by Short, Luke;
Out of the habit, O’Hea tramped past the first door and entered the anteroom. Ernie Coombs, young Bill Arnold and Stew Shallis were seated in the anteroom. Ernie’s chair was by the office door, back-tilted against the wall, and his heels were hooked over the bottom rung of it.
Ernie was already grinning derisively at O’Hea before he caught sight of Chris, and his grin still held as he said, “Go on in, Pop. You’re goin’ to get your head unscrewed.”
He brought his chair down on all four legs as O’Hea passed him and went into the office. He started to rise and Chris put out his hand and gently shoved him back into the chair.
“This is a waiting room. You wait.”
He paused long enough to see Ernie’s mouth open a little in surprise, and Ernie looked at the other two Rainbow hands. They didn’t move.
Chris stepped into the office and closed the door behind him.
Younger Miles was standing in the middle of the room. His glance, hot and bold, settled on Chris, and Chris put his back against the wall next the chair where MacElvey sat. Chris could tell Younger’s anger over last night was mixed with his anger over O’Hea’s desertion.
Younger said roughly to O’Hea, “Get that drifter out of here.”
“Meet my deputy,” O’Hea replied, with a quiet irony.
Younger looked long at O’Hea and then said gently, “So that’s it?”
“That, and more,” O’Hea said quietly. “Abbie started work in her old job this morning. You annoy her just once. Younger, and I’ll load up a shotgun with rusty nails and shoot you in the belly.” He paused a moment to let that sink in, then said, “Anything you have to say to me in an official way, you can say to Danning. I wrote my letter, you see, and I’m back on duty.” He smiled. “Now say it, and then get out.”
Miles’ bull neck colored a deep red, but his face was composed, almost pleasant. “It’ll keep,” he murmured, “until he’s out of office.”
He looked once more at Chris, his eyes still hot and full of rage. “You brace me just once, drifter, and you’re dead.”
He strode toward the corridor door and yanked it open and went out. Mac rose and quietly followed him, and then Chris pushed away from the wall and opened the door into the anteroom. Ernie and Bill Arnold and Shallis were standing in the center of the room, regarding the door.
“Go on,” Chris murmured. “Didn’t you hear him whistle?”
The three of them headed slowly for the door. Chris stepped back in the office just in time to see O’Hea gather a pile of papers and an aged yellow slicker from the table and tramp over to the open corridor door.
When Bill Arnold, last out, was just passing in the corridor, O’Hea shoved the stuff at him and said, “These are Mac’s. Give ’em to him.”
Arnold grabbed for the bundle, his face sullen, and a scattering of papers drifted off the bottom of the pile and spilled on the floor.
Bill hesitated and O’Hea said, “Get out!” and Bill went.
O’Hea started to bend to pick up the papers on the floor, and then grunted and stood erect, holding his side. Chris went out into the hall and picked up the papers and came back in with them. Looking at them, he saw they were fresh sheets of stationery with the printed letterhead, “Sulinam Mines, Inc.”
Both sides were blank, and he went over to the wastebasket and dumped them in. When he looked at O’Hea, the old man winked solemnly.
“Well, let’s get you sworn in, son.”
Younger and MacElvey paused at Melaven’s corner and waited for Ernie, Arnold and Shallis. Younger’s face, Mac noticed, held the same expression as Ernie Coombs’ when they all gathered on the corner. It was an expression of edgy, wild temper, as if the wrong inflection on a word might set off the explosion.
Ernie’s greeting was indicative. He looked levelly at Younger, his bleach eyes wicked. “You goin’ to take that?”
Younger didn’t even bother to answer him. “You and Bill and Stew go up to Tip’s shack and hold it. Move a big crew up tomorrow and finish it in a hurry. If Danning tries to stop you, that’s all we want.”
Ernie grinned faintly before he and Shallis moved off down-street for their horses. Bill hesitated long enough to dump the papers O’Hea had given him in Mac’s arms, and then followed them. Younger watched them moodily for a moment, and then his baleful glance shifted to the hotel. “She’s going to get out of there, Mac,” he said grimly.
“You better stay away from her this noon,” Mac said quietly.
