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  “What?” yelled Blount, and sat down in a chair while he stared at the inscrutable Wiley.

  “His body was never found and, under the law, he can’t be declared dead for seven years. Mrs. Huff had no right to sell his stock.”

  “Oh, but he’s dead, Wiley,” assured Blount. “Surely there’s no doubt of that. They found his burro, and his letters and everything; and where he had run wild through the sand. If that storm hadn’t come up they would certainly have found his body–the Indian trailers said so; so why stick on a technicality?”

  “That’s the law,” said Wiley. “You know it yourself. But of course, if you want to vote this stock at a Directors’ meeting we can still do business on that lease.”

  “Oh, my Lord!” sighed Blount, and after a heavy silence he rose up and paced the floor. As for Wiley, he ran through the papers, making notes of dates and numbers, and then grimly began to fill out a legal blank.

  “There’s the option,” he said, passing over a paper, “and I see now how you double-crossed my father. So you don’t need to sign unless you want to.”

  “Why–er–what’s that?” exclaimed Blount, coming out of his abstraction as Wiley slapped down the bundle of certificates.

  “I see by these endorsements,” replied Wiley, “that you sold out before the panic and bought in all this stock afterwards.”

  Blount started and a red line mounted up to his eyes as he hastily glanced over the option.

  “Well, I’ll sign it,” he mumbled, and reached for the pen, but Wiley checked his hand.

  “No, you ring for a notary,” he said. “I want that signature acknowledged.”

  The notary came and ran perfunctorily through his formula, after which he left them alone.

  “Now here’s the bond and lease,” went on Wiley curtly, “so bring on your Board of Directors and let’s get this business over. By rights I ought to kill you.”

  There was a special meeting then of the Board of Directors of The Paymaster Mining and Milling Company, and when the bond and lease was properly drawn up, they signed it and had it witnessed. Then once more the tense silence came over the room and Wiley rose to go.

  “Well,” he said, “I’ve been waiting for ten years just to get these papers in my hands. And now, you danged crook, just to hit you where you live, I’m going to make a fortune.”

  “A fortune!” echoed Blount, and then he clasped his hands and sank down weakly in a chair. “I knew it!” he moaned, “I knew it all the time–you’ve been trying to get that mine for months. But what is it, Wiley? Have you located the lost vein? Oh, I knew it; all the time!”

  “Yes, you did,” jeered Wiley, “you didn’t know anything, except how to grab hold of the stock. What good was it to you after you’d got the old mine–you didn’t know what to do with it! All you knew was how to rob the widow and the orphan and deprive better men of their good name. You wait till I tell my Old Man about this–and how you were selling him out, all the time. If it wasn’t for you he’d never been called Honest John by a bunch of these tin-horns and crooks. But I’ll show you who’s honest–I’m going to skin you alive for what you did to my father. You wait till I make my clean-up!”

  “But what is it, Wiley?” cried Blount, despairingly. “Have you really discovered the lost vein?”

  “No,” grinned Wiley, “but I’ve consulted an expert and he tells me the mine is worth millions!”

  “What–millions?” burst out Blount, struggling up to his feet. “Now here, Wiley Holman; I want that option back! You secured it by fraud and misrepresentation and by concealment of the actual facts. I’ll have the law on you–I’ll break the contract–you came here with intent to defraud!”

  “Don’t you think it!” returned Wiley, thrusting out his lip. “You thought you were trimming me, like taking candy from a baby. Why didn’t youget an expert? I offered to hire out to you, myself!”

  “Oh–hell!” choked Blount. “Well, tell me the worst–where was it he told you to dig?”

  “Why right down the shaft,” answered Wiley blandly. “He’s a new kind of mining expert and he locates the gold by electricity.”

  “By electricity!” exclaimed Blount, and as he perceived Wiley’s smile he straightened up in a rage. “I don’t believe a word of it. Who is this man, anyway? I never heard of such a thing before!”

