The Son of his Father

CHAPTER XXV

THE RESCUE

It was nearly midnight. The house was quiet. It was so still as to suggest no life at all within its simple, hospitable walls. It was in darkness, too, at least from the outside, for all curtains had been drawn for the night, with as much care as though it were a dwelling facing upon some busy thoroughfare in a city.

But, late as the hour was, the occupants of the old ranch house were not in bed. Hazel was awake, and sitting expectantly waiting in her bedroom, while somewhere within the purlieus of the kitchen Hip-Lee sat before an open window in the darkness, doubtless dreaming wakefully of some flea-ridden village up country in his homeland.

Upstairs, too, there were no signs of those slumbers which were so long overdue. Mr. James Carbhoy was seated in a comfortable rocker-chair adjacent to his dressing bureau, making an effort to become interested in the "History of the Conquest of Mexico" by the light of a well-trimmed oil lamp.

Not one word, however, of the pages he had read had conveyed interest to his preoccupied mind. It is doubtful if their meaning had been conveyed with any degree of continuity. He was irritable – irritable and a shade despondent.

He had been a captive in that valley for over seven weeks, and the imprisonment had begun to tell upon his stalwart hardihood. Seven long weeks of his own company, under easy and even pleasant circumstances. Even Hazel's company, shadowed as she was by the hated Hip-Lee, had been denied him. Had it been otherwise he might have felt less dispirited, for he liked and admired her; and, in spite of the fact that on that one memorable occasion when he had talked to her alone she had betrayed, what he now was firmly convinced was her own perfidious share in his kidnapping, he was human enough to disregard it, and only remember that she was an extremely pretty and wholly charming creature.

Yes, he knew now that he had been duped by this daughter of Mallinsbee, whom he knew owned Buffalo Point, and the whole thing had been a financial coup engineered by the "smarts" who belonged to his faction. He had solved the whole problem of his captivity in one revealing flash, the moment he had learned that this girl was the daughter of Mallinsbee. He had needed no other information. His keenly trained mind, with its wide understanding of the methods of financial interests, had driven straight to the heart of the matter. It was only the details which had been lacking. But even these had, in a measure, been filled in during his long hours of solitude and concentrated thought.

It was some of the obscured riddles which beset him now, as they had beset him for days. He could not account for his own confidential agent Slosson in the matter. Had he been bought over? It seemed impossible, since Slosson had advised the depot remaining at Snake's Fall, which was against Mallinsbee's interests. Had he been dealt with, too? It seemed more likely. But if this were so it made the daring or desperation of the whole coup suggest to his mind that he was dealing with men of unusual caliber, and consequently the situation possessed for him possibilities of a most unpleasant character.

Then, again, the fact that they were content to leave him unapproached in his captivity puzzled and disquieted him even more. What could they achieve with regard to the railroad without his authority? Nothing, positively nothing, he assured himself. Then what was the purpose to be served? He could not even guess, and the uncertainty of it all annoyed, irritated, worried him as the time went on.

His mind was full of all these concerns as he sat reading the romantic story of a people with impossible names, and so he lost all the beauties of one of the most perfect romances in the world. Finally, he set the book aside and prepared for bed and more hours of worried sleeplessness.

James Carbhoy was a typical New Yorker of the best type. In an unexaggerated way he was fastidious of his appearance and gave a careful regard to his bodily welfare. He was a man who luxuriated in cleanly habits of living, and his linen was a sort of passion with him. In his captivity he had been well cared for in this respect, and the only cause he had for complaint was the absence of his daily bath, which he seriously deplored.

Now he went to the old-fashioned washstand, prepared for his nightly ablutions, and laid himself out a clean suit of pyjamas. Then he divested himself of some of his upper garments. He had just started to remove his shirt, and one arm still remained in its sleeve as he proceeded to remove it coatwise, when all further action was quite suddenly suspended and he stood listening.

