Part 18 (1/2)

”I've always lived here, my father too, and his before him; and back of that we came from mountains. We're mountain blood; I don't know if we could get used to anything else, live down yonder.”

”I'd civilize you,” she promised him.

”Perhaps--” he a.s.sented slowly.

Suddenly from beyond the ruin came the stir of a horse moving in harness, the sound stopped and the voices of men grew audible. Instinctively Gordon and Meta Beggs drew behind a standing fragment of wall. Gordon could see, through the displaced, rotting boards, a buggy and two men standing at the side of the road. One, he recognized, was Valentine Simmons; he easily made out the small, alert figure. The other, with his back to the mill, held outspread a sheet of paper. There was something familiar about the carriage of the head, a glimpse of beard, a cigar from which were expelled copious volumes of smoke. Gordon vainly racked his memory for a clue to the latter, elusive personality. He heard Simmons say:

”... by the South Fork entrance ... through the valley.”

The stranger partially turned, and Gordon instantly recalled where he had seen him before--it was the man he had driven from Stenton with the surprising foreknowledge of the County, who had been met by Pompey Hollidew. He replied to Simmons, ”Exactly ... timber sidings at the princ.i.p.al depots.”

They were, evidently, discussing a projected road. Gordon subconsciously exclaimed, half aloud, ”Railroad!” A swift illumination bathed in complete comprehension the whole affair--the connection, of Simmons, old Pompey's options and the stranger. This railroad, the coming of which would increase enormously the timber values of Greenstream County, had been the covert reason for Simmons' desire to purchase the options held by the Hollidew estate; it had been, during Pompey Hollidew's life, the reason for the acquisition of such extended timber interests. Hollidew, Simmons and Company had joined in a conspiracy to purchase them throughout the county at a nominal sum and reap the benefits of the large enhancement.

The death of the former had interrupted that satisfactory scheme; now Valentine Simmons had conceived the plan of gathering all the profit to himself. And, Gordon admitted, he had nearly succeeded ... nearly. A slow smile crossed Gordon Makimmon's features as he realized what a pleasant conversation he would have with Simmons at the latter's expense. He had never conceived the possibility of getting the astute storekeeper into such a satisfactory, retaliatory position. He would extract the last penny of profit and enjoyment from the other's surprise.

The men beyond re-entered the buggy and drove toward the village.

”What is it?” Meta Beggs asked; ”you look pleased.”

”Oh, I fell on a little scheme,” he replied evasively; ”a trifle ... worth a hundred thousand or more to me.”

Her eyes widened with avidity. ”I didn't know the whole, G.o.d forsaken place was worth a thousand,” she remarked. ”A hundred thousand,” the mere repet.i.tion of that sum brought a new s.h.i.+ne into her gaze, instinctively drew her closer to Gordon's side.

”Just that alone would be enough--” she said, and paused.

He ignored this opening in the antic.i.p.ated pleasure of his coming interview with Valentine Simmons.

A palpable annoyance took possession of her at Gordon's absorption. ”It must be near dinner at Peterman's,” she remarked; ”on Sunday you've got to be on time.”

In response to her suggestion he turned toward the road. They walked back silently until they were opposite the priest's. ”I'd better go on alone,”

she decided. Her hands clung to his shoulders and she sought his lips.

”Soon again,” she murmured. ”Don't desert me; I am entirely alone except for you.”

She left him and swiftly crossed the green to the road.

XII

Gordon carefully explained the entire circ.u.mstance of the timber to Lettice. ”I just happened to be by the stream,” he continued, ”and overheard them. Your father and Simmons evidently had arranged the thing, and Simmons was going to crowd you out of all the gain.”

”You see to it,” she returned listlessly; ”you have my name on that paper, the power of something or other.” She was seated on the porch of their dwelling. A low-drifting ma.s.s of formless grey cloud filled the narrow opening of the ranges, drooping in nebulous veils of suspended moisture down to the vivid green of the valley. The mountains seemed to dissolve into the nothingness above; the stream was unusually noisy.

”I might see him this evening,” he observed; ”and I could find out how Buck was resting.”

”However did he come to get hurt?”

”I never knew rightly, there we were all standing with Buckley a-talking, when the stone flew out of the crowd and hit him on the head. n.o.body saw who did it.”

”I wish you hadn't been there, Gordon. You always seem to be around, to get talked about, when anything happens.”