Gunsight Pass

by Raine, William MacLeod

  Before he left the office that afternoon Graham had before him a typewritten memorandum from his secretary covering the case of David Sanders.

  CHAPTER XXIX

  THREE IN CONSULTATION

  The grizzled railroad builder fixed Sanders with an eye that had read into the soul of many a shirker and many a dishonest schemer.

  "How long have you been with the Jackpot Company?"

  "Not long. Only a few days."

  "How much stock do you own?"

  "Ten thousand shares."

  "How did you get it?"

  "It was voted me by the directors for saving Jackpot Number Three from an attack of Steelman's men."

  Graham's gaze bored into the eyes of his caller. He waited just a moment to give his question full emphasis. "Mr. Sanders, what were you doing six months ago?"

  "I was serving time in the penitentiary," came the immediate quiet retort.

  "What for?"

  "For manslaughter."

  "You didn't tell me this yesterday."

  "No. It has no bearing on the value of the proposition I submitted to you, and I thought it might prejudice you against it."

  "Have you been in any trouble since you left prison?"

  Dave hesitated. The blazer of railroad trails rapped out a sharp, explanatory question. "Any shooting scrapes?"

  "A man shot at me in Malapi. I was unarmed."

  "That all?"

  "Another man fired at me out at the Jackpot. I was unarmed then."

  "Were you accused of holding up a stage, robbing it, and killing the driver?"

  "No. I was twenty miles away at the time of the hold-up and had evidence to prove it."

  "Then you were mentioned in connection with the robbery?"

  "If so, only by my enemies. One of the robbers was captured and made a full confession. He showed where the stolen gold was cached and it was recovered."

  The great man looked with chilly eyes at the young fellow standing in front of him. He had a sense of having been tricked and imposed upon.

  "I have decided not to accept your proposition to cooperate with you in financing the Jackpot Company, Mr. Sanders." Horace Graham pressed an electric button and a clerk appeared. "Show this gentleman out, Hervey."

  But Sanders stood his ground. Nobody could have guessed from his stolid imperturbability how much he was depressed at this unexpected failure.

  "Do I understand that you are declining this loan because I am connected with it, Mr. Graham?"

  "I do not give a reason, sir. The loan does not appeal to me," the railroad builder said with chill finality.

  "It appealed to you yesterday," persisted Dave.

  "But not to-day. Hervey, I will see Mr. Gates at once. Tell McMurray so."

  Reluctantly Dave followed the clerk out of the room. He had been checkmated, but he did not know how. In some way Steelman had got to the financier with this story that had damned the project. The new treasurer of the Jackpot Company was much distressed. If his connection with the company was going to have this effect, he must resign at once.

  He walked back to the hotel, and in the corridor of the Albany met a big bluff cattleman the memory of whose kindness leaped across the years to warm his heart.

  "You don't remember me, Mr. West?"

  The owner of the Fifty-Four Quarter Circle looked at the young man and gave a little whoop. "Damn my skin, if it ain't the boy who bluffed a whole railroad system into lettin' him reload stock for me!" He hooked an arm under Dave's and led him straight to the bar. "Where you been? What you doin'? Why n't you come to me soon as you … got out of a job? What'll you have, boy?"

  Dave named ginger ale. They lifted glasses.

  "How?"

  "How?"

  "Now you tell me all about it," said West presently, leading the way to a lounge seat in the mezzanine gallery.

  Sanders answered at first in monosyllables, but presently he found himself telling the story of his failure to enlist Horace Graham in the Jackpot property as a backer.

  The cattleman began to rumple his hair, just as he had done years ago in moments of excitement.

  "Wish I'd known, boy. I've been acquainted with Horace Graham ever since he ran a hardware store on Larimer Street, and that's 'most thirty years ago. I'd 'a' gone with you to see him. Maybe I can see him now."

  "You can't change the facts, Mr. West. When he knew I was a convict he threw the whole thing overboard."

  The voice of a page in the lobby rose in sing-song. "Mister Sa-a-anders.

