The Son of his Father

by Ridgwell Cullum

But, late as the hour was, the occupants of the old ranch house were not in bed. Hazel was awake, and sitting expectantly waiting in her bedroom, while somewhere within the purlieus of the kitchen Hip-Lee sat before an open window in the darkness, doubtless dreaming wakefully of some flea-ridden village up country in his homeland.

Upstairs, too, there were no signs of those slumbers which were so long overdue. Mr. James Carbhoy was seated in a comfortable rocker-chair adjacent to his dressing bureau, making an effort to become interested in the "History of the Conquest of Mexico" by the light of a well-trimmed oil lamp.

Not one word, however, of the pages he had read had conveyed interest to his preoccupied mind. It is doubtful if their meaning had been conveyed with any degree of continuity. He was irritable—irritable and a shade despondent.

He had been a captive in that valley for over seven weeks, and the imprisonment had begun to tell upon his stalwart hardihood. Seven long weeks of his own company, under easy and even pleasant circumstances. Even Hazel's company, shadowed as she was by the hated Hip-Lee, had been denied him. Had it been otherwise he might have felt less dispirited, for he liked and admired her; and, in spite of the fact that on that one memorable occasion when he had talked to her alone she had betrayed, what he now was firmly convinced was her own perfidious share in his kidnapping, he was human enough to disregard it, and only remember that she was an extremely pretty and wholly charming creature.

Yes, he knew now that he had been duped by this daughter of Mallinsbee, whom he knew owned Buffalo Point, and the whole thing had been a financial coup engineered by the "smarts" who belonged to his faction. He had solved the whole problem of his captivity in one revealing flash, the moment he had learned that this girl was the daughter of Mallinsbee. He had needed no other information. His keenly trained mind, with its wide understanding of the methods of financial interests, had driven straight to the heart of the matter. It was only the details which had been lacking. But even these had, in a measure, been filled in during his long hours of solitude and concentrated thought.

It was some of the obscured riddles which beset him now, as they had beset him for days. He could not account for his own confidential agent Slosson in the matter. Had he been bought over? It seemed impossible, since Slosson had advised the depot remaining at Snake's Fall, which was against Mallinsbee's interests. Had he been dealt with, too? It seemed more likely. But if this were so it made the daring or desperation of the whole coup suggest to his mind that he was dealing with men of unusual caliber, and consequently the situation possessed for him possibilities of a most unpleasant character.

Then, again, the fact that they were content to leave him unapproached in his captivity puzzled and disquieted him even more. What could they achieve with regard to the railroad without his authority? Nothing, positively nothing, he assured himself. Then what was the purpose to be served? He could not even guess, and the uncertainty of it all annoyed, irritated, worried him as the time went on.

His mind was full of all these concerns as he sat reading the romantic story of a people with impossible names, and so he lost all the beauties of one of the most perfect romances in the world. Finally, he set the book aside and prepared for bed and more hours of worried sleeplessness.

James Carbhoy was a typical New Yorker of the best type. In an unexaggerated way he was fastidious of his appearance and gave a careful regard to his bodily welfare. He was a man who luxuriated in cleanly habits of living, and his linen was a sort of passion with him. In his captivity he had been well cared for in this respect, and the only cause he had for complaint was the absence of his daily bath, which he seriously deplored.

Now he went to the old-fashioned washstand, prepared for his nightly ablutions, and laid himself out a clean suit of pyjamas. Then he divested himself of some of his upper garments. He had just started to remove his shirt, and one arm still remained in its sleeve as he proceeded to remove it coatwise, when all further action was quite suddenly suspended and he stood listening.