She came toiling up the trail, followed by Virginia and Death Valley Charley and a crowd of curious citizens; and as they awaited the shock, Blount shuddered and smiled nervously, for he knew that she would demand back her stock. Wiley shuddered too, but instead of smiling he clenched his jaws like a vise; and as the Widow entered he signaled a waiting guard, who followed in close behind her. She halted before his desk, one hand on her hip the other on the butt of a six-shooter, and glanced insolently from one to the other.

"Aha!" she exclaimed, "so you're talking it over,—how to take advantage of a poor widow! But I want to tell you now, and I don't care who knows it, I've been imposed upon long enough. Here you sit in your office, both of you worth up into the millions, and discuss the division of your spoils; while the daughter and the widow of the man that found this mine are slaving away in a restaurant."

"Yes, I'm sorry, Mrs. Huff," interposed Blount, smiling gently. "We were just discussing your case. But it often happens that the best of us err in judgment, and in this case I've been caught worse than you were. Yes, I must admit that when I first heard about this tungsten and realized that I had sold out for nothing, I was moved for the moment to resent it; but under the circumstances——"

"Aw, what are you talking about?" demanded the Widow scornfully. "Don't you think I can see through your game? You pretend to be enemies until you get hold of my stock and then you come out into the open. I always knew you were partners, but now I can prove it; because here you are, thick as thieves."

"Yes, we're friendly," admitted Blount with a painful smile at Wiley, "but Wiley owns the mine. That is, he owns a bond and lease on the property, with the option of buying for fifty thousand dollars. And then besides that, I regret to say, he has an option on all my stock."

"Oh! Yes!" scoffed the Widow. "You've been cleaned by this whipper-snapper that's just a few months out of college! He's taken away your mine and your stock and everything—but of course you don't mind a little thing like that. But what I want to know, and I came here to find out, is which of you has got my stock—because I'll tell you right now——" she whipped out her pistol and brandished it in the air—"I'll tell you right now I intend to get it back or kill the one or both of you!"

Blount's lips framed a lie, and then he glanced at Wiley, who was standing with his hand by his gun.

"Well, now, Mrs. Huff," he began at a venture, "I—perhaps this can all be arranged."

"No! I want that stock!" cried the Widow in hot anger, "and I'm going to get it, too!"

"Why—why yes," stammered Blount, "but you see it was this way—I had no idea of the value of the stock. And so when Wiley came to see me I gave him an option on it for—well, I believe it was five cents a share."

"Ah!" triumphed the Widow, whirling to train her gun on Wiley, "so now I've got you, Mr. Man! You've been four-flushing long enough but I've got you dead to rights, and I want—that—Paymaster—stock!"

She threw down on him awkwardly, but as the pistol was not cocked, Wiley only curled his lip and smiled indulgently, with a restraining glance at his guard.

"Yes, Mrs. Huff," he agreed quite calmly, "I don't doubt you want it back. You want lots of things that you'll never get from me by coming around with these gun-plays. So put up that gun before you pull it off and I'll tell you about your husband's stock."

"My husband's stock!" cried the Widow in surprise, letting the six-shooter wobble down to her side. "Well I'd just like to tell you that that stock is mine, and furthermore——"

"Oh, yes! Sure! Sure!" shrugged Wiley scornfully. "Of course you know it all! But that stock wasn't yours, and you couldn't transfer it, and so I didn't take any option on it. It's in the bank yet; and if you want to get it, why, here's the man to talk to."

He jerked his thumb towards the cringing Blount, and exchanged scornful glances with Virginia. She was standing behind her mother and her glance seemed to say that he was passing the buck again; but his feeling for Virginia had suffered a great change and he replied to her head-toss with a sneer.

"Now—now Wiley!" protested Blount, rising weakly to his feet and regarding his pseudo-partner reproachfully, "you know very well——"

"Gimme that stock!" snapped the Widow, suddenly cocking the heavy pistol and throwing down savagely on Wiley; and then things began to happen. The watchful guard, who had been standing at her side, reached over and struck up the gun and as it went off with a bang, shooting a hole in the ceiling, he seized it and wrenched it away.

"You're under arrest, Madam," he said with some asperity, and flashed his officer's star.

"Well, who are you, sir?" demanded the Widow, vainly attempting to thrust him aside.

"I'm a deputy sheriff, ma'am," replied the officer respectfully, "and I'd advise you not to resist. It'll be assault with intent to kill."

"Why—I wouldn't kill anybody!" exclaimed the Widow breathlessly. "I was—I didn't intend to do anything."

"Will you swear out a warrant?" inquired the deputy and Wiley nodded his head.

"You bet I will," he said, "this is getting monotonous. She took a shot at me, once before."

"Oh, Wiley!" wailed the Widow suddenly weakening in the pinch. "You know I never meant it!"

"Well, maybe not," replied Wiley evenly, "but you hit me in the leg."

"But he pulled off my gun!" charged the Widow angrily, "I never went to do it!"

"Well, come on;" said the deputy, "you can explain to the judge." And he took her by the arm. She went out, sobbing violently, and in the succeeding silence Wiley found himself confronted by Virginia. He had seen her before when the wild light of battle shot forth from her angry eyes but now there was a glow of soft, feminine reproach and the faintest suggestion of appeal.

"Oh, Wiley Holman!" she cried, "I'll never forgive you! What do you mean by treating Mother like this?"

"I mean," replied Wiley, "that I've taken about enough, and now we'll leave it to the law. If your mother is right the judge will let her go, but I guess it's come to a showdown."

"What? Are you going to let them put my mother in jail?" she asked with tremulous awe, and then she burst into tears. "You ought to be ashamed!" she broke out impetuously. "I wish my father was here!"

"Yes, so do I," answered Wiley gravely. "I'd be dealing with a gentleman, then. But if your mother thinks, just because she is a woman, she can run amuck with a gun, then she gives up all right to be treated like a lady and she has to take what's coming to her."

"But Wiley!" she appealed, "just let her off this time and she'll never do it again. She's over-wrought and nervous and——"

"Nope," said Wiley, "it's gone past me now—she'll have to answer before the judge. But if you think you can restrain her I'll be willing to let it go and have her bound over to keep the peace."

"Oh, that'll be fine! If she just promises not to bother you and——"

"And puts up a five-thousand-dollar bond," added Wiley. "And the next time she makes a gun-play or comes around and threatens me the five thousand dollars is gone."

"Oho!" she accused, "so that's your scheme! You've been framing this up, all the time!"

"Sure," nodded Wiley, with his old cynical smile, "I just love to be shot at. I got her to come over on purpose."

"Well, I'll bet you did!" cried Virginia excitedly. "Didn't you have that officer right there? You've just framed this up to rob us. And how are we going to give a five-thousand-dollar bond when you know we haven't a cent? Oh, I—I hate you, Wiley Holman; and if you put my mother in jail I'll—I'll come back and kill you, myself!"

She stamped her foot angrily, but a light leapt into Wiley's eyes such as had flamed there when he had faced Stiff Neck George.

"Very well," he said, "if you people think you can rough-house me I'll show you I can rough it, myself. I've tried to be friendly and to give you the best of it; but now it's all off, for good. I hate to fight a woman, but——"

"You do not!" she challenged. "You're a coward, that's what you are! And you can take your old stock back!"

She drew a package from her bosom and slammed it spitefully on the table and rushed out after her mother. Wiley picked up the envelope and regarded it absently, his lip curling to a twisted smile. It was the package of stock which he had bought from Death Valley Charley and returned, as a gift, to Virginia.



CHAPTER XVII

PEACE—AND THE PRICE

In the justice court at Vegas the Widow Huff met her match in the person of the magistrate, who warned her peremptorily that if she interrupted again he would commit her for contempt of court. Then the bailiff smote his desk a resounding blow and there was silence in the presence of the law. It was a new thing to her, this power called the law and that accuser of all offenders, The People; and before she had finished she learned the great truth that no one is above the law. It governs us all and, but for the mercy of the courts, would land most of our hot-heads in jail. But though it was proved beyond the peradventure of a doubt that the Widow had attempted violence it was tacitly understood that, being a woman, there would be no actual commitment.

Wiley Holman came forward and informed the court that the defendant had threatened his life and upon two occasions and had made assaults upon his person with the avowed intention of killing him. Upon being questioned by the judge he admitted recognizing a shotgun, and three buckshot which had been extracted from his leg; but in a voluntary statement he expressed the opinion that the defendant was hardly responsible. At the same time, he stated, since his place of business was not far from the defendant's home, he would respectfully request that she be placed in custody and bound over to keep the peace. The testimony of the officer and of other witnesses left no doubt as to the existence of a threat and after the Widow had made a chastened speech she was placed in the custody of the sheriff.

To this humiliation was added the greater pang of depositing all her jewels with her bondsmen and when it was over and she was back in her home the Widow's proud spirit was broken. She retired to the kitchen and the balm of a great peace was laid upon tumultuous Keno. For years the bold ego of Colonel Huff's wife had dominated the very life of the camp, but the son of Honest John had at last found a way of putting her anger in leash. Rage as she might in the privacy of her kitchen, or pour out her woes to the neighbors, when Wiley Holman came by she turned away her face and allowed him to pass in silence. And Wiley himself never gave her a glance, nor Virginia when he met her in the street; for the memory of their insults was still hot in his brain, and all he asked for was peace.

