Part 38 (2/2)

”Well, yes.” Foster threw his head with something of his old boyish defiance. He was losing patience and skill. ”Mr. Morganstein himself made a filing, and his father. That is the reason all our holdings are now cla.s.sed as the Morganstein group.”

”And,” pursued the lawyer, ”their entries were incidental with the consolidation of your company with the Prince William Development Company?”

Foster flushed hotly. ”The Prince William Development Company was in need of coal; no enterprise can be carried on without it in Alaska. And the consolidation brought necessary capital to us; without it, our railroad was bankrupt. It meant inestimable benefit to the country, to every prospector, miner, homesteader, who must waste nerve-breaking weeks packing his outfit through those bleak mountains in order to reach the interior. But, before forty miles of track was completed, the executive withdrew all Alaska coal lands from entry, and we discontinued construction, pending an Act of Congress to allow our patents. The material carried in there at so great a cost is lying there still, rotting away.”

”Gentlemen, is it not all clear to you?” The prosecuting attorney flashed a glance of triumph over the jury. ”Do you not see in this Prince William Development Company the long arm of the octopus that is strangling Alaska?

That has reached out its tentacles everywhere, for gold here, copper there; for oil, coal, timber, anything in sight? That, but for the foresight of the executive and Gifford Pinchot, would possess most of Alaska today?”

The men on the jury looked thoughtful but not altogether convinced. One glanced at his neighbor with a covert smile. This man, whom the Government had selected to prosecute the coal fraud cases was undeniably able, often brilliant, but his statements showed he had brought his ideas of Alaska from the Atlantic coast; to him, standing in the Seattle courtroom, our outlying possession was still as remote. As his glance moved to the ranks of outside listeners, who overflowed the seats and crowded the aisles to the doors, he must have been conscious that the sentiment he had expressed was at least unpopular in the northwest. Faces that had been merely interested or curious grew suddenly lowering. The atmosphere of the place seemed surcharged.

The following morning Morganstein took the stand. Though in small matters that touched his personal comfort he was arrogantly irritable, under the cross-examination that a.s.sailed his commercial methods he proved suave and non-committal. As the day pa.s.sed, the prosecutor's insinuations grew more open and vindictive. Judge Feversham sprang to his feet repeatedly to challenge his accusations, and twice the Court calmed the Government's attorney with a reprimand. The atmosphere of the room seemed to seethe hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness. Finally, during the afternoon session, Foster was recalled.

Through it all Tisdale waited, listening to everything, separating, weighing each point presented. It was beginning to look serious for Foster. Clearly, in his determination to win his suit, the prosecution was losing sight of the simple justice the Government desired. And a man less dramatic, less choleric, with less of a reputation for political intrigue than Miles Feversham might better have defended Stuart Foster. Foster was so frank, so honest, so eager to make the Alaska situation understood. And it was not an isolated case; there were hundreds of young men, who, like him, had cast their fortunes with that new and growing country, to find themselves, after years of hards.h.i.+p and privation of which the outside world had no conception, bound hand and foot in an intricate tangle of the Government's red tape.

The evening of the fourth day the attorney for the prosecution surprised Tisdale at his rooms. ”Thank you,” he said, when Hollis offered his armchair, ”but those windows open to the four winds of heaven are a little imprudent to a man who lives by his voice. Pretty, though, isn't it?” He paused a moment to look down on the harbor lights and the chains of electric globes stretching off to Queen Anne hill and far and away to Magnolia bluff, then seated himself between the screen and the table that held the shaded reading lamp. ”Has it occurred to you, Mr. Tisdale,” he asked, ”that a question may be raised as to the legality of your testimony in these coal cases?”

”No.” Hollis remained standing. He looked at his visitor in surprise.

”Please make that clear, Mr. Bromley,” he said.

The attorney smiled. ”This is a trial case,” he began. ”A dozen others hinge on it. I was warned to be prepared for anything; so, when my attention was called to that article in _Sampson's Magazine_, my suspicions were instantly awake. It looked much like blackmail and, in connection with another story I heard in circulation at Was.h.i.+ngton, seemed a systematic preparation to attack the Government's witness. Possibly you do not know it was Mr. Jerold, your legal adviser and my personal friend, who put me in touch with the magazine. You had wired him to find out certain facts, but he was unable to go to New York at the time and, knowing I was there for the week, he got into communication with me by telephone and asked me to look the matter up. The publishers, fearing a libel suit which would ruin them, were very obliging. They allowed me to see not only the original ma.n.u.script, but Mrs. Feversham's letter, which I took the trouble to copy.”

