THE Of Y OF *
NUMBERED DAYS
6/ FRANCIS LYNDE • • -
ILLUSTRATIONS by C.D.RHQDES • • •
' COPYHIC.HT BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SDNS
SYNOPSIS.
J~®rouillar<1f chief engineer
on the Niquoia Irrigation dam. goes out
from camp to investigate a strange Hght
ana finds an automobile party cammi h
the canyon porta)
CHAPTER II-Brnuillard meets J. Wes
ley CortwrigTit and liis daughter <>ene
vieve of the auto party and explains the
reclamation work to them
r,rS^A.PTER UI--CortwrlRht sees in the
project a big chance to make money '‘and
no chance for a man to g* t in anywhere.”
rsrouillard is impervious to hints from the
financier, who tells Ctnevieve the engi
come down and iiook himself
if the bait is well covered.”
CHAPTER IV—Cortwright organize** r
company and obtains government con
tiaets to furnish power and material for
the dam construction. A busv eitv
springs up about the site. Steve Massin
gale threatens to start a gold rush if
orouillard does not influenee Preside?)
r ord to build a railroad braneh to thr
place, thus opening an easy market fo?
the ore from the "Uttle Susan” mine.
CHAPTER V—Prouillard and the com
pany a promoter clash, but on orders from
vVashington P.roulllard turns over the
plans for the power installation.
CHAPTER VI—On a visit to Amv Mas
singale at her father’s mine Brouillard
finds she understands him better than he
had thought.
CHAPTER VII—He tells her of his need
for money to pay off his dead father's
debts and that t be free he would sacri
fice anything sa.e Ills love for one wom
an. Though his influence Is vital to the
building of the railroad extension Phe
tells him to be true to himself He de
cides for it.
CHAPTER VTIT—Mirapolls. the rity of
numbered days, booms. Cort wright per
suades Brouillard to become consulting
engineer of the consolidated electric pow
er company in return for $10O,oo<) stock.
Broulllard was shaking Ills head
slowly.
"I don’t pretend to have opinions
any more, Grizzy. I'm living from day
to day. If the tail should get big
enough to wag the dog—”
They were in the middle of the high
staging upon which the puddlers
worked while filling the forms and
Grislow stopped short.
‘‘What's come over you, lately, Vic
tor? 1 won’t say you're half hearted,
but you're certainly not the same
driver you were a few weeks ago, be
fore the men quit calling you ‘Hell’s
Fire.’ ”
Broulllard smiled grimly. ’‘It's go
ing to be a long job, Grizzy. Perhaps
1 saw that I couldn’t hope to keep
keyed up to concert pitch all the way
— through. Call It that, anyway. I've
promised to motor Miss Cortwright to
the upper dam this afternoon, and it’s
time to go and do it.”
It was not until they wero climbing
down from the staging at the .lack's
Mountain approach that Grislow ac
quired the ultimate courage of his con
victions.
“Going motoring, you said—with
Miss Genevieve. That's another
change. I'm beginning to believe in
your seven-year hypothesis. You are
no longer a woman-hater.”
“Oh, bally! There are times when
you make me feel as if I had eaten too
much dinner, Grizzy! This Is one of
them. Put it in words; get it out of
your system.”
"It needs only three words: You are
hypnotized. A month ago this citv
building fake looked ns crazy to you
as it still does to those of us who
haven't been invited to sit down and
take a hand in Mr. Cortwrlglit's little
game. Now you seem to have gone
over to the other side. You hobnob
with Cortwright and do office work for
him. You know his fake is a fake;
and yet I overheard you boosting it
tho other night In Poodles’ dining
room to a tableful of money maniacs
as If Cortwright were giving you a
rake-off.”
Brouillard stiffened himself with a
jerk as he paced beside his accuser,
but he kept his temper.
“You’re an old friend, Grizzv. and a
mighty good one—as l have had occa
sion to prove. It is yeur privilege to
ease your mind. Is that all?”
“No. You are letting Genevieve
Cortwright make a fool of you. If you
were only half sane you’d see that she
Is a confirmed trophy hunter. Why,
Bhe even gets down to young Griffith—
and uses him to dig out information
about you. She—”
"Hold on, Murray; there’s a limit,
and you’ll bear with mo if I say that
you are working up to it now." Brouil
lard’s jaw was set and tho lines be
tween his eyes were deepening. “I
don’t know what you are driving at.
but you’d better call it off. I can take
care of myself."
