DAN OAKLEY went to Chicago, intending to see Holloway and resign, but he found that the Huckleberry's vice-president was in New York on business, and no one in his office seemed to know when he would return, so he sat down and wrote a letter, telling him of the condition of affairs at Antioch, and explaining the utter futility, in view of what had happened, of his trying to cope with the situation.

He waited five days for a reply, and, none coming, wired to learn if his letter had been received. This produced results. Holloway wired back that he had the letter under consideration, and requested Oakley to remain in Chicago until he returned, but he did not say whether or not his resignation would be accepted. Since there was nothing to be done but await Holloway's pleasure in the matter, Dan employed his enforced leisure in looking about for another position. He desired a connection which would take him out of the country, for the farther away from Antioch and Constance Emory he could get the better he would be satisfied. He fancied he would like to go to South America. He was willing to accept almost any kind of a post—salary was no longer a consideration with him. What he required was a radical change, with plenty of hard work.

It was not to be wondered at that his judgment of the case was an extreme one, or that he told himself he must make a fresh start, as his record was very much against him and his ability at a discount. While he could not fairly be held responsible for the miscarriage of his plans at Antioch, he felt their failure keenly, so keenly that could he have seen the glimmer of a hope ahead he could have gone back and taken up the struggle, but the killing of Ryder by his father made this impossible. There was nothing he could do, and his mere presence outraged the whole town. No understanding would ever be reached with the hands if he continued in control, while a new man in his place would probably have little or no difficulty in coming to an agreement with them. No doubt they were quite as sick as he had been of the fight, and if he left they would be content to count his going a victory, and waive the question of wages. It was part of the irony of the condition that the new man would find enough work contracted for to keep the shop open and running full time for the next eight or ten months. But his successor was welcome to the glory of it when he had hidden himself in some God-forsaken corner of the globe along with the other waifs and strays—the men who have left home because of their health or their accounts, and who hang around dingy seaport towns and read month-old newspapers and try to believe that the game has been worth the candle.

By far his greatest anxiety was his father. He watched the papers closely, expecting each day to read that he had been captured and sent back to Antioch, but the days slipped past, and there was no mention of him. Holt, with whom he was in constant correspondence, reported that interest in his capture had considerably abated, while the organized pursuit had entirely ceased.

Dan had the feeling that he should never see him again, and the pathos of his age and dependence tore his heart. In a manner, too, he blamed himself for the tragedy. It might have been averted had he said less about Ryder in his father's hearing. He should have known better than to discuss the strike with him.

One morning, as he left Holloway's office, he chanced to meet an acquaintance by the name of Curtice. They had been together in Denver years before, and he had known him as a rather talkative young fellow, with large hopes and a thrifty eye to the main chance. But he was the one man he would have preferred to meet, for he had been in South America and knew the field there. Apparently Curtice was equally glad to see him. He insisted upon carrying him off to his club to lunch, where it developed he was in a state of happy enthusiasm over his connection with a road that had just gone into the hands of a receiver, and a new baby, which he assured Oakley on the spur of the moment he was going to name after him.

“You see, Oakley,” he explained, as they settled themselves, “I was married after you left to a girl who had come to Denver with a consumptive brother. They boarded at the same place I did.” His companion was properly interested. “Look here, how long are you going to be in the city? I want you to come and see us.”

Dan avoided committing himself by saying his stay in Chicago was most uncertain. He might have to leave very soon.

“Well, then, you must drop in at my office. I wish you'd make it your headquarters while you are here.”

“What about the road you are with?”

“Oh, the road! We are putting it in shape.”

Oakley smiled a trifle skeptically. He recalled that even as a very young man filling a very subordinate position, Curtice had clung to the “we.” Curtice saw the smile and remembered too.

“Now, see here, I'm giving it to you straight. I really am the whole thing. I've got a greenhorn for a boss, whose ignorance of the business is only equalled by his confidence in me. If you want to be nasty you can say his ignorance is responsible for much of his confidence. I've been told that before.”

“Then I'll wait. I may be able to think of something better.”

“There are times when I wonder if he really knows the difference between an engine's head-light and a coupling-pin. He's giving me all the rope I want, and we'll have a great passenger service when I get done. That's what I am working on now.”

