The Road Builders Page 9
CHAPTER IX
A SHOW-DOWN
All was quiet at the main camp. Excepting that the division engineerswere short-handed, and that Paul Carhart was away, things were goingon with some regularity. Scribner rode in late on the secondafternoon, and toward the end of the evening, when the office work wasdone, he and Young Van played a few rubbers of cribbage. The camp wentto sleep as usual.
At some time between eleven o'clock and midnight the two youngengineers tacitly put up the cards and settled back for a smoke.
"Do you know," said Young Van, after a silence, "I don't believe thisstuff at all."
Scribner tipped back, put his feet on the table, puffed a moment, andslowly nodded. "Same here, Gus," he replied. "Fairy tales, all ofit."
"You can't settle the ownership of a railroad by civil war."
"No; but if you can get possession by a five-barrelled bluff, you cangive the other fellow a devil of a time getting it back."
"That's true, of course." They were silent again.
... "What's that!" said Scribner. Both dropped their feet and sat up.
"Horse," said Young Van.
"Devil of a way off."
"Must be. Lost it now."
"No--there it is again. Now, what do you suppose?"
"Don't know. Let's step out and look around."
Standing on the sloping ground in front of the tent, they could atfirst distinguish nothing.
"Gives you a queer feeling," said Scribner, "horse galloping--thistime of night--"
"--just now," Young Van completed, "when things are going on."
"Coming from the east, too,--where Bourke is. Know him?"
"No--never met him. Heard of him, of course."
"He's a good one. Wish he was on our side."
"I guess Mr. Carhart can match him."
Scribner nodded. "This sort of a fight's likely to settle down intothe plain question of who's got the cards. There'll come a time whenboth sides'll have to lay down their hands, and the cards'll make thedifference one way or the other. Just a show-down, after all."
"I think myself Mr. Carhart's got the cards. He didn't look like aloser when he went off the other night."
"If he has," said Scribner, "you can bet he'll 'see' Durfee and Bourkeevery time."
... "Here's that horse, Harry."
"Big man--looks like--"
"It's Tiffany.--Good evening, Mr. Tiffany."
"How are you, boys? Paul here?"
"Why, no, Mr. Tiffany. He's up on 'mile 109.'"
"'Mile 109!'" Tiffany whistled. "What the devil! You don't mean thatthose--" he paused.
"Commodore Durfee's at Red Hills, you know," said Young Van.
"The ---- he is!"
"And he's sent a force to hold the west bank of the La Paz."
By this time the chief engineer of the S. & W. had got his big frameto the ground. He bore unmistakable evidences of long and hard riding.Even in that dim light they could see that his face was seamed withthe marks of exhaustion.
"Haven't got a wee bit drappie, have you?" he asked.
"I certainly have," Young Van replied. "Come right in."
Tiffany tossed his hat on the table, reached out for the flask andtumbler, and tossed down a drink which would have done credit to thehardiest Highlander of them all. "Now show me the stable," he said."Want to fix my horse for the night. I've half killed him."
A quarter of an hour later the three men were back in the headquarterstent.
"How did you get through, Mr. Tiffany?" asked Young Van.
"Came out on the first train to Barker Hills. Bourke's holding thestation there. He had a couple of our engines, and was working east,but we stopped that. Peet's there now with Sheriff McGraw and a bundleof warrants and a hundred and fifty men--more, I guess, by this time.Just another thimbleful o' that-- Thanks! We've got Bourke blocked atBarker Hills, all right. Before the week's out we'll have the trackopened proper for you. Mr. De Reamer's taken hold himself, you know.He's at Sherman, with some big lawyers--and maybe he ain't mad allthrough!"
"Then Commodore Durfee hasn't got the board of directors?"
"Not by a good deal! I doubt if even General Carrington's votes wouldswing it for him now. But then, I don't know such a heap about thatpart of it. I was telling you--I'll take a nip o' that. Thanks!--I wastelling you. We come along the Middle Division, running slow,--we wereafraid of obstructions on the track,--"
"Did you find any?"
"Did we find any?--Well I guess." He held out a pair of big hands,palms up. "I got those splinters handling cross-ties in the dark. Andabout the middle of the Barker Hills division--at the foot of Crump'sHill,--we found some rails missing.
"Well, sir, I left 'em there to fix it up--we had a repair car in thetrain--and got my horse off and rode around south of the station. Hadsome sandwiches in my pocket, but didn't get a drop of water till Istruck your first well, last night. You ain't using that now?"
"No, we've moved up to two and three--this way."
"There was a blamed fool tried to stop me, a mile south of BarkerHills Station--yelled at me; and fired when I didn't answer."--Tiffany paused with this, and looked grimly from one to the other ofthe young men. Then he drew a big revolver from his belt, opened it,and exhibited the cylinder. One chamber was empty. They were silentfor a time.
"You'll find Mr. Carhart's cot all ready for you, Mr. Tiffany," saidYoung Van, at length.
"All right. Can I get a breakfast at five? I'm going on to find Paul.That's where the fun'll be--where you find Paul Carhart. I wonder ifyou boys know what it means to have the opportunity to work with thatman--eh? He had us all guessing about the old Paradise. And he wasright--oh, he was right. There hasn't a rail come through since."
Scribner and Young Van were looking at each other. "Then those railsdidn't come from Pennsylvania?" said the former.
"He didn't tell you, eh?" Tiffany grinned. "Well, I guess it ain't asecret now. Mr. Chambers never even grunted when I told him, but helooked queer. And Mr. De Reamer ain't said anything yet. Why, Paul, hesee first off that we weren't ever going to get the rest o' thoserails. He see, too, that Bourke was going to cut him off if he could.And what does he do? Why he comes down and walks off with the oldParadise Southern--rails, ties, everything. He never even tells Peetand me. It's up to him, he thinks, and if he makes good, nobody cankick." Tiffany was grinning again. "Yes, sir," he continued, "PaulCarhart just naturally confiscated the Paradise Southern, and it wasthe prettiest job anybody ever see. And it's funny--he says to me,while we were out there at Total Wreck pulling up the freight yard bythe roots, 'Tiffany,' he says, 'if you hadn't told about how you stolethose Almighty and Great Windy cars from the sheriff of Erie County,I'd never 'a' thought of it.' Well, I'll turn in, boys; good night."
"Good night," said Young Van.
"Good night," said Scribner; "I'll ride on with you as far as mydivision to-morrow, Mr. Tiffany. I can give you a fresh horse there."
The chief engineer of the S. & W. disappeared between the flaps ofCarhart's tent. They could hear him throwing off his clothes andgetting into bed. Another moment and they heard him snoring. Theystood gazing off down the grade.
"Well, what do you think of that?" said Scribner. Young Van looked athis companion. "I think this," he replied: "I wouldn't miss this workand this fight under Paul Carhart for five years' pay."
Scribner nodded. "The loss of an engineer's pay, Gus, wouldn't makemuch difference one way or the other," he replied, and his facelighted up with enthusiasm. "But it's a great game!"
* * * * *
And so it was that something like two days after Carhart's arrival on"mile 109," Tiffany, a little the worse for wear, but still able toride and eat and sleep and swear, came slowly down the slope into thecamp, where Flint was hovering midway between the present and thehereafter. He found the chief of construction deep in a somewhatcomplicated problem, and after a bite to eat he climbed up the ridgebehind the camp to the tent which
Carhart was occupying.