  “Oh, yes!” said Wiley, as he stepped out the door, “you know the professor well. They call him Death Valley Charley.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER XIII

  A Sack of Cats

  The weary work of packing had gone on endlessly in the bare rooms of the old Huff house and now Virginia, with two kittens in her arms and the mother cat following behind, was passing it all in review. A solid row of packing boxes, arrayed on the front gallery, awaited the motor truck; and here and there in corners lay piles of discarded treasures that were destined to go to Charley for loot. He was hanging about, with his pistol well in front, on the watch for Stiff Neck George; but up to that moment the Widow had not said the word that would start the mad rush for plunder. Her trunks were all packed, the china nested in barrels and the bedding sewed up in burlap; but still from day to day she put off the evil moment, and Virginia did not try to hurry her. The house had been their home for ten years and more and, though Los Angeles would be fine with its palm trees and bungalows, it was a strange land, far away. And what would they do in that city of strange faces and hustling, eager real-estate agents? It was that which held the Widow back.

  In the city there would be rent and water to pay for, and electric lights and wood; but in desolate Keno rent and water and wood were free, and the electric light company had taken down its poles. If the town were not so dead–if they could only make a living,–the Widow started up for the thousandth time, for she heard a racing auto down the street. It was Wiley Holman, as sure as shooting, and–well, Wiley was not so bad. It was his money, really, that had enabled them to pack up, and would enable them to go, when they started; and the Widow knew, as well as she knew anything, that he had designs upon the mine. He was after the Paymaster, and if he ever got hold of it–well, Keno would come back to its own. She rushed to the door and looked out into the street; and when she met Virginia, running away from meeting Wiley, she caught her and whirled her about.

  “Now you go back there,” she hissed in her ear, “and I want you to be nice to him–he may have come back about the mine.”

  Virginia went out the door and, as Wiley Holman saw her standing there, he leapt out and came up the steps.

  “Well, well,” he said, “just in time to say good-by. And I wanted to see you, too.” He smiled down at her boyishly and Virginia’s eyes turned gentle as he took both her hands in his. “I’ve got some news to tell you,” he burst out eagerly; “not news that will buy you anything but something to remember when you’re gone.”

  He led her to a box and, taking one of the kittens, sat down with his back to the door. Then he rose up hastily at a sudden rustle from behind and glanced inquiringly at Virginia.

  “It’s just mother,” she said and at the mention of her name Mrs. Huff came boldly out.

  “Why, good morning, Wiley,” she said, smiling over-sweetly. “Seems to me you’re awful early.”

  “Yes,” answered Wiley, trying vainly to seem polite, “I just stopped off to say good-by!”

  He offered her his hand, but the Widow ignored the hint and took the conversation to herself.

  “Well, I’m real glad you came,” she went on sociably, “because I wanted to see you on a matter of business. In fact, I’ve been kind of waiting, on the chance that you might come through. Oh, I know that I don’t count, but you can see Virginia afterwards; and I wanted to consult you about my stock. Yes, I know,” she hastened on, as his face turned grim, “I haven’t treated you fairly at all. I should have taken your offer, when you said you’d give ten cents for every share of stock that I had. But I took them to that Blount and he gave me next to nothing, a
nd now he’s holding the stock. But what I wanted to ask was: Isn’t there some way we can arrange it to get it back and sell it to your father?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” answered Wiley, putting down the kitten, “and–well, I guess I’d better go.”

  He rose up reluctantly, but the Widow would not hear to it and Virginia beckoned him to stay.

  “Well, now listen,” persisted the Widow. “That stock certainly must be worth something.”

  “Not to you,” returned Wiley. “I saw Blount only yesterday and he says it belongs to him.”

  “Well, it does not!” declared the Widow, but as no one contradicted her, she took a different tack. “Are you coming back?” she asked, smiling brightly. “Are you going to open up the mine?”

  Wiley’s face fell for a moment.

  “What gave you that idea?” he inquired bluffly, but the Widow pointed a finger and laughed roguishly.

