Shadow Mountain Page 7

  She ended up strong, but Wiley sensed a touch and his expressions of sympathy were guarded.

  “Now, you’re a business man,” she went on unheedingly. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do–you lend me the money to get back that stock and I’ll sell it all to your father!”

  “To my father!” echoed Wiley and then his face turned grim and he laughed at some hidden joke. “Not much,” he said, “I like the Old Man too much. You’d better sell it back to Blount.”

  “To Blount? Why, hasn’t your father been hounding me for months to get his hands on that stock? Well, I’d like to know then what you think you’re doing? Have you gone back on your promise, or what?”

  “I never made any promise,” returned Wiley pacifically. “It was my father that made the offer.”

  “Oh, fiddlesticks!” exploded the Widow. “Well, what’s the difference–you’re working hand and glove!”

  “Not at all,” corrected Wiley, “the Old Man is raising cattle. You can’t get him to look at a mine.”

  “Well, he offered to buy my stock!” exclaimed the Widow, badly flustered. “I’d like to know what this means?”

  “It’s no use talking,” returned Wiley wearily, “I’ve told you a thousand times. If you send your stock to John Holman at Vegas, he’ll give you ten cents a share; but Iwon’t give you a cent.”

  “Do you mean to say,” demanded the Widow incredulously, “that you don’t want that stock?”

  “That’s it,” assented Wiley. “I’ve just sold my tax title for a hundred dollars, to Blount.”

  “Oh, this will drive me mad!” cried the Widow in a frenzy. “Virginia, come in here and help me!”

  Virginia came in with the steak slightly scorched and laid his dinner before Wiley. Her eyes were rather wild, for she had been listening through the doorway, but she turned to her mother inquiringly.

  “He says he’s sold his tax claim,” wailed the Widow in despair, “for one hundred dollars–to Blount. And then he turns around and says his father will buy my stock for ten cents a share in cash. But he won’t lend me the money to pay my note to Blount and get my Paymaster stock back.”

  “That’s right,” nodded Wiley, “you’ve got it all straight. Now let’s quit before we get into a row.”

  He bent over the steak and, after a meaning look at Virginia, the Widow discreetly withdrew.

  “We saw you fighting George,” ventured Virginia at last as he seemed almost to ignore her presence. “Weren’t you afraid he’d get mad and shoot you?”

  “Uh, huh,” he grunted, “wasn’t I hiding behind Blount? No, I had him whipped from the start. Bad conscience, I reckon; these crooks are all the same–they’re afraid to fight in the open.”

  “But yourconscience is all right, eh?” suggested Virginia sarcastically, and he glanced up from under his brows.

  “Yes,” he said, “we’ve got ’em there, Virginia. Are you still holding onto that stock?”

  A swift flood of shame mantled Virginia’s brow and then her dark eyes flashed fire.

  “Yes, I’ve got it,” she said, “but what’s the answer when you sell out your tax claim to Blount?”

  “I wonder,” he observed and went on with his eating while she paced restlessly to and fro.

  “You told me to hold it,” she burst out accusingly, “and then you turn around and sell!”

  “Well, why don’t yousell?” he suggested innocently, and she paused and bit her lip. Yes, why not? Why, because there were no buyers–except Wiley Holman and his father! The knowledge of her impotence almost drove her on to further madness, but another voice bade her beware. He had given her his advice, which was not to sell, and–oh, that accursed assayer! If she had his report she could flaunt it in his face or–she caught her breath and smiled.

  “No,” she said, “you told me not to!”

  And Wiley smiled back and patted her hand.

  * * *

  CHAPTER X

  The Best Head in Town

  What was Wiley Holman up to? Virginia paced the floor in a very unloverlike mood; and at last she sat down and wrote a scathing letter to the assayer, demanding her assay at once. She also enclosed one dollar in advance to test the sample for gold and silver and then, as an afterthought, she enclosed another bill and told him to test it for copper, lead, and zinc. There was something in that rock–she knew it just as well as she knew that Wiley was in love with her, and this was no time to pinch dollars. For ten years and more they had stuck there in Keno, waiting and waiting for something to happen, but now things had come to such a pass that it was better to know even the worst. For if the mine was barren and Wiley, after all, was only trying in his dumb way to help, then she must pocket her pride and sell him her stock and go away and hide her head. But if the white quartz was rich–well, that would be different; there would be several things to explain.

