Buch lesen: «The Award of Justice; Or, Told in the Rockies: A Pen Picture of the West», Seite 14

CHAPTER XXX

As Houston was hurrying up from the mines at about eleven o’clock, on his way to the office, he met Morgan, just started on his rounds, and was shocked at the change which a few hours had made in his appearance. His heavy gait, his pale, haggard face and bloodshot eyes, told, not only of late hours and terrible dissipation, but of some severe mental strain, also. Morgan half smiled, as he saw Houston’s look of pained surprise.

“Yes,” he said, “I know I look pretty hard this morning, but I was up late; I guess I’ll be all right in a day or two. What’s this Haight’s been telling me about one of those fellows coming out here with some mining machinery? Which one is it, that English dude?”

“No,” answered Houston, “Van Dorn, the one with glasses, he was the inventor, you remember.”

“Well, if he’s invented anything that will make old Rivers hand out any cash, he’d better get a patent on it, that’s all I’ve got to say. How in thunder the old man ever gave his consent to his coming out here, monkey-fooling around with his machines, is more’n I can make out; but if the company want him up here, I’m sure I don’t care a damn. The boss himself isn’t coming up, is he?”

“Not for a day or two,” replied Houston.

“Well,” said Morgan, with one of his characteristic shrugs, “I guess I’ll have to spruce up a bit, before he comes.”

“That is so, Morgan,” said Houston, kindly, “I wouldn’t want Mr. Blaisdell to see you as you look this morning; I’m too much a friend of yours myself for that.”

“Oh well, I’ll be all right before he gets here. Who’s going down to meet that fellow and his contraptions?”

“I sent Hayes down with two or three men, and a six-horse team, early this morning.”

“Good for you!” laughed Morgan, starting on his way, “You’d make a first-rate boss ’round here; guess I’ll have to give you a raise.”

Houston walked slowly down the road after Morgan left him, having apparently forgotten his haste. The story which Morgan had told him a few nights before, of his own life, had awakened his pity for the man as nothing else could have done. He felt that Morgan was in serious trouble, and in danger of losing his position, and that he was already where it would take very little to drive him to complete ruin. He resolved to seize the first opportunity that presented itself, to try to ascertain the cause of his trouble, and to assist him in any way that he possibly could.

On reaching the office, he found considerable work awaiting him, and for a while, all other thoughts were banished from his mind. About noon, a heavy rumbling and rattling attracted his attention, and, going to the door, he saw the slowly approaching team, winding from side to side of the steep, canyon road, the powerful horses straining and panting under the heavy load. Perched on the top of the load, under a wide-spread umbrella, and fanning himself with his straw hat, was Van Dorn, his face irradiated by a broad smile as he caught sight of Houston. Two of the men walked beside the team, blocking the wheels with rocks, as the horses were occasionally stopped to rest. As they came within speaking distance, Van Dorn sang out merrily:

“I say, Houston, this is what I call up-hill work; it has been a pretty hard pull all the way.”

“Yes,” said Houston, “particularly hard on you, judging by appearances.”

Van Dorn laughed, and proceeded to close his umbrella, while an expansive grin broke over the face of one of the workmen, trudging along the hot, dusty road. At the brow of the hill, the team again stopped to rest, and Van Dorn descended from his lofty position, Houston meanwhile giving instructions to the driver:

“Drive over to the stables, Hayes, and take the horses off and let them rest; after dinner, put on another set of horses, and drive to the mills; we will be there to see to the unloading.”

“Well, Everard, old boy, how are you?” exclaimed Van Dorn, as they started for the office; “I started within five hours after I received your telegram, and here I am, at your service.”

“When did you reach Silver City? yesterday?” inquired Houston.

“Yesterday!” exclaimed Van Dorn, “my dear boy, do you think the world was made in one day? No, sir; I got in the day before, and spent the remainder of that day, and all of yesterday in cultivating the good graces of your company. I went straight for their offices, and it took all the arguments and persuasion I could muster, with some treating, and a good deal of judicious flattery thrown in, before I could get the old fellows to consent to my giving the machine a trial. I got around Blaisdell pretty easy after I had flattered him a little, but that Rivers is a beast! Said he didn’t see why I was so anxious to have them test the machine, and all that! I explained, of course, that this was the first I had ever brought it out into the west, and they were so well known that if I could only get their endorsement, and so on and so forth. Oh, I want to tell you all about it later, and if you don’t acknowledge that I’m a born diplomat, I’ll give up; but at present, my first business must be to allay these pangs of hunger, they are becoming unendurable.”