"Well, Paul, how goes it?" said he.
"First-rate. How much do you know?"
"Precious little."
Carhart mused a moment, then pulled out from a heap of papers one onwhich he had sketched a map. "Here we are," said he. "The trestle isfifty to a hundred and fifty feet high, from ridge to ridge. Flagg hasstrung out his men along the west ridge, about a mile from here, andacross the end of the trestle."
"Yes, yes," broke in Tiffany, "I see. I've been all over this ground."
"Well, now, you see these two knolls on the west ridge, a little backof Flagg's position? The one to the north is a hundred and twenty feethigher than Flagg's men; the one to the south is eighty feet higherand only a quarter of a mile away from him. His line of retreat liesthrough the hollow between the two knolls, where the track is to run.Now if I put fifty or a hundred men on each knoll, I can command hisposition, and even shut off his retreat. His choice then would liebetween moving north or south along the crest of the ridge, which isalso commanded by the two knolls, or coming down the slope toward us."
"Flagg hasn't occupied the knolls, eh?"
"I believe he hasn't. I've been watching them with the glasses."
"I wonder why the Commodore put such a man in charge."
"Oh, Flagg has some reputation as a bad man. He's the sort GeneralCarrington employed in the Colorado fights."
They talked on for a time, then Carhart put up his map and they walkedout. It was evening. Across the valley, at the point where thetrestle met the rising ground, they could see lights, some of themmoving about. Tiffany walked with his hands deep in his trouserspockets. Finally he said thoughtfully:--
"The more I think of it, Paul, the more I'm impressed by whatCommodore Durfee has done. He has got possession of our grade overthere--we can't deny that. We've either got to give up, or else takethe offensive and fight. And that would look rotten, now, wouldn'tit?"
"Yes," Carhart replied, "it would. He has made a pretty play. And as aplay--as a bluff--it comes pretty near being effective."
"D--n near!" Tiffany muttered.
"But now suppose we take those knolls--quietly, in the night--andclose in across Flagg's rear, hold a line from knoll to knoll, whatthen? Wouldn't he have to shoot first?"
"Well, perhaps. But it would put both sides in a mean light. Oh, whydidn't John stand him off in the first place! Then he could have shotfrom our property, and been right in shooting."
They had been pacing slowly up and down. Now Carhart stopped, and satdown on a convenient stick of timber. Tiffany followed his example.The moon was rising behind them, and the valley and the trestle andthe rude intrenchments of timber and rock on the opposite ridge andthe knolls outlined against the sky grew more distinct.
"Yes," Carhart said slowly, "it's a very good bluff. Commodore Durfeeknows well enough that this sort of business can never settle the realquestion. But the question of who gets to Red Hills first is anotherthing altogether. The spectacle of Jack Flagg and a well-armedregiment of desperadoes in front of them, and the knowledge that theCommodore himself had organized the regiment and sent it out, wouldstop some engineers."
Tiffany leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and gazedmoodily out across the valley. He had been riding hard for four days,with not enough food and water and scarcely any sleep. Only one nightof the four had found him on a cot--the other nights had been passedon the ground. In the resulting physical depression his mind had takento dwelling on the empty chamber in his revolver--he wished he knewmore of what that leaden ball had accomplished. And now here was JohnFlint shot down by a hidden enemy. It was the ugliest work he had beenengaged in for years. When he finally spoke, he could not conceal hisdiscouragement.
"How about this engineer here, Paul?" he said, still looking out thereover the valley. "Will the regiment and Commodore Durfee stop you?"
"I hope not," said Carhart.
"You're going to fight, then--until the governor calls out the statetroops, and throws us all out, and there's hell to pay?"
"I don't think so. I'm going to get ready to fight."
"By putting your men on those two knolls?"
"Yes."
"And then what?"
"Then I'm going to Red Hills."
"To Red Hills!" Tiffany sat up. There was more life in his voice.
"Yes." Carhart laughed a little. "Why not?"
Tiffany half turned and looked earnestly into the face of this unusualman. The spectacles threw back the moonlight and concealed the eyesbehind them. The lower part of the face was perhaps a trifle leanerthan formerly. The mouth was composed. Tiffany found no answer thereto the question in his own eyes. So he put it in words: "What are yougoing to do there, Paul?"
"See Commodore Durfee."
"See--! Look here, do you know how mad he is? Do you think he cameclear down here from New York, and shoved his old railroad harder thananybody but you ever shoved one before and hired the rascals that shotJohn Flint,--him playing for the biggest stakes on the railroad tableto-day,--do you think he'll feel like talking to the man who's put himto all this trouble?"
"Well," Carhart hesitated,--"I hope he will."
"But it's foolhardy, Paul. You won't gain anything. Just the sight ofyou walking into the Frisco House office may mean gun play. If it wasBourke, it would be different; but these Durfee men are mad. TheCommodore was never treated this way in his life before. And you're alittle nervous yourself, Paul. Be careful what you do. He'll havelawyers around him--and he's redhot, remember that."
"I can't quite agree with you, Tiffany. I think he'll talk to me. Butthere's one thing I've got to do first, and you can help me there."
"For God's sake, then, let me get into the game. I can't stand thislooking on--fretting myself to death."
"I want you to take charge here for a day while I go after myfirewood. I came pretty near being held up altogether for want of it.Bourke cut me off before Peet could get it through."
"Where can you get it?"
"There's a lot waiting for me off north of here."
Tiffany grunted. "North of here, eh?"
Carhart nodded.
"And you have to work so delicate getting it that you can't trustanybody else to do it?"
Carhart smiled. "Better not ask me, Tiffany. I can't talk to CommodoreDurfee until I've got all the cards in my hand, and this is the lastone. As to going myself, it happens to be the sort of thing I won'task anybody to do for me, that's all."
"That's how you like it," said Tiffany, gruffly, rising. "Want to talkabout anything else to-night?"
"No--I shan't be leaving before to-morrow noon. I'll see you in themorning." While he spoke, he was watching Tiffany, and he was amusedto see that the veteran had recovered his equilibrium and was angrywith himself.
"When will you want to begin your military monkey-shines?"
Carhart drove back a smile, and got up. "Not until I get back herewith the wood," he replied. "Good night."
Tiffany merely grunted, and marched off to the cot which had beenassigned him.
At noon of the following day Carhart was ready to lead his expeditionnorthward. It was made up of all Flint's wagons, with two men on theseat and two rifles under the seat of each. And scattered along onboth sides of the train were men picked from Flint's bridge-buildersand from Old Van's and Scribner's iron and tie squads. These men weremounted on fresh ponies, and they carried big holsters on theirsaddles and stubby, second-hand army carbines behind them. Dimond wasthere, too, and the long-nosed instrument man. The two or threebesides the chief who knew what was soon to be doing kept their owncounsel. The others knew nothing, but there was a sort of tinglingelectricity in the air which had got into every man of the lot. Thismuch they knew; Mr. Carhart was very quiet and considerate andbusinesslike, but he had a streak of blue in him. And it is the streakof blue in your quiet, considerate leader which makes him a leaderindeed in the eyes and hearts of those who are to follow him. Not thatthere were any heroics
in evidence, rather a certain grim quiet, fromone end of the wagon train to the other, which meant business. Carharttook it all in, as he cantered out toward the head of the line,dropping a nod here and there, and waving Byers, who was leaning onhis pony's rump and looking impatiently back, to start off. He hadpicked his men with care--he knew that he could trust them. And so, onreaching the leading wagon and pulling to a walk, he settled himselfcomfortably in his saddle and began to plan the conversation withCommodore Durfee which was to come next and which was to meaneverything or nothing to Paul Carhart.
