CHAPTER XXV
THE RESCUE
It was nearly midnight. The house was quiet. It was so still as tosuggest no life at all within its simple, hospitable walls. It was indarkness, too, at least from the outside, for all curtains had beendrawn for the night, with as much care as though it were a dwellingfacing upon some busy thoroughfare in a city.
But, late as the hour was, the occupants of the old ranch house werenot in bed. Hazel was awake, and sitting expectantly waiting in herbedroom, while somewhere within the purlieus of the kitchen Hip-Lee satbefore an open window in the darkness, doubtless dreaming wakefully ofsome flea-ridden village up country in his homeland.
Upstairs, too, there were no signs of those slumbers which were so longoverdue. Mr. James Carbhoy was seated in a comfortable rocker-chairadjacent to his dressing bureau, making an effort to become interestedin the "History of the Conquest of Mexico" by the light of awell-trimmed oil lamp.
Not one word, however, of the pages he had read had conveyed interestto his preoccupied mind. It is doubtful if their meaning had beenconveyed with any degree of continuity. He was irritable--irritableand a shade despondent.
He had been a captive in that valley for over seven weeks, and theimprisonment had begun to tell upon his stalwart hardihood. Seven longweeks of his own company, under easy and even pleasant circumstances.Even Hazel's company, shadowed as she was by the hated Hip-Lee, hadbeen denied him. Had it been otherwise he might have felt lessdispirited, for he liked and admired her; and, in spite of the factthat on that one memorable occasion when he had talked to her alone shehad betrayed, what he now was firmly convinced was her own perfidiousshare in his kidnapping, he was human enough to disregard it, and onlyremember that she was an extremely pretty and wholly charming creature.
Yes, he knew now that he had been duped by this daughter of Mallinsbee,whom he knew owned Buffalo Point, and the whole thing had been afinancial coup engineered by the "smarts" who belonged to his faction.He had solved the whole problem of his captivity in one revealingflash, the moment he had learned that this girl was the daughter ofMallinsbee. He had needed no other information. His keenly trainedmind, with its wide understanding of the methods of financialinterests, had driven straight to the heart of the matter. It was onlythe details which had been lacking. But even these had, in a measure,been filled in during his long hours of solitude and concentratedthought.
It was some of the obscured riddles which beset him now, as they hadbeset him for days. He could not account for his own confidentialagent Slosson in the matter. Had he been bought over? It seemedimpossible, since Slosson had advised the depot remaining at Snake'sFall, which was against Mallinsbee's interests. Had he been dealtwith, too? It seemed more likely. But if this were so it made thedaring or desperation of the whole coup suggest to his mind that he wasdealing with men of unusual caliber, and consequently the situationpossessed for him possibilities of a most unpleasant character.
Then, again, the fact that they were content to leave him unapproachedin his captivity puzzled and disquieted him even more. What could theyachieve with regard to the railroad without his authority? Nothing,positively nothing, he assured himself. Then what was the purpose tobe served? He could not even guess, and the uncertainty of it allannoyed, irritated, worried him as the time went on.
His mind was full of all these concerns as he sat reading the romanticstory of a people with impossible names, and so he lost all thebeauties of one of the most perfect romances in the world. Finally, heset the book aside and prepared for bed and more hours of worriedsleeplessness.
James Carbhoy was a typical New Yorker of the best type. In anunexaggerated way he was fastidious of his appearance and gave acareful regard to his bodily welfare. He was a man who luxuriated incleanly habits of living, and his linen was a sort of passion with him.In his captivity he had been well cared for in this respect, and theonly cause he had for complaint was the absence of his daily bath,which he seriously deplored.
Now he went to the old-fashioned washstand, prepared for his nightlyablutions, and laid himself out a clean suit of pyjamas. Then hedivested himself of some of his upper garments. He had just started toremove his shirt, and one arm still remained in its sleeve as heproceeded to remove it coatwise, when all further action was quitesuddenly suspended and he stood listening.
A sound had reached his quick ears, a curious sound which, at that hourof the night, was quite incomprehensible to him. After some breathlessmoments he abandoned the divestment of his clothing and swiftlyrestored his coat and vest. Then he extinguished his light and drewthe curtains from before the window and opened it further. He sat downon his bedstead and, resting an elbow on the window-ledge, gazed outinto the starlit, moonless night.
The sound which had held his attention was still evident. It was thesound of galloping horses in the distance, the soft plod of many hoofsover the rich grass of the valley. It was faint but distinct, and, tothis man's inexperienced ears, suggested a large party of horses,probably horsemen, approaching his prison. With what object? hewondered, and, wondering, a feeling of excitement took possession ofhim.