He was safe, at last, safe to remodel the mill and bring up the ore from the mine; but as his work grew and prospered the anger died in his breast and his heart turned back to Virginia. She was quiet now, with averted eyes and the sad, brooding face of a nun; and she worked early and late in the crowded dining-room, serving meals to the hard-rock miners. He had closed down his cook-house to give them some patronage, when the first mad rush of prospectors was past; but though they fed his men and took the money that he had paid them, they owned no obligation to him.

In the Paymaster the pumps were working steadily now, clearing the water from the submerged passages, and as the first checks came back in payment for his tungsten he ordered more timbers and men. There was plenty of ore on the dump for the moment but, while he separated it from the waste and shipped it to town, he caught up the falling ground in the drifts and prepared to stope out the scheelite. In the old, dismantled mill he had a crew working over-time, installing a rock-crusher and a concentrating plant; and every truck that brought out timbers and supplies took back its tons of ore. The price of tungsten leapt from forty dollars a unit to sixty and sixty-five, and rival buyers clamored for his ore; the mills treated it for almost nothing in order to get control of it and his credit was A1 at the bank—but when he passed Virginia she turned her face away and his heart turned heavy as lead.

It was the price of success, and Wiley recognized it, but he rebelled against his fate. What fault was it of his that her father and his father had fallen out over the mine? He had shown by the stock that the treachery had been Blount's and neither of them was to blame. What fault was it of his that she had a shrewish mother who was bent upon ruining her life? Had he not endured abuse and suffered grievous wounds before he had asserted his rights? And with Virginia herself, when had there ever been a time when he had forgotten his lover's part—except on that last day, when he had turned like a trodden worm and protested his right to live? And yet she blamed him for all her misfortunes and for every day that she slaved; and even took the stock which he had returned as a peace-offering and hurled it in his face!

Wiley's lips set grimly as he gazed at the certificates for which men had striven and died. There were some from her father, transferred on her birthdays when the stock was around thirty and forty; and others from old prospectors like Henry Masters, who had left it to Virginia when they died. She had sent it to him by Charley, out of shame for her harsh words, and he had bought it for four hundred dollars, half the money that he had in the world. Those had been happy days, in spite of the anxiety, for he had made the sacrifice for her; and to prove his devotion—and make a peace-offering against the explosion that was bound to come—he had given the stock back to Virginia. That was when he was a prospector, doing business on a shoe-string, a racing car and a diamond ring; but now when he had made his coup and could write his check for thousands she threw the stock back in his face.

The stock had a value now for, under the terms of the bond and lease, one-tenth of the net mill returns were automatically withheld and turned in to the company as royalty; and if for any reason he failed to meet the payment when the fifty thousand-dollar option expired, then this stock and all Paymaster stock would take a sudden jump to five or ten dollars a share. And the stock was hers—she had received it from her father when he was the mining king of the West, and from old man Masters when he was dying in the cabin where she had helped to care for him for months—yet she would not accept it as a gift. Wiley pondered a long time and then, as Christmas drew near, he sent for Death Valley Charley.

"Charley," he began, when he came up that night, "did I understand you to say one time that you were acting as a kind of guardian to Virginia? Well, now here's a bunch of stock that you sold to me once when you were slightly off your cabeza. There's over twelve thousand shares and all you asked was four hundred dollars, when you knew they were worth eight hundred at least."

"Yes, that's so," admitted Charley, blinking and rubbing his chin, "but you know them women, Wiley. They're crazy, that's all, and the Colonel he told me special not to let them lose their mine."

"Well, never mind the mine," said Wiley wincing. "I'm talking about this stock. Don't you think it's your duty, by George, as guardian, to turn around and buy it back? You've got five thousand dollars coming to you on those claims of yours and I'll tell you what I'll do. I'm short, right now on account of buying machinery, and so I can't pay you much cash; but if you'll take this stock back in part payment of your claims I'll give you four hundred more."

"Well, all right," agreed Charley after gazing at him thoughtfully, "but you ought to give back that mine. The Colonel, he told me——"

"What do you mean, give it back?" demanded Wiley, irritably. "It isn't my property yet. I've got to pay for it first and get it away from old Blount before I can give it to anybody. That's fifty thousand dollars that I've got to make clear between now and the twentieth of May; but believe me, Charley, if I once get it paid for I'm going to do something noble."

"That's good," assented Charley, "but you've got to pay me, right off—there's something going to happen!" His sun-dazed eyes opened up wide with excitement and he listened long and earnestly at the door before he tiptoed back to Wiley's desk. "I can hear 'em," he said. "They're going to blow up the mine and shake the mountains down. They're boring through the ground, but I can hear them working—it's like worms eating their way through wood."

"Is that so?" queried Wiley. "Well, maybe we can stop 'em. I'll look after it, right away. But now about this stock——"

"It's the Germans!" burst out Charley. "They've got boring machines that eat through mountains like wood. And then, bumm, it's them mines, and the dynamite bombs——"

"Yes, it's awful," agreed Wiley, "but here's your money, Charley; so maybe you'd better go. And you keep this stock now, until it comes Christmas; and then, Christmas Eve, you slip into the house and put it in Virginia's stocking."

"Oh—yes," agreed Charley, still listening to the Germans and then he became lost in deep thought. "The Colonel will kill me," he said at last. "It's Christmas, and I ain't brought his whiskey."

"Why, what's the matter?" joshed Wiley. "Why didn't you deliver it? Did you get caught in a sandstorm, or what?"

"Yes, a sandstorm," answered Charley, solemnly. "It came down the valley like a wall. And my burros got away; but the Colonel, he found me—I was digging a hole in the sand."

"Say, where are these Ube-Hebes?" broke in Wiley impulsively. "I'd like to go over there some time."

"They're across Death Valley," answered Charley smiling craftily, "—on the west side, in the Funeral Range. The Coffin mine is there—I used to work in it—but they put me underground with a stiff for a pardner so I quit and come back to town."

"Yes, I heard about that; but you forgot something, Charley—how about that graveyard shift? But I'll tell you what I'll do, if you'll take me to the Colonel I'll help Virginia get back her mine."

He plumped the statement at him, for Charley was an innocent who spoke out the truth when he was jumped, but for once he detected the ruse.

"The Colonel's dead," he answered sulkily and picked up his hat to go.

"I doubt it!" scoffed Wiley. "I met a man the other day who said he'd seen him—in the Ube-Hebes mountains."

"He did?" exclaimed Charley, and then he drew back and his eyes flashed with angry resentment. "You're a liar!" he burst out. "The Colonel is dead. He never said anything of the kind."

"Yes, he did," insisted Wiley, "and you know the man well. He's got a little dog like Heine."

"He's a liar!" cried Charley savagely, "and don't you go to talking or I'll make you wish you hadn't."

"No, I won't," assured Wiley, "but here's the proposition—the Colonel left a lot of stock. And Mrs. Huff, being crazy, gave it all to Blount on a loan of eight hundred dollars. But if the Colonel should come back that transfer would be illegal and he could fix it to get back the mine. So don't talk to me about giving Virginia her mine—you go out and bring in the Colonel."

"He's dead!" yelled Charley, scrabbling madly out the door. "You're a liar—I tell you he's dead!"

"Yes, he's dead," observed Wiley, "just the same as I am. I'll have to get old Charley drunk."



CHAPTER XVIII

ON CHRISTMAS DAY

Christmas came to Keno in a whirling snowstorm that shrouded Shadow Mountain in white and, as he stepped out in the morning and looked up at the peak, Wiley Holman felt a thrill of joy. The black shadow had bothered him, now that he had come to live under it; and a hundred times a day as it caught his eye he would glance up to find the dark cloud. But now it was gone and in place of the lava cap there was a mantle of gleaming snow. He looked down at the town and, on every graceless house, there had been bestowed a crown of white; all the tin cans were buried, the burned spots were covered over, and Keno was almost beautiful. A family of children were out in the street, trying to coast in their new Christmas wagons, and Wiley smiled to himself.

He had brought back those children; he had brought the town to life and tenanted its vacant houses; and now, best of all, he had brought the spirit of Christmas, for he had sent a peace-offering to Virginia. She had spurned it once in the heat of passion, and called him a coward and a crook; but that package of stock would recall to her mind a time when she had known him for a friend. It would bring up old memories of their boy-and-girl love, which she knew he had never forgotten, and if there was anything to forgive she would know that he remembered it when he sent this offering by Charley.

He was a crazy old rat, but he had his uses; and he had promised to give her the stock, without fail. It was to come, of course, from Charley himself, in atonement for selling it for nothing; but Virginia would know, even if she missed his flowered Christmas card, that the stock was a present from him. It had a value now far above the price he had paid for it when Charley had thrust it upon him and the dividend alone from the royalties on his lease would be twelve hundred dollars and more. And then her pro rata share, when he paid his fifty thousand dollars, would add another six hundred; and she knew that, for the asking, she could have half of what he had—or all, if she would take him, too.

