CHAPTER XXI
_The Sword that Turns_
As Zephyr and Bennie left the office Hartwell turned to Firmstone. Therewas no outward yielding, within only the determination not to recognisedefeat.
"The cards are yours; but we'll finish the game."
The words were not spoken, but they were in evidence.
Firmstone was silent for a long time. He was thinking neither ofHartwell nor of himself.
"Well," he finally asked; "this little incident is happily closed. Whatnext?"
Hartwell's manner had not changed. "You are superintendent here. Don'task me. It's up to you."
Firmstone restrained himself with an effort. "Is it?"
The question carried its own answer with it. It was plainly negative,only Hartwell refused to accept it.
"What else are you out here for?"
Firmstone's face flushed hotly. "Why can't you talk sense?" he burstout.
"I am not aware that I have talked anything else." Hartwell only grewmore rigid with Firmstone's visible anger.
"If that's your opinion the sooner I get out the better." Firmstone roseand started to the door.
"Wait a moment." Firmstone's decision was, by Hartwell, twisted intoweakening. On this narrow pivot he turned his preparation for retreat."The loss of the gold brought me out here. It has been recovered and noquestions asked. That ends my work. Now yours begins. When I have yourassurance that you will remain with the company in accordance with yourcontract, I am ready to go. What do you say?"
Firmstone thought rapidly and to the point. His mind was soon made up."I decline to commit myself." The door closed behind him, shutting offfurther discussion.
The abrupt termination of the interview was more than disappointing toHartwell. It carried with it an element of fear. He had played his gameobstinately, with obvious defiance in the presence of Zephyr and Bennie;with their departure he had counted on a quiet discussion withFirmstone. He had no settled policy further than to draw Firmstone out,get him to commit himself definitely while he, with no outward sign ofyielding, could retreat with flying colours. He now recognised the factthat the knives with which he had been juggling were sharper and moredangerous than he had thought, but he also felt that, by keeping them inthe air as long as possible, when they fell he could at least turn theirpoints from himself. Firmstone's departure brought them tumbling abouthis ears in a very inconsiderate manner. He must make another move, andin a hurry. Events were no longer even apparently under his control;they were controlling him and pushing him into a course of action not atall to his liking.
The element of fear, before passive, was now quivering with intenseactivity. He closed his mind to all else and bent it toward theforestalling of an action that he could not but feel was immediate andpressing.
Partly from Firmstone, partly from Pierre, he had gathered a clear ideathat a union was being organised, and this knowledge had impelled him toa course that he would now have given worlds to recall.
This act was none else than the engaging of a hundred or more non-unionmen. On their arrival, he had intended the immediate discharge of thedisaffected and the installing of the new men in their places. He hadchuckled to himself over the dismay which the arrival of the men wouldcreate, but even more over the thought of the bitter rage of Morrisonand Pierre when they realised the fact that they had been outwitted andforestalled. The idea that he was forcing upon Firmstone a set ofconditions for which he would refuse to stand sponsor had occurred tohim only as a possibility so remote that it was not even considered. Hewas now taking earnest counsel with himself. If Firmstone hadcontemplated resignation under circumstances of far less moment than thevital one of which he was still ignorant--Hartwell drew his hand slowlyacross his moistening forehead, then sprang to his feet. Why had he notthought of it before? He caught up his hat and hurried to the door ofthe outer office. There was not a moment to lose. Before he laid hishand on the door he forced himself to deliberate movement.
"Tell the stable boss to hitch up the light rig and bring it to theoffice."
As the man left the room, Hartwell seated himself and lighted a cigar.In a few moments the rig was at the door and Hartwell appeared,leisurely drawing on a pair of driving-gloves. Adjusting the dust-robeover his knees, as he took the lines from the man, he said:
"If Mr. Firmstone inquires for me tell him I have gone for a drive."
Down past the mill, along the trail by the slide, he drove with noappearance of haste. Around a bend which hid the mill from sight, thehorses had a rude awakening. The cigar was thrown aside, the reinstightened, and the whip was cracked in a manner that left no doubt inthe horses' minds as to the desires of their driver.
In an hour, foaming and panting, they were pulled up at the station.Hitching was really an unnecessary precaution, for a rest was a thing tobe desired; but hitched they were, and Hartwell hurried into the dingyoffice.
The operator was leaning back in his chair, his feet beside his clickinginstrument, a soothing pipe perfuming the atmosphere of placid dreams.
"I want to get off a message at once." Hartwell was standing before thewindow.
The operator's placid dreams assumed an added charm by comparison withthe perturbed Hartwell.
"You're too late, governor." He slowly raised his eyes, letting themrest on Hartwell.
"Too late!" Hartwell repeated, dazedly.
"Yep. At once ain't scheduled to make no stops." The operator resumedhis pipe and his dreams.
"I've no time to waste," Hartwell snapped, impatiently.
"Even so," drawled the man; "but you didn't give me no time at all. Idon't mind a fair handicap; but I ain't no jay."
"Will you give me a blank?"
