CHAPTER XX
THE BOOM IN EARNEST
It was late in the evening. The lonely house at Buffalo Point stoodout in dim relief against the purpling shades of dusk. At that hour ofthe evening the distant outline of Snake's Fall was lost in the gray tothe eastwards. South, there were only the low grass hillocks, nowblended into one definite skyline. To the westward, the sharp outlineof the mountains was still silhouetted against the momentarily dullingafterglow of sunset. The evening was still, with that wonderfulsilence which ever prevails at such an hour upon the open prairie.
A light shone in the window of the hitherto closed office at BuffaloPoint, and, furthermore, a rig stood at the door with a team of horsesattached thereto, which latter did not belong to Mike Callahan.
An atmosphere not, perhaps, so much of secrecy as of portent seemed tohang about the place. The solitary light in the surroundings ofgathering night seemed significant. Then the team, too, waiting readyto depart at a moment's notice. But above all, perhaps, this was thefirst time a sign of life had been visible in the house since theclosing down at the moment when Slosson's sudden plunge into the realestate world of Snake's Fall had apparently swept all rivalry from histriumphant path.
Of a truth, a portentous moment had arrived in the affairs of thoseinterested in Buffalo Point. And the significance of it was displayedin the earnest faces of the four men gathered together in the office.Silas Mallinsbee sat smoking in his own armchair, and with a profoundfurrow of concentration upon his broad forehead. His usually thrustingchin-beard rested upon the front of his shirt by reason of the intentinclination of his great head. Mike Callahan was seated on a smallchair his elbows resting upon his parted knees, and his chin supportedupon the knuckles of his locked fingers. His eyes were intently fixedupon the desk, behind which Gordon was frowning over a sheet of paper,upon which the scratching of his pen made itself distinctly audible inthe silence. Peter McSwain, the fourth conspirator, was stillsuffering from a fictitious heat, and was comfortably, but wakefully,snoring under its influence, with a sort of nasal ticking noise whichharmoniously blended with the scratching of Gordon's pen.
It was fairly obvious that the work Gordon was engaged upon was thecentral interest of all present, for every eye was steadily, almostanxiously, riveted upon the movement of his pen.
After a long time Gordon looked up, and a half smile shone in his blueeyes.
"Give us a light, some one," he demanded, as he turned his sheet ofpaper over on the blotting-pad, and drew his code book from an innerpocket and laid it beside it.
Mike Callahan produced and struck the required match. He held it whileGordon re-lit his half-burned cigar, which had gone out under thepressure of thought its owner had been putting forth.
"Good," the latter exclaimed, as the tobacco glowed under the draughtof his powerful lungs. Then he turned the paper over again. "Guess Igot it fixed. I haven't coded it yet, but I'll read it out. It's toSpenser Harker, my father's chief man."
"Cancel all previous arrangements made through Slosson for Snake'sFall. Take following instructions. Have bought heavily at BuffaloPoint, which is right on the coal-fields. Depot to be built at once atBuffalo Point. Make all arrangements for dispatch of engineers andsurveyors at once. There must be no delay in starting a boom. My son,Gordon, is here to represent our interests. Put this to the generalmanager of the Union Grayling and Ukataw, and yourself see no delay.Am going on to coast on urgent affairs. Gordon has the matter well inhand and will control at this end. This should be a big coup for us.
"JAMES CARBHOY."
As Gordon finished reading he glanced round at his companions' facesthrough the smoke of his cigar. Mike was audibly sniggering.Mallinsbee's eyes were smiling in that twinkling fashion which deep-seteyes seem so capable of. As for Peter McSwain, from sheer force ofhabit he drew forth a colored handkerchief and mopped his grinning eyes.
"You ain't going to send that?" he said incredulously.
"Why not?"
"But--that piece about yourself?" grinned Mike. "You darsen't to doit."
"I think I get his point," nodded Mallinsbee, his broad face beamingadmiration. "Sort of local color, I guess."
Gordon twisted his cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other.His blue eyes were shining with a sort of earnest amusement. His sharpwhite teeth were gripping the mangled end of his cigar firmly.
