"This is a sweeping statement, but I contend it is none the less true.

"I'd say that in examining the facts we need to study the real meaning of 'crookedness.' We must locate its cause as well as effect. Now 'crookedness' is the divergence from a straight line, which some fool man spent a lifetime in discovering was the shortest route from one given point to another. No doubt that fellow thought he was making some discovery, but it kind of seems to me any chump outside the bug-house and not under the influence of drink would know it without having to spend even a summer vacation finding it out, and, anyway, I don't guess it's worth shouting about.

"I guess it's up to us to track this straight line down in its application to ethics. That buzzy-headed discoverer also says a line is length without breadth. Consequently, I argue that a straight line is just 'nothing,' anyway. Then when a mush-headed dreamer starts right out to walk the straight line of life it's a million to one chance he'll break his fool neck, or do some other positively ridiculous stunt that's liable to terminate what ought to have been a promising career. I submit, from the foregoing arguments, the straight line of ethical virtue is just a vision, a dream, an hallucination, a nightmare. It's one of those things the whole world loves to sit around on Sundays and yarn about, and just as many folks would hate to practice, anyway. And this is as sure as you'll find the only bit of glass on the road when you're automobiling if you don't just happen to be toting a spare tyre.

"Seeing that you can't everlastingly keep trying to walk on 'nothing'

without disastrous consequences, and, further, seeing the days of miracles have died with many other privileges which our ancestors enjoyed, such as being burned at the stake and painting up our bodies in fancy colors, it is natural, even a necessity, that 'crookedness'

should have come into its own.

"Let's start right in at the first chapter of a man's life. It'll point the whole argument without anything else. It's ingrained even in the youngest kid to resort to subterfuge. Subterfuge is merely the most innocent form in a crook's thesis. Maybe a kid, lying in its cradle, with only a few days of knowledge to work on, don't know the finer points he'll learn later. But he knows what he wants, and is going to get it. He's going to get the other feller where he wants him, and then force him to do his bidding. It's his first effort in 'crookedness' when he finds the straight line of virtue is just a most uncomfortable nightmare. How does he do it?

"I guess it's this way. He needs his food. He guesses his gasoline tank needs filling. He don't guess he's going to lie around with a sort of mean draught blowing pneumonia through his vitals. He just waits around awhile to see if any one's yearning to pump up his infantile tyre, and when he finds there's nothing doing, why, he starts right in to make his first fall off the straight line of virtue. You see, the straight line says that kid's tank needs filling only at stated intervals. The said kid don't see it that way, so he turns himself into a human megaphone, scares the household cat into a dozen fits, starts up a canine chorus in the neighboring backyards, makes his father yearn to shoot up the feller that wrote the marriage service, sets the local police officer tracking down a murder that was never committed, and maybe, if he only keeps things humming long enough, sets all the State legal machinery working overtime to have his parents incarcerated for keeping an insanitary nuisance on the premises.

"See the crookedness of that kid? The moment he finds himself duly inflated with milk he lies low. Do you get the lesson of it? It's plumb simple. That kid wanted something. He didn't care a cuss for regulations. He just laid right there and said, 'Away with 'em!' He was thirsty, or hungry, or greedy. Maybe he was all three. Anyway, he wanted, and set about getting what he wanted the only way he knew. All of which illustrates the fact that when human nature demands satisfaction no laws or regulations are going to stand in the way. And that's just life from the day we're born.

"From the foregoing remarks you may incline to the belief that I have set out willfully to outrage every moral and human law. This is not quite the case. I am merely giving you the benefit of my observations, and also, since I am merely another human unit in the perfectly ridiculous collection of bipeds which go to make up the alleged superior races of this world, I must fall into line with the rest.

"If Abel gets in my way I must 'out' him. If I can manufacture a down cushion out of old Samson's hair to make my lot more comfortable, I'm just going to get the best pair of shears and get busy. If I'm going to collect amusement from studding that chump Sisera's head with tacks, why, it's up to me to avoid delay that way. And as for Ananias, he seems to me to have been a long way ahead of his time. They'd have had his monument set up in every public office in the country to-day. He'd have been the emblem of every trading corporation I know, and his effigy would have served as the coat-of-arms for the whole of the present-day creation.

"I trust you are keeping well, and the responsibility of guiding the development of our Gracie is showing no sign of undermining your constitution. Gracie is really a good girl, if a little impetuous. I notice, however, that impetuosity gives way before the responsibilities of life. So far she is quite young. I'm hoping good results when she gets responsibility.

