, after all, of little consequence. Some of the idlers strolled down the street to stare at the boat, and upon their return verified the report. They also announced that they had seen the yellow-haired newspaper woman aboard, all dressed in white. It was considered high time by the majority to leave Omar, for an epidemic was a thing to be avoided, and a wager was made that the whole force would quit in a body as soon as the truth became known.
On the second day Dr. Gray undertook to allay the general uneasiness, but, upon being pressed, reluctantly acknowledged that his patient showed all the signs of the dread disease. This hastened the general preparations for departure, and when the incoming steamer hove in sight every laborer was at the dock with his kit-bag. It excited some idle comment among them to note that Dr. Gray had gone down the bay a short distance to meet the ship, and his efforts to speak it were watched with interest and amusement. Obviously it would have been much easier for him to wait until she landed, for she came right on and drew in toward the wharf. It was not until her bow line was made fast that the physician succeeded in hailing the captain. Then the deserters were amazed to hear the following conversation:
"I can't let you land, Captain Johnny," came from Dr. Gray's launch.
"And why can't you?" demanded Brennan from the bridge of his new ship. "Have you some prejudice against the Irish?" The stern hawser was already being run out, and the crowd was edging closer, waiting for the gangplank.
"There is smallpox here, and as health officer I've quarantined the port."
There came a burst of Elizabethan profanity from the little skipper, but it was drowned by the shout from shore as the full meaning of the situation finally came home. Then the waiting men made a rush for the ship. She had not touched as yet, however, and the distance between her and the pier was too great to leap. Above the confusion came Brennan's voice, through a megaphone, commanding them to stand back. Some one traitorously cast off the loop of the bow line, the ship's propellers began to thrash, and the big steel hull backed away inch by inch, foot by foot, until, amid curses and cries of rage, she described a majestic circle and plowed off up the sound toward Hope.
By a narrow margin the physician reached his hospital ahead of the infuriated mob, and it was well that he did so, for they were in a lynching mood. But, once within his own premises, he made a show of determined resistance that daunted them, and they sullenly retired. That night Omar rang with threats and deep-breathed curses, and Eliza Appleton, in the garb of a nurse, tended her patient cheerfully.
To the delegation which waited upon him the next morning, Dr. Gray explained the nature of his duties as health officer, informing them coolly that no living soul could leave Omar without incurring legal penalties. Since he could prevent any ships from landing, and inasmuch as the United States marshal was present to enforce the quarantine, he seemed to be master of the situation.
"How long will we be tied up?" demanded the spokesman of the party.
"That is hard to say."
"Well, we're going to leave this camp!" the man declared, darkly.
"Indeed? Where are you going?"
"We're going to Hope. You might as well let us go. We won't stand for this."
The physician eyed him coldly. "You won't? May I ask how you are going to help yourselves?"
"We're going to leave on the next steamer."
"Oh, no you're not!" the marshal spoke up.
"See here, Doc! There's over two hundred of us and we can't stay here; we'll go broke."
Gray shrugged his broad shoulders. "Sorry," he said, "but you see I've no choice in the matter. I never saw a case of smallpox that looked worse."
"It's a frame-up," growled the spokesman. "Tom hasn't got smallpox any more than I have. You cooked it to keep us here." There was an angry second to this, whereupon the doctor exclaimed:
"You think so, eh? Then just come with me."
"Where?"
"Out to the boat where he is. I'll show you."
"You won't show me no smallpox," asserted one of the committee.
"Then YOU come with me," the physician urged the leader.
"So you can bottle me up, too? No, thank you!"
"Get the town photographer with his flashlight. We'll help him make a picture; then you can show it to the others. I promise not to quarantine you."
After some hesitation the men agreed to this; the photographer was summoned and joined the party on its way to the floating pest-house.
It was not a pleasant place in which they found Tom Slater, for the cabin of the fishing-boat was neither light nor airy, but Eliza had done much to make it agreeable. The sick man was propped up in his bunk and playing solitaire, but he left off his occupation to groan as the new-comers came alongside.
When the cause of the visit had been made known, however, he rebelled.
"I won't pose for no camera fiend," he declared, loudly. "It ain't decent and I'm too sick. D'you take me for a bearded lady or a living skeleton?"
"These men think you're stalling," Dr. Gray told him.
"Who? Me?" Slater rolled an angry eye upon the delegation. "I ain't sick, eh? I s'pose I'm doing this for fun? I wish you had it, that's all."