"Say, fellows," he said, after a moment's thought, "I'm kind ofwondering if you get just what this thing means to me. It just needs asum in dollars to get its meaning to you. But for me it's different.I need to make dollars, too. But still it's different. You see, someday I've got to sit right in my father's chair, and run things with acapital of millions of dollars. But before I do that I've got to getright up and convince my father I can handle the work right. Hedoesn't figure I can act that way--yet. So it's up to me to show him Ican. Well, I've started in, and I'm going to see the game through tothe end. I've backed my wits to push this boat right into harbor safe.And in doin' that I've got to squeeze the biggest financier in thecountry. When I've done it right, that financier will know he can handover his particular craft to my steering without fear of my running iton the rocks. The dollars I need to make out of this are just acircumstance. They are the outward sign of my fitness for my father'sedification. That piece about my representing my father isn't justlocal color either. I actually intend to assume that character, and,from now on, I intend to work direct with headquarters, ordering thewhole transaction for the railroad myself in _my own name_. Do you getme? From now on I _am_ my father's representative. If Spenser Harkerchooses to come right along here, if the general manager of the UnionGrayling chooses to come along, I shall meet them, and insist that thework goes through. You see, I am my father's son, I am still hissecretary, and they have word in private code _from my father_ that Irepresent him. There can be no debate. All they know of me is that Ileft New York on confidential work for my father. Well, this, I guess,is the confidential work. Gentlemen, we've simply got to sit rightback and help ourselves to our profits. And while we're doing that,why, I guess the dear old dad is taking his well-earned vacation in thehills, while David Slosson is feeling a nasty draught through thechinks in an old adobe and log shack which I hope will blow the foulodors out of his fouler mind. You can leave the after part of thisplay safely in my hands. Meanwhile, if you'll just give me fiveminutes I'll code this message. Then we'll drive right into town andsend it over the wire."
Sunday in an obscure country hotel on the western plains is usually thedullest thing on earth. The habit of years is a whitewash ofrespectability and a moderation of tone, both assumed through themedium of a complete change of attire from that worn during the week.There is nothing on earth but the loss by fire, or the definitedestruction of them, which will stop the citizen, who possesses suchthings, from arraying himself in a "best suit." It is the outward signof an attempted cleansing of the soul. There can be no doubt of it.That suit is not adjusted for the purpose of holiday enjoyment. Thatis quite plain. For each man is as careful not to do anything that candestroy the crease down his trousers, as he is not to sit on the tailsof his well-brushed Prince Albert coat.
The day is spent in just "sitting around." The citizen will talk.That is not calculated to spoil his suit. He will even write his mailafter a careful adjustment of the knees of his trousers. He will sneakinto the bar by a back door to obtain an "eye-opener." This, again,will involve no great risk to his suit. Then he will dine liberallyoff roast turkey and pie of some sort. If the hotel is fairly wellpriced he will even get an ice-cream with his midday dinner. In theafternoon he will again sit around and talk. He may even venture awalk. Then comes the evening supper. It is the worst function of adreary day--a meal made up of cakes, preserves, tea or coffee, and anycold meats left over during the week.
After that the "best suits" somehow seem to fade out of sight, and agenerally looser tone prevails.
Suc
h had been the Sundays in Snake's Fall since ever the town hadboasted an hotel with boarding accommodation. No guest had ever daredto break through the tradition. It would have required heroic courageto have done so. But now changes in the town were rapidly takingplace. So rapidly, indeed, that the times might well have beencharacterized as "breathless."
On this particular Sunday a perfect revolution was in progress.Amongst the older inhabitants who managed to drift to the vicinity ofthe hotel a feeling of unreality took possession of them, and theywondered if it were not some curious and not altogether pleasant dream.The hotel was thronged with a blending of strangers and townspeople,clad, regardless of the day, in a state of excitement such as mightonly have been expected at the declaration of a world war, or apresidential election.
It was the culmination of the excitement inspired originally by thenews of Slosson's defection, and which, in the course of less than aweek, had been augmented by happenings in swift and rapid succession,such as set sober business men wondering if they were living on avolcano instead of a coalmine, or if the days of miracles had indeedreturned upon the world.
Well before the excitement over Slosson had died down it became knownthat the Buffalo Point interests were at work again. Mallinsbee'soffice was opened once more. Furthermore, he had acquired two clerks,and was securing others from down east. This was more thansignificant. It attracted every eye in the new direction. Men stroveto solve the question with regard to its relationship to Slosson'sgoing. The thought which promptly came to each mind was that Slosson'sgoing was less a miracle than a natural disappearance. His wild buyinghad inspired doubt from the first. The man had gone crazy, and hisemployers had turned him down. So he had bolted. The opening ofBuffalo Point warned them that the railroad had in consequence come toterms with Mallinsbee. So there had been a fresh rush for informationin that direction.
But this rush received no encouragement and less information, and thesorely tried speculators were once more flung back into their own outerdarkness.
Then came the next, the culminating excitement. The news drifted intothe place from outside sources. It came from agents and friends in theeast. Surveyors and engineers and construction gangs were about to besent to _Buffalo Point_! The news was quite definite, quite decided.It was more. It was accompanied by peremptory orders and urgentrequests that those who were on the spot should get in on the BuffaloPoint township without a moment's delay, and price was not to hinderthem.