Five minutes later his attention was distracted to another direction.Other sounds reached him, sounds which emanated from close about hisprison itself. There was a movement going on just below him, andhorses were moving about, apparently somewhere in front, where he knewthe corrals to be. His excitement increased. In all his long weeks ofimprisonment he had seen nothing of his captors and no signs of them.Now, apparently, they were below him, possibly keeping guard, and hewondered if they had been there every night, silent warders, whosepresence had been all undiscovered by himself.
It was difficult, difficult to understand or to believe. Yet there wasno doubt that men were gathered below; he could faintly hear theirvoices talking in hushed tones, and, equally, he could plainly hear thesound of their horses. He wished there was a moon to give him lightenough to see what was going on.
But now the more distant sounds had grown louder, and as they grew thevoices below spoke in less guarded tones. And from the manner of theirspeech the listening man knew that something serious was afoot.
A sudden resolve now formulated in his mind, and he left his place atthe window and stood up. Then he moved swiftly to his door and openedit. The house seemed wrapped in silence, and he moved out to the headof the small flight of stairs leading to the floor below. He passeddown and reached the door of the parlor.
Here he paused for a moment listening. All was still within, and hecautiously opened the door. The lamp was lit, and, standing beside thetable, upon which the breakfast things were already set, he discoveredthe figure of the daughter of Mallinsbee with her back turned towardshim. There was another figure present, too, and, to his intensechagrin, the millionaire beheld the yellow features of Hip-Lee near thecurtained window.
However, he passed into the room, and Hazel turned confronting him. Hegazed intently into her face, so serious and apparently troubled. Theyellow lamplight imparted a curious hue, and the man fancied she lookedseriously frightened.
"What's happening?" he demanded, and an unusual brusqueness was in histone.
The girl's eyes surveyed his expression swiftly. She looked forsomething she feared to discover there, and the faintest sigh of reliefescaped her as she realized that her fears were unfounded.
"That's what we--are trying to find out," she replied, her wordsaccompanied by a glance of simple, half-fearful helplessness.
The man checked the reply which promptly rose to his lips. Heremembered in time that this girl was the daughter of Mallinsbee andthat she was exceedingly pretty. To the former he had no desire togive anything away, while to the latter he desired to display everycourtesy.
"Our guards seem to be on the alert, and--somebody is approaching,"said the millionaire, with a baffling smile. "If it weren't such apeaceful spot I'd say there was an atmosphere of--trouble."
"I--I sort of feel that way,
too," said Hazel in a scared manner. Shehad gathered all her histrionic abilities together, and intended to usethem. "I wonder what trouble it is?"
"Seems as if it was for the men who--took us," observed Carbhoy, with adryness he could not quite disguise.
"You--mean our folks have located our whereabouts and--are going torescue us?"
The millionaire smiled into the innocent, questioning eyes, which, heknew, concealed a humorous guile.
"I didn't just mean that," he said. "Maybe the trouble won't comeyet." He glanced at the Chinaman standing sphinx-like at the curtains."Must he remain?" he said, appealing directly to the girl.
Hazel felt the necessity for a bold move.
"Don't let him worry you. We can't help ourselves. I dare not riskoffending him." She conjured a well-feigned shudder.
The millionaire laughed, and his laugh left the girl troubled anddisconcerted. She would have liked to know what lay behind it.However, she kept to her attitude of fear. She must play her part tothe end.
"Hark!" Carbhoy turned his head, listening intently. The girlfollowed his example. "Say----" The millionaire broke off, and hissmile was replaced by a look of puzzled incredulity.
A shot had been fired. It was answered by a shot from somewhere closeto the house. A look of doubt sprang into his gray eyes, and he dartedto the window and unceremoniously brushed the hated Chinaman aside. Hedrew the curtain cautiously aside and peered out into the bight. Hazelbeheld the change of expression and his quick, alert movements withsatisfaction. She knew that the sounds of the shots had disconcertedhim. He was more than impressed. He was convinced.
Then followed a portentous few moments. The two single shots wereconverted into something like a rattle of musketry. And intermingledwith it came the hoarse, blasphemous cries of men, and the pounding ofhorses' hoofs racing hither and thither. The man at the windowremained silent, his eyes glued to the crack of the divided curtains.He saw flashes of gunfire and the dim outline of moving figures. Butthe details of the scene were hidden from him by the darkness. Hazel,standing close behind him, rose to a great effort. One hand was laidabruptly upon his arm, and her nervous fingers clutched at hiscoat-sleeve as though she were seeking support. She caught a sharpbreath.
"My God!" she cried in a tense whisper, while somehow her whole bodyshook.