The glance Younger gave him was brief and wrathful. “I’m not eating any place where my wife is kitchen help.”
A puncher passed and spoke to him, and Younger didn’t even hear him. He was again looking at the hotel, and now he seemed to have made up his mind.
He nodded toward Melaven’s and said, “I’ll be in here.” He looked full at Mac now, without anger. “The Petrie stage will be in at two. Bring the mail over.”
Mac nodded and Younger went on into the saloon. Mac went up street with his gear and turned into the store. Younger’s reference to the Petrie stage, he knew, meant that this afternoon they would know if they had low bid on the Sulinam job. Mac stored his papers away in the bottom drawer of his desk, which he locked, and then went across to the hotel.
He was one of the last of the diners and he ate a leisurely meal by himself. When the last customer had left the dining room, he finished quickly and rose, but instead of going out into the lobby, he headed for the kitchen. There he spoke to the big, cheerful-seeming woman who was cook, and to the waitresses who were cleaning up the dishes, and then he poked his head in the door of the big room which was the pantry.
Abbie Miles was already laying out pans for the supper pies. She wore a full apron over her dress and her sleeves were rolled elbow-high. She heard Mac and turned, and when she saw him, she smiled. Mac noted with no surprise that the sullenness and defiance that had always been in her face was gone; she seemed cheerful and happy as she said to him now, “Hello, Mac. Are you the ambassador?”
Mac leaned against a counter and shook his head. “No, I just came to see how you were.”
“How do I look?”
“Beautiful,” Mac said simply.
Abbie flushed, and looked down at the pans. She said, without looking at him, “Please don’t say that again, Mac. It doesn’t get us anywhere. I’m still a married woman.”
“I know. I only answered your question.”
Abbie half smiled at him, and then her expression sobered. “What has he said about my leaving?”
“He says you’re coming back.”
A look of faint alarm came into Abbie’s face. “But I’m not. What can I do if he insists?”
“Your Dad had a pretty good idea. Load up a shotgun with rusty nails and shoot him.”
Abbie’s hands stopped moving. “Did you say a ‘good’ idea, Mac? That’s the first time I’ve heard you say anything against Younger.”
“My tongue slipped,” Mac said dryly.
“If you feel that way, why do you work for him?” Abbie said slowly. “Did you take an oath to cherish him until death do you part, like I did? You can quit. Why don’t you?”
“Money. Food. It’s a living. It’s exciting. I’m crazy. Take your choice, only let’s not talk about it,” Mac said, wryly, and he smiled his faint, twisted smile.
“There seem to be a lot of things neither of us can talk about,” Abbie said softly.
“And I’ll add one more to the list,” Mac said with quiet firmness. “We won’t talk about liquor any more, Abbie. I’ve lived with that on my conscience long enough. If you’ve got to have it, get it from someone else. I’ve loved you enough so I’d do anything you ask, anything. But not that any more.”
“But I don’t want it,” Abbie said proudly. “I don’t ever want to see any again. I don’t know why that’s over with, but it is.”
Mac smiled and nodded once. “I know why. So do you.”
“All right, I do.”
�
�Keep it over with. Pretty soon, even the reason you once had will be gone.”
Abbie regarded him a long moment. “My marriage to Younger? Why do you say that?”
Mac straightened up and smiled faintly. “A hunch. Good-by, my dear.”
“Good-by, Mac,” Abbie said slowly, and she watched him go out, a puzzlement reflected in her face.
Passing through the lobby, Mac glanced at the clock and saw it was past stage time. He crossed to Melaven’s, sought the other corner and walked on to Waycross’ hardware store, a front corner of which, walled away by racks of pigeon-holes, was Triumph’s post office. Stepping in line behind two other townsmen, he moved up to the wicket and when his turn came said to Waycross behind it, “Hello, Ed. What’s for us?”
He was handed a string-tied bundle of mail, and he went over to the counter and looked through its contents. When he came to a long slim envelope bearing the printed legend in the upper left hand corner, SULINAM MINES, INC., he took it out and put it in his coat pocket, gathered up the mail and went out.