Had it been needed, there were no two people in the whole of Snake'sFall better placed for the dissemination and exaggeration of the newsthan Peter McSwain at the hotel and Mike Callahan at the livery barn.Nor were they idle. Nor did they miss a single opportunity.
In the office of the hotel, while service was on at the little church,and all the womenfolk and children were singing their tender hearts outin an effort to get an appetite for Sunday's dinner, Peter was thecenter of observation amidst a crowd of bitterly complaining commercialsinners, each with his own particular ax to grind and a desperategrievance against the crooks who were rigging the land markets in theneighborhood for their own sordid profit. He was holding forth,debating point for point, and, as he would have described it himself,"boosting the old boat over a heavy sea."
Some one had suggested that Buffalo Point had been in league withSlosson to hold up the situation, while the former completed their ownarrangements to the detriment of the community. Peter promptly jumpedin.
"Say, youse fellers are all sorts of 'smarts,' anyway," he said, with apitying sort of contempt. "What you need is gilt-edged finance.You're scared to death pulling the chestnuts out o' the fire. You'remostly looking for a thousand per cent. result, with only a five percent. courage. That's just about your play. What's the use in settin'around here talking murder when the plums are lyin' around? Pick 'emup, I says. Pick 'em right up an' get your back teeth into 'em so thejuice jest trickles right over your Sunday suits. They're there foryou. Just grab. I'm tired of talk. The truth is, some o' yousefeelin' you've burnt your fingers over Slosson. Slosson was therailroad's agent. Your five per cent. minds saw the gilding infollowing Slosson. When he skipped out with my team you were stungbad. You've got stakes in Snake's, while you're finding out now therailroad ain't moved that way. An' so you're just scared to death toshow the color of your paper till you see the depot built and thelocomotives passing this place ringing a chorus of welcome for Buffalo.Then where are you? You're going to pay sucker prices then, or getright back east with a big debit for wasted board and time. I'm takin'a chance myself, and it ain't with any five per cent. courage. I got abig stake in both places, and I don't care a continental where theybuild the depot."
Mike Callahan was talking in much the same strain in the neighborhoodof his barn, which somehow always became a sort of Sunday meeting-placefor loungers seeking information. But Mike, acting on instructions,went much further. He spoke of the reports of the movements of therailroad's engineers and surveyors. He assured his hearers he had haddefinite word of it himself, and then added a hint that startedsomething in the nature of a panic amongst his audience.
"It ain't no use in guessing," he said from his seat on an upturnedbucket at the open door of his barn. "I ain't got loose cash to flingaround. Mine is just locked right up in hossflesh and rigs, so I ain'tgot no ax needs sharpening. But I drive folks around and I hear themyarning. I drove a crowd out to Mallinsbee's place--the office atBuffalo Point yesterday. They were guests of his. They were talkin'depots and things the whole way. Say, ever heard the name of Carbhoy?Any of youse?"
Some one assured him that Carbhoy was President of the Union road, andMike winked.
"Jest so," he observed. "As sure as St. Patrick drove the snakes outof Ireland, one of that gang was called 'Carbhoy.' I heard one of 'emuse the name. And I heard the feller called 'Carbhoy' tell him toclose his map. Not just in them words, but the sort of words amillionaire might use. That gang are guests of Mallinsbee. Wher' theyare now I can't say. I didn't drive 'em back."
It was small enough wonder that the conflagration of excitement fairlyswallowed up the town of vultures. The Buffalo Point interestsintended it to do so. Nor could their agents have been betterselected. They were established citizens who came into contact withthe whole floating population of the place. They were above suspicion,and they just simply laughed and talked and pushed their pinprickshome, preparing the way for the _denouement_.
On the Monday following, the effect of their work began to show itself.Amongst other visitations Mallinsbee was invaded by a deputationrepresenting large real-estate interests.
Under Gordon's management the office had been entirely converted. Nowthe original parlor office had been turned over to the use of theclerical staff. The bedroom Gordon had occupied had becomeMallinsbee's private office, and the other bedroom had been made intoan office for Gordon himself. There was no longer any appearance of amakeshift about the place. It was an organized commercialestablishment ready for the transaction of any business, from battlingwith a royal eagle of commerce down to the plucking of the half-fledgedpigeon.
The deputation arrived in the morning, and consisted of Mr. Cyrus P.Laker and Mr. Abe Chester. These two men represented two Chicagoreal-estate corporations who were prepared to shed dollars that raninto six figures in a "right" enterprise.
The rancher had been notified of their coming, and had sat inconsultation with Gordon for half an hour before their arrival. Whenthe clerk showed them into Mallinsbee's private office they found himfully equipped, with his hideous patch over one eye, and Gordon sittingnear by at a small table under the window.
