Part 8

"Well, what did you hear?" asked General Bent. Janney took a puff or two at his cigar, then frowned at the papers on the table.

"A great deal," he muttered, "both bad and good. I have here reports for the whole week from our men in Denver, Pueblo, Kinney, and Saguache. The pressure from Abington and the Chicago and Utah has finally brought Noakes into line. It was something of a job, for he's tied up in one of Wray's development companies, and it has cost some money. Abington had to give him a big bonus for the stock in the Denver and Western. Collins and Hardy came around all right, and it only remains to put the screws on to make Wray show his hand."

"Have you decided on that?" asked the General.

"No, I haven't."

Curtis Janney took up a letter which he had separated from the others.

"You remember we thought his planning this new line to Pueblo was financial suicide and that, if we gave Wray enough rope, he'd hang himself. We didn't even see the use of throwing the usual impediments in the way."

Bent nodded.

"Well, they're building it."

"It's only a bluff."

"I'm not so sure. My last reports show that the money is in the treasury--some of it is Wray's, but most of it has come from Utah, California, and Washington even. The Denver and California is backing the whole project, and tent towns are springing up along the line of the survey. Those people out there believe in Wray and are following him like sheep."

"They wouldn't follow him long if we found a way to stop him," said the General grimly. "I've seen those stampedes before, but they always come to an end. What does Lamson report?"

"The Denver and California seems set on this thing--the more so as it promises to be a success without much help from them."

General Bent got up and paced the floor with quick, nervous strides.

"Why, Curtis," he said, "you seem to see unusual trouble in the way. The case presents no greater difficulties than the Seemuller plant did, or the Myers and Ott, but we got them both in the end."

"There is a difference."

"Where?"

"The man himself. He'll fight to the last ditch. That jaw wasn't given him altogether as an ornament. I'm sorry we can't find his weak point. A man who looks as far ahead as he does is a good one to tie to."

"But he may not want any strings on him. The other night at dinner at my house he was boasting of his independence. He didn't know how hot it made me."

"Yes, he did. That's why he did it. He said the same thing here yesterday. But I wasn't deceived. It was all a part of his game. I think in a game of bluff he can make old gamesters like you and me sit up and do some guessing." Janney knocked the ash from his cigar and laughed.

"Cornelius, our fine scheme hasn't worked out--not so far. When Wray first came in the office, you sized him up as a social climber. But, if you think we are going to bewilder him by our clubs, the opera, and social connections, you're reckoning without your host."

General Bent smiled tolerantly.

"He assimilates surprisingly well," he said with a reflective nod. "For all his Western manner, he never gives the impression of being ill-at-ease. I'll say that for him. Why, do you know, I strolled in on Caroline the other afternoon on my way uptown and found him teaching her how to play pinochle."

"Mrs. Rumsen?"

"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 Canon 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.

"Wray," he went on, "we've been talking about your plant down in the Valley. From all we've been able to find out, it's a pretty good proposition in a small way. But the Amalgamated Reduction Company has no special interest in acquiring it. That mountain range, in our judgment, will never be a big producer. The 'Lone Tree' is the kind of an exception that one finds only once in a lifetime."

"And yet we're running on full time," said Wray, with an odd smile. "If the other mines keep up their promise we won't need to buy any more ore, General."

"The mountains of the West are full of holes that once were promising, Wray--like notes of hand--but they've long since gone to protest."

Jeff's chin tipped upward the fraction of an inch. "I'm endorsing these notes, General. Besides," he added suavely, "you know I'm not overanxious to sell. When I came into your office it was only with the hope that I might establish friendly relations. That, I'm glad to say, I succeeded in doing. Your health, Mr. Janney."

General Bent refused to be disarmed. "Yes, I know. But friendship and business are two things. Commercially you are in the attitude of a rival of the company I represent. Of course"--opulently--"not a serious rival, but one who must logically be considered in our plans. We didn't like your building that smelter, and you could have brought your ore at a fair price to one of our plants in Pueblo or Colorado Springs."

