My "Pardner" and I
TextCHAPTER XIII. – THE STAGE RIDE
THE following morning Vance forwarded to the Banner office a two column article, which he considered the finest of all his western letters.
The chief was at Buzzard’s Bay enjoying a much needed rest, when Vance’s letter was received. The assistant managing editor did little more than glance over the manuscript and observe to the dramatic critic, as he hung the copy on the hook, that “Young Gilder was sending in some excellent articles from the Northwest.” The article was headed “Two Honorable Exceptions.” It proceeded, in a most logical manner, to give the output of precious metals from the mining town of Butte City.
His statistics were carefully revised, showing there was five times as much capital per capita in the mining camp of Butte City, with her 50,000 people, as in the cities of New York, Philadelphia or Boston.
Vance had spent a good deal of time in preparing the article, and every statement was supplemented with irrefragable proof. The latter half of the article was devoted to Waterville and the agricultural resources of the Thief River Valley. The exports of surplus crops had increased from 100 carloads per annum to 3,000 carloads in four years’ time, and a clever comparison was drawn between the farmers of eastern and New England states and the farmers of the great Thief River Valley, showing that for a given amount of labor, the farmer in the Thief River Valley received at least three dollars where the eastern farmer received only one.
The wonderful water power in the rapids of the Thief River, where the new town of Waterville was building, was also dwelt upon, as well as the centrality of location of the new city – not only from a local standpoint, but as to the entire northwestern section of the United States. The yield of wheat and other cereals was briefly referred to, all showing that Gilder had been most painstaking in preparing the article.
The managing editor, at Buzzard’s Bay, was enjoying his morning smoke when the Banner was laid on his table. Glancing it over leisurely, his eye caught the head-lines, “Two Honorable Exceptions.” In a moment he was all animation. His cigar was permitted to go out in his general neglect of everything else, in devouring every sentence and word of the article. He then paced back and forth across his room and swore like a pirate, declaring he would not have had the article appear in the columns of the Banner for $10,000.
“Just to think,” said he, “the very thing I sent that young fool of a Gilder into the west to accomplish, he has in this one article spoiled forever. Half a dozen of my friends have been asking me about mining investments in Butte City. I have pleaded ignorance, but assured them we had sent a trusty man to inspect the merits of such investments, and they could expect reliable information in the columns of the Banner. Here it is, and a pretty mess he has made of it. He has,” continued the managing editor, angrily, “completely lost his head; only one thing will bring him to his senses, and that is a prompt dismissal from the Banner force.”
Accordingly he wired the assistant managing editor, directing him to notify Mr. Gilder by letter that his services were no longer required. He also instructed his assistant to send the clearest headed man on the force immediately to Butte City, Montana, and Waterville, Idaho, and have an article for the coming Sunday issue that would entirely counteract the effect of Mr. Gilder’s communication.
While these arrangements were being made at the Banner office, Vance was preparing to return to Butte City by way of Waterville, in order to make some investigations and secure additional information for his next letter to the Banner.
The old miner, Ben Bonifield, had assured him they would reach the 300 foot level by the following Saturday night, and Vance promised to return to Gold Bluff early the following week. Vance waited over one stage in order to travel in the one driven by Steve Gibbons.
As a special mark of distinction to Vance, Gibbons invited him to a seat on the top of the stage. As they were whirled away from the beautiful little village of Gold Bluff, the sun was beginning to gild with gold the eastern hills. Vance felt it was a sight never to be forgotten. The evening before starting he was at the Bonifields. When Louise said good-bye, with the sweet truthfulness of youth, and assured him that she would be lonely when he was gone, he felt like declaring then and there, he would stay forever if she would but make the request. She gave Vance a letter of introduction to her sister Virginia, whom Vance promised to call upon as soon as possible after reaching Waterville.
Steve Gibbons was in his element on top of the stage coach.
He chatted away in a vivacious manner, recounting various reminiscences of the different mountain gorges, here and there, where fine specimens of float rock had been discovered at different times. Again he would tell of some thrilling adventure with the Indians, and marvelous hair-breadth escapes. Gibbons invariably figured in these narratives as one of the principal characters. Presently he said:
“I don’t reckon you met Grim, did you?”
“Rufus Grim?” said Vance; “yes, I had the pleasure of meeting him only a few days ago.”
