Читать книгу The Iron Trail - Rex Beach - Страница 13

Curtis Gordon's respect for his guest increased as they walked up the dock, for, before they had taken many steps, out from the crowd which had gathered to watch the ship's arrival stepped one of his foremen. This fellow shook hands warmly with O'Neil, whereupon others followed, one by one—miners, day laborers, "rough-necks" of many nationalities. They doffed their hats-something they never did for Gordon—and stretched out grimy hands, their faces lighting up with smiles. O'Neil accepted their greetings with genuine pleasure and called them by name.

"We just heard you was shipwrecked," said Gordon's foreman, anxiously. "You wasn't hurt, was you?"

"Not in the least."

"God be praised! There's a lot of the old gang at work here."

"So I see."

"Here's Shorty, that you may remember from the North Pass." The speaker dragged from the crowd a red-faced, perspiring ruffian who had hung back with the bashfulness of a small boy. "He's the fellow you dug out of the slide at twenty-eight."

"Connors!" cried O'Neil, warmly. "I'm glad to see you. And how are the two arms of you?"

"Better 'n ever they was, the both av them!" Mr. Connors blushed, doubled his fists and flexed his bulging muscles. "An' why shouldn't they be, when you set 'em both with your own hands, Misther O'Neil? 'Twas as good a job as Doc Gray ever done in the hospittle. I hope you're doin' well, sir." He pulled his forelock, placed one foot behind the other, and tapped it on the planking, grinning expansively.

"Very well indeed, thank you."

O'Neil's progress was slow, for half the crowd insisted upon shaking his hand and exchanging a few words with him. Clumsy Swedes bobbed their heads, dark-browed foreign laborers whose nationality it was hard to distinguish showed their teeth and chattered words of greeting.

"Bless my soul!" Gordon exclaimed, finally.

"You know more of them than I do."

"Yes! I seldom have to fire a man."

"Then you are favored of the gods. Labor is my great problem. It is the supreme drawback of this country. These people drift and blow on every breeze, like the sands of the Sahara. With more and better help I could work wonders here."

Unexpected as these salutations had been, O'Neil's greatest surprise came a moment later as he passed the first of the company buildings. There he heard his name pronounced in a voice which halted him, and in an open doorway he beheld a huge, loose-hung man of tremendous girth, with a war-bag in his hand and a wide black hat thrust back from a shiny forehead.

"Why, Tom!" he exclaimed. "Tom Slater!"

Gordon groaned and went on with the women, saying: "Come up to the house when you escape, Mr. O'Neil. I shall have dinner served."

Mr. Slater came forward slowly, dragging his clothes-bag with him. The two shook hands.

"What in the world are you doing here, Tom?"

"Nothing!" said Slater. He had a melancholy cast of feature, utterly out of keeping with his rotund form. In his eye was the somber glow of a soul at war with the flesh.

"Nothing?"

"I had a good job, putting in a power plant for his nibs"—he indicated the retreating Gordon with a disrespectful jerk of the thumb—"but I quit."

"Not enough pay?"

"Best wages I ever got. He pays well."

"Poor grub?"

"Grub's fine."

"What made you quit?"

"I haven't exactly quit, but I'm going to. When I saw you coming up the dock I said: 'There's the chief! Now he'll want me.' So I began to pack." The speaker dangled his partly filled war-bag as evidence. In an even sourer tone he murmured:

"Ain't that just me? I ain't had a day's luck since Lincoln was shot. The minute I get a good job along you come and spoil it."

"I don't want you," laughed O'Neil.

But Slater was not convinced. He shook his head.

"Oh yes, you do. You've got something on or you wouldn't be here. I've been drawing pay from you now for over five minutes."

O'Neil made a gesture of impatience.

"No! No! In the first place, I have nothing for you to do; in the second place, I probably couldn't afford the wages Gordon is paying you."

"That's the hell of it!" gloomily agreed "Happy Tom." "Where are your grips? I'll begin by carrying them."