Carbhoy gave one glance in her direction. His eyes and features hadbecome tense with excitement. With his disengaged hand he patted thegirl's with a reassuring gentleness, and finally it remained restingupon her clutching fingers.
"It's a scrap up all right," he said, with conviction that had no fearin it. "But it's their game, not----"
But his words were cut short by the great shouting that went up outsidethe house. Then came more firing, and the sharp plonk of bullets asthey struck the building were plainly heard by the watchers. Hazelurged the man at the curtains--
"Come away. For goodness' sake come away. A stray shot! That window!You----"
She strove to drag the man away in a wild assumption of panic. But themillionaire intended to miss nothing of what was going on. The dangerof his position did not occur to him. He firmly released himself fromher clutch.
"You sit right down, my dear," he said kindly. "Just get right out ofline with this window. I want to see this out. Say, hark! They'rehitting it up good, eh?"
His eyes were alight with the excitement of battle, and Hazel, watchinghim, with fear carefully expressed in her eyes, could not help butadmire the spirit of her lover's father, and more than ever regret thepart she was forced to play.
She withdrew obediently as the sounds of battle waxed and the cries ofthe combatants made the still night hideous. The firing had becomealmost incessant, and the bullets seemed to hail upon the building fromevery direction. Then, too, the galloping horses added to the tumult,and it was pretty obvious the defenders were charging their opponents.
"There seems to be about two to one attacking," said the millionaireover his shoulder presently.
As he turned he surveyed with pity the strong look of terror the girlhad contrived. He never once looked in the detested Chinaman'sdirection. In his heart he would not have regretted a chance shotdisturbing those yellow, immobile features.
Then, turning back again quickly--
"I wonder!"
Now that the battle seemed to be at its height, and whilst awaiting itsissue, he had time for conjecture. What was the meaning of it? Andwho were the attacking party? Was Slosson at its head? Had Harkersent up and was this a sheriff's posse? Both seemed possible. Yetneither, somehow, convinced him. Whoever were attacking, it was prettycertain in his mind that his release was the object.
But the moment passed, and he became absorbed once more in the battleitself. It seemed miraculous to his twentieth-century ideas that sucha condition of things could prevail. Why, it was like the old romanticdays of the hard drinking, hard swearing "bad men," and a sort ofboyish delight in the excitement of it all swept through his veins. Hehad no time or thought for the part the now terror-stricken girl hadplayed in his captivity. All he felt was a large-hearted, chivalrousregret for her present condition, of which no doubt remained in hismind.
A rush of horsemen charged up to the building. The watching man sawtheir outline distinctly. There seemed to him at least eight or ten.He saw another crowd, smaller numerically, charge at them, and then therevolvers spat out their vicious flashes of ruddy fire. The crowddispersed and gathered again. Another fusillade. Then somethingseemed to happen. The whole crowd swept away in the darkness, and thesounds of shooting and the cries of men died away into the distance.
He waited awhile to assure himself that, so far as their position wasconcerned, the battle was at an end. Then he turned away from thewindow.
"They've cleaned 'em out," he said sharply. "I can't tell whose outed.They've ridden off at the gallop, firing and cursing as they went.Maybe our captors have driven the others off. Maybe it's the otherway. We'll--hark!"
He was back at the window again in a second.
"They're coming back," he cried. "Say----"
Hazel was at his side in a moment.
"Are they the----?"
"Can't say who," cried Carbhoy, peering intently. "A big bunch of 'em."
"Our men were only four," said Hazel quickly.
The millionaire was too intent to look round, and so he missed thegirl's smile over at Hip-Lee. But the tone of her voice wasunmistakable in its anxiety.
"There's eight or more here," he cried. "Say, they're dismounting!They're----"
"They're coming into the house!" cried Hazel in an extravagant panic."They----"
At that instant a loud voice beyond the door of the room was heardshouting to the men outside--
"Keep a keen eye while I go through the house! Don't let a soulescape. If they've hurt one hair of her head somebody's going to pay,and pay dear."
The millionaire was standing stock still in the middle of the room. Acurious look was gleaming in his steady eyes. Hazel, in the midst ofher pretended panic, beheld it and interpreted it. She read in it arecognition of the speaker's voice, but she also read incredulity andamazement.
But at that instant the door burst open and a great figure rushedheadlong into the room. As the girl beheld it she flung wide her armsand, with a cry, ran towards the intruder.
"Gordon! Gordon! At last, at last!" she cried. "Oh, I thought youwould never find me! Never, never!"
Her final exclamations were lost in the bosom of his tweed coat, as sheflung herself into his arms and burst into a flood of hystericalweeping and laughter.
"Hazel! My poor little Hazel! Say, I've been nearly crazy. I----"
Gordon broke off, the girl still lying in his arms. His eyes hadlifted to the face of his father, and their keen, steady glance becameinstantly absorbed by the gray speculation behind the other's.
