Consolidated Supply Company, a subsidiary branch of the trust, on the
ground that its affairs were not being properly administered. The
Supply Company had paid dividends ranging from fifteen to twenty-five
per cent for many years, but Ridgway exercised his right as a
stockholder to ask for a receivership. In point of fact, he owned, in
the name of Eaton, only one-tenth of one per cent of the stock, but it
was enough to serve. For Purcell was a bigoted old Missourian, as
courageous and obstinate as perfect health and ignorance could make
him. He was quite innocent of any legal knowledge, his own rule of law
being to hit a Consolidated head whenever he saw one. Lawyers might
argue themselves black in the face without affecting his serenity or
his justice.

Purcell granted the application, as well as a restraining order against
the payment of dividends until further notice, and appointed Eaton
receiver over the protests of the Consolidated lawyers.

Ridgway and Eaton left the court-room together, jubilant over their
success. They dined at a restaurant, and spent the evening at the
ore-producing company's offices, discussing ways and means. When they
had finished, his chief followed Eaton to the doors, an arm thrown
affectionately round his shoulder.

"Steve, we're going to make a big killing. I was never so sure of
anything in my life as that we shall beat Simon Harley at his own game.
We're bound to win. We've got to win."

"I wish I were as sure as you."

"It's hard pounding does it, my boy. We'll drive him out of the Montana
copper-fields yet. We'll show him there is one little corner of the U.
S. where Simon Harley's orders don't go as the last word."

"He has a hundred dollars to your one."

"And I have youth and mining experience and the inside track, as well
as stancher friends than he ever dreamed of," laughed Ridgway, clapping
the other on the back. "Well, good night, Steve. Pleasant dreams, old
man."

The boyish secretary shook hands warmly. "You're a MAN, chief. If
anybody can pull us through it will be you."

Triumphant confidence rang in the other's answering laugh. "You bet I
can, Steve."

CHAPTER 19. ONE MILLION DOLLARS

Eaton, standing on the street curb at the corner of the Ridgway
Building, lit a cigar while he hesitated between his rooms and the
club. He decided for the latter, and was just turning up the hill, when
a hand covered his mouth and an arm was flung around his neck in a
s