“Come home at once,” it read. “Cornish deserting. Must take care of the hound’s interest somehow. Threatens litigation. A hold-up, but he has the drop. Am in doubt whether to shoot him now or later. Stop at Chicago, and bring Harper. Bring him, understand? Unless Pendleton deal is made, this means worse things than we ever dreamed of; but don’t wait. Leave Pendleton for later, and come home. If I follow my inclinations, you will find me in jail for murder. Elkins.”
All night I sat, turning this over in my mind. Was it ruin, or would my success here carry us through? Without a moment’s sleep I ate my breakfast, braced myself with coffee, engaged a berth for the return journey, and promptly presented myself at Pendleton’s office at ten. Wearily we went over the precious contract, and I took my copy and left.
All that day I rode in a sort of trance, in which I could see before my eyes the forms of the hosts of those whom Jim had called “the captives below decks,” whose fortunes were dependent upon whether we striving, foolish, scheming, passionate men went to the wall. A hundred times I read in Jim’s telegram the acuteness of our crisis; and a sense of our danger swept dauntingly over my spirit. A hundred times I wished that I might awake and find that the whole thing—Aladdin and his ring, the palaces, gnomes, genies, and all—could pass away like a tale that is told, and leave me back in the rusty little town where it found me.
I slept heavily that night, and was very much much more myself when I went to see Harper in Chicago. He had received a message from Jim, and was ready to go. He also had one for me, sent in his care, and just arrived.
“You have saved the fight,” said the message; “your success came just as they were counting nine on us. With what you have done we can beat the game yet. Bring Harper, and come on.”
Harper, cool and collected, big and blonde, with a hail-fellow-well-met manner which spoke eloquently of the West, was a great comfort to me. He made light of the trouble.
“Cornish is no fool,” said he, “and he isn’t going to saw off the limb he stands on.”
I tried to take this view of it; but I knew, as he did not, the real source of the enmity between Elkins and Cornish, and my fears returned. Business differences might be smoothed over; but with two such men, the quarrel of rivals in love meant nothing but the end of things between them.