Colorado Jim

Excerpt

CHAPTER I

A SON OF THE WEST

Out of the brooding darkness was born the first timid blush of the morn. It sprang to life along the serried edge of the Medicine Bow, a broadening band of blood-red light. For one instant it seemed that some titan breath had blown at the source, darkening the red to purple; and then, with startling suddenness, the whole wide range flamed up. The full red rim of the sun smote aloft, sending the shades scuttling down the valleys, to vanish in thin air.

The man at the window of the Medicine Bow Hotel drew in his breath with a slight hissing sound, as the whole magnificent landscape sprang into dazzling light. It had always taken him like that. He remembered the day when, as a boy of seven, he had first seen the sun soar over the ridge, from the old “Prairie Schooner” encamped in “The Garden of the Gods.” No less wonderful was it now; for Jim Conlan, late owner of Topeka Mine, and almost millionaire, was but a magnified version of the boy of twenty-three years back. Time had brought its revenges, its rewards, its illusions; but the great winds, the everlasting hills, and the wild life of the West had combined in cementing the early resolutions and ideas.

He had won through by dint of muscle and hard thinking. He saw now that the secret of his success was determination. He had earned a reputation for never letting go anything to which he had put his hand. Men feared him, but loved him at the same time. He had proved himself to be a staunch friend but an implacable enemy. His six feet three inches of bone and sinew was usually sufficient to scare off any trouble-seekers. Colorado Jim, as they called him, was the product of primal Nature, unpolished, rough as the gaunt mountains of the Medicine Bow, and as inscrutable.

All through the short summer night he had sat at the window waiting for the dawn. The man who never let go had let go something this time, and that something was nothing less than his whole life. He never believed it would hurt him like it did. For the past three years he had been restless. The soul and mind of him ached for expansion. The chief incentive to work had gone. He had more money than he could spend—in the West. Yonder was New York, Paris, London. Alluring visions of civilization flashed through his brain. What was the use of money if not to burn, and where in the whole of Colorado could one burn money and get full value?

The idea to sell out began to obsess him, and in the end he sold. Hating sentimentality and fearing any demonstration of such, he had packed up secretly and left the rough shack by the Topeka Mine for the comparatively Arcadian comforts of the hotel in the township ten miles back. In a few hours he would be on the train bound for the East—and the future.

Thorough in all things, he had packed his bags overnight, leaving but a few necessities such as razor and tooth-brush (recent acquisitions) to complete. He left the window now with a curious sigh, and gave a last pull on the strap of the largest bag with his big, muscular hands....