  Yet, if the quartz was barren, why did Wiley offer to buy her stock, and if it was rich, why did he sell his tax deed? And if his father stood ready to pay ten cents a share for two hundred thousand shares of stock why did Wiley refuse to redeem her mother’s holdings for a petty eight hundred dollars? He must have the money, for his diamond ring alone was worth well over a thousand dollars; and he had tried repeatedly to get possession of this same stock which he now refused to accept as a gift. Virginia thought it over until her head was in a whirl and at last she stamped her foot. The assay would tell, and if he had been trying to cheat her–she drew her lips to a thin, hard line and looked more than ever like her mother.

  The work at the Paymaster went on intermittently, but Blount’s early zest was lacking. For eight, yes, ten years he had waited patiently for the moment when he should get control of the mine; but now that he held it, without let or hindrance, somehow his enthusiasm flagged. Perhaps it was the fact that the timbering was expensive and that his gropings for the lost ore body came to nothing; but in the back of his mind Blount’s growing distrust dated from the day he had bought Wiley’s quit-claim. Wiley had come to the mine full of fury and aggressiveness, as his combat with Stiff Neck George clearly showed; but after he had gone down and inspected the workings he had sold out for one hundred dollars. And Wiley Holman was a mining engineer, with a name for Yankee shrewdness–he must have had a reason.

  Blount recalled his men from the drifts where they had been working and set them to crosscutting for the vein. It was too expensive, restoring all the square-sets and clearing out the fallen rock; and he had learned to his sorrow that Colonel Huff had blown up every heading with dynamite. In that tangle of shattered timbers and caved-in walls the miners made practically no progress, for the ground was treacherous and ten years under water had left the wood soft and slippery. To be sure the hidden chute lay at the breast of some such drift; but to clear them all out, with his limited equipment and no regular engineer in charge, would run up a staggering account. So Blount began to crosscut, and to sink along the contact, but chiefly to cut down expenses.

  With the railroad that had tapped the camp torn up and hauled away, every foot of timber, every stick of powder, cost twice as much as it ought. And then there was machinery, and gas and oil for the engine, and valves and spare parts for the pumps, and the board of the men, and overhead expenses–and not a single dollar coming in. Blount sat up late in his office, adding total to total, and at the end he leaned back aghast. At the very inside it was costing him two hundred dollars for every day that he operated the mine. And what was it turning back? Nothing. The mine had been gutted of every pound of ore that it would pay to sack and ship, and unless something was done to locate the lost ore body and give some guarantee of future values, well, the Paymaster would have to shut down. Blount considered it soberly, as a business man should, and then he sent for Wiley Holman.

  There were others, of course, to whom he might appeal; but he sent for Wiley first. He was a mining engineer, he had had his eye on the property and–well, he probably knew something about the lost vein. So he sent a wire, an
d then a man; and at last Holman, M. E., arrived. He came under protest, for he had been showing a mine of his own to some four-buckle experts from the east, and when Blount made his appeal he snorted.

  “Well, for the love of Miguel!” he exclaimed, starting up. “Do you think I’m going to help you for nothing? I’m a mining engineer, and the least it will cost you is five hundred dollars for a report. No, I don’t think anything; and I don’t know anything; and I won’t take your mine on shares. I’m through–do you get me? I sold out my entire interest for one hundred dollars, cash. That puts me ahead of the game, up to date; and while I’m lucky I’ll quit.”

  He stamped out of the office–Blount having moved into the bank building where he had formerly officiated as president–and made a break for his machine; but other eyes had marked his arrival in town and Death Valley Charley button-holed him.

  “Say,” he said, “do you want something good–an option on ten first-class claims? Well, come with me; I’ll make you an offer that you can’t hardly, possibly refuse.”

