CHAPTER VIII
AT BUFFALO POINT
To Gordon's mind Hazel Mallinsbee attached far greater importance toher father's presence on the veranda than the incident warranted. Itdid not seem to him that there was the least necessity for his beingthere at all. Truth to tell, the matter appeared to him to be aperfect nuisance. He had rather liked Silas Mallinsbee when he had methim under somewhat distressing circumstances in the town. Now he felta positive dislike for him. His strong, keen, benevolent face made noappeal to his sympathies now whatsoever.
Besides, it did not seem right that any man who claimed parentage ofsuch a delightful daughter as the girl at his side should slouch aboutin a pair of old trousers tucked into top-boots and secured about hiswaist by a narrow strap. And it seemed positively indecent that heshould display no other upper garment than a cotton shirt of such adoubtful hue that it was impossible to be sure of its sanitarycondition.
However, he allowed none of these feelings betrayal, and repliedappropriately to Hazel's excited announcement. He was glad, later, hehad exercised such control, for their arrival at the house was theimmediate precursor of an invitation to share their midday meal, whichhad already been placed on the table by the silent, inscrutableHip-Lee, the Chinese cook and general servitor in this temporary abode.
The horses had been housed and fed in the temporary stable at the backof the house, and a committee of three had sat upon Sunset's injury andprescribed for and treated it. Now they were indoors, ready for thehomely meal set out for them.
Hip-Lee moved softly about setting an additional place at the table forthe visitor. Silas Mallinsbee was lounging in the doorway, looking outacross the veranda. Hazel was superintending Hip-Lee's efforts.Gordon was endeavoring to solve the problem of the rapid and unexpectedhappenings which had befallen him since his arrival, and at the sametime carry on a conversation with the rumbling-voiced originator ofSnake's Fall boom.
"At one time I guessed I'd bumped right into the hands of thePhilistines," he said. "That's when I was--er arriving. Since then aSamaritan got busy my way and dumps me right down in the heart of thePromised Land, which just now seems to be flowing with milk and honey.I set out to view the dull black mountains of industry, and instead Iarrive at the sparkling plains of delightful ease. Mr. Mallinsbee, youcertainly have contrived to put me under enormous obligation."
Gordon's eyes were pleasantly following the movements of the girl'sgraceful figure about the plain but neat parlor. "I suppose alloffices in the West are not like this, because----"
Mallinsbee rumbled a pleasant laugh.
"Office?" he said, without turning. "That's jest how Hazel calls it.Guess she's got notions since she finished off her education at Boston.She's got around with a heap of 'em, includin' that suit she's wearin'.Y'see, she's my foreman hoss-breaker, and reckons skirts and thingsare--played out. Office? Why, it's just a shack. Some time you mustget around out an' see the ranch house. It's some place," he addedwith simple pride.
Hazel went up to her father and pretended to threaten him by the neck.
"See, Daddy, you can just quit telling about my notions to--folks.Anyway"--she turned her back to Gordon--"I appeal to you, Mr. VanHenslaer, isn't an office a place where folks transact big deals andmake fortunes?"
"That's how folks reckon when they rent them," said Gordon. "Ofcourse, I've known folks to sleep in 'em. Others use 'em as a sort ofclub smoking lounge. Then they've been known to serve some men as ashelter from--home. I used to have an office."
Silas Mallinsbee turned from his contemplation of the horizon. He wasinterested, and his shrewd eyes displayed the fact.
Hazel clapped her hands.
"And what did you use it for?" she demanded quizzically.
"I--oh, I--let's see. Well, mostly an address from which to have wordsent to folks I didn't want to see that--I was out. I used to find ituseful that way."
Mallinsbee's chuckle amused Gordon, but Hazel assumed an air ofjudicial severity.
"A spirit not to be encouraged." Then, at the sound of her father'schuckle, "My daddy, you are as bad as he. Now food's ready, so pleasesit in. We can talk easier around a table than when people aredreaming somewhere in the distance on the horizon, or walking about aroom that isn't bigger than the bare size to sit in. Anyway, Mr. VanHenslaer, this office is for business. I won't have it disparaged bymy daddy, or--or anyone else. It serves a great purpose so far aswe're concerned." Then she added slyly, "You see, we're in the throesof the great excitement of making a huge pile, for the sheer love ofmaking it. Aren't we, Daddy, dear?"
Silas Mallinsbee looked up from the food he was eating with the air ofa man who only eats as a matter of sheer necessity.