"Give my best love to the old Dad, and tell him that he must be careful of his health in such a desperate heat as New York provides in summer time. I think a month's vacation in the hills would be excellent for him at this time of year. I am looking forward to the time when I shall see him again.

"You might tell him I hope to fulfill my mission under schedule time.

If you do not hear from me again you will know I am working overtime on the interests in which I left New York.

"Your loving son, "GORDON.

"P.S.--It occurs to me I have not told you all the news I would have liked to tell you. But two pieces occur to me at the moment. First, that achievement in life demands not the fostering of the gentler human emotions, but their outraging. Also, no man has the right to abandon honesty until dishonesty pays him better.

"G."

The mother's sigh was a deep expression of her hopeless feelings as she finished the last word of her son's postscript.

Gracie watched her out of the corners of her eyes.

"What's the matter, momma?" she inquired.

Her mother broke down weakly.

"They haven't found a trace of him yet. They can't locate how these letters are mailed. They can't just find a thing. And all the time these letters come along, and--and they get worse and worse. It's no good, Gracie; the poor boy's just crazy. Sure as sure. It's the heat, or--or drink, or strain, or--maybe he's starving. Anyway, he's gone, and we'll never see our Gordon again--not in his right mind. And now your poor father's gone, too. Goodness knows where. I'll--yes, I'll have to set the inquiry people to find him, too, if--if I don't hear from him soon. To--to think I'd have lived to see the day when----"

"I don't guess Gordon's in any sort of trouble, momma," cried Gracie, displaying an unexpected sympathy for her distracted parent. Then she smiled that wise little superior smile of youth which made her strong features almost pretty. "And I'm sure he's not--crazy. Say, mom, just don't think anything more about it. And I'd sort of keep all those letters--if they're like that. You never told me the others. May I read them? I never would have believed Gordon could have written like that--never. You see, Gordon's not very bright--is he?"

CHAPTER XIX

JAMES CARBHOY ARRIVES

Snake's Fall was in that sensitive state when the least jar or news of a startling nature was calculated to upset it, and start its tide of human emotions bubbling and surging like a shallow stream whose course has been obstructed by the sudden fall of a bowlder into its bed.

Early the following morning just such a metaphorical bowlder fell right into the middle of the Snake's Fall stream. The news flew through the little town, now so crowded with its overflowing population of speculators, with that celerity which vital news ever attains in small, and even large places. It was on everybody's lips before the breakfast tables were cleared. And, in a matter of seconds, from the moment of its penetration to the individual, minds were searching not only the meaning, but the effect it would have upon the general situation, and their own personal affairs in particular.

David Slosson, the agent of the Union Grayling and Ukataw Railroad, had defected in the night! He had gone--bolted--leaving his bill unpaid at McSwain's hotel!

For a while a sort of paralysis seized upon the population. It was staggered. No trains had passed through in the night. Not even a local freight train. How had he gone? But most of all--why?

The next bit of news that came through was that Peter's best team had been stolen from the barn, also an empty hay-rack. This was mystifying, until it became known that Peter's buggy was laid up at Mike Callahan's barn, undergoing repairs. The hayrack was the only vehicle available. But what about saddle horses for a rapid bolt?

Curiously enough it was discovered that Peter's saddle horses were out grazing. Besides, the story added that the man had taken his baggage with him. Not a thing had been left behind, and baggage like his could not have been carried on a saddle horse.

The story grew as it traveled. It was the snowball over again. It was said that Peter had been robbed of a large amount of money which he kept in his safe. Also his cash register had been emptied. An added item was that Peter himself had been knifed, and had been found in a dying condition. In fact every conceivable variation of the facts were flung abroad for the benefit of credulous ears. Consequently the tide of curious, and startled, and interested news-seekers set in the direction of Peter's hotel at an early hour.

Then it was that something of the real facts were discovered. And, in consequence, those who had participated in Slosson's land deals, and had received deposit money, congratulated themselves. While those who had not so profited felt like "kicking" themselves for their want of enterprise.

Peter stormed through his house the whole morning. He was like a very hot and angry lion in a cage far too small for it. His story, as he told it in the office, was superlative in furious adjectives.

