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The Iron Trail, a novel by Rex Beach |
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Chapter 18. How The Man Became A Prince Again |
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_ CHAPTER XVIII. HOW THE MAN BECAME A PRINCE AGAIN O'Neil had the faculty of sleeping well, in spite of the most tormenting worries. He arose on the morning after his interview with Mr. Heidlemann, ready to begin the struggle with all his normal energy and confidence. But the day brought him only discouragement. He had a large acquaintance, the mention of his name in quarters where he was not personally known gained him respectful attention; but he found himself working in the shadow of the Copper Trust, and its silent influence overcame his strongest arguments. One banker expressed the general attitude by saying: "If the Heidlemanns were not in the field we might help you, but it would be financial suicide to oppose them." "There's no opposition about it," Murray assured him. "If I build that bridge they'll buy us out." At this his hearer very naturally wished to know why, if the bridge were indeed feasible, the Heidlemanns delayed action; and O'Neil had to fall back upon a recital of the facts, realizing perfectly that they failed to carry conviction. No one, it seemed, cared to risk even a semblance of rivalry with that monstrous aggregation of capital, for the interlacing of financial interests was amazingly intricate, and financiers were fearful of the least misstep. Everywhere O'Neil encountered the same disheartening timidity. His battle, it seemed, had been lost before it was begun. Days passed in fruitless endeavors; evenings found O'Neil in his corner of the Holland House Cafe racking his brain for some way out of his perplexities. Usually he was surrounded by friends, for he continued to entertain in the lavish fashion for which he had gained a reputation; but sometimes he was alone, and then his solitude became more oppressive than it had ever been even in the farthest wastes of the northland. He was made to feel his responsibility with dreadful keenness, for his associates were in a panic and bombarded him with daily inquiries, vexatious and hard to answer. He had hoped that in this extremity they might give him some practical help, and they did make a few half- hearted attempts, only to meet the same discouragements as he. At last they left him to carry the burden alone. A week, two weeks went by. He was in constant cable communication with Omar, but not even the faithful Dr. Gray knew the dire straits in which his chief was struggling. Work on the S. R. & N. was going forward as usual. The organization was running at its highest efficiency: rails were being laid; gangs of rock-workers were preparing the grade beyond the glaciers. Yet every day that passed, every pay-check drawn brought ruin closer. Nevertheless, O'Neil continued to joke and chat with the men who came to his table in the cafe and kept his business appointments with his customary cheerfulness. The waiters who attended him rejoiced in his usual princely tips. One evening as he ran through his mail he found a letter in a woman's handwriting and, glancing at the signature, started. It was signed "Gloria Gordon." Briefly it apprised him of her marriage and of her and Natalie's return to Hope. Gloria thanked him perfunctorily for his many kindnesses, but she neither expressed nor implied an invitation for him to visit them. He smiled a little grimly--already her loyalty had veered to Gordon's side, and Natalie no doubt shared her feeling. Well, it was but natural, perhaps. It would be unreasonable to expect them to sacrifice their desires, and what they now seemed to consider their interests, to a business quarrel they could hardly be expected to understand. He could not help feeling hurt that the women should so readily exchange his friendship for the protection of his bitterest enemy, but--they were helpless and he had helped them; let it rest at that. He was really troubled, however, that they had been so easily deceived. If they had only waited! If he had only been able to advise them! For Gordon's intention was plain. He was aroused from his train of thought by a stranger whom he found standing beside his table and looking down at him with wavering eye. "Misser O'Neil, ain't it?" the fellow inquired. "Sure! Thought I knew you. I'm Bulker, of the old North Pass. Remember me?" Mr. Bulker had been imbibing freely. He showed evidences of a protracted spree not only in his speech, but in the trembling hand which he extended. His eyes were bloodshot, and his good- natured face was purple. O'Neil greeted him pleasantly, and, considering himself enthusiastically welcomed, the new-comer sat down suddenly, as if some one had tripped him. "Been washing you for ten minutes." "Washing me?" "No! WASHING you. Couldn't make you out--eyesight's getting bad. Too many bright lights in this town. Ha! Joke! Let's have a gill." "Thank you, no." "Must have a little dram for old time's sake. You're the only one of the North Pass crowd I'll drink with." Mr. Bulker gestured comprehensively at a group of waiters, and Murray yielded. "You were my friend, O'Neil; you always treated me right." "What are you doing now?" asked O'Neil, with the interest he could not refuse to any one who had ever worked with him. He remembered the fellow perfectly. He had come on from