CHAPTER XVIII
WAYS THAT ARE DARK
The people of Snake's Fall were in the throes of that artificialexcitement which ever accompanies the prospect of immediate and flowingwealth in a community which has been feverishly striving with anegative result.
Nor was this excitement a healthy or agreeable wave of emotion. It wasaggressive and vulgar. It was hectoring and full of a blatantself-advertisement. Men who had never done better for themselves thana third-rate hotel, or who had never used anything more luxurious thana street car for locomotion in their ordinary daily life, now talkedlargely of Plaza hotels and automobiles, of real estate corners andbank balances. They sought by every subterfuge to exercise thedominance of their own personalities in the affairs of the place, onlythat they might the further enhance their individual advantage.Schemes for building and trading were in everybody's minds, and money,so long held tight under the pressure of doubt, now began to flow inone incessant stream towards the coffers of the already establishedtraders.
Every boom city is more or less alike, and Snake's Fall was novariation to the rule. Gambling commenced in deadly earnest, and thesharpers, with the eye of the vulture for carrion, descended upon theplace. How word had reached them would have been impossible to tell.Then came the accompaniment of loose houses, and every other evil whichseems to settle upon such places like a pestilential cloud.
To Gordon, looking on and waiting, it was all a matter of the keenestinterest, not untinged with a certain wholesome-minded disgust, andwhen he sometimes spoke of it in the little family circle at the ranch,or to the worldly-wise Mike Callahan in his barn, his talk was neverwithout a hint of real regret.
"It makes a feller feel kind of squeamish watching these folks," heobserved to Mike, as they sat smoking in the latter's harness-room oneafternoon. "You see, if I didn't know the whole game was lying in thepalm of my hand I'd just simply sicken at the sordidness of it. Wecan't feel that way, though. We're worse than them. They're just deadin earnest to beat the game by the accepted rules of it, which don'tdebar general crookedness. We're out to win by sheer piracy. Makesyou laugh, doesn't it? Makes it a good play."
Mike was older, and had been brought up in a hard school.
"Feelin's don't count one way or the other, I guess," he repliedcontemptuously. "When it comes to takin' the dollars out of the otherfeller's pocket I'm allus ready and willin'. You can allus help himout after you beat him. Private charity after the deal is a sort ofliqueur after a good dinner."
"Charity?" Gordon laughed.
"Well, maybe you got another name for it," retorted Mike indifferently.
"Several," laughed Gordon. "Rob a man and give him something backneeds another name."
"They call it 'charity' in the newspapers when them philanthropistshand back part of the wad they've collected from a deludedpublic--anyway. It don't seem different to me." Mike's tone wassharply argumentative.
"It isn't different," agreed Gordon. "They're both a salve toconscience. The only thing is that public charity of the latter naturehas the advantage of personal advertisement. I'm learning things,Mike. I'm learning that the moment you get groping for dollars, you'vejust tied up into a sack all the goodness and virtue handed out to youby the Creator and--drowned it."
Though Gordon was never able to carry any sort of conviction on thesematters with Mike, his occasional regrets found a cordial sympathy inHazel Mallinsbee. She watched him very closely during the days ofwaiting for the maturity of his schemes. She knew the impulse whichhad inspired him. She understood it thoroughly. It was humor, and sheliked him all the better for it. She realized to the full all thedepth of love Gordon possessed for his father, an affection which wasnot one whit the less for the fact that to all intents and purposes hisobject was the highway robbery of that parent.
It was something of a paradox, but one which she perfectly understood.She felt that it was a case of two strong personalities opposed to eachother in friendly rivalry. Gordon had propounded his beliefs to a manof great capacity whose convictions were opposed. Opportunity hadserved the younger man, who now intended to drive his point homeruthlessly, with a deep, kindly humor lying behind his every act. Shecould imagine, though she had never seen James Carbhoy, these two men,big and strong and kindly, sitting opposite each other, smokingluxuriously when it was all over, discussing the whole situation in thefriendliest possible spirit.