  Mis-ter Sa-a-a-anders."

  Dave stepped to the railing and called down. "I'm Mr. Sanders. Who wants me?"

  A man near the desk waved a paper and shouted: "Hello, Dave! News for you, son. I'll come up." The speaker was Crawford.

  He shook hands with Dave and with West while he ejaculated his news in jets. "I got it, son. Got it right here. Came back with the Governor this mo'nin'. Called together Pardon Board. Here 't is. Clean bill of health, son. Resolutions of regret for miscarriage of justice. Big story front page's afternoon's papers."

  Dave smiled sardonically. "You're just a few hours late, Mr. Crawford.

  Graham turned us down cold this morning because I'm a penitentiary bird."

  "He did?" Crawford began to boil inside. "Well, he can go right plumb to

  Yuma. Anybody so small as that—"

  "Hold yore hawsses, Em," said West, smiling.

  "Graham didn't know the facts. If you was a capitalist an' thinkin' of loanin' big money to a man you found out had been in prison for manslaughter and that he had since been accused of robbin' a stage an' killing the driver—"

  "He was in a hurry," explained Dave. "Going East to-morrow. Some one must have got at him after I saw him. He'd made up his mind when I went back to-day."

  "Well, Horace Graham ain't one of those who won't change his views for heaven, hell, and high water. All we've got to do is to get to him and make him see the light," said West.

  "When are we going to do all that?" asked Sanders. "He's busy every minute of the time till he starts. He won't give us an appointment."

  "He'll see me. We're old friends," predicted West confidently.

  Crestfallen, he met the two officers of the Jackpot Company three hours later. "Couldn't get to him. Sent word out he was sorry, an' how was Mrs. West an' the children, but he was in conference an' couldn't break away."

  Dave nodded. He had expected this and prepared for it. "I've found out he's going on the eight o'clock flyer. You going to be busy to-morrow, Mr. West?"

  "No. I got business at the stockyards, but I can put it off."

  "Then I'll get tickets for Omaha on the flyer. Graham will take his private car. We'll break in and put this up to him. He was friendly to our proposition before he got the wrong slant on it. If he's open-minded, as Mr. West says he is—"

  Crawford slapped an open hand on his thigh. "Say, you get the best ideas, son. We'll do just that."

  "I'll check up and make sure Graham's going on the flyer," said the young man. "If we fall down we'll lose only a day. Come back when we meet the night train. I reckon we won't have to get tickets clear through to Omaha."

  "Fine and dandy," agreed West. "We'll sure see Graham if we have to bust the door of his car."

  CHAPTER XXX

  ON THE FLYER

  West, his friends not in evidence, artfully waylaid Graham on his way to the private car.

  "Hello, Henry B. Sorry I couldn't see you yesterday," the railroad builder told West as they shook hands. "You taking this tram?"

  "Yes, sir. Got business takes me East."

  "Drop in to see me some time this morning. Say about noon. You'll have lunch with me."

  "Suits me. About noon, then," agreed West.

  The conspirators modified their plans to meet a new strategic situation. West was still of opinion that he had better use his card of entry to get his friends into the railroad builder's car, but he yielded to Dave's view that it would be wiser for the catt
leman to pave the way at luncheon.

  Graham's secretary ate lunch with the two old-timers and the conversation threatened to get away from West and hover about financial conditions in New York. The cattleman brought it by awkward main force to the subject he had in mind.

  "Say, Horace, I wanta talk with you about a proposition that's on my chest," he broke out.

  Graham helped himself to a lamb chop. "Sail in, Henry B. You've got me at your mercy."

  At the first mention of the Jackpot gusher the financier raised a prohibitive hand. "I've disposed of that matter. No use reopening it."

  But West stuck to his guns. "I ain't aimin' to try to change yore mind on a matter of business, Horace. If you'll tell me that you turned down the proposition because it didn't look to you like there was money in it, I'll curl right up and not say another word."

  "It doesn't matter why I turned it down. I had my reasons."