A sound had reached his quick ears, a curious sound which, at that hour of the night, was quite incomprehensible to him. After some breathless moments he abandoned the divestment of his clothing and swiftly restored his coat and vest. Then he extinguished his light and drew the curtains from before the window and opened it further. He sat down on his bedstead and, resting an elbow on the window-ledge, gazed out into the starlit, moonless night.

The sound which had held his attention was still evident. It was the sound of galloping horses in the distance, the soft plod of many hoofs over the rich grass of the valley. It was faint but distinct, and, to this man's inexperienced ears, suggested a large party of horses, probably horsemen, approaching his prison. With what object? he wondered, and, wondering, a feeling of excitement took possession of him.

Five minutes later his attention was distracted to another direction. Other sounds reached him, sounds which emanated from close about his prison itself. There was a movement going on just below him, and horses were moving about, apparently somewhere in front, where he knew the corrals to be. His excitement increased. In all his long weeks of imprisonment he had seen nothing of his captors and no signs of them. Now, apparently, they were below him, possibly keeping guard, and he wondered if they had been there every night, silent warders, whose presence had been all undiscovered by himself.

It was difficult, difficult to understand or to believe. Yet there was no doubt that men were gathered below; he could faintly hear their voices talking in hushed tones, and, equally, he could plainly hear the sound of their horses. He wished there was a moon to give him light enough to see what was going on.

But now the more distant sounds had grown louder, and as they grew the voices below spoke in less guarded tones. And from the manner of their speech the listening man knew that something serious was afoot.

A sudden resolve now formulated in his mind, and he left his place at the window and stood up. Then he moved swiftly to his door and opened it. The house seemed wrapped in silence, and he moved out to the head of the small flight of stairs leading to the floor below. He passed down and reached the door of the parlor.

Here he paused for a moment listening. All was still within, and he cautiously opened the door. The lamp was lit, and, standing beside the table, upon which the breakfast things were already set, he discovered the figure of the daughter of Mallinsbee with her back turned towards him. There was another figure present, too, and, to his intense chagrin, the millionaire beheld the yellow features of Hip-Lee near the curtained window.

However, he passed into the room, and Hazel turned confronting him. He gazed intently into her face, so serious and apparently troubled. The yellow lamplight imparted a curious hue, and the man fancied she looked seriously frightened.

"What's happening?" he demanded, and an unusual brusqueness was in his tone.

The girl's eyes surveyed his expression swiftly. She looked for something she feared to discover there, and the faintest sigh of relief escaped her as she realized that her fears were unfounded.

"That's what we – are trying to find out," she replied, her words accompanied by a glance of simple, half-fearful helplessness.

The man checked the reply which promptly rose to his lips. He remembered in time that this girl was the daughter of Mallinsbee and that she was exceedingly pretty. To the former he had no desire to give anything away, while to the latter he desired to display every courtesy.

"Our guards seem to be on the alert, and – somebody is approaching," said the millionaire, with a baffling smile. "If it weren't such a peaceful spot I'd say there was an atmosphere of – trouble."

"I – I sort of feel that way, too," said Hazel in a scared manner. She had gathered all her histrionic abilities together, and intended to use them. "I wonder what trouble it is?"

"Seems as if it was for the men who – took us," observed Carbhoy, with a dryness he could not quite disguise.

"You – mean our folks have located our whereabouts and – are going to rescue us?"

The millionaire smiled into the innocent, questioning eyes, which, he knew, concealed a humorous guile.

"I didn't just mean that," he said. "Maybe the trouble won't come yet." He glanced at the Chinaman standing sphinx-like at the curtains. "Must he remain?" he said, appealing directly to the girl.

Hazel felt the necessity for a bold move.

"Don't let him worry you. We can't help ourselves. I dare not risk offending him." She conjured a well-feigned shudder.

The millionaire laughed, and his laugh left the girl troubled and disconcerted. She would have liked to know what lay behind it. However, she kept to her attitude of fear. She must play her part to the end.

"Hark!" Carbhoy turned his head, listening intently. The girl followed his example. "Say – " The millionaire broke off, and his smile was replaced by a look of puzzled incredulity.

