By Willis George Emerson

Chicago: Forbes & Company

1915

Sons of the rugged, rock-ribbed hills,

Far from the gaudy show

Of Fashion’s world-its shams and frills

Brothers of rain and snow:

Kith of the crags and the forest pines,

Kin of the herd and flock;

Wise in the lore of Nature signs

Writ in the grass and rock.

Beings of lithe and lusty limb,

Breathing the broad, new life,

Chanting the forest’s primal hymn

Free from the world’s crude strife.

Your witching lure my being thrills,

O rugged sons! O rugged hills!

DEDICATED

TO

THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER

REVEREND STEPHEN LAFAYETTE EMERSON

(The Flockmaster of this story)

CONTENTS

THE TREASURE OF HIDDEN VALLEY

CHAPTER I—AT THE PARTING OF THE WAYS

CHAPTER II—A MESSAGE FROM THE GRAVE

CHAPTER III—FINANCIAL WOLVES

CHAPTER IV.—THE COLLEGE WIDOW

CHAPTER V.—WESTWARD HO!

CHAPTER VI.—RODERICK MEETS JIM RANKIN

CHAPTER VII—GETTING ACQUAINTED

CHAPTER VIII.—A PHILOSOPHER AMONG THE MOUNTAINS

CHAPTER IX—THE HIDDEN VALLEY

CHAPTER X.—THE FAIR RIDER OF THE RANGE

CHAPTER XI.—WINTER PASSES

CHAPTER XII—THE MAJOR’S FIND

CHAPTER XIV.—THE EVENING PARTY

CHAPTER XV.—BRONCHO-BUSTING

CHAPTER XVI.—THE MYSTERIOUS TOILERS OF THE NIGHT

CHAPTER XVII—A TROUT FISHING EPISODE

CHAPTER XVIII.—A COUNTRY FAIR ON THE FRONTIER

CHAPTER XIX.—A LETTER FROM THE COLLEGE WIDOW

CHAPTER XX.—THE STORE OF GOLD

CHAPTER XXI.—A WARNING

CHAPTER XXII.—THE TRAGEDY AT JACK CREEK

CHAPTER XXIII.—THE FIGHT ON THE ROAD

CHAPTER XXIV—SUMMER DAYS

CHAPTER XXV.—RUNNING FOR STATE SENATOR

CHAPTER XXVI.—UNEXPECTED POLITICAL HARMONY

CHAPTER XXVII.—THE UPLIFTING OF HUMANITY

CHAPTER XXVIII.—JUSTICE FOR THE WORKERS

CHAPTER XXIX.—SLEIGH BELLS

CHAPTER XXX.—WHITLEY ADAMS BLOWS IN

CHAPTER XXXI.—RODERICK’S DISCOVERY

CHAPTER XXXII.—STAKING THE CLAIMS

CHAPTER XXXIII—THE SNOW SLIDE

CHAPTER XXXIV—THE PASSING OF GRANT JONES

CHAPTER XXXV.—A CALL TO SAN FRANCISCO

CHAPTER XXXVI—IN THE CITY THAT NEVER SLEEPS

CHAPTER XXXVII—RODERICK RESCUES GAIL

CHAPTER XXXVIII—THE SEARCH FOR RODERICK

CHAPTER XXXIX—REUNIONS

CHAPTER XL—BUELL HAMPTON’S GOOD-BY

CHAPTER XLI.—-UNDER THE BIG PINE

AFTERWORD

CHAPTER I—AT THE PARTING OF THE WAYS

IT was a dear, crisp October morning. There was a shrill whistle of a locomotive, and then a westbound passenger train dashed into the depot of an Iowa town. A young man descended the car steps with an armful of luggage. He deposited his parcels on the platform, and half expectantly looked about him.

Just then there was a “honk! honk!” from a huge automobile as it came to a palpitating halt, and a familiar voice called out: “Hello, Roderick, old man!” And a moment later Roderick Warfield was shaking hands with his boon friend of former college days, Whitley Adams. Both were in their early twenties, stalwart, well set up, clean-cut young fellows.

Whitley’s face was all aglow in the happiness of reunion. But Roderick, after the first cordial greeting, wore a graver look. He listened quietly while his comrade rambled on.

“Mighty glad to receive your wire last night at the club. But what brings you home so unexpectedly? We’ve been hearing all sorts of glowing stories—about your being in the thick of affairs in little old New York and rolling in the shekels to beat the band.”

“Fairy tales,” was the laconic reply, accompanied by a look that was compounded of a sigh and a wistful smile.

