Shadow Mountain Page 14

  “Not between friends,” he said. “Ain’t we drunk here together? Well, tell me the truth now–where is he? And listen here, Charley; I’ll tell you something first that will make it all right with the Colonel. All he has to do is to come back to Keno and I’ll give him his share in the mine. Then we can throw in together, and, when we get through, old Blount will be left holding the sack. Do you get the idea? I’m trying to be friends, but you’ve got to take me over to the Colonel!”

  “The Colonel is dead!” repeated Charley doggedly and then he cocked his head to one side. “Don’t you hear ’em?” he asked, “it’s them Germans or something─”

  “Never mind!” said Wiley sharply. “I’m talking about the Colonel, and I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I can’t give the mine to Virginia because she won’t take it; but the Colonel is a gentleman. He’s reasonable, Charley, and I’d get along with him fine; so come on, now–go over and tell him!”

  He patted him on the back and a look of indecision crept into Charley’s drink-dimmed eyes, but in the end he shook his head.

  “Nope,” he muttered, “the Colonel is dead!” And Wiley threw up his hands.

  “Well, then here,” he ran on, “you know me Charley; and you know I’m not trying to steal that mine. Now here’s what I want you to do. You tell Virginia I want to see her; and then some night you bring her over and–well, maybe that will do just as well.”

  “Will you give her back her mine?” inquired Charley pointedly, and Wiley rose up in a rage.

  “Yes!” he yelled, “for cripes’ sake, what’s the matter with you? You talk like everybody was a crook. Didn’t I give her back her stock? Well then, I’ll give her back her mine! But she’s got to accept it, hasn’t she?”

  “That was her I heard coming,” answered Charley simply, but when Wiley looked out she was gone.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XXI

  The Dragon’s Teeth

  It is the curse of success that it raises up enemies as Jason’s dragon teeth brought forth armed men. When he was skating around the country, examining mines and taking out options, Wiley could safely count every man his friend; but now that he had made his big coupon the Paymaster they were against him, from Virginia down. If he went to her politely with a thousand-dollar bill and asked her to take it as a gift she would refuse to so much as look at him. And yet, as a matter of fact, he was the same old laughing Wiley–only now he did not laugh. It was not right, but it could not be helped.

  A long and weary month, full of vexatious delays and nerve-racking demands from his creditors, left its mark on Wiley’s face; but in six weeks the mine and mill were running. Three shifts of men broke the ore at the face and sent it up the shaft to the grizzly and from there it was fed down through the enormous rock-crusher and then on through the ball-mills and rollers to the concentrating tables below. It was crushed and sorted and crushed again and ground fine in the revolving tubes, and then it was screened and washed and separated on vanners until nothing but the concentrates remained. The tail sluicings were sluiced off down the gulch, to add to the mighty dump that the Paymaster had left there in its prime. But even at its best, when it was working in gold ore that ran three or four thousand to the ton, even then the famous Paymaster had not turned out treasure like this.

  The banks were full of gold–they were shipping it to America in lots of ten and twelve million at a time–but tungsten was rare, it was necessary, almost priceless, and the demand for it increased by leaps and bounds. How could iron-masters harden the tools that were to turn out the mighty cannon that this gold had been sent over to buy, unless they could get the tungsten? Molybdenum, vanadium, manganese, and all the substitutes were commandeered to take its place; but month by month the price of tungsten crept up until now all the West was tungsten-mad. It had gone up from forty dollars to sixty, and now seventy, for a twenty-pound unit of concentrates–running sixty per cent or better of tungstic acid–and as Wiley resumed his shipments he received a frantic offer of seventy-five dollars a unit. And then once more he smiled.

