by Unknown
"What can I do for you?" asked that gentleman. He was quite willing to exert himself moderately as a favor to Emerson Crawford, vice-president of the American Live Stock Association.
"I want to meet Horace Graham."
"I can give you a note of introduction to him. You'll probably have to get an appointment with him through his secretary. He's a tremendously busy man."
Dave's talk with the great man's secretary over the telephone was not satisfactory. Mr. Graham, he learned, had every moment full for the next two days, after which he would leave for a business trip to the East.
There were other wealthy men in Denver who might be induced to finance the Jackpot, but Dave intended to see Graham first. The big railroad builder was a fighter. He was hammering through, in spite of heavy opposition from trans-continental lines, a short cut across the Rocky Mountains from Denver. He was a pioneer, one who would take a chance on a good thing in the plunging, Western way. In his rugged, clean-cut character was much that appealed to the managers of the Jackpot.
Sanders called at the financier's office and sent in his card by the youthful Cerberus who kept watch at the gate. The card got no farther than the great man's private secretary.
After a wait of more than an hour Dave made overtures to the boy. A dollar passed from him to the youth and established a friendly relation.
"What's the best way to reach Mr. Graham, son? I've got important business that won't wait."
"Dunno. He's awful busy. You ain't got no appointment."
"Can you get a note to him? I've got a five-dollar bill for you if you can."
"I'll take a whirl at it. Jus' 'fore he goes to lunch."
Dave penciled a line on a card.
If you are not too busy to make $100,000 to-day you had better see me.
He signed his name.
Ten minutes later the office boy caught Graham as he rose to leave for lunch. The big man read the note.
"What kind of looking fellow is he?" he asked the boy.
"Kinda solemn-lookin' guy, sir." The boy remembered the dollar received on account and the five dollars on the horizon. "Big, straight-standin', honest fellow. From Arizona or Texas, mebbe. Looked good to me."
The financier frowned down at the note in doubt, twisting it in his fingers. A dozen times a week his privacy was assailed by some crazy inventor or crook promoter. He remembered that he had had a letter from some one about this man. Something of strength in the chirography of the note in his hand and something of simple directness in the wording decided him to give an interview.
"Show him in," he said abruptly, and while he waited in the office rated himself for his folly in wasting time.
Underneath bushy brows steel-gray eyes took Dave in shrewdly.
"Well, what is it?" snapped the millionaire.
"The new gusher in the Malapi pool," answered Sanders at once, and his gaze was as steady as that of the big state-builder.
"You represent the parties that own it?"
"Yes."
"And you want?"
"Financial backing to put it on its feet until we can market the product."
"Why don't you work through your local bank?"
"Another oil man, an enemy of our company, controls the Malapi bank."
Graham fired question after question at him, crisply, abruptly, and Sanders gave him back straight, short answers.
"Sit down," ordered the railroad builder, resuming his own seat. "Tell me the whole story of the company."
Dave told it, and in the telling he found it necessary to sketch the Crawford-Steelman feud. He brought himself into the narrative as little as possible, but the grizzled millionaire drew enough from him to set Graham's eye to sparkling.
"Come back to-morrow at noon," decided the great man. "I'll let you know my decision then."
The young man knew he was dismissed, but he left the office elated. Graham had been favorably impressed. He liked the proposition, believed in its legitimacy and its possibilities. Dave felt sure he would send an expert to Malapi with him to report on it as an investment. If so, he would almost certainly agree to put money in it.
A man with prominent white front teeth had followed Dave to the office of Horace Graham, had seen him enter, and later had seen him come out with a look on his face that told of victory. The man tried to get admittance to the financier and failed. He went back to his hotel and wrote a short letter which he signed with a fictitious name. This he sent by special delivery to Graham. The letter was brief and to the point. It said:
Don't do business with David Sanders without investigating his record. He is a horsethief and a convicted murderer. Some months ago he was paroled from the penitentiary at Cañon City and since then has been in several shooting scrapes. He was accused of robbing a stage and murdering the driver less than a week ago.
Graham read the letter and called in his private secretary. "McMurray, get Cañon City on the 'phone and find out if a man called David Sanders was released from the penitentiary there lately. If so, what was he in for? Describe the man to the warden: under twenty-five, tall, straight as an Indian, strongly built, looks at you level and steady, brown hair, steel-blue eyes. Do it now."
Before he left the office that afternoon Graham had before him a typewritten memorandum from his secretary covering the case of David Sanders.
CHAPTER XXIX
THREE IN CONSULTATION
The grizzled railroad builder fixed Sanders with an eye that had read into the soul of many a shirker and many a dishonest schemer.
