"Sure," said Riles. "He worked for Harris, until they had a row and he lit out. It kind o' balled Harris up, too, although he'd never admit it. If he'd Travers there it'd be easier for him t' get away now."
"Where's Harris going?"
"He ain't goin'; he's comin'. Comin' out here in a few days after me.
I'm his kind o' advance guard, spyin' out the land."
"You don't say? Well, see and make him come through with the expenses. If I was travelling for Jack Harris I wouldn't be sleeping in a hen-coop like this. He's worth yards of money, ain't he?"
"Oh, some, I guess, but perhaps not so much more'n his neighbours."
"Nothing personal, Riles. You've got to get over that narrowness if you're going to get into the bigger game I've been telling you about. I don't care how much you're worth—how much is Harris bringing with him?"
"Couple of hundred dollars, likely."
"I wouldn't show my hand for that. How much can he raise?"
"Well, supposin' he sold the old farm—"
"Now don't do any reckless supposing. Will he sell the farm?"
"Sure, he'll sell it if he sees something better."
"How much can he get for it?"
"Thirty or forty thousand dollars."
"That's more like a stake. Hiram, it's up to you and me to show him something better—and to show it to him when he's alone…You're tired to-night. Sleep it out, and we'll drive over to the ranch to-morrow together. We ought to pick something better than a homestead out of this."
CHAPTER XIII
SETTING THE TRAP
Notwithstanding the exhaustion occasioned by his journey Riles was early about. The hotel bed was strange to him, and the noises that floated up from the bar-room interrupted his slumbers. At least, he told himself it was the noises, but the fact is a great new thought had been sown in his brain, and had started the cells whirling in dizzy speculation. The unexpected meeting with Gardiner, the latter's evident prosperity, and his frank contempt for men who made their living by labour, had left a deep impression upon Riles. He had no idea by what means Gardiner proposed that they should possess themselves of Harris's money, and he felt some doubt about any such attempt being rewarded with success. Nevertheless, Gardiner seemed to think the matter a simple one enough, and Gardiner's good clothes and good cigars were evidence of his ability to carry his plans into effect.
The streets had not yet assumed their morning activity when Riles emerged from the hotel, but the unclouded Alberta sunshine was bathing every atom of out-of-doors in a warmth and brilliance that might have found, and in very truth did find, a keen response in the inanimate objects of its affection. The jubilant laugh of running mountain water rippled through the quiet air, fragrant with the perfume of balm-of-Gilead and balsam; to the eastward the sunshine poured into broad valleys of undulating, sweeping plain, and in the west the great mountains, clad in their eternal robes of white, loomed silent and impressive in their majesty. Even Riles stopped to look at them, and they stirred in him an emotion that was not altogether profane—a faint, undefined consciousness of the puniness of man and the might of his Creator. No one can live for long in the presence of the mountains without that consciousness, and it is a great day for the mountain-dweller when he learns to distinguish between the puniness of man, the animal, and the infinity of man, the thinking soul. Riles breakfasted as soon as the dining-room was opened, eating his meal hurriedly, as he always did, albeit the French-fried potatoes, to which he was unaccustomed, could be poised on his knife only with considerable effort. Then he sat down in an arm-chair on the shady side of the hotel to wait for Gardiner. He had suddenly lost his interest in the free lands which had been the purpose of his journey.
His wait was longer than he had expected, and he broke it several times by strolls about the little town. In size it was much the same as Plainville, but that was the chief point of resemblance. True, it had its typical stores, selling everything from silks to coal oil; its blacksmiths' shops, ringing with the hammer of the busy smith on ploughshare or horseshoe; its implement agencies, with rows of gaudily-painted wagons, mowers, and binders obstructing the thoroughfare, and the hempen smell of new binder twine floating from the hot recess of their iron-covered storehouses; a couple of banks, occupying the best corners, and barber shops and pool-rooms in apparent excess of the needs of the population. All these he might have found in Plainville, but there were here in addition half-a-dozen real estate offices, with a score or more curbstone dealers, locaters, commission-splitters, and go-betweens, and the number and size of the livery stables gave some clue to the amount of prospecting going on from this base of supplies. The streets were lined with traffic. Riles estimated that in two hours as many teams passed him as might be seen in Plainville in a week; long rows of box-cars were unloading on the side tracks; farmers' effects and household goods of every description were piled in great heaps about the railway yards; while horses, cattle, pigs, and poultry contributed to the dust and din of the settlers' operations. Great wagons of lumber were being loaded at the lumber yards, and an unbroken procession of wagons and farm machinery of every description was wending its way slowly into the distance where lay hope of home or fortune for the new settler.
It was almost noon when Gardiner appeared on the scene. "You don't hurt you'self in the mornin's," was Riles' greeting.
"Don't need to," he answered cheerily. "Besides, I'd a long session after I left you last night. No, no particulars at present. I told you you had spoiled your hands for that kind of work. How d'ye like this air? Isn't that something worth breathing?"
"Good enough," said Riles, "but I didn't come out here for air."