  He led Wiley up an alley, then whisked him around corners and back to his house behind the Widow’s.

  “Now, listen,” he went on, when Wiley was in a chair and he had carefully fastened the door, “I’m going to show you something good.”

  He reached under his bed and brought out ten sacks of samples which he spread, one by one, on the table.

  “Now, you see?” he said. “It’s all that white quartz that you was after on the Paymaster dump. I followed the outcrop, on an extension of the Paymaster, and I took up ten, good, opened claims.”

  “Umm,” murmured Wiley, and examined each sample with a careful, appraising eye. “Yes, pretty good, Charley; I suppose you guarantee the title? Well, how much do you want for your claims?”

  “Oh, whatever you say,” answered Charley modestly, “but I want two hundred dollars down.”

  “And about a million apiece, I suppose, for the claims? It doesn’t cost meanything, you know, on an option.”

  “Eh, heh, heh,” laughed Charley indulgently and Heine, who had been looking from face to face, jumped up and barked with delight. “Eh, heh; yes, that’s good; but you know me, Mr. Holman–I ain’t so crazy as they think. No, I don’t talk millions with my mouth full of beans; all I want is five hundred apiece. But I got to have two hundred down.”

  “Oh,” observed Wiley, “that’s two dollars for the marriage license and the rest for the wedding journey. Well, if it’s as serious as that─” He reached for his check-book and Charley cackled with merriment.

  “Yes, yes,” he said, “then I wouldbe crazy. Do you know what the Colonel told me?

  “‘Charley,’ he says, ‘whatever you do, don’t marry no talking woman. She’ll drive you crazy, the same as I am; but don’t you forget that whiskey.’”

  “Oh, sure,” exclaimed Wiley, beginning to write out the option, “this money is to buy whiskey for the Colonel!”

  “That’s it,” answered Charley. “He’s over across Death Valley–in the Ube-Hebes–but I can’t find my burros. They–Heine, come here, sir!” Heine came up cringing and Charley slapped him soundly. “Shut up!” he commanded and as Heine crept away Death Valley began to mutter to himself. “No, of course not; he’s dead,” he ended ineffectively, and Wiley looked up from his writing.

  “Who’s dead?” he inquired, but Charley shook his head and listened through the wall.

  “Look out,” he said, “I can hear her coming–jest give me that two hundred now.”

  “Well, here’s twenty,” replied Wiley, passing over the money, and then there came a knock at the door.

  “Come in!” called out Charley and, as he motioned Wiley to be silent, Virginia appeared in the doorway.

  “Oh!” she cried, “I didn’t know you were here!” But something in the way she fixed her eyes on him convinced Wiley that she had known, all the same.

  “Just a matter of business,” he explained with a flourish, “I’m considering an option on some of Charley’s claims.”

  “Jest my bum claims!” mumbled Charley as Virginia glanced at him reprovingly. “Jest them ten up north of the Paymaster.”

  “Oh,” she said and drew back towards the door, “well, don’t let me break up a trade.”

  “You’d better sign as a witness,” spoke up Wiley imperturbably, and she stepped over and looked at the paper.

  “What? All ten of those claims for five hundred apiece? Why, Charley, they may be worth millions!”

  “Well, put it down five million, then,” suggested Wiley, grimly. “How much do you want for them, Charley?”

  “Five hundred dollars apiece,” answered Charley promptly, “but they’s got to be two hundred down.”

  “Well?” inquired Wiley as Virginia still regarded him suspiciously, and then he beckoned her outside. “Say, what’s the matter?” he asked reproachfully. “Let the old boy make his touch–he wants that two hundred for grub.”

  “He does not!” she spat back. “I’m ashamed of you, Wiley Holman; taking advantage of a crazy man like that!”

  “Well, I don’t know,” he began in a slow, drawling tone that cut her to the quick, “he may not be as crazy as you think. I’ve just been offered a half interest in the Paymaster if I’ll come out and take charge of it.”