His pace back to the store was unhurried. Walking down the main aisle, he saw through the open door that Younger was standing in front of the big window by his desk, hands in hip pockets. Younger turned restlessly, saw MacElvey and strode swiftly to the door, where they met.
“What?” Younger said.
Mac said nothing, only handed him the envelope from his coat pocket. Younger tore open the envelope and in his haste to remove the letter, dropped both. He swore softly, and picked up the letter, opened and read it. An odd expression, Mac noticed—one of both anger and pleasure—came into his broad face as he finished it. He looked up, extending the letter to Mac, saying, “We got it.”
Mac, standing, read the letter written in a clerk’s legible script under the letterhead of SULINAM MINES, INC.
Dear Mr. Miles: We take satisfaction in informing you that your offer to move a minimum of 175,000 tons of ore from our mines in Petrie to the stamp mill in Case Valley at a cost to this corporation of $3.16 per ton, was the lowest offer received by us, and accordingly we are ready to sign the contract.
Mr. Amos Hardy, with whom Mr. MacElvey of your firm discussed details of specifications and who is treasurer of Sulinam Mines, Inc., left for the East yesterday to return in ten days’ time. Since he is required to countersign all contracts of this nature, may I suggest that he and I meet with you in Triumph immediately upon his return, the 25th of the present month.
May we respectfully call your attention to paragraph 14 of the published specifications, a copy of which Mr. MacElvey requested from us, which states that a minimum of five hundred tons of ore is to be put down at the Case Valley, stamp mill not later than November 30, 1879.
We anticipate the most cordial relations between yourself and Sulinam Mines, Inc., and look forward to a long and mutually prosperous association.
Respectfully yours,
Ivan H. Coe, General Mgr.
Sulinam Mines, Inc.
Mac smiled faintly and folded the letter and looked at Younger. He had gone back to the window, and was staring through it at the distant Blackbows bulking to the south.
He turned now and said grimly, “A hell of a time for it to come.”
“You haven’t signed the contract yet,” Mac said softly.
“Are you suggesting I don’t?”
“You’re the one that’s worried, not me.”
Younger swung around and looked out the window again. “I’m not worried. If I get that drifter, O’Hea’ll pull in his horns. And I won’t quit till I get him.”
He came over to Mac and took the letter and read it again. Then he sighed heavily, as a man does who is starting in on a long and heavy task. “All right, get it going, Mac. Coe is watching that deadline as close as we are. What’s the name of your surveyor—Travis? Start him over to Petrie right away. Get your telegram written to Dan and tell him to close for the horses and start ’em up here. Get the one off for the wagons, too, and tell Sholtz to pay cash, of course. I’ll ride over to the tie camp tonight and see that Brush sobers up the road crew and gets ’em moving. We can start a wagon off from here tonight with the tools and grub enough to get the first two road camps going. Draw on the store for everything you need. Talbot is going to have to put a lot of feed down there for the road teams, so I’ll put the crew on the barns first. Write your telegrams so I can take them with me, and I’ll send a man from there to Moorehouse. You—” he gestured impatiently. “Hell, you know all this, Mac, just get it going.”
Mac nodded, no excitement in his face, and picked up the letter and read it again. Younger regarded him thoughtfully.
“Mac, either I’m going to be rich enough after this, so I won’t have to worry about money again, or so broke I won’t have any to worry about.”
“You’re spending the biggest chunk of your money now before the contract is signed, you know,” Mac murmured.
Miles gestured briefly, angrily to the letter. “If I wait for Hardy, I lose ten days. And those ten days will make the difference between meeting the deadline and forfeiting. What’s the matter with that letter? It’s good in any court. Why question it?”
“I’m a careful man,” Mac said.
“So am I, up to a point, and that point’s past,” Younger said, smiling faintly. “Come on, Mac. Get going.”
CHAPTER XVI
Mrs. Harms was pretty well posted on events by Leach when she reached home in the early afternoon. She and Della cried a bit in each other’s arms when they met, while Leach carried in Mrs. Harms’ trunk. Andy rode in a little later and turned his horse out, but did not come to the house. He’d been up to Falls Canyon to have his look and to check if the fire was out, or had spread.