”Mrs. Feversham's letter?” Tisdale exclaimed. ”Do you mean it was Mrs.

Feversham who was responsible for that story?”

”As it was published, yes. But Daniels was not a pen name. There really was such a writer--I have taken the trouble to find that out since I arrived in Seattle. He was on the staff of the _Press_ and wrote a very creditable account of the catastrophe on the Great Northern railroad, in which glowing tribute was given you. But since then, and this is what makes the situation so questionable, he has left the paper and dropped completely out of sight.”

Tisdale drew forward his chair and settled himself comfortably. ”There is no need to worry about Jimmie Daniels,” he said; ”he is all right. I saw him at Cascade tunnel; he told me he was about to be married and go to the Wenatchee country to conduct a paper of his own. It's too bad there wasn't another reporter up there to tell about him. He worked like a Trojan, and it was a place to try a man's mettle. Afterwards, before he left, he came to me and introduced himself. He had been aboard the yacht that day I told the story. He had taken it down in his notebook behind an awning. He told me one of the ladies on board--he did not mention her name--who read his copy later, offered to dispose of it for him.”

”So,” said the lawyer slowly, ”you did tell the story; there was a papoose; the unfortunate incident really occurred.”

”Yes,” responded Tisdale, ”it happened in a canyon of those mountains across the Sound. You can barely make out their outline to-night; but watch for them at sunrise; it's worth waiting for.” Then, after a moment, he said, ”I told the story to show the caliber of Weatherbee, the man who put himself in my place when the Indians came to our camp, looking for me; but, in editing, all mention of him was cut out. Daniels couldn't understand that. He said the ma.n.u.script was long, but if it was necessary to abridge in making up the magazine, why had they thrown out the finest part of the story?”

”Let me see,” said the attorney thoughtfully, ”wasn't Weatherbee the name of the man you grub-staked in Alaska, and who discovered the Aurora mine?”

Tisdale bowed, then added, with the vibration playing softly in his voice: ”And the name of the bravest and n.o.blest man that ever fought the unequal fight of the north.”

”Which proves the story was not published to exploit a hero,” commented Bromley. ”But now,” he went on brusquely, ”we have arrived at the other story. Do you know, Mr. Tisdale, it is being said in Was.h.i.+ngton, and, too, I have heard it here in Seattle, that though your own half interest in the Aurora mine, acquired through the grub-stake you furnished Weatherbee, will make you a millionaire at least, you are withholding the widow's share.”

This time Tisdale did not express surprise. ”I have had that suggested to me,” he answered quietly. ”But the stories of the Aurora are very much inflated. It is a comparatively new mine, and though it promises to be one of the great discoveries, the expense of operating so far has exceeded the output. Heavy machinery has been transported and installed, and Mrs.

Weatherbee could not have met any part of these payments. In all probability she would have immediately disposed of an interest at a small price and so handicapped me with a partner with his own ideas of development. David Weatherbee paid for the Aurora with his life, and I have pledged myself to carry out his plans. But, Mr. Bromley, do not trouble about that last half interest. I bought it: the transfer was regularly recorded; Mr. Jerold has a.s.sured me it is legally mine.”

”I know what Mr. Jerold thinks,” replied the attorney. ”It nettled him to hear me repeat that story. 'Why, it's incredible,'” he said. ”'There are doc.u.ments I drew up last fall that refute it completely.'” Mr. Bromley paused, then went on slowly: ”Last fall you were in a hospital, Mr.

Tisdale, beginning a long, all but hopeless fight for your life, and it was natural you should have called in Mr. Jerold to settle your affairs. I inferred from his remark that you had remembered Mrs. Weatherbee, at least, in your will.” He halted again, then added still more deliberately: ”If I am right, I should like to be prepared, in case of emergency, to read such a clause in court.”

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