“Certainly, we will go to the house at once,” said Houston, preparing to close the office.

“Wait a minute!” said Van Dorn, diving furiously into his pockets; “I attended to that little business that you wrote me about, just according to directions, and I want you to see if it is perfectly satisfactory before we go any further, and then I’ll have it off my mind; why, confound it! where is that thing anyway?” he exclaimed, turning a half dozen pockets inside out, and emptying a heterogeneous collection upon the desk before him. “Oh, here it is! I knew I had it safe somewhere; there now, Everard, I took as much pains as if it had been for myself, it was one of the finest stones I could find; I think it is a beauty, and I hope you will like it.”

He handed a small case to Houston, partially open, from whose depths of white velvet a superb diamond ring flashed forth its wondrous rays, seeming almost to brighten the dingy little room in which they were standing.

“It is indeed a beauty,” said Houston, “perfect! I could not have made a better selection myself. I knew I could trust to your good judgment, Arthur, and I am exceedingly obliged; I’ll do as much for you when you are ready for a ring of this kind.”

“All right, I’m glad if you like it. I believe I sent my congratulations by letter, but I’ll renew them now. I only hope the lady herself will be pleased with the selection.”

On their way to the house, Van Dorn said: “Ned Rutherford has gone to the coast to meet his brother, I suppose.”

“Yes; you probably know he and Morton are intending to stop here on their return?”

“Yes; Mort, as soon as he found you were here, and especially after I gave him an inkling of what was going on, said he should certainly stop as he came back. You ought to have seen him though, when I told him you were out here! Good gracious! he was simply thunderstruck! He said Ned had been writing all along about a Houston, from Chicago, that he had met on the train, and that he was a fine fellow, and all that; but of course he never dreamed it was you.”

The remainder of the day passed very swiftly, for there was much to be done. After dinner, Houston and Van Dorn went down to the mills and superintended the unloading and unpacking of the machinery; then, as it was too late in the day to begin preparations for its erection, Houston visited the mines, Van Dorn accompanying him only a little way into the main shaft. As they came out together, half an hour later, and started for the office, Van Dorn drew a small piece of ore from his pocket, saying:

“I’ve discovered now where that fine ore on the dump of the famous Sunrise lode came from.”

“Yes,” said Houston, “and you will make other discoveries, shortly.”

At the office there was much to be said on both sides; Van Dorn giving his friend messages and directions from Mr. Cameron, and giving also the particulars of his interview with the company, and how he had finally obtained their consent for the erection of the machinery at their mills.

Houston, on his part, related what he had been doing in the few weeks intervening since Van Dorn’s former visit, and explained his new position as assistant superintendent of the group of mines in which they were most interested.

Van Dorn whistled; “That’s good!” he exclaimed, “I wondered how it was that you were going in and out among the mines in that way, I thought that was something new. Have you found any one whom we can trust to help us?”

In reply, Houston told his friend of Jack, of his experience and skill as a miner, and of his offer to help them.

Van Dorn was greatly interested, and before they were aware, the afternoon had passed, and it was time to close the office and return to the house.

At the supper table that evening, the diamond ring appeared, flashing on the white, shapely hand of Leslie Gladden, and she herself looked radiantly beautiful.

After the meal was over, Morgan, who was still pale and haggard, and had been very silent at the table, pulled his hat down over his eyes, and started down the road.

“Morgan,” called Houston, “where are you going?”

“I dun’no,” he answered moodily, “down to the Y, I guess, by and by.”

“Well, hold on a minute, I will walk down with you a ways; I want to see you.”

“All right,” responded Morgan, walking on very slowly.

Houston hastily excused himself to Miss Gladden and Van Dorn, and hurrying after Morgan, soon overtook him. For some time, Houston talked with him regarding the work for the next day, and the men who could best be detailed to help Van Dorn. They had reached the same spot where they had stopped to talk a few nights before, and, as then, were seated on the rocks. At last, the business arrangements were all completed, and Morgan made a move as if to start, and then Houston’s real errand in overtaking him became apparent.

“Morgan, you are not fit to be out to-night, you must have rest, you will break down living this way.”