Once Byers, not observing his abstraction, spoke, "That was hard luck,Mr. Carhart, getting cut off from Sherman this way."
"Think so?" the chief replied, and fell back into his study.
Byers looked puzzled, but he offered nothing further. Carhart was fora moment diverted along the line suggested by him of the long nose."Hard luck, eh?" he was thinking. "It's the first time in my life Iwas ever let alone. I only hope they won't clean Bourke out and repairthe wires before I get through."
* * * * *
The white spot on Bourke's long blueprint of the High, Dry, andWobbly, to which was attached the name of "Durfee," might have seemed,to the unknowing, a town or settlement. It was not. It was a stationin the form of an unpainted shed, a few huts, and a water tank.Besides these, there were heaps of rails and ties and bridge timbersand all the many materials used in building a railroad. "The end ofthe track," or rather "Mr. Bourke's camp," which marked the beginningof the end, lay some dozen miles farther west. Out there, men swarmedby the hundred, for work had by no means been discontinued on the H.D. & W. But here at "Durfee" there were only an operator, a train crewor so, a few section men, and a night watchman. And on that lateevening when a train of wagons rolled along on well-greased wheelsbeside the track and stopped at the long piles of firewood which werestored there within easy reach of passing locomotives, all theseworthy persons were asleep.
What few words passed among the invaders were low and guarded.Everything seemed to be understood. Of the two men on each wagon, onedropped his reins and stood up in the wagon-box, the other leaped tothe ground and rapidly passed up armfuls of wood. Of the horsemen,three out of every four dismounted and ran off in a wide circle andtook shelter in shadowed spots behind lumber piles, or droppedsilently to the ground and lay there watching. Out on the track adeep-chested, hard-faced man, who might perhaps have answered to thename of "Dimond," took up a post of observation. On that side of thecircle nearest the station and the huts, two men who had the manner ofsome authority moved cautiously about. Both wore spectacles and onehad a long nose. Through the still air came the champing of bits andthe pawing and snorting of horses. The man with the spectacles and theless striking nose seemed to dislike these noises. He drew out a watchnow and then, and held it up in the moonlight. The work was going onrapidly, yet how slowly! Once somebody dropped an armful of wood, andevery man started at the sound.
The watchman upon whom devolved the responsibility of seeing that noprowling strangers walked off by night with the town of "Durfee" wasmeanwhile dreaming troublous dreams. From pastoral serenity thesenight enjoyments of his had passed through various disquieting stagesinto positive discord. They finally awoke him, and even assumed anair of waking reality. The queer, faint sounds which were floatingthrough the night suggested the painful thought that somebody _was_walking off with the town of "Durfee." He would investigate.
Slowly tiptoeing down an alleyway between two long heaps of material,the watchman settled his fingers around his heavy stick. Then hepaused. The sounds were very queer indeed. He decided to drop hisstick and draw his revolver. But this action, which he immediatelyundertook, was interrupted by a pair of strong arms which gripped himfrom behind. And a pair of hands at the end of two other strong armsabruptly stuffed a handkerchief into his mouth and held it in place bymeans of another which was tied at the back of his neck.
"Bring him along, boys," said a low voice.
"All right, Mr. Carhart," replied the owner of the first-mentionedarms,--and then could have bitten his tongue out, for the speakingeyes of the incapacitated watchman were fixed on the half-shadowed,spectacled face before him.
Ten minutes more and the wagon train, now heavily laden, was startingoff. The horsemen lingered until it was fairly under way, then ranback to their mounts, and hovered in a crowd about the last dozenwagons until all danger of an attack was past. And later on, when theywere something more than halfway back to Mr. Flint's camp, theyreleased the night watchman, and started him back on foot for"Durfee," and hurled pleasantries after him for as long as he waswithin earshot.
* * * * *
It was necessary to drop another day before occupying the knolls, andCarhart spent most of it in sleep. He was not a man of iron, and theexertions of the week had been of an exhausting nature. But Tiffany,who had slept the sleep of the righteous throughout the night of theraiding expedition, took hold of the preparations with skill andenergy. And after supper he and Carhart stood together on the highground at the eastern end of the trestle and talked it over.
"Young Haddon seems to be a pretty good man to command one knoll,"said Tiffany, "but how about the other?"
"Byers could do it, possibly, but not so well as Dimond. The men likehim, and while he's a little rough-handed, he's level-headed andexperienced. I'll take Byers to Red Hills with me. We can start out atnine, say. Each party will have to make a wide circuit around thehills and cross the stream a mile or two from here. It will be two orthree hours before we get around to the knolls."
"Would you use boats to ferry the boys over?"
"No. They saw too much of the start of my wagons yesterday. They wouldmake out any movement on the river. You take the down party, Tiffany,with Haddon; I'll go up with Dimond. Then you can leave Haddon incharge when you have him placed, and move about where you please."
Not a man of either party knew where he was to go, but as was the caseat the beginning of the movement on "Durfee," voices were subdued andnerves were strung up. As soon as it was dark, men carryingrifles and with light rations stuffed into all availablepockets--little men, middle-sized men, and big men, but all active andwell-muscled--appeared here and there by ones and twos and threes,dodged out of the camp, and slipped through the hollow behind thetrestle-end. There was little champing and pawing of horses to-night,for Carhart and Byers were the only ones to ride. The men lay or saton the rocks and on the ground there behind the brow of the ridge, andtalked soberly. Before long an inquisitive bridgeman counted a hundredand twenty of them, and still they were coming silently through thehollow. After a time Dimond appeared, then Haddon and Byers walkingtogether, and, after a long wait, Tiffany and Carhart themselves.Then the five leaders grouped for a consultation. Those near by couldsee that Carhart was laying down the code that was to govern theirconduct for a day or two. Something was said before the group broke upwhich drew an affirmative oath from Tiffany and started Haddon andDimond examining their weapons, and stirred Byers to an excitedquestion. Then Tiffany drew off a rod or so with Haddon at his heels,saying, "My boys, this way." And as the word passed along man afterman, to more than a hundred, sprang up and fell in behind him. Carhartbeckoned to those who were left, fully an equal number of them, andthese gathered together behind their chief.
"Good night, Tiffany," said Carhart, then.
But Tiffany's gruffness suddenly gave way. With a "wait a minute,boys," he came striding over and took Carhart's hand in a rough grip."Good luck, Paul," he said something huskily. And then he cleared histhroat. "Good luck!" he said again, and went back to his men. And thetwo parties moved off over the broken ground and the rocks, Carhartand Byers leading their horses.
Carhart led his men nearly two miles north, then forded the stream ata point where it ran wide and shallow. He climbed the west ridge, andturned south along the farther slope. After twenty minutes ofadvancing cautiously he sent Dimond to follow the crest of the ridg
eand keep their bearings. Another twenty minutes and Dimond came downthe slope and motioned them to stop.
"Is this the knoll ahead here?" asked the chief.
Dimond nodded.
"Quietly, then. Byers, you wait here with the horses."
