CHAPTER XVII. – An AWAKENING
VANCE GILDER was not of a morose nature. The following morning he ate as hearty a breakfast as ever, and while smoking his morning cigar, acknowledged to himself that he had fallen in love with the picturesque scenery of the mountains, rivers, valleys and everything about him was restful, while an alluring contentment stole into his heart. He congratulated himself that he was far away from the hot and crowded metropolis of the Atlantic seaboard. Here, far removed from “the busy marts of men,” and the restless commotion of commerce and traffic, he could rest and wait.
The day passed quickly by; the afternoons and evenings usually in the society of Louise. They were bewildering days in their completeness. The night claimed the day all too soon when in her society.
He was surprised, after the first shock of disappointment had passed away, to find how indifferent he was becoming in regard to the loss of his position on the Banner.
One morning he awakened to a keen sense of incompleteness where completeness had dwelt. Also around Gold Bluff, he covered a vein of discontent where contentment had reigned supreme. His love of the mountains, the rivers, and the picturesque scenery was but a prelude of promise, thumbing sweetly of the great, unselfish love awakened in him for Louise.
This unrest dated from a certain evening when Louise first sang for him. He was quite entranced by the full, rich volume of her contralto voice.
She began by striking the chords in a hesitating way; but presently the genius of her musical nature seized her with its wonderful power, and she sang with wild abandon:
‘We seemed to those who saw us meet
The casual friends of every day;
His courtesy was frank and sweet,
My smile was unrestrained and gay.
But yet, if one the other’s name
In some unguarded moment heard,
The heart you thought so free and tame
Would flutter like a frightened bird.”
As she sang Vance gave himself up to the intoxication of the moment. His soul broke through the barriers and went out to hers, and as the song died on her lips, and the music ceased with a few reluctant farewell chords, he knew that a great and tender love had sprung up in his heart – a love that was not for a day, but for all time.
“Miss Bonifield,” said Vance, with emotion, “you are, indeed, a constant surprise to me. Your playing is certainly superb, while your voice; not only soft and musical, but has great range. To hear you sing fills me with a longing to be a better man.”
“Thank you,” said Louise, “I seldom play or sing excepting for papa. Your compliment, however, is highly appreciated.”
“As long as I remain in Gold Bluff I hope I will be privileged in hearing you sing occasionally.”
“We will promise not to ostracize you altogether, Mr. Gilder,” said Louise, laughingly, “but may I ask how long you expect to remain with us?” There was just enough hesitation in the question to suggest interest.
“I do not know,” replied Vance. “I presume you think it is strange that I have remained as long as I have. To be frank with you, Miss Bonifield, I have lost my position on the Banner.”
“Lost your position!” said Louise, with unmistakable concern.
“I am indeed sorry,” replied Vance, “whether it is a misfortune or not. I had an offer to-day to take charge of the Gold Bluff Prospector, and am thinking seriously of accepting.”
“You quite astonish me,” said Louise, “but I know papa will be delighted if you conclude to remain permanently in Gold Bluff.”
“Of course,” said Vance thoughtfully, “there is quite a difference between the New York Banner and the Gold Bluff Prospector– one a cosmopolitan daily and the other a country newspaper without any special circulation. It would only be profitable to me as I increased its circulation and its importance to advertisers. I shall not decide for a few days. I may receive some explanation from the Banner that will put a different light upon my dismissal.”
“I have almost made up my mind that I should like to remain in Gold Bluff,” continued Vance, looking inquiringly at Louise. “My confidence in Gray Rocks is growing daily, and I believe it is only a question of a short time until your father’s efforts will be crowned with success.”
“Mr. Gilder,” replied Louise, feelingly, “I thank you for your confidence and faith in my father. It seems that nearly every one disbelieves in his final success. I cannot tell why, yet my faith is unbounded. Even sister Virgie has lost hope, and at times papa is greatly discouraged because sister and Aunt Sally talk as they do; but I am sure in time he will be able to fully prove how mistaken they are in their judgment.”