“How’s that?” asked young Adams, glancing up into the other’s face and for the first time noticing its serious expression. “Don’t tell me you’ve struck a financial snag thus early in your Stock Exchange career.”

“Several financial snags—and struck ‘em pretty badly too, I’m afraid.”

“Whew!” exclaimed Adams.

“Oh, I’m not down and out,” laughed Roderick, half amused at the look of utter discomfiture on his companion’s countenance. “Not by a long chalk! I’m in on several good deals, and six months from date will be standing on velvet. That is to say,” he added, somewhat dubiously, “if Uncle Allen opens up his money bags to tide me over meanwhile.”

“A pretty big ‘if,’ eh?” For the moment there was sympathetic sobriety in the youth’s tone, but he quickly regained his cheerfulness. “However, he’ll come through probably all right, Rod, dear boy. It’s the older fellows’ privilege, isn’t it? My good dad has had the same experience, as you will no doubt have guessed. There, let me see; how long have you been away? Eight months! Gee! However, I have just gotten home myself. My old man was a bit furious at my tardiness in coming and the geometrical increase of my expense account. To do Los Angeles and San Francisco thoroughly, you know, runs into a pot of money. But now everything is fixed up after a fashion with no evidence in sight of further squalls.” He laughed the laugh of an overgrown boy laboring under the delusion that because he has finished a collegiate course he is a “man.”

“Of course,” he continued with a swagger, “we chaps who put in four long years at college should not be expected to settle down without having some sort of a valedictory fling.”

“There has not been much of a fling in my case,” protested Warfield. “I tackled life seriously in New York from the start.”

“But got a tumble all the same,” grinned Adams. “However, there’s no use in pulling a long face—at least not until your Uncle Allen has been interviewed and judiciously put through his paces. Come now, let us get your things aboard.”

The conversation was halted while the young owner of the big 60 H. P. car helped his chauffeur to stow away the luggage. “To the club,” he called out as he seated himself in the tonneau with his boyhood friend—college chum and classmate.

“Not this morning!” exclaimed Roderick, shaking his head as he looked frankly and a bit nervously into the eyes of Whitley Adams. “No club for me until I have squared things up on the hill.”

“Oh, well, just as you say; if it’s as bad as that, why of course—” He broke off and did not finish the sentence, but directed the chauffeur to the residence of Allen Miller, the banker.

They rode a little way in silence and then Whitley Adams observed: “You’ve made a muddle of things, no doubt,” and he turned with a knowing look and a smile toward Roderick, who in turn flushed, as though hit.

“No doubt,” he concurred curtly.

“Then when shall I see you?” asked Whitley as the auto slowed down at the approach to the stately Miller home.

“I’ll ‘phone you,” replied Roderick. “Think I can arrange to be at the club this evening.”

“Very well,” said his friend, and a minute later he had whirled away leaving a cloud of dust in the trail of the machine.

Roderick Warfield met with a motherly reception at the hands of his Aunt Lois, Mrs. Allen Miller. The greetings over and a score of solicitous questions by his Aunt Lois answered, he went to his room for a bath and a change of clothes. Then without further delay he presented himself at the bank, and in a few moments was closeted in the president’s private room with his uncle and guardian, Allen Miller.

The first friendly greetings were soon followed by the banker skidding from social to business considerations. “Yes,” said Allen Miller, “I am glad to see you, Roderick, mighty glad. But what do you mean by writing a day ahead that a good big sum is required immediately, this without mention of securities or explanation of any kind?“ He held up in his hand a letter that ran to just a few niggardly lines. “This apology for a business communication only reached me by last night’s mail.”

The kindly look of greeting had changed to one that was fairly flinty in its hardness. “What am I to expect from such a demand? A bunch of unpaid accounts, I suppose.” As he uttered this last sentence, there was a wicked twang in his voice—a suggestion of the snarl of an angry wolf ready for a fierce encounter. It at least proved him a financier.

A flush of resentment stole over Roderick’s brow. His look was more than half-defiant. On his side it showed at once that there would be no cringing for the favor he had come to ask.

But he controlled himself, and spoke with perfect calm.

“My obligations are not necessarily disgraceful ones, as your manner and tone, Uncle, might imply. As for any detailed explanation by letter, I thought it best to come and put the whole business before you personally.”

“And the nature of the business?” asked the banker in a dry harsh voice.

“I am in a big deal and have to find my pro rata contribution immediately.”

“A speculative deal?” rasped the old man.