Wiley looked down on the house that sheltered Virginia and smiled to think of her there. She was waiting on miners, but the time would come when someone would be waiting on her. In the back of his brain a bold plan had been forming to feed fat his grudge against Blount and restore the Huffs to their own—and it needed but a word from her to put the plan into action. He held from Blount two separate and distinct papers; one a bond and lease on the mine, the other an option on his personal stock. But to grant the bond and lease—with its option for fifty thousand—Blount had been compelled to vote the Widow's stock; and if that stock was not his and had been illegally voted, then of course the bond and lease would be void.

Yet even so he, Wiley Holman, had fully safeguarded his interests, for by his other option he could buy all Blount's stock for the sum of five cents a share. The four hundred thousand-odd shares would come to only twenty thousand dollars, as against fifty thousand on the bond and lease; and yet, by buying the stock at once, he could effectually debar Blount from any share in the accumulating profits. The small payments on past royalties and his five cents a share would be all that Blount would receive; and then he would be left, a spectacle for gods and men—a banker who had been beaten by a boy. It was the chicanery of Blount which had ruined his father and driven Colonel Huff to his death, and what could be better, as poetic justice, than to see him hoist on his own petard. And if the Colonel was not dead—as would appear from Charley's maunderings—if he could be discovered and brought back to town, then surely Virginia would forget the old feud and consent to be his wife. All this lay before him, a fairyland of imaginings, waiting only her magic touch to make it real; just a word, a smile, a promise of forgiveness—and of loyalty and love—and he, Wiley Holman, would go whirling on the errand that would win him wealth and renown.

It would all be done for her, and yet he would not be the loser, for his own father held two hundred thousand shares of Paymaster; and he himself would save a fifty-thousand-dollar payment at an expense of a little over twenty. And if the Colonel could be found quickly—or his death disproved to make illegal the Widow's transfer of his stock—then the mine could be claimed at once and Blount deprived even of his royalties. Of course this could all be done without the help of Virginia or the co-operation of any of the Huffs for, although his father had refused from the first to have anything to do with the mine, Wiley knew that he could talk him over and persuade him to pool his stock. That would make six hundred thousand, a clean voting majority and a fortune in itself; but for the sake of Virginia, and to heal the ancient feud, it would be better to unite with the Huffs.

Wiley paced up and down in the crisp, dry snow and watched for Virginia to come, and as his mind leapt ahead he saw her enthroned in a mansion, with him as her faithful vassal—when he was not her lord and king. For the Huffs were proud, even now in their poverty, and Virginia was the proudest of them all; and in this, their first meeting, he must remember what she had suffered and that it is hard for the loser to yield. It should be his part to speak with humility and dwell but lightly on the past while he pictured a future, entirely free from menial service, in which she could live according to her station. All her years of poverty and disappointment and loneliness would be forgotten in this sudden rise to wealth; and to complete the picture, Blount, the cause of all her suffering, would grovel, very unbankerlike, at their feet.

Blount would grovel indeed when he felt the cold steel that would deprive him of all his stock, for he was still playing the game with his loans and extensions in the hope of winning back what he had lost. For money was his god, before whom there was no other, and he worshiped it day and night; and all his fair talk was no more than a pretense to lure Wiley into the net. Yet not for a minute would Wiley put up his option, or his bond and lease on the mine; and for all the money that Blount had loaned him he had given his mere note of hand. It was his promise to pay, unsecured by any collateral, and yet it was perfectly good. The money came and went—he could pay Blount at any time—but it was better to rehabilitate the mine.

Wiley had a race before him, a race for big stakes, and he kept his eyes on the goal. To earn fifty thousand dollars in six months' time, earn it clean above all expense, required foresight and careful management, and a big daily output, for every day must count. The ore on the dump was in the nature of a grub-stake, a bonus for undertaking the game; and when it was all shipped the profits would drop to nothing unless he could bring up more ore. So he took his first checks, and what he could borrow, and timbered and cleaned out the mine; and, to save shipping out more ore, he had ordered expensive machinery to put the old mill into shape. It was the part of good judgment to spend quickly at first and build up the efficiency of his plant; and then the last few months, when Blount would begin to gloat, make a run that would put him in the clear. Clear not only of the bond and lease, but on Blount's stock as well, for it would pay for itself with the first dividend; and, to save paying any more royalties, Wiley was curtailing his wasteful shipments while he prepared to concentrate the ore in his mill.

There were envious people in town who prophesied his failure and claimed that success had gone to his head, but he was confident he could show them that a man can take chances and yet play his cards to win. He had taken chances with Blount when he had accepted his money, for there were other banks that would lend on his mine; but in what more harmless way could he engage his attention and keep him from actual sabotage?

It was that which he dreaded, the resort to open warfare, the fire and vandalism, and dynamite; and day and night he kept his eye on the works, and hired a night-watchman, to boot. But as long as Blount was convinced he could win back the mine peaceably he would not resort to violence and, though Stiff Neck George still hung about the camp, he kept scrupulously away from the Paymaster.

As Christmas day wore on and the sun came out gleaming, Wiley swung off down the trail and through the town. He was a big man now, the man who had saved Keno after ten years of stagnation and lingering death; and yet there were those who disliked him. They recited old stories of his shrewd dealings with Mrs. Huff, and with Virginia and Death Valley Charley; and if any were forgotten the Widow undoubtedly recalled them. She was a shrewish woman, full of gossip and backbiting, and she let no opportunity pass; so that even old Charley cherished a certain resentment, though he disguised it as solicitude for the Huffs. And so on Christmas day, as Wiley walked down the street, many greetings lacked a holiday heartiness.

The front room of the Huff house was full of children and, as Wiley walked back and forth, he caught a glimpse of Virginia; but she did not come out and, after lingering around for a while, he climbed up the trail to the mine. He had caught but a glimpse, but it was clean-cut as a cameo—a classic head, eagerly poised; dark hair, brushed smoothly back; and a smile, for some neighbor's child. That was Virginia, high-headed and patrician, but kind to lame dogs and lost cats. She had invited in the children but he, Wiley Holman, who had loved her since she was a child, had been permitted to pass unnoticed. He wandered about uneasily, then went back to his office and began to run over his accounts.

Over a hundred thousand dollars had passed through his hands in less than a calendar month and yet the long haul across the desert from Vegas had put him in the hole. Besides the initial cost of cables and timbers—and of a rock breaker and the concentrating plant—there was a charge of approximately twenty dollars a ton for every pound of supplies he hauled out. And, because of the war, all supplies were high and the machinery houses were behind with their orders; yet so eager were the buyers to get hold of his tungsten that they almost took it out of the bins. He was storing up the ore, preparatory to milling it and shipping only the concentrates; but if they could have their way they would wrest it from his hands and rush it to the railroad post haste. One mysterious buyer had even offered him a contract at seventy dollars a unit—three dollars and a half a pound!

Wiley opened up his notebook and made a careful estimate of what the ore on the dump would bring and his eyes grew big as he figured. At seventy dollars a unit it would come to more than he owed; and pay for the mine, to boot. It was a stupendous sum to come so quickly, before the mine was hardly opened up; but when the mill was running and the mine was sending up ore—he smiled dizzily and shook his head. A profit like that, if it ever became known, would make his position dangerous. It was too much of a temptation for Blount and his jumpers, and blackleg lawyers with fake claims. They could get out injunctions and tie up the work until he lost the mine by default!

But would they dare do it? And how long would it take to raise fifty thousand dollars elsewhere? Wiley studied it all over in the silence of his office, for the mine was closed down for Christmas; and then once more he turned to his notebook and figured the ore underground. Then he figured the outside cost for installing his machinery, for freight and supplies and the payroll; and, adding twenty per cent for wear and tear and accidents, he figured the grand total for six months. That was astounding too but, when he put against it his ore and the price per ton, not even the chances that stood out against him could keep down that dizzy smile. He was made, he was rich, if he could just hold things level and do a day's work every day.

The sun set at last as he sat planning details and, rising up stiffly, he pushed his papers aside and went out into the night. The snow had melted fast on the roofs and bare ridges and, as the last rays of sunset touched the peak with ruddy fingers, he noticed that the shadow had come back. The barren lava cap had thrown aside its Christmas mantle, melting the snow before it could pack; and now, grim and black, it stood out like a death-head above the white valley below. Lights flashed out from miners' windows, the scampering children ceased their clamor, and he wandered through the darkness alone.

There was something he had forgotten, something big and significant, but his tired brain refused to respond. It was part of the scheme to beat Blount out of his stock, and the royalty from the shipments of ore; and—yes, it had to do with Virginia. It was going to make her rich, and both of them happy; but he could not recall it, at the moment. He was worn out, weary with the seething thoughts which had rioted through his mind all day, and he turned back dumbly to his office. It was dark and cold and as he groped for his matchbox his hand encountered a strange package. And yet it was not so strange—he seemed to remember it, somehow. He struck a hasty match and looked. It was the package of stock that he had sent to Virginia, but——The match burnt his fingers and he dropped it with a curse. She had refused his offer of peace.