“I ‘spect,” said Gibbons, “that Rufus Grim is the biggest scoundrel unhung in these diggins. He thinks he’s mighty pert, but Hank Casey and me ‘ll teach him afore long that other people can be a mighty sight perter than what he is. The only hearty, overgrown regret that I’ve never been able to get rid of is that I didn’t twist his neck ten years ago.”
“What grievance have you,” asked Vance, “against Mr. Grim? One would naturally suppose the owner of the richest mine in the Fish River Mining District would be respected instead of disliked.” Steve Gibbons pushed his sombrero back from his forehead, as if to relieve his pent up feelings, swung his long whip twice around his head, and made the welkin ring as he cracked it over the backs of his dappled leaders.
He then expectorated a vigorous “pit-tew” of tobacco juice, and said: “I reckon one can’t always judge by appearances. When Steve Gibbons says that Rufus Grim is a scoundrel, he is a pretty good jedge of what he is sayin’, and he mighty near means what he says, pardner. Somebody’s goin’ to be jerked out of the kinks ‘fore long, and – ’twixt ourselves – I think that somebody is Rufus Grim. Hank Casey an’ me are old pards, and we’ve employed B. Webster Legal. He’s the corporation attorney for the Waterville Town Company. You won’t be takin’ no chances, pardner, of bettin’ your last dollar that old Grim will think somebody’s after him with a sharp stick and a diamond drill in the end of it ‘afore B. Webster Legal gets through with him. I tell you, Jedge Legal is a cuss in the court room. He can whip his weight in wild-cats in a law suit. Of course, I don’t mean that he’s goin’ to leave the Town Company; he’ll never do that as long as a lot can be sold – he says so his-self. Hank and I hev made a bargain with him, and old Grim is goin’ to be ousted. The Peacock belongs to Hank Casey and me. What do you think of that?”
“I assure you,” replied Vance, “you interest me very much. I supposed Mr. Grim was the owner of the Peacock.”
Again Steve Gibbons’ long whip cracked like a pistol shot over the backs of his horses. Presently he said:
“I don’t tell everybody, pardner, but I ‘spect it makes no difference with you. You see, when Rufus Grim came to Gold Bluff some fifteen years ago, he was so darnation poor he couldn’t buy a meal of victuals. Hank and I had staked out the Peacock.
We had found some mighty rich float rock in that part of the mountain, and knew the precious stuff was not very far away. We ‘grub-staked’ Grim and put him to work on wages, and while he was workin’, he struck a ‘pocket’ and found free gold – a regular vault full of yellow stuff. He commenced his treachery by stealin’ every grain of it, and then cleverly walled up that part of the shaft and continued diggin’ in the opposite direction, endeavorin’ to get as far away from the place where he had made the discovery as possible. Well, by and by Hank Casey and me got tired of payin’ out money, and we sold out the Peacock for a mere song to Grim. Soon after, the name of Rufus Grim was known all over the mountain district as a bonanza king. He organized an immense company, and owns most of the stock himself. Within six months after we were defrauded of our rights in the Peacock, he was a rich man, and has been gettin’ richer ever since. Hank Casey and me have a whole lot of evidence. B. Webster Legal says if we can prove what we claim, that we have got a lead pipe cinch on the Peacock. The papers are bein’ drawn up, and things are goin’ to be sizzlin’ hot for Rufus Grim before many moons go over his head.”
Vance expressed much surprise and sympathy at the injustice he had sustained.
“Say, pardner,” said Steve, “I kind o’ reckon you’re shinin’ up a little toward old Bonifield’s gal, ain’t you?” and he nudged Vance in the ribs with his elbow.
The question was so unexpected that Vance hardly knew how to reply. “I hope,” replied Vance, “that I am not in disfavor with the young lady, or her father either. I own an interest in Gray Rocks.”
“The dickens you do!” said Steve Gibbons. “Well, if there’s any man in these mountains, pardner, who ought to strike it, old Ben Bonifield is the one. He’s been stickin to Gray Rocks for a good many years, and is one of the squarest men in the Fish River Minin’ District, while that gal of his – why, she is the gem of all these diggins. I did think J. Arthur Boast had the inside track on the Bonifield ranch, but here lately I ‘lowed as maybe Boast was playin’ second fiddle; but then you can’t tell how a game is goin’ to end until the last card is played.”
Vance made no reply, but ground his teeth in silent anger at the mention of Boast’s name.
It was late that night when they arrived at Waterville.
