Shadow Mountain

CHAPTER XV

The God of Ten Per Cent

It was the nature of the Widow to resort to violence in every crisis of her life and at each fresh memory of the effrontery of Wiley Holman she searched the empyrean for words. From the very start he had come to Keno with the intention of stealing her mine. First it was his father, who pitied her so much he was willing to buy her shares; then it was the tax sale, and he had sneaked in at night and tried to jump the Paymaster; then he had deceived her and stood in with Blount to make her sell all her stock for a song; and then, oh hateful thought, he had actually sold out to Blount for a hundred dollars, cash; only to put Blount in the hole and buy the mine back again for the price of the ore on the dump!

The Widow poured forth her charges without pausing for breath or noticing that her audience had fled, and as Wiley went on about his business she raised her voice to a scream. The rest of the Kenoites, and some of the workmen, were out staking the nearby hills; but whenever she stopped she thought of some fresh duplicity which made reason totter on its throne. He had refused half the mine from Blount as a gift and then turned around and bought it all. He had refused to buy her shares, time and again, when he knew they were worth a million; and then, to cap the climax, he had let her sell to Blount and bought them for nothing from him. And even Death Valley Charley–poor, crazy, brain-sick Charley–he had robbed him of all ten of his claims!

It was a damning arraignment, and Wiley’s men listened grimly, but he only twisted his lip and nodded his head ironically. With one eye on his accuser, who was becoming hysterical, he hustled the ore into the empty trucks and started them off down the road; and then, as Virginia led her mother away, he re-engaged his cook. They had supper that night in the old, abandoned cook-house; and, so wonderfully do great minds work, that a complete bill of grub was discovered among the freight. Not only flour and beans and canned goods and potatoes, but baking powder and matches and salt; and the cook observed privately that you’d think Mr. Holman had intended to make camp all the time. It is thus that foresight leaps ahead into the future and robs life of half its ills; and the Widow Huff, still unpacking plates and saucers, was untroubled by clamorous guests. She had had her say and, as far as Wiley was concerned, there were no more favors to be expected.

Yet the Widow was wise in the ways of mining camps and she prepared to feed a horde–and the next day they came, by automobile and motor-truck, until every table was filled. The rush was on, for four-thousand dollar ore will bring men from the ends of the world. Before the sun had set in the red glow of a sandstorm the desert was staked for miles. From the chimneys of old houses, long abandoned to the rats, rose the smokes of many fires and the rush and whine of passing automobiles told of races to distant grounds. All the old mines in the district, and of neighboring districts where the precious “heavy spar” occurred, were re-located–or jumped, as the case might be–and held to await future developments. The first thing was to stake. They could prospect the ground later. Tungsten now was king. Men who had never heard the name, or pronounced it haltingly, now spoke learnedly of tungsten tests; and he was a poor prospector indeed who lacked his bottle of hydrochloric acid and his test-tubes and strip of shiny tin. They swarmed about the base of the old Paymaster dump like bees around a broken pot of honey and when, pounded up and boiled in the hydrochloric acid, the solution bit the tin and turned bright blue, there was many a hearty curse at the fickle hand of fortune which had led Wiley Holman to that treasure.

It had lain there for years, trampled down beneath their feet. Now this kid, this mining-school prospector, had come back and grabbed it all. Not only the Paymaster with its tons of mined ore, but the ten claims to the north, all showing good scheelite, which Death Valley Charley had located–he had held them down as well. Two hundred dollars down and a carefully worded option had tied them up for five thousand dollars, and there were tungsten-mad men in that crowd of boomers who would have given fifty thousand apiece. They came up to the mine where Wiley was working and waved their money in his face, and then went off grumbling as he refused all offers and went busily about his work. So they came, and went, until at last the great wave brought Samuel J. Blount himself.

He came up the trail smiling, for there was nothing to be gained by making belated complaints; but when he saw the pile of precious white rock the smile died away in spite of him. It was the boast of Blount that, buying or selling, he always held out his ten per cent; but that pile of ore had cost him dear and he had sold it out for next to nothing. And it was his other boast that he could read men’s hearts when they came to buy or sell, but here was a young man who had seen him coming twice and gained the advantage both times. So the smile grew longer in spite of his best efforts and when at last he found Wiley Holman in the office of the company it was perilously near a sulk.

“Well, good morning, Wiley,” he began with unction, and then he looked grievously about. The expensive gas engine which he had bought and installed was already unwatering the mine; spare timbers were going down, the new blacksmith-shop was running and Wiley was sitting at his desk. Everything was there, just the way he had left it, except that it belonged to Wiley. Blount heaved a heavy sigh and then set his features resolutely, for the battle was not over yet. To be sure the mine was bonded for a measly fifty thousand dollars, and his stock was tied up under an option; but many things can happen in six months’ time and Wiley was only a boy. Granted that he was a miner and understood ore, there is such a thing as an “Act of God.” Cables break without reason, mines cave and timbers fall; and certainly if there is a God of Ten Per Cent his just wrath would be visited upon Wiley. Blount knew that great god and worshipped him continually and he felt certain that something would happen, for when boys out of college take money away from bank presidents it comes dangerously close to sacrilege.

“Well, well,” murmured Blount, “quite a change, quite a change. Are you sure that stuff is tungsten, Wiley?”

“Yes,” responded Wiley, affecting a becoming modesty to cover up his youthful smirk. “Would you like to see it tested?”

