Such had been the Sundays in Snake's Fall since ever the town had boasted an hotel with boarding accommodation. No guest had ever dared to break through the tradition. It would have required heroic courage to have done so. But now changes in the town were rapidly taking place. So rapidly, indeed, that the times might well have been characterized as "breathless."

On this particular Sunday a perfect revolution was in progress.

Amongst the older inhabitants who managed to drift to the vicinity of the hotel a feeling of unreality took possession of them, and they wondered if it were not some curious and not altogether pleasant dream.

The hotel was thronged with a blending of strangers and townspeople, clad, regardless of the day, in a state of excitement such as might only have been expected at the declaration of a world war, or a presidential election.

It was the culmination of the excitement inspired originally by the news of Slosson's defection, and which, in the course of less than a week, had been augmented by happenings in swift and rapid succession, such as set sober business men wondering if they were living on a volcano instead of a coalmine, or if the days of miracles had indeed returned upon the world.

Well before the excitement over Slosson had died down it became known that the Buffalo Point interests were at work again. Mallinsbee's office was opened once more. Furthermore, he had acquired two clerks, and was securing others from down east. This was more than significant. It attracted every eye in the new direction. Men strove to solve the question with regard to its relationship to Slosson's going. The thought which promptly came to each mind was that Slosson's going was less a miracle than a natural disappearance. His wild buying had inspired doubt from the first. The man had gone crazy, and his employers had turned him down. So he had bolted. The opening of Buffalo Point warned them that the railroad had in consequence come to terms with Mallinsbee. So there had been a fresh rush for information in that direction.

But this rush received no encouragement and less information, and the sorely tried speculators were once more flung back into their own outer darkness.

Then came the next, the culminating excitement. The news drifted into the place from outside sources. It came from agents and friends in the east. Surveyors and engineers and construction gangs were about to be sent to _Buffalo Point_! The news was quite definite, quite decided.

It was more. It was accompanied by peremptory orders and urgent requests that those who were on the spot should get in on the Buffalo Point township without a moment's delay, and price was not to hinder them.

Had it been needed, there were no two people in the whole of Snake's Fall better placed for the dissemination and exaggeration of the news than Peter McSwain at the hotel and Mike Callahan at the livery barn.

Nor were they idle. Nor did they miss a single opportunity.

In the office of the hotel, while service was on at the little church, and all the womenfolk and children were singing their tender hearts out in an effort to get an appetite for Sunday's dinner, Peter was the center of observation amidst a crowd of bitterly complaining commercial sinners, each with his own particular ax to grind and a desperate grievance against the crooks who were rigging the land markets in the neighborhood for their own sordid profit. He was holding forth, debating point for point, and, as he would have described it himself, "boosting the old boat over a heavy sea."

Some one had suggested that Buffalo Point had been in league with Slosson to hold up the situation, while the former completed their own arrangements to the detriment of the community. Peter promptly jumped in.

"Say, youse fellers are all sorts of 'smarts,' anyway," he said, with a pitying sort of contempt. "What you need is gilt-edged finance.

You're scared to death pulling the chestnuts out o' the fire. You're mostly looking for a thousand per cent. result, with only a five per cent. courage. That's just about your play. What's the use in settin'

around here talking murder when the plums are lyin' around? Pick 'em up, I says. Pick 'em right up an' get your back teeth into 'em so the juice jest trickles right over your Sunday suits. They're there for you. Just grab. I'm tired of talk. The truth is, some o' youse feelin' you've burnt your fingers over Slosson. Slosson was the railroad's agent. Your five per cent. minds saw the gilding in following Slosson. When he skipped out with my team you were stung bad. You've got stakes in Snake's, while you're finding out now the railroad ain't moved that way. An' so you're just scared to death to show the color of your paper till you see the depot built and the locomotives passing this place ringing a chorus of welcome for Buffalo.

Then where are you? You're going to pay sucker prices then, or get right back east with a big debit for wasted board and time. I'm takin'

a chance myself, and it ain't with any five per cent. courage. I got a big stake in both places, and I don't care a continental where they build the depot."

Mike Callahan was talking in much the same strain in the neighborhood of his barn, which somehow always became a sort of Sunday meeting-place for loungers seeking information. But Mike, acting on instructions, went much further. He spoke of the reports of the movements of the railroad's engineers and surveyors. He assured his hearers he had had definite word of it himself, and then added a hint that started something in the nature of a panic amongst his audience.

"It ain't no use in guessing," he said from his seat on an upturned bucket at the open door of his barn. "I ain't got loose cash to fling around. Mine is just locked right up in hossflesh and rigs, so I ain't got no ax needs sharpening. But I drive folks around and I hear them yarning. I drove a crowd out to Mallinsbee's place--the office at Buffalo Point yesterday. They were guests of his. They were talkin'

depots and things the whole way. Say, ever heard the name of Carbhoy?

Any of youse?"

Some one assured him that Carbhoy was President of the Union road, and Mike winked.

"Jest so," he observed. "As sure as St. Patrick drove the snakes out of Ireland, one of that gang was called 'Carbhoy.' I heard one of 'em use the name. And I heard the feller called 'Carbhoy' tell him to close his map. Not just in them words, but the sort of words a millionaire might use. That gang are guests of Mallinsbee. Wher' they are now I can't say. I didn't drive 'em back."

It was small enough wonder that the conflagration of excitement fairly swallowed up the town of vultures. The Buffalo Point interests intended it to do so. Nor could their agents have been better selected. They were established citizens who came into contact with the whole floating population of the place. They were above suspicion, and they just simply laughed and talked and pushed their pinpricks home, preparing the way for the _denouement_.