CHAPTER XIV. – THE TOWN COMPANY’. MEETING
EARLY the next morning Dick Ballard rapped on Vance’s door, and being admitted, greeted him warmly, and assured him he was mighty glad to see him again.
“There’s goin’ to be a meetin’ of the Town Company.”
“Is that so?” said Vance.
“Yes; the hul kit and bilin’ of ‘em are here,” replied Ballard. “There’s Colonel Alexander, Homer Winthrop, General Ira House and his brother, Jack House, B. Webster Legal and Marcus Donald. Donald is the resident director of the Town Company.” Vance said he would be glad to meet them.
“Well, you’ll see the keenest lot of men,” said Ballard, “this here country has ever pulled together. Every one of ‘em is a strong man and a hustler from the word go. What I say about ‘em you’ll find is prima facie.” After a little, Dick Ballard winked one eye at Vance and said: “I feel a bottle in my pocket, and I wouldn’t wonder a mite there was suthin’ in it that wouldn’t taste bad. A little spirits is mighty good for a feller when he has had a hard day’s ride.”
Vance assured him that he was much obliged, but was thoroughly refreshed by his night’s rest, and a light breakfast was all he wanted.
“We usually,” replied Ballard, “accommodate fellows that want that kind of a breakfast; in fact, some of our breakfasts are too darned light. I’ll go down and see what I can skirmish up for you.”
At the door Dick Ballard turned and said, “Oh, yes, have you heard the news?”
“No, I do not remember of having heard anything of a startling character,” replied Vance.
“Well, by Ned, I supposed you had heard all about it,” said Ballard, as he leaned against the door and looked wise.
“Well, what is it?” queried Vance.
“Well, sir, our militia company has got a new snare drum, and, gosh all fish hooks! but she is a rat-tat-tat-to-or from away back!” The door closed and Old Dick Ballard retreated, merrily whistling “Away down in Dixie.”
After breakfast, Vance was escorted to the Town Company’s office, where he met the different members of the company. Each vied with the other in showing him courtesies.
“I presume,” said Homer Winthrop, as they drew a little aside from the others, “that you have never met as remarkable men as you see in my associates.” He looked radiant, inserted his thumbs in the armholes of his vest, and continued:
“Colonel Alexander is possessed of one of the richest brains of any man I ever knew. Our attorney, Mr. Legal is a star of the first magnitude in his profession, and can whip a small army in a lawsuit, while Gen. Ira House has a reputation superior to any man in the Rocky Mountains as a town builder. Now, if he,” continued Winthrop, “should go into the midst of a desert and say, ‘Here a great city shall be built,’ you would make no mistake in taking a ‘flyer’ on some dirt in that vicinity. Then there is Jack House, the General’s brother, who is, in his specialty, a most remarkable man. He is sometimes called ‘the Conspirator’ of our gang, because of his ability to set up jobs on the enemy and down ‘em.”
“By Jove, look,” said Winthrop, pointing out of the window, while his face became animated, “do you see that young lady on the other side of the street? That’s Miss Virgie Bonifield, and I venture to say she’s one of the loveliest girls in the Rocky Mountains.”
“I have a message for her, sent by her sister,” replied Vance. “I will be under many obligations if you’ll introduce me to the young lady.”
“With pleasure,” replied Winthrop, “as soon as the town meeting adjourns we will call upon her.”
The meeting was called to order, with Colonel Alexander in the chair.
The chairman cleared his throat several times with marked vehemence, and said:
“Gentlemen, we have again met to deliberate upon the destiny of Waterville and the great Thief River Valley. It is no small matter for gigantic intellects to thus assemble as a deliberative body, to arrange, by resolutions or otherwise, questions of great moment. The leading question to-day, gentlemen, is that of mind over matter. We have said to one another, ‘Waterville shall become a great city;’ our united efforts are concentrated in this work. The story of the bundle of sticks is as true to-day as when the fable was first written.
“The wealth, gentlemen, of our united intellects is bearing down in concentrated rays against every opposition, and with hammer and tongs we are reaching out in every direction, and are making one of the grandest campaigns the country has ever witnessed. Gentlemen, what is the pleasure of this meeting?”
The Colonel’s earnestness could not be doubted. When he sat down he fondled his gold-headed cane with apparent tenderness, as if he were ashamed of the way he had abused it in emphasizing his remarks by punching it into the floor in a most merciless fashion.