CHAPTER XIX

THE ENIGMA

The heights and depths of life are sounded by emotions—cold reason lags behind. As thought cannot compass, so words cannot describe the anguished spirit's flight; and whether it soars to ecstasy or sinks to despair it comes back wide-eyed and silent. So any action which has been prompted by passion cannot be explained by a calculating mind, and to seek a reason where none exists is to stray still farther from the truth. Virginia Huff was poor and waited on the table for what she could eat and get to wear; and when she returned stock which was worth twelve hundred dollars without even a note of thanks it was not for any reason of the mind. It was a reason of the feelings, the soul, the human ego, which drives our minds and bodies to their tasks; a reason that soared up like a flaming aurora and stabbed the darkened sky with hate and passion. It was nothing to reason about, and yet Wiley reasoned.

He put down the stocks and lit his lamp and examined the package carefully. Then he looked inside for some note of explanation and paused and swore to himself. No note was there, nor any sign that the stocks had ever passed through her hands. He rose up craftily and stepped out the door, passing silently from house to house, and then as he came back he threw his door open and examined the snow for tracks. If Death Valley Charley had failed of his mission, if he had neglected to place the shares in her stocking and then sneaked back to get rid of them—but Wiley put all thought of Charley aside for there in the snow was the print of a woman's shoe. Small and dainty it was and he knew in his heart that Virginia had been there and gone. She might have been watching him as he sat at his work, she might even be watching him now; but again something told him that, however she had come, she had gone away in a rage. The stab of the high heel, the heedless step into a mud-puddle, the swinging stride down the trail; all spoke of defiance, of a coming in the open and a return without fear of man or devil. She had come there to see him and, finding him away, she had thrown down the papers and gone home. And that was the answer to his love.

Wiley sat down by the fire and tried to account for it. He imagined himself a woman, young and beautiful, but poor; working hard, as Virginia now worked, for her board and keep. Before her there was nothing—her father was dead or lost, her mother a hopeless scold, her fortune irretrievably gone—and yet she closed the only door out. As an earnest of his love, without asking anything in return, he had restored to her a portion of her stock; and she had promptly flung it back. Had Charley made some break in his method of presentation? But no, she would not mind if he had; it was something deeper, behind. He battered his brain, recalling every little incident that might have turned her heart against him, and it all brought him back to the trial.

When he had had her mother arrested for coming into his office and demanding—what was it she had demanded? He remembered the six-shooter, and the deputy and Blount, and the Widow's rage and tears; and Virginia's return and all she had said to him—but what was it her mother had demanded? Her stock! All her stock! The stock she had refused to sell for ten cents a share and then had turned around and put up with Blount as security on a quick-action note. She had demanded it all back, without reason, without compensation, simply because she was a woman with a gun; and because he had invoked the law to protect him in his rights Virginia had sworn she would kill him. Wiley rose up swiftly and pulled the curtain across the window, and then he considered the matter again.

It was not like Virginia to resort to any violence—she had been humiliated too often by her mother's—but she must still think he had deprived her of her rights. By what process of reasoning could they fix the blame on him for this stock which had been purloined by Blount, was beyond his strictly masculine mind; but women sometimes think by jumps. They skip a few processes, like a mathematical prodigy, and then arrive at some mammoth result. But, even if they exaggerated their grievance—was there anything behind it, any peg on which to hang this senseless hate?

Well, of course he had deceived them about the mine. He had known it contained scheelite the moment he picked up that white rock that Virginia had placed in her collection, but naturally he had not announced it from the house-tops. With the Widow as a partner, or even as a stockholder, the best-natured man in the state of Nevada could not have worked the Paymaster at a profit. For that reason alone he had been fully justified in letting her freeze herself out; and if Virginia had taken his advice—but then, the poor girl had been distracted. She had been worn out and discouraged, hag-ridden by her mother and facing a trip to the city; and she had sold out for what she could get. She was a good girl, a brave girl, and a sweet and lovely one too; and it was foolish to blame her for anything. The thing to do, after all, was to find ways and means of bringing her back to her own. Just a word from Virginia and he could change her whole life, he could get back all her stock and her mother's as well and pour money into their laps—but first he must win her love. He must teach her to trust him, break down her suspicion and show her that he was her friend.

Wiley thought a long time and the next morning at dawn he was up in his car and away. Virginia was a child. She did not reason about this and that, but was swayed by the impulses of the moment. Her life was ruled, not by her head but by her heart; and he had forgotten until that moment the sacks full of cats that he had taken from her house to the ranch. They were all her pets, and he had taken them as a trust when she was about to start for Los Angeles; but the mine had made him forget. They were safe at the ranch, with his sisters to look after them; but how many times since their estrangement began must some question have risen to her lips as to how they were, or if he would bring them back, or whether any had died or been lost? Yet she had turned her head away and refused to speak to him, even to demand back the pets she loved.

The road was bad out across the desert, and on through Vegas to the ranch, but he came thundering back the next night. He had left the mine to run itself, for his thoughts were of Virginia, but as he slowed down at the sand-wash and listened for the pumps he noticed that the engine had stopped. Well, he had an engineer and that was his business—to keep the sump-hole pumped out; perhaps he had shut down for repairs. But the big thing, after all, was to restore Virginia her pets and win his way to a place in her heart. He drove boldly up the street and stopped before the house, but nobody came to the door. He waited a while, then leapt out uncertainly and released the mother of Virginia's pet kittens. She ran under the house and, as no one came out, Wiley let the rest of them go and turned disconsolately back towards the mine. If he had ever thought, when he had the Widow arrested, that Virginia was going to take it so hard—but then, of course, it had been absolutely necessary—and just wait till she found her kittens!

There was trouble in the engine-house. He knew that the minute he saw the dancing torches in the dark, and he went up the trail on the run; but when he saw the wreckage, and the gear-wheel dismounted, he burst into a wailing curse. The mine had been all right, pumps operating, hoist running, when he had left the day before; but the minute he turned his back—— "What's the matter?" he demanded and then, pushing the engineer aside, he flashed a torch on the wreck. Wedged in the gearing of the shattered gear-wheel was a pair of engineer's overalls. They had jammed tight in the teeth and the resistless driving of the engine had cracked the great gear-wheel like an eggshell. Held solid by its base in the bolted concrete there had not been a half-inch's play and, since something must give, and the opposing wheel had stood, the enormous casting had smashed. The engineer and his helpers were pottering about, trying guiltily to remove the cause of the accident, but one look was enough to tell Wiley Holman that his mine was closed down for a week. No welding could ever repair that broken gear-wheel—he would have to wire for another.

"Whose overalls are those?" he asked at last as the men sought to evade his eye and the engineer himself confessed ownership.

"They're an old pair of mine," he explained, "that got caught when I was wiping up the grease."

"What? Wiping up grease when the machinery was in motion? Why didn't you wait until it stopped?"

"Well—I didn't; that's all. There was a big puddle of grease gathering dirt underneath there—and I thought I'd wipe it up."

"I see," observed Wiley and his eyes narrowed down as he caught the aroma of whiskey. "Well, clear up this mess," he said at last and hurried to his office to telephone. A single line of wire stretched out across the plain, connecting Keno with Vegas and the world, and within half an hour he had dictated a rush order to be wired to his supply-house in Los Angeles. If money would buy it he would grab a new gear-wheel and have it shipped out by express; but if there was none in stock he would have to wait for it; and the machine-shops were months behind. Yet his whole mine was shut down on account of this accident and, if he only had the money, he could almost afford to buy a new engine and be done with it. He stopped and thought if there was one in the country that he could get hold of, second-hand, and then he thrust the matter aside. The problem of getting an engine on the ground was one that could be worked out later, but in the meanwhile the water was rising in the sump and the pumps would soon be submerged. There were two shifts of miners who would have to be discharged and—yes, the engine crew, too. It was against all the rules for an engineer to be wiping up his engine while it was running, and it was only by a miracle that the engineer himself had escaped unhurt from the smash?

But was it a miracle? A swift stab of suspicion made Wiley's heart stand still. Was this the first treacherous move in Blount's battle to win back the mine? Had Blount, or some agent, suggested to the engineer that an accident would be followed by a reward; and then had not the engineer, when no one was looking, fed his overalls into the gearings? He was a surly young brute and he met Wiley's eyes with a stare that bordered on defiance, yet there was nothing to be gained by accusing him. If Blount had bribed his men it was best to get rid of them without the faintest suggestion of suspicion; and then take on a new crew, shipped in from San Francisco or some equally distant place.

Wiley went underground with his men, opening up the air-cocks in the pumps, and bringing out the powder and steel; and then the next morning, just before the stage went out, he gave them all their time. They had a certain constraint, a sullen silence in his presence, that argued them against him at heart and, since the mine was closed down for some time to come, he made a clean sweep of them all. Yet it pained him somehow, being new at the game, to see all these miners against him and as they piled their rolls on the stage he lingered to see them off. He had paid them union wages and treated them right but now, with their time-checks in their pockets, they looked past him in stony silence. It puzzled him somehow, leaving him vaguely uneasy; but just as the stage pulled out he found the answer to his enigma. On the gallery of the Huff house as the automobile sped past there was a sudden flash of white and as Virginia appeared the young engineer rose up drunkenly and wafted her a kiss. After that the answer was plain.