Abe Chester overflowed the chair the clerk set for him, and Lakerpossessed himself of another. They were in sharp contrast, these two.One was lean and tall, the other was squat and breathed asthmatically.But both were men of affairs, and equal to every move in a deal.
The tall man opened the case, with his keen eyes searching the bafflingface of
the rancher. Just for one moment he had doubtfully eyedGordon's figure, so intently bent over his work, but Mallinsbee hadreassured him with the words, "My confidential secretary."
Mr. Laker assumed an air of simple frankness.
"Our errand is a simple one, Mr. Mallinsbee," he began in hollow toneswhich seemed to emanate from somewhere in the region of his highlyshined shoes. Then he smiled vaguely, a smile which Gordon mentallyregistered as being "childlike," as he observed it out of the cornersof his eyes. "We are looking for two little pieces of informationwhich you, as a business man, will appreciate as being a justifiablesearch on our part. You see, we are open to negotiating a deal ofseveral hundred thousand dollars, of course depending on theinformation being satisfactory."
"There's several rumors afloat that maybe you can confirm or deny,"broke in Abe Chester shortly. His _confrere's_ "high-brow" methods, ashe termed them, irritated him.
"Just so," agreed Laker suavely. "Two rumors which affect thesituation very nearly. The first is, is it a fact that the Presidentof the Union Grayling and Ukataw Railroad is your guest at the presentmoment? The second is, there is a rumor afloat that the railroadcompany are actually preparing to build their depot here. Is this so?"
Mallinsbee's expression was annoyingly obscure. Mr. Laker felt that hewas smiling, but Abe Chester was convinced that a smile was not withina mile of his large features. Both men were agreed, however, that theydistrusted that eye-patch.
Gordon awaited the rancher's reply with amused patience. It came inthe rumbling, heavy voice so like an organ note, after a dulythoughtful pause.
"Well, gentlemen," he said, with the air of a man who has bestowed aweight of consideration upon his answer, "you have put what a legalmind maybe 'ud consider 'leading' questions. Not having a legal mind,but just the mind of an _honest_ trader, I'll say they certainly are_some_ questions. However, it don't seem to me they'll prejudice athing answering 'em straight. You are yearning to deal--well, so am I;an' if my answer's going to help things that way, why, I thank you forasking. Mr. Carbhoy is my guest at this moment. How long he'll remainmy guest I can't just say. You see, he's going along to the coast whenwe're through fixing things right for Buffalo Point. That answers yourfirst question, I guess. The second's even easier. The railroad'sengineers will be right here with plans and specifications andmaterials and workers for building the depot at Buffalo Point on_Wednesday noon_."
Abe Chester drew a short asthmatical breath. His leaner companionsmiled cadaverously.
"Then it will give us both much pleasure to talk business," said thelatter.
"Sure," agreed Chester, sparing words which cost him so much breath, ofwhich he possessed such a small supply.
Mallinsbee pushed cigars towards them. He felt the occasion neededtheir moral support.
"Help yourselves, gentlemen," he said. "Guess it'll make us talkbetter. There's a whole heap of talk coming."
The two men helped themselves, tenderly pressing the cigars andsmelling them. The rancher took one himself, with the certainty of itsquality, and lit it.
"A lot to talk about?" inquired Mr. Laker, not without misgivings.
"Why, yes." The rancher pulled deeply at his cigar and examined theash thoughtfully. "Yes," he went on after a moment, "I guess I'll haveto say quite a piece before you talk money. You see, I'd just like youto understand the position. It's perhaps a bit difficult. This schemehas been lying around quite a time, inviting folks to put money into itat a profitable price to themselves. A number of wise friends of minehave taken the opportunity and are in, good and snug. There's a numberof others hadn't the grit. Maybe I don't just blame them. You see, itwas some gamble, and needed folks who could take a chance. Wall, thosedays are past. There's no gamble now. It's as good as American doubleeagles. You see, Snake's will just become a sort of flag station,while Buffalo Point will sit around in a halo of glory with a brand-newswell depot. It's been some work handling this proposition, and thefolks interested, including the Bude and Sideley Coal Company, need adeal of compensation for their work. Personally, I am not selling asingle frontage now until the depot is well on the way. In short, Ineed a fancy price. In conclusion, gentlemen, let me say quite plainlythat what I would have sold originally for three figures will now, orrather when the time comes, cost four--and maybe even five."
"You mean to shut us out," snapped Abe Chester.
"Is it graft?" inquired Laker, with something between a sneer and anger.
"Call it what you like," said Mallinsbee coldly. "I've told you theplain facts, as I shall tell everybody else. Those who want to get inon the Buffalo Point boom will have to pay money for it--good money. Ithink that is all I have to say, gentlemen."