  There had been a time when he had felt the cold hand of Blount closing down on his precious mine–and the other banks had refused to take over his notes. The property was not his, there was nothing tangible upon which to make a loan; and then, Blount had passed the word around. Wiley was indebted to him, and heavily indebted, and when he took the apple there would be no core for the rest. But now in a week the whole situation had changed and Wiley’s smile brought forth answering smiles. The general store in Vegas extended his credit, even his supply-house had heard the good news; and Blount, who had grown arrogant, became suddenly friendly and fawning, trying vainly to cover up his hand. He was like a man who had clutched at a treasure and discovered himself a little too soon. The treasure was still Wiley’s but–well, Blount was used to waiting, so he smiled and extended the notes.

  At three dollars and more a pound it would not take many tons of tungsten to put Wiley safely out of the hole, but when he ran over his accounts he was startled by the bills that were piling up against him. A thousand dollars was nothing to these mining machinery houses and his payroll was over two hundred a day; and then there was powder and timber and steel, and gasoline and oil, andthe freight across the desert. That went on everything, twenty dollars a ton whether they hauled both ways or one; and with so much at stake he had to treat everyone generously or run the chance of being tied up by a strike. Nor was there lacking the sinister evidence of some unfriendly if not hostile force, and as breakdowns recurred and unexpected accidents happened, Wiley came and went like a ghost. His gun was always on him and he watched each man warily, seeking out his enemies from his friends.

  As for Virginia and her mother, he had long since given up hope of stopping their venomous tongues; and Death Valley Charley, finding the pressure too strong, had conveniently dropped out of sight. In all that town, which he had found dead and unpeopled and had changed in a few months to a live camp, there was not a single soul that he could truthfully say was honestly and unquestionably his friend. It was not that they were against him, for most of them realized that their own success was bound up with his; but they were not actively for him, they did not boost and help him, but joined in on the old anvil chorus. He had cheated the Widow, he had beaten Virginia out of her stock, he had taken advantage of Death Valley Charley! But, they added–and this was what galled him–what else could you expect from the son of Honest John?

  Wiley gritted his teeth, but he did not speak his mind for the hour of vindication was at hand. When he had paid off his notes and his bills for supplies the first thing he would do, even before he took over the mine, would be to buy in Blount’s Paymaster stock. And with that stock in his hands, with every tell-tale endorsement to prove the damning story of Blount’s guilt, he would go to these old-timers and make them eat their words when they said his father was not honest. But as far as he was concerned, what difference did it make whether they considered him honest or not? Would they feel any more kindly towards his honest old father when he had proved that he had been faithful to the end? No, they thought they were virtuous and only denouncing injustice, but when that charge was taken out of their mouths they would clack on out of jealousy at his success. It was envy that really poisoned their minds and made them spit forth spleen, envy and chagrin at their own lack of foresight.

  The Paymaster dump had lain right at their doorway where all of them could inspect its ore, but no one had noticed the heavy spar. They had called it white quartz and dismissed it from their minds, but he had come among them with different eyes. He had gone to a school of mines, where he had learned to identify minerals, and he had kept up with the mining magazines; and while these poisonous knockers had been lamenting the results of the war he had jumped in and turned it to his advantage. He had done something practical, to the improvement of industry, something that might change in a certain measure, the very destiny of the world; but the moment he succeeded they had accused him of robbin
g half-wits and of oppressing the widow and the orphan. Wiley shut down his jaws and smiled dourly.

  There was small hope now of changing the widow and her “orphan” but if he could not convert them he could show them. As sure as he knew anything he was convinced that Colonel Huff had simply fled from his wife’s nagging tongue and, when he got the time, Wiley intended to hire a pack-train and set out across Death Valley to find him. Virginia came and went, but always she avoided him scrupulously. Not once since she had returned from Vegas had she met his questioning eyes; and to all his advances she turned a deaf ear, if the statements of Charley could be trusted. The carefully thought out scheme of getting back the Huff stock and then forming an alliance against Blount had died before it was born; or it remained at best in suspended animation, pending Death Valley Charley’s return. He had gone off with his burros but the longer Wiley waited on him the more he saw that Charley was a broken reed. No, the trimming of Blount, if it was done at all, would have to be done by him–and all he needed was time.