The same individual spirit which makes our little American army whatit is, was in these workingmen. Every one understood perfectly that hemust get to the top of that knoll as silently as the thing could bedone, and acted accordingly. Orders were not needed. There wereslopes of shelving rock to be ascended, there were bits of realclimbing to be managed. But the distance was not very great, and ittook but a quarter of an hour or so. Then they found themselves on thesummit, and made themselves comfortable among the rocks, spreading outso that they could command every approach. Carhart took Dimond to thetop of the southeasterly slope and pointed out to him the knollopposite, the hollow between, the camp a third of a mile away of Flaggand his cheerful crew, the trestle, the river, and their own dim campon the farther slope. He repeated his instructions for the last time."Lie quiet until noon of the day after to-morrow--not a sound,understand; not so much as the top of a hat to show. It will be a hardpull, but you've got to do it."
"Yes, sir."
"At that time, if you hear nothing further from me, take your men downthere along the slope, give Flagg one chance to withdraw, and if herefuses, close in across the hollow behind the rocks. Mr. Haddon willdo the same. After that if they try to rush you, shoot. The men fromcamp will be working out across the trestle and up the hill at thesame time.--Here it is, written down. Put it in your pocket. And mind,not a shot, not so much as a stone thrown, before noon of day afterto-morrow, excepting in self-defence. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Now come down the slope here, on the other side--where we can't beseen from Flagg's camp. You have your lantern?"
"Here."
"Light it, and flash it once."
Dimond obeyed. Both men peered across the hollow, but no response camefrom the other knoll.
"Flash it again."
This time there came an answering flash. Carhart nodded, then took thelantern from Dimond, extinguished it, and handed it back. "Don't lightthis again for any purpose," he said. "Now see that you do exactly asI have told you. Keep your men in hand."
"All right, sir."
"Good night, then."
Carhart groped his way along the hillside, slowly descending. After atime he whistled softly.
"Here--this way!" came in Byers's voice.
They had to lead their horses nearly a mile over the plateau beforethey found the beaten track to Red Hills. Byers was jubilant. He was ayoung man who had dreamed for years of this moment. He had known notwhat form it would take, but that he should at some time be riding,booted and spurred, with a weight of responsibility on his shoulders,a fine atmosphere of daring about him, and the feeling within of aking's messenger, this he had always known. And now here he was! Andbuoyant as an April day, the blood dancing in his veins, sitting hishorse with the ease of an Indian, Byers called over to his chief:"Fine night this, Mr. Carhart!"
They were riding side by side. At his remark the chief seemedunconsciously to be pulling in. He fell behind. Byers, wondering alittle, slowed down and looked around. Apparently his remark had notbeen heard. He called again: "Fine night, Mr. Carhart!" ... And then,in the moonlight, he caught a full view of the face of his leader. Itwas not the face he was accustomed to see about headquarters; he foundin it no suggestion of the resourceful, energetic chief on whom he hadcome to rely as older men rely on blind forces. This was the face of anervous, dispirited man of the name of Carhart, a man riding a smallhorse, who, after accomplishing relentlessly all that man couldaccomplish, had reached the point where he could do nothing further,where he must lay down his hand and accept the inevitable, whether forbetter or for worse. Byers could not, perhaps, understand what thisendless night meant to Paul Carhart, but the sight of that facesobered him. And it was a very grave young man who turned in hissaddle and peered out ahead and let his eyes rove along the dreary,moonlit trail.
A moment later he started a little, and hardly conscious of what hewas doing, turned his head partly around and listened.
"Oh, my God," Carhart was saying, as if he did not hear his own voice,"what a night!"
* * * * *
They pulled up before the Frisco Hotel at Red Hills. The time had cometo throw the cards face up on the table.
"See to the animals yourself, will you, Byers?" said Carhart. Hedismounted, patted the quivering shoulder of his little horse, andthen handed the reins to his companion. "I don't want to wear outArizona too."
Byers nodded, and Carhart walked up to the hotel steps. His eyes sweptthe veranda, and finally rested on two men who were talking togetherearnestly, and almost, it might seem, angrily, at one end. He hadnever seen either before; but one, the nearer, with the floridcountenance and the side whiskers, he knew at once for CommodoreDurfee. He paused on the steps, and tried to make out the other--abig, fat man with the trimmed, gray chin-beard, the hard mouth, andthe shaven upper lip which we associate with pioneering days. Itwas--no--yes, it was--it _must_ be--General Carrington.
Carhart had intended to take a room and make himself presentable. Hechanged his mind. Hot and dusty as he was, dressed almost like acowboy, he walked rapidly down the piazza.
"Mr. Durfee?"
The magnate turned slowly and looked up.
"Well?" he inquired.
Carhart found his card-case and drew out one slip of cardboard. Mr.Durfee took it, read it, turned it over, read it again, hesitated,then handed it to the General, saying, in a voice the intent of whichcould hardly be misread, "What do you think of that?"
General Carrington read the name with some interest, and looked up.He said nothing, however; merely returned the card.
"You want to talk to me?" asked Durfee.
"If you please."
"Well--talk ahead."
Carhart glanced at General Carrington. He knew that the opportunity tohave it out with Durfee in the presence of the biggest man of themall, the man who was the _x_ in this very equation with which he wasstruggling, was a very great opportunity. Just why, he could hardlyhave said; and he had no time to figure it out in detail. So he leapedwithout looking. He drew up another of the worn porch chairs and madehimself comfortable.
"A rascal named Jack Flagg," he said, speaking with cool deliberation,"with a hundred or two hundred armed men, has thrown up what I supposehe would call intrenchments across our right of way at the La PazRiver. Another party has attacked our line back at Barker Hills. Thissecond party is commanded by Mr. Bourke, who is in charge of theconstruction work on your H. D. & W. I care nothing about Bourke,because Mr. De Reamer, who is at Sherman, is amply able to dispose ofhim. I have come here to ask you if you will consider ordering Flaggto get out of our way at the La Paz."
He settled back in his chair, looking steadily into the floridcountenance of the redoubtable Commodore Durfee. The two railwaypresidents were looking, in turn, at him, but with something of adifference between their expressions. Whether the General was amusedor merely interested it would have been difficult for any but one whowas accustomed to his manner to say. But there could be little doubtthat the worldly experience of the Commodore was barely equal to thetask of keeping down his astonishment and anger.
"This has nothing to do with me," he replied shortly. "I know nothingof this Flagg."
Carhart leaned a little forward. His eyes never left Durfee's face."Then," he said, in that same measured voice, "if you know nothing ofthis Flagg, you don't care what happens to him."
"Certainly not," replied the Commodore,--a little too shortly, thistime, for he added, "I guess two hundred armed men behindintrenchments can take care of themselves."
Carhart settled back again, and the shadow of a smile crossed hisface. Both men were watching him, but he said nothing. And thenGeneral Carrington unexpectedly took a hand.
"See here," he said withthe air of a man who sweeps all obstructions out of his way, "what didyou come here for? What do you want?"
Carhart's answer was deliberate, and was uttered with studied force."I have ridden thirty miles to talk with Mr. Durfee and he sees fit totreat me like a d--n fool. I came here to see if we couldn't avoidbloodshed. Evidently we can't."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Carrington.
Instead of replying, Carhart, after a moment's thought, turnedinquiringly to Durfee.
"Out with it," cried that gentleman. "What do you want?"