As Vance rose to go he took her hand and said “Miss Bonifield, you certainly are a noble daughter, and your father is pardonable for wishing to keep you with him in this western country. I am beginning to understand what a great strength and support you must be to him.”
“Thank you,” replied Louise, “I am sure you overestimate the assistance I am to my father, but my greatest pride is in doing something that will add to his comfort, and I am sure papa cannot want me with him more than I wish to remain.”
Vance had become accustomed to Louise’s frankness of speech, yet he received a shock that thrilled him with delight when she said, “I shall be very happy, Mr. Gilder, if you conclude to remain in Gold Bluff. You have no idea how lonesome I should be if you were to go away.”
Vance’s heart beat wildly, and something seemed to rise up in his throat as he attempted to thank her. The expression of his face evidently betrayed his feelings, for she quickly drew away, and with a formality that was new to Vance she bowed stiffly and said “Good night.” After leaving the Bonifield’s home, he followed the road which led up the mountain side toward Gray Rocks. The moon, large and round, was just lifting itself above the eastern horizon. He walked on past the shaft, where the night force of men were busy working away toward the 400 foot level, and soon found himself near the old prospect shaft on the Peacock. The valley where the little city of Gold Bluff nestled was far beneath him. He saw a light glimmering from one of the windows in the Bonifield home, and interpreted it as a beacon of hope.
He repeated over and over again Louise’s words relative to his remaining in Gold Bluff.
“Yes,” said he, “I will remain, no matter what the explanation may be from the Banner office,” and filled with this decision, he returned to his hotel.
One evening, about a week after receiving the letter dismissing him from the Banner force, the mail brought a copy of that great New York paper. Vance eagerly perused it to see if it contained his last communication. No, it had been rejected, but in its stead he found an article entitled “Two Western Towns.” It was a three-column article devoted to Butte City and Waterville. It referred in the most vindictive manner to the members of the Waterville Town Company, and classed them as a lot of town site boomers. It warned eastern people not to be caught and misled by such wildcat speculations as were offered by them in the great Thief River Valley.
It said the valley was one immense lava bed, interspersed with sage brush thickets, alkali swamps and basalt plains. The wonderful water-power, it claimed, was an absolute myth; and, in fact, the printed statements in the circulars of these “town boomers” were deliberate lies. Another thing which eastern investors should bear in mind, the paper went on to say, was the fact that the property which had been platted into town lots was still government land. The town company had no title, and, perhaps, never would have. It branded the whole enterprise as the most gigantic confidence game that had ever been perpetrated on an unsuspecting public.
It further said the swindling operations of these irresponsible and restless town boomers of Waterville were only exceeded in point of adroitness by the mining operations in and around Butte City, Montana. The article said the mountain sides at Butte City were perforated with prospect holes, where hundreds upon hundreds of thousands of dollars of eastern people’s money had been expended by local managers in riotous living and debauchery, and claimed that it was a safe estimate to say that for every thousand dollars put into prospect shafts in and about Butte City, not more than one dollar had been taken out.
It spoke of the inhabitants of both Butte City and Waterville as plebians of the lowest sort and condition of life.
The worst cut of all to Vance, however, was the closing paragraph, where it stated that it was the habit of promoters of these western towns to bribe indiscriminately correspondents of eastern papers, and that many were weak enough to fall, which was not only unfortunate for the journal publishing these flattering falsehoods, but a base injustice to the eastern investor, who was led captive with his savings into western “booms” through the machinations of unprincipled correspondents.
If Vance had been nonplussed on receipt of the assistant’s letter, he was now stunned. He thought very little about his own investment in Waterville, but rather, what would his old associates on the Banner think of him? He regarded the article as a direct thrust at himself and his integrity.
After waiting a few days and receiving no further communication from the Banner office, and feeling too much humiliation to write to his city friends until time had dulled the blow, he concluded to go to Waterville and see if he could not make arrangements with the Town Company whereby he could return at once the money invested by his old associates in Waterville town lots.
