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Updated: May 31, 2025
He knew now that in the violence of his anger against Elliot he had made a mistake. To have killed his rival would have been fatal to the Kamatlah coal claims, would have alienated his best friends, and would have prejudiced hopelessly his chances with Sheba. Fate had been kind to him. He had been in the wrong and it had put him in the right.
Now if you'll just cover friend chef with this sawed-off gat, Elliot, I'll throw the diamond hitch over what supplies we'll need to get back to Kamatlah. I'll take one bronch and leave the other to the convicts," said Holt cheerfully. "Forget that convict stuff," growled Macy. "With Macdonald back of us and the Guttenchilds back of him, you'll have a hectic time getting anything on us."
With his food almost gone, a water supply uncertain, reserve strength exhausted, the chances of getting over the divide to safety were practically none. He had come, so far as he could see, to the end of the passage. As soon as Selfridge reached Kamatlah he began arranging the stage against the arrival of the Government agent. His preparations were elaborate and thorough.
One could not be sure, for Bill's eyes did not exactly track. "That ain't no kind o' way to talk to a fellow when he comes at you with a fair proposition, Gid." "You tell Selfridge I ain't going to leave Kamatlah not right now. I'm going to stay here on the job till that Land Office inspector comes and then I'm going to have a nice, long, confidential chat with him. See?"
There was no suggestion of boasting. If he happened to be the hero of any of his stories the fact was of no importance to him. It was merely a detail of the picture he was sketching. Gordon interrupted with a question a story he was telling of a fight he had seen between two bull moose. "Did you say that was while you were on the way over to inspect the Kamatlah coal-fields for the first time?"
Big Bill turned bitterly upon Elliot. "So you were faking all the time, young fellow. We save your life and you round on us. You're a pretty slick proposition as a double-crosser." "And that ain't all," chirped up Holt blithely. "Let me introduce our friend to you, Mr. Big Bill Macy. This is Gordon Elliot, the land agent appointed to look over the Kamatlah claims.
His hands were gloved, his face was covered with netting. But in spite of the best he could do they were an added torture. Afternoon found him still staggering forward. The swamps were now behind him. He had won through at last by the narrowest margin possible. The ground was rising sharply toward the mountains. Across the range somewhere lay Kamatlah. But he was all in.
Same thing when I located the Kamatlah field. The coal might be a poor quality. Maybe I couldn't interest big capital in the proposition. Perhaps the Government would turn me down when I came to prove up. I was betting my last dollar against big odds. When I quit gambling it will be because I've quit living." "And I suppose I'm a gambler too?" Mrs.
Macdonald," answered Gordon quietly, but with a very steady look. If the Alaskan wanted to declare war he was ready for it. The field agent knew that Selfridge had sent reports detailing what had happened at Kamatlah. Up to date Macdonald had offered him the velvet glove. He wondered if the time had come when the fist of steel was to be doubled.
This might be true, or it might not. Macdonald knew that just now the American people, always impulsive in its thinking, was supporting strongly the movement for conservation. A searchlight had been turned upon the Kamatlah coal-fields.
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