  “I knew it,” she cried. “I’ve known it for months–and I wish you the best of good luck.”

  “Oh, you do, eh?” grunted Wiley, and stood undecided as Mrs. Huff continued her assurances. He had come there to see Virginia, but business was business and the Widow seemed almost reasonable. “Huh, that’s funny,” he said at last. “I thought you had it in for me. What’s the chance for getting a quit-claim?”

  “A quit-claim!” echoed the Widow, suddenly pricking up her ears. “Why, what do you want that for, now?”

  “Well, you’re going away,” explained Wiley quietly, “and it might come in handy, later, if I should want to take over the mine. Of course you’ve got no title–and no stock, for that matter–but I’ll give you a hundred dollars, all the same.”

  “I’ll take it!” snapped the Widow and Wiley broke out laughing as he reached for his fountain pen.

  “Zingo!” he grinned and then he bit his lip, for the Widow was quick to take offence. “Of course,” he went on, “this doesn’t affect your stock if you should ever get it back from Blount. That is still your property, according to law, and this quit-claim just guarantees me free entry and possession. We’ll get Virginia to witness the agreement.”

  “All right,” bridled the Widow and watched him cynically as he wrote out the quit-claim and check. “Oh! Actually!” she mocked as he put the check in her hands. “I just wanted to see if you were bluffing.”

  “Well, you know now,” he answered and sat in stony silence until she departed with a triumphant smirk. Then he glanced at Virginia and motioned towards the street, but she sighed and shook her head.

  “No,” she said, “I can’t leave the house–mother is likely to start any time, now.”

  “I suppose you’ll be glad to go,” he suggested at last as she sat down and gathered up the kittens. “The old town is sure awful dead.”

  “Yes–I guess so,” she agreed half-heartedly. “You’d think so, but we don’t seem to go.”

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” he inquired after a silence. “You know what I told you once, Virginia.”

  “Yes, I know,” she answered bitterly, “but–Oh, I’m ashamed to let you help me, after the way I acted up about Charley.”

  “Well, forget it,” he said at length. “I guess I get kind of ugly when anyone doubts my good faith. It’s on account of my father, and calling him Honest John–but say, I forgot to tell the news!”

  Virginia looked up inquiringly and he beckoned her into the corner where no one could overhear his words.

  “Blount sent for me yesterday–trying to sell me the mine,” he whispered in her ear, “and I made him show me his stock. And when I looked on the back of his promotion certificates–the ones he got for promoting the mine–I found by the endorsements that he’d sold every one of them before or during the panic. Do you see? They were street certificates, passing from hand to hand without going to the company for transfer, but every broker that handled them had written down his name as a memorandum of the date and sale. Don’t you see what he did–he set your father against my father, and my father against yours, and all the time, like the crook he is, he was selling them both out for a profit. I could have killed him, the old dog, only I thought it would hurt him more to whipsaw him out of his mine; but listen now, Virginia, don’t you think we can be friends–because my father never robbed anybody of a cent! He thought more of the Colonel than he did of me; and I’ve started out, even if it is a little late, to prove that he was on the square.”

  He stopped abruptly, for in his rush of words he had failed to note the anger in her eyes, until now she turned and faced him.

  “Oho!” she said, “so that’s your idea–you’re going to whipsaw Blount out of his mine?”

  “If I can!” hedged Wiley. “But for the Lord’s sake, Virginia, don’t tell what I said to your mother! It won’t make any difference, because she’s given me a quit-claim–but what’s the use of having any trouble?”

  “Yes, sure enough!” murmured Virginia, with cutting sarcasm. “She might even demand her rights!”

  “Well, maybe you liketo fight!” burst out Wiley angrily, “and if you do, all right–hop to it! But I’ll tell you one thing; if you can’t be reasonable, I can be just as bullheaded as anybody!”

