CHAPTER XVII
BROKE
McGraw, the freighter, was a huge, silent man from whom long years onthe desert had almost taken the desire for speech. He came jangling upthe road, his wagons grinding and banging, his horses straining wearilyin their collars; and as Denver ran to meet him he threw on the brakesand sat blinking solemnly at his inquisitor.
"Where's my powder?" demanded Denver looking over the load, "and say,didn't you bring that coal? I don't see that steel I ordered, either!"
"No," said McGraw and then, after a silence: "Murray wouldn't receiveyour ore."
"Wouldn't receive it!" yelled Denver, "why, what was the matter withit--did the sacks get broke going down?"
"No," answered McGraw, "the sacks were all right. He said the ore was nogood."
"Like hell!" scoffed Denver, "that ore that I sent him? It would run athousand ounces to the ton!"
McGraw wrinkled his brows and looked up at the sun.
"Well," he said, "I guess I'll be going."
"But--hey, wait!" commanded Denver, scarcely believing his ears, "didn'the send me any grub, or anything?"
"Nope," answered McGraw, "he wouldn't give me nawthin'. He said the orewas no good. Come, boys!" And he threw off the brakes with a bang.
The chains tightened with a jerk, the wheelers set their feet; then thelead wagon heaved forward, the trail-wagon followed and Denver was aloneon the road. His brain was in a whirl, he had lost all volition, eventhe will to control his wild thoughts; until suddenly he burst out in afit of cursing--of Murray, of McGraw, of everything. McGraw had been afool, he should have demanded the supplies anyway; and Murray was justtrying to job him. He knew he was broke and had not had the ore assayed,and he was taking advantage of the fact. He had refused the ore in orderto leave him flat and compel him to abandon his mine; and then he,Murray, would slip over with his gun-man and take possession himself.Denver struck his leg and looked up and down the road, and then hestarted off for Moroni.
It was sixty miles, across a scorching desert with only two wells on theroad; but Denver arrived at Whitlow's an hour after sunset, and he wasat Desert Wells before dawn. A great fire seemed to consume him, todrive him on, to fill his body with inexhaustible strength; and, againstthe advice of the station man, he started on in the heat for Moroni. Allhe wanted was a show-down with Bible-Back Murray, to meet him face toface; and no matter if he had the whole county in his pocket he wouldtell him what he thought of him. And he would make him take that ore,according to his agreement, or answer to him personally; and then hewould return to Pinal, where he had left Drusilla crying. But he couldnot face her now, after all his boasting and his tales of fabulouswealth. He could never face her again.
The sun rose up higher, the heat waves began to shimmer and thelandscape to blur before his eyes; and then an automobile camethundering up behind him and halted on the flat.
"Get in!" called the driver throwing the door open hospitably; and in anhour's time Denver was set down in Moroni, but with the fever still hotin his brain. His first frenzy had left him, and the heat madness of thedesert with its insidious promptings to violence; but the sense ofinjustice still rankled deep and he headed for Murray's store. It was ahuge, brick building crowded from basement to roof with groceries andgeneral merchandise. Busy clerks hustled about, waiting on Mexicans andIndians and slow-moving, valley ranchers; and as Denver walked in therewas a man there to meet him and direct him to any department. It showedthat Bible-Back was efficient, at least.
"I'd like to see Mr. Murray," announced Denver shortly and thefloor-walker glanced at him again before he answered that Mr. Murray wasout. It was the same at the bank, and out at his house; and at last indisgust Denver went down to the station, where he had been told his orewas lying. The stifling heat of the valley oppressed him like a blanket,the sweat poured down his face in tiny streams; and at each evasion hisanger mounted higher until now he was talking to himself. It was evidentthat Murray was trying to avoid him--he might even have started back tothe mine--but his ore was there, on a heavily timbered platform, whereit could be transferred from wagon to car without lifting it up anddown. There was other ore there too, each consignment by itself, takenin by the store-keeper in exchange for supplies and held to make up acarload. The same perfect system, efficiency in all things--efficiencyand a hundred per cent profit.
Denver leapt up on the platform and cut open a sack, but as he waspouring a generous sample of the ore into his handkerchief a man steppedout of the next warehouse.
"Hey!" he called, "what are you doing, over there? You get down andleave that ore alone!"
"Go to hell!" returned Denver, tying a knot in his handkerchief, and theman came over on the run.
"Say!" he threatened, "you put that ore back or you'll find yourself inserious trouble."
"Oh, I will, hey?" replied Denver with his most tantalizing smile."Whose ore do you think this is, anyway?"
"It belongs to Mr. Murray, and you'd better put it back or I'll reportthe matter at once."
"Well, report it," answered Denver. "My name is Denver Russell and I'mtaking this up to the assayer."
"There's Mr. Murray, now," exclaimed the man and as Denver looked up hesaw a yellow automobile churning rapidly along through the dust. Murrayhimself was at the wheel and, sitting beside him, was another manequally familiar--it was Dave, his hired gun-man.
"What are you doing here, Mr. Russell?" demanded Murray with asperityand Denver became suddenly calm. Old Murray had been hiding from him,but they had summoned him by telephone, and he had brought along Davefor protection. But that should not keep him from having his way andforcing Murray to a show-down.
"I just came down for a sample of that ore I sent you," answered Denverwith a sarcastic grin. "McGraw said you claimed it was no good, so Ithought I'd have it assayed."
"Oh," observed Murray and for a minute he sat silent while Dave andDenver exchanged glances. The gun-man was slight and insignificantlooking, with small features and high, boney cheeks; but there was asmouldering hate in his deep-set eyes which argued him in no mood for ajest, so Denver looked him over and said nothing.
"Very well," said Murray at last, "the ore is yours. Go ahead and haveit assayed. But with the price of silver down to forty-five cents Idoubt if that stuff will pay smelter charges. I'll ship it, if you sayso, along with this other, if only to make up a carload; but it will beat your own risk and if the returns show a deficit, your mine will beliable for the balance."
"Oh, that's the racket, eh?" suggested Denver. "You've got your good eyeon my mine. Well, I'd just like to tell you----"
"No, I haven't," snapped back Murray, his voice harsh and strident, "Iwouldn't accept your mine as a gift. Your silver is practicallyworthless and there's no copper in the district; as I know all too well,to my sorrow. I've lost twenty thousand dollars on better ground thanyours and ordered the whole camp closed down--that shows how much I want_your_ mine."
He started his engine and glided on to the warehouse and Denver stoodstaring down the road. Then he raised his sample, tied up in hishandkerchief, and slammed it into the dirt. His mine was valuelessunless he had money, and Murray had abandoned the district. More thanever Denver realized how much it had meant to him, merely to have thatdiamond drilling running and a big man like Murray behind it. It wasindicative of big values and great expectations; but now, with Murrayout of the running, the district was absolutely dead. There was nolonger the chance of a big copper strike, such as had been rumoredrepeatedly for weeks, to bring on a stampede and make every claim in thedistrict worth thousands of dollars as a gamble.
No, Pinal was dead; the Silver Treasure was worthless; and he, DenverRussell, was broke. He had barely the price of a square meal. He startedup-town, and turned back towards the warehouse where Murray waswrangling with his hireling; then, cursing with helpless rage, he swungoff down the railroad track and left his broken dreams behind him.
Silver and Gold: A Story of Luck and Love in a Western Mining Camp Page 17