"Dad! You?"
The astonishment, the incredulity were perf
ect. They might well havedeceived anybody.
"Sure," said the millionaire dryly. Then, "I don't guess they've hurther any, though. Maybe you best hand her over to her father," he wenton, pointing at the burly figure of Silas Mallinsbee, who, with hispatch well down over his eye, had appeared at that moment in thedoorway. "Guess he'll know how to soothe her some. Meanwhile you'llmaybe tell me how you lit on our trail."
The man's smile was disarming, yet Gordon fancied he detected a shadowof that lurking irony which he knew so well in his father.
He turned about, however, and passed Hazel over to the rancher, whilehe added tender injunctions--
"Say, Mr. Mallinsbee, she's scared all to death. You best get her tobed. Poor little girl! Say, I'd like----"
But he did not complete his sentence. Instead he turned to his father,as Hazel, with difficulty restraining her laughter, was led from theroom by her solemn-faced, fierce-eyed parent.
"Say, Dad, what in the name of all creation has brought you here?"
The millionaire turned, and a cold eye of hatred settled upon thebackground which Hip-Lee formed to the picture.
"Do we need that yellow reptile present?" he said unemotionally.
"I guess not," said Gordon readily. Then he pointed the door to theMongolian. "Get!" he ejaculated. And the injunction was acted uponwith silent alacrity.
Then the two men faced each other.
"Well?" demanded the father.
The son smiled amiably.
"Well?" he retorted. And both men sat down.
CHAPTER XXVI
CASHING IN
Gordon's eyes were alight with a wonder that somehow lacked reality ashe dropped into the chair beside the table.
"You? You?" he murmured. Then aloud: "It--it's incredible!" Then,with an impulsive gesture. "In the name of all that's crazywhat's--what's the meaning of it? How in the world have you got intothe hands of these ruffians?"
His father selected one of the two remaining cigars in his case, andpassed the other across.
"Try again," he said quietly, as he bit the end off his.
But Gordon did not "try again." He took the proffered cigar, and satdevouring the silent figure and sphinx-like face of the other, while hefelt like one who had received a douche of ice-cold water from a pail.His acting had missed fire, and he knew it. He wondered how much elseof his efforts had missed fire with this abnormally acute man. He hadintended this to be the moment of his triumph. He had intended to laybefore his father his talent of silver, doubled and redoubled anhundredfold. He had intended, with all the enthusiasm of youthfulvanity, to display the triumph of his understanding of the modernmethods of dealing with the affairs of finance. He was going to provehis theories up to the hilt.
Now, somehow, he felt that whatever victory he had achieved the clear,keen brain behind his father's steady gray eyes saw through himcompletely, right down into the deepest secrets which he had believedto be securely hidden. Face to face with this man, who had spent allthe long years of his life studying how best to beat his fellow man,his acting became but a paltry mask which obscured nothing. "Tryagain." Such simple words, but so significant. No, it was useless to"try again" with this dear, shrewd creature he was so futilelyendeavoring to deceive.
The cold of the gray eyes had changed. It was only a slight change,but to Gordon, who understood his father so well, it was clearlyperceptible and indicative of the mood behind. There was a suggestionof a smile in them, an ironical, half-humorous smile that scattered allhis carefully made plans.
The millionaire struck a match and held it out to light his son'scigar, and, as Gordon leaned forward, their eyes met in a steady regard.
"Nothing doing?" inquired the father, as he carefully lit his own cigarfrom the same match.
Gordon shook his head, and his eyes smiled whimsically.
"Then I best do first talk." The millionaire leaned back in his chairand breathed out a thin spiral of smoke. Then he sighed. "Good smokesthese. Mallinsbee's a man of taste."
"Mallinsbee?"
"Sure."
"Go on."
"He's kept me well supplied. Also with good wine. I owe him quite adebt--that way. Say----" The millionaire paused reflectively. Thenhe went on in the manner of a man who has arrived at a complete anddefinite decision: "Guess it would take hours asking questions andgetting answers. It's not my way, and I don't guess I'm a lawyeranyway, and you aren't a shady witness. We know just how to talk outstraight. I've had over seven weeks to think in--and thinking with meis--a disease. Let's go back. I had a neat land scoop working uphere. Slosson was working it. He's been a secret agent of mine foryears. I've no reason to distrust him. He fixes things right for usand sends word for me to come along. That's happened many timesbefore. It's not new, or--unusual. When I get here I'm met by a verycharming young girl with a rig and team. Her excuse for meeting me isreasonable. The rest is easy. We are both held up, and broughthere--captives. Then I start in to think a lot. Argument don't carryme more than a mile till that same charming girl, who's just done allshe knew to make things right for me, makes her first break. When Ifound out she was the daughter of Mallinsbee I did all the thinkingneeded in half an hour. I knew I was to be rolled on this land deal byMallinsbee's crowd, and, judging by the methods adopted, to be rolledgood. You see we'd had negotiations with Mallinsbee about his land atBuffalo Point before. See?"
