The pioneer

by Geraldine Bonner

With these thoughts in his mind Black Dan entered the office and paused by his son-in-law’s desk. As he stood there a boy walked in and handed the young man a small gray envelope that bore a superscription in a delicate feminine hand. Black Dan also saw that Jerry, under his unshakable sang-froid, was disconcerted. That the receipt of the letter was disturbing to its recipient was as plain to the older man as that the letter was from a woman.

He passed on to his own office with his mind in an entirely different condition from what it had been when he entered the building. After all their watchfulness, was Jerry playing at his old game? The thought made Black Dan breathe curses into his beard. He saw Rion, himself and the Colonel out-witted, and Jerry laughing at them in his sleeve. And deeper than this went the enraging thought of Mercedes supplanted by one of the women that flourish in mining camps, birds of prey that batten on the passions of men.

He had work to do, however, and, for to-day, at least, would have to put the matter out of his mind. Time enough when the Easterners were gone. Black Dan, like many men of his day and kind, was particularly anxious to impress the Easterners, and to make their three days’ stay in the town a revel of barbaric luxury. The dinner he was to give them that evening was to be a feast of unrivaled splendor, every course ordered from San Francisco, the wine as choice as any to be bought in the country, the china, glass, and silver imported at extravagant cost from the greatest factories of Europe, the cigars of a costly rarity, a brand especially sent from Havana for the bonanza king and his associates.

Now from among the specimens of ore that stood along the top of his desk he selected one of unusual form and value to give to the most distinguished of the strangers. It was a small square of blackish mineral on which a fine, wire-like formation of native silver had coiled itself into a shape that resembled a rose. It had the appearance of a cunning piece of the silversmith’s art, a flower of silver wire delicately poised on a tiny fragment of quartz rock. Thrusting it into his coat pocket, he left the office, on his way out passing Jerry, who was bending studiously over his desk.

He walked rapidly up through the town, to the same livery stable to which his son-in-law had already paid a visit. One of the diversions to which the visitors were treated was the drive along the mountain road to Washoe Lake. This, Black Dan had arranged, would be the entertainment for the following morning. He with his own Kentucky thoroughbreds, would drive the men, while the women of the party would follow in a hired trap, drawn by the horses Jerry had ordered, and driven by the expert whip of the stable, known as Spanish George. Such a division of the party suited Black Dan admirably, for he disliked women, shunning their society, and when forced into it, becoming more somber and taciturn than ever.

His plan, however, received an unexpected check. He was told that the horses were engaged by Mr. Barclay for that evening. Frowning and annoyed, he demanded why that should prevent him from having them the next morning, and received the information that Mr. Barclay was to drive into Reno that night with them, sending them back in the morning, when they would be too tired by the twenty-one miles over the grade, to go out again immediately.

Black Dan stood in the doorway of the stable looking with attentive eyes at his informant. As the man amplified his explanation with excuses, the bonanza king said nothing. For the moment his own thoughts were too engrossing to permit of words. A puppy that was playing near by in the sunlight trotted toward him and bit playfully at his toe. He turned it over with his foot, following its charmingly awkward gambols with a pondering gaze.

“Then I suppose I can’t have Spanish George either?” he said. “Mr. Barclay’ll take him in to drive the horses back, and he’ll take his time about it.”

“Oh, you can have Spanish George all right,” said the stable-man, relieved that he could give his powerful patron something he wanted. “Mr. Barclay’s driving some one in with him. He’ll have one of the Reno men bring the horses back.”

Black Dan looked up, his broad, dark eyes charged with almost fierce attention.