The more he thought over the refuting article in the Banner the more indignant he became. “There is not a manufacturer or other institution in the east rich enough,” said he to himself, “to stand such wholesale boycotting as this western country is constantly subjected to by the eastern press. It is not conservatism; it is downright injustice. I have not been long in the west, it is true, but my respect for it and its people is growing. Even Chicago, with all her greatness, energy and achievements, is belittled by the boycotting press of the east!
“By birth I am a Gothamite, and by education I am an eastern man, but my patriotism for America and all that is American has never prevented me from turning up my trousers when there is a heavy fog in London?”
CHAPTER XVIII. – VANCE RETURNS TO WATERVILLE
IT was on an October morning that Vance started for Waterville. A light frost the night before had made the air sharp and crisp. The frost disappeared, however, before the genial warmth of the rising sun, while the russet leaves grew brownerer and as the wind stirred them, sang brokenly of old age.
October is the scenic month in the mountains. You seem to stand in Nature’s picture gallery. The box-alder leaves are as changeable in color as a blushing maiden. From the low foothills on up the sides of the mountains to the timber line, the elms, the box-alders, and poplars grow in profusion. The leaves vary in color from the deepest green to the brightest scarlet, the most golden yellow, or the somberest brown. The colors are intermingled in this gorgeous panoramic scene with a charm and beauty that baffles the most skilled artist’s touch to reproduce on canvas.
Vance was seated beside Steve Gibbons on the top of the stage coach, as they whirled along in meditative silence. The evening before Louise had sung for him. It was music fit for the gods – so rich, so deep, so plaintively low, so fascinating. He could see her even now, standing on the wide old porch as she bade him good-bye. The mild October breeze that stirred the ringlets of her golden hair seemed laden with worshipers of hope for Vance, the lover, and he interpreted her every word and smile as a token reciprocal of his own deep love.
Presently Vance was brought back from his day dreams to the present by Steve Gibbons remarking:
“Things ain’t so powerful brisk down at Waterville jes’ now.”
“Why, how is that?’ asked Vance.
“Oh, I dunno,” replied Gibbons, as he waked up his leaders with a spirited crack of his whip, “can’t say jes’ what is the matter. But I can tell ye one thing, pardner,” he went on, “I’m mighty glad I’m not in the real estate business. In my opinion, them real estate agents down thar will be jumpin’ sideways for a sandwich before the winter’s over.”
Vance was noticeably depressed by Gibbons’ remarks. He was going to Waterville for the express purpose of disposing of his New York friends’ property, in which they had invested on his recommendation. He cared very little about his own investment. He was willing to wait, or even to lose it all, if he could only prevent them from sustaining loss on their purchase.
It was late that night when they reached Waterville. Vance was delighted to find that Homer Winthrop was registered at the hotel. They met the following morning at the breakfast table. The conduct of the usually polite and entertaining Winthrop was changed to a sternness for which Vance was at a loss to account. As they arose from the table, Vance went out with Winthrop and asked him how he was progressing in the lot selling business.
“How am I progressing?” repeated Winthrop, as he turned and looked coldly at Vance. “I am through. I have left Butte City for good.”
“Why, how is that?” asked Vance in some surprise. Winthrop was silent for a moment, and then replied: “It is rather strange, Mr. Gilder, for you to ask such a question after writing the article you did for that New York paper. The Inter Mountain Blade and the Butte City Miner both copied the letter. It is hardly necessary for me to observe,” he went on, “that it rendered it impossible for me to sell another lot in Butte City. Those who had purchased became so infuriated that I deemed it best for personal safety to leave the town.”
Saying this, Winthrop turned abruptly and left Vance, who was for a moment unable to make a reply. Homer Winthrop’s words both astonished and chilled him.