"I want you to call off Jack Flagg."
"Evidently you _are_ a d--n fool," said Durfee.
But Carrington saw deeper. "You've got something up your sleeve, Mr.Carhart," he said. "What is it?"
Again Carhart turned to Durfee. And Durfee said, "What is it?"
"It's this." Carhart drew from a pocket his sketch-map of the regionabout the trestle. "Here is Flagg--along this ridge, at the foot ofthese two knolls. His line lies, you see, across our right of way. Ofcourse, everybody knows that he was sent there for a huge bluff,everybody thinks that I wouldn't dare make real war of it. Flaggopened up the ball by shooting Flint, my engineer in charge at the LaPaz. The shooting was done at night, when Flint was out in the valleylooking things over, unarmed and alone."
"What Flint is that?" asked Carrington, sharply.
"John B."
"Hurt him much?"
"There is a chance that he will live."
Carrington pursed his lips.
"We foresaw Bourke's move," Carhart pursued, "some time ago. And as itwas plain that the mills in Pennsylvania--" he smiled a little here,straight into Durfee's eyes--"and the Queen and Cumberland Railroadwere planning to find it impossible to deliver our materials, we tookup the rails and ties of the Paradise Southern and brought them out tothe end of the track. In fact, we have our materials and supplies sowell in hand that even if Bourke could hold Barker Hills, we are in aposition to work right ahead. Track-laying is going on this minute.But we can't cross the La Paz if Flagg doesn't move."
"No, I suppose not," said Durfee.
"So it is necessary to make him move."
"It is, eh?"
"Yes, and--" Carhart's eyes were firing up; his right fist was restingin the palm of his left hand--"and we're going to do it, unless youshould think it worth while to forestall us. Possibly you thought Iwould send a force back to Barker Hills. But I didn't--I brought it upthis way instead. I have three times as many men as your Mr. Flagghas, and a third of them are on the knolls behind Flagg."
"And the fighting comes next, eh?" said Carrington.
"Either Mr. Durfee will call Flagg off at once, or there will be abattle of the La Paz. I think you see what I am getting at, Mr.Durfee. Whatever the courts may decide, however the real balance ofcontrol lies now, is something that doesn't concern me at all. Thatissue lies between you and my employer, Mr. De Reamer. But since youhave chosen to attack at a point where I am in authority, I shan'thesitate to strike back. It isn't for me to say which side wouldprofit by making it necessary for the governor and his militia to takehold, but I will say that if the governor does seize the road, hewill find Mr. De Reamer in possession from Sherman to Red Hills. I amprepared to lose a hundred--two hundred--men in making that good. Ihave left orders for the shooting to begin at noon to-morrow. If youchoose to give any orders, the news must reach Mr. Tiffany by thattime. I shall start back at midnight, as my horse is tired, and I wishto allow plenty of time. You can find me here, then, at any time up totwelve o'clock to-night." He rose. "That, Mr. Durfee, is what I camehere to say."
"Wait a minute, Mr. Carhart," said General Carrington. "Did Iunderstand you to say that you have enough materials on the ground tofinish the line?"
"Practically. Certainly enough for the present."
"That's interesting. Even to firewood, I suppose."
Carhart bowed slightly. "Even to firewood," he replied,--and walkedaway.
Byers was asleep in a chair, tipped back against the office wall.Carhart woke him, and engaged a room, where, after eating the mealwhich Byers had ordered, they could sleep all day.
That evening, as Carhart and Byers were walking around from thestable, they found General Carrington standing on the piazza.
"Oh, Mr. Carhart!" said he.
"Good evening, sir," said Carhart.
The General produced a letter. "Would you be willing to get thisthrough to Flagg?"
"Certainly."
"Rather nice evening."
"Very."
"Suppose we sample their liquid here--I'm sorry I can't say much forit. What will you gentlemen have?"
* * * * *
It was ten o'clock in the morning. Carhart, Byers, Dimond, and Tiffanystood on the north knoll.
"I'll take it down," said Byers, his eyes glowing through hisspectacles on either side of his long nose.
"Go ahead," said Carhart. "And good luck to you!"
The instrument man took the message and started down the hill. Halfwaythere was a puff of smoke from Flagg's camp, and he fell. It was sopeaceful there on the hillside, so quiet and so bright with sunshine,the men could hardly believe their eyes. Then they roused. One losthis head and fired. But Dimond, his eyes blazing, swearing under hisbreath, handed his rifle to Carhart and went running and leaping downthe hillside. When he reached the fallen man, he bent over him andtook the letter from his hand and, standing erect, waved it. Stillholding it above his head, he went on down the hill and disappearedamong the rocks that surrounded the camp.
* * * * *
Late that afternoon Flagg's men straggled out through the hollow,bound for Red Hills. And every large rock on either hillside concealeda man and a rifle. Here and there certain rocks failed in their duty,and Flagg's men caught glimpses of blue-steel muzzles. So they didnot linger.
* * * * *
For a number of reasons, after an attempt to communicate by wire witha little New Hampshire town, and after an unavailing search forrepresentatives of the clergy at La Paz and at Red Hills, it wasdecided to bury the instrument man where he had fallen. "Near thetrack," Young Van suggested. "He would like it that way, I think."
At six in the morning a long procession filed out of the camp. At thehead went the rude coffin on the shoulders of six surveyors andforemen. Paul Carhart and Tiffany followed, the chief with a prayerbook in his hand; and after them came the men. The grave was ready.The laborers and the skilled workmen stood shoulder to shoulder in awide circle, baring their heads to the sun. Carhart opened the bookand slowly turned the pages in a quiet so intense that the rustle ofthe leaves could be heard by every man there. For the ungovernedemotions of these broken outcasts were now swayed to thoughts of deathand of what may come after.
"I am the resurrection and the life ..." Carhart read the immortalwords splendidly, in his even, finely modulated voice. "... I knowthat my Redeemer liveth.... Yet in my flesh shall I see God.... Webrought nothing into this world and it is certain we can carry nothingout.... For man walketh in a vain shadow, and disquieteth himself invain; he heapeth up riches, and cannot tell who shall gather them."
Gus Vandervelt raised his eyes involuntarily and glanced from one toanother of the lustful, weak, wicked faces that made up the greaterpart of the circle.
"It is sown in corruption, it is raised in incorruption; it is sown indishonor, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raisedin power."
Could it be that these wretches were to be raised in incorruption? Wasthere something hidden behind each of these animal faces, somethingdeeper than the motives which lead such men to work with their handsonly that they may eat and drink and die?
"... for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raisedincorruptible, and we shall be changed. For ... this mortal must puton immortality."
At the conclusion of the service Young Van, deeply moved, looked aboutfor h
is brother. But it seemed that the same impulse had come to themboth, for he heard a gruff, familiar voice behind him:--
"Look here, Gus, don't you think you've been sort of a d--n fool aboutthis business?"
The young fellow wheeled around with a glad look in his eyes. He sawthat his brother was scowling, was not even extending his hand, andyet he knew how much those rough words meant. "Yes," he repliedfrankly, "I think I have."
Old Van nodded, and they walked back to breakfast, side by side. Onlyonce was the silence broken, when Gus said, with some slighthesitation: "What are you going to do next?--Coming back to Shermanwith us?"