  “You have!” she cried, starting back and staring as he regarded her with steely eyes. “Well, are you going to take it?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered. “Thought I’d better see you first–it might be taking advantage of Blount.”

  “Of Blount!” she echoed and then she saw his smile and realized that he was making fun of her.

  “Yes,” went on Wiley, whose feelings had been ruffled, “he may be crazy, too. He sure was looking the part.”

  “Now don’t you laugh at me!” she burst out hotly. “This isn’t as funny as you think. What’s going to happen to us if you take over that mine? I declare, you’ve been standing in with Blount!”

  “I knew it,” he mocked. “You catch me every time. But what about Charley here–does he get his money or not?” He turned to Death Valley, who was standing in the doorway watching their quarrel with startled eyes. “I guess you’re right, Charley,” he added, smiling wryly. “It must be something in the air.”

  “Are you going to take that offer,” demanded Virginia, wrathfully, “and rob me and mother of our mine?”

  “Oh, no,” he answered, “I turned it down cold. I knew you wouldn’t approve.”

  “You knew nothing of the kind!” she came back sharply, the angry tears starting in her eyes. “And I don’t believe he ever made it.”

  “Well, ask him,” suggested Wiley, and went back into the house, whereupon Death Valley closed the door.

  “Yes,” whispered Charley, “it’s in the air–there’s electricity everywhere. But what about that option?”

  Wiley sat at the table, his eyes big with anger, his jaw set hard against the pain, and then he reached for his pen.

  “All right, Charley,” he said, “but don’t you let ’em kid you–you’ve got the best business head in town.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER XI

  A Touch

  The wrath of a man who is slow to anger cannot lightly be turned aside and, though Virginia drooped her lashes, the son of Honest John brushed past her without a word. She had followed him gratuitously to Death Valley’s cabin and seriously questioned his good faith; and then, to fan the flames of his just resentment, she had suggested that he was telling an untruth. He had told her–and it seemed impossible–that Blount had offered him half the Paymaster, on shares; but the following morning, without a word of warning, the Paymaster Mine shut down. The pumps stopped abruptly, all the tools were removed, and as the foreman and miners who had been their boarders rolled up their beds and prepared to depart, the high-headed Virginia buried her face in her hands and retired to her bedroom to weep. And then to cap it all that miserable assayer sent in his belated report.

/>   “Gold–a trace. Silver–blank. Copper–blank. Lead–blank. Zinc–blank.”

  The heavy white quartz which Wiley had made so much of was as barren as the dirt in the street. It had absolutely no value and–oh, wretched thought–he had offered to buy her stock out of charity! Out of the bigness of his heart–and then she had insulted him and accused him of robbing Death Valley Charley! In the light of this new day Death Valley was a magnate, with his check for two hundred dollars, and Virginia and her mother must either starve on in silence or accept the bounty of the Holmans. It was maddening, unbelievable–and to think what he had suffered from her, before he had finally gone off in a rage. But how sarcastic he had been when she had accused him of robbing Charley, and of standing in with Blount! He had said things then which no woman could forgive; no, not even if she were in the wrong. He had led her on to make unconsidered statements, smiling provokingly all the time; and then, when she had doubted that Blount had offered him the mine, he had said, “Well, ask him!” and shut the door in her face! And now, without asking, the question had been answered, for Blount had closed down the mine in despair and gone back to his bank in Vegas.

  The Paymaster was dead, and Keno was dead; and their eight hundred dollars was gone. All the profits from the miners which they had counted upon so confidently had disappeared in a single day; and now her mother would have to pawn her diamonds again in order to get out of town. Virginia paced up and down, debating the situation and seeking some possible escape, but every door was closed. She could not appeal to Wiley, for she knew her stock was worthless, and her hold on his sympathies was broken. He was a Yankee and cold, and his anger was cold–the kind that will not burn itself out. When he had loved her it was different; there was a spark of human kindness to which she could always appeal; but now he was as cold and passionless as a statue; with his jaws shut down like iron. She gave up and went out to see Charley.