Читать книгу The Award of Justice; Or, Told in the Rockies: A Pen Picture of the West - Barbour Anna Maynard - Страница 13

The snow-storm detained Mr. Blaisdell in the city rather longer than he intended, and Houston had improved the time in going over all the old books and office records which were available.

The books of the company he could examine at his leisure, on some pretext or other, in Morgan’s presence, but his extra work, which had occupied his evenings, consisted in going over the old letter files, mining reports and assay statements, making copies of whatever he found that would be of value to him later. He had found evidence of fraudulent transactions in the books of the company, and of these he had made careful memoranda, but so far, the greatest amount of evidence which he had secured, had been discovered in the old letters written by Mr. Blaisdell to other members of the company at Silver City, and received by him in return. These were copied exactly into a set of small books which he had brought for that purpose, and he had also made tracings and blue print copies of plats and maps of the most important mines, and of the plans of their underground workings.

What he now particularly desired was some turn of affairs that would necessitate his visiting the mines, and give him an opportunity to become familiar with their workings, and that, in some way, he could gain access to the books and papers of the main office at Silver City, as he would there find records of the business transacted directly with the company in New York. He had taken the precaution to bring with him copies of letters on file in the New York offices, but he now felt that much of the most important evidence was contained in the office at Silver City, and was the missing link which he would need before going much farther, and as he sat at his desk one bright morning, a few days after the storm, mentally reviewing the whole situation, he was planning how he could best secure this also.

Morgan, still carrying a few scars, sat with his legs crossed on top of his table, reading a newspaper, when the door opened, and Mr. Blaisdell entered.

“Well, boys, good-morning,” was his greeting, as he glanced quickly around the office, and Morgan’s feet suddenly descended to the floor. “What’s the matter with your eye, Morgan?”

“Oh, nothing, been sparring a little, that’s all.”

“Been down to the mines this morning?”

“No, sir, not yet; I thought maybe you’d be up and want to give some directions before I went down.”

“Very considerate!” remarked Mr. Blaisdell sarcastically, “you know I would come to the mines myself, anyway, and could give directions there just as well as here. Get ready to go down there with me, I’m going in a few minutes.”

Going over to Houston’s desk, he glanced hastily over the books, gave some instructions, and saying that he wished to see him later, went out to join Morgan.

“Morgan, how did you get that eye?” he asked again.

“Oh, Houston and I had a little set-to the other day, and he hit me pretty hard, that’s all.”

“What was it about?” demanded Mr. Blaisdell.

“Nothing much,” answered Morgan, carelessly, “we had some words about that girl of Maverick’s; I guess he’s a little stuck on her himself, and was afraid I’d be in his way, or something of the kind; I got mad and hit him, or tried to, and he gave me a knock-out.”

“I was going to say that he doesn’t look as though you had hit him very hard,” remarked Mr. Blaisdell dryly, and then continued, “Well, I don’t see the use of coming to blows over Maverick’s girl, or any other for that matter, they’re not so scarce as all that. Jim’s girl has got a pretty face, but she isn’t worth fighting about, that I can see.”

There were reasons for Mr. Blaisdell’s superior indifference to Lyle’s attractions, as she had been compelled more than once, in a most emphatic manner, to check attempts at undue familiarity on his part, notwithstanding the fact that he was a much-married man, living with his third wife, his table surrounded with “olive plants”–fifteen in number–of all sizes and descriptions, and regarded in the bosom of his family as a model husband and father.

Late in the afternoon, Mr. Blaisdell returned to the office, looking very weary and somewhat worried. Morgan remained at the mines the rest of the day. Mr. Blaisdell went over the books with Houston, and after expressing considerable satisfaction at the work which he had accomplished, he sat down by himself, and seemed lost in thought for some time. At last he said:

“Mr. Houston, I’ve been thinking for some time that we need a little extra help in the office at Silver City, and yet not enough that it has seemed advisable to employ another bookkeeper. Our books there are getting behind, and a little mixed, too, I’m afraid. Mr. Lewis, our bookkeeper, is quite an old man, and he has charge of two or three sets of books for the different companies, and it is not to be wondered at if he occasionally gets a little confused; and it occurred to me while sitting here, that perhaps you might be willing to come down, for a day or two, and straighten out the books for us.”

Houston seemed for a moment to be weighing the matter very deliberately.

“Of course I could do it,” he replied, “but it would involve considerable extra time and expense for me, and I would want extra compensation.”

“Oh, of course,” responded Mr. Blaisdell, readily, “I understand that; indeed, I was going to remark that you have already accomplished so much work, and your methods seem to be so exact and, at the same time, expeditious, that we will consider your term of probation here at an end; we agreed to raise your salary at the end of the month, if your services were satisfactory; they are eminently so, and I will take the responsibility of paying you one hundred and twenty-five dollars for this first month also. As to your fare back and forth between here and Silver City, of course we will pay that.”

“Then,” said Houston, smiling and inwardly congratulating himself, “I do not see but that it is settled that I go to Silver City whenever you are ready.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Blaisdell, “you will not need to go down there for ten days or so, as the time will make no appreciable difference in the state of affairs there, and I shall need you here during that time, as some parties are coming out from the east to look at some mining properties, and both Morgan and myself will probably have to spend most of our time at the mines.”

