Chapter VI: The Guerrero Mining Company

It was a model spring day. The snow had quite disappeared, and the ground was relieved of its superabundant moisture so nearly that the roads were in fair condition for the passage of teams. Ratke's barnyard, tracked up by the stock, was a lone quagmire, surrounded by stretches of solid earth.

Montcalm had just returned from Break o'Day, where the major had sent him for the mail. Ratke, wishing to avoid the unpleasant observation of Mrs. Grippin, made a detour and reached the barns in time to help him unhitch the horse.

"Here are your cigars," said Montcalm, extending a wooden box as Ratke drew near.

"What cigars?" asked the major.

"Do you not remember?" Montcalm queried; "you bet me a box of cigars that the company to which I belong would accept you as a member? I felt sure of the wager, but you have won it."

"You should have known better than to bet with me," said the major, taking the cigars. "I have seen more of the world than you have."

"I have discovered that to my cost," replied Montcalm.

"I am anxious to hear the revelation which the company allows you to make," said the major.

"Very well," said Montcalm, "but first you must sign this agreement not to disclose the information you receive. It is a mining company," said Montcalm, when Ratke had signed the printed agreement, "and is located in the province of Guerrero, Mexico. Two miners of Chicago got tired of prospecting out West and finally went southward. South of the city of Mexico they found what they believed to be rich diggings. They returned to Chicago and interested some men of moderate means, who formed the Guerrero Mining Company. In their excavations they came upon many curious relics, such as pottery, weapons and bodily ornaments. They exhumed a skeleton seven feet in length, with silver bracelets on its arms and ornaments of the same metal on its legs. The scientific men have disputed as to the date of its interment. Professor McDowell claims it is the remains of an Anahuac who lived previous to the union of that tribe with the Chicimecs, while Dr. Hartsuff is equally positive that it is a relic of the ante-Toltec period. Professor McDowell is writing a work on the ancient races, which he intends to publish as soon as the existence of the mines is generally known. What is your opinion on the subject, Major?"

"We will discuss that some other time," replied the major, who was not particularly well posted on American aboriginal history, and who wished to consult his authorities before committing himself.

"Here is the letter which they wrote me," said Montcalm.

"They seem like candid fellows," remarked the major, after perusing the missive. "Notice that, Trace.

"'Major Ratke's reputation as a veteran of the Mexican war is such that we are not afraid to trust him with the knowledge he wishes. A new mine has been opened, and we can let him have one share of stock, provided he sends us his application for membership as soon as the fourteenth of March.'

"You see," continued the major, "they have heard of me. The people are beginning to revere the veterans of the Mexican war. But they have picked up specific information about me. Are there any of my old comrades in the company?"

"I do not know," replied Montcalm. "They may have read in the histories of your military exploits."

"No," said the major; "my name was mentioned in the newspapers which gave an account of the war period, but it never appeared in history. Tell me something more about your company."

"All its members whom I know," said Montcalm, "are men whose characters are beyond reproach. They wish to keep the knowledge of the mines from the money kings, until they have occupied the best diggings. They pay a quarterly dividend of fifteen per cent, on the capital. That is sixty percent, yearly. Mr. Bruce, a friend of mine, who used to live in Cortland, gave me the chance of membership."

"I like your company," said the major, "because of the men of culture who are in it and who prop it with respectability. Where are you going, Trace?"

"To the woods," answered Montcalm. "I have not yet worked up that old tree-top."

"What is the use of your being in such a hurry?" asked the major impatiently. "You have not told me all about the mining enterprise."

"I will do so at noon, to the best of my ability."

"One thing troubles me," said Ratke, "and that is the mortgage on my place. Unless relief comes, the farm must be sold in July. I hoped that I might die where I had lived in the prime of manhood. Here I have planned and worked. In that tool-house have been generated those mental children, whose births have cost me the pangs of labor, whose nurture and development have been my constant care, and which, I had hoped, would be the comfort of my declining years. If I am to be driven from my home, it would be a solace to know that that building will be pointed out as the one in which were cradled the creations of a mighty inventive genius."

"I trust that you will not be reduced to so poor a consolation," said Montcalm. "My father was heavily in debt, and he paid the mortgage on his place."

"How did he manage it?" inquired Ratke.

"The mortgage so nearly covered the real value of the property," answered Montcalm, "that it was difficult for him to obtain the money. He was obliged to give his creditor a deed of the farm and take a bond for the deed."

"A bond?" queried Ratke.

"Yes," responded Montcalm; "his creditor bound himself by a forfeit of $20,000, to deed back the property, provided the debt was paid at the specified time. My father cleared the place of the incumbrance in three years."