B. Webster Legal, addressing the chairman, said: “I am proud again to meet my distinguished associates as a deliberative body. For the benefit of our beloved citizens of Waterville, who are crowding into this room of deliberation, and standing in front of the windows eagerly listening to the important proceedings of this meeting, I will say that only men in the broadest term – men with an abundance of gray matter clinging to their brains – could possibly have accomplished the feats which have characterized the acts of the Waterville Town Company from its organization up to the present time. I feel, Mr. President and gentlemen, that our untiring efforts are about to be crowned with a success little dreamed of by the most hopeful.
“From a legal point of view, I am proud to assure you that the Waterville Town Company is in a most safe and healthy condition. I have frequently observed, and will again say, I am not a seller of lots, but I assure each and every one of you that I am here to stay by this company as long as a lot can be sold. So far as legal knots are concerned, I will untie them; or, failing to do so, will, with the sharp edge of the law, cleave them asunder.”
The attorney’s remarks were greeted with applause as he sat down.
The chairman jarred the frail building by again clearing his throat, and requested C. Webster Legal to make a report of the assets of the Waterville Town Company.
"Mr. Chairman,” said B. Webster Legal, “I have recently looked over the list of property owned by the Waterville Town Company, and find that we have assets amounting to some two millions of dollars.”
As the attorney sat down there was a satisfied look upon his face suggestive of the millionaire.
The chairman looked over his spectacles and said, “Gentlemen, you have heard, and no doubt with pardonable elation, the statement of our honored associate, Judge Legal. There are eight of us,” he continued, “and two millions means a quarter of a million each. Within two years, sirs, these assets will have doubled in value. There are men whose statements I would not rely implicitly upon without discounting them – say, fifty or seventy-five per cent – but, gentlemen, when it comes to downright conservatism, why, my level-headed friend the Judge takes the jackpot. Yes, sir, I undertake to say, gentlemen, he is the king bee of us all in cutting square into the heart of a proposition, and analyzing it with a precision that is truly remarkable; and when he says two millions, I have no hesitancy, gentlemen, in staking my reputation that it is three millions if it is a cent.”
As the chairman sat down he looked carefully at his gold-headed cane again to make sure it had sustained no injury.
Marcus Donald, the resident Town Company’s director, addressed the meeting, and said:
“Mr. Chairman, I never felt so rich in my life as I do at the present moment. I regret that my ancestors are not alive to rejoice with me in the prosperity I am now enjoying. There is a reason in this contemplated prosperity. First, the great natural opportunities in this wonderful valley, and, second, the unity of action on the part of the members of our Town Company.
“I have here a small matter to which I wish to call the directors’ attention.
It is a livery bill of some eighty dollars that is past due, and, perhaps, we had better arrange for it.”
Judge Legal rose to a point of order. He said that such small details as paying livery bills had no place in the deliberations of this body of men. “It is the duty of the auditing committee to first approve and then look after the payments of small items like expense bills.”
Director Donald stated in reply that B. Webster Legal was a member of the auditing committee as well as himself, and, doubtless, knew the bill had been approved of long ago, but that there were no funds with which —
“Order!” shouted the chairman, punching his goldheaded cane vigorously into the floor. “I sustain the point of order made by this corporation’s attorney. Let us now proceed with the deliberations of weighty and progressive questions.”
Gen. Ira House sat propped back in his chair in a retired corner of the room, and until now had maintained silence, save the fetching and labored puffs of his cigar, which almost completely enveloped him in a cloud of smoke. As he straightened himself up, he pushed his chair in front of him, elevated one foot to the seat and rested his left elbow on his elevated knee. He wore an expression on his face becoming a philosopher. "Mr. Chairman,” said he, “it seems to me we’re drifting.” He looked wise and waited a moment for his remark to take effect. “Drifting,” he continued, “is weakness. If we drift, we scatter; if we scatter, we fall. Now, gentlemen,” he continued, “we must not drift. There are important business matters awaiting our attention. I hold in my hand a letter from a party who wants to know if Waterville would not be a good place to start a foundry. Now, gentlemen, do we want a foundry at Waterville, or do we not? That is the question before this meeting.”
As Gen. House sat down, the crowd cheered him lustily, stamped their feet, clapped their hands, and cries of “Good!”
“That’s business!” “That’s the talk!” were heard on all sides among the citizens who were listening with bated breath to the proceedings of the Town Company’s meeting.
“I move,” said Jack House, “that we want a foundry at Waterville, and resolutions to that effect be prepared, inviting the party, whoever he is, to locate his foundry here.”