  Two months and a little more lay between him and the day of reckoning–the twentieth day of May. In that short time he must meet heavy obligations, pay off his notes, buy Blount’s stock and purchase the mine; and if anything should happen–if the hoist should break down, the mill blow up, the market for tungsten fail–well, he could kiss the Paymaster good-by. The market and other influences were on the knees of the gods, but Wiley decided that there should be no more accidents. That was something preventable and no more love-sick engineers were going to use his gearings for a clothes mangle. He engaged two watchmen who were mechanics as well and then he kept watch over his watchmen. Neither by day nor by night did he go down the hill for more than a few minutes at a time and on dark, stormy nights he wandered about like a specter watching the shadows for Stiff Neck George. He was out there somewhere, Wiley knew it as instinctively as he knew that Virginia hated him, and yet he never appeared. He never made threats nor showed himself in the open but, somewhere, he was out there in the darkness; and sooner or later he would strike.

  The days dragged on slowly, with cold, March winds and sandstorms boiling in over Shadow Mountain; and then driving rain followed by bright, sunny weather and struggling flowers in the swales. It was spring, in a way, but not the spring of yester-year, with its songs and laughter and high hopes. Wiley felt the old call to be up and away, but his racer remained in its shed. He paced about restlessly, waiting for something to happen, observing the slightest signs–and then he found her tracks in the dust. Virginia had come up the trail in the night and had gone down past the mill. He knew her tracks well and, among the broad brogans of the miners, they stood out like the footprints of a fairy. Wiley’s heart leapt up in his breast–and then it stood still. Had she come as an enemy or a friend?

  He followed her trail to where it had been trampled out by the watchman in making his regular rounds; and then, below the mill, he picked it up again as it went on down the path. Not once had she hesitated or turned from the beaten trail, but she had gone down after the graveyard shift. That went on at eleven and her tracks were superimposed on the hob-nailed boot-marks of the miners. When they had come off shift they had trampled them out again, except for a print here and there; and by the color of the dust Wiley shrewdly judged that she had visited him between twelve and one. Between the wind-blown footprints of the night-shift and the fresh red of the day shift as they had mounted the trail at seven, her high-arched steps had been made about midnight, for the dust had been whitened by the air. Wiley followed them silently, trampling them out as he went, and that night as the graveyard shift came on he slipped out and hid by the trail. What kind of a watchman was this, who let a woman come and go and never even saw her tracks in the dust? He could watch for Virginia; and meanwhile, incidentally, he could keep tab on this sleepy-headed guard.

  The chuh, chuhof the engine echoed loud in the canyon as the hoist brought up the first cars, and then the rumble of the trams as they were pushed down the track and the clatter of the ore down the grizzly. A sharp blap, blap, from the compressor showed that the machine-men had set up their drills; and beneath all the rest there was the hushed rumble of the mill and the thunderous rhump, rhump, of the rock-breaker. It was a ponderous affair of the old jaw-type, surmounted by a fly-wheel of a full ton’s weight that drove it rhythmically on; and as Wiley listened it made a music for his ears as sweet as any bass viol. In this mine of his there was an orchestration of busy sounds, from the clang of the bell to start or stop the engine, to this deep, rumbling undertone of the crusher; and every clang and crunch brought him that much nearer to the day when he would be free.

  He took shelter within the black mouth of a short tunnel by the trail and looked out at his little world–the huge mill, dimly lighted, the gaunt gallows-frame against the sky, and the sleeping town below. He had made them his own and now he must fight for them; and watch over them, day and night. Above him the stars shone out clean and cold, a million of them in the dry, desert air; and in the east the half moon rose up slowly above Gold Hill, where the wealth of ages lay hid. It had given up its gold but his hand had struck the blow that would open up its treasure vaults of tungsten. All it needed now was watchfulness and patience. The moon rose up higher and he dozed within the shadow and then a sound brought him to with a start. It was the crunch of gravel on the trail before him and as he looked out he saw Virginia.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XXII