The three members of the committee of investigation wisely halted at the foot of the companionway stairs where the fresh air fanned them; they were nervous and ill at ease.
Drawing his covers closer, Slater shouted:
"Close that hatch, you bone-heads! I'm blowing away!"
The photographer ventured to remonstrate.
"It's mighty close in here, Doc. Is it safe to breathe the bugs?"
"Perfectly safe," Gray assured him. "At least Miss Appleton hasn't suffered yet."
As a matter of fact the patient betrayed no symptoms of a wasting illness, for his cheeks were ruddy, he had eaten three hearty meals each day, and the enforced rest had done him good, so the committee saw nothing about him to satisfy their suspicions. But when Tom weakly called upon them for assistance in rising they shrank back and one of them exclaimed:
"I wouldn't touch you with a fish-pole."
Eliza came forward, however; she permitted her charge to lean upon her while she adjusted the pillows at his back; but when Dr. Gray ordered him to bare his breast and arms Slater refused positively. He blushed, he stammered, he clutched his nightrobe with a horny hand which would have required a cold chisel to loosen, and not until Eliza had gone upon deck would he consent to expose his bulging chest.
But Miss Appleton had barely left the cabin when she was followed by the most timid member of the delegation. He plunged up the stairs, gasping:
"I've saw enough! He's got it, and got it bad."
A moment later came the dull sound of the exploding flashlight, then a yell, and out of the smoke stumbled his two companions. The spokesman, it appeared, had also seen enough—too much—for with another yell he leaped the rail and made for shore. Fortunately the tide was out and the water low; he left a trail across the mud flat like that of a frightened hippopotamus.
When the two conspirators were finally alone upon the deck they rocked in each other's arms, striving to stifle their laughter. Meanwhile from the interior of the cabin came the feeble moans of the invalid.
That evening hastily made photographs of the sick man were shown upon the streets. Nor could the most skeptical deny that he presented a revolting sight and one warranting Dr. Gray's precautions. In spite of this evidence, however, threats against the physician continued to be made freely; but when Eliza expressed fears for his safety he only smiled grimly, and he stalked through the streets with such defiance written on his heavy features that no man dared raise a hand against him.
Day after day the quarantine continued, and at length some of the men went back to work. As others exhausted their wages they followed. In a fortnight Omar was once more free of its floating population and work at the front was going forward as usual. Meanwhile the patient recovered in marvelous fashion and was loud in his thanks to the physician who had brought him through so speedily. Yet Gray stubbornly refused to raise the embargo.
Finally the cause of the whole trouble appeared at the hospital and begged to be released.
"You put it over me," said Mr. Linn. "I've had enough and I want to get out."
"I don't know what you're talking about," answered the doctor. "No one can leave here now."
"I know it wasn't smallpox at all, but it worked just the same, I'll leave your men alone if you'll let me go out on the next Seattle steamer."
"But—I thought you came from Hope?" Gray said, blandly.
Mr. Linn shifted his eyes and laughed uneasily. "I did, and I'm going to keep coming from Hope. You don't think I'd dare to go back after this, do you?"
"Why not?"
"Gordon would kill me."
"So! Mr. Gordon sent you?"
"You know he did. But—I've got to get out now. I'm broke."
"I didn't think it of Gordon!" The doctor shook his head sadly. "How underhanded of him!"
Linn exploded desperately: "Don't let's four-flush. You were too slick for him, and you sewed me up. I've spent the money he gave me and now I'm flat."
"You look strong. We need men."
Gordon's emissary turned pale. "Say! You wouldn't set me to work? Why, those men would string me up."
"I think not. I've spoken to the shift boss at mile 30, and he'll take care you're not hurt so long as you work hard and keep your mouth shut."
An hour later Mr. Linn, cursing deeply, shouldered his pack and tramped out the grade, nor could he obtain food or shelter until he had covered those thirty weary miles. Once at his destination, he was only too glad to draw a numbered tag and fall to work with pick and shovel, but at his leisure he estimated that it would take him until late the following month to earn his fare to the States.
Dan Appleton entered the bungalow one evening, wet and tired from his work, to find Eliza pacing the floor in agitation.
"What's the matter, Sis?" he inquired, with quick concern.
His sister pointed to a copy of The Review which that day's mail had brought.
"Look at that!" she cried. "Read it!"
"Oh! Your story, eh?"
"Read it!"
He read a column, and then glanced up to find her watching him with angry eyes.