Gordon silently nodded.
His father breathed heavily, and, with a wry twist of his lips, rolledhis cigar firmly into the corner of his mouth.
"Now, when I'd done thinking it just left me guessing in twodirections. One of 'em I answered more or less satisfactorily. Thiswas the one I answered. What had become of Slosson? Had he beenhandled by these folk, or had he doubled? The latter I counted out.I've always had him where I wanted him. He wouldn't dare. So I saidhe'd been 'handled.' The other was how could they hope to deal withthe Union Grayling without my authority? That's still unanswered,though I see a gleam of daylight--since meeting you here. However,Gordon boy, you've certainly given me the surprise of my life--findingyou associated with Mallinsbee--and taken to play-acting. That was apretty piece outside with guns. I allow it got me fine. But youoverdid it showing in here. That also told me another thing. It toldme that a feller can spend a lifetime making a bright man of himself,while it only takes a pretty gal five seconds yanking out one of thekey-stones to the edifice he's built. I guess I've been mighty sorryfor your lady friend. I guessed she was pining to death for her folks,and was scared to death of that darnation Chink. However, I'm relievedto find she's just a bunch of bright wits, and don't lack in naturalfemale ability for play-acting. Maybe you can hand me some about thosedirections I'm still guessing in. I'll smoke while you say some."
Father and son smiled into each other's faces as the elder finishedspeaking. But while Gordon's smile was one of genuine admiration, hisfather's still savored of that irony which warned the younger that allwas by no means plain sailing yet.
"I'm glad you feel that way about Hazel, Dad," cried Gordon, his faceflushing with genuine pleasure. "She's some girl. I guess I'm theluckiest feller alive winning her for a wife, eh?"
"You're going to--marry her?"
"Why, yes. She's the greatest, the best, the----"
"Just so. But we're not both going to marry her."
Gordon flung back in his chair with a great laugh. But his father'seyes still maintained their irony.
"Say, I'm sort of sorry talking that way now. There's other things."Gordon fumbled in his pocket while he went on. "Slosson? WhySlosson's trying to stave off pneumonia in a disused, perforated shackway up on Mallinsbee's ranch. He's a skunk of a man anyway, and I hadto let him know I thought that way. I haven't heard about thepneumonia yet, but if he got it I don't guess it would give menightmare." Then he handed across a small volume in morocco bindingwhich he had taken from his pocket. "I don't seem to think you'll needmuch explan
ation about the other. That's your code book, which Iforgot to return in the hurry of quitting New York."
The millionaire turned the cover, closed it again, and quietly bestowedit in his pocket.
"Guess I'll keep this," he said without emotion. "Yes, it tells me alot. It tells me I've credited Mallinsbee and his crowd with the workof my son. It tells me that my own son is solely responsible for theidea, and execution, of rolling his father on this land deal. It tellsme that the principles of big finance must have a fertile resting placesomewhere in my son. Well, there's quite a lot of time beforedaylight."
It had been an anxious moment for Gordon when he handed back theprivate code book, and he had watched his father closely. He wasseeking any sign of anger, or regret, or even pain, as his own actionsbecame apparent to the other. There were no such signs. There wasonly that non-committal half smile, and it left him still uncertain.
His father's patience seemed inexhaustible. Had Gordon only realizedit this was the very sign he should have looked for in such a man.James Carbhoy loved his son as few men regard their offspring, but hewanted his son to be something more than a mere object of hisaffection. He wanted him to be an object upon which he could bestowall the enormous pride of a self-made man. He wanted to feel thatexquisite thrill of triumph resulting to his vanity, that Gordon washis son--the son of his father.
"Yes, there's quite a while before daylight, Dad, and I'm glad."Gordon ran his fingers through his hair. "So I'd better hand it youfrom the beginning. I want you to get a right understanding of mymotives. It was opportunity. That thing you've always taught me foolsmost always try to dodge, and most good men generally miss."
His father nodded and Gordon settled himself afresh in his chair.