Her father offered little comment. Curiously enough, this man, who hadso much at stake, deep in his heart did not approve of the whole thing.It was not that he possessed ordinary scruples. Had the conspiracybeen opposed to anybody but Gordon's father he would have been heartand soul in the affair. He would have reveled in the daring of thetrick which Gordon intended to carry out. As it was, he wasold-fashioned enough to see some sort of heinous ingratitude andoffense in the fact of a son pitted piratically against his father.
However, he, like his daughter, watched closely for every sign this sonof his father gave. But while Hazel watched with sympathy and realunderstanding, he saw only with the searching eyes of the observer whois seeking the manner of man with whom he is dealing.
Once only, during the days of waiting and comparative inaction, he gavevent to his disapproval, and even then his manner was purely that ofregret.
They were sitting together in the evening sunlight on the veranda ofthe ranch.
"Gordon, boy," he said in his deep, rumbling voice, after a long,thoughtful pause; "if I had a son, which I guess I haven't, it wouldhurt like sin to think he'd act towards me same as you're doing to yourfather."
His remark did not bring forth an immediate reply. When, however, itfinally came, accompanied as it was by twinkling, mischievous blueeyes, and a smile of infinite amusement, Hazel, who was standing in thedoorway of the house, fully understood, although it left her fatherunconvinced.
"If you were my father, I guess you wouldn't hate it a--little bit,"Gordon said cheerfully. Then his eyes wandered in Hazel's direction,and presently came back again to her father's face. "Maybe I'll livemany a long year yet, and if I do I can tell you right here thatperhaps there'll only be one greater moment in my life, than the momentin which we win out on this scheme. I just want you to remember, allthrough, that I love my old dad with all that's in me. Same as Hazelloves you."
From that moment Gordon heard no further protest throughout all thepreparations that had to be made. Silas Mallinsbee cheerfullyacquiesced in all that was demanded of him. Furthermore, he tacitlyacknowledged Gordon's absolute leadership.
Under that leadership much had to be done of a subtle, secret nature.The impression had to be created that the Buffalo Point interests hadcompletely abandoned the game. It was an anxious time--anxious andwatchful. David Slosson was kept under close surveillance by the fourconspirators, and, to this end, Gordon and Silas Mallinsbee spent mostof their time in Snake's Fall, which further added to the impressionthat their interests had been abandoned.
Having succeeded in bribing Steve Mason, the telegraph operator, in thefirst place, Peter McSwain further bought him body and soul over totheir interests. Mallinsbee's purse was wide open for all suchcontingencies, and Steve was left with the comfortable feeling that,whatever happened, he had made sufficient money to throw up his jobbefore any crash came, and clear out to safety with a capital he couldnever have honestly made out of his work.
Thus Gordon had been enabled at last to dispatch his urgent codemessage to his father, purporting as it did to come from David Slosson.It was an irresistible demand for the Union Grayling and UkatawRailroad President's immediate presence in Snake's Fall. It had beenmade as strong as David Slosson would have dared to make it. Nor, whenthe answer to it arrived, would it ever reach the agent. Nothing wasforgotten. Every detail had been prepared for with a forethoughtalmost incredible in a man of Gordon's temperament and experience.
It was late evening the second day after the dispatching of Gordon'surgent message. He had not long r
eturned home to the ranch withHazel's father from a day amidst the excitement reigning in Snake'sFall. Hazel was in the house clearing away supper and generallysuperintending her domestic affairs. Silas Mallinsbee was round at thecorrals in consultation with his ranch foreman. Gordon was alone onthe veranda smoking and gazing thoughtfully out at the wonderful ruddysunset.
