Rimrock Jones
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Dane Coolidge >> Rimrock Jones
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"So soon?" enquired Mary and as Rimrock looked at her he caught a
twinkle in her eyes. Not of merriment exactly, but of swift
understanding and a hidden, cynical scorn.
"What d'ye mean?" he blustered. "Ain't I got a right----"
"Why, certainly," she returned, still with that subtle resentment, "I
have no objections at all. Only it might make a difference to Mr.
Stoddard if he found us both away."
"Aw, that's all bosh!" broke out Rimrock impatiently, "he's got his
hands more than full in New York. I happen to know he's framing up a
copper deal that will lay the Hackmeisters wide open. That's why I
want to go back. Mrs. Hardesty says----"
"Mrs. Hardesty?"
Rimrock stopped and looked down. Then he picked up his hat and made
another false start for the door.
"Yes, Mrs. Hardesty--she came in last night. That lady that wore the
tiger skin."
"Oh!" said Mary and something in her voice seemed to stab him in the
back as he fled.
"Say, what do you mean?" he demanded, coming angrily back, "you speak
like something was wrong. Can't a man look twice at some other woman
without your saying: 'Oh!' I want you to understand that this Mrs.
Hardesty is just as good as you are. And what's more, by grab, she's
got stock in our Company and we ought to be treating her nice. Yes,
she bought it from Stoddard; and if I could just pull her over----
"How much stock?" asked Mary, reaching suddenly for a book, and Rimrock
fidgeted and turned red.
"Two thousand shares!" he said defiantly. "She's got as much as you
have."
"Oh!" murmured Mary as she ran through the book, and Rimrock flew into
a fury.
"Now for the love of Mike!" he cried, striding towards her, "don't
always be pulling that book! I know you know where every share is, and
just who transferred it to who, but this Mrs. Hardesty has told me
she's got it and that ought to be enough!"
"Why, certainly!" agreed Mary, instantly closing the book. "I just
didn't recall the name. Is she waiting for you now? Then don't let me
detain you. I'll be starting East to-night."
Rimrock rocked on his feet in impotent anger as he groped for a fitting
retort.
"Well, go then!" he said. "What do I give a damn?" And he rushed
savagely out of the room.
CHAPTER XVII
AN AFTERTHOUGHT
It was part of the violent nature of Rimrock that his wrath fell upon
both the just and the unjust. Mary Fortune had worsted him in their
passage at arms and left him bruised from head to heels. She had
simply let him come on and at every bludgeon stroke she had replied
with a rapier thrust. Without saying a word against the character of
Mrs. Hardesty she had conveyed the thought that she was an adventuress;
or, if not exactly that, then something less than a lady. And the sure
way in which she had reached for that book was proof positive that the
stock was not recorded. But the thing that maddened him most, and
against which there was no known defense, was her subtle implication
that Mrs. Hardesty was at the bottom of his plan to go East. And so,
with the fury still hot in his brain, he made poor company on the road
to the Tecolote.
Since Mrs. Hardesty had come, as a stockholder of course, to look over
the Company's properties, it was necessary that she should visit the
mine, though she was far from keen for the trip. She came down at
last, heavily veiled from the sunshine, and Rimrock helped her into his
machine; but, being for the moment in a critical mood and at war in his
heart against all women, he looked at her with different eyes. For the
best complexion that was ever laid on will not stand the test of the
desert and in the glare of white light she seemed suddenly older and
pitifully made up and painted. Even the flash of pearly teeth and the
dangerous play of her eyes could not hide the dark shadows beneath; and
her conversation, on the morning after, seemed slightly artificial and
forced.
Perhaps, in that first flight of their unleashed souls when they sat
close in the balcony alone, they had reached a height that could never
be attained when the sun was strong in their eyes. They crouched
behind the windshield, for Rimrock drove recklessly, and went roaring
out across the desert and between the rush of the wind and the sharp
kick of the chuck-holes conversation was out of the question. Then
they came to the camp, with its long rows of deal houses and the rough
bulk of the concentrator and mill; and even this, to Mrs. Hardesty's
wind-blown eyes, must have seemed exceedingly Western and raw.