"Say, Mr. Van Henslaer," he said in his deep tones, "I've been arancher all my life. Cattle, to me, are just about the only things inthe world worth while, 'cept horses. I've never had a care or thoughtoutside 'em, till one day I got busy worrying what was under the groundinstead of keeping to the things I understood above the ground. Y'see,the trouble was two things," he went on, smiling tenderly in hisdaughter's direction. "One was I'd fed the ranch stoves with surfacecoal that you could find almost anywheres on my land, and the other wasthe fates just handed me the picture of a daughter who caught thedangerous disease of 'notions' way down east at school in Boston.Since she's come along back to us I've had coal, coal, coal all chasin'through my head, an' playing baseball with every blamed common-senseidea that ever was there before. Wal, to tell things quick, I made amighty big pile out of that coal just to please her. We didn't needit, but she guessed it was up to me to do this. But that didn't finishit. This gal here couldn't rest at that. She guessed that pile wasmade and done with. She needs to get busy in another direction. Well,she gets to work, and has all my land on the railroads staked out intoa township, and reckons it's a game worth playing. The other was toodead easy. This time she reckons to measure her brains and energyagainst a railroad! She reckons to show that we can match, and beat,any card they can play. That's the reason of this office."
Hazel laughed and raised an admonishing finger at the smiling face andtwinkling eyes of her father.
"What did I tell you, Mr. Van Henslaer?" she cried. "Didn't I say hewas just a scallywag? Oh, my great, big daddy, I'm dreadfully,dreadfully ashamed and disappointed in you. I'm going to give youaway. I am, surely. There, there, Mr. Van Henslaer, sits the wickedplotter and schemer. Look at him. A big, burly ruffian that ought toknow better. Look at him," she went on, pointing a dramatic finger athim. "And he isn't even ashamed. He's laughing. Now listen to me.I'm going to tell you my version. He's a rancher all right, all right.He's been satisfied with that all his life, and prosperity's neverturned him down. Then one day he found coal, and did nothing. We justused to talk of it, that was all. Then another day along comes afriend, a very, very old friend and neighbor, whom he's often helped.He came along and got my daddy to sell him a certain patch ofgrazing--just to help him out, he said. He was a poor man, and mybig-hearted daddy sold it him at a rock-bottom price to make it easyfor him. Three months later they were mining coal on it--anthracitecoal. That fellow made a nice pile out of it. He'd bluffed my daddy,and my daddy takes a bluff from no man. Well, say, he just nearly wentcrazy being bested that way, and he said to me--these were his words:'Come on, my gal, you and me are just goin' to show folks what we'remade of. If there's money in my land we're going to make all we needbefore anyone gets home on us. I'm goin' to show 'em I'm a match forthe best sharks our country can produce--and that's some goin'.' Theresits the money-spinner. There! Look at him; he's self-confessed. I'mjust his clerk, or decoy, or--or any old thing he needs to help him inhis wicked, wicked schemes!"
Mallinsbee sat chuckling at his daughter's charge, and Gordon, watchinghim, laughed in chorus.
"I'm kind of sorry, Mr. Mallinsbee, to have had to listen to such atale," he said at last, with pretended seriousness, "but I guess you'recharged, tried, c
onvicted and sentenced. Seeing there's just two ofyou, it's up to me to give the verdict Guilty!" he declared. "Have youany reason to show why sentence should not be passed upon you? No?Very well, then. I sentence you to make that pile, without fail, in agiven time. Say six months. Failing which you'll have thesatisfaction of knowing that you have assisted in the ruin of aninnocent life."
In the midst of the lightness of the moment Gordon had suddenly taken aresolve. It was one of those quick, impulsive resolves which wereentirely characteristic of him. There was nothing quite clear in hismind as to any reason in his decision. He was caught in the enthusiasmof his admiration of the fair oval face of his hostess, whoseunconventional camaraderie so appealed to his wholesome nature; he wascaught by the radiance of her sunny smile, by the laughing depths ofher perfect hazel eyes. Nor was the manner of the man, her father,without effect upon his responsive, simple nature.
But his sentence on Silas Mallinsbee had caught and held both father'sand daughter's attention, and excited their curiosity.
"Why six months?" smiled Hazel.
"Say, it's sure some time limit," growled Mallinsbee.
Gordon assumed an air of judicial severity.
"Is the court to be questioned upon its powers?" he demanded. "Thereis a law of 'contempt,'" he added warningly.
But his warning was without effect.
"And the innocent's ruin?" demanded Hazel.
The answer came without a moment's hesitation.
"Mine," said Gordon. And his audience, now with serious eyes, waitedfor him to go on.