And Old Van turned his face away and looked off down the river andwalked along for a few moments without replying. Then, "No," hefinally got out, "guess I'll take a little vacation." He paused, stilllooking away, and they strode on down the slope. "Going over intoArizona with an outfit," he added huskily.
CHAPTER X
WHAT TOOK PLACE AT RED HILLS
The last spike in the western extension of the Sherman and Western wasdriven by no less a personage than President De Reamer himself. In thecircle of well-dressed men about him stood General Carrington and ascore of department heads of the two lines. The thirty miles of trackbetween the La Paz and Red Hills was laid, without unusual incident,in twenty days--a brilliant finish to what had been a record-breakingperformance.
There was to be a dinner at the Frisco Hotel. Everybody knew now thatGeneral Carrington had promised to be there and to speak a felicitousword or two welcoming the new C. & S. C. connection. After thespike-driving, Mr. De Reamer, a thin, saturnine figure, could be seenmoving about through the little crowd. Once, it was observed, he andGeneral Carrington drew aside and talked in low, earnest tones. Thereporters were there, of course, and to these the president wasurbane. They had gathered at first about the General, but he had wavedthem off with a smiling "Talk with my friend De Reamer there. Hedeserves whatever credit there may be in this thing." And next thesekeen-eyed, beardless men of the press bore down in a little group onCarhart, Tiffany, and Young Van, who were standing apart. Tiffany wasthe first to see them approaching.
"Not a word, boys," he said in a low voice.
"Why not?" asked Young Van. "I don't know of anybody who deserves morecredit than you two."
"Not a word," Tiffany repeated. "It would cost me my job. Mr. DeReamer's crazy mad now because so much has been said about Paul here.I don't care to get into it,--just excuse me."
The reporters were upon them. "Is that Mr. Tiffany?" asked one,indicating the retreating figure.
Carhart nodded.
"Is it true, Mr. Carhart," asked another, "that he came out and foughtunder you at the La Paz?"
Carhart smiled. President De Reamer was passing with Mr. Chambers andhad paused only a few feet away. "There wasn't any fighting at the LaPaz," he replied.
"There is a grave there," the questioner persisted.
"How do you know?"
"I rode out and saw it."
"Then you should have ridden back the length of the line and you wouldhave found a few other graves." The chief sobered. "You can't keep athousand to two thousand men at work in the desert for months withoutlosing a few of them. I'm sorry that this is so, but it is."
"Mr. Carhart," came another abrupt question, this time from thekeenest-appearing reporter of them all, "What did you say to GeneralCarrington and Commodore Durfee when you saw them at the Frisco?"
Young Van looked at his chief and saw that the faintest of twinkleswas in his eyes. He glanced over his shoulder and made out that DeReamer had paused in his conversation with Mr. Chambers, and waslistening to catch Carhart's reply. For himself, Young Van was blazingwith anger that this man, who had in his eyes fairly dragged De Reamerthrough to a successful termination of the fight, should be robbed ofwhat seemed to him the real reward. He had still something to learn ofthe way of the world, and everything to learn of the way of WallStreet. Then he heard Carhart replying:--
"You must ask Mr. De Reamer about that. He directs the policy of theSherman and Western."
And at this the president of the melancholy visage, and with him hisvice-president, passed on out of earshot.
"Mr. Carhart,"--the reporters were still at it,--"one of yourassistants, J. B. Flint, was carried on a cot the other day to the C.& S. C. station and put on a train. What was the matter with him?"
Carhart hesitated. Personally he cared not at all whether the factswere or were not given to the public. He felt little pleasure in lyingabout them. Engineers as a class do not lie very well. But he wasdoing the work of the Sherman and Western, and the Sherman andWestern, for a mixture of reasons, wished the facts covered. And then,somewhat to his relief, the youngest reporter in the group blunderedout the question which let him off with half a lie.
"Is it true, Mr. Carhart," asked this reporter, "that Mr. Flint hasbeen really an invalid for years?"
"Yes," Carhart replied cheerfully, "it is true."
The party seemed to be breaking up. Tiffany caught Young Van's eye,and beckoned. "Come on!" he called--"the Dinner!"
"They are starting, Mr. Carhart," said Young Van.
"Are they? All right.--That's all, boys. You can say, with perfecttruth, that the Sherman and Western has been completed to Red Hills."
"And that the H. D. & W. hasn't," cried the youngest reporter.
Carhart laughed. "The H. D. & W. will have to do its own talking," hereplied.
"But they aren't doing any."
"Can't help that," said Carhart. "No more--no more!" And with YoungVan he walked off toward the Frisco.
* * * * *
After the dinner the party broke up. Flint and Haddon went West withthe Chicago and Southern California officials. The others, who were tostart eastward in the late evening, rode off for a shoot on theplains. And it fell out that Carhart and Young Van, who had, fromdifferent motives, declined the ride, were left together at thehotel.
"What are you going to do now, Gus?" asked the chief.
Young Van hesitated, then gave way to a nervous smile. Carhart glancedkeenly at him, and observed that he had lost color and that the pupilsof his eyes were dilated. Now that the strain was over he was himselfconscious of a severe physical let-down, and he was not surprised tolearn that his assistant was completely unstrung.
Neither was he surprised to hear this hesitating yet perfectly honestreply: "I've been thinking I'd start at the first saloon and drink tothe other end of town. Want to come along?"
"No," Carhart replied, "I don't believe I will, thanks. I meant to askwhat work you plan to take up next?"
"Nothing at all."
"Nothing!--why so?"
"That is easy to answer." Young Van laughed bitterly. "I have nooffers."
"I'm surprised at that."
"You don't really mean that, Mr. Carhart?"
"Certainly I do."
"Well, it's more than I can say. If a man came along and offered me agood position, I should feel that I ought to decline it."
"Why?" Carhart was genuinely interested.
"Why?" Young Van rose and stood looking gloomily down at his chief."That's a funny question for you to ask. You've been watching my workfor these months, and you've seen me developing new limitations inevery possible direction. All together, I've discovered about thechoicest crop any man ever opened up. When I started out, I thought Imight some day become an engineer. But if this job has taught meanything, it has taught me that I'm the emptiest ass that ever triedto lay two rails, end to end, in a reasonably straight line." Thetremulous quality of his voice told Carhart how deeply the boy hadtaken his duties to heart.
"I've been thinking to-day that the best thing I can do will be torent a few acres somewhere out on Long Island and set up to raisechickens for the New York market: broilers, and maybe squabs--they saythere is money in squabs. I'd probably find I couldn't even do that,but it would be exciting for a while."
"Let's get out and tramp around
a little, Gus," was Carhart's reply."That will do you as much good as a drunk."
Young Van flushed at this, but followed the chief out to the longstreet along which straggled the buildings that made up thesettlement. These buildings were mostly saloons, each with its harvestof plainsmen, cowboys, laborers, and outcasts standing, sitting, orsprawling before the door. The day was hot with the dry heat ofSeptember, from which even the memory of moisture had long ago beensucked out. The dust rose at every step and settled on skin andclothing. Now and then a lounging figure rose and moved languidly inthrough a saloon door. Almost the only other movement to be seen wasthe heat vibration in the atmosphere. The only sound, beyond adrawled remark now and then, and the clink of glasses, was the tinkleof a crazy piano down the street. But the bronzed, sinewy engineers,who had for months known no other atmosphere, stepped off in aswinging stride, and soon were past the end of the street and out inthe open. Carhart himself was not above a sense of elation, and hefell into reminiscence.