A mine, at the best, is but a hole in the ground; and that which
appears on top--the shaft-houses and stacks and trestles and dumps--is
singularly barren of interest. The Tecolote was better than most, for
there were open cuts with steam shovels scooping up the ore, and miners
driving holes into the shattered formation and powder-men loading
shots. Rimrock showed it all faithfully, and they watched some blasts
and took a ride in the gliding cars, but it was hardly a trip that the
average lady would travel from New York to take. So they both breathed
a sigh when the ordeal was over and the car had taken them home.
At the door of the hotel Mrs. Hardesty disappeared, which gave Rimrock
a chance for a drink, but as he went past the desk the clerk called him
back and added to the burden of his day.
"What's these?" demanded Rimrock as the clerk handed over some keys,
but he knew them all too well.
"The keys to the office, sir. Miss Fortune left quite suddenly and
requested me to deliver them to you."
"Where'd she go?" he asked, and, not getting an answer, he burst into a
fit of cursing. He could see it all now. She had not gone for an
operation, she had gone because she was mad. She was jealous, and that
was her way of showing it--she had gone off and left him in a hole. He
ought to have known from that look in her eye and the polite, smiling
way she talked. Now he was tied to the mast and if he went to New York
he would have to turn over the mine to Jepson! And that would give
Jepson just the chance he wanted to jump the Old Juan claim.
For a man who was worth fifty million dollars and could claim a whole
town for his friends Rimrock put in a most miserable night as he dwelt
on this blow to his hopes. He was like a man checkmated at
chess--every way he turned he was sure to lose if he moved. For the
chance of winning a hypothetical two thousand shares, which Stoddard
was supposed to have sold to Mrs. Hardesty, he had thrown away and lost
forever his control over Mary Fortune's stock. Now, if he followed
after her and tried to make his peace, he might lose his chance with
Mrs. Hardesty as well; and if he stayed with _her_ Mary was fully
capable of throwing her vote with Stoddard's. It was more than her
stock, it was her director's vote that he needed above everything else!
Rimrock paced up and down in his untidy room and struggled to find a
way out. With Mary gone he could not even vote a dividend unless he
came to an agreement with Stoddard. He could not get the money to
carry out his plans, not even when it lay in bank. He could not
appoint a new secretary, to carry on the work while he made his trip to
New York. He couldn't do anything but stay right there and wait until
he heard from her!
It was a humiliating position for a man to find himself in, and
especially after his talk with Mrs. Hardesty. Perhaps he had not
considered the ways and means very carefully, but he had promised her
to go back to New York. A man like him, with his genius for finance
and his masterful control of men, a man who could rise in a single year
from a prospector to a copper king; such a man was wasted in provincial
Arizona--his place was in Wall Street, New York. So she had said that
night when they sat close together and their souls sought the high
empyrean of dreams--and now he was balked by a woman. Master of men he
was, and king of finance he might be, but woman was still his bane.
He looked at it again by the cold light of day and that night he
appealed to Mrs. Hardesty. She was a woman herself, and wise in the
ways of jealousy, intrigue and love. A single word from her and this
impenetrable mystery might be cleared up like mist before the sun. And
she ought to help him because it was through her, indirectly, that all
this trouble had occurred. Until her arrival there had never been a
moment when he had seriously worried over Mary. She had scolded, of
course, about his gambling and drinking and they had had their bad half
hours, off and on; but never for an instant had there been the
suggestion of a break in their business affairs. About that, at least,
she had always been reasonable; but now she was capable of anything.
It would not surprise him to get a telegram from Stoddard that he was
coming out to take over the control; nor to discover later, across the
directors' table, Mary Fortune sitting grimly by. He knew her too
well! If she once got started! But he passed--it was up to Mrs.
Hardesty.
They met at dinner, the lady being indisposed during the day as a
result of their strenuous trip, but she came down now, floating
gracefully in soft draperies and Rimrock knew why he had built those
broad stairs. He had thought, in jail, that he was building them for
Mary, but they were for Mrs. Hardesty after all. She was a queen no
less in her filmy gown than in the tiger-skin cloak that she wore, and
Rimrock dared to use the same compliment on her that he had coined for
Mary Fortune. They dined together in a secluded corner on the best
that the chef could produce--and for a Chinaman, he accomplished
miracles--but Rimrock said nothing of his troubles. The talk was
wholly of gay, distant New York, and of the conflict that was forming
there.