"No, you came for land. I'm surprised you're not out bouncing over the prairie in a buckboard long before this."
Riles shot a quick glance at Gardiner. But he was puffing a cigar and drinking in the warm sunshine with obvious satisfaction.
"So I might o' been, but I thought we kind o' made a date last night, didn't we?"
"Did we? Oh yes; now I remember. But I thought perhaps you'd feel different about it in the morning. A man generally does. I won't hold you to anything you said last night, Riles."
Riles could not recall that he had said anything that committed him in any way, but Gardiner's tone implied that plainly enough.
"I ain't changed my mind," he said, "but I don't know's I said anything bindin', did I? I thought we was goin' t' drive out t' your place t'-day an' talk things over."
"Well, I just didn't want you to lose any time over me if you thought things wouldn't work out," said Gardiner. "It takes more nerve, you know, than hoeing potatoes. But you're welcome to the hospitality of the ranch, in any case. I came in on horseback, so we'll get a team at one of the stables and drive out."
In a short time they were on their way. The road skirted the river, threading its way through the narrow belt of cotton-woods and evergreens that found footing in the moist soil of the valley. Here and there, through an opening in the trees, or across a broad wedge of prairie, could be seen the mountains, now bathed in a faint purple, silently receding before them. A soft breeze, neither hot nor cold, but moist and fresh from the great table-lands of snow, pressed gently about the travellers, but their thoughts were of neither the scenery nor the weather.
"It's all right, Riles," Gardiner was saying. "If you're prepared to stay with the deal we can pull it through—no doubt about that. That is, if Harris will sell his farm and come out here with the cash in his jeans. If he won't do that, you better get busy on your homestead proposition right away."
"He'll do it all right, if he sees somethin' worth while. But Harris's no spring chicken, an' you'll have t' show him somethin' t' his likin' before he loosens up."
"I don't care whether he loosens up or not," said Gardiner. "All I care is that he brings the money, and brings it in bills. No cheques, mind you. Get him out here with the cash on him, and I'll do the loosening up, if it comes to that."
Riles
was somewhat alarmed at the sinister turn of the conversation. He had no compunction about getting the better of his old neighbour, the man who had entrusted him with the discharge of their joint mission, but he had considerable respect for the force, if not the principle, of the law.
"You don't mean that you'd do anythin'—anythin' that wasn't right?" he said. "I wouldn't want t' get mixed up in no scrape, y' know."
"You mean that you think more of your skin than you do of Harris's coin. Well, there's no accounting for tastes. But as for doing anything wrong—you ought to know me better than that. It will all be clean and above board, and no violence if it can be helped, but if Harris is unfortunate nobody's to blame for that. Of course, if you're afraid to take a sportsman's chance for a half of forty thousand dollars, call the deal off. I've got lots of other fish to fry."
"You don't understand," said Riles. "I ain't a'scared, but I don't want t' do nothin' that'll get us into trouble. Harris is an old neighbour o' mine, an'—"
"I understand perfectly. You wouldn't mind a piece of Harris's money served on a platter and wrapped in tissue paper, but you want somebody else to take the chances. Now, there won't be any chances to speak of, but what there are you take your share. If that's a bargain it's a bargain, and if it isn't we'll talk about the weather. What d'you say?"
"It's a bargain," said Riles, "provided your plan'll work out."
"It's got to work out. It's like going up in a balloon—if it doesn't work out it's all off with the engineer. You got to take the chance, Hiram, and then make good on the chance."
Riles chewed vigorously at his tobacco. "Explain how you're goin' to pull it off," he said, "an' then I'll tell you yes or no."
"Not on your life," said Gardiner. "I don't show my hand until I know who's sitting across."
There was silence for half a mile, while Riles turned the matter over in his mind. He was naturally a coward, but he was equally a money-grabber, and it was one instinct against the other. Avarice won it, and at length he extended his hand to Gardiner. "I'm in on anythin' you're in on," he said.
"That sounds like it," said Gardiner, with enthusiasm. "Now the whole thing's simple as A B C, and not half as dangerous as running a traction engine or breaking a broncho. It all rests on getting him out here with the money, and that's where you come in. I don't mind telling you if it wasn't for the help you can give there I'd handle the job myself, and save dividing the proceeds."
"Yes, that's the point, all right," said Riles, somewhat dubiously.
"How're we goin' t' get him out here with all that money?"
"Think, Riles," said Gardiner, puffing complacently at a fresh cigar.
"Think hard."
Riles wrinkled his forehead and spat copiously at the front hub, but the inspiration would not come. "I give it up," he said at last. "You'll have t' plan it, an' I'll carry it out."
"That's what comes of hard work, Hiram; you lose all your imagination. Right now you haven't any more imagination than a cabbage. Now, I could suggest a dozen schemes to suit the purpose if I had to, but one will do. Suppose this:
"These mountains up here are full of coal—more coal than can be burnt in a million years. It's a bad road in, but once you get here you'll see it lying in seams, ten, fifteen, twenty feet thick, and stretching right through the rocks as far as you like to follow it. That coal's going to make a bunch of millionaires some day, but not until you can get at it with something bigger than a cayuse. But railroads come fast in this country, and there's no saying how soon a man might cash in if he invested just now."