A little later he visited the Town Company’s office, where he found Marcus Donald, the resident director, and Homer Winthrop in deep consultation. Donald was a man of commanding presence. His associates often remarked that Marcus Donald’s face was worth $10,000 in an important trade of any kind. He was dignified and commanding in appearance, and when one talked with him, the most skeptical fell into the habit of believing every word that fell from his lips. Vance discovered that he was not wanted, but he determined to vindicate himself, and said:
“Gentlemen, pardon me for interrupting, but I must ask your indulgence for a few moments. I wish you would read this article. I am humiliated enough without any further complications or misunderstandings.”
He handed Marcus Donald a copy of the Banner. Donald adjusted his gold-rimmed spectacles and read aloud the entire article, “Two Western Towns.” When he had concluded, Vance turned toward Winthrop.
“Is that the letter you referred to?”
“Why, yes,” said Winthrop, “but how is this?” said he, picking up the paper. “The Butte City papers published only that part of the article referring to Waterville; but how came you to write such a letter at all, Mr. Gilder? You certainly know there is not a syllable of truth in it from beginning to finish.”
Vance looked first at Winthrop and then at Donald, and replied, “I did not write it.” He then proceeded to give them a history of his dismissal.
“This was written,” tapping the paper with the back of his hand, “evidently to counteract the influence and effect of what I had written the week before.”
“Of course that puts it in a different light,” said Donald, rising and extending his hand to Vance. “I could not believe it possible that you, Mr. Gilder, could be guilty of writing such a libelous article as this is.”
Winthrop also accepted the explanation as eminently satisfactory, and sympathized with Vance in the loss of his position on the great New York daily.
“It has completely killed the lot selling business for me in Butte City,” said he, “but fortunately for us, we have made some very excellent sales during the past few weeks, and the Town Company’ has sufficient money in the treasury to pay all its debts, and the last obligation will be paid off before twelve o’clock to-day.”
“Yes,” said Marcus Donald, “they will all be paid off, but it will leave the treasury in a depleted condition; but the future, I believe, is all right. I hope you will not lose faith, Mr. Gilder, in Waterville’s prospects.”
“No,” said Vance, “I have unbounded faith in Waterville, but I would like very much to have the Town Company, if possible, return the $2,500 which I invested for my New York friends. It would save me much embarrassment if I could return them their money’. They doubtless know I have been dismissed from the force, and have read this last article, which puts an entirely’ different coloring on this western country’ from what I represented.”
"You must know,” said Winthrop, “that what you seek is next to impossible. The money has been paid into the treasury, and no difference how friendly I personally feel toward you, or how much the resident director, Mr. Donald, may wish to return the money, it cannot possibly be done without an action of the directors.”
At this juncture, Marcus Donald invited Vance to take a scat by his desk, and he would explain to him carefully and fully the situation, and believed he could prove to him conclusively why he was acting for his New York friends’ best interests in leaving the investment as it was.
Donald produced a great many maps and carefully spread them out on the table, adjusted his spectacles carefully, and with his $10,000 face looked squarely into Vance’s, and proceeded to go over the old, old story of the unlimited natural resources of the valley. He discussed at length, and in a very entertaining and convincing manner, the number of acres of land already in cultivation, the probable annual increase acreage of farm land; figured out results that amounted to millions of dollars. He then carried Vance from one side of the map to the other, up to the top, then down to the bottom and back again to the point where they had first started; indeed, he quite enthused Vance in regard to the future prospects and final outcome of Waterville.
He also confirmed Winthrop’s statement in regard to their inability to take any money out of the treasury for the purpose suggested without first having an action of the directors.
“I advise you to write to your New York friends,” continued Donald, “and tell them their investment is all right, if– mark, I say if– they have the nerve to stay with it a year or such a matter. Of course this article in the Banner hurts us immensely. It is simply a highhanded piece of boycotting; but the west has received similar injustice at the hands of the great New York dailies times without number in years gone by.”
Acting on Marcus Donald’s advice, Vance wrote a letter that day to his New York friends, and afterwards felt better for having done so. He determined to remain a week or two at Waterville, and see if there was any demand for real estate. Before many days, he began to understand the wonderful, far-reaching effects of the late article in the Banner. Rival surrounding towns copied it, and with double-leaded editorials called attention to a town that had over-reached itself. They denounced the various members of the Waterville Town Company as villainous sharks, and predicted that the boom had been pricked with a needle that would let all the wind out of it.
