Part 42 (1/2)

Days later a dust-covered automobile worms its way through the traffic in Los Angeles and comes to rest before a tall office building. Two as dusty as the car descend from the tonneau, and one leaves the seat beside the driver. Pedestrians stare curiously at the trio as, talking and laughing in high spirits, they cross the pavement to the building's entrance.

”Desert rats--mining folks,” observes a wiseacre to his friend. ”Look at the girl and the chaps! Peach, eh? That's the life! Ho-hum!

Gotta get back to the old office, Bill. See you to-night at lodge, I s'pose. S'long!”

In a lavishly furnished anteroom of a suite of offices on the top floor of the building, Jerkline Jo and Hiram Hooker sank into overstuffed chairs and relaxed, while the other man, in khaki and scarred puttees, excused himself and entered the rooms beyond, carrying a suit case that tugged at his arm until his shoulder sagged. He was absent from the intercom a half hour.

”Well, boy,” said Jerkline Jo, ”it's all over, I guess. What an experience! I thought I knew the desert and the rough life before, but I wasn't out of my A B C's.”

”It was glorious, though,” said Hiram. ”I wouldn't have missed it, dear, for worlds.”

”Nor I, either. But I don't wish ever to return. Once is enough.”

After this they were silent. Both sat with eyes closed, dreaming of the past and the beckoning future. Their dreams were finally interrupted by the reappearance of Mr. John Downer, the mining engineer for the Gold Hills Mining Co., in whose offices they now sat.

”Well,” he began, smiling, ”if you'll come in now, Mr. Floresta would like to have a talk with you. Getting a bit rested, Miss Modock?”

Mr. Floresta, president of the Gold Hills Mining Co., was a pudgy, pink man, carefully groomed and manicured and barbered, who radiated businesslike good nature. On his rich mahogany desk lay a row of gold specimens that glittered in the sunlight streaming in through a window.

He shook hands warmly with Jo and Hiram; and when all were seated they talked of the trip for a time, and then the president plunged to the heart of the business that had brought them together.

”Knowing that you were in a hurry, Miss Modock,” he said, ”I called a meeting of the stockholders, and we reached the conclusion that, if Mr.

Downer's report was entirely satisfactory, there would be no use in quibbling over the price you and Mr. Hooker have asked. The sum that you ask for the group of claims that you filed upon is, as you are aware, an enormous one for unproved mining properties. Still, we wish to be fair; and on Mr. Downer's glowing report we are going to take a chance. Therefore, please state your pleasure in the matter of payments, and arrangements will be made at once.”

A great sigh escaped Jo, and tears welled to her dark eyes.

”Thank you, Mr. Floresta,” she said. ”If you can let us have two hundred thousand at once, I'm sure payment of the remainder of the million can be easily arranged to suit both sides.”

Mr. Floresta bowed and pushed a buzzer b.u.t.ton. A moment or so later a messenger was on the way to a bank with a check. When he returned he handed Floresta another check--one certified by the cas.h.i.+er of the company's banking house.

”Now for yours and Mr. Hooker's signatures, please,” said Floresta. ”I have indicated in the transfer papers that the remainder of the million dollars is to be paid in four semi-annual installments, of two hundred thousand each, with interest at six per cent on deferred payments. Is that entirely satisfactory?”

”Entirely,” Jo told him, and went to his desk and took up the pen he handed her.

Five minutes later Hiram and the girl were alone in the anteroom once more. Hiram took the hands of Jerkline Jo and bent over her.

”Ma'am,” he drawled whimsically, ”if you'll let me, I'll kiss you now!”

Twitter-or-Tweet Orr Tweet paced back and forth in his little pine office, his hands behind his back, his brows furrowed. Every little while he grabbed his nose and straightened it savagely, but each time it reverted to its list to port again, and Tweet marched on disconsolately. It was the evening of the next to last day of his three days of grace. To-morrow Paloma Rancho, Ragtown, and all that they represented would slip automatically from his control, and he could not raise a finger to stop it.

Suddenly the door burst open with a bang, and Heine Schultz filled the little office with the roar of a behemoth:

”Oh, boy! Have you seen it? Just come in with the mail! Los Angeles papers! Here, read, man! And then get drunk! I'll help you!”

Tweet s.n.a.t.c.hed the paper from him, and his steel-blue eyes bugged at the glaring headlines:

Gold! Gold! Gold! Death Valley Gives Up Another Secret. Rich Find in Little-Known Corner of Treacherous Waste. Dead Father of Picturesque Girl Called Jerkline Jo the Finder. Weird Tale of Struggles and Death and Baby Lost on Desert. Gold Hills Mining Co. Takes Over the Claims at $1,000,000.

President Says Richest Discovery Since Days of '49.