The Law of Hemlock Mountain

by Hugh Lundsford

  CHAPTER XVII

  One afternoon Trabue, the unadvertised dictator of American Oil andGas, sat with several of his close subordinates in a conference thathad to do with Martin Harrison, the man he assumed to ignore.

  "Unless some unforeseen thing sends oil soaring," ventured OliverMorris, "this fellow Spurrier is having his trouble for his pains. Myidea is that he's seeking to tease us into counter activity--and trailafter us in the profits."

  "And if something _should_ send oil soaring," crisply counteredCosgrove, "he'd have us distanced with a runaway start."

  "Who is this man Spurrier?" demanded Trabue himself. "What does ourresearch department report?"

  "He's a protege of Martin Harrison's."

  Trabue appeared to find the words illuminating, and a shrewd ironyglinted in his brief smile.

  "If he's Harrison's man, he's out to knife me--and he has resources athis back. Tell me more about him."

  Cosgrove took from his portfolio a neatly typed memorandum, and readfrom it aloud:

  Former army officer who gained the sobriquet of "Plunger" Spurrier: Court-martialed and convicted upon charge of murder, and pardoned through efforts of Senator Beverly. Associated with various enterprises as a general investigator and initiative expert. Rumor has it that Harrison is grooming him as his own successor.

  "If his reputation is that of a plunger," argued Morris, "my guess isthat he's playing a long-shot bet for a killing."

  "And you guess wrong. If Harrison has picked this fellow to wear hisown mantle, the man is more than a gambling tout. It is only lunacy tounderestimate him or dismiss him with contempt."

  Cosgrove nodded his concurrence and amplified it. "In my judgment he'ssomething of a genius with a chrome-nickeled nerve, but he's adroit aswell as bold. He has operated only through others and has kept himselfinconspicuous. Except for an accident, we should have had no warningof his activities."

  "If he were to get bitten by a rattlesnake," growled Morris savagely,"it would be a lucky thing for us. Of course, we might beguile himinto our own camp."

  Trabue shook his head in a decisive negation.

  "That would only notify him that we recognize his effort and fear it.If the game's big enough, we don't want him." He paused, then addedwith a grim facetiousness: "As for your other suggestion, we have norattlesnakes in our equipment."

  The dynamic-minded master of strategy sat balancing a pen-holder onhis extended forefinger for a few moments, then he inquired as if inafterthought: "By the way, I feel curious as to how the tip came to usthat this conspiracy was on foot. You say that except for an accidentwe should not have known it."

  Cosgrove smiled. "It came to this office through the regular channelsof our local agencies--and I didn't inquire searchingly into thedetails. I gathered, though, that the trail was picked up by a sort ofinformation tout--a fellow who was hurt and compromised a damage suitagainst us. It seems that he is supposed to be blind--but he couldnonetheless see well enough to read some memoranda that chanced tocome his way." The gentleman cleared his throat almost apologeticallyas he added: "As I remarked I didn't learn the particulars. I merelytook the information for what it might be worth, and set our men towatching."

  "I see," Trabue made dry acknowledgment. "And what is being donetoward watching him?"

  "I understand we have a man there who is assuming an enmity toward usand who is ostensibly helping Spurrier to build up politicalinfluence."

  "I see," said Trabue once more, with even a shade more dryness in hisvoice.

  That conversation had taken place quite a long while before thepresent, but it set into quiet motion the wheels of a large andpowerful organization.

  The knowledge that John Spurrier was objectionable to A. O. and G. hadfiltered through to more local, yet confidential, officials, andthrough them to "men in the field," and it is characteristic of suchdelegations of authority, that each department suits the case referredto it to the practical workings of its own environment.

  Gentlemen of high business standing in lower Broadway could permitthemselves no violence of language, beyond the intimation that thisupstart was a nuisance. Translated into the more candid brutality ofcamp-following parasites in the wildness of the hills, that milddeclaration became: "The man needs killin'. Let's git him!"