"Gee! That's pretty rough on the chief, Kid. I thought you liked him," he said, gravely.
"I do! I do! Don't you understand, dummy? I didn't write that! They've changed my story—distorted it. I'm—FURIOUS!"
Dan whistled softly. "I didn't suppose they'd try anything like that, but—they did a good job while they were at it. Why, you'd think O'Neil was a grafter and the S. R. & N. nothing but a land-grabbing deal."
"How DARED they?" the girl cried. "The actual changes aren't so many—just enough to alter the effect of the story—but that's what makes it so devilish. For instance, I described the obstacles and the handicaps Mr. O'Neil has had to overcome in order to show the magnitude of his enterprise, but Drake has altered it so that the physical conditions here seem to be insuperable and he makes me say that the road is doomed to failure. That's the way he changed it all through."
"It may topple the chief's plans over; they're very insecure. It plays right into the hands of his enemies, too, and of course Gordon's press bureau will make the most of it."
"Heavens! I want sympathy, not abuse!" wailed his sister. "It's all due to the policy of The Review. Drake thinks everybody up here is a thief. I dare say they are, but—How can I face Mr. O'Neil?"
Dan shook the paper in his fist. "Are you going to stand for this?" he demanded.
"Hardly! I cabled the office this morning, and here's Drake's answer." She read:
"'Stuff colorless. Don't allow admiration warp judgment.' Can you beat that?"
"He thinks you've surrendered to Murray, like all the others."
"I hate him!" cried Eliza. "I detest him!"
"Who? O'Neil or Drake?"
"Both. Mr. O'Neil for putting me in the position of a traitor, and Drake for presuming to rewrite my stuff. I'm going to resign, and I'm going to leave Omar before Murray O'Neil comes back."
"Don't be a quitter, Sis. If you throw up the job the paper will send somebody who will lie about us to suit the policy of the office. Show 'em where they're wrong; show 'em what this country needs. You have your magazine stories to write."
Eliza shook her head. "Bother the magazines and the whole business! I'm thinking about Mr. O'Neil. I—I could cry. I suppose I'll have to stay and explain to him, but—then I'll go home."
"No! You'll stay right here and go through with this thing. I need you."
"You? What for?"
"You can perform a great and a signal service for your loving brother. He's in terrible trouble!"
"What's wrong, Danny?" Eliza's anger gave instant place to solicitude. "You—you haven't STOLEN anything?"
"Lord, no! What put that into your head?"
"I don't know—except that's the worst thing that could happen to us. I like to start with the worst."
"I can't sulk in the jungle any more. I'm a rotten loser, Sis."
"Oh! You mean—Natalie? You—like her?"
"For a writer you select the most foolish words! Like, love, adore, worship—words are no good, anyway. I'm dippy; I'm out of my head; I've lost my reason. I'm deliriously happy and miserably unhappy. I—"
"That's enough!" the girl exclaimed. "I can imagine the rest."
"It was a fatal mistake for her to come to Omar, and to this very house, of all places, where I could see her every day. I might have recovered from the first jolt if I'd never seen her again, but—" He waved his hands hopelessly. "I'm beginning to hate O'Neil."
"You miserable traitor!" gasped Eliza.
"Yep! That's me! I'm dead to loyalty, lost to the claims of friendship. I've fought myself until I'm black in the face, but—it's no use. I must have Natalie!"
"She's crazy about O'Neil."
"Seems to be, for a fact, but that doesn't alter my fix. I can't live this way. You must help me or I'll lose my reason."
"Nonsense! You haven't any or you wouldn't talk like this. What can I do?"
"It's simple! Be nice to Murray and—and win him away from her."
Eliza stared at him as though she really believed him daft. Then she said, mockingly:
"Is that all? Just make him love me?"
Dan nodded. "That would be fine, if you could manage it."
"Why—you—you—I—" She gasped uncertainly for terms in which to voice her indignant surprise. "Idiot!" she finally exclaimed.
"Thanks for such glowing praise," Dan said, forlornly. "I feel a lot worse than an idiot. An idiot is not necessarily evil; at heart he may be likable, and pathetic, and merely unfortunate—"
"You simply can't be in earnest!"
"I am, though!" He turned upon her eyes which had grown suddenly old and weary with longing.
"You poor, foolish boy! In the first place, Mr. O'Neil will hate me for this story. In the second place, no man would look at me. I'm ugly—"
"I think you're beautiful."
