Part 3 (1/2)

Since the chief of any army stands or falls pretty largely by the grace of his subordinates, Ballard was particularly thankful for Bromley. He was little and he was young; he dressed like an exquisite, wore neat little patches of side-whiskers, shot straight, played the violin, and stuffed birds for relaxation. But in spite of these hindrances, or, perhaps, because of some of them, he could handle men like a born captain, and he was a friend whose faithfulness had been proved more than once.

”I shall be only too glad to retain Bromley,” said Ballard, when the president told him he might choose his own a.s.sistant. And, as time pressed, he asked if there were any other special instructions.

”Nothing specific,” was the reply. ”Bromley has kept things moving, but they can be made to move faster, and we believe you are the man to set the pace, Mr. Ballard; that's all. And now, if you are ready, we have fifteen minutes in which to catch the Alta Vista train--plenty of time, but none to throw away. I have reserved your sleeper.”

It was not until after the returning automobile spin; after Ballard had checked his baggage and had given his recovered suit-cases to the porter of the Alta Vista car; that he learned the significance of the fighting clause in the president's Boston telegram.

They were standing at the steps of the Pullman for the final word; had drawn aside to make room for a large party of still later comers; when the president said, with the air of one who gathers up the unconsidered trifles:

”By the way, Mr. Ballard, you may not find it all plain sailing up yonder. Arcadia Park has been for twenty years a vast cattle-ranch, owned, or rather usurped, by a singular old fellow who is known as the 'King of Arcadia.' Quite naturally, he opposes our plan of turning the park into a well-settled agricultural field, to the detriment of his free cattle range, and he is fighting us.”

”In the courts, you mean?”

”In the courts and out of them. I might mention that it was one of his cow-men who killed Sanderson; though that was purely a personal quarrel, I believe. The trouble began with his refusal to sell us a few acres of land and a worthless mining-claim which our reservoir may submerge, and we were obliged to resort to the courts. He is fighting for delay now, and in the meantime he encourages his cow-boys to maintain a sort of guerrilla warfare on the contractors: stealing tools, disabling machinery, and that sort of thing. This was Macpherson's story, and I'm pa.s.sing it on to you. You are forty miles from the nearest sheriff's office over there; but when you need help, you'll get it. Of course, the company will back you--to the last dollar in the treasury, if necessary.”

Ballard's rejoinder was placatory. ”It seems a pity to open up the new country with a feud,” he said, thinking of his native State and of what these little wars had done for some portions of it. ”Can't the old fellow be conciliated in some way?”

”I don't know,” replied the president doubtfully. ”We want peaceable possession, of course, if we can get it; capital is always on the side of peace. In fact, we authorised Macpherson to buy peace at any price in reason, and we'll give you the same authority. But Macpherson always represented the old cattle king as being unapproachable on that side. On the other hand, we all know what Macpherson was. He had a pretty rough tongue when he was at his best; and he was in bad health for a long time before the derrick fell on him. I dare say he didn't try diplomacy.”

”I'll make love to the cow-punching princesses,” laughed Ballard; ”that is, if there are any.”

”There is one, I understand; but I believe she doesn't spend much of her time at home. The old man is a widower, and, apart from his senseless fight on the company, he appears to be--but I won't prejudice you in advance.”

”No, don't,” said Ballard. ”I'll size things up for myself on the ground. I----”

The interruption was the dash of a switch-engine up the yard with another car to be coupled to the waiting mountain line train. Ballard saw the lettering on the medallion: ”08”.

”Somebody's private hotel?” he remarked.

”Yes. It's Mr. Brice's car, I guess. He was in town to-day.”

Ballard was interested at once.

”Mr. Richard Brice?--the general manager of the D. & U. P.?”

The president nodded.

”That's great luck,” said Ballard, warmly. ”We were cla.s.smates in the Inst.i.tute, and I haven't seen him since he came West. I think I'll ride in the Naught-eight till bedtime.”

”Glad you know him,” said the president. ”Get in a good word for our railroad connection with his line at Alta Vista, while you're about it.

There is your signal; good-by, and good luck to you. Don't forget--'drive' is the word; for every man, minute, and dollar there is in it.”

Ballard shook the presidential hand and swung up to the platform of the private car. A reluctant porter admitted him, and thus it came about that he did not see the interior of his own sleeper until long after the other pa.s.sengers had gone to bed.

”Good load to-night, John?” he said to the porter, when, the private car visit being ended, the man was showing him to his made-down berth.

”Yes, sah; mighty good for de branch. But right smart of dem is ladies, and dey don't he'p de po' portah much.”