“Yes,” said Morgan, raising his hollow, heavy eyes to Houston’s face, “I’m about done up, that’s a fact.”

“I wouldn’t go to the Y to-night, if I were you; come back to the house and get a good night’s rest, it will make a different man of you.”

Morgan looked undecided for a moment; “’Twouldn’t be no use going up there now,” he answered gloomily, “I couldn’t rest if I tried. I haven’t slept scarcely any for three nights; but I ain’t going to stay out late to-night as I’ve been doing; I shan’t play after midnight. I’m going to have two or three games just to see what luck I’ll have, and if I don’t have luck, why, that ends it, I ain’t going to play all night.”

“Morgan,” said Houston earnestly, “you spoke the other night about money; now, as I told you then, if you need any money, I’m your friend, and I’ll gladly accommodate you with whatever you need.”

For the first time in all their acquaintance, Morgan’s careless, indifferent manner changed, and for a few moments he seemed touched.

“Yes, I believe you,” he said, after a pause, “I believe you’re more of a friend to me than anybody else. Blaisdell would kick me out quicker’n it takes to say so, if he knew just how I stand to-night. Even Haight’s got the big-head and puts on his airs since he’s seen I’m down; you’re the only one that’s showed me any kindness.”

“Now, Morgan, just say what money you need, and you shall have it; I want to help you out of this,” said Houston.

“No,” said Morgan, decidedly, “if I am a gambler, and all that, I ain’t going to take the wages from a fellow that works for less than I do, to help me out of trouble. The Lord knows you’ve earnt your money, for you’ve worked faithful.”

“Never mind about that, Morgan,” said Houston, hastily, “I’m not wholly dependent on my salary; I had a good little sum of money laid by before I came out here; there is plenty, I will not miss it, and you are welcome to it.”

“Much obliged to you, Houston, but I can’t take it,–not now, at any rate,–maybe I’ll call on you for it to-morrow, if I don’t have luck to-night.”

“You are welcome to it whenever you want it,” said Houston cordially, his hand on Morgan’s shoulder; “I only wish you were not going to the Y to-night.”

“Well,” said Morgan, as he rose slowly, “don’t think I don’t appreciate your kindness, for I do. You’ve heard me say that I didn’t believe in honor in anybody; I guess I’ll have to take that back, for if there is such a thing as honor, you’ve got it. I don’t know how it is,” he said, with a heavy sigh, then added slowly, “I guess you’ve been raised different somehow, from most of us out here. The Lord knows how I was raised.”

He started a few steps down the road, hesitated, and came back.

“Houston, there’s one thing I want to say to you, for you’ve been good to me, that’s this; look out for Haight; he’s no friend of yours, and I guess you’re sharp enough to know it, but maybe you don’t know what a sneaking, cowardly cur he is; look out for him!”

“Thank you, Morgan, I will.”

“He ain’t like me,” he continued, “if I don’t like anybody I let ’em know it, and fight ’em fair and square; you can tell that by the way I bucked up against you, when you first came here,” and he smiled at the recollection, the first time he had smiled in the whole conversation.

“Morgan,” said Houston, “I’ve been sorry for that a good many times since; if I had known about you then what you have since told me, I never would have been so severe in my judgment of you.”

“Oh, that was all right,” he answered, “it did me good; I didn’t like you very well at first, but I’ve always had a liking for you ever since. Well, so long!” and with a faint smile, Morgan went on his way.

Houston stood watching him for a few moments, then turned back in the direction of the house, little thinking how, or where, they would meet again.

CHAPTER XXXI

The next morning dawned fair and cloudless, giving promise of one of those royal days, so frequent in the almost perfect climate of the higher altitudes.

Long before noon the heat would be intense, but in the early morning there was wafted down from the mountain side, where the pines were nodding and whispering so mysteriously, a cool, exhilarating breeze, which kissed the surface of the azure lake, sleeping so peacefully, and, awakening immediately into smiles, it lay rippling and dimpling with laughter in the sunlight.

The vines, transplanted by Miss Gladden and Lyle, under their fostering care, had transformed the little porch into a bower of beauty. Here stood Van Dorn, his fair, almost feminine face flushed with pleasure, and his blue eyes sparkling, as the light breeze played with the auburn curls clustering about his forehead, and he looked forth on the beauty of the scene.