A shot had been fired. It was answered by a shot from somewhere close to the house. A look of doubt sprang into his gray eyes, and he darted to the window and unceremoniously brushed the hated Chinaman aside. He drew the curtain cautiously aside and peered out into the bight. Hazel beheld the change of expression and his quick, alert movements with satisfaction. She knew that the sounds of the shots had disconcerted him. He was more than impressed. He was convinced.

Then followed a portentous few moments. The two single shots were converted into something like a rattle of musketry. And intermingled with it came the hoarse, blasphemous cries of men, and the pounding of horses' hoofs racing hither and thither. The man at the window remained silent, his eyes glued to the crack of the divided curtains. He saw flashes of gunfire and the dim outline of moving figures. But the details of the scene were hidden from him by the darkness. Hazel, standing close behind him, rose to a great effort. One hand was laid abruptly upon his arm, and her nervous fingers clutched at his coat-sleeve as though she were seeking support. She caught a sharp breath.

"My God!" she cried in a tense whisper, while somehow her whole body shook.

Carbhoy gave one glance in her direction. His eyes and features had become tense with excitement. With his disengaged hand he patted the girl's with a reassuring gentleness, and finally it remained resting upon her clutching fingers.

"It's a scrap up all right," he said, with conviction that had no fear in it. "But it's their game, not – "

But his words were cut short by the great shouting that went up outside the house. Then came more firing, and the sharp plonk of bullets as they struck the building were plainly heard by the watchers. Hazel urged the man at the curtains —

"Come away. For goodness' sake come away. A stray shot! That window! You – "

She strove to drag the man away in a wild assumption of panic. But the millionaire intended to miss nothing of what was going on. The danger of his position did not occur to him. He firmly released himself from her clutch.

"You sit right down, my dear," he said kindly. "Just get right out of line with this window. I want to see this out. Say, hark! They're hitting it up good, eh?"

His eyes were alight with the excitement of battle, and Hazel, watching him, with fear carefully expressed in her eyes, could not help but admire the spirit of her lover's father, and more than ever regret the part she was forced to play.

She withdrew obediently as the sounds of battle waxed and the cries of the combatants made the still night hideous. The firing had become almost incessant, and the bullets seemed to hail upon the building from every direction. Then, too, the galloping horses added to the tumult, and it was pretty obvious the defenders were charging their opponents.

"There seems to be about two to one attacking," said the millionaire over his shoulder presently.

As he turned he surveyed with pity the strong look of terror the girl had contrived. He never once looked in the detested Chinaman's direction. In his heart he would not have regretted a chance shot disturbing those yellow, immobile features.

Then, turning back again quickly —

"I wonder!"

Now that the battle seemed to be at its height, and whilst awaiting its issue, he had time for conjecture. What was the meaning of it? And who were the attacking party? Was Slosson at its head? Had Harker sent up and was this a sheriff's posse? Both seemed possible. Yet neither, somehow, convinced him. Whoever were attacking, it was pretty certain in his mind that his release was the object.

But the moment passed, and he became absorbed once more in the battle itself. It seemed miraculous to his twentieth-century ideas that such a condition of things could prevail. Why, it was like the old romantic days of the hard drinking, hard swearing "bad men," and a sort of boyish delight in the excitement of it all swept through his veins. He had no time or thought for the part the now terror-stricken girl had played in his captivity. All he felt was a large-hearted, chivalrous regret for her present condition, of which no doubt remained in his mind.

A rush of horsemen charged up to the building. The watching man saw their outline distinctly. There seemed to him at least eight or ten. He saw another crowd, smaller numerically, charge at them, and then the revolvers spat out their vicious flashes of ruddy fire. The crowd dispersed and gathered again. Another fusillade. Then something seemed to happen. The whole crowd swept away in the darkness, and the sounds of shooting and the cries of men died away into the distance.

He waited awhile to assure himself that, so far as their position was concerned, the battle was at an end. Then he turned away from the window.

"They've cleaned 'em out," he said sharply. "I can't tell whose outed. They've ridden off at the gallop, firing and cursing as they went. Maybe our captors have driven the others off. Maybe it's the other way. We'll – hark!"

