CHAPTER VIII.
THE HONORABLE THOMAS B. PELTON
It was next morning that Steve came into Ridgway’s offices with a copy of the Rocky Mountain Herald in his hands. As soon as the president of the Mesa Ore-producing Company was through talking with Dalton, the superintendent of the Taurus, about the best means of getting to the cage a quantity of ore he was looting from the Consolidated property adjoining, the treasurer plumped out with his news.
“Seen to-day’s paper, Waring? It smokes out Pelton to a finish. They’ve moled out some facts we can’t get away from.”
Ridgway glanced rapidly over the paper. “We’ll have to drop Pelton and find another candidate for the Senate. Sorry, but it can’t be helped. They’ve got his record down too fine. That affidavit from Quinton puts an end to his chances.”
“He’ll kick like a bay steer.”
“His own fault for not covering his tracks better. This exposure doesn’t help us any at best. If we still tried to carry Pelton, we should last about as long as a snowball in hell.”
“Shall I send for him?”
“No. He’ll be here as quick as he can cover the ground. Have him shown in as soon as he comes. And Steve—did Harley arrive on the eight-thirty this morning?”
“Yes. He is putting up at the Mesa House. He reserved an entire floor by wire, so that he has bed-rooms, dining-rooms, parlors, reception-halls and private offices all together. The place is policed thoroughly, and nobody can get up without an order.”
“I haven’t been thinking of going up and shooting him, even though it would be a blessing to the country,” laughed his chief.