  Now, Spurrier found that the visit to Louisville and Lexington, whichhad promised to be the matter of weeks, must stretch itself intomonths, and that until the convening and adjournment of the assemblyitself, his presence would be as requisite as that of a ship's officeron the bridge. In one respect he was gratified. American Oil and Gasseemed serenely unsuspicious of any danger. Vigilance seemed lapsed.Those men whose duty it was to watch the corporation's interest and tohold in line the needed lawmakers, appeared to regard legislativeprotection as a thing bought and paid for and safe from trespass.

  And Spurrier, knowing better, was secretly triumphant, but withoutGlory he was far from happy.

  Had he known what influences were at work with cancerlike corrosionsupon her loyalty, what food was nourishing her anxiety, he would havestolen the time to go to her. Hers was an anxiety which she did notacknowledge. Even to herself she denied its existence and against anyoutside suggestion of inner hurt pride would have risen in valiantresentment.

  But in her heart it talked on in whispers that she could not hush. Atnight she would waken suddenly, wide-eyed with apprehension and seekto reassure herself by the emphasis of her avowals: "He's _not_ashamed of me. He's not leaving me because of that! He's a big manwith big business, and some day he'll take me with him, everywhere!"

  When old Cappeze, a man not given to unreflecting or careless speech,flatly questioned: "Glory--why doesn't John ever take you with him?"she flinched and fell into exculpations that limped.

  The old man was quick to note the pained rawness of the nerve he hadtouched, and he began talking of something else, but when he was aloneonce more his old eyes took on that fanatic absorption that came ofhis deep love for his daughter, and he shook his head dubiously overher future.

  One day a neighborhood woman came by Glory's house and found herstanding at the door. Tassie Plumford neither claimed nor was creditedwith powers of magic, but she, too, might have been called a "witchwoman." In curdled disposition and shrewishness of tongue, she meritedthe title.

  "Waal, waal, Glory Cappeze," she drawled in her rasping, nasal voice."Yore man hes done built ye a right monstrous fine house, hyar, ain'the?"

  "Come in and see it, Mrs. Plumford," invited the young wife. "But myname's Glory Spurrier now--not Cappeze."

  In the gesture with which the woman drew her shawl tighter about herlean shoulders, she contrived to convey the affront of suspicion anddisbelief.

  "No, I reckon I ain't got ther power ter tarry now," she declined. "Idon't git much time fer gaddin', an' be yore name whatsoever hit may,there's them hyar-abouts es 'lows yore man lavishes everything on yebut his own self. He's away from ye most of his time, albeit I reckonhe's got car fare aplenty fer two."

  Glory stiffened, and without a word turned her back on her ungraciousvisitor. She went into the house with the tilted chin of one whodisdains to answer insolent slanders, but in the tenderness of herheart the barb had nonetheless sunk deep. So people were saying that!

  Over at Aunt Erie Toppitt's the shrew again halted--and there itseemed that she did have time to "tarry," and roll the morsel ofgossip under tongue.

  "Mebby she's ther furriner's lawful wife an' then ergin mebby sheain't nuthin' but his woman," opined Tassie Plumford. "Hit ain't noneof my business nohow, but a godly woman hes call ter be heedful wharshe visits at."

  "A godly woman!" Aunt Erie's tone stung like a hornet attack. "Whathas godliness got ter do with _you_, anyhow, Tassie Plumford? Therecords of ther high cote over at Carnettsville hes got _yore_ recordfer a witness thet swears ter perjury."

  Mrs. Plumford trembled with rage but, prudently, she elected to ignorethe reference to her legal status.

  "Ef they
was rightfully married," she retorted, "hit didn't come terpass twell old man Cappeze diskivered her alone with him--in hishouse--jest ther two of 'em--an' they wouldn't nuver hev _been_diskivered savin' an' exceptin' fer ther attack on ther furriner." Inthe self-satisfaction of one who has scored, she added: "I'll befarin' on now, I reckon."

  "An' don't nuver come back," stormed Aunt Erie, whose occasionaltantrums were as famous as her usual good humor. "Unless ye seeks terhev ther dawgs sot on ye."