“If I thought you could—If I only
thought you could,” said Grislow
musingly. “But the indications all
lean the other way. It would be all
right If you wanted to marry her and
she wanted you to; but you don't—and
she doesn't. And, besides, there’s
Amy; you owe her something, don’t
you—or don’t you? You needn’t grit
your teeth that way. You are only
getting a part of what is coming to
you. ‘Faithful are the wounds of a
friend,’ you know.”
“Yes. And when the psalmist had
admitted that, he immediately asked
the Lord not to let their precious
balms break his head. You're all right,
Grizzy, but I'll pull through."- Then,
with a determined wrenching aside of
the subject: "Are you going up on
Chlgrlneo this afternoon?"
"I thought I would—yes. What
shall I tell Miss Massingale when she
asks about you?”
"You will probably tell her the first
idiotic thing that comes into the back
part of your head. And if you tell her
anything pifflous about me I'll lay for
you some dark night with a pick
handle.”
Orislow laughed reminiscently. "She
won t ask." he said.
"Why not?”
"Because the last time she did it 1
told her your scalp was dangling at
Miss Genevieve’s belt.”
They had reached the door of the
log-built quarters and Brouillard spun
the jester around with a shoulder grip
that was only half playful.
“If I believed you said any such
thing as that I’d murder you!” he ex
“It Looks Bad—Devilish Bad."
ploded. "Perhaps you’ll go and tell
her that—you red headed blastoderm!’’
“Sure,” said the blastoderm, and
they went apart, each to his dunnage
kit.
There were a dozen business blocks
under construction in Mirapolis, with
a proportional number of dwellings
and suburban villas at various stages
la the race toward completion, when
it began to dawn upon the collective
consciousness of a daily increasing
citiienry that something was missing.
Garner, the real estate plunger from
Kansas City, first gave the missing
quantity its name. The distant thun
der of the blasts heralding the ap
nroaqh cf the railroad had ceased be
tween two days.
Up to the period of the silenced dy
'.amite thunderings new industries
vere projected daily, and investors,
oiled in over the high mountain trails
ir across the Buckskin in dust-en
trusted automobiles by methods best
<nown to a gray-mustached adept in
he art of promotion, thronged the
obhy of the Hotel Metropole and
jought and sold Mirapolls "corners”
>r “Insides" on a steadily-ascending
■icale of prices.
A strange mania for holding on, for
permanency, seemed to have become
epidemic. Many of the working men
were securing homes on the instal
ment plan. A good few of the villas
■ould boast parquetry doors and tiled
bathrooms. One coterie of Chicagoans
lecided to build a six-storied office
building, with a ground floor corner
for the Niquoia National bank with
modern conveniences and that the
chosen building material should he of
nothing less permanent than mono
lithic concrete.
In harmony with the same spirit the
newly Incorporated Buckskin Gold
Mining and Milling company plowed
deep furrows to bed-rock across and
back until the face of Jack’s mountain
was zigzagged and scarred like a vet
eran of many battles.
In keeping was the energy with
which Mr. Cortwright and his munici
pal colleagues laid water mains, strung
electric wires, drove the paving con
tractors, and pushed the trolley line to
the stage at which it lacked only the
rails and the cars awaiting shipment
by the railroad.
This was the situation on the day
when Garner, sharp-eared listener at
the keyhole of opportunity, missing
the dynamite rumblings, sent a cipher
wire of inquiry to the East, got a
“rush" reply, and began warily to un
load his Mirapolltan holdings. Being
a man of business, he ducked to cover
first and talked afterward; hut by the
time his hint had grown to rumor size
Mr. Cortwright hud sent for Brouil
lard.
“Pull up a chair and hnve a cigar,”
said the great man when Brouillard
had penetrated to the nerve-center of
the Mirapolltan activities in the Metro
*--!
pole suite and The two stenographers
had been curtly dismissed. "Have
you heard the talk of the street? There
is a rumor that the railroad grading
has been stopped."