"How long have you been with the Jackpot Company?"
"Not long. Only a few days."
"How much stock do you own?"
"Ten thousand shares."
"How did you get it?"
"It was voted me by the directors for saving Jackpot Number Three from an attack of Steelman's men."
Graham's gaze bored into the eyes of his caller. He waited just a moment to give his question full emphasis. "Mr. Sanders, what were you doing six months ago?"
"I was serving time in the penitentiary," came the immediate quiet retort.
"What for?"
"For manslaughter."
"You didn't tell me this yesterday."
"No. It has no bearing on the value of the proposition I submitted to you, and I thought it might prejudice you against it."
"Have you been in any trouble since you left prison?"
Dave hesitated. The blazer of railroad trails rapped out a sharp, explanatory question. "Any shooting scrapes?"
"A man shot at me in Malapi. I was unarmed."
"That all?"
"Another man fired at me out at the Jackpot. I was unarmed then."
"Were you accused of holding up a stage, robbing it, and killing the driver?"
"No. I was twenty miles away at the time of the hold-up and had evidence to prove it."
"Then you were mentioned in connection with the robbery?"
"If so, only by my enemies. One of the robbers was captured and made a full confession. He showed where the stolen gold was cached and it was recovered."
The great man looked with chilly eyes at the young fellow standing in front of him. He had a sense of having been tricked and imposed upon.
"I have decided not to accept your proposition to cooperate with you in financing the Jackpot Company, Mr. Sanders." Horace Graham pressed an electric button and a clerk appeared. "Show this gentleman out, Hervey."
But Sanders stood his ground. Nobody could have guessed from his stolid imperturbability how much he was depressed at this unexpected failure.
"Do I understand that you are declining this loan because I am connected with it, Mr. Graham?"
"I do not give a reason, sir. The loan does not appeal to me," the railroad builder said with chill finality.
"It appealed to you yesterday," persisted Dave.
"But not to-day. Hervey, I will see Mr. Gates at once. Tell McMurray so."
Reluctantly Dave followed the clerk out of
the room. He had been checkmated, but he did not know how. In some way Steelman had got to the financier with this story that had damned the project. The new treasurer of the Jackpot Company was much distressed. If his connection with the company was going to have this effect, he must resign at once.
He walked back to the hotel, and in the corridor of the Albany met a big bluff cattleman the memory of whose kindness leaped across the years to warm his heart.
"You don't remember me, Mr. West?"
The owner of the Fifty-Four Quarter Circle looked at the young man and gave a little whoop. "Damn my skin, if it ain't the boy who bluffed a whole railroad system into lettin' him reload stock for me!" He hooked an arm under Dave's and led him straight to the bar. "Where you been? What you doin'? Why n't you come to me soon as you ... got out of a job? What'll you have, boy?"
Dave named ginger ale. They lifted glasses.
"How?"
"How?"
"Now you tell me all about it," said West presently, leading the way to a lounge seat in the mezzanine gallery.
Sanders answered at first in monosyllables, but presently he found himself telling the story of his failure to enlist Horace Graham in the Jackpot property as a backer.
The cattleman began to rumple his hair, just as he had done years ago in moments of excitement.
"Wish I'd known, boy. I've been acquainted with Horace Graham ever since he ran a hardware store on Larimer Street, and that's 'most thirty years ago. I'd 'a' gone with you to see him. Maybe I can see him now."
"You can't change the facts, Mr. West. When he knew I was a convict he threw the whole thing overboard."
The voice of a page in the lobby rose in sing-song. "Mister Sa-a-anders. Mis-ter Sa-a-a-anders."
Dave stepped to the railing and called down. "I'm Mr. Sanders. Who wants me?"
A man near the desk waved a paper and shouted: "Hello, Dave! News for you, son. I'll come up." The speaker was Crawford.
He shook hands with Dave and with West while he ejaculated his news in jets. "I got it, son. Got it right here. Came back with the Governor this mo'nin'. Called together Pardon Board. Here 't is. Clean bill of health, son. Resolutions of regret for miscarriage of justice. Big story front page's afternoon's papers."
Dave smiled sardonically. "You're just a few hours late, Mr. Crawford. Graham turned us down cold this morning because I'm a penitentiary bird."
"He did?" Crawford began to boil inside. "Well, he can go right plumb to Yuma. Anybody so small as that--"
"Hold yore hawsses, Em," said West, smiling.
"Graham didn't know the facts. If you was a capitalist an' thinkin' of loanin' big money to a man you found out had been in prison for manslaughter and that he had since been accused of robbin' a stage an' killing the driver--"
"He was in a hurry," explained Dave. "Going East to-morrow. Some one must have got at him after I saw him. He'd made up his mind when I went back to-day."