  Virginia Explains–nothing

  She was covered by a cloak and there was a man’s hat on her head, but Wiley knew her–it was Virginia Huff. The moon had mounted high and the chill of the morning was in the air, so he could hardly flatter himself that she had come to see him. Perhaps it was just to see the mine. But if, beneath that cloak, she carried some instrument of destruction–he stepped out and watched her covertly. She tiptoed up the trail, glancing nervously about her, starting back as a trammer dumped his ore; and then, very slowly, she crept past his house and disappeared in the direction of the mill. Instantly he whipped out of his tunnel and started after her, running swiftly up the trail; but as he neared the summit she came catapulting against him, running as swiftly the other way.

  “Here! Stop!” he commanded as she leapt back with a stifled scream and then as she made a dash he plunged resolutely after her and caught her like a child.

  “You let go of me!” she panted, but he flung one arm about her and held both her hands to her side.

  “No,” he said, and she struck out violently only to find herself clutched the tighter.

  “Wiley Holman!” she exploded, “if you don’t let me go! You’d better–I saw a man back there!”

  “It’s my watchman,” answered Wiley. “I keep him to guard the mill. But what are you doing up here?”

  “No! It wasn’t! It was Stiff Neck George! And he had something heavy in his hand! You’d better go and watch him!”

  She was struggling in his arms, her breath hot against his cheek, fear and rage in every word, but he crushed her roughly to his side.

  “Never mind about George,” he said. “What are youdoing up here, now?”

  “But he’ll blow up your mine! I’ve heard him threaten to! I just came up to tell you!”

  “Oh, that’s different!” returned Wiley, relaxing his grip, “but never mind–my watchman will get him.”

  “No! The watchman is asleep–I didn’t see him anywhere! Oh, Wiley; please run and stop him!”

  “Nope,” replied Wiley, “he can blow the whole mill up–I want to ask you a question.”

  He released her reluctantly, for the touch of her had thrilled him, and the sweetness of her breath on his cheek–but she darted down the trail like a rabbit.

  “Here! Wait!” he ordered and outran her in ten jumps, at which she stooped and snatched up a rock.

  “Put that down!” he said, and as she swung back the rock, he braved it and caught her anyway. “Now,” he went on, trembling from the smash of the blow
, but holding her in a grip of steel, “we’ll see what all this is about!”

  “You will not!” she hissed back, “because I won’t answer you a word! And I hope old George ruins your mill!”

  “That’s all right,” he said, shaking his bloody head, “but, Judas, you did smash me with that stone! After that, I guess, I’ve got something coming to me!” And he reached down and kissed her lips.

  “You–stop!” she panted. “Oh, I–I’ll kill you for that!” But Wiley only laughed recklessly.

  “All right!” he said, “what’s the difference–I’d die happy! I almost wish you’d hit me again.”

  “Well, I will!” she threatened, but when he released her she drew back and hung her head. “That isn’t fair,” she said, “you know I can’t protect myself, and─”

  “Well, all right,” he agreed, “we’ll call it square then. But–I want to tell you something, Virginia.”

  “Are you going to stand here,” she burst out sharply, “and let him blow up your mill?”

  “Yes, I am,” he answered. “I don’t care what happens to me if you and I can be friends. I love you, Virginia, you know it as well as I do, and that’s all I want in the world. Let’s just be friends, the way we used to be when we were playing around town together. I’ve been trying to see you for months–it’s seemed like forty years–and Virginia, you’ve got to listen to me!”

  He paused and drew nearer, and she stood waiting passively, as if daring him to touch her again; but he stooped and peered into her face. The night was not dark and in the ghostly moonlight he could see the cold anger in her eyes.

  “Yes, I know,” he said, “you hate me like poison–but Virginia, this is going too far. It’s all right to hate me, if that’s the way you’re built, but you ought to give me a chance. It looks very much as if you’d come up here to-night to do some damage to my mine; but I’ll let that pass and say nothing about it if you’ll only give me a chance. Let me tell you how I feel and then, some other time─”