  “Yes, you can,” she agreed and then she sighed wearily, and waved it all away with one hand. “Well, all right,” she said, “I’m so sick and tired of it that I certainly don’t want any more. And since I’ve taken your money, as you know very well, I’m going to go away and give you peace.”

  Her eyes blinked fast, to hold back the tears, and once more the son of Honest John weakened.

  “No, I don’t want you to go away,” he answered gently, “but–isn’t there something I can do before you go? I have to fight my way, you know that yourself, Virginia; but don’t let that keep us from being friends. I’m a mining engineer, and I can’t tell you all my plans, because that sure would put me out of business; but why can’t you trust me, and then I’ll trust you and–what is it you’ve got on your mind?”

  He reached for her hand but she drew it away and sat quiet, looking up the street.

  “You wouldn’t understand,” she said with a sigh. “You’re always thinking about money and mines. But a woman is different–I suppose you’ll laugh at me, but I’m worried about my cats.”

  “About your cats!” he echoed, and she smiled up at him wistfully and then looked down at the kittens in her lap.

  “Yes,” she said, “you know they were left to me when the people moved out of town, and now I’ve got eight of them and I just know that old Charley─”

  “He’ll starve ’em to death,” broke in Wiley, instantly. “I know the old tarrier well. You give ’em to me, Virginia, and I swear I’ll take care of ’em just the same as I would of–you.”

  “Oh,” smiled Virginia, and then she gave him her hand and the old hatred died out in her eyes. “That’s good of you, Wiley, and I certainly appreciate it; because no one would trust them with Charley. I’m going to take the two kittens, but you can have the rest of them and–you can write to me about them, sometimes.”

  “Every week,” answered Wiley. “I’ll take ’em back to the ranch and the girls will look after them when I’m gone. We’ll have to put them in sacks, but that will be better─”

  “Yes, that’s better than starving,” assented Virginia absently, and Wiley rose suddenly to go. There was something indefinable that stood between them, and no effort of his could break it down. He shook hands perfunctorily and started down the gallery and then abruptly he turned and swung back.

  “Here,” he said, throwing her stock down before her, “I told you to hold onto that, once.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER XIV

  The Explosion

  There are moments when his great secret rises to every man’s lips and flutters to wing away; but a thought, a glance, a word said or unsaid, turns it back and he holds it more closely. Wiley Holman had a secret which might have changed Virginia’s life and filled every day
with joy and hope, but he shut down his lips and held it back and spoke kind words instead. There was a look in her eyes, a brooding glow of resentment when he spoke of his father and hers; and, while he spoke from the heart, she drooped her dark lashes and was silent beyond her wont. He gave her much but she gave him little–and the reason she was sorry to leave Keno was the parting with six suffering cats.

  There were girls that he knew who would have gone the limit and said something about missing Wiley Holman. So he gave her back her stock and put the cats in sacks and burnt up the road to the ranch. The next day the news came that he had bonded the Paymaster, but Wiley was far away. He caught the Limited and went speeding east, and then he came back, headed west; and finally he left Vegas followed by four lumbering auto trucks loaded down with freight and men. The time had come when he must put his fortunes to the test and Keno awaited him, anxiously.

  A cold, dusty wind raved down through the pass, driving even old Charley to shelter; but as the procession moved in across the desert the city of lost hopes came to life. Old grudges were forgotten, the dead past was thrust aside, and they lined up to bid him welcome–Death Valley Charley and Heine, Mrs. Huff and Virginia, and the last of ten thousand brave men. For nine years they had lived on, firm in their faith in the mighty Paymaster; and now again, for the hundredth time, the old hope rose up in their breasts. The town was theirs, they had seen it grow from nothing to a city of brick and stone, and they loved its ruins still. All it needed was some industry to put blood into its veins and it would thrill with energy and life. Even the Widow forgot her envy and her anger at his deception and greeted Wiley Holman with a smile.

  “Well–hello!” he hailed when he saw her in the crowd. “I thought you were going away.”

  “Not much!” she returned. “Bring your men in to dinner. I’m having my dishes unpacked!”