"With my snub nose, and big mouth, and—"
"You can make him laugh, and when a woman can make a fellow laugh the rest is easy."
"In the third place I'm mannish and—vulgar, and besides—I don't care for him."
"Of course you don't, or I wouldn't ask it. You see, we're taking no risks! You can at least take up his attention and—and when you see him making for Natalie you can put out your foot and trip him up."
"It wouldn't be honorable, Danny."
"Possibly! But that doesn't make any difference with me. You may as well realize that I've got beyond the point where nice considerations of that sort weigh with me. If you'd ever been in love you'd understand that such things don't count at all. It's your chance to save the reason and happiness of an otherwise perfectly good brother."
"There is nothing I wouldn't do for your happiness—nothing. But—Oh, it's preposterous!"
Dan relapsed into gloomy silence, and they had a very uncomfortable meal. Unable to bear his continued lack of spirits, Eliza again referred to the subject, and tried until late in the evening to argue him out of his mood. But the longer they talked the more plainly she saw that his feeling for Natalie was not fanciful, but sincere and deep. She continued to scout his suggestion that she could help him by captivating O'Neil, and stoutly maintained that she had no attraction for men; nevertheless, when she went to her room she examined herself critically in her mirror. This done, she gave herself over to her favorite relaxation.
First she exchanged her walking-skirt, her prim shirtwaist and jacket, for a rose-pink wrapper which she furtively brought out of a closet. It was a very elaborate wrapper, all fluffy lace and ruffles and bows, and it had cost Eliza a sum which she strove desperately to forget. She donned silk stockings and a pair of tiny bedroom slippers; then seating herself once more at her dresser, she let down her hair. She invariably wore it tightly drawn back—so tightly, in fact, that Dan had more than once complained that it pulled her eyebrows out of place. On this occasion, however, she crimped it, she curled it, she brought it forward about her face in soft riotous puffs and strands, patting it into becoming shape with dexterous fingers until it formed a golden frame for her piquant features.
Now this was no unusual performance for her. In the midnight solitude of her chamber she regularly gave rein to the feminine side of her nature. By day she was the severe, matter-of-fact, businesslike Eliza Appleton, deaf to romance, lost to illusion, and unresponsive to masculine attention; but deep in her heart were all the instincts and longings of femininity, and at such times as this they came uppermost. Her bedroom had none of the Puritanical primness which marked her habit of dress; it was in no way suggestive of the masculine character which she so proudly paraded upon the street. On the contrary, it was a bower of daintiness, and was crowded with all the senseless fripperies of a school-girl. Carefully hidden away beneath her starched shirtwaists was much lingerie—bewildering creations to match the pink wrapper—and this she petted and talked to adoringly when no one could hear.
Eliza read much when she was unobserved—romances and improbable tales of fine ladies and gallant squires. There were times, too, when she wrote, chewing her pencil in the perplexities of vividly colored love scenes; but she always destroyed these manuscripts before the curious sun could spy upon her labors. In such ecstatic flights of fancy the beautiful heroine was a languorous brunette with hair of raven hue and soulful eyes in which slumbered the mystery of a tropic night. She had a Grecian nose, moreover, and her name was Violet.
From all this it may be gathered that Eliza Appleton was by no means the extraordinary person she seemed. Beneath her false exterior she was shamelessly normal.
In the days before O'Neil's return she suffered constant misgivings and qualms of conscience, but the sight of her brother reveling, expanding, fairly bursting into bloom beneath the influence of Natalie Gerard led her to think that perhaps she did have a duty to perform. Dan's cause was hers, and while she had only the faintest hope of aiding it, she was ready to battle for his happiness with every weapon at her command. The part she would have to play was not exactly nice, she reflected, but—the ties of sisterhood were strong and she would have made any sacrifice for Dan. She knew that Natalie was fond of him in a casual, friendly way, and although it was evident that the girl accorded him none of that hero-worship with which she favored his chief, Eliza began to think there still might be some hope for him. Since we are all prone to argue our consciences into agreement with our desires, she finally brought herself to the belief that O'Neil was not the man for Natalie. He was too old, too confirmed in his ways, and too self-centered to make a good husband for a girl of her age and disposition. Once her illusions had been rubbed away through daily contact with him, she would undoubtedly awaken to his human faults, and unhappiness would result for both. What Natalie needed for her lasting contentment was a boy her own age whose life would color to match hers. So argued Eliza with that supreme satisfaction which we feel in arranging the affairs of others to suit ourselves.