Brouillard, busy with the work of
setting the third series of forms on
his great wall, had heard nothing.
"I’ve noticed that they haven't been
blasting for two or three days. Rut
that may mean nothing more than a
delayed shipment of dynamite,” was
his rejoinder.
“It looks bad—devilish bad.” The
promoter was planted heavily in his
pivot chair, and the sandy-gray eyes
dwindled to pin points. "We are up
against it, that’s all. Read that,” and
the promoter handed a telegram
across the desk.
The wire was from Chicago, was
signed "Ackerman,” and was still
damp from the receiving operator's
copying press. It read:
“Work on P. S-W.’s Ruckskin ex
tension has been suspended for the
present. Reason assigned, shrinkage
in securities and uncertainty of busi
ness outlook in Niquoia.”
Mr. Ccrtwright’s frown figured as a
fleshly mask of irritability. “Let it
once get out that, the railroad people
don't believe in the future of Mirapo
lis and we’re done."
Brouillard’8 retort was the expres
sion of an upfiash of sanity.
“Mirapolis has no future; it has
only an exceedingly precarious pres
ent.”
r or a moment-tne sanny Kray eyes
became inscrutable. Then the mask
of irritation slid aside, revealing the
face which Mr. J. Wesley Cortwright
ordinarily presented to his world—
the face of imperturbable good nature.
"You're right, Brouillard; Mirapolis
is only a good joke, after all. Some
times I get bamfoozled into the idea
that it isn't—that it’s the real thing.
That’s bad for the nerves. But about
this railroad fizzle; I don't relish the
notion of having our little joke sprung
on us before we’re ready to laugh, do
you? What do you think?”
Brouillard shook himself as one who
casts a burden.
"It is not my turn to think, Mr. Cort
wright.”
"Oh, yes, it. is; very pointedly. You’re
one of ub, to a certain extent; and if
you were not you would still bp inter
ested. A smash just now would ham
per the reclamation service like the
mischief; the entire works shut down;
no cement, no lumber, no power;
everything tied up in the courts until
the last creditor quits taking appeals.
Oh, no, Brouillard; you don't want to
see the end of the world come before
it’s due."
It was the consulting engineer of
the power company rather than the
reclamation service chief who rose
and went to the window to look down
upon the morning briskness of Chi
gringo avenue. And it was the man
who saw one hundred thousand dol
lars the price of freedom, slipping
tway from him who turned after a
minute or two of the absent sueet gaz
ing and said: "What do you want me
to do, Mr. Cortwright? 1 did put my
shoulder to the wheel when Ford was
here. I told him if I were in hia place
I'd take the long chance and build the
extension.”
"Did you—and before you had a
stake in the game? That was a white
man's boost, right! Think you cocid
manage to get Ford on the wire and
encourage him a little more?"
“It isn't Ford; it is the Now York
bankers. You can read that between
the lines in your man Ackerman’s toie
gram.”
The stock gentleman in the pivot
chair thrust out his Jaw and tilted his
freshly-lighted cigar to the aggressive
angle.
“Sav, Brouillard, we've got to throw
a fresh piece of bait into the cage,
something that will make the railroad
crowd sit up and take notice. **
George, if those gold hunters up on
Jack’s mountain would only stumble
across something big enough to adver
tise—"
Brouillard started as if the wishful
magic had been a blow. Like a hot
wave from a furnace mouth it swept
over him—the sudden realization that
the means, the one all-powerful, earth
moving lever the promoter was so
anxiously seeking, lay in his hands.
“The Buckskin people, yes,” he said,
making talk as the rifleman digs a pit
to bold his own on the tiring line. “If
they should happen to uncover a gold
reef just now it would simplify mat
ters immensely for Mirapolis, wouldn't
it? The railroad would come on, then,
without a shadow of doubt. All the
bankers in Now York couldn’t hold it
back.”
Now come Mr. Cortwright’s turn to
get up and walk to one of the win
dows.
“Como here,” ho called curtly, with
a quick finger crook for the engineer,
and when Brouillard Joined him:
“Can you size up that little caucus
over yonder?”
The “caucus" was a knot of excited
jr.en blocking the sidewalk in front of
Garner’s real estate office on the op
posite side of the street The purpose
of the excited ones was not difficult to
divine. They were all trying to crowd
fijto Die Kansas City man's place of
business at. once.