For him there was none of the peace which prevailed over the scene thatspread out before him. How could there be? Every moment of the twodays which had intervened since the dispatching of his message had beenfraught with tense, nervous doubt. Every plan he had made depended onthe answer to that message, and he felt that the time-limit for theanswer's arrival had been reached. It must come now within a fewhours. He felt that he must get it to-morrow morning or never. Andwhen it came what--what then? Would it be the reply he desired, or anuncompromising negative? He felt that the whole thing depended uponthe relations between his father and his agent. He was inclined tothink, from the very nature of the work his father had intrusted toSlosson, that those relations were of the greatest confidence. Hehoped it was so, but he could not be absolutely sure. Therefore thestrain of waiting was hard to bear.
While his busy thoughts teemed through his brain, and hisunappreciative gaze roamed over the purpling of the distant hills, hisears, rendered unusually acute in the deep evening calm, suddenlycaught the faint, distant rumble of a vehicle moving over the trail.
His quick eyes turned alertly. There was only one trail, and that wasthe road to Snake's Fall. The alertness of his eyes communicateditself to his body. He moved off the veranda and gazed down the trail,of which he now obtained a clear view. A team and buggy wereapproaching at a rapid rate, and, even at that distance, he fancied herecognized it as the one of Mike Callahan's which he had himself driven.
A wave of excitement swept over him. Could it be that----?
He went back to the veranda. The impulse to summon Mallinsbee was hardto resist. But he forced himself to calmness.
Five minutes later Mike Callahan drove up, and his team stood droopingand sweating.
"Say," he cried, in aggrieved fashion, "it jest set me whoopin' madwhen that wire-tappin' operator fell into my barn with his blamedmessage, twenty minutes after you an' Mallinsbee had left. Look at thetime of it. It had buzzed over the wire ha'f an hour before you went."Then he began to grin, and a keen light shone in his Irish eyes. "Butwhen I see who it was from I guessed I'd need to get busy. 'Tain't inyour fancy code. It's jest as plain as my face. Read it. The game'sup to us. Guess it's our move next."
But Gordon was paying no attention to the Irishman. He was reading thebrief message which at last set all his doubts at rest.
"Arrive Snake's Fall noon seventeenth."
It was addressed to Slosson, but there was no signature.
"That's to-morrow." Gordon's eyes lit. Then a shadow of doubt crossedhis smiling face. "It's dead safe Steve hasn't sent a copy to Slosson?"
Mike grinned.
"Steve don't draw his wad till--we're sure."
"No."
At that moment Mallinsbee appeared round the angle of the building.Gordon's face was wreathed in smiles as he turned to him.
"We get to work--to-night," he said.
Mallinsbee nodded, without a sign of the other's excitement.
"So I guessed when I see Mike's team. Peter wise?"
"Yep." The Irishman's spirits had risen to a great pitch. "I put himwise."
"Splendid. He's got everything ready?"
Gordon was thinking rapidly.
"Better send your team round to the barn," said Mallinsbee, with thatthoughtful care he had for all animals. "Then come inside and get somesupper."
Mike prepared to drive round to the barn.
"I see the rack in his yard," he grinned.
"Good."
Then Gordon laughed. The last care had been banished. Now it wasaction. Now? Ah, now he was perfectly happy.
The night was intensely still. The last revelers in Snake's Fall hadbetaken themselves to their drunken slumbers. The only lightsremaining were the glow of a small cluster of red lamps just outsidethe town at the eastern end of it, and the peeping lights behind thecurtained windows of the houses to which these belonged. There was noneed to question the nature of these houses. In the West they are tobe found on the fringe of every young town that offers the prospect ofprosperity.
There was a single light burning in the hall of McSwain's hotel. Thiswas as usual, and would burn all night. For the rest, the house was indarkness. The last guest had retired to rest a full hour or more.
The stillness was profound. The very profundity of it was onlyincreased by the occasional long-drawn dole of the prairie coyote,foraging somewhere out in the distance for its benighted prey.
The shadowed outbuildings behind the hotel remained for a long time asquiet as the rest of the world. The horses in the barn were sleepingpeacefully. The fowls and turkeys and geese which populated the yardin daylight were as profoundly steeped with sleep as the rest of thefeathered world. Even the two aged husky dogs, set there on thepresumption of keeping guard, were composed for the night.