the East as auditor, and had appeared to be capable, although somewhat given to drink. "I'm a broker. Wall Street's my habitat. Fine time to buy stocks, Misser O'Neil." Bulker assumed an expression of great wisdom. "Like to have a tip? No? Good! You're a wise man. They fired me from the North Pass. Wha'd you know about that? Fired me for drinking! Greatest injustice I ever heard of, but I hit running, like a turkey. That wasn't the reason they let me go, though. Not on your life!" He winked portentously, and strangely enough his eyelid failed to resume its normal position. It continued to droop, giving the appearance of a waggish leer. "I knew too mush! Isn't healthy to know too mush, is it?" "I've never had a chance to find out," smiled Murray. "Oh, don't be an ingenue; you savvied more than anybody on the job. I'll admit I took a nip now and then, but I never got pickled. Say! Who d'you s'pose I saw to-day? Old man Illis!" O'Neil became suddenly intent. He had been trying to get in touch with Poultney Illis for more than a fortnight, but his cables to London had brought no response. "When did he arrive?" "Just lately. He's a game old rooster, ain't he? Gee, he's sore!" "Sore about what?" Bulker winked again, with the same lack of muscular control. "About that North Pass deal, of course. He was blackmailed out of a cold million. The agreement's about up now, and I figure he's over here to renew it." "You're talking Greek," said O'Neil; but his eagerness was manifest. "I s'posed you knew. The North Pass has been paying blackmail to the Yukon steamboat companies for three years. When you built the line it practically put 'em out of the Dawson market, understand?" "Of course." Now that Mr. Bulker's mind was running along well-worn grooves, his intoxication became less apparent. "Those Frisco steamboat men got together and started a rate war against the railroad; they hauled freight to Dawson by way of St. Michaels at a loss. Of course Illis and his crowd had to meet competition, and it nearly broke 'em the first two seasons. Gee, they were the mad ones! Finally they fixed up an agreement--had to or go bust--and of course the Native Sons put it over our English cousins. They agreed to restore the old rate, and each side promised to pay the other a royalty of ten dollars a ton on all the freight it hauled to Dawson and up-river points. You can guess the result, can't you? The steamboat companies let Illis haul all the freight and sat back on their haunches and took their profit. For every ton he hauled he slipped 'em ten round American dollars, stamped with the Goddess of Liberty. Oh, it was soft! When they had him fairly tied up they dry-docked their steamboats, to save wear and tear. He paid 'em a thousand dollars a day for three years. If that ain't blackmail, it's a first cousin to it by marriage." "Didn't the Interstate Commerce Commission get wise?" "Certainly not. It looks wise, but it never GETS wise. Oh, believe me, Poultney Illis is hopping mad. I s'pose he's over here now to renew the arrangement for another three years on behalf of his stock-holders. Let's have a dram." Bulker sat back and stared as through a mist at his companion, enjoying the effect of his disclosure. O'Neil was indeed impressed--more deeply than his informant dreamed. Out of the lips of a drunken man had come a hint which set his nerves to tingling. He knew Illis well, he knew the caliber of the Englishman, and a plan was already leaping in his brain whereby he might save the S. R. & N. It lacked an hour of midnight when O'Neil escaped from Bulker and reached his room. Once inside, he seized the telephone and rang up hotel after hotel, inquiring for the English capitalist, but without result. After a moment's consideration he took his hat and gloves and went out. The matter did not permit of delay. Not only were his own needs imperative, but if Poultney Illis had come from London to confer with his rivals there was little time to spare. Remembering the Englishman's habits, O'Neil turned up the Avenue to the Waldorf, where he asked for the manager, whom he well knew. "Yes, Mr. Illis is here," he was informed, "but he's registered under a different name. No doubt he'll be glad to see you, however." A moment later Murray recognized the voice of Illis's valet over the wire and greeted him by name. Another brief delay, and the capitalist himself was at the 'phone. "Come right up," he said; and O'Neil replaced the receiver with a sigh of relief. Illis greeted him warmly, for their relations had been close. "Lucky you found me," he said. "I'm going back on the next sailing." "Have you signed up with the Arctic Navigation Company?" Murray inquired; and the other started. "Bless me! What do you mean?" His caller laughed. "I see you haven't. I don't think you will, either, after you've talked with me." Without the tremor of an eyelash Illis exclaimed: "My word! What are you driving at?" "That agreement over freight rates, of course." The Briton eyed him for a moment, then carefully closed the door leading from his sitting-room, and, seating himself, lit a cigar. "What do you know about that matter?" he asked, quietly. "About all there is to know--enough, at least, to appreciate your feelings." "I flattered myself that my affairs were private. Where did you get your information?" "I'll tell you if you insist, although I'd rather not. There's no danger of its becoming public." Illis showed his relief. "I'm glad. You gave me a start. Rotten fix for a man to be in. Why, I'm here under an assumed name! Fancy! But--" he waved his hand in a gesture which showed his acceptance of the inevitable. "You haven't made your new agreement?" "I'm to meet Blum and Capron to-morrow." "Why didn't you take the S. R.