“That is about all I have to say,” he said, in dismissal of the two local officials.  “Just nail Gryson up to the cross, where he belongs, and keep young Blount busy and out of town; I leave the details to you.  Get orders for me as you go up to your office, Kittredge, and have the despatcher let me out as soon as possible.  I ought to be half-way to Alkali by this time.”

XVIII

THE CHASM

It was young Ranlett, a reporter for The Plainsman, who told Evan Blount of the arrival of the vice-president’s car, running as second section of the Overland, and the scene of the telling was the lobby of the Inter-Mountain Hotel, where Blount was smoking a pipe of disappointment filled and lighted upon hearing that his father, Mrs. Honoria, and Patricia had gone out to dinner somewhere—­place unknown to the obliging room clerk.

Ranlett had tried ineffectually to get to the private car, having for his object the interviewing of the vice-president, but there had been curious obstructions.  The lower yard was apparently carefully guarded, since the reporter had been turned back at three or four different points when he had attempted to cross the tracks.  Blount thought it a little singular that the vice-president should come to the capital secretly, but he did not stop to speculate upon this.

Having something more than a suspicion that Gantry had not properly passed the threat of exposure up to McVickar, he determined at once to seek an interview with the vice-president.  Walking rapidly down to the Sierra Avenue station, he saw a light in Gantry’s office, and meaning to be fair first and severe afterward, if needful, he ran up the stair and tried the door of the traffic manager’s office.  It opened under his hand, and he found Gantry sitting at his desk.

“Ranlett tells me that Mr. McVickar is in town,” he began abruptly.  “Where is he?”

“Ranlett is mistaken—­about twenty minutes mistaken,” was Gantry’s reply.  “Mr. McVickar passed through here a few minutes ago on his way to Twin Canyons City.  His special has been gone some little time.”

“When is he coming back?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you see him?”

“I did.”

“Did you take up with him the matter of issuing new tariffs to do away with the preferentials, or to level the public rates down to them?”

Gantry shifted uneasily in his chair, and tried to evade.  “There was very little time,” he said.  “Mr. McVickar was in a great hurry, and his special was held only a few minutes.”

Blount crossed the room and sat down.

“Dick, we’ve come to the last round-up,” he said gravely.  “In the nature of things, I can’t give you any more time.  You’ve been playing with me all along, and your last move in the game was a very childish one—­sending me what purported to be a copy of a new freight tariff notice to the public.  Did you suppose for a moment that I wouldn’t have sense enough to see that the thing wasn’t official, that it had no signatures and lacked even the name of the railroad company?  I’m here now to tell you that you’ve got to do some real thing, and do it quickly.  Let’s go up and see the editor of The Capital.”