"There is only one thing I have regretted, Gus," he said. "If I couldhave got hold of a big Italian I know of, with about a hundred of hismen, this dinner would have taken place some days ago."
"I didn't suppose that the work could have gone much faster," repliedthe younger man, moodily.
"Yes, we might have saved that much time easily in the cuts."
"Working by hand?"
"Yes. My experience with this chap was up in New Jersey. The firm Iwas working for at the time was developing a big ice business up inthe lakes in the northern part of the state. It was necessary to laya few short lines of track to connect the different ice-houseswith the main line, and I was given charge of it. I got mylaborers--several hundred of them--from an Italian padrone in New YorkCity. Neither myself nor my assistants spoke their language, ofcourse, and, as it turned out, we didn't think in their languageeither, for after two or three days they all walked out--to a man. Icould do nothing with them. So I rang up the padrone and told him hewould have to furnish a better lot than that. 'But,' said he, 'I can'tlet you have any more men.' I asked him why not. 'Because you don'tknow how to handle them.' That was a surprising sort of an answer, butI needed the laborers and I kept at him. Finally he said, 'I'll tellyou what I will do. I will send you the men, but you must let me senda foreman with them, and you must agree to give all your instructionsthrough that foreman.' 'All right,' I replied, 'send them along. Ifthey do the work, I won't bother them.'
"The next day, when I was at the office in Newark, one of myassistants called me up and told me it would be worth my while to comeright out on the work. When I reached there, he met me and took medown the track to a deep cut where the force was at work. The laborerswere placed just as I have placed our men lately, packed closetogether on terraces; and after I had watched for a moment it dawnedon me that I had never seen Italians work so fast as those wereworking. 'How did you do it?' I asked. The assistant grinned, andadvised me to watch the man at the top, and then I saw that a giant ofan Italian was standing on the hill above the top terrace, where hecould look down at the rows of laborers. He wore a long ulster, andkept his hands in his pockets.
"Pretty soon a laborer down on the lowest terrace rested his pickagainst his knees and stood up to stretch. 'Watch now!' whispered myassistant. I looked up at the big man just in time to see him draw astone out of his pocket--no pebble, mind you, but a jagged piece ofroad ballast--and throw it right at that laborer's head. The fellowsimply dodged it, seized his pick, and went to work harder than ever;and not another man stopped, even long enough to draw a good breathduring the twenty minutes I stood there. Then the whistle blew, and asI was curious to see what would happen I waited."
"What did happen?" asked Young Van.
"Nothing whatever, except that the laborers crowded around thisforeman and seemed proud to get a word from him."
"But I don't understand. What gave him such a hold over them?"
"I don't understand it myself. But I know that if I strained things tothe breaking point, I could never get the work out of any laborersthat he got out of those Italians. With him, and them, we might havesaved a good many days in this work."
"We might have tried the plan ourselves," said the young man, with achuckle. "Only I fancy a little something would have happened if wehad tried it."
Young Van's dangerous mood had passed. Carhart abruptly changed thesubject. "How would you like to go up into Canada with me, Gus?" hesaid.
"With you? There isn't much doubt what to answer to that."
"There will be some interesting things about the work--and time enoughto do them well, the way it looks now. I can't promise you anyremarkable inducements, but you will get a little more than you havebeen paid here--I won't say more than you have earned here, for youhave not been paid what you are worth."
A moment passed before these words could get into the consciousness ofthe young man. Then--they were just entering the village on theirreturn--he stopped short and looked into Paul Carhart's face. "Do youmean that you really want me?" he asked.
Carhart tried not to smile as he said: "The choice of assistants isin my hands, Gus, and I should find it difficult to justify myself fortaking an assistant whom I did not want--and especially for anundertaking that is likely to last several years."
Young Van was standing stock-still. "'Several years,'" he repeated.Then, "This seems to amount pretty nearly to a permanent offer?"
"Pretty nearly," said Carhart, smiling now.
At this they resumed their pace and entered the town. Both wereabsorbed--Young Van in his astonishment that he had found favor in theeyes of his chief, Carhart in his amusement over the utter naivete ofthe boy; and neither had an eye for the groups of desperate charactersthat lined the street, least of all for the particular group beforethe "Acme Hotel, J. Peters, Prop."
It could not be supposed that the coming of fifteen hundred men to RedHills, their pockets lined with the earnings of those lastirresistible weeks, should pass without a great effort on the part ofthe local population to empty these pockets promptly and thoroughly.If the two engineers had looked about more sharply in the course oftheir walk, they would have seen more than one familiar face. It was,indeed, a day to be remembered in Red Hills; there had been no suchwholesale contribution to local needs since the first ramshackle framebuilding rose from the dust. Bartenders were busy; and deft-fingered,impassive gentlemen from Chicago, and New Orleans, and Denver, and SanFrancisco were hard at work behind green tables. All was quiet so far.The laborers were so skilfully distributed that no green table waswithout its professional gambler; and sweltering in the heat, gulpingdown the ever ready fluids, they went gayly, gloomily, angrily,defiantly on, thumbing the dirty cards and relinquishing theirearnings. All was still quiet, for the business of the day was carriedon in back rooms and on upper floors. The uproar would not begin for afew hours yet, and would hardly reach its full strength before dark.
Among those to whom music and feminine charms, such as they were,outweighed the delights of the green table was Charlie the cook. Hesat at an open window, upstairs, where he could look down at thesleepy street and at the front of the Acme Hotel, opposite. At firsthe had been content to make out what he could of the scene through thecheesecloth sash curtains, but, under the mellowing influence of arapid succession of bottles, he had drawn the curtains, and now satwith his knees against the sill, smiling down in a ruddy, benevolentfashion on everybody and everything below. The parlor at his back wasfilled with workmen and their companions. He had seen the engineerswalk down the street, and had smiled in genial fashion, though awarethat they had not observed him. Now he saw them returning, and he wasready, undaunted, to greet them again.
Then something happened. The door leading to the bar of the AcmeHotel suddenly opened, and a hulking figure of a man appeared on thebroad step. He was half drunk, and he carried a revolver in his hand.Behind him, crowding out to see the fun, came a dozen men. Charlie sawthis, and, without in the slightest relaxing his genial smile, he drew
out one of his own revolvers and held it carelessly before him withthe muzzle resting on the window sill. Never for an instant did hetake his good-natured, bloodshot eyes from the man across the street.
The engineers were drawing rapidly nearer. Young Van was the first totake in the situation, and he spoke in a low, quick voice, hardlymoving his lips:--
"Don't look up or start, Mr. Carhart--but Jack Flagg is standing infront of that hotel on the left, and he looks as if he meant to shoot.What do you think we had better do? I am not armed."
"Neither am I," Carhart replied. "Don't pay any attention to him."
"Charlie had not raised his revolver,--the muzzle stillrested easily on the sill,--but it was pointing straight at JackFlagg's heart."]
That was all that was said. The two engineers swung along without asign of faltering. Jack Flagg slowly raised his weapon and tookdeliberate aim at Paul Carhart. Still the two came on, not wholly ableto conceal their sense of the situation, but, rather, regardless ofit. On Carhart's face there was an expression of stern contempt; YoungVan was pale and his eyes were fixed straight before him.