"If I could get such a chance," said the major, "I would accept it. Of course it would be a risk. But, unless something is done, I am certain to lose everything. Times are hard, and nothing will sell now. Land would bring a very low price if it were put up at auction. In case my property must go, I would rather see it pass into other hands than Green's. Stay a little longer. Trace."

"I am paid for my time," answered Montcalm firmly, "and I must improve it."

"Just like your father," said the major. "Nothing ever kept him from duty. Well, since you will go, I will make it as easy as possible for you. You can take the one-man saw."

After Montcalm's departure to the woods, Ratke seated himself on a log which was on the south side of the central barn. The sun, whose warming rays are most appreciated after a hard winter, beat down with just enough heat to make the position one of comfort. The major, enjoying the delightful temperature of the place, glanced upward to note the spot where the lines of heat struck the barn-boards and were reflected downward to him. He located the angle of reflection formed by that most pleasing ray which touched the back of his neck. It was above and at the right of a protruding nail and under and to the left of an oval knot. This done, he traced out the normal which with the perpendicular completed the plane of reflection. He estimated how far away must be an object which interrupts the sun's rays, to produce a cold wave sixty seconds from the time of interruption.

Opposite to his dwelling the hired men were engaged in the work of transferring the hill to the quagmire. Some of them were laboring faithfully enough. There were, however, two notable exceptions. Wingscheut and Archer, on the sunny slope of the elevation, out of sight of the house and, in their opinion, of the major, were seated on the ground kicking up the dirt with their heels.

Ratke wished that he could bar from them temporarily the calorific or heat rays of the sun, so that the mild climate of the hillside would be changed to the frigidity of winter. How he would enjoy watching them as the gradual decline in temperature came on. They would slap their hands and stamp with their feet and put off the hardship of work as long as they could, but they would have to--yes, they would have to, get up and shovel or freeze. Then, when they were industriously at their work, he would remove the obstacle and let the pleasant warmth again stream down upon them. Of course there would be a relapse of laziness and a consequent reapplication of the remedy, but they would soon learn that friction develops heat, that there was a relation between the action of the shovel and the transmission of the calorific rays, and he would have the power of securing efficient service from his hired men.

A foreign body passed between him and the scene of labor. To the preoccupied major the object seemed to divide, the under and larger piece remaining stationary, while the upper portion fell off and continued to advance. With an effort the major drew his attention from the hill and recognized Durgenson, a cattle-buyer and dealer in agricultural implements.

Durgenson also dealt occasionally in horses and sheep, and was well liked in the community for his square dealing, his readiness to accommodate and his frank, jocular manner. The only thing which had ever blackened his good name in that region was his rumored connection with the Nijni Novgorod oat scheme, but he had demonstrated to the satisfaction of the farmers that he was guiltless of complicity in the fraud. He was a large, square-shouldered man with a closely-trimmed, full beard which gave him an appearance sterner at a distance than in close proximity.

"How is everything, Major?" he said, with the heartiness which had made him popular among the rural classes.

Ratke, resolved to reap some advantage from the intrusion on his meditations, broached to the cattle-buyer the subject of a loan.

"I don't hardly know what to tell you. Major," responded Durgenson. "I'd like to accommodate. I would. But I don't see how I can now. Can't you get the money of Berry?"

"I have been to Berry," answered Ratke, "and I have been to every moneyed man in the county. They all talk as you do. It will be no risk to you. I will give you a deed of the farm; and you on your part must sign a bond to deed it back provided the money is paid at the specified time."

"I don't see how I can help you, Major," said Durgenson. "I couldn't let you have a loan any longer than August. That is, I wouldn't agree to, for I'm thinking I'll want to use my cash then. That wouldn't pay you at all. You might better get it of some one that can wait."

"There are no such men in this vicinity," returned Ratke. "You can let me have it until August, you say. That may be long enough to save me. Whatever happens, I do not want the place to go on the mortgage, for I cannot endure it to be gloated over by Green. I tell you, Durgenson, I am crowded to the wall, and, unless I get help, I shall be ruined. I will pay you twenty per cent interest and secure you so that you can lose nothing."

"Oh, I don't want your twenty per cent," said Durgenson. "Seven will do me. If I can accommodate you, I'll be glad. That's all. Of course I'll have to have the bond just as we talked. Maybe I can let you have it four or five years. It depends altogether on whether I get in a pinch or not. I shall have to draw up the papers to make it payable in July."

"That is satisfactory to me," said the major. "Suppose we meet at Sparks's to draw up the writings this afternoon."

"All right," responded Durgenson. "By the way, have you any fat cattle to sell?"

As the major had no cattle of any description to sell, Durgenson took his departure.