“Yes; I suppose it would be called speculative, but it is gilt-edged all the same. I have all the papers here, and will show them to you.” He plunged a hand into the breast pocket of his coat and produced a neatly folded little bundle of documents.

“Stop,” exclaimed the banker. “You need not even undo that piece of tape until you have answered my questions. A speculative deal, you admit.”

“Be it so.”

“A mining deal, may I ask?”

Roderick’s face showed some confusion. But he faced the issue promptly and squarely.

“Yes, sir, a mining deal.”

The banker’s eyes fairly glittered with steely wrathfulness.

“As I expected. By gad, it seems to run in the blood! Did I not warn you, when you insisted on risking your meagre capital of two thousand dollars in New York instead of settling down with what would have been a comfortable nest egg here, that if you ever touched mining it would be your ruin? Did I not tell you your father’s story, how the lure of prospecting possessed him, how he could never throw it off, how it doomed him to a life of hardship and poverty, and how it would have left you, his child, a pauper but for an insurance policy which it was his one redeeming act of prudence in carrying?”

“Please do not speak like that of my father,” protested Roderick, drawing himself up with proud

The banker’s manner softened; a kindlier glow came into his eyes.

“Well, boy, you know I loved your father. If your father had only followed my path he would have shared my prosperity. But it was not to be. He lost all he ever made in mining, and now you are flinging the little provision his death secured for you into the same bottomless pool. And this despite all my warnings, despite my stern injunctions so long as it was my right as your guardian to enjoin. The whole thing disgusts me more than words can tell.”

Into the banker’s voice the old bitterness, if not the anger, had returned. He rose and restlessly paced the room. A silence followed that was oppressive. Roderick Warfield’s mind was in the future; he was wondering what would happen should his uncle remain obdurate. The older man’s mind was in the past; he was recalling events of the long ago.

Roderick Warfield’s father and Allen Miller had as young men braved perils together in an unsuccessful overland trip when the great California gold rush in the early fifties occurred. At that time they were only boys in their ‘teens. Years afterward they married sisters and settled down in their Iowa homes—or tried to settle down in Warfield’s case, for in his wanderings he had been smitten with the gold fever and he remained a mining nomad to the end of his days. Allen Miller had never been blessed with a child, and it was not until late in their married life that any addition came to the Warfield family. This was the beginning of Roderick Warfield’s career, but cost the mother’s life. Ten years later John Warfield died and his young son Roderick was given a home with Mr. and Mrs. Allen Miller, the banker accepting the guardianship of his old friend’s only child.

The boy’s inheritance was limited to a few thousand dollars of life insurance, which in the hands of anyone but Allen Miller would have fallen far short of putting him through college. However, that was not only accomplished, but at the close of a fairly brilliant college career the young man had found himself possessed of a round couple of thousand dollars. Among his college friends had been the son of a well-to-do New York broker, and it was on this friend’s advice that Roderick had at the outset of his business life adventured the maelstrom of Gotham instead of accepting the placid backwaters of his Iowan home town. Hence the young man’s present difficulties and precarious future, and his uncle’s bitterness of spirit because all his past efforts on Roderick’s account had proved of such little avail.

At last the banker resumed his chair. The tightly closed lips showed that his mind was made up to a definite line of action. Roderick awaited the decision in silence—it was not in his nature to plead a cause at the cost of losing his own self-respect He had already returned the unopened bundle of mining papers to the inner pocket of his coat.

“As for any advance to meet speculative mining commitments,” began the man of finance, “I do not even desire to know the amount you have had in mind. That is a proposition I cannot even entertain—on principle and for your own ultimate good, young man.”

“Then I lose all the money I have put in to date.”

“Better a present loss than hopeless future entanglements. Your personal obligations? As you have been using all available funds for speculation, I presume you are not free from some debts.”

“Less than a thousand dollars all told.”

“Well, you have, I believe, $285.75 standing to your personal credit in this bank—the remnant of your patrimony.”

“I did not know I had so much,” remarked Roderick with a faint smile.

“All the better, perhaps,” replied the banker, also smiling grimly. “The amount would have doubtless been swallowed up with the rest of your money. As matters stand, some payment can be made to account of your obligations and arrangements entered into for the gradual liquidation of the outstanding balance.” Young Warfield winced. The banker continued: “This may involve some personal humiliation for you. But again it is against my principles to pay any man’s debts. Anyone who deliberately incurs a liability should have the highly beneficial experience of earning the money to liquidate it I propose to give you the chance to do so.”

Roderick raised his eyebrows in some surprise. “In New York?” he enquired.

