"I have felt it," said the girl.
"I knew you would. You can't lay a finger on it. Y'ou just know. William never set up to be a friend of mine. He has aired it in certain quarters he meant to smash me one of these days. He is hooked up with interests not beneficial to the general welfare of the territory. Now he's engaged in a promotion scheme that will give us a black eye to the world and cause many poor people much misery. I always knew he'd turn rotten, but I never was able to figure just which way he'd take. Don't understand it, either. The man's got plenty of money."
"Pride of personal power," suggested the girl.
The governor thrust a keen, penetrating look toward her. "You have discovered his secret. Ten men would not have uncovered it. Women feel these things. Men have to learn them. Well, he is too clever. He trims too close to legality. And many poor families will suffer. We must stop it. We must smash him!"
"I have been thinking about those advertisements he issued," said the girl. "If you will give me the morning to see certain people I think I can possibly bring you something useful."
"Who?"
"Mr. Bangor and Mr. Hunnewell."
"Hunnewell's a rat," said the governor. "Be careful of him. Bangor is trying to play the diplomat with me. He is trimming to the wind. If you want him to reveal business secrets, mention my name. Uncover your connections, and I believe he'll open up. Go to it. Now, it is very cold outside. Wrap well up, Miss Thatcher." And the governor escorted her through the executive offices and stood bareheaded in the raw December wind, watching her go down the long flight of stairs. A rough, shrewd and gallant man.
Gay went directly down Capital Avenue to the Power Building. Presently she was in T. Q. Bangor's office and pleasantly chatting over this and that. Bangor knew her social standing in town, and he also remembered her presence in Roaring Horse at the time of the rodeo. Therefore he was cordial—a great deal more cordial than a few minutes later when she swept away the polite reminiscences and came to the issue.
"Have you," she asked rather bluntly, "any particular prejudices to talking shop with a woman, Mr. Bangor?"
"Not in the least," replied Bangor, puzzled.
"Are you going to build a dam in the Roaring Horse?"
"Well, now," he murmured, and raised his hands to indicate mild bewilderment. "Isn't that a leading question?"
She admitted it was. "At the same time a public utility is more or less open to leading questions. And I am not asking information for idle purposes."
"Let me ask you a leading question, then. Who is interested in this besides yourself?"
"A gentleman at the other end of Capital Avenue," replied Gay. Bangor's reaction was instant. The air of tolerant politeness went away. He studied the girl thoughtfully as if trying to reconcile her femininity to her indisputable position of trust. And he made a wry expression. "So the governor wants to know definitely? Well, he ought to know by now how the wind blows. But if he needs further assurance I wish you'd tell him we gave over the idea of building that dam almost two weeks ago. We don't want to antagonize him at this stage of the game. And our interests have switched elsewhere. Tell him just that."
"You abandoned the idea two weeks ago? May I ask at what particular date?"
Bangor didn't grow impatient, but he conveyed the air of a man not wholly satisfied. "The governor is very inquisitive, is he not? The date was—let me think—the fourteenth of last month. At a board meeting. All our applications were withdrawn then."
She studied Bangor carefully. "I want to ask you another question, but I think I had better be fair and let you know the reason for this." And in as few words as possible she outlined Woolfridge's land settlement scheme and his promise of an irrigation project to the settlers. "Perhaps you know this. If you are not building a dam you can see the hardship it is going to work on a great many people. The governor feels badly about that. He wants to stop it. Mr. Bangor, it is almost criminal. And you are being placed in a false light with these people down there. My question is, did you tell Mr. Woolfridge you were not building the dam?"
"Yes. A letter to him the evening following the meeting of the board."
"Mr. Bangor, would you care to put that information in the form of a letter to the governor?"
Bangor got up from his chair and went to a window, looking down the avenue to the stately outline of the capitol dome. He was not afraid of the governor; he was not at all doubtful of the secure position of his company. But he wanted no breach of relations between himself and the governor; no misunderstanding that might result in unfriendly legislation at the ensuing biennial assembly. At this time he was not prepared to be stiff necked. He wanted harmony. The company had enough battles to fight without adding still another. He owed Woolfridge something for past help, yet he had decided directly after the meeting with Woolfridge in Roaring Horse that here was a man who could do a great deal of harm. Woolfridge was doing some harm right now in linking the power company with his own grandiose schemes. Two weeks ago he would have been afraid to openly oppose the man; but the last board meeting had materially altered the situation.
He turned back to his desk and drew his chair before a typewriter. A little later he handed the following letter to the girl:
MY DEAR GOVERNOR:
In order to put our recent conversation on record I wish to say that this company does not contemplate building a dam on the Roaring Horse river. We did at one time investigate the possibilities of that river, but at a recent board meeting, held November 14th of this year, wholly abandoned the idea. All our applications for rights were subsequently withdrawn.
It has come to our attention that certain individuals are advertising land in that district with the assurance that we will build a dam. In this connection I wish to say that a letter was forwarded to Mr. William Wells Woolfridge on November fourteenth, by his personal agent, Mr. Alexander Hunnewell, in which we distinctly stated that no dam was to be built.
I desire to place this information before you that this company be held wholly free from any unfortunate speculation.
Very truly...
"Thank you," said Gay, folding the letter into her purse. "I am sure you will never regret having expressed this in written form."
T. Q. Bangor smiled, somewhat grimly. "Had I felt I might later regret it, the letter certainly wouldn't have been written. Give the governor my personal regards and tell him I hope he wins his battle. However, that's really a useless hope. He always does win. I have been charmed, Miss Thatcher—"
Gay left the Power Building and walked swiftly to a less imposing structure farther down the street. She climbed one flight of stairs and entered a door labeled:
"Woolfridge Investment Co. Alex. Hunnewell, Mgr."
Hunnewell was in, his feet tipped on a desk, cracking nuts between his teeth, and looking very bored. He made no effort to rise when he saw his visitor. There was, in fact, a sudden and faint insolence in his welcome. "How do. This is a pleasure. Brightens a dull day. What can I do for you?"
He was a flat, lifeless sort of a creature. In the presence of Woolfridge he trembled and was afraid of the very breath he drew. Being that type of man it was natural that he should swing to the other extreme when relieved of his superior's presence and become a petty tyrant; inevitable that he should exercise a back-biting meanness under the protection of a power that was not his own.
"My name is—"
"I know it very well," broke in Hunnewell. "Fact is, I know considerably more about you than you'd