“Ah–h!” he exclaimed, drawing a long breath, “isn’t this refreshing after the stifling heat and dust of the journey out here? Isn’t it glorious?”

“It is,” responded Houston, “this is one of the mornings when it is a joy just simply to live and breathe.”

Houston was fired with new ambition that morning; he would no longer have to work alone, keeping his anxieties and doubts, his plans and discoveries alike to himself; from henceforth he would have companionship, counsel and assistance, and he felt a new interest and enthusiasm.

Immediately after breakfast, the two set forth upon their first day’s work. Going first to the mills, Houston secured the services of two or three men who could be spared from the ordinary work, to assist Van Dorn in making preparations for the erection of the machinery; then he left for his early visit to the mines.

It was nearly ten o’clock when, having finished his round of duties at the mines, and coming up to the surface from the cool, underground workings, he found the heat almost unendurable, and strolled over to the mills, to see how Van Dorn was progressing. The latter did not seem averse to stopping for a few moments, and for a while, the two chatted and laughed with the old, careless abandon of their college days, without a thought of the more serious side of life, until, something being needed for the work, which Houston thought was in the tool-house, they proceeded together to look for it.

Houston was still searching for the needed implements, when Van Dorn, who was near the door, called out:

“I say, Everard, here’s a small specimen of humanity who seems to be looking for you in a desperate hurry,” and an instant later, he heard a familiar voice say:

“Is the boss in there, mister? Le’me in quick, I wan’ter see ’im!”

Turning quickly, he saw Bull-dog, breathless, pale and quivering with excitement.

“Say, boss,” he gasped, before Houston could speak, “they want yer–down ter the Y,–Morgan has shot hisself!”

“What is that, boy?” exclaimed Houston hoarsely, clearing the space between them at a bound.

“Morgan’s shot hisself, ’n they sent us fer yer,–me’n Hank,–he’s out there,” with a backward jerk of his thumb over his shoulder toward the open door.

Houston sprang to the door; another boy was talking excitedly with Van Dorn, while his horse stood, panting heavily and covered with dust and foam.

“Here’s the man you want,” said Van Dorn, turning a white face toward Houston, “Great God, Everard!” he exclaimed, “Morgan has killed himself!”

“He is not dead!” exclaimed Houston, turning towards the boy.

The latter nodded; “They found ’im shot through the head, ’n this was in his hand, ’n the cops won’t let nobody in till you come,” and he handed Houston a bit of paper.

It was a scrap of newspaper, crumpled and spattered with blood, and, as Houston smoothed it out, he read on the margin, in characters wavering and almost illegible, written with a trembling hand, but still Morgan’s writing, “Send to the camp for Houston, he’s the only friend I’ve got.”

For an instant, it seemed to Houston as though the glorious sunlight had suddenly turned to blackness, a blackness in which the scrap of paper gleamed white before him, its red spots glowing like spots of flame. He seemed again to see Morgan as he looked when parting from him the previous evening; the haggard face, with its hollow eyes and faint, pathetic smile, and as he recalled his words in reply to his own repeated offers of money, there seemed a new meaning in them; “Maybe I’ll call on you for it to-morrow if I don’t have luck to-night.”

But Houston realized there was no time to waste, and in a few moments he was mounted on a powerful gray horse, on his way to the Y, notwithstanding Van Dorn’s protests on account of the intense heat, having requested the latter to explain his absence at the house. Just as he was about to start, Bull-dog begged to be allowed to ride with him, to which Houston consented, and lifting the little fellow up, seated him in front of himself. Very little was said, for the horse seemed to understand what was expected of him, and sped like the wind down the narrow canyon road, but Houston’s hand rested kindly on Bull-dog’s shoulder, steadying the slender frame, and, at the same time, warming the heart of the forlorn little waif, to whom even the touch of kindness was something exceedingly rare.

Houston’s mind was occupied with thoughts of the terrible scene he was rapidly approaching, as well as with memories of his last interview with Morgan on the preceding night. At last, having crossed a ravine, the horse slackened his pace, as he climbed the steep ascent on the other side, and Houston, almost unconsciously, spoke his thoughts aloud.

“Poor Morgan!” he said, with a heavy sigh, “poor fellow! If I could only have saved him from this! God knows I would have given him any amount of money to have prevented this.”

“’Twouldn’t ha’ been no use, sir,” Bull-dog broke in quickly, eager to console Houston, “’twouldn’t ha’ been no use to have give ’im money, ’cause, ye see, them fellers that he played with would ha’ got it all.”

