The man's tribute had a mollifying effect upon the mother. But she was still the "mother" rather than a creature of logic. She saw her boy being led to his undoing by some designing creature of her own sex, and her instinct warned her of the hideous dangers to millionaires' sons inherent in so guileful a race.

"If I could only feel that he was experienced in the world," she said helplessly. "But what does our poor Gordon know of women?"

Mr. Harker smiled. He was thinking with the intimacy of one man who knows another. He knew, too, something of the way in which Gordon's money had generally been spent.

"We must hope the best, ma'am," he said, with a hypocritical sigh.

"He's evidently not married, so--what do you intend to do about it while Mr. Carbhoy is on the coast?"

"Do? Do? Why, I shall just go up to Snake's whatever-it-is, or Buffalo what's-its-name, and--and----"

"I should wait awhile, ma'am, if I were you," Mr. Harker interrupted her, fearing another outburst. "I'm expecting David Slosson in the city soon. He's one of our confidential men who's been working up at Snake's for us. I haven't heard from him for quite a while. He's sure to be along down soon, because he's got to make a report. Maybe he can tell us just how things are. Anyway, I wouldn't go up there. It's a queer, wild sort of place, and in no way fit for you."

"Will Slosson be around soon?"

"Sure, ma'am."

"Then I'll wait," cried the troubled mother, without cordiality. Then she appealed to the man who had always been something more than a mere commercial figure in her husband's life. "You know, if anything went wrong with my boy, Mr. Harker, it would just break my heart. I--I couldn't bear it. But I tell you right here there's no wretched female going to play her tricks on our Gordon with me around, and while I've got James Carbhoy's millions to my hand. And if your man Slosson don't give us satisfactory news of the boy, then, if Snake's what's-its-name were the worst place on earth--I should make it."

"If it comes to that, ma'am, there are other folks feel that way, too,"

said the manager earnestly. "But meanwhile I'd say don't worry a thing."

"I don't!" snapped the mother sharply. "The person who'll need to do all the worrying is that--female."

CHAPTER XXIV

PREPARING FOR THE FINALE

"I'm getting scared, Gordon. Real truth, I am."

Hazel was in the saddle. Gordon had just mounted Sunset. It was the close of a long, arduous, triumphant day for Gordon, and he was feeling very happy, though mentally weary. The horses moved off before he made any reply. He had just dismissed Peter McSwain and Mike Callahan, with whom he had been in close consultation, and Hazel's father was still within the office to see to its closing for the night and the departure of the clerical staff.

The way lay towards the ranch, and the trail the horses were taking skirted the new township, now no longer a waste of untrodden grass, but a busy camp with a strongly flowing human tide.

Hazel had come to meet him at her lover's urgent request, and she was glad enough to get away from the old ranch house, where the charge of her captive there was seriously beginning to trouble her. Now she had at last voiced something of those feelings which the rapid passing of the weeks had steadily inspired. She knew that her peace of mind demanded some change from this worrying situation. In her loyalty she had struggled to perform her share in the conspiracy. She knew, too, that she had succeeded fairly well, and that her efforts were all appreciated to their full. She had contrived that her lover's father should never know a moment's discomfort. That his life in captivity should be made as easy and pleasant as possible. There were no signs that it had been otherwise, but now, seven weeks had elapsed since his arrival, and what had just seemed a scandalous joke to her originally, had become a sort of painful nightmare which she was longing to throw off. The moment she and Gordon were actually alone, she had been impelled to break the silence which was steadily undermining her nerve.

Gordon's horse was close abreast of the brown mare, and its rider smiled down from his great height upon the pretty tailored figure of the girl who had become all the world to him.

"I know," he said sympathetically. "It's sort of that way with me, too. I don't just mean I'm scared. There's nothing for me to be scared about. It's--sort of conscience with me. As for your father--say"--his smile broadened--"he's taken to his eye-patch with everybody--me, too. I guess that means he's worried no end."

"What--what are you going to do--then?"

Hazel eagerly watched that big, open, ingenuous face with its widely smiling blue eyes. And, watching it, she discerned added signs of a growing humor. Finally he laughed outright.