“Order, gentlemen!” shouted the chairman, again clearing his throat. “Mr. Secretary, please record in the minutes of this meeting, if there are no objections, the unanimous vote in favor of the foundry, and prepare a set of elaborate resolutions, which we will sign, inviting the party making the inquiry to come at once to Waterville and locate his foundry.”
The throng of citizens broke into cheers at this announcement, and the word was soon passed through the throng to the outer circle, that a foundry was to be located at Waterville. Presently, three cheers and a tiger were proposed for the new foundry, and the deliberations of the Town Company were necessarily delayed until the cheering had ceased.
Marcus Donald, addressing the chairman, said: “I have received a communication from the owners of a sash, blind and door factory, who seem quite desirous of casting their lot with us. I suggest the importance of taking official notice of their communication.”
The throng of citizens waited almost breathlessly, and with a fair degree of patience, to see what was to be done in regard to the sash, blind and door factory. Judge Legal moved that the suggestion offered by Director Donald be acted upon, and that a resolution favoring the sash, blind and door factory be voted upon. As he sat down, three other directors seconded the motion.
“You have heard the question,” said the chairman. “Unless there is some opposition, we will regard it as carried unanimously.” He looked over his spectacles a moment, and as no one offered an objection, he brought his gold-headed cane down with a sharp rap upon the floor, and said “Carried!”
Again the word was passed from citizen to citizen onto the waiting mob without, that Waterville was to have a sash, blind and door factory. Again huzzas and cheering rent the air, and impeded, to a certain degree, the deliberations of the Town Company’s meeting.
At this juncture, a clerk of the local bank – the only one that Waterville could boast of – presented himself and asked permission to address the directors.
“What is the nature of your business, young man?” asked Col. Alexander, clearing his throat threateningly and looking hard at the clerk over his spectacles.
"I have a sight draft for $50, drawn on the Waterville Town Company for printing stock certificates.”
The chairman and his seven colleagues came to their they cried, almost in unison. Several of the directors shouted, “Mr. Chairman! Mr. Chairman!” at the top of their voice, but in his indignation the chairman failed to take notice of them.
Presently a silence, caused by sheer consternation, succeeded the first burst of surprise. Judge Legal, mounting a chair, said:
“Mr. Chairman! I move you that article 57 of our by-laws be copied and certified to under our corporate seal and delivered to this young gentleman, that he may return it with the sight draft. Here is the wording of article 57: ‘Further, that this corporation, the Waterville Town Company refuses to honor or pay sight drafts from any and all sources.’.rdquo;
“You have heard the question,” said the excited chairman, bringing his cane down with great vehemence. “Do I hear a second?”
“We all second it.”
Silence having been restored, Judge Legal again addressed the chair:
“Mr. Secretary,” said the chairman, “record the question as carried unanimously.”
“Mr. Chairman,” said he, “in the future all printing by the Waterville Town Company will be sent to another printing establishment.”
“Unless there is opposition, we will consider the question as carried unanimously,” said the chairman. At this juncture the chairman took the floor, and addressing the directors, said:
“There are times when, notwithstanding the power of our united intellects, questions of a very exasperating nature confront us, and, momentarily, we are at a loss to know just what to do; but it is only momentarily – we meet every crisis. It takes us a very short time to decide; and, with us, decision is action.
“In my experience I have observed that, occasionally, storms of opposition sweep down upon men like an irresistible avalanche. At such times it is well to retreat to some protected place and let the storm tire itself out – beat itself into exhaustion, so to speak – until its very protest becomes a dead silence. Refreshed with the rest we have had, we may then safely sally forth, and, with renewed vigor, arrange a flank movement on the enemy, and everlastingly choke opposition into a corpse.”
When the chairman sat down he motioned Vance to his side, and said, sotto voce: “Was not that a master stroke, Mr. Gilder? Do not we meet and dispose of questions that would simply stump any ordinary body of men into inaction? Opposition does not faze us; no sir, we know our rights, and are here to fight for them.”
The citizens were very much elated over the prospects of a foundry and a sash, blind and door factory at Waterville. Their gratitude to the Town Company was very marked, and was evidenced by three hearty cheers and many huzzas. Presently the meeting of the Town Company adjourned, and then there was much clapping of hands and more cheering. Each member of the company crowded around Vance and shook him warmly by the hand, and assured him they had had one of the most profitable meetings that had ever taken place.