  While the spiteful and forked little tongues of gossip were doingtheir serpent best to poison what had promised to be an Eden for Gloryat home in the hills, the husband who was charged with neglecting herwas miserable in town.

  His work had been the breath of life to him until now, bringing thezestful delight of prevailing over stubborn difficulties, and buildingbridges that should carry him across to his goal of financial power.Now he found it a necessity that exiled him from a place to which hehad come half-contemptuously and to which his converted thoughtsturned as the prayers of the true believer turn toward Mecca.

  He who had been urban in habit and taste found nothing in the city tosatisfy him. The smoke-filled air seemed to stifle him and fill himwith a yearning for the clean, spirited sweep of the winds across theslopes. He knew that these physical aspects were trivial things hewould have swept aside had they not stood as emblems for a longing ofthe heart itself--a nostalgia born of his new life and love.

  But all the plans that had built one on the other toward a definiteend of making an oil field of the barren hills were drawing to a focusthat could not be neglected. He could no more leave these thingsundone than could his idol Napoleon have abandoned his headquartersbefore Austerlitz, and the sitting of the legislature could not bechanged to suit his wishes. Neither could the lining up of forces thatwere to guide his legislation to its passage be left unwatched.

  So the absence that he had thought would be brief, or at worst aseries of short trips away from home, was prolonging itself into awinter in Louisville and Frankfort. He found himself as warily busy asa collie herding a panicky flock, and as soon as one danger was metand averted, a new one called upon him from a new and unsuspectedquarter.

  Much of the deviousness of playing underground politics disgusted him,and yet he knew he would have regarded it only as an amusing game forhigh stakes before his change of heart. But now that it was to be abattle for the mountain men as well as for Martin Harrison and forhimself, it could be better stomached.

  The effort to pick out men who could be trusted in an enterprise wherethey had to be bought, was one which taxed both his insight into humannature and his self-esteem.

  Senator Chew, himself a mountaineer, who had come from a raggeddistrict to the state assembly and who seemed to harbor a hatredagainst A. O. and G. of utter malevolence, was almost as his otherself, furnishing him with eyes with which to see and ears with whichto hear, and familiarity with all the devious, unlovely tricks oflobby processes.

  But Senator Chew, a countryman, who had capitalized his shifty witsand hard-won education, bent his knee to the brazen gods of cupidityand ambition.

  "I don't just see," he demurred petulantly to Spurrier, "why you goabout this thing the way you do. You've got unlimited capital behindyou and yet in going after these options you ain't hardly got hold ofany more land than just enough to let your pipe line through. Youcould get all a man's property just as cheap per acre as part ofit--and when I've sweated blood to give you your charter and you'vesweated blood to grab your right-of-way, that God-forsaken land willbe a Klondike."

  "I hope so," smiled Spurrier, and his ally went on.

  "All right, but why have nothing out of it except a pipe-line? Why nothave the whole damn business to split three ways, among Harrison'scrowd, yourself--and the crowd I've got to handle?"

  "You're a mountain man, Senator," the opportunity hound reminded him."You know that in every other section of the hills to whichdevelopment has come, the native has reaped only a heart-ache and anempty belly. I am purposely taking only a part of each man's holding,so that when the oil flows there what he has left will be worth moreto him than all of it was before."

  "Hell," growled the politician. "The men you ought to think aboutmaking money for, are the men you need--like me, and the men who backyou, like Harrison. These local fellows won't thank you, and in myopinion you're a fool, if you'll permit me to talk plain."

  "Talk as plain as you like, Senator," smiled the other. "But I thinkI'm acting with right sound sense. Our field can be more profitablydeveloped among friends than among enemies--even if no considerationother than the practical enters into the problem."

  It was not until Christmas time that Spurrier broke away from hisactivities in Louisville, and then he came bearing gifts and with aheart full of eagerness. He came elated, too, at the fair promise ofhis prospects, and confident of victory.

  So Glory hid the fears that had been growing in her heart and, becauseof the tidal power of personal fascination and contact, she found itan easy task. While Spurrier was with her, those fears seemed to losetheir substance and to stand out as absurdities. They were deliriousmiasmas dissipated by the sun and daylight of companionship.