He was back at the window again in a second.

"They're coming back," he cried. "Say – "

Hazel was at his side in a moment.

"Are they the – ?"

"Can't say who," cried Carbhoy, peering intently. "A big bunch of 'em."

"Our men were only four," said Hazel quickly.

The millionaire was too intent to look round, and so he missed the girl's smile over at Hip-Lee. But the tone of her voice was unmistakable in its anxiety.

"There's eight or more here," he cried. "Say, they're dismounting! They're – "

"They're coming into the house!" cried Hazel in an extravagant panic. "They – "

At that instant a loud voice beyond the door of the room was heard shouting to the men outside —

"Keep a keen eye while I go through the house! Don't let a soul escape. If they've hurt one hair of her head somebody's going to pay, and pay dear."

The millionaire was standing stock still in the middle of the room. A curious look was gleaming in his steady eyes. Hazel, in the midst of her pretended panic, beheld it and interpreted it. She read in it a recognition of the speaker's voice, but she also read incredulity and amazement.

But at that instant the door burst open and a great figure rushed headlong into the room. As the girl beheld it she flung wide her arms and, with a cry, ran towards the intruder.

"Gordon! Gordon! At last, at last!" she cried. "Oh, I thought you would never find me! Never, never!"

Her final exclamations were lost in the bosom of his tweed coat, as she flung herself into his arms and burst into a flood of hysterical weeping and laughter.

"Hazel! My poor little Hazel! Say, I've been nearly crazy. I – "

Gordon broke off, the girl still lying in his arms. His eyes had lifted to the face of his father, and their keen, steady glance became instantly absorbed by the gray speculation behind the other's.

"Dad! You?"

The astonishment, the incredulity were perfect. They might well have deceived anybody.

"Sure," said the millionaire dryly. Then, "I don't guess they've hurt her any, though. Maybe you best hand her over to her father," he went on, pointing at the burly figure of Silas Mallinsbee, who, with his patch well down over his eye, had appeared at that moment in the doorway. "Guess he'll know how to soothe her some. Meanwhile you'll maybe tell me how you lit on our trail."

The man's smile was disarming, yet Gordon fancied he detected a shadow of that lurking irony which he knew so well in his father.

He turned about, however, and passed Hazel over to the rancher, while he added tender injunctions —

"Say, Mr. Mallinsbee, she's scared all to death. You best get her to bed. Poor little girl! Say, I'd like – "

But he did not complete his sentence. Instead he turned to his father, as Hazel, with difficulty restraining her laughter, was led from the room by her solemn-faced, fierce-eyed parent.

"Say, Dad, what in the name of all creation has brought you here?"

The millionaire turned, and a cold eye of hatred settled upon the background which Hip-Lee formed to the picture.

"Do we need that yellow reptile present?" he said unemotionally.

"I guess not," said Gordon readily. Then he pointed the door to the Mongolian. "Get!" he ejaculated. And the injunction was acted upon with silent alacrity.

Then the two men faced each other.

"Well?" demanded the father.

The son smiled amiably.

"Well?" he retorted. And both men sat down.

CHAPTER XXVI

CASHING IN

Gordon's eyes were alight with a wonder that somehow lacked reality as he dropped into the chair beside the table.

"You? You?" he murmured. Then aloud: "It – it's incredible!" Then, with an impulsive gesture. "In the name of all that's crazy what's – what's the meaning of it? How in the world have you got into the hands of these ruffians?"

His father selected one of the two remaining cigars in his case, and passed the other across.

"Try again," he said quietly, as he bit the end off his.

But Gordon did not "try again." He took the proffered cigar, and sat devouring the silent figure and sphinx-like face of the other, while he felt like one who had received a douche of ice-cold water from a pail. His acting had missed fire, and he knew it. He wondered how much else of his efforts had missed fire with this abnormally acute man. He had intended this to be the moment of his triumph. He had intended to lay before his father his talent of silver, doubled and redoubled an hundredfold. He had intended, with all the enthusiasm of youthful vanity, to display the triumph of his understanding of the modern methods of dealing with the affairs of finance. He was going to prove his theories up to the hilt.