CHAPTER XX

AN APPEAL TO CHARLEY

What is a kiss waved by a drunken hand, to a man whose love is like the hills? And yet that kiss, wafted so amorously to Virginia, stirred up a rage in Wiley Holman's heart. Was it not enough to wait on the table, without cultivating the acquaintance of her boarders? And this foolish affair, whatever it was, had cost him at least ten thousand dollars. It would come to that before he was through with it—in lost time and new machinery and unearned profits—and all because Virginia had smiled at this drunken engineer, who had promptly sent his overalls through the driving-gear. Yet that was the natural result of letting his men board in town where they could hear the Widow's ravings against him.

In the midst of his telephoning and giving directions to his mill-crew, who were still rushing their work on the mill, Wiley turned the matter over in his mind and it left him sick with doubts. He had counted upon the opposition of Blount, but Virginia's almost staggered him. It would make a difference, before his six months was up, if she set all his men against him, and yet he could not stop her. If he withdrew his men and boarded them himself that would only inflame the neighborhood the more, for it would deprive the Huffs of their livelihood; and if he let things go on it might result in more wrecks that would seriously interfere with his plans. No, the thing to do was to see Virginia at once and come to an understanding.

A telegram from his supply-house reported the engine an old type with all parts out of stock, and he worked for hours making tedious measurements before he ordered the new gear-wheel made. Then he sent an urgent wire to rush him the new engine that had been ordered to supply power to the mill, only to be told once more that it was held up by previous orders and could not be delivered for a month. A month! And with the water mounting up in his shaft like the interest on his notes. It was no time for half measures. He leapt into his racer and burned up the road to Vegas. Three days later he returned with an old gas engine that he had salvaged from an abandoned mine and by the end of the week, by working day and night, he had the pumps lifting water. And then again he remembered Virginia.

He had thought of her, of course, when he was speeding to and fro, but he was hardly in the mood for sentiment. There were more things to go wrong than he had thought humanly possible in the management of a mine, and between ordering his machinery and taking on new men he had had scant leisure for affairs of the heart. He was young and inexperienced and the dealers took advantage of it to foist off old stock and odd parts, and then his engineers became fractious and disgruntled because he expected quick results. It was all very different from what he had expected when he had taken over the Paymaster lease, and yet it had to be endured and muddled through somehow until the mine was safely his own. Then out would come the engines, and all second-hand machinery and makeshift parts, and with a superintendent who knew his job he would lean back in comfort and learn the mining business by proxy.

Wiley shaved that evening and went down through the town, but when he put his hand on the Widow's gate his resolution failed him. He had placed her under bonds to keep the peace, and she had lived up to the undertaking scrupulously, but within her own house she had certain rights and privileges which even he dared not invade. If he stepped in that doorway she would order him out; and unquestionably she would be within her rights, since every man's house is his castle. So, on the very threshold of Virginia's retreat, he drew back and went to see Death Valley Charley.

Death Valley was drunk, but his conscience was still active and he burst into a voluble explanation.

"No, I gave her that stock," he protested earnestly, "but she made me take it back.

"'It ain't mine,' she says, 'and I'll work my hands off before I'll take charity from anybody.'

"'No, you keep it,' I says, just exactly like you tole me, 'because I'm your guardian, and all; and Wiley he says that I'm a hell of a poor one, because I sold him that stock for nothing. No,' I says, just exactly like you tole me, 'I want you to keep this stock.'"

"Well?" inquired Wiley, as Charley paused to take a drink, "and what did Virginia say, then?"

"Oh, I couldn't repeat it," answered Death Valley virtuously. "She don't seem to like you now. She says you stole her mine."

"Huh!" grunted Wiley, and looked about the cabin which was littered with bottles and flasks. "Well, where've you been?" he went on at last, the better to change the subject, and Charley leered at him shrewdly.

"Over across Death Valley," he chanted drunkenly, "—on the east side, in the Funeral Range. But they put me to work on the graveyard shift so I quit and come back to town."

"Ye-es," jeered Wiley, "you've been on a big drunk. What are you doing with this demijohn of whiskey?"

"Why, I got it for the Colonel," replied Charley, laughing childishly, "and I started to take it over to him, but my burros got away at Daylight Springs, so I made camp and drunk it all up."

"But it's full!" objected Wiley.

"Yes, I refilled it," answered Charley and helped himself to another nip. "Thas second time now I took that whiskey to the Colonel and both times I drunk it up. Thas bad—the Colonel will kill me."

"Yes, and do a danged good job," grumbled Wiley morosely. "You sure got me in Dutch with Virginia."

"She says you stole her mine," defended Charley stoutly. "And don't you say nothing against Virginia. She's noblest girl the sun ever shined. I'll kill any man that says different!"

"Oh yes, sure," agreed Wiley, "I'd do that myself. But Charley, I didn't steal her mine. I got it from Blount, and if she wants it back—say, Charley, you tell her I want to see her!"

He leaned over eagerly and laid his hand on Charley's shoulder, but Death Valley shook him off.

"No!" he declaimed. "The Huffs are poor but proud—they don't take charity from no one!"

"Aw, but, Charley," he argued, "this isn't charity. We'll get it away from Blount!"

"You're drunk!" declared Charley and turned sternly to the demijohn which was rapidly going down.

"Well, maybe I am," admitted Wiley craftily, "but that's all right, isn't it, between friends?"

"Sure thing—have another!" responded Charley cordially, and Wiley poured out a generous portion.

"Here's to you," he said, "Old Chuckawalla Charley—the man that put the Death in Death Valley. You're some desert rat, now ain't you, Charley? You helped pack the mud to build the butte and stoped out the guest chamber down in hell! Well, here's luck!" and he nodded his health.

"Yes, you bet I'm an old-timer," boasted Death Valley vaingloriously. "I was at Panamint and Ballarat, and all them camps. Me and old Shorty Harris—we used to lead every rush—we was first at Greenwater and Skidoo. But these damned lizzies can beat us to it now—the old burro-man is too slow."

"But crossing the sand, Charley, you've got us there; and climbing up these rocky washes. I've got a good machine—it'll take me most anywhere—but when it comes to crossing Death Valley, give me some burros and old Uncle Charley." He slapped him on the back and Uncle Charley smiled doubtfully and took another drink. "You bet," went on Wiley, with method in his madness. "I'd like nothing better, when I get a little time, than to have you take me out across Death Valley. What's it like, over there, Charley? Is it very far to water? But I'll bet you know every trail!"

"I know 'em all," announced Charley proudly, "but here's one that nobody knows. It's the trail to the Ube-Hebes. First you go from here to Daylight Springs, but they ain't no feed around there, so you go over the divide and down six miles and camp at Hole-in-the-Rock. And there they's good feed and plenty of good water and a tin house where the freighters used to camp; and then you fill your tanks and the next day you follow the wash till it takes you down to Stovepipe Wells. That water is bad but the burros will drink it if you bail the hole out first, and the next day you cross the sand-hills and the Death Valley Sink and head for Cottonwood wash. Many is the man that has started for that gateway and died before he reached the water, but the Colonel——"

Charley stopped abruptly and looked around for Heine and then he poured out a drink.

"He's dead now," he concluded, but Wiley caught his eye and shook his head disapprovingly.

"Not between friends," he said. "Ain't we drunk here together? Well, tell me the truth now—where is he? And listen here, Charley; I'll tell you something first that will make it all right with the Colonel. All he has to do is to come back to Keno and I'll give him his share in the mine. Then we can throw in together, and, when we get through, old Blount will be left holding the sack. Do you get the idea? I'm trying to be friends, but you've got to take me over to the Colonel!"

"The Colonel is dead!" repeated Charley doggedly and then he cocked his head to one side. "Don't you hear 'em?" he asked, "it's them Germans or something——"

"Never mind!" said Wiley sharply. "I'm talking about the Colonel, and I'll tell you what I'll do. I can't give the mine to Virginia because she won't take it; but the Colonel is a gentleman. He's reasonable, Charley, and I'd get along with him fine; so come on, now—go over and tell him!"

He patted him on the back and a look of indecision crept into Charley's drink-dimmed eyes, but in the end he shook his head.

"Nope," he muttered, "the Colonel is dead!" And Wiley threw up his hands.

"Well, then here," he ran on, "you know me Charley; and you know I'm not trying to steal that mine. Now here's what I want you to do. You tell Virginia I want to see her; and then some night you bring her over and—well, maybe that will do just as well."

"Will you give her back her mine?" inquired Charley pointedly, and Wiley rose up in a rage.

"Yes!" he yelled, "for cripes' sake, what's the matter with you? You talk like everybody was a crook. Didn't I give her back her stock? Well then, I'll give her back her mine! But she's got to accept it, hasn't she?"

"That was her I heard coming," answered Charley simply, but when Wiley looked out she was gone.



CHAPTER XXI

THE DRAGON'S TEETH

It is the curse of success that it raises up enemies as Jason's dragon teeth brought forth armed men. When he was skating around the country, examining mines and taking out options, Wiley could safely count every man his friend; but now that he had made his big coup on the Paymaster they were against him, from Virginia down. If he went to her politely with a thousand-dollar bill and asked her to take it as a gift she would refuse to so much as look at him. And yet, as a matter of fact, he was the same old laughing Wiley—only now he did not laugh. It was not right, but it could not be helped.

