The Iron Trail Part 50

"Then I'm not fired?" Dan queried, doubtfully.

"Of course not. When I take time to think about discharging a man I invariably end by raising his salary."

"Dan isn't worth half what you're paying him," came Eliza's m.u.f.fled voice. She freed herself from Murray's embrace and rearranged her hair with tremulous fingers. Surrept.i.tiously she wiped her eyes. "You gave us an awful fright; it's terrible to be evicted in winter-time." She tried to laugh, but the attempt failed miserably.

"Just the same, when a man contemplates marriage he must have money."

"I don't want your blamed money," Dan blurted, "and it doesn't cost anything to contemplate marriage. That's all I'm doing--just looking at it from a distance."

"Perhaps I can help you to prevail on Miss Natalie to change her mind.

That would be a real service, wouldn't it?" Under his grave glance Dan's heart leaped. "I can't believe she's indifferent to you, my boy.

You're suited to each other, and there's no reason on earth why you shouldn't marry. Perhaps she doesn't know her own mind."

"You're mighty good, but--" The lover shook his head.

Murray smiled again. "I think you're too timid. Don't plead and beg--just carry her off. Be firm and masterful. Be rough--"

"The idea!" exclaimed Eliza. "She's no cave-woman!"

"Exactly. If she were, Dan would need to court her and send her bouquets of wild violets. She's over-civilized, and therefore he needs to be primitive."

Dan blushed and faltered. "I can't be firm with her, Murray; I turn to jelly whenever she looks at me." There was something so friendly and kind in his employer's att.i.tude that the young fellow was tempted to pour out all his vexations; he had never felt so close to O'Neil as now; but his masculine reserve could not be overcome all in a moment, and he held his tongue.

When Murray had put the two young people fully at their ease he rose to go, but Eliza's eager voice made him turn with his hand on the door-k.n.o.b.

"What can we do about this unfortunate Illis affair?" she asked. "Dan must try to--"

"Leave that to me. I'll straighten it out somehow. It is all my fault, and I'll have to meet it." He pressed their hands warmly.

When he had gone Dan heaved a great sigh of relief.

"I'm glad it happened just as it did, Sis," he announced. "He knows my secret now, and I can see that he never cared for Natalie. It's a load off my mind to know the track is clear."

"What a simpleton you are!" she told him. "Don't you see he's merely paying his debt?"

"I wonder--" Dan eyed her in amazement.

"Gee! If that's so he is a prince, isn't he?"

The same ship which had brought the ominous news to O'Neil also brought Curtis Gordon north. He had remained in Seattle only long enough to see the Illis story in print, and then had hastened back to the front. But his satisfaction over the mischief he had done received a rude jolt when at his first moment of leisure he looked over the late magazines which he had bought before taking leave. In one which had appeared on the news-stands that very day he found, to his amazement, an article by Miss Eliza Appleton, in which his own picture appeared. He pounced upon it eagerly; and then, as he read, his eyes narrowed and his jaw stiffened. There, spread out to the public gaze, was his own record in full, including his initial venture into the Kyak coal-fields, his abandonment of that project in favor of Hope Consolidated, and an account of his connection with the latter enterprise. Eliza had not hesitated to call the mine worthless, and she showed how he, knowing its worthlessness from the first, had used it as a lure to investors.

Then followed the story of his efforts to gain a foothold in the railroad struggle, his defeat at the Salmon River Canon, his rout at the delta crossing, and his final death-blow at Kyak. His career stood out boldly in all its fraudulent colors; failure was written across every one of his undertakings. The naked facts showed him visionary, incompetent, unscrupulous.

Thus far he had succeeded in keeping a large part of his stock-holders in ignorance of the true condition of Hope Consolidated, but he quailed at the inevitable result of this article, which had been flung far and wide into every city and village in the land. He dared not think of its effect upon his present enterprise, now so auspiciously launched. He had made a ringing appeal to the public, and its support would hinge upon its confidence in him as a man of affairs. Once that trust was destroyed the Cortez Home Railway would crumble as swiftly as had all his other schemes.

The worst of it was that he knew himself shut off from the world for five days as effectually as if he were locked in a dungeon. There was no wireless equipment on the ship, he could not start the machinery of his press bureau, and with every hour this d.a.m.nable story was bound to gain momentum. He cursed the luck which had set him on this quest for vengeance and bound his hands.

Once he had gathered his wits, he occupied himself in the only possible way--by preparing a story of his own for the wire. But for the first time in his experience he found himself upon the defensive and opposing a force against which no bland persuasiveness, no personal magnetism could prevail. In the scattered nature of his support lay his greatest weakness, for it made the task of self-justification extremely difficult. Perhaps it was well for his peace of mind that he could not measure the full effect of those forces which Eliza Appleton's pen had set in motion.

In Omar, of course, the article excited lively interest. O'Neil felt a warm thrill of satisfaction as he read it on the morning after his scene with Eliza and Dan. But it deepened his feeling of obligation almost painfully; for, like all who are thoughtlessly prodigal of their own favors, he was deeply sensible of any kindness done himself.

Eliza's dignified exposition of Alaskan affairs, and particularly the agreeable things she had written about him, were sure to be of great practical a.s.sistance, he knew, and he longed to make some real return.

But so far as she was concerned there seemed to be nothing that he could do. With Dan, of course, it was quite different. Mere money or advancement, he admitted seemed paltry, but there was a possibility of another kind of service.

Meanwhile Dan was struggling with his problem in his own way. The possibility that Natalie had voluntarily betrayed him was a racking torture, and the remembrance of Eliza's words added to his suffering.

He tried to gain some hint of his chief's feeling, but Murray's frank and friendly att.i.tude baffled him.

When at last he received a brief note from Natalie asking him to call, he raced to Hope afraid, yet eager to hear what she might say. She met him on the dock as he left the S. R. & N. motorboat and led him directly to the house.

Natalie went straight to the point. "I'm in dreadful trouble," she said, "and I sent for you to tell you that I had no idea of betraying confidences."

Dan uttered some inane plat.i.tude, but his eyes lighted with relief.

"When I saw in the papers what a stir that North Pa.s.s & Yukon story had made I was afraid I had done something dreadful. Tell me, is it so? Did I make trouble?"

"You certainly did. O'Neil was furious, and n.o.body knows yet what the result will be. It--it nearly cost me my head."

"Does he blame me?"

"N-no! He says you're on Gordon's side now. He blames me, or did, until he generously took it on himself."

"What does it all mean? I'm nearly distracted." Natalie's eyes were pleading. "Did you think I spied on you?"

Dan glowed with embarra.s.sment and something more. "I didn't know what to think," he said. "I was wretchedly miserable, for I was afraid. And yet I knew you couldn't do such a thing. I told O'Neil I wasn't responsible for what I did or said when with you."

"Mr. Gordon sent me to Omar purposely. He sent me twice. It was I who brought him word that the road was saved. I told all I'd learned because I believed he no longer hated Mr. O'Neil. I was happy to tell all I knew, for he deceived me as he deceives every one. I learned the truth too late."

"Why do you stay here?" Dan demanded, hotly.

"Why? I--don't know. Perhaps because I'm afraid to leave. I'm alone--you see mother believes in him: she's completely under his sway, and I can't tell her the sort of man he is. She's happy, and her happiness is worth more to me than my own. But--I SHALL go away. I can't stand it here much longer."

"Where will you go?"

"Back to my old home, perhaps. Somewhere--anywhere away from Alaska."

"I suppose you know I can't get along without you."

"Please don't! You have been very good and sweet to me, but--" She shook her dark head. "You couldn't marry me--even if I cared for you in that way."

"Why? I intend to marry you whether you want to or not."

"Oh, Dan, it wouldn't do. You know--about--mother. I've nearly died of shame, and--it would be sure to come up. Somebody would speak of it, sometime."

Dan's blue eyes went cold and smoky as he said:

"It would take a pretty brave person to mention the subject in my presence. I don't care a whoop for anything Gordon or your family may say or do. I--"

There was a stir in the hall outside, and the speaker turned to behold Curtis Gordon himself in the doorway. The latter in pa.s.sing had been drawn by the sound of voices and had looked into the library.

Recognizing Natalie's caller, he frowned.