  Spurrier kept most of his valuable papers in a safety vault inLouisville, but for purposes of reference here, he maintained acomplete system of carbon copies, and these must be stored in someplace where he could feel sure they were immune from any prying eye.The entire record of his proceedings would be clear to any reader ofthose memoranda.

  While Glory was away one day, he removed a section of the living-roomwall and fashioned something in the nature of a secret cabinet, uponwhich he could rely for these purposes. Before he went away again heshared that secret with her, since in certain exigencies it might beneedful that some one should be able to act on wired instructions. Heshowed her the bit of molding that was removable and which gaveentrance to the hidden recess.

  "In that strong box," he told her, "are papers of vital importance. IfI haven't taken you entirely into my confidence about them all, dear,it's because they concern other people more closely than myself. Allmy own affairs are yours--but in the service of others, I must obeyinstructions and those instructions are rigid."

  He took out one envelope, though, plainly marked.

  "This," he said, "is a paper to be used only in case of extremeemergency. It is an order on the safety-deposit people in Louisvilleto open my vault to the bearer. In the event of my death, or if Ishould wire you from a distance, I would want you to use it."

  Even that admittance into the veiled sanctum of his business lifepleased Glory, and she nodded her head gravely.

  She did not tell him, and he did not guess, that tongues were waggingin his absence, and that people said she was good enough only for thatpart of his life in which he shed his white collar and his "finemanners" and donned the rougher habiliments of the backwoods.

  Even when she learned that his coming back had been only to spend theholidays with her and that he must leave again to be gone for weeks,at least, she let none of the disquiet that smouldered in her find anutterance in words.

  * * * * *

  On a fine old Blue Grass estate, which exhaled the elegance and easeof the Old South, lived Colonel Merriwell, a life-long friend of DykeCappeze. In years long gone he had more than once sought to haveCappeze transfer his activities to a wider field. Now, timberinterests called him to the mountains, and though the cold weather hadset in, his daughter chose to come with him. She had heard much of thestrange and retarded life of the mountains, and because it was sodifferent from the refinements with which she had always beensurrounded, she wanted to see it.

  When they arrived after traveling conditions that warranted everyconception of quaintness, but violated every demand of comfort, thegirl from the Bluegrass found Glory a discovery.

  At once she recognized that into any drawing-room this wilderness-bredgirl could be safely dropped, and that even though she stood in acor
ner, she would soon become its center.

  Helen Merriwell was fascinated by the anomaly of an inherentaristocracy in an encompassing life which was almost squalid, and abond of sympathy sprang into instant being. The Bluegrass woman knewby instinct, though through no utterance from the loyal lips, that theother was lonely, and when Colonel Merriwell announced his intentionof returning home, the daughter decided to continue her visit and itscompanionship.

  To Spurrier's house, too, during the crisp, clear weather of latewinter came, without announcement or expectation another visitor. Theywere two other visitors to be exact, but one so overshadowed hiscompanion in importance that the second became negligible.

  At the Carnettsville station the daily train drew up one morning anduncoupled, on a siding, the first private car that had ever run overthat piece of roadbed. Its chef and valet gazed superciliously downupon the assembled loungers, but the two gentlemen who alighted andgave their names as Martin Harrison and his secretary, Mr. Spooner,were to all appearances "jest ordinary folks."

  Glory was housecleaning on the day of Harrison's coming, and, inneatly patched gingham and dust-protected crown, she came nearerseeming the typical mountain woman than she had for many days before.Her fresh beauty was hard to eclipse, but she was less presentablethan she wished to be when her husband's great patron saw her for thefirst time and contrasted her with such women as his own daughter.

  When she heard the name, without previous warning, a sort of panicpossessed her and for once she became tongue-tied and awkward, so thatafter the first, Helen Merriwell stepped into the breach and did thetalking.

  "My name is Martin Harrison," said the great man with simplecordiality. "I thought John Spurrier lived here--but I seem to bemistaken."

