“You forget what you did for Mrs. Harley.”
“You may eliminate that,” retorted the younger man curtly. “You are under no obligations whatever to me.”
“That is very generous of you, Mr. Ridgway, but—”
Ridgway met his eyes directly, cutting his sentence as with a knife. “‘Generous’ is the last word to use. It is not a question of generosity at all. What I mean is that the thing I did was done with no reference whatever to you. It is between me and her alone. I refuse to consider it as a service to you, as having anything at all to do with you. I told you that before. I tell you again.”
Harley’s spirit winced. This bold claim to a bond with his wife that excluded him, the scornful thrust of his enemy—he was already beginning to consider him in that light rather than as a victim—had touched the one point of human weakness in this money-making Juggernaut. He saw himself for the moment without illusions, an old man and an unlovable one, without near kith or kin. He was bitterly aware that the child he had married had been sold to him by her guardian, under fear of imminent ruin, before her ignorance of the world had given her experience to judge for herself. The money and the hidden hunger of sentiment he wasted on her brought him only timid thanks and wan obedience. But for this man, with his hateful, confident youth, he had seen the warm smile touch her lips and the delicate color rose her cheeks. Nay, he had seen more her arms around his neck and her, warm breath on his cheek. They had lived romance, these two, in the days they had been alone together. They had shared danger and the joys of that Bohemia of youth from which he was forever excluded. It was his resolve to wipe out by financial favors—he could ruin the fellow later if need be—any claims of Ridgway upon her gratitude or her foolish imagination. He did not want the man’s appeal upon her to carry the similitude of martyrdom as well as heroism.
“Yet, the fact remains that it was a service”—his thin lips smiled. “I must be the best judge of that, I think. I want to be perfectly frank, Mr. Ridgway. The Consolidated is an auxiliary enterprise so far as I am concerned, but I have always made it a rule to look after details when it became necessary. I came to Montana to crush you. I have always regarded you as a menace to our legitimate interests, and I had quite determined to make an end of it. You are a good fighter, and you’ve been on the ground in person, which counts for a great deal. But you must know that if I give myself to it in earnest, you are a ruined man.”
The Westerner laughed hardily. “I hear you say it.”
“But you don’t believe,” added the other quietly. “Many men have heard and not believed. They have KNOWN when it was too late.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll buy my experience instead of borrowing it,” Ridgway flung back flippantly.
“One moment, Mr. Ridgway. I have told you my purpose in coming to Montana. That purpose no longer exists. Circumstances have completely altered my intentions. The finger of God is in it. He has not brought us together thus strangely, except to serve some purpose of His own. I think I see that purpose. ‘The stone which the builders refused is become the headstone of the corner. This is the Lord’s doing; it is marvelous in our eyes,’” he quoted unctiously. “I am convinced that it is a waste of good material to crush you; therefore I desire to effect a consolidation with you, buy all the other copper interests of any importance in the country, and put you at the head of the resulting combination.”