“Very much,” answered Blount, and followed after him to the assay office, which Wiley had hurriedly fitted up. Wiley took a piece of scheelite and pounded it in a mortar until it was fine as flour, then dropped it into a test-tube and boiled it over a flame in a solution of hydrochloric and nitric acids.

“Now,” he said, when the tungstic acid had been dissolved, and he had dropped a small bar of tin into the solution. It turned a dark blue and Blount sighed again, for he had looked up the test in advance. “If it turns blue,” a prospector had told him, “like the color of me overalls, then, sure as hell, it’s tungsten.”

“Well, well,” commented Blount, gazing mildly about, for great men do not stop to repine, “and what do you use these big scales for?”

“That’s for the quantitative test,” explained Wiley importantly. “By weighing the sample first and extracting the tungsten we get the percentage, when it’s been filtered and dried and weighed again, of the tungstic acid in the ore. But it’s quite an elaborate process.”

“Yes, yes,” assented Blount, still managing to smile pleasantly. “Rather out of my line, I guess. What per cent do your samples average?”

“Oh, between sixty and seventy when I pick my specimens. I’m rigging up a jigger to separate the ore until I can get capital to start up the mill. It ought to be milled, by rights, and only the concentrates shipped; but while I’m getting started─”

“Oh, draw on me–any time,” broke in Blount, smiling radiantly. “I’d be only too glad to accommodate you. That’s my business, you know; loaning out money on good security, and you’re good up to fifty thousand dollars.”

“Do you mean it?” demanded Wiley after a startled silence, and Blount slapped him heartily on the back.

“Just try me,” he said. “I’ve been looking up the market and tungsten is simply booming. It’s quoted at forty-five for sixty per cent concentrates, and you must have tons and tons on the dump.”

“Yes, lots of it,” admitted Wiley, “and say, now that you mention it, I believe I’ll take you up. I need a little money to install some machinery and get the old mill to running. How about ten thousand dollars?”

“Why–all right,” assented Blount, after a moment’s thought. “Of course you’ll give some security?”

“Oh, sure,” agreed Wiley. “My option on the mine–I suppose that’s what you’re after?”

Blount blinked for a moment, for such plain speaking was surprising from one as shrewd as Wiley, but he summoned up his smile and nodded. “Why–why, yes, that’s all right. Say one per cent a month–payable monthly–those are our ordinary short-time terms.”

“Suits me,” said Wiley. “But no cut-throat clauses–none of this Widow Huff line of stuff. If I forget to pay my interest that doesn’t make the principal due and the security forfeit and so on, world without end.”

“Oh, no; no, certainly,” cried Blount with alacrity. “We’ll make it a flat loan, if you like, and endeavor to treat you right. Of course you’ll start a checking account and─”

“No,” said Wiley, “if I borrow the money I’ll take it out of your bank and put it in another, right away. I never let friendship interfere with business or warp my business judgment.”

“Yes, but Wiley,” protested Blount, “what difference does it make? Isn’t my bank perfectly safe and sound?”

“Undoubtedly,” returned Wiley, “but–do you happen to remember a little check for four hundred dollars? It was made out by me in favor of Death Valley Charley and they cashed it through your bank–Virginia Huff, you know–in payment for Paymaster stock. Well, if you’re going to keep track of my business like that─”

“Oh, no, no,” exclaimed Blount, suddenly remembering the means by which he had detected Wiley’s purchase of Virginia’s stock, “you misunderstand me, entirely. If you want to wait a few days for the money you are welcome to put it anywhere.”

“Well, hold on,” began Wiley. “Now maybe I’d better go to the other bank─”

“Oh, no, no, no,” protested Blount, “I wouldn’t hear of it. I’ll write you the check, this minute. On your personal note–that’s good enough for me. You can put up the collateral later.”

“Well, let’s think this over,” objected Wiley cannily. “I don’t like to put up that option for security. That bond and lease is worth half a million dollars and─”

“Just give me your note,” broke in Blount hurriedly, “and hurry up–here comes Mrs. Huff.”

“All right,” cried Wiley, and scribbled out the note while Blount was writing the check.

CHAPTER XVI

A Show-down With the Widow

If the benevolent Samuel Blount could have seen Wiley Holman’s monthly statement from that mysterious “other bank” he would have crushed him with one blow of his ready, financial club and gone off with both bond-and-lease and option. But the pure, serene fire in those first water diamonds which graced the ring on Wiley’s hand–that dazzled Samuel J. Blount as it had dazzled the Widow and many a store-keeper in Vegas. For it is hardly to be expected that a man with such a ring will have a bank account limited to three figures, any more than it is expected that a man with so little capital will be sitting in a game with millionaires. But Wiley was sitting in, holding his cards well against his chest, and already he had won ten thousand dollars. Which is one of the reasons why all mining promoters wear diamonds–and poker faces as well.

Yet Blount was playing a game which had once won him a million dollars from just such plungers as Wiley, and if he also smiled as he tucked away the note it was not without excuse. There had been a time when this boy’s father had sat in the game with Blount and now he was engaged in raising cattle on a ranch far back in the hills. And Colonel Huff, that prince of royal plungers, had surrendered at last to the bank. It was twelve per cent, compounded monthly, with demand, protest and notice waived, which had brought about this miracle of wealth; and since it is well known that history repeats itself, Mr. Blount could see Wiley’s finish. The thing to do first was to regain his confidence and get him into his power and then, at the first sign of financial embarrassment, to call his notes and freeze him out. Such were the intentions of the benevolent Mr. Blount–if the Widow Huff did not kill him.

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!”