& N. when I cabled you last month?" "I couldn't. But what has that to do with the matter?" "Don't you see? It's so plain to me that I can't understand how you failed to realize the value--the necessity of buying my road." "Explain, please." "Gladly. The North Pass & Yukon is paying a fabulous blackmail to the river-lines to escape a ruinous rate war." "Right! It's blackmail, as you say." "Under the present agreement you handle the Dawson freight and keep out of the lower river; they take the whole Tanana valley and lower Yukon." "Correct." "Didn't it occur to you that the S.R.& N., which starts four hundred miles west of the North Pass and taps the Tanana valley, can be used to put the river steamers of that section out of business?" "Let's have a look at the map." Mr. Illis hurried into an adjoining room and returned with a huge chart which he unrolled upon the table. "To tell you the truth, I never looked at the proposition from that angle. Our people were afraid of those glaciers and the competition of the Copper Trust. They're disgusted, too, with our treatment." "The Trust is eliminated. Kyak harbor is wiped off the map, and I'm alone in the field." "How about this fellow Gordon?" "He'll be broke in a year. Incidentally, that's my trouble." "But I'm told you can't pass the glaciers." "I can. Parker says he'll have the bridge done by spring." "Then I'd bank on it. I'd believe Parker if I knew he was lying. If you both agree, I haven't the slightest doubt." "This is a bigger proposition than the North Pass, Mr. Illis. You made money out of that road, but this one will make more." He swiftly outlined the condition of affairs, even to the attitude assumed by the Heidlemanns; and Illis, knowing the speaker as he did, had no doubt that he was hearing the exact truth. "But that's not all," continued O'Neil. "The S. R. & N. is the club which will hammer your enemies into line. That's what I came to see you about. With a voice in it you can control the traffic of all central Alaska and force the San Francisco crowd to treat the N. P. & Y. fairly, thereby saving half a million a year." "It's a big undertaking. I'm not sure our crowd could swing it." "They don't have to. There's a quick profit of two million to be had by selling to the Trust next spring. You can dictate your own terms to those blackmailers to-morrow, and then make a turn-over in nine months. It doesn't matter who owns the S. R. & N. after it's completed. The steamboat men will see their profits cut. As it is now, they can make enough out of their own territory to haul freight into yours for nothing." "I dare say you'll go to them if we don't take you up, eh?" "My road has its strategic value. I must have help. If you don't come to my rescue it will mean war with your line, I dare say." Mr. Illis sat back, staring at the ceiling for a long time. From the street below came the whir and clatter of taxicabs as the midnight crowd came and went. The city's nocturnal life was at its height; men had put aside the worries of the day and were devoting themselves to the more serious and exhausting pastimes of relaxation. Still the white-haired Briton weighed in his mind the matter of millions, while the fortunes of Murray O'Neil hung in the balance. "My people won't buy the S. R. & N.," Illis finally announced. "But I'll put it up to them." "I can't delay action if there's a chance of a refusal. I'll have to see Blum and Capron," said O'Neil." "I'll cable full details within the hour. We'll have an answer by to-morrow night." "And if they refuse?" O'Neil lit a cigar with steady fingers. "Oh, if they refuse I'll join you. We'll go over the matter carefully in the mean time. Two million you said, didn't you?" "Yes. There's two million profit for you in nine months." His voice was husky and a bit uneven, for he had been under a great strain. "Good! You don't know how resentful I feel toward Blum and his crowd. I--I'm downright angry: I am that." Illis took the hand which his caller extended, with an expressionless face. "I'm glad I found you," confessed O'Neil. "I was on my last legs. Herman Heidlemann will pay our price when the last bridge-bolt is driven home, and he'll pay with a smile on his face--that's the sort of man he is." "He won't pay if he knows I'm interested. We're not exactly friendly since I sold out my smelter interests. But he needn't know--nobody need know." Illis called his valet and instructed him to rouse his secretary and ring for some cable blanks. "I think I'll cable, too," Murray told him. "I have some 'boys' up there who are working in the dark with their teeth shut. They're waiting for the crash, and they'd like to hear the good news." His fingers shook as he scrawled the name of Doctor Gray, but his eyes were bright and youth was singing in his heart once more. "Now let's get down to business," said Mr. Illis. "We'll have to talk fast." It was growing light in the east when O'Neil returned to the Holland House; but he felt no fatigue, and he laughed from the pure joy of living, for his dream seemed coming true. _ |
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