She was greatly embarrassed, nevertheless, when she next met O'Neil and tried to explain that story in The Review. He listened courteously and smiled his gentle smile.
"My dear," said he, finally, "I knew there had been some mistake, so let's forget that it ever happened. Now tell me about the smallpox epidemic. When I heard what Linn was doing with our men I was badly worried, for I couldn't see how to checkmate him, but it seems you and Doc were equal to the occasion. He cabled me a perfectly proper announcement of Tom's quarantine, and I believed we had been favored by a miracle."
"It wasn't a miracle at all," Eliza said in a matter-of-fact tone; "it was croton oil. Nobody has dared tell him the truth. He still believes he could smell the tuberoses."
O'Neil seemed to derive great amusement from her account of what followed. He had already heard Dr. Gray's version of the affair, but Eliza had a refreshing way of saying things.
"I brought you a little present," he said when she had finished.
She took the package he handed her, exclaiming with a slight flush of embarrassment, "A s'prise! Nobody but Dan ever gave me a present." Then her eyes darkened with suspicion. "Did you bring me this because of what I did?"
"Now don't be silly! I knew nothing about your part in the comedy until Doc told me. You are a most difficult person."
Slowly she unwrapped the parcel, and then with a gasp lifted a splendidly embroidered kimono from its box.
"Oh-h!" Her eyes were round and astonished. "Oh-h! It's for ME!"
It was a regal garment of heavy silk, superbly ornamented with golden dragons, each so cunningly worked that it seemed upon the point of taking wing. "Why, their eyes glitter! And—they'd breathe fire if I jabbed them. Oh-h!" She stared at the gift in helpless amazement. "Is it mine, HONESTLY?"
He nodded. "Won't you put it on?"
"Over these things? Never!" Again Miss Appleton blushed, for she recalled that she had prepared for his coming with extraordinary care. Her boots were even stouter than usual, her skirt more plain, her waist more stiff, and her hair more tightly smoothed back. "It would take a fluffy person to wear this. I'll always keep it, of course, and—I'll worship it, but I'm not designed for pretty clothes. I'll let Natalie wear—"
"Natalie has one of her own, done in butterflies, and I brought one to her mother also."
"And you bought this for me after you had seen that fiendish story over my signature?"
"Certainly!" He quickly forestalled her attempted thanks by changing the subject. "Now then, Dan tells me you are anxious to begin your magazine-work, so I'm going to arrange for you to see the glaciers and the coal-fields. It will be a hard trip, for the track isn't through yet, but—"
"Oh, I'll take care of myself; I won't get in anybody's way," she said, eagerly.
"I intend to see that you don't, by going with you; so make your preparations and we'll leave as soon as I can get away."
When he had gone the girl said, aloud:
"Eliza Violet, this is your chance. It's underhanded and mean, but—you're a mean person, and the finger of Providence is directing you." She snatched up the silken kimono and ran into her room, locking the door behind her. Hurriedly she put it on, then posed before the mirror. Next down came her hair amid a shower of pins. She arranged it loosely about her face, and, ripping an artificial flower from her "party" hat, placed it over her ear, then swayed grandly to and fro while the golden dragons writhed and curved as if in joyous admiration. A dozen times she slipped out of the garment and, gathering it to her face, kissed it; a dozen times she donned it, strutting about her little room like a peacock. Her tip-tilted nose was red and her eyes were wet when at last she laid it out upon her bed and knelt with her cheek against it.
"Gee! If only I were pretty!" she sighed, "I almost believe he—likes me."
Tom Slater laboriously propelled himself up the hill to the bungalow that evening, and seated himself on the topmost step near where Eliza was rocking. She had come to occupy a considerable place in his thoughts of late, for she was quite beyond his understanding. She affected him as a mental gad-fly, stinging his mind into an activity quite unusual. At times he considered her a nice girl, though undoubtedly insane; then there were other moments when she excited his deepest animosity. Again, on rare occasions she completely upset all his preconceived notions by being so friendly and so sympathetic that she made him homesick for his own daughter. In his idle hours, therefore he spent much time at the Appleton cottage.
"Where have you been lately, Uncle Tom?" she began.
Slater winced at the appellation, but ignored it.
"I've been out on the delta hustling supplies ahead. Heard the news?"
"No."
"Curtis Gordon has bought the McDermott outfit in Kyak."
"That tells me nothing. Who is McDermott?"