The transient class of real estate agents and hangers-on, who had been doing a rather thriving business, said, “Boys, this ends it,” as they blew the foam from their glasses of beer, “we might as well go somewhere else as wait and see the dog-fennel grow in the streets of Waterville.”
One day Vance called on J. Arthur Boast at his office. He found him as elegantly dressed as ever, and engaged in tying up bundles of legal papers, deeds, contracts, etc. "Are you getting ready to move away from Waterville?” asked Vance.
“No, I am not going away; that is, not permanently,” replied Boast, as he stooped to brush a speck of dust from his highly polished shoes, “but I do not presume we will have any use for deeds or contracts for some time to come, and I am therefore putting them away out of the dust until the boom opens up again.”
“You talk a little discouragingly,” said Vance.
“Discouragingly!” said Boast, as he seated himself on the table in front of Vance. “Discouragingly! Why, didn’t I tell you the Town Company would ruin Waterville? I was away only two weeks visiting, as you know, at Gold Bluff, but while I was gone they inflated prices of property; made promises right and left that were quite impossible for them to fulfill. The newspapers all over the country are denouncing them, and the result of it is that Waterville is dead! I say dead, and I mean dead, and all on account of the Town Company.”
“Do you suppose,” asked Vance, “that you could possibly’ sell my twenty-five lots?”
Boast looked absently’ out of the window and said, “I might sell them in time by putting them on my special bargain list.”
“At what price?” Vance ventured to ask.
“Let me see,” said Boast, “you paid $2,500 for them, did you not?”
“Yes,” replied Vance.
“Oh, well,” said Boast, “I might be able to get $500 for them, but it would be a pretty green sort of a tenderfoot that I could load them on at even that price. But what’s the use,” said he, facing around toward Vance and still sitting on the table, “what’s the use of losing your nerve? Within one or two years Waterville will be all right. She can’t be kept down. She has natural resources; the richest farm lands in the world; the greatest water power of any inland city in the United States; marvelous veins of coal; inexhaustible quarries of rock; unsurpassed forests of timber; and abundance of water for irrigating purposes.
Why, dang it, old fellow,” said he, slapping Vance on the shoulder, “Waterville s all right. All you’ve got to do is to hold on to your nerve and your lots, and you will come out on top.”
“That’s all very well,” replied Vance, “but the ray of hope you hold out is too far away to be very satisfactory at the present time.”
“Every tenderfoot,” replied Boast, “needs a certain amount of experience in order to acclimate him to this western country. Your experience is just now beginning. After a little Colonel Bonifield will strike it rich on Gray Rocks, Waterville will also come out of the kinks, and there you are, a rich man. By the way, the Colonel must be pretty well along toward the 400 foot level, Waterville will also come out of the kinks, and there you are, a rich man. By the way, the Colonel must be pretty well along toward the 400 foot level, is he not:”
“I believe he is making very satisfactory progress,” replied Vance.
“If the old man should strike it rich,” said Boast, “I would not mind connecting myself with his family. Of course, I am not so hard to please as you New York fellows.” He looked archly at Vance and smiled wickedly as he made this remark.
Vance was indignant at the cold-blooded insinuation of Boast, and replied: "While you may have no objections, I don’t doubt you will meet some pretty knotty ones before you succeed in winning Miss Bonifield.”
“Possibly,” replied Boast, coolly. “Nevertheless, if the old Colonel strikes it in Gray Rocks, it’s worth a trial, anyway; but come, there’s no use in quarreling over something that hasn’t happened, or being down-hearted about a busted boom, so long as a fellow has a bottle of red liquor.”
Vance did not wait for him to go through the ordeal of condemning himself as a drunken profligate, but let him to finish tying up his papers and drink the contents of his bottle alone.