For a woman of society, compelled by her widowhood to manage her own
affairs, it was wonderful to Rimrock how much she knew of the
intricacies of the stock market and of the Exchange. There was not a
financier or a broker of note that she did not know by name, and the
complex ways by which they achieved their ends were an open book to
her. Even Whitney H. Stoddard was known to her personally--the
shrewdest intriguer of them all--and yet he, so she said, had a human
side to him and let her in on occasional deals. He had been a close
friend of her husband, in their boyhood, and that probably accounted
for the fact; otherwise he would never have sold her that Tecolote.
"But he's got a string on it," suggested Rimrock shrewdly; but she only
drooped her eyelashes and smiled.
"I never carry gossip between rivals," she said. "They might fly at
each other's throats. You don't like Mr. Stoddard. Very well, he
doesn't like you. He thinks you're flighty and extravagant. But is
that any reason why we shouldn't be friends--or why my stock isn't
perfectly good?"
"Don't you think it!" answered Rimrock. "Any time you want to sell
it----"
"A-ah! At it again!" she chided laughingly. "How like fighting
animals men are. If I'd toss that stock, like a bit of raw meat, in
the midst of you copper-mad men! But I won't, never fear. In the
fight that would follow I might lose some highly valued friend."
From the droop of her lashes Rimrock was left to guess who that friend
might be and, not being quick at woman logic, he smiled and thought of
Stoddard. They sat late at their table and, to keep him at ease, Mrs.
Hardesty joined him in a cigarette. It was a habit she had learned
when Mr. Hardesty was living; although now, of course, every one
smoked. Then, back at last in the shadowy alcove--which was suddenly
vacated by the Jepsons--they settled down on the Turkish divan and
invited their souls with smoke. It rose up lazily as the talk drifted
on and then Rimrock jumped abruptly to his problem.
"Mrs. Hardesty," he said, "I'm in a terrible fix and I want you to help
me out. I never saw the man yet that I couldn't get away with--give me
time, and room according to my strength--but I've had a girl working
for me, she's the secretary of our company, and she fools me every
time."
Mrs. Hardesty laughed--it was soft, woman's laughter as if she enjoyed
this joke on mere man--and even when Rimrock explained the dangerous
side of his predicament she refused to take it seriously.
"Ah, you're all alike," she said sighing comfortably, "I've never known
it to fail. It's always the woman who trusts through everything, and
the man who disbelieves. I saw her, just a moment, as she passed down
the hall and I don't think you have anything to fear. She's a quiet
little thing----"
"Don't you think it!" burst out Rimrock. "You don't know her the way I
do. She's an Injun, once she makes up her mind."
"Well, even so," went on Mrs. Hardesty placidly, "what reason have you
to think she means trouble? Did you have any words with her before she
went away? What reason did she give when she left?"
"Well," began Rimrock, "the reason she gave was some operation to be
performed on her ears. But I know just as sure as I'm sitting here
to-night she did it out of jealousy, over you."
"Over me!" repeated Mrs. Hardesty sitting up abruptly; and then she
sank back and shook with laughter. "Why, you foolish boy," she cried,
straightening up reproachfully, "why didn't you tell me you were in
love? And we sat here for hours! Did she see us, do you suppose? She
must have! Was she waiting to speak to you, do you think?"
"My--God!" exclaimed Rimrock, rising slowly to his feet. "I had an
appointment with her--that night!" He paused and Mrs. Hardesty sat
silent, the laughter dead on her lips. "Yes, sir," he went on, "I was
going to meet her--here! By grab, I forgot all about it!" He struck
his leg a resounding whack and sank back upon the divan. "Well, now
isn't--that fierce!" he muttered and Mrs. Hardesty tittered nervously.
"Ah, well," she said, "it's soon discovered, the reason why she left
you so abruptly. But didn't she say a word about it? That doesn't
seem very lover-like, to me. What makes you think the child was
jealous? Did she mention my name at all?"
"Nope," mumbled Rimrock, "she never mentioned it. That girl is an
Injun, all through! And she'll knife me, after this! I can feel it
coming. But, by George, I plumb forgot!"
"Oh, come now!" consoled Mrs. Hardesty, giving him a gentle pat, "this
isn't so bad, after all. If I can only see her, I'll explain it
myself. Have you any idea where she's gone?"
"Bought a ticket for New York--where Old Stoddard hangs out. I can see
my finish--right now!"
"No, but listen, Mr. Jones--or may I call you Rimrock? That's such a
fine, Western name! Did it ever occur to you that the trains are still
running? You could follow, and let me explain!"