Hip-Lee had brought in the sweet, and vanished again in his silentfashion. Then Gordon raised his eyes from his plate and glanced at hishost. They wandered across to and lingered for a moment on the strongyoung face of the girl. Then they came back to his plate, and hesighed.
"Say, if there's one thing hurts me it's to hear everybody telling ayarn, and my not having one to throw back at 'em," he said, smilingdown at the simple baked custard and fruit he was devouring. "Just nowI'm not hurt a thing, however, so that remark don't apply. You see, myyarn's just as simple and easy as both of yours, and I can tell it in asentence. My father's sent me out in the world with a stake of my ownnaming to make one hundred thousand dollars in six months!"
He was surprised to witness, the dramatic effect of his announcement.Hazel's astonishment was serious and frankly without disguise. But herfather's was less marked by outward expression. It was only obviousfrom the complete lack of the smile which had been in his shrewd eyes amoment before.
"One hundred thousand dollars in six months!" Hazel exclaimed. She hadnarrowly escaped scalding herself with the coffee Hip-Lee had justserved. She set her cup down hastily.
"Guess your father's takin' a big chance," said Mallinsbee thoughtfully.
But their serious astonishment was too great a strain for Gordon. Hebegan to laugh.
"It's my belief life's too serious to be taken seriously, so the chancehe's taken don't worry me as, maybe, it ought," he said. "You see, myfather's a good sportsman, and he sees most things the way every realsportsman sees 'em--where his son's concerned. Morally I owe him onehundred thousand dollars. I say morally. Well, I guess we talkedtogether some. I--well, maybe I made a big talk, like fellows of myage and experience are liable to make to a fellow of my father's ageand experience. Then I sort of got a shock, as sometimes fellows of myage making a big talk do. In about half a minute I found a new meaningfor the word 'bluff.' I thought I'd got its meaning right before that.I thought I could teach my father all there was to know about bluff.You see, I'd forgotten he'd lived thirty-three more years than I had.Bluff? Why, I'd never heard of it as he knew it. The result is I'vegot to make one hundred thousand dollars in six months or forfeit mylegitimate future." Then he added with the gayest, most buoyant laugh,"Say, it's a terrible thing to think of. It's dead serious. It's asserious as an inter-university ball game."
The lurking smile had returned to Mallinsbee's eyes, and Hazel franklyjoined in Gordon's laugh.
"And you've come to Snake's Fall to--to make it?" she cried.
"I can't just say that," returned Gordon.
"No." Mallinsbee shook his head, and the two men exchanged meaningglances. Then the old man went on with his food and spoke between themouthfuls. "You had an office?"
"Sure. You see, I was my father's secretary."
"Secretary?" Mallinsbee looked up quickly.
Gordon nodded.
"That's what he called me. I drew the salary--and my allowance. Itwas an elegant office--what little I remember of it."
The old man's regard was very nearly a broad laugh.
"Say, you made a talk about an 'innocent's' life gettin' all mussed up?"
Gordon nodded with profound seriousness.
"Sure," he replied. "Mine. I don't guess you'll deny my innocence."Mallinsbee shook his head. "Good," Gordon went on; "that makes iteasy. If you don't make good I lose my chance. I'm going to put mystake in your town plots."
The rancher regarded him steadily for some moments. Then--
"Say, what's your stake?" he inquired abruptly.
Gordon had nothing to hide. There was, it seemed to him, a fatalmagnetism about these people. The girl's eyes were upon him, full ofamused delight at the story he had told; while her father seemed to bedriving towards some definite goal.
"Five thousand dollars. That and a few hundred dollars I had to mycredit at the bank. It don't sound much," he added apologetically,"but perhaps it isn't quite impossible."