"It looks like a run on a bank,” said
Brouillard.
"It is,” was the crisp reply. "Garner
has beaten everybody else to the home
plate, but he couldn’t keep his mouth
shut. He's been talking, and every
man in that mob is a potential panic
breeder. That thing has got to be
nipped in the bud right now!”
“Yes,” Brouillard agreed. He was
still wrestling with his own besetment
—the prompting which involved a de
liberate plunge where up to the pres
ent crisis he had been merely wading
In the shallows. A little thing stung
him alive to the imperative eall of The
moment—the sight of Amy Massingale
walking down the street with Tig
Smith, the Triangle-Circle foreman. It
was of the death of her hopes that he
was thinking when he said coolly:
“You have sized it up p'-ectseiy, Mr.
Cortwright; that is a panic in 'he mak
ing, and the bubble won’t stand for
very much pricking. Give me a free
hand with your check book for a few
minutes and I'll try to stop it.”
It spoke volumes for the millionaire
promoter's quick discernment and de
cision that he asked no questions. "Do
it,” he snapped. “I'll cover you for
whatever it takes. Don’t wait; that
crowd is getting bigger every minute.”
Brouillard ran downstairs and across
the street. It was no part of his inten
tion to stop and speak to Amy Mas
singale and the ranchman, but he did
it, and even walked a little way with
them before he turned back to elbow
his way through the sidewalk throng
and into Garner's dingy little office.
“You are selling Mirapolis holdings
short today. Garner?” he asked when
he had pushed through the crowd to
the speculator's desk. And when Gar
ner laughed and said there were no
takers he placed his order promptly.
“You may bid in for me, at yesterday’s
prices, anything within the city limits
—not options, you understand, but the
real thing. Bring ycur papers over to
my office after banking hours and
Frantically Panning on Every Bar in
the River.
we’ll close for whatever you've been
able to pick up.”
He said it quietly, but there could
be no privacy at such a time and in
such a place.
“What’s that, Mr. Brouillard?" de
manded one in the counter jam.
“You’re giving Garner a blank card to
buy lor your account? Say, that’s
plenty good enough for me. Garner,
cancel my order to sell, will you?
When the chief engineer of the gov
ernment water works believes in Mir
apolis futures and bets his money on
’em, I’m not selling.”
The excitement was already dying
down and the crowd was melting away
from Garner’s sidewalk when Brouil
lard rejoined Mr. Cortwright in the
second-floor room across the street.
“Well, it’s done,” he announced
shortly, adding: “It’s only a stop
gap. To make the bluff good, you've
got to have the railroad.”
“That’s the talk,” said the promoter,
relighting the cigar which the few
minutes of crucial suspense had extin
guished. And then, without warning:
“You’re carrying something up your
sleeve, Brouillard. What is it?”
“It is the one thing you need, Mr.
Cortwright. If I could get my own
consent to use it I could bring the
railroad here in spite of those New
Yorkers who seem to have an attack
of cold feet.”
Mr. J. Wesley Cortwright s hesita
tion was so brief as to be almost im
perceptible. "I suppose that is your
way of saying that your share in the
table stakes isn't big enough. All
riglrt; the game can’t stop in the mid
dle of a bet. How much is it going
to cost us to stay in?”
“The cost isn't precisely in the kind
of figures that you understand best,
Mr. Cortwright,” Brouillard said half
musingly. Then, with sudden vehe
mence: "It is altogether a question of
motive with me, Mr. Cortwright; of a
motive which you couldn't understand
in a thousand years, if that motive
prevails, you get your railroad and a
little longer lease of life. If it doesn't,
Mirapolis wil' go to the devil some few
weeks or mouths ahead of its schedule
—and I’ll take my punishment with
the remainder of the fools—and the
knaves.”
He was on his feet and moving to
ward the door of exit when the pro
moter got his breath.
“Here, held on, Flroulllard—for
heaven’s sake, don’t go off and leave
it up in the air that way!” he pro
tested.
But the corridor door had opened
and closed and Brouillard was gone.