"Aw, explain to a tiger cat! Explain to an Apache! I tell you that
girl is an Injun. She'll go with you so far, and stand for quite a
little; but when she strikes fire, look out!"
"Oh, very well," murmured Mrs. Hardesty and reached for a cigarette
which she puffed delicately while Rimrock gloomed. It was painfully
clear now--the cause of Mary's going and the embittered vindictiveness
of her smile. Not only had he sat up to talk with Mrs. Hardesty, but
he had brought her to where Mary had been waiting. He had actually
talked love, without really meaning it, with this fascinating woman of
the world; and, having an appointment to meet him right there, how
could Mary help but know? He pictured her for a moment, lingering
silently in the background, looking on where she could not hear. Was
it less than human that she should resent it and make an excuse to go?
And yet she had done it so quietly--that was the lady in her--without a
word of tragedy or reproach! He remembered suddenly that she had
laughed quite naturally and made some joke about his name being Mister.
"What's that you say about the trains still running?" he demanded as he
roused up from his thoughts. "Well, excuse me, right now! I'm on my
way! I'm going back to hunt that girl up!"
He leaped to his feet and left her still smoking as he rushed off to
enquire about the trains.
"Well, well," she murmured as she gazed thoughtfully after him, "he's
as impulsive as any child. Just a great, big boy--I rather like
him--but he won't last long, in New York."
CHAPTER XVIII
NEW YORK
Rimrock Jones' return to New York was as dramatic and spectacular as
his first visit had been pretentious and prodigal. With two thousand
dollars and a big black hat he had passed for a Western millionaire;
now, still wearing the hat but loaded down with real money, he returned
and was hailed as a Croesus. There are always some people in public
life whose least act is heralded to the world; whereas others, much
more distinguished but less given to publicity, accomplish miracles and
are hardly known. And then there are still others who, fed up with
flattery and featured in a hundred ways, are all unwittingly the
victims of a publicity bureau whose aim is their ultimate undoing.
A real Western cowboy with a pistol under his coat, a prospector turned
multi-millionaire in a year, such a man--especially if he wears a
sombrero and gives five-dollar tips to the bell-hops--is sure to break
into the prints. But it was a strange coincidence, when Rimrock jumped
out of his taxicab and headed for the Waldorf entrance, to find a
battery of camera men all lined up to snap him and a squad of reporters
inside. No sooner had Rimrock been shot through the storm door into
the gorgeous splendors of Peacock Alley than they assailed him en
masse--much as the bell-boys had just done to gain his grip and the
five-dollar tip.
That went down first--the five-dollar tip--and his Western remarks on
the climate. Then his naive hospitality in inviting them all to the
bar where they could talk the matter over at their ease, and his
equally cordial agreement to make it tea when he was reminded that some
reporters were women--it all went down and came out the same evening,
at which Rimrock Jones was dazed. If he had telegraphed ahead, or let
anyone know that he planned to return to New York, it would not have
been surprising to find the reporters waiting, for he was, of course, a
great man; but this was a quick trip, made on the spur of the moment,
and he hadn't told a soul. Yet in circumstances like these, with a
roomful of newspapers and your name played up big on the front page, it
is hardly human nature to enquire too closely or wonder what is going
on. Still, there was something up, for even coincidence can explain
things only so far. Leaving out the fact that Mrs. Hardesty might have
sent on the telegram herself, and that Whitney H. Stoddard might have
motives of his own in inviting his newspapers to act; it did not stand
to reason that the first man Rimrock ran into should have had such a
sweet inside tip. Yet that was what the gay Buckbee told him--and
circumstances proved he was right. The money that Rimrock put up that
night, after talking it over in the cafe, that money was doubled within
the next three days, and the stock still continued to advance. It was
invested on a margin in Navajoa Copper, a minor holding of the great
Hackmeister combine that Stoddard had set out to break.
Stoddard was selling short, so Buckbee explained, throwing great blocks
of stock on a market that refused to break; and when the rush came and
Navajoa started up Rimrock was there with the rest of his roll. It was
a game that he took to--any form of gambling--and besides, he was
bucking Stoddard! And then, there was Buckbee. He knew more in a
minute than some brokers know in a lifetime; and he had promised to
keep him advised. Of course it was a gamble, a man might lose, but it
beat any game Rimrock had played. And copper was going up. Copper,
the metal that stood behind it all, and that men could not do without.