"I don't guess there's a thing impossible in this world for the fellerwho's got to make good," said Mallinsbee. "You see, you've got to makegood, and it don't matter a heap if your stake's five hundred or fivethousand. Say, talk's just about the biggest thing in life, but it'smade up of hot air, an' too much hot air's mighty oppressive. So I'lljust get to the end of what I've to say as sudden as I can. I guess mygal's right, I'm just crazy to beat the 'sharps' on this land scoop,and I'm going to do it if I get brain fever. Now it's quite aproposition. I've got to play the railroad and all these groundsharks, and see I get the juice while they only get the pie-crust. I'mneeding a--we'll call him a secretary. Hazel is all sorts of a brighthelp, but she ain't a man. I need a feller who can swear and scrap ifneed be, and one who can scratch around with a pen in odd moments.This thing is a big fight, and the man who's got the biggest heart andbest wind's going to win through. My wind's sound, and I ain't heardof any heart trouble in my family. Now you ken come in in town plotsso that when the boom comes they'll net you that one hundred thousanddollars. You don't need to part with that stake--yet. The deal shallbe on paper, and the cash settlement shall come at the finish.Meanwhile, if need be, for six months you'll put in every moment you'vegot on the work of organizing this boom. Maybe we'll need to scrapplenty. But I don't guess that'll come amiss your way. We'll handthis shanty over for quarters for you, and we'll share it as an office.This ain't philanthropy; it's business. The man who's got no moresense than to call a bluff to make one hundred thousand dollars in sixmonths is the man for me. He'll make it or he won't. And, anyway,he's going to make things busy for six months. You ain't a 'sharp'now--or I wouldn't hand you this talk. But I'm guessin' you'll bemighty near one before we're through. We've got to graft, and graftplenty, which is a play that ain't without attractions to a real brightfeller. You see, money's got a heap of evil lyin' around itsroot--well, the root of things is gener'ly the most attractive. GuessI've used a deal of hot air in makin' this proposition, but you won'tneed to use as much in your answer--when you've slept over it. Say, iffood's through we'll get busy, Hazel."
Mrs. James Carbhoy was in bed when she received her morning's mail.Perhaps she and her millionaire husband were unusually old-fashioned intheir domestic life. Anyway, James Carbhoy's presence in the greatbedstead beside her was made obvious by the heavy breathing which, in aless wealthy man, might have been called snoring, and the mountainousri
dge of bedclothes which covered his monumental bulk.
A querulous voice disturbed his dreams. He heard it from afar off, andit merged with the scenes he was dwelling upon. A panic followed. Hehad made a terrible discovery. It was his wife, and not the presidentof a rival railroad, who was stealing the metals of a new track he wasconstructing as fast as he could lay them.
He awoke in a cold sweat. He thought he was lying in the cuttingbeside the track. His wife had vanished. He rubbed his eyes. No, shehadn't. There she was, sitting up in bed with a sheaf of papers in herhand. He felt relieved.
Now her plaint penetrated to his waking consciousness.
"For goodness' sake, James," she cried, "quit snoring and wake up. Iwish you'd pay attention when I'm speaking. I'm all worried to death."
The multi-millionaire yawned distressingly.
"Most folks are worried in the morning. I'm worried, too. Go tosleep. You'll feel better after a while."
"It's nothing to do with the morning," complained his wife."It's--it's a letter from Gordon. The poor boy writes such queerletters. It's all through you being so hard on him. You never didhave any feeling for--for anybody. I'm sure he's suffering. He nevertalked this way before. Maybe he don't get enough to eat; he don't saywhere he is either. Perhaps he's just nowhere in particular. You'dbetter ring up an inquiry bureau----"
"For goodness' sake read the letter," growled the drowsy man. "You'remaking as much fuss as a hen with bald chicks."
Mrs. Carbhoy withered her husband with a glance that fell only upon theback of his great head. But she had her way. She meant him to sharein her anxiety through the text of the, to her, incomprehensibleletter. She read slowly and deliberately, and in a voice calculated torivet any wandering attention.
"DEAREST MUM:
"There's folks who say that no man knows the real meaning of luck, goodor bad, till he takes to himself a wife. This may be right. Myargument is, it's only partially so. There may be considerable luckabout matrimony. For instance, if any fool man came along and marriedour Gracie he'd be taking quite a chance. Her native indolence andpeevishness suggest possibilities. Her tongue is vitriolic in one soyoung, as I have frequently had reason to observe. This wouldcertainly be a case where the man would learn the real meaning of luck.But there wouldn't be a question. His luck would be out--plumb out.Jonah would have been a mascot beside him.
"This is by the way.
"I argue luck can be appreciated fully through channels less worrying.When luck gets busy around its coming is kind of subtle. It's sudden,too; kind of butts in unnoticed, sometimes painfully, and generallywithout shouting. Maybe it happens with a bump or a jar. PersonallyI'm betting on the 'bump' play. A bump of that nature got busy my waywhen I arrived here. I now have a full appreciation of luck. Quite asfull an appreciation as the man would who married our Gracie. But inmy case I guess it's good luck. This isn't going to tell you allthat's in my mind, but, seeing I haven't fallen for fiction yet, Iguess I won't try to be more explicit. Luck, in my present position,means the coming responsibility of success. You might hand this on tothe old Dad.
"Talking of the old Dad, it seems to me that, for a delicate digestion,baked custard and fruit have advantages over ice-cream as a sweet.This again is by the way.
