The Furnace of Gold

by Philip Verrill Mighels

  CHAPTER XIII

  A COMBINATION OF FORCES

  Bostwick effected a change of dress in the rear of the nearest store.A rough blue shirt, stout kahki garments and yellow "hiking" bootsconverted him into one of the common units of which the camp throng wascomprised. He was then duly barbered, after which he made a strenuousbut futile endeavor to procure accommodations for the night.

  There was no one with leisure to listen to his tirade on the shamefulinadequacy of the attributes of civilization in the camp, and after onebrief attempt to arouse civic indignation against Van for his acts ofdeliberate lawlessness, he perceived the ease with which he mightcommit an error and render himself ridiculous. He dropped all hope ofpublicly humiliating the horseman and deferred his private vengeancefor a time more opportune.

  Wholly at a loss to cope with a situation wherein he found himself soutterly neglected and unknown, despite the influential position heoccupied both in New York and Washington, he resolved to throw himselfentirely upon the mercies of McCoppet.

  He knew his man only through their correspondence, induced by Beth'sbrother, Glenmore Kent. Inquiring at the bank, he was briefly directedto the largest saloon of the place. When he entered the bar he foundit swarming full of men, miners, promoters, teamsters, capitalists,gamblers, lawyers, and--the Lord alone knew what. The air was a reekof smoke and fumes of liquor. A blare of alleged music shocked theatmosphere. Men drunk and men sober, all were talking mines and gold,the greatness of the camp, the richness of the latest finds, and themarvel of their private properties. Everyone had money, everyone hadchunks of ore to show to everyone else.

  At the rear were six tables with layouts for games of chance. Faro,"klondike," roulette, stud-poker, almost anything possibly to bedesired was there. All were in full blast. Three deep the men weregathered about the wheel and the "tiger." Gold money in stacks stoodat every dealer's hand. Bostwick had never seen so much metal currencyin all his life.

  He asked for McCoppet at the bar.

  "Opal? Somewhere back--that's him there, talkin' to the guy with thefur on his jaw," informed the barkeeper, making a gesture with histhumb. "What's your poison?"

  "Nothing, thank you," answered Bostwick, who started for his man, buthalted for McCoppet to finish his business with his friend.

  The man on whom Bostwick was gazing was a tall, slender, slightlystooped individual of perhaps forty-five, with a wonderful opal in histie, from which he had derived his sobriquet. He was clean-shaved, bigfeatured, and gifted with a pair of heavy-lidded eyes as lustreless asold buttons. He had never been seen without a cigar in his mouth, butthe weed was never lighted.

  Bostwick noted the carefulness of the man's attire, but gained no clueas to his calling. To avoid stupid staring he turned to watch a gameof faro. Its fascinations were rapidly engrossing his attentions andluring him onward toward a reckless desire to tempt the goddess ofchance, when he presently beheld McCoppet turn away from his man andsaunter down the room.

  A moment later Bostwick touched him on the shoulder.

  "Beg pardon," he said, "Mr. McCoppet?"

  McCoppet nodded. "My name."

  "I'd like to introduce myself--J. Searle Bostwick," said the visitor."I expected to arrive, as I wrote you----"

  "Glad to meet you, Bostwick," interrupted the other, putting forth hishand. "Where are you putting up?"

  "I haven't been able to find accommodations," answered Bostwick warmly."It's an outrage the way this town is conducted. I thought perhaps----"

  "I'll fix you all right," cut in McCoppet. "Are you ready for a talk?Nothing has waited for you to come."

  "I came for an interview--in fact----"

  "Private room back here," McCoppet announced, and he started to leadthe way, pausing for a moment near a faro table to cast a cold glanceat the dealer.

  "Wonderfully interesting game," said Bostwick. "It seems as if a manmight possibly beat it."

  There might have been a shade of contempt in the glance McCoppet castupon him. He merely said: "He can't."

  Bostwick laughed. "You seem very positive."

  McCoppet was moving on again.

  "I own the game."

  He owned everything here, and had his designs on two more places likeit, down the street. He almost owned the souls of many men, but goldand power were the goals on which his eyes were riveted.

  Bostwick glanced at him with newer interest as they passed down theroom, and so to a tight little office the walls of which were speciallydeadened against the transmission of sound.

  "Have anything to drink?" inquired the owner, before he took a chair,"--whiskey, wine?"

  "Thanks, no," said Bostwick, "not just yet." He took the chair towhich McCoppet waved him. "I must say I'm surprised," he admitted, "tosee the numbers of men, the signs of activity, and all the rest of itin a camp so young. And by the way, it seems young Kent is away."

  "Yes," said the gambler, settling deeply into his chair and sleepilyobserving his visitor. "I sent him away last week."

  Bostwick was eager.

  "On something good for the--for our little group?"

  "On a wild goose seance," answered McCoppet. "He's in the way aroundhere."

  "Oh," said Bostwick, who failed to understand. "I thought----"

  "Yes. I culled your thought from your letters," interrupted his hostdrawlingly. "We might as well understand each other first as last.Bostwick--are you out here to work this camp my way or the kid's?"

  Bostwick was cautious. "How does he wish to work it?"

  "Like raising potatoes."

  "And your plan is----"

  "Look here, do I stack up like a Sunday-school superintendent? Ithought you and I understood each other. I don't run no game the otherman can maybe beat. Didn't you come out here with that understanding?"

  "Certainly, I----"

  "Then never mind the kid. What have you got in your kahki?"

  "Our syndicate to buy the Hen Hawk group----" started Bostwick, but thegambler cut in sharply.

  "That's sold and cold. You have to move here; things happen. What didyou do about the reservation permit?"

  Bostwick looked about the room furtively, and edged his chair a bitcloser.

  "I secured permission from Government headquarters to explore all orany portions of the reservation, and take _assistants_ with me," heimparted in a lowered tone of voice. "I had it mailed to me here byregistered post. It should be at the post-office now."

  "Right," said McCoppet with more of an accent of approval in hisutterance. "Get it out to-day. I've got your corps of assistantshobbled here in camp. They can get on the ground to-morrow morning."

  Bostwick's eyes were gleaming.

  "There's certainly gold on this reservation?"

  "Now, how can anybody tell you that?" demanded McCoppet, who from hisplace here in Goldite had engineered the plan whereby his andBostwick's expert prospectors could explore every inch of theGovernment's forbidden land in advance of all competitors. "We'retaking a flyer, that's all. If there's anything there--we're on."

  Bostwick reflected for a moment. "There's nothing at present that oursyndicate could do?"

  "There'll be plenty of chances to use ready money," McCoppet assuredhim, rising. "You're here on the ground. Keep your shirt on and leavethe shuffling to me."

  Bostwick, too, arose. "How long will young Kent be away?"

  "As long as I can keep him busy out South."

  "What is he doing out South?"

  "Locating a second Goldite," said the gambler. "Keeps him on themove." He threw away his chewed cigar, placed a new one in his mouth,and started for the door. "Come on," he added, "I'll identify you overat the postoffice and show you where you sleep."