On the Monday following, the effect of their work began to show itself.

Amongst other visitations Mallinsbee was invaded by a deputation representing large real-estate interests.

Under Gordon's management the office had been entirely converted. Now the original parlor office had been turned over to the use of the clerical staff. The bedroom Gordon had occupied had become Mallinsbee's private office, and the other bedroom had been made into an office for Gordon himself. There was no longer any appearance of a makeshift about the place. It was an organized commercial establishment ready for the transaction of any business, from battling with a royal eagle of commerce down to the plucking of the half-fledged pigeon.

The deputation arrived in the morning, and consisted of Mr. Cyrus P.

Laker and Mr. Abe Chester. These two men represented two Chicago real-estate corporations who were prepared to shed dollars that ran into six figures in a "right" enterprise.

The rancher had been notified of their coming, and had sat in consultation with Gordon for half an hour before their arrival. When the clerk showed them into Mallinsbee's private office they found him fully equipped, with his hideous patch over one eye, and Gordon sitting near by at a small table under the window.

Abe Chester overflowed the chair the clerk set for him, and Laker possessed himself of another. They were in sharp contrast, these two.

One was lean and tall, the other was squat and breathed asthmatically.

But both were men of affairs, and equal to every move in a deal.

The tall man opened the case, with his keen eyes searching the baffling face of the rancher. Just for one moment he had doubtfully eyed Gordon's figure, so intently bent over his work, but Mallinsbee had reassured him with the words, "My confidential secretary."

Mr. Laker assumed an air of simple frankness.

"Our errand is a simple one, Mr. Mallinsbee," he began in hollow tones which seemed to emanate from somewhere in the region of his highly shined shoes. Then he smiled vaguely, a smile which Gordon mentally registered as being "childlike," as he observed it out of the corners of his eyes. "We are looking for two little pieces of information which you, as a business man, will appreciate as being a justifiable search on our part. You see, we are open to negotiating a deal of several hundred thousand dollars, of course depending on the information being satisfactory."

"There's several rumors afloat that maybe you can confirm or deny,"

broke in Abe Chester shortly. His _confrere's_ "high-brow" methods, as he termed them, irritated him.

"Just so," agreed Laker suavely. "Two rumors which affect the situation very nearly. The first is, is it a fact that the President of the Union Grayling and Ukataw Railroad is your guest at the present moment? The second is, there is a rumor afloat that the railroad company are actually preparing to build their depot here. Is this so?"

Mallinsbee's expression was annoyingly obscure. Mr. Laker felt that he was smiling, but Abe Chester was convinced that a smile was not within a mile of his large features. Both men were agreed, however, that they distrusted that eye-patch.

Gordon awaited the rancher's reply with amused patience. It came in the rumbling, heavy voice so like an organ note, after a duly thoughtful pause.

"Well, gentlemen," he said, with the air of a man who has bestowed a weight of consideration upon his answer, "you have put what a legal mind maybe 'ud consider 'leading' questions. Not having a legal mind, but just the mind of an _honest_ trader, I'll say they certainly are _some_ questions. However, it don't seem to me they'll prejudice a thing answering 'em straight. You are yearning to deal--well, so am I; an' if my answer's going to help things that way, why, I thank you for asking. Mr. Carbhoy is my guest at this moment. How long he'll remain my guest I can't just say. You see, he's going along to the coast when we're through fixing things right for Buffalo Point. That answers your first question, I guess. The second's even easier. The railroad's engineers will be right here with plans and specifications and materials and workers for building the depot at Buffalo Point on _Wednesday noon_."

Abe Chester drew a short asthmatical breath. His leaner companion smiled cadaverously.

"Then it will give us both much pleasure to talk business," said the latter.

"Sure," agreed Chester, sparing words which cost him so much breath, of which he possessed such a small supply.

Mallinsbee pushed cigars towards them. He felt the occasion needed their moral support.

"Help yourselves, gentlemen," he said. "Guess it'll make us talk better. There's a whole heap of talk coming."

The two men helped themselves, tenderly pressing the cigars and smelling them. The rancher took one himself, with the certainty of its quality, and lit it.

"A lot to talk about?" inquired Mr. Laker, not without misgivings.

"Why, yes." The rancher pulled deeply at his cigar and examined the ash thoughtfully. "Yes," he went on after a moment, "I guess I'll have to say quite a piece before you talk money. You see, I'd just like you to understand the position. It's perhaps a bit difficult. This scheme has been lying around quite a time, inviting folks to put money into it at a profitable price to themselves. A number of wise friends of mine have taken the opportunity and are in, good and snug. There's a number of others hadn't the grit. Maybe I don't just blame them. You see, it was some gamble, and needed folks who could take a chance. Wall, those days are past. There's no gamble now. It's as good as American double eagles. You see, Snake's will just become a sort of flag station, while Buffalo Point will sit around in a halo of glory with a brand-new swell depot. It's been some work handling this proposition, and the folks interested, including the Bude and Sideley Coal Company, need a deal of compensation for their work. Personally, I am not selling a single frontage now until the depot is well on the way. In short, I need a fancy price. In conclusion, gentlemen, let me say quite plainly that what I would have sold originally for three figures will now, or rather when the time comes, cost four--and maybe even five."

"You mean to shut us out," snapped Abe Chester.

"Is it graft?" inquired Laker, with something between a sneer and anger.

"Call it what you like," said Mallinsbee coldly. "I've told you the plain facts, as I shall tell everybody else. Those who want to get in on the Buffalo Point boom will have to pay money for it--good money. I think that is all I have to say, gentlemen."

CHAPTER XXI

A TRIFLE