"In my last letter I gave you a few first impressions on arrival at mydestination. Now, if you'll permit, I'll add what I might call thematurer reflections of a mind wide awake to life as it really is, andto the inner meaning of those things which are so carefully hidden fromone brought up in luxury, as I have been. One of the 'dead snips' thisway is that cleverness and wisdom are often confused by the ignorant.Cleverness don't mean wisdom, and--vice versa. For instance, loafingidly down a main street six inches deep in a dust that would shame ablizzard when the wind blows, with a blazing sun scorching the marrowof the spine till it's ready to be spread out on toast, escorted by anarmy of disgusting flies moving in massed formation, and not knowingbetter than to drive your soul to perdition through the channel ofextreme bad language, don't suggest cleverness. Yet there may surelybe a deal of wisdom in it if it only keeps you from doing something aheap more foolish. Maybe this don't sound altogether bright, butthere's quite a deal in it. Think it out. Another thought is thatlearning's quite a sound proposition. For instance, a superficialknowledge of geology may come mighty handy at unexpected moments. Aknowledge of this served me at a critical moment only to-day. So yousee an intimate acquaintance with sharp flints, collected--theacquaintance, not the flints--during my time as the possessor of anautomobile, which the Dad provided me with and for the upkeep of whichhe so kindly paid, has likely had more influence upon my future lifethan the best talk ever handed out by a Fifth Avenue preacher everwould have done. I have no thought of being irreverent. I am merelyhanding you a fact. People say that missed opportunities always makeyou hate to think of them in after life. For my part, I've generallyfigured this to be the philosophic hot air of a man who's getting oldand hates to see youth around him, or else the chin mush of some foolman who's never had any opportunities, talking through the roof of hishead. I kind of see it different now. You gave me the opportunity ofstudying all the beauties of the world seen through an artist's life.I guessed at the time that would be waste of precious moments thatmight be spent chasing athletics. It's only to-day I've got wise towhat a heap I've lost in twenty-four years. Colors just seemed to memessy mixtures only fit to spoil paper and canvas with. Well, to-dayI've hit on something in the way of color that's just about set mecrazy to see it all the time. It's a sort of yellowy, greeny brown.That don't sound as merry as it might, but to me it talks plenty. It'sjust the dandiest color ever. I discovered it out on a 'long, lonetrail'--that's how folks talk in books--where the surroundings weren'tany improvement on just plain grass. Say, Mum, I guess that color isgreat. It gets a grip on you so you don't seem to care if a localfreight train comes along and dissects your vitals, and chews them upready for making a delicatessen sausage. When I die I'll just have tohave my shroud dyed that color, and my coffin fixed that way, too.
"This isn't so much of a passing thought as the others. Guess somefolks might figure it to be a disease. Maybe the old Dad would. Well,I shan't kick any if I die of it.
"Talking of Art, I'm just beginning to get a notion that curves arewonderful, wonderful things. These days of mechanical appliances I'vealways regarded drawing such things by hand as positively ridiculous.I don't think that way now. If I could only draw the wonderful curvesI have in mind now, why, I guess I'd go right on drawing them till thebirds roosted in my beard and my bones were right for a tame ancestralskeleton.
"The daylight of knowledge is sort of creeping in.
"I've learned that frame houses have got Fifth Avenue mansions beat amile, and the smell of a Chinee can become a dollar-and-a-half scentsachet in given circumstances. I've learned that real sportsmanshipisn't confined to athletics by any means, and a lame chestnut horse canbe a most friendly creature. I've discovered that one man of purposeisn't more than fifty per cent. of two, when both are yearning one way.I'm learning that life's a mighty pleasant journey if you let it aloneand don't worry things. It's no use kicking to put the world torights. It's going to give you a whole heap of worry, and, anyway, theworld's liable to retaliate. Also I'd like to add that, though I guessI'm gathering wisdom, I don't reckon I've got it all by quite a piece.
"Having given you all the news I can think of I guess I'll close.
"Your affectionate son, "GORDON.
"P.S.--My remarks about Gracie are merely the privileged reflections ofa brother. When she grows up I dare say she'll be quite a bully girl.It takes time to get sense.
"G."
"I don't understand it, anyway," sighed Gordon's mother, as she laidthe letter aside. "You'll have to get him back to home, James. He'ssuffering. We'll send out an inquiry----"
She broke off, glancing across at the mass of humanity so peacefullysnoring at
the far side of the bed, and, after a brief angry moment,resigned herself to the reflection that men, even millionaires, wereperfectly ridiculous and selfish creatures who had no right whatever toburden a poor woman's life with the responsibility of children.