“Who were they?” inquired Houston.

“Oh, there was Faro Dick and Slicky Sam, and a lot of ’em; Morgan wasn’t no match for fellers like them, they was all too swift fer him.”

“How do you know?”

“Oh, I seen ’em playin’ lots o’ times, and they’re all reg’lar sharpers, ’n Morgan, he’d got reckless, ’n he didn’t stan’ no show against ’em.”

Houston looked down wonderingly and pityingly upon the little fellow, young in years, but who knew so much of the dark side of life, but nothing more was said, as, having reached the top of the hill, the station was close at hand.

Having left his horse in charge of one of the company’s men, Houston, accompanied by Bull-dog as guide, proceeded across the street, to the group of dirty, disreputable-looking buildings containing the saloons, gambling houses and dance halls. He had little need of a guide, for, before the shabbiest and most disreputable of the entire lot, was gathered a motley crowd, gazing with awestruck curiosity at the building in which had been enacted the tragedy of the night before. It was a saloon with gambling rooms in the rear. Here Morgan had played his last game,–just to see what luck he would have,–as he had said to Houston, and from which he had come forth ruined, despairing, desperate.

Passing through the crowd of jabbering Chinamen and “dagoes,” of miners off shift, drawn hither by curiosity, and of gamblers of all grades from the professional expert to the “tin-horn,” Houston found his way around the corner of the building, down into an alley, dark, dismal and reeking with filth. Here were groups of slatternly, unkempt women, some of whom stared at him with brazen faces, while others slunk away, not quite lost to shame.

At last they came to a rickety stair-way, and as they neared the top, Bull-dog whispered:

“There’s some of ’em now; that tall feller is Faro Dick, he deals down stairs, and the little, black feller is Slicky, and that short, fat one, that’s Brocky Joe.”

The group gathered about the door-way at the head of the stairs eyed Houston curiously as he approached. He gave them only a quick, keen glance, but in that glance he had detected the trio named by Bull-dog, and they cowered visibly beneath the scorn and contempt which flashed from his eye, while the entire group of loungers made way, impelled partly by an unconscious respect for the broad, powerful shoulders, and splendid, athletic frame.

Down a dark, narrow hall, Bull-dog led the way to a door guarded by two men, who touched their caps respectfully to Houston. They were two of the mining company’s watchmen, who were kept at the station to guard their property, and to preserve order generally, and hence were designated by the gamins of the place as police and “cops.”

Silently they unlocked and opened the door for Houston, and one of them entered with him. It was a small room, evidently a woman’s, and its general squalor and dilapidation were made more apparent by tawdry, shabby bits of finery strewn here and there. Curtains of red damask, faded and ragged, hung at the window, excluding the daylight, and on a small table a kerosene lamp had burned itself out. But Houston took little notice of the room; as his eyes became accustomed to the dim light, he saw but one object.

Across the bed in one corner of the room, lay Morgan, his left arm thrown out across the pillows, the other dropped at his side, and a revolver clenched in his right hand. His head was turned slightly to one side, exposing the ghastly wound near the temple, his face was blackened and mutilated, but still bore traces of the terrible strain of those last few hours of life.

Houston stepped back, even his firm nerves quivering, and his heart throbbing with a great sorrow for the life so suddenly quenched in the darkness of despair.

On a chair were Morgan’s hat and coat, where he had thrown them, and as Houston turned toward the little table, he saw there a newspaper from which a scrap had been torn. Taking the bit of paper, containing Morgan’s last message, from his pocket, he compared them; it fitted exactly, and beside the paper lay a bit of pencil with which those last words had been written, and to Houston, with his keen perception and vivid imagination, the whole scene of the previous night with its minute and pathetic details, seemed passing before his vision. He turned to the watchman:

“Open the window,” he said, and his voice sounded strange even to himself, “draw back those curtains, this place is stifling.”

Upon inquiry, Houston found the watchman could give him very little information. In passing down the alley at about eight o’clock that morning, his attention had been arrested by screams issuing from the building. On rushing up-stairs, he saw a crowd gathering about the door of this room, and, on entering, was shocked at the sight revealed. Mollie, the girl who usually occupied the room, was screaming hysterically, but when able to talk explained that she had been out all night and had but just returned. Morgan was in the habit of coming to the room, and had a key, but he had not been there of late, having gambled every night till daylight.

