Thurston House Read Free

his neck. He had a harder row to hoe than Jeremiah had when he started out. Harte had opened his mine four years before when he was twenty-two, and he had driven himself and his men beyond anything imaginable. He wasn't always kind, and Jeremiah had heard from men who had left him to come and work for him that he was irascible and difficult, with a wicked mouth, and quick fists.
    But he had a heart of gold. He was a decent, honest man, and Jeremiah admired him. He had gone to see him once or twice, and he too quickly saw some of the mistakes that the younger man was going to make, but Harte didn't want to hear any of Jeremiah's advice, in fact, he didn't want anything from him. He wanted to make it on his own, and he would in time. But Jeremiah grieved for him now, at the cruelty Fate had dealt, even crueler than that once dealt to him. He looked at Hannah now, not sure what he should do. He and John Harte had never become close friends. Harte preferred to view Jeremiah as a rival, and keep a good distance from him, and Jeremiah respected that. Don't fool yourself, Thurston, I'm not your friend, and I don't want to be. I want to beat your mines all to hell. And I'll do it fair and I'll do it clean, but if I can, you'll be closing your doors in a year or two, and everyone from here to New York will be buying from me. Jeremiah had smiled at the blunt words. The fact was that there was room for both of them, but John Harte refused to see it that way. He was courteous when they met, but he wouldn't give an inch. He had already had two fires and a bad flood, and once on a whim Jeremiah had offered to buy him out, in answer to which John Harte had offered to flatten his face if he didn't get off his land by the count of ten. But this had nothing to do with that, and Jeremiah made up his mind as he strode suddenly toward his horse. Hannah had known he would. Jeremiah was simply that kind of man. He had room in his heart for everyone, even John Harte, no matter how impulsive or sharp the younger man's tongue was.
    Don't wait dinner for me. The words didn't even need to be said as he swung a leg over his horse. She'd be there anyway, if she had to wait all night. Go home and get some rest.
    Mind your own damn business, Jeremiah Thurston. And then she had a sudden thought. Wait a minute! They would be too frantic to fix much of anything to eat. She ran into the kitchen and threw some fried chicken into a napkin, and put that and some fruit and a piece of cake into a saddlebag Jeremiah could carry with him. She rushed back outside and handed it up as Jeremiah smiled.
    You'll kill them for sure if it's something you cooked.
    She grinned at him. Be sure you eat some yourself, and take care you don't get too close to anyone. Don't drink anything, or eat their food.
    Yes, Mother! And with those words he wheeled his horse and took off into the velvety night, thinking his own thoughts as he galloped over the hills.
    It only took him twenty minutes to arrive at the complex surrounding the Harte mines, and Jeremiah was surprised to see how much it had grown in the few months since he'd been there. John Harte was doing well, but one could tell that something was wrong now. There was an eerie silence, and no one wandering from house to house, but in each cabin all of the lights were brightly lit, especially up on the hill. Every room of the main house seemed ablaze with light and there was a string of men standing outside, waiting to pay their respects to John Harte. Jeremiah dismounted and tied his horse to a tree a little distance from them, and carrying the saddlebag Hannah had flung up into his hands, he took his place behind the line of men. He was rapidly recognized, and a whisper went through them ' Thurston ' Thurston' . He shook hands with those he knew, and it was a little while before John Harte appeared on the porch. His face was ravaged, as though with pain, and there was almost a shudder of sympathy that went through the crowd of men