"Yes, I'm in this thing, Dad," he went on, after the briefest ofpauses. "In it right up to my neck," he added, with a whimsical smile."It was the opportunity I needed to make good. Being neither a foolnor a good man I took it, and now I sit with a wad of one hundred andfive thousand dollars in good United States currency. It's here in mypocket, and I'm ready to hand it over to you in payment for those olddebts. You will observe I have still eight weeks of my six months torun. I want to say, as you'll no doubt agree when you've heard mystory, that I've made, or acquired it, through graft and piracy, suchas I talked about to you awhile back, and, as far as I can see, mymethod has been as completely dishonest as an honest man could adopt.Dad, I've always regarded your sense of humor as one of your greatestattributes, but whether it'll stand for the way I've treated you, evenwith my intimate knowledge of you, I'm not prepared to guess. This isthe yarn."
Gordon plunged into the story without further preamble while his fathersat and smoked on with that half smile still fixed in his gray eyes.The younger man watched the still, inscrutable, sphinx-like figure witheyes of grave speculation. He missed no detail in the story of hisirresponsibility and haphazard adventure. He started at the momentwhen he booked his passage for Seattle, and carried it on right down tothe melodramatic moment when he burst into that parlor to rescue thegirl he loved from a peril which he knew had never threatened her. Hetold it all with a detail that spared neither himself, nor theconfidential agent Slosson, nor any one else concerned. He showed upthe spirit of graft which actuated every step of his progress, and didnot hesitate to apply the lash with merciless force upon the railroadorganization his father controlled.
And right through, from beginning to end, the millionaire listenedwithout sign or comment. He wanted to hear all this boy--his boy--hadto say. And as he went on that pride, parental pride, in him grew andgrew.
At the end of the story Gordon added a final comment--
"I want to say, Dad, I haven't done this all myself. I've had the helpof two of the most cheerful, lovable rascals I've ever met. Also thehelp of one honest man. But above all, through the whole thing, I'vebeen supported by the smile of the sweetest and best woman in theworld, the girl who's done her best to care for your comfort here.She's sacrificed all scruples to help me out, while her father, blesshim, has never approved any of my dirty schemes. There you are, Dad,that's the yarn. I don't guess it'll make you shout for joy, but,anyway, you started me out to make good--anyway I chose--and I've madegood. Furthermore, I've made good within the time limit, and, inmaking good, I'm bringing back a wife to our home city. I'm standingon my own legs now, as you always guessed you wanted me to, and if youdon't just fancy the gait I travel--why, it's up to you. That'smine--now you say."
The fixity of his father's attitude had driven Gordon to say more thanhe had intended, but he meant it, every word, nor did he regard hisparent with any less affection for it. But now, as he awaited aresponse, a certain unease was tugging at his heartstrings.
At last the millionaire rose from his seat and crossed to the curtainedwindow. He drew the curtains aside, and, raising the sash, flung outhis cigar stump. Then for a moment he gazed out at the moonless night.While he stood thus the smile in his thoughtful eyes deepened.
At last, however, he turned back, and the face that confronted the sonhe loved wore the sharp, hawk-like look which his opponents in thebusiness world of New York were so familiar with.
"That's all right," he said sharply. "But--you've forgotten something."
Gordon became extremely alert.
"Have I?" Then he laughed. "It 'ud be a miracle if I hadn't."
"Sure. Most folks forget something. I forgot that code book."
"Yes."
Their eyes met.
"You've forgotten that I can stop the work at Buffalo Point. You'veforgotten that you've passed out of the realms of simple graft andplunged into criminal proceedings, which brings you within the shadowof the law. You've forgotten that I can smash your schemes, break you,and send you to penitentiary--you and your entire gang."
The steady eyes were deadly as they coldly backed the sharppronouncement of the words. Gordon was caught by the painful emotionwhich the harshness of them inspired. He knew that his father hadspoken the simple truth. He knew that in the eyes of the world he wasa plain criminal. The unpleasant feeling was instantly thrust aside,however. He had not embarked upon this affair without intending tocarry it through to the end he desired.
"I haven't forgotten those things, Dad," he said, with a sharpnessequal to the other's. "I thought of 'em all--and prepared for 'em.I'm not playing. You put this thing up to me. I'm here to see itthrough."
"And then?" There was a shade of sarcasm in the millionaire's tone.
"Then? Why, I could tell you lots of reasons why you can't do any ofthese things. There's arguments that I don't guess you've missedalready. But, anyway, just one little fact 'll be sufficient to go onwith. You're here a captive, and you can't get away till I give theword."
For one of the very few times in his life James Carbhoy was seriouslydisconcerted. Choler began to rise, and a hot flush tinged his cheeksand his eyes sparkled.
"You--would keep me here a prisoner--indefinitely?" he exploded.
"I'm not playing, Dad," Gordon warned.
Gordon had risen from his chair, and the two stood eye to eye. It wasa tense moment, full of potent possibilities. One of them must giveway, or a clash would inevitably follow, a clash which would probablydestroy forever that perfect devotion which had always existed betweenthem.
