The Award of Justice; Or, Told in the Rockies: A Pen Picture of the West. Barbour Anna Maynard
to be a little incredulous and skeptical, but if you remain in this country of ours any length of time, that will soon pass away, very soon.”
“I don’t think I care to remain here very long then, if it will have any such effect on my brain as that,” said Rutherford.
“You are inclined to be facetious, my friend; that is all right, I appreciate a little witticism myself occasionally. By the way,” he continued, evidently determined to get into conversation with Houston, “I suppose you young gentlemen are out here on business, looking for valuable investments in this wonderful country.”
At the word “Business” Mr. Rutherford instantly assumed his dignity, dropping into the slightly drawling tone he always used on such occasions, and which he intended as an extinguisher on any person whom he deemed too familiar.
“Well, no,” he replied, twirling an incipient mustache, “at least, not so far as I am concerned; I am just out on a sort of an extended pleasure trip, you know.”
“Ah, your friend is a business man, I judge; perhaps,” turning to Houston, “we can interest you in some of our rare bargains in the line of real estate, improved or unimproved, city or country; or possibly in our mines, gold or silver properties, quartz or placer, we have them all.”
“You seem to have a ‘corner’ on this part of the northwest?” remarked Rutherford, rather sarcastically.
“Indeed, young man, we have a good many ‘corners,’ pretty valuable ones, too,” the man replied imperturbably, still watching Houston, who replied in a courteous but indifferent tone:
“I am out here on business, but am not in a position to make any investments at present, nor do I expect to be for some time.”
“Ah, your business?” asked his interlocutor.
“I am an accountant,” he replied quietly.
The man seemed satisfied. “Well, gentlemen,” he said, rising from the table, “I am glad to have met you, and hope to have the pleasure of seeing you later in our city. Allow me to present my card, and if there is anything we can ever do for you in our line, please give us a call,” and smilingly handing each a card, he bowed himself out of the car.
“Well, by Jove!” exclaimed Rutherford, his grammar getting a little mixed, “either that man’s a fool, or he thought we were; I don’t know which.”
“Probably the latter,” said Houston, smiling; then glancing at the card beside his plate, he read, “J. D. Wilson, President of the Northwestern Mining, Land and Investment Company, Silver City;” and he was the prospective clerk of The Northwestern Mining, Land and Investment Company!
CHAPTER IV
An hour or two later, the Pacific Express was slowly winding up the long mountain grade, the engine puffing and wheezing in apoplectic fashion, and occasionally emitting short shrieks of protest. The mountains, which had gradually been assuming shape and color, were now looming up in grand proportions, their rugged outlines clearly defined against the sky. Already the mountain breezes, fragrant with the breath of tamarack, spruce and pine, stole in on adventurous wings through the car windows; lifted locks, both golden and silvered, from heated brows, kissed a fretful infant into peaceful slumber, turned the pages of novels and flapped newspapers so persistently that their readers were compelled to abandon them, and brought new energy and inspiration to the languid, listless passengers, so that they began to evince symptoms of interest in their surroundings.
In his favorite lounging attitude, Houston sat, his eyes fixed on the mountains, moment by moment growing more distinct in their rugged grandeur, a half-smile of amusement playing over his face, as he recalled the interview with the president of The Northwestern Mining, Land and Investment Company. Upon inquiry, he had learned that Mr. Wilson had boarded the train at a little way station, before daylight that morning, and the zeal displayed by that gentleman in thus seeking to ascertain something regarding the characteristics of his future clerk, by anticipating his arrival in this manner seemed to Houston decidedly amusing, and at the same time furnished him a clue concerning the character of one of the men with whom he was to be associated.
He was aroused by the entrance of Rutherford, who, having learned that the train would make stops among the canyons they were approaching, was getting his kodak and plates in readiness, preparatory to taking impressions of some of the finest views.
After a few moments, the conversation drifted to the subject of their destination, which they would reach in three or four hours.
“I suppose,” said Rutherford, addressing his companion rather hesitatingly, “I suppose you will remain in Silver City for some time?”
“I am not quite certain,” he replied, “my impression is, however, that I shall not be detained there more than a day or two.”
“Indeed! then are you going on farther west?”
“No, I expect to go out among the mines for a while.”
“Among the mines! Now I should think that would be fine; you’ll have a chance to see western life in earnest. So you are interested in mines! Well, I thought something of the kind when you said you were out on business. No wonder you were so cool with old Boomerang this morning, and didn’t care for any of his wonderful investments.”
Houston was silent for a moment, a curious smile playing over his fine features; then watching Rutherford keenly through half-closed eyes, he said,
“On the contrary, instead of being a mine owner, as you surmise, I am the employe of a mining company, and ‘old Boomerang,’ as you call him, is the president of that company.”
Rutherford sat for an instant as if petrified; then managed to gasp, “Great Heavens! are you associated in business with that man?”
“Yes,” said Houston, looking almost as if he enjoyed the situation, “associated as employer and employe. I am going out to fill the position of accountant for the same company of which he is president.”
“Oh, I see; you are just going to take the position. Did you know all the time who he was?”
“I had no more idea than you until I saw his card; but I think he knew me, was looking around, in fact, to see what his new clerk was like.”
“The old beast!” exclaimed Rutherford. His face was a study, it represented so many conflicting emotions; several times he seemed about to speak, then remained silent, looking more and more perplexed. He was sorely puzzled; Houston was the embodiment of courtesy and refinement, his every word and gesture revealed a man of wealth, education and culture,–and yet, a clerk, and for such a man! and strangest of all, he seemed to feel no chagrin in speaking of his position.
Houston’s voice broke in pleasantly upon his cogitations: “I saw it would never do for you to travel about here under such erroneous impressions; imagining you were associating with a heavy capitalist, or a mining broker, when–”
“Oh, hang it all!” interrupted Rutherford, brusquely, “What difference does it make? You’re a gentleman, anybody can see that. I’ll own up that it did knock me out at first to find you were connected in any way with that old chap; but I know you’re all right, and I had no business questioning around as I did about your affairs; I beg your pardon, and I’ll explain now why I did it. I’m a stranger out here, and I’ve taken an awful liking to you, and when we get to Silver City, if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep in with you until I get a little accustomed to the ways out here; that is, if you’ve no objections.”
“That’s all right,” responded Houston cordially, “stay with me as long as you like; and now, let’s go out and take a look at the mountains,” and the two young men shook hands, each feeling a sort of presentiment that the friendship begun under these peculiar circumstances was one for life, and such it proved.
On reaching the rear platform they discovered that the train was following the course of a river winding through a rocky gorge that grew narrower, moment by moment. The walls grew higher and steeper at every turn, while towering above and beyond were the mountain peaks. They stood clinging to the railings, and