A long and weary month, full of vexatious delays and nerve-racking demands from his creditors, left its mark on Wiley's face; but in six weeks the mine and mill were running. Three shifts of men broke the ore at the face and sent it up the shaft to the grizzly and from there it was fed down through the enormous rock-crusher and then on through the ball-mills and rollers to the concentrating tables below. It was crushed and sorted and crushed again and ground fine in the revolving tubes, and then it was screened and washed and separated on vanners until nothing but the concentrates remained. The tail sluicings were sluiced off down the gulch, to add to the mighty dump that the Paymaster had left there in its prime. But even at its best, when it was working in gold ore that ran three or four thousand to the ton, even then the famous Paymaster had not turned out treasure like this.

The banks were full of gold—they were shipping it to America in lots of ten and twelve million at a time—but tungsten was rare, it was necessary, almost priceless, and the demand for it increased by leaps and bounds. How could iron-masters harden the tools that were to turn out the mighty cannon that this gold had been sent over to buy, unless they could get the tungsten? Molybdenum, vanadium, manganese, and all the substitutes were commandeered to take its place; but month by month the price of tungsten crept up until now all the West was tungsten-mad. It had gone up from forty dollars to sixty, and now seventy, for a twenty-pound unit of concentrates—running sixty per cent or better of tungstic acid—and as Wiley resumed his shipments he received a frantic offer of seventy-five dollars a unit. And then once more he smiled.

There had been a time when he had felt the cold hand of Blount closing down on his precious mine—and the other banks had refused to take over his notes. The property was not his, there was nothing tangible upon which to make a loan; and then, Blount had passed the word around. Wiley was indebted to him, and heavily indebted, and when he took the apple there would be no core for the rest. But now in a week the whole situation had changed and Wiley's smile brought forth answering smiles. The general store in Vegas extended his credit, even his supply-house had heard the good news; and Blount, who had grown arrogant, became suddenly friendly and fawning, trying vainly to cover up his hand. He was like a man who had clutched at a treasure and discovered himself a little too soon. The treasure was still Wiley's but—well, Blount was used to waiting, so he smiled and extended the notes.

At three dollars and more a pound it would not take many tons of tungsten to put Wiley safely out of the hole, but when he ran over his accounts he was startled by the bills that were piling up against him. A thousand dollars was nothing to these mining machinery houses and his payroll was over two hundred a day; and then there was powder and timber and steel, and gasoline and oil, and the freight across the desert. That went on everything, twenty dollars a ton whether they hauled both ways or one; and with so much at stake he had to treat everyone generously or run the chance of being tied up by a strike. Nor was there lacking the sinister evidence of some unfriendly if not hostile force, and as breakdowns recurred and unexpected accidents happened, Wiley came and went like a ghost. His gun was always on him and he watched each man warily, seeking out his enemies from his friends.

As for Virginia and her mother, he had long since given up hope of stopping their venomous tongues; and Death Valley Charley, finding the pressure too strong, had conveniently dropped out of sight. In all that town, which he had found dead and unpeopled and had changed in a few months to a live camp, there was not a single soul that he could truthfully say was honestly and unquestionably his friend. It was not that they were against him, for most of them realized that their own success was bound up with his; but they were not actively for him, they did not boost and help him, but joined in on the old anvil chorus. He had cheated the Widow, he had beaten Virginia out of her stock, he had taken advantage of Death Valley Charley! But, they added—and this was what galled him—what else could you expect from the son of Honest John?

Wiley gritted his teeth, but he did not speak his mind for the hour of vindication was at hand. When he had paid off his notes and his bills for supplies the first thing he would do, even before he took over the mine, would be to buy in Blount's Paymaster stock. And with that stock in his hands, with every tell-tale endorsement to prove the damning story of Blount's guilt, he would go to these old-timers and make them eat their words when they said his father was not honest. But as far as he was concerned, what difference did it make whether they considered him honest or not? Would they feel any more kindly towards his honest old father when he had proved that he had been faithful to the end? No, they thought they were virtuous and only denouncing injustice, but when that charge was taken out of their mouths they would clack on out of jealousy at his success. It was envy that really poisoned their minds and made them spit forth spleen, envy and chagrin at their own lack of foresight.

The Paymaster dump had lain right at their doorway where all of them could inspect its ore, but no one had noticed the heavy spar. They had called it white quartz and dismissed it from their minds, but he had come among them with different eyes. He had gone to a school of mines, where he had learned to identify minerals, and he had kept up with the mining magazines; and while these poisonous knockers had been lamenting the results of the war he had jumped in and turned it to his advantage. He had done something practical, to the improvement of industry, something that might change in a certain measure, the very destiny of the world; but the moment he succeeded they had accused him of robbing half-wits and of oppressing the widow and the orphan. Wiley shut down his jaws and smiled dourly.

There was small hope now of changing the widow and her "orphan" but if he could not convert them he could show them. As sure as he knew anything he was convinced that Colonel Huff had simply fled from his wife's nagging tongue and, when he got the time, Wiley intended to hire a pack-train and set out across Death Valley to find him. Virginia came and went, but always she avoided him scrupulously. Not once since she had returned from Vegas had she met his questioning eyes; and to all his advances she turned a deaf ear, if the statements of Charley could be trusted. The carefully thought out scheme of getting back the Huff stock and then forming an alliance against Blount had died before it was born; or it remained at best in suspended animation, pending Death Valley Charley's return. He had gone off with his burros but the longer Wiley waited on him the more he saw that Charley was a broken reed. No, the trimming of Blount, if it was done at all, would have to be done by him—and all he needed was time.

Two months and a little more lay between him and the day of reckoning—the twentieth day of May. In that short time he must meet heavy obligations, pay off his notes, buy Blount's stock and purchase the mine; and if anything should happen—if the hoist should break down, the mill blow up, the market for tungsten fail—well, he could kiss the Paymaster good-by. The market and other influences were on the knees of the gods, but Wiley decided that there should be no more accidents. That was something preventable and no more love-sick engineers were going to use his gearings for a clothes mangle. He engaged two watchmen who were mechanics as well and then he kept watch over his watchmen. Neither by day nor by night did he go down the hill for more than a few minutes at a time and on dark, stormy nights he wandered about like a specter watching the shadows for Stiff Neck George. He was out there somewhere, Wiley knew it as instinctively as he knew that Virginia hated him, and yet he never appeared. He never made threats nor showed himself in the open but, somewhere, he was out there in the darkness; and sooner or later he would strike.

The days dragged on slowly, with cold, March winds and sandstorms boiling in over Shadow Mountain; and then driving rain followed by bright, sunny weather and struggling flowers in the swales. It was spring, in a way, but not the spring of yester-year, with its songs and laughter and high hopes. Wiley felt the old call to be up and away, but his racer remained in its shed. He paced about restlessly, waiting for something to happen, observing the slightest signs—and then he found her tracks in the dust. Virginia had come up the trail in the night and had gone down past the mill. He knew her tracks well and, among the broad brogans of the miners, they stood out like the footprints of a fairy. Wiley's heart leapt up in his breast—and then it stood still. Had she come as an enemy or a friend?

He followed her trail to where it had been trampled out by the watchman in making his regular rounds; and then, below the mill, he picked it up again as it went on down the path. Not once had she hesitated or turned from the beaten trail, but she had gone down after the graveyard shift. That went on at eleven and her tracks were superimposed on the hob-nailed boot-marks of the miners. When they had come off shift they had trampled them out again, except for a print here and there; and by the color of the dust Wiley shrewdly judged that she had visited him between twelve and one. Between the wind-blown footprints of the night-shift and the fresh red of the day shift as they had mounted the trail at seven, her high-arched steps had been made about midnight, for the dust had been whitened by the air. Wiley followed them silently, trampling them out as he went, and that night as the graveyard shift came on he slipped out and hid by the trail. What kind of a watchman was this, who let a woman come and go and never even saw her tracks in the dust? He could watch for Virginia; and meanwhile, incidentally, he could keep tab on this sleepy-headed guard.

The chuh, chuh of the engine echoed loud in the canyon as the hoist brought up the first cars, and then the rumble of the trams as they were pushed down the track and the clatter of the ore down the grizzly. A sharp blap, blap, from the compressor showed that the machine-men had set up their drills; and beneath all the rest there was the hushed rumble of the mill and the thunderous rhump, rhump, of the rock-breaker. It was a ponderous affair of the old jaw-type, surmounted by a fly-wheel of a full ton's weight that drove it rhythmically on; and as Wiley listened it made a music for his ears as sweet as any bass viol. In this mine of his there was an orchestration of busy sounds, from the clang of the bell to start or stop the engine, to this deep, rumbling undertone of the crusher; and every clang and crunch brought him that much nearer to the day when he would be free.

He took shelter within the black mouth of a short tunnel by the trail and looked out at his little world—the huge mill, dimly lighted, the gaunt gallows-frame against the sky, and the sleeping town below. He had made them his own and now he must fight for them; and watch over them, day and night. Above him the stars shone out clean and cold, a million of them in the dry, desert air; and in the east the half moon rose up slowly above Gold Hill, where the wealth of ages lay hid. It had given up its gold but his hand had struck the blow that would open up its treasure vaults of tungsten. All it needed now was watchfulness and patience. The moon rose up higher and he dozed within the shadow and then a sound brought him to with a start. It was the crunch of gravel on the trail before him and as he looked out he saw Virginia.