  "It matters if you're doin' an injustice to one of the finest young fellows I know," insisted the New Mexican stanchly.

  "Meaning the convict?"

  "Call him that if you've a mind to. The Governor pardoned him yesterday because another man confessed he did the killin' for which Dave was convicted. The boy was railroaded through on false evidence."

  The railroad builder was a fair-minded man. He did not want to be unjust to any one. At the same time he was not one to jump easily from one view to another.

  "I noticed something in the papers about a pardon, but I didn't know it was our young oil promoter. There are other rumors about him too. A stage robbery, for instance, and a murder with it."

  "He and Em Crawford ran down the robbers and got the money back. One of the robbers confessed. Dave hadn't a thing to do with the hold-up. There's a bad gang down in that country. Crawford and Sanders have been fightin' 'em, so naturally they tell lies about 'em."

  "Did you say this Sanders ran down one of the robbers?"

  "Yes."

  "He didn't tell me that," said Graham thoughtfully. "I liked the young fellow when I first saw him. He looks quiet and strong; a self-reliant fellow would be my guess."

  "You bet he is." West laughed reminiscently. "Lemme tell you how I first met him." He told the story of how Dave had handled the stock shipment for him years before.

  Horace Graham nodded shrewdly. "Exactly the way I had him sized up till I began investigating him. Well, let's hear the rest. What more do you know about him?"

  The Albuquerque man told the other of Dave's conviction, of how he had educated himself in the penitentiary, of his return home and subsequent adventures there.

  "There's a man back there in the Pullman knows him like he was his own son, a straight man, none better in this Western country," West concluded.

  "Who is he?"

  "Emerson Crawford of the D Bar Lazy R ranch."

  "I've heard of him. He's in this Jackpot company too, isn't he?"

  "He's president of it. If he says the company's right, then it's right."

  "Bring him in to me."

  West reported to his friends, a large smile on his wrinkled face. "I got him goin' south, boys. Come along, Em, it's up to you now."

  The big financier took one comprehensive look at Emerson Crawford and did not need any letter of recommendation. A vigorous honesty spoke in the strong hand-grip, the genial smile, the level, steady eyes.

  "Tell me about this young desperado you gentlemen are trying to saw off on me," Graham directed, meeting the smile with another and offering cigars to his guests.

  Crawford told him. He began with the story of the time Sanders and Hart had saved him from the house of his enemy into which he had been betrayed. He related how the boy had pursued the men who stole his pinto and the reasoning which had led him to take it without process of law. He told the true story of the killing, of the young fellow's conviction, of his attempt to hold a job in Denver without concealing his past, and of his busy week since returning to Malapi.

  "All I've got to say is that I hope my boy will grow up to be as good a man as Dave Sanders," the cattleman finished, and he turned over to Graham a copy of the findings of the Pardon Board, of the pardon, and of the newspapers containing an account of the affair with a review of the causes that had led to the miscarriage of justice.

  "Now about your Jackpot Company. What do you figure as the daily output of the gusher?" asked Graham.

  "Don't know. It's a whale of a well. Seems to have tapped a great lake of oil half a mile underground. My driller Burns figures it at from twenty to thirty thousand barrels a day. I cayn't even guess, because I know so blamed little about oil."

  Graham looked out of the window at the rushing landscape and tapped on the table with his finger-tips absentmindedly. Presently he announced a decision crisply.

  "If you'll leave your papers here I'll look them over and let you know what I'll do. When I'm ready I'll send McMurray forward to you."

  An hour later the secretary announced to the three men in the Pullman the decision of his chief.

  "Mr. Graham has instructed me to tell you gentlemen he'll look into your proposition. I am wiring an oil expert in Denver to return with you to Malapi. If his report is favorable, Mr. Graham will cooperate with you in developing the field."

  CHAPTER XXXI

  TWO ON THE HILLTOPS

  It was the morning after his return. Emerson Crawford helped himself to another fried egg from the platter and shook his knife at the bright-eyed girl opposite.