"I haven't any. I've been shipwrecked. Seriously, Tom, I have no place for you."

The repetition of this statement made not the smallest impression upon the hearer.

"You'll have one soon enough," he replied. Then with a touch of spirit, "Do you think I'd work for this four-flusher if you were in the country?"

"Hush!" O'Neil cast a glance over his shoulder. "By the way, how do you happen to be here? I thought you were in Dawson."

"I finished that job. I was working back toward ma and the children. I haven't seen them for two years."

"You think Gordon is a false alarm?"

"Happy Tom" spat with unerring accuracy at a crack, then said:

"He's talking railroads! Railroads! Why, I've got a boy back in the state of Maine, fourteen years old—"

"Willie?"

"Yes. My son Willie could skin Curtis Gordon at railroad-building—and Willie is the sickly one of the outfit. But I'll hand it to Gordon for one thing; he's a money-getter and a money-spender. He knows where the loose stone in the hearth is laid, and he knows just which lilac bush the family savings are buried under. Those penurious Pilgrim Fathers in my part of the country come up and drop their bankbooks through the slot in his door every morning. He's the first easy money I ever had; I'd get rich off of him, but"—Slater sighed—"of course you had to come along and wrench me away from the till."

"Don't quit on my account," urged his former chief. "I'm up here on coal matters. I can't take time to explain now, but I'll see you later."

"Suit yourself, only don't keep me loafing on full time. I'm an expensive man. I'll be packed and waiting for you."

O'Neil went on his way, somewhat amused, yet undeniably pleased at finding his boss packer here instead of far inland, for Slater's presence might, after all, fit well enough into his plans.

"The Irish Prince" had gained something of a reputation for extravagance, but he acknowledged himself completely outshone by the luxury with which Curtis Gordon had surrounded himself at Hope. The promoter had spoken of his modest living-quarters—in reality they consisted of a handsome twenty-room house, furnished with the elegance of a Newport cottage. The rugs were thick and richly colored; the furniture was of cathedral oak and mahogany. In the library were deep leather chairs and bookcases, filled mainly with the works of French and German authors of decadent type. The man's taste in art was revealed by certain pictures, undeniably clever, but a little too daring. He was undoubtedly a sybarite, yet he evidently possessed rare energy and executive force. It was an unusual combination.

The dinner was notable mainly for its lavish disregard of expense. There were strawberries from Seattle, fresh cream and butter from Gordon's imported cows, cheese prepared expressly for him in France, and a champagne the date of which he took pains to make known.

On the whole he played the part of host agreeably enough and his constant flow of talk was really entertaining. His anecdotes embraced three continents; his wit, though Teutonic, was genial and mirth-provoking. When Mrs. Gerard took time from her worshipful regard of her daughter to enter the conversation, she spoke with easy charm and spontaneity. As for Natalie, she was intoxicated with delight; she chattered, she laughed, she interrupted with the joyful exuberance of youth.

Under such circumstances the meal should have proved enjoyable, yet the guest of honor had never been more ill at ease. Precisely what accounted for the feeling he could not quite determine. Somewhere back in his mind was a suspicion that things were not as they should be, here in this house of books and pictures and incongruities. He told himself that he should not be so narrow-minded as to resent Gloria Gerard's presence here, particularly since she herself had told him that her friendship for Gordon dated back many years. Nevertheless, the impression remained to disturb him.

"You wonder, perhaps, why I have been so extravagant with my living-quarters," said Gordon, as they walked into the library, "but it is not alone for myself. You see I have people associated with me who are accustomed to every comfort and luxury and I built this house for them. Mrs. Gerard has been kind enough to grace the establishment with her presence, and I expect others of my stock-holders to do likewise. You see, I work in the light, Mr. O'Neil; I insist upon the broadest publicity in all my operations, and to that end I strive to bring my clients into contact with the undertaking itself. For instance, I am bringing a party of my stockholders all the way from New York, at my own expense, just to show them how their interests are being administered. I have chartered a special train and a ship for them, and of course they must be properly entertained while here."