Mrs. Harms ate something, and presently sent Leach to get Andy, and Leach found him sitting atop the corral fence moodily chewing a straw and regarding the distant flats. There was a faint cloudiness between them and the sun now.
“Mrs. Harms wants you and me at the house,” Leach told him, and Andy climbed down. He didn’t speak to Leach, and Leach didn’t speak to him.
When Andy saw Mrs. Harms in the lean-to, he took off his hat and shook hands with her and told her he was glad she was back, which he was. Della was seated at the big table and Mrs. Harms sat down at the head of it. Andy sat at his accustomed place and Leach took the chair beside him. This, Andy knew, was to be a discussion of Box H affairs, since it had often happened in the past.
Mrs. Harms began by looking at Andy and saying, “Della tells me you think Leach is to blame for what happened last night, Andy. Well, I don’t think so and Della doesn’t, so we won’t talk about it any more.”
“I don’t have to talk about it any more,” Andy said. “I know what I know.”
“Now, that’s enough,” Mrs. Harms said placidly. “We have enough trouble without you boys jawing. We have a lot of money to pay back, and we’ve got to figure what’s best to do.”
All of them nodded and Mrs. Harms said, almost, absently, “I suppose Mr. Danning wasn’t all trouble. He got us back Thessaly.”
Leach said, “He said something this mornin’ that surprised me. Tip Henry’s lit out.” He looked at Mrs. Harms. “Don’t that make his homestead void, Mrs. Harms?”
“Why, yes,” Mrs. Harms said. “You have to live on the land you homestead at least six months out of the year until you prove up. Otherwise, a rich man like Younger Miles could buy all the government land he wanted to.”
“Then what happens to Tip’s homestead?” Leach asked.
“At the end of the year when he hasn’t proven up, it’s public domain again, isn’t it?” Della said.
“But if anybody moves in there, he’s trespassin’, ain’t he?” Leach asked.
Mrs. Harms said, “Of course. Why?”
“Andy said Danning said there wasn’t anybody there the other day. Why don’t we move in on it, then? We’d be trespassin’, but Tip Henry won’t be there to complain. Younger Miles can’t complain, beca
use he’s got nothin’ to do with it. Besides, Thessaly’s ours, and that shack is in Thessaly.”
“Who’d you say moves in?” Andy cut in.
“We do,” Leach said.
“Who’s we?”
“Why, me or you,” Leach said. “We finish the shack and use it like we do the Salt Meadow line shack.”
“And Miles lets you,” Andy said, with something very like irony in his voice. He looked at the two women. “You know why Tip Henry jumped the country? He was scared of Danning—plumb scared to death. You got anybody workin’ for you now, Mrs. Harms, that’s goin’ to scare anybody?”
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Harms said tartly. “Grown men like Tip Henry don’t scare. He was probably good and sick of Younger Miles and Ernie Coombs, and wanted to stay out of trouble.”
Andy said nothing. He liked the easy common-sense way Mrs. Harms usually talked, but this wasn’t common sense.
Della was watching Leach, frowning. “Isn’t that breaking the law, Leach?”
Leach said, “We ain’t hurtin’ Tip Henry, are we? He don’t care. We’re only beatin’ Miles to it.”
“Then why don’t we do it?” Della asked suddenly, and looked at Andy. “You were talking pretty big a couple of days ago, Andy, wanting us to stand up for our rights. What about it?”
“What right we got there?” Andy asked.
“What right have we to Thessaly?” Mrs. Harms put in. “None, except it’s always belonged to us. Tip’s quarter section will revert to the same thing Thessaly is in another year. Why shouldn’t we move in and keep Miles out?”
Andy couldn’t deny the facts, which sounded reasonable enough, but he had a feeling this wasn’t the whole story. He knew there were more than rights involved. Fear of Danning had stopped the building of that shack. On the other hand, Box H had to fight. Danning had as good as said it when he asked him to stay. If Box H suddenly turned timid now, Rainbow would walk all over them. Andy had learned that much since Danning had been with them. And nobody could deny that Box H had more right than Rainbow to claim the quarter section Tip Henry had given up.