  "He--he does live here," stammered Glory, catching the swiftly stifledamazement of the magnate's disapproving eyes.

  "Here?" He put the question blankly as if only politeness prevented agreater vehemence of surprise. "But I expected to find a bachelorestablishment. There are ladies here."

  Glory fell back a step as if in retreat under attack. If thisstatement were true, Spurrier had never acknowledged her to theemployer with whom his relations were intimately close. In her owneyes, she stood as one who had lost caste and been repudiated--and allself-confidence abandoned her, giving way to trepidation.

  Harrison stood bewilderedly looking at this country girl who hadturned tremulous and pale, and Helen Merriwell stepped forward.

  "Then you didn't know that Mr. Spurrier was married?" she smilinglyinquired.

  The money baron transferred his glance to her as his shadowed facelightened into relief. This young woman had the poise and ease of hisown world, which made communication facile. If Spurrier had not beencandid with him, at all events he had, perhaps, not unclassed himself.The other was presumably a local servant of whom he need think nomore.

  "Mr. Spurrier," he answered easily, "had not mentioned his marriage,probably because our recent correspondence has all related tobusiness. However, I hold it unhandsome of him not to have done so."He paused, then added deferentially: "Of course, I am better preparednow to felicitate him--since I have seen you."

  But Helen Merriwell laughed and laid a hand on Glory's shoulder.

  "You do me too much honor, Mr. Harrison," she assured him. "_This_ isMrs. Spurrier."

  The financier's ingrained politeness for once failed him. It was notfor long, but in the breached instant he stiffened arrogantly as hiseyes went back to Glory, and betrayed themselves in half-contemptuoushostility. The lieutenant whom he had chosen as his own successor inthe world of lofty affairs had not only deceived him but had thrownhimself wantonly away upon a stammering daughter of illiterates!

  Martin Harrison bowed again, but this time with a precise formality.

  "I didn't notify Mr. Spurrier of my coming, since I felt sure I wouldfind him here," he explained briefly, directing himself pointedly toHelen Merriwell. "I am on my way south, so now I'll defer seeing himuntil another time--unless you expect him back shortly?"

  Helen turned inquiringly to Glory and Glory shook her head. Theepisode, confirming her own anxieties, had unnerved her steadfastcourage into collapse.

  Had any warning come to her in advance of the event her bearing towardthis stranger would have been a different one. The pride that bowedsubmissively to no one except in love, would have sustained her. Thenatural dignity which was the gift of her blood would have been thething that any observer must have first and last recognized. With achance to have shaped her attitude, Glory would have received Harrisonas a Barbarian princess might have met an ambassador from Rome, but nosuch chance had been afforded her and she stood as distraught and aspanicky as a stage-struck child whose speech fails.

  She even slid back into the rough-hewn vernacular that had been socompletely banished from her lips and custom.

  "I ain't got ther power ter say," she faltered, "when he'll git back.He's goin' ter Frankfort first."

  "I'll write to him there," said the capitalist.

  Harrison departed with the stiff dignity of an affronted sachem, andHelen Merriwell, looking after him, smiled with amusement for theincident which she so well understood, until she turned and sawGlory.

  The girl had wilted back against the wall and stood there as if shehad been stricken. Her great, violet eyes were brimming with thespirit of tragedy and held the despair of one who has blithelyreturned home--to find his house in ruin and ashes.

  Glory stole away to her own room, escaping the embrace of sympatheticarms, as soon as she could. "He's done denied me ter his friends," shetold herself wildly. "He dast'n't acknowledge me ter fine folks!"

  Then through the first, torpid misery of hurt pride, crept a moreterrifying thought. Spurrier had been practically engaged to thisman's daughter. He had been diverted from his purpose by motives ofpity, and now that Harrison knew, he might be ruined--probably wouldbe ruined. If so disaster would come to him because of her--and atlast she rose from the chair where she had dropped down, collapsed,with a light of new resolution in her eyes.

  "If that's all I'm good for," she declared tempestuously, "he's got tobe rid of me."