But after awhile sounds began to emanate from the dark barn. With thefirst sound a dog-chain rattled, and immediately a low voice spoke.After that the dog-chain remained still. Next came the sound of hoofson the hard sand floor of the barn. They were hasty, but swiftlypassing. The last sound was heard as two horses emerged upon the open,each led by a shadowy figure quite unrecognizable in the velvetydarkness of the starlit night.
The horses moved across towards the vague outline of a large hayrackwhich stood mounted in the running gear of a dismantled wagon, and thefigures leading them began at once to hook them up in place. Whilethis was happening two other figures were loading the rack with hayfrom the corral near by, in which stood a half-cut haystack. Theirwork seemed to be more intricate than the usual process of loading ahayrack. There seemed to be a sort of wide and long cage in the bottomof the rack, and the hay needed careful placing to leave the interiorof this free, while yet surrounding it completely and rendering itabsolutely obscured.
In less than half an hour the work was completed, and the four mengathered together and conversed in low voices.
After this a fresh movement took place. The group broke up, and eachmoved off as though to carry out affairs already agreed upon. One manmounted the rack and took up his position for driving the team.Another stood near the rear of the wagon and remained waiting, whilstthe other two moved towards the hotel.
These latter parted as they neared the building. One of them enteredit through the back door, and as he came within the radiance of thesolitary oil-lamp it became apparent that his face was completelymasked. He moved stealthily forward, listening for any unwelcomesound, mounted the staircase, and was immediately swallowed up by thedarkness of the corridor above.
Meanwhile his companion had taken another route. He had moved alongthe building to the left of the back door. His objective was the ironfire-escape which went up to the gallery outside the upper windows.
He found it almost at the end of the building, and began the ascent.In a few moments he was at the top, and, moving along the narrow irongallery, he counted the windows as he passed them. At the fifth windowhe paused and examined it. The blind inside was withdrawn, and he ranover in his mind the various details which had been given him. He knewthat the latch inside had been carefully removed.
He tried the window cautiously. It moved easily to his pressure, and asmile stole over his masked features when he remembered that amplegrease had been placed in its slipway. It was good to think that thesecontingencies had been so carefully provided for.
The window was sufficiently open. The process had been entirelysoundless, but he bent down and listened intently. Far away, somewhereinside, he could hear the sound of deep breathing. He made his nextmove quickly and stealthily. One leg was raised and thrust through theopening, a
nd, bending his great body nearly double, he made his wayinto the room beyond.
Pausing for a few moments to assure himself that the sleeper in theadjoining room had not been disturbed, he next made his way towards thedoor, aided by the light of a silent sulphur match. He quicklywithdrew the bolt, and was immediately joined by the man who hadentered the hotel through the back door.
Now he turned his attention to the room itself. Yes, everything was ashe had been told. It was a largish room, and a small archway, hungwith heavy curtains, divided it from another. The portion he hadentered was furnished as a parlor, and beyond the curtains was thebedroom. Signing to his companion to remain where he was, he movedswiftly and silently to the heavy drawn curtains. For a second helistened to the breathing beyond; then he parted them and vanishedwithin.
David Slosson awoke out of a heavy sleep with a sudden nightmarishstart. He thought some one was calling him, shouting his name aloud ina terrified voice.
But now he was wide awake in the pitch-dark room: no sound broke thesilence. He was on his back, and he made to turn over on to his side.Instantly something cold and hard encountered his cheek and awhispering voice broke the silence.
"One word and you're a dead man!" said the voice. "Just keep quitestill and don't speak, and you won't come to any harm."
David Slosson was no fool, nor was he a coward, but, amongst his othermany experiences on the fringe of civilization, he had learned thepower of a gun held right. He knew that his cheek had encountered thecold muzzle of a gun. Shocked and startled and helpless as he was, heremained perfectly still and silent, awaiting developments.