"Quite a scheme," said O'Neil.

"I wanted to show them this marvelous country, God's wonderland of opportunity. They will return impressed by the solidity and permanence of their investment."

Certainly the man knew how to play his game. No more effective means of advertising, no more profitable stock-jobbing scheme could be devised than a free trip of that sort and a tour of Alaska under the watchful guidance of Curtis Gordon. If any member of the party returned unimpressed it would not be the fault of the promoter; if any one of them did not voluntarily go out among his personal friends as a missionary it would be because Gordon's magnetism had lost its power. O'Neil felt a touch of unwilling admiration.

"I judge, from what you say, that the mine gives encouragement," he ventured, eying his host curiously through a cloud of tobacco smoke.

"'Encouragement' is not the word. Before many years 'Hope Consolidated' will be listed on the exchanges of the world along with 'Amalgamated' and the other great producers. We have here, Mr. O'Neil, a tremendous mountain of ore, located at tide water, on one of the world's finest harbors. The climate is superb; we have coal near at hand for our own smelter. The mine only requires systematic development under competent hands."

"I was in Cortez when Lars Anderson made his first discovery here, and I had an option on all this property. I believe the price was twelve hundred dollars; at any rate, it was I who drove those tunnels you found when you bought him out."

Gordon's eyes wavered briefly, then he laughed.

"My dear sir, you have my sincere sympathy. Your poison, my meat—as it were, eh? You became discouraged too soon. Another hundred feet of work and you would have been justified in paying twelve hundred thousand dollars. This 'Eldorado' which the Copper Trust has bought has a greater surface showing than 'Hope,' I grant; but—it lies two hundred miles inland, and there is the all-important question of transportation to be solved. The ore will have to be hauled, or smelted on the ground, while we have the Kyak coal-fields at our door. The Heidlemanns are building a railroad to it which will parallel mine in places, but the very nature of their enterprise foredooms it to failure."

"Indeed? How so?"

"My route is the better. By a rigid economy of expenditure, by a careful supervision of detail, I can effect a tremendous saving over their initial cost. I hope to convince them of the fact, and thus induce them to withdraw from the field or take over my road at—a reasonable figure. Negotiations are under way."

At this talk of economy from Curtis Gordon O'Neil refrained from smiling with difficulty. He felt certain that the man's entire operations were as unsound as his statement that he could bring the Trust to terms. Yet Gordon seemed thoroughly in earnest. Either he expected to fool his present hearer, or else he had become hypnotized by the spell of his own magnificent twaddle—O'Neil could not tell which.

"Who laid out your right-of-way?" he asked with some interest.

"A very able young engineer, Dan Appleton. An excellent man, but—unreliable in certain things. I had to let him go, this very afternoon, in fact, for insubordination. But I discharged him more for the sake of discipline than anything else. He'll be anxious to return in a few days. Now tell me"—Gordon fixed his visitor with a bland stare which failed to mask his gnawing curiosity—"what brings you to King Phillip Sound? Are we to be rivals in the railroad field?"

"No. There are enough projects of that sort in the neighborhood for the present."

"Five, all told, but only one destined to succeed."

"I'm bound for the Kyak coal-fields to perfect and amend my surveys under the new ruling."

"Ah! I've heard about that ruling."

"Heard about it?" exclaimed O'Neil. "Good Lord! Haven't you complied with it?"

"Not yet."

"You surely intend to do so?"

"Oh yes—I suppose so."

"If you don't you'll lose—"

"I'm not sure we can ever win."

"Nonsense!"

"I'm not sure that it's wise to put more good money into those coal claims," said Gordon. "This ruling will doubtless be reversed as the others have been. One never knows what the Land Office policy will be two days at a time."