"Yes--but that interfered with my own plans," said Jeff. "And I have had them a long time."

"It's a little late to talk about that," assented Bent. "The plant is there, the mines are there, and----"

"Yes. But I don't see how they need bother you. Most of the gold we send to market comes from the 'Lone Tree.' I haven't handled any ore below your prices--not yet."

There was, if possible, the slightest accent on the last words, but Wray uttered them with a sweet complacency which failed to deceive. This young fool was threatening--actually threatening the mighty Smelting Trust. It was so preposterous that General Bent actually laughed--a thing he seldom did below Twenty-third Street or when he talked business elsewhere.

"No," he said grimly. "I'm glad that didn't seem necessary. It would have been a pity. See here, Wray"--he leaned forward, his face drawn in decisive lines--"let's get to the point. We've both been dodging it very consistently for a month. You've got some property that may be useful to us. We've thought enough about it at least to make a few inquiries about the whole situation--and about you. We could take that plant under our own management and do a little better than you could. I don't think the location really warrants it--for the big mine may stop paying any day and the railroad facilities, you'll admit, are not of the best. But, if you're willing to sell out at a moderate figure, we might buy it. Or, perhaps, you'd like to come in with us and take stock in the Company. We think a good deal of your ability. There isn't any doubt that you could make yourself useful to us if you chose."

"Thanks," said Jeff, with a sip at his Scotch, and then looked out of the window. He had caught the meaning of General Bent's casual remark about the railroad facilities.

"Of course," Bent went on, "I don't care to show improper curiosity about your plans, but if you are willing to meet me in a friendly spirit we might reach an agreement that would be profitable both to your companies and mine."

"I'd rather think it was interest than curiosity," said Wray with a smile. "But, unfortunately, I haven't got any plans--further than to get all the ore I can out of 'Lone Tree' and to keep my works busy. Just now I'm pretty happy the way things are going. I've screwed the lid down, and I'm sitting on it, besides--with one eye peeled for the fellow with the screw driver."

Cornelius Bent controlled his anger with difficulty. His equality with Jeff, as a guest of Curtis Janney, gave Wray some advantages. The easy good nature with which he faced the situation and his amused indifference to the danger which threatened him put the burden of proof on the General, who experienced the feelings of an emperor who has been jovially poked in the ribs by the least of his subjects. This was _lese majeste_. Wray was either a fool or a madman.

"Has it never occurred to you, Wray," snapped Bent, "that somebody might come along with an axe?"

"Er--no. I hadn't thought of that," he replied quietly.

"Well, think it over. It's worth your while."

"Is this a declaration of war?"

"Oh, no," hastily, "merely a movement for peace."

Wray took a few puffs at his cigar and looked from Janney to the General, like a man on whom some great truth had suddenly dawned.

"I had no idea," he said, with a skillfully assumed expression of wonder, "that the Amalgamated was so desperately anxious as this."

In drawing aside the curtain, he had still managed to retain his tactical advantage. Both older men felt it--Bent more than Janney, because it was he who had shown their hand, while Wray's cards were still unread.

The natural response was tolerant amusement, and both of them made it.

"Anxious?" laughed Bent. "Is the lion anxious when the wolf comes prowling in his jungle? Success has twisted your perspective, my dear Wray. The Amalgamated is not anxious--it has, however, a natural interest in the financial health of its competitors."

"But I'm _not_ a competitor. That's just the point. I'm governed by _your_ methods, _your_ plans, _your_ prices. I've been pretty careful about that. No, _sir_, I know better than to look for trouble with the Amalgamated."

"One moment, Wray," put in Janney; "we don't seem to be getting anywhere. Let's simplify matters. We can get along without your plant, but if we wanted to buy, what would you want for it?"

"Do you mean the smelter--or all my interests in the Valley?" asked Wray quickly.

"The smelter, of course--and the Denver and Saguache Railroad."