They came swiftly. The curtains parted and a man, completely maskedand clad in the ordinary prairie kit of the West, and bearing a lightedlamp in his hand, entered the room. His first assailant, holding thegun only inches from his head, Slosson could not properly discern. Outof the corners of his eyes he was aware that his face was masked likethat of the other, but that was all.
The newcomer set the lamp down on a table and advanced to the otherside of the bed. Instantly he produced a strap, enwrapped in the foldsof a thick towel.
Slosson realized what was about to happen, and contemplated resistance.
As though his thoughts had been read the man with the gun spoke again--
"Only one sound an' I'll blow your brains to glory. Ther' ain't nohelp around that you ken get in time. So don't worry any."
The threat of the gun was irresistible, and Slosson yielded.
The second man forced the strap gag into his mouth and buckled ittightly behind his victim's head. This done, the agent's hands werelashed fast with a rope. Then the gun was withdrawn and the wretchedagent was assisted into his clothes, after the pockets had beensearched for weapons.
In a quarter of an hour the whole transaction was completed, and, withhands securely fastened behind his back and the gag in his mouth fixedcruelly firmly, David Slosson stood ready to follow his captors.
During all that time he had used his eyes and all his intelligence todiscover the identity of his assailants, but without avail. Even theirgreat size afforded him no enlightenment, with their entire faceshidden under the enveloping masks.
In silence the light was extinguished. In silence they left the roomand proceeded down the stairs. In silence they came to the waitinghayrack outside. Here Slosson beheld the other two masked figures, oneon the wagon, and the other waiting at the rear of it. But he wasgiven no further chance of observation. His captors seized him bodilyand lifted him into the cage beneath the hay, while one of the men gotin with him and now secured his feet.
After that more hay was thrown into the vehicle, till it looked like anordinary farmer's rack, and then the horses started off, and theprisoner knew that, for some inexplicable reason, he had been kidnaped.
Mrs. Carbhoy had been concerned all day. When she was concerned aboutanything her temper generally gave way to a condition which heryouthful daughter was pleased to describe as "gritty." Whether itreally described her mother's mood or not mattered little. Itcertainly expressed Gracie's understanding of it.
To-day nothing the child did was right. She had called her physicalculture instructress a "cat" that morning, only because she had beenafraid to enter into a more drastic physical argument with her. Forthat her "gritty" mother had deprived her of candy for the day. Shehad refused to do anything right at her subsequent dancing lesson, inconsequence, and for that she had had her week's pocket-money stopped.Then at lunch she had willfully broken the peace by upsetting a glassof ice-water upon the glass-covered table, and incidentally had brokenthe glass. For this she was confined to her school-room for the restof the day, and was only allowed to appear before her disturbed motherat her nine-o'clock bed hour.
When a very indignant Gracie appeared before her mother to fulfill herfinal duty of kissing her "good-night," that individual was more"gritty" than ever. She was in the act of opening a bulky letteraddressed to her in a familiar handwriting. Gracie knew at once fromwhom it came. Instantly the imp of mischief stirred in her bosom.
"What nursing home will you send Gordon to when he gets back?" sheinquired blandly.
Her mother eyed her coldly while she drew out the sheets ofletter-paper. She pointed to a wall bell.
"Ring that bell," she ordered sharply.
Gracie obeyed, wondering what was to be the consequence of her fresheffort. She had not long to wait. Her mother's maid entered.
"Tell Huxton to pack Miss Gracie's trunks ready for Tuxedo. She willleave for Vernor Court by the midday express. Her governesses willaccompany her."
The maid retired. In an instant all hope had fled, and Gracie wasreduced to hasty penitence.
"Please, momma, don't send me out to the country. I'm sorry for whatI've done to-day, real sorry--but I've just had the fidgets all day,what with pop going away and--and that silly Gordon never coming nearus, or--or anything. True, momma, I won't be naughty ever again.'Deed I won't. Oh, say you won't send me off by myself," she urged,coming coaxingly to her mother's side. "There's Jacky Molyneux goingto take me a run in his automobile to-morrow afternoon, and we're goingto Garden City, and he always gives me heaps of ice-cream. Oh, momma,don't send me off to that dreadful Tuxedo."