"Say, we're just the limit for a bunch of conspirators. Yes--the limit. You're the only one of us who's had the moral courage to put your feelings into words. We're all scared. We've all been scared these weeks. Your father's scared, so he can't look at any man with two eyes. Peter's all of a shiver every time he comes within hailing distance of the sheriff. As for Mike--well, Mike's sold all his holdings, and is bursting to sell his livery business, all but one team, so he'll have the means of skipping the border at a minute's notice. Say, have you figured out how we stand? How I stand? Well, from a point of law I guess I'm a good candidate for ten years'

penitentiary. I've kidnapped two men; one's a dirty dog, anyway, and the other's one of the biggest millionaires in the country. I've fraudulently played up a railroad. I've started this boom on the biggest fraud ever practiced. I've--say, ten years! Why, I guess the tally of this adventure looks to me like twenty in the worst penitentiary to be found in the country. It--makes me perspire to think of it."

He was laughing in a perfectly reckless fashion, and, in spite of her very real fears, Hazel perforce found herself joining in.

"It's desperate, Gordon," she cried. "And as for you, who worked it all out, and led it, you--you are the dearest blackguard ever breathed." Then quite suddenly her eyes sobered, and her apprehension returned with a rush. "But how long is--it to last? I--I can't go on much longer, and your father's getting restive and suspicious."

Gordon reached down and patted Sunset's crested neck.

"It's finished now. That's why I asked you to come and meet me. I've sold."

"You've sold?"

In a moment the last shadow of fear had passed out of the girl's pretty eyes. Now she was agog with excited admiration.

"Yes." The man nodded. "It had to be done carefully. I've been selling quietly for days and now it's finished. I didn't get the prices I hoped quite, but that was because I felt I dared not wait longer to clear up the general mess I'd made. Your father helped me, and I now sit here with a roll of precisely one hundred and five thousand dollars, and a definite promise to your father to fix things with the great James Carbhoy so no trouble is coming to any one--not even Slosson. I don't know. Now it's all over I'm sort of sorry. You know this sort of thing--the excitement of beating folks--is a great play. I want to be at it all the time."

"You've got to meet your father yet," said the girl warningly.

"The old dad? Why, yes, I s'pose I have." Gordon chuckled. "Say, I don't wonder folks taking to crooked ways. They just set your blood tingling like--like a glass of champagne on an empty stomach. Just look out there." He pointed at the new township. "Say, isn't it wonderful? All in a few weeks. And all the result of one man's crookedness."

"And your father has been a--prisoner--the whole time. Over seven weeks," rebuked the girl.

"But it's only three weeks since I met you that night on the trail, Hazel. No other time concerns me. Not even the dear old dad's captivity. That was the beginning of all things that matter for me."

"You seem to date everything around that--ridiculous episode," said Hazel slyly. "I----"

"I do."

"Don't interrupt me, sir. I was going to assure you that your proper spirit should be one of contrition for what you have made your father endure."

"It is."

"You said you didn't care."

"I don't."

"Then----"

Gordon burst out into a happy laugh.

"Don't you see, dear? I just don't care for, or think about anything else in the world. You--you--you are just mine, so what's the use of talking of the old dad."

"Really? True? True?" The girl's tender eyes were melting as they gazed up into her lover's. "More to you than all--this?" She indicated the busy life on the new township. The miracle, as she regarded it, which he had worked. The man smiled, his eyes full of a great, tender love. "I'm glad," the girl sighed. "It isn't always so with men--where the making of money is concerned, is it?" She breathed a great contentment and happiness. "Yes, I'm--so glad. It's the same with me, but--I want all this to go on right--because of you. I want your success. I want your success as a man, and--with your father.

I'm very jealous for those things now. You see, you belong to me, don't you?" She turned and gazed away across the plain. "Oh, it's good to see it all--to see all the busy work going on. Look there--and there," she pointed quickly in many directions. "Buildings going up.

Temporary buildings. The substantial structures to come later. Then the road gangs at work. The carpenters at the sidewalks. The surveyors. The teams and wagons. Above all, that depot being built with all expedition by--your father." She laughed happily and clapped her hands. "It's all growing every day. A mushroom town. And you--you have made that money your great father dared you to make.

Dared you--you, and you have made it out of him! Oh, dear! the humor of it is enough to make a cat laugh. Here you, by sheer audacity and roguery, have held up a railroad and coolly played the highwayman on your own father!"

Gordon shook his head.

"Call it grabbing opportunity. It was an opportunity which came my way through the trifling oversight of forgetting to return the private code book which the old dad had entrusted to my care. Say, I can never thank the dad enough for that half-hour talk in his office which sent me out into the wilderness. If he hadn't handed it to me, I should never have blundered into Snake's; and if I hadn't blundered into Snake's I shouldn't have found you. I guess my parent's just one of the few to whom a son owes anything. He gave me life, but didn't stop at that. He gave me you."