“‘Carson, I’m wantin’ you to pull your min off. I can’t permit anny railroad min on the Diamond K property. You’re a friend av mine, an’ all that, but you’ll have to pull your freight. You’ve got tin minutes.’
“‘I’ve got me orders to do this work,’ I says – begging his pardon.
“‘Here’s your orders to stop doin’ it!’ he comes back. An’ I was inspectin’ the muzzle av his six-shooter.
“‘Ye wudn’t shoot a mon for doin’ his duthy?’ I says.
“‘Thry me,’ he says. ‘You’re trespassers. The railroad company didn’t come through wid the coin for the right-of-way. Your mon, Corrigan, has got an idee that he’s goin’ to bluff me. I’m callin’ his bluff. You’ve got tin minutes to get out av here. At the end av that time I begin to shoot. I’ve got six cattridges in the gun, an’ fifty more in the belt around me middle. An’ I seldom miss whin I shoot. It’s up to you whether I start a cemetery here or not,’ he says, cold an’ ca’mlike.
“The ginneys knowed somethin’ was up, an’ they crowded around. I thought Trevison was thryin’ to run a bluff on me, an’ I give orders for the ginneys to go back to their work.
“Trevison didn’t say another word, but at the end av the tin minutes he grins that tiger grin av his an’ busts the safety valve on the rattle-box wid a shot from his pistol. He smashes the water-gauge wid another, an’ jammed one shot in the ol’ rattle-box’s entrails, an’ she starts to blow off steam – shriekin’ like a soul in hell. The ginneys throwed down their tools an’ started to climb up the walls of the cut like a gang av monkeys, Trevison watchin’ thim with a grin as cold as a barrow ful ov icicles. Murph’, the engineer av the dinky, an’ his fireman, ducks for the engine-cab, l’avin’ me standin’ there to face the music. Trevison yells at the engineer av the rattle-box, an’ he disappears like a rat into a hole. Thin Trevison swings his gun on me, an’ I c’u’d feel me knees knockin’ together. ‘Carson,’ he says, ‘I hate like blazes to do it, but you’re the boss here, an’ these min will do what you tell thim to do. Tell thim to get to hell out of here an’ not come back, or I’ll down you, sure as me name’s Trevison!’
“I’m old enough to know from lookin’ at a mon whether he manes business or not, an’ Trevison wasn’t foolin’. So I got the bhoys away, an’ here we are. If you’re in charge, it’s up to you to smooth things out. Though from the looks av your mug ‘Firebrand’s’ been maulin’ you some, too!”
Corrigan’s answer was a cold glare. “You quit without a fight, eh?” he taunted; “you let one man bluff half a hundred of you!”
Carson’s eyes brightened. “My recollection is that ‘Firebrand’ is still holdin’ the forrt. Whin I got me last look at him he was sittin’ on the top av the cut, like he was intendin’ to stay there indefinite. If ye think he’s bluffin’, mebbe it’d be quite an idee for you to go out there yourself, an’ call it. I’d be willin’ to give ye me moral support.”
“I’ll call him when I get ready.” Corrigan went to the desk and sat in the chair, ignoring Carson, who watched him narrowly. Presently he turned and spoke to the man:
“Put your men at work trueing up the roadbed on the next section back, until further orders.”
“An’ let ‘Firebrand’ hold the forrt?”
“Do as you’re told!”
Carson went out to his men. Near the station platform he turned and looked back at the bank building, grinning. “There’s two bulldogs comin’ to grips in this deal or I’m a domn poor prophet!” he said.
When Braman returned from his errand he found Corrigan staring out of the window. The banker announced that Miss Benham had received Corrigan’s message with considerable equanimity, and was rewarded for his levity with a frown.
“What’s Carson and his gang doing in town?” he queried.
Corrigan told him, briefly. The banker whistled in astonishment, and his face grew long. “I told you he is a tough one!” he reminded.
Corrigan got to his feet. “Yes – he’s a tough one,” he admitted. “I’m forced to alter my plans a little – that’s all. But I’ll get him. Hunt up something to eat,” he directed; “I’m hungry. I’m going to the station for a few minutes.”
He went out, and the banker watched him until he vanished around the corner of a building. Then Braman shook his head. “Jeff’s resourceful,” he said. “But Trevison – ” His face grew solemn. “What a damned fool I was to trip him with that broom!” He drew a pistol from a pocket and examined it intently, then returned it to the pocket and sat, staring with unseeing eyes beyond the station at the two lines of steel that ran out upon the plains and stopped in the deep cut on the crest of which he could see a man on a black horse.
Down at the station Corrigan was leaning on a rough wooden counter, writing on a yellow paper pad. When he had finished he shoved the paper over to the telegrapher, who had been waiting:
J. Chalfant Benham, B – Building, New York.
Unexpected opposition developed. Trevison. Give Lindman removal order immediately. Communicate with me at Dry Bottom tomorrow morning. Corrigan.
Corrigan watched the operator send the message and then he returned to the bank building, where he found Braman setting out a meager lunch in the rear room. The two men talked as they ate, mostly about Trevison, and the banker’s face did not lose its worried expression. Later they smoked and talked and watched while the afternoon sun grew mellow; while the somber twilight descended over the world and darkness came and obliterated the hill on which sat the rider of the black horse.
Shortly after dark Corrigan sent the banker on another errand, this time to a boarding-house at the edge of town. Braman returned shortly, announcing: “He’ll be ready.” Then, just before midnight Corrigan climbed into the cab of the engine which had brought the private car, and which was waiting, steam up, several hundred feet down the track from the car.
“All right!” said Corrigan briskly, to the engineer, as he climbed in and a flare from the fire-box suffused his face; “pull out. But don’t make any fuss about it – I don’t want those people in the car to know.” And shortly afterwards the locomotive glided silently away into the darkness toward that town in which a judge of the United States Court had, a few hours before, received orders which had caused him to remark, bitterly: “So does the past shape the future.”
CHAPTER V
A TELEGRAM AND A GIRL
Banker Braman went to bed on the cot in the back room shortly after Corrigan departed from Manti. He stretched himself out with a sigh, oppressed with the conviction that he had done a bad day’s work in antagonizing Trevison. The Diamond K owner would repay him, he knew. But he knew, too, that he need have no fear that Trevison would sneak about it. Therefore he did not expect to feel Trevison at his throat during the night. That was some satisfaction.
He dropped to sleep, thinking of Trevison. He awoke about dawn to a loud hammering on the rear door, and he scrambled out of bed and opened the door upon the telegraph agent. That gentleman gazed at him with grim reproof.
“Holy Moses!” he said; “you’re a hell of a tight sleeper! I’ve been pounding on this door for an age!” He shoved a sheet of paper under Braman’s nose. “Here’s a telegram for you.”
Braman took the telegram, scanning it, while the agent talked on, ramblingly. A sickly smile came over Braman’s face when he finished reading, and then he listened to the agent:
“I got a wire