There was a movement on such as Rimrock had never dreamed of, to
control the copper product of the world. It had been tried before and
had ended disastrously, but that did not prove it impossible. There
were in the United States six or eight companies that produced the bulk
of the ore. Two or three, like the Tecolote, were closed corporations,
where the stock was held by a few; but the rest were on the market, the
football of The Street, their stock owned by anybody and everybody. It
was for these loose stocks that the combine and Stoddard were fighting,
with thousands of the public buying in, and as the price of some stock
was jigged up and down it was the public that cast the die.
If the people were convinced that a certain stock was good and refused
to be shaken down, the price of that stock went up. But if the people,
through what they had read, decided that the stock was bad; then there
was a panic that nothing could stop and the big interests snapped up
the spoils. So much Rimrock learned from Buckbee, and Mrs. Hardesty
told him the rest. It was her judgment, really, that he came to rely
upon; though Buckbee was right, in the main. He told the facts, but
she went behind them and showed who was pulling the strings.
It was from her that he had learned of the mighty press agencies--which
at the moment were making much of his coup--and how shrewd financiers
like the Hackmeisters or Stoddard used them constantly to influence the
market. If it became known, for instance, that Rimrock Jones was
plunging on Navajoa and that within three days he had doubled his money
and was still holding out for a rise; that was big news for Hackmeister
and his papers made the most of it. But if Navajoa went down and some
broker's clerk lost his holdings and committed embezzlement, or if a
mining engineer made an adverse report, or the company passed a
dividend, then Stoddard's press agents would make the most of each
item--if he wished the stock to go down. Otherwise it would not be
mentioned. It was by following out such subtleties and closely
studying the tape, that brokers like Buckbee guessed out each move in
advance and were able to earn their commissions.
But all this information did not come to Rimrock for nothing--there was
a price which had to be paid. For reasons of her own the dashing Mrs.
Hardesty appeared frequently in the Waldorf lobby, and when Rimrock
came in with any of his friends he was expected to introduce them. And
Rimrock's friends in that swarming hotel were as numerous as they were
in Gunsight. He expected no less, wherever he went, than the
friendship of every man; and if any held back, for any reason, he
marked him as quickly for an enemy. He was as open-hearted and free in
those marble corridors and in the velvet-hung club and cafe as the old
Rimrock had been on the streets of Gunsight when he spoke to every
Mexican.
It was his day of triumph, this return to the Waldorf where before he
had been but a pretender, and it did his heart good to share his
victory with the one woman who could understand. She knew all his ways
now, his swift impulsive hatreds and his equally impulsive affections;
and she knew, as a woman, just when to oppose him and when to lead him
on. She knew him, one might say, almost too well for her success; for
Rimrock was swayed more by his heart than his head, and at times she
seemed a little cold. There was a hard, worldly look that came over
her at times, a sly, calculating look that chilled him when he might
have told everything he knew. Yet it may easily be that he told her
enough, and more than she needed to know.
In some curious way that Rimrock could never fathom, Mrs. Hardesty was
interested in stocks. She never explained it, but her visits to the
Waldorf had something to do with trades. Whether she bought or sold,
gathered tips or purveyed them or simply guarded her own investments
was a mystery that he never solved; but she knew many people and, in
some way not specified, she profited by their acquaintance. She was an
elusive woman, like another that he knew; but at times she startled
him, too. Those times were mostly on the rare occasions when she
invited him to supper at her rooms. These were at the St. Cyngia, not
far from the Waldorf, a full suite with two servants to attend.
On his first formal call Rimrock had been taken aback by the wealth and
luxury displayed. There were rare French tapestries and soft Persian
rugs that seemed to merge into the furniture of the rooms and at his
very first dinner she had poured out the wine until even his strong
head began to swim. It was a new world to him and a new kind of
woman--with the intellect and, yes, the moral standards of a man. She
was dainty and feminine, and with a dark type of beauty that went to
his head worse than wine, but with it all she had a stockbroker's
information and smoked and drank like a man. But then, as she said,
all the women smoked now; and as far as he could judge, it was so. The
women they saw in the gay all-night restaurants or after the theater in
cabarets, all beautifully gowned and apparently with their husbands,
drank and smoked the same as the men.
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