That afternoon in the office of Justice Sparks James Ratke signed the instrument which gave sections fourteen and twenty-three and the north half of section eleven to Hiram B. Durgenson, his heirs and assigns forever. The major's hand moved unwillingly as he took the pen. The word "forever" in capitals looked to him unnecessarily large. He had hitherto refrained from placing an incumbrance on the Barton hundred and sixty. But after the deeding away of the larger part of his property, he went to Break o'Day and, that he might invest in the Guerrero Mining Company, mortgaged this, the last of his real estate.

Returning to his home, he found Mrs. Grippin and Manie getting a basket of cakes and pies in readiness for the donation, which was to be held that night.

Manie had accepted the offer of Montcalm's service as escort. Nora, disappointed in securing the attention of Fred Loomis, had acquainted Manie with her trouble, and that model of cousins had exercised her influence on the major, who had invited John Wrengell to ride in the wagon with the family. So it happened that Nora and he whose awkwardness she had mercilessly ridiculed not a week before sat side by side during the journey to Osborne's.

The major soon after his arrival at Osborne's met a reverse in his favorite warfare, argument. Lyman Sparks had brought with him Largess, a nephew of his wife and the principal of the Sharptown Academy, who, according to the rural custom, was honored with the title of "Professor." Professor Largess was an atheist; and the pride of the Sparks' who were professed Christians, was raised more by the proficiency of their relative in debate than it was lowered by, the defeat, of their creed. The professor was a tall, lank, loose-jointed man, who, while he was talking, walked back and forth with a bombastic swing and a rising and falling of his index finger, a habit which he had probably acquired in the school-room.

As the major was considered the argumentative champion of Jefferson township, upon him, in the absence of the minister, fell the task of defending the Biblical account of creation. This task he strove manfully to perform. But his efforts were unsuccessful. The professor was well versed in those evolutionary theories which have sprung up in the last half century, and especially in such authors as Spencer and Darwin, who, more than the direct advocates of infidelity, have sown the seeds of unbelief. The effect of this logic upon Ratke was something like that produced upon the Romans by the introduction of Pyrrhus' elephants into Italy; but, with the perseverance of that stubborn people, he determined to bring confusion to the opposing lines by the use of the enemy's own auxiliaries.

The call to supper gave him an interval of rest and an opportunity to collect his scattered forces, just as the blows of his opponent were driving him from his last redoubt. The major was a firm believer in the benefit of an abstemious diet on brain labor. While he appreciated a good meal, he liked better a controversial triumph. He ate, therefore, very sparingly, keeping his mind on the discussion and avoiding such food as is detrimental to clear thinking. Of all viands he was fondest of roast pig, and near him was a young porker prepared by a master hand, but he withdrew his gaze from the tempting brown as he reflected that baked pork requires five hours to digest.

He noticed to his satisfaction that Largess was eating heartily, almost voraciously. The professor had taken two dishes of oysters, besides pastry and other eatables, when Ratke passed toward him the platter holding the pig, which, leaving a liberal share of its contents on his plate, made a circuit of the table and returned to its original position. Whenever Largess's supply of meat was nearly exhausted and his longing glances again wandered to the platter for which he was ashamed to call, the obliging major, who was nibbling with pretended relish at his first piece of bread, politely supplied his wants. And now the professor took his third and the last remaining piece of pig from the platter, which had been seized and passed by Ratke barely in time for it to escape the clutches of a ravenous farmer at his right.

The major had a suspicion that his conduct in this affair was not strictly according to the rules of honorable warfare, that it somewhat resembled the ruse of the Central African who feeds the hippopotamus pease, or that of the sons of Jacob who converted the Hivites to circumcision only to slay them before they had recovered from the rite. Whatever his scruples, they did not deter him from maintaining any advantage which he had gained. Approaching Largess, who was picking his teeth and whose lank form actually seemed to have grown rotund, he remarked, "So you claim that all growth springs primarily from intelligence?"

"Assuredly," replied the professor.

"And intelligence is divided into two kinds--conscious and unconscious?"

"That is the theory of the leading men of to-day, sir," answered Largess.

"And," continued the major, "conscious intelligence alone possesses the power of definite thought?"

"That is not a debatable question," dryly commented the professor.

The major congratulated himself that the roast pig was taking effect.

"Which requires the higher degree of intelligence," he asked, "the creation of the simple or of the complex?"

"I am not partial to trivialities," angrily replied the professor. "But, since you wish an answer to every petty interrogation which you invent, I will tell you. The creation of the complex requires the higher power."

"Is there not some conscious intelligence about a tree?" inquired the major.

