Tom Slater laboriously propelled himself up the hill to the bungalow that evening, and seated himself on the topmost step near where Eliza was rocking.  She had come to occupy a considerable place in his thoughts of late, for she was quite beyond his understanding.  She affected him as a mental gad-fly, stinging his mind into an activity quite unusual.  At times he considered her a nice girl, though undoubtedly insane; then there were other moments when she excited his deepest animosity.  Again, on rare occasions she completely upset all his preconceived notions by being so friendly and so sympathetic that she made him homesick for his own daughter.  In his idle hours, therefore he spent much time at the Appleton cottage.

“Where have you been lately, Uncle Tom?” she began.

Slater winced at the appellation, but ignored it.

“I’ve been out on the delta hustling supplies ahead.  Heard the news?”

“No.”

“Curtis Gordon has bought the McDermott outfit in Kyak.”

“That tells me nothing.  Who is McDermott?”

“He’s a shoe-stringer.  He had a wildcat plan to build a railroad from Kyak to the coal-fields, but he never got farther than a row of alder stakes and a book of press clippings.”

“Does that mean that Gordon abandons his Hope route?”

“Yep!  He’s swung in behind us and the Heidlemanns.  Now it’s a three-sided race, with us in the lead.  Mellen just brought in the news half an hour ago; he was on his way down from the glaciers when he ran into a field party of Gordon’s surveyors.  Looks like trouble ahead if they try to crowd through the canon alongside of us.”

“He must believe Kyak Bay will make a safe harbor.”

“Don’t say it!  If he’s right, we’re fried to a nice brown finish on both sides and it’s time to take us off the stove.  I’m praying for a storm.”

“‘The prayers of the wicked are an abomination unto the Lord,’” quoted Eliza.

“Sure!  But I keep right on praying just the same.  It’s a habit now.  The news has set the chief to jumping sideways.”

“Which, translated, I suppose means that he is disturbed.”

“Or words to that effect!  Too bad they changed that newspaper story of yours.”

“Yes.”

“It put a crimp in him.”

“How—­do you mean?”

“He had some California capitalists tuned up to put in three million dollars, but when they read that our plan was impracticable their fountain-pens refused to work.”

“Oh!” Eliza gasped, faintly.

Slater regarded her curiously, then shook his head.  “Funny how a kid like you can scare a bunch of hard-headed bankers, ain’t it?” he said.  “Doc Gray explained that it wasn’t your fault, but—­it doesn’t take much racket to frighten the big fish.”

“What will Mr. O’Neil do?”

“Oh, he’ll fight it out, I s’pose.  The first thing is to block Gordon.  Say, I brought you a present.”