Gordon was a strangely unbalanced man.  He was magnetic, his geniality was really heart-warming, yet he was perfectly cold-blooded in his selfishness.  He was cool and calculating, but interference roused him to an almost insane pitch of passion.  Fickle in most things, he was uncompromising in his hatreds.  O’Neil’s generosity in affording sanctuary to his defiant mistress struck him as a personal affront, it fanned his dislike of his rival into a consuming rage.  It was with no thought of profit that he cast about for a means of crippling O’Neil.  He was quite capable of ruining himself, not to speak of incidental harm to others, if only he could gratify his spleen.

Denny, his trusted jackal, resisted stoutly any move against “The Irish Prince,” but his employer would not listen to him or consent to any delay.  Therefore, a certain plausible, shifty-eyed individual by the name of Linn was despatched to Omar on the first steamer.  Landing at his destination, Mr. Linn quietly effaced himself, disappearing out the right-of-way, where he began moving from camp to camp, ostensibly in search of employment.

It was a few days later, perhaps a week after O’Neil’s departure, that Eliza Appleton entered the hospital and informed Dr. Gray: 

“I’ve finished my first story for The Review.”

The big physician had a rapid, forceful habit of speech.  “Well, I suppose you uncorked the vitriol bottle,” he said, brusquely.

“No!  Since you are now the fount of authority here, I thought I’d tell you that I have reserved my treachery for another time.  I haven’t learned enough yet to warrant real fireworks.  As a matter of fact, I’ve been very kind to Mr. O’Neil in my story.”

“Let me thank you for him.”

“Now don’t be sarcastic!  I could have said a lot of nasty things, if he hadn’t been so nice to me.  I suppose it is the corrupting influence of his kindness.”

“He really will be grateful,” the doctor assured her, seriously.  “Newspaper publicity of the wrong sort might hurt him a great deal just now.  In every big enterprise there comes a critical time, when everything depends upon one man; strong as the structure seems, he’s really supporting it.  You see, the whole thing rests ultimately on credit and confidence.  An ill-considered word, a little unfriendly shove, and down comes the whole works.  Then some financial power steps in, reorganizes the wreckage, and gets the result of all the other fellow’s efforts, for nothing.”

“Dan tells me the affairs of the S. R. & N. are in just such a tottering condition.”

“Yes.  We’re up against it, for the time being.  Our cards are on the table, and you have it in your power to do us a lot of harm.”

“Don’t put it that way!” said Eliza, resentfully.  “You and Mr. O’Neil and even Dan make it hard for me to do my duty.  I won’t let you rob me of my liberty.  I’ll get out and ‘Siwash’ it in a tent first.”