"Conscious intelligence?" said Largess, uncertain whether to give a negative or an affirmative answer. "Why do you ask?" Then, thinking the major's question a declaration and deciding that it was best to oppose it, he added, "No enlightened modern scientist ever saw fit to ascribe conscious intelligence to a tree. It is contrary to recognized evolutionary theories."

"And time is a period of constant progress?"

"No man of sense ever had the hardihood to dispute it," answered Largess.

"Now," said the major, "one question more is all I will ask. What kind of intelligence shaped that top, which Mr. Osborne's boy has probably had for his amusement?"

"If this is your last," said the professor, "I will have patience to answer you. It was conscious intelligence."

"Allow me to state several of your propositions," said the major.

"Proposition I.: Conscious intelligence alone possesses the power of definite thought.

"Proposition II.: Time is a period of constant progress.

"Proposition III.: The creation of the complex requires a higher degree of intelligence than the creation of the simple.

"Proposition IV.: A tree is not created by conscious intelligence.

"Proposition V.: A top is created by conscious intelligence.

"Do I state your position correctly?"

"We will go back to protoplasm," said Largess. "The cause of primordial growth is intelligence."

"You wish to ignore my question," returned Ratke. "I have correctly stated your argument. A top requires for its construction one kind of wood, a knife and a boy with little mechanical skill. A tree is composed of many different elements which I cannot mention. The tree, therefore, is more complex and requires a higher order of intelligence. It is not possible for all of your statements to be correct. You assert, firstly, that the creation of the complex requires a higher degree of intelligence than the creation of the simple. And secondly, that the creation of the complex requires the lower order of intelligence. Which one of your propositions is wrong?"

"Sir," said the professor, walking back and forth and resuming the bombastic swing and the rising and falling of his index finger, "when you confine yourself to reason, I will answer you. You have no authority from science to ascribe conscious intelligence to a tree. Time is a period of progress. When that tree falls, decays and its substance is in the body of a man, then there will be associated with it that intangible thing which is called mind."

"If intelligence is the sole creator," replied Ratke, "and all growth is self-creating, when you were an oak you might well be proud of your intellect. Then you could measure out the exact quantity of each ingredient necessary to your development, and, at the same time, tell each rootlet what kind of nutriment it should contribute to the general supply. Had you in weighing let the balance slip a notch, you would have made an elm instead of an oak. Then you had knowledge and ingenuity such as is possessed by no human chemist or inventor. Now, I doubt if you have ingenuity enough to make a good ferule. And yet you say time is a period of constant progress. Professor Largess, you are indebted for your entanglement not to me, but to yourself."

"Bertrand," said Mrs. Sparks, "come away. I wouldn't pay any attention to him."

"I will talk no longer with one so unreasonable," declared the professor, going toward the bedroom, which had been made a receptacle of hats and overcoats.

"Largess," began Ratke, following him until the bedroom door was closed against him, "which one of your propositions did I mistake? Tell me. Does the creation of the complex require a higher order of intelligence than the creation of the simple? Is time a period of constant progress?"

"My batteries were too strong for him," commented the major as he was on his way home. "I completely demoralized him."

"Didn't you tell him he beat himself?" asked Mrs. Grippin. "And now you're claiming you was the one that did it."

While they were going along a level stretch of road, they were passed by Lyman Sparks, Mrs. Sparks and Professor Largess in a buggy drawn by Sparks' trotter, Madge T.

"Charge!" shouted Ratke.

The horses instantly sprang into a run. Mrs. Grippin was saved from falling only by clinging to her brother, and John and Nora were thrown in a heap to the bottom of the box.

"James Ratke," shrieked Mrs. Grippin, "you don't deserve to have any horses. You stop now, for I won't ride so. You act like a fool."

"Go on. Uncle James," cried Nora gleefully from the bottom of the box. "Don't you let him beat you, Uncle James. Oh my! Ain't it fun! We're gaining on him."

The major ran his team by Sparks, and, wishing to show that one of his horses excelled in another gait, steadied Taylor to a trot, allowing the gray Bill to lope along by his side. The change in tactics cost him his success in the race, for Sparks, urging Madge T. to the utmost, again went by him and obtained the lead on a narrow causeway where he could not be passed and racing was impossible. After turning the corner west of the church, the major practiced his team in making a quick start and in obeying instantly the summons of "Halt!"

"James Ratke," said Mrs. Grippin, when she stood by their dwelling, "you act crazy. I never saw such a man. I've a good notion to say I never will ride with you again."

"I wish," said the major reflectively, "that I had brought with us the cow I bought of Osborne. I might have hitched her behind the wagon."

"Yes," retorted Mrs. Grippin contemptuously; "then you'd have dragged her home. Tie a cow behind a wagon when you drive."