"You ain't goin't' wait till a railroad comes, are you? We'll like enough be dead by that time."
"Hiram, I told you you had no imagination, wait a moment. Now, suppose that some strange eccentric chap owns one of these coal limits. He lives up in the mountains, a kind of hermit, but we fall in with him and offer him forty thousand dollars for his limit, worth, say, half a million, or more if you feel like it. He says, 'All right, but mind I want the money in bills, and you'll have to bring it out to me here.' Now can you think of anything?"
"Harris don't know nothin' about coal," protested Riles. "He wouldn't bite at anythin' like that."
"Your faith has been neglected as well as your imagination. You've got to paint it to him so's to get him interested. That's all. Our business is to get Harris, with the money in his wallet, started up into those mountains. It's mighty lonely up there, with timber wolves, grizzly bears, precipices, snow-slides, and trails that lead to nowhere, and if Harris is unfortunate—well, he's unfortunate."
The plan gradually penetrated Riles' slow-working mind. At first it numbed him a little, and his face was a strange colour as he turned to his companion, and said, in a low voice, "Ain't it risky? What if the police catch on?"
"They won't. They're all right for cleaning up a rough-house, but don't cut any figure in fine art work like we'll put over. I tell you, Riles, it's absolutely safe. Of course, ordinary precautions must be taken, same as you would with a vicious horse or any other risk you might run. The main thing is to see that he has the money in bills; anything else would be risky and lead to trouble. Then this fellow that's supposed to own the mine must be kept in the background. We—"
"But who does own the mine?"
Gardiner made a gesture of exasperation. "You don't get me, Hiram. Nobody owns the mine. That part of it's all a myth—a fairy tale manufactured because we need it. But Harris mustn't find that out—not, at any rate, until it's too late. Then if anything ever does leak out, suspicion will be directed toward some mysterious mine-owner, and the police will be wearing out shoe-leather hunting the cracks in the foothills while you and I are taking in the sights of Honolulu or South America. We'll quietly make an appointment for Harris to meet the mine-owner somewhere up in the hills. We'll direct him where to go, and leave it at that. Of course we won't go with him; we'll have other business about that time."
Riles looked at Gardiner with frank admiration. It seemed so simple now, and in his growing enthusiasm he felt that he would have little difficulty in persuading Harris to raise all the cash possible and bring it with him. And it seemed so safe. As Gardiner said, the mountains were full of danger, and if something should happen to Harris—well, he would be unfortunate; but lots of other people had been unfortunate, too.
Gardiner turned his team down a side road, forded the river, climbed a steep, slippery bank, and drew up beside a cluster of ranch buildings sheltered with cotton-woods and spruces. The old, long log-house, reminiscent of the days when the West was a land and a law unto itself, might have stirred the heart of poet or artist; the hard-beaten soil of the corral hinted still of the brave days of the open range and cattle beyond the counting. As the team, in their long, steady trot, swung up beside the stables, an alert young fellow came quickly out and busied himself with the unhitching.
"Guess you ought to know our visitor, Jim, shouldn't you?" said
Gardiner. "Another Manitoban chasing the free land."
Travers at once recognized Riles and extended his hand. "Well, Mr. Riles, we weren't looking for you here, although I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, for there was some talk of your coming West before I left Plainville. What do you think of it? And did you see the mountains this morning? Worth the trip themselves, aren't they?"
"Look pretty good, all right, Jim," said Riles, with an attempt at affability, "but I reckon you wouldn't grow much wheat on 'em, an' scenery's not very fillin'. How you makin' it go you'self?"
"Nothing but luck since I landed," said Jim. "Got a good homestead and a good job right away. You must let me take you out to my farm before you go back. How's everybody? Harrises well, I hope?"
"Guess they're well enough, but gettin' kind o' scattered for a family group. Beulah lit out when you did—but I guess I can't give you no information about that."
The smile did not depart from Travers' face, but if Riles had known him as well as he should he would have seen the sudden smouldering light i
n the eye. But the young man answered quietly, "I saw Beulah the day I left Plainville, and I understood she was going West on a visit. She isn't back yet?"
"Innocent, ain't chuh?" said Riles, in a manner intended to be playful. "It's all right; I don't blame you. Beulah's a good girl, if a bit high falutin, an' a few years' roughin' it on the homestead'll take that out of her."
But Jim had dropped the harness and stood squarely facing Riles. The smile still lingered on his lips, but even the heavy-witted farmer saw that he had been playing with fire. Riles was much the larger man of the two, but he was no one to court combat unless the odds were overwhelmingly in his favour. He carried a scar across his eye as a constant reminder of his folly in having once before invited trouble from a younger man.
"What do you mean?" demanded Travers. "Put it in English."
But Gardiner interposed. "Don't be too sensitive, Jim," he said. "Riles has forgotten his parlour manners, but he doesn't mean any harm. You weren't insinuating anything, were you, Hiram?"
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