At all times Mrs. Carbhoy was easily cajoled, and just now she wasfeeling so miserable and lonely since her husband had been called awayon urgent business, she knew not where. Then here was another ofGordon's troublesome letters in her lap. So in her trouble she yieldedto her only remaining belonging. But she forthwith sat her long-leggeddaughter on a footstool at her feet, and as penance made her listen tothe reading of the letter which had just arrived. Somehow, in view ofthe previous letters from her son, Mrs. Carbhoy felt it to beimpossible to face this new one without support, even if that supportwere only that of her wholly inadequate thirteen-year-old daughter.
"DEAREST MUM:
"Since Cain got busy shooting up his brother Abel, since Delilah becamea slave to the tonsorial art and practiced on Samson, since Jael turnedher carpentering stunts to considerable account by hammering tacks intopoor Sisera's head, right through the long ages down to therecord-breaking achievements of the champion prevaricator Ananias, Iguess the crookedness of human nature has progressed until it hasreached the pitch of a fine art, such as is practiced by legislators,diplomats and New York police officers.
"This is a sweeping statement, but I contend it is none the less true.
"I'd say that in examining the facts we need to study the real meaningof 'crookedness.' We must locate its cause as well as effect. Now'crookedness' is the divergence from a straight line, which some foolman spent a lifetime in discovering was the shortest route from onegiven point to another. No doubt that fellow thought he was makingsome discovery, but it kind of seems to me any chump outside thebug-house and not under the influence of drink would know it withouthaving to spend even a summer vacation finding it out, and, anyway, Idon't guess it's worth shouting about
.
"I guess it's up to us to track this straight line down in itsapplication to ethics. That buzzy-headed discoverer also says a lineis length without breadth. Consequently, I argue that a straight lineis just 'nothing,' anyway. Then when a mush-headed dreamer startsright out to walk the straight line of life it's a million to onechance he'll break his fool neck, or do some other positivelyridiculous stunt that's liable to terminate what ought to have been apromising career. I submit, from the foregoing arguments, the straightline of ethical virtue is just a vision, a dream, an hallucination, anightmare. It's one of those things the whole world loves to sitaround on Sundays and yarn about, and just as many folks would hate topractice, anyway. And this is as sure as you'll find the only bit ofglass on the road when you're automobiling if you don't just happen tobe toting a spare tyre.
"Seeing that you can't everlastingly keep trying to walk on 'nothing'without disastrous consequences, and, further, seeing the days ofmiracles have died with many other privileges which our ancestorsenjoyed, such as being burned at the stake and painting up our bodiesin fancy colors, it is natural, even a necessity, that 'crookedness'should have come into its own.
"Let's start right in at the first chapter of a man's life. It'llpoint the whole argument without anything else. It's ingrained even inthe youngest kid to resort to subterfuge. Subterfuge is merely themost innocent form in a crook's thesis. Maybe a kid, lying in itscradle, with only a few days of knowledge to work on, don't know thefiner points he'll learn later. But he knows what he wants, and isgoing to get it. He's going to get the other feller where he wantshim, and then force him to do his bidding. It's his first effort in'crookedness' when he finds the straight line of virtue is just a mostuncomfortable nightmare. How does he do it?
"I guess it's this way. He needs his food. He guesses his gasolinetank needs filling. He don't guess he's going to lie around with asort of mean draught blowing pneumonia through his vitals. He justwaits around awhile to see if any one's yearning to pump up hisinfantile tyre, and when he finds there's nothing doing, why, he startsright in to make his first fall off the straight line of virtue. Yousee, the straight line says that kid's tank needs filling only atstated intervals. The said kid don't see it that way, so he turnshimself into a human megaphone, scares the household cat into a dozenfits, starts up a canine chorus in the neighboring backyards, makes hisfather yearn to shoot up the feller that wrote the marriage service,sets the local police officer tracking down a murder that was nevercommitted, and maybe, if he only keeps things humming long enough, setsall the State legal machinery working overtime to have his parentsincarcerated for keeping an insanitary nuisance on the premises.