Two hours later Mlrapolis the phre
netic had a new thrill, a shock so elec
trifying that the rumor of the rail
road's halting decision sank into insig
nificance and was forgotten. The sud
denly-evoked excitement focussed in a
crowd besieging the window of the
principal jewelry shop—focussed more
definitely upon a square of white pa
per in the window in the center of
which was displayed a little heap of
virgin gold in small nuggets and coarse
grains.
■While the crowds in the street were
still struggling and fighting to get
near enough to read the labeling pla
card. the Daily Spotlight came out
with an extra which was ail headlines,
the telegraph wires to the Kaet were
buzzing, and the town had gone mad.
The gold specimen—so said the pla
card and the news extra—had been
washed from one of the bars in the
Niquoia.
By three o'clock the madness had
culminated in the complete stoppage
of all work among the town builders
and on the great dam as well, and
gold-crazed mobs were frantically dig
ging and panning on every bar in the
river from the valley outlet to the
power dam five miles away.
jgg CHAPTER XI
\ Bedlam .« /
It was between two and three
o’clock in the afternoon of the day in
which Mirapolis went placer mad
when word came to the reclamation
service headquarters that the power
was cut off and that there were no
longer men enough at the mixers and
on the forms to keep the work going
if the power should come on again.
Handley, the new fourth assistant,
brought the news, dropping heavily in
to a chair and shoving his hat to the
back of his head to mop his seamed
and sun-browned face.
"Why the devil didn't you fellows
turn out?" he demanded savagely of
Leshington, Ai.son and Grislow. who
were lounging in the office and very
pointedly waiting for the lightning to
strike. “Gassman and I have done
everything but commit cold-blooded
murder to hold the men on the job.
Where's the boss?”
Nobody knew, and Grislow, at least,
was visibly disturbed at the question.
It was Anson who seemed to have the
latest information about Brouillard.
“He came in about eleven o’clock,
rummaged for a minute or two in that
drawer you’ve got your foot on, Grizzy,
and then went out again. Anybody
seen him since?”
There was a silence to answer the
query, and the hydrographer righted
his chair abruptly and closed the
opened drawer he had been utilizing
for a foot-rest. He had a long mem
ory for trifles, and at the mention of
the drawer a disquieting picture had
flashed itself upon the mental screen.
There were two figures in the picture.
Brouillard and himself, and Brouillard
was tossing the little buckskin sack
of gold nuggets into the drawer, where
it had lain undisturbed ever alnce—un
til now.
Mororer, Grislow’s news of Brouik
lard, if he had seen fit to publish It,
was later than Anson’s. At one o’clock,
or thereabout, the chief had come In
to the mapping room for a glance at
the letters on his desk. One of the let
ters—a note in a square envelope—he
had thrust into his pocket before go
ing out.
“It looks as If the chief had gone
with the crowd," said Leshington when
the silence had grown almost portent
ous, “though that wouldn't be like him.
Has anybody found out yet who
touched off the gold-mounted sky
rocket?”
urislow came out ot ms Drown study
with a start. "Levy won’t tell who
gave him those nuggets to put in his
window. I tried him. All he will say
Is that the man who left the sample
is perfectly reliable and that he dic
tated the exact wording of the placard
that did the business.’’
"i saw Ilarlan. of the Spotlight, half
an hour ago,’’ cut in Anson. “He’s
plumb raving crazy, like everybodv
else, but there is something faintly
resembling method in his madness. He
figures it that we government people
are out of a job permanently; that
With the discovery of these placers—
or, rather, with the, practically certain
rediscovery of them by the mob—Mir
apolis will jump to the front rank as
a gold camp, and the reclamation serv
ice will have to call a halt on the Buck
skin project."
Leshington’s long, plain-song face
grew wooden. “You say ‘practically
certain.’ The question is; Will they
bo rediscovered? Bet any of you a
box of Boodles’ Plor de near Havanas
that it’s some new kind of a flip-flap
invented by J. Wesley and his boom
ers. What do you say?”
"Good Lord!” growled Handley.
"They didn't need any new stunts.
They had the world by the ear, as it
was.”
"That’s all right ” returned Leshing
ton; "maybe they didn’t. I heard a
thing or two over at Bongras' last
night that set me guessing. There was
a piece of gossip coming up the pike
about the railroad pulling out of the j
game, or. rather, that it had already *
pulled out.”