"He's a shoe-stringer. He had a wildcat plan to build a railroad from Kyak to the coal-fields, but he never got farther than a row of alder stakes and a book of press clippings."
"Does that mean that Gordon abandons his Hope route?"
"Yep! He's swung in behind us and the Heidlemanns. Now it's a three-sided race, with us in the lead. Mellen just brought in the news half an hour ago; he was on his way down from the glaciers when he ran into a field party of Gordon's surveyors. Looks like trouble ahead if they try to crowd through the canon alongside of us."
"He must believe Kyak Bay will make a safe harbor."
"Don't say it! If he's right, we're fried to a nice brown finish on both sides and it's time to take us off the stove. I'm praying for a storm."
"'The prayers of the wicked are an abomination unto the Lord,'" quoted Eliza.
"Sure! But I keep right on praying just the same. It's a habit now. The news has set the chief to jumping sideways."
"Which, translated, I suppose means that he is disturbed."
"Or words to that effect! Too bad they changed that newspaper story of yours."
"Yes."
"It put a crimp in him."
"How—do you mean?"
"He had some California capitalists tuned up to put in three million dollars, but when they read that our plan was impracticable their fountain-pens refused to work."
"Oh!" Eliza gasped, faintly.
Slater regarded her curiously, then shook his head. "Funny how a kid like you can scare a bunch of hard-headed bankers, ain't it?" he said. "Doc Gray explained that it wasn't your fault, but—it doesn't take much racket to frighten the big fish."
"What will Mr. O'Neil do?"
"Oh, he'll fight it out, I s'pose. The first thing is to block Gordon. Say, I brought you a present."
"This is my lucky day," smiled Eliza as Tom fumbled in his pocket. "I'm sure I shall love it."
"It ain't much, but it was the best in the crate and I shined it up on my towel." Mr. Slater handed Eliza a fine red apple of prodigious size, at sight of which the girl turned pale.
"I—don't like apples," she cried, faintly.
"Never mind; they're good for your complexion."
"I'd die before I'd eat one."
"Then I'll eat it for you; my complexion ain't what it was before I had the smallpox." When he had carried out this intention and subjected his teeth to a process of vacuum-cleaning, he asked: "Say, what happened to your friend who chewed gum?"
"Well, he was hardly a friend," Miss Appleton said, "If he had been a real friend he would have listened to my warning."
"Gum never hurt anybody," Slater averred, argumentatively.
"Not ordinary gum. But you see, he chewed nothing except wintergreen—"
"That's what I chew."
Eliza's tone was one of shocked amazement. "Not REALLY? Oh, well, some people would thrive on it, I dare say, but he had indigestion."
"Me too! That's why I chew it."
The girl eyed him during an uncomfortable pause. Finally she inquired:
"Do you ever feel a queer, gnawing feeling, like hunger, if you go without your breakfast?"
"Unh-hunh! Don't you?"
"I wouldn't alarm you for the world, Uncle Tom—"
"I ain't your uncle!"
"You might chew the stuff for years and not feel any bad effects, but if you wake up some morning feeling tired and listless—"
"I've done that, too." Slater's gloomy eyes were fixed upon her with a look of vague apprehension. "Is it a symptom?"
"Certainly! Pepsin-poisoning, it's called. This fellow I told you about was a charming man, and since we had all tried so hard to save him, we felt terribly at the end."
"Then he died?"
"Um-m! Yes and no. Remind me to tell you the story sometime—Here comes Dan, in a great hurry."
Young Appleton came panting up the hill.
"Good-by, Sis," he said. "I'm off for the front in ten minutes."
"Anybody hurt?" Slater asked quickly.
"Not yet, but somebody's liable to be. Gordon is trying to steal the canon, and Murray has ordered me out with a car of dynamite to hold it."
"Dynamite! Why, Dan!" his sister exclaimed in consternation.
"We have poling-boats at the lower crossing and we'll be at the canon in two days. I'm going to load the hillside with shots, and if they try to come through I'll set 'em off. They'll never dare tackle it." Dan's eyes were dancing; his face was alive with excitement.
"But suppose they should?" Eliza insisted, quietly.
"Then send Doc Gray with some stretchers. I owe one to Gordon, and this is my chance." Drawing her aside, he said in an undertone. "You've got to hold my ground with Natalie while I'm gone. Don't let her see too much of Murray."
"I'll do the best I can," she answered him, "but if he seems to be in earnest I'll renig, no matter what happens to you, Danny."
He kissed her affectionately and fled.