"Oh, now you're talking U. S. all right. I savvy that." Without rising,he pushed a packet of blanks toward the window with his foot.
Hartwell wrote hurriedly for a moment, and shoved the message toward theoperator. Taking his feet from the desk, he leaned slowly forward,picked up a pencil and began checking off the words.
John Haskins, Leadville, Colorado.
Do not send the men I asked for. Will explain by letter.
Arthur Hartwell.
"Things quieting down at the mine?" The operator paused, looking up atHartwell.
Hartwell could not restrain his impatience.
"I'm Mr. Hartwell, general manager of the Rainbow Company. Will youattend to your business and leave my affairs alone?"
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Hartwell. My name is Jake Studley, agent forR. G. S. I get fifty dollars a month, and don't give a damn for no one."He began clearing the papers from before his instrument and drumming outhis call.
The call was answered and the message sent. The operator picked up thepaper and thrust it on a file.
Hartwell's face showed conflicting emotions. He wanted to force theexasperating man to action; but his own case was urgent. He drew fromhis pocket a roll of bills. Selecting a ten-dollar note, he pushed ittoward the operator, who was refilling his pipe.
"I want that message to get to Haskins immediately, and I want ananswer."
The operator shoved the bill into his pocket with one hand, with theother he began another call. There was a pause, then a series of clickswhich were cut off and another message sent. The man closed hisinstrument and winked knowingly at Hartwell.
"I squirted a little electricity down the line on my own account. Toldthem the G. M. was in and ordered that message humped. 'Tain't up to meto explain what G. M. is here."
Hartwell went out on the platform and paced restlessly up and down. Inabout an hour he again approached the window.
"How long before I can expect an answer?"
"I can't tell. It depends on their finding your man. They'll get awiggle on 'em, all right. I'll stir them up again before long.Jehosaphat! There's my call now!" He hurriedly answered, then read, wordby word, the message as it was clicked off.
Arthur Hartwell, Rainbow, Colorado.
Messa
ge received. Too late. Men left on special last night.
John Haskins.
Hartwell caught up another blank.
John Haskins, Leadville, Colorado.
Recall the men without fail. I'll make it worth your while.
Arthur Hartwell.
There was another weary wait. Finally the operator came from his office.
"Sorry, Mr. Hartwell, but Leadville says Haskins left on train aftersending first despatch. Says he had a ticket for Salt Lake."
"When will that special be here?" Hartwell's voice was husky in spite ofhimself.
"Ought to be here about six. It's three now."
"Is there no way to stop it?"
"Not now. Haskins chartered it. He's the only one that can call it off,and he's gone."
Hartwell's face was pale and haggard. He again began pacing up and down,trying in vain to find a way of doing the impossible. The fact that hehad temporised, resolutely set his face against the manly thing to do,only to find the same alternative facing him at every turn, more ominousand harder than ever, taught him nothing. The operator watched him as herepeatedly passed. His self-asserting independence had gone, in itsplace was growing a homely sympathy for the troubled man. As Hartwellpassed him again he called out:
"Say, governor, I know something about that business at the mine, and'tain't up to you to worry. Your old man up there is a corker. They'reon to him all right. He'll just take one fall out of that crowd that'lldo them for keeps."
Hartwell paused, looking distantly at the speaker. He was not activelyconscious of him, hardly of his words. The operator, not understanding,went on with more assurance.
"I know Jack Haskins. This ain't the first time he's been called on tohelp out in this kind of a racket, you bet! He's shipped you a gang that'ud rather fight than eat. All you've got to do is to say 'sick 'em' andthen lay back and see the fur fly."
Hartwell turned away without a word and went to his rig. He got in anddrove straight for the mill. His mind was again made up. This time itwas made up aright. Only--circumstances did not allow it to avail.
As he drove away he did not notice a man in miner's garb who looked athim sharply and resumed his way. The operator was still on the platformas the man came to a halt. He was deriving great satisfaction from thecrackling new bill which he was caressing in his pocket. The new billwould soon have had a companion, had he kept quiet, but this he couldnot know.
Glancing at the miner, he remarked, benevolently:
"Smelling trouble, and pulling out, eh?"
"What do you mean?" The new-comer looked up stupidly.
"Just this. I reckon you've run up against Jack Haskins's gang before,and ain't hankering for a second round."
"Jack Haskins's gang comin'?" There was an eagerness in the man's mannerwhich the operator misunderstood.
"That's what, and a hundred strong."
The man turned.
"Thanks, pard. Guess I'll go back and tell the boys. Perhaps they'd likea chance to git, too; then again they mightn't." Tipping a knowing winkat the open-mouthed operator, he turned on his heel and walked brisklyaway. He too was headed for the mill.
The operator's jaw worked spasmodically for a moment.
"Hen's feathers and skunk oil! If he ain't a spy, I'll eat him. Oh,Lord! Old Firmstone and Jack Haskins's gang lined up against the BlueGoose crowd! Jake, my boy, listen to me. You can get another job if youlose this; but to-morrow you are going to see the sight of your life."
The Blue Goose Page 21