"You know your own business," O'Neil remarked after a pause, "but unless you have inside information, or a bigger pull in Washington than the rest of us, I'd advise you to get busy. I'll be on my way to Kyak in the morning with a gang of men." Gordon's attitude puzzled him, for he could not bring himself to believe that such indifference was genuine.

"We have been treated unfairly by the Government."

"Granted!"

"We have been fooled, cheated, hounded as if we were a crowd of undesirable aliens, and I'm heartily sick of the injustice. I prefer to work along lines of least resistance. I feel tempted to let Uncle Sam have my coal claims, since he has lied to me and gone back on his promise, and devote myself to other enterprises which offer a certainty of greater profits. But"—Gordon smiled deprecatingly—"I dare say I shall hold on, as you are doing, until that fossilized bureau at Washington imposes some new condition which will ruin us all."

Remembering Natalie's statement that her own and her mother's fortunes were tied up in the mines, O'Neil felt inclined to go over Gordon's head and tell the older woman plainly the danger of delay in complying with the law, but he thought better of the impulse. Her confidence in this man was supreme and it seemed incredible that Gordon should jeopardize her holdings and his own. More likely his attitude was just a part of his pose, designed to show the bigness of his views and to shed a greater luster upon his railroad project.

It was difficult to escape from the hospitality of Hope, and O'Neil succeeded in doing so only after an argument with Natalie and her mother. They let him go at last only upon his promise to return on his way back from the coal-fields, and they insisted upon accompanying him down to the dock, whither Gordon had preceded them in order to have his motor-boat in readiness.

As they neared the landing they overheard the latter in spirited debate with "Happy Tom" Slater.

"But my dear fellow," he was saying, "I can't lose you and Appleton on the same day."

"You can't? Why, you've done it!" the fat man retorted, gruffly.

"I refuse to be left in the lurch this way. You must give more notice."

Slater shrugged, and without a word tossed his bulging war bag into the motor-boat which lay moored beneath him. His employer's face was purple with rage as he turned to Murray and the ladies, but he calmed himself sufficiently to say:

"This man is in charge of important work for me, yet he tells me you have hired him away."

"Tom!" exclaimed O'Neil.

"I never said that," protested Slater. "I only told you I was working for Murray."

"Well?"

"I hired myself. He didn't have anything to say about it. I do all the hiring, firing, and boosting in my department."

"I appeal to you, O'Neil. I'm short-handed," Gordon cried.

"I tell you he don't have a word to say about it," Slater declared with heat.

Natalie gave a little tinkling laugh. She recognized in this man the melancholy hero of more than one tale "The Irish Prince" had told her. Murray did his best, but knowing "Happy Tom's" calm obstinacy of old, he had no real hope of persuading him.

"You see how it is," he said, finally. "He's been with me for years and he refuses to work for any one else while I'm around. If I don't take him with me he'll follow."

Mr. Slater nodded vigorously, then imparted these tidings:

"It's getting late, and my feet hurt." He bowed to the women, then lowered himself ponderously yet carefully over the edge of the dock and into the leather cushions of the launch. Once safely aboard, he took a package of wintergreen chewing-gum from his pocket and began to chew, staring out across the sound with that placid, speculative enjoyment which reposes in the eyes of a cow at sunset.

Curtis Gordon's face was red and angry as he shook hands stiffly with his guest and voiced the formal hope that they would meet again.

"I'm glad to be gone," Slater observed as the speed-boat rushed across the bay. "I'm a family man, and—I've got principles. Gordon's got neither."

"It was outrageous for you to walk out so suddenly. It embarrassed me."

"Oh, he'd let me go without notice if he felt like it. He fired Dan Appleton this afternoon just for telling the truth about the mine. That's what I'd have got if I'd stayed on much longer. I was filling up with words and my skin was getting tight. I'd have busted, sure, inside of a week."

"Isn't the mine any good?"

"It ain't a mine at all. It's nothing but an excavation filled with damn fools and owned by idiots; still, I s'pose it serves Gordon's purpose." After a pause he continued: "They tell me that snakes eat their own young! Gordon ought to call that mine the Anaconda, for it'll swallow its own dividends and all the money those Eastern people can raise."