"I don't care to sell--I've got other interests--my Development Company, the coal mines and lumber--they're all a part of the same thing, Mr. Janney, like the limbs of my body--cut one off, and I might bleed to death."

"We could give you traffic agreements."

"I'd rather not. I'll sell--but only as a whole--gold mines, coal, lumber, and all."

Wray caught General Bent's significant nod.

"That is my last word, gentlemen," he concluded firmly.

There was a silence, which Cornelius Bent broke at last.

"And what is your figure, Mr. Wray?" he asked.

Jeff Wray reached for the match box, slowly re-lit his cigar, which emitted clouds of smoke, through which presently came his reply. "You gentlemen have been kind to me here in New York. I want you to know that I appreciate it. You've shown me a side of life I never knew existed. I like the West, but I like New York, too. I want to build a house and spend my winters here--I wasn't figuring on doing that just yet--but if you really want my interests I'll sell them to you--without reservation--every stick and stone of them for thirty millions."

"Thirty millions?"

The voices of both men sounded as one, Janney's frankly incredulous--Bent's satirical and vastly unpleasant.

"Thirty millions!" Bent repeated with a sneer. "Dollars or cents, Mr. Wray?"

Jeff turned and looked at him with the innocent and somewhat vacuous stare which had learned its utility in a great variety of services. Jeff only meant it as a disguise, but the General thought it impudent.

"Dollars, sir," said Jeff coolly. "It will pay me that--in time."

"In a thousand years," roared the General. "The Amalgamated doesn't figure on millenniums, Mr. Wray. We don't want your other interests, but we'll buy them--for five million dollars--in cash--and not a cent more. You can sell at that price or--" the General did not see, or refused to see, the warning glance from Janney--"or be wiped off the map. Is that clear?"

"I think so, sir," said Wray politely. "Will you excuse me, Mr. Janney?" and bowed himself out of the room.

*CHAPTER XI*

*DISCORD*

That afternoon late, Berkely and the Wrays returned to town, and the Western wires tingled with Jeff's telegrams to Pueblo, Kinney, and Mesa City. He had burnt his bridges behind him, and, like a skillful cavalry leader, was picking out the vantage points in the enemy's country. The answers came slowly, but Wray had planned his campaign before he left the West, and the messages were satisfactory. He realized that his utility in New York, for the present at least, was at an end, and he saw that he must soon leave for the West to repair any possible break in his line of communications.

Camilla learned of his intended departure with mingled feelings. Her husband's rather ostentatious deference to Mrs. Cheyne had annoyed her. She knew in her heart that she had no right to cavil or to criticise, and pride forbade that she should question him. Larry's presence at dinner precluded personal discussions, and Camilla sat silent while the men talked seriously of Jeff's business plans. It had not been her husband's habit to discuss his affairs with her, and, when the coffee was served, he asked her coolly if she wouldn't rather be alone.

"Do you mind if I stay, Jeff?" she asked. "I'd like to hear, if you don't mind."

"I'd rather you wouldn't. You can't be interested in this--besides, the matter is rather important and confidential."

She got up quickly. Larry Berkely, who had caught the expression in her eyes, opened the door for her and followed her into the drawing room.

"Don't be annoyed, Camilla," he whispered. "Jeff is worried. You understand, don't you?"

"Oh, yes, I understand," she replied wearily. "Don't mind me."

As the door closed behind him she stood irresolute for a moment, then suddenly realized she had been up since dawn and was very tired. Her body ached, and her muscles were sore, but the weariness in her mind was greater than these. The closing of the dining-room door had robbed her of the refuge she most needed. She wanted to talk--to hear them talk--anything that would banish her own thoughts--anything that would straighten out the disorderly tangle of her late impressions of the new life and the people she had met in it. She had never thought of Jeff as sanctuary before, and yet she now realized, when the support of his strength was denied her, that in her heart she had always more or less depended upon him for guidance.