“But where are you going to get the funds for it? A good service costs money,” said Dan.

“Oh, the road's always made money. That was the trouble.” Oakley looked dense. He had heard of such things, but they had been outside of his own experience.

“The directors were a superstitious lot; they didn't believe in paying dividends, and as they had to get rid of the money somehow, they put it all out in salaries. The president's idea of the value of his own services would have been exorbitant if the road had been operating five thousand miles of track instead of five hundred. I am told a directors' meeting looked like a family reunion, and they had a most ungodly lot of nephews—nephews were everywhere. The purchasing agent was a nephew, so were two of the division superintendents. Why, the president even had a third cousin of his wife's braking on a way freight. We've kept him as a sort of curiosity, and because he was the only one in the bunch who was earning his pay.”

“No wonder the stockholders went to law,” said Oakley, laughing.

“Of course, when the road was taken into court its affairs were seen to be in such rotten shape that a receiver was appointed.”

Oakley's business instinct asserted itself. He had forgotten for the time being that his services still belonged to Cornish. Now he said: “See here, haven't you cars you intend to rebuild?”

'“We've precious few that don't need carpenter-work or paint or upholstering.”

“Then send them to me at Antioch. I'll make you a price you can't get inside of, I don't care where you go.”

Curtice meditated, then he asked: “How are you fixed to handle a big contract? It 'll be mostly for paint and upholstery or woodwork. We have been considering equipping works of our own, but I am afraid they are not going to materialize.”

“We can handle anything,” and from sheer force of habit he was all enthusiasm. He had pleasant visions of the shops running over-time, and everybody satisfied and happy. It made no difference to him that he would not be there to share in the general prosperity. With the start he had given it, the future of the Huckleberry would be assured. He decided he had better say nothing to Curtice about South America.

The upshot of this meeting was that he stuck to Curtice with a genial devotion that made him wax in his hands. They spent two days together, inspecting paintless and tattered day coaches, and on the third day Dan strolled from his friend's office buttoning his coat on a contract that would mean many thousands of dollars for Antioch. It was altogether his most brilliant achievement. He felt that there only remained for him to turn the Huckleberry over to Holloway and leave the country. He had done well by it.

Dan had been in Chicago about three weeks, when at last Holloway returned, and he proved as limp as Cornish had said he would be in a crisis. He was inclined to be critical, too, and seemed astonished that Oakley had been waiting in Chicago to see him. He experienced a convenient lapse of memory when the latter mentioned his telegram.

“I can't accept your resignation,” he said, fussing nervously among the papers on his desk. “I didn't put you at Antioch; that was General Cornish's own idea, and I don't know what he'll think.”

“It has gotten past the point where I care what he thinks,” retorted Dan, curtly. “You must send some one else there to take hold.”

“Why didn't you cable him instead of writing me?” fretfully. “I don't know what he will want, only it's pretty certain to be the very thing I sha'n't think of.”

“I would have cabled him if I had considered it necessary, but it never occurred to me that my resignation would not be agreed to on the spot, as my presence in Antioch only widens the breach and increases the difficulty of a settlement with the men.”

“Whom did you leave in charge?” inquired Holloway.

“Holt.”

“Who's he?”

“He's Kerr's assistant,” Dan explained.

“Why didn't you leave Kerr in charge?” demanded the vice-president.

“I laid him off,” said Dan, in a tone of exasperation, and then he added, to forestall more questions: “He was in sympathy with the men, and he hadn't the sense to keep it to himself. I couldn't be bothered with him, so I got rid of him.”

“Well, I must say you have made a frightful mess of the whole business, Oakley, but I told General Cornish from the first that you hadn't the training for the position.”

Dan turned very red in the face at this, but he let it pass.

“It's too bad,” murmured Holloway, still fingering the letters on the desk.

“Since you are in doubt, why don't you cable General Cornish for instructions, or, if there is a reason why you don't care to, it is not too late for me to cable,” said Dan.