Once more silence fell upon the
group in the mapping room, and this >
time it was Grislow who broke it.
“I suppose Harlan is getting ready
to exploit tbe new sensation right?”
he suggested, and Anson nodded.
"You can trust Harlan for that.
He’s got the valley wire subsidized,
and he is waiting for the first man to
come In with The hews oT (he suro
thing and the location of it. When he
gets the facts he'll touch ofT the fire
works, and the world will be invited
to take a running jump for the new
Tonopah.” Then, with sudden anxiety:
“I wish to goodness Brouillard would
turn up and get busy on his job.* It’s
something hideous to be stranded this
way in the thick of a storm!”
"It’s time somebody was getting
busy,” snarled Handley. "There are
a hundred tons of fresh concrete lying
In the forms, Just as they were dumped
—with no puddlers—to say nothing of
half as much freezing to solid rock
right now In the mixers and on the
telphers.”
Grislow got up and reached for his
coat and hat.
"I’m going out to hunt for the boss,”
he said, “and you fellows had better
do the same. If this is one of Cort
wright’s flip-flaps, and Brouillard hap
pened to be in the way, I wouldn’t put
it beyond J. Wesley to work some kind
of a disappearing racket on the human
obstacle.”
The suggestion was carried out im
mediately by the three to whom it was
made, but for a reason of his own the
hydrographer contrived to be the last
to leave the mapping room. When he
found himself alone he returned has
tily to the desk and pulled out the
drawer of portents, rummaging in it
until he was fully convinced that the
little buckskin bag of nuggets was
gone. Then, instead of following the
others, he took a fleldglaes from its
case on the wall and went to the south
window to focus it upon the Massln
gale cabin, standing out clear-cut and
distinct in the afternoon sunlight on
its high, shelflike bench.
The powerful glass brought out two
figures on tha cabin porch, a woman
and a man. The woman was standing
and the man was sitting on the step.
Grislow lowered the glass and slid the
telescoping sun tubes home with a
snap.
“Good God!” he mused, “it’s unbe
lievable! He deliberately turns this
thing loose on us down here and then
takes an afternoon off to go and make
love to a girl! He's crazy: it’s the
seven-vear devil he talks about. And
nobody can help him: nobody—unless
Amy can. Lord, Lord!"
At the other extremity of the trajec
tory of Grislow’s telltale fleldglasa
Broulllard was sunning himself luxu
riously on the porch step at the Mas
singale house and making up for lost
time—counting all time lost when it
spelled absence from the woman be
loved. But Miss Masaingale was in
a charmingly frivolous frame of mind:
“That is the fourth different excuse
you have Invented for cutting me out
of your visiting list, not counting the
repetitions,” she gibed, when he had
finally fallen back upon the time de
mands of his work to account for his
late neglect of her. “If I wanted to
[ be hateful 1 might insist that yon
haven’t given the true reason yet”
He Got Up and Took Her In HI*
Arms.
'Perhaps I will give It before I go,”
lie parried. "But Just now I’d much
rather talk about something else. Tell
me about yourself. What hare you
been doing all these days when I
haven’t been able to keep tab on you?”
“Flirting—flirting desperately with
Tig, with Mr. Anson and Mr. Grlslow,
and that nice boy of yours, Herbert
Griffith, and with—no, not with Mr.
Leshington; he scares me—makes a
face like a wooden image and says:
‘Little girl, you need a mother—or a
husband: I haven’t made up tny mind
which. When he does make up his
mind I’m going to shriek and run
away.”
"And you flirt!” he protested re
proachfully. "Now tell me about the
‘Little Susan;’ is the Bluegrass farm
looming up comfortably on the eastern'
edge of things?"
In a twinkling her frivolous mood
vanished.
"Oh, we are prosperous, desperately
prosperous. We have all the improve
ments you can sea and a lot that you
can’t see. And our pay roll—it fairly
frightens me when I make it up on the
Saturdays.”
"I see ” he nodded. “All going out
and nothing coming in. But the money
is all here, safely stacked up in the
ore bins. You’ll get it all out when
the railroad comes.”
(Continued Next WeeiTj