The Award of Justice; Or, Told in the Rockies: A Pen Picture of the West. Barbour Anna Maynard

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СКАЧАТЬ Morgan, “that whole group of mines is owned by a set of New Yorkers; this company out here is their agent, that’s all.”

      “And New Yorkers are not supposed to know all the ins and outs of their western agent’s mining deals,” commented Houston.

      “Well, I should say not! There’s a good many things going on that they are not supposed to know about, and that they wouldn’t be very likely to get onto, either, some of ’em, even if they were right on the ground. Some of those ducks are pretty green, and fellows like Blaisdell or Rivers can make them believe most anything. If Blaisdell was half as smart as he makes some of those eastern fellows think he is, he would have been a rich man before this.”

      “Why,” said Houston, in surprise, “Blaisdell is quite well off, isn’t he?”

      Morgan’s only answer was a significant shake of the head.

      “What!” exclaimed Houston in astonishment.

      “Really, he is not worth a dollar,” answered Morgan, “every nickle’s worth of property that he ever had, that he hasn’t lost outright, has been put into the hands of his wife, or his sons, or somebody or other, heaven knows who, I don’t, nor nobody else.”

      “Well, I am surprised,” said Houston, “he seems shrewd and sharp in business matters, and I supposed he was a rich man. He must have made considerable money, what has become of it?”

      Morgan shrugged his shoulders; “Have you seen old Rivers yet?” he inquired.

      “The secretary? No, I’ve never met him.”

      “Well,” continued Morgan, “you probably will, in a day or two, he’ll be likely to come up with the eastern party; and when you’ve seen him, you’ve seen the biggest rascal, and at the same time the slickest duck there is on this side of the divide, and I doubt if there’s any on the other side can beat him. Old Blaisdell’s pretty smooth, but he ain’t a circumstance to Rivers. Rivers will rob you of your last dollar, and make you think he’s your best friend all the time. Oh, he’s a lulu, and no mistake!”

      Further conversation was prevented by the entrance of Mr. Blaisdell, with a fine lot of ore samples with their assay values attached, which he arranged on his desk, his thin lips drawn back meanwhile in his accustomed self-satisfied smile. When this was done, he turned to the young men.

      “Well,” he began, with a low chuckle of delight, “I’ve got word my party is coming all right. Haight just got a telegram from Rivers, that Winters had wired him that he and his son and the expert would be in Silver City, on to-morrow’s train, so I will have to go back to the city to-night, to be in readiness to meet them. Let me see, this is Wednesday, they arrive Thursday; Morgan, set the men to work on that mine Friday morning; we will be up here in the course of the forenoon, you see that everything is in first-class order. Houston, are those statements and tracings all ready?”

      “They are,” replied Houston.

      “Very well, put them up as quick as you can, I’ll take them to the city with me, and the team will be here in half a minute; I want to catch that six o’clock train. I didn’t expect to have to go to-night, but that telegram has hurried up matters. Morgan, you keep everything straight to-morrow, and be ready for us Friday morning.”

      “Shall I send a team down?” asked Morgan.

      “No, no matter about that, I’ll take Joe Hunt’s team there at the Y, it will be a rather more stylish turnout than one of the mining teams. Everything is here O.K. I suppose,” as Houston handed him the papers he had requested, “all right, there’s my team; well, so long, boys, don’t get into any more fights while I’m gone,” and he was soon rattling down the canyon toward the Y, while Houston and Morgan began to make preparations for closing the office.

      “Well,” said Morgan, as he stood looking out of the window, and waiting for Houston to put away his books and papers for the night, “I can just imagine the little scene that will be enacted down there at the main office to-morrow, it would be as good as a play just to watch it. There will be old Wilson, with his diamonds and palaver, expatiating on the country and the mines; and Blaisdell, with that dignified way of his, talking of nitrates and sulphides, and so many milligrams equaling so many grains troy, and so many gramestons in so many pounds avoirdupois, and all that razzle-dazzle, and Rivers, not saying much of anything, but smiling, and calculating how many thousands he is going to put in his own pockets.”

      Houston laughed, and was about to reply, when Rutherford came in, as he often walked down to meet Houston and accompany him to the house.

      “Come in, Ned,” said Houston, “you should have been here a minute ago; Morgan has been giving some verbal portraits of the mining company. Your descriptive powers are excellent, Morgan, and you seem to know these men pretty well.”

      “Know them,” said Morgan, swinging himself astride a chair and folding his arms upon the back, while Rutherford perched upon a large writing table, and Houston leaned against his long desk, with his arms folded, “Know them, I should think I ought to. I worked in the Silver City office as bookkeeper for a year before coming out here, and six months of that time I boarded in Blaisdell’s family; and as his wife hates Rivers’ wife, and couldn’t say enough about her, I knew about as much of one family as the other before I came away.”

      “Does Mr. Blaisdell try to impress his better half with a sense of his intellectual superiority, as he does the rest of his fellow mortals?” asked Rutherford.

      “If he ever did,” answered Morgan, “he must have got bravely over it some time ago; she treats him with a contempt that would have cured him of that habit. I’ve sometimes thought that the reason he swells so much out among people is because he’s so unmercifully snubbed at home.”

      “I see,” said Rutherford, “just a natural effort to keep his self-respect in equilibrium.”

      “Has he many children?” inquired Houston.

      “Well, no,” said Morgan, “not many, only fifteen.”

      “Only fifteen!” said Houston, in astonishment, while Rutherford exclaimed, “Oh, come off now, you’re joking!”

      “No joking about it,” said Morgan seriously, “I took the old man’s word for it. I tried several times to count ’em, but had to give it up, it seemed that every day I saw a new one. Some of ’em are as old as I; you see this is his third wife, and some of the children are older than she.”

      “I think,” said Rutherford, “I’d like a wife younger than my children.”

      “He seems to,” replied Morgan, “they’re as spooney as can be, when they’re not quarreling.”

      “Oh, deliver me!” said Rutherford, “I don’t want to hear any more about them. How about that other man, Rivers? He hasn’t such a surplus of children and wives, has he?”

      “Well,” said Morgan slowly, “I guess if his children could all be got together, there’d be more of ’em than of Blaisdell’s, and he has full as many wives, only, in his case, they are all living.”

      “Great Scott!” said Rutherford, “is he a Mormon?”

      Morgan shook his head, and Houston said:

      “Morgan, I think in your efforts to be entertaining, you are drawing slightly on your imagination, thinking that we are fresh enough to believe anything you choose to tell us.”

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