The Forbidden Way

"Yes. She'll be making him the rage before the winter is out. But he takes it all as a matter of course. Indeed, I think he fancies himself our equal in any matter." He paused and then rose. "But he must prove that. The Amalgamated must own that smelter."

"Oh, yes," said Janney, following him with his eyes. "It will, of course. We can't have him underbidding us. It's lucky he hasn't tried it yet. But that's the danger from a man with both ability and ambition. And we can't run the risk of letting him get too far."

There was a silence of some moments, which Cornelius Bent improved by running over the correspondence. When he had finished he tossed the letters abruptly on the table, and walked to the window. "Poor Cort," he muttered, "he lost us the whole thing. I wonder what's the matter with that boy. He always seems to miss it somehow. I can never make a business man of him – like you or myself – or like Jeff Wray."

"He's cost us a pretty penny," growled Janney.

The General still stood by the window, his chin deep in his chest, his long fingers twitching behind his back.

"Jeff Wray must pay for that, Curtis. If we can't beat him in one way we must choose another. Jeff Wray stole the 'Lone Tree.' He trespassed on our property in the dead of the night, did violence to one of our employes, and bluffed Cort into signing that lease. If there was any law in the state of Colorado, he'd be serving his term at Cañon City. But I'll get him yet! I will, by God! If he'd come in this office now and hold you up for the money in your safe he'd be a thief. What is the difference?"

"Just this: He was successful, and he left no loose ends behind him."

"I've thought at times, Janney, that you lack some interest in this fight."

"Why? Because I take the precaution to get all the information I can – and because my information turns out to be unfavorable to our plans? You want to crush Wray. Very well. I have no objections. Crush him if you can. But it would hardly do to let him crush us."

Bent turned and examined his host curiously. Then he laughed. It wasn't pretty laughter, and it cracked dryly, like the sound of a creaking door.

"Upon my word, Curtis, you amaze me," he said.

"Very well," put in Janney coolly. "But think it over. Don't be hasty. If he puts that road through and starts the game of underbidding on the raw product, we'll be in for a long fight – and an expensive one. I don't think the Company wants that now. McIntyre doesn't, I know. And Warrington, as usual, is for temporizing."

"Temporizing?" Cornelius Bent's jaws snapped viciously. "This is not a case where personal preferences can be considered. There's a great principle involved. Are we going to let an upstart like Jeff Wray – a petty real estate operator from an obscure Western town – come into our field with a few stolen millions and destroy the plans of an organized business which controls the output of practically all the great gold-producing states – a company whose sound methods have brought order out of chaos, have given employment to an army of people; whose patents have simplified processes, reduced the cost of production, and kept the price of the metal where it is satisfactory both to the mines and the market? Are we going to see all this jeopardized by a wild-catter, a tin-horn gambler, a fellow with neither decency nor moral principle? Temporize like Warrington if you like, but the Board of the Amalgamated must make a fight for the Wray smelter – or accept my resignation."

Bent stalked the floor swiftly, biting off the ends of his sentences as though they were parts of Wray's anatomy, clenching his fingers as he might have done had they encircled Wray's neck. Curtis Janney followed him with his gaze, his brows tangled and his lips compressed, aware of the seriousness of the situation. The resignation of Cornelius Bent from the Board of the Amalgamated was a contingency not for a moment to be considered.

"That, of course, is impossible," he said. "We're all behind you to a dollar if you take that stand. But couldn't it be wise to have Wray in and talk to him? We might learn something that's not on the cards."

"Oh, yes, if you like," growled the General, "but you're wasting time. I've got my idea of what that property is worth. I'll make him the offer. If he refuses" – and his lower jaw worked forward – "it will be war – to the last ditch."

Curtis Janney pressed a bell, and a servant appeared.

"Has Mr. Wray returned?"

"Yes, sir," said the man.

"Tell him General Bent would like to see him here."

The man departed, and General Bent with an effort relaxed the muscles of his face and sat. Both gentlemen looked up quickly when the servant returned a few moments later.

"I delivered your message, sir," he said. "Mr. Wray asked me to say that he is engaged at the present moment and will join you later."

General Bent's brows drew together angrily, but Janney inquired suavely, "Where did you find him, Carey?"

"In the conservatory, sir, with Mrs. Cheyne."

Janney smiled, but suppressed Bent's sudden exclamation with a wave of the hand.

"You may bring in the whisky, then tell him that General Bent and I will await his convenience."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Confound his impudence!" muttered the General, biting at his lip.

"All for effect, Cornelius," said Janney. "That fellow is an artist. He's saving his face for the ordeal."

"Let him save his neck," sneered Bent.

Janney stretched his legs forward and smoked comfortably. "Break it if you like, Cornelius," he said. "I can't, you know, so long as he's my guest."

Wray sauntered in some moments later, accompanied by Rita Cheyne. General Bent looked up with a scowl, which the lady's gay assurance failed to dismiss.

"May I come in, too?" she asked. "I'm wild to hear how big men talk business. Won't you let me, Cousin Cornelius? I'm positively thirsty for knowledge – business knowledge. You' don't mind, do you, Mr. Janney?"

"You can't be interested."

Wray laughed. "I'm the original woolly Western lamb being led to the shearing, Mrs. Cheyne – "

"The golden fleece!" she put in. "I know. But I'm not going to allow it. You're not going to let them – are you, Jeff Wray?"

"I never knew a lamb that had any opinions on the matter," he said easily.

The General got to his feet testily.

"Rita, this won't do at all. We wanted to speak to Wray privately – "

"Oh! You needn't mind me. I'm positively bursting with other people's confidences. But I'm really the soul of discretion. Please let me stay." She went over to Curtis Janney and laid her hands on his shoulders appealingly. "I'll sell you Jack-in-the-Box if you will, Mr. Janney," she said. "You know you've wanted that horse all season."

Janney laughed. "That's a great temptation – but this isn't my affair," and he glanced at General Bent, who stood frowning at them from the window.

"Leave the room at once, Rita!" said the General sternly. "You're interfering here. Can't you see – ?"

Mrs. Cheyne dropped her hands.

"Oh, if you take that tone, of course." She moved toward the door, turning with her hand on the knob – "I think you're horrid – both of you. I hope your lamb turns out to be a lion, and eats you up." And, with a laugh and a toss of her head, she went out, banging the door behind her.

Jeff Wray and Curtis Janney laughed, but the frown on General Bent's face had not relaxed for an instant. When the door had closed he sat down in his chair again, while Janney offered cigars. Jeff took one with a sudden serious air, meant perhaps as a tribute to the attitude and years of his fellow guest.

Curtis Janney, looking from one to the other, searched each face for signs of doubt or indetermination and found in each the same deeply set eyes, straight brow, firm, thin mouth, square jaw, and heavy chin which he recognized as belonging to those of this world who know how to fight and who do not know when they are beaten. Wray's features were heavier, the lines in the General's face more deeply bitten by the acid of Time, but their features were so much alike that, had Janney not known the thing was impossible, it might have been easy to imagine some kind of collateral or even more intimate family relationship.

"You asked me to come here," said Wray, easily apologetic. "What can I do for you, General Bent?"

Bent's deeply set eyes were hidden under his bushy eyebrows, but the lips which held his cigar were flickering in a smile.

"Yes," he began with a slow, distinct enunciation, which Wray recognized at once as belonging to his office downtown, "I thought we might talk a little business, if Mr. Janney doesn't object."

"Not in the least," said Janney, "but there's no reason why we shouldn't mix in a little of the Old Thorne," and he handed the decanter to Wray. Cornelius Bent refused.