For Gordon it was a moment of extreme pain. But in him was no thoughtof yielding. From his father it was his invincible determination toforce an acknowledgment of fitness in human affairs as he understoodthem.
At that moment there was no humor in the situation for him.
In the older man, however, humor was perhaps more matured. Parentalaffection, too, is perhaps a bigger, wider, deeper thing than thefilial emotions of youth. He had only intended to test this son ofhis. His challenge had been intended to try him, to confound. But theconfounding had been with him in the shock of his son's irrevocabledetermination.
That moment of natural resentment passed as swif
tly as it had arisen.Gordon was all, and even more, he told himself dryly, than he hadhoped. And so the moment passed, and the hard, gray eyes melted to akindly, whimsical smile which had not one vestige of irony in it.
"You're a blamed young scamp," he said cordially; "but--I'm afraid Ilike you all the better for it. Say, do you think that little girl ofyours and her father have gone to bed yet?"
Gordon reached across, holding out his hand.
"Dear old Dad," he cried, "I'm dead sure we'll find 'em both not a milethe other side of that door. The game's played out, and--we quit?"
The father caught his son's hand and wrung it.
"It's played out, boy; and God bless you!" They stood for a momenthand gripped in hand. Then the millionaire pointed at the door.
"I'd like to see 'em before--daylight."
With a delighted laugh Gordon turned away to the door and flung it open.
"Say," he called, "Hazel! Ho! Mr. Mallinsbee!"
In a moment Hazel had darted to her lover's side, and was followed moredecorously by the burly rancher, with his patch well down over one eye.Gordon pointed at it.
"Guess you can do without that, Mr. Mallinsbee. You're not going toface an opponent; you're going to meet a--friend."
He slid his arm about the girl's waist and drew her gently forwardtowards his father standing waiting to receive her with humorouslytwinkling eyes.
He Drew Her Gently Towards His Father]
"So you're to be my little daughter," cried the millionaire kindly."Well, my dear, I'm glad. I like grit, and you've got it plenty. Ilike a pretty face, and--but I guess Gordon's told you all about that.Seeing you're to be my daughter--and Gordon's left me no choice in thematter, the same as he left me no choice in other things--I feel I'vethe right to tell you you're a pair of--as impertinent young rascals asI've ever had the happiness to claim relationship with. Let me see,just come here, and--Gordon owes me for many nights of anxiety, and Iguess I've a right to make him pay. I'll be satisfied with the paymentof a kiss from you."
He held out his arms, and Hazel, with a joyous laugh and blushingcheeks, ran to them.
"Thank you, my dear," laughed the millionaire, as the girl franklykissed him. "And that's the change." He closed his arms about her andreturned her kiss.
Then, when he had released her, he turned to Mallinsbee and held outhis hand.
"I can always make friends with the fellow who licks me, Mr.Mallinsbee. I'm glad to meet you--with that patch removed from youreye. The game's played and you've won, and I promise you all that'sbeen done in my name by my son goes. You see, henceforth he's mypartner now, so he's the right to act in my name. I'm trusting himwith my dollars, but you are trusting him with something far moreprecious. I hope he'll prove as good a son to you as, I'm glad to say,I consider he's been to me."
Mallinsbee smiled a little sadly, and his eyes gazed tenderly inHazel's direction.
"Directly that boy of yours come around, Mr. Carbhoy, I felt the chillof winter beating up. I'm glad he come, though--I like him. But," headded, with a sigh, "I'll sure need to bank those furnaces some."
Hazel left the millionaire's side and crossed to her father, and passedher arm about his vast waist.
"Don't start yet, Daddy," she said, smiling up at the rugged face. "Ihaven't left you yet, and when I do it's only going to be for a smallpiece at a time."
Silas Mallinsbee shook his head.
"Don't you worry, little gal," he said gently. "I guess this winter'sgoin' to be a mild one. You see, I'm goin' to have a son as well as adaughter, and--who knows?--maybe grandsons----"
But Hazel had quickly pressed one hand over his lips and stifled thepossibilities he was about to enumerate.
Gordon laughed, and his father smiled over at the other father.
"See, Mr. Mallinsbee, we don't need to worry with the summer," Gordoncried. "Summer generally fixes things right for itself. Meanwhilewe'll just make the winter as easy as we can. You've given your littlegirl to me, and she's all you care for in the world. Well, that's atrust that demands all the best I can give. I won't fail you. I won'tfail her. And you, Dad, I won't fail you."
