and
Roosevelt were strained. In the Marquis's business ventures he was
constantly being confronted by unexpected and, in a sense,
unaccountable obstacles, that rose suddenly out of what appeared a
clear road, and thwarted his plans. The railroads, which gave special
rates to shippers who did far less business than he, found for one
reason or another that they could not give him any rebate at all.
Wholesale dealers refused, for reasons which remained mysterious, to
handle his meat; yard-men at important junctions delayed his cars. He
could not help but be conscious that principalities and powers that he
could not identify were working in the dark against him. He suspected
that the meat-packers of Chicago had passed the word to their allies
in Wall Street that he was to be destroyed; and assumed that
Roosevelt, bound by a dozen ties to the leaders in the business life
of New York, was in league with his enemies.

A totally unexpected incident brought the growing friction between the
two men for a flash into the open. Roosevelt had agreed to sell the
Marquis eighty or a hundred head of cattle at a price, on which they
agreed, of about six cents a pound. Accompanied by two of his
cowpunchers, he drove the cattle to the enclosure adjoining the
abattoir of the Northern Pacific Refrigerator Car Company, had them
weighed, and went to the Marquis for his check.

"I am sorry I cannot pay you as much as I agreed for those cattle,"
said the Marquis.

"But you bought the cattle," Roosevelt protested. "The sale was
complete with the delivery."

"The Chicago price is down a half cent," answered the Marquis
regretfully. "I will pay you a half cent less than we agreed."

The air was electric. Packard told about it long afterwards. "It was a
ticklish situation," he said. "We all knew the price had been agreed
on the day before; the sale being completed with the delivery of the
cattle. Fluctuations in the market cut no figure. Roosevelt would have
made delivery at the agreed price even if the Chicago price had gone
up."

Roosevelt turned to the Marquis. "Did you agree to pay six cents for
these cattle?"

"Yes," the Marquis admitted. "But the Chicago price--"

"Are you going to pay six cents for them?" Roosevelt broke in.

"No; I will pay five and a half cents."

Roosevelt turned abruptly to his cowpunchers. "Drive 'em out, boys,"
he said. The men drove out the cattle.

"There was no particular ill-feeling between them," Pac