That evening, at the boarding house, Houston sat apparently interested in a game of chess between Miss Gladden and Rutherford, but in reality, paying close attention to a conversation carried on in low tones between Mr. Blaisdell and Morgan. Only an occasional sentence was audible, but he could gather enough to satisfy himself regarding the nature of their plans.

“Clean the rubbish out of the shaft, and set a couple of men to work there for a day or two,” Mr. Blaisdell was saying; a few words were lost, and then he said, “Whenever I hear what day they are coming up, we’ll put on a good force.”

“They’ll have their own expert with them, I suppose?” asked Morgan.

“Yes,” answered Mr. Blaisdell, “but if he’s like the most of those eastern experts, Haight and I can fix him very easily.”

A little later the conversation ended, Mr. Blaisdell saying, as he rose to go to his room:

“It is a confoundedly poor property, but I think a few tons of ore from the Yankee Boy will sell it all right.”

This remark gave Houston considerable food for reflection, as the Yankee Boy was one of the richest properties owned by the New York company. He had that day received his first letter from his uncle, in New York, sent under cover of an envelope from the Chicago firm, and written in reply to a letter from himself mailed immediately upon his arrival at the mines; and Mr. Blaisdell and Morgan having left, Houston retired to his room to make his first report of the information he had secured and seemed likely to secure, concerning the ways and means of the western mining company; leaving the chess players deep in their game, and Lyle watching them.

Lyle, though keeping up her studies afternoons, had not been down to Jack’s cabin since the evening he had shown her the picture, partly on account of the storm, and partly because she feared her father might be watching her.

Jack had wondered at her absence, thinking perhaps her new friends had something to do with it; but on this night, Jack had other company, as Bull-dog had ensconced himself in Mike’s chair beside the stove, and having also appropriated Mike’s briar pipe,–its owner being absent,–was smoking with all the gravity and self-possession of an old-timer, and entertaining Jack with his quaint talk.

“Say,” he said at last, clasping his hands about his knee, and holding the pipe between his teeth, “have ye seen that new feller up at the orfice. Mister Houston, they call him?”

Jack replied, very indifferently, that he had seen him once or twice.

“Well, now, he’s a Joe-dandy, a regular cracker-jack; an’ he’s goin’ ter be boss of that whole shootin’ match, Morgan an’ that little, black, snaky feller, an’ old Blaisdell, too, if he don’t look out fer hisself.”

“What makes you think so?” asked Jack, much amused.

“I don’t think so, I know it. He’s got more sand than all the rest of ’em put together, an’ he ain’t afraid of nobody. ’D ye hear ’bout that fight that him ’n Morgan had?”

“No, did they fight?” inquired Jack, much surprised.

“Did they fight!” exclaimed the little Arab, removing the pipe from his mouth, and shaking his head with evident satisfaction at the remembrance of the scene, “well, I should smile! Morgan, he tried hard enough ter fight, but the other feller did him up in ’bout the sixteenth part of a second!”

“Were you there?” asked Jack, laughing.

“I was peekin’ through a crack in the door; they s’posed I’d gone, but I see somethin’ was up when Mister Houston first come in, an’ I just makes up my mind I’ll see the fun through, an’ when I goes out, I bangs the door hard, and then opens it agin, careful like, and peeks in; an’ Mister Houston, he had walked over ter where Morgan was, an’ had lit into him ’bout somethin’ or ruther he’d ben sayin’, an’ if he didn’t lay down the law ter him, I’ll eat my hat. An’ then Morgan he sets out to give him some of his lip, and by Jiminy! ’fore he could spit the words out, biff! comes a stunner right in his face, and shut one eye. My, wasn’t he mad though! Then he goes ter give the other feller a punch in the head, an’ Houston, he ducked the purtiest ye ever see, and let out a blow at Morgan’s jaw, an’ gee-whizz! Morgan goes a flying across the room, and lan’s under the big desk, and he never come to fer ’bout twenty minits. My, but ’twas the slickest knock-out ye ever see, Corbett couldn’t a done it slicker hisself! an’ I rolled down them steps a laughin’ so I ’most died. I went back after he’d come to, an’ Mister Houston was a tellin’ him ter come out an’ fight, but he didn’t seem ter wan’ter very bad, an’ I see the fun was over, so I come away.”

Jack had laughed heartily over Bull-dog’s description of the scene; now he asked:

“What was the fight about?”

“Well,” said Bull-dog, gravely replacing his pipe in his mouth, “’s near ’s I could make out, ’twas ’bout some girl.”

“What girl?” inquired Jack, rather quickly.

“Well, the new feller, he didn’t call no names, but I heerd Morgan say somethin’ ’bout Lyle Maverick, an’ so I guess ’twas her, but I knew you was always kinder sweet on her yourself, an’ so I wasn’t goin’ ter say nothin’, ’cause, ’nless you’re a scrapper, you won’t stand no sort of a chance with that feller.”

“All right, Bull-dog,” said Jack, “I’m something of a ‘scrapper’ myself, but I don’t expect to get into any trouble;” the tone was kind, and he spoke with a half smile, but the keenly observant eyes of the boy detected a shade on Jack’s face. However, all conversation was suddenly checked by the entrance of Mike, who, in a manner more forcible than ceremonious, dispossessed Bull-dog of his chair and pipe. The little waif soon took his departure, but it was some time before the cloud on Jack’s brow was dispelled.