Hard Money Read Free Page A

whose eastern slope the Tronah gold and silver field was located. A dozen crosses in blue pencil located the town and principal mines on the slope. Bonal ignored these and jumped to the other side of the mountains to place his pointing finger on a stream bed which paralleled the western slope. Where he placed his finger there was a red line which ran from the stream straight east halfway to the mountains. He said, “You’ve never been across, have you?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThat red line,” Bonal said quietly, “represents the Bonal Tunnel, a tunnel cut out of rock that is driving into the Pintwater range. So far, it has covered two miles and a half of the proposed distance of three and a half miles. It ends here.” He pointed to the termination of the red line. “It will end here.” He put his finger on a spot just east of the exact center of the Pintwater range. “It will end there,” he added grimly, “if I have to dig out the rest of it myself, and with a spoon.” While Seay studied it Bonal sat down. His eyes looked tired, pouched with weariness, but the indomitability of them was unmistakable. A man of wisdom would have called Charles Bonal a fanatic, and he would have smilingly agreed and proceeded with his fanaticism. He did so now, his voice almost musing, but harsh.
    â€œI’ve spent a week inquiring about you,” he said abruptly. “You seem to have hit a good many gold camps. You’ve worked men, lots of men. But you’re not an engineer. Is that right?”
    Seay looked up from the map and nodded.
    â€œYou don’t have to be an engineer to understand that tunnel,” Bonal said. “But you have to understand human nature to know why it’s necessary.”
    Seay said nothing, and Bonal hunkered down in his chair.
    â€œWhen they started mining on this field,” he said in a harsh condemnatory voice, “they sunk their shafts where they found the ore—almost on top of the Pintwater range. When they got down to a depth of a thousand feet they struck water. It filled their shafts. Instead of cutting upcasts to drain the water out, they bought pumps instead.” He raised a warning finger to Seay. “Right now, they’ve got the biggest pumps invented in operation, and they’re barely keeping the shafts dry. In another year the shafts will be so far down that no pump invented, no pump that ever will be invented, will be able to clear them of water.”
    â€œ Borrasca ,” Seay murmured.
    â€œExactly. Borrasca —pay out. There will be millions of dollars in gold and silver still in the ground—and it will stay there if I don’t save the fools.”
    â€œHow?” Seay asked curiously.
    Bonal pointed to the map. “That tunnel. It starts on the other side of the Pintwaters. It will go straight into them and halfway through them to touch the very bottom of the deepest mine shaft on this field. When it does, it will drain the water from these shafts and save the field.” He chuckled, almost with pleasure. “Since these fools didn’t ask for a Messiah, I’m giving them one. One with a beard, too.”
    Seay was looking down again at the map when Bonal said, “Will you take the job?”
    â€œWhat job?”
    Bonal slowly raised in his chair. “The job of putting that tunnel through—superintending it. I can’t be here. I’ve got to raise money. Tonight I’m leaving for Mexico City. I’ve been refused loans from coast banks, from London, from Europe, from our own government. Men are laughing at my scheme, but I’ve got to get money for it.” He paused, watching Seay. “You’re to put the tunnel through. You’ve got to drive these buckos, fight with any weapon short of murder, fight without money, without enough men, and with a swarm of toughs and bankers taking turns at trying to down you.” He rose and came over to the