"Well, Horace Graham ain't one of those who won't change his views for heaven, hell, and high water. All we've got to do is to get to him and make him see the light," said West.
"When are we going to do all that?" asked Sanders. "He's busy every minute of the time till he starts. He won't give us an appointment."
"He'll see me. We're old friends," predicted West confidently.
Crestfallen, he met the two officers of the Jackpot Company three hours later. "Couldn't get to him. Sent word out he was sorry, an' how was Mrs. West an' the children, but he was in conference an' couldn't break away."
Dave nodded. He had expected this and prepared for it. "I've found out he's going on the eight o'clock flyer. You going to be busy to-morrow, Mr. West?"
"No. I got business at the stockyards, but I can put it off."
"Then I'll get tickets for Omaha on the flyer. Graham will take his private car. We'll break in and put this up to him. He was friendly to our proposition before he got the wrong slant on it. If he's open-minded, as Mr. West says he is--"
Crawford slapped an open hand on his thigh. "Say, you get the best ideas, son. We'll do just that."
"I'll check up and make sure Graham's going on the flyer," said the young man. "If we fall down we'll lose only a day. Come back when we meet the night train. I reckon we won't have to get tickets clear through to Omaha."
"Fine and dandy," agreed West. "We'll sure see Graham if we have to bust the door of his car."
CHAPTER XXX
ON THE FLYER
West, his friends not in evidence, artfully waylaid Graham on his way to the private car.
"Hello, Henry B. Sorry I couldn't see you yesterday," the railroad builder told West as they shook hands. "You taking this tram?"
"Yes, sir. Got business takes me East."
"Drop in to see me some time this morning. Say about noon. You'll have lunch with me."
"Suits me. About noon, then," agreed West.
The conspirators modified their plans to meet a new strategic situation. West was still of opinion that he had better use his card of entry to get his friends into the railroad builder's car, but he yielded to Dave's view that it would be wiser for the cattleman to pave the way at luncheon.
Graham's secretary ate lunch with the two old-timers and the conversation threatened to get away from West and hover about financial conditions in New York. The cattleman brought it by awkward main force to the subject he had in mind.
"Say, Horace, I wanta talk with you about a proposition that's on my chest," he broke out.
Graham helped himself to a lamb chop. "Sail in, Henry B. You've got me at your mercy."
At the first mention of the Jackpot gusher the financier raised a prohibitive hand. "I've disposed of that matter. No use reopening it."
But West stuck to his guns. "I ain't aimin' to try to change yore mind on a matter of business, Horace. If you'll tell me that you turned down the proposition because it didn't look to you like there was money in it, I'll curl right up and not say another word."
"It doesn't matter why I turned it down. I had my reasons."
"It matters if you're doin' an injustice to one of the finest young fellows I know," insisted the New Mexican stanchly.
"Meaning the convict?"
"Call him that if you've a mind to. The Governor pardoned him yesterday because another man confessed he did the killin' for which Dave was convicted. The boy was railroaded through on false evidence."
The railroad builder was a fair-minded man. He did not want to be unjust to any one. At the same time he was not one to jump easily from one view to another.
"I noticed something in the papers about a pardon, but I didn't know it was our young oil promoter. There are other rumors about him too. A stage robbery, for instance, and a murder with it."
"He and Em Crawford ran down the robbers and got the money back. One of the robbers confessed. Dave hadn't a thing to do with the hold-up. There's a bad gang down in that country. Crawford and Sanders have been fightin' 'em, so naturally they tell lies about 'em."
"Did you say this Sanders ran down one of the robbers?"
"Yes."
"He didn't tell me that," said Graham thoughtfully. "I liked the young fellow when I first saw him. He looks quiet and strong; a self-reliant fellow would be my guess."
"You bet he is." West laughed reminiscently. "Lemme tell you how I first met him." He told the story of how Dave had handled the stock shipment for him years before.
Horace Graham nodded shrewdly. "Exactly the way I had him sized up till I began investigating him. Well, let's hear the rest. What more do you know about him?"
The Albuquerque man told the other of Dave's conviction, of how he had educated himself in the penitentiary, of his return home and subsequent adventures there.
"There's a man back there in the Pullman knows him like he was his own son, a straight man, none better in this Western country," West concluded.
"Who is he?"
"Emerson Crawford of the D Bar Lazy R ranch."
"I've
heard of him. He's in this Jackpot company too, isn't he?"
"He's president of it. If he says the company's right, then it's right."