"Good boy," said the millionaire, with a glow of pride. "I just knowit, and--I know it for Mr. Mallinsbee and Hazel, too, if they don'tknow it for themselves. Say----"
For a moment his eyes grew serious. Then into them crept a gleam oftwinkling humor which found reflection on the faces of both Gordon andHazel, who waited for him to complete what he had to say.
"You've told your mother, Gordon?" he inquired. "Seems to me you'vetold her 'most everything in those--chatty--letters of yours."
Gordon grinned and shook his head, while Hazel waited--not without someapprehension. His father's smile gave way to a quaint expression ofawe at such negligence.
"I'd say she'd be pleased, of course," the millionaire said, withoutconviction. "It's a mercy not always bestowed on a boy to get a wifelike--Hazel. Your mother's a mighty good woman, Gordon, and I'll allowshe's got her ways about things. But she's good, and I guess she'lljust take to Hazel right away."
There was no confidence in his manner, in spite of the bravery of hiswords. But Gordon quickly cleared the atmosphere with his cheeryconfidence.
"You leave the dear old mater to me, Dad," he cried. "You see, youonly married her--she raised me. I'll write her to-night, and--say,that reminds me," he added, glancing at his watch. "Daylight'll bearound directly. Hazel needs her rest. Hadn't we----"
Hazel laughed. She had no real desire for bed, but she was tired,weary with the strain of all the swiftly moving events. She caught athis suggestion and demanded compliance.
"Yes," she cried. "There's another day to-morrow. Oh, that wonderfulto-morrow! A long, bright, happy day in which we have nothing toconceal, no wicked schemes to be worked out. A day of real happiness,when we can just be our real selves. Let's all go to bed and dream ourdreams with the full certainty that, however happy our to-day is,to-morrow has always the possibility of being happier."
But Gordon did not write the promised letter that night. He held longcommunion with himself, and decided to send a telegram. He realizedthat diplomacy must be brought to bear, for his mother, with all herexquisite qualities, possessed a slightly arbitrary side to hercharacter where her home and belongings were concerned. Therefore hedecided on a bold stroke.
He sacrificed his own rest that night, and in doing so sacrificed thatof certain others. Sunset was roused from his equine slumbers, as alsowas Steve Mason disturbed out of a portion of his night's rest.
Gordon rode hard into Snake's Fall. He wished to make the returnjourney before breakfast. On arrival at the township he ignored everyprotest from the operator. He overruled him on every point, and wasprepared to back his overruling with physical force.
Steve Mason was literally scrambled into his clothes and set to work atthose hated keys, and the New York call was sent singing over the wires.
Meanwhile Gordon was left at work upon a sheet of paper upon which,after considerable thought, his diplomatic effort resolved itself intoa piece of superlative effrontery.
And this was the message which startled his mother over her morningcoffee and rolls, and incidentally sent a current of furious feminineexcitement through the entire Carbhoy establishment at Central Park,like a sharp electric storm.
"_Mrs. James Carbhoy,_ "_New York._
"Gordon's work here beyond praise. Boy has done wonders. When youhear all you will be proud of him. I am with him here now. Greatevents developing. Am most anxious to form alliance with certainpeople for financial reasons. Your influence required on social side.You will understand when I say rich, desirable heiress. Gordon needspersuasion. Come at once. Special to Snake's Fall. Will meet you atlatter depot.
"JAMES CARBHOY."
When this message was handed to the impatient operator and he hadcarefully read it over, the man looked up with what Gordon regarded asan impertinent grin.
/> His resentment promptly leaped.
"Say," he cried in a threatening tone, "there's some faces made forgrinning, and others that couldn't win prizes that way amongst a crowdof fool-faced mules. Guess yours was spoiled for any sort of chancewhatever, so cut out trying to make it worse than your parents made itfor you. Get me? Just play about on those fool keys and set the tuneof that message right, or Mr. James Carbhoy's going to hear thingsquick."
The threat of the President of the railroad was sufficient to enforcecompliance, but Steve Mason was no respector of persons outside thatauthority, and his retort came glibly.
"You wrote this, Mister, and--you ain't Mr. James Carbhoy," he said,with a sneer and a half-threat.
But Gordon was in no mood for trifling about anything. He was anxiousto be off back to the ranch.
"Mr. James Carbhoy is my father," he cried sharply, "and if that don'tpenetrate your perfectly ridiculous brain-box I'll add that I'm the sonof my father--Mr. James Carbhoy. Are you needing anything, or--willyou get busy?"
Steve Mason decided to "get busy," and so the message winged its wayover the wires.
THE END
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
The Son of His Father The Men Who Wrought The Golden Woman The Law-Breakers The Way of the Strong The Twins of Suffering Creek The Night-Riders The One-Way Trail The Trail of the Axe The Sheriff of Dyke Hole The Watchers of the Plains
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