CHAPTER XXII

VIRGINIA EXPLAINS—NOTHING

She was covered by a cloak and there was a man's hat on her head, but Wiley knew her—it was Virginia Huff. The moon had mounted high and the chill of the morning was in the air, so he could hardly flatter himself that she had come to see him. Perhaps it was just to see the mine. But if, beneath that cloak, she carried some instrument of destruction—he stepped out and watched her covertly. She tiptoed up the trail, glancing nervously about her, starting back as a trammer dumped his ore; and then, very slowly, she crept past his house and disappeared in the direction of the mill. Instantly he whipped out of his tunnel and started after her, running swiftly up the trail; but as he neared the summit she came catapulting against him, running as swiftly the other way.

"Here! Stop!" he commanded as she leapt back with a stifled scream and then as she made a dash he plunged resolutely after her and caught her like a child.

"You let go of me!" she panted, but he flung one arm about her and held both her hands to her side.

"No," he said, and she struck out violently only to find herself clutched the tighter.

"Wiley Holman!" she exploded, "if you don't let me go! You'd better—I saw a man back there!"

"It's my watchman," answered Wiley. "I keep him to guard the mill. But what are you doing up here?"

"No! It wasn't! It was Stiff Neck George! And he had something heavy in his hand! You'd better go and watch him!"

She was struggling in his arms, her breath hot against his cheek, fear and rage in every word, but he crushed her roughly to his side.

"Never mind about George," he said. "What are you doing up here, now?"

"But he'll blow up your mine! I've heard him threaten to! I just came up to tell you!"

"Oh, that's different!" returned Wiley, relaxing his grip, "but never mind—my watchman will get him."

"No! The watchman is asleep—I didn't see him anywhere! Oh, Wiley; please run and stop him!"

"Nope," replied Wiley, "he can blow the whole mill up—I want to ask you a question."

He released her reluctantly, for the touch of her had thrilled him, and the sweetness of her breath on his cheek—but she darted down the trail like a rabbit.

"Here! Wait!" he ordered and outran her in ten jumps, at which she stooped and snatched up a rock.

"Put that down!" he said, and as she swung back the rock, he braved it and caught her anyway. "Now," he went on, trembling from the smash of the blow, but holding her in a grip of steel, "we'll see what all this is about!"

"You will not!" she hissed back, "because I won't answer you a word! And I hope old George ruins your mill!"

"That's all right," he said, shaking his bloody head, "but, Judas, you did smash me with that stone! After that, I guess, I've got something coming to me!" And he reached down and kissed her lips.

"You—stop!" she panted. "Oh, I—I'll kill you for that!" But Wiley only laughed recklessly.

"All right!" he said, "what's the difference—I'd die happy! I almost wish you'd hit me again."

"Well, I will!" she threatened, but when he released her she drew back and hung her head. "That isn't fair," she said, "you know I can't protect myself, and——"

"Well, all right," he agreed, "we'll call it square then. But—I want to tell you something, Virginia."

"Are you going to stand here," she burst out sharply, "and let him blow up your mill?"

"Yes, I am," he answered. "I don't care what happens to me if you and I can be friends. I love you, Virginia, you know it as well as I do, and that's all I want in the world. Let's just be friends, the way we used to be when we were playing around town together. I've been trying to see you for months—it's seemed like forty years—and Virginia, you've got to listen to me!"

He paused and drew nearer, and she stood waiting passively, as if daring him to touch her again; but he stooped and peered into her face. The night was not dark and in the ghostly moonlight he could see the cold anger in her eyes.

"Yes, I know," he said, "you hate me like poison—but Virginia, this is going too far. It's all right to hate me, if that's the way you're built, but you ought to give me a chance. It looks very much as if you'd come up here to-night to do some damage to my mine; but I'll let that pass and say nothing about it if you'll only give me a chance. Let me tell you how I feel and then, some other time——"

"Well, go on," she said, "but if your old mine blows up——"

"I wish it would!" he burst out passionately. "If it would make any difference, I wish it was blown off the map. I can't bear to fight you, Virginia; it makes my life miserable, and I've tried to be friendly from the first. But is it right to blame a man for something he can't help and not even give him a chance to explain? If you think I've stolen your mine, why, go ahead and say so and let me give it back. I'll do it, so help me God, if you'll only say the word."

"What word?" she asked, and he threw out his hands in a helpless appeal to her pity.

"Any word," he said, "so long as it's friendly. But I just can't stand it to be without you!"

"Oh," she said, and looked back up the trail as if meditating another dash to escape.

"Well, what is it?" he asked at last. "Won't you even listen to me? I've got a plan to propose."

"Why, certainly," she responded, "go ahead and tell it. And then, when it's done, can I go?"

"Yes, you can go," he answered eagerly, "if you'll only just listen reasonably and think what this means to us both. We used to be friends, Virginia, and while I was working up this deal I did everything I could to help you. I didn't have much money then or I'd have done more for you, but you know my heart was right. I wasn't trying to take advantage of you. But the minute I got the mine it seems as if everybody turned against me—and you turned against me, too. That hurt me, Virginia, after what I'd tried to do for you, but I know you had your reasons. You blamed me for things that I never had done and—well, you wouldn't even speak to me. But that was all right—it was perfectly natural—and on Christmas I sent you back your stock. I only bought it from Charley to help you get to Los Angeles, and I considered that I was holding it in trust; so I sent it back by Charley, but I suppose he made some break, because I found it on my table that night. But you'll take it back now; won't you, Virginia?"

His voice broke like a boy's in the earnestness of his appeal and yet it was hopeless, too, for he saw that she stood unmoved. He waited for an answer, then as she shifted her feet impatiently he went on with dogged persistence. It was useless, he knew it; and yet, sometime in the future, she might recall what he had said and take advantage of it.

"Well, all right, then," he assented, "but the stock's yours if you want it. I'm holding it for you, in trust. But now here's what I wanted to tell you—I'd hoped we could do it together; but you ought to do it, anyway. You know that stock that your mother lost to Blount? Well, I know how you can get it back."

He paused for her to speak, to exclaim perhaps at his magnanimity in offering to help her against her will, but she shrouded herself pettishly in her cloak.

"Oh, you don't care, eh?" he asked with a bitter laugh. "Well, I wish to God, then, I didn't. But I do, Virginia! I can't stand it to see you slaving when there's anything in the world that I can do. Now here's the proposition: according to law your father isn't legally dead—he won't be for seven years—and so your mother, not being his heir yet, had no right to hypothecate that stock. It still belongs to your father's estate and all you have to do is to go to a lawyer and demand the property back. You're his daughter, you see, and a co-heir with your mother, and Blount will not dare to oppose it!"

"Yes, thanks," returned Virginia. "Is that all?"

"Why—no!" he said at last, clutching his hands at his side. "There's—I'll lend you the money, Virginia."

"No, thank you!" she answered, and started off down the trail, but he stepped in her way and stopped her. His mood had changed, for his voice was rough and threatening, but he struggled to keep it down.

"Is that all?" he demanded and without waiting for the answer he reached out and caught her by the arm. "Virginia," he said, "I've tried to be good to you, but maybe you don't appreciate it. And maybe I've made a mistake. There's something about you when I'm around that reminds me of a man with a grouch—only a man would speak out his mind. Now I've given you a chance to clean up twenty thousand dollars and I expect something more than: 'No, thanks!'"

"Well, what do you expect?" she asked, struggling feebly against his grasp.

"I expect," he answered, "that you'll state your grievance and tell me why you won't have me?"

"And if I do, will you let me go?"

"When I get good and ready," he responded grimly. "I don't know whether I'm in love with you or not."

"Well, my grievance," she went on defiantly, "is that you went to work deliberately and robbed me and mother of our mine. And as for winning me, that's one thing you can't steal—and I'll kill you if you don't let go of that hand!"

"Yes," he said, "I've heard that before—it seems to run in the family. But don't you think for a minute that I'm afraid of getting killed—or that I'm trying to steal you, either. If you were an Indian squaw you might be worth stealing, because I could beat a little sense into your head; but the way things are now I'll just turn you loose—and kindly keep off my ground."

He flung back her hand and stepped out of the trail but Virginia did not pass. Her breast heaved tumultuously and she turned upon him as she sought for a fitting retort; but while they stood panting, each glowering at the other, there was a crash from inside the old mill. Its huge bulk was lit up by a flash of light which went out in Stygian darkness and as they listened, aghast, the ground trembled beneath them and a tearing roar filled the air. It began at the stone-breaker and went down through the mill, like the progress of a devastating host, and as Wiley sprang forward, there was a terrifying smash which seemed to shake the mill to its base. Then all was silent and as he looked around he saw Virginia dancing off down the trail.



CHAPTER XXIII

ON DEMAND

If there was anything left of his mill but the frame, Wiley's ears had played him false; and yet he stood and looked after Virginia. This grinding crash, this pandemonium of destruction which had left him sick with fear, had put joy into her dancing feet. Yes, she had danced—like a child that hears good news or runs to meet its father—and he had thought her worthy of his love! He had battered his brain for weeks to devise some plan whereby he could make his peace; he had taken her blows like a dog; and she had answered with this. Whether it was Stiff Neck George or some other man, she had known both his presence and his purpose; and now she rejoiced in the catastrophe. A hundred dollars would buy him a squaw more worthy of confidence and love.