"I'm sorry for Mrs. Gerard."

Slater emitted a sound like the moist exhalation of a porpoise as it rises to the surface.

"What do you mean by that snort?" asked Murray.

"It's funny how much some people are like animals. Now the ostrich thinks that when his head is hid his whole running-gear is out of sight. Gordon's an ostrich. As for you—you remind me of a mud turtle. A turtle don't show nothing but his head, and when it's necessary he can yank that under cover. Gordon don't seem to realize that he sticks up above the underbrush—either that or else he don't care who sees him. He and that woman—"

"Never mind her," exclaimed O'Neil, quickly. "I'm sure you're mistaken."

Mr. Slater grunted once more, then chewed his gum silently, staring mournfully into the twilight. After a moment he inquired:

"Why don't you show these people how to build a railroad, Murray?"

"No, thank you! I know the country back of here. It's not feasible."

"The Copper Trust is doing it."

"All the more reason why I shouldn't. There are five projects under way now, and there won't be more than enough traffic for one."

Slater nodded. "Every man who has two dollars, a clean shirt, and a friend at Washington has got a railroad scheme up his sleeve."

"It will cost thirty million dollars to build across those three divides and into the copper country. When the road is done it will be one of heavy grades, and—"

"No wonder you didn't get the contract from the Heidlemanns—if your estimate was thirty million."

"I didn't put in a figure."

Tom looked surprised. "Why didn't you? You know them."

"I was like the little boy who didn't go to the party—I wasn't asked." The speaker's expression showed that his pride had been hurt and discouraged further questioning. "We'll hire our men and our boats to-night," he announced. "I've arranged for that freighter to drop us off at Omar on her way out. We'll have to row from there to Kyak. I expected to land my horses at the coast and pack in from Kyak Bay, but that shipwreck changed my plans. Poor brutes! After my experience I'll never swim horses in this water again."

An eleven-o'clock twilight enveloped Cortez when the two men landed, but the town was awake. The recent railway and mining activity in the neighborhood had brought a considerable influx of people to King Phillip Sound, and the strains of music from dance-hall doors, the click of checks and roulette balls from the saloons, gave evidence of an unusual prosperity.

O'Neil had no difficulty in securing men. Once he was recognized, the scenes at Hope were re-enacted, and there was a general scramble to enlist upon his pay-roll. Within an hour, therefore, his arrangements were made, and he and Tom repaired to Callahan's Hotel for a few hours' sleep.

A stud game was going on in the barroom when they entered, and O'Neil paused to watch it while Slater spoke to one of the players, a clean-cut, blond youth of whimsical countenance. When the two friends finally faced the bar for their "nightcap" Tom explained:

"That's Appleton, the fellow Gordon fired to-day. I told him I'd left the old man flat."

"Is he a friend of yours?"

"Sure. Nice boy—good engineer, too."

"Umph! That game is crooked."

"No?" "Happy Tom" displayed a flash of interest.

"Yes, Cortez is fast becoming a metropolis, I see. The man in the derby hat is performing a little feat that once cost me four thousand dollars to learn."

"I'd better split Dan away," said Tom, hastily.

"Wait! Education is a good thing, even if it is expensive at times. I fancy your friend is bright enough to take care of himself. Let's wait a bit."

"Ain't that just my blamed luck?" lamented Slater. "Now if they were playing faro I could make a killing. I'd 'copper' Appleton's bets and 'open' the ones he coppered!"

O'Neil smiled, for "Happy Tom's" caution in money matters was notorious. "You know you don't believe in gambling," he said.

"It's not a belief, it's a disease," declared the fat man. "I was born to be a gambler, but the business is too uncertain. Now that I'm getting so old and feeble I can't work any more, I'd take it up, only I broke three fingers and when I try to deal I drop the cards. What are we going to do?"

"Just wait," said O'Neil.