"I tell you fellows," he cried, at a group of wondering-eyed boarders in his establishment, "I ha'f suspected he was a blamed crook from the first moment I got my eyeballs onto him. The feller that 'll bilk his board bill is come mighty low, sirs. So mighty low you wouldn't find a well deep enough for him. He had the best rooms in the house at four an' a ha'f dollars a day all in, an' I ain't see a fi' cent piece of his money, cep' you ken count the land deposit he paid me. I just been right through his rooms, an' he ain't left a thing, not a valise, nor a grip. Not even a soot of pyjamas, or a soap tablet. He's sure cleared right out fer good, and we ain't goin' to see him round again," he finished up gloomily.

Then his fire broke out again.

"But that ain't what I'm grievin' most, I guess. Ther's allus skunks around till a place gets civilized up, an' their bokay ain't pleasant.

But he's a hoss thief, too. There's my team. You know that team of mine, Mr. Davison," he went on, turning to the drug storekeeper who had dropped in to hear his friend's news. "You've drove behind 'em many a time. They got a three-minute gait between 'em which 'ud show dust to any team around these parts. That team was worth two thousand dollars, sirs, and was matched to an inch, and a shade of color. Say, if I get across his tracks, an' Sheriff Richardson is out after him with a posse, I'm goin' to get a shot in before the United States Authorities waste public money feeding him in penitentiary. I'm feelin' that mad I can't eat, an' I don't guess I'd know how to hand a decent answer to a Methodist minister if he came along. If I don't get news of that team I'm just going to start and break something. I don't figure if he'd burned this shack right over my head I'd have felt as mad as I do losin' that dandy team."

When questioned as to how the man had got away his answer came sharply.

"How? Why, what was there to stop him, sir? I tell you right here we ain't been accustomed to deal with his kind in Snake's. The folk around this layout, till this coal boom started, has all been decent citizens." He glared with hot eyes upon the men about him, who were nearly all speculators attracted by that very coal boom. "There's that darned fire-escape out back, right down from his room, an' what man has ever locked his barn in these parts? Psha!" he cried, in violent disgust. "I've had that team three years, and I've never so much as had a lock put to the barn."

So it went on all the morning. Peter's fury was one of the sights of the township for that day. He was never without an audience which flowed and ebbed like a tide, stimulated by curiosity, self-interest, and the natural satisfaction of witnessing another's troubles which is so much an instinct of human nature.

And beneath every other emotion which the agent's sudden defection aroused was a wave of almost pitiful meanness. The dreams of the last week and more had received a set back. In many minds the boom city was tottering. The crowding hopes of avarice and self-interest had suddenly received a douche of cold water. What, these speculators asked themselves, and each other, did the incident portend, what had the future in store?

So keen was the interest worked up about Peter McSwain's house that every other consideration for the time being was forgotten. Party after party visited Slosson's late quarters with a feeling of conviction that some trifling clew had been overlooked, and, by some happy chance, the luck and glory of having discovered it might fall to their lot. But it was all of no avail. The room was absolutely empty of all trace of its recent occupant, as only an hotel room can become.

With the excitement the daily west-bound passenger train was forgotten, and by the time it was signaled in, the little depot was almost deserted. There were one or two rigs backed up to it on the town side, and perhaps a dozen townspeople were present. But the usual gathering was nowhere about.

Amongst the few present were Hazel Mallinsbee and Gordon. They had driven up in a democrat wagon with a particularly fine team, and having backed the vehicle up to the boarded platform, they stood talking earnestly and quite unnoticed. Hazel was dressed in an ordinary suit that possessed nothing startling in its atmosphere of smartness. Her skirt was of some rather hard material, evidently for hard wear, and the upper part of her costume was a white lawn shirtwaist under a short jacket which matched her skirt. Her head was adorned by her customary prairie hat, which, in Gordon's eyes, became her so admirably.

Gordon was holding up a picture for the girl's closest inspection.

"Say, it's sheer bull-headed luck I got this with me," he was saying.

"I found it amongst my old papers and things when I left New York, and I sort of brought it along as a 'mascot.' The old dad's older than that now, but you can't mistake him. It's a bully likeness. Get it into your mind anyway, and then keep it with you."

Hazel gazed admiringly at the portrait of the man who claimed Gordon as his son. For the moment she forgot the purpose in hand.

"Isn't he just splendid?" she exclaimed. "You're--you're the image of him. Why, say, it seems the unkindest thing ever to--to play him up."