There was darkness in the mill, but when they brought the flares, Wiley saw that the ruin was complete. From the rock breaker to the concentrators there was nothing but splintered wood, twisted iron and upturned tanks; and the demon of destruction which had raged down through its length was nothing but the fly-wheel of the rock crusher. What power had uprooted it he was at a loss to conjecture but, a full ton in weight, it had jumped from its frame and plowed its way down through the mill. The ore-bins were intact, for the fly-wheel had overleapt them, but tables and tanks and concentrating jigs were utterly smashed and ruined. Even the wall of the mill had given way before it and the cold light of dawn crept in through a jagged aperture that marked its resistless course. The fly-wheel was gone and the damage was done; but there was still, of course, the post mortem. What had caused that massive shafting, with its ponderous speeding wheels, to leap from its bearings and go crashing down the descent, laying everything before it in ruins? Wiley summoned his engineer and, in the shattered jaws of the rock-breaker, they found the innocent-looking instrument of destruction. It was not a stick of dynamite, but a heavy steel sledge-hammer that had been cast into the jaws of the crusher. They had closed down upon it, the hammer had resisted, and then all the momentum of that whirling double fly-wheel had been brought to bear against it. Yet the hammer could not be crushed and, as the wheel had applied its weight, the resistance to its force had caused it to leap from its bearings and go hurtling down the incline.

It was a very complete job, even better than dynamiting, and yet Wiley did not blame it on Stiff Neck George. Some miner, some millman, who had seen it done before, had repeated the performance for his benefit. Or was it, perhaps, for Virginia's? He remembered the engineer who had fed his greasy overalls into the gearings of the hoist. He had boarded with Virginia and had waved her a parting kiss—but this time it would be some trammer. Wiley gave them all their time on general principles, but he did not go down to witness the farewell. Whether the trammer kissed her good-by or simply kissed her hand was immaterial to him now—and, in case it might have been a millman or some miner underground, he laid off the whole night shift. The night-watchman went too, and the stage the following evening brought out a cook to start up the boarding-house.

Wiley did not guess it—he knew it—Virginia Huff was the witch who had mixed the hell-broth that had raised up all this treachery against him. She had poisoned his men's minds and incited them to vandalism, but it would not happen again. He had been a fool to endure it so long; but she could starve now, for all that he cared. If she thought she could twist him like a ring around her finger while she egged on these men to wreck his mill, she had one more guess coming and then she would be right, for he had come to his senses at last. This was not the Virginia that he had known and loved—the Virginia he had played with in his youth—but a warped and embittered Virginia, a waspish, heartless vixen who had never been anything but cold. She had worked him deliberately, resorting to woman's wiles to gain what was not her due, and now when his mill was smashed into kindling wood, she danced and laughed for joy.

What kind of a mind could a woman have, to do such a senseless thing and then laugh at the man who had helped her? She was kind to her cats, the neighbors all liked her, to everyone else she seemed human; but when it came to him she was a devil of hate, a fiend of ruthless cunning. She would tell him to his face—at three in the morning, when he had caught her running away from the mill—that she hoped his old mill would be ruined. And now, when the trammer or some other soft-head had sent one of his sledges through the crusher, she was laughing up her sleeve. But there was a hereafter coming for Virginia and her mother and they would get no more favors from him. If they crept to his feet and said they were starving he would tell them to get out and hustle. Meanwhile they had sent him broke.

There would be no more ore concentrated in the Paymaster mill during the life of his bond and lease; and unless he could raise some money, and raise it quick, he was due to lose his mine. Whether he had abetted it or not, Blount would not fail to take advantage of this last, staggering blow to his fortunes; and there were notes and paper due which would easily serve as a pretext for a writ of attachment on his mine. Bad news travels fast, but Wiley set out to beat it by snatching at his one remaining chance. His mill was ruined, his output was stopped, but he still had the ore underground—and the buyers were crazy to get it. He sent out identical messages to ten big consumers and then sat down to await the results. They came with a rush, ten scrambling frantic bids for his total output for one year—and one of them was for eighty-four dollars! It was from the biggest buyer of them all, a man who was reputed to be the representative of a foreign government, a man who had paid cash on the nail. Wiley pondered a while, looked up his obligations to Blount, and accepted immediately by wire. But there was one proviso—he demanded an advance payment, which the buyer promptly wired to his bank. Then Wiley twisted up his lip and waited.

Blount appeared the next day, dropping in casually as was his wont; but there was a cold, killing look in his eye and he had a deputy sheriff as a witness. They looked through the mill and Blount asked several leading questions before he ventured to come to the point, but at last he cleared his throat and spoke up.

"Well, Wiley," he said, drawing some papers from his pocket, "I'm sorry, but I'll have to call your notes. If it were my money it would be different; but I'm a banker, you understand, and your paper is long overdue. I've extended it before because I admired your courage and thought you might possibly pull through, but this accident to your mill has impaired the property and I can't let it run any longer."

"Oh, that's all right," said Wiley, "but you don't need to apologize, because there won't be any attachments and judgments. Just tell me how much it comes to and I'll write you out a check." He took the notes from Blount's palsied hand and spread them on the desk before him, but as he was jotting down the totals Blount grabbed them wildly away.

"Not much!" he exclaimed, "I don't surrender those notes until the money is put in my hands! Your check isn't worth a pen stroke!"

"Well, I don't know," returned Wiley. "There may be two opinions about that. I had a hunch, Mr. Blount, that you might spring something like this and so I made arrangements to accommodate you."

"But you're strapped! You owe everybody!" cried Blount in a passion. "I don't believe you've got a cent!"

"Just a minute," said Wiley, and took down his telephone. "Hello," he called, "get me the First National Bank." He waited then, twiddling his pencil placidly, while Blount's great neck swelled out with venom. "I figure," went on Wiley, as he waited for the connection, "that I owe you twenty-two thousand dollars, with interest amounting to two-eighty-three, sixty-one. Here's your check, all filled out, and when I get the bank you can ask the cashier if it's good."

"But, Wiley—," began Blount.

"Hello! Hello! Is this the First National? This is Holman, out at the Paymaster. Mr. Blount is here and, as I'm closing my account with him——"

"No! No!" cried Blount in a panic, but Wiley went on with his talk.

"Yes," he said, "the check is for twenty-two thousand, two eighty-three, sixty-one. Will you please set that amount aside to meet the payment on this check? All right, Mr. Blount, here's the bank."

He held out the instrument and Blount seized it roughly, for he had heard of fake telephone messages before, but when he listened he recognized the voice.

"Oh, Agnew?" he hailed, smiling genially at the 'phone. "Well, sorry to have troubled you, I'm sure. Oh, yes, yes; I know Wiley is all right; he's good with us for twenty thousand more. No, never mind the certification; we may let the matter drop. Yes, thank you very much—good-by!"

He hung up the receiver and turned to Wiley; but the cold, killing look was gone.

"Wiley," he chuckled, slapping him heartily on the back, "you certainly have put one over. It isn't every day that I find a man waiting with the check all made out to a cent; and somehow—well, I hate to take the money."

"Yes, I know how you suffer," replied Wiley, grimly, "but let's get the agony over." He held out the check and Blount accepted it reluctantly, passing over the notes with a sigh.

But for the trifling detail that "demand" had not been waived Blount could have gone into court without even asking for his money and secured an attachment against the property. But Wiley's firm insistence that all cut-throat clauses should be omitted had compelled Blount to demand payment on the notes; and then, by some process which still remained a mystery, he had raised the full amount to meet the payment. And so once more, after going to all the trouble of bringing a deputy sheriff along, Blount found himself balked and his dreams of judgment and lien permanently banished to the limbo of lost hopes.

Wiley's over-prompt payment had confused Blount for the moment and thrown him into a panic. He had counted confidently upon crushing him at a blow and cutting short his inimical activities, but now of a sudden he found himself threatened with the loss of all his interests. If Wiley had made profits beyond his calculations—but no, he could not, for under the terms of their bond and lease one-tenth of the net profit on all his shipments was sent direct to Blount. And if what Wiley had received was only ten times the Company's royalty, he was still in debt to someone. Blount had followed him closely and he knew that his expenses had absorbed all his profits, up to date. But perhaps—and Blount paused—perhaps the other bank, or some outside parties, were backing him in his enterprise. He would have to look that matter up—first. But if not—if he was still running his mine as he had from the first, on his nerve and his diamond ring—then there were ways and means which should be speedily invoked to prevent him from meeting his payments.

Scarcely a month remained before the bond and lease lapsed—and Wiley's option on Blount's personal stock—but any day he might raise the money and, by taking over Blount's stock, place him out of the running for good. These tungsten buyers who were so avid for its product might purchase an interest in the mine; they might advance the fifty thousand and take it over under the bond and lease, and bring all his plans to naught. As Blount paced about the office he suddenly saw himself defrauded of that which he had worked for for years. He saw his stock bought up first, to deprive him of the royalties, and then the mine snatched from his hands; and all he would have left would be the forfeited Huff stock and the small payment it would earn from the sale. Something would have to be done, and done every minute, to prevent him from carrying out his purpose.