Now, somehow, he felt that whatever victory he had achieved the clear, keen brain behind his father's steady gray eyes saw through him completely, right down into the deepest secrets which he had believed to be securely hidden. Face to face with this man, who had spent all the long years of his life studying how best to beat his fellow man, his acting became but a paltry mask which obscured nothing. "Try again." Such simple words, but so significant. No, it was useless to "try again" with this dear, shrewd creature he was so futilely endeavoring to deceive.

The cold of the gray eyes had changed. It was only a slight change, but to Gordon, who understood his father so well, it was clearly perceptible and indicative of the mood behind. There was a suggestion of a smile in them, an ironical, half-humorous smile that scattered all his carefully made plans.

The millionaire struck a match and held it out to light his son's cigar, and, as Gordon leaned forward, their eyes met in a steady regard.

"Nothing doing?" inquired the father, as he carefully lit his own cigar from the same match.

Gordon shook his head, and his eyes smiled whimsically.

"Then I best do first talk." The millionaire leaned back in his chair and breathed out a thin spiral of smoke. Then he sighed. "Good smokes these. Mallinsbee's a man of taste."

"Mallinsbee?"

"Sure."

"Go on."

"He's kept me well supplied. Also with good wine. I owe him quite a debt – that way. Say – " The millionaire paused reflectively. Then he went on in the manner of a man who has arrived at a complete and definite decision: "Guess it would take hours asking questions and getting answers. It's not my way, and I don't guess I'm a lawyer anyway, and you aren't a shady witness. We know just how to talk out straight. I've had over seven weeks to think in – and thinking with me is – a disease. Let's go back. I had a neat land scoop working up here. Slosson was working it. He's been a secret agent of mine for years. I've no reason to distrust him. He fixes things right for us and sends word for me to come along. That's happened many times before. It's not new, or – unusual. When I get here I'm met by a very charming young girl with a rig and team. Her excuse for meeting me is reasonable. The rest is easy. We are both held up, and brought here – captives. Then I start in to think a lot. Argument don't carry me more than a mile till that same charming girl, who's just done all she knew to make things right for me, makes her first break. When I found out she was the daughter of Mallinsbee I did all the thinking needed in half an hour. I knew I was to be rolled on this land deal by Mallinsbee's crowd, and, judging by the methods adopted, to be rolled good. You see we'd had negotiations with Mallinsbee about his land at Buffalo Point before. See?"

Gordon silently nodded.

His father breathed heavily, and, with a wry twist of his lips, rolled his cigar firmly into the corner of his mouth.

"Now, when I'd done thinking it just left me guessing in two directions. One of 'em I answered more or less satisfactorily. This was the one I answered. What had become of Slosson? Had he been handled by these folk, or had he doubled? The latter I counted out. I've always had him where I wanted him. He wouldn't dare. So I said he'd been 'handled.' The other was how could they hope to deal with the Union Grayling without my authority? That's still unanswered, though I see a gleam of daylight – since meeting you here. However, Gordon boy, you've certainly given me the surprise of my life – finding you associated with Mallinsbee – and taken to play-acting. That was a pretty piece outside with guns. I allow it got me fine. But you overdid it showing in here. That also told me another thing. It told me that a feller can spend a lifetime making a bright man of himself, while it only takes a pretty gal five seconds yanking out one of the key-stones to the edifice he's built. I guess I've been mighty sorry for your lady friend. I guessed she was pining to death for her folks, and was scared to death of that darnation Chink. However, I'm relieved to find she's just a bunch of bright wits, and don't lack in natural female ability for play-acting. Maybe you can hand me some about those directions I'm still guessing in. I'll smoke while you say some."

Father and son smiled into each other's faces as the elder finished speaking. But while Gordon's smile was one of genuine admiration, his father's still savored of that irony which warned the younger that all was by no means plain sailing yet.