This proposal did not please Holloway at all, but he was unwilling to admit that he feared Cornish's displeasure, which, where he was concerned, usually took the form of present silence and a subsequent sarcasm that dealt with the faulty quality of his judgment. The sarcasm might come six months after it had been inspired, but it was certain to come sooner or later, and to be followed by a bad half-hour, which Cornish devoted to past mistakes. Indeed, Cornish's attitude towards him had become, through long association, one of chronic criticism, and he was certain to be unpleasantly affected both by what he did and by what he left undone.

“Why don't you wait until the general returns from England? That's not far off now. Under the circumstances he'll accept your resignation.”

“He will have to,” said Oakley, briefly.

“Don't worry; he'll probably demand it,” remarked the vice-president, disagreeably.

“If you are so sure of this, why don't you accept it?” retorted Dan.

“I have no one to appoint in your place.”

“What's wrong with Holt? He'll do temporarily.”

“I couldn't feel positive of his being satisfactory to General Cornish. He's a very young man, ain't he?”

“Yes, I suppose you'd call him a young man, but he has been with the road for a long time, and has a pretty level head. I have found him very trustworthy.”

“I would have much greater confidence in Kerr. He's quiet and conservative, and he's had an excellent training with us.”

“Well, then, you can get him. He is doing nothing, and will be glad to come.”

“But you have probably succeeded in antagonizing him.”

“I hope so,” with sudden cheerfulness. “It was a hardship not to be able to give him a sound thrashing. That's what he deserved.”

Holloway looked shocked. The young man was displaying a recklessness of temper which was most unseemly and entirely unexpected.

“I guess it will be well for you to think it over, Oakley, before you conclude to break with General Cornish. To go now will be rather shabby of you, and you owe him fair treatment. Just remember it was those reforms of yours that started the strike, in the first place. I know—I know. What you did you did with his approval The men are peaceable enough, ain't they?” and he glared at Oakley with mingled disfavor and weariness.

“Anybody can handle them but me.”

“It won't be long until they are begging you to open the shops. They will be mighty sick of the trouble they've shouldered when their money is all gone.”

“They will never come to me for that, Mr. Holloway,” said Dan. “I think they would, one and all, rather starve than recognize my position.”

“They'll have to. We'll make them. We mustn't let them think we are weakening.”

“You don't appreciate the feeling of intense hostility they have for me.”

“Of course the murder of that man—what was his name?”

“Ryder, you mean.”

“Was unfortunate. I don't wonder you have some feeling about going back.”

Dan smiled sadly.

The vice-president was wonderfully moderate in his choice of words. He added: “But it is really best for the interest of those concerned that you should go and do what you can to bring about a settlement.”

“It would be the sheerest idiocy for me to attempt it. The town may go hungry from now till the end of its days, but it won't have me at any price.”

“I always told Cornish he should sell the road the first opportunity he got. He had the chance once and you talked him out of it. Now you don't want to stand by the situation.”

“I do,” said Oakley, rising. “I want to see an understanding reached with the men, and I am going to do what I can to help along. You will please to consider that I have resigned. I don't for the life of me see how you can expect me to show my face in Antioch,” and with that he stalked from the place. He was thoroughly angry. He heard Holloway call after him:

“I won't accept your resignation. You'll have to wait until you see Cornish!”

Dan strode out into the street, not knowing what he would do. He was disheartened and exasperated at the stand Holloway had taken.

Presently his anger moderated and his pace slackened. He had been quite oblivious to what was passing about him, and now for the first time, above the rattle of carts and trucks, he heard the newsboys shrilly calling an extra. He caught the words, “All about the big forest fire!” repeated over and over again.

He bought a paper and opened it idly, but a double-leaded head-line arrested his attention. It was a brief special from Buckhom Junction. He read it with feverish interest. Antioch was threatened with complete destruction by the forest fires.

“I'll take the first train for Antioch. Have you seen this?” and he held out the crumpled page he had just torn from his newspaper.

Holloway glanced up in astonishment at this unlooked-for change of heart.

“I thought you'd conclude it was no way to treat General Cornish,” he said.

“Hang Cornish! It's not on his account I'm going. The town is in a fair way to be wiped off the map. Here, read.”

And he thrust the paper into Holloway's hands. “The woods to the north and west of Antioch have been blazing for two days. They have sent out call after call for help, and apparently nobody has responded yet. That's why I am going back, and for no other reason.”