  "I tell you, honey, the boy's a wonder," he insisted. "Knows what he wants and goes right after it. Don't waste any words. Don't beat around the bush. Don't let any one bluff him out. Graham says if I don't want him he'll give him a responsible job pronto."

  The girl's trim head tilted at her father in a smile of sweet derision.

  She was pleased, but she did not intend to say so.

  "I believe you're in love with Dave Sanders, Dad. It's about time for me to be jealous."

  Crawford defended himself. "He's had a hard row to hoe, and he's comin' out fine. I aim to give him every chance in the world to make good. It's up to us to stand by him."

  "If he'll let us." Joyce jumped up and ran round the table to him. They were alone, Keith having departed with a top to join his playmates. She sat on the arm of his chair, a straight, slim creature very much alive, and pressed her face of flushed loveliness against his head. "It won't be your fault, old duck, if things don't go well with him. You're good—the best ever—a jim-dandy friend. But he's so—so—Oh, I don't know—stiff as a poker. Acts as if he doesn't want to be friends, as if we're all ready to turn against him. He makes me good and tired, Dad. Why can't he be—human?"

  "Now, Joy, you got to remember—"

  "—that he was in prison and had an awful time of it. Oh, yes, I remember all that. He won't let us forget it. It's just like he held us off all the time and insisted on us not forgetting it. I'd just like to shake the foolishness out of him." A rueful little laugh welled from her throat at the thought.

  "He cayn't be gay as Bob Hart all at onct. Give him time."

  "You're so partial to him you don't see when he's doing wrong. But I see it. Yesterday he hardly spoke when I met him. Ridiculous. It's all right for him to hold back and be kinda reserved with outsiders. But with his friends—you and Bob and old Buck Byington and me—he ought not to shut himself up in an ice cave. And I'm going to tell him so."

  The cattleman's arm slid round her warm young body and drew her close. She was to him the dearest thing in the world, a never-failing, exquisite wonder and mystery. Sometimes even now he was amazed that this rare spirit had found the breath of life through him.

  "You wanta remember you're a li'l lady," he reproved. "You wouldn't want to do anything you'd be sorry for, honeybug."

  "I'm not so sure about that," she flushed, amusement rippling her face.

  "Someone's got to blow up that young man like a Dutch uncle, and I think

  I'm elected. I'll try not to think about bei
ng a lady; then I can do my

  full duty, Dad. It'll be fun to see how he takes it."

  "Now—now," he remonstrated.

  "It's all right to be proud," she went on. "I wouldn't want to see him hold his head any lower. But there's no sense in being so offish that even his friends have to give him up. And that's what it'll come to if he acts the way he does. Folks will stand just so much. Then they give up trying."

  "I reckon you're right about that, Joy."

  "Of course I'm right. You have to meet your friends halfway."

  "Well, if you talk to him don't hurt his feelin's."

  There was a glint of mirth in her eyes, almost of friendly malice. "I'm going to worry him about my feelings, Dad. He'll not have time to think of his own."

  Joyce found her chance next day. She met David Sanders in front of a drug-store. He would have passed with a bow if she had let him.

  "What does the oil expert Mr. Graham sent think about our property?" she asked presently, greetings having been exchanged.

  "He hasn't given out any official opinion yet, but he's impressed. The report will be favorable, I think."

  "Isn't that good?"

  "Couldn't be better," he admitted.

  It was a warm day. Joyce glanced in at the soda fountain and said demurely, "My, but it's hot! Won't you come in and have an ice-cream soda on me?"

  Dave flushed. "If you'll go as my guest," he said stiffly.

  "How good of you to invite me!" she accepted, laughing, but with a tint of warmer color in her cheeks.

  Rhythmically she moved beside him to a little table in the corner of the drug-store. "I own stock in the Jackpot. You've got to give an accounting to me. Have you found a market yet?"

  "The whole Southwest will be our market as soon as we can reach it."

  "And when will that be?" she asked.