At this point it seemed as if the strain must break one way or theother. The men were not ten yards apart--in another moment it would beless than two. A little gasp of admiration came from the watchinggroups. Flagg heard this, and his hand wavered, but he recovered andtook a short step forward.
Suddenly the silence was broken by a low whistle. Flagg started, andlooked around.
Again came the low whistle. This time Flagg looked up, and caught hisfirst sight of Charlie in the window, and hesitated. Charlie had notraised his revolver,--the muzzle still rested easily on the sill,--butit was pointing straight at Jack Flagg's heart. Flagg lowered hisweapon a little way, then looked as if he wished to raise it again,but on second thoughts this seemed hardly wise, for Charlie wasshaking his head in gentle disapproval. Then this incident, which hadshaved close to tragedy, suddenly ran off into farce. Flagg pocketedhis revolver, muttered something that nobody understood, anddisappeared through the bar-room door; and after a long breath ofmingled relief and disappointment, somebody laughed aloud.
As for Charlie, he turned, still playing with his revolver, and lookedabout the room. "Why!" he exclaimed. "Why! Where's the ladies?"
* * * * *
The engineers walked steadily up the street and turned into the hotel.Then Young Van weakened, staggered to a chair, and sat limp and white."I told you," he said breathlessly, "I told you I was--no good."
Carhart, before replying, looked at his watch, and his hand shook ashe did so. "Brace up, Gus," he said. "Brace up. I start East in anhour or so, and you are coming with me, you know."
* * * * *
THE GAME
_A TRANSCRIPT FROM REAL LIFE_
By JACK LONDON
Author of "The Call of the Wild," "The Sea-Wolf," etc.
With Illustrations and Decorations in Colors by Henry Hutt and T. C. Lawrence.
Cloth 12mo $1.50
"The Game" resembles "The Call of the Wild" very strongly in the unity and rapidity of its action, in its singleness of purpose, and in its conveyed impression of power. "The Game" is that which takes place within the squared ring; included in the story is an intensely graphic portrayal of what the prize ring stands for and means to participants, spectators, and the general scheme of things.
THE STORM CENTRE
By CHARLES EGBERT CRADDOCK
Author of "The Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains," "The Story of Old Fort Loudon," etc.
Cloth 12mo $1.50
A war story; but more of flirtation, love, and courtship, than of fighting or history. It is a simple and pleasing tale of a wounded Union officer in a household strongly in sympathy with the Confederate cause. The officer falls in love with the young lady of the house, and the son of the family, a dashing young Confederate officer, comes back to see his family. While there the rebel officer secures information that enables the Southern army to gain an important strategical advantage, and the Union officer is eventually court-martialled. The tale is light and entertaining and thoroughly readable, and the background is that associated with Miss Murfree's well-earned fame.
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
_A RECORD_
By JOHN HEIGH
Sometime Major U.S.A.
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Glimpses of many fascinating figures are seen in this chronicle. The old, old social warfares of Boston and Philadelphia come out now and then amusingly. The chief character is one of the modern kings of finance--"a promoter? Not at all! He reorganizes railroads and things; one railway he has reorganized three times; and these rejuvenated concerns have been very grateful to him. He is rich beyond all decent guessing, my friend of fifty years, and I regard him as the most dangerous man in America." So his story is told by his oldest friend, with little thrusts of grim humor; yet with a very strong and sweet undercurrent of sentiment. It has an altogether indescribable tone that is admirably in keeping with one's mental picture of the veteran soldier and scholar who tells the tale to young "Waltham Eliot, late of Boston, who has come to settle in Philadelphia, live on law, and be honest!" But in the last analysis it is a love-story of yesterday, to-day, and forever.
MRS. DARRELL
By FOXCROFT DAVIS
Author of "Despotism and Democracy"
With Illustrations by William Sherman Potts
Cloth 12mo $1.50
"Mrs. Darrell" is a penetrating bit of analysis in the form of an exceptionally good story of the social side of high political life in the national capital.
Its very genuine people are sketched with a light touch, a delicacy of expression, that make the book enjoyable reading. Those who know the city well enough to recognize the unerring accuracy of even its minor details will wonder over the skill which has produced such real, interestingly varied types. It is full of highly diverting humor without a trace of satirical sting; on the contrary, its prevailing tone is refreshingly wholesome.
A DARK LANTERN
_A STORY WITH A PROLOGUE_
By ELIZABETH ROBINS (C. E. RAIMOND)
Author of "The Magnetic North," "Below the Salt," etc.
Cloth 12mo $1.50
This new book is one that must appeal very strongly to those who enjoy the novel of keen social analysis. Its pictures of English and continental society are as graphic, just, and authoritative as any that have appeared in fiction. One of the main characters is a young German whose rank at once excludes him from the privileges of commonplace home life and gives him the unconscious assumption of the overfeted man who has missed the tonic of hard work. Another is the young specialist in "nerves," accurate to the verge of brutality, driven to misogyny by the trivial aggravations of encountering most often the vague indecisions he hated most. And between them stands Katharine Dereham, a character of strong, unforgettable appeal to the woman who looks on modern social life with open eyes.
The Memoirs of an American Citizen
By ROBERT HERRICK
Author of "The Common Lot," "The Real World," etc., etc.
With 45 Illustrations by F. B. Masters
Cloth 12mo $1.50
In his grasp on the popular interest Mr. Herrick's mastery grows with every new book he writes. Just because they are human, alive, and above all sincere, they hold one as no tales of silks and swords in an imaginary land could possibly do. The "American" of his new story walks into the Chicago markets from Indiana, to all appearances a tramp--in reality a country boy who has quarrelled with his home surroundings and flung himself into the city to fight for a future. The novel opens in time and scenes of Chicago in 1877. It inc
ludes among other incidents a glimpse of the strained days of the Haymarket riot and the trial that followed. It is a novel with more than a passing appeal to ones sympathies, and taken as a whole seems certain to be at once the most popular and the best thing that Mr. Herrick has written.
THE SECRET WOMAN
By EDEN PHILLPOTTS
Author of "The American Prisoner," "My Devon Year," etc.
Cloth 12mo $1.50
"There cannot be two opinions as to the interest and the power of 'The Secret Woman.' It is not only its author's masterpiece, but it is far in advance of anything he has yet written--and that is to give it higher praise than almost any other comparison with contemporary fiction could afford."
THE LODESTAR
By SIDNEY R. KENNEDY
With Illustrations by The Kinneys
Cloth 12mo $1.50
"The novel is full of humor, a humor of a gentle, quiet, almost wistful quality, and its effect is to make us more in love with life and with our fellow-mortals."--_News and Courier._
THE MASTER-WORD
_A STORY OF THE SOUTH TO-DAY_
By L. H. HAMMOND
Cloth 12mo $1.50
"Mrs. Hammond has conceived and portrayed what is perhaps the most difficult situation on earth.... The writer has a large heart and wide sympathies; she has told her story freely and well, treading both firmly and delicately on difficult ground.... She has done some admirable work, and has achieved a striking story quite out of the ordinary."--_N. Y. Times._
THE GOLDEN HOPE
_A STORY OF THE TIME OF ALEXANDER THE GREAT_
By ROBERT H. FULLER
Cloth 12mo $1.50
"All together this is a powerful story and a vivid, correct, and intensely interesting picture of the most prosperous days of the Macedonian kingdom."--_The Watchman._
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 64-66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK