The Son of his Father

He had already dined in his parlor, as had been his custom since his encounter with Gordon. But now he intended to move abroad. He felt himself to be the arbiter of the fate of these "rubes," as he characterized the citizens of Snake's Fall, and he did not see the necessity for denying himself the adulation such a position entitled him to.

With a self-satisfied feeling he picked up a long code message he had written out and thrust it in his pocket. Then, carefully putting away all other private papers into his dressing-case, and locking it, he sauntered leisurely out of his room.

He intended to give himself his first breathing space for five days, and he lounged downstairs to the hotel office.

Sure enough, the first person he encountered was Peter McSwain. The man looked hot, but then he always looked hot. His smile of welcome was almost servile, and David Slosson felt pleased at the sign.

The consequence was, his manner promptly became something more than autocratic. There was a domineering note in his voice, and a cool insolence in his regard of his host. Peter remained quite undisturbed. His mind went back to the scene in the office at Buffalo Point on the eventful first evening, and an even greater servility beamed out of his hot eyes.

"Yes, sir," he cried, in answer to Slosson's inquiry as to the movements in the town. "Movements? Why, I'd sure say you've set this place jumping as though you'd opened up an earthquake under it. I tell you frankly, Mr. Slosson, sir, we been waitin' days and days with our eyes on you for a lead. I don't guess it means a thing to a gentleman like you, but if you'd been a sort o' cock angel right down from the clouds on an aeroplane you couldn't ha' been blessed more'n the folks right here have been blessin' your name these last days, since you outed that bum outfit down at Buffalo Point."

"They're a pretty rotten crowd," agreed Slosson, well enough pleased. "Though I say it, it takes a man of experience to handle a crowd like that. They're sheer blackmailers, but I don't stand for a thing like that. You see, our play is to serve the public right. Well, seeing Snake's Fall is a straight proposition I guess I had to treat 'em right. I figure I put a heap of dollars in the way of Snake's Fall. You won't do so bad yourself?"

Peter smiled amiably.

"I can't kick."

"Kick?" Slosson's eyes widened. "Guess you ought to get right on your knees, and thank – me." Then he laughed. "Say, maybe you'll start putting up a – real hotel."

His contempt was marked as he let his glance wander over his simple and primitive surroundings. Peter took no sort of umbrage.

"Well, that was how I was figurin'. Y'see I got to be first in that line. Since you downed Mallinsbee's crowd of crooks, why, it's going to make things easy. Say, you don't figure to sink dollars that way yourself? Maybe you could get right in on the ground floor."

His cordial tone pleased the agent, but he pretended to consider the matter too small for his participation.

"I'd need a big holding," he laughed. "I ain't time for one-hossed shows. Still, I thank you for the offer. Guess the Mallinsbee crowd are kicking 'emselves to death. What?"

Peter nodded impressively, and drew closer in his confidence.

"Kickin'? That don't describe it. They deserve it, too. They kep' us dancing around guessin' with their patch of grazin'. Say, this town owes you a big heap, an' I'm glad. There's one thing owin' a real smart gent like you, Mr. Slosson, sir, an' quite another owin' a crowd of crooks like Mallinsbee's. This town ain't likely to forget. There's things like testimonials around, sir," he added, winking significantly, "and when a city's making a big pile through a man, testimonials are like to take on a mighty handsome shape."

Slosson grinned.

"I shouldn't discourage 'em," he said pleasantly. "The folks 'll see where they are in a few days. Here." He pulled out his long cypher message from his pocket, and held it out towards Peter triumphantly. "You can read it if you like. You won't be able to get its meaning, but I'll tell you what it is. It's to tell my company to go right ahead. They're in. That means that Snake's Fall is made, sir, completely and finally made, and the Mallinsbee ground sharks are plumb down and out. And I'm glad to say I've been the means of fixing things that way for you."

Peter took the message. He took it rather quickly – almost too quickly. He read it. The words were so much gibberish to him, and it was far too long to remember. But with a quick effort he took in the one word of address, and the first six words of the message.

Then he handed it back.

"Do you need that sent off, sir?" he inquired easily, but his heart was beating quickly.

Slosson shook his head.

"Guess I'll send it myself. I'm going across to the depot right now." He folded up the paper. "That's the sentence on the Buffalo Point crooks, and its execution will follow – quick."

"An' serve 'em darned right," cried Peter sharply. "I ain't time for crooks like them. You're right, sir. Don't take chances. See that sent off yourself, sir. I'm real glad you come along here. There'll be fortunes lying around in your track, an' then there's always them – testimonials. Say, you'll just excuse me, sir, but there's some all-fired 'rubes' shoutin' for drinks in the bar. I – "

Slosson laughed.

"Yes, you get right on. The boys have money to burn in this city now. They'll have more later. I'll get going."

He moved off and passed through the crowded office, and out of the hotel, while Peter dashed swiftly into his private office. He went straight to his desk and wrote on paper all he could remember of the code message. Then he stood up and swore softly to himself.

For some moments he let himself go at the expense of the man he had just been talking to. Then he became calmer, and his face grew thoughtful. Then, after awhile, a smile grew in his hot eyes, and he murmured audibly —

"I wonder. Steve Mason's a good boy, an' he don't draw a big pile slamming the keys of his instruments over there. I wonder."

After that he left the office and hurried out to the veranda, and stood watching, in the evening light, for the figure of David Slosson leaving the telegraph operator's office.

Gordon and Hazel Mallinsbee were riding amongst the hills. Gordon was on Sunset, and Hazel's brown mare was reveling in the joy of a fresh morning gallop through her native valleys and woodlands.

Ever since the memorable day when he discovered that Slosson was his father's agent, Gordon had lived in a state of almost feverish delight. At his instigation they had closed up the office at Buffalo Point, to give color to their defeat by the agent. At his instigation they had arranged many other more or less significant matters. But it had been Mallinsbee's own suggestion that Gordon should take up his abode at the ranch instead of sharing the hospitality of Mike Callahan's livery barn in Snake's Fall.

It was a glorious summer day and the mountain breezes came down the hillsides with that refreshing cool belonging to the heights above. The joy of living was thrilling both of them as they rode, and their horses, too, seemed to have caught the infection. But there was something more than the mere joy of life and health actuating them now. There was an excitement such as neither could have experienced during those long, dull hours which, during the past weeks, had been spent in the now closed office at Buffalo Point.

They raced along down a wide green valley lined upon either side by wood-clad slopes of hills, which mounted up towards the blue for several hundreds of feet. Ahead of them shone the white ramparts of the mountain range. They scintillated in the sunlight, a shimmering wall of snow and ice many thousands of feet high. Before them lay miles and miles of broken hills, rising higher and higher as they approached the ultimate barrier of the Rockies themselves.

The riders were in a perfect maze of valleys, and woods, and mountain streams, and hills; a maze from which it seemed well-nigh impossible to disentangle themselves. Yet, with her trained eyes, and wonderful inborn knowledge of hill-craft, Hazel piloted their course without hesitation, without question. The whole region was an open book to her in the summer time. For miles and miles through that broken land she knew every headland, every shadowy wood, every green valley and gurgling stream. As she often told Gordon, it was her world – her home and her world, it belonged to her.

"But I should lose myself in five minutes," Gordon protested, as they swung out of the valley and into a narrow cutting between two sheer-faced cliffs, overgrown with scrub and small bush, which left hardly any room for their horses along the banks of a trickling brook which divided them.

"Surely you would," Hazel, who was now in the lead, called back over her shoulder. "And I guess I should just as soon lose my way in your wonderful New York. You follow right along, and I'll promise to bring you home by supper." Then, with laughing anxiety, "But for goodness' sake don't lose our lunch out of your saddle bags. We'll be starving after another hour of this."

The warning startled Gordon into an apprehensive survey of his saddle bags. They were quite secure, however, and he followed closely on the mare's heels.

Quickly it became apparent that they were traveling a well-worn cattle path overgrown by the low scrub. It was difficult, but Hazel followed it unfalteringly. Half a mile up this narrow, the great facets of the hills on either side began to close in on them, and still further ahead Gordon discovered that they almost met overhead, the narrowest possible crack alone dividing them.

He was wondering in which direction lay their way out of such a hopeless cul-de-sac when he saw Hazel suddenly bend her body low over her mare's neck, and, at the same moment, she called back a warning to him.

"'Ware overhead rocks!" she cried.

Gordon instantly followed her example, and kept close behind her as she entered a passage which was practically a tunnel. Now their difficulties were increased tenfold. The tunnel, in spite of the narrow split in its roof, was almost dark. The low bush completely hid the track and the little tumbling creek beside the path had deepened to a six-foot cut bank.

Gordon became troubled. But it was not for himself so much as for Hazel. His horse, Sunset, was steady as a rock, but the brown mare ahead was as timid as a kitten. He glanced anxiously at the figure of the girl. The journey seemed not to trouble her one bit. Her mare, too, considering her timidity, was wonderfully steady. No doubt it was the result of perfect confidence in the clever little creature on her back, he thought. His gaze passed still further ahead. He was looking for the termination of this mysterious winding tunnel. But twenty yards was the limit of his vision and, so far, no end was in sight.

Suddenly Hazel's merry laugh came echoing back to him.

"Say, isn't this a great place?" she cried. "It's like one of those enchanted lands you read of in fairy books." Then she added a further warning. "Keep low. We're nearly through."

The horses scrambled on in the semi-darkness. But for Gordon the enchantment of the place was passing, and he was glad to know they were nearly through.

A few minutes later he saw Hazel begin to straighten herself up in the saddle. He followed her example with some caution and considerable relief. The roof was becoming higher, so, too, was the light increasing. Gordon breathed a sigh.

"I don't know about the lunch," he said. "I've bumped the walls for some considerable time. Is there much more of it?"

But before Hazel's reply could reach him his inquiry was answered by the cavern itself. All in an instant they rounded a bend and a dazzling beam of sunlight banished the darkness and nearly blinded him. Two minutes later he pushed his way through a dense screen of willows, and emerged upon the bank of a beautiful, serene lake of absolutely transparent, sunlit water.

"Behold the spring which is the source of that little stream," cried Hazel, indicating the lake spread out before them. "Isn't it a fairy-book picture? Look round you. Oh, say, I just love it to death."

Gordon gazed about him in wonder. The lake was quite small, but its setting was as beautiful as any artist could have painted it. All around it, on two-thirds of its circumference, a hundred different shades of green illumined the wonderful tangled vegetation. He looked for the place from which they had emerged. It was completely hidden. Gone, vanished as if by magic. All that remained were the great hills at the back and the wooded banks of the lake at their feet.

He looked down at the water. Clear, clear; it was clear as crystal. Then he turned towards the sun, and something of the wonder of it all thrilled him. A sea, a calm, unruffled sea of the greenest grass he had ever beheld stretched out before him. Or was it a broad river of grass? Yes, it was a wide river, perhaps two miles wide, with great mountainous banks on either side. To him they seemed to be standing at its source, and its flow carried his gaze away on towards the west, where, above all, miles and miles away, shone the white peaks of the mountains.

The banks of this superb valley were deeply wooded from the base to the soaring summits. Only were the hues of the foliage varied. Right at the foot the green was bright, but less bright than the tall sweet grass. While higher, the dark foliage of pine woods rose somberly on stately towering blackened trunks.

At last Gordon turned back to the girl, who had sat watching the intent expression of his face.

"Tell me," he said, and he made a comprehensive gesture with one hand.

Hazel was waiting only for that sign.

"Where we stand now we are twenty miles from the ranch," she said. "The only other outlet to this valley is twenty miles further on to the west. If you could not find our secret passage again, you would have to travel sixty miles through the most amazing country to get back home."

"Sixty miles back?" Gordon muttered.

"Sure," returned Hazel. Then she laughed. "Even then, unless you'd been pretty well born in these hills you'd never find the way."

Gordon nodded, and glanced in the direction whence they had come. There was not a sign of the tunnel to be seen. The foliage screen looked impenetrable. He began to smile.

"And your cattle station?" he questioned.

"Come on."

Hazel turned her mare away, and set off at a brisk canter. She followed the line of the hills at the edge of the wide plain of sweet grass.

Gordon followed her, marveling at the place, but more still at his guide. A quarter of an hour's gallop under the shade of the most amazingly beautiful woods he ever remembered to have seen, brought them to a clearing, in the midst of which stood a smallish frame house. It was more or less surrounded by a number of large, heavy-timbered corrals. The whole place was perfectly hidden by the screen of woods from view of the valley beyond.

Hazel leaped out of the saddle and passed hurriedly into the house. Next minute she returned with two picket ropes.

"We'll picket them both while we eat and get a peek around the place. We aren't yearning for a twenty-mile tramp back."

Gordon agreed. He remained silent while they off-saddled and secured their horses beyond the woods on the open grass. He was thinking hard. He was reviewing the purpose which had brought them to this wonderful outworld hiding-place. Nor were his thoughts wholly free from doubts and qualms.

At length the work was done. Their saddle blankets were laid out to dry in the sun, and the saddle bags were emptied of the ample lunch Hazel had carefully provided.

The girl was entirely mistress of the situation. Gordon felt his helplessness out here in the secret heart of nature.

"Shall we eat first or – ?" Hazel broke off questioningly.

"Can't we look around the house while the kettle boils?" inquired Gordon, looking up from the fire he had kindled after some difficulty. He was kneeling on the bare, dusty ground which had been trodden by the hoofs of thousands of cattle in the past.

The girl nodded. Her delight in being this man's cicerone was superlative. This was different from the days she had spent with David Slosson.

"Sure. Come on," she cried. "And there's a well out back where we can fill the kettle."

They hurried off to the well, and, between them, rather like two children, they filled the kettle. Then they returned and placed it on the fire, and again approached the house.

It was a squat, roomy structure of the ordinary frame type, but it was in perfect preservation even to its paint, and Hazel pointed this out as they approached.

"You see this was my daddy's first home," she said. "It's where I was born." She drew a deep, happy sigh. "I seem to remember every stick of it. And my daddy, why, he just loves it, too. That's why, though we don't use it now, he has it painted every year, and kept clean. You see, when my daddy built this for my momma he hadn't a pile of dollars. It was just all he could afford, and he didn't ever guess he'd have a great deal to spend on a home. We lived here years, and our cattle grazed out in the valley beyond. I used to spend my whole time on the back of a small broncho mare, chasing up and down the hills and woods. And that's how I found that tunnel we came through. My, but I do love this little place!"

"It's great," agreed Gordon warmly. "I'd call it a – a poet's home."

The girl flung open the front door and led the way in. Instantly Gordon had the surprise of his life. It was furnished. Completely and comfortably furnished. What was more, the furniture, though old, was in perfect repair, and the room looked as though it had been recently occupied.

"When you said 'disused,'" Gordon exclaimed, "I – I – thought it would be empty."

The girl smiled a little sadly.

"No," she said. "We couldn't forsake it. It would be like forgetting my poor momma. No. The furniture and things are just as we used them when she was with us."

She passed from the parlor to the bedrooms, and the lean-to kitchen and washhouse. Everything was in perfect order, except for a slight dust which had gathered.

"You see, Hip-Lee and one of the choremen and I can fix it up in a day ready for occupation. That's how my daddy likes to have it. My daddy loved our lovely momma. I don't guess he'll ever get over losing her." Then she looked up, and her shadow of sadness had gone. "Come along," she cried. "You've seen it all. So we'll just shut it up again, and get back to our camp. I'm guessing that kettle'll be boiled dry."

But the kettle was only just on the boil, and the girl made the tea while Gordon set out the food and plates. Then, when all was ready, they sat down to their tête-à-tête picnic with all the enjoyment of two children, but with that between them which seemed to fill the whole air of the valley with an intoxicating sense of happiness and delight.

"And what about that other place – that log and adobe shack you told me of?" demanded Gordon, taking his tea-cup from the girl's hand.

Hazel laughed.

"That's a dandy shack, full of ants and crawly things, and its roof leaks water. It's up on a hill where the wind just blows pneumonia through it. If I showed it you I sort of reckon you'd be scared to use it for – for anything."

Gordon joined in her laugh.

"I guess it'll be the real thing for my job. Say, don't you sort of feel like a criminal? I do." He laughed again as he passed the plate of cut meats to his companion.

"Criminals?" laughed Hazel buoyantly. "Why, I just feel as if you and my daddy and I were all hanging by the neck on the highest peak of the Rockies. Say, you're sure – sure of things?"

"I guess there's nothing sure in this world, except that no saint was ever a financial genius. Sure? Say, how can we be sure till we've fixed things the way we want 'em? But I tell you we've got to make good. I won't believe we can fail. We mustn't fail. If only Peter can get hold of Slosson's messages. Only one will do. If he can do that, and it's what I expect, why – the whole thing becomes just a practical joke, only not so harmful."

Gordon attacked his food with a healthy appetite, and the girl watched him happily.

"It's the cleverest thing ever," she cried, "and – and I can't think how you thought of it, and, having thought of it – dared to attempt to carry it out."

Gordon smiled.

"I'm not clever, but – I did think of it, didn't I? And as to carrying it out, why, I guess we're the same as the others. We're 'sharps.' We're land pirates. We're ground sharks."

Hazel set her cup down.

"But you are clever. I didn't mean it that way."

"You're the first person ever told me."

"Am I?" Hazel blushed. Nor did she know why. Gordon, watching her, sat entranced.

"Sure. Most everybody reckons I'm just a – a bit of an athlete – that's all. My sister Gracie never gets tired of telling me what an all-sorts-of-fool I am."

"How old is your – Gracie?"

"Thirteen."

"That makes a diff'rence."

"Oh, she doesn't get it all her own way," laughed Gordon. "I hide her chocolates. That makes her mad. She's a passion for candy. But the old dad is a bully feller. He's all sorts of a sportsman, and he guesses that the best day in his life will be the one in which he finds I'm not a fool."

Hazel gurgled merrily.

"That'll come along soon."

Gordon nodded.

"Gee! It makes me laugh to think of it. But say," he went on, a moment later, "I'm glad you don't think me a fool. I'm just longing for – " But he broke off and abruptly rose from the ground. Their meal was finished. "Do we wash things or do we just pack 'em up?"

"Oh, we'll pack 'em," said Hazel, rising hastily. A sort of nervous hurry was in her movement. "We won't rob the choreman and Hip-Lee of their rights. Say, you bring up the horses, and I'll pack. We can water them at the lake as we pass out – the horses, I mean."

A few minutes later Gordon returned with the horses.

As he rounded the bend in the now overgrown track, which had once formed the main approach to the little ranch, and caught sight of the graceful fawn-clad figure moving about, he stood for a moment to feast his eyes upon the picture the girl made. She was all he had ever dreamed of in life. There was nothing of the delicate exotic here, none of the graceful gowning of a city, concealing an unhealthy body reduced almost to infirmity by the unwholesome night life of modern social demands. She was just a living example of the grace with which Nature so readily endows those who obey her wonderful, helpful laws. The perfect contours, the elasticity of gait, the clear, keen, beautiful eyes, and the pretty tanning under the shade of her wide-brimmed hat.

The beating of the man's heart quickened. All his feelings rose, and set him longing to tell her all that was in his heart. He wanted then and there to become her champion for all time. A great passionate wave set the warm blood of youth surging to his head. He felt that she belonged to him, and him alone. Had he not fought for her as those warriors of old would have done? Yes, somehow he felt that she was his, but, with a strange cowardice, he feared to put his fate to the test through words which could never express half of all he felt. He longed and feared, and he told himself —

But Hazel was looking in his direction. She saw him standing there, and peremptorily summoned him to her presence.

"For goodness' sake," she cried. "Dreaming when there's work to be done. Bring them right along, or we'll never get started. There's all twenty miles before supper."

Gordon hurried forward, and as he came up he made his excuses.

"I had to look," he said apologetically. "You see it isn't every day a feller gets a chance to see a real picture – like I've seen. Say, these hills, I guess, can hand all that Nature can paint that way, but you need a human life in it to make a picture real to just an ordinary man's eyes. I – had to look."

But Hazel seemed to have become suddenly aware of something of that which lay behind his words, and she hastily, and with flushed cheeks, turned to the work of saddling her horse. Gordon attempted to help, but she laughingly declined any aid. She pointed at the saddle bags on his saddle.