“No, sir,” replied Allen Miller rather brusquely and evidently nettled at the very audacity of the question. “Not in New York, but right here—in Keokuk. Calm your impatience, please. Just listen to the proposals I have to make—they have been carefully thought out by me and by your Aunt Lois as well. In the first place, despite your rather reckless and improvident start in life, I am prepared to make you assistant cashier of this bank at a good salary.” Again Roderick evinced amazement. He was quite nonplussed at his uncle’s changed demeanor. The conciliatory manner and kindly tone disarmed him. But could he ever come to renounce his New York ambitions for humdrum existence in the old river town of Keokuk? He knew the answer in his heart. The thing was impossible.

“And if you are diligent,” continued the banker, “prove capable and make good, you may expect in time to be rewarded with a liberal block of stock in the bank. Come now, what do you say to this part of my programme?” urged the speaker as Roderick hesitated.

The young man’s mind was already made up. The offer was not even worth considering. And yet, he must not offend his guardian. It was true, Allen Miller’s guardianship days were past, but still in his rapid mental calculations Roderick thought of his stanch old stand-by, Uncle Allen Miller, as “Guardian.” He lighted a cigar to gain time for the framing of a diplomatic answer.

“Well,” said the banker, with a rising inflection, “does it require any time to consider the generous offer I make?”

Roderick pulled a long breath at his cigar and blew rings of smoke toward the ceiling, and said: “Your offer, Uncle, is princely, but I hardly feel that I should accept until I have thought it all over from different points of view and have the whole question of my future plans fully considered. What are the other items on your programme?”

“They should be rather counted as conditions,” replied the banker drily. “The conditions on which the offer I have just made are based.”

“And they are what?”

“You must quit speculation, give up all expensive habits, marry and settle down.” The words were spoken with all the definiteness of an ultimatum.

Again Roderick winced. He might have been led to all or at least some of these things. But to be driven, and by such rough horse-breaking methods—. never! no, never. He managed to restrain himself, however, and replied quietly: “My dear uncle, the idea of marrying for some years yet, to tell you the truth, has never entered my head. Of course,” he went on lightly, “there is a young lady over at Galesburg, Stella Rain, where my Knox college days were spent, the ‘college widow,’ in a way a very lovely sort and in whom I have been rather interested for some two years, but—”

“That will do, young man,” interrupted Allen Miller, sharply and severely. “Never mind your society flyers—these lady friends of yours in Galesburg. Your Aunt Lois and myself have already selected your future wife.”

He laughed hoarsely, and the laugh sounded brutal even to his own ears. Allen Miller realized uncomfortably that he had been premature and scored against himself.

“Oh, is that so?” ejaculated Roderick in delicate irony. A pink flush had stolen into his cheeks.

The old banker hesitated in making reply. He grew hot and red and wondered if he had begun his match-making too abruptly—the very thing about which his good wife Lois had cautioned him. In truth, despite the harsh methods often imposed on him by his profession as a banker, a kinder heart than Allen Miller’s never beat. But in this new rôle he was out of his element and readily confused. Finally after clearing his throat several times, he replied: “Yes, Roderick, in a way, your Aunt Lois and I have picked out the girl we want you to marry. Her father’s wealth is equal to mine and some day perhaps—well, you can’t tell—I’ll not live always and, provided you don’t disobey me, you may inherit under my will a control of the stock of this banking house, and so be at the head of an important and growing financial institution.”

Roderick instead of being fifty-four and calculating, was only twenty-four and indifferent to wealth, and the red blood of his generous youth revolted at the mercenary methods suggested by his uncle regarding this unknown girl’s financial prospects. And then, too, the inducement thrown out that under conditions of obedience he might inherit the fortune of his uncle, was, he interpreted, nothing short of an attempt to bribe and deprive him of his liberty. He flushed with indignation and anger. Yet with a strong effort he still controlled his feelings, and presently asked: “Who is the fair lady?”

“The daughter of an old friend of mine. They live only a short distance down the river. Their home is at Quincy, Illinois. Mighty fine old family, I can tell you. Am sure you’ll like her immensely.”

“Am I to understand,” asked Roderick rather caustically, “that the young lady acquiesces and enters graciously into your plans?”

“Well, I can’t say that!” replied Allen Miller, rubbing his chin. “But your Aunt Lois and I have talked over the possible alliance in all its lights.”

“With the young lady’s family, I presume?”

“No, not even that. But we are perfectly certain that we have only to speak the word to put the business through all right.”

“Business!”—Roderick repeated the word with bitter emphasis.