Her screams had attracted nearly the whole neighborhood, some of whom corroborated her statements, and one or two testified to having heard a shot sometime about midnight, but nothing had been thought of it, as it was supposed to be some row in the gambling rooms below. The watchman had ordered the crowd out of the room, and sent the messenger for Houston, and also a telegram to Silver City for the coroner, who was expected on the noon train.

As it was nearly noon, Houston decided to step over to the depot, leaving the room in charge of the watchman. On his way, he heard various comments from groups gathered here and there. Passing a half-dozen miners, he heard one of them say:

“If he’d ’a been a union man, we’d ’a taken care of ’im, but he worked for the bosses, and helped ’em to make big money, and now, let the bosses take care of ’im and bury ’im.”

A bitter smile crossed Houston’s face, and stepping into the little telegraph office, he sent a message, first, in his own name, to one of the undertaking firms of Silver City, for everything that was needed to be sent up by the special freight that afternoon; and then a brief dispatch to Mr. Blaisdell, stating what had occurred, but that the affairs of the company were all right, and there was no necessity for his coming to the camp immediately.

A few moments later, the train arrived, bringing the coroner, and as quickly as possible the inquest was held. Very few facts were developed beyond those already learned by Houston, excepting the extent of Morgan’s losses. These included not only everything which he had possessed, even to his watch and a few pieces of jewelry, but in addition, a large sum of money advanced him by Brocky Joe. Those with whom he was playing testified that he had quit shortly before midnight, and left the hall rather hastily. At the time, they thought he had gone to borrow more money, and perhaps try his luck at some other place, but nothing more was seen of him, and they soon forgot the occurrence.

When all was over and the crowd was slowly dispersing, Houston saw several members of the gambling fraternity approaching him, headed by the two designated by Bull-dog as Slicky Sam and Brocky Joe. The latter, a stout, red-faced individual, with flaming necktie and blazing diamonds, was evidently speaker for the entire party.

“We would like,” he began, in a high-pitched, falsetto voice, “to express our regrets for what has occurred, and I wish to state on behalf of my associates here, and also personally, that there was no ill feeling toward your friend, and I am perfectly willing to overlook the small amount of indebtedness; and if there is anything we can do, in the way of sharing the burial expenses, or anything of the kind, we shall be glad to do so.”

“Your assistance is not needed,” replied Houston, in a cold, cutting tone, “you have already done your work; you and your ilk have brought him where he is, and that is enough,” and he turned abruptly from them.

As he re-entered the room, he met Mollie, who cast an appealing glance at him. She could not have been over twenty years of age, but she looked worn and haggard. Her hair was disheveled, large, dark rings encircled her heavy, lusterless eyes, now swollen with weeping, and there was a look of helpless and hopeless despair in her glance that aroused Houston’s pity. It was a new experience for him to be brought into contact with these wrecked and ruined lives, and sorrow for the one life which had gone out so suddenly and needlessly, made him pitiful toward all.

A look of pity, a word of pure, disinterested kindness, was something new in the life of the poor creature before him, and she began sobbing afresh:

“He’s gone,” she moaned, “and I don’t want to live no longer.”

“Did you care so much for him?” asked Houston, wonderingly.

“Yes,” she sobbed, “I never cared for nobody but him. I thought once he cared for me, but after a while I found he didn’t, and then I went to the bad as fast as I could, but still I cared for him. I never was very good, for I never had no chance to be, but I’d ’a been different from what I am, if he’d only ’a cared for me.”

Houston went back into the wretched room, and looked long and sadly at the one who, in his last moments of despair, had called him his friend. He recalled the story told him that night among the rocks; he thought of the life ruined by a mother’s neglect and sin, and now of another life shut out in hopeless misery because of his indifference and neglect, and Houston realized at that moment, as never before, the influences, for good or for evil, extending from one human life to another, spreading onward and onward,

 
“As wave follows wave across the sea,”
 

till the widening circles at last touch the shores of eternity.

An hour or two later, when Houston stepped over to the depot to meet the incoming special freight, he was somewhat surprised to see Mr. Blaisdell step from the train, and in his white face, his firmly set mouth with its hard lines, and his pale blue eyes, it could readily be seen that he knew nothing of pity or mercy for the man who had served him so faithfully.