"See the crookedness of that kid? The moment he finds himself dulyinflated with milk he lies low. Do you get the lesson of it? It'splumb simple. That kid wanted something. He didn't care a cuss forregulations. He just laid right there and said, 'Away with 'em!' Hewas thirsty, or hungry, or greedy. Maybe he was all three. Anyway, hewanted, and set about getting what he wanted the only way he knew. Allof which illustrates the fact that when human nature demandssatisfaction no laws or regulations are going to stand in the way. Andthat's just life from the day we're born.
"From the foregoing remarks you may incline to the belief that I haveset out willfully to outrage every moral and human law. This is notquite the case. I am merely giving you the benefit of my observations,and also, since I am merely another human unit in the perfectlyridiculous collection of bipeds which go to make up the allegedsuperior races of this world, I must fall into line with the rest.
"If Abel gets in my way I must 'out' him. If I can manufacture a downcushion out of old Samson's hair to make my lot more comfortable, I'mjust going to get the best pair of shears and get busy. If I'm goingto collect amusement from studding that chump Sisera's head with tacks,why, it's up to me to avoid delay that way. And as for Ananias, heseems to me to have been a long way ahead of his time. They'd have hadhis monument set up in every public office in the country to-day. He'dhave been the emblem of every trading corporation I know, and hiseffigy would have served as the coat-of-arms for the whole of thepresent-day creation.
"I trust you are keeping well, and the responsibility of guiding thedevelopment of our Gracie is showing no sign of undermining yourconstitution. Gracie is really a good girl, if a little impetuous. Inotice, however, that impetuosity gives way before the responsibilitiesof life. So far she is quite young. I'm hoping good results when shegets responsibility.
"Give my best love to the old Dad, and tell him that he must be carefulof his health in such a desperate heat as New York provides in summertime. I think a month's vacation in the hills would be excellent forhim at this time of year. I am looking forward to the time when Ishall see him again.
"You might tell him I hope to fulfill my mission under schedule time.If you do not hear from me again you will know I am working overtime onthe interests in which I left New York.
"Your loving son, "GORDON.
"P.S.--It occurs to me I have not told you all the news I would haveliked to tell you. But two pieces occur to me at the moment. First,that achievement in life demands not the fostering of the gentler humanemotions, but their outraging. Also, no man has the right to abandonhonesty until dishonesty pays him better.
"G."
The mother's sigh was a deep expression of her hopeless feelings as shefinished the last word of her son's postscript.
Gracie watched her out of the corners of her eyes.
"What's the matter, momma?" she inquired.
Her mother broke down weakly.
"They haven't found a trace of him yet. They can't locate how theseletters are mailed. They can't just find a thing. And all the timethese letters come along, and--and they get worse and worse. It's nogood, Gracie; the poor boy's just crazy. Sure as sure. It's the heat,or--or drink, or strain, or--maybe he's starving. Anyway, he's gone,and we'll never see our Gordon again--not in his right mind. And nowyour poor father's gone, too. Goodness knows where. I'll--yes, I'llhave to set the inquiry people to find him, too, if--if I don't hearfrom him soon. To--to think I'd have lived to see the day when----"
"I don't guess Gordon's in any sort of trouble, momma," cried Gracie,displaying an unexpected sympathy for her distracted parent. Then shesmiled that wise little superior smile of youth which made her strongfeatures almost pretty. "And I'm sure he's not--crazy. Say, mom, justdon't think anything more about it. And I'd sort of keep all thoseletters--if they're like that. You never told me the others. May Iread them? I never would have believed Gordon could have written likethat--never. You see, Gordon's not very bright--is he?"